Chapter Text
The first thought that assaulted Husk when he opened his eyes was the shame of having hurt Angel the day before. Even if it had been unintentional, he still felt guilty for having cut the spider’s wrist in a fit of anger.
He walked past Angel’s room on his way to the kitchen and hesitated for a moment in front of the door before deciding against knocking.
When he entered the common room, Charlie was finishing her breakfast. He took the opportunity.
“Hey, Charlie. Have you seen Angel this morning?”
“Yes, he already left for work.”
“Oh.”
Too bad. That gave him the rest of the day to figure out a way to apologize.
“Say, Husk, would you be interested in joining the redemption program? I didn’t dare bring it up in front of Alastor — I was afraid he’d take it the wrong way if I showed interest in one of his employees.”
Husk gave a small laugh. He was fairly certain Alastor didn’t believe in Charlie’s project at all and only supported it for his own mysterious reasons.
“The idea of leaving Hell sounds good to me. But if I understood correctly, you don’t actually know what the rules are for getting there. Or even if it’s possible.”
“When you put it that way... But I’m sure it is possible! I truly believe people can change!” she said, her usual boundless enthusiasm bubbling up.
“Hm. Let’s assume it is possible to go from Hell to Heaven. What would the conditions be?”
“Well... I don’t have any official written rules. We could always start from the Ten Commandments. For example, I think it’s safe to say murder should definitely be avoided. I’m about 99% sure of that.”
“‘Thou shalt not commit impure acts.’ That one’s a bit vague, isn’t it?”
“Okay, fine, I admit that one’s a little fuzzy.”
“A little... Charlie, your father’s Lucifer, right? The Lucifer — the fallen angel?”
“Yes, that’s him. Please avoid bringing that up if you meet him, he’s still... sensitive about the whole thing.”
Charlie seemed a bit sad at the thought. She clearly had deep affection for her father.
“Of course. But since he once lived in Heaven, wouldn’t he have information that could help your project?”
Charlie sighed and stared into the bottom of her teacup.
“No... The Fall happened right when the first humans were appearing. The rules weren’t even written yet since... well, let’s just say my father inaugurated Hell.” She added a short, humorless laugh at the end.
“Hm.”
Husk decided it might be best to steer the conversation away from Lucifer — she didn’t seem very comfortable talking about him.
“And about the ‘Thou shalt not lie’ one. I’m not sure that one applies either. I mean, nearly all of humanity would end up in Hell if that were the case. Everyone lies. Even children. Especially children.”
“That’s true. Maybe we shouldn’t take everything too literally. We could start with simpler things. No murder, no theft...”
“And what if there’s a price to pay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like a fine. For every sin committed while we were alive — a sort of divine reimbursement.”
Charlie thought about it intensely. Then she suddenly slammed her fist on the table.
“You’re right! It’s absolutely essential that I talk to someone from Heaven. Vaggie’s been trying to talk me out of it — she doesn’t trust them at all — but we won’t get anywhere without more information. Thanks, Husk! I’ll try calling my dad right now to ask for an audience up there!”
“Huh? You can do that?”
But Charlie was already sprinting out of the room. Husk remained frozen in place, stunned by the idea that communication between Heaven and Hell might even be possible.
**
Alastor materialized near the bar later that afternoon, emerging directly from the shadows. Husk froze on the spot.
“My dear friend, congratulations on your assistance yesterday — a magnificent success!” the demon declared, tapping the counter to request a drink.
“Hm.” Husk only nodded. His ears flattened instinctively against his head before he caught himself and poured Alastor his usual whisky.
“I have a new mission for you.”
This time, Husk couldn’t help but growl.
“Now, now, calm down! This one will be much simpler. You see, I’ve just retrieved the new soul I traded with Lady Freya.”
“And this... soul,” Husk asked, “will they be living here at the hotel?”
“No. I’ve assigned them to one of my other projects. In fact, I must return there at once — there’s still much to be done. But there’s one last piece of luggage left at their former workplace. I’d like you to go and pick it up.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. Here’s the address — not far from here. Just say you’re here on my behalf. It’ll be ready for you around eight o’clock.”
