Fat Nuggets loves the lake, snuffling at the water's edge and trotting away when the water crashes against the shore. He doesn't, however, like the fact that he has nowhere to wallow in the mud when he gets too hot. Angel and Cherri grab a pair of shovels from the storage shed and dig a decent sized pit in the backyard while Fizz drags the hose over to fill it.
"You're spoiling that pig too much," Husk says. But he doesn't actually care, he's sprawled out on a deck chair with a beer in one hand and a western in the other. He's been watching the kids off and on all morning, but he's also not getting up to help.
"He's my baby, I'm allowed to spoil 'im."
"The boy makes a fair point," Alastor drawls. He's lying on a blanket nearby, eyes hidden behind red-tinted sunglasses. He's wearing only a pair of shorts, which is weird in and of itself; his legs, usually hidden by slacks, are a lighter shade of brown than his face, covered in a light dusting of hair. Alastor's chest is even paler than his legs, the only hair being his happy trail. That isn't what keeps snagging Angel's attention, though.
Alastor's torso is covered in scars. There's a couple of puckered scars on his left shoulder and abdomen that Angel recognizes as gunshots, a few thin lines barely visible across his lower chest and belly that might have been from knives, but the worst ones are shaped like teeth. It looks like a hound had been set loose on him, digging sharp teeth into the meat of his shoulder and over his collarbone, one at his right hip, another peeking out beneath the hem of his shorts.
Angel doesn't bring it up, but his eyes keep getting drawn back and he wonders again what his guardian does for a living. Husk said he wasn't a hit man, but what other line of work would cause scarring like that? He's certainly not a cop. Alastor is a big believer in ACAB.
"How deep does it need to be," Cherri whines. "My hands hurt."
"This is deep enough," Angel relents. "It can't be too deep or the poor guy will get stuck. Huh, Nuggs?" Nuggets trots over at the sound of his name, corkscrew tail wagging happily. He's grown a lot over the past month, almost thirty pounds already. Soon enough, he'll need his own bed to sleep in. "Such a good boy, Nuggs. Yes, you are." Nuggets flops onto his back for Cherri to scratch his belly, plucking a couple of leaves out of his coarse hair.
"It's a good thing you're so cute, lil guy. I don't do manual labor for ugly people."
"It's true," Fizz mutters," she refused to help me clean my room when I lost my arm and leg in that wreck."
"Don't make it sound like I'm a cunt because you lost a couple of limbs, Fizzy! I didn't help you because you put gum in my hair and I had to shave half of it off before picture day. You're lucky I felt sorry for you." Husk's chuckle is a soft purr that carries across the yard, he and Cherri sharing a grin. "See? Husk gets me."
"Angel, help me out here!"
"Oh, I knew better than to get on my sister's bad side," Angel says. "Vel would'a locked me in a closet if I did anything to her hair." He grunts as he pulls himself out of the hole, muscles pleasantly sore. It's been a while since he'd done any physical labor that isn't dancing. "And Molly isn't much better. One time she drew a dick on my forehead in permanent marker because I decapitated her Barbies."
"Are your sisters in a different foster home?"
"Uh…." Angel's not sure how to answer that. Did Molly end up in foster care after the murders? How does he explain that he doesn't know where one sister ended up and that the other one is only his because their parents are psychopaths?
"I believe Velvette is in college," Alastor says, saving him. "Molly is emancipated in New York. We'll be visiting her later in the year, I think." Alastor lowers his sunglasses to catch Angel's eye, winking. "How does everyone feel about chicken and mango skewers for lunch?"
"I love mango," Cherri says, bouncing. "Can I help ya make 'em?"
"Of course, petit feu." Alastor stands and pulls on a linen button-down, the pale pink suiting him. It brings out the faint blush in his cheeks and it neatly matches the dress Angel has on. Angel may or may not have guilted him into wearing it (and when the guilt didn't work, he threatened to burn all of his old man jazz records).
"Fuck yeah! Let's gooo!" Cherri's in the house before Alastor even reaches the porch, the clanking of pots and pans making his eye twitch.
"Remind me again why I thought two extra children was a good idea, Husker?"
"You like to pretend that you aren't a heartless monster," Husk says. Alastor hums, looking very much like a man regretting every choice that led him to this moment. It's an expression Angel knows well after living with the Vees for so long. Angel's pretty sure he's the reason Val doesn't have hair anymore.
"I could cook Cherri instead of chicken."
"You'd break Angel's heart."
"So what?"
"You're fond of him now."
"Fuck."
An hour later, the chicken is slightly too charred to eat, the skewers are splintered, and Alastor retires to his room for the rest of the night with a migraine. Once Fizz and Cherri go to bed, Angel joins Husk out on the back porch. Nuggets is still playing in his mud pit, kicking his little hooves and making happy noises.
"Did you really mean it earlier," Angel asks. He's got two bottles of beer and hands one off to Husk. Angel isn't a big fan of beer in general, he likes his drinks to be as fruity as he is, but he's up for anything that'll give him a buzz at this point. "When you said Al's fond of me?"
"Have I lied to you yet?"
