Chapter Text
Angel was at a state of unusual and atypical ease as he approached room 207. That room once more being his meeting room with Alastor. This was their second meeting. No fucking necessary, but all the money in his pockets as if he did. Sometimes, in his sadder and more unbearable moments, the walk to a client felt slow and treacherous like a prisoner awaiting a hanging. Today, it felt wavy and distant like the two doors were separate islands in a drifting sea. This didn’t mean he was nervous or anything. Oh, no. This just meant he was absolutely stoned.
Weed was a rare treat for Angel. It wasn’t often such a low-risk, low-trip drug found its way into the scene amongst its addictive sisters. He was tipped it today. He *absolutely* expected it to be laced. To his observations so far, there were no indicators of a slip. So here he was, high as planned, but spontaneously on one of the softest beginner drugs to exist. He was still functional, of course, and if he reminded himself to focus, he absolutely could, but since this was Alastor, and this was a meeting he wasn’t exactly to happy to attend, he allowed himself to take the slow steps to the door and really real the heavy, daydreaming wandering that his mind insisted upon.
He knocked again, the cold of the door against his knuckles cooler than he would notice sober. Just like before, the door opened on its own. Angel entered after a moment of delayed processing and forced his feet to shuffle inside. He could barely even feel them. Could he? He wasn’t sure. If he focussed on figuring out if the tingling feeling was in fact belonging to his feet, he knew everything else in the world would disappear. He heard the door shut behind him, and he let out a surprised laugh.
“Wait, did I do that?” He muttered to himself, wondering if he had closed the door. Just like that, his train of focus was lost again. He didn’t catch it in time for Alastor not to notice. The radio demon approached him curiously.
“Salutations!” He said happily.
Angel blinked. Right! He’s here for Alastor. “Hey.” He said giggling. He wasn’t sure why he was giggling. “How’s it going?”
Alastor ignored the question and instead opted for a blunt observation. “You’re intoxicated?”
Angel smiled and nodded. “Oh yeah. It’s nothin’ though. I’m just high.” He said, stumbling once before flopping onto the bed. Woah, the textured pattern in the ceiling was a trip.
Alastor’s grin never faltered but his judgement was apparent. “I suppose I’m not surprised.” He said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Cocaine again?”
Laughter emitted from Angel’s dopey expression. “Nah, weed.”
“Really?” Alastor asked surprised. He leaned forward to make eye contact. He could see Angel’s pupils were definitely quite dilated. And the scent Alastor could pick up on his outfit made all the more sense. “Branching out, are we?”
“Meh, kinda.” Angel shrugged. “It’s just what I had on me.”
“I see.” Alastor nodded. “I do hope you’re lucid enough for a conversation.”
“I mean, I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Angel asked turning his head.
Alastor chuckled at that. “That you are. Well then, I have a list of things to tell you. First and foremost, Charlie wants us to utilize a majority of this time as a substitution for group therapy.”
“Therapy?” Angel repeated.
“That’s correct.”
“She wants me to still do *therapy*? And with *you*?” Angel couldn’t help but giggle and melt more into the bedding. “No offense, Smiley, but you…” He trailed off for a moment. “You don’t seem exactly like the therapist type.”
“You are right in that assessment, I assure you.” Alastor agreed. “But it’s what Charlie wants so it is what will happen.”
Angel could barely comprehend much of Alastor’s last sentence, but he nodded as if he did. “Kay… What else?”
“Husker has expressed concerns for you.”
A brief wave of sobriety broke through the fuzzy haze. Angel sat up a little too quickly. “He has?”
Alastor nodded. “He said that you invited him for drinks yesterday?”
Angel groaned. “I did, but I’m not talking about that.”
A hum in response. “He simply wants to know why you ran off so abruptly.”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.” Angel said more sharply. He was suddenly aware of how squishy the mattress beneath him was, and the urge to sway hit him.
A spark of radio static in annoyance sounded from Alastor like a gritted teeth grumble. “Angel Dust, I couldn’t care much less, but my job is to ensure your safety. Now that there are new concerns it is my responsibility to put an end to them. I am your client, so I *command* you to provide me with an answer that I can deliver to Husk.”
And just like last time, when Angel couldn’t open the door, he felt that metaphysical leash tugging on him and he found himself answering to the best of his intoxicated ability. There was a shift, so subtle and unimportant that he failed to notice it. To Angel, so much awareness had vanished that the only part that was clear to him is he suddenly went from not wanting to talking about it, to wanting nothing more.
“Okay, then.” He said, more casually. His brow furrowed as he slowly folded over and leaned into a deflated pillow. It smelled off, and molded his face so perfectly that it made him smile and nuzzle into it more. Angel, or whoever he was, turned his head to the side to look up at the radio demon. He was fairly close to Alastor now, but some part of him knew, even in this state, better than to actually touch him.
“Well?” Alastor inquired.
“Angel freaked out because he didn’t want to see Husk.” Even while so out of it that he couldn’t identify who exactly he was, he still felt a pang of rebellious joy at verbalizing the truth.
