Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

🎇 “First Contact”

Husker pov:

The dust hadn’t settled yet.

It clung to the air like smoke, thick and coppery, turning every breath into a memory he didn’t want to keep. Husk stood in the middle of the wreckage with his shoulders heaving and his wings still halfway out — stretched and trembling like they hadn’t been used in decades. Because they hadn’t.

His claws twitched at his sides. His jaw was locked tight. His vision pulsed in deep reds and golds, magic still fizzing just behind his eyes, not quite fading. Not quite under control.

The floor beneath him was cracked — gouged from where his fists had landed. The walls were scorched with the shape of something that had tried to get in his way and didn’t make it far.

He didn’t remember how long it had lasted. Just that something inside him had broken loose the second he heard Angel scream. And after that? It was all noise.

Until now.

Now, it was quiet.

Except… not completely.

There were footsteps behind him. Soft ones. Familiar. Hesitating near the doorway before approaching carefully, slowly, like someone trying to soothe a wild animal with just their voice.

But Angel didn’t speak.

Husk barely blinked when he felt the hand on his chest — just over his heart. Warm. Grounding. Careful.

The magic under his skin surged once. He didn’t move.

“You still in there, old man?” Angel’s voice came, not teasing this time. Just soft.

Husk didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was dry, like something had scorched it shut. He was too aware of how close Angel was. Too aware of the fact that Angel hadn’t pulled his hand away.

And most of all, he was too aware that he hadn’t flinched from it.

The air between them buzzed — not with tension, but something quieter. Something heavier.

“You look like hell,” Angel tried again, gently. “A really dramatic kind of hell.”

Husk finally shifted his eyes to look at him. Angel was bruised too, limping a little, dirt smudged into the fur at his jawline. But his hand never wavered. Still pressed to Husk’s chest like it belonged there.

“…You always this handsy when a guy’s got wings out?” Husk rasped, voice rough and dry.

Angel huffed a soft laugh, but didn’t move away. “Only when they look like they’re gonna fall over.”

Husk didn’t tell him how close he was.

Didn’t admit how hard it was to stand.

Didn’t say a word about how the one thing keeping him upright was the warmth of that goddamn touch.

Instead, he blinked slow and said, “You’re not scared of me, huh?”

Angel’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “No,” he said simply. “Should I be?”

Husk looked away.

“…No.”

⛓️‍💥 “What Came Before”

Husker pov:

Earlier that night…

The only warning had been the sound.

A scream — sharp and guttural — the kind that cracked something in Husk’s chest before his brain even registered who it belonged to. But he knew. Of course he knew. He’d been cataloguing Angel Dust’s every laugh, every sigh, every fearful breath since the spider demon first staggered into his life and started asking questions Husk didn’t want to answer.

And now he was screaming.

It wasn’t the usual Hell kind of scream either. Not bravado, not show. Real.
Choked and frantic. Cornered.

Husk had been behind the bar. He’d only taken a few steps toward the hallway before everything inside him snapped.

⸻

It always started in his chest.
That faint hum — like a radio signal trying to push through static. It pulsed along his spine, down to the ends of his fingers, until his claws curled against his palms to try and contain it.

But tonight… there was no containing it.

The heat burst through him in waves — slow at first, like coals catching flame. Then faster. Unrelenting. Old magic surged from beneath the surface of his skin, golden and molten, licking out from under his eyes and across the creases of his hands like firelight crawling up a wick. His fur stood on end, bristling against the shift.

And then came the crack.

A splitting seam ran down his back, not physical — not exactly. But it felt like armor breaking. Or maybe the shell of something long buried finally shedding.

The wings came next. Massive. Dark. Older than most of the souls crawling through Hell. They unfurled with a violent jerk as if they’d been wrenched free from stone. And in a way… they had.

He wasn’t just some drunk cat who’d been stitched together from vices and left to rot. Husk had once been something else entirely — a creature bound by enchantment, anchored into a gargoyle’s frame as both penance and protection.

That spell had eroded over time. So had he.

But tonight, that protective layer cracked open like volcanic rock splitting at the seams.

It didn’t come out as a scream. It came out as heat.

As fury.

As purpose.

He surged forward without thinking, following the scent of blood and panic. The hallway blurred past him in gold and shadow. When he reached the room, he didn’t remember opening the door. Didn’t remember crossing the floor.

All he remembered was the sound of Angel’s voice. Broken. Small.

“Don’t —! Don’t come any closer—!”

And someone else standing in the way.

Some demon with too many arms and not nearly enough instinct.

There was no hesitation.

Husk moved.

And the ancient magic didn’t just accompany him — it poured from him. His claws were aflame with gold. His wings, wide and furious, slammed outward with a guttural gust that shattered glass and sent the trespasser flying across the wall like they’d been struck by a comet.

The heat in the room climbed. The bar’s ceiling tiles cracked.

And still, he held back. Just barely.

Because Angel was there. And he couldn’t afford to lose control of it all.

He stood in the center of the wreckage, body heaving, magic crackling across his limbs like it had missed him. Like it had waited centuries to taste air again.

And once the threat was gone, Husk didn’t chase. He didn’t speak.
He just stood there, wings drawn wide, golden light glowing in his eyes and chest like the cracked surface of an old cathedral window lit from within.

He could still feel Angel behind him. Could hear his breath — quick and shallow.

But he didn’t turn around.

Not yet.

He needed a second. Just one second to remember where he was — who he was — and that the body he was standing in wasn’t a weapon anymore.

Or at least it wasn’t supposed to be.

🕷️ “Aftermath”

Angel Dust pov:

He couldn’t breathe right.

Angel was still backed against the wall, breath caught in his throat, legs trembling from where he’d collapsed after everything went quiet. There was blood on his lip. Not a lot, but enough to remind him this hadn’t been a hallucination. This happened.

And Husk…
Husk was glowing.

Not metaphorically. Not like cute boy-in-sunlight glowing.
Real glow. Gold, raw, ancient.

There was something in the air around him — a humming charge, like the moment before lightning hits, like the world holding its breath because something divine had cracked open in the middle of Hell. And it was standing with its wings stretched out wide, heat rolling off its shoulders, steam curling from the edges of its fur like the earth itself had boiled up beneath him.

Husk wasn’t moving.

Not anymore.

He just stood there, shoulders drawn up, head bowed, fists loose at his sides. One of his wings twitched, folding slightly. He looked like he was… waiting.

Or maybe trying to make himself small again.

And that’s what did it.

Not the wings. Not the magic. Not the wall that cracked clean down the middle from how hard he’d thrown that demon. No — it was the way Husk stood there like he was sorry for it. Like he expected someone to punish him for trying to protect something.

For trying to protect him.

Angel pushed himself off the floor slowly, testing his legs. He winced at the pull in his side but ignored it. His eyes never left Husk’s back.

“You always had wings like that?” he whispered, unsure if he was speaking to himself.

The other didn’t answer. Just kept breathing — heavy, ragged, shoulders twitching now and then like the weight of what had happened was only just catching up with him.

Angel stepped forward.

One step. Then another.

It felt wrong to speak again. Like words would only make the moment collapse under its own weight. So instead, he did the only thing he could think of.

He reached out.

Carefully. Cautiously. Like touching something holy — or haunted.

And when his hand pressed lightly to Husk’s back, just between the wings, the heat there surprised him. Not fiery. Not unbearable. Just steady. Like the heat that lives in a hearth, not a wildfire. And under his palm, Husk flinched — just barely — but didn’t pull away.

