Chapter Text
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It’s late. The night air is cold and it seeps into the window of the small apartment that sits on top of a rather nice bar. Said Bar is closed. The windows are boarded well and the door barricaded. Not because of the late hour or place but for the simple fact of the date. Every year at this time the pentagram freezes over. The place goes from unbearably hot to cold. The kind that freezes blood and makes a demon sluggish and easy prey. His breath comes out like smoke even in the safety of his own home. His fur fluffs up and his wings wrap tighter around himself. The dark red sky is split with a large, bright, ugly, crack that is slowly turning a more violent hue of pink. It was a gaping wound that revealed the light from above. The bright soft sort of light that burned the skin and blinded those that had become adapted to the muted colors and dark. Heaven was shining in contrast to the dark crimson of the atmosphere to the realm of pride.
A storm had come through, like a thousand bees buzzing their way around the streets there was the hum of wings and the sound of horrible screams. Hell was never a quiet place, but on the nights of the exterminations there was an added noise and tenseness to the air. The blood was tangible in the breeze that seeped through the windows no matter how he covered them and laid heavy in the lungs and in the noise. The soon-to-be smell of rot and festering bodies would putrate the streets for months until the acidic rain ruined them into piles of squishy meat blobs. That was unless the cannibals got to them before that. Every morning after a purge, without fail, the colony would slink out of their protected and isolated borders in order to harvest as much salvageable meat as possible. They would carve themselves off good chunks and eat it as they made their cartload. Carmella’s men would be out collecting spears that could be made into weapons to further escalate the turf wars that would take place with the lack of powerful middle-class demons. In a way the cat Demon that sits in his chair drinking his last bottle of good scotch is happy to be out of the overlord game. Not that he would ever be happy about his soul being physically owned by another. Losing the gamble had been one of the many unfortunate turns that his afterlife had bestowed on him.
He took another drink. His tail curled, and uncurled. He was getting too old for this. He half wondered sometimes why he bothered holding himself up behind the thick walls and boards. It mattered little that he had access to all the vices that he had in life. It brought him little to no comfort in the wake of listlessness. Husk had little to no enjoyment in his current state of things. He had been in a rut long before he had died. He ran a hand down his face, his long fingers ruffling the fur and he pressed it the best he could into a shape.
He was too tired for this.
It wasn’t like he ever would step out into the exterminations. He knew that was a terrible way to die, even if it was one of the only ways to die again and stay dead. He just had the occasional stray thought about death after death. His first death hadn’t been anything glorious, and had he still been human, then he might have died several times over in his “second” chance of things the exact same way that he had gotten here.
He had drunk himself to a stooper and he had gotten himself into a poorly timed fight over cards and debt. He died in an alleyway. Fitting that when he woke, he was quite literally an Alley Cat. His mangy fur is not unlike those that would be found in the gutter. He still drank himself to the very state of his death several times a month before he realized that nothing was changing and that he couldn’t lessen all his troubles with needless amounts of good alcohol. So booze the cheaper the better was what he needed to cope now. Cope long enough for Al to come around and bother him. Then he would drink to forget about whatever favor the other had asked of him. Niffty at one point had shared that she feared for him and his self destructive tendencies. He however had told her that he couldn’t die. Alastor wouldn’t let him so she had nothing to worry about. The direct order from Al not to was one of the reasons that he never entertained the thought long.
He took another long drink from his glass and sighed deeply. The night was almost over and he should try to sleep soon. The danger for the most part had passed him this year and he again could Celebrate that he survived the cleanse with the stronger better liquor that was downstairs awaiting him in the morning when he reopened the place to any sinner that might want to forget how they survived or what they had witnessed.
He set the glass back to the side table. His ears swiveled as he heard the sound of something wet hitting the floor. The hair on his neck went up and then the rest of his back. His eyes darted back and forward to try and pinpoint the sound. There came another louder sound that of a scraping chair to his personal kitchen being dragged on the floor and then an even louder sound of a crash. The noise of it freezes him. He stands a few moments feeling his heart slamming into his chest and taking in deep breaths. The place became oddly silent.
