A/N: A couple warnings at the end. Enjoy!


Chapter 6: Making your Mock-Up

Okay, so that went well. In retrospect, Angel's little test was a shitty idea. He just had to know, though. The day Alastor first started teaching him, he said he couldn't care less what people said about him. The whole persona—because the whole radio announcer shtick had to be one—said the exact opposite. A reputation was critical to a sinner's life in hell, and the 20's gentleman thing? The radio cannibal thing? Crossdressing doesn't fit. And sure, poking the bear definitely ran the risk of evisceration, but Angel had to know just how much Alastor actually cared what other demons said.

Yes, he had to know, damn it! If he was going to work with him, get him all dolled up and as gorgeous as he knew Al could be, he had to know exactly how much he hated it. Because Alastor did hate it, he made that pretty goddamn clear every time he mentioned Angel's look with disgust dripping like venom from every syllable. He had to know if all his hard work was going to go down the shitter. He had to be prepared in case Alastor took his discomfort and frustration out on him.

But he never had, not yet. Alastor had never laid a hand on him violently, even after Rosie's. Even this time, when the humiliation happened with someone he actually seemed to care about. And now he thought on it, he only talked badly about Angel's job, not his clothes. He only ever said their tastes were different, not than Angel's were bad, or wrong, or shameful…

Alastor obviously hated the whole idea, though. Angel saw it. The way he stiffened when he talked about drag, like the very idea was revolting. The way he reacted with Niffty, embarrassed and half-ashamed. Hell, he straight-up called the whole thing strange and said he only agreed because he'd try anything once.

But he still agreed. And even after Angel was such an asshole, such a hypocrite, after he got one of the only people Al could begin to consider a friend to laugh at the idea, Alastor asked him to come back. To keep working on this strange, embarrassing thing he hates. Sure, he also said fuck off, but he said come back.

"Fuck," Angel said, pressing his knuckles into his eyelids.

Fat Nuggets oinked, sounding almost annoyed.

"I know, baby," he sighed, "I have to apologize. Shit. But not tonight, Nugs. I'll give him his space 'til tomorrow." Because apparently, he needed it. Alastor hadn't been at dinner or at the bar after, which wasn't unheard of but definitely was unusual. But that was fine.

Angel checked his phone—only nine. He might be consistently waking up before nine in the morning now, but no way in hell would he be sleeping anytime soon. He used up his three drinks after Al kicked him out, but maybe he could bug Husk enough to make him "miscount", not that that'd worked before. Val hadn't texted, so passing time at the studio was out. He could for a quick cash grab, replenish his savings a bit, but…

He sighed, stretching. "Why the fuck not." He found his bag of fabrics and rolled out the muslin. "So much for practicin' first."

He wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but Alastor had explained the basics of using patterns and he had the one he made earlier. Or at least had attempted to make. He'd found something similar to the look he wanted online and copied the general form of it to the craft paper using Alastor's measurements. The only problem was how he wanted the dress to hang a bit, not be skin tight. The extra inches he added around the waist were pure guesswork. But hey, the top was taking shape, at least as well as it could in shitty white upholstery cotton held together with pins. He'd figure out the details and actually stitch it together after he got Alastor to try it on.

If he tried it on, he reminded himself. Because after that comment, he might not even want anything to do with Angel anymore. Shit.

A knock came at the door. "Random welfare check," Vaggie called, "you know the drill, ten seconds to respond or I'm coming in."

"I'm right here, jeez!"

"Are you decent?"

"As ever." Setting the pattern aside, he stood and opened the door with arms held out wide. He'd had enough checks to know what was coming next, no sense waiting for her to ask. "And as you can see, there's no illicit drugs, no alcohol, no needles—"

"That's a needle," she pointed out with a smirk, tilting her head to the one with thread hanging from it in one of his extra hands.

"So you do do jokes, huh? Too bad they suck. No wonder you're so goddamn serious all the time."

"I wondered why you asked Charlie to take you to buy fabric of all things. She said you were making Alastor a present or something, but I figured it was for lingerie." She peered through the gap between his arms. "Doesn't look like lingerie. What is it, anyway? Looks like a shirt or—"

"None of your business," he snapped, blocking her view. "You can see I ain't gettin' fucked up, check's over. Now shoo, fly."

"Fine, I was just making conversation," she huffed, turning to leave and muttering as she went. "Touchy about shit today, huh?"

Something in Angel's chest tightened. It froze him in place, made him suck in a breath and grip his doorframe tight enough to splinter the old wood. Still he clung, holding that breath waiting for the feeling to pass. It didn't. It kept that vice grip when he dug his fingertips into his skull, even as the needle still in his hand poked into his scalp sharp enough to draw blood. He flung it blindly into the fabric pile, breath coming in shallow gulps, and still the feeling persisted. He had to get away from it.

