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instarsandcrime · 3 months

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Ambrosia to Go

@here-for-the-sick-fics Hi hello! I broke rather early, so thanks for the request! I'm not sure if it's what you had in mind, but I liked the challenge and I like Huskerdust! So! Here! You go! Enjoy!

Part 1

As the local bartender, Husk was very aware of what made the Hazbin Hotel tick. And unfortunately, that did not stop with how they handled illness.

Charlie was not one to hide it, but she would play it down and throw endless hours into her work until she collapsed. A rumor had started around the hotel that their bartender had thrown a blanket around her shoulders when she passed out at the counter. And he'll keep saying 'no, that didn't happen' until he's blue in the face because well, no one was there to prove it, were they?

As far as he can tell, he knows Alastor can get sick. Sort of. Kind of. A sniff here, a cough there. Even if, by rare chance that an overlord gets sick, he can hide those little details-- and hide them well. It would take only God themself to even catch him sneezing more than once.

When Lucifer gets hit, he gets hit hard. Denying it is somehow his go-to strategy even when the slightest cold knocks him down. Last time he'd seen the king sick he'd been working on some pretty important documents and, by the end of one of his many fits, he'd sneezed so hard that he breathed fire through the entire stack.

Niffty doesn't get sick. She's never gotten sick once since they started working together. He knows this. She knows this. It's incredibly unsettling and he'd rather not talk about it.

And today, he’s unfortunately left with...

"Angel Dust." Husk raised a bushy brow, "I'm cuttin' you off. You look like you're gonna pass out any second now."

And there sat the demon of the hour, famous porn star beloved by millions, plastered out of his mind and clutching a glass of what he calls his 'medical ambrosia'.

"Lissen! Lissen. Iii..." Angel's nose scrunched, and quickly covered it with a tissue-- which Husk nudged slightly to the left for accuracy's sake. "Hep'shhh! HET'shhhiieww. Ugh, gross."

The owlcat winced, fighting back the guilt he'd stuffed down for hours now. "Ange, I--"

"Shaddup!" Four accusatory fingers pointed, "If I had a cold I'd have it! And if I had your previous cold I'd say shhhhhaddup! Because you're-- snffff! you're a real nice guy, y'know that?"

"But--"

"Shhhhhhh!" Angel squinted, "All...all four of ya shut yer traps. You were worth it and don't you forget it. 'Kay?"

That speech was way too sincere. Oh God above he has to care again, doesn't he? Rolling his eyes with a groan, Husk swept the half empty shooter from the swaying patron’s grip.

"Hey! What gives?!"

Wordlessly he tossed Angel’s ambrosia down the drain, jumpstarting the closing time routine.

"Don't be like that Whiskers! We were just...g-gettin'...g-gettin' intehh...hih!" Angel hitched, fanning himself desperately before--

"HEP'shhhh!" He pitched forward, caught by a tissue in helping paws. The bartender sighed– then repressed a shiver when the sickly spider blew messily into cheap paper.

"Yer lucky you're cute." Husk grumbled.

"Whassat?"

"Nothin'." Tossing the soaked through tissue in the wastebasket, he snaked an arm around Angel Dust's waist. "C'mon sickie, let's get you to bed."

As he pulled Angel off the stool, it took a few seconds for his mind to buffer before sobering up a little and– here we go. Right on cue.

"Y'know this’s just allergies, right?"

"Mmmhm." Husk nodded mechanically, inching up one velvet step at a time.

"An' really, when ya think about it-- snff! Niffty's been slackin', y'know?"

"Sure." Second floor.

"I mean, missin' an hour of cleanin' today and for whuhh- what? Fightin' more roaches?"

"A shame, really." Third floor, second door on the right.

"And I...I-I..." Angel wobbled, breath hitching. Without even glancing Husk held a claw up to the spider’s nose. "Snff! Ugh. Thags."

"Shut up." Husk swore as they stumbled into the room. Purple fluorescent lights rained down on a plush bed, vanity close by. Thankfully with tissues, because he knew what was coming next.

"Id's cold id here, isn't it?"