Husk nodded, taking the scrap of paper. Alastor downed the rest of his drink in one smooth motion and leapt to his feet.
“Well! Time for me to go. Safe travels!”
And with that, he vanished back into the shadows as abruptly as he’d appeared. Husk immediately had a bad feeling. Nothing that came from Alastor was ever simple or good. He’d have to stay on his guard.
The minutes crawled by. Around 7:30, he set out, after consulting the official map of Pentagram City that Charlie had pinned up in her office. He didn’t know the western district very well. He considered flying straight there, but that was still the fastest way to get hopelessly lost. Maybe on the way back.
Husk had a good sense of direction — if he went somewhere once, he could always find it again. That’s why he arrived at the meeting point a few minutes early, without taking a single wrong turn. He took a moment to observe the area.
A rundown building, a closed storefront on the ground floor behind a rusty iron gate. Not exactly reassuring. He knocked on the bars. No response. The address was right, though — the faded green sign above read George’s Delights. Maybe there was a delivery entrance somewhere.
He circled the building and found himself in a narrow alleyway. Three concrete steps led up to a metal door with the same name painted across it. Husk knocked three firm times. Footsteps approached, and the door cracked open just enough for someone inside to size him up before opening wider with a loud metallic groan.
“What do you want?” grunted the hulking, pig-headed brute filling the doorway.
Husk had to work to keep his composure in front of the man’s bulk.
“I’m here to pick something up for Alastor.”
At that name, the man seemed to shrink by several inches. A flicker of fear crossed his face before he quickly turned polite.
“Oh. Of course. Just a moment.”
He disappeared and returned almost instantly, handing Husk a long parcel wrapped in blue paper. Husk regretted taking it the moment it hit his arms — it was soft, heavy, and the paper was damp in several spots with suspicious dark stains. He grimaced. The brute nodded curtly and shut the door.
Well, that was the hard part done. He descended the steps back to the street. Now all he had to do was fly back to the hotel, easily visible atop its little hill. Husk tucked the parcel under one arm, adjusting his balance so he wouldn’t drop it.
He barely heard the footsteps behind him before a searing pain shot through his back, slamming him face-first into the ground.
“You bastard! That was my brother!” a voice bellowed behind him.
He didn’t even have time to turn before another blow struck his shoulder. He had to move fast. He threw a glance over his shoulder and managed to counter the third strike by whipping his wing into the attacker’s face, knocking the board from their hands.
Husk pushed himself up with difficulty. Something was very wrong — his right side was screaming in pain, and there was an unnatural weight pulling at his back.
“You rotten piece of trash,” growled the demon — a stag, towering over him. “You’ll pay for this.”
“Hey, wait. I didn’t do anything! I’m just the damn delivery guy.”
“You work for that red bastard — that’s the same thing. I’d rather it were him, but if I can make him lose one of his precious souls, that’s a good start.”
Right. The guy was angry enough to want Alastor dead. There was no reasoning with that. Husk had to get out of there.
The stag lunged — slightly to his left. Husk dodged just in time, but realized too late that he’d given his opponent room to move. The demon grabbed something beside him, and Husk felt the worst pain he’d experienced since arriving in Hell rip through his body, knocking him down again. He screamed until his lungs emptied, gasping for air. Paralyzed, he managed to twist his head just enough to see what had happened.
He recognized the object. A fucking harpoon was buried deep in his back, just under his ribs. The other demon gripped the shaft tightly, pinning him to the ground. Husk was in bad shape — very bad. He had to find a way to get free. His wings only got in his way, smacking his own head instead of his enemy.
A fresh wave of agony sent him face-first into the pavement again as his paw brushed over several small objects. Dice? How? Without a second thought, he grabbed the handful of cubes and flung them at his attacker.
To both their surprise, the dice exploded on impact in a burst of tiny detonations, shredding the stag’s face and snapping the harpoon shaft clean in two.
