Charlie put down her tea cup. She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his slender waist. She felt him stiffen, heard the buzz, but it died down and he patted her hands, allowing her to embrace him for a moment before teleporting out of her grasp.

"Before it ended, the lights, the radio…" she wasn't sure how to ask.

"It worked," he sighed. "That time it really worked. Eating of your brother's flesh a Wendigo makes." He tapped his antlers and smiled, sadly. "But it didn't truly happen until after the dog's tore me apart. Everything you saw wasn't my doing, but something taking hold of me. No idea what it would have been like had I lived longer. But Nick was right. He's always right. Even with a gratuitous head start...they caught me."

"Do you think him being here…"

"I'll admit I have no idea."

He saw Charlie's face fall. He teleported closer, lifting her chin with a finger. "Smile Darling. Detective Davies is observant, brutally honest...but fair." His smile relaxed into something more reassuring. "If there's any hope for this group of sinners, he'll sniff it out."

She tried to smile back. "Angel looked really upset after his one on one."

"He has that effect on people," Alastor laughed. "Bit of a wolf in sheep's clothing. He has a way of getting people talking. It's a game for him, getting people to confess the things they never thought they'd admit. He got into my head the way no one else could. I always told him he'd make a good priest if the law didn't work out."

"So we have a chance?"

Alastor shrugged. "We'll have to see."

Husker growled as he sat down in the cramped closet, pulling his wings in awkwardly.

The angel gave a tinkling laugh. "You can thank Ali for the space."

"Checks out," Husk muttered. He leaned his face on his claw, his other hand scratching idly at the table.

They sat in silence. Husker glanced up occasionally to see Nick watching him, eyes dancing, soft smile. Minutes stretched. Husker began to feel uncomfortable under the angel's gaze but just scratched harder at the table, the sound filling the small room.

How long would they sit like this? Husk wondered. Is he not going to say anything? He chanced another glance at the detective. Nick was now leaned forward, chin on hands, still watching.

Husker sneered and dug harder at the table. He had never liked the authorities anyways. Too many run-ins. Some of them deserved with the Speakeasy's, a little trouble here and there. But after a while he noticed they'd give him a hard time for just standing on the wrong corner. Once he had a reputation he could feel them watching him. Even when he tried to clean up his act he felt as though they were all just waiting for him to slip up.

And even before that. He had barely known Kat and Alastor when her husband was shot. A mistake with no consequences except for the poor families mourning. The first time he had gotten busted at 18 had been for punching the cop in the face. A drunk night ending as badly as possible or him. Another day for the murderer.

The detective in particular he had hated. He had warned Alastor many times that he shouldn't let him get so close. They had palled around together as if they were friends, caught up in their little cat and mouse game. Nick had never shown much interest in Husk the few times they'd met. He knew who he was and couldn't be bothered with his misdemeanors. A snide comment here, a friendly joke there. Which was worse. The barrel chested cops that taunted him were one thing, you always knew where you stood with them. This guy was different. More like a cat playing with its food.

Husker rushed back into the apartment, Alastor was gone and the detective was now slumped over on the floor, barely conscious.

"Wake up," Husker said roughly, shaking him.

The detective blinked, eyes going in and out of focus. "My hero has returned," he laughed weakly, wincing at the pain.

"If I had it my way, you'd be under the floorboards," Husker muttered, pulling the man to his feet.

"You really don't like me."

"I don't."

"Why are you helping me?"

"The kid asked me to."

"You'll do anything he says?"

Husker didn't answer. He grunted as he pulled the detective's arm over his shoulder, helping him out the door.

"I'm not sure if you are the best or the worst influence on our Ali," the detective murmured, another laugh.

Husker took care to jostle him, making him wince.

"He's not YOUR Ali."

"Do you regret it? Aiding him?"

Husker growled as a nerve was struck. He dropped the man unceremoniously on the sidewalk. The medics would be there any minute. And he would be long gone. He started to leave but felt a weak tug at his pants leg.

"You should stay. You're bleeding too."

Husker paused, regarding the detective for a moment. He stomped his booted foot onto the man's hand, a sickening crack and a hiss from Nick.

"Fair enough," the detective chuckled darkly, pulling in his broken hand. Husker walked away, never looking back.

"Well I suppose that's time," the detective's voice rang through the closet.

Husker stopped scratching, surprised.

"That's it?" he growled.

"That's it." The detective shrugged, a laugh in his voice.

"Aren't we supposed to talk or something?"

"You didn't say anything."

"Neither did you."

"My redemption isn't on the line."

Husker narrowed his eyes. The detective smirked.

Husker shoved his chair back roughly as he stood.

"I think you saved my life, for what it's worth."

If Husker heard him he didn't react, just exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Davies smiled, leaning forward to trace the scratches on the table with his finger.