#alright im being a little bit dramatic. its not bad per se its just...

[youraveragecatastrophe]

*emerges from the Carmen Sandiego (2019) french dub covered in blood*

[bellamyblakru]

recently followed and have been reading all your fics- can I request the bad things bingo “reopening an old wound” with Arthur being too tough to stay in bed like gaius said and Merlin taking care of him 🥺

HELLO OMG. this is so kind🥺thank you for following and reading my fics!! it truly means a lot to me🥺💞 i hope this doesn’t disappoint!! (also you sent this like over a week ago ajsmaja im so sorry it took me so long. i wrote this instead of sleeping tonight just for you😌🙌🏻)

here it is on ao3 and down below!! thank you so much again🥺

Merlin was going to strap Arthur to his bed—and not in the fun way. The dollophead was just so adamant in joining this stupid tournament he was hosting for the dignitaries that came from Nemeth.

“Merlin,” Arthur drawled out in that totally-not-endearing-way he does, “we’ve been over this! I must participate. I am King for a reason! I cannot back down. How would I look to them? Cowardly?” He scoffed at Merlin, who was scowling at the fireplace to refrain from magicking the king to another land for the entirety of the tournament.

“Stop that.” Arthur demanded, coming to sit down next to Merlin.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Arthur huffed, “You’re thinking about doing something illegal to get me out of this.”

Merlin frowned, “No. I wasn’t.”

“Hmhmm,” Arthur sang in disbelief, “I’m sure.”

Merlin sighed in defeat, “Arthur, you just started healing from the hunting accident and you know Gaius will be crossed that you directly went against his advice to stay in bed.”

Arthur folded his arms against his chest, “I’m not scared of going against Gaius, Merlin.”

Merlin smirked, “Now who’s lying?”

Arthur slumped against the front of the chair, “Alright, Gaius can be scary. But I’ve already made up my mind. And if anything does happen to me, you’ll be there anyways, right? What’s to worry about?”

Merlin conceded to that, “Fine, but just know I’ll be mad the entire time.”

Arthur let out a light laugh, placing his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “I can live with that.”

Merlin fake scowled at him, making Arthur laugh again, so, just because he could, he magicked a pillow to hit the King’s face—this led to a very dignified pillow fight that both will profusely refuse happened later.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur wouldn’t say he regretted participating per se, but when his shoulder started pounding and, if he looked at it for longer than three seconds, blood may be seeping through his tunic, he can’t really say he was happy with his early choices.

Not that he would tell Merlin this, of course, who was giving him a waterskin with narrowed eyes.

“Arthur.”

“Hmm?” Arthur was staring at the two men fighting in the arena, each wielding quarterstaffs, who were amateur fighters at best.

“You’re favoring your right side, did you know that?”

Arthur’s head snapped to Merlin, “What? No I’m not.”

Merlin scowled at him, “You’re lying!”

Arthur pouted, “No I’m not.”

Merlin gasped, pointing a finger in his chest, “You’re doing it again! Arthur, you have some tells, you know.”

Arthur swatted away the finger, “No I don’t.”

Merlin, the idiot, laughed, “No? You always raise your eyebrows a bit when you lie, sire , and I know this for a fact.”

Arthur frowned, he thought he grew out of that, “No one can ever tell! I have to lie all the time in court and no one ever calls me out!”

Merlin sighed, rather dramatically, “Arthur, they also didn’t spend every godforsaken second for years memorizing your emotions as I did.”

Arthur tilted his head, contemplating that, “Why did you do that?”

That took Merlin off guard, which Arthur had hoped for, giving his servant a sly smile, as Merlin went violently red, a flush coming up from his neck to his ears, “What else was I supposed to do? I look at your face for the majority of the day, Arthur. I’m sure you know all my tells as well.”

Arthur hummed nonchalantly, “Whatever you say, Merlin.”

He did know all of Merlin’s mannerisms and what they meant, but he wasn’t going to say that nor was that his goal here.

Merlin shook his head, the momentarily forgotten anger returning, “That wasn’t the point! You’re hurt!”

At the same time Arthur opened his mouth to lie again, he was called out for his next match. That was his goal—to distract the mother hen of a servant until it was too late.

