Chapter Text
Angel Dust slams down an empty glass on the bartop.
"Another."
Husk looks at him askance, but pours one out all the same. Angel can hardly wait for the mixing and stirring to be over before the concoction is poured down his throat.
Vaggie had suggested drinking cocktails as a way to reduce alcohol intake, but this wasn't helping, as both of them were probably realizing at this moment. Sighing hard, Angel propped a hand on the bartop and used it to support his swaying head. Both of them were quiet.
At least he wasn't facing Husk sober. Angel couldn't stand the look on Husk's face when he came in like this, bruised up and heels held in his hands. He looked at Angel with- pity, or patronization, being one of the only people to see him in this state.
"Are you hungry?" Husk asks, polishing a glass. "Nifty made some apple pie earlier, there's a plate made for you,"
"I'm going to be sick if I smell any food," Angel replies, and it's the truth. "Sorry Whiskers, maybe later." He winces as his stomach lurches.
"Maybe you can .. distract me?" He asks, smiling gently. He realizes too late that he's showing his teeth in the grin and pulls his mouth closed.
Husk nods, and launches into a story from his days as an overlord. Something about a game with Maestro that involved snails, air vents and party favours. Angel listens to it, letting himself drift. His earlier line of thought was crazy, he realizes, Husk doesn't patronize him.
It just feels that way sometimes. The longer he's clean, the longer he's sober and tired, the more eyes seem to follow him. When he's not under hot studio lights, or fluorescent signs or blinding stagelights, they're there. He thought he'd gotten rid of them in the early years of his career, but now stares itch at his skin in a way that leaves him paranoid, little pinpricks of doubt that have never left his side since he heard the words - Pentious has been redeemed.
If he had to name the feeling, it could be-would be- called- Can Angel Dust be redeemed?
But he doesn't, and it's not that. It's something that has developed with the long, calculated stares Valentino sends his way everytime he leaves for the hotel after a day of work instead of falling into his 'gifted' bed at Vee Headquarters. It's paranoia, and it's leaving him as jumpy as a coke addict if not worse.
Husk's voice startles him out of his thoughts. "You okay there, kid?"
"Fine," he responds, standing up with unsteady legs. "Sounds like Maestro plays a mean game of poker. Anyways, I guess I'll head up now," Angel says, "and thanks for the booze and bandages."
"You're more than welcome anytime, Legs," Husk says, his voice laced with something Angel imagines sounds like disappointment. Disappointment for what? Angel letting him put the bar away? God knows he only stays up to see Angel walk in and tonight even that feels like too much.
He's almost reached the stairs when the entrance doors swing open without warning, making him snap 180 degrees and scan for the visitor.
But what he sees makes him blink and rub his eyes, then rub his eyes again. He looks over to Husk who's looking over at him with a similar expression and back to the intruder.
There, on their doorstep, is someone who looks exactly like him. Like Angel Dust.