Angel swallowed, barely breathing.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay. I’m okay…”

He moved his hand, slower now, up toward Husk’s shoulder, until his fingers brushed over thick, warm fur. He could still feel the magic thrumming underneath it all, but it was retreating — like a tide slipping back into the ocean after the storm had passed.

“You didn’t scare me,” Angel whispered. “You hear me?”

Still nothing.

So he stepped closer — close enough that they were almost touching.
And with a breath, he moved his hand again — this time, pressing it right over Husk’s heart.

“You saved me.”

🪨🎇 “The Stone That Moved”

Angel Dust pov:

This moment lives in that surreal, half-lit emotional space — heavy with heat and aftermath, but also with reverence. Husk might not be fully present yet, not fully aware of what Angel is saying, but Angel says it anyway. Because he has to. Because someone needs to. Still intimate, still hushed, still unfolding like prayer over embers.

He wasn’t even sure if Husk could hear him.

Not really.

Not the words anyway. His ears twitched when Angel spoke, sure, but there was a faraway look in his eyes — if you could even call them eyes right now.

They were molten. Not red. Not gold. Something in-between, glowing behind the irises like floodlight filtered through cathedral glass.
Like the remnants of something divine forced to exist inside something so worn down.

Angel had never seen them like that before.
He couldn’t look away.

He moved his hand up from Husk’s chest and gently cupped his cheek. The warmth there startled him — not scorching, but dense, like the heat that radiates from sunbaked stone. Husk’s breathing was slowing now, rough but not panicked, the kind that came with exhaustion more than adrenaline.

“Hey,” Angel whispered again, not expecting a reply, just needing to fill the air with something that wasn’t silence. “It’s me. Just me. You’re alright.”

The lights overhead flickered again from whatever lingering power still simmered in the air. Something about it felt ancient. Not demonic. Not even infernal. Older.
Older than either of them.

Angel’s eyes trailed upward, following the slope of Husk’s shoulder, past the torn remnants of his shirt, to the wings still stretched behind him like a creature carved from midnight.

That’s what he looked like.
Like a gargoyle.

Not the kind decorating crumbling Hell buildings — no. The real kind.
The kind that only moved when no one was looking. The kind that stood guard over something worth protecting.

And maybe Husk didn’t know that’s what he was right now. Maybe he couldn’t feel it.

But Angel could.

“You look like a fuckin’ statue brought to life,” Angel murmured, voice hushed like he was afraid to break whatever spell had been cast. “Like something that burst outta the stone just ‘cause I called out for help.”

Still no answer.

But Husk’s head tilted just slightly into his hand. Just slightly. Like instinct.
Like recognition.

Angel’s throat tightened.

“…I’m not scared of you,” he said again. “I’m not.”

He let his thumb brush just under one glowing eye — careful not to flinch when the golden light flickered like a flame.

“I think I’m actually relieved,” he admitted, softly. “You were there. You heard me. And you didn’t… you didn’t even hesitate.”

There were blood smears on his fingers now — some of it his, some of it not. None of it seemed to matter.

Angel took a shaky breath and rested his forehead against Husk’s for a moment, letting the warmth settle over him like a cloak. Letting himself be quiet, too.

For once, they didn’t need to perform.

They just were.

The stone gargoyle had moved. And Angel had watched it happen.

🪨🩶 “Cooling Stone”

Husker pov:

Coming back was the hardest part.

Not the fighting. Not the magic. Not even the sound of the scream that ripped it all loose.

No, the hardest part was the quiet.

The moment after the fire dies down and you’re left standing in the ashes, heart still beating like war drums, but there’s nothing left to kill. Nothing left to protect. Nothing but yourself — and Husk never learned how to protect that.

He wasn’t sure when his knees had started to shake.

Wasn’t sure how long Angel had been touching him, speaking to him in those hushed tones that sounded far too gentle for Hell. It filtered in through the static slowly — like a radio station just out of range, crackling in and out, but stubborn enough to stay present.

His body ached. In ways he was used to, and in ways he hadn’t felt in a long time.

That ancient power had come too fast. Too raw. It wasn’t meant to sit under his skin anymore — not really. It had been buried like bones in bedrock for a reason. And now that it had clawed its way back out…

He exhaled shakily.

The glow behind his eyes pulsed again, weaker now. Slipping. Fading.

Good.

He was so tired.

But he could feel Angel’s palm still cradling his cheek. He hadn’t moved away, not even now. And Husk… didn’t hate it.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t growl or shove him off.

Because in the space where the magic had lived, something else had started settling in.

Warmth.

Not the kind that burned. Not rage or wrath. Something… smaller. Quieter. Dangerous in a whole different way.

“Still here?” he rasped, the words sandpapered against his throat. His voice barely sounded like his own.

He felt Angel nod against him.

“…Good.”

His arms felt too heavy to move. His wings were dragging him down like stone anchors, still half-unfurled behind him. They trembled when he tried to pull them in. Like old joints, half-rusted.

God, when did I get so old…?

The crackle in his spine had eased. The heat under his skin simmered down to dying embers. He could smell dust. Ash. Blood. And beneath all of it — Angel.

Not cologne. Not perfume. Just him. Sweat and hairspray and whatever powdered sugar scent clung to his soul no matter how much dirt tried to bury it.

Husk slowly blinked. The world stopped swimming.

Angel’s eyes were watching him. Really watching him.

Not afraid. Not wide-eyed. Not cautious.

Present.

“You got a real stubborn streak, you know that?” Husk murmured, mouth tugging up at the corner.

Angel smiled — small, tired. “Takes one to know one.”

He finally pulled back just enough to see him clearer. The bleeding lip. The messy fur. The little quiver in his fingers that said he’d been just as wrecked as Husk — maybe not in the same way, but damn close.

And he stayed.

Husk let his eyes close again for a beat, feeling the weight of the moment press in around him. He wasn’t a statue anymore. Not buried. Not silent.

He was warm.

And he was seen.

🕷️ “Guided Hands”

Angel Dust pov:

Angel didn’t say anything at first.

Just shifted one of his hands from Husk’s cheek down to the side of his arm, his palm skating gently over burned-out fur, warm skin, the tremble still lingering in muscle that didn’t usually let itself shake. Husk was still on his feet, but Angel could see the weight of it all was starting to hit.

That heroic burst of molten fury was spent now.

All that power had drained right out of him, like a lion shrinking back into its sleep. What was left standing there was still a beast — but a tired one. One that was starting to realize the ground was uneven under its feet.

Angel stepped closer, hands moving with careful confidence, and murmured low by Husk’s shoulder, “C’mon, big guy… Let’s get you off your feet, huh?”

Husk didn’t argue.

Didn’t growl or brush him off or try to pretend like he could hold himself together on sheer willpower alone. His wings twitched like they wanted to fold but didn’t quite know how to yet. He was clearly running on fumes, and Angel wasn’t about to let him collapse on cold stone.

So, slowly — one small tug at a time — Angel guided him backward toward the low loveseat up against the side wall. Husk’s boots dragged slightly, heavy with sweat and dust and power long spent. But he moved.

When they got there, Angel kept one hand at the small of Husk’s back as he slowly lowered down. The chimera sat stiffly at first — back straight, like he expected to be called back into battle at any second. But Angel didn’t move far. He sat on the edge of the cushion beside him, body turned inward, close but not crowding.

