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Alastor, out of his room for the first time since he awoke from his coma, ponders about him and Vox. Their apartment doesn't feel very lived in, and Vox's behaviours still don't sit right with Alastor. He plans to convince Vox to finally dismiss his nurses.
After watching some TV, Alastor then realizes he's not wearing his wedding ring. He asks Vox about it, who lies, and promises to go and fetch it for him. Vox flees to Velvette, seeking her help in getting a ring for Alastor on short notice.
---
Alastor was out of his room for the first time since his injury.
The introduction to Vox's business partners had unearthed a great hunger in him that wasn't just in his stomach, but gaping just behind where his wound burned nigh-on constantly with agony.
The food Velvette had gotten him was delicious, and he only wished he had savoured it for longer, because Vox refused to get it for him again. He stated that what he's been feeding him all along has been plenty, though Alastor's atrophied and malnourished body would like to argue otherwise.
So Alastor was finally getting ruined by a small case of cabin fever. He got a taste of the outside world, and the fatigue and pain could go drown in a river for all he could care. This was probably long overdue, but the sheer amount of pain and drugs he was dealing with understandably made the world a little unclear at times.
So after some negotiations (which included the input of the nurses' despite Alastor's liking), Alastor was allowed out of his tomb.
He and his husband were in their living room, where Vox was sprawled across the spacious couch. He was just far enough away that his features were blurry to Alastor, with the colourful little holographic displays all around him, impossible for Alastor to read at this distance.
Alastor was laid back and tucked in cozily into the most comfortable plush reclining chair Vox could buy. He said it was purchased strictly for him, and Alastor had gotten to listen to Vox huff and complain as he rearranged their living room from down the hall. He was so very entertaining when he was ticked.
Vox had been immensely careful of his injuries when he'd brought him out here, setting him down with the care of showing off fine china, and even being nice enough to support his back and knees with extra pillows. It was more attentive and thoughtful than when he'd first given Alastor a bath, and again he thought about how nice it would be that Vox dismiss the nurses already.
It didn't sound like they initially liked the idea of moving Alastor around more than necessary, but considering they've already given Vox the run-down on how to carry him properly, they couldn't object much.
Not since Alastor had been getting restless enough to threaten to get up on his own, despite knowing that he couldn't.
The compromise was to let him out into the living room, but he wasn't allowed to lift a finger to do it himself. Well, they let him be in charge of dragging along his IV stand so Vox could focus on keeping a steady pace with Alastor in his arms.
Since The Vee Meeting, as he'd taken to calling it, Alastor was permitted to get taken off oxygen support entirely, but the nurses were adamant that he wasn't anywhere near ready to wean off any of the medications they had him on. His pain was too great at times even with the concoction, and he still desperately needed the antibiotics while the major wound itself was still struggling to close properly and cracking open at the slightest insult.
Most of the time the wound was pulled shut with countless stitches, which have been popped open thrice this week alone. Vox mentioned once he'd thought about sedating him during the night to try and get it under control, but the idea was shelved, mostly due to Alastor's protests (threats).
So regardless that Vox manhandling him caused his pain to flare and how pulling along the less than ten pounds of IV-stand-and-solution utterly exhausted him, Alastor was as pleased as a peach.
The main apartment was a whole new world of different furniture and paintings to catalogue, including a window he could actually see out of. The view was blurry, as his near-sightedness made the landmarks hard to spot. He might be remembering the city wrong, but he guessed their home was somewhere to the West.
There was a bookshelf tucked awkwardly behind the couch, so Alastor was only barely able to distinguish the spines out of the corner of his periphery. Alastor would have to twist a little too far for his battered body to handle, so he was instead left to be entertained by the large two-hundred inch TV that was the feature of the far wall.
Vox had given him the remote, so Alastor could peruse any of the channels he liked, or to look through the mountain of streaming services for any movie that piqued his fancy.
Nothing really caught his eye, and as his energy dwindled, he no longer cared what was playing, so long as he had something new to look at.
So, crappy romantic comedies it was.
The only downside of being freed was that Alastor now had partial view of the kitchen, which was atrocious. It was modern, like most of Vox's things, but it was painfully out of use. There weren't nearly enough signs of wear and tear that Alastor could see, but maybe the apartment was still new.
Alastor hoped he'd gotten hurt before he could break in their new kitchen. The apartment as a whole wasn't entirely to his liking, feeling too… impersonal for a shared home residence. Alastor struggled to find a single knick-knack that felt like it belonged to himself.
The only thing that called to him was the empty kitchen, so Alastor knew he loved to cook. There were too many fragments of recipes floating around his fuzzy head not to. Vox had promised he'd fill the kitchen with any ingredient and equipment he'd like… As soon as he was well enough. What 'well enough' would be in that case, Alastor didn’t know, but he hoped it would be soon.
The untouched kitchen bothered him, but he could convince himself to ignore it with the promise of 'soon…' So next he had to contend with the ever present feelings of his body, protesting every action he took. The pain was at times soul-rending, but right now the drugs were working and he was floating, tired but reluctant to sleep. He's done enough sleeping, and he especially didn't want to because Vox was here.
Vox's missteps in communication aside, he was becoming a decent caretaker. Vox had taken him seriously and gotten him out into the living room when he didn't have to; and he gave him baths when he asked, even though he had acted so weirdly that first time.
The only thing missing was the wound care. Alastor was sure Vox could do it if he only just took the time to learn how.
Alastor was prepared to thwart any excuse that Vox could come up with.
Considering nearly two months has passed now with nary a complaint from his company, Vox was well capable of working remotely full-time and staying with Alastor to protect him until he was able to do so himself again.
It was odd how adamant Vox was that the nurses stay onboard despite his preaching of keeping his injuries a secret.
Vox had hired those nurses to help Alastor get better since he himself wasn't knowledgeable, and Alastor had initially thought that it was so Vox could then go to work and earn the money to pay them, but it turned out to be completely different.
While Vox didn't know about medical care, he was capable of learning it, and was just refusing to take the last step. He was the one so concerned about information leaks, but was simultaneously the one doing the most telling. The whole situation was slowly annoying Alastor more and more.
Alastor remembered how Vox had laughed when he'd first expressed concern about everything; 'Al, you don't need to worry about money at all! Did you forget I own an entire company?'
As if money was the only concern here.
So Alastor has devised a plan: he would shower Vox with his attention and show that the extra help was no longer necessary; and it started with showing that he could handle these little adventures away from his bed. He'd prove that Vox could get rid of those poking and prodding nurses and that Vox could handle taking care of Alastor himself.
Vox hadn't said anything in a while, working and only occasionally glancing over to Alastor to make sure he didn't need anything.
Being fine for the moment, Alastor really tried to retain what as playing on the TV. Vox might want to discuss what happened during it later, like a memory game. His quizzes on his general knowledge of the rest of Hell were still occasionally cropping up, so he tried not to let things slide by the wayside just in case.
Anything to use as a part of his case against Vox.
Alastor's memory was a little hindered by the drugs, but thus far the amnesia seemed to be strictly for things in the past. Vox had said it was a good thing, that it wasn't preventing him from making and keeping new memories as well.
The lack of his memories was an itching scab on his mind, mostly just an inconvenience and a source of boredom. He was, however, having success against his amnesia; some scents and actions with Vox came across as familiar, and those fragments of recipes were incomplete but clear. Progress was slow, but undoubtedly there, and he trusted Vox to fill in what refused to surface.
He wished he could say the same for the gash across his torso. At least the painful bruising all down his back was finally fading, unlike his wound. It was the most pressing of all his injuries, its eagerness to bleed and relentless waves of pain was somehow more restricting than the literal paralysis that left him reliant on others.
He was almost disgusted with himself, but the state of his body and mind didn't allow for his anger to simmer for long. He just didn't have the energy for it.
On the TV, an elaborate proposal gone wrong caught his attention. The two main characters were two imps dramatically in love constantly getting ripped apart by love triangle after love triangle. They were drenched from a fly-by vehicle that drove through a bloody puddle, and one of them was lamenting that their perfect evening was ruined.
Alastor glanced down at his left hand, unadorned except for the IV and the medical tape that held it in place. His brows furrowed, "Vox?"
His husband hummed. It was distracted, heavy in the not-oft used filter.
The effect was recently discovered by Alastor, who'd caught a half-asleep Vox using it unintentionally one evening. The filter was familiar to him, so he'd asked Vox to use it more often. Vox didn’t want to affect his reputation outside closed doors, so he agreed to only do so in complete privacy.
"Where's my ring?" Alastor asked.
Vox snapped his eyes over, making a swiping motion with his hand to dismiss all his holograms. "Your ring?" he echoed.
Alastor lolled his head to the side, to better let him watch his husband. He raised the hand in question, trying to ignore the trembling of it, "My wedding ring, did I lose it?"
He hoped he hadn't lost it in the battle that almost took his life. He could scarcely remember evading around a target on a small battlefield, then blinding pain followed by suffocating shadows. If he'd lost the ring amongst that, it must be long gone.
Vox made a smattering of noises, ending with a half-chuckled, "Oh!" He shuffled his position down the large couch, scooting over to be adjacent to Alastor's chair. "Your ring! Of course!" He settled, leaning on the arm to reach over and take Alastor's hand. He frowned as he felt it tremble, but thankfully didn’t comment on it.
"Where is it?"
"It, uh," he stuttered, and Alastor wondered if Vox was trying to find a soft way to tell him the news of its loss. Vox kept a steady hold on his hand while the other went to play with a corner of his screen, nervous. "Well, you know, we had to screen you once or twice while you were unconscious, and metal doesn't really agree with medical equipment…" Vox perked up, schooling his expression into an easy smile. "So yeah! It's perfectly safe, I just had to… remove it. For safe keeping."
Alastor relaxed with a long exhale he didn't know he was holding. His pain flared mercilessly at the action, and he dug his claws into Vox's hand tightly as he winced.
The pain, white-hot and suffocating left him feeling like his torso was being split in twain all over again. He could almost hear the rustle of his assailant's clothes, their figure still a looming void in his recollection of that day.
The agitated crackle of static in his ears warned him of his own panic. He felt starved for oxygen, holding in a desperate cough that wanted to escape him.
"Hey, careful," Vox chided. "Small breaths only," he reminded, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his arm. Then, almost like an afterthought: "You're safe now."
Wrestling his panic down was an exercise of patience. 'Vox is right,' he repeated to himself mentally, 'I'm safe and recovering, and this display is completely unnecessary.'
Trying to shove the brilliant agony to the back of his mind, Alastor focused on carefully measuring the in-and-out of air in his weakened lungs. Rather than feeling the tight bandaging around his torso, he honed in on the gentle pressure of Vox's cool metal claws. They tugged through his short fur, almost overwhelmingly when they brushed it the wrong way.
The discomfort grounded him in the worst way possible. Only Vox touched him like this. Alastor was with Vox, and despite how it felt, Vox meant safety.
As the panic and pain eased slowly, his exhaustion renewed. The thought that he probably should be resting came easy, like he'd already thought of it recently, but he couldn’t let Vox think that this was too much for him to handle.
Alastor doesn't know what he'd do if he was exiled back into the boring bedroom.
He blinked slowly, trying to recall what set him off. "…What were we talking about?" Alastor forced himself to ask, his voice crackling softly.
Vox was leaned over awkwardly, taking the time to adjust to sitting on the arm of the couch instead. If Alastor weren't injured, he might've found a way to share the seat with him. Vox was still holding onto him, his grip tight like he was afraid.
Vox's voice had that soft tone when he spoke, "I told you that I have your wedding ring tucked away safe and sound."
"Oh good," he whispered. The memory of just a few minutes prior was clearing up, and the prompt helped recall his worries, "I was afraid I'd lost it."
Vox blushed, if you'd believe it. "Really? You'd care that much for a ring?"
He nodded, "I'd hate if I lost it. The very symbol of our bond, gone forever? I… I don't know how I was before, but… If I said yes, it had to of meant something to me."
Marriage on earth was a big deal: family making, a show of commitment and all that, but ultimately a complete shadow to the undertaking that marriage in hell was. No, no, Alastor knew that creating bonds between sinners down here was downright dangerous. Vox must've meant everything to him to throw away such simple survival rules.
Vox looked close to tears. "That- Thank you, Al," he wiped at his screen with a hand, and Alastor couldn't help but notice Vox wasn't wearing a ring either.
"Where's yours?" slipped from his mouth before he could contain it.
Vox glanced down, inspecting his hand like Alastor had done. "Oh," he deflated, his screen even dimming as well. "I didn’t want to upset you while yours was gone, so I took mine off too. Always together, like they're supposed to be," he smiled crookedly.
It was cute.
"Did… you want it back?" Vox looked away for a brief moment, contemplating. "I don't want to give it back if I just have to take it away again later," he trailed off. He tilted his head, looking directly into Alastor's eyes. "What do you want, love? I've kept it safe this long, and I will continue to do so, but it's your ring, and you've had enough taken from you lately."
The promise of choice was a cascade of relief over Alastor. Of course he wanted it back! "Yes," his voice was leaving him, weak lungs unable to keep up for much longer, "Yes, I'd like it returned."
"You're all worn out, dear. Take a rest," Vox instructed. Alastor's eyes eagerly slipped closed as Vox planted a tender kiss to his forehead, "I'll go get them cleaned and we'll be wearing them again in no time."
He hummed contentedly, unable to fight off sleep any longer as he heard Vox walk off.
He dreamt of weddings.
---
"Vel, holy shit!" the doors to her lab slammed opened with enough force to create cracks in the wall.
"Ugh, Vox! My walls are not yours to break-" Velvette left her ladle stirring on its own in a bubbling cauldron as she spun around to chew a non-existent ear off her coworker. She didn't get that far, seeing Vox in his casuals and utterly gobsmacked. "What the fuck happened to you?" she asked, pulling her phone out to snap a picture.
"Al! Rings! I don't have any!" Vox hurried closer, after ensuring the doors were properly closed behind him. "I need them yesterday!"
Velvette hopped off her stool, meeting Vox halfway, and promptly flashed her magic at him. In a second Vox was properly dressed in a smart suit, navy blue as he preferred, but with the right amount of flair that Velvette liked. "What in the seven rings are you on about?" she asked as she eyed him, antenna to oxfords.
Yeah, he looked decent enough for now.
"Alastor noticed we don't have wedding bands. I told him a lie, said I was going to get them cleaned before I return them. I need rings, now, Vel. Where do I even get rings?" he paced, clutching at his screen in clear distress.
