A/N: Warning: Heavy stuff in this chapter. Make sure you're mentally prepared before you venture forth.

Darkness.

Pain.

Voices screaming and the sounds of explosions and gunfire. The crackling from burning woods and houses and people. Boots slapping in the mud as they ran, ran, ran.

More pain.

The metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Vomit. Alcohol. The very particular grease that came from burning human bodies and was unavoidable when you had to keep on breathing.

Whiteness.

Feeling like his brain was stabbed with tiny little needless over and over and over-

The kick on his shoulder as his gun fired. The ache on his back from carrying a backpack, a bundle of woods, an injured comrade. The sweat dripping down his forehead. The heat on his face. The dirt on his everywhere.

More pain.

Dead bodies everywhere. The exhausted and hopeless faces around him. The empty water canteen. The missing limbs and bloody bandages. Endless woods.

Red everywhere. Nothing but bright red.

The smell of decaying bodies and bodily fluids. Gunpowder. Alcohol. Smoke. Blood, blood, blood.

Pain.

Darkness.

ooooo

Husk woke up in his own bed and stared listlessly at the ceiling. It felt surreal, waking up. He had already given up on the thought of that happening. He had accepted his new reality of being trapped in his head with nothing but his worst memories and pain for company. He hadn't had any other choice, given that in that state there was nothing you could do but accept it. You couldn't close your eyes or cover your ears. You couldn't hide or drink yourself into oblivion.

You could only hope you would cease to exist already.

But here he was, alive again. Well, as alive as you could call it when you're in Hell.

More alive than actively being a corpse was anyway.

Dying in Hell was a bad fucking idea. It meant a week of agony as a punishment for trying to escape your already harsh punishment for your mistakes in life. Even when you didn't choose to attempt the escape yourself. Which, mind you, Husk had foolishly tried before during his first year in Hell – twice even, because he was too dumb to learn from one attempt. But not this time.

No, this time it was because of…

"Husker?"

Alastor's grinning face invaded his vision. Husk was too damn disoriented to read him right now, but the grin was small and it it wavered around the edges. As a side note, something was off with Alastor's hair... Oh, the right side was cut shorter than the left, the black tips nearly gone. There was a faint, almost completely healed cut on his cheek to go with the look. Huh... Husk wandering eyes finally locked with Alastor's, and he was then promptly pulled into a tight embrace.

He felt mostly numb about it, even when Alastor buried his face in Husk's fur and nuzzled the base of his ear with more force than usual.

Numb, and vaguely angry. Because he remembered.

"Al", Husk slurred, and lifted a paw to weakly push at him. Alastor just hummed and squeezed him harder.

Increasingly angry. He remembered their previous conversation, even if felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. He remembered the mansion. The finger on his forehead.

"Alastor", he said, and pushed more insistently.

"Yes?" Alastor asked, but still didn't let go. Still kept his arms around Husk. Still insisted on getting what he wanted, regardless of what Husk wanted.

Husk growled, and dug his claws into whatever part of Alastor he was pushing at. That earned him a yelp, and finally Alastor let go of him and staggered a couple of steps away from the bed with an extremely confused look on his face.

How dare he. How dare he look confused.

Husk sat up properly, ignoring the ache in his long disused muscles and the blood rushing in his ears from the sudden movement, and glared. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What-"

"A fucking rakshasa! You sent me to face a fucking rakshasa AND didn't even think to warn me?"

Alastor blinked a few times and extended an arm in Husk's direction, before he visibly figured out what was going on and halted. He promptly collected himself, folded his arms behind his back, and put on a neutral grin in order to give an appearance of being in control of the situation. Motherfucker. "My apologies, but I had to, my dear. You would have never agreed to it if I had told you."

Fucking what.

Did he just-?

Husk hissed at Alastor, whose eyes widened. He hadn't been on the receiving end of a hiss from Husk before, and was clearly shocked to find himself in that situation now.

"I didn't mean to agree in the first fucking place!" Husk snarled, his tail lashing from side to side. "You coerced me into your bullshit! With your touchy-feely shit and damned bribery you fucking manipulated me into agreeing to your dangerous fucking game against my better judgement! And guess what? I fucking died! Have you ever died in Hell, Alastor?"

Alastor opened his mouth and lifted a finger, but then blinked in silence as he clearly found himself lacking the correct answer.

That was fucking it.

