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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

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Emotional Support, $500/hour

Alastor hires Angel for his services. No, not those services. The "provide sympathy and advice for some poor loser who's found himself unwillingly stuck in a soap opera" services. Although Angel would far rather do it as a friend rather than for pay.

Tumble mobile is a piece of crap that won't let me post an entire chat log in one post, and I don't want to wait eight hours to post this when I get home, so gonna post this in two chunks. Part one:

Alastor

A text arrives at one of the numbers written up on the walls around Pentagram City:

"Is this Angel Dust's business line?"

Hella formal.

Angel

An identifying ring sounded from Angel's drawer. Not the type that'd fire warning bells in his head, but the sort he preferred to hear from his hotel room.

Time to go to work.

[ The one and only, Toots! 💋 What can I do ya for? 💕 ]

Alastor

"What are your rates just for private conversation? Nothing sexual. I need somebody to talk to."

Angel

Angel reread the message. Once. Twice. A couple more times. Usually he didn't get this type of request on this number, but a part of him was relieved.

[ Ya talkin' companion rates, Babe? I typically run that 500 by the hour, but dependin' on the kinda secrets I'm gonna be keepin', I could drop or ask fa a tip. It's a pretty accurate ballpark, though. Have I lost ya? ]

Alastor

There’s a longer pause before the next reply.

(The pause is for Alastor to go “Five hundred dollars?! FIVE HUNdred DOL*LARS*?! *FIVE—*”)

“I can manage that.”

It’s not going to be *his* money.

Angel

[ Sounds good! Where ya gonna be wantin' me, Sweetheart? Just so ya know, I'm gonna need those bills in my hands before we get down to any business. ]

Alastor

“I’ll have them. The hotel just outside Cannibal Colony’s northern entrance. I’ll let you know the room number.”

It’s a middling sort of hotel. It’s alright.

Angel

[ Alright, I know the area. I'll be there in about fifteen. ]

He didn't know the area. But Angel couldn't let an unknown client know that. Furthermore, last he was there he had himself QUITE THE WELCOMING. So by his better judgement, he asked Bel for directions without running the risk of getting shot this time. He'd find his way.

Alastor

And Alastor is gonna spend the next fifteen minutes cordially threatening the first people he sees who look well-dressed and stupid enough to be carrying around several hundred dollars, and then bolting for the hotel.

He’s settling down on the room’s couch and texting Angel the number at about the same time Angel probably ought to be walking in the front door.

Angel

_Rap rap._ He's not the police, so he saves announcing himself. Nonetheless his senses are alert, his limbs folded deceptively casual before his torso. Anxieties aside, he's expecting an easy job. As soon as he can confirm it's a real job and not a hold up.

Alastor

Alastor’s shadow opens the door for him.

He glances over from the couch. “Right on time.” He gestures to an arm chair across from the couch. Surprise!

Angel

Angel looks at his phone. The room number. His phone again. They surely match up exactly, don't they? A rather robotic wave to Alastor's shadow, just to be polite, before he pokes his head in without crossing the doorframe.

_" ... What. Am I bein' punk'd 'ere!? "_ Arms flail wildly as his eyes dart about the room in search of clues he might not get from the real deal on the couch. " THIS where ya been holdin' the crock pot hostage?? "

Alastor

“Do come in and shut the door before you start shouting, would you? I *am* trying to be discreet, here.” Proof of that claim: he’s actually using an indoor voice for once.

There’s no crock pot. No nothing else, either—he got the room less than five minutes ago just for this, he hasn’t touched a thing and he didn’t bring any personal effects. Just him, sitting cross-armed on the couch.

He uncrosses his arms, fishes a wallet out of his pocket, and slides several bills half out. See? He’s legit. “I have enough here for—let’s see—about three hours and twenty-five minutes. Hopefully I won’t need that much, but.” A jerky shrug.

Angel

His face fell and stiffened into a vague sternness. Wordlessly he stepped around the shade and soundlessly shut the door. This energy was too weird. He didn't trust it. He didn't like it. Either he or Alastor was running the risk of being made a bigger fool than Narcissus in the pond. Fittingly, neither one of them would risk their egos for something so trivial.

He was MORE than serious.

Angel passed the arm chair, instead taking a knee before him and lowering a hand over the wallet. " I'm not takin' ya money, Al. The fuck's goin' on? "

Alastor

“Oh, don’t worry about *that,* it’s not my money. It properly belongs to...” He pulls a card out of the wallet and squints at it. “Mr. Bee. Ironically, he looked more like a parrot.”

But he doubts that’s going to satisfy Angel. “I’m not talking to you as a friend. I’m hiring your services as a professional. I need your expert advice on a matter. And if I’m asking you to do your job, I *am* going to pay you for it.”