Not wasting a second, Husk grabbed the parcel and took off toward the nearest rooftop, crashing down hard upon landing. Every wingbeat drove the point deeper into his side. There was no way he could pull it out alone — but he wasn’t sure he’d make it back to the hotel either.
He called out to Alastor in his head, just like he had the night before. With any luck, the radio demon would hear him and come find him. Minutes passed. No one came.
He watched for a moment as the scarlet daylight slowly rusted into dusk. A bead of sweat ran down his temple. Come on. You can do this, he told himself. Panting, he pulled the parcel into both arms—it now felt like it weighed a ton. He spread his wings and groaned from the pain, but managed to lift himself into the air.
His only chance was that flying was faster than walking. He could already see the hotel in the distance, perched atop its little hill. He focused entirely on that image, clearing all other thoughts from his mind. There was only one goal left: reach the hotel.
The last stretch was pure agony. His flight grew erratic, weaker with every flap, until his wings finally gave out. Fortunately, he was already close to the ground. His feet barely caught him before he collapsed again, still clutching the parcel tightly against his chest.
The gate at the foot of the hill was right there—almost within reach. He got to his knees, trembling, and tried to push himself upright. The parcel refused to move, dragging him down with its weight. He couldn’t lift it anymore. Come on, come on!! he screamed at his muscles. He was so close—he couldn’t fail now.
With one last burst of strength, he shoved himself forward, paws slipping against the ground. His wings dragged uselessly behind him. He clung to the gate to catch his breath and pushed down on the handle. All that was left was to climb the small slope, open the front doors, and collapse on the sofa by the fireplace. He’d dump the cursed package right there in the lobby, deal with it later.
But right now, that little hill might as well have been the Himalayas. He took a few shaky steps, kept upright only by the fragile balance between the parcel’s weight in front of him and his limp wings trailing behind. His vision tunneled. His chest burned. The pain kept climbing. He couldn’t think anymore.
Halfway up the slope, he stumbled. The parcel slipped from his arms, hitting the ground. He didn’t have the strength to pick it back up. He kept walking—three more steps—then tripped again. This time he fell hard, face-first into the dust. He stared at the ground for a few seconds before everything went black.
**
Angel hated that damned hill. After a full day at work, when his legs could barely hold him up, getting dropped off at the bottom gate was the cherry on top of his crap sundae. He slammed the taxi door shut and exhaled. One last push, and he’d finally get that well-deserved drink.
He glanced at his phone. Quarter to midnight. Husk would probably grumble about serving him that late, but he’d do it anyway. Angel smiled at the thought.
He trudged up the path, eyes on his Voxagram feed, until an odd shape by his feet stopped him. Something wrapped in paper lay right in the middle of the path. He looked up—and froze.
A larger, darker shape was sprawled just a few steps ahead.
“What the…?”
Angel approached, and his heart skipped a beat. Lying face-down in the middle of the path was Husk—unconscious.
“Shit—Husk!”
He dropped to his knees beside him, shaking his shoulders. No response. Then he noticed the broken spear protruding from the cat’s back, the shaft hanging from his right side. Angel let out a choked cry. Please don’t be an angelic blade, please, please, please.
He pressed his ear between Husk’s wings and listened. The cat was breathing. Angel exhaled shakily, relief washing over him. He wasn’t dead. At least, not permanently.
By then, Husk had begun to stir. Angel saw the faintest twitch.
“Oh, thank fuck, Husk… don’t move. I’ve got you.”
Normally Husk would’ve snapped back that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, but he didn’t have the strength. His mouth hung half open, dragging in shallow, ragged breaths. Drool pooled on the pavement.
“Harpoon…” he managed to whisper. “Hurts…”
“If I pull it, I’ll make it worse,” Angel muttered aloud, thinking fast. “Those points are designed to stay buried. I could push it through, get it out the other side—”
“Pull,” Husk rasped.
Angel placed his upper pair of hands gently on the cat’s back, careful not to touch the wings, and gripped the broken shaft near its base with his lower pair.