“Easy,” Angel coaxed. “You’re not gonna shatter on me.”

Husk huffed out a weak scoff, his claws curling into the cushion.

“You’d be surprised,” he rasped.

Angel gave a half-smile, soft around the edges. “Not scared of breakin’ you either.”

There was no witty comeback. Husk’s eyes had dimmed from gold-hot inferno down to a quiet ember, but they were still smoldering — and still watching him, like they were trying to read something behind Angel’s expression.

Angel caught his gaze and held it. Let him.

Then his eyes drifted down to the scrapes on Husk’s hands.

“Okay, sit still a sec.”

Husk groaned low in his throat, but didn’t stop him.

Angel reached behind the small end table and pulled the first aid kit he’d clocked earlier. He popped the lid, hands already moving like this wasn’t his first rodeo. It wasn’t. Not with this guy.

“Bet you didn’t even notice you got cut again,” Angel muttered under his breath, inspecting the marks. Some were healing — faint pink scars from before, still rough from July. Others were fresh, shallow slices from shattered glass or maybe a wall that tried fighting back. His thumb brushed carefully around the worst one.

“Y’didn’t even use your magic this time, huh?”

“…Didn’t need to,” Husk grumbled, eyes slanting half-shut. “Just muscle.”

Angel glanced up at that.

Yeah, that tracks.

It made the fact he was glowing even more insane. Husk hadn’t unleashed all of it. He could’ve. That power was still in there, just buried. Bound. A creature of stone and ember, protecting what he gave a damn about until the last shard of him broke.

Angel took in a breath and reached for the antiseptic.

“This’ll sting. Don’t punch me.”

“No promises.”

Angel smirked. The familiar rhythm settled in his hands — cleaning, wrapping. No dramatics. No flirtation. Just care.

But he did sneak one last look at Husk’s face.

His jaw was still clenched, sure. He was tired. Wrecked. But his eyes were watching every movement Angel made, soft with something he didn’t know how to say out loud. And under all that roughness, Angel thought he saw it again — the same look that had glowed like gold:

Relief.

🥀🐖 “Piggy Bank Magic and Unspoken Grins”

Husker pov/shifting to third person with interior thoughts:

The calm after the storm never lasted long in this place.

Husk had just let himself settle. Muscles no longer trembling. Wings finally drawn inward, heavy against his back like cooling armor. Angel was still beside him — still touching him in small, careful ways, like he hadn’t quite accepted that Husk wasn’t about to erupt again.

The silence in the room felt thick. Sacred, almost.

Which was exactly why it couldn’t last.

The soft creak of polished flats on marble gave Niffty away long before her voice did.

She stepped into the room with the kind of hesitant energy that tried very hard not to feel like a celebration. But Husk had known her too long, too well. The moment his glowing eyes tracked over and found her lingering in the archway — pink fingers gripping the frame, one heel bouncing on the floor like it physically pained her not to squeal — he huffed and tilted his head toward her with the driest deadpan he could summon.

“Just say it, Niff.”

“What?” she blinked innocently, hands behind her back now.

“Whatever it is you’re about to combust holdin’ in.”

“I don’t—! I mean—” Her voice hiccupped with enthusiasm as she quickly made her way toward him, skirt fluttering like a flag behind her. “I wasn’t gonna say anything! I mean I was gonna but only if you wanted me to—”

Husk raised a brow.

Niffty folded like a cheap napkin.

“Okay FINE,” she burst, flinging her arms upward with a grin she couldn’t restrain. “You’re glowing. Like really glowing. And not just your fur or the wings — which, by the way, hello, those are back too! — but the magic, Husk. It’s here again. I haven’t seen it like that in—” her voice trailed off and softened, reverent now. “Since the glory days.”

Husk looked away, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Angel blinked between the two of them, visibly surprised. “Wait, you knew?”

“Oh, I knew,” Niffty said, eyes shining with too many memories to count. “He just thought he could hide it forever.”

“And I was doin’ a damn fine job of it too,” Husk muttered, pulling his hand away from the gauze Angel had just finished wrapping, flexing his claws absently.

Angel glanced down at the half-dried blood and bruised knuckles. “Kinda hard to hide a magic temper tantrum when you go full nuclear Gargoyle Mode on someone.”

“Wasn’t magic,” Husk said lowly. “Was just… strength.”

But even as he said it, he knew they wouldn’t believe him. Because the air had changed when it happened. Magic had buzzed in the walls like feedback through blown speakers. His eyes still hadn’t entirely gone back to normal — and Niffty kept glancing at them like a kid who’d caught sight of a shooting star and wasn’t ready to let it vanish.

She gave him a look — tender, sharp. Knowing.
“You didn’t ‘use’ it, huh? You just let it out.”

Before Husk could answer, another presence slid into the room like a violin note just off key.

Alastor.

Grinning.

Too widely.

Too knowing.

And for once, too quiet.

“Well well well,” the Radio Demon cooed, voice syrup-smooth and resonating with low static. “I leave for one evening and return to find my favorite cat has finally cracked open his little piggy bank of power~.”

Husk didn’t even look at him. “Wasn’t for you.”

“Oh, I know,” Alastor said, positively beaming now. “Which makes it all the more thrilling. To see such discipline… such modesty in restraint…” He placed a hand over his heart like a proud theater director. “Truly — the effort you must’ve exerted to hold it back all these years. Admirable.”

Angel furrowed a brow. “Wait—you knew too?”

Alastor chuckled darkly. “Angel Dust, my dear boy, you don’t own the market on secrets. I’ve always known. It’s hard not to hear the echo of old power when you’ve once been singed by it.”

Husk still didn’t look up. He sipped slowly from the glass Angel had brought him, expression unreadable.

Niffty hovered a little closer now, kneeling near his legs with both hands folded in front of her like she was resisting the urge to cheer. “You really are back, aren’t you…?”

Husk finally glanced up, the corner of his mouth twitching. His voice was gruff but not unkind. “Don’t go gettin’ sappy on me, Niff.”

“Too late,” she said brightly, eyes misting again. “I already am.”

Alastor’s laughter trilled behind them like a warped melody.

Angel said nothing — still perched by Husk’s side, eyes tracing the small ripples of conversation, of reverence, of awe. He saw the way Alastor respected it. The way Niffty loved it. The way even he couldn’t stop staring at the embers left flickering behind those tired eyes.

And all Husk did was sip his drink, like it was just another night in Hell.

Because for him — maybe it was.

Chapter Text

💛 “Morning, Like Nothing’s Changed (But Everything Has)”

Husker pov:

Mornings sucked.
That much never changed.

And today, if anything, they sucked a little more.

The bar smelled like lemon oil and fresh wood glue — thanks to Niffty patching the floorboards near the counter before sunrise — and the espresso machine was half-reassembled from Angel’s impromptu “adventure” with it while trying to make coffee before Husk came back last night. He’d cleaned up most of the blood. Most. Enough that no one could complain.

But the hotel… was quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the bad kind. Not the kind that meant something was about to go wrong. No static crawling up his spine. No footsteps with the cadence of bad news. Just… a kind of awareness. Like the hotel itself was watching him now. Holding its breath.

And it wasn’t just the walls.

The way Vaggie had passed him in the hall earlier, saying nothing — but nodding. Just once. Not stiffly, not suspiciously. Respectfully. Like she knew something and chose not to press.