It was dead so dead silent that he could pick up the smaller sounds like the breeze again at his window, the distant sound of rain, and screams. His ears twitched again and his fur started to flatten. If it were an angel he supposes that it would have already made its way out of the dark kitchen. The hall that separates him from there seems like an ocean.
So it had to be something else. Or rather someone else.
There are only a few people dumb enough to come and bother him. Husk at one point was an Overlord in his own right and most people unless they were new to hell were smart enough to stay away. One because he had no issues handling his own business when he needed to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty. The second was because in addition to Husk's ability to kick anyone’s ass that he needed, the person that hung around most in his space was the Radio Demon. No one wanted to be on Alastor’s bad side. Since manifesting the deer had been a menace to anything that was the status quo. The bastard never knocked when he needed anything either. He was always popping up where he wasn’t wanted and sticking his rather stupidly pointed nose into things that did not involve him. He constantly was pulling him across time and space as well with that freaky magic of his.
It wasn’t Al. The fucker has no sense of boundries and he would have already said something. Niffty every once and awhile would show up unannounced. She however would have already made her way in or complained about the state of his kitchen as if she had a right to bother him about it. So he was out of people but the smell of blood was hitting his senses now. Someone was hurt and they were more than likely going to bring trouble to him.
Husk summons a few of his cards to his hand and makes his way forward. The darkness is pierced by 2 very large eyes and they glow a deep red in the dark.
“Alright Fucker you have a lot of nerve breaking into my home!” He throws a warning card that sticks into the wall so the perp knows he means business.
There is a low guttural hiss as an answer. It is the sound of someone sucking in deep air and not getting enough. It is a wounded, wet hiss. The kind that comes from the jaw being clenched so hard together that there is drool and spit coming with the air out the bottom lip.
He flips on the light with his wing and the kitchen is bathed in a bright all revealing light. The Demon that stands there is hunched over and there is a mess of red on red clashing on itself. The red of the suit coat is quickly darkening as are the red pants. There is a pool forming at the floor that is nearly black. The blobs of which are clinging to each other to form large clotty blotches on the white tile. The eyes look at him in their red brilliance. There is the deeper crimson and then the red bead of shimmering light in the center. The smile is stained with blood on the corners and for once Husk doesn’t think that it is entirely from his last meal.
Alastor’s eyes look half-lidded and his breathing is enough to shake his entire body. The wheezing is getting louder and far more distorted. The usual accompaniment of radio feedback is higher pitched than normal. The distress was evident. The deep rasping continues as the claws dig their way into his chair. The other hand is pressed hard at his side. He leans harder against the back and it bows under the pressure that he is applying on it. The small horns that usually decorate Al’s demon form are a mess of large branches. They were pointed and at different, impossible, angles. The area on his forehead showing a large glowing X that extended over towards his eyes.
There is nothing said between them. The gargled sound that escapes Al’s mouth dies at a whine that a large mammal might make as it died. The static is increased again. The room feels electrified and he again finds his fur on end for another reason entirely. Each pitched noise makes a shudder go through him. The room is starting to darken against the artificial light as the shadows that usually played nice with Alastor were pulling, almost clawing, at his shadow.
There is a roaring in Husk's ears. He can hear the sounds of helicopters and the sounds of gunfire. He has to take in several breaths and hold onto the door frame to put himself and both paws back into reality. He had seen plenty of carnage in his time but it never mattered as much. Alastor was undefeatable. A raw being of power and carnage. To see him in this state was unthinkable. It was a nightmare playing out in front of his eyes. If something could beat Alastor what chance or prayer did someone like Husk really stand when said enemy came crashing on his door. A small trickle of disgust beat back the fear that he felt. As the other made a wrenching sound.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
The large yellow teeth open and then a large bit of blood leaks out of his mouth and hits the floor.
“H-hhhh…uuu..ssss.”
