Work Text:
Husk could still remember his first day in the city. The day had been close, the sky had been gray, just like today, and as he’d stepped off the train, he could actually remember thinking that it would be a fresh start.
He’d told himself that, away from home and the flashing lights and beckoning fingers at the tables, the debt he’d built up from answering that call one too many times, he’d have a chance. He’d taken a lungful of air, scented with the river instead of desert sand, and he’d hoped, just for a moment.
And in that moment he’d been a fucking fool.
Husk should have known that his demons didn’t need tickets, they didn’t need passports. They’d followed him out of Las Vegas, they’d marched beside him on every tour of duty, to Germany and Italy and Japan, across the whole damn planet in the wake of yet another war to end all wars. Why had he thought the span of the Hudson River would be enough to keep them at bay?
He knew better now. He was still a fucking fool but at least he was an old one, one who’d made a meal of that poisonous hope only to realise he was still empty inside. He wasn’t surprised by the voices clamoring in his head as he strode quickly through the city streets, he knew what they would tell him.
They whispered about the place down on fourth street where the whiskey was sour as bile but he had enough in his pocket to afford three. They wondered if there was a card game going down in the basement of the Black Olive, pointing out that the bouncers and back room staff would be just drunk enough that he could take them for all of their tips. They told him that the heaviness in his heart would ease with a drink, that the itching in his fingertips would go away and be replaced with a rush of dizzying euphoria if he could just roll a dice.
Husk knew all that. He’d been hearing that kind of shit his whole life, he’d been born with these voices in his mind. What was new was the fact that they weren’t winning.
He didn’t even realize it until he was a block away from his favorite art supply place, where he’d told himself he was going when he’d stepped out of the apartment. Shouldn’t really have been a fucking revelation, but he shouldn’t have made it this far. The voices had been plucking at him since he’d left, tugging at his sleeves pushed up against the sudden spring heat, trying to pull him towards his well worn vices.
And it should have worked. Any other day it would have, Husk would be ankle deep in some kind of debauchery by now, pissing away the rest of the day only to wake up the next morning with a dry mouth and an aching chest and still no fresh brushes. Ready to do the whole song and dance again.
Husk shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and ducked into the store, his mind easing at the comforting smells of old paint, turpentine and fresh cut canvases. He didn’t need to wonder why he’d managed to stay on track today, he just needed to get his errands done. He needed more draft paper, more pencils, maybe some new oils if any colors took his fancy. He had more commission requests than he’d had in years and if he was going to pretend he was functional, he at least needed the props.
And you know why you didn’t stop.
Husk’s hand froze over a set of brand new brushes. He didn’t like this new song the voices were singing, the new refrain they’d picked up in the last couple of months. It was enough to make him try and push them away, even though he knew better. He tried to focus on the candy land in front of him, rows of brushes soft and fine as feathers, pots of every color he could imagine arranged in just the right way so his eyes slid right across the rainbow as he scanned the shelves. And he actually had enough in his pocket to buy whatever he wanted, given that his advances had survived the journey. Getting his life together was paying off, figuratively and literally.
But no joy kept the voices away completely, as Husk well knew. It didn’t help when running his thumb over the brushes made him think of white blonde hair just as soft carding through his fingers, when his eyes were drawn to a soft, dusky gold perfect for freckles he’d once hunted down and kissed every one of. When every thought was pulled in the same direction, a galaxy spinning inwards on itself, down to the one star in the very center.
Not a new vice, not a new addiction but it was close. Something so much more dangerous, the same thing he’d tasted on that very first day in New York. A new reason to hope. He had Angel Dust.
And it’s going to end the exact same way.
Husk’s mouth twisted, that thought sliding between his ribs to hit somewhere soft. Because the voices didn’t lie. They were cruel, they played dirty, they did everything they could to ruin him. But they didn’t lie.
And what did Husk have to prove this new hope wouldn’t whither and die like all the others before it? He had an honest, endearingly gap-toothed smile hidden to everyone else but him, a crude sense of humor that went through Husk’s walls like a wrecking ball, a burning desire he thought had long guttered out of his life. He had a marker painted directly onto the wall of his studio, the total they were aiming for written at the top in Angel’s own hand because Husk had been too short to reach. It seemed like an impossible amount but, day by day, the tally was growing, the painted red line was creeping up towards it.
