Max returned to the Hazbin Hotel the sa way he left most places—quietly, shadows folding in on themselves as reality accepted him back with a soft, unspoken click.
Bee appeared beside him in a burst of warmth and color, stretching like she'd just stepped out of a long nap instead of crossing Rings. The lobby lights flickered faintly as her presence settled in, the air imdiately filling with the faint scent of sugar, alcohol, and static joy.
The first to notice was Husk.
He'd been behind the bar, polishing a glass with exaggerated boredom when his ears twitched. His eyes snapped up.
Then widened.
Then sparkled.
"…Max?" Husk said slowly, reverently. His gaze locked onto Bee like she was a walking jackpot. "Please tell
this ans what I think it ans."
Max barely had ti to open his mouth before Husk leaned forward over the bar.
"MAX," Husk said louder. "Can I have my barrel now?"
Bee blinked once—then grinned.
Oh no.
Max felt it imdiately.
"Bee," he said cautiously, "don't—"
Too late.
She rolled her shoulders and cracked both sets of knuckles, the sound echoing a little too loudly for comfort. "Mmm. I could just give you one," she said sweetly. "But where's the fun in that?"
Husk slamd his hands on the bar. "I'm listening."
Bee hopped onto a nearby table, tail flicking with excitent. "Let's make it interesting. You offer sothing. I offer a barrel of Beelzejuice." She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "We play until you stop."
Silence.
Then Husk's grin spread slowly, dangerously.
"Oh fuck yes," he breathed. "I'm gonna make so much off this I'll be the best damn bartender in Pride."
Max groaned. "This is a terrible idea."
Bee and Husk were already setting up a poker table.
---
They didn't notice Octavia descending the stairs until she stopped beside Max, watching the chaos unfold with quiet curiosity.
Bee shuffled the cards with unnatural speed, every movent loose and confident. Husk sat across from her, wings twitching as he lit a cigarette with shaking hands—not fear, but excitent.
"You think Husk will win?" Octavia asked softly.
Max considered it.
"Well," he said slowly, "each Sin has their own aura. Greed would have the advantage in gambling." He nodded toward Bee. "But Gluttony's aura works best with indulgence—addiction, passion, anything soone really enjoys."
Octavia tilted her head. "aning?"
"Husk's less likely to quit," Max replied. "More likely to bluff. And more likely to keep going even when it stops being smart." He sighed faintly. "There's a reason I only play drinking gas with her."
Bee slapped down her first hand.
"FULL HOUSE, BABY!"
Husk cursed violently.
---
Charlie ca down the stairs monts later, rubbing her eyes. "Oh—hey!" she said, spotting Max. "You're back!"
He smiled and pulled Octavia into a quick side hug before turning to Charlie. "Hey. How're you holding up?"
"I'm okay," Charlie said, though the hesitation in her voice said otherwise. "Vaggie's out shopping. We decided not to get too spoiled by your cooking."
She reached for Max's hand—and gently slid all the engagent rings back into place.
His breath caught for half a second.
"…Thank you," he said quietly. "I panicked a little when I realized they weren't on."
They settled onto the couch together—Charlie between Max and Octavia. For a mont, they simply watched Bee and Husk argue over bets and cards.
Charlie didn't laugh.
Her shoulders sagged.
"What's wrong?" Octavia asked gently.
Charlie hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "The hotel… isn't working."
Max turned toward her fully.
"No one wants to co," she continued. "No one wants to try. It's just… Sir Pentious and Angel Dust. I've tried everything. Events, ads, open invitations—nothing sticks."
Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what else to do."
Max reached for her hand.
"Charlie," he said softly, "it will get better."
She looked up at him, eyes tired but hopeful.
"Bee giving Husk Beelzejuice will draw attention," Max continued carefully. "It's practically impossible to get outside Gluttony. People will co for it. So might leave—but so won't."
Charlie frowned. "I don't want to trick anyone."
"I know," Max said. "And you're right to feel that way."
Octavia spoke up. "Also… nothing stops them from just staying one night to drink and then leaving."
"Unless," Max said thoughtfully, "there's a condition."
Both girls looked at him.
"Not a trap," he clarified quickly. "A choice. A contract—three drinks over three days. They have to stay at the hotel consecutively."
Charlie's wings twitched.
"They sober up," Max continued. "They see the exercises. Maybe they get curious. Maybe they try. And if they don't? That's okay too."
Charlie bit her lip. "I don't want people staying just to drink."
"Then we treat Beelzejuice like a crutch," Max said. "Sothing temporary. Part of the process—then we phase it out."
She went quiet, thinking.
"Charlie," Max added softly, squeezing her hand, "you don't have to do this. If it feels wrong, we stop imdiately. Bee and I just want to help."
Charlie finally smiled—small, but sincere.
"…I'll try," she said. "Thank you."
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Octavia smiled awkwardly. "Sorry I can't help much, Prin—Charlie."
Charlie laughed and pulled her into a hug. "You're helping just by being you."
---
A strange itch crawled up Max's spine.
He glanced down at the stump where his missing arm had been—and frowned.
"…Finally," he muttered.
Power rippled. Flesh and bone reknit themselves smoothly as his arm reford completely. He flexed his fingers, adjusting his coat as it reshaped naturally around him.
In a burst of relief, he hugged both Charlie and Octavia.
The mont lasted—
—until Husk slamd his fists on the table.
"GOD DAMN IT!" he roared. "WHY DO I KEEP LOSING?!"
Bee laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.
"It's okay!" she chirped. "You still get a few barrels a month!"
Husk froze.
Then started glowing.
Actually glowing.
The entire lobby burst into laughter.
And then—
A soft thump.
An envelope appeared in Max's lap.
No flash. No sound.
Just… there.
Thick parchnt. Gold seal.
Sender: God.
Max went still.
Very, very still.
The laughter continued around him—unaware, unprepared—as Max stared down at the envelope, a familiar dread curling in his chest.
"…Well," he muttered quietly.
"That can't be good."
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