"Yup." Husk grunted, leaning to grab a piece while balancing Angel with the other arm. "Pretty-- ugh-- chilly."

"I mbean geez! Sub-- snff! someone should really turn up the thermos-staahhh-hheh-hihhHIHH'ATSHHHHH!" Angel pitched forward again, and Husk spread his wings to keep balance, pressing a cloth to his face before he could get sprayed. "Guh..."

"Gesundheit." Husk deadpanned. The finger under the nose trick can only work so well when it literally and figuratively backfires a few seconds later. "Alright, let's lay you down before--..."

He tugged, but his patient wasn't moving. He was busy staring into the mirror.

"Angel?" A paw squeezed his bicep.

"...I can't wear the robe."

"What?"

"I can’t wear the robe. He's gonna kill me." Angel Dust repeated, turning pale. "I-I…we have this scene tomorrow with this sexy lingerie bathrobe lookin' thing and-- and I look like a wreck. I sound like a wreck. When I get sick I get messy and I'm gonna sneeze all over the stubid thi’g--"

"Angel--"

"And thed Val's gudda see how gross I mbade it--"

"Hey, hey, easy." Gently guiding Angel to the bed, he mourned at the way his fluffy frame shook. “Let’s sit you down before you fall down, okay? We'll take this one step at a time. And I won’t drop you, promise."

"...I-I kndow." The patient shot him a shaky smile. Shivering and unsteady, Husk tucked the tissue box beside him and draped the comforter over his shoulders.

"Okay." He took four gloved hands in one of his own, other reaching to help Angel Dust wipe his eyes. Then moved to his nose. "Blow."

"Wh-- I cad't let you do that! It's disgustig--!"

"Good to know, ‘cause we've done this all night."

"We have?! Oh, Husgk..."

"Trust me, I've cleaned up worse at the bar."

Pink cheeks glowing red, Angel rid himself of the muck as quickly as possible-- relieved sigh quickly replaced with panic.

"It's alright." Husk kneaded patterns on the other's thigh, glancing a knowing look. "Like I said, I'm not gonna drop ya."

Understanding, Angel scooped the tissue up and pressed it to his nose. "Et'SHHHH'iiew! ep'shhhh! Ghuhh..." With another honking blow he tossed the wadded ball on the desk, flopping face first into the pillowy mattress. Husk's eyes traveled everywhere but to his partner...in...crime? Ugh. Still not sure. Instead his attention lay on Fat Nuggets while he waited, little menace snoring softly in the corner.

"...I'm gross." Angel Dust rasped, muffled through satin and lace.

"I can see that."

"Forget what just happened. I was actin’ stupid, freakin’ out over nothin’."

"Nah." Claws threaded through tangled hair, "Fuck your boss. You should sneeze in his face."

Angel Dust snorted. Husk smirked. "Yeah. Really make 'im squirm. He wants messy fluids right?"

Slowly moving to lean against the headboard, the spider brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he stared. Pupils shrunk to pinpricks like he was at the climax of a horror movie.

"...What? I'm right." A pointed ear flicked irritably.

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Shut up. Did you just make a sex pun?"

Husk blinked in surprise, forgetting himself. And only smirked wider.

Alright, new plan.

"Me? Do somethin' like that? C'mon Legs, you're grasping. All I'm sayin' is ya gotta take a few tissues and get real passionate with 'em."

"Hhhhholy shhhhit."

"Then stuff 'em in his chest fluff or something. He can use 'em as padding."

"Are you real?" Angel gasped teasingly.

"What? You said you were gross. If he's not lettin' you call in, you might as well snee--"

"Hp'shhhh! HT'SHHHH'hhoo! Unh..."

"Yeah. Like that."

Pausing to let his patient give a gurgling blow, the tail end of a miserable groan broke into a soft giggle. Giggle breaking into another hitching mess until--

"Hih'TSCHHH! HTCH'shhhiew! H-hih-hhhHHITSCHHHH!"

"Alright, alright, that's enough excitement for one night." Husk quickly got to work, grabbing the required fluffy sweater and pajama pants. Ignoring the disappointed pout between pulling the top over Angel's stomach with a satisfied tug.

