[Trigger warning for this chapter: Suicide and alcoholism. A TLDR has been provided at the end of the chapter for anyone who wants to skip it but continue the story.]
Husker watched as Mayberry rose into the air. He barely knew her; she'd only been at the hotel for a few weeks, and she hadn't had any drinks. Sir Pentious and Angel had taken months. He swallowed a stab of overwhelming grief. He missed Angel Dust so damn much. He thought he'd grown incapable of truly loving someone after all his years in Hell. But then here comes Anthony, screwing it all up and making him care, only to leave for bigger and better things.
He needed a goddamn drink.
Walking inside, Husk ignored the other demons lurking around the bar and grabbed a few bottles of unopened whiskey. Someone tried to order a round of tequila shots while the hotel heads were all away, but Husk told them to fuck off. He was done for the day. He made his way to his room, locking the door and taking a deep breath.
He hated the quiet. When the cards were played, the lights were off, and the laughing casino crowds were gone, he could think clearly. Husk didn't like being able to think clearly. When the distractions were gone, he could feel that hole deep down inside. Today was no different. The too-familiar emptiness consumed him.
He looked around the clean, well-renovated suite. The hotel had come a long way from that fateful day Alastor had forced him to come man the bar. After the rebuild, the lights all worked, the carpets weren't torn, and the mattresses were soft. He wondered what kind of luxury Angel was in now that he'd been redeemed. Husk hoped he was happy. Angel deserved to be happy, unlike himself.
Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, he went out to the balcony. He uncorked one of the bottles and poured a splash into the cup. "This one's for you, kid," he declared, holding the glass up toward Heaven, "I'm proud of you." He poured the drink over the balcony edge, then went back inside.
He didn't bother with the glass for himself. He brought the bottle straight to his lips, drinking deeply. It burned going down. He liked it that way. Collapsing onto the desk chair, he reflected on his life choices. He could have been a winner. His living family was pretty normal, and he'd never been desperate for money. He'd become addicted to gambling and booze all on his own. He only had himself to blame for all of it.
Husker would never ask for Angel to come back to Hell, even if he could. That kid deserved what he got, and Husk wanted the best for him. But it was still hard being here without him. The only kiss they'd ever shared had been a rushed kiss goodbye when Angel had fully expected to be murdered by Valentino; Hardly romantic. Even with the hotel hopping with dozens of new guests, Husk had never felt more alone. He took another deep gulp.
That's when the tears came. They started off as a few streams leaking down his cheeks, but eventually devolved into harsh, racking sobs. His chest was tight. He couldn't breathe. In that moment, all he wanted was to die all over again and disappear.
He wondered if he'd be able to sneak into the hotel armory. Charlie needed somewhere to store all the weapons from the battle, so Lucifer had built her a large basement area to hold it all. It was locked up tight, the key kept hidden in the royal suite. It was only to be opened in case of emergencies. But the Princess was distracted for the night, and the armory had angelic knives that could set him free from this pain permanently. No more chains, no more booze, and no more Hell. Just black.
He took another drink. It was just as well he'd managed to make it back to his room before he became such a blubbering mess. Husk refused to cry in front of other people.
Who knew how long later – maybe hours, maybe minutes, he had no idea – Husker made the decision. Hell was eternal, but his pain didn't have to be. He could disappear. He wanted to disappear.
The bottle was empty. He opened the next one. If he was going to die again, he would do it with a proper buzz. He stumbled out into the hallway.
"Key-Key, where-" He hiccupped, "where are you?" His words were starting to slur. He took another long swig.
The spirit of the hotel appeared around a corner, responding to his call. They purred and rubbed their back against his ankles affectionately.
"C'mere." He picked Key-Key up and they obediently transformed into their object form. The little magic cat had come to trust Husker's familiar face, so it saw no reason to deny him access to whatever room he wanted.
Leaning on the wall for support, Husk made his way to Charlie's room, opening the door without knocking. He knew she and Vaggie were both out with the Ambassador and that smiling bastard. Charlie wasn't the suspicious type, so the armory key was just sitting in a drawer by her bedside table. Husk took it. He thought about just using Vaggie's spear, which sat leaning against the wall, but spears were too big and imprecise. Not to mention they'd notice it going missing the second they got back. Husk didn't want to be found until the job was long done. They wouldn't miss him until evening the next day if he was careful.
He locked the door as he left; He might be drunk, but he wasn't an idiot. He took another swallow, emptying the second bottle. He dropped it aways down the hall. Nifty would find it long before anyone else did, so he wasn't worried about arising suspicion that way. That crazy woman never thought about what made a mess, she only cared about cleaning it up.
Husk took the elevator as far as it would go, then took the stairs down the last flight into the basement. He unlocked the door and flicked the light switch.