“This is gonna suck,” he warned.
Husk only groaned in response.
Angel pulled—hard. The harpoon ripped free, and Husk’s scream tore through the night.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s done,” Angel soothed, stroking the fur between Husk’s wings, genuinely shaken by the sound.
The wound gushed, a deep crimson slick against his dark fur. With his free hands, Angel tore off the scarf around his neck and wrapped it around Husk. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
“Come on, Kitty. Let’s get you inside.”
He carefully folded Husk’s wings and maneuvered him onto his back, sliding his arms beneath the cat’s shoulders and knees. Husk didn’t protest. His half-lidded eyes glistened with tears, his jaw locked in pain. Angel felt his chest tighten at the sight. He had to hurry.
“You’re heavier than you look, you know that?” he tried to joke, voice strained.
Husk only made a weak, pitiful noise.
Fuck, Angel thought. He had to stop the bleeding soon—or Husk might not make it, even if death wasn’t exactly permanent here. Regeneration was still hell on earth.
“I can walk…” Husk managed to mutter.
“Ha! I’d love to see that.”
Husk didn’t argue. Angel moved slowly toward the entrance, using his third pair of arms to push the handle. The staircase loomed in front of him, mocking him. But it would take more than that to stop the spider.
“Your room, it’s locked?” Angel asked, breathless.
“No.”
He quickly understood why as he stepped inside: there was absolutely nothing worth stealing. He laid the demon carefully on the bed, on his side so he could work more easily on the wound.
“I’m gonna grab something to patch you up. Don’t move,” he said, striding out of the room.
A few minutes later, Angel returned with an armful of supplies. He dumped everything on the bed.
“Okay. I’m not really sure what I’m doing beyond stopping the bleeding, but if nothing vital got hit, your body should heal itself pretty fast.”
Husk looked at him. That was all the confirmation Angel needed that he’d understood.
“I’m gonna bandage it up, okay?”
“Hm.”
Luckily, Husk was still wearing his usual suspenders and pants—no shirt—which saved Angel from the awkwardness of having to undress him.
“So, first big injury since you got here? Don’t worry. Two days and it’ll be closed. A week and you won’t even see the scar.”
He kept talking—half to reassure Husk, half to calm himself—as he folded the gauze into a thick pad and pressed it gently against the wound. Then he grabbed the roll of bandages and started wrapping it around the cat’s waist to hold everything in place.
Husk barely felt the spider’s hands moving under him. Angel was doing his best to avoid direct contact, and for that, Husk was quietly grateful. Or maybe he was just too far gone to register much at all.
“There. All done!” Angel announced.
His patient had fallen asleep. Still, Angel checked his breathing—just in case the bastard’s heart had stopped. Hearing the steady rhythm, he sighed in relief, then noticed his own hands and shirt. They were soaked in blood.
He left the rest of the supplies on the nightstand, went back to his own room for a quick shower, threw on a loose pajama set, and returned with a handful of painkillers stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t feel right leaving Husk alone. What if he woke up in the middle of the night?
Angel hesitated a moment at the door, then stepped inside quietly. He placed a glass of water on the nightstand, sat on the bed, and checked Husk’s pulse again. Still steady. The cat was curled up on his injured side, his fur matted with dried blood. Angel draped a clean sheet and a blanket over him. Whatever—he’d apologize to Niffty for the stains later.
The spider circled the bed and lay down on the other side. Husk was facing him. His brow was still furrowed in pain, but his breathing was calm. Angel, on the other hand, was exhausted, ready to crash—and he had work in the morning. Ugh. Why didn’t I wake up Charlie or Alastor to deal with him instead?
Deep down, though, Angel didn’t really mind taking care of Husk. He just liked to complain on principle. It wasn’t exactly his style to play nursemaid.
Actually… he would’ve much preferred the roles reversed. He imagined himself pretending to twist an ankle and falling into the cat’s arms. Husk, grumpy as ever, would still catch him, scolding him under his breath while carrying him gently to a chair. Then he’d kneel down and massage his poor, “injured” ankle.
