this is an art blog! i post my oc stuff, and fanart and sometimes even fanfics! most of my works go up through my queue, so if i post even when i say im busy, thats why!
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Alastor attempts the ritual, at first failing over and over, making him drastically hurt himself over and over in order to provide the materiels for it. He finally connects with an outside influence offering their magic to solidify the connection. He speaks with a woman over the radio, learning a few things he's not able to digest well as he slowly loses consciousness due to blood-loss.
He regains his bearings enough to find Vox has found him before he falls under a second time.
---
It took far too many tries to find the proper combination of sigils to make the ritual circle work.
He'd experienced failure after failure, where he cleared up the broken circle with the towel then dipped his fingers back into the cup of his own blood for another go. The towel was so soaked through with it the colour had completely changed.
The continued attempts necessitated more cuts on his leg that he hadn't wanted. Alastor'd gone lightheaded some time ago, and his careful lines became shakier and more uncoordinated as the attempts racked up.
When he had finally narrowed it down to the correct formula, the radio in the room pitifully sputtered with the fragile connection to another radio somewhere else. Vaguely, he could tell it was southeast from him, and quite far from home.
The heavy distortion of the poor signal made the indistinct chatter filtering through sound like another language.
It sounded like a busy store, the most voices Alastor ever had memory of hearing all at once coming through. Considering he had only been reintroduced to a singular handful of sinners since his rescue, he was understandably overwhelmed.
He couldn't even allow himself to bask in the victory of his success, the connection suddenly being cut short. The silence of the room suddenly rang as oppressive.
Why… Why hadn't the connection stuck?
He searched himself, the haze settling over his mind not quite heavy enough to obstruct the fact that he still had more magic to spend.
He tried again with the same circle, getting the same result. The connection would settle, he'd hear blessed moments of polite chatter and negotiated prices before it would suddenly get cut off.
At first, he'd thought his blood wasn't enough of an offering, so he'd carved out a chunk of his skin and added it to his meager circle, an unhealthy amount of frustration setting in.
Once, through the static, he even thought he heard someone say, 'Good grief, this thing must be broken-'
His head pounded so hard his vision swam, and he was having trouble sitting up, having to brace himself from listing too far to one side. He glared at the ritual circle, small and nestled between his legs. The growing pool of blood and flesh was slowly covering his efforts, and his slacks were fully soaked.
If Vox saw him now, sitting sprawled out on his floor covered in blood and frustrated to the point of self-mutilating, he'd blow a few fuses.
This is precisely the thing that Alastor had wanted to avoid, keeping the bloodletting to a minimum to fly it completely under Vox's radar.
His urgency to reach out had completely overtaken him, the cyclical rhythm he'd fallen into consuming him.
Draw, fail, clean, try again.
Out of blood?
Cut, bleed, collect, staunch. Try again.
Alastor refused to name it desperation.
He simply needed to talk to someone other than Vox. Even the most dedicated of lovers could get tired of one another, right?
He just needed a second opinion.
He hadn't yet remembered how his and Vox's relationship was pre-amnesia. He couldn't remember the reason they had had a break. Maybe Alastor had gotten tired of Vox in the past and needed space before he could come back around?
Vox was a charming fellow, but he was a lot to handle. He took up a lot of space, gesticulating, pacing, and reaching out constantly. He touched and touched and never knew when to stop.
The thought that maybe Vox was the reason Alastor hated touch was enough to make him sick, dragging his claws harshly through his shin in punishment. The worst part was that he couldn’t even feel it, he could only just sit there and watch as the blood beaded up and spilled over.
What a rotten husband he was. Had he known this marriage was a bad idea? Had he broken them off in the past because he wanted to save Vox from the heartbreak?
Valentino was probably Vox's better match.
Alastor growled, incensed. He chucked the glass, still half-full of his own blood. It shattered against the closed door, raining down to the ground in sparkling pieces. His blood splattered the door, painting a macabre silhouette that Alastor glared at.
He panted.
There was static buzzing in his ears, so it melded well with the static popping from the radio in the room. It was crackling with his latest attempt when a nauseating yank pulled from the other end.
Another's trace of magic was tethering itself to his. It curled around his almost protectively, offering a gentle grounding hold on him. It seeped into his soul with the same sensation of the warm blood soaking his clothes.
"Alastor?" a woman's voice sifted through the static, the sound clearer with her magic's help but still a little hard to understand. "Sweetie, is that you?"
He stared at the radio, wondering if he'd just started hallucinating, the blood-loss catching up to him.
He just breathed for a moment, feeling his frustration and anger escaping him with all of his energy.
"H-Hell-" Alastor choked on a cough, feeling quite like he could throw up. His voice caught in his throat, feeling thick and syrupy, "'llo-?"
"Oh my stars, Alastor, is it ever so good to hear your voice!" she sounded genuinely excited, and perhaps a little relieved.
"Wh-"
"Oh, I could hardly believe it when we found out you were still alive-"
The woman seemed all too happy to fill the air as Alastor struggled to get his words together.
It was a little concerning that she was so eager to announce out loud the fact that she had known he had a near-death experience a few months ago, but considering they were deal-bound, she would have access to that kind of knowledge merely from the fact their deal was still active or not. He hoped she didn't have an audience at the moment.
"Tell me, where have you been hiding all this time? You're not in that dingy old radio tower, I already checked there, so don't you bother trying to steer me wrong-"
"What?" A radio tower? No, the tower he lived in was not a radio tower. Presumably, if it also housed the studios for Vox's news channels like it housed Velvette's salons, it had the capacity to broadcast the radio, but- "I'm at home-?"
"'Home'?" the woman laughed, an actual full-belt laugh, "Oh you crack me up, dear. We both know you haven't had one since it was destroyed during your little hiatus. Now, tell me the truth, because Charlie's been going nuts lookin' for you-"
Alastor blinked. So much information had just been thrown at him, and he hardly had the time to process any of it with the speed that the woman spoke. "Charlie?" he got stuck on, because it was the simplest question he had at the moment.
He didn't know anyone named Charlie, nor had Vox mentioned anyone with that name. Mind, Vox's never mentioned this woman either.
"Yeah, mister, the lovely little lady heard your call loud and clear. Honestly, you're lucky you still have your deal with her-"
She knew another of his deals? Why? Which one? A 'lovely little lady' named Charlie didn't narrow it down at all when his deals manifested by voice and magical signature, and his head was swimming too much to go hunting for it now.
"Hold on… what of our contract-?"
"Our contract? It got broken when you disappeared, dear, I can't do nothin' more for you."
'When he disappeared'? She must mean when Vox had rescued him and he went into hiding for his own safety.
For all his searching, he hadn't yet found his copy of their deal so he didn't know the terms of it. Saying specifically that it broke, and not fulfilled told him that something went wrong. It couldn't be that the angel's attack interfered with it, seeing as none of his others had broken either.
He asked, "Why did it break?"
"'Why?' Why? Well, ain't that the million dollar question!" There was something less than pleased in her tone now, and he wondered why. It sounded like even she didn't understand why it broke. It must've been airtight, and something oddly specific had to of happened.
"Ma'am-"
"'Ma'am'?!" she sounded rightfully angry now, "Oh no, mister, you are not 'ma'am'ing me-"
He panicked, not having wanted to anger her. He spoke up as best he could, interrupting her, "I don't know your name!"
The woman went quiet for a while, the crackling of the radio painful as his headache worsened the longer the connection remained open.
"… Excuse me?"
"I-" he hesitated, for a moment doubting his decision to reach out.
There weren't many other options Alastor had, though. He needed outside help, as much as he didn't want to admit it, and he's already come this far.
He just needed someone he could trust, anyone besides Vox.
So he spoke, "I don't remember your name. I don't even remember your face, I only just figured out how to make this circle work today-"
"What do you mean you don't remember?"
Alastor could hardly focus on her words, the static was starting to permeate his whole brain. His fading vision was getting worse and he felt like he was sitting on a dangerous precipice.
Something slick was dripping down his face.
"I don't…" he glanced at his already blood-soaked hand, and brilliantly used his white shirt sleeve to swipe his nose clean. His forearm came away bloodied. "Are… Are we friends?" he asked, voice coming out in a whisper.
"'Friends'? Dearie, you're not making much sense… You- You don't like that word."
"I don't?" he asked, but as he sat on it, it made sense.
He certainly wouldn't call Vox his friend, as he was his husband, and that was different.
He hated Valentino. He hated those nurses before they left.
He liked Velvette, but he wouldn't call her a friend.
Hell was too dangerous for friends.
"We are allies, then, at least?" he offered.
He didn't hear if she'd said any more, as between his next blink he found himself toppled over onto his side without remembering laying down.
"Alastor? Are you still there?"
He hummed, the energy to speak suddenly gone. He's not even sure it was loud enough for the woman to have heard.
Sticky blood had soaked into his shirt and smeared across his cheek and into his hair. He had the strangest desire to reach out with his tongue and lap it up-
"Alastor, honey, are you listening? I need you to stay with me," her voice was desperate. "I need you to tell me where you are-"
The static suddenly snapped like a too taut wire, heavy silence settling over the room like a blanket. Alastor's eyes fell closed, and he could only think about how poorly Vox would react when he found him.
---
The dreaded crackling of electricity chased off his urge to sleep, like it has for the last few weeks. The skin prickling sensation of charged air tensed him up immediately, fear he hated acknowledging dragging him from unconsciousness.
"Alastor!"
Someone was in the room with him, frantic steps approaching and splashing through a puddle. The voice was masculine, and panicked, audibly on the edge of crying.
The warmth and slow comfortable presence of that woman's magic was gone, and instead there a thick scent of ozone lingering. It made the blood in his mouth taste weird.
Hands were suddenly on him, but the feeling was very muted. His body felt so numb he thought maybe he'd paralyzed himself more somehow, but his torso and arms responded, in a similar way to how being dead drunk felt.
Had he fallen again? Run out of painkillers?
No, neither of those sounded right…
Electricity crackled along the hands checking all over him, and it hurt when they pressed tightly against his throat's pulse point.
"Alastor, please- please, you can't- please, please, please-"
Alastor sucked in a harsh breath, and the other gasped with him.
Cold hands held either side of his face, tapping lightly on the right side, "Al, hey, stay with me-"
He groaned, the most he could manage. He was exhausted.
"Shit! Where is it-?"
The hands were gone. Drawers were slamming open, a constant stream of curses trailing the man around the room. He was stepped over once or twice, before he was picked up.
"Fuck, are you lighter? How long have you been like this?!"
He was placed on a soft surface, and it was then that he realized he was in his room and the other was Vox.
His husband wasn't supposed to catch him in the act.
"God, why would you-?"
The familiar crinkle of sterile packets getting ripped open immediately made him tense in anticipation for the burning sensation of antiseptic racing across his chest wound, but it never came.
"Oh god, what did you do-"
Oh, that's right… He'd torn his legs up…
"Fuck- Fuck- Fuck-"
Shame gripped him as succumbed to unconsciousness again.
Vox leaves for an important meeting with unnamed overlords, and Alastor attempts the ritual. He carves a wound into his leg and uses his own blood to draw the circle.
Meanwhile, Rosie works in her office, hunting through restaurant inventory paperwork for hints about Alastor's whereabouts. Her assistant informs her that Vox has been trying to get a hold of her. Rosie doesn't want to talk to Vox.
Her radio starts giving signs that Alastor is going to speak through it, so she retreats with it to her home for privacy, having to offer her own magic to make sure the connection actually works.
---
Phone still missing and mind made up about attempting the ritual, Alastor waited for an afternoon that Vox had meetings to take in person.
Vox planted his usual goodbye kiss on his lips with the promise that 'The day'll be over before you know it!' like he thought Alastor was the kind of spouse who waited at the door until his beloved returned.
Alastor waited for the tell-tale clicking of the front door's lock before he let himself relax.
He knew Vox would be gone (and be completely preoccupied from his surveillance system) for the next two or three hours. He'd been complaining about other overlords and how they were so difficult to arrange meetings for and grumbling that 'They'd better all agree, if they know what's good for them.'
The mention of other overlords struck something familiar in him that made him think of a board room with plush pink chairs and a white table.
Free to finally make his first attempt at the ritual, Alastor had the urge to announce 'Showtime!' but it was easily brushed aside.
His first order of business was getting presentable. Currently, he was still stuck with Vox's various ill-fitting pajamas since he never received Velvette's promised delivery of new clothes.
His pair of red pajamas that she had gifted him initially was also suspiciously missing. It was no mystery who was at fault, what with the way Vox got all starry eyed when he dressed them in matching blues.