Between the commissions flooding in now Miss Morningstar was deliberately gushing about him to her high society friends, between the money hidden under Angel’s mattress at the club that was supposed to be spent on blow and booze, the tips he was skimming from clients, they were climbing towards his freedom.
But it still felt like the biggest gamble Husk had ever taken.
Sighing, Husk pressed his thumb into a sample pot of red pigment, drawing a line across the palm of his hand to see if it was bright enough. Red as blood, red as love, red as a heart that had only just remembered how to beat for someone else again. Red enough to save the man he loved.
Because however unsure Husk felt, however much doubt the voices planted in his mind, he knew Angel Dust was sacrificing more. He hadn’t told him everything, some things were too hard to say, putting them into words brought them too close for comfort. But Husk had met Valentino’s kind before, they grew right up out of the sand in Vegas, flourishing where nothing decent would. He knew what would happen if Angel’s pimp found out what they were planning, if Angel proved he was more trouble than the money he made was worth.
And, maybe even more than that, the faith he was putting in Husk. Valentino had given Angel ample reasons to cut and run but Husk had to stand there and wonder what it was about himself that made Angel brave enough to try. He loved him, he could be sure of that, he’d tried to show it in every way his dusty old heart knew how, but it seemed like a pretty poor stake all the same. If Angel took his freedom at the end of this and fled Manhattan for good, Husk wouldn’t blame him. And he’d still say it had been worth it.
All he had to do was not screw it up. Just succeed where he’d failed so many times before, with so much more on the line. And with nothing more than the paints and brushes in his hands and the fragile hope fluttering inside him like a bird snapped at from all sides by the snakes lurking there.
There really was no fool like an old fool.
By the time Husk was done indulging himself and talking shop with the lady behind the counter, the city crowds had thickened. The heat had dissipated slightly, slipping through the clutching fingers of the skyscrapers so the people jumped at the chance. Children dragged their parents by the hand, going to spend a few hours in the park to burn off their energy before bath and bed. Couples strolled more leisurely, men and women in perfect, matching pairs off to the pictures or a restaurant or the theater, maybe for the first time, maybe for the last time, maybe on the road to having children of their own tugging on their sleeves. Elderly people settled into favored benches to toss crumbs to eagerly waiting pigeons, maybe finding some kinship with the forgotten, ignored birds, or maybe just pleased to find something to still need them.
Husk shifted the paper wrapped canvas under his arm, trying not to bump into anybody, ducking and weaving through the press. His thoughts zig zagged in a similar way, trying to wander towards other things but every path seemed to lead back to Angel.
He wondered what he was doing right now, where in the vast expanse of the city the other half of his heart was beating. Maybe he was sleeping, his work schedule left him damn near nocturnal from what Husk had observed. Maybe he was with his friends, drinking wine on the fire escape with Cherri or even Miss Morningstar, whatever it was an escort and the daughter of the richest, most powerful man in the city did together. Or maybe it was already too late, maybe he was trapped in the club, putting powder over bruises so they wouldn’t show under the stage lights, not allowed to even see the sunshine everyone else was enjoying.
Or maybe he was sitting in the window of the diner just across the street.
At first Husk wasn’t even sure it was his Angel. He was dressed so plainly, in a simple white shirt and dark jacket that any respectable young man might wear, which should have automatically disqualified it from Angel’s wardrobe. His blonde hair was stuffed into a battered old ivy hat, brim pulled low to shadow his face, free from any kind of cosmetic. Like he was trying to blend in rather than stand out, the complete opposite of his usual flamboyant defiance. A mug of coffee that looked bad even from this distance congealed unnoticed between his cupped hands, his eyes fixed on something else across the street. He looked like any of the hundreds of overgrown, but not overgrown enough, kids haunting New York, looking hollow eyed and downtrodden, the slope of their shoulders telling you how far they were down the slippery slope towards a life they’d never imagined they’d be living.