It was pathetic, so Velvette snapped a few more pictures and sent them off to Valentino. It was a fifty-fifty whether it'd make the moth either ragingly jealous or cackling with her over Vox's dumb decisions.
"You told the Radio Demon you have wedding rings? Did you seriously tell him you two are married?" she hadn't been aware the ruse had fallen so far. She sure as shit didn't mean marriage when she told him to keep the lies rolling.
Did Valentino know about this?
"Yes!" Vox had the gall to look pleased with himself, "And he completely believes me, hook, line, and sinker. I probably should have remembered the whole rings thing earlier, but he didn’t object my lie of having taken them for safe keeping-"
"Vox, hold on-"
"-So all I gotta do is go out and buy a few rings and give 'em over. I already told him I'm getting them cleaned so he won't question the lack of wear on them-"
"Vox?"
"-And I was thinking you'd be a great pick to help choose some! Or do you like, keep rings here? That'd be really helpful, actually, so if you'd just hand over something simple-"
"Vox!" she grabbed a nearby bundle of ingredients and threw it at him, smacking him out of his rambling.
The size of his face shrunk on his display, and the way his hands folded limply near his chest painted a rather 'kicked puppy' look.
Velvette was quick to snap another photo before stepping closer and pressing a finger into his chest, "You are absolutely idiotic and hopeless, you know that, right?"
"Uhm-"
She flicked her hand up, knocking it against the edge of his screen. He glitched out for a millisecond as she popped a hip and rested her hand there. "Okay, so, you're deep in the doghouse 'cause you lost you and your hubby's rings. Easy enough to fix, I suppose," Velvette glanced around her lab, knowing it was the wrong station for jewelry, but she took the moment to recalibrate anyway.
She would deal with Vox's emotionally-charged something with Alastor that made him decide on marriage and not just partnership later. For now, the cover story was at risk of breaking and they couldn't have that. It was rare for a sinner, let alone Alastor, to be that impressionable, and Velvette would not let Vox ruin such a golden opportunity.
Besides, she was starting to like the guy, and didn't mind keeping him around.
She didn’t have any rings worth marrying with up in her studio anyway. They'd have to do this the traditional way. She pulled up her phone's map, searching for the nearest and most expensive jeweler's. If she was doing this, she'd be busting Vox's wallet while she's at it. Maybe she'd pick out a necklace or a pair of earrings for herself as payment for her involvement.
Yes, that sounded perfect, maybe they'd have something worth a whole new line of clothes entirely. Could she get the jewelers under contract? Another collaborator was always welcome.
"Got a place," she started towards the elevator, already tapping away at her phone requesting a limo and providing the driver with info on where they'd be going.
Vox lagged behind, blinking owlishly.
"C'mon Vox, get your ass in gear, we got a diamond to pick out!"
He jolted into action, almost flitting over in an arc of electricity. The elevator doors closed right behind his tailcoat, and he tried to pull of casual by tucking his hands behind his back. "Thank you, Velvette," he said.
Alastor confronts Vox about his decisions concerning his care, and Vox promises he'll try to do better.
The other Vees show up for Velvette's after-show party, bringing food and doing Alastor's hair. Aside from Valentino telling Alastor that "He'll never have what he and Vox has," the evening goes smoothly, and they get along relatively well.
This seems to smooth over Valentino's anger towards Vox, and as Alastor falls asleep, Velvette makes a quick retreat when Valentino and Vox get suggestive with each other.
---
Vox was quick to go and close the door Velvette had left open, standing in front of it for a long moment. A part of him was glad this had gone over swimmingly, but most of him dreaded what this meant for the future. He sighed, letting the tension of the day drain from his shoulders.
"Vox?"
Steeling himself, he turned around to face Alastor, "Sorry about that." He scratched at the edge of his monitor's casing, rambling, "She's a little much to handle, but she's good at what she does. You should see some of the stuff she designs-"
"You ran off earlier."
Vox fell silent, and fiddled with his shirt to avoid Alastor's piercing gaze. "No," he sounded pathetic even to himself.
"You did," Alastor sounded pissed. "I struggle to understand why you would do so, when all I had expressed was a desire to feel content in my own home."
Vox looked up, watching with a sinking gut as Alastor started ticking things off on his fingers.
"You refuse to dress my wounds; you refuse to dismiss the nurses and instead deemed to tell our business partners; you won't even look at me while nude; and you've refused to discuss our state of affairs with me… " Alastor let his hands drop, huffing. He took a break to breathe before continuing, "You keep preaching that you're doing all you can to protect me from people who'd hurt me, but you're not actually doing that. You're letting outsiders in, you're telling people I'm hurt, you're taking ages to inform me of important things… I'm just confused about where we stand, Vox."
Alastor was out of breath by the end of his spiel, staring defiantly at Vox, whose gut was swirling uncomfortably. He really fucked up, if Alastor was already questioning everything. He'd thought his excuses were strong, because he was right as he said them.
Vox wasn't a medic, of course he'd do something wrong and hurt Alastor more in the process. He hadn't known a lick of what to do before it was explained to him or after he'd looked it up. Vox had been a murderer, so he only knew how to end lives, not prolong them.
Everything else just wasn't Alastor's business. Just like Vox's business wasn't Alastor's nude body, even if he really wanted to explore it to its fullest. He wanted to earn it, earn Alastor's trust and love, and somehow he'd ruined it all again.
Was Vox just destined to be a failure?
Vox, realizing he'd left Alastor waiting, joined him on the bed. He sat, facing the wall, and sighed. "I didn't mean for this to get so out of hand," he said truthfully. "So much is on my plate right now, and I'm confused about what to do." He took a deep breath, turning to Alastor, "But I do know I want to make this work. I love you, Al," saying it out loud a second time felt almost as nerve-wracking as the first. "I'll fix everything," he promised.
Vox reached out for Alastor's hand, but the other pulled away. He was snippy as he explained, "You can start by getting rid of the nurses, and tending to me yourself."
"Okay," Vox swallowed his fear and apprehension, "Okay."
He would have to figure it out, if it was the key to earning Alastor's love.
---
Later that night, Vox got a ping from Velvette to let her into his elevator. He sent it down to her with a thought, his powers connecting to the system effortlessly.
He woke a sleeping Alastor, to properly warn him of their incoming company this time, and went to meet her by the door. Earlier, after Alastor refused to talk to him in favor of napping, Vox had locked the nurses away in the bathroom so he could have the common room to himself.
He'd spent most of the evening pacing, trying to make a decision on how to proceed. He needed to really start acting like Alastor's husband, but he didn't know where to start.
Velvette showed up with a grumpy Valentino behind her, the both of them carrying bags of takeout and makeover supplies.
"Val?" Vox was surprised to see him, "Listen-"
"I'm not here for you, Vox," Valentino must still be mad, going by the tense edge in his voice. "Velvette offered me a good deal to entertain this," he shoved past him.
Vox turned to Velvette, "What did you promise him?"
She dumped a greasy bag into his hands, the logo of his preferred burger joint on it. "That's between me and him, your job this evening is to not piss any of us off more than you already have. Have you and your beau made up?"
She started marching off to the bedroom after Valentino, forcing Vox to trail after her once again that day. "'My beau'? You mean Val? He's clearly still mad- He won't talk to me-"
"No, no, Vox, Alastor. Did you have to grovel at his feet to get his forgiveness?"
"What?"
By now, they've all funneled into the spare bedroom, which was feeling quite smaller than it actually was with this many people in it. The nurses tended to shrink in on themselves to make themselves as easy to forget as possible, as per Vox's orders, so the room usually felt fine. With larger personalities like the Vees here, and Valentino's looming height, the room felt much more cramped.
Velvette was the first to sit, greeting Alastor like an old friend. The man, still half asleep, returned a cordial greeting in kind.
Valentino stood imposingly, the crossed arms look slightly lessened by the takeout bags he was carrying. "I don't like you," he pointed a free hand accusingly at Alastor, who cocked his head with a confused squint. "You'll never have what Vox and I have, okay?"
"The feeling's mutual," Alastor used a hand to push Valentino's away, rubbing his hand off on the blankets afterwards.
"Hey!" Velvette shouted, setting down her goods either on the floor beside her or the bedside table she could reach. She almost knocked over an empty glass that stood vigil there, which wouldn't have been good had it been filled with water still. "None of that! We're here as part of the Vees, and we're celebrating my fashion show! Which, by the way," she leaned in conspiratorially towards Alastor, who perked up in kind. "-Was a smashing success. You should've been there, it went off without a hitch! I even got to kill a few reporters who didn't have invitations!" She seemed extremely proud of herself.
"Sounds like it was lovely," Alastor complimented.
"It was! Now, Vox why don't you get more seats in here, you can't spend the whole night standing there like a creep."
Valentino looked just as unhappy with the situation as he was, but Vox kept his grumbling to himself as he turned around to go grab two chairs from the dining room table.
So despite the tense atmosphere, they all took their seats around Alastor and his sick bed, and handed out the food and dug in.
Alastor was handed a lovely set of boxes all beautifully wrapped with twine, each one carrying various cuts of meats. At the sight of the first one sitting in a small puddle of its own blood, Alastor practically drooled. Vox has found that he was constantly hungry, even though he'd eaten plenty already.
Valentino ended up sitting closest to the door in clear defiance of being here, slowly loosening into conversation as he ate loaded quesadillas with at least three different dips.
Velvette had an array of colourful desserts rather than a proper meal, complete with what looked like every topping, sprinkle and candy that was available to choose from. She led the conversation for the most part, finding clever ways to drag both Alastor and Valentino into neutral ground.
Vox admired her work as he drowned his anxieties in his overstuffed triple-decker burger, having to lean over the plastic container as grease leaked from it.
They'd started with remarks with equal amounts of bite towards each other, and as they kept the ball in court with the other, there seemed to be a begrudging tolerance that was building.
When dinner was nearly through, and Velvette had appropriately told them about every stitch and camera that attended her event, Velvette set aside an unfinished crêpe and grabbed one of her extra bags. As she dug around in it, she said, "Enough's enough, I need to do something about your poor hair."
Alastor tried to protest, encouraging her to finish eating first.
She insisted, pulling out a few bottles of product and a few brushes. Vox couldn't in a million years understand why she'd need that many different bottles.
"Can you sit up?" she asked, indicating Alastor's still reclined position.
"For a short while, yes," Alastor looked curious, squinting as he tried to read the bottles she was setting out on the table.
"Vox, make yourself useful, would you?"
He huffed, swallowing a mouthful, "I'm not done yet-"
"I don't care! This is a fashion emergency here-"
He sighed, setting his food down and getting to his feet. Placing the container on his chair, he wiped his claws clean on his pants, his outfit still the same from earlier this afternoon so it was already ruined.
He helped Alastor clear his lap of the containers, all of them cleaned of their contents and even licked dry of every drop of blood. Vox tried not to cringe at the thought of Alastor's disgusting dinner as he set them off to the side.
Vox pulled back the blanket, revealing Alastor's soft blue pajamas he'd been changed into. "D'you want over or folded in?" he asked.
"Over, if you would. I'm not sure how long this'll take."
"Hey, what-?" Velvette started.
"Got it," Vox cut her off, sliding a hand under Alastor's legs to lift them up so he could slide into their spot on the bed. He sat cross-legged, and set down a leg of Alastor's on either side of his lap, grabbing Alastor's waiting hands to pull him up into a sitting position. Alastor was practically in Vox's lap, and it was only because he's had to do this a handful of times before during their physio sessions that Vox didn’t overreact.
"Really, Vox? Right in front of me?!" Valentino stood quickly, throwing his food to the ground.
Vox stuttered, flustered and reminded that this was actually a very compromising position.
It was Alastor who explained, "My injuries make it difficult for me to sit up on my own. It's pathetic, I know," he tittered.
"The legs is a bit much, don't you think?" Velvette mused, climbing up onto the bed to weasel her way behind Alastor.
"Ah, paralysis will do that," he was tense against Vox's arms, who could see his shoulders were hiked up. The man was clearly uncomfortable with Velvette behind him, but wasn't protesting it.
"Paralysis?!" Velvette grabbed his shoulder, leaning around to catch his eye. "Since when? Vox didn’t mention that!"
"Oh?" Alastor gave Vox a questioning raise of a brow, probably marking another tally of errors from him. Vox was sure Alastor could write a whole book about his mistakes. "What an interesting fact to leave out from telling your closest allies, dear."
The comment felt especially barbed, considering Alastor's earlier chewing out.
"Vox hasn't had any time for us at all lately," Valentino sneered, sitting back down heavily. "Only coming around when he wants something," he tutted.
"I've been busy…" was his weak excuse. He focused on holding Alastor upright, rubbing a thumb in a circle into his elbow which was probably only comforting himself.
"Sure," Velvette didn't sound convinced, which he wasn't expecting her to be anyway, but the tone still stung regardless. "But whatever, we already know you're a pathetic piece of shit, so let's get this mop dealt with," Velvette started combing her hands through Alastor's hair.
Vox was promptly left out of the next course of conversation, left as just the support for his ward as he got his hair done.
Valentino turned more curious at Velvette's creative process and engaged with her more as time went on. Offering what he knew about the process and throwing the odd compliment Alastor's way as his hair came back to life.
Alastor was politely pliant under her hands, a soft towel laid around his shoulders as a foam is lathered across his head. They talk the whole time, discussing just about everything under The Pentagram in the sky above. Vox tuned most of it out, boring gossip and stories about various Vee assistants doing dumb things he's already heard or been witness to.
Vox was eventually snapped back to present by Alastor coughing. Immediately, he could tell it wasn't that bad, the episode already ending moments after it started.
The towel and bottles of product had all disappeared, and Velvette was now just armed with a comb. Alastor's hair was curly, the coils bouncy and healthy looking. It made his hair appear shorter than it was, but it still framed his features perfectly.
"Wow," Vox admired how handsome he looked like this.
"I know!" Velvette was practically preening, a big grin on her face. "He looks amazing," she adjusted a curl, and climbed down off the bed to admire her work from another angle.
"Thank you…" Alastor voice was weakening, and he was blinking against exhaustion. "I appreciate it. Let me know… if there's anything I can do for you in return…"
Velvette waved him off, "The only thing I want is to do this again sometime. I'm not letting your hair get that bad again."
"That sounds like a deal."
"Alright-" Vox let Alastor back down slowly, guiding him to the comfort of his plush pillows. Disentangling himself from Alastor's legs, Vox climbed out of bed and addressed all his partners, "It's late, and we've all got shit to do in the morning."