Alastor was quiet for a moment. He observed Angel almost cautiously. “*You* didn’t want to see him?” He repeats.
“Angel.” Angel corrected.
“You do realize that *you* are Angel Dust, correct? Surely you couldn’t have forgotten something as significant as your identity with just some marijuana.”
“No, it’s not just because of the pot-” he slurred. He felt a rush of that funny tingle throughout his limbs again. He squirmed. “This is when I’m sober too.”
For once, Alastor seemed at a loss. “What is?”
“Identityyy.” Angel responds, trailing off and giggling. His response was vague, and to Alastor, utterly meaningless and nonsensical. He stood up decidingly.
“And here I thought you were equipped enough for conversation.”
Anthony(?) sat up suddenly. “I am!” He insisted, face trying to look serious though he was currently unsure of what his facial muscles were even doing. “I’m trying to talk to you about it. Please let me try to talk about it. I feel like if I don’t talk to you about it, I won’t let myself talk to you about it unless I try to talk to you about it right now.” He caught the messy jumble of words that was barely a poor excuse of a sentence as he said it. He winced at his own verbal clumsiness. “Fuck, please tell me that made sense…”
Alastor turned to look at him. “It was fairly comprehensible.”
“So yes?”
“Yes.” Alastor reproached the bed and once more, sat. “Continue.”
He exhaled a breath as Alastor returned. He wished he could see it. He loved seeing his breath in the wintertime when he was alive, when it looked like smoke- no, focus! “What was the question again?” He asked.
Neither he nor Alastor could believe Alastor’s patience. “Why did you abruptly end your rendezvous with Husker?”
“Oh, yeah. Because Angel didn’t want to talk to him. Anthony did even though he’s not supposed to.”
“Who’s Anthony?” Alastor asked.
“Me. Sometimes.” he said. He giggled again. “Just like how I’m Angel sometimes. And sometimes I’m not either of them, I think.” He squinted. “I don’t know, it’s hard to think right now… Am I high?”
It was like talking to a child. Alastor swallowed a sigh. “Yes. You are.”
“If you’re a deer, do you have a tail?”
“Focus, Angel Dust.”
“I’m not Angel Dust.” He pouted as he mumbled into his own hand. Was he drooling? He wasn’t sure.
“Of course you are. Just look in the mirror.”
“The mirror doesn’t count anymore. All we see is a stupid demon.” He said. Whatever sense of knowledge on Alastor’s boundaries he once had, they were suddenly gone as he leaned against him, head resting against his shoulder to avoid flopping onto the bed again.
Alastor tensed at the unwanted touch, and promptly shoved Angel off of him with one hand. Angel flopped backward onto the pillow, and his eyes looked upward. “You’re not making even the slightest bit of sense.” Alastor said. “Clearly you’re too far gone for anything productive to come from this, so I see no reason to continue. I’ll reschedule for tomorrow, when I hope you’ll have gained the self restraint necessary to respect my time.”
Those words hit him harder than they would have hit Angel. Something about those words, something about the threat of being alone, terrified him. “No!” With all judgement effectively faded, he suddenly pushed himself to sit up again and wrap his four arms tightly around Alastor’s own like a vine. He felt that wobbly sensation of the high again. The tingly, there but not there sensation of anything and everything turned terrifying when it had once been funny. He wanted it to go away. The act of willing it away only made it scarier. He didn’t want to be alone. Not when he was actually trying to talk. Not when he was so far gone. He clung tightly, desperate to not let go the only friend he had access to. With his eyes closed, it felt so similar to someone from his past.
“Please..” He begged. “Please don’t leave me alone. I’m sorry I’m not making sense…” As he spoke, weeks of buried emotions, heavy ones that Angel, Anthony, and even Lady Luck refused to feel emerged from the depths of his mind and crashed into him like a scribbled mess of nothing but pure, unfiltered woe. It wobbled in his voice and began to leak from his eyes. “I’m trying to make sense.. But it’s really hard..” He choked on the word ‘hard’ as a sob broke through his throat. That was the final straw for Alastor’s long gone patience.
“Get off of me.” He demanded sharply, and despite everything he needed and wanted, the client’s command made him let go.
Alastor eyed him, a mixture of disgust, discomfort, and confusion in his mind. He watched as Angel- or who had to be Angel, because who else could he possibly be- reach a balled up hand to his eyes and wipe away fresh tears. It was such a… childish display. It was sickingly out of character.
“I’ll do better, I promise-“ He coughed out a sob. It was tight. “I’m sorry I’m high. I’m sorry I don’t know how to explain it..” He warbled and choked again for a moment but it was clear to Alastor that he wasn’t done speaking. “But something’s happening to me, and I don’t know what it is and I’m scared.” He stretched out that last word, sobbing out every syllable in a manner only a child would. The sight was messy. Desperate. And it was frankly bewildering from Alastor’s perspective.
“Stop crying.” He said.
“I can’t…” He squeaked out, once again rubbing his eye with his hand.
