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The bar smelled like sweat and cheap gin, but all Angel could pick out was Husk—smoke and whiskey, the scent that clung to his memory like tar. Angel had spotted those big red wings instantly—not that he ever missed them. He was always looking.
Especially recently.
After that blowout between them. They hadn’t fought like that since the night Husk had come after him—the night they’d started really being friends.
He pushed those thoughts aside as Ridge started on the piano. Angel always took his drag acts seriously. They were possibly the only thing down here that he really did for himself. He loved it. He got to dress up all pretty, do his makeup bolder, and no one expected him to take his clothes off.
But, more importantly, Husk was watching. And Angel couldn't help but care.
Even if he shouldn't.
He poured himself into every move, every note, feeling Husk’s eyes like heat on his skin. It wasn’t just performing anymore—it was confessing without words. Every customer had Husk's face, his whiskey-soaked scent. Every note he sang was to that sad old cat.
He glanced at the real man as he passed near the bar. Husk looked stunned, his eyes glued to Angel. A little thrill rolled down Angel's spine. He'd never seen that look on the bar cat before.
He kept his focus on his performance fairly well, but there was a particular line he couldn't help but look at Husk for.
In finding what you seek.
Angel had already found it. It was a shame he'd never actually have it. But he could dream.
When he was done, he hurried back out front, pausing in the shadows to watch Husk for a moment. He was surrounded by empty glasses. Hard to say if that really meant he was drunk. No one could drink like Husk could.
He looked lonely bent over the bar top—no one else around him. Angel wondered what he was even doing here. He could be getting shit-faced at the hotel. For free.
Husk’s big hand wrapped around his glass, casual as always. Angel watched the flex of his fingers, the small smile that ghosted his lips—and it hurt, wanting something that simple. Husk would never love him the way he loved the bottle.
He banished the thought to the dark recesses of his mind before heading toward the bar. They never saw each other outside of the hotel. He wasn't about to pretend he hadn't seen Husk. Maybe the cat would finally talk to him—stop being mad.
Screw it. He wasn’t going to let this fester any longer.
"Hey, loser."
He didn't have to touch Husk, lean into his space, keep the sultry voice from his performance. But he did it anyway.
And was rewarded with a mother fucking blush as Husk realized he was there. Husk had definitely never done that before. He let his hand trail across the cat's back as he headed for his seat—unwilling to lose that connection until he had to.
"Finally livin' up ta your name, huh?" he teased as he indicated to the bartender he wanted a drink.
"I didn't know you performed here," Husk slurred heavily.
Holy shit. He was beyond wasted—that explained the blush.
"I'm a man a many jobs," he replied as he pulled the wig from his head. "One of em, being a woman."
Angel accepted his drink just before Husk dropped the bombshell.
"Well, I quit," he blurted.
Angel’s breath caught, the sound of the bar fading to static. The words hit like a sucker punch—I quit. His fingers tightened on the glass, knuckles white.
His eyes shot to Husk, but he wasn't looking at Angel. More interested in his drink. A sick feeling rose from his gut and Angel swallowed down his vomit.
"Wow. Uh, I-I mean, I-I guess since Alastor ain't around anymore…"
Angel focused on his drink as he tried to keep his face even. If he didn't, he might cry.
"Ya don't really need ta, but, um…"
I'll miss you. I need you. Please don't leave me.
"Still..."
His throat tightened with the desire to just tell Husk how he felt—beg him to stay.
But the words caught in his throat, nearly choking him. He couldn't—wouldn't say it. If he did and Husk didn't care…
"That hotel's a bigger mess than we are," Husk said, laughing.
"Pff, yeah," Angel agreed. "I think my botched redemption arc was proof a that."
He wanted to laugh with Husk, but couldn't find it in himself. First he failed the hotel, now Husk was leaving. Just more proof Angel wasn't worth shit. Not worth redemption, not worth sticking around for.
At least he was good for one thing. And that would never change. He knew the truth now. There was nothing else for him down here. Just an endless lifetime of abuse.
His fault. He was only getting what he deserved.
"Sorry for pushing you into that," Husk said, his ears dropping. "Shouldve realized it was a—"
He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. It was sweet that Husk had believed in him for a minute, but there wasn't any need for that anymore. "Eh, it's fine."
He looked at himself in the bar's mirror. Pretty on the outside. Ugly as the rest of the assholes down here.
"I've accepted that redemption's not really for people like me." He gave a short, humorless laugh, not able to conjure a real one. He saw the look on Husk's face—the pity. He had to change the subject before he drowned.
Besides, he needed to know while he had the chance to ask. He gave Husk an uncertain smile. "Are you still mad I saved your life?"
Husk turned away.
"I wasn't really mad," he admitted. "I... I'm just not worth saving. This, this here is what I'm meant for. Just a sad drunk at a bar."
Angel's chest ached. Weren't they just the pair? Couple of sad losers. He pushed aside his own pain, wanting to ease Husk's.
So he smiled, trying to behave like he normally would. "And I'm just a sex worker in a dress. Whose lunch was three cigarettes. To being us."