He felt the task ahead called for something a little more formal than sleep shorts and a faded and stretched out tee. The voice on the other end of his deal was a classy woman and he simply wouldn't fall so far that he'd speak to a lady in his night clothes.
Valentino and Velvette had been beyond his control, invited in while he'd been unconscious and at his worst, so it was no use trying to cover up what they'd already seen.
Pushing himself upright in Vox's bed, Alastor assessed himself. The pain wasn't invasive today, a sign of good fortune. He's counting on getting through the day without aggravating himself, leaving no evidence for Vox to feel like he had to revoke more of his freedom from him.
Throwing the bed sheets back, Alastor carefully dropped himself off the edge of the bed and onto the ground. Vox had never returned his wheelchair to him after he caught him a few days ago, so it was currently across the apartment.
Making the long (and frankly embarrassing) crawl over to his bedroom, he climbed into his wheelchair and sought about his and Vox's bedrooms for a decent outfit. A good pair of slacks and any old button up would do. He'd love a bath as well, but he was on a time constraint, so he'd have to pass.
By the time he wrangled up the clothes, a towel, and transferred onto his own bed to change, he was already beginning to tire. Using his arms in any kind of full rotation pulled lightly at his chest still, and the exercise of lifting and pushing himself around was harsh on his still weak energy.
Pulling the shirt around himself struck a sharp pain through his chest, sharp enough that he paused for a moment, afraid he's broken a stitch. The pain dulled thankfully, and he buttoned up and shimmied into the slacks after.
A short rest later (it'd been a mistake to close his eyes as he caught his breath), he slid himself down to the floor and tucked himself halfway under the frame.
Glancing over the sigils he had collected, he carefully selected the ones he'd try first and crawled back out. He grabbed the towel and spread it out on his lap and twisted around to with a wince to grab an empty water glass off the bedside table.
He pushed out with his static to cover the whole room, brushing his senses up against the radio and the surveillance camera. Hopefully it was enough to distort the footage so in the event that Vox did check in on him, he wouldn't be caught.
If Vox hadn't been lying about his ability to do that, that is.
The toll of using his magic was severe due to his condition, a budding headache the precursor of what will surely be an exhausting day.
With steady hands, he rolled up a pant leg and carved into the skin of his shin. It parted easily under his sharp claws, blood beading up immediately. With one hand holding the glass to collect the spilling blood, he used his other hand to prop his leg up and help squeeze more out.
Hopefully this small glass would be enough.
When it was full, he pressed the towel harshly into the wound. With his free hand, he dipped a finger into his blood and began to draw on the hardwood floors. The motion felt familiar, and after he was done, he licked his finger clean with a stark sense of déjà-vu.
Hopefully he's recovered enough of his magic reserves to reach out to her, wherever she was.
---
Rosie didn't look up as she heard the door to her office open, the din of her emporium briefly breaking the silence she'd been working in. Her eyes carefully continued down a complex report of a kitchen's recent inventory, scraping it over for any irregularities.
Someone entered, closing the door behind them and letting the silence fall again. They waited patiently in the corner of Rosie's periphery, the faded purple of her skirt marking her as Rosie's assistant distantly in her mind.
Rosie was contributing as best she could to the search for Alastor, looking into different cannibal-catering establishments around the city, but she's yet to find anything that could indicate a certain somebody stealing table scraps when no one was looking.
Minding how she was only five restaurants deep and had plenty left to go, she has fully fallen victim to the monotony of the task.
It almost made her frustrated with how large her territory has become. There were so many different markets, butchers, restaurants, and private caterers to look into, and Rosie wasn't looking forward to the long hours she'd have to clock in to go through them all.
As Rosie reached the bottom of her current page, she took a pen to two lines and marked them as irregularities. These things were never conclusive, as sometimes there was uncalculated food waste or destruction of property to account for. She'd have to cross-check with reports of employee meals and recent repairs to make sure none of it was Alastor.
It was a start, she had to console herself with.
Placing the report into a new pile, keeping it separate from ones that has had zero irregularities to her discerning eyes, Rosie turned to her assistant, Cosette.
Upon making eye contact, the short cannibal handed over another small stack of paperwork similar in format to the ones already on Rosie's desk, "More reports, these ones from the western side of your territory."
Rosie sighed, but flipped through it briefly. She was keeping an eye out in particular for some of Alastor's favourite places to eat, just in case his picky standards didn't wane at all just because of his estimated injuries.
She paused at a blue page, a professional cardstock flyer tucked in with all the reports. Rosie pulled it out, and only had to read the first word before she rolled her eyes.
It was a Voxtek something-or-other, and that's all she needed to know to throw it out.
How bold of Vox to keep trying to weasel his advanced technology into her territory. They were all quite happy with the old fashioned models, so he should just be happy with the fact she let his product into her house at all.
She held it out to give it back to Cosette, "Toss that out for me?"
"Oh right," Cosette perked up, waving the flyer in demonstration, "Mr. Vox's actually tried calling several times since he's had this dropped off. He refuses to leave a message, saying he'd rather speak to you in person."
"Well, he should have thought about pitching whatever he wants to me before he killed off my favourite ally," Rosie grumbled, turning back to her desk and shuffling the unfinished stack together.
"Do you mean The Radio Demon?"
"Indeed." A clever thought struck her, and she turned to Cosette with a grin, "If he calls again, send him to Alastor's answering machine. We still have that running, don’t we?"
Rosie housed two answering machines at her emporium, one of which was strictly set up for Alastor to have. He never used it as he was quite the stickler against modern technology, and preferred to use his ability to broadcast at any distance and on any frequency he liked as his own personal telephone network. If not that, then he'd rather use his shadows to travel for in-person correspondence. If push came to shove, he could use his minions to send paper missives.
She still kept the machine for him though. Rosie never thought she'd use it as a Vox-deterrent, but she thought Alastor might chuckle at the idea.
"We do-" Cosette nodded, "I've been meaning to ask what you wanted me to do with it. Would you like to go through his messages or would you like me to just delete them all?"
Rosie had never gone through them before, and she certainly didn’t want to start now. She had figured that the machine has sat empty this whole time, "Don’t touch them, and leave the line open."
She wondered who called Alastor, and what for.
Best let Alastor go through them sometime. Maybe she could entice him with the message that Vox might leave if he did end up calling again.
For now though, the machine would continue to sit unused until Alastor was back.
"Understood-" Cosette moved over to the trash, ripping up the heavy cardstock in easy motions and letting the pieces flutter into the bin.
Cosette was among the millions who believed Alastor dead, and Rosie wasn't about to break her own warning to the Hazbin crew to inform her assistant. Cosette had other things worry about, like keeping up with things here in Cannibal Town while Rosie was away.
Considering how Rosie's been at the hotel so long, her work around Cannibal Town and her emporium has understandably piled up. Her cannibals had a whole queue going for who needed her help specifically, whether it was her wisdom or her overlord title they needed. The clever folks even had them organized in order of urgency. Rosie applauded them for it, as she ran a tight ship here and it warmed her to know they respected her methods.
She's been chipping away at the to-do list in the mornings and letting herself have the afternoons to continue her search for Alastor.
She hoped Charlie was having more success than she was, but Charlie had a single string of magic leading in the vaguest direction ever perceived. Charlie had less of chance to find Alastor than Rosie did even if her method was extremely complex and ridiculously time-consuming.
Rosie has also given Charlie the number to her landline, so in the event of an emergency she could give Rosie a ring and she'd be able to teleport herself over in a jiffy.
Mostly she hoped the phone stayed silent because Rosie was afraid Charlie would call in tears announcing that her contract had become void. She didn't want to lose Alastor a second time.
The radio in the corner crackled to life, startling the two women.
A familiar pressure seeped into the room, but it was so light that Rosie thought she was imagining it.
Cossette sighed, "Not this one, too-"
It seemed Cosette wasn't all that familiar with Alastor's magic if she couldn't pick up on it immediately.
- Maybe it was too faint for her to sense.
Flicking her sight between her and the radio, Rosie asked, "What is it?"
Cosette gestured at the radio, "The one out in the lobby has been going crazy for the last hour. I wonder what's wrong with the network today? You know, this never used to happen when The Radio Demon was in charge of it-" she stepped over towards it.
"Wait-" Rosie stood from her chair quickly, something in her chest pulling tight.
Cosette paused just as Rosie approached her, pulling her hands back from where they were reaching for the radio.
Rosie swallowed the remark that she needn't make. Her assistant didn't know any better, so she couldn’t be mad at her.
Rosie gently steered her further away from the radio, standing possessively between her and it. She could feel the pressure even better from here. It hummed faintly with his magic.
Magic she hasn't felt in months.
If he was trying to-
Cosette had to leave. Now.
"Dearie, would you mind if I take a brief break?"
Cosette gave her a concerned look, but didn't press and shook her head, "Not at all." She turned to leave the office, "Would you like me to prepare you some tea?"
"Perhaps another time," Rosie turned and grabbed the radio, taking a moment to bask in Alastor's magic.
"Rosie?"
She looked over her shoulder, "Yes?"
Cosette had paused at the door, and was pointing at the crackling radio, "Would you like me to take that?"
"No, no, dear, I know how to fix it."
"Oh, I didn't know you knew how to fix radios," Cosette turned like she was going to step back towards her, drawn in by conversation as she'd always been.
The radio in Rosie's hands warbled, the needle slowly flicking itself between frequencies. Following past trends, Alastor was moments away from tuning in. Rosie had to get Cosette out of here. "Oh, I know how to fix just about anything - now, why don't you go grab yourself a bite off the shelves for the trouble? Hopefully I won't be long-" she led on in clear dismissal.
Cosette smiled, clutching her hands to her chest, "Oh, may I? Thank you, Rosie!"
"My pleasure," she gave her a final wave, and the door clicked quietly as it was opened and closed with Cosette sneaking out into the din of a busy store.
Rosie, not even taking a moment to breathe in relief, grabbed the radio and made a beeline to her home located upstairs above the emporium.
The second the door was closed and locked behind her, she placed it gently on her coffee table and sat on the couch in front of it. She inspected the old thing, properly categorizing the aura it was giving off.
Right now, even giving signs that Alastor was seconds from speaking from it, his magic only leaked weakly from the old radio. It felt like mere wisps compared to the usual oppressive feeling it gave off.
His magic felt sickly and feeble.
"Oh, Alastor…" she said delicately.
She offered her own magic up to the radio, to bolster the connection into fully forming.
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Alastor thinks about Rosie, and wonders if he even feels love towards Vox. He wishes he could talk to Velvette. He comes up with a few plans; either he finds Vox's phone, or he learns to reach out to someone's radio.
While searching the apartment, he finds the picture of himself Vox keeps hidden. He feels betrayed about it.
He continues practicing his magic, which includes hiding his magic sigils under his bed, and Vox walks in on him on the floor. Alastor strikes Vox's hand away when he reaches to pick him up, and Vox gets mad, threatening to revoke Alastor's wheelchair
---
Alastor decided with the frequency that he dreamt of her, the woman on the other side of the ritual was incredibly important to him.
What snippets of scenes he could recall of her framed her in long dresses and tea parties. It looked like he spent a lot of time with her, talking, cooking, or even just taking a stroll down a bloodied street with her.
Her face still eluded him, as did her name, but she felt remarkably familiar to him. He felt a longing for her as something that belonged and was expected.
In his memories, she served his drinks without needing to ask how he liked them.
That was the mark of a long-lasting relationship, whether it was romantic, platonic or simply business. He didn't know who they were to each other, but he knew they knew each other.
There was something about how he felt in those dreams with her that suited him much more than whatever it was that Vox and he felt like together.
Vox was every bit of what you'd expect from a doting spouse. He'd saved his life, continued to protect him, and showered him with affection and gifts. He fawned over him, and it was clear to anyone that Vox was head over heels for Alastor.
Alastor… has yet to find the same in himself.
He… enjoyed Vox's presence, sure, but in the past tense.
He had a hard time explaining how he was feeling now.
Of course, he could pull out a variety of things he felt towards Vox; betrayed, confused, restricted, smothered, etcetera, but finding out how he felt in the grand scheme of it all was a lot harder.
Did he love Vox?
He… he didn't know.
He didn't get as excited to see Vox as Vox did for Alastor. He didn't experience those fabled butterflies in his stomach, and he certainly didn't fantasize about being held and kissed silly by him.
He worried that somehow he's forgotten how to love Vox.