The feeling only abated in an alley three streets away, his window back at the hotel propped open, curtains and broken strands of spidersilk flapping in the breeze. With his back pressed hard against brick, he finally breathed easy.


Angel fell back through the window and into bed just before sunrise with a chest full of cash, a face smeared with mascara, and a distinct lack of underpants. He definitely remembered putting them on that morning. He must have lost them somewhere between the club, the alley, and the back of some John's car. Or maybe the front seat. Oh well. They weren't any of his favorite panties, anyway.

The alarm he forgot to turn off woke him up barely two hours later. Even though he couldn't go back to sleeping late without arousing suspicion anyway, he still screamed his frustration into his pillow. Poor Nuggets squealed in concern.

"Daddy's fine, baby," he said, cracking his back. "Just tired. Gonna get a shower and I'll be alright, 'kay?"

He sure didn't feel alright. By the time he finished washing up that clawing feeling returned, and this time he had nothing to stave it off. Dimly, he wished he'd thought to buy some drugs while he was out, but pushed that thought away. He didn't feel like dealing with detox all over again. That didn't stop the sudden craving, of course. Ants crawled under his skin while he got dressed and did his makeup, nearly distracting from the squeezing ache in his chest but not quite. Once he got his face on, though, he was confident no one could tell how alright he didn't feel. He just had to make it through breakfast, then he could get the apology over with and finally be rid of that fucking guilt. Why did he have to be stuck with a conscience, anyway?

"Hi, Angel!" Charlie said as he sat down, way too cheerfully nine in the morning. "Up early again, great! I'm glad you're making it a habit."

"Looks like he's regretting it," Vaggie said. "Buenos días, cariño. Up late working on your secret project?"

He dropped a few fruit pastries on his plate and glared. He knew enough Italian to tell when he was being mocked in Spanish. "Nuneya."

"I'm sure Alastor will love it, whatever it is!" She grabbed the coffee pot and circled around the table to stand beside his chair. "And what is it, by the way?"

"Your coffee bribe won't work on me, princess. Still drinkin' it, though. Gimme."

She looked tempted to refuse, but thought twice about getting between the spider and his caffeine and poured it for him.

"Thanks. Sugar?" Vaggie passed it over. Angel pointedly skipped thanking her.

"So," Charlie said, sitting back down, "I have a hotel announcement. I would have called a meeting of all residents, but. Well." She held up her palms in a sheepish shrug. "The gang's all here anyway, so."

"Spill, then. We starting group therapy? Ain't much of a group."

"We're changing the drink policy," Vaggie said. "One drink per day, not three."

"Goddamn it!" He threw himself back in the chair, nearly tipping it over.

"But!" Charlie continued. "But we're also instating a token system! Every time you take a step towards redemption, you get a token you can exchange for prizes!"

"At the bar, too?"

Vaggie groaned. "Yes, Angel. At the bar, too."

"One token gets one drink," Charlie said, "or you can save up to buy special privileges, like unsupervised visits from friends. You could have Cherri over!" She grinned, obviously pleased with herself. "The easiest way to get tokens is by making it to meals. You've been coming to breakfast, lunch, and dinner almost every day, so there's one free token right away! Or you can sign up for chores on Niffty's chart here and get up to three tokens per chore, depending on how hard it is…"

Angel tuned her out. He got the gist, she was giving out good boy points. He'd just sign up for laundry duty or something, Niffty would probably still do it herself anyway. He had more important things to worry about than how to suck up for booze. Namely sucking up to Alastor before he decided sewing wasn't important enough to keep him around anymore.

When he went to make up, though, he hit a snag. He couldn't find Al's room anywhere. He checked every residential floor, including the ones still under renovation, and even took the stairs on his second walk through in case the elevator was fucked up and skipped a floor, to no avail. Cursing overlord magic bullshit (and feeling less stupid for getting lost before), Angel took the hint and let him have his space.

That left Angel with a whole lot of time he didn't know what to do with. Shit, he spent less than a week sewing with that smiley bastard and he already forgot what he did without him? What was he doing the day they started? Oh, right, sitting bored out of his mind at the bar. That's why he bugged Alastor in the first place. Probation sucked, and not in the fun way.

He couldn't risk sneaking out again, not during the day. Charlie bugged him to socialize if he spent too long in his room alone and Vaggie liked to keep tabs on him when he was up and about. Besides, he didn't want to miss lunch, if that was his only way to get extra booze. That left sewing, playing with Nuggets, wasting his one drink, or mindlessly refreshing social media. He couldn't take the dress or Nugs out to the lobby, though, and the latter options were about as appealing as Sunday dinner with his family.