“If you want me to sit here and listen to your nonsense, you will stop crying.”
With that, he seemed to try. His breath caught each time he tried to inhale, but each time he choked it out into another loud childish sob. He needed to stop crying. He knew he needed to. If he didn’t stop crying Alastor would go away and it would be all his fault! He couldn’t breathe without crying. He needed- something. He needed something. “I need Fat Nuggets…” He whimpered. “I need to hug him.. I miss him.” His arms felt so empty, and his heart anything but empty.
“Your pig is not here. Hug the pillow if you must.” Alastor said, voice slightly softer this time.
He knew it wouldn’t be as satisfying, but he also knew Alastor wouldn’t be the type to step in and hug him. He grabbed the pillow and brought it to his chest. He hugged it with two arms more than he was supposed to have and continued to cry, albeit slightly more controlled. Despite Alastor’s mild threat, he showed no sign of leaving. That helped. He sniffed, and tried to regain his breathing again. His crying, though gradually, slowed to quieter weeping. And eventually he looked at Alastor with glistening eyes and a slightly more sobered up mind.
“I’m sorry.”
“Just try to explain it to me, Angel.” Alastor said.
“I’m not Angel.” He insisted. “I said that before, please believe me…” Had he not been crying over Alastor’s previous disbelief, Alastor would again say his true feelings on the matter. But he didn’t. Instead, he played along.
“Then who are you?”
The child that seemed to have possessed Angel paused then looked at him. “Can you call me Tony?”
“Is that your name?”
A serious and still feeble and desperate nod.
“Short for Anthony, I presume?”
Tony sniffed. “Yeah.. But I’m not Anthony.” He clarified weakly. He hugged the pig tighter. He really wanted Fat Nuggets. “I’m just Tony.”
“Fine, then.” Alastor accepted. “Why aren’t you Angel?”
“I don’t know..” Tony muttered uncertainly.
“How could you not know?”
“I just don’t…” He whimpered. Tony daringly scooted closer to Alastor, despite knowing not to touch. “That’s why we’re scared.. We don’t know why we’re all here, but none of us like it.. But Angel.. he-“ his breath caught, but he managed not to go back to crying. “He doesn’t want us to be here. He says we’re not allowed to be out.”
Now that he was calmer, he was making… somewhat fantastical yet understandable sense. Alastor considered the words, then nodded. “So where is Angel?” He asked.
“I dunno… In my head?”
“May I speak to *him*?” Alastor asked.
“Do you not wanna talk to me?” Tony asked. “Is it because I cry?”
Alastor’s smile softened, just the slightest bit. “Oh, no. I couldn’t care less that you cried. But I’m supposed to speak with Angel.”
Tony pouted and focussed on the working of his mind. All he felt was the haze. Nobody else seemed to be nearby. “I don’t know how to get him back.”
“I see…” Alastor said.
“Can I still talk?” Tony suggested. “I like talking…”
Alastor looked at him. Though still physically adult, everything about the person in front of him in voice and manner embodied a small little kid. And with everything he had said to him… Maybe Angel fully believed he was. “Well… If Angel isn’t available, I don’t see why not.”
Tony smiled softly at that. “Do you also do drugs?” He asked.
“Not nearly as commonly as you do.” Alastor replied.
“You think I’m almost done being high?”
Alastor observed him once more for a moment. “Well I imagine you’ll feel its effects for quite some more time, but you seem to be coming down.”
“That’s good.” Tony whispered. A beat of silence fell between them. “Is Fat Nuggets okay?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Who’s taking care of him now?”
“Husker, primarily.”
A pang of worry softened at that, and Tony hugged his pillow tighter. “That’s good… Do you think he would send me a picture of him if I asked?”
Alastor hummed. “I’m sure it’d be his pleasure. Though.. He still wants an explanation for your-“ He paused, then corrected himself. “*Angel’s* actions. I have to tell him something, and I feel that your explanation will only beg more questions.”
Tony suddenly looked at Alastor and shook his head. “Don’t tell Husk what I said. He can’t know.”
“Then what should I tell him?”
“Can you just tell him that Angel changed his mind?”
“I suppose I can. It’s vague, but acceptable.” Alastor knew he would be criticized delivering it to the bartender, but he couldn’t really care.
“Thank you…” Tony whispered. He leaned into his pillow even more. “I’m getting sleepy now.”
Alastor eyed him over once more. “You certainly look it. I suppose we could still end this early… If you are willing.”
Tony had several reasons he wanted Alastor to stay, but an overwhelming tiredness from both crying his eyes out and being high left him yawning. “Okay.. I should go to bed.”
Alastor stood first, then Tony followed. Tony nearly followed Alastor out the door with the pillow in hand before he remembered where it belonged and dropped it before the door. He turned on instinct alone in the direction of his room, and to his surprise. Alastor followed. He walked with Tony three doors down to his own motel room, and watched as he clumsily unlocked the door. Tony turned back to look at Alastor with Angel’s face. “Thanks.” He said again.
“Sleep well.”