Alastor felt like he couldn't ever bring this up to Vox, either. Imagine your husband, after having saved him from the brink of death, suddenly decided that he no longer loved you? That he was so changed by the event that he became another person?
Vox would be devastated.
'But what about the jealousy?' he asked himself. He had hated the idea of sharing Vox with Valentino, so where did that put him? If not for love, then what was that for? He couldn't very well balance his marriage on nothing but the possessiveness a child had for his favourite toy.
Alastor desperately wanted to talk with Velvette. She'd be able to settle this in a split second, but alas, Alastor was isolated.
He's thought about just strolling out of the apartment in search of her, but there were several things that stopped him from doing just that.
First, he was still recovering and if he encountered anyone that wasn't an ally, he could be killed, tortured, or held hostage for leverage against Vox.
Second, he didn't know where to begin looking for her. There was only a chance that Velvette would be in her studio, which was the sole other location he was familiar with in the tower. Wandering a building he didn't remember the floor plan of sounded like an awful idea, ignoring the likelihood that he'd tire himself out before he could find her.
Thirdly, he didn't know the access codes to the elevator. Velvette had to input one to get off on this floor, so there was no telling which floors he'd be unable to check and then he'd not even be able to return to the apartment in the event he couldn’t find her.
Which all came back to the fourth reason, which was that Vox would never let him. The security cameras would catch the moment he'd reach for the front door and Vox would be back in no time at all to control where he went.
His only hope of reaching Velvette came in the form of Vox's phone. If he could locate where Vox had hidden it, then maybe he could call her and find out what steps he could take next.
On the other hand, his powers had connected to the radio they owned, so maybe he could use that as an alternate plan. Theoretically, if he could connect to this radio, there were others in the building that he could also use. Perhaps one in Velvette's vicinity?
It didn't matter which method became a success, so Alastor took to both challenges equally.
There were only so many places that Alastor could search through in the apartment for Vox's phone. Again, he made use of the early hours of the morning when Vox slept to hunt about, a mixture of restricted mobility and trying to stay quiet keeping the searches slow and uneventful.
What cabinets and shelves he could reach yielded nothing out of the ordinary and only reminded him that he owned only a singular handful of things in the entire apartment.
Alastor initially avoided searching inside the master bedroom, not wanting to risk disturbing Vox, but boredom with a smidge of desperation made him decide to check around anyway. It wasn't like he wasn't allowed in there, with the way Vox has been wanting to cuddle him like a stuffed animal every night.
He just made sure he was very careful as he rummaged around. There were miscellaneous paperwork tucked in the bedside tables and various nice suits hung in his closet. Vox had far too many boxes of shoes that were clearly either never worn or just worn once, and again, none of them looked like they belonged to Alastor. They were all custom shoes, but they were not catered for hooves.
The only thing that really caught his attention was what he found inside Vox's dresser drawer. Tucked in between some neatly folded well-worn sweaters that Alastor's never seen Vox wear, was a printed photo.
Alastor grabbed it and squinted, having a hard time making out what it was a picture of in the darkness of the room. He held it carefully as he rolled over to the window, peering around the curtain to use the neon lights of the district to see by.
To his surprise, it was a monochrome picture of himself.
He looked rather indifferent in the image, grin ever-present but eyes half-lidded and eyebrows neutral. He was wearing a suit similar but not exactly the same as the one Velvette had helped him with. He had tucked behind him a staff that he's never seen before in any of his memories.
He looked well. He was unnaturally thin, but it was closer to beach-body-goals rather than slowly-starving-to-death.
The image was torn down the side, cutting off another figure in the image. Alastor could make out what was part of a rectangular thing, reminding him of Vox's screen. It didn't look exactly like his head, but the similarity was quite clear.
It was a picture of Alastor and Vox most likely, considering that it was in Vox's room, in Vox's drawers, hidden away from prying eyes.
Alastor sat stunned, wondering when this was taken and how long it's been torn and tucked away. Vox had briefly mentioned that they had grown apart for a time, and he wondered which of them had been the one to tear the picture in two.
Why had they drifted apart anyway?
Alastor glanced over towards Vox, completely still over on the bed. He had a cord running from the back of his TV to a nearby outlet and a small battery icon was the only thing displaying on his screen.
'-You couldn't get your picture taken,' Vox had said, while he has had this photo of him this entire time.
Why would Vox lie about such a specific thing?
Why did Vox think he had to hide it?
Alastor put the image back where he found it, annoyed that the longer he spent around Vox, the more inconsistencies he'd find. He almost longed for the first few weeks after he'd first woken up, when things were simpler and he was told less lies.
He glanced at Vox again once the drawer was closed shut. He'd be out for a few more hours like this. Vox only charged like this once a week or so, probably the only time he was really vulnerable and unable to be disturbed. Alastor didn’t want to push his luck, so instead of testing any theories, he decided to retreat to his room to practice his radio-magic instead. He would be able to make some noise without being interrupted, after all.
His practice with his magic was going well for the most part, trying not to celebrate too much when he held the connection to the radio for a few more seconds than he did last time or remembered another sigil for his collection.
He's taken to keeping the array of sigils under his bed in his bedroom. Alastor carved them into the wooden slats that supported his mattress, where they were safely away from Vox's prying camera lenses.
It did leave Vox finding him on the floor a suspicious number of times, but if Alastor acted like he'd just fallen out of his chair, it bought him enough pity that Vox wouldn't question it for long.
Alastor hadn't anticipated Vox's pampering to become useful in a way, but whatever allowed Alastor to figure out a way to contact someone outside would just have to be worth the embarrassment.
Alastor had only just finishing carving his latest discovery hours later when he heard Vox rustling about the master bedroom across the apartment.
Panicking, he scratched the last line quickly as he could, as it was imperative to remember if he wanted to try recreating the ritual to reach out to the outside. He figured the ritual either called on that woman specifically, or it amplified his powers for longer distance connections.
He'd learn the difference eventually.
Alastor crawled out from under the bed, the dead weight of his legs and the stubborn new tremble in his arms making it a slow and taxing endeavour.
Just as he got to his wheelchair and was reaching to climb back into it, Vox opened the bedroom door without knocking.
He froze, his smile guilty.
"Again, Al?" Vox sighed, but still approached with concern on his face. He crouched down beside him and splayed a large hand across his back, sending prickles up Alastor's spine. "How many times do I have to remind you to be more careful?"
Alastor forced half of a chuckle out, "Just a few more-?"
Vox frowned, "Maybe you should give this a rest and just let me carry you?" His hand snuck around Alastor's back to hook around his torso, and the other approached his knees, clearly going to pick him up like any other time he has. "This was clearly a bad idea, I can't believe I let Velvette talk me into-"
Alastor bat Vox's hand away.
Vox stared blankly at the offended limb, his body stiff.
After several tense seconds in which Alastor's stomach had dropped, Vox's eyes rolled towards him. His expression was hard to describe, eyes wide but pupils small and his mouth gone completely missing.
He hadn't really meant to do that.
He was just so tired of Vox touching him…
Alastor exaggerated his grin, and fanned his hand, hoping to blast past the event. "Don't be silly, Vox, I need the practice," he said, voice trembling a little.
"What was that for?" Vox almost growled, his voice low and clear. He'd dropped the filter.
Alastor's throat was dry.
"I'm just trying to help you," Vox said. He sat taller, his eyebrows coming down heavily over his eyes, "Why did you hit me?"
Alastor licked his lips, his mind grasping at straws. He hadn't meant to do that, he hadn't. "I… I got this," he spoke, it coming out as a hoarse whisper. Hardly the confidence he wanted to exude.
"I don’t think you do," Vox's hand that was still curled around his torso tightened, the points of his claws a subtle reminder. "Al, how many times have I caught you on the floor this week? Do you think I'm stupid?"
"It hasn't been that often-"
"It's alright, Al," Vox's voice was purposely soft. It was at odds with his terse expression and the tension in his shoulders. "I know your weakness is probably starting to get frustrating, but you can't force yourself to get better faster. If you can't handle using the chair yet we can take a step back, revisit it another time-"
Alastor felt sick, "I can handle it, Vox, I-"
Vox was suddenly lifting him, having probably snuck his free arm under Alastor's legs as he was distracted.
"Vox, please-" Alastor pushed against Vox's torso, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. The touch was bordering on burning even through his thin pajamas.
His husband ignored his pushing, simply getting to his feet instead. His grip was ironclad as he carried him out of the bedroom, leaving Alastor's wheelchair behind.
"Everything'll be alright, Al," he took him across the apartment back to the master bedroom and dropped him onto the bed.
Alastor winced as he bounced on the mattress. Gripping at his chest, he glanced up just to see Vox looming above him again. He leaned over the bed, locking Alastor in between his hands as Vox planted them on either side of him.
"I take good care of you," Vox smiled, "I promised, after all."
Vox leaned in towards Alastor's face, and the forced kiss flashed before his eyes. He blocked Vox's mouth with a hand, mentally bracing himself for the lick of his palm Vox would do.
Vox nipped at his hand instead, and Alastor recoiled so hard it hurt. He shook his hand as though that would clear the sensation from it, and he glared up at Vox, who wore quite the satisfied look.
Rosie and Charlie's discussion continues, wondering how exactly Alastor has survived all these months. They assume that Vox has been lying about everything, including the fact that he'd fought Alastor following the extermination.
They talk about why he hasn't reached out before now, and what they'll do next. Charlie wants to inform the others about this, and the following meeting goes as well as one can expect it, mostly with disbelief. They discuss sending out search parties, and how this needs to remain completely secret in the meantime.
Charlie notes how Husk has been quiet the whole meeting.
---
Charlie felt like her whole world had been ripped out from beneath her, like a skilled magician had just yanked a cloth out from underneath a fragile table setting.
"…What?" her voice sounded weak and foreign to even herself.
Rosie's gaze was locked onto the parchment in Charlie's hands, her hand still hovering, pointing at it. "In the event a deal becomes void, as a result of permanent death of a participant or otherwise, the contract is clearly labeled as such. There would be big red text all over that page."
Charlie looked the parchment over again, searching for the prophesized red text. It wasn't there. It was just the deal exactly as it had been agreed upon. It hummed lowly with the same magic that's cradled her hand all morning.
She couldn't wrap her head around the idea that Alastor was alive. That he has been alive all these months that she's mourned for him.
It would be the miracle that she'd given up on months ago. The hope that slowly crumbled during the week she'd waited for him to return; then the shattered, desperate pleading to anyone who would listen that Alastor should return regardless of the announcement. That he'd waltz into the new hotel, diss it, and then go on air to ridicule his rival for all his lies like nothing had happened at all.
Charlie's vision swam with unshed tears, pulling the contract to her chest and hugging it like it was the most precious thing she owned.
She remembered every picture that Vox has ever posted of the extermination. She remembered every still he leaked from his confrontation against Alastor.
She remembered how much blood Alastor had spilt.
"H-How-" Charlie choked on her words, her voice wobbling like a precarious block tower, "How did he survive?"
"I don't know," Rosie sounded defeated. "From what I could tell, his injuries were severe, if Vox really had-" she stopped short, realization crossing her face.
Charlie, too, suddenly understood.
Vox had-
The images must have been faked-
"Vox… lied. About everything," Charlie's eyes were wide.
Rosie rounded to the front of the desk and crossed her arms. She looked angry and deep in thought. "I knew that TV-head was going to be a problem…" she muttered to herself.
"Why would he lie about fighting Al, though?" Charlie slowly got to her feet, still clutching the sole evidence that her friend was alive and out there somewhere.
Rosie paced, waving a disinterested hand, "He's a media demon, dear, he doesn't care about what he tells people. He only cares about how a story can benefit his business."
"But- How does letting people think he's killed Al help him?!" Charlie stepped around the desk, feeling a spark of righteous anger brewing in her.
It was all unfair.
"Your guess is as good as mine, sweetpea," Rosie stopped, leaning back on the desk.
Charlie joined her, holding out the contract again, blinking away tears so she could look it over properly again.
Rosie watched quietly beside her. She seemed to be contemplating something, before she summoned a small rectangular piece of paper into her hands. It was thick cardstock, formatted like a recipe card. In faded pencil was Rosie's small, neat cursive arranged in short bullet-points. Across the card in bold red ink was: '[VOID].'
"What's that?" Charlie had a feeling she already knew.
Rosie spoke quietly, "I had a contract with Alastor."
Charlie was stunned, "You did?" What she assumed of Rosie and Alastor's relationship was skewing away further and further from where she'd thought it was.