With a what can you do? shrug, that made Merlin frown more, Arthur quickly spun and walked onto the field, ignoring the burning stare of his worried warlock at his back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin groaned as Arthur won the match, again. The idiot was hurting himself. Merlin could tell by the subtle weight changes to his right side, the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes, the way he paled slightly when Gwaine slapped him on the shoulder in congratulations.

He couldn’t believe this was the man he fell in love with. Destiny was a cruel thing indeed.

Merlin watched as Arthur let himself be manhandled by his knights, and Merlin couldn’t help but realize that put the entire gaggle of men in armor between them. Merlin narrowed his eyes at the rather clever tactic by his king.

As if sensing his disappointing glare, Arthur’s eyes found his. At least this time Arthur looked marginally apologetic, but not enough for Merlin’s taste. Was it really so bad that Merlin actually cared for Arthur’s well-being more than a stupid tournament?

He couldn’t fathom this. How was hitting people worth the pain Arthur must be in? Merlin grimaced when Leon slung his arm over the king, who imperceptibly winced at the movement.

When the next round called up, Merlin wanted to slam his head against the fence. Arthur was going against a sorcerer this round, because apparently the Merlin didn’t have enough to worry about as it was.

The sorcerer bounced on her heels, smiling at the king. Arthur smiled back, if not a little perplexed at the bubbly nature of the woman, and they shook hands.

Maybe this won’t go horribly wrong?

But when it began, Merlin recanted his statement vehemently. Of course it would go horribly wrong, it was Arthur he was talking about.

When the woman swung her quarterstaff at Arthur’s injured shoulder with her eyes glowing, Merlin jumped out of his seat. He ran into the field the second the staff hit its mark: Arthur went even more pale, and with a loud pained gasp, let go of his sword, landing roughly on his knees, grasping his shoulder.

Merlin didn’t hesitate. He took a stance between his king and the sorcerer, making Arthur’s blade fly into his own hand.

“Sorry, this ends now,” and with a swing of his sword, his eyes glowing the deepest golden, he attacked. Relentless, hurried, and cursing, Merlin had the woman at sword point in the matter of seconds—without breaking a sweat.

The woman’s eyes widened at the sword, hastily backing away with “I yield, my lord.”

Merlin wasn’t a lord, but he didn’t care to correct her as he handed the sword to Lance and went to Arthur’s side.

“That was a little overdramatic, don’t you think?” Arthur sighed out, pain clearly seen on his face, trying to make eye contact with Merlin.

Merlin grumbled, “Not remotely enough.”

Arthur let out a breathless, and delirious, laugh, “I think I’m bleeding out.”

And before anyone came closer, Merlin’s magic flared up.

The second he looked up, he realized that his magic brought them to Arthur’s chambers. With a small sigh of relief, Merlin made all the armor fall off and lifted Arthur’s tunic from over his head gently—hissing at the reopened wound pouring out blood.

“Arthur! You should have said something,” Merlin scolded, placing his hands of the opening and imagining the skin stitching itself back together—this would hold until Gaius came up and fixed Arthur himself.

Arthur looked at Merlin through clouded eyes, smiling softly, “Yeah, but what’s the fun in that?”

Merlin couldn’t help but soften at the look on Arthur’s face, “Careful, sire, keep looking at me like that and one could think you were besotted.”

Arthur murmured, “Indeed.”

Merlin was about to say something, not knowing what it would be, when Gaius crashed through the room with his healing bag in tow.

“Thank gods,” Merlin pushed himself out of the way as Gaius worked, helping him move Arthur to his bed when he was all patched up once more.

Arthur was lightly sleeping when Gaius made Merlin swear to magic the king down if he tried to move at all, and when Merlin swore his life on it, the old healer left them to their own devices.

An hour or two later, Merlin still hadn’t left Arthur’s chambers. He was currently sitting besides the king, placing a cool cloth to Arthur’s forehead, running his fingers through the golden sweat-soaked hair.

Merlin was singing softly when Arthur slowly opened his eyes.

“Merlin?”

“Arthur! How do you feel?”

Arthur groaned a little, trying to sit up, as he answered, “Not too good, I have to say.”

Merlin snorted, “Well serves you right. I told you that this was an idiotic plan. Why did you even do it? You have nothing to prove.”

