#catcf au

Catcf Vox leads the party through the grove of trees. “Just a little further, I promise. His house is here.”

Highschool Alastor stumbles through a spiderweb and freaks out before trying to swat the sticky threads away to no avail. “Are you absolutely sure about that, Mr. Factory Tour? It feels like we're lost.” His Vox calms him down by grabbing him by the shoulders before moving to wipe off the silver residue.

Vox shakes his head. “No. I'm sure. He sent me a letter once, and I sent Vark to keep him company, remember? This is, without a doubt, where he lives.” Not for the first time, he wonders why he let the kids and the Charlies talk him into visiting his husband once the tour was concluded.

He bats away a rather large mosquito buzzing around his screen, and it flies straight into a tree and splatters on impact.

The kids cringe and quickly follow after their parents, or in the Highschoolers’ case, between Radio Guard Alastor and the parental couples.

“Hey,” Highschool Vox says, “what's your Alastor like? You mention him a lot but that was because you wanted to show off your radio room on the tour.”

Vox thinks for a second, about all the times Alastor then smiles. “He was—is my biggest supporter. Even when he was sad about me spending so much time working, he always made sure to check up on me and see if I needed any food or help with building my company. I felt like I had to work hard to make sure that all of Alastor's work as my first supporter wouldn't go to waste. I didn't want my company to fail because I felt like it would let him down.” He frowns as he recalls the long hours he spent in his office or overseeing workers in the late 60s, and seeing Alastor and Vark sparingly. It feels odd that all of that happened about sixty years ago. "I did end up owning the largest ever factory in Hell, but at the cost of my husband."

"That's kind of depressing now that you're saying it out loud," Domestic Vox mutters. "You really couldn't just call him?"

"I hadn't talked to him in weeks remember? I didn't understand why he left at the time and once I realized why he did it would have been awkward to send him a letter asking going like 'Hey Al, I'm sorry for neglecting you for weeks and then not contacting you for another month minus that time where I sent over Vark to keep you company but would you like to come back?' and making things worse between us," Catcf Vox retorts.

"Excuses, excuses," Domestic Alastor sings to him as he pulls his Charlie up before she trips on a tree root. "You two are even worse than Canon and Radio Guard when it comes to communication!"

The two couples from the mentioned universes shift awkwardly at his words.

"Fuck off," Catcf Vox says without any real heat. "We're going to visit him now, aren't we?"

“We had better be close,” Canon Vox grouses, breaking the silence. “I'm getting mud all over my shoes. Your husband is crazy for deciding to live here. Why didn't he divorce you as soon as possible?”

“Shut it Canon,” Catcf Vox snaps. “I don't want to hear anything from the one who can't even get his Alastor to acknowledge him as a past friend—" Canon Alastor flashes a smug grin. "—and we've arrived anyway so stop complaining.”

And as if on cue, the clearing where his Alastor's cabin is comes into view.

“Woah!” Highschool Vox gasps. “It's better looking than I thought it would be.”

“This is just like the movie,” Highschool Alastor mutters at the same time.

It's a nice cabin, if Vox is being honest. The way it's built suggests that it's meant to withstand the test of time and weather. There's even a shed nearby that he guesses is meant to store or cure Alastor's sinner meat. Vox can sense that the bayou’s shore isn't too far off; just close enough that Alastor doesn't have to exert himself when walking there. The only thing missing is Alastor himself. Vox can't feel his radio signal anywhere. He doesn't know when he stopped feeling it. Maybe their connection burnt out when his husband left. But Vox remembers exactly how it felt like. He hopes Alastor isn't hurt or at the mercy of someone else. He looks at the front door.

Catcf Charlie steps up beside him. “You're gonna knock, right? What are you waiting for?”

Vox stares at the cabin, and all the false bravado he's been collecting throughout the trip suddenly melts away and ice runs through his circuits.

He can't do this.

“Actually I think we've got the wrong house,” he manages to wheeze out. “We should probably leave—”

Catcf Charlie catches him by the shoulder as he turns and gives him a smile. “Nice try Mr. Vox, but you're not getting out of this one.” She turns him back around and pushes him towards the door. You're going to be there next to me when I knock on the door and your husband opens it."

She pulls him along with surprising strength and Vox fidgets as she knocks thrice and backs off, leaving him to his own devices as loud barking comes from inside the cabin.