First Rosie admitting they sometimes didn’t get along, and now admitting that they had a deal?
Come to think of it, Alastor had opened their relationship with trying to rope Charlie into a deal…
She had so many questions.
Rosie continued, "When Vox made that broadcast, our deal broke. While I had my reservations about it all, this," she waved her voided contract, "Left little room for doubt."
Rosie then dismissed the recipe card, not letting Charlie get a proper chance to read it. It wasn't her business at all, but the curiosity was still there. There was no telling what sorts of deals went on between two powerful overlords.
"We all believed him," and Charlie hated it.
How could they have believed Vox so easily? Charlie should've known something was up when Vox refused to hand over Alastor's body.
It wasn't that Vox was being sadistic, it was because he had no body to hand over.
"I should have known better," Rosie shook her head. "He's been a thorn in Alastor's side for years. Why wouldn't he capitalize on this?"
"But what exactly is this?" Charlie asked, "Why did Alastor run away? If- If he didn’t fight Vox, why hasn't he come forward to defend himself? Why- Why wait months to reach out, and to me specifically?"
Rosie turned to put her hands on Charlie's shoulders, "Alastor's a prideful man," she said gently. "He probably wanted to avoid asking for help."
"But-!"
"It's just the way he is, darling. He doesn't like owing favours."
"I wouldn't be doing it for a favour- He's part of our family, I just want to help him."
Rosie released Charlie to put a hand to her own chest, "I believe that." She gestured out, vaguely towards wherever Alastor could be out there, "But he can't. He's… He's not had many people in his life willing to just do things for him." Rosie's expression was downcast, "I, myself, have contributed to that belief."
Charlie tried to digest the new information, now wondering if she's contributed to that at all. She didn't want Alastor to think she was just as shady as he was, that she'd just been using his power and reputation to her advantage all this time.
She had no reason to think so, but she worried anyway.
"More importantly," Rosie said, "I’d like to know where he is right now."
'He should be here,' Charlie thought, 'He should be in his home, with his family-'
Rosie went on, "He probably planned to come back around again when he was ready, but that scratch from Adam didn't look easy. It must be dire if it's got him reaching out to you."
"How do we find him?"
Rosie pointed to Charlie's heart, "You're our best lead. That tether you got going between his and your magic can be traced," Rosie gave her a disappointed head shake, "But Hell's too big to hunt down such a weak contract in good time."
Charlie flexed her magic, investigating the lingering tingle of Alastor's magic. Even now, it curled lethargically around her hand, and the impression of that sad little music note still haunted her. Alastor was such a loud and large presence, seeing him reduced to whispers and ghosts was heartbreaking.
"But," Rosie continued, "While that contract ain't going to help you much in locating him, it'll at least tell you he's still alive at any moment."
Charlie's hands trembled around the parchment, the contract becoming creased by her tight grip on it and dotted by her escaped tears. She already knew she'd be unable to take her eyes off of it until Alastor was found and brought home.
Charlie swallowed, "We should tell the others."
"There's a chance that he could get killed before we find him. Are you sure you want to give them all this false hope?"
Charlie nodded, feeling a sense of purpose settling over her broken heart. Alastor was somewhere out there, and had swallowed his pride to reach out to her for her help. What else was she to do but put her all into helping him?
Everyone at the Hotel was a big family, and she's positive that they'd offer their help too.
"Please," Charlie felt a dangerous shred of hope shining inside herself, "They deserve to know."
---
Rosie and Charlie collected the crew in one of their private rooms, not wanting any of their new residents -or god forbid, the press that tried constantly to sneak in- to overhear the good news.
Rosie was adamant that they tell the least amount of people possible, as if it got out to the public, it would be disastrous in multitudes.
Vox already has a chokehold on the media, the main reason that they were in this situation at all, and would retaliate viciously if they revealed he had been lying. They would be fighting him on his own turf, with a vast disadvantage which would only end in failure.
Letting the secret out would also put Alastor's life in more danger than it was already in. Charlie and Rosie agreed that he was likely still injured from his battle against Adam, and if he was still hiding in shadows to protect himself all these months later, than it was a grave injury indeed. If the general populace got wind that he was weak, then the streets would flock with pitchforks and torches to hunt him down.
Just the thought of it made shivers dance down Charlie's spine.
So, the meeting only included the core members of the Hazbin family. It'd been a real debate on whether or not to include Niffty and Cherri, but they were ultimately included.
Niffty, as one of Alastor's underlings, certainly deserved to be included even though Charlie remembered how distraught she had been immediately after the broadcast. Niffty was acting as her usual self lately, and Charlie hoped she wasn't just really good at hiding her grief.
Cherri on the other hand, had far less connection to Alastor, but she had been one of the people who willingly fought for the hotel during the extermination. She already knew how important Alastor was to the rest of them, and she's become loyal to far more than just Angel since she's decided to stick around.
Rosie was the one who broke the news, standing in front of them all and managing to sound sure of herself despite their singular speck of evidence against Vox's entire campaign. Charlie stood next to her, holding the contract out and having managed to stop her tears for the moment.
It went over about as well as one could expect it to, everyone in complete disbelief and yelling cacophonously.
"I told you!" Niffty pointed accusingly at Vaggie.
"What? Niffty-"
"Who?" Lucifer asked.
"No fucking way," Angel whispered, "That's impossible-"
Rosie clapped twice, drawing everyone's attention back to her, "Now, now, I know this is exciting news, but I'd like to remind you all this is quite the precarious predicament. Alastor is out there, injured, vulnerable, and at the mercy of whatever hiding spot he's holed up in."
"So what do we do, exactly? It's not like we can just send out a search party for him," Angel asked, crossing his arms.
"We can search, but we'll have to be extra careful. If anyone gets the slightest whiff of what we're up to, consider Alastor's life forfeit."
Niffty waved her hand wildly, "Oh! Oh! Me! Me! Pick me! Sir likes to be a little shadow puddle under furniture sometimes! I can check under every bench across the Pentagram in no time!"
Charlie gave a nervous chuckle, "Thank you for offering, Niffty, but… I'm not sure that's the best idea."
She worried for the little maid, and didn’t like the idea her leaving the Hotel grounds alone. The media had been quite obsessed with her as well, the sinner who had dealt the final blow to the Heavenly General. Charlie only wanted to make sure she was okay.
Niffty deflated, "But I can search fast! And I can stab anyone who tries to stop me!" From her apron she brandished an angelic steel knife, which looked exactly like the one she'd used to take down Adam. It was clean and polished to perfection.
"What? I thought we gave those all back to Carmilla-!" Charlie reached out to grab the knife from Niffty, but the little demon ducked away from her hands.
She ran over and crawled up Rosie's dress, settling on her shoulders to hide amongst the feathers of her hat, hissing, "This is mine!"
Rosie let Niffty settle on her with a patient smile, the action reminding Charlie of Alastor. "It's fine, dearie," Rosie fanned a hand nonchalantly. "If Niffty wants to handle a few checks here and there between her work hours I don’t see a problem. I'll likely ask my cannibals to keep an ear out, but you all know they don't often venture out past my gates."
"I… don't think I'll be able to help much," Angel rubbed at the back of his neck. "Val, y'know," he gestured vaguely.
Angel still hasn't had much of a break from his work. As Charlie had begun to resume her regular hotel duties, Angel occasionally checked in with her for their therapy sessions. They usually spoke about his job, moreso on the abuse he had to tolerate from others rather than the actual performance of his work itself.
Valentino has been very volatile lately. Many of his contracted souls were suffering under his hands, and Angel has been reaching out to many of them, creating a support network between them.
Charlie was incredibly proud of him for reaching out to others.
"Don't worry, Angel, we understand. I'd rather hope Alastor isn't anywhere near Vee Tower anyway," Charlie said.
He gave a hollow chuckle, "Yeah, I can't imagine Smiles hangin' around that district. He ain't even like the shitty old TV we had in the old hotel!"
"I'd offer to take a look, but I ain't know the guy too well," Cherri had been sat quietly for the most part, leaning closer to Angel when it looked like he needed some extra comfort. "I wouldn't know what to look for, y'know, like signs he's been a place recently 'n shit."
"I figured there'd be murder involved-"
"Vaggie-!"
"What? He's a cannibal, honey, he's gotta eat sometime right?"
"That's actually not a bad idea," Rosie cut in, effectively cutting off the brewing argument. "We can check in at different cannibal-catering restaurants and see if ingredients or leftovers have been going missing. Easy pickings for our friend to just snag and stay under the radar."
"Oh!" Charlie would never have thought of doing that. "That- Did you want help? With that? At all?"
Rosie pat her on the shoulder, "Don't fret now, dearie, I'll handle it. You wouldn’t know what to look for."
She'd said it kindly, obviously meaning how Charlie wasn't of the same appetite as Alastor and Rosie, but it hurt a little anyway.
Charlie just wanted to help.
"Now, remember," Rosie continued, "Let's keep the searching low-profile. Don’t mention you're looking for anyone in particular, and especially don't mention his name. Outside of this room, Alastor's dead, got it?"
Everyone gave their acknowledgments, and the meeting came to an end. As they left one by one, Charlie noticed Husk storm off. She nearly forgot he was there, he'd been so quiet the whole time.
Life goes on, and Alastor carves himself some peace and quiet in the early mornings before Vox is awake. He practices his magic with this free time, one morning finding his deal with Charlie and wonders.
Across the pentagram, Charlie was up early after a vivid dream about Alastor, feeling the effects of Alastor plucking at their deal. Rosie pokes in to check on her, and they have a chat about him, and that Charlie feeling their deal means its still active. Rosie gets Charlie to summon a manifestation of the contract and to their combined shock, they discover Alastor is alive.
---
Their days have turned quiet. Alastor was constantly exhausted, his sleep has been so awful. How high-strung he was around his husband certainly hadn't helped at all.
Vox thought he was tired because of his wound, and kept herding him back to bed. He often followed him there, working or reading after he pulled Alastor into his side or coerced him into resting his head on his lap. Vox's claws raking through his hair felt like a predator with their jaws around his throat, memories of how his electricity struck out at him keeping him pliant.
Alastor has gotten away with waking early most days, extracting himself from Vox's hold carefully before going to his old room to tend to his wound and medications by himself.
He was relieved to notice that the wound was getting smaller. It wasn't much, but it has shrunk by a tiny measure and left in its wake horribly scarred skin devoid of fur. He could see where stitches have been previously, a visual representation of his progress.
He found that he liked the house when it was dead and quiet. While the dread breathing down the nape of his neck was a constant shot to his nerves, it wasn't full of lies or coddling and invasive touching.
It was safety- actual safety. During these moments of peace, he pressed his mind for what his life was like before, trying to align different strings of half-cohesive memories into something that made sense.
He chased the sound of that woman's voice, and discovered slowly how he'd reached out to her through a ritual.
He wished he knew when and why- He easily figured out how, remembering the circle he'd carved in blood to reach her.
He remembered shaking an ethereal hand.
She'd been someone he made a deal with, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was for.
So in the darkness of the early mornings, tired and worn out, Alastor reached for his magic, quite unsure how it would respond.
He had only vague ideas of what he was searching for, going off of stories of breaking cameras and sounds crackling and ringing from him without his direct intention.
He closed his eyes and reached out for something intangible. The EM fields he could sense around him were becoming easier to distinguish over time, able to recognize now the complete lack of Vox's phone anywhere nearby.
He could sense Vox on the other end of the apartment, though he tried to avoid brushing his senses against him too much in case he could sense Alastor in turn. His reach then clicked against the radio in the room, and he could hear it crackle to life.
Alastor jolted, his stomach dropping in fear of Vox rising in anger, the radio seeming to mirror him as it warbled like a creaky fence. He quickly pulled his connection back, his head lightly swirling from the abrupt cut off.
Slowly, Alastor made his way back across the apartment and checked in Vox's room, relieved to see that Vox was still powered-down. He carted around the bed to the far bedside table where the radio sat innocently.
It was a short navy blue rectangle, sleek and modern in design. In Alastor's opinion, it was quite lacking in personality, like most things in their home.
Flicking his gaze to Vox again, Alastor reached over and grabbed the radio and set it on his lap, quietly taking it back to his old room.
Closing the door, Alastor held the radio up and tried to connect to it again, but aside from a few pathetic crackles, it stayed quiet.
Disappointed, Alastor put the radio down on his bed, and decided to move onto the next idea. He had time to figure out his powers, unsure if it was that he was out of practice or if he was still too weak.