"Get the fuck out of here", Husk growled, and crossed his arms.

"Husk-"

"Fucking leave!" he yelled, and flared his wings open. He bared his fangs at Alastor and his ears turned back. "Leave me the hell alone! I cannot stand your grinny fucking face right now! Go!"

To Alastor's credit, he did leave at once.

Husk buried his face in his paws and wrapped himself into the safety of his wings.

Fucking hell, he hated everything.

ooooo

"Good evening, folks! We have just received word that the Radio Demon is currently slaughtering people in the south-eastern side of the Pentagram. We still do not know what set him off, but today marks a full week of twice a day massacres by him, which is unprecedented. We advise you to stay indoors if you're in the area, unless you fancy a week of painful recovery! On the other news-"

Husk turned the television off and frustratedly threw a cushion at the screaming radio he had tried to silence with a blanket without much success.

As soon as he had almost gotten his shit together after Alastor's departure, the broadcast had begun. Alastor had prefaced it with a simple "This is Alastor, and now on to the show", which was really fucking off, as usually he gave at least a few lines of introductions to himself and the situation first.

He was clearly angry. Well, considering what the news had just revealed, he had been unhinged for the whole week Husk had been out.

Fucking fantastic.

It was bound to get even better now that Husk had no fucking intention of seeing the bastard for some time. He would hit him in his grinny fucking face if he had to look at him, and he didn't want to do that, despite currently hating his guts.

Yeah, he was fucking livid. Alastor had gotten him fucking killed! Now, it was one thing for Husk to volunteer to fight beside Alastor when Vox or some other bastard picked a fight with him. Husk was willing to risk death protecting Alastor.

But it was a completely different for Alastor to force him into a deadly situation half blind, just because he fucking felt like scheming! It was an utterly unnecessary risk, and showed how little Husk's wellbeing really mattered.

Yes, he was being unfair but who fucking cared!

He growled, got up from the couch, and went to get himself a damned drink.

ooooo

Husk was at his fucking limit.

An entire week.

Alastor had spent an entire fucking week after they last saw each other slaughtering people left and right and forcing the rest of the population to listen to the carnage.

Husk included.

He had thought it would be just that one time. That Alastor was simply mad at his rejection. But no. No, of course not. It had happened again the next day, and Husk's hung over and recently re-traumatized mind had sent him right back to the war because of the screams. Fun fucking times.

And then it happened again after a few hours. And then twice more the next day. Husk had tried to escape it the next day by leaving the house, but he had found himself too overwhelmed by the people and the sights of Hell and had had to come back home or risk a fucking panic attack or some shit in public.

He had spent the next three days absolutely shitfaced or passed out in his own home, but every time the screaming started he'd find himself trapped in his memories, no matter how drunk he was.

And now he was out of liquor but unable to go out to get more because he hadn't been allowed to move forward from square one.

He screamed in frustration, stomped over to the bundle of blankets and pillows that were hiding his radio and tore his way to the center to reach the screaming and moaning device. He slammed a paw on it hard enough to hurt himself.

"Alastor! You motherfucking asshole! I'm sick of this constant fucking screaming you broadcast multiple fucking times a day! I'm drowning in my fucking war flashbacks enough as it is and this! Is! Not! Fucking! Helping! I swear to God if you don't stop this motherfucking bullshit right this fucking instant, I will toss this fucking radio out my fucking window and never talk to you again, you son of a bitch!"

He took his paw back, breathing heavily and glaring at the radio.

And then, suddenly, there was silence.

The radio was still on, but there was nothing but faint static coming from it, and even that took Husk a moment to pick up on because of the abrupt change in the noise level.

It had worked.

He didn't know if Alastor had just stopped broadcasting or if he had left the scene of the bloodbath entirely, but the point was that the screaming ceased.

Blessed fucking silence. Husk sighed in absolute relief and leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. For a moment he simply existed, soaking up the lack of screams. And then, after regaining his equilibrium, he started thinking.

Did the broadcast stop just for him – was that something Alastor could even control? – or for everyone? Hell, if it was the latter... That was sure to be fucking confusing and frightening to the rest of the population, who wouldn't have the faintest clue what had caused it.

...There was a way to find out.

He eased himself off the wall and made a beeline to his couch. He located the remote from the mess of empty bottles and cans and dirty dishes and turned the television on. It took a few minutes for the news to be played, but when it did, he got his answer.

