NOW I AM THE SICKNESS.

Husk's practiced eyes didn't miss a thing. Not the way Alastor started when he heard his voice, nor the way he winced when the motion caused him pain. Truth was, he'd been watching all this time, holding his peace, waiting for Alastor to admit to his state, to ask for help. But he never did. Of course, Husk should have known better.

Part of him wanted to snap at Alastor to please not insult his intelligence, but Alastor did have a point — there were so many things he'd kept from Husk ; he could be referencing any one of them. His focus now, however, was the wound that had only been revealed during that fight with the Vees, when Husk had only had time to take it in and none to ask questions. Surely that was how Alastor wanted things.

So he didn't dignify Alastor with a response at first, simply letting the other man sit in the question while he moved behind the bar to select a bottle of his own favorite bourbon. Not bothering with a glass, force of habit had him posting up across the bar from Alastor instead of sitting beside him. Maybe it was easier this way, familiar, with a buffer between them.

Husk took a long drag from the bottle, not even flinching at the familiar burn in his throat. It was comforting, bracing. He set the bottle down hard and pierced Alastor with his most no-bullshit stare.

❛❛ C'mon, Al, ❜❜ despite the intensity of his expression, his voice was surprisingly soft. ❛❛ Cut the bullshit, okay? You think I couldn't see how you were pullin' away? Holdin' back? And then the crazy shit you pulled with Vox — even if I hadn't seen, I knew something was wrong. ❜❜

“Please. I’m the most powerful sinner in this pit, Husker. What do I have need help with?”

Sinner. Not person. Not demon. Not even Overlord. Sinner.

It's a slip. He had a habit of making those around Husk, more than he'd like. He often made the mistake of being comfortable around the bartender. His fingers gripped the lip of the glass from above, until his grip shifted again, and he lifted it back to his mouth, taking a deep drink this time. Part of him thought of abandoning the cup entirely, much the way that Husker hadn't even bothered, but as long as he had the glass in his hand, he could pretend it wasn't that bad yet. He could pretend that he was drinking like he normally did. Sure, he had been a functioning alcoholic since his living days. But there was a baseline that was normal for him now.

But he wasn't, and it was that bad. His chest ached. Resonated, even, holy rot still eating into his flesh with such intensity that it threatened to steal his breath with every expansion of his ribcage. The pain was worse now than he had grown used to since surviving Adam, at least it felt worse, a byproduct of the come down from all of the drugs Vox had kept him on. It had been numbing the injury before, and now? Now it felt like he had stepped right out in front of a freight train that had caved his chest in.

To say nothing of the injury on his arm, untreated, where Shok.wav had clamped down firmly. He couldn't treat it. He was left handed. So he'd wrapped it, poorly, and pulled his clothes on over it. Alastor thought it had quit bleeding, or at least mostly, but couldn't' see the thin, dark strip of blood slowly seeping through the sleeve of his coat.

Already, the whiskey glass he was nursing was almost empty in the few drinks he'd taken. It was one of those nights. He picked the glass up, inspecting the half a drink left in the glass, and downed the rest of it. Alastor almost never drank that way, never threw it back like that, even in the privacy when it was just the two of them. By the time it hit his stomach he was filling the glass again.

But that wasn’t true, was it? He had needed help. To break his deal, first of all. His wound still wasn't healing. He let the silence accumulate around them for a moment as he sat the bottle aside, downed that glass, and some of the pain was steadily starting to let go as he let his head dip, bangs falling into his face as a static exhale slipped through his fangs. There was no real point hiding the fact of the wound or why he was drinking so heavily from Husk, was there? No. Damned girl; he adored Niffty with all of his black heart, but she shouldn't have been there. Husk shouldn't have been there. The amount of danger they had been in... he had been fine. Everything had been going according to plan.

A click as he sat the glass down, hand coming up to curl his fingers around the neck of the bottle, but he didn't lift it yet. Instead, he cleared his throat and lifted his chin to look up at him.

"Fine, Husker! If you really must have the truth, I wasn't planning to," he said, plainly, if a bit sharply. "And why should I have? It isn't like any of you cared."