This was precisely why he wanted to start practicing, to see and understand what he was capable of, and perhaps a small part of him fantasized about connecting to Vox's mind to read what was going on in there. It would certainly be easier than continuing to pry information out of him.
Something was off, and it bothered Alastor greatly. Vox could act like everything was normal, but Alastor wouldn't.
Alastor closed his eyes and searched inside himself, finding his pool of magic and mentally setting it aside. He searched deeper, into his soul and found the complex web of strings that made up his deals. It was deeply entwined into itself, countless strings of all colours leading this way and that. He had no recollection of what they all meant.
He chose a loose thread, feeling like it would be best to investigate something that might be smaller in scale. He didn't want to accidentally break any of them after all.
As he focused on it, it played over in his mind, almost like it was a recording;
'One favour at a time of my choosing where you harm no-one! In return, I tell you what I know! Do we have a deal?'
'Deal.'
It was a young woman's voice. She sounded resigned but still determined. The magic that coursed around it was strong, a mixture of crackling fireworks and a crying elk at the edge of his senses.
He wondered who she was. Their deal was incredibly vague. What did he tell her? What did he want from her?
Was he purposely being vague so that he could have a great number of possibilities to fulfill it with?
How many of his deals used such a tactic? Vox had mentioned he had a project in which he desired for favours from powerful people once, so Alastor wondered if that was his preferred type of target. He could accomplish a great many things if he had powerful people at his beck and call.
He observed the tangled mass of deals he owned. He wondered how many were for favours and how many were for souls.
The questions kept piling up.
---
Charlie was doom-scrolling.
She knew she shouldn't be, as she had many more important things she should be doing, but she was stuck.
She was curled pathetically over a desk, head pillowed in an arm and her phone in her other hand. It was a heavy wooden desk with a nice plush chair behind it, where Charlie had a shoeless hoof pulled up under her.
It was Alastor's desk.
-Rather, it was supposed to be Alastor's desk.
She designed the whole office for him, actually. She did it by all by herself, her dad badmouthing him and disagreeing with her every choice simply because it was designed for Alastor.
The hatred that her father had for her friend hurt so much worse now, now that Alastor was gone. She couldn't talk to Lucifer about Alastor or how much it hurt her to have lost him. He simply didn't understand how she could like these sinners that he hated so much.
Charlie hoped that spending time here at her hotel would continue to change her father's mind about sinners, and that he could come around and even make friends with some of them.
In the meantime, she had to fight Lucifer continuously to stop him from revoking Alastor's spaces for something else. His office, his room, his radio tower; Lucifer wanted to take them all down.
She wouldn't let him.
It was all she had of Alastor, and the worst part was that he hadn't even stepped a single toe in any of them.
The office was unused, dust not collecting only because Niffty kept it spotless in here. Charlie's office across the hall was instead the mess, a whirlwind of paperwork all half-completed by herself in Alastor's absence. They were behind schedule, and it was all Charlie's fault.
She decided to take it upon herself to do Alastor's paperwork, and while she did have to double- or triple-check and was slow, she liked to think she at least was doing a decent job.
He was so much better at numbers and contracts than she was and with the complete destruction of the old hotel, she hadn't even a single page of his uneven all-caps handwriting to remember him by.
His room was similarly spotless, decorated with things she hoped he'd like, but nothing genuinely his was in there. The bayou was missing, and not a single speck of blood seeped into the hardwood floors to signify his presence.
His radio tower was abandoned and empty. She didn't know a single thing about radios or how to create an appropriate studio for them, deciding to just carve him out an appropriate space so that Alastor could manipulate it to his liking when he had the time.
He couldn't though, and would never get to.
Alastor's body wasn't even returned to them.
She'd tried to get it. She reached out to Vox, sending him a polite e-mail requesting that Alastor's body be given over so she could host him a proper funeral.
Maybe she'd have been able to move past it by now if she had.
They all knew from the beginning that Alastor was a shady character, someone they couldn't trust in the long run. Charlie, however, understood how he had defended them in battle against the exorcists when he hadn't needed to.
He could have run off before he'd gotten injured, but he didn't.
He could've not shown up at all, but he did.
He didn't have to introduce her to Rosie and gotten her the information about how to fight the angel army, but he did.
He had a heart, even if he hadn't wanted to show it.
Charlie missed him.
Vox had responded to her with the most embarrassing and mocking phone call she had ever received in her life.
She didn't even want to know how he had gotten her phone number.
Vox's words had been cruel and he reminded her what felt like every other sentence that he 'killed Alastor! Wow, princess, you're really bad at keeping your friends alive, huh?'
The TV demon was an awful man. He mocked her, he ridiculed her, but worst of all he made fun of her family.
There was always some kind of slander against her hotel on air, various talk show segments and news re-runs tearing it and her desire for a better future for all of Hell and its population apart. He mocked her residents, calling out their worst habits publicly and he mocked her staff, calling them all delusional and misguided.
It was obvious by his voice alone how much he loved ruining her life brick by foundational brick.
She'd ask why, but she understood that hurt people hurt people. She wondered what happened to Vox to turn him into this kind of person. What kind of past he had that he felt the need to tear down everyone around him to ensure his voice was heard and not underestimated.
She wondered why he killed Alastor.
Alastor had certainly showed enough dislike for the visual media that there had to be something more than a preference for radio. She wondered if they knew each other. They had to, considering they were both powerful overlords who tended to dominate the news whenever they did anything.
Alastor by himself was more legend than person before she'd met him and got to know him.
Was Vox hiding behind a persona too?
Charlie scrolled past another post from VoxTek, a picture from Alastor's death announcement where Vox held onto Alastor's body by an ear. How anyone could be so insensitive to post that everywhere was a mystery to her.
Tears gathered and she sniffed, rubbing her face in her sleeve. She was a wreck, not able to wear makeup without streaking it with tears anymore.
Were he here, Alastor would grin at her and call her out, like he had before the last extermination. She could still remember his exact intonation for the whole sentence, 'Oh, Charlie, you look an absolute mess!'
She'd gladly take his bite and sharp wit, just for the opportunity to see him again. To thank him for everything he's done for her and the hotel. She wished she had the chance to show him how appreciative she was to have him onboard, creepy radio demon stuff included.
Knocking on Alastor's door broke her concentration. Charlie sat upright quickly and only just managed not to throw her phone across the office.
She rubbed the tears from her eyes quickly, and not a moment too soon as the door creaked open. It was a brand new door, so normally it wouldn't creak, but Alastor would like a creaky door, wouldn't he? That was appropriately creepy for an office, right? Charlie had to make his office perfect-
"Charlie? You in here, sweetie?" Rosie stuck her head in.
As if Charlie would be in her own office with mountains of paperwork that Alastor normally did-
It was a bad day, Charlie knew. She's known since she woke up extra early this morning after a vivid dream surrounding Alastor. It was of the day they made their deal, the one where he'd asked her for a favour.
She'd never get to know what that favour was now.
Even now, a few hours later, it lingered. Her dream had been like a direct replay of that day, and even in the waking world, her hand felt warm like Alastor had just shook it. It was almost like his magic was still surrounding it.
Rosie's face softened immediately upon seeing Charlie's state, "Oh, dearie, rough day?" She entered the office proper, closing the door behind her. Rosie came and sat on the corner of the desk, and smoothed a hand across Charlie's head.
Charlie sniffed, and let her phone fall to the desk and dropped her head into Rosie's lap. The woman teased at Charlie's hair, freeing it from its hair-ties and started brushing through it.
It reminded Charlie of her mother, and made her heart ache more. Had she not lost enough people in her life yet?
"I had a dream about him," Charlie mumbled into Rosie's lap.
Rosie's ministrations never stuttered or paused, careful to avoid tugging or tangling Charlie's long blonde hair. "He's been on my mind, too."
"Do you miss him?"
"Of course I do." Rosie sighed, "We may not have gotten on splendidly all the time, but I cared for him."
Charlie raised her head in surprise, "You didn't get along all the time? But… You guys were so friendly with each other when I met you."
Rosie gave a soft chuckle, "Of course we didn’t! You know Alastor very well by now, don't you? So we both know how stubborn that man was, and how difficult he could be when it concerns certain subjects?"
Charlie chuckled, as Rosie was always right, "Yeah, that's true."
"Alastor always got his moods where he wasn't very happy with me. He'd always smarten up eventually, though. I like to think of him as my friend, even if he didn't consider me one of his," Rosie's hands played with her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles Charlie left.
She wondered how the two of them met, Rosie and Alastor.
Charlie caressed her hand, the one that still tingled of his magic. "Rosie?" she asked, hesitant.
"Yes, dear?"
"Do you ever dream about him? Like, really vividly?"
Rosie cocked her head, "How do you mean 'really vividly'?"
Charlie took a deep breath, "I- I had a deal with Alastor. We made it before he took me to see you."
Rosie nodded, "Vaggie did tell me about that."
"She did?" Charlie perked up, both touched at the evidence that Rosie and Vaggie are getting along when she wasn't present and concerned that they were talking about her when she wasn't around.
"She was worried about you, and if it would affect you at all since he's passed."
Charlie's heart warmed at that, Vaggie was always doing her best to look after her. It was a good question though, "…Would it?"
"No," Rosie shook her head, "Deals break once a participant permanently dies. What about your deal makes you bring it up now?"
"Well, I dreamt of it this morning- and it was like I was there again. Every detail was completely clear like the day was repeating over."
Rosie was silent, putting a delicate hand to her chin like she needed to really think it over.
Charlie held out her hand, "And since I woke up, it feels like he's still shaking my hand."
Rosie's eyes widened, and she grabbed at Charlie's hand, looking it over intensely. There, of course, wasn't any evidence left behind of Alastor's hand-shaking. It was months ago now, and even back then, his hold of her had been gentle of his claws and left no mark behind.
Charlie was beginning to feel nervous about Rosie's continued silence. "Is- Is that a bad thing?" she asked, her voice threatening to crack.
Rosie locked eyes with her, Charlie feeling unsettled by the dark pits they were for the first time since she met her. "Charlie," Rosie said gently, an undercurrent Charlie's never heard from her before in her voice, "That only happens if the other is compelling you to fulfill it."
Charlie's stomach dropped, "But- How can Alastor be doing that if he's gone?"
"Are you absolutely certain it's Alastor's deal that's being tugged on? Not another one?"
Charlie shook her head, "I don't have any other deals. I've only ever made the one with Alastor."
Rosie, feverous, fanned her hands, "Quick, dear, pull up the contract."
Charlie stammered, "How?"
That seemed to snap Rosie out of whatever was happening to her. She blinked, gaping at Charlie like she'd forgotten who she was talking to. "You don’t know?" Rosie asked, stunned.
Honestly, with sinners being surrounded with deals, Charlie didn't fault her. While she was technically still young, it was unusual to encounter someone who has zero experience with these things. Her parents hated deals, so Charlie never made any.
Rosie quickly recovered, "Don’t you worry, now, Auntie Rosie is here to help-" She gave a quick pat to Charlie's head, then held her hands to her chest, "Just reach deep inside yourself, and if there's anything that feel so powerfully like Alastor, then that’s the deal. A deal is a woven bond between his magic and yours. Give it a try."
"Okay-" Charlie closed her eyes to help concentrate. She looked deep inside of herself, the blazing fire of her power easily in reach like it always was. She didn't have much control of it quite yet, and she ignored it as it wasn't her concern right now.
Charlie eventually found a small, lonely music note, faint and whistling like the broken reed of a wind instrument.
"What does Alastor's magic feel like?" she asked, unsure if this was what she was looking for.
Rosie's voice echoed around her, "It can be represented a little differently for everyone. If you think you found it, grab it and imagine you're holding a piece of paper in your hands."
Charlie did so, holding her hands out like she would when she tapped a stack of their office paperwork into a neat pile. To her surprise, a heavy piece of parchment paper manifested in her hands, and she opened her eyes in shock.
In her hands was a faded music sheet, titled with Alastor's name and the exact words of their deal measured out like lyrics across the bars. Her words were in her own handwriting, and Alastor's was in his.
Rosie sucked in a breath next to her, having gotten to her feet to stand next to her at some point. Her hand grasped harshly at Charlie's shoulder.
"What? Did I do it wrong?" Charlie's hands tightened around the parchment, and she turned to look at Rosie. Her face was suddenly more pale than Charlie's ever seen it.
Rosie pointed at the contract and her voice trembled as she spoke, "Alastor's alive."