"Aw Husk–snfff! Really? Pants? I don't wannaaaa."

"Yes, pants. I thought you said you were cold."

"But they're such a paiiinnnn."

"Do you wanna get more sick?"

"...No."

"Then I'll go back to my room so you can slip those on."

A single step and--

"Wait!" Angel blurted.

A pause filled the room, save for a few coughs dragged out by the sudden burst.

"...Need something?"

"I, uh. I'm not ready."

"Christ Ange, are you still drunk? Jus’ put on your pants one leg at a time–"

"No! What?! No! I don’t want you to leave!" An aching voice broke. Tired eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly feeling rather small, he forced his gaze down to his gloves, peeling them off one by one as he spoke. "I…I-I know it's late, so you can always say no. I just…I don't wanna be alone right now."

Another pause. “...Please.”

A sharp sigh immediately cut any creeping tension, listening to a winged back thump against the wall. "I get it. Bein’ sick is…a lot. You don't need to write me an essay. And I don't pick favorite customers, but I gotta admit. I'll keep the bar open all night if it means I get to talk to Anthony again. Just once, that’s all I need."

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#hu//sker//dust #hu/sk #an/gel/du/st

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instarsandcrime · 3 months

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Feathers On a Hearth

Did I just write a 2,000+ word Huskerdust snz fic because I have no impulse control? The answer may not surprise you. Hope you enjoy!

Edit: Someone asked for a follow-up and well. Part 2 I guess!

“A day off?” Angel Dust slapped his upper hands on the counter, lower firm on his hips. “Whaddya mean a day off?!”

“My, my! Such a reaction!” The Radio Demon hummed from behind the bar, “I thought you’d be pleased that Husk asked for some relaxation time.”

“Of course I’m happy! That’s the problem!” The other fumed, picking nervously at the hem of a glove. “The bastard never takes his fifteen, let alone twenty four hours to himself. Even after the whole extermination shit went down and the hotel’s name was back up in lights, he opened up shop the next day like nothin’ happened!”

“Hm.” The Overlord’s fingers stilled above a wine glass, drifting into a trance. From a distant white fuzz of radio that traveled with the hotelier, Angel Dust heard bits and pieces of unknown voices, clipped nonsense like jagged edges of glass against a chalkboard.

Unknown help NEEDED uSefuL For meat.

“Alastor?” Angel Dust finally piped up, and his host seemed finished ruminating on the world’s most ominously displayed conclusion.

“I would love to uphold Husker's wishes for privacy. However, if it satiates your curiosity in any way, feel free to convince him otherwise.” Alastor snapped his fingers, and a door somewhere above unlocked with a sharp click, "The poor thing hasn’t come out of his room all day, and I admit it’s a bit disquieting to not have our bartender at the ready. Always waiting with a refreshing drink and a silver tongue...”

Pencil thin brows furrowed. Okay. Okay, fine. Either fuck over Husk’s boundaries– not a fan of goin’ down that road again– or risk it and make sure he’s okay. Regardless.

“Is this some kinda sick way of showin’ that you care about him?” Angel Dust squinted suspiciously.

A howling laughter cut the air like a knife. “O-oh! Ohohoh my! Th-that– ahaha– H-heavens, no!” Alastor wheezed out. “I want to see how badly this trainwreck goes! It's been quite a show to watch such a beloved actor even think about rubbing elbows with a washed up, wrung out has-been like Husker!”

Angel's face twisted, blushing scarlet with anger at a cackling studio audience that filled the bar. He couldn't help it-- whatever cadence, whatever tone, he'd heard the same exact laugh plenty of times with every tug of a chain. “I don’t get what Charlie sees in a creepy, sadistic fucker like you. But y’know what? I hope you get to the top. I hope you get everythin’ you want. Because when you look down from your sad, dinky little radio tower, no one is gonna be there to watch.”