Angel

Angel rose a brow higher than his last hit. At the very least he could relax, but he was still dumbfounded -

_... as a friend?_ If he weren't a professional, he'd be asking him as a friend? The corner of his mouth twitched. It seemed more likely that he wouldn't be asking him at ALL if he weren't professional.

Regardless, he was wasting his energy trying to figure him out on his own. " What in the Nine's could ya be askin' _me_ for? " A short exhale before shifting his back against the armchair. " Save fa givin' yaself a day coma, I thought ya... pretty good at keepin' ya shit together... "

Alastor

Alastor rifled through the wallet to see if Mr. Bee had any interesting membership cards worth stealing—museums, day spas, secret societies, etc.—before sitting forward and holding the wallet out to Angel. “Are you taking it? Because I’m not telling you why I’m asking you unless you’re on the clock.”

Angel

" Alright alright, lemme see, " Angel lied with little to no intention of sitting on it. He flipped through the bills and counted them off by the hour before placing them on the table beside him. " ...120, 180, remainder a 25. 205 minutes of complete and undivided attention, in part or in full. You're set, Smiles. "

Alastor

Alastor watched as Angel counted. “All right.” He took a deep breath, let it all out. His gaze didn’t move from the table to Angel. “I could use—relationship advice.”

Angel

He could BURST with the sheer force of that bombshell, but Angel kept his cool as he made his sprawl of limbs comfortable from the floor. " Ya... gotta secret squeeze around 'ere or somethin? Cannibal gal ya came out t' see? "

Alastor

Alastor laughed ruefully. Wouldn’t that be convenient—some cute little lady to have a predictably heterosexual little afterlife with, sharing all of his shallow surface-level preferences—home era, musical theater, cannibalism—he could pick from any of a dozen ladies he’d passed since arriving in the Cannibal Colony that afternoon who would leap at the chance.

“Not a squeeze,” he said. “Not a gal, either.”

Angel

Well, he was _laughing,_ but it wasn't the good kind. Angel leaned an elbow over a seat of the sofa, keeping all signs of his own personal glee from his face.

Most of it.

" Do tell. "

Alastor

By this point, he wasn’t looking anywhere near Angel. Okay. Now or never. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, twisting his laced hands together. “Advice.” Like saying it again would keep this to some emotionally neutral info-gathering consultation. “What do you—How should one handle it, if... one has... sentiments, for one’s best friend, that he doesn’t reciprocate.” His stomach churned. “Andhe’s found out.”

He had very few people he publicly acknowledged as friends, particularly not somewhere Angel would have seen it. Only one of them was a man. He braced himself for an outburst of shock/amusement as Angel worked out who he was talking about.

Angel

Oh this was FAR from strictly transactional. They all pretty much lived together. Their interpersonal lives would be intertwined for the unspecified future. Said best friend was ENGAGED... to Angel's own best friend.

Again, Angel's eyes flickered about the room. This wasn't a Lifetime movie. This wasn't a hidden camera show. This was gonna be their life now and he'd be DAMNED if that sort of mess could be sorted by a few hundred dollars or so.

He just took a deep breath and stated the facts. Any generic advice he had on hand wouldn't be helpful. " You're his best man, Al. _What_ were ya thinkin'? "

Alastor

He squeezed his eyes shut as if Angel had just reared back to sock him in the face. He would have preferred amusement. “*I didn’t want him to kn—*”

He choked on his own static. He took a shuddering breath. “I don’t want—They make him happy, *that’s* what I want. Him happy. I don’t want to interfere, I just—“ He had to stop again. Unprofessional. Management would’ve given him a stern talking to after a performance like this.

He lifted his laced hands, pressing the knuckles of his thumbs to his eyelids. “I didn’t tell him. He figured it out.”

Angel

Angel expected defensiveness from trying to pry some more from him, to pass an air of judgement for the sake of pulling out whatever emotions he was trying so hard to hide beneath professionalism. He thought Alastor would HANDLE IT.

Not fall into whatever _this_ was. The Alastor he knew was nothing short of _UNBREAKABLE._ It was as surreal as it was painful to witness. _What could be possibly offer him?_ A simple question suddenly felt loaded and heavy.

" _Hey hey hey._ " Angel rose from the floor and perched upon the sofa facing him. " He's a smart guy. You're expressive as shit. Even performin's got... some of ya in it... Ya can't help ALL OF IT. " He leaned forward, just enough to duck below Alastor's falling level. " ... What he... have t' say about it...? "

Alastor

In a week, maybe he could have been calm and collected and above it all. But it was yesterday. It felt like it was an hour ago. The wounds were still raw, literally.