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summary: Vox, even though he has the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to kill him, decides to save Alastor's life. He goes so far as to take him back to Vee Tower to nurse him back to health, and discovers an opportunity that may get him exactly what he's always wanted from Alastor.
or
post s1: what if after the extermination vox got his hands on an injured, amnesiac alastor and told him they were husbands (it goes great /s)
made a reference for vox throughout my radiostatic -> radiosilence fic "Do You Love Me? (Do I Love You?)"
because id like to draw some more scenes from the fic sometime, i made one for alastor, and so i obviously needed one for vox!
masterpost | art masterpost
beginning | prev | next
below the cut is a breakdown of chapters per reference, so its spoiler territory if you're not up to date!
most of the differences for vox throughout the fic are all mental.
at first he's uncertain that his masterplan will work, but when it does he becomes overwhelmed by the fact he now has to act on it and uphold it so it doesnt crash and burn-
along the way he's left with more and more responsibilities, helping a disabled 'husband' who is very dependent on his caretaker. after having fled from alastor on one occasion, and then having a breakdown on him on another, vox finally feels confident and prepared enough to fully devote himself as a loving 'husband' and capable caretaker
its only after alastor starts to rebel and hurt himself that vox starts to feel like hes losing control of the situation and as such, imposes all the control he can just to prove that he has it. he isolates them from the rest of the vees, he abuses alastor, and it just gets worse and worse as the lies unveil themselves
vox genuinely becomes so entitled that it completely unravels the lie and alastor seeks escape through the help of rosie
aside from his arm getting torn off, and his screen getting shattered, vox only suffered minor injuries from rosie's thorned vines during the fight
in the end, vox must face the consequences of his actions and is yet still finding difficulty understanding what exactly he did wrong.
Following the events of the kiss, Alastor feels absolutely disgusted and is having trouble relaxing around Vox and is losing sleep. Vox on the other hand seems as normal as can be.
One sleepless night, Alastor decides to answer Vox's phone that has been ringing consistently since he went no-contact with the other Vees. He only exchanges a few words with Velvette before Vox intercepts and steals the phone away.
Alastor's dreams have been becoming more vivid with more fragments of his past, and he's getting closer and closer to remembering who Rosie is.
Alastor notes how Vox has been watching him via security cameras whenever he's not home.
---
Alastor had expected to feel relief after the deal was struck. He had every assurance now that his husband was irrevocably his, and that no smarmy second pick could step in between him and what belonged to him. It was the kind of feeling he'd expect from a starving stray dog given a piece of meat rather than a concerned husband faced with a home-wrecker.
The comparison was an insult.
He'd also expected some sense of victory, but he felt hollowed out. He felt like he'd been dealt a few cards short at the poker table, and that his opponent would feast on that weakness.
Odd, considering his 'opponent' here was his husband and shouldn't have to be considered an opponent in the first place.
The deal was no doubt tilted in his favour, Vox taking the short end of the stick with far more limiting and long-lasting parametres. Somehow, however, he had the distinct feeling only Vox benefited from it.
The worst of it was how much of an overreaction Alastor was kicking up. It was just a kiss; a sloppy, horrible kiss. Vox deserved that much, marrying him and staying with him despite the glaring weakness he's become, and especially considering how much of an underperformance he was.
His husband shouldn’t have had to strike a deal with him for simple affection.
It was just a kiss.
-And yet, he felt disgusting and vile.
Day and night, he could still feel Vox's mouth on his, and his hands on his face.
Every inch of his skin that Vox had touched was burning with phantom touches, his fur felt like it was brushed the wrong way and his hair like it was brittle and torn. He felt wrong. He felt violated.
Alastor had known he didn't like the kisses Vox gave him before, but this? This- this was overwhelming. This was torture.
He was having a hard time sleeping at night.
They were now sharing Vox's bed on the regular, Vox carrying him in whenever Alastor tried to protest or offered to return to his own room. He found himself closing his eyes and waiting still and silent for Vox to power-down before he could relax.
Vox kept a tight grip on him all throughout the night that even when Alastor did manage to sleep, he would wake every few hours because of the pain.
His hands still trembled in Vox's presence, and Alastor didn’t know if the scars down his arms went deeper than they looked or if it was his frayed nerves turning physical.
The electrical attack had been unexpected for them both. Vox has on several occasions shown fear of hurting him and making Alastor's injuries worse, so Alastor had no doubt in his mind that it was unintentional.
Alastor has already forgiven him for just that. The crash that evening had been unlike any he'd seen previously, so it was an outlier. Vox had even seemed unsettled by it.
Vox apologized for a whole afternoon. He then turned exasperated as he would on several occasions have to manhandle Alastor in order to tend to his arms.
Alastor's tolerance for Vox's touch had completely tanked, and with every outreaching hand, he feared Vox would ask for another deal; for another kiss, or for something worse.
Alastor found himself wondering if he should've left the relationship with Valentino alone, if this level of intimacy had this adverse of an effect on him.
He wished he knew if he'd always been like this or if it was new.
Did his encounter with an archangel break him in more ways than one?
The sound of Vox's phone ringing in the other room was shrill and echoed in the quiet of midnight. He flinched, ears briefly pinning back before he recognized the ringtone and forced himself to relax.
Alastor glanced over with dread, and sighed when he saw Vox's screen was still dark and his body completely locked solid like rigor mortis.
The phone rang again, incessant.
It has been ringing periodically the last few days since the deal, and Vox never picked it up. Alastor assumed it was Valentino calling, and that Vox ignoring it was him just adhering to their deal.
There was a sick feeling in his gut that it wasn't just that, though.
It rung again.
Alastor couldn't listen to it anymore, already worn threadbare with the haunting sensations across his body, his pain being aggravated constantly, and sleepless nights.
He grabbed Vox's arm that laid across him, pinning him down and pushed with all his strength to give it back to its owner. Vox weighed a ton more when he was powered down like this, joints stiff and unyielding.
Alastor pushed himself upright, untangling his legs from the sheets and threw them over the edge of the bed by hand. Reaching for his wheelchair that rested next to the bed, he double checked the breaks were in place before transferring over. He was becoming much better at it, faltering only once in a while.
He was thankful he didn't need Vox's hands all over him to do it anymore.
Alastor needed much more practice propelling himself around, however. Vox was incredibly stubborn, interfering whenever he caught him doing so, with worries about straining himself and needy hands on his shoulders.
Alastor unlocked himself and slowly made his way into the kitchen. The burns on his arms were easily irritated by the friction of him hitting the poorly placed armrests, but he was getting better at working through the various pains he was in.
He rolled up to where Vox's phone sat unattended on the counter. It's been there for days now, it's charging cord having joined it at some point.
It rang again.
Alastor reached over, thankful that his height lent him the extra limb length to reach effortlessly towards the vibrating device, turning it over to read the screen.
It was a picture of Velvette.
Alastor glanced back to the quiet bedroom, seeing that Vox hadn't moved a millimetre since he left. He looked back at the phone, and the enticing 'slide to answer…' that displayed on the screen.
Alastor swiped.
Immediately, Velvette's voice was shouting through the device, making his ears pin at the shrill frequency. His head calculated the numbers and distance involuntarily and instantly, decoding that she was using her own phone and she was somewhere nearby. Probably downstairs somewhere.
He wondered why she hasn't been by to see him.
Velvette's tirade was bashing Vox repeatedly, demanding answers for quite a number of things. There was something about a text, and Valentino, and ignoring them when he shouldn't. Alastor didn't truly understand most of what she said.
"Velvette?" his voice came out as a pitiful whisper.
"… Alastor?" her voice was full of shock.
Silence fell over the two of them.
Alastor checked over his shoulder. Vox was still out.
"Al, why do you have Vox's phone? Where is he?"
"Asleep," he cleared his throat gently. He tried not to sound so frazzled, "Why are you calling in the middle of the night?"
She ignored his question, instead asking, "Are you okay? Is he feeding you alright?" The anger had completely escaped her voice, something not quite concern but similar filling it instead.
"I-" he shook, memories of the kiss crossing his mind again.
No, he was not okay.
He shook his head.
He was fine. He was just overreacting to a reasonable request, that's all.
"Everything's fine, dear. You were saying about Vox?"
The prompt quickly had her going off again, cursing out his husband, for what sounded to be various reasons. "Tell your hubby to answer his fucking phone-"
"He's been ignoring it," he gently interrupted her.
He has tried already to get him to answer, small inquiries being brushed off as 'It's nothing important' or 'I'll check it later,' with later never arriving.
"That motherfucker! Who does he think he is, ignoring his friends like this? It's not like we've just been trying to talk- This fucking company is his too-!"
That confused Alastor. Vox has been working, Alastor has seen him working through his holograms several times a day, occasionally clacking away at a hovering keyboard or disappearing for the afternoon with announcements that he had an important meeting to attend.
"Do you mean he hasn't been-" Alastor was interrupted by the phone being snatched out of his hands.
Instantly, his hackles were raised and his ears pinned back, and Alastor looked over his shoulder to see his husband looming over him. He did not look pleased.
"Velvette, I'll call you later," Vox said coolly into his phone before hanging up.
"Dear," Alastor's throat wanted to constrict, "Velvette wanted-"
Vox shut off and pocketed the phone, and leaned down into his personal space. Alastor couldn't lean too far away, restricted to his chair as he was.
"Al, my dear, there's no need for you to be answering the phone, now is there?" he had a smile that felt predatory and Alastor shivered as Vox placed his hands on his shoulders. "It's late, you should be resting."
In all the months he's been with Vox now, Alastor's never felt this apprehensive about his husband. Vox was a lovesick little fool who tripped over his own feet to praise him. He was insecure, and was afraid of consequences.
This? This was different. It was the feeling of facing down an enemy, where you would have to assess every twitch of their muscles and every slight deviance in the cadence of their words.
Staring down Vox like this, it felt oddly familiar. This felt like what he remembered of being out there on the streets of Hell was like, the anticipation right before the first drop of blood was spilt.
He was confused though. Why would he ever face down his own husband in a fight? Vox protected him. He-
For a moment, he was reminded of somewhere else. A small room, dark and ransacked, with Vox's blue light looming over him just like he was now.
Alastor blinked, and the memory was fading away.
"C'mon, Al, let's get you back to bed," his voice was chipper again. "I've got a lot to do tomorrow," Vox stepped around him and was already pushing him back to the master bedroom by the time Alastor's mind caught up to the present.
---
Alastor's short, and often interrupted, dreams were getting more vivid the longer this tense atmosphere was brewing between him and Vox.
Mostly they felt like nostalgia; a bar with the scent of cigarettes, a piano sticky with whiskey, a dead deer in a bayou. Sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of himself in a store window as he walked down a street in the city, dressed in his red suit and a monocle.
They were fragments of his life before, he was sure, but unfortunately only glimpses. He had a hard time trying to connect them in any meaningful or chronological manner, and it was testing his patience.
What permeated his dreams the most was a voice, the same motherly-sounding woman who he's really starting to wonder who she was to him. On a few separate occasions now, he's dreamt of her voice in a small cabin, with a roaring hearth and bodies littering the floor.
Her words were always indistinct, but the symbols he saw were frighteningly, painfully, familiar. He used them, and frequently, he knew. Based on the ritual circle in the middle of the room, he could take a guess what for, but the reason why lingered at the tip of his tongue.
Normally, he'd be glad to strike up a conversation with Vox and try and pick his brain for the event he was halfway to remembering, but every time he glanced in Vox's direction his skin crawled.
Vox seemed to not have noticed anything amiss, going about their usual routine with no less touching or smiling than before.
The concerning cut off from the outside world was another thing that had Alastor on edge.
Since he answered the phone call from Velvette, Vox's phone has completely disappeared from the apartment. He never saw Vox use it, and he never heard that teasing ringtone again.
When he asked about Velvette, Vox would say she was very busy and that he'd pass on a message to her when he could.
He didn't believe him.
Alastor's sometimes second guessed Vox's words before, but this was different.
Velvette was strong-minded, the way she pushed back against Vox and Valentino made that quite obvious. If she wanted to come and visit him, she would have. She's made the time for it in her busy schedule multiple times, even going out of her way to accommodate him best she could.
Vox wasn't wheedling or dancing around what he did or didn't want to say; he was blatantly lying. He couldn't prove it without some way to contact Velvette, but he just knew.
When he asked about Valentino, Vox had shut him down completely. He just weaponized his deal with Alastor and said they weren't speaking outside of strict work-related scenarios, just like Alastor wanted.
Valentino, he could understand, as Alastor quite literally asked for it; but it was cutting him off from Velvette that he didn't understand.
Was Vox mad at her?