But Husk had spent far too long lovingly sketching that face to not recognise it, he’d spent days mixing half a hundred shades of blue to get those eyes right, he could map those freckles the way a sailor who’d spent his life at sea could map the stars. That was Angel, sitting in a shitty diner and trying not to be noticed.
Of course by the time Husk realized it really was him, he’d been staring too long to get away with it.
Like a bird feeling the gaze of a cat, those blue eyes shifted to Husk. At first there was only panic, like he’d been caught red handed doing something he shouldn’t. Husk winced until those eyes suddenly softened, relaxing into something fond. One of his hands turned, long fingers beckoned Husk over in an uncharacteristically shy wave.
Husk didn’t even hesitate, winding through the cars scurrying like ants across the street, ducking into the diner. It looked worse on the inside, though at least it wasn’t so nice he had to worry anyone would stare at a black man taking a seat across from a white man.
Husk smiled, wishing he could reach across and take his hand, try and shake some of that lost look from his eyes, but no place would let them have that, “There’s no way I can avoid looking like a creepy stalker, huh?”
Angel gave him a small smile, “Well, you can join the club I guess…”
Husk lifted an eyebrow, unable to deny the spike in his curiosity but he knew how things worked with Angel. Gentle steps, kid gloves, hovering on the stoop long enough to prove he really was interested until Angel opened the door.
“Figured there was a reason you were in a dive like this,” he hummed, eyeing the coffee, “A reason other than that shit.”
Angel tipped the mug, laughing grimly, “Oh yeah. Would you believe the cherry pie here is actually incredible? It’s the only thing on the menu that’s edible but, y’know. They got one thing right.”
Husk chuckled, “Well in that case…”
The place was fairly dead, it didn’t take long to flag down a waitress and order two slices, a la mode for Angel because Husk remembered him saying that eating pie any other way was heresy. The expression on the younger man’s face was worth not being able to reach across and take his hand, a slab of golden crust and berries red and shiny as Christmas tree ornaments was apparently a good enough substitute.
They were halfway through before Angel eventually shifted and murmured, “I ain’t looking to score if that’s what you were worried about.”
“I wasn’t,” Husk lied smoothly, drowning out the sour taste of guilt with cherry syrup, “This place is a dive but it ain’t rough enough to have drug deals going on under the table. Besides, you said you were clean.”
Angel gave him a soft, grateful smile, like he wasn’t used to his promise being enough. His eyes wandered back across the street, like there was some magnetic pull drawing them there. Husk could tell words were hovering on his lips, crowding nervously like baby birds afraid to take that first step into open air.
Husk reached across and snagged that mug of muddy looking coffee, dragging it to his side of the dented metal table. He took a drink, right where Angel’s lips had touched it, feeling the warmth of them there.
It was a poor excuse for a kiss, secretive and indirect, but it was the best he could do in public, a lukewarm substitute for the way he wanted to comfort his lover. But Angel received the message loud and clear, eyes misting slightly and sighing in the unmistakable sound of pressure being released.
“The candy store across the way,” he murmured, fingers tapping anxiously on the table, “You see it?”
Husk looked, having to squint a little now his eyes weren’t what they used to be. The store looked like a kid’s dream, just looking at it made his teeth ache at the roots. The walls were just shelves crammed with rows and rows of jars, the old fashioned kind, each with a different treasure inside. Bright, crystalline hard candies, pillowy marshmallows, stark black and white humbugs. It was a riot of color, artificial color right out of a bottle, but it was the kind that made your mouth water. After the long gray days of the war, that store was something close to heaven.
“She always did have a sweet tooth,” Angel murmured, voice soft and sad, “Guess we both have a thing for harmful, addictive substances. Just that her’s ain’t illegal.”
At first Husk was confused but then it hit him. The girl behind the counter, currently smiling kindly down at a pair of wide eyed kids, clearly an older sister and younger brother. By the looks of her delighted expressions, there were a lot more lollipops going into that bag than they actually paid for. If the blonde hair that seemed to have a mind of its own or the freckles or the height or the crooked grin didn’t give it away, that act of kindness would have done it. Maybe Husk’s eyes weren’t what they used to be but he could have been blind in one eye and still seen the family resemblance.