The red eyes drift watching it and the eyes flicker black and blank, back to red. The smile is strained. There is an unsaid plea to the way that he is holding that chair. His legs start to give and the shaking increases. The one leg is bent wrong. He can see that now and so there is another wound besides the one that is bleeding profusely. Husk can feel sorry for him, despite everything. He has never liked seeing others in pain. It brought back too many thoughts about the war and where the line between enemy, civilian, friend, and foe was so fucking blurred that it didn’t matter in the end.
Husk doesn’t have to help. There hasn’t been a word between them. There needs to be a word for a command or something written and signed. As long as none of that has occurred then Husk is under no obligation to do anything and there will be no consequences if Alastor did not survive long enough to skin him. A dead contractor meant a free demon. The employee might not be able to directly kill the master, but they didn’t have to save or warn them either. Husk could leave him there.He could leave him to his pain and to bleed out on his kitchen floor. There wouldn’t be many that missed the man and with the contract gone Husk would be free to be on his own again.
Husk could do a lot of things.
He could, but knowing his luck the other would pull through. The cat had always been a bet on black sort of person but Alastor was nothing but red and red had rolled well far too often in the last few decades.
There is a warbling sound like a piece of metal is being bent back and forward quickly and the radio nut is on the floor. He crashes there into a small puddle of his own making. His head bounces slightly and he crumples to the uninjured side. The static makes one horrible screech like a nice old record has been forced to an untimely stop. It hurts his ears enough that he for a moment has to cover them.
“I am going to have to touch you to help you.” Husk warned. “You know that.”
He doesn’t want to get bit or worse. Al did not like being touched at the best of times. Now he was hurt and more likely than not pissed about losing whatever fight that he had gotten himself into. Angel or Overlord someone had slashed him deeply in the side and it was going to be hell trying to fix that. And if he didn’t start soon then it probably was going to be too late.
It might be an acknowledgement but the next thing that the Radio Demon does is hiss again and his ears flatten to the top of his head. The antlers shudder and his hands ball into fists. He glares up at him from his place on the floor with a look of pure loathing.
“Do you want to bleed out? Because that is what you're going to do if I don’t help your sorry ass.”
Alastor just looks at him. There is a flicker of something that he can’t make out in his eyes. Maybe it was vulnerability, maybe it was pain. Husk had never seen him in such pain before. Whenever someone would scratch him Al would seem almost thrilled by it, like finally he had found someone worthy to hunt and destroy with extreme prejudice. Now though he looks like he would rather be anywhere else, done anything else.
“Look motherfucker you came here for a reason. So, you must have known you would be safe here. Even if it was subconsciously. So just lay there and bleed while I get the medical kit and stitch you up, because if you bite my hands I will make a coat hook out of your antlers when you're dead.”
There is another warble this time though the noise is less and Husk takes that as a reason to get the damn kit. He almost hoped that the other Demon would be out when he returned because he could tell that this was going to be a new version of hell.
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It has been a while since Husk has had to stitch a wound like Al’s current one. It had been the army that taught him how to treat combat wounds, but nothing in his trivial training had ever been as difficult as doing the treatment in the middle of a battlefield. The small wounds that Husk had accumulated over the years in hell had never required more than a few stitches. Demons regenerated rather quickly and the fact that Al wasn’t meant that a heavenly weapon was involved so either an angel had directly attacked him or some cocky shit that had bought something from Camella managed to distract Al long enough to get a cheap shot while he was dealing with a real threat.
Alastor’s ears twitched and his smile wavered as Husk set the box down. The fact he was still awake was proof that even injured there was still a lot of power and strength in him. He was making soft whines and he was more animalistinc than ever. His claws and teeth were bared. Husk had yet to even touch him and the ears were pinned down with aggression. He needed to get the coat off and the shirt.
“Do not bite me.” Husk pointed a long finger into the other’s face. “I am going to touch you and take that coat off you.”
Alastor hissed again deeply and his size started to fluctuate.
“Or I can cut that thing off your choice.”
