The plan is a simple one, an adult chaperones Angel no matter where he goes. They'll take shifts, they'll be armed, and they'll be ready. He honestly wants it to be Fat Nuggets that takes Valentino out. How funny would it be to see a grown man get absolutely folded by an angry pig? Angel would pay some serious cash to see that shit.

Angel's schedule doesn't change much; he still has school for eight hours, dance class twice a week, therapy on Tuesdays, and family movie night on Sundays. Angel picks his comfort movie this week, Tucker and Dale Versus Evil is a joy to have in class.

It's a few days before Halloween when Angel is approached again. Millie's in the bathroom with Mallory, poor thing had an absolute blow-out and Angel makes a note to never have kids. He curls up in a chair in the horror section of the bookstore, reading an old favorite that he has on a shelf back in California. That copy is well-worn, the spine broken and taped back together, pages yellowed and smelling of vanilla.

"Those are crypts, Richie," comes a smooth tenor. "They're cracking open and the vampires you thought were dead are all flying out again." Angel jolts badly enough that the book would have fallen to the ground if a hand hadn't caught it. Angel follows the familiar tracery of veins up a wrist that disappears into the sleeve of a red jacket, up and up to a smugly grinning face. "So predictable, Angelcakes."

"Would it be predictable if I kicked you in the nuts," he bites out. Val's smile transforms into a sneer, baring that stupid gold tooth he's so well known for. He's a beautiful man, has been on magazine covers most of his life before he finally started a magazine of his own, the perfect male model. The sneer makes all of that beauty disappear, warped like the witch in the gingerbread house.

(like a clown into a spider.)

"Don't be like that, amorcito, and stop frowning. You'll get wrinkles." He reaches out to thumb away the crease between Angel's brows, drawing back quickly when Angel's teeth nearly sink into his wrist. His eyes darken, go hard and black. "When we get you home again, you're gonna pay for this. It'll be months on your back on a filthy motel mattress before you're able to pay me back for all the money you've lost me with this stunt."

"I ain't goin' back with you."

"Is that what your little friends told you? Don't you know by now that you can't trust people that ain't family?" Angel snatches his book out of Valentino's hand, smoothing a palm over the wrinkled page.

"And you think you're my family? Got news for ya, Val, family don't do the things you an' Vox did ta me. Family supports you and loves you and they certainly don't rape you in your own bed. They don't drug you and make you perform for a buncha pervs."

"Watch your mouth, Angie."

"Or what? Ya gonna punish me in the middle of the Barnes and Noble? Gonna drag me into the bathroom and make me bend over for a spanking?" Angel stands, book forgotten in the fury coursing through him like fire. He feels like he's burning up, like a spark will send him and Val both straight to Hell. "You ain't ever gonna hurt me again, Val. Not ever."

"Isn't that what you said when you were nine?" Val chuckles, low and almost growling. "Remember how you fought back then to get back to your precious Molly? By ten, you forgot all about trying to fight. I'll beat this outta you, remind you where you belong—"

Angel's confused why Val cut himself off at first, but then Val's slowly turning to reveal a short woman with a pistol trained on him. Millie looks like Death come to Earth even with the baby in one arm, righteous anger making her eyes glow. This is Millie in her element, at her best.

"Ain't you got somewhere better to be," she asks. "Maybe a trip to the free clinic for a dose of ceftriaxone? God knows your gonorrhea ain't gonna clear up on its own and I can smell ya from here." She wrinkles her nose dramatically.

"Tu pequeña perra—"

"Watch your mouth before I put a bullet in it!" Val bares his teeth in a growl, hands curling into fists tight enough that his gold-painted nails draw blood. "Angel, darlin', are ya ready to go home?"

"Can we get a coffee on the way?"

"Course we can, honey." Angel sends Val one last glare and then he's striding off with Millie beside him. They don't talk again until they're all buckled in, the radio playing softly. He thinks it's a Billy Idol song, but it's too low to make out more than the rhythm. "How're ya feelin'?"

"Like I wanna punch that fucker right in the dick."

"You'll get your chance, sweetie."

"I'm not— Do ya think we can take a rain check on the coffee? My stomach's all torn up right now." Millie nods with a solemn smile, so unlike her usual vibrant self that it makes guilt creep up Angel's throat like choking vines. This is his fault, she's supposed to be enjoying her baby, not babysitting a sixteen year old.

"What's with the face? Don't be feeling guilty over there. Do you know I haven't been able to threaten anyone properly since I found out I was pregnant? That was better than a line of coke." Angel's head snaps to the left, a laugh startled out of him.

"You've done coke?"

"Done a lotta shit. I can't do any of it right now since I'm breastfeeding, but you can bet your sweet ass I'm gonna eat a whole host of edibles as soon as the monkey back there is on solids. Can't wait to get fucked up and watch Bluey."

"Ever done LSD and watched Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island? First class high right there. Ten out of ten, would recommend."