Arthur was quiet for a minute as Merlin placed more pillows under him to make the king more comfortable, “I have everything to prove.”

Merlin sat back, confused, “To who? Camelot already adores you Arthur, and you’ve only been king for less than a year!”

Arthur sighed, leaning his head back, “To you, to myself, to my knights.”

At Merlin’s continued confused silence, Arthur made himself look at him, “To my knights, to show them that I can persevere. To myself, since this was the first tournament as King. And, to you, to show you that your devotion was worth it. That I was worth it.”

Merlin gaped, “Arthur! You have nothing to prove to me. Ever.” but when Arthur scoffed and looked away, Merlin lightly grabbed Arthur’s face and turned it to make Arthur see the truth written in Merlin’s eyes.

“Arthur, you are my king, now and always. I chose you because I knew that you are everything beautiful in this world. I give you my magic, my heart, and my life, because I know, in my soul, that you are the best person I will ever know. I never doubt my devotion to you because you prove time and time again how worthy you are of every title you bear. You are not only the best King to grace this land, but you are the very best of us. I know you, Arthur Pendragon, inside and out—so, please, never doubt your worth to me.”

Merlin lightly rubbed the tear off Arthur’s face that had slipped out, and Merlin muttered, “And if you ever try to fight with a recently closed wound again, after I specifically tell you not to, then I will find a way to strap you here and never let you leave my sight again.”

Arthur let out a small wet laugh at that, grabbing Merlin’s wrist. And while rubbing small circles there, that had Merlin’s pulse quickening, “I don’t know,” Arthur whispered, “when you defended me like that on the field, it was quite attractive. I would have appreciated it more if I hadn’t been bleeding out and delirious.”

Merlin laughed under his breath, “I should apologize to her, huh?”

Arthur shrugged his good shoulder, “You can after.”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow, “After what?”

Arthur gave a playful smile as he pulled Merlin into a kiss by his neckerchief. Merlin gasped, quickly reciprocating, a small smile forming at his lips.

And when they pulled back, foreheads resting on each other, Arthur quietly breathed out, “I love you too.”

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Bullet Wound

Follow-up to this discussion with Angel. They ended up doing the surgery in Angel’s room instead of the bar because SOMEBODY forgot that was where we agreed to meet. (It’s me I’m somebody.)

Alastor

Knock knock knock, guess who. It's Doctor Alastor and Nurse Hentai, here with their trademark "surgery with a smile" service.

Angel

He opened the door with one of his tertiary hands. The couple others were busy pressing a pink-stained... _something_ to his shoulder.

" Oh nonono, I ain't drunk enough fa THIS, YET. " Angel knocked back the remainder of whiskey left in the bottle he had before trudging to his minifridge for another. " Is Hentai, uh, gonna hurt? He slimy or some shit? How drunk I gotta be? " His eyes were beginning to lose focus.

Alastor

Alastor's gaze landed on the pink stain. Aha. There was the wound, no doubt. "It'll hurt about as much as you'd expect for something the width of a coffee stirrer to squeeze into a wound and yank a bullet out. I can dull your ability to feel around the injury."

Alastor tilted his head to peer into the minifridge, checking to see how good Angel's stash was. "I think you're quite drunk enough already! Unless you want to sleep the next two weeks." He held up the one bit of surgical equipment he'd visibly brought with him: a bottle of Everclear. "But I'd planned to use this to clean the wound."

Angel

" Oh, ya can?? " he responded with uncharacteristically dulled excitement, " Thank _fuck!_ I would'a gone fa a hit but, uh, _Bolivian Ma'chin' Powder's_ all OUT. An' I gotta... uh, show. Even if just ta say I can't work so I can get my standa'd issue ass kickin' an' come back. "

Angel then stumbled to his chair, flipping it around so he could lean forward off the back. " Just... go nuts. Fuck th' rug. I could get a Daddy ta get me a new one if it gets fucked up. Uh... youse can use th' bench if ya need to. "

Alastor

"What, sending a self-E of the bullet wound isn't a good enough doctor's note?" Alastor tutted.