It was there that the plain edge of his words turned viciously sharp with a hurt that the Radio Demon neither knew how to articulate nor knew how to name. It made him feel more self-pitying than he liked to admit to being, but the alcohol had worked into his bloodstream just enough to start having an effect. Just enough to pry his ribs open and let Husk see what was underneath the mask he wore with such fervor, revealing the anger that had been stewing under there for months since the last extermination.

"So save me the lecture. I'm not in the mood."

don’t go out there.

pretty AND smart. we’re gonna get along just fine.

if you hurt her i’ll kill you!

what are you doing here?

you’re late. as usual.

you’re in this with me now, [ name ].

no one else is gonna save you.

why don’t you slip into something more comfy, huh? like a coma!

i’m gonna put you in the ground like it’s my job.

you’re following me?

i noticed you already ‘borrowed’ all of my whiskey.

you’re supposed to be normal - you’re supposed to be SAFE!

of all the things i’ve ever wanted to call you? you’re such a coward.

wanna know how batshit i am? nobody shoots my family but me.

you stupid, crazy bitch.

you’re really staying this time, aren’t you?

this is blackmail, you dick!

how DARE you!

you owe me dinner. i’ll settle for tacos!

it seems i have settled among a commune of artists.

how about smiling, huh? you ever do that?

well, i like attention. i always have.

you ain’t one of us.

i’ve been meaning to introduce myself, i’m [ name ].

when i see something i like, i don’t wanna wait.

good thing you’re not some guy, right, or this would be really, really awkward ...

you don’t have to be nice to everybody.

i would remember a face like yours.

i’m an excellent judge of character.

you’re so not my type.

darlin’, i’m everybody’s type.

the dead don’t get a vote.

pfft, rookie mistake.

god, that’s super weird — what’s going on?

you need to hide.

run ! i’ll hold them off.

i am sorry, [ name ], but it’s you or me.

you’re a good man! you’ve got a code!

you don’t wanna do this!

you have no idea what i want.

buy me a round, [ name ]? seems like you’re just my type.

we can’t all settle down with our high-school sweethearts.

welcome to team ‘shut up and do what he says’. sometimes, we get donuts.

you should be doing this. you were meant to.

deal with that ... or i will.

we didn’t trust each other ... and now look what i’ve done.

you do not know what i am.

you’re supposed to be a hero.

pull your head out of the past.

the hell took you so long?

this is what our victories might have to look like.

look, if you’re about to propose a threesome, i’m tired and i haven’t shaved my legs.

this just doesn’t make sense to me.

goddamn, it’s you.

the problem with this criminal thing, is it’s kinda fun.

i can’t live like this, not anymore

don’t get your hopes up, we don’t know what we’re gonna find.

it wasn’t my idea to do this.

this is the only way to sanctuary.

you just could never help yourself.

vengeance is hollow, [ name ]. it isn’t worth a thing.

you’re not a monster.

i need rules. a code. otherwise i’ll end up just like you.

stop kidding yourself, [ name ], you are exactly like me.

i sympathize with your predicament.

leave, if you want.  go get ... dead.

only one death scares me, and it didn’t take.

ugh, ever heard of manscaping?

come on, he is just ... so beneath you.

what’s up, [ name ]? i never see you.

i’m the one with the vendetta, why are you gunning so hard?

we? there’s no ‘we’.

why should i help you?

you think an $8 bottle of pinot will make me listen?

i never liked you, you know.

am i in danger?

back then, you lived and died by what the seasons gave you.

shut up and help me.

can’t we just enjoy the moment for once?

[ name ], now is not a good time.

happiness is a myth.

would you like some company?

it’s gonna be a long night,  might as well make it fun.

you’ve done your worst.

how many tiny pillows does one girl need?

hold on a second, i want to record this so i can replay it to you when you’re being a dick.

you being here is definitely not selling ‘normal’.

there’s been a change of plans, i need to go away for awhile.

this is supremely cryptic, even for you.

say ‘pomegranate’ if someone’s got a gun on you.

this doesn’t seem healthy, [ name ].

i don’t really care where we are, as long as we’re all together.

are you sure you’re okay?

don’t be cross, i’ve got wood.

your ass is like ... top shelf.