“I know it sounds crazy because I could just look in the mirror but I can’t believe how grown up she looks,” Angel’s voice was heavy, bowing under the weight of the emotion in it, “In my head, I was always picturing the girl I left behind. But she changed too, I just…I just wasn’t there to see it…”
“Good looks run in the family, huh?” Husk swallowed hard, feeling a physical pain in his chest from how badly he wanted to take Angel’s hand.
“Oh Molly always looked pretty damn angelic. We were about as identical as a boy and a girl could be. Used to dress up as each other sometimes to see if anyone would notice. Only Nonna ever would.”
Husk watched sadly as the girl- Molly- waved goodbye to her customers with a smile just like Angel’s, “Guess you haven’t spoken to her? Since you left?”
He swallowed hard, like the words were having to get past something in his throat, “God, Husk, she probably doesn’t even know I’m still alive. Last time she saw me, my father was throwing me down the stoop and calling me a faggot for the whole neighborhood to hear.”
They’d been together long enough now that Husk didn’t have to hide his pained expression, hating the gaps in his words where the softer, gentler words for their love should go but couldn’t, just in care they were overheard. Hating that they still had to duck and hide from that kind of poisonous hate.
“But there’s a reason you’re sitting here. A reason you’ve been sitting here enough times to know the only good thing on the menu, I don’t think you’d do that for a sister who wouldn’t care if you were still kicking.”
Angel’s expression twisted, memories of that day clearly painful to touch, “She got right in his face, he was twice her height, towered over all of us but she met him nose to nose. Told him the only one who oughta be ashamed was him, throwing his own son out like trash. Quoted the damn Bible at him, told him he had too many sins of his own to be casting stones at me.”
Husk’s chest burned fiercely, “Smart kid.”
But Angel only closed his eyes against a rush of remembered pain, “And then he backhanded her right across the face. He’d never hit her, not once, he saved that for me and my brother, but that bastard did it, right in front of everyone. Knocked her to the fucking ground. It was the only time Johnny looked at him like the monster he was.”
The bitter taste on Husk’s tongue had nothing to do with the bad coffee and everything to do with not being able to get his hands around the throat of a man he’d never even met.
And with knowing exactly what was going through his lover's mind.
“Angel,” he murmured, “You can’t think that was your fault.”
“Husk, she got hurt defending me. Loving me put her in the damn firing line,” a desperate anger bled into his voice, “No fucking wonder she never tried to track me down or write me or anything. She did the right thing and, before you say a word, I ain’t going over there to drag her back into my bullshit. Not when I turned into everything the old man said I would.”
“Angel…” Husk groaned.
“No,” he shook his head tightly, fingers still tapping, keeping time with his racing heart, “Knowing she’s okay is enough. And if I go over there, all I’ll do is make it so she ain’t. Better off she thinks I’m dead, that way she still got a hope of loving me. A dead brother is better than a living whore.”
“Angel.”
He felt it come out harsher than he’d meant to but it did what he wanted, it was a hand thrust out to catch Angel by the collar before he fell any deeper. The younger men fell silent, his hollow eyed stare becoming something desperate as he stared back at Husk, something pleading. Husk didn’t dare ask if he was begging him to pull him up or just let go.
Not that it mattered. He’d pull him back, every time.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have snapped,” Husk shook his head tightly, exhaling deeply, “Listen. You can tell me to mind my own damn business after, if that's what you want, but can you just let me try?”
Angel swallowed hard, “Alright…”
“Look, I know how much you’re running from. No kid should have to go through half the shit you did and if I ever meet your daddy, I won’t waste my time quoting scripture at him, I’ll tell you that for free,” Husk growled before forcing himself to relax, his fingers to unravel from the fists they’d made on the tabletop, “But Molly…I think you got to ask yourself why she’s even still here. By rights, she should have moved halfway across the country, put as much distance as she could between her and your daddy’s rotten business. Hell, you both should. I don’t know why either of you are still here, there’s so many reasons you should have run for the hills.”
