Chapter Text
New York City, 1939
Romano Household
11:23 PM
Angel shot up from his sleep in a cold sweat, taking heavy breaths. He looked around his surroundings, realizing he was in a room he didn’t recognize.
‘I must’ve fallen asleep after finishing with a client. Shit.’
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
‘This all feels… strangely familiar .’
Something felt off.
‘…And if I were at a client's house, wouldn't someone else be in the room with me? People usually try to take as much as they can possibly get from me.’
He tried brushing it off and finally stood up, allowing himself to stretch. Mid stretch he stopped, once again looking at his surroundings.
‘Why do I feel so much… shorter? Okay, this is officially super weird.’
He noticed a door in the room to what he assumes is a bathroom. He walked over and opened the door, to be proved right. As he opened the door, straight across from it was a mirror. He walked in, his jaw immediately dropping.
“What the FUCK?!” He exclaimed, rushing closer to the mirror and leaning in.
He was… human again? ‘What the fuck-?!’
He put a hand to his face, slightly flinching at the no-longer fluffy feeling. His skin was smooth and, well, actually skin. Which was very unlike his demon form.
He examined the mirror, getting a good look at himself after so many years in hell.
His blonde fluffy hair is messy from staying in bed, there were still slight eye bags under his eyes though. He had light freckles scattered across his face, his vibrant amber eyes making eye contact with their reflection.
‘…What did I take? I must be high… right..?’
All of a sudden he heard someone yelling from, what he assumed was, downstairs.
“Anthony! Get your ass up and get down here!” It was a man's voice. The voice sounded… very familiar. He just couldn't put his hand on it.
‘Anthony..? Did I hear that right?’
He's not used to being called by his real name. From his knowledge, only Valentino knew his real name, and that was definitely not Valentino's voice. This one was gruff and more… ‘manly’.
He took a final look around, trying to put things together. His face fell in realization.
‘Oh, shit… this is my old room from when I was alive… What the fuck… and that voice… it was- Shit, shit, shit, shit. No way. That was Dad's voice.’
He didn't know what was happening but he knew if that was actually his dad then he really had to hurry his ass up and get downstairs. He rushed to the dresser drawer, a lot more familiar with his surroundings now that he remembered where he was. He quickly put on an outfit. It's not something he'd typically wear now. But it's gonna have to do, especially if it was still the 40s and his strict household.
It was a simple yet formal outfit, a dress shirt that wasn't buttoned all the way up, with black slacks and black dress shoes. It was a lot more concealing than anything Valentino would usually make him wear. He wasn't complaining though. He'll have an existential crisis about being potentially free from Valentino later.
He opened the door to the room and glanced around as he made his way downstairs.
‘Holy shit… everything really is the same.’
He walked slowly. He had almost forgotten just how rich he was when he was alive. The smooth, dark brown, wooden floor under his feet creaked with every step. His hand gripped the fancy (also wooden) railing with his right hand, still not fully used to only having two arms again.
“There you are.” The same gruff voice said, his dad. He sounded angry, per usual. “I called you like 10 minutes ago.”
“It was, like, five minutes at worst- ” Angel cut himself off, remembering who he was talking to. He made eye contact with his father who was staring daggers at him, giving him a deadly glare.
“S- Sorry, Father. I’ll be quicker next time…” He said, quickly attempting to fix his mistake. He knew he gained an attitude while in Hell. And he knew that shit wasn’t going to slide in this household. He still remembers all of the times his father would beat him for even the smallest mistakes.
“Good. Don’t let it happen again.” His father replied simply. “I called you down regarding your brother. Dante has been gone all day and is having what seems to be a spree of nothing but spending money and doing drugs. I need you to retrieve him and bring him back home.”.
Angel muttered a simple “...Yes, sir.”, looking down at his feet, trying his best to avoid eye contact with the man in front of him. The man who has caused him pain for so long. The man whom he hasn’t seen in years. Up until now.
“You’d best be on your way now. Who knows what that dumbass has gotten himself up to. Last I heard he was near that Casino uptown.”
“The International Casino?”
“I don’t fucking know! Just go out there, and get him. Now.”
Angel didn’t even bother to reply, making his way to the large double-door entrance. He grabbed the way too-fancy, door handle and pulled the door open, the cold wind immediately hit him. He looked back before leaving, his father already gone.
He closed the door behind him. He wished he dressed more warmly, the cold had never been a problem in hell. He walked out of the (also overly fancy) front yard and made his way to the dark street. The street lights are the only thing lighting up the way. He reached into his pocket for his phone only to realize… ‘Wait… Shit! It’s the early 1900s, of course, phones don’t fucking exist yet.’
He let out a frustrated groan before deciding to just deal with it and wrapped his arms around himself, the cold wind blowing into his face. He made his way out of the neighborhood to look for a taxi.