If Velvette had told Vox what had happened when he left the apartment, then he hoped at least that she made the blame equal. Sure, she had thrown him down the ramp before really thinking through what consequences there would be, but the second time had been by his request, and thus, not her fault.
If he was mad that Velvette had taken him out of the apartment without his permission in the first place, he could make sense of it, but Velvette had taken all the necessary precautions to ensure they were not caught.
They'd been reckless, but not completely irresponsible.
Vox only seemed to hold it against Velvette. Whenever that night came up, he only ever spoke poorly of her, trying to paint her worse than Alastor felt that she was. Vox tried to call her a poor influence and told him on multiple occasions that she shouldn't have been so insensitive to Alastor's state of health.
He has since been handling Alastor with a gentleness that was bordering on demeaning.
Alastor knew he was fragile. He knew he was only capable of a quarter of what he used to be, and that was probably generous by a large margin. His body would not let him forget that.
He did not need Vox to remind him of that.
He still offered him to dice the vegetables, he still let him transfer himself in and out of chairs, he still let him wash himself; but the hovering supervision was becoming oppressive.
It was as if he expected Velvette to swoop in and whisk him away if he left him unattended for long.
Alastor has taken note of the security cameras.
When Vox wasn't home, they were active. They watched his every move, and he hated them.
when elodie was a baby, she was so extremely clingy towards alastor in particular. often, alastor would be stuck holding her for hours, and especially when they put her down for a nap, because the second he tried to put her back in her crib she'd wake back up and fuss a lot
most days when rosie gets home from working at the emporium, she'd find both elodie and alastor napping in their rocking chair
mild content warning: coerced kissing (nothing below the shoulders)
chapter summary:
Vox takes a picture of Alastor, and fawns over it, while Alastor degrades himself. The two to take a selfie together, which Vox sets as his phone background.
Vox offers a deal to Alastor; in exchange for a 'real' kiss from him, Vox will halt his relationship with Valentino.
Alastor, after some consideration, agrees.
Vox immediately climbs on top of Alastor, straddling him and forces a kiss on him. He tries for more, but Alastor reminds Vox that the deal was for only one.
As their magic seals the deal, Vox crashes. He accidentally electrocutes Alastor in the process, and Vox leaves the room to update Valentino and Velvette on a new no-contact unless absolutely necessary arrangement, and abandons his phone in the kitchen as it starts ringing.
He returns to his room, trying to offer Alastor burn cream for his injuries, but Alastor hides and cries under the bed covers as Vox decides to leave him alone.
[if you'd like to skip the coercion, leave at ' "…It's a deal." ' and return at ' "The deal was one-"']
---
It was an awful picture, really, with Alastor looking as rough as he probably felt. He was dressed in sleep-wrinkled pajamas, the wide collar showing off the thick bandaging across his torso, and he was still a little pale from yesterday's early morning bout of blood-loss, his face drawn in exhaustion from a long night of pain and still hallowed from hunger.
It was odd to think this was actually an improvement from when Vox claimed him. The minor injuries from his fight against Vox had long faded, and he wasn't as pallid as he'd been while at death's door.
Regardless, Vox still found him beautiful. His hair was vibrant as it used to be with Velvette's intervention, and his smile was still the same: sharp and expansive. It was wide for the camera, crinkling his eyes a bit, and the uncertain draw of his brows made it an adorable vision of nerves.
Vox's smile was genuine, his excitement was that hard to contain. "Al, look at you!" he swung the phone around to show Alastor.
Alastor steadied it with his own hands again as he squinted at the screen, and Vox was stubborn to keep the device in his hands. Who knew if Alastor would find a way to delete it or if his powers would suddenly revolt and corrupt it if he let Alastor actually take the device from him.
"My, I look awful," he noted, reaching his free hand up to his face.
"But you're visible!" Vox cheered, "You usually look distorted and pixilated, so much so it's hard to make out your silhouette at times. This? This is stunningly clear- It looks amazing!" he turned the phone back to himself and made a few hundred copies of the image, sending a few dozen along his private channels to ensure he never loses it.
He, of course, had a whole database dedicated to both video footage and images of Alastor. There were actually multitudes of them, depending on whether they were organized by month and year, or by clarity of the image, or by Vox's personal favourites.
He was now carefully curating a new section for these new uncorrupted images he's been sneaking since Alastor's been hurt, and he hoped desperately they would outnumber the corrupted ones in the future.
Alastor hummed, "I wouldn't label that nasty looking skeleton amazing, dear."
The comment took a moment to process, Vox having seen Alastor at his worst for weeks when he first rescued him.
Nasty? No, Alastor regularly bathed to stave off infection while the wound was still struggling to scar over.
Skeletal? Well, sure, he's lost weight from the whole ordeal but who wouldn't? Either way, Alastor had always been unnaturally thin and Vox often thought about how good it felt to wrap both of his hands around Alastor's tiny waist.
Was it the pajamas? Before the injury, Vox hadn't ever seen Alastor so dressed-down, so it could make sense.
"You look just fine dear, you've been through a lot lately. Not everyone can say they've fought an angel and walked-" he cringed immediately, "And, uh, got away alive! You're still injured, give yourself time to recover before you go calling yourself ugly, okay?"
Alastor puffed air in the way Vox recognized as contained laughter.
Vox missed Alastor's laugh.
His chest was probably sensitive after Velvette's poor babysitting skills from the night before. He shouldn't have allowed her inside, or anywhere near Alastor.
"Well, there's no evidence I was ever pretty, now was there? You said it yourself," Alastor pointed at him accusingly, and Vox grabbed it to interlace their fingers, "There are no pictures of me."
Vox hummed, laying kisses along Alastor's knuckles, "We can take as many pictures as it takes to convince you, now. You're beautiful, and I want to prove it to you. Trust me?"
Alastor echoed Vox's hum, and averted his eyes.
"C'mon," Vox pleaded, "Let's take one of us together!"
Vox didn't listen for any objections, just climbing up onto his bed to sit next to him. He snuggled in close, throwing an arm around Alastor's shoulders.
There was a faint rumble of static in the air before it was cut off, and Vox wondered if Alastor was aware he did it.
More importantly, Vox had a selfie to take.
Never in his afterlife did Vox think he was ever going to get permission to take another picture with Alastor. He had no qualms with taking pictures of him without permission, of course, but to be allowed was something special he'd treasure. It only has happened once before in all the years Vox has known him.
Kept tucked away safely in his dresser drawers was his most prized possession; the old torn monochrome print of a picture of him and Alastor from way back when they were still on good terms. He'd had begged and pleaded to get that picture taken, but Alastor had caved in the end.
Back then, Vox hadn't known about Alastor's abilities to corrupt imaging, and just assumed he never liked getting his image taken. The camera they'd used that day was one summoned by Alastor, and had been dismissed immediately after the image had been developed.
It was after they had parted unamicably when Vox insisted more and more on keeping tabs on him, that Alastor became so impossible to capture. It used to drive him to insanity, thinking his inventions were in some way deficient since they couldn't capture one measly demon who he had physical proof that he could be photographed.
It was shameful to admit, but it took a few years to realize that it was just an Alastor problem, and not a technological problem.
His company's success soared, so he couldn't really complain about the advancements.
Vox smiled wide, holding his phone out for a selfie, making sure to share equal screen space with Alastor. His smile was the same as the previous picture, unsure but complacent. Vox made sure to tilt his head just right so the lights wouldn't glare off of his face too harshly, and took the image.
He took a few, actually, some being portrait-style, and others as landscape-style. He pulled his phone in to glance them over and gush about how good they looked.
"I'm making this one my phone background," he announced, doing as he said. It was quite the honour Alastor had, to replace his background of Shok.wav.
"Darling, shouldn't you be more careful about that? What if someone who doesn't know saw it?"
Alastor had a point, but Vox wasn't likely to show off his phone to just anyone, and he's already done it anyway.
He put his phone away, turning to Alastor, his face flushing once he noticed how close they were. "I'll be careful, but don't you think it'll be nice that I can look at your picture whenever I'm not home?"
Alastor hummed, "But don't you have no reason to leave? You can do your work here, and I don't want you going out with Valentino again."
Vox frowned. Alastor was right, again. Vox didn't need to be physically present in his office to do his work, as he kept nearly all of it digital. He often clung to the old habits of his news-casting days in how he liked to have his script in paper in front of him, but he never actually needed them, able to memorize it fully or keep it queued mentally in his processors.
He didn't mind his work either. He enjoyed being on the top rung, going out and being a suave businessman. It's been proven now that he was the most persuasive of his colleagues, and he liked having his claws around his empire. He liked the control.
He just didn't like the people involved at times.
Valentino and him had their ups and downs; there were times where Vox's patience was short, or other times where Valentino was nothing but a difficult brat. They always drifted back together like the desperate sods they were, enjoying their peace before it shattered again.
Vox hadn't considered that Alastor would hold his situation with Valentino against him. They just fucked sometimes, it wasn't a big deal, especially since Vox still had to get Alastor warmed up to the idea first.
Vox hasn't ever heard of Alastor taking on a lover before, and while it relieved him in some part because he wanted to be the only one in Alastor's heart, it also made him wonder.
The flat rejection earlier was not wholly unexpected, he just wished it had been a 'maybe' instead.
He thought about Alastor's ultimatum, 'Would you leave him if I asked you to?'
It would be difficult, but it gave him an idea. Honestly, if he could make some ground with Alastor sometime soon, it might be worth it.
The other two Vees have been nothing but grievances and poor influences on his husband. They upheld their positions in their industry just fine, he had no doubts that they were good business partners, but they were turning out to be poor choices for friends.
Valentino, whose presence made his husband feel inadequate.
Velvette, who was feeding him ideas and raw foods and got him hurt.
"You know what, Al?" he leaned in closer to his husband, watching as Alastor tried to pull back a bit. "How about we make a deal?"
Alastor blinked, eyeing him with suspicion, "What kind of deal?"
Vox sat back, giving Alastor space. He held his hands out wide, his usual charming persona taking over instinctively, "I'll stop sleeping with Val, if you give me real kiss."
Alastor gave a sharp inhale, his ears pinning back as he averted his gaze. Vox could see the wheels turning in his mind.
He didn't think it needed thinking. It got Alastor what he wanted. Vox would have to go without sex for a while, but if he could have it with Alastor instead, it would be well worth it. He would convince him. Somehow.
"C'mon, Al," he leaned back in, "One kiss, a few seconds long, maybe a little tongue? Isn't that worth it?"
Vox watched as Alastor tried to sink in on himself, his shoulders rising to his cheeks.
"You'll never have to hear Valentino's name come from my mouth ever again," Vox raised a brow, and waited. He knew when to stop pressing the matter, the bait set.
Vox fully expected Alastor to take him up on it. It was a good deal, and he could never resist one that bent in his favour.
Alastor disliked Valentino enough to potentially do anything to get rid of him. It was interesting because he hadn't shown that much hatred during Velvette's after-party, but he also knew Alastor could be thinking a lot without ever showing it. Maybe the hatred brewed only after the date yesterday, who knows.
Vox never knew Alastor was the jealous type, but it was a delicious discovery. To know that in some way, Alastor was capable of the same wants as he was, that he must know somewhere deep inside that they were meant for each other, was amazing.
The past few months was a crazy ride of emotions and crushing responsibilities, but Vox could adapt. He had to adapt.
Anything so Alastor would remain his.
Alastor had his head down, his fringe hiding his expression when he finally spoke, "Just one kiss?"
Vox grinned, tasting his surefire victory. Would Alastor taste of their lunch? Something else? He was getting excited already, feeling electrical currents sparking to life inside himself. He tried to contain it from arcing outward, not wanting to strike Alastor with them.
He lifted a singular claw, "Just one kiss, and it has to last at least a few seconds. I'm not accepting just a quick peck."
"And then you're done with Valentino?"
"Then I'm done with Valentino."
The silence stretched on.
When Alastor finally spoke, his voice low and defeated, "…It's a deal."
Vox grinned like a madman, the arcs of electricity inside him priming to burst. He didn't let Alastor have a second to reconsider, turning around onto his hands and knees to straddle his husband and crash their lips together.
Alastor, feedback screeching out of him, tried to pull away, but Vox chased after him.
Kissing Alastor was nothing like kissing Valentino, desperate and uncomfortable. Alastor indeed tasted of their lunch, his lips a little dry and teeth a little fuzzy from grime.
It was far more satisfying in the thematic sense. It was seventy years of pining and yearning that finally, finally has come to an end. It was the cavern in his heart that was sealing over, the deepest of his hopes being realized.