Angel fidgeted, his eyes drawn back across the street, as if to make sure Molly was still there.
“But you’re both still here,” Husk murmured gently, “And my guess is…well, that you’re both still hoping. You want a fresh start but there’s some things you ain’t ready to leave behind and why should you have to?”
Angel’s blue eyes were swimming, his voice sounding like it scraped his throat on the way out, “Hope’s a dangerous thing…but God, what the fuck do I even tell her? About Valentino, about the club, about anything?”
Husk shrugged, wishing he had a better answer but sometimes the truth was all there was, “Tell her you’re in a bad spot but you’re trying. That you’re doing your best. What else is there?”
“And you think that’s going to be enough?” Angel bit his lower lip.
“I’d put money on it,” Husk smiled crookedly, “Were I a betting man.”
That made Angel laugh, a weak, raspy, sarcastic thing but Husk treasured it more than anything, “Well, I’m sold. After all, when was the last time you made a bad bet?”
“Not since I met you,” Husk promised, with a smile as honest as he’d ever given.
Angel took a shuddery breath, clearly steeling himself, the same way he did for Valentino’s club. Even without all the makeup and glitter and the knife smile, it was the same bravery. Husk hadn’t known him as a soldier but it was there in his face, a familiarity with shutting off that instinct to turn and run, to just putting one foot in front of the other.
“Will you stay here? Wait for me?” Angel’s voice shook a little even as he asked for that small reassurance.
Husk damn near melted, meeting his eyes without hesitation, “I won’t move a muscle. You’ll be able to see me the whole time.”
Angel relaxed slightly, nodding and standing up, taking that promise with him out of the diner and across the street. He did glance back a few times, blue eyes wide and uncertain, but he always kept going at a gentle nod from Husk. They probably both breathed a sigh of relief when he actually managed to cross the threshold of the candy store.
Husk liked to think he’d gotten his tells under control after so many years with a gambling addiction but his leg was bouncing hard enough to rattle the table, accusatory ripples in the surface of the coffee. He ignored it, taking a long sip and finding it wasn’t so bad when the warmth of his lover’s lips still clung to the rim, his eyes clinging to Angel.
Molly was wiping down some empty jars, her back turned to the door when he walked in, though her mouth moved, probably a promise that she’d be right there. Husk didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, watching as Angel took off his hat and hovered in the doorway. The whole damn world seemed to be holding its breath, even the voices in his head bit their tongues for once.
Until finally, in a flinching moment made of equal parts relief and horror, Molly turned around. Instantly her face froze, shock crystallizing her features, like a ghost had just walked through her door. They looked so alike, standing across from each other, there may as well have been a mirror between them. Not just in their features, in the exhaustion that hid behind their mouths made for smiling, in their eyes that looked so much older than they should, in the shadows that sleepless nights had carved onto their faces. They were twins in more than just a physical way, they were twins in grief, in trauma, in hurt.
But despite that, in that frozen moment, Husk didn’t see how they fit together, it seemed like their edges were just too jagged.
Please, Husk willed fiercely, the same way he’d once willed cards to show a straight flush, the way he’d stepped off a train all those years ago and hoped, please.
But this time someone was listening. The man upstairs or their Nonna or maybe he was begging loud enough for Molly to hear him across the street but someone heard and someone took pity. With a soft sob, she dashed forward, throwing herself into Angel’s arms so hard he nearly fell over. The two of them clung so tightly to each other it was like they were afraid the other might disappear, two pairs of shoulders shaking with tears Husk couldn’t hear.
Blinking back tears of his own, he pulled his eyes away, getting the sudden sense that this moment was too private for an audience. But he’d promised his Angel so he stayed in the booth, pulled out one of the fresh sketchbooks he’d just bought and set it on the table. He’d bought fresh pencils but old habits die hard and ones from times you were so poor you could manage one meal in three died the hardest. He would use the one he carried in his pocket until it was down to nothing.