A sharp nod. “It was unavoidable.” He’d realized that the moment it happened. He still hated, hated, hated it.

“Oh, you know.” Another humorless laugh. He dropped his hands and stared tiredly down at them. “He’s furious, he feels betrayed, he feels used... he believes he still wants to be my friend but if he so much as *looks* at me before he’s ready for it he’ll hate me forever...” He shrugged wearily.

Angel

" That's why ya out here, " he stated with a toss of an arm over the backrest, " I DON'T know. How's he feelin' used? Ya never... did anythin' to 'im, did ya? I mean, since you was tryin' so hard to just keep it in, I can't imagine you HAVE. " Angel racked his memories a moment, but drew blanks. He couldn't think of any reason, for both not knowing enough and such a notion conflicting his own direct experience.

" It's... YOU hurtin' 'ere, from what I see. He's got Valera, they gonna be tyin' the knot soon. You've been... " He swallowed thickly. " There fa him. Tell me why. There's - " Words caught in his throat. Words that may have saved him from damnation had they been said to him when he needed to hear them. " Ain't nothin' wrong... wit' feelin' what ya feelin'. "

Alastor

A nod. That’s why he’s out here.

“Because any time we interacted, there was more to it—more than he was bargaining for. More than he knew about.” He had himself back under control, but his tone was subdued. Almost emotionless. Not very Radio Demon. “We hugged, we cuddled. Napped together.” And was he justified in feeling used over that? All Alastor could say was that he’d felt guilty about it the entire time—that he’d dreaded that maybe he *was* using him. “I *tried* to make sure he was always the one who initiated. It didn’t always end up that way.” He remembered holding him in his arms when he’d fainted, telling himself it was justified because he was just supporting him until he woke back up. He’d been *unconscious.* “He said he couldn’t really consent to anything we did because he didn’t know what he was consenting to.”

Angel

" And he's puttin' that on you? Smiles, ya owed 'im nothin' more than ya wanted 'im knowin'. It didn't change nothin'. Ya still gave him everything he wanted and needed from ya. You think ya owe him a reengineerin' of the parts a ya you can't change, too? He may... own ya... but he can't... change ya. Not like that. "

Realizing he may have been projecting a little too much, Angel cleared his throat. " Lovin' 'im a lil' different don't take away from everythin' ya already had. I dunno why he'd feel so... THREATENED by ya unless he... ain't cool wit' you bein' a guy, but any guy who's that comfy wit' his friends can't be straight 'imself, ah? " He forced a chuckle, but he knew that wasn't the point.

" Ya still... didn't have motives, Al, ya didn't take advantage of him. Ya didn't go underminin' everything he's workin' for. Right? No matter how you was feelin'... he still came first. Now if ya ask me, that's PRETTY FUCKIN' STUPID. But he has ya. Had ya. Whatever happens. He's got it all an' then some just t' kick ya to the curb... " Angel crossed his arms. " Ya don't deserve that. He's got some apologizin' t' do to you. I'd drag ya back to the hotel an' give 'im a piece a my mind right NOW... but y'ain't gonna want that, huh? "

Alastor

*He may own you.* Something inside Alastor twisted in pain and boiled up in fury—because it was true. Some part of him had been seized away and he was never getting it back, and that was the *worst* part of this. He muttered, “I wish I could reengineer it. Not for *him* but for *me.* I don’t want this.”

He shook his head. “It’s not because I’m a man, that never came into it. He isn’t straight.” He says this with the confidence of somebody who definitely absolutely totally knows that this is a fact, despite the fact that he has not, actually, been told so.

No, of course he’d never undermined him, he would never—but that didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t, at the same time, taken advantage. Taken liberties he shouldn’t have, here and there. The idea that *he* might be owed an apology was laughable. Alastor wasn’t laughing. “No, absolutely not, don’t say a *single* word to him. As soon as this conversation ends, I never told you anything and you don’t know any of it.”

Angel

" Didn't think so. " Angel dropped his cheek into his hand and studied him. Something changed. He was being short with him. He perused his words, robotic and unnatural, searching for what did it. It was the price he paid for rambling.