Racks and racks of angelic steel gleamed in the artificial light. Some were still stained with the golden blood of the angels they'd slain. The vivid memory of their impossible victory flooded his mind. They lost a lot of good souls that night, but far less than they could have if Charlie hadn't pulled through like she did. Angel Dust would be dead if not for the contents of this room, and now they'd provide one last service.
All he needed was a dagger, so he took one and left, locking the door behind him again. Hiding it in his pocket, he snuck the key back into Charlie's room and successfully returned to his own suite without passing out.
He opened a third bottle. As he brought it to his lips, he had to stop and run to the bathroom to puke. He hadn't eaten dinner, so it was all whiskey and ick. It burned going up, just like it had going down. His eyes stung. His vision was blurry. The stench of vomit filled the air. While he retched, fallen to his knees and face down in a toilet, he couldn't help but feel relief that it would all be over soon.
He took a few deep breaths, waiting to see if anything else would bubble up. It didn't. Husk sat back on the cold tiles and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. He still had the bottle in his hand, so he lifted it to his lips to take another drink.
But then he stopped. Before the liquid could reach his mouth, he held the bottle out, studying it. He'd spent so long trying to fix his empty heart with alcohol, hoping it would fill the void inside him, only for that void to grow bigger and bigger with every gulp. He could feel the cold steel of the angelic knife in his pocket, safely nestled in with the cards and dice that he'd let run his entire life.
He set the bottle down and pulled the knife out. It was sharp. The cut would hardly hurt. It would be so easy. Two well-placed slices and it would all be over. No more Radio Demon, no more bartending, no more games, and no more fire. He pressed the edge to his wrist.
Husker hesitated. What the fuck was wrong with him? The answer to that could fill a book. It was just a little slice, so why were his hands shaking? He gave up, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He was such a coward. If he was a little drunker, he'd be able to get it over with.
He picked the bottle back up to take another sip but didn't swallow. The flavor of vomit and whiskey swirled in his mouth. He spit it out.
What was he doing? Was he insane? He was such a fucking mess. What would Angel think knowing he was so willing to give up?
Husk closed his eyes and pressed his hands hard against his eyelids, willing the image of his friend's fair face to go away. He could practically hear his voice. He didn't need this right now; he just wanted it to be over.
After a moment, he took a deep, cleansing breath. Hadn't Angel Dust thought he was beyond saving, too? But he'd been wrong. He'd made it to Heaven. Maybe…
Husk emptied his pockets and stared at the sources of all his problems. Those cards, the dice, and that damned bottle were more trouble than they had ever been worth. Suddenly, he found himself flooded with anger. Gambling and drinks had stolen so much from him. They'd taken over his life and ruled over his death. Without them, he'd never be on Alastor's leash. In his rage, he threw the bottle against the bathroom wall, releasing an anguished roar for good measure. The whiskey shattered in a violent burst of glass and liquid. He'd left a dent in the tile. In another life he could have been with Angel in Heaven by now, laughing at his stupid jokes.
Husker blinked. Wait… why couldn't he be? That odd little witch's addiction treatment had gotten Angel Dust off drugs, who's to say it couldn't get Husk off booze? The anger disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with anxiety, and something that felt suspiciously like hope.
He'd try for redemption. He'd do it for Angel Dust. That precious asshole would be pissed if he found out that Husk had offed himself without even giving Heaven a shot. And hey, if it didn't work, he could keep the dagger tucked away, just in case. It would always be an option if he needed it.
He needed to sober up, so he drank as much water as he could get down and took a cold shower, making sure to get all the broken glass cleaned up. He scarfed down what few snacks he had in his room and sat on the bed, shaking like mad.
"Fuccck meeee…" He groaned to the empty air.
He never noticed falling asleep, but the next thing he knew he was waking up to the grating sound of Alastor's scream channel. That prick liked to use it to wake people up whether they wanted him to or not. Husker thought about smashing the radio with a fucking bat, but he was too scared of what the Radio Demon would do if he damaged it. To Alastor, radios were practically sacred. When you're on that psychopath's leash, you just had to deal with the quirks.
Husk turned off the radio and forced himself to get out of bed, much to his hangover's chagrin. If he was going to try to get into Heaven, he'd need to show up for Charlie's little exercises, no matter how childish they felt. Three redeemed souls were hard to deny. He threw some clean clothes on and opened the door, only to see Alastor walking by with a large tray of the most delicious-looking food he'd ever seen. Husker didn't know what the fuck it was, but it was clearly some gourmet shit.
Alastor stopped and turned toward him, "Ah, good morning, old pal! You look terrible." His cheerful tone made Husker want to punch him in the face.
"Morning, boss. You really gonna eat all that yourself, or are we getting roped into doing room service now?"
"Ha ha, no. This is to share with our darling Elida. She put on such a spectacular showing at the ball yesterday that I thought she deserved a little reward. They didn't have much there that she could eat, and she was asleep by the time we got back. So, I whipped up a little something and am bringing it to her as a surprise." With that, Alastor walked off and the scent of the warm spread wafted past Husker's nose. It smelled glorious.