The way Charlie had peeked into the bar with misty eyes, smile trembling just slightly, and said, “I’m really glad you’re okay,” like it meant more than it sounded.

The way Niffty had gone back to bustling around him with practiced ease but kept sneaking little looks his way, the kind that were too proud to be subtle. Like she’d watched him walk back into his own body and hadn’t yet come down from it herself.

Even Fat Nuggets — little bastard — had brought him one of his stolen cherries this morning, waddled away like a delivery had been made to the castle guard.

And Angel…

Angel hadn’t said anything about it yet. Not directly. But he didn’t have to.

He’d sat next to Husk on the couch again when morning came. They’d watched the light change together. Drank bitter hotel coffee. No jokes. No flirting. Just a comfortable silence.

And Husk had let him stay.

Because something had shifted. The air between them had changed. It was heavier. Richer. Like Angel had seen through some layer Husk hadn’t even meant to show — and instead of backing away, he’d only gotten closer.

That was dangerous.

That was hellishly dangerous.

But Husk wasn’t backing away either.

Now, he leaned behind the bar — his domain, his armor — drying a glass with slow, automatic motions. His knuckles still ached. The golden hum that had burned under his skin all night was finally gone.

But the memory of it wasn’t.

And neither was the way they all looked at him now.

Not like a relic.

Not like a washed-up barfly who’d lost all his teeth.

But like something returning.

Something remembered.

Something alive.

Husk grunted softly to himself, turning the glass in his hand.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered into the quiet.

Didn’t expect an answer.

But the soft creak of footsteps made him glance up.

Angel again. Holding two mugs. Same sleepy smile. Same tired eyes.

He slid one across the counter without a word. Let their fingers brush.

Husk looked down at the mug. Cherry print. Heart-shaped handle. His mug. Of course.

He sighed.

“…Maybe I didn’t ask,” he muttered, “but maybe I stopped saying no.”

♥️ “Conversations Husk Didn’t Ask For (But Gets Anyway)”

Husker pov:

He should’ve known.
Should’ve known the second Niffty started humming that off-key little jazz tune while rearranging liquor bottles that she was up to something.

That tune only came out when she was scheming.

And sure enough, not two minutes after she’d reorganized the bourbon shelf for the fourth time, Charlie appeared in the doorway like some sunshine-colored harbinger of emotional labor.

Husk groaned softly. Audibly.

“Don’t start.”

Charlie blinked. “Start what?”

“You know what.”

She stepped inside anyway, all warm concern and that damned soft smile that made you feel like you were the one being unreasonable for not melting on command.

“I just wanted to see how you were feeling this morning,” she said, voice as gentle as a lullaby.

He kept drying a glass that didn’t need drying.

“M’fine.”

Charlie tilted her head. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

“You looked—”

“Still do.”

“Husk.”

He sighed. “Look, I appreciate the… whatever this is,” he muttered, waving vaguely in her direction, “but I don’t need a heart-to-heart, alright? I didn’t explode. I didn’t black out. I didn’t kill anyone. I just—burned off a little steam.”

Charlie smiled at him sadly. “You protected someone. That’s not ‘just’ anything.”

Behind her, Niffty was bouncing in place like a kid trying not to interrupt Christmas dinner. He could practically feel her vibrating with the need to say something, and after exactly four seconds of silence, she exploded.

“You should talk about it!” she chirped. “You should! It was beautiful, Husk — you were glowing like the old days! Like when you were really you, not just the crusty ol’ bartender version—”

“Niffty,” Husk growled.

She stopped. But only with her mouth. Her eyes were still talking plenty.

Husk scowled down at the counter and muttered under his breath. “You act like I turned into some damn phoenix or somethin’.”

“You kinda did,” Angel called from the booth, chin propped on his hand as he watched the chaos unfold. “Y’know, if a phoenix was pissed off and wore suspenders and drank like a fish.”

Charlie covered a smile with her hand. “Angel—”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’. Husk is still the same ol’ stubborn prude underneath it all, but I ain’t blind. That glowy golden gargoyle thing? That was somethin’ else.”

“I’m not a damn gargoyle,” Husk muttered.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Angel said with a wink. “I felt safer.”

That made Husk pause. Just a second. Barely enough to register.

But Charlie saw it. Of course she did.

“I’m not trying to push you, Husk,” she said softly. “I just… want you to know that you don’t have to carry all this alone. Whatever it is. Whatever it’s been. I know you’re strong. We all do. But you’re not just a protector anymore. You’re family.”

Husk’s ears twitched.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her.

Instead, he slowly set the towel down. Stared at the bar’s surface for a long beat. His voice, when it came, was low. Rough. Like gravel kicked underfoot.

“…I didn’t mean for any of it to show.”

Charlie stepped closer, her voice like sunlight through glass. “Maybe it was time.”

Behind her, Niffty made the smallest squeak of agreement.

Angel raised his coffee cup like a toast. “Told ya. Same old Husker. But with new sparkles.”

“Sparkles’ll get me killed,” Husk muttered.

Charlie smiled gently. “Or they’ll remind you that you’re still alive.”

Husk exhaled.

Didn’t agree.

Didn’t argue.

Just stood there. Let the quiet hum of the hotel hold him. Let his friends — his damn relentless friends — speak warmth into places he’d long since boarded up.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t shut the door on it.

🐈‍⬛🕷️ “The Evening Debrief (Two Beasts in Quiet Company)”

Angel Dust & Husker pov blend (intimate third person):

The hotel had gone quiet again.

Not the suspicious kind of quiet, not this time — just the soft, settled hush of a place that had already had its emotional climax for the day and was too tired to do anything but breathe.

Angel was curled up sideways in one of the velvet wingback chairs near the bar, drink in hand, legs draped dramatically over one arm of the seat like he belonged in an old noir film. He didn’t speak at first. He just watched.

Watched Husk finish closing down the bar for the night, like he always did. Watched the way his movements were a little more tired than usual — but also lighter somehow. Like something unspoken had been shed.

“Y’know,” Angel said eventually, breaking the comfortable silence, “you didn’t have to take on the whole damn world just to get us to shut up about your magic.”

Husk didn’t turn around. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Angel smirked, raising his drink. “I know. That’s what makes it hot.”

That got him a grunt. Not quite a laugh, but something adjacent.

Husk finally turned around after wiping down the last glass. His eyes were duller now, the gold mostly faded from their edges — but not gone. It was still in there, just waiting. Like coals under ash.

Angel sat up straighter, his tone shifting with a subtle undercurrent of warmth. “You okay?”

Husk shrugged. “Had worse days.”

Angel tilted his head, studying him for a beat too long. “You’re allowed to have feelings, y’know. No one’s gonna revoke your bar license or anything.”

“Feelings don’t help me mix a Manhattan.”

“Maybe not,” Angel said, swirling his drink, “but they help with other things.”

Husk narrowed an eye at him. “You tryna turn this into a therapy session?”

“Me?” Angel placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Never. Just sayin’… I like seein’ you light up like that. Like you actually give a damn.”

That stopped Husk mid-step.

Not because it was wrong. But because it was too right.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and poured a generous second drink for them both. No showmanship, no flair. Just the quiet, tired act of someone who didn’t want to be alone after the storm had passed.

Angel accepted the glass without a word. Clinked it gently against Husk’s. They sat there like that for a while — just drinking, listening to the faint hum of the hotel’s walls.