It didn’t take him too long to get to the busy street. He stood at the end of the sidewalk, reaching his arm out, giving it a slight wave to try to catch the attention of a taxi.
Eventually, a taxi stopped for him. He stepped in, taking some cash out of his pocket and handing it to the driver. “The International Casino, please.” He said plainly, yet politely.
The taxi driver just let out a small “Yep.” as they took the money out of Angel's hand and moved their focus back to the steering wheel.
…
New York City, 1939
International Casino
11:53 PM
The drive there only took about 15 minutes. Angel's head looking out the window the whole time, taking in his surroundings. He couldn’t believe he was, somehow, alive again. Human again. Everything was just happening so fast.
He stepped out of the car, giving the driver a small thank you as he peered up at the large building. The words ‘International Casino’ flashed into the dark sky. This area of the city was fully lit up by all the surrounding buildings, one could probably barely tell it was night.
He stepped into the casino, immediately appreciating the heater. He took a quick look around, quickly spotting his brother by the bar. His heart couldn’t help but stop, he hadn’t seen his brother in years either. His brother had always been a dick to him, but he knew that it wasn’t mean-spirited.
He walked over to the bar, watching as his brother dramatically leaned against the counter, laughing and bantering with his friends. He was clearly drunk.
He cleared his throat “Arack- Dante.” he corrected himself “Dad said it’s time for you to come home.”.
“Toonniiii, don’t be such a party pooper!” Angel shuddered at the use of his 'real name'. “What are you even doing hereee? Come on, join me! Have a drink!” his brother suggested, words slurring.
“No- Dante. We should really get going.” He replied, immediately shutting down the offer. Angel grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him off the barstool (to no avail, considering Angel was much smaller than him. Angel missed his height).
Dante (or Arackness ) just laughed at that, leaning farther into the counter, tilting his head back to his (also drunk) friends, giving them a look as if he was making fun of Angel.
“Lay off !” Dante exclaimed, pulling his arm away from Angel, and making him stumble a little.
Angel just let out an exasperated sigh, sitting down on the stool to the left of Dante, and taking his drink away from him. “At least sober up.”
“Hey! Give that back.” Dante shouts, sluggishly reaching to grab the cup, of what smelt like straight whiskey, and miserably failing.
Angel discreetly asked the bartender for a glass of water, handing Dante the glass of water instead.
Dante, drunk out of his mind, couldn’t tell the difference until he’d already drunk it. “Bleh!! Is this water ?” he complained, sticking his tongue out.
Angel just smirked at his reaction “I don’t know what you mean.” he teased.
Dante just rolled his eyes before turning his body to fully face the bar counter, laying his head down.
“C’mon, Dante. Let’s head home.” Angel said, wrapping one of his brother's arms over his shoulder, helping him up. Dante just groaned, begrudgingly obeying, too drunk to do anything at the moment.
For god knows what reason, Dante decided to put all of his weight on his younger brother. Making Angel, not just unable to move, but make his legs tremble as he tried his best to hold Dante up without dropping him. “Dante! ” Angel said, struggling, voice strained.
All of a sudden Angel heard another familiar voice, he couldn’t tell how he knew it. The deep, bass voice speaks “Do you need some help there?” the voice asked.
Angel glances over at the taller man. He was tan and had black slicked-back hair, a few gray streaks alongside it. He had a short, scruffy beard and brown eyes. He was wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his (rather hairy) arms. There was a simple black sleeveless vest over top of it, with a clean black tie snug in between. His slacks and shoes were similar to Angels, also a clean black. A simple silver nametag on his vest saying ‘David Smith’.
“Please.” Angel said his voice still strained from the weight on him.
This… 'David' person, went on the other side of Dante, wrapping his other arm around his shoulders pretty easily. Angel let out a sigh of relief as he felt the weight on his shoulders become a lot more manageable with the newfound help.
Angel glances over at the man, watching as he adjusts his grip on his drunken brother.
‘Why does he seem so familiar…?’ He asked himself, his gaze still fixated on him.
Angel caught himself staring when the taller man looked back at him, making eye contact.
“Oh- Thanks, um…” Angel glances down at his nametag again.
“Dave. Nice to meet you.” Dave speaks, introducing himself with a grin.
Angel smiled at the introduction “Ang- Anthony. Nice to meet you too.” Angel stuttered, his real name feeling foreign on his tongue. He would’ve shook Dave's hand if he weren’t holding his brother up.
“Sorry about… him.” Angel apologized, nodding his head towards Dante. He was feeling slight guilt for making the man get out of his way to help.
“It’s no problem. If I got a dollar for every time I’ve had to help a drunken person out of here I’d be a rich man.” He said, letting out a deep chuckle that itched Angel's brain in such a familiar way.