#radiorage

It had been over nearly as fast as it had started. A loopy Lucifer whisked away back to the hotel by his daughter, the angels on their way back to heaven to nurse their only injured member–the one who had saved him and left without asking anything in return. He’d have to settle that account soon; he didn’t like being in anyone’s debt.

Rosie had also gone back home, disappearing in the shadows before anyone thought to ask too many questions. She hadn’t been present among the Overlords at the table, after all. Her presence could raise some eyebrows that Alastor didn’t care to address at all. The only thing he cared about was that she’d finally fixed his Cane.

It felt like a cut-off limb being regrown or stitched back in place. He couldn’t help but tenderly run his hand along the now perfectly aligned shaft. The power flowing back to him made him want to hum a song and skip a step as he walked around the destroyed bits and pieces of what was left of the machine.

A gust of wind picked up for a second, and that’s when he heard it. A metallic, shrieking squeak. A sound he’d become awfully familiar with the past few days.

There lying among the rubble, toppled over its back, was his Chair.

“Oh, it’s you.” Alastor couldn’t help acknowledging its presence. HIs head tilted curiously to the right. “I’m surprised you’re still in one piece.”

Of course he didn’t mean it. The explosion had been contained before any lasting damage could be done, and the laser’s long range meant that most of what was immediately next to it was left nearly untouched.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel the air turn a bit…heavy, around the perimeter.

“You’re not really still mad I left you behind, aren’t you? You know what this was all about all along”

The silence spoke volumes.

Alastor sighed, his Cane still held carefully at his side. He made his way languidly over to the fallen Chair, and swiftly pulled it back up on its wheels. He brushed off some of the dust still clinging to it, but didn’t sit down.

“Listen, none of us expected things to go the way they went” He started softly, barely above a whisper. In the silence of the courtyard, even the faintest word felt like a scream. “We were pushed together by forces outside of our control. I certainly didn’t know you well enough to want to be tied up to you like that. At least not so soon.”

A soft pulse of something akin to electricity travelled up his arm from his Cane. A caress. Almost comforting. Everything had been for its sake after all, and Alastor liked to think it knew all along it would always take top priority for him.

Alastor felt the corner of his mouth twitch momentarily. His eternal grin slowly losing the battle to the more genuine smile his Cane effortlessly brought to his face. Even after nearly a century together, it always knew how to soothe his worries.

He set it down gently on top of a cracked piece of rubble nearby–never on the floor–and got to work on unraveling the frayed wires and cables still wrapped around the Chair from the time he broke free from his deal with Vox.

“We had fun anyway, didn’t we?” He murmured, careful to not scratch the leather with his claws. “It was…easier than I expected, getting used to you. Always there, watching my back. Offering support when things might’ve gotten to be too much.”

The table the Overlords had been sitting around had been split into pieces at some point during the fight, so Alastor gently wheeled the Chair around it towards a relatively visible, but safe space where, hopefully, it’d be noticed and brought back into the tower by someone in the staff. 

He went back to fetch his Cane, holding it against his shoulder like one cradles a tired lover. It was curious how different it felt now, being fixed after a month of enduring the crude repairs Alastor could manage with his magic. He vowed to find a way to grow stronger, so that in case anything like this happened again–Satan forbid it–he wouldn’t have to go around begging for help.

He alone should be enough. Always enough.

Cane in hand, he returned to the Chair, actually sitting down this time. The familiarity of it all made him hum in thought. It was odd not being surrounded by wires while doing this.

“I can’t say I won’t miss this,” he said. “but we both knew it wasn’t meant to last. I was only a prisoner, you were only doing your job. There will be many others like you, like me…but it won’t ever be the same, will it?”

The Chair squeaked under his weight as he spun around one last time. It almost sounded like a laugh. Reprimanding, but tender. A last goodbye.

As he walked out of the wreckage, his Cane started intercepting signals from what it could find in the airwaves. Something it used to do often before the fight with Adam. Alastor chuckled as it picked up a classical jazz station and the music slowly filled the air as he made his way back to the hotel.

Of course, they were never truly alone anywhere they went. 

As the silhouette of the hotel appeared over the horizon, Alastor could feel a different kind of tickle on the back of his neck, but no less familiar than the crackling power from the Cane in his hand.

Ragebaiting was something that had always lived with him, within him, even longer than he’d been in Hell. It had travelled with him all the way down from Earth into the Dark Pit, always content to stay at the back of his mind. Ever-present, but only coming forward when Alastor needed it most. 

His Cane had taken priority after that, as he needed a way to tune and conduct his newfound powers. He always enjoyed the direct approach of rending people’s limbs from their bodies, but the finer arts of Ragebaiting were reserved for special occasions. They understood that the relationship Alastor had with each of them was different in nature, and they all lived in harmony under that silent contract they’d built their strength upon.

Now that he was free from all deals and his soul was once more solely his own, Alastor allowed his Ragebaiting to take a step forwards, already feeding plans and ideas on how to make the little King go mad with his (now) voluntary, permanent presence in his daughter’s little home for redemption.