Then, just as Angel started to doze a little in his seat, he heard Husk grumble something under his breath.

“…I didn’t hate the look in your eyes.”

Angel cracked one open again. “What look?”

“When I… y’know. Came down from it. You looked at me like…” Husk hesitated, ears twitching once. “Like I was still worth lookin’ at.”

Angel stared at him for a long moment. No jokes. No flirt. Just that open, quiet honesty that always came out of him at the most unexpected times.

Then he smiled. Softly.

“You always were.”

The silence after that wasn’t awkward. It was full.

Eventually, Angel stood — stretched — and without a word, plucked one of the clean towels from behind the bar and walked over to Husk. He didn’t ask. Just dabbed at a small nick Husk had missed on his temple, the cloth catching a smudge of dried blood.

“Ya missed a spot,” Angel murmured.

Husk let him.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

Just breathed.

And in that breath, the hotel exhaled with him.

🐥🍎 “The Devil You Know”

Husker pov with Lucifer, Angel nearby:

It was mid-morning when Lucifer Morningstar arrived at the hotel.

No fanfare. No thunder. Just the gentle creak of the front door and the quiet hush that fell like mist across every floorboard and hallway in his wake. Husk could feel it before he saw it — like static on a frequency only the damned could hear. Something ancient. Something watching.

Lucifer always dressed like he owned the world and pitied it in equal measure. Crisp black coat, obsidian-tipped cane, red silk at his throat. He smiled as he entered the bar, all gentle dimples and unsettling charm.

“Ah,” Lucifer murmured as his eyes landed on Husk. “There you are. The king of spades himself.”

Husk didn’t straighten his posture. He didn’t blink either.

He just kept wiping the counter like the man who once ran entire gambling empires wasn’t standing ten feet from him.

Lucifer approached with a measured gait, his footsteps the quiet click of consequences yet to arrive.

Angel was perched in a nearby booth with Fat Nuggets dozing on his lap. He looked up, visibly tensing when he saw who had entered — and more importantly, who he was staring at.

Lucifer didn’t look at Angel. Not yet.

He kept his eyes on Husk.

“You know,” Lucifer said smoothly, “I’ve heard many things about the… incident.”

“I bet you have,” Husk muttered.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Lucifer rested his hands atop his cane. “It’s not every day that an overlord reawakens magic old enough to make my spine itch.”

“I didn’t use it,” Husk said flatly. “It just cracked.”

“Mm. And what a crack it was,” Lucifer mused. “Enough to send rumors all the way to the Pride Ring. Enough that my own daughter called me at three in the morning sobbing and swearing you looked like an angel carved from molten starlight.”

Angel’s head snapped toward Husk.

Husk’s ear twitched, jaw tightening. “Didn’t ask for that.”

Lucifer’s grin sharpened. “No. But it’s yours now.”

There was a long pause. Tension hung in the air like the last note of a hymn in a ruined chapel.

Husk finally looked up from the bar.

“You comin’ here to tell me to put it back in the box?”

Lucifer’s smile didn’t waver. “No. I came to see if you were going to use it.”

Angel sat forward. “Hey.”

Lucifer finally looked his way.

The air shifted.

Angel didn’t flinch, but he held Husk’s gaze when he spoke again. “He didn’t light up for fun, y’know. He did it because I needed him.”

Lucifer hummed. “I imagine he did. You’re… quite persuasive.”

Angel’s face didn’t change, but his fingers curled around Fat Nuggets just a little tighter.

Lucifer turned back to Husk, voice softening.

“I won’t interfere,” he said. “But I want you to remember something.”

“What.”

“You’re not the only one watching Alastor. Or Angel Dust. Or the long arc of power that’s begun to move again in this place.” His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, something ancient flickered behind his human smile. “Hell has a memory. And you were never just some bartender, Husker.”

He turned to leave — and paused.

“Oh, and do tell Niffty I’m delighted,” he added. “She was always very fond of the monsters with hearts. Aren’t we all?”

And then he was gone.

Like smoke.

The door never even creaked behind him.

Silence.

Husk let out a long breath and poured a shot without asking if Angel wanted one. Set it down in front of him anyway.

Angel stared at it.

Then stared at Husk.

“…What the fuck,” Angel muttered.

Husk downed his own shot in one go and said nothing.

🎙️🥀 ”The Frequency Shifts”

Alastor POV

He felt it long before he returned to the hotel proper.

Something off.

Something uninvited.

The static in the air had shifted — a frequency that didn’t belong to him humming faintly through the walls. It wasn’t Angel’s laughter or Husk’s heavy-footed pacing or Niffty humming some long-forgotten vaudeville tune.

It was older than all of them.

And unmistakably Lucifer.

Alastor’s smile twitched, then tightened. He didn’t stop walking — he never stopped walking — but every step was a dial turning, a quiet tightening of the volume on his internal receiver.

Lucifer had visited.

And left no message.

That was the part that amused him most.

How quaint.

How bold.

How utterly expected.

When Alastor arrived at the bar, the tension still clung to the space like fog after a lightning storm. Husk was behind the counter, back turned, shoulders stiff. Angel was picking at a drink like it had personally insulted him. Both demons stilled when the air crackled with that familiar, uncanny buzz — the sound of a radio warming up, of gears shifting without ever being touched.

“Good evening, friends,” Alastor crooned, stepping through the threshold with his ever-widening grin. “I trust everything’s in order?”

Angel visibly tensed. “We’re fine.”

Husk didn’t look at him. Just muttered, “Your king paid a visit.”

Alastor’s brow arched, but his smile never faltered. “Did he now? How charming.”

He crossed the room slowly, the tick-tick-tick of his cane a metronome for barely contained annoyance. He made no attempt to mask the charge in the air now. If anything, he let it crackle louder, a sound only the old monsters could really hear.

“Did he leave a calling card?” Alastor asked lightly. “A monologue, perhaps? A blessing?”

“Just an observation,” Husk said flatly, still not looking at him.

“Mmm.” Alastor’s eyes flicked to Angel. “And how did you enjoy our little guest star’s performance?”

Angel looked him dead in the eye. “He didn’t perform. He watched. And it was creepy as hell, but he didn’t say anything wrong.”

Alastor’s grin widened.

“Oh, I never said he did. But let’s not pretend this wasn’t a test of boundaries.”

He turned his head slowly toward Husk — and this time, really looked at him.

The residual gold still shimmered faintly beneath the chimera’s eyes. Controlled. Quiet now. But still present. Still glowing. The remnants of a storm he hadn’t unleashed in decades.

Alastor’s gaze was unreadable for half a second. Then he chuckled.

“Well,” he said, almost sweetly, “if nothing else, it’s delightful to see you still possess such discipline. I was beginning to worry you’d truly grown soft behind that counter.”

“Go to hell,” Husk muttered.

Alastor beamed. “Already there, dear boy.”

He reached out and tapped the bar with his cane — once — and the faint hum of tension began to dissipate. Not because he’d let go of it, but because he’d buried it just beneath the floorboards again, where it always waited.

“I won’t say I’m displeased,” he added, turning to walk away. “It was, after all, a rather magnificent display of restraint. The moment you do decide to unleash that pretty old power again…” He trailed off, head tilting just slightly toward Husk. “…I do hope it’ll be for my benefit.”

“Don’t count on it,” Husk grumbled.

“Oh, I never count,” Alastor said cheerfully, stepping into the hallway shadows. “I simply win.”