"Ugh, party-pooper," Velvette grumbled, but started gathering her supplies together.
"He's… not that bad…" Valentino watched Alastor, who seemed moments away from sleep.
Vox smiled, wrapping a hand around Valentino to pull him in. Valentino didn’t immediately push him away, and his heart sung with pleasure. "I'll make it up to you, Val! You 'n me can do something together soon, I promise."
Valentino looked at him, giving him a suave grin, "I like the sound of that, papi~"
"C'mon, lovebirds, let's let sleeping beauty be," Velvette waved them on, heading out the door towards the common room. "Vox, you still need to tell us why you conveniently forgot to tell us he was paralyzed."
Vox was pulled along in Valentino's arms to follow her, and all four hands were becoming explorative. Vox could really tell in that moment everything was forgiven between the two of them, and was excited to spend some one-on-one time with him. Things really had been too stressful lately.
"Well, on top of the amnesia and the whole constantly bleeding thing, his legs kinda became low priority," he explained as Valentino cornered him onto the couch.
"Eugh, I'm not sticking around if you two just wanna fuck," Velvette quickly headed for the door. "See you around! Vox, don't you dare keep hiding him from us, or I'll make every night a party in here, m'kay?"
Vox hummed an ascent, and focused on how Valentino draped across him.
rosie volun-tells alastor to go help charlie's hotel after they heard about it on the television at home.
it takes alastor a while to introduce his family to them, and at first they assume rosie and alastor were married, but they aren't quite there yet (theyre not even officially dating yet). charlie starts to play matchmaker. rosie knows what she's doing, but is amused by her efforts, and alastor is confused.
rosie helps during the fight of s1e8, minimizing alastor's injuries
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Chapter summary:
Vox seeks Velvette, hoping for some advice on how to handle the situation with Alastor, and she essentially tells him to buck up and commit. She demands to be introduced to Alastor, which Vox allows after she hands over her phone so that she can't take pictures of him to let the secret out. Unfortunately, Velvette is busy with a fashion show that night, so she can't stay long. She promises to return for a proper hang-out after, also promising to bring along Valentino. She leaves, leaving Vox and Alastor alone.
---
Velvette had a way with bluntness that Vox admired, completely unafraid of other's opinions. She controlled the opinions of others, her experience in social media giving her a special insight into how to be a bystander during messy situations.
Vox needed that objectivity right now, so he took the elevator down to her floor of the Tower. He could've travelled through the wires, but he appreciated the minute to think over how he'd propose his issue to her.
Hopefully without making too much of a fool of himself. Both Valentino and Velvette had expressed their displeasure with Alastor being brought here a month and a half ago now, and now Vox's resolve to stand with his decision was wavering.
The elevator chimed as it opened, and Vox could see that Velvette's studio was organized chaos. There seemed to be more mirrors and vanities than before, the floor littered with discarded costumes and accessories.
It was the disaster of pre-fashion show preparation. Based on the frantic back-and-forth sprinting of sinners and Velvette's shouting voice in the distance, it was a show for either tonight or tomorrow.
This was a bad time for Vox to bother her.
He knew this wasn't a good idea.
Just as he was turning around to go back into the elevator, he heard Velvette shout out to him, "Oi, Vox! What the hell are you doing here? I got fifty things to do by yesterday and you're stinking up the place!"
The show was definitely for tonight, then. Vox shrunk into himself, raising his hands, "Vel, I didn't mean to interrupt-"
"Of course not, it's not like you've been ignoring Val 'n I for weeks."
Vox flinched. "Look, Vel, I- well, I-" Oh who was he kidding? Velvette would see right through whatever crafty pitch he had to say. He was doomed. "I did something stupid," he admitted.
Velvette looked up from the model she was sticking with pins, a monumental thing considering how busy she was. Her specialty was multitasking, so having her sole attention was dangerous.
Velvette shoved the model away, a smirk adorning her face. Despite the mess of her studio, her hair and makeup were perfect, and her outfit was as stunning as ever. "Well, well, well, flat-face does have a brain in there somewhere. Let me guess, you need someone to clean up your mess?"
Vox avoided her piercing gaze, trying to adjust his frazzled state. He realized he wasn't wearing his coat or vest, just his button up that was rolled up to his elbows. It was wrinkled and speckled with damp patches from Alastor's bath.
He'd forgotten to change.
Mortified, he fumbled with adjusting his open collar. He folded his arms across his chest, feeling bare and vulnerable in front of Velvette.
This was what he wanted though, wasn't it?
"It's uh…" he glanced about, seeing the different sinners all watching them without shame.
It was a spectacle to see a Vee so out-of-sorts, and their fear of losing their job or lives wasn't ever enough to dissuade the theory-crafters or insane fans from doing something stupid. He felt exposed, and knew his paranoia was doing most of the talking. These were all sinners under Velvette's employ, and none of them would escape her wrath if they stepped a toe out of line.
Still, he didn't like being gawked at when he wasn't looking his Sunday-Best.
"Can we speak, privately?" he asked, gesturing over to where he knew she had private change rooms located.
Velvette dropped her handful of pins onto the nearest table with clear frustration, "Goddamn it, Vee, I really don't have time for this-"
"Just a quick word," he promised, plastering on a smile he wasn't really feeling.
They relocated to the change rooms, and Velvette huffed and crossed her arms the second Vox locked the door behind them. It was a tiny room, as it had a single purpose, but it was a full room and not a stall so they had privacy from eavesdroppers.
Not wanting to anger her further this afternoon, he got straight to the point: "It's about Al. He's got amnesia. He… he doesn't remember anything about us."
Velvette's brows skyrocketed, "That's not what I was expecting."
Vox prepared himself for the other shoe to drop, trying to appear rational but knowing his words were the opposite, "I… might have told him we were partners."
"You… what?"
Vox gave a forced laugh, feeling the embarrassment climb by the second, "I-"
Velvette held up a hand, signaling him to stop, "Oh I heard you, Vee, I just can't fucking believe you." She gestured at him widely, "You just can't get any more pathetic, can you? What in the hell were you thinking?"
"I just-" he glanced around, avoiding Velvette's intense stare. There were spare sequins on the bench against the wall. "Vel, I think you know why…"
She sighed, "So what exactly do you expect me to do? This sounds explicitly like a you problem."
"I guess I just don't know what to do. He really believed me, and I don't know if I can do this. I just wanted him to- to love me, but there's so much going on with all his injuries- I didn't think I'd be doing so much-" he cut himself off.
"Well, what did you expect? You rescued him from getting his ass killed, and it was an angelic wound-"
"I don’t know! Not this- I- He-" he choked, thinking about Alastor's soft fur under his hands. How thin his waist was, and how the water ran down his back. "…I gave him a bath."
There was a long pause, in which Vox tried to keep his focus in the room and not several floors up.
"Vox, what the fuck?" Velvette almost sounded disgusted.
"What was I supposed to do? He asked for me specifically and-"
"You sick fuck-"
"He asked!"
"You told him you were partners, who do you think he's gonna ask!" She grabbed her head, scrubbing at her face, "Oh my god… I knew you were obsessed with him, but I didn't know you were that much of a creep!" She dragged a hand down her face, her tone becoming exasperated, "Well? What are you gonna do now? You gotta keep up the act."
Vox played with his shirt again, "That's the thing, Vel, I don't know if I can. I almost crashed several times in the last hour-"
She gave a short cackle of a laugh, "Consider it payback for doing something this stupid. Look, you wanted him to be a part of the Vees, I don't know whatever for. We don't need radio when everyone's always on other platforms. The radio's dead, babes," she said it with the pity of telling someone their shoes were outdated by three seasons.
"We- we can revive radio," Vox was pacing now, feeling like he was just negotiating with himself. There was basically no room to pace, and a purple scarf kept getting caught on his shoe. "There's podcasts, right? Those are basically radio shows-"
Velvette reached over to stop him with a hand to his chest. She pulled it away, flicking it with displeasure as she had met the damp fabric of his shirt. She glared up at him, "I think you're kind of ignoring the part where you told all of Hell that he's dead. You can't put him back on air after that, especially if he has amnesia. He could accidentally tell everyone, and then we would have all of Hell on our doorstep ready to off him themselves. You gotta keep this to yourself, Vox."
He deflated, "I know…"
"Now let me meet him."
Vox looked at her in shock, having expected more insults and lectures. It would have made sense, as he had gone and done something so monumentally idiotic that if it got out, it would have catastrophic effects on their collective reputation. What would Hell think of him and his news channel if they caught wind that Alastor was still alive? They'd question his credibility, and his viewership would tank, and he couldn't have that.
God, his sentimentality was going to ruin everything he's worked towards.
Was Alastor's obedience really more important than his influence and control over The Pentagram?
"…What?"
Velvette resumed her cross-armed pose, this time cocking her head at him. "I said, lemme meet him. If he's a Vee now, then I think he should meet the other Vees. Right?"
Vox sputtered, trying to wrap his head around it. He didn't think Velvette would be so comfortable with what's going on with Alastor. What happened to her complaints from when he first rescued the deer? "I just- this is unusual, Vel… You don't normally want anything to do with-"
"Yeah, yeah, you and your boy toys is old news," she waved a hand at his attempted rebuttal. "But if he's here to stay, then you can't hoard him all to yourself. You said it yourself, he's our partner now."
Vox opened his mouth to correct her, to say he'd gotten himself in a much deeper hole than that, but she was already opening the door to the change room. She moved quickly, heading towards the elevator and Vox had to jog to catch up.
"Right now? You- you looked busy-" he glanced around at the mess of a large-scale production.
"Aha, who cares! This thing will be perfect, it always is." She whipped around to face him, "Are you doubting me?"
He went to reply in the negative, reassuring her that her place in the Vees was well warranted, but she was already yelling orders to this-and-that sinner. She smacked one across the head as she picked up what was apparently the wrong dress, and pulled out her phone to start rapidly texting. It was most likely more orders for her assistants that were probably elsewhere doing equally important things for the show. Vox wondered if it was in-house or if the event was being hosted at one of their collaborator's runways.
Velvette rejoined Vox, grabbing him by an arm and dragging him back towards the elevator. Together they stepped in, and Vox was quick to input the specific code that would deliver them to his personal floor.
They ascended in relative silence, sounds plinking from Velvette's phone as she continued to manage her fashion show.
This was not what Vox had in mind when he came to seek Velvette's advice. He wanted… He didn't know what he wanted. Reassurance that seeking Alastor's approval was normal? A steady hand that would knock him back to his senses? Someone to tell him to just kill the sinner like he should have six weeks ago? Maybe he'd have listened if she'd told him so this time.
Velvette being essentially on board with manipulating Alastor into a pawn they could use was not an outcome he was ready for.
He could only imagine her response to when she'd learned that Alastor believed that he and Vox were wedded.
The elevator pinged, and Vox steeled himself for whatever was to come. Alastor and Velvette hadn't really interacted before. Alastor had done his disappearing act before Velvette joined the Vees, and so her knowledge of him was limited to his infamy and their interactions at the one sovereign overlord meeting Vox let Velvette attend. Her impression of him may not be the best, considering how the three Vees had watched things go belly up during the extermination.
He didn't know how this meeting would go.
"Before we go in, Velvette," he stopped her from exiting the elevator when the doors slid opened. "I want you to give me your phone."
Velvette pulled said device towards one of her shoulders, angling it away from him. "What? Why?" she demanded.
"Alastor's still injured and vulnerable, and I'm not letting information get out that he's here and alive." He held out a hand, finally brushing his worries away. Getting into the familiar territory of his technological control, he felt his confidence click back into place.
He could easily jam her signal all he wanted, but he'd feel leagues better if he could prevent her from taking any pictures and risk having her circulate them later. This was his sanctuary, and she would have to obey his rules to enter.
"Hand it over, or you will not meet him," he told her.
"Ugh, fine," she sighed like a defiant teen, placing the device heavily in his open palm.
Vox smirked, tucking it away in his pocket, "Good."
He led the way into his apartment, immediately scanning the room for anyone. There was no one in sight, so the nurses were probably still with Alastor in his room. Vox and Velvette took the short walk to the spare bedroom, where the nurses were quick to vacate the space at the sight of the two of them. A few tools clattered to the ground in their haste to exit the room.
"Vox?" Alastor sounded mildly surprised, "I didn't expect you until later, I thought I had scared you off too badly," he reached out with a hand.
Vox went and took it with practiced ease, his attention instantly zeroed in on Alastor. "You didn't scare me," he objected, reaching up to remove the burlap sack from over his head. "Just needed to do something."
"And what would that be-?" Alastor adjusted quickly, scanning the room. His eyes widened and he stiffened, glancing over towards the door.
Vox looked back, seeing Velvette with an equal amount of shock written all over her face.
"Vox," Alastor looked uneasily back to Vox, "Is it alright that she sees me-?"
"Al," Vox gestured enthusiastically to her, "This is Velvette, one of our business partners. She's a part of the Vees." He rubbed a circle into Alastor's hand, turning back to watch his expression as he explained, "She's been in here a few times while you were unconscious. You weren't very well acquainted before you were hurt, but you can trust her. I do."
Alastor digested the information for a moment, and Vox liked to imagine how his brain would catalogue what would be important for later, and what kind of questions his observations would brew.
He watched as Alastor's smile settled into a friendly one, not so much for camaraderie, but for networking and good impressions. "Well, my dear, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he held out his free hand, offering it for a shake.
Velvette was shaken from her stillness with the invitation, stepping over to shake it quickly. Her eyes roamed all over him, lingering on the medical devices and his bedraggled appearance, "Oh, babe, what has that man done to you," she said pityingly.
Alastor grimaced, taking his hand back to try and comb it through his hair, "Ah ha, I hope I don't look as bad as I feel…"
"Did they not do their job right?" Vox immediately started looking him over again, "I swear if-"
"No, dear, it's alright," Alastor interrupted, patting Vox's hand to pacify him. "They did fine, I just feel worn out from earlier."
"Ew, TMI," Velvette made a face.
Alastor flushed, and Vox might've taken a few pictures. "I'm sorry if that sounded salacious," he waved his hand like it would clear their thoughts away. "It's just that the bath I took earlier was a much more physically demanding task than I had assumed it would be."
"This is you all cleaned up?" she boldly stepped even closer to grasp a fistful of his hair to inspect. "Have you just been running it through with water or what?" She offered Alastor a grave look, "You're in a real sorry state right now."