dude, you’re like a walking bumper sticker.

is this strip poker? i’m not shy...

this kind of wound won’t heal, i’m dead already.

you save your vendetta for another night.

you suck at your job.

don’t shoot me, [ name ].

honestly, [ name ], you’ve gotten so weird.

that is NOT sexy!

nobody keeps booze in here, [ name ].

i think somebody’s trying to scare you ... toy with you. why?!

you of all people should know better than to try and make me question my sanity.

what do you MEAN you killed a stripper?

in my experience, dynamite solves all manner of problems.

haven’t you read a romance novel lately? heroes always win.

oh, you want to be a hero?

wanna tell me what that was about?

that was really brave. stupid, but brave.

i have something i need to say.

i’m starting to think sanity’s overrated.

i understand if you hate me.

you’re always, ALWAYS lying.

we should get some breakfast, i could murder a stack of pancakes.

you should know by now, i’m not most people.

well, you learn something new every day.

hey, no, you’re okay. lay back.

[ name ], i need you to listen to me.

okay, [ name ], we’re in serious shit here.

park your daddy issues.

i’m not like you, [ name ]. i’m not brave.

what was the last thing you saw?

close your eyes, take a deep breath in.

look at who the cat dragged in.

cut the bullshit. i know who you are.

you use humor as a form of self - defense.

answer my questions without any more guff.

what is it with psycho’s and talking in the third person?

you’re not really in the position to do any bargaining, are you?

you do look like you can handle yourself.

you want my help? you need to earn it.

i guess [ name ] wants you alive for something.

we should make it look real.

you know how to make someone show you where something precious is hidden? set fire to their house. it’s the first thing they go for.

don’t be irrational, [ name ].

you served your purpose, and now you are released.

i’ve had a lot of names, but you can call me [ name ].

you weren’t leaving without me, were you?

never touch my stuff.

you’re the sickest puppy in the litter.

you were dead ... and now you are not.

oh, aren’t you the master of deception?

let’s not kid ourselves, you’re not going to survive this.

[ name ], i always hoped that i would have this pleasure.

if you stand for nothing, you are sure to fall.

you do what you do best, [ name ], you fight.

you’re just like me. you’re broken.

i’m not lonesome, i just prefer to hunt alone.

you have to let go sometime, [ name ].

you continue to disappoint me.

let me make it up to you.

i thought i’d feel different. i thought i’d look different.

you release the rage, you might find there’s nothing left.

woah, wow, this is not what i expected the cat to drag in.

for the first time in ages, i woke up and knew exactly what i needed to do.

you can try, but i dare you to cockblock the drive i woke up with this morning.

i’ll sleep when i’m dead.

you’re not alone,  [ name ].

just once i want you to say it. that you care about me.

someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

why do i even get out of bed?

i lost you once, i won’t let that happen again.

[ name ], you are shakin’ like a leaf.

jesus, listen to me. maybe i am crazy.

i’m not sure this is the best idea.

you’re the one who told me i should blow off steam.

i’m not crazy, right? there’s something going on here.

you’re making fun of me ...

get in the car.

could everybody just stand still for one freakin’ minute?!

it’s gonna be okay.

i just screamed at you, you shouldn’t be nice to me.

we’re not dating.

i would never ask you to be someone you’re not.

yeah, sure, [ name ], whatever you want.

[ name ], what kind of a mess have you got yourself into now?

if you shoot, this all goes to shit.

your poker face is pitiful.

sorry, no speak evil.

who won’t you make a deal with, huh?

you can judge me all you want.

what do i care for some broken woman’s opinion of my character?

you can talk all you want. they’ll be your last words, anyways.

this whole time you’ve thought this was personal.

you shut your lying mouth.

what happened to being friends?

it’s not so easy to be brazen when the thing that you want, that scares you to death, is sitting right in front of you.

i scare you?

when i think about what i wanna do most in this world, it’s you.

jump in anytime, [ name ], because i really don’t know how to do this.

maybe you should make me.

i owe you a heap of thanks. and my life.

can i at least buy you a drink?

aw, [ name ], you really do care.

it’s worth dying to see the look on your face.

men are all the same. even the demonic ones.