Flashing his last two arms just to flip Alastor off with his entire being, Angel Dust spun on his heel to storm up the steps. And all too faintly, he heard one last little hiccup of a broadcast. He stopped at the haunting swell of violins, nearly tugged backwards by the sobbing of a woman reaching out to embrace her savior.

Thank you.

The tapping of Alastor’s staff and his hushed string of curses were nothing compared to the smug smirk that nearly split Angel’s face.

“Hey Whiskers, it’s me!” A knock echoed on Husk’s freshly crafted door, pentacle etchings still bonded to the knotted wood.

His calls were only met with silence.

“C’mon, I ain’t gonna try anything. We’re past all that and you know it.”

The silence persisted. A louder knock. Shit. Alastor was definitely not the type to play a prank, and Husk definitely wasn’t the type to stay quiet forever.

“You okay? You ain’t bleedin’ out on the carpet, right?” He worried his bottom lip, running a thumb against sore knuckles. “...Husker?”

“I heard you the first time.” A gruff voice answered. Oh thank fuck.

“Then what're ya waitin' for? Let a gal in, would ya?”

“Can't.”

“Alright, fine. Then I'll do it myself.”

“No!” A tornado warning seemed to go off the second the doorknob was even slightly turned. All sorts of bits and bobs were haphazardly knocked about in a cacophony of noise. Somewhere along the way the chaos settled for a brief moment, ragged breaths building and building until--

"Ht'shhuh! Hut'CHNX! HHHT'CHNXT'uh!" The sound of shattered glass pierced the air, and Angel Dust nearly jumped in place at the sharp yelp that followed.

"Hey, what the Hell!?"

“I'm okay, don’t-- kaff kaff! don't move. I’ll come to you.” Husk croaked. The door finally crept open and– oh.

“Oh. Oh, wow.” The spider whistled at the sad sight before him. “Ya look like shit.”

Or at least, the little bits that poked out. The bartender’s bedsheets were wrapped around him like a patchwork cocoon, making every second standing a heavy, tangled effort for the shivering bundle. Underneath the makeshift hood that covered his head, the fur on his face was matted with sweat, a single claw pressed just below a flushed nose. His eyes were squinting through a bleary fog, as if it took his entire being just to concentrate.

“Nice t’ see you too. Listen. I’m obviously sick, so if you need somethin’ from me just grab it and go.”

Okay, rude. This was not the kind of hot mess Husk usually was-- at least, not six months into their trauma bond. And strange enough, his room was no different. Card collections, casino chips, beer bottles, all the little things were flung every which way. But the most bizarre was a trash can haphazardly stuffed to the brim with red and black feathers, peppered by wads of clawed-through tissues.

“Uhhhh.” Angel Dust's brow furrowed at the sea of half-broken junk, “I don’t need nothin’, but I’m pretty sure if I did then I'd need to ask a gravedigger first.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake– then what do you want?!” Husk snapped. Angel stilled, surging through ten different emotions at once. But the sickly demon only landed on one, eyes wide with overflowing guilt. He hunched low, retreating towards his bed with wobbling steps. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to– I. I’m just not feelin’ right. Snf! But I'll be better by t-tuhh-tomorrow. Jus’…just forget thihhh-this ever…ever ha-happened.”

Angel Dust watched on in disbelief, mouth slightly agape. Maybe Charlie, Princess of Friendship, could have calmly negotiated with the bartender. Maybe she could have sung a song to magically solve a lesson of the day. Maybe she could have shown love and kindness and all the redemption bullshit that he'd come to respect. But Angel Dust was not Charlie. Angel Dust was Angel Dust. So, with all the love and kindness in his heart, the spider stepped a foot on the blankets and yanked his friend backwards. And caught off guard, Husk released the claw that kept a worrying tickle at bay.

"Hhhuhh...huh! Hup'shhhoo! Hup'SSHHHUH! Sh-shihhh-shihht nohhh-not agaaaiihhhh…Heh! HETCHHH'HOO!" A pair of wings involuntarily flapped at the small fit, sending a small firework of feathers into the air. Patchy, bare spots that once balanced the owlcat sent him stumbling on the ever-tilting floorboards. And suddenly, body moving before his mind could, Angel Dust hurriedly caught the other in a low dip. Tangled under his partner's shadow, Husk’s red-tipped ears folded until they practically pressed against his skull.