Alastor had vanished from the scene.

The survivors reported that he had abruptly frozen mid-kill, then shrunk back to his usual size, and disappeared. Nobody knew why.

Well, Husk did.

Damn it, Alastor.

As if on cue, the uncovered radio suddenly started emitting soft, soothing music at a low volume.

...Fuck damn it, Alastor.

ooooo

Husk spent the next few days taking it easy. He slept a lot, watched the television brainlessly, read a couple of books he had read a million times before and didn't actually need to absorb, and all around tried to simply exist peacefully and regain his mental balance. Whatever was left of it.

At the end of the week he felt decent enough to drop by the liquor store, but just barely. Mechanically. Only because he knew the way there with his eyes closed. Only because he absolutely needed to. It left him basically dead again, but least he had alcohol now.

He had been unable to get groceries, though. He had meant to, but he fucking couldn't. Well, he could live off of rice and canned tuna for a while longer. Who needed fucking vegetables or bread anyway?

Damn, he missed actual meals. He missed Al-

Fucking no. Too soon.

He must have jinxed it, as the very next day there was knocking on his door. He figured it might be his neighbour wanting something from him, so he got his tired ass off the couch and went to open the door.

Instead of his neighbour, there stood Alastor. He was wearing his usual smile, although there was a strained edge to it. The cut on his cheek had disappeared entirely, and his hair was almost the right length again.

...Alastor fucking knocked now?

Also, he had some damn nerve to show up.

"Huske-"

Husk slammed the door in his face. Just… Just fucking no. He did not have the mental energy to deal with Alastor yet.

He leaned his back against the door and closed his eyes, feeling drained again just from looking at the guy. For fuck's sake...

…He could almost physically feel those red eyes boring a hole on his back.

"I'm not going to let you in. Leave", he said loudly.

The presence from the other side vanished, and Husk slid down the door into a heap of tired misery on the floor.

ooooo

Another week went by and Husk was slowly getting better. He even dared a trip to the casino once and spent a couple of hours there, but it left him so fucking drained that he spent the next day doing absolutely nothing.

This was like his first year in Hell all over again with how fucking miserable he was in all ways.

Okay, actually it wasn't half as bad, but he had gotten so used to what his afterlife had been like for the last few decades that it felt worse than it was. He had to keep reminding himself of this. He had a roof over his head. He had food. He had alcohol. He had peace and quiet. His only real problems were psychological. There. It was nowhere near as bad. He could pick himself up from this. He had picked himself up so many times in his life and afterlife that it should be second nature to him by now. He just needed to get a grip. Put himself back together.

He was lying face down on his couch and trying to convince himself to do something, fucking anything, when there was a knock on the door.

This time he could guess who it was.

He was almost ready to forgive him now. Almost ready to deal with his noise and energy. But not quite. He wasn't together enough.

He did force himself off the couch and to the door anyway.

Alastor looked almost as horrible as Husk felt. His smile barely counted as one, he had bags under his eyes, and his ears drooped slightly.

Fucking hell.

Clearly Alastor was suffering from their separation. Well, it was honestly not that surprising, as usually they saw each other at least once a week and chatted via radio more than that. Hell, the last time they had spent this long apart…

Oh.

Yeah, not going there. It had been almost two decades ago, but he was still not going there.

Husk sighed, and ran a paw over his face. "Not yet. I can't deal with your noise right now. Give me another week."

Alastor looked at him with such earnest hopefulness that it hurt his heart. "Another week it is."

Husk shut the door after Alastor vanished.

ooooo

Exactly a week later, to the minute, there was a knock on his door. Husk had been preparing for it for the last few days. He had forced himself into getting a fucking grip by not allowing himself to lay on the couch for any amount of time – if he really needed a nap, he did it on his bed – by taking walks outside for some fresh air and exercise, and by dropping by the pub or the casino for brief periods of time – just enough to socialize but not so long as to exhaust himself.

So, now he was ready to deal with Alastor again. He hoped.

He opened the door, and there Alastor was. He looked better than last week; having had an actual end in sight had clearly made the waiting more bearable. He had an only slightly off grin on his lips and his ears were perky like usual.

Damn it, Husk had missed his stupid face.

Neither of them said a word, although Alastor looked like he was dying to but simply didn't dare. He was probably justifiably afraid of being sent away again.

Husk sighed and stepped back, leaving the door open behind him. He headed to the couch, paying little attention to the footsteps behind him or the sound of the door closing.