" But ya _do,_ want it. You'd want it if things were different, if he felt the same about you. Tell me I'm wrong an' I'll eat my words wit' a side a fries. " He closed his eyes and hummed into his palm. " Whatever closure ya needin' ya gotta find it. " Angel hesitated to volley ideas, as he knew they'd be leaving his mouth astronomically hypocritical. But he wasn't being paid to play by example, was he? " Ya can count on Penny t' come around and give it to ya, but if ya do that you could be fuckin' exiled forever an' give up the front seat to watchin' Charlie's redemption plans go to shits. Sure it's a lotta fun out 'ere, but it ain't no 1929 fun. "

" Or, ya can wipe ya face. Get off ya ass. Make sure ya got all that's goin' on outta ya system. An' find somethin' new to pour yaself into that's got nothin' t' do with him. And keep doin' it until he's got less an' less a hold on ya until... you're feelin' free an' yourself, again. An' he'll just 'ave to deal with whatever that means if he wants to be stayin' friends with ya. 'Cause ya done ENOUGH. "

Alastor

"You *are* wrong." There's an edge of desperation in his voice. "If he said he felt the same and he made me that offer—yes, I'd take it. But if I could actually choose, if I was given a *real* choice? Between being with him and—and having this taken out of me and being *free?* I'd want to be free! I'd choose that in a heartbeat! I'd rather be his friend!"

And he *knew* that was what he'd choose because he *had* chosen it. Back before he realized that freedom was no longer an option. He'd lost a piece of his heart he was never getting back.

He listened to Angel's suggestions. Let out a long, slow sigh. And asked tiredly, "Is that it?"

Angel

" Then ya gonna have to prove it to yourself first babe 'cause ya ain't soundin' convincin'. " Angel ducked below his line of sight again as if it'd grant him a different perspective. " If this sorta thing had a magical fix, you'd know a lot better than me. But it don't. Ya just gotta... "

He frowned. He wouldn't be able to keep the promise of pretending this never happened. " ... keep at it... keep talkin'... maybe you'll wake up tomorrow feelin' inspired. Maybe you'll wish ya never woke up at all, but... it's all ya can do, Smiles. It's gonna take time. " Angel didn't like leaving it at this, but he found himself unsure. With other clients, he could leave them with the best and never hear of the results. So long as he stayed at the hotel, _he was going to end up WATCHING HIM every step of the way._

But he still didn't know how he needed to be taken care of. If Alastor knew himself, he wouldn't have solicited. " Good thing we got all the time in the world down 'ere to find new things to fuck ourselves up with, ah? " He reached out and gently pat the sofa cushion in place of his knee, in place of taking his hand. " You'll... get there. You're the fuckin' Radio Demon. I dunno how ya do half the shit ya do but this is gonna be one a them things. Say it. "

Alastor

"Would it sound more convincing to you if I destroyed everything he'd ever worked for *just* to ensure we could never have a life together? Would that be convincing enough for you?" Alastor snapped. "*Because I did.*"

He shoved himself off the couch to start pacing. "I've *tried* pouring myself into something new to keep him off my mind. I've *been* trying it for the last *fifty-four years.* That's why I'm at the hotel in the first place! It's why I know *how long* you can *kill yourself* with a bottle of 190 proof booze!" He flung his hands up in despair. "I've been trying to *feel like myself* again since 1966, and all I can do is—distract myself! Distract myself and suppress it until the next time I'm reminded of him!" He let out a brittle laugh, "And smear what I feel for him around to all of his duplicates!"

He rounded on Angel. "I've joined musicals, worked in restaurants, moved to a cultish commune, been an alcoholic, gone to therapy, traveled the nine circles, signed onto every harebrained scheme and plot in Hell—including the hotel!—and more things I can't even remember off the top of my head, and on top of *that* put over half a century between me and him, *and he's still stuck in my heart.* I've tried every piece of advice I've ever heard for how to fall out of love and they *haven't worked!* So give me something *new!* Give me something I *haven't tried!* You're the professional!"

He collapsed onto the armchair Angel hadn't taken. He wasn't sure if getting all that out of his system had really helped. He kind of felt like he'd just projectile vomited.

Angel

" Dupli-? ... _Fuck..._ " Angel dropped his cheek into his palm with the rest of his body taking up the empty space on the sofa. This ran much deeper than he thought. The root of his issues didn't even have anything to DO with the Pentious he knew. Likely beyond anything he could possibly say. Hadn't Alastor been so sweepingly BROAD when he came in, he could've been more careful, but- _ah seemed like he tired himself out._

**_Ya DONE?_**

" That kinda miracle workin' ain't on my resume, " he said bleakly with a broad sweep of an arm, " Ya called me fa someone to talk to, not t' be the answer to all ya problems. " As much time as he spent hearing out the woes of the damned, usually all that was really wanted from him was a crank. An easy enough temporary fix. Not here.

He stood up now. Trying to build him up from below didn't seem to be working. Alastor responded only when he called him out, questioned the half-hearted assertions playing from his mouth like a weathered record. Was that what he needed? To be spiritually disemboweled until he purged all the poison from his soul onto the tarp? He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. He wanted to call the job off. He couldn't do it. This was too personal and psychologically visceral.