And then he was gone — leaving the bar colder than before, as if the hotel itself had exhaled in relief at his exit.

Angel looked at Husk.

“…Well. That coulda gone worse.”

Husk exhaled through his nose, finally setting his drink down.

“He’s not mad.”

Angel blinked. “Really? That wasn’t mad?”

“Nope,” Husk said flatly. “That was him… being jealous.”

🚬🥃 “Power, Politics, and a Pack of Cigarettes”

Angel Dust & Husk POV, with Vaggie joining midway

The lights were low in the hotel’s lounge, save for the quiet amber glow beneath the bar and the shimmer of distant neon bleeding in from outside. The kind of silence that pressed close, intimate, but not suffocating.

Angel sat cross-legged on top of the bar now, his empty glass dangling from two fingers. Husk stood behind the counter like he always did, but wasn’t pouring anything. Just slowly peeling the label off a bottle like it’d said something rude.

“Y’know,” Angel finally muttered, “Lucifer shows up and somehow Alastor still manages to be the creepier one.”

Husk grunted. “Lucifer doesn’t need to creep. That’s the scariest part. He already knows he’s five steps ahead. The rest of us are just catchin’ up.”

Angel let that sit for a second.

Then: “You think he really just came here to talk about your glowy eyes?”

Husk’s jaw shifted slightly. He didn’t answer right away.

“…He wanted to remind me what I used to be. Just in case I forgot.”

Angel tilted his head. “And Al?”

“Al doesn’t want a reminder,” Husk said. “He wants a weapon.”

That landed heavier.

Angel’s voice was softer now. “You’re not a weapon.”

Husk gave him a dry look. “Sure I am. Always have been. Just… haven’t been loaded for a while.”

Before Angel could find the words for that, the sound of soft boots approached down the hall.

Vaggie entered the bar like she owned the place — not because she was trying to take control, but because she needed to know what was happening under her roof. Her arms were crossed, eyes sharp, but not hostile. She was scanning.

“You guys alright?” she asked, gaze flicking between them.

“Peachy,” Angel muttered.

Husk shrugged. “Been worse.”

Vaggie sighed, then stepped closer to the bar. “I heard he stopped by.”

“Lucifer?” Husk asked, already knowing.

She nodded. “He’s not one to make house calls without ten layers of intent behind it.”

Angel watched her carefully. “You know him better than we do, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “He’s been like a second dad to Charlie. I’ve had… enough dinners with that man to know when he’s masking a power check with compliments.”

Husk leaned on the bar. “So what was this then? A compliment? A check?”

“Both,” Vaggie said. “He’s not worried about you. Yet. But he’s paying attention. Which means someone else might be soon, too.”

Angel frowned. “Like who?”

Vaggie didn’t answer right away.

She looked at Husk instead. “You glowing like that again — it’s not just a one-time thing, is it?”

Husk’s expression didn’t change, but he didn’t lie. “Nope.”

Angel looked between them. “Okay, so? Let people stare. What’s the worst that could—?”

“Val could hear,” Vaggie said sharply. “Or Vox. Or someone who’d want to use you like Alastor does — but without the weird affection.”

Angel’s whole posture stiffened.

Husk’s tone didn’t change, but his eyes flicked to Angel.

“I can handle ‘em.”

Vaggie nodded, quiet for a second. “I know you can. I’m just saying… If you’re gonna start showing who you really are again, you need to decide what you stand for before someone else tries to write that story for you.”

Silence settled again.

Angel finally hopped off the bar and stepped next to Husk.

He bumped his elbow gently into the older demon’s side. “Well… for what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty hot.”

Husk rolled his eyes. “You’d think it was hot if I caught fire.”

Angel grinned. “Exactly.”

Vaggie snorted despite herself. “You two are insufferable.”

“Damn right,” Angel said.

But beneath the jokes, there was an understanding growing — the kind that forms when three very different kinds of survivors start recognizing the same fight on each other’s faces.

Husk reached into his coat and lit a cigarette.

Then, glancing toward the window and the distant buzz of the city’s night skyline, he muttered:

“…Still not gonna stop me.”

♠️ “The Cost of Power”🎇

Charlie pov, with Vaggie:

Charlie sat at the windowsill of their bedroom, knees pulled to her chest, staring out at the edge of Hell’s skyline where neon blurred into smoke.

She hadn’t spoken much since Lucifer’s visit. Not to her father, not to Husk, not even to Angel. She hadn’t needed to.

Because she’d felt it.

The moment Husk’s magic broke through whatever prison he’d locked it in, she’d felt it in her bones. In the quiet humming of the walls. In the aching heartbeat of the hotel. Like a bell had rung somewhere deep beneath the floors and every haunted soul under her roof had paused to listen.

He’d been hiding it.

Not from her — not just from her — but from himself. And that’s what made her ache the most.

She loved Husk. Not in the way she loved Vaggie, or her father, or even Alastor in his strange, threatening way. Husk was family in the sense that he stayed. He watched. He protected. He never demanded credit. He made her feel like her dream wasn’t completely foolish.

He made her feel safe.

Vaggie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her quietly. She knew Charlie too well to interrupt.

After a few more minutes, Charlie spoke, voice soft and watery.

“…He could’ve died.”

Vaggie stepped closer. “But he didn’t.”

Charlie looked down at her hands. “No… but he broke something. Inside. I know that kind of power. You don’t bury something like that unless you’re trying to forget what it cost you.”

Vaggie exhaled slowly and sat beside her. “He didn’t break. He cracked.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yeah,” Vaggie said. “One means you’re done. The other means you fought through it.”

Charlie’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “He was glowing, Vaggie. Like an old god waking up. And no one even knew it was in him.”

“I think Alastor knew.”

“Of course he did,” Charlie whispered. “He always knows. But I didn’t. And that’s what’s killing me. I didn’t know he was in that much pain.”

Vaggie reached over and took her hand, gently.

“You don’t have to know everything to care, babe. And he knows you care. That’s why he’s still here.”

Charlie looked at her, tears silently slipping down her cheeks.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “What if this brings back everything he tried to survive? What if I lose him now?”

“You won’t,” Vaggie said firmly. “Because he chose to stay.”

Charlie looked away again, out at the city.

“I just… I don’t want this place to take anything else from him. He already gave up so much.”

Vaggie leaned in, resting her head against Charlie’s. “Then let’s make sure he knows it was worth it.”

They sat like that in silence, the air heavy with unspoken fears and love that ran too deep for words.

🐖🥃♥️ “Back to the Bar, Sorta”

Angel Dust & Husker pov, quiet slice of life aftermath:

The bar was clean.

Too clean.

Angel sat sideways on one of the stools, legs crossed, chin in his palm as he watched Husk behind the counter. The chimera moved slower than usual, careful with his posture, as if every part of him was still settling back into his skin. But he was here. He was standing. And more importantly, he was trying to pour a drink without glaring at the bottle like it owed him money.

Angel let the silence stretch for a bit longer than usual before breaking it with a lazy, half-sarcastic murmur:

“You sure you’re supposed to be back on your feet, old man? Pretty sure you still got ‘soul shock’ or whatever the hell you wanna call that little episode.”

Husk didn’t look up. “Don’t need a note to pour booze.”

Angel grinned. “Mmhm. That magic heartburn still flickering behind your eyeballs?”