Alastor sat down next to him, but with considerable space between them. It wasn't a completely unfamiliar space; sometimes Alastor wasn't clingy and instead avoided touch. So this was fine. It was normal. Just a little uncommon.

"...I brought you something", Alastor said after a beat of silence. He placed a white pastry box on the coffee table in front of Husk.

Husk stared at it for a moment, then reached over and carefully lifted the lid. Inside was a slice of dark brown cake with some kind of a lighter brown creamy layer in the middle and thick, dark chocolate frosting and chocolate shavings on top.

Husk snorted. He knew what cakes like this were called.

"Trying to kill me again, are you?" he asked, and glanced at Alastor.

Alastor grinned, and held a cake fork out for him. "In a more pleasant way, I hope."

Husk snorted again and accepted the fork. He cut a small bite from the cake and gave it a taste. It was just the right amount of damp and rich in chocolate. The milk chocolate buttercream in the middle was perfectly creamy and smooth. The dark chocolate frosting – ganache, he thought it was called – was just shy of being bitter. For someone who didn't like sweets, Alastor sure could make a damn good cake when he wanted to.

Husk hummed contentedly and took another bite. He could hear a quiet sigh from Alastor's direction. Had he… Had Alastor been holding his breath while waiting to see if Husk liked the cake?

Damn, that was so stupidly adorable that Husk instantly felt a lot more forgiving. Okay, the cake helped, too.

Alastor seemed to sense his change in mood as he shifted closer and extended an arm towards Husk's shoulders in a very familiar manner. He actually did it slower than usual and even hovered for a second before finally wrapping an arm around Husk and pulling him into a gentle side-hug.

Alastor truly was going all out with the apology. Silence, a tasty present, respectful distance, an out from the touch if Husk didn't want it, and gentleness.

It was really fucking sweet. Uncommon with Alastor, but not completely unheard of.

Husk leaned against Alastor, and took another bite of the cake. Alastor squeezed him closer and pressed his pointy nose against the base of Husk's ear.

Fuck damn it, Husk didn't want to admit how much he had missed this. Out loud, at least.

"You know", he said, keeping his voice low. "The wait wasn't a punishment. Well, not entirely anyway. Mostly I just couldn't fucking deal with anything. Death in Hell messes you up good. I was completely in fucking pieces and I don't know if I could have handled you even if I hadn't been mad at you. I'm..."

Fucking hell he was being mushy, but if he was going to let Alastor be around him right then, he needed to learn the fucking rules.

He sighed.

"I'm still a mess", he admitted. "But now I'm at the point where… where you could probably help me pick up the pieces. But you will need to be less noisy and less boisterous for a while. I can't stay in the fucking bar for more than a couple of hours without feeling drained afterwards, so I definitely can't handle you being all over the fucking place like usual. Can you do that?"

Alastor wrapped his other arm around Husk, too, and pulled him into a proper hug. Husk noticed a slight tremble in his frame, and his ears picked up a low volume white noise that hadn't been there a moment ago. He dropped the fork on the coffee table and returned the hug.

"I'm sorry, Husker", Alastor whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I know."

"I'll be as quiet as I can and the least bothersome I can manage."

"Appreciated. Though just so you know, quiet should be more about the volume and sound effects and less about the chatter. You not talking is fucking creepy and unnatural."

Alastor chuckled, and Husk felt instantly lighter. This was the Alastor he had missed. He hadn't even registered how much Alastor's fucking meekness had bothered him until that moment.

Fucking shit, he had done a number on Alastor again, hadn't he? Not purposefully, and he had been justified in his anger, but Alastor had taken a little too much of an emotional beating in the process. His death had been a temporary one, but he had still been a fucking corpse for a week and Alastor had clearly taken it hard. Very damn unsurprisingly.

At least Husk knew how to begin fixing this.

"You know what, Al? I think I'll need a lot of therapy cuddles to get over this shit. And fucking gumbo or something; I've been eating complete fucking bullcrap lately and I'm probably deficient on all nutrients. Can't get decent food here without you around."

Alastor squeezed him way too hard as a result, but Husk frankly didn't give a single damn and returned the hug with equal intensity.

They were going to be okay.

A/N: What happened to the tigress? How was the city after Alastor's two weeks of slaughter? Don't worry, you'll find out in chapter 12 of Afterlife.