Alastor looked ashamed, and Vox wanted to kick Velvette out.
"Ah, unfortunately I'm not really prepared for company," Alastor tried again to comb his hair through, forcing Velvette to let go. "Vox didn't tell me he'd be introducing you to me today. I was under the impression my injuries were secret," he glanced at Vox.
"Really?" Velvette gave Vox the same look, "Guess he wanted to keep you all to himself, huh?"
It wasn't really his intention for it to come across that way, but he couldn't argue it now in front of Alastor, so the moment dragged on in quiet contempt.
"Well," Velvette was the one to break the silence, "I got a big show to put on tonight, so time's short." She went to check her phone, but remembered too late that it was in Vox's possession. She aborted the motion by pointing to Alastor instead, "I'll stop by again after, and you can join me for the after-party, how's that sound?"
"Ah," Alastor's nose did a small twitch Vox recognized as an aborted grimace, and waved vaguely at his bed-bound state, "As enchanting as that sounds, I'm not in a state for much partying."
She waved a nonchalant hand, "Oh don't worry, darling, it's mostly just us getting our favourite foods and me making the boys do makeover stuff. Nothing too strenuous for your weak ass to handle, right? Wouldn't wanna upset your guard dog here, now would we?" She knocked a fist into Vox's monitor, making him stutter and cry out an objection.
Alastor hummed, sounding intrigued, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt in that case. Any other guests I should be made aware of?"
"You're in for an exclusive Vees party, Al, so it's just Vox, Valentino, and I. And you too."
"Wait, you got Val to agree?" Vox asked. Valentino had been ignoring him for so long now, and Vox could hardly believe that he was still upset with him over everything. It was becoming troublesome, Vox having to funnel business that he had with Valentino through Velvette as a middle-man.
He'd thought that Valentino would've gotten over himself by now.
Velvette shrugged, "He'll be there. One way or another. Now," she addressed Alastor, "What do you want to eat? It can be anything from anywhere, I got people to get it even if it's on the other side of The Pentagram."
Alastor lit up, "Oh! In that case, get me something still bleeding. They've been feeding me nothing but cooked slop, and I'm tired of tasting ash."
"Oh Vox, really?" she whirled on him again, "You're not feeding him either? I know dead goldfish that are better taken care of than this."
"What? I'm not feeding him raw meat, Vel!"
"That’s normal down here, you dumbfuck! We're not human anymore!" She turned back to Alastor, "Now, don't you worry, babes, I'll get you the juiciest slab of meat I can order."
He actually looked relieved, holding a hand to his chest and tipping his head to her, "Thank you, dear."
"I'll be back sometime tonight, so make sure you get some beauty sleep before then. I'm not having you sleep through the latest gossip you've been missing. C'mon Vox," she yanked on Vox's sleeve, "I need my phone back."
Before he could retrieve it himself, she leaned across the bed and dug into his pockets for it herself, ignoring his sputtering and demands that she stop. Alastor grinned with an aborted chuckle, enjoying the view.
Phone retrieved, Velvette skipped out of the room with a "Tootles!" leaving Alastor and Vox alone.
Vox discovers the first hint that Alastor's powers may be returning to him, but to what extent is yet unknown. Alastor requests that Vox assist in giving him a proper bath, still feeling dirty despite the being clean. Vox has a crisis about it, but they go through with it. Alastor confronts Vox about his paradoxical decisions for his care, and the conversation is cut short as Vox retreats.
---
"Vox," Alastor greeted him enthusiastically as soon as he stepped over the threshold of his room, startling him.
He glanced at the nurses, who'd stalled in their task of stretching Alastor's dead legs. They seemed just as surprised at the outburst as he was.
Alastor has been tired by default since he escaped sedation, but today he seemed reinvigorated for some reason.
"How'd you know I was here?" he asked, confused and a little suspicious. Alastor's head was covered as he demanded, and he hadn't announced his arrival.
"You have this…" Alastor gestured vaguely, almost hitting a nurse because he couldn't see how close she was, "Electromagnetic field that I can feel."
"Oh, interesting," he mused. He wasn't surprised that he had a presence, as he could feel every device in the building himself, but he was impressed by the fact that Alastor could also sense it. "Wait, wait, wait," he stalled, thoughts skipping on the implications. Had he been able to do this, this whole time, or was it a recent discovery? Did this mean that Alastor would recover all his powers that has thus far been dormant? "If you can sense my powers, can you use yours?" he asked.
"My powers?" Alastor hummed, turning his hands over like he was holding something. "I don't know…"
"Sir," the nurse whispered, trying not to incur Vox's wrath but still needing to speak.
"What," his face flattened.
"If the patient does have access to his demonic powers, I cannot recommend that they be used at this time. He's still weak, and I can't estimate the effects they'd have on him."
Vox sighed, "Fine."
It seems like he'd have to investigate it when they weren't around. The prospect of Alastor's powers returning was concerning. No matter how much he missed the damn filter on his voice, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that if that damn sentient shadow reappeared, it could whisk him away to who knows where. He couldn't let that happen.
"Dear," Alastor cut in, his tone bargaining, "I was hoping to ask for something?"
"Oh? And what would that be?"
This could be interesting. Alastor hasn't asked for much since he's been pulled from his coma, mostly asking for his questions to be satisfied and pursuing whatever entertainment Vox was able to provide for him.
"I'd like a bath," he enunciated, "A real one, not a sponge bath or a wipe-down or whatever you'd call it."
Vox blinked. Honestly, he hadn't paid much attention to the exact method the nurses had been cleaning him with since he saved him. He didn't think it mattered how, just that it was done. Vox himself didn’t really bathe per what was considered normal, as while he was able to get wet, he didn't like being submerged in water. He cleaned himself quickly, effectively, and without the twenty some-odd bottles of soaps that Valentino and Velvette liked.
Vox considered his own appearance very clean and neat, especially considering the meticulous cleaning that his screen required to remain fingerprint- and streak-free.
"Why?" He'd kill the nurses right that instant if they were doing a poor job.
"Vox," he sounded exasperated now, "It's been over a month. I need a real bath. I feel disgusting, and it's not got anything to do with how clean I actually am or not."
He didn't fully get it, but if he likened it to when he could still see the faint outline of a stain on one of his suits, he could understand. "Fine," he raised his hands blithely, "You can have a bath. Don't know why you're asking me, though."
Even through the mask, Vox could tell his expression was offended in the way his head tilted back and how his hands splayed, "You've prohibited them from speaking with me, Vox, who else am I going to ask?"
"Oh, yeah," Vox glanced over the nurses, who've both in the meantime begun cleaning up after themselves. One of them left the room and he heard water running in the bathroom down the hall. "I, uh, didn’t want information getting out that you were hurt," he explained.
"Yes, but you've tied the leash a touch too tight, my dear. It's very inconvenient."
"Well, that shouldn't be a problem for too much longer," Vox hoped.
"And that's the other thing I wanted to discuss with you-"
"There's more?"
"If you'll excuse us, sir?" a nurse asked, the preparations nearing complete.
Alastor reached out blindly, "I- I was actually hoping that Vox could do it, if he didn't mind."
Vox sputtered, the request unexpected, "W-what?! Me? Why?"
"It would just be nice to enjoy it while not having to wear this infernal thing," he reached up to the sack over his head, tugging on it but obediently not taking it off.
He wanted Vox to give him a bath? The idea was so absurd, Vox doesn't think he's ever even thought about Alastor taking a bath before. The image was so downright scandalous that Vox's face immediately flushed and he started smoking. He'd already been dreaming too much about Alastor's uncovered chest, the sight of his short fur and exposed stomach already enough to fry a wire connection or two.
But to see more- to even be in charge of cleaning him-
A nurse interrupted his spiral, whispering, "If you would like to, sir?"
He shook his head, forcefully dismissing his thoughts. He glanced Alastor over, the man thin and fragile, "I won't hurt him?"
"You shouldn't. We can walk you through it first?"
Upon his shaky nod, one of the nurses explained the process in simple steps that Vox took down notes of anyway.
In the background, the other nurse unraveled the bandaging covering Alastor's torso to replace the blood-soaked gauze with a large waterproof patch. Vox, who boasted multiple audio-processors, is able to follow Alastor's comments on how the adhesive is pulling at his fur uncomfortably.
They advise Vox it might not be a perfect seal due to said fur, warning him against wetting the nearby area too much and not to submerge it whatsoever.
It was pretty self-explanatory thus far. Get him in the bath, clean him, but don’t wash the big open laceration across his torso, then get him out.
The nurses disconnect him from his oxygen, oximetre and IV, patching his hand's injection site as well. "Once in there you can take off the tubing and leave it off to the side," one of them instructed. "We'll set him up with new tubes after. He'll probably feel a little lightheaded, but if at any point he feels like he can't breathe, please alert us right away. Let's aim for between ten and twenty minutes."
Once he confirmed he understood thus far, they next taught him how to safely carry him. Vox never knew there was so much to know about picking a person up.
When Vox slid his arms underneath Alastor, the demon only protested lightly because the bruises across his back were still healing.
"Remember to have a good grip first, sir," the nurse insisted, "Because you cannot adjust after you've lifted him. You will cause damage if you jostle him too much."
Vox wasn't feeling pressured at all.
When was the last time he'd had to gently hold something that wasn’t just a ceramic mug or a tiny piece of machinery? Vox was well used to his physical strength by now, having used it over the years to climb his way to the top. He hadn't had to be watchful of his claws in decades.
Vox lifted Alastor carefully.
One of the nurses followed after them into the bathroom. They crossed the short hall in only seconds, but still Alastor was slowly gripping Vox's shirt, a subtle tremble betraying his pain.
Vox sat him down on the counter, the dark marble free of any towels or toiletries. Either he remembered to clean up for once, or the nurses took it upon themselves to clean up. Alastor fell forward into Vox's arms, still struggling to sit on his own, and Vox just held him as he listened to the nurse's final instructions. Her footsteps were quiet as she exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Vox adjusted his hold of Alastor, reaching up to pull the bag free from his head. He closed his eyes quickly at the bright bathroom lights, slowly blinking to adjust.
Vox's face is right in front of him, so he got to watch up close as his pupils changed size. He thoughtfully dimmed his display.
Alastor gave him a grin, "Much better."
Vox flushed, averting his eyes.
"Hmm, I've been meaning to ask…" Alastor reached up and pulled the nasal cannula free, unwinding it from around his head and tossing it aside.
"Y-Yeah?"
"Why do I have to keep my face covered?"
"To keep you safe."
"So it's not because you're ashamed of me? Of my skin?"
Vox nearly crashed right then, appalled, "What? Al- No, I'm not ashamed. You're injured, and this is hell. There are literally millions of people out there who would take advantage of this to hurt you," he rushed to explain. "-And besides, I like your fur just fine," he brushed a claw up and down a downy arm, admiring it.
The gradient from brown to black on his limbs was gradual and Vox thought it suited him. Hundreds of scars adorn his body all over, looking like an animal had tried to eat him. If Alastor thought they were unsightly, it would make sense, but they were ultimately just a sign of survival. Vox wondered when he'd gotten them, but could never gather enough courage to ask.
Alastor didn't deign to answer, inspecting his hands where they gripped Vox's shoulders.
Vox decided it was time to start that bath. He blushed, and cleared his throat, "D-Did you want to leave your shorts on?"
Alastor was bare save for a pair of sleep shorts, borrowed from Vox's wardrobe. He's been so rarely dressed in a shirt because of the near constant access they needed to his torso.
Alastor rolled his eyes, "Vox, I haven't had a proper bath in a month. I'd like to be thorough and really feel clean, so, yes, I'd like to take the shorts off."
He had hoped Alastor wouldn't care about them, because taking them off meant Vox having to help him do so, and he's torn between staring like a pervert and averting his eyes like a blushing teen.
Vox decided to avert his eyes, lifting Alastor by his armpits enough for Alastor to quickly slip his shorts down off his hips. Vox nearly flinched as he reached and helped pull them off the rest of the way, throwing them onto the ground the second he could.
Alastor grabbed him by his chin, making them hold eye contact, "For being my husband, you're rather flustered right now."
"I- Al, you're naked," he argued weakly.
"Because I desperately need to take a bath. Focus on the bath portion if you must."
"Right. It's just a bath, let's do it."
"Good."
Vox was hesitant to grab him again, hands reaching and flinching back as he tried to hype himself up, because what the fuck do you mean he might touch Alastor's bare ass? He's going to see Alastor completely naked in a shallow bath that would hide absolutely nothing? How is he supposed to do this without completely glitching out?
Alastor grabbed him by the chin again, digging sharp points into his plastic casing to help get his impatience across, "The water is going to get cold, dear."
So Vox took a deep breath, metaphorically putting on his big-boy pants, and he grabbed Alastor.
"Mind where you put your hands," Alastor teased lightly as they start the transfer.
Vox focused on admiring the shape of Alastor's back under his hand, or the way his claws wrapped all the way around his thigh. Anything to keep him from staring blatantly at his groin.
It's a pitifully short distance to the bathtub, which was impressive enough that there was plenty of space for Alastor's long legs to lay flat. The bath is hardly full with any water at all, purposely shallow. Beside it on the floor lay a few towels perfectly folded and a small bowl on top of them.
Vox realized it'll be impossible for him to avoid getting wet without dropping Alastor, so he gave a small sigh of disappointment. As he bent deep with his knees, he set Alastor into the bathtub. His arms were forced to dip into the warm water, and he grimaced, disliking the heat of it. His internal systems generated enough heat on their own, so it's become an unbearable external stimuli for him over time.
Still, he made sure Alastor was comfortably leaned against the back of the tub before he pulled away from him. Alastor sighed contentedly, reaching down to dip his hands in the water and run it through his fingers.
Vox must be making a sour face, because Alastor's smile gained a scheming curve. He flicked a hand in the tub, splashing Vox.
"Really, Al?" he grabbed his personal towel hanging on the rail on the wall, and wiped his face down. Immediately, there were streaks across his vision, not enough to impede it, but certainly enough to be annoying and eye-catching.
Alastor just grinned wider, "I'd kill for a laugh right now."
"Of course you’d find this funny," Vox muttered.
"Come on, Vox, are you not also a shark?"
Vox blinked, something coiling hard in his gut. Alastor hadn't remembered Vox at all, everything he knew of him had been told to him by the man himself. "A shark? Al, did I tell you that?"
Alastor blinked, staring wide-eyed at him, "Did… Did I just remember something? On my own?"