He unscrewed the bottle; for the moment, he was still standing so he could remain taller than Angel. "Now, this IS going to sting—but I've got to clean you off before I can numb the area. I'd warn you to bite the bullet but—hah—we'll have to fish it out before you can do that, won't we!" And here comes the sting.

Angel

" Nah... he's gonna think I photoshopped it... " he groaned with a reach for a throw pillow to scream into.  He would've laughed a little more whole-heartedly if not for the anticipated _agony_ that tensed him so hard he could've bit off his own tongue.

" _UGH THIS IS WHAT I FUCKIN' GET!_ " he muffled into the plush pink, now growing darker from the entrance wound, " Why's good shit gotta HURT so bad? It's so fuckin' _DUMB._ " Angel smothered a few more whines and hisses before getting a handle on his breathing again. " ... Can ya do the numbin' thin', yet...? "

Alastor

Ignore the studio audience laughing at your pain, it's nothing personal.

Alastor lightly brushed off what few drops of fresh blood the alcohol hadn't washed from Angel's fur. "Now I can!" He decided owing a small favor to a prince was worth it so he didn't have to drag a miniature apothecary out of his trunk, looked around for a pen or marker—ah, of course, makeup everywhere—and grabbed a tube of black lipstick. "You don't happen to have any bad blood with Prince Gaap, do you?"

Angel

Angel groaned, metaphorically biting his tongue to hold back any amount of quips or name-calling he would've fired at the hip for the sake of not pissing off the demon that was about to start poking around in him.

" Prince a who? " he asked with an instantly regrettable twist to see what Alastor was doing, " I ain't ever known any _legitimate_ royalty... I don' think... "

Alastor

"Then I'll take that as a no." He scrawled Gaap's sigil on Angel's shoulder around the wound—not his most artistic work, given how fuzzy his canvas was, but Alastor was on good enough terms with enough nobles that they wouldn't nitpick tiny errors in his work. "Now, this will make the area around your wound feel temporarily hale and hearty—but it's only a feeling. You're still just as damaged. Don't jump up and do cartwheels." He finished the double circle around the sigil and the lines started to glow green. Good. "Working yet?"

Angel

Angel took a deep breath as the nerves began to cease fire until finally, he no longer felt the need to scream or cry. Well enough to turn his head, he gave himself a peek in the mirror.

" Yeah... like I wanna do cartwheels, " Angel giggled, " Tell Prince Gaap I said thanks ~ " _An' ask him if he's single,_ he chuckled to himself as he stretched his limbs more comfortably about his chair. " Ya gonna stir me like a cup a coffee, now? " he joked.

Alastor

"I'll pass on your gratitude! Just don't tell him you owe him one if you happen to cross paths with him, he'll take it literally and then we'll both be paying him for the anesthesia."

Alastor huffed. "Once I clean the wound a little more. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've got quite a lot of fur around it." He looked around for some sort of towel that wasn't completely soaked in blood, poured a little more alcohol in it, and finally sat on the bench as he started carefully cleaning the wound itself while trying to avoid disrupting the sigil.

"You don't strike me as the type to get shot in the back," he mused. "What happened here—somebody take you by surprise?"

Angel

" Oh, he's _that_ type, " he commented, deciding on whether or not he should offer a razor. He was already going to be getting a temporary bald spot. May as well...

" If ya needa clear it some, there's clippers off th' side a the mirro- " Angel's arms and legs tightened around the chair as he sank his chin _deep_ into the pillow. _When_ was the last time...? Without the sting to distract him, all there was to focus on was the touch and it made his head swim. He didn't know how to process it, so he reverted to his go-to distraction. " _Funny how I still ended up on th' twink ma'ket cove'ed in all this peach fuzz, ah?_ "

He chuckled bitterly as his eyes swept to the ceiling. " Yeah... somethin' like that... Was a _surprise,_ alright... "

Alastor

"Most nobles are. Out of the ones that bargain with humans, anyway." He grabbed the clippers and very carefully started clearing a patch around the entry wound. "You know, between you being called one and *me* being called one, I'm beginning to think that 'twink' doesn't actually mean anything."

Alastor leaned around Angel's side to give him a vicious grin. "So, tell me about this surprise! You didn't think I was doing this without hoping to get a little entertainment in return!"