But even moreso, he couldn't give up on and leave him there for much of the same reason he couldn't leave him at the bar. Self destruction was a BITCH to be going through alone. And at the root of it all, Alastor made it clear enough he didn't want to be alone by calling him there.

Angel braced a long arm over the back of his chair so he could drill him in the eye. " Believe me, if I had it all I'd give it to ya, but all I got is this. If ya want ya stolen money back, fine, Al. If ya wanna keep yellin', 'ave at it, Al. Lay out all the shit that's been dry doggin' ya since '66. So I can get it. REALLY GET IT. 'Cause ya holdin' out on me. An' if ya really wanna get the most outta ya hours. Ya gotta keep goin'. "

Alastor

A corner of his mouth twitched. Miracle working. "Of course. Of course, you're right—I'm not expecting a miracle. Not in Hell."

He slouched forward, elbows on his knees again, running one hand through his hair—it was still partially stiff with the hair gel he hadn't managed to shower out at Rosie's, he hadn't bothered to restyle it.

He hadn't liked... that. He still felt sick. "No, I don't want a refund," he said. "I—don't think I want to keep yelling, either." He was silent a moment, trying to figure out what he *did* want from all the things he didn't want, mentally chasing something elusive. It had made perfect sense when he'd tracked down Angel's number—talk to a professional, someone whose job was all about desire and attraction, someone who'd probably dealt with thousands of broken-hearted clients; while Alastor's had only broken once, and just never been put back together.

And now that they were talking Alastor couldn't quite figure out what he wanted. Maybe he really had been hoping for a miracle.

*Ya gotta keep goin'.* All right. "I don't particularly want to talk about '66, either—but..." He took a deep breath. "There was a day when I had a choice—happily ever after with him; or run for the hills, toss aside those emotions, and go back to being who I'd been before I—fell. I chose to run. Destroy everything and run. So—when I *say* that I'd choose freedom over requited feelings... even if it doesn't sound convincing to you, I need you to know that I'm telling the truth. Because I *did* choose it. Or—tried." He looked at Angel, waiting for his reaction—waiting to see if he was believed. Because he needed to be believed. Everyone else in the world only said they didn't want love when they couldn't make it work out—and if Angel lumped Alastor in with them, then... then they would be speaking two different languages that had the same words but different meanings, never actually communicating. If Alastor couldn't make himself understood, he was still alone.

Angel

Angel took a deep breath before sinking to the floor again. " I believe ya. Just gotta say it with conviction, ah? " he said heavily with a fold of his arms over the armrest. As Alastor spoke, he tried to put himself in his place. When he was posed with as monumental a choice, he made the opposite decision. And regretted it with everything he had. Not only was there no miracle working in Hell: there were no choices for the better, either. You were damned whether or not you believed something was too good to be true or fell into the trap. Angel had dived headfirst when he should've trusted that he knew himself better than to believe it'd end well for him.

" How'd it fall through? " he posed with a drop of his chin into his arms, " He bait ya back? " Angel found himself listening with new acoustics. They'd both been in ruins for decades for strikingly similar reasons: trapped by the clutches of toxic loves neither of them want, when they never felt anything of the sort prior. A tragic First they were still fighting. Perhaps he had something to offer him afterall. Perhaps he could support him in a way only few could. He could only hope it'd be enough.

Alastor

“No.” Alastor slid off his chair, too; it didn’t feel right, sitting higher. They should be on eye level with each other. “No, that was—that was why I destroyed everything before I left. To ensure he *wouldn’t* try to bait me back. To make sure he wouldn’t want to. And he didn’t want to. He hasn’t.” Huff. “You saw him on my first day at the hotel! And that’s the longest conversation we’ve had since I left. No, he didn’t do anything. It just...” He shrugged helplessly. “Didn’t fade for me. It’s *supposed* to fade, everyone tells you it’s supposed to fade. It never did.”

Angel

" Oh. That was. " _Let's just pretend he knew from the beginning that they weren't the same demon._ Angel darted his eyes to the corner of the room as he slinked off the armrest. _Yeah. TOTALLY KNEW,_ he lied to himself as he faced Alastor and made himself comfortable. Odd of him to follow his habit. " ... him. " He then cleared his throat. " Yeah, it... doesn't... really... " Angel echoed with a perch of his arms over his ankles. " So... what's ya plan...? Ya gonna just... camp out 'ere 'till ya figure it out? "

Alastor

“That was him,” Alastor said grimly. “My *ex.*” The word was sour on his tongue. Such a fitting word. “And what did I do, I immediately blew up his ship again. Terrific work on my part. Well done.”

A shrug. “Wait at Rosie’s until either he comes calling or I decide he never will, I suppose, and then figure out what to do from there. The—the new ‘he,’ I mean. The one I’m friends with now.” He paused, considering that. “Was friends with.”