He lifted his glass, hand shaking just enough to rattle the ice. He hoped Husk wouldn’t notice—just clink his glass and make it feel like something still mattered. He was relieved when he did and they both drank.
Angel's phone buzzed. Damn. He almost forgot he had a shoot. "Oh, speaking of other jobs, I got a film shoot."
The last thing he wanted to do was walk away, not knowing when, or if, he'd see Husk again. The thought made him incredibly sad. He couldn't let this be it.
He got up, moving away as he confidently told Husk. "See ya at the hotel tonight whiskers."
Maybe if he refused to accept it, Husk wouldn't either. Did he care enough?
"No, no, no, you won't," Husk called out to his back.
Angel mustered up every bit of acting skills he had, tossing Husk a confident wave. "Yeah I will."
There was a hole inside him, widening with every step—like someone tearing a seam he didn’t know was there. He really hoped Husk came back. But hope was dangerous in Hell—it always disappointed.
~~~~~
The cab ride wasn’t nearly long enough. He tried to focus on his script—say the words right, breathe right, don’t piss Val off—but Husk kept slipping into his thoughts like static through a radio. Every time he blinked, he saw that grumpy face softening for him, those tired eyes.
He just wanted to get this over with. Go home. See Cherri and Nuggs. Maybe Husk too. If he was lucky.
When the cab stopped and Val opened the door, Angel launched into speech, clinging to the familiar rhythm. It grounded him. Work always did.
"Hey, so is this line more like a—" He moaned dramatically, just the way his audience loved. "Or a 'Ooh, yeah, yeah, yeah. No! Yes.'?"
He looked up just in time to see Val’s faint smile twist into a scowl. Oh, shit. Something was wrong.
"Change of plans," Val said, clipped and cold. "You were bought out for the night. In there."
Angel leaned out the door, looking at the seedy motel, quickly trying to change gears. The night smelled of oil and rot, the kind of air that clung to your clothes. Neon lights buzzed and flickered weakly over the motel sign, their glow reflecting in puddles of oily rainwater. The open door Val pointed to was a black mouth, yawning.
He hated that kind of job—the kind you didn’t come back from the same. His stomach turned, but he forced a grin, shifting into the mask.
"Oh? Uh, well, okay, I-I'll..." he trailed off as he got out. Val's eyes glued to his phone. "Do I collect for you, or-or have they paid?"
Val only squeaked in annoyance and growled as he walked away.
Angel grinned, giving Val his best seductive voice. "I'll do my best, Daddy."
Ignored.
Angel's smile fell.
"Tha fuck?" he muttered as he followed, but Val’s expression stayed carved in stone.
The moth leaned against the doorframe, jerking a thumb toward the darkness beyond. The air inside was cold, stale, and thick with rot. Angel's skin crawled, his arms wrapping tight around himself. Val never handed him off like this. Not without a smirk. Not without money changing hands.
He shot one last look at Val, searching for some sign that he was overreacting. But Val wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He pressed his back to the door, took a deep breath, and pulled that Angel Dust persona over himself—stuffing down his fears. Then he pushed through the door.
The smell hit first: mildew, cigarettes, and something sour beneath. The room looked empty, shadows hunched in every corner.
"Oh? You shy, big boy?"
No response. What the Hell?
"Or are ya just like really small or somethin'?"
He checked the bed, the bathroom, even the space under the desk. No one.
The door slammed shut.
He screamed and whirled around, heart crashing in his chest.
Vox.
His glow bled through the dark, his grin pixelated and sharp.
Dick.
Angel's fury flared. "Vox. What are you—"
He was cut off as one of Vox's cords whipped out from his back, grabbed Angel by the throat, and slammed him to the ground. The cords felt alive—metal slick with heat and static. They hissed as they tightened, burning his throat until he couldn’t breathe.
"Sorry for the sudden visit. I just need to borrow that empty little head of yours."
Fingers like cold steel clamped around his jaw, forcing his gaze upward. The second Angel met that swirling red eye, the world began to slip sideways.
He jerked his head away, choking, clawing at the cord. Vox’s hand dug into his face, another yanking his hair so hard his scalp burned. It hurt, but he'd had worse. And Vox could go fuck himself.
"I'd like ta see you fuckin' try," Angel hissed through the strain.
Vox managed to turn his head and Angel spit on his screen. The grin that spread across it curdled his insides.
"Mmm."
The backhand came fast. Metal-tipped claws split his cheek, and he hit the bed with a strangled cry. The air rushed out of him.
He stared up at Vox in horror as the man calmly wiped the spit from his face.
"I've been wanting to do that for so fucking long," Vox said, almost conversational.
Angel had been hit before, more times than he could count, but something in Vox’s calm voice twisted deeper than pain. This wasn’t punishment—it was pleasure.
Angel scrambled backward on shaking limbs, his heart punching against his ribs. The nearest door—the bathroom. He ran for it.
"You stubborn fucking whore."
A cord lashed out, slamming the door shut before he could reach it. The crack echoed through the room.
"More trouble than you're worth."