Vox was shocked, and both intrigued and displeased. He suddenly very viscerally needed Alastor to never remember anything, ever. It would turn their relationship sour like it had years ago, and Vox would break for good if he got laughed in his face a second time.
He could hear it now, 'Gracious, Vox, you couldn't get me to like you even with amnesia! How embarrassing! '
"I-I technically am," he forced out, and vaguely gestured to his sides, "I do have gills, but uh, I'm mostly technological and uh, I don't really like water."
Alastor physically has to hold in his laughter this time, cupping a hand to his grin. His crooked nose flares as he regulated his breath. "Goodness, Vox," his voice almost broke with the withheld chuckles, "You're a walking paradox."
"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Vox grumbled. "Shut up and bath time already."
"Yes, yes," Alastor took one more bracing inhale, "I'll save the teasing for when I can properly enjoy it. Now," he glanced around the tub, "May I have the soap?"
Alastor insisted to clean his own bottom half himself, honestly saving Vox from another system crash. Alastor had to lift his own legs by the knees to get to their underside, Vox's hands hovering by the rim of the tub to offer assistance if his own slight weight proved to be too much for himself.
Alastor's energy started to lag as he carefully used a wash cloth to clean around the patch on his front.
Vox ended up taking over after that, washing down his arms, taking the time to admire them again. The intimacy was making his heart race, but focusing on the suds and scrubbing helped a lot.
When he needed Alastor to lean forward so he could reach his back, he offered his arm to lean over. They used one of the spare towels as a soft barrier between Vox's arm and Alastor's wounded chest.
"The bruising is starting to look better," he told him, trying to fill the silence that's fallen over them.
Alastor hummed, quiet and exhausted. He became more subdued the longer they sat there, only mumbling occasionally as Vox kept him updated on what he was doing.
"Just your hair next," he checked in, catching Alastor resting his eyes. "How are you holding up?"
"'Lil woozy," he mumbled, "And the pain's getting worse. Not- not that bad, yet…" he raised a hand to pat Vox's arm, "Continue."
Washing his hair, Vox supported Alastor's neck and back whenever he could, using the small bowl to scoop up sudsy water to run over his head. Vox didn't own shampoo or conditioner, so he used the same generic soap for his hair, thinking about what kind of scents Alastor might like for his.
Maybe Velvette could help him pick something out. Alastor's hair was dry and frayed at the ends, which even Vox knew wasn't healthy.
Alastor was all but asleep as Vox drained the tub and wrapped him with a towel, drying his hair as best as he could. His ears twitched and tried to avoid being handled, but they had to be dried regardless.
As he grabbed the burlap sack, Alastor whined, "Do I have to wear that?"
"Yes? Your wound needs redressing."
"Can't you do it?"
"Why would I? That's what I got the nurses for."
"Does it disgust you? My injury?"
"Pfft, no," Vox chuckled, gesturing to himself, "Al, I'm an overlord in Hell. I've seen every kind of dismemberment, disembowelment, and beheading there is to see. I'm not queasy at the sight of blood-"
They locked eyes, something hurt in Alastor's expression making Vox pause.
"Then why are you avoiding it?"
Vox sighed, mostly just to fill time for him to collect his thoughts. "I'm no medic, Al," he sat on the bathroom tile, meeting Alastor at the same level. "Your condition is… precarious. Would you like me to twist you the wrong way and make you more paralyzed? Maybe just the legs weren't enough for you?"
He probably was sounding a little hostile, but something was wrong with the direction of the conversation and he couldn’t help it. What was the point of having hired nurses if he just wanted an inexperienced businessman to tend after him instead? Alastor clearly still wasn't right in the head.
"Vox, they were fine with teaching you how to help earlier, and who knows how long this injury will take to heal? They can't be here for the rest of their afterlives."
Vox only just refrained from telling him how they would be here for the rest of their afterlives, because the second Vox decided so, they'd both be dead.
"I'm improving slowly, so I figured…" Alastor shrugged. "I figured we would save our pockets if you could do the caring. And maybe burn that stupid sack."
Vox laughed, honestly surprised by the confession. He hadn't had a second thought about his spending habits in years, and here Alastor was concerned about penny-pinching. "Al, you don't need to worry about money at all! Did you forget I own an entire company? I could have an entire private hospital reserved for you, if I wanted."
Alastor didn’t seem impressed by that, "That's not what I want, though. I don’t want to hide in our own home, Vox."
The words struck deep, 'our home.'
It was, even though Alastor knew nothing of the rest of the apartment. Vox had changed his schedule, his habits, and his sacred space to allow for Alastor to recover in it.
It struck Vox suddenly, how Alastor really did believe they were wed. He fully believed they shared this home, and that's why he wasn't shy about disrobing. For Alastor, as a married pair, they have already shared everything that needs to be shared. Alastor was weak and genuinely needed help, and who else was he to trust than his own husband?
To decide to marry despite the hellscape they lived in, they had agreed to go to any end necessary to protect each other, even if they would become a glaring weakness for other sinners to prey upon. It wouldn't normally affect them, as they were both powerful overlords, but Alastor was crippled and gravely wounded. He couldn't survive on his own.
Vox had no reply to give him, just collecting Alastor to return him to the care of his nurses.
He left quickly, ignoring Alastor's concerned voice.
Vox is annoyed with Valentino's childishness, and starts to take on more responsibilities with Alastor. They read a book together, sharing personal space.
Rosie worries about Charlie and the hotel, and has a chat with Vaggie about Alastor.
---
After the reveal of Vox and Alastor's 'marriage,' life was great. If Vox just ignored the blatant childish behaviour of Valentino, everything would've been perfect.
His lover was being outrageously stubborn, not answering his calls, texts, or e-mails. It was fine though, as most of his business proceedings could be handled by himself without the other Vees getting in the way. He actually found that there was less collateral damage to deal with, giving him more time to persuade and charm, rather than having to apologize and grovel over Velvette's attitude and Valentino's misdemeanors.
So Valentino could stay down in his film studios, smoking whatever he wanted and fucking whoever he wanted and Vox would be just fine about it.
He had Alastor to take care of now, instead.
In just the last three days, Alastor has touched Vox more than they have in 70 years of battles. There's a certain rush of something pleasant that ran through Vox every time Alastor reached out to hold Vox's hand or tilted his head just so to listen to Vox's every word.
Before, he could only dream of what an affectionate Alastor would be like, and Vox found he felt an odd mixture of excitement and disappointment.
Every touch was intoxicating and a small victory in and of itself, as Vox has had to endure for so long for Alastor to finally be the one to reach out first. However, the most he did was those small gestures; the hand-holding, the leaning in with attention, the accepting of Vox touching his person.
He felt like Alastor was finally settling into the relationship, and it made him giddy inside, but Vox wanted more. He wanted to hold him, and to be held by him; to be kissed by him and kiss him back. Vox's greed was unending, imagining what more their relationship could hold.
In his attempts to spend more time with him, Vox has started helping out with his physical therapy, doing more than just accompanying him through it, but also being the one to hold and stretch him instead of one of the nurses.
He couldn't be there for every one, as he had to balance meetings and news broadcasts that he had to attend in person, but Alastor seemed more willing to behave as they worked through them while he was there.
Other than the physio and the memory-quizzing, the two found their spare time filled with stories. Once Vox had filled Alastor in on every rumour or theory he could scrounge up and found Alastor still wanting, they had turned to the books Vox owned.
He didn't own a very impressive collection, if Alastor's reactions to his readings of summaries and reviews were anything to go by, but the alternative was sitting in awkward silence.
Vox apparently wasn't too good at picking out books, but he hoped he made up for it with his performances of them. He was a TV personality for which most of his career was before teleprompters were widely used, and thus, was proud of his reading comprehension and his short-hand memorization skills. He could embellish and emphasize well, and had a small array of accents he could pull off with some success to make the storytelling more entertaining.
Alastor always drifted to sleep only after a chapter or two, his energy levels just as damaged and impeded as he was physically. It dragged out the book for longer than Vox and his speed-reading liked, but the opportunity to watch Alastor sleep was a fine substitute for his unbridled attention.
Today was a special day though, as Alastor at one point stalled Vox's reading and pat the bed with stubborn intent, "Come here, dear, I'd like to follow along this time."
Vox's heart soared, even before he could ask for clarification. His desires didn't need his permission to fill his brain with wild ideas, and he almost shivered in anticipation. "You want me to move closer?" he asked, measuring his voice.
Alastor shook his head, patting the space beside him on the bed again, "Join me up here, I can't see that far."
The reminder that Alastor needed glasses was secondary to the realization that his heart was right. Alastor was already taking their relationship a step further, even if it was only to sit side-by-side for reading together.
Sometimes Vox got up on the bed for Alastor's examinations, but only when the nurses needed Vox to prop Alastor up so they could reach his back, but this was for a prolonged amount of time and by Alastor's request, which was new.
"Of course," he hoped the excitement wasn't too obvious in his voice.
He handed the book over to Alastor, who flipped it from cover to back, holding it close to look it over. Vox tried to quickly calculate what his prescription could be, and wondered if it would be worth it to try and hunt down Alastor's monocle instead of just buying him a new pair of glasses. He can't recall if he told the first set of nurses to preserve his belongings or not. That monocle could be in his apartment or in the trash.
Noting it down for later, Vox peeled the blanket back and pushed Alastor's unresponsive legs to the far side of the bed. He looked at him as he asked, "Can you move yourself today?"
Alastor held the book to his chest, clearly assessing himself. He shook his head, "Best get it done quickly; you may do it."
Vox nodded, and stepped around the bed to grab Alastor, sliding him over a few inches like he did his legs. The man tensed, face pinched as he just adjusted through the aftermath.
Vox let Alastor have some time, roaming back around the bed to where he just made enough space for him to fit. "Al, I'm climbing in now," he warned him, sitting down and bringing his legs up. Vox kicked off his shoes, pulling the blanket back over their laps and leaning back onto the plush pillows.
Alastor's only acknowledgment was a searching hand, patting his thigh when he found it. Vox entwined their hands together, waiting for the evident flare of pain to pass.
It lasted only a minute longer, Alastor handing Vox his book back. Vox balanced it on his lap, not wanting to give up Alastor's hand. The book was from a Hell-only series, some romance story between a contractor and contractee. It was mildly interesting to Vox, mostly because the author had taken liberties with how contracts were made and structured.
Alastor huffed softly whenever the main characters did something overly sentimental, and if he wasn't drifting to sleep, he'd be willing to discuss the ramifications such a relationship would've had.
Vox opened the book to their last page, and resumed reading.
Alastor leaned over, and rested his head on Vox's shoulder, making Vox stutter and his voice crack on a word. He read on, basking in Alastor's slight weight pressed against him. He wasn't too warm, unlike Valentino, and that soft spot in his heart sung.
This was how it was meant to be, and it felt wonderful to finally have it.
---
Rosie worried about Charlie.
The poor girl was a wreck, still. It was clear that she was trying to pick up the broken pieces of her heart and move on, but it was a sad thing to watch.
The Hazbin Hotel losing not one, not two, but three of their members all at once was hard to adjust to. They had been a tight-knit group and Charlie was such a soft-hearted girl, it was no wonder she'd taken it so hard.
Charlie was trying to resume her normal duties, but she'd started taking to them with a manic energy, forcing cheer and smiles that were painfully obvious.
Rosie tried to stay near, to offer her a comforting word of advice, to try and steer her through her grief. She'd had her fair share of mourning over her long life, and could instantly tell when someone was dealing with it hard. Rosie prided herself on helping others in the emotional aspect, and even the most messy of relationships could be smoothed over with her patient hands.
Rosie was glad that Charlie had Vaggie. The two made up wonderfully after their previous tiff, of which for Rosie had first given advice to Charlie, and the fallen angel was a solid rock for the princess to ground herself on.
Vaggie was overworked, however, so Rosie tried to help around the Hotel whenever she could. Cooking a meal here or there was the least she could do, she would say.
The entire outcome of the hotel was a mixed affair for Rosie. She wasn't exactly on either side of the argument that sinners could be redeemed, but she cared for Charlie's safety. There were good reasons why she'd sent Alastor here contractually.
It was just a shame he'd gone and gotten himself killed for the project.
She was truly upset with the outcome of the Extermination, but Rosie turned that anger on herself. She thought, in hindsight, that she could have participated in the battle that day. Maybe her presence would have forced Alastor to think a little more about his actions.
Of course he'd bitten off more than he could chew, Alastor was a prideful man, who for near a century now, had the power to back that up. Of course he'd been left to fight Adam, everyone in the hotel knew he was powerful, but none of them knew how his power worked. Only Rosie did.
She should've been there, and maybe Vox wouldn't have gotten his grubby claws on her property.
She was, most of all, angry with Vox.
She was still unsettled about the announcement. Her deal with Alastor did not break the day that he would've died; it had broken the 7th day after, when Vox had broadcasted it, and it didn't make sense.
Her only thought was that maybe Vox had taken him prisoner and tortured him for seven days before putting him out his misery, and the thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Alastor had been her best asset. She would never find another like him.
She sometimes thought back to that conversation she had with Husk, where she amused the idea of marching up to Vee Tower to give the man a piece of her mind.
No one had known that Alastor had been her property, and it would be in her right, as his soul owner, to take up arms against Vox, but the secret had been kept for so long it didn't even really matter anymore. Revealing it now would only suffer his reputation more, and she had enough respect for Alastor to not step on his grave.
"Miss Rosie?" Vaggie was peering into the kitchen where Rosie was elbow deep in the hotel's dish pit.
Seeing her unsure expression, Rosie was quick to leave the task and take a tea towel to dry off her hands. This deserved her full attention, so she gestured to the breakfast table in the corner, "Just Rosie is fine, darling. Now," she took Vaggie's hands as they sat down together, "How can I help you? Is it the residents? The reporters? Just say the word."
As if to add insult to injury, Vox has not only taken the Hotel's primary line of defense, but has also taken to dragging its name through the mud. Every week there was some new made-up slander and it was hurting their mission. Sinners were harder than ever to recruit for redemption and reporters flocked to their doors at all hours just searching for a sensation piece.
Vaggie and Charlie were faltering, clear as day that they had no media training. Rosie did her best to intercept and delay the two groups from interacting whenever possible.
Vaggie fidgeted, searching for her words, "There's something I want to talk to Charlie about, but I'm afraid of it not going over well. I don't want to undo all our work on her grieving process."
Rosie hummed, "That does sound difficult. Could I ask what it is that you want to talk to her about? It might help."