Angel

" I'll say. " Blowing up an exe's property sounded perfectly justifiable to him, and it wasn't just Cherri's influence. But he guessed if Alastor felt bad about it that only meant he preferred other ways of moving on.

" Rosie... she... busy a lot? Ya got enough company out 'ere? "

Alastor

“Oh, everyone loves me in the Cannibal Colony. All the ladies swoon and all the men beg me to come over for dinner. I can’t go half a block without getting roped into small talk and dance numbers.” He didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about it. But he added, “I have better company here than I do anywhere else in Hell,” and *that* was completely true.

Angel

" Well... sounds like a good place fa ya to be... " Angel pondered some. Of course Cannibal Colony was his personal wonderland. But there must be something missing for him to leave, he figured. " Pause the clock for a sec, " he said with a clear of his throat, " Rosie got room fa one more? "

Alastor

“I don’t want a roommate.” He gave the answer immediately; and then, after a moment, grudgingly, asked, “Are you trying to get away from the hotel?”

Angel

" I ain't askin' t' be ya roommate, " he growled, " YOU'RE the one turnin' tail 'ere. " With that, Angel snapped his fingers. " Clock's back on. I ain't ya friend no more. "

Alastor

Alastor stared at him, lost. “Th—No, pause the clock—Then what *are* you asking?”

Angel

He crossed his arms and eyed him sternly. " If ya... " A sigh. He already knew the answer. " If ya need a friend, Al. Ya gonna be out 'ere for fuckall knows how long. Ya goin' through it. Would be much easier if all I had to do was turn a corner instead a hikin' all the way over whenever ya felt like stealin' a wallet. "

Alastor

All right, that was what he’d originally thought. He didn’t know why Angel got *offended* that Alastor hadn’t wanted a favor that had been offered for Alastor’s benefit—but then it wasn’t the first time, was it? “I don’t want a friend nearby. I don’t want to be *watched* while I’m... thinking things over. I need to have that distance.” He unconsciously glanced toward the wallet as he said the last word.

Angel

" That mean ya done? " he asked with a toss of his chin down Alastor's line of sight.

Alastor

He snapped his gaze back to Angel. “No. No, just—have to look somewhere, don’t I?” Deep breath. “Sorry. Distracted. Where were we?”

Angel

He actually pulled him back. Color Angel surprised. " Ya blew up his shit, it didn't do ya no good, ya made a mean jambalaya... "

Alastor

“*Right.* Yes. That’s not the one I wanted to talk about. *He’s* not the one I wanted to talk about. I just—needed you to know the context, but... The one I’m friends with now. That one.”

Angel

" Yeah. The one who kicked ya to the curb after ya tore yourself the fuck apart tryin' to be who he wanted ya to be instead a seein' an' appreciatin' ya fa who you are, " he stated matter of factly with a moderate sweep of his arm, " _That one._ Pen. "

Alastor

It stung to hear. Another little needle jammed into his heart, right alongside all the others already buried in. "If I was tearing myself apart to be who he wanted, then he *couldn't* see who I really was, could he? I've been more or less lying to him as long as he's known me. He's got every right to distrust me."

Angel

" More or less, " Angel echoed, " So ya _not_ entirely convinced you were completely in the wrong. " His eyes challenged him. Though the secondary six didn't have pupils, an eerie weight carried through. " It's 'cause you're not. "

Alastor

"I *meant* in the sense that even when I wasn't *actively* lying, I was lying by omission." He shook his head. "Even if I... It's nothing I don't deserve anyway—in general, in a... you know, a karmic sense. Years ago, I stabbed a version of him in the heart; now he stabs me in the heart. He was probably... *selected,* on some celestial level, to be my punishment." He'd been doing a valiant job of keeping at least a ghost of a smile on his face, but it was starting to waver now. "I knew this wasn't going to work. Of course we couldn't be friends—he was just thrown in my path to rip open the wounds I'd gotten too good at ignoring. If it had a chance of working, we wouldn't have been allowed to meet."

Angel

" What's the point a harpin' on about what ya do an' don't deserve if there ain't no redemption to be had? That cross on ya chest ain't ever gonna flip. " _Catholic,_ he heard Alastor's voice echo in his head. How he _loathed_ those places of worship. Even before being damned his skin burned with rancor every time he crossed an altar. And he did so many times with and without a Colt tucked into his coat. " What'cha expectin' to be comin' outta sufferin' like a good lil' sinner? 'Cause no matter how many times I dunked my wank hand into the holy water, " he said curtly as he signed himself, " I kept missin' the memo. " Intentionally. But he could play dumb for now if it helped him drag some religious trauma out of him.