Angel

" _It means ya never get ta eat **shit,** that's what it means-!_ " he grumbled.

Then a sudden **gasp.** How the hell he manged to scare him despite being the forefront of his attention was beyond him. " _Fuckin'-_ " he groaned with a turn of his head in the opposite direction, " Was an ex... an angry one... That dramatic enough fa you? "

His claws clenched his skin as he tried to replicate the buzz of the razor into his brain. Sure would be nice if he could uncap his skull and do some doodling in _there._

Alastor

"... *Does it.*" There was a little bit of info Alastor was going to file away and never let go of.

"An ex! Oh, yes, *quite* dramatic enough! What did you do to *him?* That is to say—" One freshly alcohol-soaked claw brushed dangerously close to prying into the wound, "—was this earned, or an overreaction?"

Angel

" Earned. Def'nitely earned. Uh... " Angel pondered. He'd already vague-blogged about the incident. Any opportunity to avoid any scandal was already blown.

" She. I let her 'and it to me. It was th' _least_ I could do. "

Alastor

"*She!* That brings up some questions, doesn't it?" He dropped his impromptu wash cloth on his lap and said, "Now, as much as I'd relish prying this story out of you one detail at a time, unfortunately I won't be free to talk for a bit." He summoned up his cane. "Ready to have an alien abomination pry a bullet out of your back?"

Angel

Angel braced himself. Salt in the wound felt well deserved to him. Even if subconsciously, he'd allow every opportunity to pay for what he did to her. Being pried through by an alien abomination, sitting through a mortifying interview, and being shot point blank was a good enough start.

" Wouldn't be the _first_ time I 'ad tentacles in me ~ " he replied cheekily with a thumbs up, " Just don' let 'im get _too_ carried away, yeah ~ ? "

Alastor

"Oh, I plan to guarantee he won't!" A dark blot, small as an ink stain, opened in the air between them, and a single thin tendril wiggled out. "But while I'm giving him instructions, I won't be listening to closely to you. So!" He swung his cane around in front of Angel. "Take Mic here and let him know if you need me to stop, would you?"

Angel

" _Plan_ ta guarantee...? " He snorted, then crimson eyes flickered. He'd voluntarily _hand_ him that thing? " Yeah, ok ~ " Angel wiped off his bloody fingers and gently took the rod. " Can't feel a thin'- " _Liar._ " -so prolly won't need to. "

" Heyyy, Mic-y, how ya doin' ~ ? " he asked sweetly, turning the instrument about and inspecting him curiously. " Al give ya routine polishin'? Ya just, chill in th' other dimension 'til he calls ya? " Like a set of keys given to a toddler, he was sufficiently distracted.

Alastor

"Oh, I can't complain! It's not allowed in my contract!" The cane rolled its eye. "Naaah, who needs polishing? When I poof off, the dirt doesn't come with me!" It gave Angel a wry look. "Or d'you got another reason for asking how often Al *polishes his cane?* Eh?" Mic's humor was somewhat lowbrow compared to Alastor's usual standards. Usually Alastor would scold it for getting saucy. But right then, Alastor's brain wasn't entirely present.

He couldn't actually give his tentacled "friend" orders, per se. They were too different, too alien for normal person-to-person communication. What Alastor COULD do was broadcast a signal that let him slip into a fragment of a tentacle's mind and pilot it directly; but when he was doing so, when he was making sense of the world as the alien beast saw it, he wasn't exactly able to, say, process language.

If Angel happened to turn around, he'd see that Alastor's eyes had gone blank and filled with static. But he probably shouldn't turn around, since that was when Alastor managed to seize control of the noodle-thin tentacle that had wriggled through and fed the tip of it into the wound.

Angel

" Hehehe! I getcha, I  getcha. Talk back get smacked, ah? " Angel couldn't can more giggles, but he did feel the need to do some scolding in Alastor's place. At least, as much as he _assumed_ he should.