"It's about Alastor."
"Ouf," Rosie hissed. That'd be the equivalent of getting punched right in the face.
Sir Pentious and Dazzle's deaths were equally gaping wounds, Charlie and co. having watched it happen first hand. They were both quick, however, and definitive in their minds. There was nothing more that could've been done to save them.
Alastor, however, was a series of what-ifs. Charlie was stuck on crafting scenarios where she could've gotten him a happy ending, how she could've saved his life somehow. She should've fought with him, she should've went searching for him, she should've guessed Vox would show up to prey on Alastor's moment of weakness.
It was unending.
Rooting up the subject of Alastor purposefully was dangerous territory.
"What about him, specifically?"
Vaggie sighed, "Charlie had a deal with him."
Rosie blinked, as this was news to her. Alastor was a clever little snake, it seemed. Had he been planning on keeping this from her? Immediately, infinites bloomed through her mind. What could Alastor have asked of her in return for his services? What services had he offered? Had it been a recent development or was the deal from the very beginning?
Had Rosie's instructions not been clear?
Vaggie continued, seeing as Rosie had yet to speak, "I just... want to know if it'll have bad karma or something. I don't know what happens to deals between demons when one of the people involved dies. I just want to make sure Charlie will be okay."
Rosie laughed it off, hoping to instill peace in Vaggie, "Oh dearie, that's nothing to worry about! A deal breaks immediately upon a participant's death, and there's no real harmful backlash due to it. It feels a little unpleasant, but it's mostly just the rush of unused magic returning to you. It wouldn't have hurt Charlie physically at all."
Vaggie sighed with relief, "Oh thank god."
"Does that settle everything? Or were you still hoping to talk to Charlie about it?"
She shook her head, and smiled at her, "That helped me a ton. Thank you, Rosie."
Rosie smiled in return, curiosity burning inside her. "It's my pleasure, my dear," she said, pulling her hands free. She got to her feet, and went about preparing a pot of tea for them. She used her magic to speed up the process, placing a cup down in front of Vaggie. "Now," she took her seat again, boring an intense stare into Vaggie's eye, "Do you know what their deal was about?"
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Vox and Alastor have a private conversation, in which Vox convinces Alastor that they are married. Vox tells him an adjusted story about extermination day and his involvement with the Hazbin Hotel, and Alastor comes to the conclusion that they purposely set him up to die or at the very least get amnesia.
---
Vox waited a few days for Alastor to adjust to their routine. He waited for the confusion upon waking to subside, and the slurring of his words to disappear. The distinct old radio filter was still absent, but Vox figured either Alastor didn't remember that he used it or didn't have the power to activate it. It helped keep his identity from the new nurses, so Vox would figure out how to correct it at a later date.
Alastor didn't outwardly complain about the physical therapy sessions, bearing them with a stiff grin as they stretched weak muscles and put him through exercises to start regaining their lost strength.
What did strike a fuss with him was the continued routine of rolling him on his sides once a day with massages and lotions to help prevent bedsores. Having been unconscious for these previously, he had been blissfully unaware of the pain it caused.
He became a sobbing mess during them, the cocktail of drugs he's on not enough to fully fight back the pains of his body as it was strained and pressured by the movements.
Vox would deny it, but he got immense satisfaction from comforting Alastor through it all. He's lucky that while the nurses are present Alastor wore the sack over his head, so Vox can smile sadistically unimpeded.
It was a boring sunday evening when Vox decided to initiate his genius plan.
Vox closed and locked the bedroom door after the nurses left for the night, and relieved Alastor of his disguise. Its cute how Alastor's ears perk up and he blinked deliberately to adjust to the light every time.
"Finally," Alastor sounded relieved. He watched attentively as Vox sat in the bedside chair, soaking in the sights after hours of being blinded. "What's the topic for today?" he asked, sounding eager for company.
Vox had been exploring Alastor's memory by asking him trivia questions. Sometimes he picked things that the old Alastor would specifically know, such as the specs of radios or how to carve a body for cannibalistic meals. Other times he'd ask more generally about things like the socio-economics of Pentagram City, the Pride Ring, or all of Hell itself.
Interestingly enough, Alastor recollected a fair amount about how Hell operated, though he'd yet to mention his own overlord status, or how long he's been down here for.
"I figured we'd have a talk about ourselves, today," Vox wanted to ease into the conversation, not sure how Alastor would take the news he would deliver. "You remember me, right?"
Alastor nodded, "You're Vox, and you're an overlord, a powerful one." These were all facts he had to be told. "You were the one to save me after the Extermination… a month ago?"
"Yes," he nodded, putting a smile on his face and projecting patience. "Have you remembered anything of that day yet?"
Alastor shook his head, closing his eyes. "Not much. There's… something that broke in my hands, and pain. Then I think I saw you?" His eyes opened, a crease in his brow. He pointed at Vox with a claw, "There was something bright blue, like your screen."
"I did pick you up after everything, and I brought you here to recover."
"Mhm. Why? Hell really isn't the environment for one to help out others on the brink of death. Makes me wonder what you want in return."
The moment of truth arrived. Vox had practiced lines in his head for hours, wondering which wording would go over best. Despite his years of practice writing speeches and reports, he hated each draft and decided to throw them all out. Vox, calculating and meticulous, decided to let it cobble together on the fly. He decided to be genuine with his emotions.
Vox let the sincerity show on his face, and said, "Al, I don’t want anything in return, I did it because I love you."
Alastor's eyes snapped wide, staring at Vox with pure shock. "What?" he asked, voice small and breathy. He looked away suddenly, confusion rolling over his features as he thought it over, eyes darting around quickly.
Vox looked down at his entwined hands, feeling remarkably like he had all those years ago in that bar where he got turned down the first time.
His shoulders sank, fear coiling in his gut the longer Alastor didn’t reply. He waited for the laughter, for the mocking nature of Alastor's incoming rejection. He did this all wrong, again.
"Are we… a pair?"
Vox looked up, startled by the searching gaze of Alastor's. It was an odd question to ask, and certainly not what Vox had been expecting. "A pair?" he echoed.
"I don't know if I feel…" he hesitated, gesturing vaguely to Vox. He paused to think again, his following words slow in clear attempted rationale, "If you've protected me for nothing in return… and I do enjoy your company… The only explanation left is that we were together, in some way? Was this a deal? Or were we allied?"
Static danced across Vox's antennae, his face glitching. A tiny glimmer of hope was shining down on him, the promise of the plan suddenly dazzling. Alastor wasn't laughing. He wasn't dismissing his confession.
He was thinking they were together, despite any hesitance he had.
He had said it first.
"Yes," his voice came out strangled. "Yes," he tried again, joy bleeding through his core. "Yes, we are!" He jumped to his feet, reaching over to grab Alastor's hands, and he cupped them gently. He was careful of the IV in the back of Alastor's left hand, and placed a kiss on the back of his right, "I mean, if you think our marriage is a deal, then yes!"
He watched with delight as the shock on Alastor's face deepened, his jaw dropping. "No," he whispered, something broken in his tone.
Vox's heart dropped, "No?"
"Vox, why didn't you tell me sooner? It's been days-"
His stomach was doing summersaults. Did Alastor believe him or not? His only consolation was that he wasn't laughing yet. "I- it's a lot to take in, and you- you were so confused. I didn't want to overwhelm you," he lied out his ass.
Alastor entwined his hands in with Vox's properly, holding them as tightly as he could. His stare was intense, and displeased. "I don’t like that you kept this from me."
"I was just-"
"What, did you think I was too fragile to handle this? Vox, its just amnesia, this is exactly the type of thing you should be telling me the second you found out-"
"No! I just- I wanted to bring it up at a good time, and clearly I picked wrong," he hung his head, actually feeling real shame. "That's on me, I'm sorry. I should've said something sooner."
That seemed to only just barely appease Alastor, "You should have."
Vox's head was spinning.
Alastor continued, relaxing further into his pillows and letting Vox's strength hold his hands up, "Well, I suppose as penance you'll have to spend the evening being questioned."
"Oh yeah?" Vox perched on the edge of the bed, letting their hands rest on their laps. The air between them no longer felt tense, falling into that softness he was really beginning to like.
"Mhmm," Alastor nodded, giving him a smirk, "You have much to fill me in on, dear."
Vox's face flushed, that teasing 'dear' repeating in his head on loop. "Y-yeah?"
"My husband is being quite rude, keeping all of our memories to himself!"
Vox nodded in agreement, but he hadn't heard past the second word. Husband. Alastor had called him husband.
This was the greatest day of his life and afterlife.
Vox's hands twitched, the desire to fan them or something very strong. He sputtered various attempts to speak, but his mind couldn’t understand anything other than Alastor's unfiltered voice saying, 'Husband.' He felt higher than any drug could deliver, squirming where he sat.
Alastor tried to laugh, the air wheezing out of him as he pulled a hand free to place it bracingly against his sternum. Despite the pain clear in his eyes, he seemed mischievous. "Oh? Did you like hearing that, love?" he said with a growing rasp that was very attractive.
Something popped and sizzled inside Vox, smoke escaping his fans and his screen fell dark. His whole operating system ground to a halt, the curl of Alastor's words running like a physical current through his body.
Vox rebooted to that annoying oximeter alarm going off again. As his display flickered back on, he saw Alastor gasping desperately for breath. His eyes were tightly shut, hands scrabbling at his chest. Vox recognized the pattern for what it was; Alastor accidentally stressing his weak lungs and causing a horrible flare of pain.
"Al, it's okay-" he quickly pulled Alastor's hands free, carefully inspecting him for signs of bleeding. Everything seemed in order, including his oxygen tubes and IV medications. "Just breathe, you'll catch your breath," he soothed a hand across Alastor's.
There was repeated knocking at the door, undoubtedly the nurses responding to the alarm, but physically incapable of entering without permission.
He ignored them, and accessed his connection to the camera in the room to check what he missed. Alastor had chuckled, which caused a coughing fit. It lasted the 45 seconds it took for Vox to reassert himself.
Breath starting to even out, Alastor smiled up at Vox, "You… make… me laugh…"
Unwelcome, memories of long ago came to mind. How Alastor had laughed so uproariously, so unable to keep himself upright he had used the bar top as means to steady himself. It was a wonder Alastor hadn't needed to wipe tears from his eyes, he'd been cackling so hard.
It'd been beyond embarrassing, sitting in a bar that'd become a comfortable space with a good friend, and getting his entire world-view shattered mercilessly.
He'll always be the butt of the joke when it came to Alastor, it seemed.
Vox started to rise, a mix of shame and hurt coiling inside him, "Should I get the nurses?"
Alastor pulled at their joined hands, shaking his head, "No need, I… I just need a moment."
Vox reluctantly took his seat. "Leave us be," he called out loud enough to dismiss the hired help, then reached over to manually silence the alarm. His knowledge of medical equipment has been steadily increasing with observance of the nurses and his own curiosity leading to sporadic searches about what this-or-that does.
It was a quiet few minutes before Alastor properly caught his breath. To avoid relentlessly overanalyzing every interaction he's had with him, Vox tried reading over some prospective deals with other companies he's been neglecting while he waited.
"What are you doing?" Alastor eventually asked, squinting at the holograms in front of Vox.
"Working," Vox threw one up closer to Alastor, displaying a basic viewership chart of his more popular channels. Nothing someone couldn't find out on their own, so he wasn't risking any important information. Not that Alastor had anyone to share it with, but better safe than sorry.
"Oh," Alastor reached to touch it, intrigued as his hand wafted through the hologram harmlessly. "You don't need to be at your work desk?"
"Nope! I can access everything right here," he tapped at the corner of his screen. "Perks of being the Media Overlord, I can access every phone, computer, and device that my company produces. I can work from anywhere," he boasted.
"Fascinating," Alastor did sound at least a little bit interested, but waved at the hologram insistently, so Vox pulled it away and dismissed it. "So," he let Vox's hand go to fold his together, looking at Vox expectantly.
Vox finished a message quickly before swiping it away, and mirrored Alastor, "So?"
"You must know me best, then, if we are so close, so I must ask; what happened the day I got injured? What on earth was I doing outside during an Extermination?"
Vox blinked. Of course Alastor would want to know. He didn't know why he didn't think to prepare an answer beforehand.
Good thing he was an old hand at manipulating information, with a convenient smear-campaign of formulated ill-intents to pull on.
Vox wanted to smirk, but pulled on a more compassionate expression instead. "You've been helping out this charity case lately. Something about owed favours by powerful people in exchange for your support," it was an educated guess, based on Vox's knowledge of Alastor as a person. He never did anything unless it served him in some way, shape, or form. Vox just couldn't fathom what the princess could offer Alastor. "They angered the angels, made them start an Extermination a whole six months early. They demanded you fight for them, and you almost died for it."
"We fought the angels?" Alastor sounded as incredulous as Vox had been when he heard that the Hazbins intended to fight.
Vox pulled on nonexistent anger, hoping to come across as a defensive husband, "They didn't listen to our warnings, they just said that they had figured out some way to kill them. I didn't get there until after you fell, but from what I understand, they forced you to fight the head angel. The general of their army, an archangel."
"Excuse me?" the disbelief was clear in his voice, the raspy quality of it only adding to it. It added life to his words in a way similar to how his radio filter did. "I fought an archangel? Why would I agree to-? How-?" he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking some measured breaths.
Vox could recognize an attempt to calm oneself down when he saw it.
"I don’t know all the details," Vox said, "But I don’t like whatever's happening down at that project of yours. I don’t want you going back down there." He didn't, but not because he wanted to protect him from the princess, but just because Alastor was his now, and he was never going to let him go again.
"I have no idea what I was thinking," Alastor shook his head. "Getting involved with people who stoke Heaven's wrath? Whatever for?"
"The deal was probably good in the long run, but it soured real fast."
Vox has had plenty of experience with bad deals, since deals were the bread and butter of hell, and occasionally you've found the bread has gone moldy without you noticing. He assumed Alastor was the same, though Vox also assumed Alastor was capable of spinning a bad deal around in his favour somehow anyway.
"Do they even know that I got injured? Have they tried to contact you at all?" Alastor asked, a furrow in his brow.
They haven't, because they all believed Alastor to be dead, but Vox didn't want to share that. Instead, he said, "I haven’t heard a peep from them. They probably just used you for your strength, and abandoned you when they had the chance. I had to dig you out of the ruins of the battlefield. No one else had gone searching for survivors."
Alastor hummed, contemplative, "All that for nothing?"