Yeah. Angel loved making up dumb little scenes like that before falling asleep. Usually, he pictured some random guy from work—or sometimes the guy didn’t even have a face. But lately, it was always Husk’s. Which was stupid, given how little interest the cat showed in him. Maybe that was the point. Maybe that’s what made it fun.
**
Husk woke up. The pain had dulled to something manageable. But a strange, steady sound near him caught his attention. He cracked one eye open and saw a pale pink blur. He shut it again, blinked once more. Angel was there, wearing loose pajamas, mouth slightly open, snoring softly.
Husk looked around. They were in his room—on his bed. Right. The spider had helped him last night. Last night.
“Angel! Angel, the package—where is it?” Husk asked, panic rising in his voice.
“Mmnh… what?”
“Last night, did I have a package with me?”
“Yeah, but… I left it outside.”
Shit. Please let it still be there. Husk tried to get up, but a wave of pain slammed him back onto the mattress.
“Hey!”
“Alastor’s gonna kill me. I need that damn package.”
“Alright, alright. Don’t move—I’ll get it.”
Husk tried again to sit up, but Angel placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.
“Don’t. Move. I’ll go.”
Husk growled but stayed still. Angel dragged his feet on the way out, and Husk had to resist the urge to yell at him to hurry up. A few minutes later, the spider reappeared, the parcel in his arms—intact, at least from the outside.
“Ugh. Honestly? I don’t want to know what’s in this thing.”
“Neither do I, trust me.”
Angel set the parcel on the bare dresser, then turned back to the cat.“Can I take a look?” Angel asked, nodding toward the blood-stained bandage.
Husk shrugged, then winced as the spider lifted the gauze—pulling on his fur as much as on the half-healed flesh.
“Better,” Angel said finally. “It’ll be closed up by tonight.”
“Thanks,” Husk muttered simply.
Angel nodded. “I’m heading downstairs to grab a bite. Want me to bring you something?”
“No. Not hungry. But… Could you put the package on the bar? Or maybe in the fridge? So Alastor can find it.”
“Vaggie’s gonna blow a gasket if she finds one of Alastor’s creepy experiments in her fridge. Then again, I would love to see that.”
Angel picked up the parcel and moved to the door. “Glass of water and painkillers on the nightstand.”
“Got it.”
And with that, the spider disappeared. Husk drifted back into sleep almost instantly.
**
Husk woke sometime around midday, dazed and sore. With some effort, he managed to reach for the glass of water and the two white pills waiting for him. His wound burned and throbbed; it felt as if his entire right side were on fire. He prayed the meds would kick in soon, because there was no way he could fall asleep again with that kind of pain gnawing at him.
Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright. Beside the bed, sitting on the only chair in the room, was a tray piled with food and a bottle of whiskey. Thank God. And a note, pinned under a bowl of rainbow-colored cereal shaped like tiny penises. Angel.
Went to work. Eat something. Bye. —Angel. The signature was topped off with a little heart.
Husk buried his face in his paw and groaned. He hadn’t meant to turn the spider into his nurse. Hell, Angel would’ve been the last person he’d have chosen for the job— …No, that wasn’t true. Alastor would’ve been worse. Much worse.
He felt a pang of guilt at the thought. He’d already felt bad enough for injuring the guy yesterday, and now he’d made him play caretaker on top of it. And not once had Angel done anything out of line. Well, not that Husk had noticed, anyway.
He glanced down. Angel hadn’t even bothered to take off his pants. He could’ve easily used the excuse of “getting him into bed,” or whatever. Maybe the spider was more decent than he gave him credit for.
After half an hour, the painkillers began to take effect. He took a sip of whiskey, then nibbled on some bread, a strip of bacon, and a weird, rubbery slice of cheese made from—who knew what creature. A hell-cow, maybe? He’d have to look into that sometime.
When the warmth spread through his body, he lay back and drifted off again. He wasn’t fit to stand yet anyway. He just hoped Alastor had gotten the package—and that he wouldn’t drag him out of bed to shove him behind the bar.