"I'mma add that to my list. I'll send Mallory to Stolas and steal Blitzø for the night. It'll be just like old times." Angel laughs again, some of that guilt withering under the pure joy that radiates off Millie. He leans forward to crank the volume up, leaning back in the cool leather seat.

They're just turning onto Angel's street when the radio announcer comes on, a familiar drawl like honey over fresh beignets. "And that's the end of the hour, my dears! I'll be turning things over to Verosika for the evening. As always, I hope you've all had a wonderfully exciting day and goodnight, Static, goodnight."

"Is that Alastor?"

"Yep."

"He's a fucking radio host," Angel squeaks. It shouldn't be so surprising, it really, really shouldn't be. He's got a ton of radio equipment in the garage, enough records to require their own closet, and he's far too obsessed with Night Vale. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, the man even uses Cecil's farewell. "Oh, I'm gonna bully that nerd so fucking hard tonight."

"As you should." She reaches out to ruffle his hair without taking her eyes off the road, mussing the style he'd worked so hard to get just right this morning.

"Eh, c'mon, not my hair!"

"Bullying is my love language."

"I'm gonna teach Mallory how to curse. Gonna make sure her first word is fuck and not mama. Just watch. I'm the baby whisperer." They're still arguing about the sanctity of hairstyles as they go inside, Mallory cradled against Angel's chest. He likes the weight of her, the lavender scent of her little head. Is this how his brother had felt when the twins were little? He hopes so. "She's gonna have a first class potty mouth before she starts kindergarten."

"No, she's gonna be a lil lady."

"Miscreant."

"I will bite you, Angel. Don't try me."

"You can't bite me, I'm traumatized!"

"Ha! So am I!"

"I'm way more traumatized than you are. I've got mental and physical scars, so suck it." Millie looks ready to one up him when a broad hand covers her mouth. Husk doesn't look the slightest bit impressed with either of them. "Heya, Husky! Did ya know Al's a radio host?"

"He owns three stations," Husk shrugs. "It's why he's gone sporadically, works a couple shifts at all of 'em. This is his last one until we can put the Vees down, though." Husk takes Mallory from him, nuzzling against the top of her head with a faint smile.

"Ah, no, he don't have to stop 'cause a me."

"He takes a break before all of his hunts. You ain't that special." That's softened by a pat to his cheek and Angel can't hide his smile. It's just so nice to not have to beg for scraps of affection, to whore himself out just to be held afterward. If he wants to, he could sprawl over Husk and Alastor's bed and just talk to them in the mornings or evenings. Once, he sat outside the bathroom door while Alastor showered, rambling about how his day had gone, and Alastor hadn't called him a clingy bitch or kicked at him. He'd talked back.

Fuck, Angel's getting all teary-eyed.

"I'm gonna go ta my room for a bit. I wanna get a head start on a couple essays so I can play on my phone during study hall."

"Supper's take-out, so be thinkin' about what you'll want!"

"Yessir, Husky, sir!" He races up the stairs with Husk's chuckle drifting behind him, his smile sticking perfectly in place until he has the door shut behind him. He slides down the thick wood until he hits the floor, knees drawn up to his chest.

This isn't the first time he's made Val so angry, but this is the first time he hasn't had to pay the consequences directly afterward. What if Millie hadn't come out of the bathroom in time? What if Val had lunged at her and made her drop Mallory? Angel wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to the pipsqueak.

Maybe he should go back….

No.

No, he's not going back to that hellhole no matter what. He'd rather kill himself than let the Vees or their friends touch him again. Little Anthony Bianchi couldn't fight back but Angel Découx sure as shit can. If they want him back so badly, they'll have to drag him back in pieces.

He stands on shaky legs and crosses to his desk, grabbing up his phone. This one is bright pink, the lock screen showing a picture of the pig currently flopped upside down in his bed and sound asleep. Angel unlocks it and pulls up a familiar number, one he's been fighting the urge to text for the past six months.

Did you know?

A moment later, the response: about the drugs or the mrdr?

About what they did to me. There's a long moment that Angel spends watching the dots at the bottom of the screen, Velvette typing and deleting over and over again. He doesn't know if she'll text back at all, but he needs to know.

wtf did those dicks do to u? i s2g i'll tear them apart if they laid a hand on u! It brings stinging tears to Angel's eyes, a wave of relief rolling over him. She didn't know, she didn't just sit back and let this happen to him. She might even love him. God, fuck, what did he do to deserve the sudden influx of good people? angie? u still there? where are u?

I'm in Static LA. The Vees are here for me, but I dont wanna go back, Vel.

i can be there in 2 days.

No, stay where you are. I just needed to talk to you. Miss you.

do u have sum1 there to help u? Angel sends her a picture he'd taken of him and his parents, one where he's making a silly face and everyone looks genuinely happy. They'd been outside of a Golden Corral, Angel's first time going to one. are they good to u?

The best.

tell em i'll beat their asses if they arent. luv u brat 💕 Tears leave ugly smears of mascara along his cheeks, but he can't bring himself to care. His sister still loves him, she still wants to protect him even if that means beating up her own dad, and that means the world to him. u gonna get our parents for this?

