EPILOGUE

Charlie stood motionless in front of her whiteboard, dry eraser in her hand. She had to. She had to. She still had her other patient, and he needed her now more than ever. On the board was the helpful diagram Kira had used to explain time travel and the possible self-seducing applications thereof. That had been a fun day. Part of her liked to think that he was in a better place, that he'd found the peace he so desperately sought. Fine rationalizations, and not baseless, either. In all her time in Hell she'd never seen a death quite like that, the warm yellow light of what could only be his soul sublimating to… elsewhere.

But he was still gone, and that hurt.

He had come to them a remorseless killer, and left… well, she never did quite get the feeling that he regretted his past actions, but he'd learned to value the lives of others. He had changed. He barely even knew Niffty, and he still placed her life above his own, defending her from his vile former boss. He protected all of them. She couldn't stand to feel even a little vindicated that her program worked; maybe if Kira had kept a bit of his selfishness he'd still be alive? Had all her self-righteous meddling gotten him killed? No. She couldn't afford to think that, even for a second. It was a narcissistic rationalization to give herself the illusion of control over past events. What happened and its aftermath was completely and utterly out of her hands. She couldn't have done anything to prevent it, and as agonizing as it was admit to that helplessness, she knew it was the healthiest way to deal with it. She had to move on.

Slowly, hesitantly, she erased the diagram. It felt like she was erasing him, tarnishing his memory somehow, but she pushed through it. The whiteboard was clear, ready for her to fill up with whatever saccharine nonsense she was going to try and peddle to her one remaining patient. She turned around to face the mostly empty room and gasped; in her thoughtlessness she had put out two chairs instead of one. Suddenly too tired to stand, Charlie sat herself down on one of the chairs and buried her face in her hands. She felt she should just call off today's session. She doubted that Angel would even show. He'd taken Kira's death hardest out of all of them. They'd become friends, much to her surprise, and not even the kind of 'friend' Angel was wont to have. In fact, Kira probably couldn't have been further from Angel's usual sort of companion if he tried. His death had left the normally irreverent spider despondent, withdrawn. Even his irrepressible wit had become hard, bleak, a sour sort of humor that spoke to some deep-seated anger within. Angel had thick skin, and not just because of his carapace, either. It covered something soft, sensitive, and vulnerable. He'd let a killer in out of some strange sense of kinship, and now probably resented himself for doing so. Angel handled pain poorly at the best of times, he needed her to be strong now if he was to get through this.

But she didn't feel strong. She felt helpless, useless. He'd had been her patient, her responsibility, and she'd let him die. And now she was letting her other patient down as she wallowed piteously in depression. She didn't know what to do.

Her head snapped up at the sound of a door opening. She looked over and saw Angel, his adorable pig nestled in his arms. Angel rarely went anywhere without Fat Nuggets anymore. The attentive little creature would follow him around and offer his support whenever he saw his master wane. Angel quietly made his way over to her.

"Angel, hey," she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm glad you showed up. Uh… I've got a few fun things planned f-for us today. Umm…"

He sat down next to her. His make-up, usually applied with zeal and skill, was flat and desultory. His hair, still recovering from his fight with the gangsters, was messy and frayed. He looked at her with dull, baggy eyes and set a hand on her shoulder. "That's okay, Chuck. I think I just wanna chat today."

Fat Nuggets nuzzled Angel comfortingly.

"Okay, Angel," Charlie said, nodding. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine, I guess," Angel said, scritching the little pig behind his ear. "Don't even want a hit."

Charlie's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Chuck," Angel grumbled. "I'm a little surprised, actually. I just think… nah, that wouldn't be right. Last time I was tempted, Killer stepped in and helped me. Fallin' off the wagon now would be like, what, grabbin' a cookie like some shithead kid? I dunno. I just don't even want to, y'know?"

"I think I understand," said Charlie. "The progress you made while he was around reminds you of him. You don't want to let it go."

"Mm," grunted Angel, pulling Fat Nuggets closer to him. "When you put it like that, sounds kinda schmaltzy... but yeah."

Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like a fog. It was the sort of silence that you could almost hear.

Charlie drummed her fingers on her thigh, trying to think of something to say.

"You hungry?"

Before she could scold herself for saying such an inane thing, Angel smiled a wan, tired smile. "I could eat."