**
“Husk?”
The cat was lost in half-formed thoughts, barely awake, and hadn’t heard the door open.
“Mm,” he mumbled, raising one paw to signal that he was conscious.
Angel stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got flattened by a semi.”
“Oh, jokes already—that’s a good sign.”
Husk grumbled under his breath. He heard Angel moving closer.
“You ate something. That’s good.”
The spider picked up the tray and the now-empty bottle. He didn’t comment, just set them on the dresser and sat on the chair.
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Mm.”
Angel leaned over him, lifted the bandage the same way he had that morning, and nodded in approval.
“And the pain?”
“Tolerable.”
“Liar.”
“You saw the size of that hole! Of course it hurts like hell!”
Angel chuckled, counting the remaining pills on the nightstand.
“When’d you take the last dose?”
“Ten p.m., nurse.”
“Perfect.”
Angel leaned back against the chair, crossing one leg over the other.
“Still, we’ve gotta do something about all that blood—you’re starting to smell like an old tampon.”
“Ugh, I know!” Husk groaned, covering his face with one paw. “I’ve been trying to psych myself up to go to the bathroom for the last two hours.”
“Hate to break it to you, but it’s not working.”
“Pfff.”
“Come on, I’ll help you.”
Angel got up and dragged the chair into the bathroom. He came back a moment later, arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed.
“Don’t tell me you wash yourself with a plain old bar of soap.”
“What? Yeah… what else would I use?”
“Fur shampoo, obviously! Hello, Husk—this is Hell, you’ve got a coat! I get that you’re going for that scruffy alley-cat vibe, but come on. And there’s no way I’ll get all that out”—he pointed to the blood-matted area on Husk’s side—“with soap. I’ll be right back.”
He left, slamming the door behind him. Husk sighed. Then the anxiety started creeping in.
If Angel helped him wash, he’d have to take his clothes off. Which was stupid—he wasn’t technically naked under all that fur.
But then he remembered the stupid pattern on his backside: the sharp border between his black and white fur shaped like a heart. He was mortified. Angel was definitely going to make a joke or some crude remark about it.
And then there was… the other problem. He didn’t have anything between his legs. At least, nothing visible.
In a way, that was a relief—nothing to hide. But Angel saw dicks all day long. He’d definitely say something. Husk’s mind spiraled, torn between shame, and shame for feeling ashamed, until the door opened again.
“I had a spare bottle, so you’re getting this one,” Angel said, holding up a sleek container. “But I’m begging you—stop using that damn soap for anything but your claws.”
“Alright,” Husk replied quickly, just to shut him up.
Angel exhaled, realizing something was off. “You ready?” he asked, his voice softening.
“Mmhmm.”
Husk pushed himself upright on the bed, grimacing despite the painkillers. He swung his legs over the edge and stopped, already out of breath. Angel came closer, crouched down so the cat could loop an arm over his shoulders.
Once Husk was properly braced, the spider slipped an arm around him—carefully avoiding the injured side and his wings.
Husk stood, and all the blood seemed to drain from his head. The dizziness hit hard. But Angel didn’t budge; he held him firm until it passed.
“Better?”
“I… yeah. Fine.”
“Alright. Shower time. Go at your own pace.”
At your own pace. Husk felt so weak, so useless. Maybe he should’ve stayed filthy—it wasn’t that bad. But the sour, metallic smell had been tormenting his sensitive feline nose for hours. Another night like that would’ve been unbearable.
Angel led him to the chair, which he’d set up right in the middle of the shower—thankfully large enough. Husk lowered himself onto it as carefully as possible, trying not to tear open the wound again. He was already exhausted. Beads of sweat formed along his temples.
“You okay?” Angel asked, worry creeping into his tone.
“Hmpf…”
Angel hesitated, then pointed to the blood-soaked black pants. “I… uh. We need to…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Husk grumbled, trying to mask his discomfort with irritation.