[ name ], calm your tits. have a drink.

do me a goddamn favor and refrain from mentioning that name.

i think you would be very pretty in blue.

everybody knows... about us. the sex.

you tracked me?

what are you doing here, [ name ]?

if you’re keeping things from me, IMPORTANT things ...

don’t get all hard & forget that you’re human.

sun’s starting to go down, we should head back.

i feel a real connection with you, [ name ].

i do hate goodbyes.

look, we need you, okay?

can’t you at least try?

we can’t tell anyone. not until we know for sure.

i don’t want to be rude, but i don’t know any of you ... or what’s happening.

i don’t drink.

what kind of people give a kid a switchblade?

this is your home, [ name ].

how can you think this is funny?

i’ve been crazy, didn’t care for it.

i’ve been told i have character.

are you scared of me?

i need to start drinking less ... or much, much more.

how in the hell did you get this?

i lost control. i was angry at everything ... at everyone.

you promised to never tell anyone that.

it’s always been you and i.

it can be like it always was ... and different, too. in all the right ways.

you’re not alone anymore.

i think i got a little bit shot ...

i need you to tell me everything you know about [ name ].

i thought i was doing what you asked!

whatever you’ve got planned, i’m game.

now there’s a sight for sore eyes.

i don’t wanna hurt you.

why aren’t you more freaked out?

if there’s one thing i’ve learned this year, it’s that ‘good’ is a moving target.

what are you gonna do about it? tell on me?

who the hell are you?

you took it from me?

nobody’s getting hurt on my watch.

when are you gonna take responsibility for all that you’ve done?

i’m running out of goddamn time.

this isn’t over. i’m coming for you.

now you know how it feels when people take your things.

i know that you’re scared, so am i.

are you sure you’re up for this?

you might want to stand back.

you went wrong.

this one’s gonna hurt.

Judging by the limp, he could use a lot more.

Vincent adjusts, positioning himself properly upright. His instinct is to sit criss-cross, but that's quite the lofty goal given the state of his own leg. So his right leg folds, left thigh atop the ankle. Hands settle on the bed. His left wrist is wrapped in electrical tape - a lazy fix until he has the heart to address it. It's still lacking some feeling. Occasionally, a buzz shoots through his ring finger and down to his knuckles, like electrical misfiring of wires.

Whatever.

As a natural reaction to Alastor's sudden proximity, Vincent responds in kind. Leeeans back. His hands prop himself up, so it at least appears somewhat natural for him to move away. His discomfort is palpable. Alastor's presence is reminding him of how their last interaction went, which makes him want to crawl into a hole and die. His eyes dart aside. It's embarrassing and he can't handle meeting Alastor's gaze, let alone when he's close like that. A grimace pulls at the corners of his mouth. Of course he looks like shit. He's stuck here with you.

"Yeah." His voice is thin, flat. "Yeah, I can make it work fine with what you've got." He clears his throat, hm-mm, still avoiding looking at Alastor. Vincent feels tense. His chest feels tight, like there's a vacuum being created there. A black hole? It's pulling him in. He might collapse in on himself, he thinks. Maybe Alastor would get sucked in too. Maybe Alastor always knew it was there. Maybe Alastor is smart for staying away.

His head angles downward, looking to his peripheral, at his bad leg. A hand reaches over to pat his knee. "My leg works for the most part. I managed to do that." But his hands tremble, his head aches, and he feels clammy - he had to stop. The option to carry on is no longer on the table. As much as he would like a distraction from all the noise inside his head, he can't keep it up. But he wishes. If he were working on himself right now, maybe Alastor would leave him alone. Then he wouldn't have to feel as insecure as he does right now.

What does Alastor think of him? It's worse, isn't it? It's even worse than it was before. Vincent is on a steady decline. He thought he had hit rock bottom. Turns out he hit a bottom, skidded, and started rolling down a hill. He is tumbling. There is no end in sight to this chaos. He doesn't know where he is going or how badly it's going to hurt on the way down.

That was how he handled the things that hit a little too close to home, that dredged up the feelings he didn't have the adequate vocabulary for. How embarrassing. No thank you; I'll just be putting those away now.