Husk finally looked at him — those molten gold irises dimmer now, but not gone. The way they shimmered like coals beneath ash, like something still alive under all that quiet… Angel had to look away first.

“I’m fine,” Husk said, too blunt to be reassuring.

“You’re not,” Angel replied, too gently to be biting.

He sighed and leaned his elbow on the bar. “Just… tell me if you’re about to Hulk out again or something, yeah? I’ll bring a sparkly banner. Or backup. Or snacks.”

Husk smirked at that. “You bringin’ snacks to a demonic outburst?”

“Hey,” Angel said, raising a brow. “Even magical meltdowns deserve catering.”

They shared a small, warm silence then. Husk filled a glass halfway and slid it across to Angel. The spider demon accepted it, but didn’t drink right away.

Instead, he stared at the drink, then at Husk, then back again.

“You gonna talk about it?” he asked. “What it felt like?”

“Nope,” Husk said instantly.

Angel nodded, not offended. “Cool, cool. I’ll just keep guessing then.”

He took a sip and then casually added, “I’m picturing, like… a volcano. If the volcano had been sad and tired for eighty years and then someone drop-kicked a firework into it.”

Husk snorted into his drink.

“…Close.”

Angel looked up again, this time softer. “You scared the hell outta me, y’know. Not ‘cause of what you did. Just… how much you must’ve been holdin’ back for that to finally break.”

Husk didn’t reply.

Instead, he looked out toward the hallway — the same direction Lucifer had once stood, watching without judgment, but not without interest. He could feel the lingering presence like an old pressure in his chest.

“I wasn’t scared,” Angel said suddenly, cutting into the thought.

Husk turned his head, raising an eyebrow.

“When it happened,” Angel clarified. “When you… changed. I wasn’t scared of you. I looked up and I saw this—this fuckin’ gargoyle come to life, and it was like…” He faltered, then let out a breathy laugh. “It was like you were made to protect people like that. Like it was what you were built for. Not to serve drinks or take shit from Al or anyone else.”

Husk blinked. “I am made to serve drinks.”

Angel threw a bar napkin at him. “Don’t ruin the moment, jackass.”

Another quiet fell between them, but this one was warmer.

A familiar weight padding across the floor broke it.

Fat Nuggets appeared from around the corner, sniffed the air, and made a delighted little oink at the familiar sight of his two favorite demons.

Angel smiled instantly. “Hey, sweetheart—there’s my boy.”

The piglet waddled up to the bar, tail wagging slightly.

Husk sighed, reached down under the counter, and pulled out a small glass bowl with a red card-suit heart pattern on the side. He filled it with a few of the maraschino cherries from his personal stash.

Angel grinned wide as Fat Nuggets squealed with joy and started munching away.

Husk didn’t meet Angel’s eyes, but said flatly, “Don’t say a word.”

Angel’s smirk turned molten. “Not a word, Husk.”

But he was already planning how to tell Niffty.

🎇🔥“The Heart Beneath the Smoke”♥️🖤

Husk, Angel, and Charlie povs:

Husk grumbled the entire way down the hallway.

“This is stupid,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s probably busy. Doesn’t need me dumpin’ my guilt all over her like a damn sentimental stray.”

Angel walked beside him without saying much, but the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

“You are a sentimental stray,” he said casually. “That’s kinda your whole brand.”

Husk shot him a glare.

Angel just shrugged. “Look, you wanna run from your Feelings™, be my guest. But Charlie’s probably been crying into a pillow for three days wondering if you hate yourself more than usual or if you’re actually dying this time.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Angel said.

They reached the lounge just outside Charlie’s room. The door was open, the soft golden light of her side-table lamp spilling into the hallway like the last warmth of a setting sun.

Charlie stood just inside, hands gently folded in front of her. She wasn’t crying now — not on the surface — but her eyes shimmered with the softness of someone who’d been doing a lot of feeling lately. Vaggie wasn’t with her this time. It felt important that this was just her.

She looked up as they approached.

Angel gently patted Husk on the back before stepping aside and perching himself casually on the arm of a couch nearby, close enough to step in if needed, far enough to let it be his moment.

Husk took a breath. Then another.

He looked at her.

“…I shoulda warned you,” he said gruffly. “About… all of it. I kept that part of me buried for so long I forgot how it’d feel to let it out again. Forgot how it might… scare someone.”

Charlie blinked, wide-eyed.

“Husk…”

He held up a hand. “I’m not sayin’ I regret it. If I had to do it again, I’d still burn through every wall in this hotel to keep you all safe. But I should’ve told you I had that kind of heat left in me. That it was still… alive.”

Charlie stepped forward, slowly.

“You don’t owe me an apology for protecting someone you care about,” she said. “And you don’t owe me a warning for surviving in the only way you could.”

Her voice caught slightly at the end.

“Besides,” she added, smiling through it, “you don’t scare me.”

Husk blinked. “I lit up like a fuckin’ firestorm.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah. And you still wouldn’t hurt a soul that didn’t deserve it. That’s the part people forget about power. It’s not the fire that makes you dangerous. It’s the choice not to burn everything down.”

Behind them, Angel smiled.

“She’s good at this, huh?”

“Too good,” Husk muttered.

Charlie stepped forward and, gently, without asking, hugged him. Her arms were small compared to his broad, battered frame, but the warmth in them could’ve melted granite.

Husk stiffened for a second… then, slowly, let himself relax into it.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered. “For saving Angel. For staying.”

He nodded, jaw clenched. “Yeah… well.”

Angel leaned back on the couch arm, crossing one leg over the other and watching them like a proud bastard.

“You’re such a softie,” he teased.

Husk didn’t even argue this time.

Charlie finally stepped back, hands still gently holding one of his arms.

“I know this kind of magic doesn’t just turn off,” she said. “If there’s ever anything you need — shielding, help focusing it, training even — I’m here. We all are.”

Husk grunted. “I’ll think about it.”

Charlie smiled like she knew he already had.

She turned to Angel and held a hand out to him too. He hopped down from his seat and took it, stepping beside Husk as the three stood in the warmth of the lamp’s glow.

For a moment, it was quiet again — not awkward. Not tense. Just peaceful.

Then Charlie gave Husk one last look, a little mischief twinkling in her eyes.

“…So… you glow now?”

“Don’t start.”

Angel grinned. “I kinda like it.”

Charlie giggled. “Me too.”

Husk groaned and rubbed his temple. “God help me.”

Angel patted his back. “Good luck with her. I’m still your favorite, right?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

🌗 “Moonlight & Matches”🚬💛

Husk & Angel – present time, outside the hotel:

The night air was heavy with brimstone and humidity. Hell never slept, but there were hours — rare, strange ones — when even the neon signs went quiet and the buzz of chaos dimmed to a lull.

This was one of those hours.

Husk sat on the front steps of the hotel, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his fingers. The golden glow in his eyes had faded back into something duller, something manageable, but it was still there. A slow burn under the surface. A reminder.

Angel emerged from the doorway behind him, footsteps soft on the stone. He didn’t say anything at first — just eased down beside him, knees drawn up, arms folded over them.

They sat like that for a moment, silent but not uncomfortable.

Then Angel spoke.

“You gonna light another, or just keep makin’ that one last forever?”

Husk smirked around the cigarette. “Tryin’ to decide.”

Angel tilted his head toward the Hellmoon — swollen and sickly pale tonight, but bright enough to wash over them in muted silver.

“…You alright?” Angel asked, voice quieter now. “For real.”

