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Angel couldn't believe he had let Charlie talk him into this.
It wasn't that he hated group therapy, but this was a workshop about ‘realizing your own sins’ and what ypu needed to do in order to redeem yourself.
Yeah, bullshit like that.
A part of him darkly wondered if Charlie was going to save him for last, as an example that she could help redeem someone as awful as him; a loser crackhead.
No wait …
A murderous loser crackhead.
Next to him, Rooster was currently sobbing about some bullshit he had yelled at his wife before he died, and Charlie was trying to console him.
Angel hoped he cried forever. Maybe then he could sneak away and pretend to be dead somewhere.
As his turn ‘to share’ crept closer, the spider was unaware of his miserable posture, both sets of arms tightly wrapped around his waist.
Alastor was standing nearby, watching the group in silence with that ever-present grin. Actually, ever since Angel had returned to the Hotel, Alastor had been standing nearby, always at a respectful distance from Angel, where the spider could see him.
Angel could understand that, really. It was always a good idea to keep an eye on a liability like him. If the Vees tried to control him while he was here, Alastor could stop it from happening again.
“Your turn, Angel!” Charlie chirped, making him nearly jump out of his skin. Rooster was still crying but quietly now; face buried in his hands and hiccuping pathetically.
From what he gathered from all the expectant stares, the new residents were far more eager for gossip than showing support.
Fuck. He didn't need this.
Angel hadn't even wanted to come back to the hotel.
Val's violent rages had become frequent, mostly due to his frustration with Vox not being fuckable. The rolling cart apparently put a damper on things.
A few nights ago, Valentino had beaten the hell out of Angel when he came back from Vox's room. Like usual, whatever that square-shaped cunt had said to enrage Valentino this bad was never explained.
But oh, did Angel suffer for it.
Even as Angel healed from his bruises, Val scheduled him for work on the street. He didn't need to look pretty for a street gig.
Val took the money from clients, and Angel did what the clients wanted.
He had sort of … blacked out during one of the gang bangs. Something had stopped it, and he woke up in his own bed at the hotel.
Angel hadn't wanted to beg Charlie's mercy after his betrayal on television, but the streets weren't any safer. Out there, Val could get to him anywhere.
Charlie had - of course - taken him back, fussing over each bruise she could see. Cherri and Husk hovered over him like guardian sentinels, and Fat Nuggets was running in happy circles, excited. It was all a bit much.
By contrast, Alastor had merely watched, a quiet and reassuring presence.
It had taken a few days to recover, and he would learn later that Alastor had not permitted Valentino within sixty feet of the Hotel (on the pain of vicious disembowelment if he tried.)
Cherri had stolen his phone to keep Val from gaslighting him to get him to come back. Husk assured Angel constantly that he was safe here, and Vaggie made sure he ate and rested.
Right. His turn.
Angel took a slow shaky breath, looking at no-one.
“My sin is that … I killed my Pops," he mumbled, barely audible. Lucifer leaned closer.
“Sorry, pink guy. I couldn't hear you. Can you say that again?”
Fuck. Angel couldn't look at anyone, shame burning in him.
“I. Killed. My father,” he repeated, shoulders hunched defensively.
There were a few shocked gasps and Lucifer's jaw dropped. He blinked a few times, then shook his head.
“Wow,” he started. “You sinners just keep lowering the bar.”
“Dad,” Charlie warned. “No judgement, remember?”
It was too late. Just like that, Angel felt like he was the worst person in the room. Fuck, the worst person in Hell …
“Oh, fuck! You too?!” someone exclaimed.
Angel turned his head to stare at Al, thrown. “...What?”
“You aren't the only one who killed their father!” Alastor's eyes went dark. “And zero regrets there.”
The room gaped at Alastor. Angel felt a spark of relief and grinned. “No shit?”
“None whatsoever. Birth parents don't always deserve to live.”
Lucifer stared at them, incredulous. “I - what - are you serious! Nobody's father deserves to be killed!”
“You only wish you could have killed yours,” Alastor dismissed. He flipped the devil off with both hands. “Die salty about it, bitch.”
“Alastor!” Charlie started to scold him.
Lucifer squawked and spluttered in protest, but didn't exactly deny it.
Angel snickered and had to turn his face, shoulders shaking. It wasn't funny. It really wasn't …
Alastor shoved Rooster out of his seat onto the floor, and took his spot next to Angel.
“Ha ha! Now we have something interesting to bond over! I don't care why you did it, but please feel welcome to tell me details ….”
The spider raised an eyebrow. “You first.”
“Very well then.” He cleared his throat.
“Uh, Al - Alastor, perhaps we should get back on track -” Charlie attempted.
Alastor pretended not to hear her.
“I disassembled mine completely. Using an axe!” He said, absurdly proud. “Limbs first, of course. I torniqueted the stumps so he could watch the alligators fight over the meat. It was at least ten minutes of glorious non-stop screaming.
“After he slipped into shock, he was no fun, so I rolled what was left of him into the water, so they could eat the rest.”
The silence was deafening.
“Oh. That's cool," Angel said casually. “Mine took about three and a half hours to die. Shot him in the gut. BANG!”
Several residents jumped.
“A-Angel -” Charlie tried helplessly to regain control. “I don't think -”
“Marvelous! Did he scream?”
Angel laughed humorlessly. “Like a little bitch! He gave me the whole works. Begging, crying, calling me his ‘son’. All the while writhing on the brand new persian rug, holding in his intestines.”
“Yes, and then?” Alastor looked like a kid on Christmas.
“Well, when he finally realized I was gonna sit in his chair and just watch him die, he disowned me again. Big shock. Then he cried some more, and cussed me out until he coughed up too much blood and drowned in it.”
“Ha ha! Yes, all their true colors come out in the end, don't they?” Alastor grinned darkly.
(There was static on the edge of his voice and in it, Angel could hear the echoes of rage, grief and pain.)
Angel felt understood.
“No kidding. And all the fuckin’ double standards! He can raise a hand to his whole family, but I'm a disgrace for doing crack and mindin’ my own fucking business?”
“Exactly! What absolute horseshit is that?! Fathers are the worst. They should court politely, spawn their children, then go die in a hole with all the other useless parasites.”
“Guys!” Vaggi interrupted, taking control. “I understand you're venting, but another time, maybe? Moving on. Crimini, it's your turn.”
Charlie nodded, wide eyed, and just like that, the focus was off both of them. Lucifer looked like he had been dragged through a field of emotional landmines, but at least he kept his mouth shut.
Angel felt less alone than he could remember. The relief was almost exhausting.
“We should have a drink later,” Al murmured conspiratorily in his ear before Angel could suggest it himself.
Angel gave the cannibal a genuine smile. “Sure, why not?”
He sat back in his chair, feeling a rush of relief, and only half-listened to the rest of the session.