Alastors eyes fluttered closed and Husk dared to touch him then. In the decades that he had known Alastor he had not touched him more than a handful of times. The radio demon did often touch Husk but that wasn’t the same. The demon almost seemed to see him as some sort of pet cat and would at times rub against the sensitive fur to Husk’s ears. The Radio host engaged in dragging him everywhere that he could with the occasional posturing and positioning. Husk often felt like some sort of object that Alastor would pick up, play with, and then go back to whatever else caught his fleeting fancy. The man was a spaz. He fluctuated between interests and frequencies. The only consistency to be had was Alastor liked things his way and nothing past 1930’s. Everything had an order, a reason, but near nothing was uncompromisable in the search for entertainment.
Husk only touched Alastor to get out of a forced hold and even then it was done lightly so that the other never had reason to suspect that Husk wanted to claw his eyes out other than the verbal sparring match they would engage in. He often was asked why the monster of a demon hadn’t killed him when he often would have killed anyone else for the sheer level of disrespect that Husk could level at him when he was in a drunken state. No matter the visceral that Husk spat at him Alastor would come back at him with something. Husk was still around because he probably was the only one brave enough to tell the hellion how it was.
The coat was removed with steady hands and then the under shirt he used the scissors to snip. Alastor’s hands reached for his wrist the second he felt the metal against his skin. There was the screeching of the record again and the hand tightened down to the point that it would cut circulation.
“Stop that shit.” Husk pushed the other hand out of his way. “Once I get started on the first line of stitches, if you pull that shit you will rip out my hard work.”
The hand released but it did not drop to the floor. It grabbed at his leg and tightly as if to remind him in some feeble attempt that Alastor still had the power to hurt him. Husk ignored the sensation of the claws against his thigh and looked to what he needed to deal with. The gash was large, deep, and wasn’t regenerating. It was from the soft squishy part of an impossibly thin waist just over the hip’s arch upward to the pointed and slightly jutting out ribs. It looked to have scraped against the bottom 2 hanging ones and the bones stopped it from hitting anything else.
“You’re one lucky bastered that they didn’t gut you.” He pushed through the uncomfortableness and started the task of savaging the skin around it and forcing the wound closed. Alastor made gurgling, distressed noises, each and every time that Husk moved his fingers differently. He drug his claws into Husks fur and the points of his nails breached skin.
“Hold still now.” His voice was harsh and commanding but he also felt the worry creeping into him. Al would not be the first person that he failed to save. He swallowed hard on his spit and focused his attention on the wound. It came back to him easily. He thought nothing but how to connect to the next bit of skin. His mind was blank. He was back in the impossibly heated jungle and not his kitchen.
He can smell nothing but the metal and gunpowder.
He can hear nothing but the dying wails of those around him.
He was trying to save one of his fellow soldiers.
He is trying to save his friend that has been ripped apart by bullets.
He is knee deep in blood and shit. The water sinks into every pour and orifice. He wipes at his brow and he forces the memories to the side as the last bit is knotted off.
And suddenly it is not his friend that he is looking at. Not his friend that he is holding in his arms as he bleeds out and he tries in vain to help. No it is his “owner”. It is the thin body of a demon and not a boy that never should have been sent off to war with them. He blinks his cat eyes and his ears twitch.
Alastors breathing was heightened to the point that he was hyperventilating and sweating. He had been moist in the face before but the buckets were coming. The shakes were getting worse. The man was going into shock and he was becoming an impossible shade of white. Maybe it was the blood loss or maybe it was because he could not stand the thought of being touched. Either way it wasn’t good and he wasn’t done yet. There was still one other injury to take care of.
“I am going to roll you to your back and look at that leg.” He gave a warning but at this point he wasn’t sure that Alastor could even hear him. His eyes were wet and there were tears on his long lashes. It was then that Husk realized that the other’s monocle was missing and so was his staff now that he thought about it. The mess of antlers was starting to shrink back to a more discernible shape. The only indication that anything had changed when he touched his leg was a weak grunt.