Alastor

"I don't expect anything to come out of it but more suffering. I don't expect a reward, redemption, or respite. But—and here's the key part—I don't expect anything to come out of denial and resistance, either. Either way, I'm going to suffer and nothing's going to improve. Because this is *Hell,* and *nothing* gets better, and only a *damn fool* tries to improve his lot. Even if he succeeds, it's only because Hell is letting him set himself up for an even greater fall." He crossed his legs loosely, propping his elbow on a knee and his chin in his hand, letting his fingers half cover his mouth. "This situation is just further proof of that."

Angel

" So ya called me just so you can fuck yourself over a lil' more? Ya " damn fool " ? 'Cause if ya lookin' to get fucked UP an' do it RIGHT, that's up my alley, too. " Angel flashed a crooked smirk and waved a his hand. He wasn't serious. However, he _did_ fundementally disagree. " I'm kiddin'. Kiddin'. But ya know. So long as we're stuck kickin' around, sufferin', may as well keep things interestin', " he droned with a shift to his knees so he could reach Alastor's shoulder, " Keep takin' chances. Keep chasin' the next best thing. Keep doin' what'cha do. It ain't gonna matter an' it's always gonna suck, but at least ya get ya kicks outta watchin' other demons handle it a lot worse than you, ah? "

Alastor

He laughed weakly. "I've tried getting f#%ked up." A muffled beep obscured most of the word. "Funny thing though, once you get tired of that, you still have to pick up the pieces. And I never have liked cleaning up messes."

A lump formed in his throat when Angel touched his shoulder. "Next best thing," he muttered. "That's what I've been doing. All this time." He could hear his voice trembling, but he couldn't stop it. "If I can't be *happy*, at least I can be *entertained.* Ha! I just w—!" He couldn't finish the sentence. He slid his hand up to fully cover his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut.

Angel

Angel chuckled in time with his laugh. Was that part of his act? Was the bleep conscious? He had so many jokes at the ready. He was MORE than ready to start trying to make him laugh...

... but instead, Alastor shattered like glass. Just a touch of a hand was all it took? He always took extra care to respect his space after their first conversation. Right now he was just leading him by example, showing rather than just telling him to take chances.

_" ... Al... "_ He thought he should pull back. Maybe it was a bad call. But if he let go, there'd be nothing there to catch his pieces. _And Alastor surely didn't like cleaning up messes._ Angel took a short breath before raising another hand. He gently squared his shoulders towards him. _" Hey... You ok there buddy? "_

Alastor

He shook his head. But he also didn't pull back. Just this once, apparently, this was what he needed.

Angel

Angel almost felt like he'd be more comfortable holding a hornet's nest, but at least providing this sort of comfort was more his speed. " C'mere. " Cautiously, he slid his arms past Alastor to angle his head over his shoulder and avoid a pair of antlers to the throat. In the same motion, he slipped beside him to support any weight that would fall. _Was it too much?_ He kept his secondary arms on the floor for now, a small crunch of product in his ear as his cheek tilted into his hair.

Alastor

Yes, that *was* what he needed. He'd be surprised at himself if he wasn't trying so hard to hold himself together. He leaned his weight into Angel, pulled his knees up to his chest, and covered his face entirely, one hand over his mouth and one hand over his eyes.

Voice cracking, choking on every few words, he said, "I just—wish—I could stop—dragging him into it. I don't want to be the—the one assigned to—make him suffer. That would be enough."

Angel

_You're NOT..._ Angel took a deep breath and pulled him closer, all arms around him now, a couple subtly rubbing his back. This wasn't a point of argument he could win. He couldn't contest or even tell him it'd be ok. So every time he choked, he gave a little squeeze. Every time he cracked he gave a more deliberate stroke. He could cry into his fluff. It'd be ok. He wouldn't look. Instead of protest, he affirmatively hummed along.

Alastor

He couldn't quite bring himself to cry into the fluff, that was a step too far. That would be the point where chronic touch aversion won out over acute touch starvation again.

But he *was* willing to press his forehead into the fluff—oh wow that was really soft. That was. Insanely soft. Holy shit. It lived up to the advertising.

Angel

He seemed to still. That was good. Angel brought a hand to the top of his head to gauge where the antlers were again, but _god_ was his hair a mess. Roots showing, old pomade... at least it didn't feel an awful brand. Keeping his chin up, he relaxed his hold on him and stayed put, listening closely for potentially muffled words.

Alastor

Just one word for the moment, croaked out from beneath a hand and a wall of fluff: "Thanks." He'll work a few more out, just—give him a moment first. It's been a long time since he's let himself be touched by anyone but the person he's currently a wreck over.