Yep.

fuk em up.

He sets his phone aside, laughing weakly despite the tears. At least now he knows she won't hate him for killing the Vees. She basically volunteered to do it for him. After all of this is over, he wants Velvette to meet his parents. She deserves some love, too.

"Kid, is pizza good with you?"

"It's great," Angel hollers. He collapses in his desk chair, putting on his study playlist and sets to work. He really does have a couple essays to work on, easy things that have always come naturally to him. He used to sell his essays back in California, a hundred bucks a pop that went straight to his college fund.

It's an hour before Husk calls for him, Angel reluctantly forcing himself to stop typing. He's getting better at listening to his body, trying his best to stay healthy so that he doesn't disappoint the people around him. Vaggie's even started bringing little snacks on Tuesday sessions.

Alastor's setting the table when Angel joins them in the kitchen, humming along to some old jazz tune. Angel walks past him, the tips of his fingers brushing the back of Alastor's coat in greeting. Alastor's humming falters only a moment, a constant buzz in the air like radio static.

Angel grabs the three of them some drinks and the bottle of ranch before settling down at the table. Alastor's eye twitches when he spots the bottle, but he stays silent. So long as Angel's eating, he keeps his trap shut. It's really fucking funny to watch him hold back that rant behind his teeth.

"Good day at work," Angel asks.

"Not bad." He nods a little, taking two slices of pizza for himself. He won't eat much more than that. Baby steps.

"Listen to any good music? Mills and I listened to some Billy Idol songs on the way back from the bookstore today. Gonna turn the baby into a little rockstar." Alastor hums, only vaguely listening. Angel can't blame him, he tends to ramble at dinner. Six o'clock every evening, after his meds have worn off and he's talking to fight off the wave of tiredness.

"Did you get any good books?"

"A couple."

"Wonderful."

"Y'know, I heard somethin' real interesting on the radio, Al. Reminded me of that podcast you love so much." Alastor raises a brow, finally glancing away from his plate. His three slices are from the meat lover's pizza while Angel's had been simple cheese.

"I wouldn't say I love it."

"No? Huh. I guess it must'a been some other nerd quoting Night Vale before signing off for the day." Alastor chokes on a piece of sausage, which serves him right. What kind of heartless monster eats sausage when his grandson is a pig? Well, actually, Alastor eats people and his son is a people. Semantics.

"Excuse me—"

"You're excused. Anyway, Husky, didja get the electricity fixed in the forever house?" Husk, hand slapped over his mouth to muffle his laughter and tears in his eyes, nods as best he can. Alastor, jaw on the floor, looks between the pair like an outraged mutt. "Ooh, did we get breadsticks? Gimme!"

"Angel, I really don't think—"

"Don't put yourself down for that, Al. Lots of people don't think. It's perfectly natural for a man of your age."


It's three o'clock in the morning, the witching hour, and Angel finds himself alone on the back porch. It's the first time he's been alone for days and he finds himself staring up at the stars. He remembers Uncle Lucky taking him camping once or twice, though he couldn't name the constellations like Velvette could. He would make up stories instead, keep Angel a giggling mess. Angel misses that.

"Awfully hard to read in the dark." Angel tilts his head back so he can look up at Alastor. "Would you like some light?"

"Nah, basically got this thing memorized." He holds it out for Alastor to take, the older man holding it reverently. He tried to enjoy anything Angel expresses an interest in even if it's outside of his wheelhouse. Alastor sits on the porch swing, touching his knee against Angel's.

"I remember reading this when it first came out. Didn't sleep good for weeks afterward, but there was a quote that stuck with me. Like an earworm." Alastor flips through the pages and hums when he finds the one he's looking for. "Ah, here it is."

"Which one?"

"No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart." Angel loves that quote, wishes he could get it etched into his ribs so he'll always have it. He presses his knee tighter against Alastor's relishing the warm and the fondness.

"I read this book for the first time when I was thirteen. Probably not the best bedtime story and Vox threw a fit when he found out Velvette bought it for me, but he never took it away. Even when they punished me, they never took that book. It was…. It was a safety blanket, I guess."

"Even the most despicable people can offer kindness. For all of his many failings, Vox does have a soft spot for those he loves." Angel glances away from the book in Alastor's hands, almost surprised to see melancholy shading his eyes. They're rich brown, half-hidden by his gold-rimmed glasses that have slipped down his nose. "He helped me tear down my grandparents' house after they died."

"Really?"

"Mmhm. He was no stranger to manual labor and he knew how much it would mean to me. He never even held that against me when we fought, never rubbed in my face how he'd pulled those floors apart, took a sledgehammer to the walls, all so my heart could feel a little less tight in my chest at night. He wasn't always a bad person."

"He still isn't."

"He's a monster, Angel. He just used to be human first."

"Those are crypts, Richie. They're cracking open and the vampires you thought were dead are all flying out again." —Stephen King's IT
"No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart." —Stephen King's IT