“You are doing well.” Husk muttered maybe to keep himself sane and because he had been particularly forceful in removing the roadblocks to getting the wound closed. He was not a gentle man. He wasn’t capable of it, comforting words never came to him in the right way. Not since the war… not since he had promised too many young men that were really just boys that it was going to be okay; even though half of them was in a spike trap or their body had been blasted to shit.
The only response was again a soft wheeze.
He snipped at the pants down from the waist and to the thigh. It was on the other side and he had already mutilated the waist line on the left side. This was going to take a few stitches as well.
“You’re doing well. This will hurt a little bit.”
He pushed down and he could feel the bones move with him. He can hear the choked sound Al made and feels the rigidness of his body and the jerk that disrupts it. This wound is smaller. It is a lot less work and the man is surprisingly good about the second wound even though it is in a much more sensitive place.
He rubs his tired eyes with his shoulder so that he will not get blood in them. He is never going to get all the blood off of him. He feels it on his paws and he feels it on his skin. The smell of Alastor will never leave his kitchen and every time that he walks in here he is going to have to remember the way that the other looked at him.
The deer has passed out it seems so the good behavior was not entirely consensual. Husk rolled out his neck and stretched his wings and shoulders. Now he had to get this man off his floor and put him into something so that when he woke up he wouldn’t immediately try to adviserate him with that freaky voodoo shit. Too bad most of the things that he had were not suited for what the Radio Demon would need to wear during the recovery period. He also didn’t really have all that many clothes, his fur covered everything and there really wasn’t a complete reason some days to put on anything more than pants.
Yes, first he was going to get him off the floor, into something less bloody, and then he was going to take a shower. He was going to take the longest shower that he possibly could and if the deer knew what was good for him he wouldn’t do anything stupid until Husk had soaked himself to the point of never drying, and scrubbed all the horrible feelings off his skin. He closed his eyes and opened them again. Who was he kidding… the second that he had made a move to save Al, he had set himself up for nothing but stupid shit.
“He better be grateful.” Husk muttered and cursed to himself as he went about carrying the man as gently as humanly possible to his couch and setting him down. He liked the plushy thing. He had had many a good nap on it. He was going to have to burn it now as the near naked form was giving it a few stains for where the blood was still clinging to him.
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Alastor’s forced attire turned out to be a very, very large t-shirt that Husk had no idea where it came from. It was too large for him and it certainly draped over Alastor’s boney one. Maybe it was from a one night stand or maybe it was discarded by some bar paterent that never came back for it. Regardless it covered the other and was clean so the deer would at least be unable to complain about it being unwashed. Not like Alastor would be in any position to argue when it was obvious that the other wasn’t going to be able to do much of anything for a long while. He bandaged the stitch work to make sure that nothing rubbed wrong. Al didn’t even respond. His mouth was open and his breathing deep but quiet. Each breath filled his chest and it rose and fell in a manor that was almost soothing in the silence.
It meant he was going to live.
Husk cleaned up the blood off the long red hands with a washcloth and then corners of his yellow glowing smile. The demon smiled even in his sleep. It was then that Husk wondered if it was possible for the other to really frown at all when the teeth were so large and pointed the way that they were. He doesn’t think he had ever seen Al’s mouth closed for an extended period of time either. Strange.
He moved his hair to the side to wipe at the temple where the X was large and felt warm to the touch. It was about the only warm part of him and he was touching far more of the other than he wanted. It felt like he was seeing something that he wasn’t meant to. Yet Husk figured that having the blood washed off was better than leaving it on to clump the little fur and hair the other had. If it had been Husk he would rather not have the stickiness.
Cleaning up though forced him to look at places that he didn’t wish to and gave his mind puzzle pieces to play with. Al wasn’t exactly the most open when it came to his past. Sure he would ramble about a good recipe that his mother made or some bullshit about music or art, but the personal bits were always kept to a minimum. He didn’t like what he was seeing. Husk preferred to keep his relationships with people as simple and uncomplicated as possible. He really fucked that up with Niffty. He knew far too much about her for his own liking.
Al, though, he was comfortable with what he did know and didn’t want to know anything else.