“Snff! Uh. Thanks.” He swallowed.

“No problem.” Angel echoed, stopping to blow a feather from his mussed bangs.

“...You can let go now.”

“If I do, are ya goin' to fall before you even touch the bed?”

Husk's pause lasted a second too long.

“That's what I thought. Now, I’m gonna lead with your shoulder and your waist. And it'll just be touch and nothin' else, cross my heart.”

“Hey, you– kaff! offered to help me out. If there’s an issue that you’re lookin’ for, I couldn’t see one if I tried.” The other mumbled, unsure if he could get any redder. “But thanks for the heads up, Ange. I mean it.”

Gently the spider guided him with four sturdy arms, the third pair growing to snatch up his shed blankets along the way. Looking down, Angel’s heart suddenly squeezed as the cat in his hold immediately fought sleep at the touch, head lolling against his chest.

“Soooo. You can molt?” Angel squeezed his shoulder playfully.

“...Mm. Sucks, but I always push– snff! Ugh, push through it.” Husk grumbled, scrubbing his eye with a paw to force himself awake. Looking anywhere but at his helper.

“Oh, please! You know I ain’t stoppin’ here, right? I’ve fucked a lotta demons with wings and I gotta say, those bad boys ain't gonna pity ya anytime soon. 'Specially paired with that cold've yours.” He pushed Husk onto the mattress, ignoring the soft grunt that followed. “Now lay down.”

Finally relenting, his patient rolled onto his stomach, pressing a pillow over his head to muffle his thoughts for two entire seconds– or at least while his back and nose had stopped itching something awful. Because without realizing it a warm smolder had filled his chest, sparked at the onslaught of attention. It was the cold. It was just the cold. It was not the sheer audacity of being needy for once in his miserable life. Goddamnit, when had he suddenly become so needy?

“Good boy.” A voice whispered gently, breath hot against his bare back. Yep, that's nausea. Definitely nausea and nothing else. Husk quickly stomped out the growing flame before it could spread any further. Unfortunately, a different sensation crawled up his nose, and he pressed the feather-stuffed fabric against his muzzle. Desperate to not deal any more damage. He was supposed to be the hotel’s bartender. He was supposed to be Angel Dust's bartender. It was his job to look out for the struggling souls around him, not the other way arou--

"Huh! Hhhhuuhhh...F-fuck."

"Need help?"

“Wh-whuhh— Snff! What?” Craning his head, the tip of a discarded feather tickled the rim of his nostrils, and whatever pained torture Husk would have had to grin and bear was swapped with another.

"HUP'CHOO! HUT'CHHHOO! Hhhuhhh...hhhuh!...hah hhahhhhHTCH'HUH! Hhhhhuuhhh.......hhhuhh.....hguhh...snff! Ow." Between ragged gulps for air, he heard the thump of books and bottles fall from the high shelves above. He didn't even want to look at the state of his room right now. Instead he blindly grabbed for a tissue, sharp trumpeting blows intertwined with flustered apologies.

He regretted even thinking about opening his eyes. He would have rather sneezed himself into a second death than deal with the disaster that regularly re-disorganized itself. But vision clearing, he blinked back shock as Angel Dust already had a mop in hand, cleaning supplies at the ready. Steam curled against the cat demon’s cheek, and he turned to see a rag was already soaking on the nightstand. Mystified, the bartender watched as his patron stop mid-task to slide it forward, a welcoming smile on his face. The bowl seemed to move in an oddly nostalgic way. Like the film strip of a memory that didn’t quite catch the light.

Or the offer of a refreshing drink and a silver tongue.

"...This is stupid." Husk finally broke the silence.

"Ugh, I know right? The books are no big deal, but whisky's gonna be a bitch to get outta the carpet. I'll have to grab Niffty before it stains--"

"No. I mean, you don't need t’ clean up after me. I...I-I can do it myself." Husk mumbled, pushing himself upright– or rather, made a daring attempt before collapsing back on the mattress.