" Buh-BUH! Shouldn't ya know better than ta be talkin' deer dick? At least, _more than me_? Ta at least keep it in th' context a dick seasoned up real nice on a silver platter? " He snickered deviously, remembering certain debaucheries he'd engaged in both before and after death. " I _like_ ya, though! Wonder how much fun ya'd be _outta_ contract ~ "

Gently tapping the deep red surface of the back with a pristinely manicured claw, Angel had a sudden urge to seize an opportunity he might not get later. " Hey... can ya do that radio thin' ta _my_ voice? "

Alastor

"You can't have slapstick without the stick! And what'm I if not a stick? You ain't gettin' me outta contract, though. That's not how it works."

(Alastor, meanwhile, has slithered the tentacle in deep enough to reach the bullet. Pardon the weird feeling as it wraps around the intrusion, and then prods briefly past the bullet to make sure it didn't penetrated Angel's lung. Whole new can of worms if it did.)

"No can do! You wanna get your voice broadcast outta the radio, sure, I'm the Mic for the job, long as Alastor's authorizing the broadcast. But if you wanna GET the radio voice? Uh-uh. Only way to sound like the Radio Demon is to BE the Radio Demon."

Angel

An eye twitched as he took a breath and felt that internal pinch. Sans the pain of one, the sensation reminded him of an air bubble he'd have to spend several minutes patting out until he could finally take a deeper breath again. He shallowed his lungs and stayed still as he could with a held breath until the tendril retreated. A deep, testing sigh of relief, then he shook his head with a glance to the mirror. Alastor sure was getting _busy._ He trusted he was in good hands.

" Nah, I don't wanna do _that._ Just wanna give ya singin' a lil' try. Not _everyday_ ya passed off t' another demon, am I right? Specially not a _talented_ one like yours truly ~ " Angel pouted and pursed his brows. " C'mon ~ Just this once! I promise I'll _do ya right ~_ "

Alastor

"Ya wanna sing, then sing! But I can't give you the voice any more than I can give you deer antlers. It ain't transferrable. It's *his.*"

And there was the bullet being slowly dragged backwards out of the wound it had caused. Carefully. But they probably weren't going to completely avoid doing a little extra damage.

Angel

" 'Tis almost th' season, Sweetie, I can give _m'self_ antle's if I wanted to ~ " He then rolled his eyes and relented, followed by some sensational weirdness in his shoulder cavity. Checking in wasn't his first instinct. It was, of course, to _play._ He'd never nail Alastor's southern belle, so he let his register drop as he casually snapped and tapped his own beat with Mic dramatically in hand. ( At least, theatrically as he could while being an obedient patient. )

https://youtu.be/eAiMOTlUVv4

Alastor

Bullet retrieved. Alastor's eyes snapped back to normal as the tentacle withdrew into its portal, dropping the bullet as it did. He caught it, but waited until the end of the song to speak up. "Not bad." He held the bullet over Angel's shoulder. "Do you want this little troublemaker?"

Angel

" Hehe! _Thanks ~ !_ " Angel took the bullet in a free hand to inspect it for shatter. Thankfully, it was all in one piece. Hentai wouldn't have to do any further digging. " What I owe ya? This thin' gonna last 'til it heals, or should I get ready ta go Vicodin huntin' _now?_ " he asked with an experimental roll of his shoulder and another check in the mirror.

Alastor

"Go Vicodin hunting. And also bandage it up, change the bandage twice daily, check for infection, et cetera et cetera." He stood, stretched, and his cane poofed out of Angel's hand and into his own. "As for what you owe me... Give me the rest of the story about this ex of yours and if I think it's interesting enough, we'll call it square."

Angel

" ... Ya ain't gonna be reco'din' it, are ya? " he asked solemnly, " Ah fuck whatever... " Angel threw himself into mercy and rummaged around his drawers for bandages.

" I 'ad a squeeze t' get the Outfit off m'back, " he began, " Drew it out as long as I could but uh, _women's_ a pretty hot topic wit' th' boys. Older I got... y'know. _Family._ They's wantin' _kids._ Big ol' fuckin'... Italian _famiglia_ ta' keep th' bootleg business goin'. "

Was it the pain of the memory or the pressure of the wrapping? Angel was thankful for it. He even dabbed at himself a bit forcefully to override any involuntary bodily response to the whole ordeal.

Alastor

"You have my solemn vow that I won't start recording." That wasn't a promise that he wasn't already recording.

Alastor could guess where this story was going; his grin widened in anticipatory schadenfreude. "Go on."