He slid the suspenders off his shoulders and unzipped his fly. But he couldn’t lift himself enough to pull the pants down. Angel stepped in, grabbed the waistband, and tugged. Of course, his stupid tail didn’t make it easy, but eventually the spider yanked the fabric free and tossed it aside.
“I’d suggest burning it, but I’ve never seen you wear anything else.”
“Not really into shopping,” Husk muttered.
Angel chuckled, then turned back to him. Only the boxers remained—his last defense. The spider glanced up at him, waiting for permission. The cat nodded, ears pinned low. Screw it.
He felt Angel’s slim hands slide gently along his hips to hook the waistband. Their faces were only inches apart now. Angel kept looking at him—not lewdly, not mockingly—just checking that Husk wasn’t going to back out.
Heat flooded Husk’s face. He turned his gaze away.
The waistband slid down along his hips, then snagged. Husk shifted, trying to pull it lower, but his tail—threaded through a hole in the fabric—got in the way.
Panic started creeping in, but then he felt two more hands settle over his, guiding them gently up around Angel’s neck. He clung to him, and the spider easily lifted him a few inches off the chair.
Husk didn’t let go, even after he felt the elastic slide down to mid-thigh. With his head resting just under Angel’s chin, the actor couldn’t look at him—couldn’t see his body, grotesque and ugly as he imagined it.
Angel said nothing. He just waited. One of his hands came to rest on Husk’s back—still, warm, grounding. After a moment, Husk lifted his head from the spider’s collarbones.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Angel crouched a little to meet his gaze. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be fine.” he said simply.
He turned to grab the shampoo bottle left by the sink. Husk tried to use that moment to shift around on the chair, pretending to adjust so his wound faced forward and the rest of him stayed out of sight—but he failed miserably.
Angel reached for the showerhead and let the water run, adjusting the temperature. Once Husk nodded his approval, he started at the cat’s feet, working slowly upward. When the water hit the wound, Husk let out a sudden, sharp hiss that startled them both. He slapped his paws over his mouth.
“Shit. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, it just surprised me. It was kind of sexy, though,” Angel added with a teasing laugh.
Husk didn’t feel like laughing. He was too busy holding himself together, fighting the lump rising in his throat. His skull felt ready to burst. He shut his eyes, feeling tears prickle at the corners. Shit, shit, shit.
Suddenly, he snatched the showerhead out of Angel’s hands and stuck his face under the stream. He gasped for air, but the shock of water grounded him again. Just barely.
“Was hot,” he muttered, handing the showerhead back.
Angel chuckled. “That’s usually the effect I have.”
“Shut up,” Husk said without bite, then added, “You’re gonna get soaked.”
“I spend my day covered in fluids, babe. A little water’s nothing.”
This time, Husk actually rolled his eyes. The spider grinned, seizing the moment to bring the gentle stream back over the wound. The fur puffed up, releasing streaks of diluted red. The bottom of the shower turned a faint shade of grenadine.
The warm water reawakened the pain, and Husk exhaled sharply. Still, beneath it, a fragile calm began to spread through him. Angel kept the water running over his shoulders, then poured some shampoo into one of his many hands.
“Starting with the upper back,” he announced. “We’ll save the wings for later, or we’ll be here all night.”
“…”
“Husk. Can I?”
The cat looked away. “Mm-hm.”
The first touch of hands on his shoulders, the glide of water and soap—it was strange, overwhelming. His brain couldn’t process it all.
Angel’s fingers moved up to the base of his neck, digging through the fur to find the skin beneath while his thumbs kneaded the tight muscles there.
Husk leaned forward, not to escape the touch, but to give better access. His wings drooped toward the back of the shower. He gave in to the feeling. It was good. No—it was better than good. He hadn’t felt anything this satisfying in years.
A low rumble vibrated in his throat. The sound, dulled by the water, made him pause for a second before he realized—he was purring.
He jerked upright, shaking himself, and pain flared from his back.
Angel stepped back. “Hey! Did I hurt you?”
“N… no. Thought I heard something. It’s fine.”
“What, you scared yourself with your own purring?”