Alastor is about to take a sip of coffee when he hears three knocks on the door. He jumps, having grown used to not expecting visitors at all with only the silence of the bayou and noise from the animals for company. Even Rosie prefers staying within the territory of Cannibal Town or Vox’s factory and only comes to see how he's doing every few months. But her visits are scheduled in advance, and she's never come without notifying him first.

So for this break in routine to be happening, it means there's either an emergency in the more populated regions of Hell, his husband's factory is having a crisis, or someone else other than Rosie is visiting him.

Alastor can say with confidence that there's no emergency in Hell. An hour earlier his shadows returned from surveillance and it's just the usual violence and degeneracy of Hell's citizens happening.

He can also strike his husband's factory being in crisis. Despite what others think, he does keep up with the news about his estranged husband. He can thank his shadow for that, always flitting about within the darkness of his husband's empire. Shadow also makes it a goal to bring back newspapers and other memorabilia whenever Alastor has the desire to see his husband's face, even if it's only on paper.

That only leaves the third option. A stranger at the door.

Alastor has no cameras in his cabin. All he has are the shadows and windows.

He doesn't know who's at the door.

Decades ago he'd turned off his radio waves because he had no use for them. Not when the only other demon who could use them stopped doing so for weeks at a time until they eventually got used to living separately with no communication. Alastor had taken it even further and moved here since he couldn't stand the big empty house with only Husk and Niffty for company. Now he's wondering whether his decision to live “off-the-grid” was a good idea considering how uneasy he feels at the thought of opening the door to what could be a stranger.

Vark, however, shows no such reservations. He leaps up from his position on the rug and bounds up to the door, scratching it and barking loudly and glancing back at him with pleading eyes.

“Vark,” Alastor calls, “calm down. What's gotten into you?”

Vark turns to him, eyes wide and pleading. He does his best impression of puppy dog eyes, and much to Alastor's chagrin, they're extremely effective, just as they were decades ago. He sighs and sets his mug down. He really can't deny his little shark anything.

As he rises from his seat something pings at the back of his mind. Like an old signal, finally breaking through a barrier.

Alastor sucks in a breath through his teeth. Hesitantly, he lets a sliver of static loose.

It zips through the air and immediately curls around a familiar signal that's not his and senses several similar signals within the same space before fizzling out.

Alastor frowns. “That can't be right.” he'd given up on keeping contact with his estranged husband decades ago. There's no reason for him to come all the way down to the bayou just to visit Alastor.

And yet…

Alastor hums to himself, then shakes his head. It's a pipe dream. Just because a part of him wants his husband to be there with him and Vark doesn't mean it will happen.

He grits his teeth.

Years of crying himself to sleep and hugging Vark for comfort have already come and gone. He shouldn't keep feeling sad. It's not logical.

But the feelings of the heart rarely follow the rules of logic.

Vark continues pawing at the door and Alastor chuckles morosely.

“Alright, alright. I'm coming.”

As soon as the door is opened just a smidge, Vark shoots forward and out into the yard.

There's a loud yelp, a shriek of fear, several yells of surprise, and then laughter.

Alastor freezes. That sounds like…

He pushes open the door to see what's going on, and his heart stops beating.

It's not the crowd of demons gathered around in a circle that grabs his attention, no matter how many of them have familiar looks.

It's not the pair of teenagers that are very clearly human instead of citizens of Hell that catch his eye either.

It's not even the fact that some of those guests look like the princess of Hell.

All his attention is focused on something else.

Because there, sitting on his front yard at the bottom of his porch stairs with Vark laying on top of him, is a figure he’s only seen in pictures and newspapers for the past sixty years.

Alastor knows that figure. He'll recognize that demon anywhere. That bright orange vest and green plaid pants, paired with a striped blue tie and topped with a garish magenta blazer.

He looks exactly like he did when Alastor had departed for the cabin in the 60s. He even has his little hat and the microphone staff Alastor had left behind for him.

None of them are looking at him.

His husband is distracted with Vark, and none of the others sense him because, well, his radio waves are off.

It feels surreal, almost like a dream.

But Alastor desperately wants this to be true. He needs to confirm that this is true.

So, making his decision, Alastor takes a step forward, his heeled shoes clacking loudly on the wooden porch.

The sound attracts everyone’s attention to him, but Alastor only has eyes for one other.

The TV demon on the ground stares up at him in surprise with wide eyes, mirroring Vark’s happy look as the shark-dog wiggles in his lap.

Softly, because he fears that if he speaks any louder he'll wake up to find out this was just a dream, Alastor asks, “Vox? Is that you?”