Angel sighed, regretting everything about his entire afterlife, and stepped into the main office. "Hey Charlie? Where'd you put that chore chart?"

When she squealed and held him in a bone-crushing hug, he wished Alastor would have just killed him.

He worked with Niffty until lunch, did a quick search of the hallways, then went back to dusting unused rooms when Alastor's door still didn't make an appearance. By dinner, he was too annoyed to be too scared of his wrath. Alastor was the one who invited him back. The least he could do was let Angel in! He headed straight to his room after dinner, refusing to humor the Radio Demon with doing a search the third time, but spotted Alastor's door along the way.

That fear he was too annoyed to feel came back with full force, adding to that awful tightness in his chest. He shook it off and knocked. If Alastor didn't want to see him, he wouldn't let it happen.

"Come right in, my colorful colleague!"

Okay, the terror was back again. Alastor's voice was casual, cheerful even. He didn't sound mad at all. Why wasn't he mad? Still, Angel shuffled inside. "Hey, Al," he said warily, easing the door shut behind him. "I, uh. Wanted to say so—"

"Why Angel!" he interrupted. "You've forgotten your dear pet! How are we meant to do any work without our model?"

"Yeah, I'll get Nuggets in a bit, first I wanted to talk abo—"

"Nonsense! No sense wasting time when we're already starting so late. We can talk just as well while taking measurements, I'm sure."

"Well yeah but—"

"Run along then! My, weren't you so excited about these boots yesterday? Whatever happened to that?"

Angel stared, deadpan. "Well mainly—"

"Come right back, now!" Alastor pushed him back into the hall. "We've wasted enough time chatting!"

He groaned, but went along with it. He probably deserved it. The room stayed on his floor this time, at least, so he gathered his pig with little incident. Nuggets squealed excitedly when he brought out the leash and snuffled at every corner and doorway on the way.

"Here it is!" Alastor greeted them as they stepped in. "Nuggets! Why, Angel just goes on and on about you, my dear, I am honored to finally make your acquaintance!"

"Yeah, they're real excited to meet you too. Now we need to talk about—"

"Would you hold the pig so its feet are sticking out? I need a few measurements to alter the pattern."

He did so, sitting on the couch. "Alastor," he said, "about yester—"

"Do make it stop wriggling about so much, won't you?"

"Sure, I'll try, but we really shou—"

"Right, that's the length measured, now to do around the—"

"You can't keep deflecting all goddamn night!"

Alastor looked up from the measuring tape, tilting his head. His eyes flashed red. "No?"

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation getting to him, but Angel stood his ground. "No," he said. "You can't. I don't know why you're avoidin' it, but we're gonna talk about yesterday." He waited for the interruption, but this time, it never came. "Alastor, I'm sorry. I nev—"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear fellow!"

"Come again?"

"You said nothing wrong," Alastor continued. "You were simply teasing the way you always do, with your inappropriate humor. My reaction was overdramatic."

"Your reaction was under-dramatic!" He raised one set of arms in the air—probably a little overdramatic himself. He used the other keep Nuggets firmly on his lap. The talk was already excruciating, no need to be interrupted by a pig running off and trying to eat the curtains. "I was an ass, Smiles. You're goin' along with this whole crossdressing thing, humorin' me, and I tease you about it in front of your…" Employee? Friend? Coworker? …child? "…in front of Niffty? That was shitty."

"Forget it, Angel. It's done. I never asked you to keep your little surprise a secret and it wasn't even revealed. Simply keep your mouth shut in the future."

"I ain't gonna just forget it!" Angel said. "I knew you weren't gonna want anyone to know about this. It wasn't, like, an accident. I was pushin' your buttons on purpose just to see how far you'd let me go and I don't have an excuse for it." He stopped, looking away. "I'm sorry."

The apology hung in the air, suspended by tinnitus, for several moments. Neither dared to speak. He couldn't meet Alastor's eyes.

Finally, it was Alastor who broke the silence. "Angel."

He was silent again, but the gentle hum betrayed expectancy rather than apprehension. Angel dared to look at him. His smile was tight at the corners in a way that didn't reach his eyes.

"Drop it."

If the words themselves didn't convince him, the accompanying hiss of static did. Even his exhausted mind could understand that. He shut up about it.

So what if Al wouldn't accept an apology? He still gave one. It wasn't his fault if Alastor decided he'd rather ignore shit.

So why did his chest still feel so heavy?


Warnings: A little heavier on the implied sexual content this chapter, because Angel Dust is Angel Dust. Also, depiction of a panic attack. To skip it, skip to after the line break following the dialogue: "Touchy about shit today, huh?"

As always, thanks so much for reading! All comments, critiques, and predictions appreciated.