As Vox leaned back, his grin widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight. A series of cracks ran down his spine as he straightened up, using the hands behind his lower back as leverage to support himself. The edges of his grin tightened slightly as it applied pressure to his chest, but he refused to stand in anything less than perfect the posture he was known for. Even if the position of his chest caused the stitches beneath his outfit to pull taut and painful across unhealed flesh; it was an acceptable consequence, especially without his corset to further brace his shoulders.

"Well! I could take a look, if needs must. Believe it or not, just because I predate cable doesn't mean I don't know my way around electronics," he said with a tilt of the head that resulted in his entire upper body canting to the left. "...It also doesn't mean I don't have it."

Cable, he meant, as he brought a hand out to gesture over the edge of the loft.

"If you need something to do. I don't want you going out until you're functional enough not to end up on the receiving end of an angelic blade," he said, but paused, bringing his hand in to his chin, eyes drifting to the side. "I think the television still works. I admit this place was in quite a state when I first came here after my absence!"

A shrug with both hands before he turned and promptly strode away from the bed again. He didn't go far, just over to the railing that lined the loft area, where he turned to lean back on it. He took his cigarette tin from his back pocket, pulling one out. He didn't smoke much anymore, in much the same way he didn't drink that much anymore. Usually when he was in pain. Which was, often, now... The tin clicked shut beneath his claws as he slid the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, his other hand raising. Slim, crimson digits snapped, igniting a flame above his fingertips as he used it to light the end of it.

Deep inhale. Heavy, smoke-filled exhale. A revealing sigh, perhaps, as tired as it sounded. His skin was crawling, and it was all he could do to keep himself from shuffling, from bringing his hands up to claw at his own arms until he found bone, or whatever little crawlies were squirming beneath his skin. Until he could get the feeling to stop. A consequence of the drugs Vox had kept him on, he knew. It wasn't his first time in withdraw. Far from it, in fact, and the nicotine—or whatever Hell equivalent existed—did nothing to actually staunch that feeling, but the chemical pleasure curling across his nervous system after the smoke hit his lungs was a welcome reprieve, all the same.

When his eyes opened again, he held the tin up towards Vox. Want one? That gesture said. A gesture he'd made a hundred times over to Vincent over the years. He didn't wait for a response, tossing it to him. Maybe it was a quiet test to see how his reflexes were like this, how Vox's nervous system was recovering, if he could move and catch the tin or if it would thump from his chest, into his lap, instead. Vox didn't need to know that was what he was doing.

With his hands empty, Alastor took the cigarette between his fingers after another drag, exhaling another lungful of smoke as his other arm crossed over his chest so he could rest his elbow in his palm. He felt overdressed for this; like his coat should be gone and his sleeved rolled up to the elbows, his bowtie loose, his collar open. Not fully dressed in a stuffy suit. Maybe it wasn't the suit that was stuffy; maybe the skin was too tight around his bones. Withdrawals.

"I might be able to get the wifi from the building next door." He meant wifi password, but the fact he knew what the wifi was or that it needed a password at all was probably an achievement in itself. He knew your cellphone was working, Vox. He'd felt the signal from it the moment he stepped into the apartment. Still, the fact he was beginning to grasp the concept of wifi did not mean understood the concept of data, or how it worked. Or he was selectively pretending he didn't. Impossible to tell which when both were equally as likely.

"Either way, I have time to kill," he said, and maybe there was a slight roll of the eyes, thinly veiled disdain as he spoke so casually. He didn't say outright what he was needed for after that time was up, but it likely wasn't hard to guess. If anything, irritation in the set of his brow probably made it more obvious than anything.

He hated that fucking hotel. He hated the patrons. He hated the people who ran it. Them more than anything. The only decent ones there now were the ones he'd summoned. But he couldn't just tell Vincent Vox that. He couldn't. To tell him he hated them would open the conversation up to why. To why he was still there. To why he went at all. That would lead to Rosie, and he couldn't talk about it.

It works. Sparks crackle across his antennae. He pulls away, stumbling, and he uses his arm defensively to shove the cane back. Continuing to shield himself, his hand shoots up to his face to rub against where the cane's end connected to his screen. With a growl, he smacks it aside. That giddy expression is gone, replaced with teeth bared.