Husk signaled for another coffee- it was actually starting to grow on him now- and let his pencil move across the page. He glanced across to the store a few times as the sunset washed the world in orange, as the candy store became a square of golden light surrounded by shadow that couldn’t touch it. Angel and Molly were sitting on the counter, never talking anything less than a hundred miles an hour, looking like the light was coming from their smiles. They were laughing, they were crying, they were hugging tight, it depended on when Husk looked over but it always made him smile. They could have as long as they damn well wanted.
By the time the sketchbook page showed a study of the two of them and he’d drunk three more coffees in sheer defiance of the hour, Husk felt the prickle of eyes on him. This time when he looked up, Angel and Molly were there to meet his gaze, Angel gesturing to him and saying something that made his twin’s smile grow and soften. She waved excitedly, beckoning him over, Angel giving a reassuring nod behind her so he knew it was okay.
They met him outside the now dark candy store, Molly rushing up in a way that told Husk she was only barely restraining herself from giving him the same bone crushing hug Angel got.
“Thank you!” the first words out of her mouth were breathless, leaving her in an ecstatic rush, “Thank you so much, Tony’s told me everything about how you’ve helped him get clean and try to get away from that awful man and how you helped him be brave enough to come talk to me, just…thank you. Oh, I’m Molly!”
Husk smiled warmly, taking off his hand and inclining his head, “Husker, ma’am. And there ain’t no thanks needed. It’s my pleasure, I’m just glad your brother lets me.”
Angel smiled at him gratefully, turning to Molly, “You’re sure you have to go?”
Her face creased in disappointment, “Sorry, I’ve got a night shift to get to…but you’re going to come by tomorrow, right?”
Angel nodded, “I got the whole day before work, I’ll be right here.”
She kept smiling but some of the light in her blue eyes dimmed, “Promise?”
The fact that she had to ask clearly stung but there was understanding in his reassuring nod, “I promise, Moll, I’ll be right here as soon as your shift starts. Husk will keep me honest.”
That earned him another thousand kilowatt smile as she reached out and took his large, scarred hands in her own delicate ones, “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you, Mr Husk.”
“Likewise, ma’am,” he smiled, startled in a good way.
“Good…oh! I meant to say!” she tilted her head sweetly, “If you ever break my brother’s heart or hurt him, I’ll break your legs. Okay?”
There was a moment’s pause before, simultaneously, Husk burst out laughing and Angel gave a scandalized squawk of disbelief.
“I appreciate you saying that, ma’am,” Husk grinned, “And believe me, I ain’t gonna give you reason to. Angel’s not going anywhere…and neither am I.”
“Glad to hear it,” she shouldered her bag, “And call me Molly. See you tomorrow!”
She gave Angel a last kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the nighttime crowds, waving until the corner took her out of sight. It was a long moment before Angel could turn away from the spot where she disappeared but when he did, his eyes were shining.
“Husk…” he shook his head, unable to find the words, “Husk, I can’t thank you enough..”
“You can start by coming home with me,” he cut across him gently, “Get off this damn street so I can hold you the way I’ve been wanting to all fucking day.”
Angel opened his mouth at first, like he was going to protest that it wasn’t enough, that Husk should ask for more than just himself. But after a moment, he closed it again and just smiled.
“Yeah. That I can do, baby.”
And that alone was worth more than anything.
They walked through the streets together, as close as they were allowed, letting their fingers brush and tangle whenever they were out of the puddles of streetlight. And it didn’t feel like a compromise, it didn’t feel like a watered down version of everything exploding inside their chests right now. It just felt like a promise for later, a moment in a future they were both really starting to believe in.
Husk found himself remembering his first day in the city again, a younger man still old before his time, daring to hope that the paintbrushes and pencils in his pocket would be enough to make people notice him. That he’d leave his demons behind and become something great.
Husk took a deep lungful of night air, still sharp with the smell of the river and softened by Angel’s perfume. It wasn’t the life he’d imagined, it was tangled and thorny and fucking hard. The voices were still lurking, muzzled for now but he knew they’d come back in the quiet moments, when Angel’s fingers weren’t entwined with his own.
And maybe they were right, just like they had been every other time before. Maybe this was another bad hand, another roll of life’s fixed dice.
But Husk supposed he was still a fucking fool.