(Alastor x Vox) Knife Through the Heart

Chapter 15

Content Warnings: PTSD, Suicidal ideation, Alastor has flashbacks to his death [Which details events shortly before what happened with the dogs], Self-destructive behavior, Extremely toxic codependent relationships, Mentions of human trafficking and lack of consent [Only mentioned!! Nothing happens; I won't go that far for this fic], Racism, Slavery [Discussed from a historical standpoint, but doesn't happen in the story], Dissociation, Sexism, Graphic depiction of injuries.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hellish crimson light oscillates through slightly parted curtains, which in-turn gives off the impression that a bloodbath had occurred here. Though, considering the owner's proclivities for murder and cannibalism, Angel Dust wouldn't be surprised if such a thing did, indeed, happen in here. Goosebumps form on his arms, and chills run down his spine as he approaches the furthest corner of the rather rustic room—Only for his agitation to increase tenfold as he comes across one of Alastor's...unique décor items.

"Husk...? I think you should see this," Angel Dust calls out as he gazes fearfully at a creature mounted on the wall. No matter how much he tries, he can't tear his eyes away from this monstrosity. Long, spindly neck, wide, vacuous eye sockets, a toothy grin...and what appears to be horns protruding from its cranium.

Demonic horns, that is. Angel Dust reaches for his collar, as if afraid that he, too, will end up as a decorative skull on this wall.

Husk's head pops up from behind a stack of crates filled with...human teeth. Okay, yeah, Angel Dust does not want to know how Alastor got a hold of all of that. For one thing, they're in hell. And for another—

Nope, nada, best not think too deeply about anything that radio deer does.

The cat demon takes one quick glance at the skull before nonchalantly shrugging, immediately losing all interest. "Oh, looks like you found Alastor's giraffe."

"Ah, is that all?" Angel Dust sarcastically asks. "Why the actual fuck does Alastor even have a giraffe skull!? And human teeth—and a freaking severed leg in his kitchen cupboard...actually, no, that part's kinda normal for him......"

"How the hell would I know!? Do I look like that maniac's keeper? He always just does whatever fucking creepy things he wants...not like I have a say about any of this shit." Husk testily quips, rolling his eyes as he drags his feet on the ground—looking on the verge of face-planting onto the ground. Or going for another bender. Honestly, Angel could use a drink or two, himself, considering this is the eighth safehouse Husk had taken him too. And yet, there's still no indication Alastor recently visited any of these places.

Angel Dust considers this for a moment, before agreeing. "Yeah, I can see that. But it's kinda weird Alastor told you where all of his freaky murder cabins are located...guy's really into his cannibal aesthetic."

At this, Husk falls silent, gaze slightly averted. "It's not a matter of trust," he murmurs. Angel Dust doesn't miss the way Husks's wrists are shaking, or how his pupils dilate. Gingerly, Angel Dust reaches for Husks' paw, giving it a gentle squeeze. Husk gazes up at him, offering a faint but genuine smile. "...Alastor doesn't trust me, but for some of the other stuff we found here like herbs, it's probably just a holdover from when he was alive."