Angel

As Alastor's grin widened, Angel's eyes narrowed. He tucked his bandage and leaned back against his vanity.

" She's was _-IS-_ like you. I was about as inta her as she was inta anyone else. At least, when I wasn't mistakin' 'er fa a guy. We's was dumb kids, grew up t'gether in the same mafia network. We knew th' game an' we knew we 'ad ta play it. So we _made a deal._ "

" I broke it in, uh... 1944. "

Alastor

Now there was a twist Alastor hadn't been expecting. He'd anticipated a young bride doe-eyed with love and a young groom miserably trying to pretend it was reciprocated. But a mutual ruse was far more interesting.

And far more relatable. It wasn't very far off from his own parents' arrangement—except that theirs hadn't involved the Mafia.

"Let me guess. Get handcuffed together, play the happy couple in front of the family, ignore each other at home? Something like that?" And the one point that actually concerned him—"Were children involved?"

Angel

" No. We were very close, very convincin'. She was m' best frien'. Like Cherri, I didn' deserve 'er. E'ryone thought we was wildin' in the sack, but it never happened. No sex, no kids, just... two murderin' peas in a pod playin' th' most convincin' game a pretend... 'til I couldn't anymo'e. "

" _Could_ say we 'ad kids involved, though _THEM_ fuckin' wild childs could 'ardly bc counted. They was lil' monste's from the Forty-Two. Loved 'em like m'own. Some's prolly down 'ere. "

Alastor

Good—if they'd gotten offspring involved, that would have just been distasteful. Outside children that Angel actually liked were a different matter entirely.

"So, what did the grand breakdown look like? A big blowout fight and a demand for a divorce? No—Catholic, I presume—attempted murder?" He cocked an eyebrow. "*Successful* murder?"

Angel

Angel actually bursted a laugh. " Nope! Wasn't really... a _single thin-_ ok, it was, but uh, said _breakdown_ was less of a _single act_ an' more of a... "

His eyes searched the air for dates, encounters. It didn't help he didn't remember most of it, but he shrugged thinking that was enough indication in itself.

" _Buncha dragged out climaxes_ fa th' next... three years a so. Then I died an' left 'er ta face th' music all 'er own. Hence... " He then tapped at his shoulder and shrugged as if violence was the logical answer to beginning to level a half century-long grudge.

" She's workin' fa Rosie now. Keepin' th' fucks off 'er turf. I was one a them, " he snickered.

Alastor

Well that was the least subtle euphemism Alastor had ever heard. "You mean the prenuptial agreement for your marriage of convenience didn't include provisions for you to sleep around?" Alastor shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. "I can forgive her for the lapse—it takes multiple lessons to learn that you sexual people aren't exaggerating when you say the allure of sex is irresistible—but *you* ought to have known better!"

But never mind that, there was a personal connection now. "Well, it's a small underworld after all! If she's working for Rosie, then *I* might know her! What's her name—down here, I mean?"

Angel

" That was fa show! " he burst defensively, " We was bound by nothin' but laws an' laws is fake! " Angel pouted with a quadruple arm cross. He hadn't even _intended_ that innuendo as much as he meant to convey the feeling of being constantly at the edge of your seat for years. That'd drive _any_ sane person wild.

" She didn't _care_ who I fucked with! If ya ask _me,_ it's her _own fuckin' fault_ I went off th' 'andle because she had ta fuckin' PLAY WINGMAN AT THE MENAGERIE! "

He ignored Alastor's question of her identity at the moment. He was much too offended and much too defensive to let any shaming go unchecked, untouched by the oblivion of his violent self-assurance.

Alastor

Alastor laughed at the outburst. "Well, if she didn't care who you were crawling under the covers with, then what in the world is it you did in '44 that constituted such a great break from your 'agreement'? You didn't try to kill her, by mutual agreement you weren't cheating—what's left? Beatings? Framing her for infidelity? Eloping with a rival don's son?"

Angel

He clamped his jaw shut, gritting gold grinding into a horrid sound that soundtracked his anger. Angel didn't want to tell him any more than Alastor was surely not going to be letting it go. Should he just lie? Was that better than letting this asshole in on what was arguably _the_ most defining moment of his life?