Charlie's face lit up as an idea struck her. "Hey! Would you like to learn how to make takoyaki?"

"Taco-whati?" Angel replied, eyebrow arched.

"Those fried octopus ball things," said Charlie, standing up. "We can make them together!"

Angel's face lit up, a flicker of his former irreverence shining through. "When have I ever said 'no' to balls in my mouth?"

He lifted Fat Nuggets off his lap and held the little pig up to his face. "Would my little Nuggies like some tasty fried octopus balls? Yes, he would!"

Charlie smiled, relieved; now was not the time to wallow in sadness or regret. The Hotel was at peace, for now anyway, and she was going to make the most of it. Besides, positive grief management and stuffing one's face with fried batter so rarely coincided.

Charlie led Angel out of the event-room and into the hallway. "Razzle! Dazzle! Kitchen, double-time! We've got balls to cook!"

Razzle fluttered off after his mistress, licking his lips in anticipation. A toilet flushed and Dazzle came scrambling out of one of the rooms, a length of toilet paper stuck to his hoof as he took off after his friends. The commotion of overlapping voices and clattering pans echoed in the halls. Husk grumbled from behind the desk, head down on the flat-top, hands clasped over his ears. Something like normalcy had returned after a turn for the bizarre.

Somewhere, on the outskirts of the city, a river flowed at a steady pace. Its mottled surface was beset with large, unctuous bubbles that occaisionally burst with a loud, wet belch. The odd flare of blue flame flashed out from beneath the thick, syrupy fluid that once, long ago, might have been water, now defiled beyond measure by the effluence of billions of hellions. Being a sewage treatment worker in Hell was a fate richly deserved by Humanity's worst.

A trio stood on the bank of the river, overseeing the vast tributary of filth.

"Disaster!" Boadicea seethed. "Utter, unqualified disaster! Our lord dead! Our army scattered! All that planning and preparation... all for naught! And now you have us trudging about in the muck! To what end?!"

"Calm yourself Boadicea," said Crossroads. "There are things Lord HOLY DIVER did not divulge to us. Only one man in all Hell could be called his confidant. Isn't that right, Trouble?"

'Trouble' did not turn away from the river, shining silver eyes locked on the shifting, putrid liquid. He was tall, perhaps eight feet tall at the top of the black, horns that made up the crown-like structure atop his head, covering much of his face. His bare arms were white as marble and covered with raised, scar-like brands that read 'G∆CT', hands bound in studded black leather. His body was covered in a hellish mockery of a priest's robe and about his neck was a clerical collar studded with sliver spikes and a dog-tag that read 'Trouble'.

"Is that jealousy I sense in you, Crossroads?" Trouble said, smirking.

"Of course not," Crossroads turned his gaze back to the befouled river. "Our Lord's actions and motives are his alone to understand. I am content to serve."

"And you will serve again," said Trouble, grinning now as a a form waded out from beneath the river's surface. "As will we all."

The figure was barely recognizable as a demon as the filth and muck clung to them like tar; a female voice gurgled out from underneath the gunk. "Found it. It was right where you said it would be."

The figure abruptly vanished into the ground, leaving only a puddle of vile slime. She re-materialized next to the puddle, the concrete liquefying and reforming into the shape of a well-endowed and beautiful demoness with a wild tussle of brown hair and tribal marking on her face. He held out her hand to the Hellish priest, in it was a single poker-chip.

"Thank you, Rose. Your service, as always, has been greatly appreciated," said Trouble, taking the chip from her.

From his hand sprouted several thorny vines, they wove themselves into the chip and pulsed. "You've work yet to do, Poker Face. We've work yet to do. The plan is still in motion, and only together can we obtain Heaven."

Author's note:

Whoa hey what now? I'm doing like a thing?

That's right! And if you want to see what Ol' Trouble has in store of Hell, follow my other Hazbin/JoJo fic Helluva Job! It's a lot more lighthearted and gruesomely fun!

Thanks for reading!

Be sure to check out and contribute to this story's TvTropes page, A Peaceful Afterlife / TvTropes

And also be sure to check out DEMOXdaGUY's fancomic sequel Kira's Peaceful Afterlife: From Heaven From Hell on Deviant Art

They worked really hard on it.