A/N:
Prompt by Deskdraik:
A nightmare of Alastor where Husk did not say goodbye on the day of extermination, better, to dream of what would have happened if Husk had not said goodbye to him on the day of extermination. wake up very agitated.
This chapter happens after they got together but before they leave the hotel. Somewhere in the early stages of their relationship.
TRIGGER WARNING: you know, the whole suicide thing Husk had going on.
Alastor hummed to himself as he approached the room where he knew the soon-to-be-erased fellow was hiding. The pathetic excuse of a sinner was certainly quite ignorant of his fate, thinking he was as safe and sound as he had been year after year in his little hidey-hole. Hah, not this year. Not after that stupid stunt on the last extermination day, the one that had cost Alastor two of his subordinates. No, today was going to be the last day of that fool's miserable existence, and Alastor was going to watch his soul be torn from his body with much glee.
Or that had been the plan anyway. He had a niggling feeling it wasn't going to happen. Something much more important would prevent him from putting his plan into action. What, he didn't know, but he knew he would find out soon. The dread was building in the pit of his stomach and it would explode into a moment of absolute terror as soon as he walked past that painting on the wall. He knew that without a single doubt.
He stopped for a second, waiting for the feeling of déjà-vu to pass, before continuing his humming and striding forward again, now with an urgency in his steps despite being back on the script.
He passed by the abstract painting of questionable taste, and continued towards the door. However, his steps became hesitant the closer he got. The more time he wasted.
Something was off. Missing. Something was supposed to happen right after he passed that awful painting. He was not supposed to reach the door.
He stopped walking again and looked at his microphone. He was supposed to have heard something. Not necessarily from the microphone, but it had to do with his abilities.
Someone had been supposed to contact him.
Wait.
Only two people knew he could be contacted like that. Rosie and Husker.
Husker.
And there was the terror. The absolute, heart-stopping, world-shattering, cold dread that made his limbs feel like lead and his mind scream at him to act, and do it before it was too late. Now! NOW! NOW DAMN IT!
He vanished from the spot and appeared in a familiar pub, facing the jukebox.
This was the part where his terror was supposed to melt into relief, and then turn into a jumbled mess of anger and longing and the need to shake Husker until he stopped being an absolute moron for one single day.
But Husker wasn't there.
He wasn't practically hugging the jukebox in order to stay standing in his inebriated state, his back towards Alastor, his wings and ears drooping and hat askew and his frame shaking with sadness and possibly fear. He didn't take a few seconds – just enough for Alastor's emotions and heartbeat to calm down to something more manageable – of just standing there before turning around and crashing into Alastor's waiting arms.
He was simply no longer there.
Alastor's heart dropped and his breath got stuck in his throat. No.
He whirled around and his eyes locked on the open door. A door that led outside to the chaotic angelic massacre.
He ran. Right out of the door, uncaring of what might happen to him when he went out.
And there, right outside of the pub, stood Husker. His wings and tail were practically sweeping the ground, they hung so low. He was staring forward with completely emotionless eyes that lacked their usual spark. Dull. Empty.
In front of him stood an exterminator. It wore a mask that had Alastor's own grin on it, the very same one he saw in the mirror every morning. In its hands it held a very familiar rifle; the one that had been the last thing Alastor saw before landing in Hell. The muzzle was pointing right between Husker's eyes.
Said eyes turned towards Alastor and nothing about the expression or lack-there-of in them changed. Unfeeling.
"Husk-!"
An ear-deafening BANG and Husker's body arched backwards, droplets of red suspended in the air.
The world shattered into a million sharp pieces.
ooooo
Alastor's eyes flew open and he gasped for breath, heart racing and sweat making his pajamas stick to his body. He panted, feeling like he couldn't get any air into his lungs, and stared ahead into the darkness of his room, casting faint red light with his eyes wherever he looked. He was at the hotel. This was his room and it looked the same it always did. Nothing was amiss.
A dream. A nightmare.
It wasn't real. That's not what had actually happened. Husker had called him and he had arrived in time. Husker hadn't been erased. He was fine.
Right?
Alastor buried his face in his hands and tried to get a grip. Tried to turn his frightened grimace into a presentable smile.
Husker was fine. It had been thirty years. This wasn't the first time he had had this nightmare. Husker had been fine every time. Checking on him month after year after decade was ridiculous.
...He would still check this time too. Not checking wasn't an option. Husker never knew when he did that anyway. When Husker slept, he was completely oblivious to the world around him. He slept like the dead.
...Bad comparison.
Alastor took a few deep breaths to regain at least some of his composure, and got out of the bed. He eyed his clothes for a moment, knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep anyway, but decided against getting dressed. He could do that once he knew without a single baseless doubt that Husker was alive.
He had to know first.
Mind made up, he silently appeared in Husker's room.
And there he was. Laying on his back with one wing splayed open and the other neatly folded to his side. His thin blanket was only covering his legs, which was typical as his fur made it too hot for him to tolerate it for an entire night most of the time. He was snoring softly, his chest rising and falling reassuringly as he breathed.
Alastor's tense muscles relaxed and the anxious knot in the pit of his stomach loosened.
Husker was fine. He was safe, not dead, not erased, sleeping peacefully. Like he should be. Like he needed to be. Because he was not allowed to leave Alastor.
He wanted to climb into the bed, gather Husker into his arms, and hold him tightly against his chest in order to make sure he was real, he was there, he was still warm and breathing and not dead in any capacity. But he couldn't. Husker would ask him awkward questions if he just suddenly cuddled up to him in the middle of the night, and he didn't want to give any answers.
…
He slowly realized that there might not be any questions asked this time. Husker was his sheik now. He was not only allowed to spend the night with him, but it was encouraged. Him showing up wouldn't be seen as odd.
He could have this.
Alastor's smile finally felt natural on his face as he climbed into the bed and glued himself to Husker's warm, furry side, and nuzzled his face against his cheek.
"Mmh? Oh… Al..." Husker mumbled, and wrapped an arm loosely around him before sighing and going back to sleep, now with a small upturn on his lips.
Alastor closed his eyes and petted Husker's chest, listening to the slowly starting purrs with his own smile widening and his heartbeat calming down. It was like Husker's presence was… a cooling balm applied over a fresh burn. Soothing, relieving, gentle.
This contentedness, being allowed to seek the other out when he needed or just wanted him, this feeling of belonging, acceptance and safety. Everything Husker had effortlessly provided to him for decades, probably without even realizing it.
He didn't need the metaphorical fireworks he had heard about. The feeling of his heart being on fire like certain songs led him to believe was supposed to happen. The potentially real physical reaction where your partner made your knees feel weak. The feeling Husk had mentioned once where you just look at the other and somehow feel more complete. No.
This was more than enough.
With Husker by his side, warm and soft and purring and steady, he knew the nightmare wouldn't be able to reach him again tonight, even if he fell asleep.