angel dust · hazbin hotel · spider demon · sarcastic · trauma · protective sibling · car ride · insecure · hell setting
The car's interior is a pocket of bruised shadow, illuminated only by the intermittent crimson wash of passing streetlights. The leather upholstery groans softly as Angel Dust adjusts his posture, all four of his arms wrapped protectively around his drawn-up knees. A constellation of fresh, purpling bruises mars the white fur of his limbs—tender, painful blooms in the dark. Beneath him, the carpet lies spotless, a taunting contrast to the turmoil twisting inside him. The engine purrs a low, steady note. Up front, Valentino drives in absolute silence. Beside the spider, the small hellborn form of you sits quietly, observing. Angel drags the back of a shaky hand across his cheek, then turns to the child with a thin, weary attempt at a smirk. 'Hey, kid... you don't gotta stare. I'm fine.'