"—BULLSHIT!" Shoulders tight, he hunches forward, fists balled up at his sides. Oh, look at him! So mad. "Don't even bother pulling that shit with me. You look like an idiot, pretending to be ignorant when it's fucking obvious you're lying."

A beat.

"Then again, I guess that tracks, since you ARE a fucking dumbass."

Yeah. Nice insult. Good job. Great comeback.

With that, Vox gestures to where the body is under the table, vaguely flapping his hand at the area. "Whatever that is - you make it sooooo fucking clear it's important to you."

What is he hiding? What did he come all the way out here for, if not for Vox? He needs to know. If this is his chance to rip a skeleton out of Alastor's closet, he'll fucking take it. At this point, he is entitled to it. He is entitled to a win.

A brief moment of consideration passes over him, eyeing those shadows. And the moment ends. Fuck him. Vox stomps a few steps over. In a fluid set of motions, he lifts his leg high, places his foot on the edge of the table, and swiftly flips it over with a kick of his heel. It bangs against the ground, bouncing and skidding a short distance before settling.

"Stop hiding, coward. Hiding from the angels, hiding from the light," he snarls. His voice takes on that blown out effect, like speakers trying to play a sound beyond its range. "Hiding from me."

He won't be letting this go. It's personal. It's always personal, isn't it? Between them, nothing else exists for Vox. All of it feels sharp in his guts, only ever relieving into a dull ache at best. If he doesn't get his way, it's just another battle Alastor wins. He can't have that.

With that commanding spiral in his eye, which seems to come up instinctively when he gets furious like this: "WHO IS IT?"

The worst part was that Vox was beginning to see the seams where he could start peeling those layers back.

He smoothed his expression behind his amusement. The snarl was gone, replaced by cruel glee that still managed to touch the edges of his eyes in a way his smile often didn't. Somehow, somehow, he didn't expect what came next. Even when Vox approached. Not until the last moment, when the foot was place don the edge of the table, giving crimson eyes half a second to snap to the side towards it before the table he leaned against was abruptly shoved out from under him. Displeased static crackled from his teeth and his staff in tandem as the arms behind his back unfolded reflexively and without graceless in the heartbeat before his body scattered into shadow. He reformed a few inches back, standing straight, arms folded back into place except for one hand that came up to delicately straighten his bangs with a quick flick of the wrist, completely undisturbed by this turn of events.

He grinned as if nothing had happened, but it no longer touched his eyes, betraying the fact he was rapidly growing tired of this back and forth. The crinkle at the edges of his eyes always faded when he grew tired of Vox's antics, when he was close to putting it down swiftly, but he had no such recourse but to stand there in the open, this time, whether Vox knew it or not. He couldn't take the chance of him leaving, and his shadows had been dragged away from the body as he was forced to reposition himself, exposing the details he had kept hidden before; male, dated sometime in the 1920s early 1900s, if you recognized the style of it's clothing. Some kind of workman by the look over the denim overalls and half rusted tools sticking out of the pockets. Construction, maybe.

Well, that was quite rude, he thought irritably, turning his face away from Vox as those hypnotic rings appeared in his eye. It was harmless to Alastor now, as long as his visage was glitching too badly for Vox to make the connection with his signal. But he didn't like the reminder of the first and only time he had ever succeeded in hypnotizing the radio demon that accompanied the feeling of cold water washing over his mind if he looked at it for too long. Was that sensation real, or just his mind remembering what it was like to be shoved beneath itself?

Slowly, the warmth of the guttering flames intensified as the fire behind him flared bright, orange hue turning chilly as the feu follet silhouetted Alastor's crimson shoulders in eerie green. The air grew heavy with static that didn't originate from Vox.

"Hm. All right, pal. I'll tell you what!" he said as he stepped back into the space he previously occupied and closed the distance between them, heels clicking like the hooves of a large beast as his steps carried him forward. There was a weight to his words now, like an old engine humming to life beneath the floorboards. "I'll tell you who that is, and in exchange, you'll keep everything you've discovered here to yourself."

Alastor held one clawed hand up between them.