That was a weirdly considerate thing for the notorious Radio Demon to bother with. Husker didn't know what to make of the weird vibe between those two. On one hand, Alastor was a total dick. On the other hand, he was never a dick to Elida. The Ambassador, for her part, was always nice as fuck to everyone, and she had a freaky way of not getting weirded out by horrifying shit, including Alastor's creepy grin and open love of violence. The dynamic was bizarre, and they were both hard to read, which made Husk incredibly uncomfortable.
Husk stopped thinking about it. His head hurt too much. Instead, he grumbled his way down to the first floor to have a bite. The new chef had been providing a pretty standard continental breakfast each day that was actually pretty good. And it was free. And Husk didn't have to be the one making it. That made it perfect.
As he munched on some toast and eggs, he thought about how difficult it would be to stop drinking while he was manning the bar. It was like telling a kid they had to help make cookies, but that they weren't allowed to eat them. He'd need to have a constant supply of potion vials on hand, which would be a problem. Elida's stock was always out the second the bottles were filled.
He checked Elida's shelves and found only a few left. He drank one right away, and it helped the hangover subside pretty much immediately. "Oh damn," he mumbled under his breath, looking at the label. That was an impressive effect. He should have tried them sooner.
With a clearer head, he pocketed the other vials and went to find Charlie. "Hey Princess, can I talk to you for a sec?"
She looked up from scrolling on her phone, "Yeah?"
"I uh… I think I'm ready to try," he cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "You know, for Heaven." He felt awkward admitting it out loud. He'd come to care for Charlie but hadn't had a whole lot of faith in the hotel as a whole until Elida showed up with proof.
Charlie lit up like a firework, excitement permeating off her, "Oh my gosh, really!? That's great!" She practically tackled him to the ground in a hug that would have crushed the life out of him if he weren't already dead. She started rambling on and on about her plan to help him, which was more akin to thinking aloud in his general direction than actually trying to talk to him. He just listened. If he knew anything by now it was that you just had to let her tire herself out.
It didn't take too long for Husk to start craving another drink. It was too soon. Some of Eldia's sisters had come by to start brewing, but he didn't know how many they'd have, and Husk was hardly the only one who needed them. He needed to talk to the main witch in charge. So, he went up to her room. He heard her and Alastor talking through the door.
"One thing I really loved about him is that he used people's inherent biases against them," Elida said, "He finds their weakness, in this example, the soldiers' racism toward Jewish people, and exploits it to beat them at their own game over and over again. It's a brilliant subterfuge strategy!"
Alastor responded, "Well, I think we also need to give Marguerite her due, she was rather clever intercepting that note and burning it. Not to mention how perilous the whole situation got for her as things went on."
"The funniest thing about that to me is that she was sitting right beside her husband and didn't even know it until he dropped the fake accent."
"You have to respect the man's commitment to the bit."
Husk knocked.
"Come on in, it's unlocked," Elida called.
Husk peeked in and found the both of them sitting at a table, the breakfast Alastor had made thoroughly worked over. "Who's Marguerite?"
"Oh, we're just talking about classic literature," Alastor responded jovially, "Have you ever read The Scarlet Pimpernel?"
"Books aren't really my thing." He stated bluntly. "Anyway, can I talk to Elida for a few minutes?"
Alastor narrowed his eyes but didn't try to stop Elida as she stood up, instead standing up himself to pull her chair out. Husk didn't get the whole gentlemanly manners thing, there were so many stupid rules that made no sense. Why couldn't she just push the chair back herself? But she seemed to like having doors opened for her, and Alastor never let her touch a doorknob when he was around.
"Give me two minutes to change," She grabbed a dress out of her closet and disappeared into the bathroom. She'd still been wearing the ball gown from the night before. When she came back, she looked much more comfortable. "Thank you for breakfast, it was spectacular," she gave Alastor her signature kiss on the cheek. The lights flickered a bit for a moment and Alastor's eye twitched. Apparently, he didn't like their conversation being interrupted.
When they were finally out of earshot, Husk asked Elida if she would set aside some of her addiction treatments for him after each batch. He offered to pay her, but she refused, insisting that he could have as many as he wanted.
"It's just, I know they're flyin' off the shelves, and I know you've been having a hard time keeping up. I was surprised there were any left when I checked this morning."
Elida grinned a slow, wide grin. It almost reminded Husk of Alastor for a second, only hers actually managed to reach her eyes, "Oh," she stated conspiratorially, "I don't think that will be a problem for much longer."
[TLDR: Husker misses Angel Dust. He gets drunk and considers suicide with an angelic weapon. He changes his mind and resolves to quit drinking and try for redemption instead. He keeps the angelic dagger that he stole from the armory, just in case.]