His spine pressed flat against the wood. Vox’s shadow loomed. Angel’s breath came in shallow gasps. He’s goin' ta kill me. He’s actually goin' ta kill me.
He bolted sideways, vaulting over the bed toward the exit.
"Sure glad I found a use for you," Vox said.
Something whipped around his waist. He was yanked midair, hurled across the room. Glass shattered as he hit the shelves—shards biting into his back and shoulders. The pain came sharp and bright, and before he could even gasp—
Electricity.
It tore through him, white-hot, numbing and burning all at once. His body convulsed so violently he thought his bones might splinter. The acrid stench of burnt fur clawed at his nose.
The air filled with a shriek of static, drowning out his own scream.
And he screamed until his voice broke. Cords wrapped around his limbs were the only thing holding him up.
"Ah, it's almost cute how you scream every time," Vox laughed, dropping him.
He hit with a bone-jarring thud. He tried to push himself back up, panting hard, but his body wasn't cooperating.
Then he froze as Vox's words penetrated his brain.
"What?"
"Oh, poor little Angel Dust."
A hand grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the cabinet. The impact left his ears ringing. He sounded so pleased with himself as he taunted Angel.
"How do you think I was always one step ahead of the princess?"
He was lifted like a doll, shoved into the top shelf. His vision swam. Vox leaned over him.
"Or how I knew the angels were coming?"
Air. He needed air. He kicked uselessly as Vox hauled him up by the throat again, spinning him around like a prize on display.
"Or that Lucifer couldn't do anything to me?"
He knew in his gut that something horrible was about to happen. He hated the panicked noises that burst out of him, but he could barely think. Pain wracked his body and fear held his mind hostage.
Angel pulled his gun, but a cord snapped out, knocking it away before he could blink. Pain came again—blinding, searing, endless. His scream cracked raw. Make it stop, make it stop—
Vox's grinning screen stared up at him and Angel covered his face—trying to block out his blue light.
"Think back. Any late-night jobs you can't quite remember?"
Cords grabbed his wrists, slowly prying his hands from his face. The panic was suffocating. Vox was enjoying this—loving his fear. And no one could stop him.
Not even Val.
Don’t look. Don’t look at him.
"There wasn't a moment I haven't been watching," Vox laughed. His one eye grew big again, black swirling through it. Red dripped from his manic grin.
Angel's vision filled with static, then scenes flickered across his mind—half-memory, half-nightmare. Himself, blank-eyed, taking pictures of the hotel. Texting Vox. Smiling while he betrayed everyone.
Charlie’s excited face. Husk’s quiet trust. All of it rotting under his hands.
When the world snapped back, he was in a chair, cords tight around his body. He trembled, head swimming.
"What? No. I-I would never—" The words broke on his tongue. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But the memories said otherwise.
No, no, no—he would’ve known. He would’ve felt it. Husk would’ve noticed.
His stomach turned over, bile rising in his throat. He wanted to claw the memories out of his own skull.
Vox turned the chair, beaming like he’d won something grand. "Oh, but you already did. You've been a wonderful spy for me, Angel Dust. But I think your time at the hotel has come to an end," he informed Angel as he walked away.
Angel’s head dropped, tears forming in his eyes as he closed them. The fight drained out of him, replaced by something colder.
Charlie’s smile, bright as heavenlight—too pure for a place like this. The hope she’d worn like a crown. Her laughter echoing in the hotel halls. He’d destroyed that. Her dream. Her heart.
Charlie always said they were family—perhaps the first one that had ever truly accepted him.
Maybe that was what Hell really was: repeating your sins over and over.
He’d destroyed his real family when he killed his father. Now he’d destroyed this one.
When he told Husk he didn't deserve redemption, he'd had no idea just how right he really was.
Husk.
He bit back a sob. He should’ve told him. Should’ve said it, just once. Now he’d never know if Husk ever felt the same—or if that had only been another fantasy.
Vox’s voice slithered close, mock-sweet. "Aw, don’t look so upset." Cold fingers clamped on his face. "Velvette’s gonna make sure you look great for your presentation."
He gripped Angel’s throat again, forcing him upright. Angel strained against it, a raw, instinctive fight.
With Val, there were rules. Bruises you could hide, tears you could drink away. Vox wanted nothing left.
Why’s Val lettin' this happen? The thought came weak, hopeless. Why’s nobody stoppin' him?
The air around them buzzed like the inside of a broken television, every hair on his arms standing on end.
Vox wrenched his head toward the mirror. Angel saw himself—eyes wide, face cut, shaking—and the sight made something inside him snap. He pushed back with his heels, desperate to escape the reflection, the grin behind him.
The red eye filled his vision. The static roared louder.
He screamed in defiance—one last, ragged sound.
He tried to remember Husk’s voice. The way it softened when he said his name. Anything to hold onto. But even that memory was flickering, swallowed by static.
Don’t let him take this. Don’t let him take Husk too.
And the last thing he saw was Husk’s soft smile at the bar.
The last thing he thought was that he’d never see it again.
And then he had no thoughts.
His body slumped over—empty, waiting.
"Let's go. We've got work to do."
He stood, following Vox toward the door. They had work to do.