Vox shrugged, not sure where Alastor's thought process went. He had almost expected the other to get mad at the fact they'd abandoned him. He seemed to have gotten real cozy down at the Hazbin Hotel, enough that he'd staked it as his own little territory to protect when Alastor was infamously known to own no territory.
"Maybe you did get your part already?" Vox wondered, again curious of what Alastor had wanted from the princess of Hell of all people. "The amnesia is kind of in the way of knowing that or not, though."
"A convenient conclusion."
"How?"
"I help them, they toss me aside, and conveniently I am unable to speak of how I was used and unable to reap my reward?"
Vox thought it over, at first admiring Alastor's sharp mind pulling conclusions with near nothing to go off of. Then what he was implying sunk in, "You think they ensured you'd get amnesia?"
"It would serve them, wouldn't it? Not having to fork out whatever I had demanded in return for my services. It's either that or they hoped it'd kill me. It almost did," he rubbed at his bandaged chest gently.
It was an angle from an extremely jaded man, seeing only what others had to gain from him, but it was the perfect excuse. Alastor had just given him the easy way out of every attachment he could've still had to that place. If he really believed he was betrayed by his 'friends,' then he'd never desire to return there.
The funniest part was that Alastor's injuries were all incidental. The wound was unfortunate, but simply the cost of being at battle. The amnesia was of no one's fault, merely the side effect of too many things piling up. Even his paralysis was an accident, his spine getting struck in just the right way.
For a moment, the footage of Alastor's battle against Adam flashed through Vox's mind. He'd recorded the encounter, of course, and has watched it over several times since. The strike he'd taken to his chest had blown Alastor away, hitting his back against the cement half-wall of the hotel's roof.
If that wasn't the cause, the thrashing Vox had given him in his radio tower certainly hadn't helped. It felt good, wrapping Alastor in his wires and cords and whipping the man back and forth into every surface of that trashed tower.
"I agree," Vox cupped his chin, making a perfect tableau of a pensive man. "I guess we'll never know, if you can't remember yourself. I don't want to do business with them if this is how they conduct their deals."
"That's probably for the best," Alastor gave a pointed grimace, but waved the conversation on; "Now, why don't you tell me more about yourself?"
Vox grinned, exited to show off to a more receptive Alastor of all his accomplishments.
here's a little more about my radiorose fanchild au!
if you havent seen the previous, meet elodie!
as a young child, elodie was targeted during an extermination and alastor risks his life to save her. blinded, injured across his chest and in his hip, alastor now requires a cane to walk.
alastor completely retreats from public eye, even around cannibal town.
elodie struggles to understand his injuries's consequences and her clinginess triples. rosie teaches elodie some first aid, letting her help take care of alastor
and if anyones wondering, this part in particular was inspired by sittinginacoffeshop's fic "where love lies" on ao3
Alastor wakes up, and the extent of his injuries are discovered; he's vastly weakened, and suffering from amnesia and paralysis from the hips down. He doesnt remember Vox at all, which gives Vox an idea and he wishes to earn a kiss from Alastor.
---
Vox, despite his current spat with Valentino, kept his promise a week later. He murdered the two nurses the day after they had Alastor stable enough to take him off the ventilator. He did so with angelic steel, ensuring that their knowledge of Alastor's continued life would never escape to the wrong ears.
He then hired two more, and pulled them under the same contract. It was a strong non-disclosure contract that prevented them from telling others about their current patient, place of residence, or essentially speaking at all. They could only discuss things amongst themselves and Vox, who held the role of their contractor and Alastor's medical authority. He kept them in-house, like their two predecessors, a sub-clause in their contracts making them physically unable to leave the apartment. Vox was happy his deals had become strong enough for this, wondering how long he's been able to do this and hasn't had the knowledge to even try it.
He just noted it as another boon from his announcement that he defeated Alastor, essentially taking his position as the strongest sinner in hell, and thus, had many more abilities he had to uncover.
This time, he took extra steps to protect Alastor's identity - namely covering the demon's head with a burlap sack whenever he permitted the two to enter Alastor's room. He denied paranoia, but the cameras he installed suggested otherwise.
Alastor had downgraded to only needing some oxygen assistance, so he had a steady supply through a nasal cannula that meant he wouldn't suffocate inside the sack. He looked ridiculous, and Vox filed the pictures away for later. He couldn't wait until he could embarrass the hell out of Alastor when he was awake again.
His wound proved stubborn to heal, still grisly and expansive a month in, now. A powerful demon like Alastor should have healed by now, the wound a mere scar to be remembered by, but it has only improved by a small measure. The outside edges were scarring over, but the slightest movement in the wrong way would pop the stitches open and make it start its sluggish bleeding again.
There was also the massive bruising all down his back that looked painful and the nurses seemed concerned about the extent of the damage it may or may not be causing. It was also receding slower than expected.
The new nurses started discussing weaning Alastor off the sedatives, exchanging them for a heavy duty painkiller they could keep him on long-term. They worried about the state of his mind under continued heavy sedation.
Vox allowed this, wanting the chance to speak to Alastor again. He was an impatient and greedy man by nature, and so patted himself on the back for waiting for this long. He'd just been so busy with making a few new alliances with other overlords, trying to cement his position in the power vacuum that Alastor's 'death' left behind.
The transition went smoothly under his supervision, and there was no sign of change for hours before Alastor started thrashing his arms about later that night. The nurses tried to hold him still, but he only calmed once he heard Vox's voice.
He was only semi-conscious at most; giving weak attempts to speak between hoarse coughing that had him crying out in pain.
That night Vox ended up holding Alastor's hand while he slept, the sinner kicking up a fuss whenever Vox tried to take his hand back. It ignited conflicting feelings in Vox; enough to stew over that it welcomed him to the small hours of the next morning.
He's never held Alastor's hand genuinely like this before. Of course, Alastor wasn't opposed to shaking a gent's hand in greeting or business, but those were social cues the showman wouldn't be caught dead dismissing. His own brand of deals were even bred over handshakes.
Sitting in the silence of his spare bedroom and sitting vigil over Alastor's wounded form, holding his hand, it felt intimate. Something he'd dreamt of once upon a time.
Vox realized the past month has been very self-indulgent of himself. He gazed over Alastor's uncovered face, only so because the nurses were out dozing on the couch.
Of course he still desired after the man. Alastor was strong, charismatic, intelligent, and handsome. His prestige around The Pentagram was something he'd aspired for, and had achieved, if not in the same way. Vox was supposed to be an equal for Alastor, but somehow he was the opposite. Alastor had said it himself; ’I am quite disappointed in you.’
And here Vox was, all these years later, still desperate to try and prove Alastor wrong.
Alastor started to fuss again, and Vox rose from his seat nearby to perch on the edge of the bed instead. He was ready to contain him in case he started throwing his arms around violently. He couldn't let him undo a month's time of work of tending to his injuries.
"Alastor," he started talking, wondering if his voice would be enough to keep him calm a second time. "Are you awake? It's been a whole month," he studied the features of the man below him curiously. He was clean, but the inactivity was clear as day on his body. Alastor had lost both weight and muscle, and he looked worn out and ill despite the fact that he's done nothing but rest for the last month. Infection hadn't set in, but the threat was still serious. "Y'know, I know you enjoy being difficult, but this is a bit much, don't you think? Gotta wake up some time…"
Alastor made a small noise, his ear twitching and perking up.
"You listening, you dumb deer?" He withheld the urge to pat the man's cheek, one hand held tightly in Alastor's, and the other holding him aloft as he bent over the bed.
Hazy eyes cracked open, so unfocused they were facing opposite directions. A slow, heavy blink righted them together and they peered over Vox's close display.
"Alastor?" Vox watched as he continued to struggle to keep them open. "Hey, focus, here," he brought his hand entwined with Alastor's up to his face, pointing at his eyes.
Ears slow to twist towards his voice, Alastor's eyes trailed slowly after their hands. Vox couldn't tell what Alastor was thinking, let alone if any of his words were actually being heard.
A hum, crackled with weakness, escaped Alastor. It lacked the filter that he usually spoke through, sounding far too human for Vox's liking.
Their eyes finally locked, the pain and exhaustion clear to see in Alastor's. Vox, a little surprised that Alastor didn't lock into a façade of choice immediately upon waking up, stalled from his next insult.
Alastor licked his lips, inspecting his sharp teeth as he moved his mouth hesitantly. "Why're you holdin' me-?" he asked, trying to pull his hand away.
Vox scrunched his brows, and wondered why he didn't immediately start accusing Vox of this or that. Memories of the encounter in the radio tower came to mind, and how clearly Alastor had wanted to retreat. "You nearly died, and all you really got to say is that?"
That stalled Alastor, his ever-present smile wavering, "Died?"
Vox leaned back, finally letting Alastor's hand go. It fell heavily to the bed, not an ounce of effort used to keep it aloft. Alastor winced.
Vox threw his arms wide, gesturing to the room at large, "Take a look, Al, I've got you! D'you really think I'm worth nothing still?"
Alastor slowly roamed his gaze around the room, catching on the medical equipment and the bland walls. The curtain to the window was drawn, and the door to leave was closed to ensure their privacy. "You… sav'd me?"
Vox laughed, wiping a non-existent tear when he let it go on for too long, "That's rich, real rich. I… acquired you because the opportunity proved beneficial to me, that's all. Not only do you owe me, but I have finally proven myself to be completely superior to you! Look at you, weak and helpless and finally at my mercy!"
Alastor blinked at him slowly, his attention listing to the side.
Vox leaned over him again, tapping at his face, "Hey, you're not allowed to ignore me anymore."
"Who?"
Vox sat back quickly, offense written all over his face. "No, no, you're not pulling that bullshit on me. It may have worked on that slithery doofus, but not me! Okay!" A spark rose from his antennae, a clear sign of indignation, "I am an Overlord, okay! Millions of people know my name and respect it! And you will too!"
Alastor swallowed, licking his lips again, "M's'rry… I don't r'call 'ur name…"
Vox stalled, his anger sputtering out into confusion. It didn't sound like he was trying to mess with him. Alastor's smile was small, not the shit-eating grin of satisfaction that riling him up usually earned. "…What?"
Alastor was quiet, averting his eyes in… shame?
"You're serious?"
Alastor remained silent.
Vox couldn't guess the first thing that was going through his mind, not even before all of this. Immediately, he wondered if this was some elaborate scheme of Alastor's, a way to manipulate him to some end goal he'd never see coming. Vox shook his head as though that would physically clear his doubts, and tried to look at the situation logically.
Alastor had been horribly injured, to extents they were still figuring out. The nurses had been concerned about his state of mind. During his fight with Adam, and then again during his fight with Vox, Alastor had been knocked around pretty seriously. Vox didn't know the prerequisites to rule out concussions against the effects of comas, but he was pretty sure they could both cause confusion.
He'd follow along for now, until the nurses could give him a more thorough examination and compile their findings to him.
Vox plastered on a smile, "It's Vox." It felt weird to introduce himself after so long, his name and company plastered all over Pentagram City. He was the most successful tech company in Hell, and here he was introducing himself to his own rival who'd been there throughout his rise to fame.
"Vox," Alastor tasted, "Hmm." His eyes closed, and he was completely still long enough for Vox to assume he'd fallen asleep, "I d'unno that name, m's'rry."
"It's me, Al," he pressed, feeling like maybe he was getting his leg pulled. "I'm Vox."
Red eyes dragged open to follow his form again, cataloguing him properly this time. His smile hadn't moved a millimetre, but his brows furrowed in concentration and his eyes were still dazed and searching. "Vox… Vox…" he gasped in pain, shutting his eyes tight. A hand twitched, and trembled as he tried to move it, but it remained at his side. "M' head h'rts…" he whined.
Vox, curse his soft spot for the other, was immediately concerned. He reached over and gently grabbed Alastor's head, turning it this way and that. He brushed through section after section of short hair to diligently check that his skull was intact. Over the last month, he's gotten used to the ministrations and hadn't noticed anything concerning, but the situation drove him to check again. Faced with nothing notable, he laid Alastor's head back gently. "You haven’t bled from your head at all," he reported, "You've been kept under for a while, so it might be temporary."
Alastor hummed tiredly.
Vox got to his feet, sliding away from looming above his rival. He checked his internal clock, noting how it wasn't too far off from Alastor's usual first check-up of the day. "You can go back to sleep, I'll send the nurses in, in a minute. I've got a business to take care of-"
"Why would you…?"
Vox blinked, turning back from where he'd made to leave, "Excuse me?"
Alastor looked unsure, gaze flitting back and forth. He took in a long breath to compose himself to speak- and broke out into awful wheezing coughs. He convulsed, and pain was evident in his tense frame.
"Shit-" Vox surged back to the bedside, placing a hand on Alastor's shoulder to help keep him reclined back. "Breathe, Al, you're okay-" he tried to soothe.
Alastor coughed for more than a minute, gasping hard between. A quiet alarm had been beeping, and Vox kicked blindly at the machine making it twice just trying to get it to shut up.
As his coughing gradually slowed to a stop, Alastor panted shortly and the alarm calmed. His eyes were hazy again, tears streaking his cheeks.
Crisis mostly solved, Vox started to pull away before he noted the blossoming red patch seeping through the bandages and cursed. Alastor probably tore the sensitive wound right back open. "Al, you're bleeding, I'll get the nurses-" He tried to stand, but Alastor's hand grappled for his and tried to hold him close.
"No, don't-"
It was easy for Vox to pry Alastor's weak hand away, and set it down, "Al, this is serious. You'll bleed out, I've got to."
Alastor devolved into whines, gasping in pain and clawing at his bandaged torso. Vox quickly grabbed the burlap sack and threw it over Alastor's head and summoned a few cords to hold the fumbling arms still so he couldn't hurt himself worse than he already has.
"Vox!" he cried.
"Just sit still for a minute, I'll be right back," he promised.
---
Vox sat in the corner all throughout the nurses' examination, recording the meeting himself as well as through the camera in the ceiling. He watched as they tended to Alastor's chest wound; the quiet process of removing broken sutures, cleaning it, and re-stitching it closed in record time despite the patient's squirming.
Vox took notes of anything interesting they discussed after, namely the expanding list of questions Alastor had no answer to.
He couldn't remember his birth date, or his death date. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten injured, or who by.
They were looking at a severe case of amnesia, and Vox didn't believe Alastor was that good of an actor to pull it off this well. Sure, he could play into a number of roles if they fit his needs, but there was always the tell-tale of irritation if one was looking for it.