" I already told you. I died. I left her alone when we were supposed to get through the fucking SHITSHOW together. '44 was just the year I _started..._ dying. "

Alastor

Alastor was silent for a moment as he processed that—and Angel's atypically somber tone at the announcement—and then, at last, said, "Some betrayal. Most people can't help dying—even the people who do it to themselves." Well, it didn't make for an exciting conclusion to the story—he could vaguely imagine the drama and trauma of the story in action, but the retelling left most of it out.

Still—a sham marriage in the middle of mobster family politics; it was a good enough story. "But, very well! Consider your surgery paid for. And I suppose if the two of you think that was reason enough for her to shoot you—HA!"

Alastor suddenly slapped Angel's shoulder. (By sheer luck, at least it was the uninjured shoulder.) "Have you ever heard that joke? 'My ex-wife still misses me—but her aim's getting better!'" Studio audience laughter. "I guess she doesn't miss you!"

Sometimes Alastor kills himself.

Angel

He _almost_ wished he had slapped his injured shoulder, just so he'd have a more solid reason to hit him back. Nonetheless, he managed to dodge _that_ bullet so Angel figured he could call it a day. A day to start dealing opioids.

" Yeah. She didn't miss, alright. " The corner of his mouth could only twitch. He wasn't consciously _stifling_ a smile, but his every deep-seated instinct to self-destruct at the slightest brush with self-awareness took more effort than he had to deal.

" Bel. La Donna. Like th' poison. She's like yay high an' redder than ya fuckin' mop before ya treatment. A spider. Like me. "

Alastor

"Oh, come now, that was funny and you know it."

Alastor's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh! *Bel!* Yes, we're acquainted! Not *well*, but well enough we'd be obligated to say hello if we passed on the street. My, my, it really *is* a small underworld."

Angel

" Aw _fuck,_ " he groaned, " Best _keep_ it that way. This place is already starting to feel like Double Hell. Last thin' I need's YOU TWO tag-teamin' me... "

Angel then lazily fished for his phone and hit up a dealer. " I'm gonna head out fa meds. Youse- " He hesitated. " ... gonna need anythin'? I'll replace ya everclear. "

Alastor

"Don't you worry! We don't talk much. Anyway, if she's gone this long without spreading the news around Rosie's inner circle that her ex-husband is Hell's biggest porn star, I doubt she has any interest in discussing it now."

He shook his head; he got the story behind the bullet, he had his payment. "It wasn't my bottle, I got it for this."

Angel

" Heh heh... that's the funny thin', " he confessed, " _She ain't known I was goin' by Angel Dust until t'day._ " He picked up a jacket and shrugged through the sleeves. " She always knew how ta cover my tracks. I _don't know_ how generous she's gonna be _now,_ but... here's hopin' she's satisfied with gettin' me penetrated by an alien named Hentai. "

He snickered, returning some to his usual self. " Thanks anyways. Ya didn't have t' be helpin' me out. "

Alastor

"And what's she going to do if she doesn't feel generous? Tell people that the famed porn star Angel Dust married a beard when he was alive? I hardly think that would cause a scandal down here!"

He waved off the thanks. "I'm perpetually bored and bullet wounds are almost always interesting."

Angel

" Oh you'd be surprised ~ Though. I don't think she's the type. Prolly just shoot me again fa hidin' from 'er all these years. "

He snickered and shot Alastor some fingerguns. " If she does, I'll let her hit somethin' interestin' fa ya ~ "

Alastor

Alastor tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, that... does sound like her.” He didn’t know a lot about Bel, but he knew THAT. How had Angel described himself and her, murderous peas in a pod or something of the sort? “See if you can’t persuade her to avoid the lungs and the bowels. Those are a pain to deal with. For me. But I imagine they’d also be a pain on the receiving end!”

Angel

" _The heart it is then ~_ " he sang with a wink, landing a heavy hand upon Alastor's shoulder on his way towards the door, " If ya see 'er aroun', be good ta her, ah? I should be back in time fa late dinner. "

Alastor

"A classic! How symbolic."

He gave Angel a farewell nod as he headed out himself. "I'll set aside some leftovers for you." *Never get to eat shit,* his ass. Not on his watch.