Husk let out a long exhale, smoke curling around his words. “Still buzzin’. Not like before, but… y’know. Feels like I cracked open a safe and now I can hear all the gold rattlin’ inside again.”

Angel looked at him sideways, something thoughtful tugging at his mouth.

“You scared of it?”

Husk thought. Then nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Angel didn’t flinch. Just leaned back on his hands and said, “Yeah. Makes sense.”

A pause.

“You ain’t scared of me?” Husk asked, just to be sure.

Angel snorted. “You think I’d patch up your busted knuckles, make you real drinks, and sit out here under this piss-yellow moon if I was scared of you?”

“…You’re not exactly a beacon of good decisions.”

Angel turned his head, eyes soft in the glow.

“I trust you, Husk.”

That shut him up for a second.

The cigarette burned down between his fingers.

He didn’t look at Angel when he asked, “Even after seein’ all that?”

“I especially after seein’ all that.”

There was something about the way Angel said it — like the flames hadn’t scared him at all. Like he’d looked into the heart of what Husk was hiding, and all he saw there was warmth, not ruin.

Husk swallowed, hard.

Angel let the silence hold again before speaking.

“…You gonna tell me why you locked it away in the first place?”

Husk didn’t answer.

Not right away.

But his eyes flicked toward the Hellmoon again, gold catching silver.

🕷️🐈‍⬛♥️ “After Hours”

Late-night kitchen, Husk & Angel:

The hallway light flickered overhead as Angel crept down the corridor on bare feet, the carpet muffling his steps. The hotel had quieted — even most of the ghosts had gone to bed, or wherever the dead went to sulk this late at night.

He padded into the kitchen, tugging one of Husk’s oversized card-themed hoodies tighter around himself. He hadn’t exactly asked to borrow it. But he figured Husk wouldn’t miss it tonight — or at least wouldn’t stop him. It still smelled like old scotch, cigarette smoke, and faintly of cedar. Weirdly comforting.

The fridge door squeaked open, casting the room in cold light.

He was bent over rummaging through half-covered casseroles and unlabeled jars when a voice rasped behind him.

“I knew it.”

Angel nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around to find Husk leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one ear flicking with amusement.

“You’re lucky I didn’t hit you with a pan,” Angel hissed, recovering. “You can’t just sneak up on a guy like that.”

“I didn’t sneak. You just got a guilty conscience.” Husk pushed off the doorframe and trudged in, eyes narrowing as he clocked his own hoodie stretched over Angel’s frame. “…Is that mine?”

Angel didn’t answer.

Husk groaned. “Unbelievable.”

Angel returned to rummaging. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s cozy. I’m cold. You left it on the couch.”

“That’s because I was wearing it,” Husk deadpanned.

Angel gave him a sweet little grin. “You snooze, you lose.”

“You snooze and I spike your drink.” sarcastic as all get out.

Angel snorted. “Please, that’s called a Tuesday.” Sassing him right back, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.

Husk grumbled under his breath but didn’t push it. Instead, he stepped up beside Angel and eyed the fridge contents like he’d been dragged there against his will. “What the hell are you even tryin’ to find?”

“Comfort,” Angel replied, kicking the door further open with his heel. “I got that post-shit-show hunger, y’know? Now that I just saw my maybe-boyfriend explode with ancient firepower kinda craving.”

“I did not explode.”

“You glowed, Husk.”

“…Shut up.”

Angel leaned back, arms folded. “You got any ideas, tough guy?”

With a sigh like it pained him, Husk reached over and plucked a container from the top shelf. “Leftover lasagna. Niffty made it two nights ago. Still edible. Probably.”

Angel blinked. “You knew where this was the whole time?”

Husk gave a shrug. “You don’t actually know how to scavenge.”

They got it into the microwave and leaned back against the counter together, hips just barely brushing. The kitchen hummed softly. Dim lights flickered under the cabinets, casting soft yellow shadows.

Angel glanced over at him, his voice quieter now. “Y’know, it’s weird. After everything, this part feels almost… normal.”

Husk nodded. “Yeah. Scary, huh?”

Angel huffed. “Terrifying.”

The microwave beeped.

They split the dish on mismatched plates and sat at the tiny corner breakfast table, the kind no one ever used. Angel kicked his foot up on another chair and poked at a forkful.

Husk caught him watching him between bites — not just glancing, but really watching.

“You’re starin’,” he muttered.

“I’m not,” Angel replied, and then added, “…Okay maybe a little.”

“Why?”

Angel tilted his head. “Just makin’ sure you’re still here. You look good in this lighting.”

Husk gave him a look, dry as ever. “I look like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“A hot truck,” Angel said, lips twitching.

Husk rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Angel took another bite and said around it, “Yeah, but I’m your problem now.”

And Husk didn’t argue.

🫗🖤 “Table for Two”

Late-night kitchen continued – Husk & Angel:

The kitchen hummed with silence between bites.

No chaos. No hellfire. Just the low drone of the fridge and the occasional clink of silverware against ceramic.

Angel picked at the last of the lasagna on his plate, his eyes flicking toward Husk every so often like he was still trying to solve a puzzle. One he wasn’t sure he had the right pieces for, but kept wanting to put together anyway.

“You ever think,” Angel said slowly, “that maybe you were meant for more than bartending and beatdowns?”

Husk glanced up. “You gonna start in on all that ‘potential’ crap again?”

Angel leaned his cheek into his palm. “Nah. Not potential. Just… y’know. Being.”

Husk didn’t answer right away. His golden eyes looked especially tired in the warm light. Not worn-out tired — just tired of carrying too much alone.

“I’m good at bartending,” he said at last, voice low. “It keeps my hands busy. Keeps me outta trouble.”

Angel raised a brow. “You just nuked half a bar wall with your bare hands two nights ago.”

“Exactly. Imagine if I wasn’t trying to stay outta trouble.”

There was something sad under the sarcasm. Something Angel heard but didn’t push on — not yet.

He looked down at his fork, twirling it absently.

“I dunno,” he murmured. “Feels like the more I see you, the more I realize you’re not the guy you keep pretending to be.”

Husk paused. “What guy do you think I’m pretending to be?”

Angel shrugged. “This crusty old bastard who don’t care about anything.”

“Angel,” Husk sighed, “I am a crusty old bastard who don’t care about anything.”

“No, you’re not,” Angel said, softer now. “You’re someone who patched up my panic attack at four in the morning. Who keeps a secret stash of cherries for my pig. Who made me real drinks after limping home like it was nothin’.”

He leaned back in his chair a little, eyes unreadable but kind. “You care. You just don’t wanna get caught doin’ it.”

The corner of Husk’s mouth twitched. “…I’m gettin’ real sick of you readin’ me like that.”

“Yeah? Then maybe stop lookin’ at me like I’m worth carin’ about.”

That one landed.

Husk’s eyes lingered on him, something old and warm stirring behind the gold — like embers that never quite went out.

A beat passed.

Then Husk reached over, slow and without much ceremony, and nudged the edge of Angel’s plate with his clawed fingertip.

“Next time,” he muttered, “you try sneakin’ into my bar again, I’m changin’ the damn locks.”

Angel smiled. “Aww, you’d miss me.”

Husk just grunted.

But Angel noticed that he didn’t move his hand away after the nudge — just let it rest there between them on the table. And after a moment, Angel’s pinky finger brushed lightly against his.

Nothing else needed to be said.