“You heard that?” Husk asked, mortified, ears flattened tight.
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal, you know. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Oh, come on. It’s pathetic. Out of all the humiliating things…”
His tail lashed the floor in frustration, splashing water everywhere.
“Stop! Stop! You trying to soak me too?”
The cat winced and forced his tail to still. “Sorry.”
“Look, Husk, I get that you hate this new body. But so far, you’ve only focused on what’s wrong with it. There’s gotta be something better about it, right?”
Husk slumped forward again, elbows on his thighs. Angel resumed washing his back gently.
“For example,” the spider said, tracing a line along his neck fur, “when I do this—you like it, don’t you?”
“Hmpf.”
“Thought so. Just focus on that. Don’t fight it. Don’t try to stop the purring—just… enjoy it.”
Husk took a deep breath. He focused on the sensations—the warmth of the water, the firm pressure easing the tension in his shoulders, the soft glide of fingers through his fur. It was softer, more tender than anything he remembered from life.
Angel’s hands worked up the back of his head, rubbing the shampoo in small circles before scratching lightly behind his ears. Husk couldn’t help the sound that escaped him—a shaky little moan.
“Okay! I can take it from here!” he blurted, startled by the heat building in his stomach.
“I’m done anyway,” Angel said calmly. “Just wanted to relax you before the not-so-fun part.”
The water ran again over the open wound, and Husk immediately missed the comfort from seconds before. He sucked air through his teeth.
Angel worked gently, wiping away the crusted blood in soft, circular motions. He avoided the wound itself as best he could. Slowly, the fur regained its normal color.
After a while, he moved to the untouched side of Husk’s back. The cat exhaled a long, shaky breath.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“You got it. Want to finish the rest yourself?”
“Yeah, I’ll manage.”
“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be right outside.”
The spider placed a towel within reach, grabbed one for himself, and stepped out of the bathroom.
Husk finished washing up, then stood under the running water for a while, eyes closed, trying to scrub away the whole memory of what had just happened.
At least Angel hadn’t said a word about his body. For that alone, Husk almost felt grateful.
He dried off slowly with the towel. He did feel better—cleaner, lighter. Maybe he could make it back to bed without help.
He pushed himself up, only to grab the edge of the sink as the room spun. His head thudded against the mirror. The porcelain was his raft in a stormy sea. He closed his eyes.
Outside, Angel heard the sound. “Husk? I’m coming in.”
“’Kay.”
The door opened, and the spider rushed toward him.
“You were supposed to wait for me.”
“I thought I had it under control.”
“You’re running on fumes, sweetheart. We heal fast, but not that fast.”
He slipped Husk’s arm over his shoulder. The cat clutched at the towel wrapped around his waist with his free paw. Step by slow step, they made their way back to the bed.
Once he was lying down, Angel sitting at the edge beside him, both let out the same tired sigh. Husk’s gaze wandered to the pile of laundry in the corner.
“You changed the sheets?” he asked, eyeing the fresh bedding.
“With all the effort we just put into scrubbing you clean, I wasn’t about to let you roll around in blood-soaked sheets.”
Husk smiled faintly, worn but genuine. A few quiet seconds passed.
“I don’t have arthritis anymore,” he said suddenly.
Angel blinked at him, half curious, half confused.
“You told me to look for the positives in this body,” Husk explained. “Well… no arthritis.”
“Wow. You’re old.”
Husk gave a dry laugh. “Born in 1902. So yeah, I guess so.”
“1912!” Angel said proudly, pointing at himself. “The day the Titanic sank.”
Husk’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Really!”
They both laughed.
Then Angel stood, went to grab them something to eat—and, at Husk’s request, a bottle of booze. They snacked together quietly, the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward at all.
When they were done, Husk shooed him away. It was late, and Angel needed sleep.
The spider gave him a small wave. “Night, kitty.”
Husk returned the gesture with a tired smile. He wanted to put on his usual grumpy face, to keep up the act. But somehow, with Angel, he couldn’t quite manage it.