The nurses catalogued it away, not seeming too concerned about it. At Alastor's persistent questions, they'd told him the memories simply would or wouldn't come back to him, and that there wasn't anything to be done about it.
They listened to his lungs, not apologizing when he growled as they pressed too hard here or there to check over his healing ribs. They moved each of his limbs, asking him to make a fist or wiggle his hooves. Alastor demonstrated he could move his hands slowly in full motion, but rotating or lifting his whole arm caused too much pain across his torso to bear for long.
His legs were completely unresponsive, even when Alastor had insisted in increasing agitation that he was trying. They pressed and poked all along his legs, testing muscles and nerves, and going higher and higher until he could finally respond positive to feeling sensation in his hips.
The daunting truth was such: Alastor, suffering from retrograde amnesia and paraplegia, had been completely and utterly honest when he spoke with Vox earlier.
Now, Vox still sat silently in the chair of the spare bedroom, watching over his slumbering prisoner. He'd dismissed the nurses after they've finished, and Alastor had soon fallen victim to his fatigue after they left.
Vox slouched, his elbows resting on the armrests, and his hands clutched by his chin. He glared over at Alastor, mind horribly blank. Every thought of gloating and of delivering reproachful speeches for thinking himself untouchable was now useless. Alastor had no idea who he was, or who he was to Vox.
Their companionship, their fallout, and their rivalry were all gone. It was all meaningless and forgotten.
Anger simmered just hot enough to set off his internal cooling system, the sound of his fans whirring helping fill the near silence of the room. Alastor's raspy breaths were smoother now that he'd been calmed from his panic, and the oxygen machine hummed lowly along with him. Vox and Alastor's breathing were both controlled by mechanical means now.
Ironic that the closest they've been in decades was when Alastor was no longer himself.
There were threads of the man still barely intact: the way he pulled away from the nurses' insistent touching; the way his smile never fell; or his proclivity to harm himself at the first hiccup.
He'd turned into a shade of himself, a shadow shaped by outside means.
Vox sat up, a wide-eyed look on his face.
A blank slate was blank for a reason, he mused. It was malleable, with limitless possibilities.
He could shape Alastor into the partner he wanted all those years ago. Someone who would praise his achievements and beg to be included in his plans.
Vox approached his sleeping ward once again, unmasking him slowly like he was savoring an important present. He leaned over him, carting a hand through his hair, watching his ears flick as sensitive strands were tussled. "Oh, Al," Vox whispered, "I have a great idea."
He holds in a satisfied chuckle, not desiring to be heard. Ideas rolled around in his head, the beginnings of a vast plan starting.
He brushed Alastor's lips with a claw, thinking about how he could easily steal a kiss, but he left it for now. It'll be sweeter if he earned it.
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Chapter summary:
Hell celebrates The Radio Demon's supposed death, Vaggie eavesdrops on an interesting conversation about Alastor between Husk and Rosie, and Valentino is upset over the attention that Vox is giving an unconscious Alastor over himself.
---
Hell celebrated The Radio Demon's death. For three days straight there were countless bonfires out in the streets, sinners and hellborn all out burning radios throughout The Pentagram. No one feared the consequences of doing so anymore, and even VoxTek brand radios had been tossed into the piles because the brand had never mattered to Alastor's control.
The airwaves were at long last freed of his collection of screams, and forums all across the internet discussed how the victims could finally rest. Many theorized that the victims' souls were still alive in the radio frequencies and that's why Alastor could leave them to scream endlessly on his stations.
Vox only lamented that Alastor wasn't awake to witness his fall from grace.
Meanwhile, the Hazbin Hotel descended into chaos.
Charlie was an emotional wreck, unable to go an afternoon without crying over Sir Pentious, Dazzle, or Alastor. Vaggie was stressed and overworked, having taken over the hotel's duties. She'd taken charge of Charlie's counseling duties, Alastor's managerial tasks around the building, all while holding to her own security efforts. It was too much for one person to handle, but Vaggie was left with little choice.
Angel was only seen once every twenty hours, and was always drunk or high when he was. Valentino's been calling on him relentlessly, and none of them had the power to protest, bound by contract as Angel was.
Lucifer hadn't been seen since the broadcast, off in his own world most likely. Everyone having learned since he moved in that the fallen angel had no concept of time, and were used to his absence. The likelihood that he remembered that he lived with other people aside from Charlie was low.
Husk and Niffty stood for the status quo of before the broadcast, or even before the battle. Husk was always reliably behind his bar, refusing to offer additional help, and also refused to talk about Alastor or what his agreement with him was that kept him here. Niffty, despite her initial breakdown, had also begun to act like nothing had changed.
Vaggie had asked if they were both going to stay onboard despite Alastor's death, since that meant that they were both no longer contractually obligated to remain.
Husk had said he'd gotten too used to it here and that he'd remain for 'a while longer,' though Vaggie knew he was spouting shit to keep up the 'my heart died a long time ago' persona of his. Niffty then said she was happy working here, and that here is where she'd stay until Alastor needed her again.
Vaggie tried to gently remind the little maid that Alastor was gone, but she refused to listen and Vaggie had other things to do with her time than convince her what was and wasn't true. The more time passed, she figured, the more reality would sink in for Niffty.
Rosie continued to be a welcome presence at the hotel. With her and Vaggie's combined efforts, Charlie was kept to a reasonable schedule so as to not crash and burn in her grief.
It wasn't unreasonable to find Rosie doling out advice and comfort to the residents and staff around the hotel, so Vaggie didn’t question it when she passed Rosie sitting at the bar with Husk one evening.
"-And you've gotten no commands since?" she was asking him.
"No, dead silence, I told you," Husk growled, clearly finished with the topic.
Vaggie stalled her steps, forgetting what she'd been doing in favour of listening. It clearly wasn't on the topic of mourning, as it was common knowledge that Husk was one of Alastor's many unwilling thralls.
She almost expected him to be celebrating his contractor's death, but he'd been tight-lipped. Either he really didn't care about others like he boasted, or he knew something that Vaggie didn't.
Unfortunately unfamiliar with the nuances of demon deals, other than that they were bad fucking news; Vaggie wondered what happened to a contract when one of the participants died. There was death every day down here in hell, so there must be some sort of rule or clause that was inherent to every deal.
She almost wondered if she would be upheld to the same rule, but remembered her 'deal' with Alastor was more of an agreement than a formal deal. She was smart to deny him that time, and any time after when he had tried again.
Perhaps Vaggie could ask Charlie about her deal with Alastor. Being the princess of hell might have some insight to the situation, but maybe it was too soon to talk to her about him. She would be too sensitive for the subject to go over well.
"That's a real shame," Rosie was saying. She traced a finger around a delicate glass of something she was drinking, "I was just thinking how odd it was that it didn't break until the broadcast. If he'd died right after the battle…"
Husk shrugged, "Maybe he really was hidin' out those seven days. Wouldn't put it past him. Wouldn't put it past Vox to lurk around 'till he popped back up again either. Either way, it doesn’t matter."
Rosie hummed, getting to her feet. She sorted her skirt, a mostly black piece that she'd taken to wearing in honour of her fallen people. "'Suppose it doesn't. I don't think Vox would take kindly to me marching up there for answers anyway."
Husk smirked, "I'd pay to see that."
"Don't tempt me, now, Husker," she wagged her finger at him, turning to leave despite her unfinished drink.
Vaggie moved on before she was caught eavesdropping.
---
Valentino disliked feeling like a scorned lover, but he couldn't deny that that was what he felt like.
After the conclusion of the Hazbin Hotel v Heaven debacle, The Vees were supposed to step into the power imbalance that hell would face. He understood Vox's desire for more popularity, for more revenue, for more control; Valentino himself enjoyed the high fame could give that rivaled a hit from any of his vices.
What he couldn't grasp was why Vox kept that damn deer alive.
After years of hearing complaint after complaint from Vox, Valentino had thought he had a good grasp on how he'd felt about Alastor. Rivals with a touch of sexual tension always made for a good script.
He'd genuinely believed himself when he called Vox out months ago with his statement that 'killing Alastor is your kink.' So why, in the seven rings of hell, did Vox not take the opportunity when he had it?
He had told all of the Pride Ring that he'd done so, boasting along with the celebrations that the sinners had thrown. He rotated as much of the Extermination footage as he could across most of his channels, and posted the images of his fight against Alastor all over his social medias.
The difference between the showboating actor and the downright lovesick man hovering over Alastor was difficult for Valentino to wrap his head around. Which one was the real Vox? The confident villain or the doting spouse?
Valentino watched with disgust as Vox caressed Alastor's face again. He turned his back to the sight at the end of the hall, crossing his arms and sinking sullenly into the couch he occupied in Vox's living room.
"I don't get it," he grumbled out loud, unafraid of anyone hearing it. Vox would only listen to Alastor's beating heart and rasping breaths when he was like this.
"You don't need to, Val," Velvette didn't look up from her nails, painting them in a fresh coat of black paint. She was sat cross-legged at the other end of the couch, a movie night freshly stalled because Vox had to go check on the invalid in the other room.
The nurses were sat silently in the corner of the room, facing each other with a sad deck of cards and noise-cancelling headphones perched on their heads. The headphones were a recent addition, all because Vox had noticed them observing a conversation between the three Vees once and his paranoia devoured the fact and twisted it.
Valentino has had the delight of meeting them a few times by now, always bustling around Vox's apartment since Alastor had moved in three weeks ago. Valentino was stopped no less than three times in his attempts to murder them, Vox always defending their usefulness and promising that he'll dispose of them himself when Alastor no longer needed round-the-clock care.
With Vox lately, it was always Alastor this, Alastor that; Valentino was tired of it.
"Yes, I do!" Valentino turned to Velvette, bearing his teeth. "What on earth changed, huh? You thought he wanted to kill him too, right?"
Velvette sighed, capping her polish. "Val, Vox is just feeling complicated feelings again. He'll make his mind up soon, it's just not easy to say goodbye to things that's gone on as long as those two have been dancing around each other."
"I thought Voxxy and I had something special?"
"You do, dipshit, I just said it's all in Vox's head. He's just a sentimental baby; you know how he's kept all his old heads in his office, right? You just gotta…" she rolled her hands around vaguely, "Remind him that you're the better model. Newer is better and all that."
Valentino huffed, not liking being put in the same category as that antique prude. Of course Valentino was the better choice; he actually pleased Vox, and on the regular, thank you very much.
Or at least, he was until three weeks ago.
Vox was too busy nowadays; launching new products, handling a smear campaign against the Hazbin Hotel, checking in on Alastor far too frequently, and trying to garner the favour of other overlords. He seemed to be networking with everyone except his own business partners.
It was a miracle that their movie night had remained scheduled as it was. Vox had only insisted it be in his penthouse this time, failing to convince the other two Vees that it was solely because he had the largest TV of the three of them.
His stewing was interrupted by Vox, who came storming out to the living room, and grabbed one of the nurses with a crushing grip to their arm. He practically threw them in the direction of the spare bedroom, a clear directive to get their ass back in there to tend to the unconscious demon. They were quick to hold their headphones in place so they didn't get knocked off their head and ran off with the other scrambling to follow.
Vox stood in their place almost panting, and Valentino took note of his tense stature and the blaring alarm that came from down the hall.
It was silenced quickly, but the way Vox closed his eyes and stroke at his face was tell enough for how much the hiccup had unsettled him.
"Voxxy," Valentino purred, getting up to go drape himself over his lover, "You're so tense, let me help with that~"
"Ugh, not with me here, Val," Velvette protested.
"Val," Vox huffed, brushing him off his shoulders, "We don't have time for that."
The denial had become typical, to Valentino's dismay. Vox never denied him before Alastor joined them in their tower, even during their busiest months of the year. There was simply nothing else to blame than the injured sinner. Valentino was tempted to go and kill the deer himself, but knew he'd be intercepted by Vox.
Valentino just grimaced, and planted himself back on the couch. He took up two seats, spreading his wings and limbs out, marking his territory. He glared at Vox, daring him to try and sit with him.
Vox sighed, and pulled over a chair from the nearby table. Vox's penthouse was relatively small, an open floor concept letting the kitchen, living room, and dining room blend into one wide open space. He didn't spend much time here, investing his money more into his impressive board rooms, offices, and his command centre.
-And his expensive taste in bioengineered shark aquariums.
There were reasons Valentino preferred his own penthouse, size and bland décor aside.
"Let's just get this over with," Vox sat, grumbling.
"You're acting like this is torture, Vee," Velvette said.
Vox threw his hands with a scoff, "I just got better things to be doing, okay?" He glanced down the hall, completely unsubtle at all.
"Mhmm, like sniffing a certain red-head's shampoo?"
"No! I don’t- there's no sniffing involved!"
"Uh-huh."
"Val, you hearing this shit?"
Valentino huffed, crossing a set of his arms, "I'm not talking to you right now." He turned his head away, face to face with Velvette now. Her make-up was stunning tonight, sparkling with glitter.
"What? C'mon-"
"Hey, Vee," Velvette leaned forward, glancing around Valentino to Vox, "Maybe you should hurry up and finish your pity parade for the Radio Demon? Just put him out of his misery, already. The trend's over."
A spark of appreciation sat in Valentino's chest. Velvette could always be counted on to get to the root of things.
"I'm not-" Vox paused, searching for words. "I'm not pitying him- and its not- I can't just throw away this opportunity."
"What opportunity is that, exactly? We both thought you wanted to kill the man, and now he's holed up in your house, where you've done nothing but babysit the guy for three weeks!"
Vox struggled to communicate, again, sparking being the only sound in the room for a heavy moment. "You don’t understand, Vel, I finally beat him. This- this is… I've been waiting for this for seventy years. A chance to prove that I'm… not…"
"Vee, you've got an entire empire and millions of souls under contract. Why are you still letting this guy's words get to you?"
The air was tense, and Valentino sought to smooth it over with a cigarette. The moment he turned to urge Vox into lighting it for him though, he was met with an unimpressed glare.
"You're not smoking in here, Val," Vox warned.
"Why not? I think we all need to relax a bit, have some fun~"
"Alastor is literally on oxygen in the other room; I'm not letting you smoke in here."
The final straw snapped. Valentino sneered, jumping to his feet to loom over him. "Fine," he chewed angrily on his cigarette stick, pulling his wings around himself as a coat. He marched over to the front door, giving a snippy, "See if I ever come here again."
"Wait, Val-!"
He slammed the door hard, hoping he broke something in the process.