Angel Dust stared. Really stared. Throwing aside the handle in his palm, he rested two right hands on his hip. “Husk. Sugar. Sweetheart. Babydoll. You dragged me kickin’ and screamin’ outta bad days plenty of times. What's wrong with me doin’ the same for you?”

“Oh c’mon, we both know that I can do all this bullshit myself. Cleanin’ my room. Washin’ my wings. Why do you need t’ be my personal assistant for the day when you're so busy dealin’ with the studio! 'Specially with Him bitchin’ and moanin’ and runnin' you ragged! I see you stumble through the door at three in the morning, clutching your stomach like it got whittled to nothin’! He orders you around like a goddamn dog on a leash, and then you come home to what? Take care of another asshole like me? Why should some shitty ex-overlord get the same kinda treatment?”

--rubbing elbows with a washed up, wrung out has-been--

Oh.

Oh that motherfucker.

"You--" Angel Dust felt his blood boil, chasing away the ghost of radio static that crawled under his skin. “Are you fuckin' kidding me?!”

Husk jolted, fur puffing in surprise as Anthony pulled him onto his lap. “Stop bein' a dumbass! You deserve this. You deserve to be pampered. If ya think I’m here because I feel pressured and not because you’re actually– oh I dunno, worth bein’ cared for– then let me make things crystal fuckin’ clear for you.”

“Kid–” Overgrown pleas were cut at the stem, body going limp as a steaming cloth trailed down bone dry wings. And as dark thoughts began to drift, the spider rested his chin on the crook of Husk’s neck. One by one he plucked every warped thought with every warped feather.

"You ain't forcin' me to do nothin'. You ain't payin' me as a client. You ain't no toxic ex. And you definitely ain't like Valentino. So get it through your thick skull-- I don't hang around ya 'cause I need to." Cupping a flushed cheek for good measure, Anthony ever so slightly tilted a hypnotized gaze his way. "I do it because I want to."

Faces flushed and heavy-lidded with bliss, the actor forgot himself, bathing in the silence. The peace. The safe haven he called Husk.

The other, very predictably, pulled back to sneeze.

Husk buried his muzzle in a tissue before he could give his drinking buddy-- friend-- partner-- whoever the fuck was in front of him at this point in time an impromptu shower.

"'CHNX! CHNXT'hhhooo...hhhuh! HUH'ASHHHOO!" He cautiously peeked open an eye, blinking back shock when his wings didn't snap open. Instead they continued to lay there, well-washed and preened to perfection. So with a shaky breath he lit the spark in his chest, allowing it to burn gently through his ribcage like it was a small, rusty hearth. Swallowing down a soft purr before it could escape.

"Wait, wait, wait." Yanked back to reality Angel Dust grabbed the cat demon’s shoulder to spin him around, looking him dead in the eye. "Am I crazy, or do you sneeze in triples every time? That’s. Adorable."

"Oh shuuhhh…hhuh!" A blur of a black and red feather swept under his prickling nostrils, fanged smirk kissing the base of downy barbs between lithe fingers.

"Hhhhuh! You s-suhhnofa-a-aahh!...hhhah…” Husk held his breath like his afterlife depended on it, desperately scrubbing at his muzzle to quell the angry itch. Startling when Angel’s lips pecked the tip of his raw nose.

Shit.

“F-fuhhhcking ch-ch-chhheater– Hhhept'choo!" Husk doubled over into the nearly-shredded tissue.

"Oh my goodness, bless you!" The spider demon cooed teasingly. "One."

"Sh-shuhhht…sh-shu-shut the fuck uhhp-- HUP'CHHH’hhoo!"

"Yeesh! That was a big one. Two."

"Guuuuhhh...g-gonna kihh-kill youhhhuuhhh-hhuh-huh-hah! HATCH'HHHOO!"

"Hah! I knew it! Holy shit, that’s so cute!" Angel Dust gushed through bouts of uncontrollable laughter-- rudely interrupted when a pillow smacked him square in the face.

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#hu//sker//dust #an/gel/du/st #hu/sk

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