Chapter Text
He’d been doing so well. He’d gone cold turkey two days ago, which obviously wasn’t smart, but he’s already dead so what’s the worst that could happen. If he seemed a little more tired than usual, that’s nobody’s business but his. He’d nearly stabbed holes in his palms from clenching his fists to keep from taking anything people (Val) offered him. It was kinda awful, but he was doing it.
But work had been shit today. Angel had bruises in places he didn’t know could bruise. He was starving and shaky and exhausted beyond anything he’d ever felt before. He needed… something. Not drugs, but something. And if something else didn’t work….. oh well.
He shoved through the front doors at 11:42 pm, most of the hotel either already in bed or heading that way. Husk, of course, was still at the bar, and probably would be for the next 2 hours. Angel pushes himself onto a bar stool, and Husk barely glances at him before grabbing the ingredients for a “Star Struck”- the drink Angel had helped him invent a few weeks ago.
“Tough day,” Husk asks, sensing Angel’s tense attitude.
“You have no fucking idea,” he answers, sharper than he’d meant to. This thing also had him in an evil mood. Not that Husk wasn’t used to it after serving him every day post-studio-time, but it pissed Angel off a little that he couldn’t control it now. He violently drums all 16 of his fingers on the bar, staring blankly at the faint swirling pattern in the green of the counter top. He doesn’t look up until Husk waves a hand under his face. He looks up painfully slow, but he suddenly can’t move any faster.
“You alright, Angel?” Shit. The other thing is that this was a decision Angel had made on his own. Charlie had been encouraging some form of waning off the drugs for a while, but after a particularly bad high where he couldn’t remember anything from the past day three days, he’d said “fuck it” and chucked all his drugs out the window. Well, not all, but…. anyway. Why was he thinking about that? “Angel!” Oh, right.
“Um… yeah, I’m fine,” he manages to say, finding Husk’s eyes. “Drink?”
“Drink,” Husk repeats, clearly skeptical of that answer, as usual, “right… here it is.” He lifts the pink, sparkly cocktail up towards the counter. Angel goes to grab it, but his hand starts shaking before he can. He grabs his wrist with another, equally shaky hand, and tries again. This time he can’t grab it because suddenly its back on the counter behind Husk, who he soon realizes has that expression on his face again. Y’know, the one that’s like, “Shit, Angel. What is it this time?” Or is it the “Oh poor Angel. What happened to you?” Or maybe something in between…
“I’m gonna ask again,” Husk starts cautiously, “Are you alright?”
“Husk, I’m fine,” Angel groans. “Just tired alright? I need that drink.” He sort of flops over on the counter and stares… in the direction of the drink, but also not at anything in particular.
“I don’t know, kid. You’ve got that stare going on.” He pauses before carefully asking the next part. “Are you high?” His caution doesn’t work.
“No, I’m not fucking high, asshole,” Angel snaps, glaring up at the bartender. “That’s the fucking problem.” He lifts his shaking hands and digs them into his scalp, trying to still them. Husk watches, connecting pieces in his brain.
“Angel, what did you do,” he asks, not accusatory, just asking. Well, he might as well say it, now.
“I quit. Or at least I’m trying to quit. I’m trying real damn hard, and it’s kinda making me wanna kill or die or both,” he says, glaring at the space above Husk’s ears.
“Quit? Drugs? What, you just dropped ‘em?” Angel nods with the whole top half of his body, not able to move his neck right now. “Angel, do you understand how dangerous that is?”
“What am I gonna do, kill myself? Hate to break it to you, baby, but we’re already dead.” He brings his hands down from his hair, wrapping them tightly around shoulders. Probably too tight, but he’s already aching so it’s not that much worse.
“Angel,” Husk says again, clearly trying to keep his attention, “look at me, please.” He tries to, he does, but he’s so tired his eyes don’t want to focus. He sees that wonderful gold in Husk’s eyes and tries to focus on that. He’s always loved Husk’s eyes, even if he’d never admit something like that out loud. “Dropping something like that isn’t safe, especially not by yourself. Who’s been helping you?”
“Pfft, nobody. I’m an independent bitch,” he answers, truthfully. That’s what he’d been telling himself. He’s the one who chose to start doing drugs, so he’s the one who’s gonna get himself out of it.
“Angel, that’s not- you can’t- jeez…” Husk sighs deeply and turns like he’s going to leave, but he appears a second later on the barstool next to Angel. He makes sure Angel notices him there before extending a paw/hand. Angel glances at it, then back up, confused. “Just take my hand. I’d rather that than watch you cut off your own circulation.”
Angel suddenly feels the pain in his upper arms, and slowly starts to let go. His hands start to shake again and he tries to breathe. Husk notices and meets him halfway, gently taking both top hands. The contact is nice, but Angel can still feel the chills rushing through his entire body.
“I’m guessing you’re pretty tired,” Husk says softly.
“Fuck yes,” Angel sighs, folding in a little.
“Can you get upstairs?” Angel glances over at the grand staircase that would take him to his lovely bed. The elevator is across the lobby, but there’s no way he’s getting up those steps alone.
“Not really.”
“Do you want me to help you,” Husk offers, already sliding off the stool. Angel starts to follow when the “Star Struck” on the counter catches his eye.
“But what about the bar? You didn’t shut down,” he mumbles, the fatigue catching up and making him a little dizzy.
“Niffty’s got it. Or I’ll get it in the morning,” Husk says, bringing Angel’s focus back by softly squeezing his hands. “Right now, you need your bed. So, how do you want to get there?” Angel barely has time to think before the delirium sets in.
“Carry me.” That’s not exactly the answer Husk was expecting, and if Angel was awake and alert, he would’ve noticed the cat’s pupils do that cute little widened thing they do when he gets flustered. It’s a rare thing Angel has only seen a few times, and it definitely doesn’t make his own eyes go fuzzy.
“Um… you sure,” Husk mumbles. Angel doesn’t vocalize a response, but he lets go of Husk’s hands in favor of draping them around his shoulders. He sort of slumps down, forcing Husk to swoop him up so he doesn’t collapse on the tile floor. “Hmph, alright, princess.”