Still, now he is looking at the younger man and well. He can’t help but make some observations that were going to start impacting his thoughts on the other.
Alastor was too thin for one. Like he never ate and Husk had seen him covered in entrails and eating full shark demons. It was like nothing stuck to the form and there were strange marks that oddly looked like bites. They were old and harsh against his pale flesh. He looked like he had been mauled. He touched the higher part of Al’s wrist and he could tell that they were defensive wounds.
He had never questioned how Al had died; the red mark on his face was enough for him to understand that the other more than likely had his face blown off. He however might have been hunted now that he is looking at the patterning.
Dogs…The thought came suddenly. Al hated dogs. He hated hell hounds for no other reason than the way that they looked. A deer. He looked at his large rounded ears, small antlers, and the small bump in fabric that was hiding his tail.
Husk had never wondered much about his boss’s form before. He knew well enough why he was a cat because god or whoever ran the show had a sick sense of humor. They probably had one when it came to Alastor as well. Deer were capable of defending themselves but they also were at the end of the day a prey animal. Alastor had been hunted by dogs before his death. He had many bite marks all over his body, even around and on his thin neck. It had been a painful way to go. Horrible… no less horrible than what Al had no doubt done to his victims but not a good way to die either.
Husk took a deep breath that cleared his lungs. He would get the kitchen cleaned up and then himself. There are parts of him that thinks that he should just leave off in the kitchen but the other knows well enough that he isn’t going to sleep.
If he is not going to sleep at the very least he can do something to occupy his mind and hands. He would rather do this now then have to worry about it later.
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The floor being tile cleans up easily. He just scrubs at it over and over again with the chemicals and water and it cleans off. Yet long after the blood has been cleared away the space still smells like it, Alastor. It had faint traces of him before the carnage brought to his doorstep. Al has picked out a few tacky pieces that he claimed all kitchens should have. So there was a mug tree that held fancy cups that only Niffty and the deer would ever use and a spice rack that held things that Husk wouldn’t use because he didn’t make his own food very often. There is also an old radio that Al fiddles with when he stops in.
Now his home would have a stain on the wood to his table and deep claw marks into his chair.
Husk supposed that it didn’t matter.
Nothing really did in this place anyway...
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The shower was warm and he closed his eyes with flashes of the war hiding behind his eyelids.
Harsh chemicals coming down from the sky.
Thick marsh that swallows those that dare to cross it.
Snippers fire that takes the head off the young boy next to him who dares to poke his head up too far.
Each blink and it is roaring back to him. A never-ending nightmare that haunted him long after he came home. He never could smile again without the help of something else running through his system and even then. The world had turned against them.
As if they had a choice!
As if Husk ever wanted to go and kill people.
He had been a showman. He had done magic shows and loved enchanting those who would see his shows. He liked getting applause and bowing to the roaring crowd that always asked him how he did it. He made each show better than the last. Then he went to a fucking jungle and came back unable to keep his hands from shaking in long periods of silence. Magic tricks became difficult but the cards never left his fingers even during the hell he found himself in.
He slipped down to the safety of the base of the tub. He lets the hot water beat down on him like a rain shower. His Wings poke at the curtain and fight to fit right. There was going to be water all over the floor when he got out but unlike the blood in his kitchen, he had to get up so that he wouldn’t have to smell it anymore. So he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. He wasn’t going to worry about the water.
He didn’t care about the rug on the floor.
He didn’t care for the curtain either.
He took several breaths to steady himself. His fur dripped and the warmth only reached skin deep. When he got out he was as cold as before. He made his way back to the living room. The red menace hadn’t moved an inch since he left him. He slept on.
Deciding on his last good deed of the night. The cat moved him to the bed that had more blankets. It still was abysmally cold out. And when that was done he put himself into the reclining chair and grabbed the cheap booze that sat beside it. He undid the pop-top with a hooked claw and downed it within seconds. He then reached for a second and downed that one as quickly as the first. He did this with a third and let his head swim and the shadows on his walls dance. They were much better companions than the dead faces in his mind.