Angel

" Yeah... I won't mention it, " he said quietly before brushing a thumb over the base of his ear. Alongside the softness, it was almost en_deer_ing how small he managed to make himself. But he was a broken man. Angel hoped he'd never have to see this side of Alastor again regardless of how used to his frame he was getting. Less a hornet's nest, more a vulnerable demon just like any other.

Alastor

And Alastor sincerely hoped to never be seen like this again; but that wasn't totally in his control, was it?

He took several deep breaths, white noise hisses; and then asked, "Should I—even try again? Being friends? Or would we both be better off to—not?"

He desperately wanted a *yes, try again.* But he couldn't give himself one. He'd been trying, for days; all his excuses and rationalizations rang false. They all sounded selfish and naive.

Angel

Angel bit his lip. _No,_ he wanted to say, _Not if ya gonna keep runnin' yourself into the ground. Not if you're gonna cling to this idea of suffering._

_Ya just gonna be back 'ere again._

But so would he, wouldn't he? Angel already decided. He wasn't going back to the studio. If nowhere else... he was going to be here. Playing redemption.

" ... He. Should try, " he said sternly as he traced waves, " You don't do a fuckdamn THING to get in his good graces until he makes it up to ya. That's the only way this could work. Ya gave 'im everythin'. It's his turn. "

Alastor

Alastor's throat tightened. He didn't like that answer. "But being loved by a friend is *horrible.*" Voice of experience. "He didn't *want* everything from me. I can't blame him for being upset at having so much shoved onto him. How could I?"

Angel

Angel sighed heavily. Temporary fluff suffocation. You'll survive, Alastor. " I ain't sayin' ya gotta do that. Just that he should f'give ya some. Y'ain't no scarlet fuckin' letter. Just a guy. Wit' a complicated past. Wit' some complicated feelin's. If he's gonna be givin' any bit of a damn about you, he's gonna have to wade through some of it without judgin' ya or blamin' ya. It's what friends do. "

Alastor

That's fine, breathing is optional. He can wait.

"Oh, no? If I had a big red letter pinned to me, are you sure you could tell? B for backstabber." He sighed. "Right—of course. If he doesn't decide to forgive me, there's nothing else I can do. It's out of my hands until then."

Angel

" You'll be _fine,_ " he relented with a sink of his chin onto his head and a wide circle over Alastor's back, " You'll get along again. You'll get over y'selves. Even if ya don't, you'll still be fine. "

Alastor

They'll get along again. They'll be fine. His throat squeezed shut. He doubted Angel had any real way of knowing that was true, but he clung to it anyway.

He tried to nod, found he was buried too deep in fluff to complete the movement, and instead managed a garbled, "*Mhm.*"

Angel

" Mhm, " he echoed affirmatively, fingering a wayward curl back into place. At least as close a place he could figure. Angel then squeezed him tight around the shoulders before loosening into casual sweeps. " ... ... Ya smilin'? "

Alastor

He doubted it, but he prodded his cheek with the fingertips of the hand still over his mouth to check. "Mm-mm." That's a negative.

Angel

His lashes fluttered. He wasn't actually expecting him to say no. " Ok... I'll stay here, long as ya need to. If ya comfortable bein' a lil' ball. "

Alastor

"Mhm." Just a few more minutes. In a few more minutes he'd be able to collect himself. They'd get along again and they'd be fine, and if they didn't—if they didn't he'd face that when he had to.

Angel

" Mhm. " He wanted to chuckle. _Grunt after grunt._ Should he feel guilty about how _funny_ he found this? Probably. Only for the next few minutes as he cycled through the usual motions: playing with his hair, ears, rubbing his back, shoulders, the typical things clients found soothing before and after. Alastor had yet to protest, so he felt certain enough to venture he wasn't _bothered._ Nonetheless, they remained light, idle, all but absent minded. Working, but for a friend.

Alastor

He stayed there for several more minutes, until the idle background sensation of disembodied touches on his back and head slowly returned to what they usually were: prickly, uncomfortable reminders of another thinking feeling person pressed up against his body. He felt his shoulders start to tense and he pulled back a bit from the fluff. "Okay, that's—that's all I can handle."

Angel

" Handle? " Angel questioned as his arms dropped from Alastor's person in favor of leaning back on them, so he could remove himself on his own accord. " Interestin'... choice a words, there. " He tipped his sights to the corner of the room for a spell as he thought. " You ok? "

Alastor

He drew back and started straightening his clothes and brushing himself off—he had a smile back on, but God was it a tired-looking one. Dryly, he asked, “In what sense?”

Angel

" Er... relative sense. " Angel then cautiously leaned into the empty space. " Whataya mean, all ya can handle? "

Alastor

“My personal space bubble turned back on.” He stood up and continued tidying himself, brushing off his pants.

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