"I don't know." Husk glances over at him, turning so that his lower back is pressed against the railing and he can meet Angel's gaze head-on. "My pops used to lie a lot to me, y'know. He hated having kids underfoot, but he had to have us 'cause he needed heirs. Val and Vox would lie about everything even if they didn't need to. They liked to keep me on uneven footing. Why should you and Al be any different?"
Husk is quiet for a moment, long enough that Angel's growing unsure if he'll answer at all. It wouldn't be the first time he hasn't gotten answers, he still doesn't know what Alastor does for a living or why they picked Angel instead of a cute baby.
"I won't ever lie about anything important," he says eventually. "I can't make that promise for Alastor, he's got his own brand of honesty. I still don't know a whole lot about that jackass."
"Then why'd you marry him?"
"We were already living together, seemed like the natural progression." Husk shrugs.
"Buy y'all don't even have sex."
"You don't need sex to have intimacy. We go out to dinner, dancing, vacations. We're friends, Angel. Weird as it might seem to you considering who your role models have been so far. If I wanna have sex, I've got a couple of people I can call."
"Doesn't that make Alastor jealous, though?" He remembers the times Val had been caught with one of the other girls, the way Vox had taken all that anger out on Angel's hide. He's got his own scars from nails digging too harshly into thin hips, burns from electrostim play gone horribly awry.
"Nah, 'cause he knows I'll always come back to him. Those women I see on occasion are just for physical release and I pay them well for it, but Alastor is the one I love." Angel nods slowly, picking at the label on his bottle. They stay like that for a while, Angel watching his hands and Husk watching Angel.
"Did you know who I was when ya picked me?"
"Yeah."
"Is that why you picked me?"
"Ninety percent why."
"What was the other ten?"
"Alastor is surprisingly empathetic sometimes. He, uh, he was abused by his dad when he was a kid and he recognized that in you. It's why he's so protective of kids, why he makes a point to keep them safe when he's able to. He's not afraid to whoop one that needs it, but he never takes it past a smack on the hand."
"Is that how he got all of those scars? From his pops?"
"Some of them."
"Did he…. Did he kill his pops?"
"Slowly," comes a voice from behind them. Angel jumps and would've fallen over the railing if Husk didn't steady him. "Not as slowly as the degenerate that killed my sister, but…. Slowly."
"Vaggie said you helped her with a bitch named Lute."
"I've helped a lot of people over the years, Angel. I deal in favors, you see. A little murder for them, a little something for me down the line. It's why your therapy is free and Husk can speed as much as his little heart desires in town limits."
"What would I owe you if I wanted the Vees dead?"
"For you? I'd do this for free."
They leave early Sunday morning to start the nine hour drive back to Static, all of them tanned and chattering happily. It's not until they come to a stop in a McDonald's parking lot that Cherri and Fizz's excitement begins to wane. Blitzø and Stolas are already waiting for them, Octavia nowhere to be seen. Angel thinks it was her mom's weekend to have her.
"Are ya sure they'll take me, too," Cherri asks nervously.
"Positive," Alastor says. Angel and Husk stay in the car while the others get out, Alastor doing most of the talking. Angel knows the moment Alastor reveals the abuse because Blitzø's eyes light up with fury and he spins to face the teens, pulling both of them in for a tight hug. It's a little awkward considering they're both taller than Blitzø, but Fizz bends and contorts himself until he's got his face buried in the crook of Blitzø's neck.
When Alastor gets in the car five minutes later, all the tension has drained from his shoulders. They sit there for a moment, watching as Fizz and Cherri are herded into Stolas' car, and then Husk is talking.
"You did good, boss."
"Do you think Fizz's mother will fight for custody," Angel asks.
"I doubt it. I think she'll just be happy that Mammon isn't hitting the kids anymore."
"And if she tries, I'll make sure she remembers who she's dealing with," Alastor says, hands tight around the wheel. "Those kids will be better off out of that house."
"Do you think…. Do you think the Vees decided to give me up?" It's been nearly five months since he was taken, the longest he's ever been away from either of them. Did they even look for him? There's been no headlines about either of them being captured, so he knows they're still out there somewhere. On Sundays, Vox holes up in his office to prepare for the work week while Valentino recovers from a weekend of partying.
"I wish I could say they have, but I know Vox rather well. He's probably just having a hard time with all of his finicky technology." It makes sense, Angel supposes. Vox can't exactly trace Angel when he'd given the police an off-the-wall alias, lost his phone at the crime scene, and hasn't logged into any of his socials. Part of him, even in the beginning, didn't want to go back.
"Maybe…. Maybe I should text them. Let them know exactly where they can find me."
"Only if you're ready, dear." Angel meets Alastor's gaze in the rearview mirror, admires the determination that keeps his spine straight. "Perhaps in a few more months, once you're more confident with a knife. I want you fully prepared before you have to deal with them again. Besides, I'd like to have a nice Halloween with my family."
"Oh, can we do a theme?" Angel perks up at that, ideas running rampant. "We could be the Addams Family! Oh, oh! We could do drag!"
"I was thinking of something to do with Hannibal. It might not stick close to the source material, but it's ours."