He wanted more. Needed more.
Vox reached out with his tongue, finding Alastor's teeth were clamped shut. It was a shame, but he had time yet to persuade him otherwise.
As Vox continually teased at Alastor's lips, the demon below him tried to push him away.
"C'mon, Al, one more?" Vox, drunk on intimacy, whispered across Alastor's lips.
Alastor's static growled, and he bit down on his own lip as if to hide it from Vox's hunting. With no caution against harming himself, he had cut his bottom lip in several places from his sharp teeth, blood slowly pilling up.
Vox couldn't help himself, and lapped it up.
Delayed, power surged between them, Alastor's weak and thrashing, and Vox's sharp and oppressive. The deal sparked into effect, and between the heady rush of magic and the reeling emotions Vox was experiencing, he exploded. Electricity surged outward indiscriminately and violently, and Vox crashed. He smoked, fumes curling upward from his head and from under his now singed shirt.
Vox rebooted in seconds, electricity still hanging heavily charged in the air. The radio on the bedside table, screeching, slowly crackled into silence and the light bulbs far above in the ceiling had shattered, littering the room with their detritus.
Below him, Alastor's arms were still pressed up against his chest, still trying to push him away. He was trembling now, his sleeves burnt away and revealing his forearms that were smoking with lightning scars. His head was turned away, nearly all the way back into the pillows, staining them with his tears.
Vox, his thoughts oddly sluggish, sat back. He rested his ass on Alastor's thin thighs, cradling Alastor's burnt arms in his hands, "Oh, Al, I didn't mean to." He soothed his hands along them, tracing the lichtenburg pattern that coursed up towards his elbows.
Vox reached up with a hand and caressed Alastor's face. He grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look at him.
Alastor's eyes were wide with something he couldn't identify.
"I'm sorry," he said genuinely, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Alastor's expression crumbled, another round of tears budding at the corner of his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Vox said again. "I love you," he leaned in again, whispering it reverently. He pressed a kiss to his cheek, and another to his crooked nose. He had done that, deforming it adorably.
"Stop-" Alastor pressed a hand to his face, his whole limb trembling too badly for any force to be behind it.
Vox licked his palm, and delighted in how Alastor shivered.
"Please, stop," Alastor pulled his arms back in, using them instead to hide his face. "The deal was one-"
Vox pulled away, the decision not wholly his.
He desperately craved for more, but they indeed agreed on just the one. The need to maintain his part of the deal was taking over his mind, the compulsion to act on it tugging straight from his soul.
When Alastor didn't continue, only turning to dig his face back into his pillows, Vox just sighed and crawled off of him. He rested on the edge of the bed for a moment, blinking and trying to get his head back in order.
The crash had been brutal, some of his systems going through a self-diagnosis to ensure everything was operational. He shook his head again, the compulsion tugging at him incessantly. The tug was far stronger than he expected it to be. Alastor's powers must be getting stronger, even though they've only manifested as static and feedback thus far.
Vox got to his feet, leaving the room to pull out his phone. Seeing the new background made him smile, but it was quickly wiped off his face as notifications started rolling in.
Velvette was complaining about a power outage.
Valentino was cussing him out about a ruined movie shoot.
Before he opened either of their messages, he first reached inside his complex security systems and changed the pass-code required for entering his floor of the building. He didn't want either of them coming into contact with Alastor ever again.
He texted Valentino first, telling him they were done and that if he had any concerns to message Vox's company e-mail with professional inquiries only. He started typing up an e-mail immediately as his phone was blowing up from texts from Valentino, and sent off a coldly worded outage update that nothing was damaged and it was a resolved incident.
He next sent a similar e-mail to Velvette, then finally texted her that she was no longer permitted to meet with Alastor.
With all that done, Vox tossed his phone carelessly on the kitchen counter, and helped himself to a glass of whiskey.
The deal now cleared, the kiss started replaying in his mind over and over instead. With whole minutes now of impaired thoughts, he hoped his messages didn't have any glaring mistakes that would lead to incredibility.
He didn’t need them thinking he was making decisions drunk again.
He sipped at his drink slowly, savouring the taste and imagining what it would be like if he tasted it on Alastor's tongue.
Unfortunately, his medications couldn't be mixed with alcohol. What a shame.
His phone started ringing incessantly, vibrating its way slowly across the counter. He ignored it.
He took his glass, and hunted down some ointment for Alastor's arms in the highly medically-equipped guest room, returning to his room to find Alastor hiding under his sheets.
"Al, I brought you something for the burns," he announced.
He felt awful he'd lost control over himself and discharged a harmful surge like that. He was usually far more composed than that.
The lump of blankets didn’t move, or even answer him.
"Let me help," Vox tried to peel the blankets back, but Alastor growled and flailed, pulling them back over him any time Vox caught a glimpse of him.
"I'll just… leave it here," Vox placed the cream on the bedside table, and settled in at his spare desk on the far end of his room.
The persistent ringing of his phone in the other room and Alastor's faint sobbing occupied the heavy silence Vox was left with.
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made a reference for alastor throughout my radiostatic -> radiosilence fic "Do You Love Me? (Do I Love You?)"
because id like to draw some more scenes from the fic sometime, i figured itd be helpful if i could tell more immediately what he should be looking like
the downside of this fic having gotten so long now (100k words is crazyyyy!!!!!), is that its getting harder to remember which chapter holds what information!!
(i spent too long on this lmao! (now i should do vox eh?))
masterpost | art masterpost
beginning | prev | next
below the cut is a breakdown of chapters per reference, so its spoiler territory if you're not up to date!
for the most of the fic, alastor is left to wear vox's ill-fitting pajamas until rosie comes and rescues him, being kind enough to offer alastor the red satin she brings from velvette's studio to cover up in.
i like to think he got that satin turned into a new vest, because while it is a reminder that he'd been rescued from vox, its more a sign of how much he means to rosie and how far she's willing to go for him, and alastor is a sucker for meaningful gifts. maybe niffty sewed it, maybe rosie did, havent decided yet
he gets his hair curled by velvette twice in the first half of the fic, so thats why his hair changes and then gets tangled and messy as he lets it go after he's been isolated from her
his various injuries that he accumulates from vox's abuse are also a note of where exactly you are in the fic;
- the litchenburg scars on his forearms
- his claws getting filed down
- the scratch on his cheek
there are many scars across his body that are from his death of being torn apart by hunting dogs, but those have been there since his arrival in hell
and of course, the wound from adam plays a huge part in this story
then, when he returns to the hotel, he can finally be fed his proper diet and finally get some restful sleep and he starts to regain the weight he's lost while under vox's claws
After lunch, Alastor ponders the Valentino situation. He asks Vox if they could talk. The discussion leads to Alastor asking if Vox would leave Valentino if he asked him to. Vox tries to warm Alastor up to Valentino with a silly picture, but that only makes Alastor mad, demanding to know why Vox doesn't keep any pictures of Alastor around. Vox explains poorly that Alastor's powers always got in the way of taking pictures, and offered to take one of Alastor now, to which he agrees.
---
Vox fed him a simple lunch that Alastor knew would leave him still hungry, with breads and fruits and such, with not a single slice of meat present on his plate.
Velvette's revelation that he might have a specified diet that Vox was -intentionally or unintentionally- neglecting was circling in his head. Seeing as Alastor had no way of knowing for sure that he needed something specific, he didn't feel ready to confront Vox about it yet.
It could simply be that he needed more meat; it could be he specifically needed sinner's meat, seeing how he drooled so eagerly at the thought of it; or it could just be Alastor's malnourished body demanded far more sustenance than he is being provided as it tries to return to a functional state. He wondered how much weight he's lost.
Fed, watered, and medicated, Alastor felt like he could finally get his thoughts together.
Since Vox had so graciously got him his own wheelchair, that was knocked off the docket. He'd have to ask Velvette if she spoke with Vox while he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings last night, or if Vox really had been planning it as some kind of recovery milestone surprise for him.
He would've preferred something that fit him better, but at least he had one now.
There were a handful of things he could pester Vox about, such as where his belongings were, or if he even owned a phone or not, but the only one he cared about at this moment was the situation with Valentino's involvement in their relationship.
Alastor thought about what Velvette mentioned, and how the two had been involved for long enough that it was common knowledge around, presumably, all of Hell.
Vox could potentially respond in one of two ways; he could explain that this was established, or try to deflect and Alastor would have no choice but to accept Vox has been blatantly cheating on him.
He has no idea which he'd prefer.
The rings on their fingers were a clear indication that they were devoted to each other, and the only conclusion that Alastor could think of Vox ever needing to step away from him was if he was not satisfying what Vox desired out of their relationship.
Velvette had been crude with her wording, but she'd been right. 'He's gotta fuck somebody,' indeed.
He just couldn't remember if he had had a conversation with Vox about that before they had gotten married or not.
Alastor has not even had a passing thought about being sexually involved with anyone since he's gotten amnesia. He had no way of knowing if he's always been like this or not. He was uncomfortable with touch to the point of being revolted; he was uncomfortable when sex was portrayed in a movie; and he had no doubt in his mind that he didn't want it even with his own husband.
It was not impossible that Alastor has allowed Vox to pursue it elsewhere, if he was unwilling to provide. He just found it mildly perturbing, the idea that he would never be enough for Vox, and that he had to share his husband with someone else.
With someone he did not like, mind you.
Valentino drew unsettling emotions from Alastor, their brief meeting starting out tense and rocky. They had spat viciously towards each other, their dislike shared. Velvette had worked miracles to get them speaking neutrally by the end of the evening, but it didn't cure the spreading negative feelings Alastor had for the moth.
The way that Valentino had spoken down to him was infuriating.
Vox insisted he put Alastor back to bed after they finished eating, just throwing the dishes in the sink instead of cleaning up immediately.
Alastor thought about denying him, but it didn't really matter where they were when he cornered Vox, so he figured the comfort of his own bed would be a nice touch to what would likely be a rough conversation.
To his surprise, Vox carted him back to the master bedroom, and tucked him back in there.
For a brief, horrified, moment Alastor wondered if Valentino was ever in Vox's bed. The fact that the answer was probably yes settled in the back of his throat like bile.
When Vox made to leave, Alastor stopped him by grabbing his hand.
"Al?"
He stared at the sheets pulled over his lap, unable to make eye contact, "We need to talk"
Vox audibly glitched, which Alastor took as a bad sign. He wasn't looking forward to this, the curling emotions inside him bordering on sickening.
Vox carefully sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. He entwined their hands, playing with Alastor's rings, "What about?"
Alastor took a deep breath, stubbornly suppressing his reactions to the pain it caused. He looked Vox dead in the eyes, steeling himself. He wouldn't let this haunt him for any longer.
Vox's brows raised, but he waited for Alastor to speak.
"Why didn't you tell me last night was a date between you and Valentino?" Alastor asked. "-And before you try and deny it, Velvette has already informed me that it was a date, and that you two are regularly involved with each other."
Vox, predictably, stuttered and glitched, fumbling for his words. Unlike any other time, Alastor found it distinctly not entertaining. He was stalling, trying to find a way to keep the truth from him. "I-I never said it was a date- Vel- she- she embellishes," he said despite Alastor's warning, his voice pitched high and panicked.
"Answer the question," Alastor didn't budge an inch.
Vox went to pull away from him, already squirming where he sat. Alastor dug his claws in, making him freeze. "A-Al," he pleaded.
"Answer. The. Question," he demanded, the static that rings in his ears at times seeping into an exterior register.
Vox seems to panic worse at its presence, visual snow creeping at the edge of his display like it was causing a physical reaction in him. "I don’t know! I- I didn't want you to take it wrong- or-or think that- i-it's not like I love him like I love you-"
So it was a purely sexual agreement? That didn't settle Alastor's ruffled feathers, but it was a start. "Does this have anything to do with you saying that I wasn’t what you were expecting?"
Vox blinked, "What? I- I never said that?"
"You did," Alastor growled, "When you were having your silly little tantrum in the kitchen a few days ago."
"No, Al- I wouldn't- I would never- You must be remembering wrong-"
"No, Vox, this is something I remember with quite a bit of clarity," he interrupted. "If it is purely a relation to satisfy needs that I refuse to meet, I would be fine with it-"
"Really?" Vox looked hopeful.
No, actually, but that was an Alastor problem, not a Vox problem.
"-My issue is that you refrained from informing me from the start. Do you not remember how I told you I needed to be told these things up front?" Alastor finally let Vox go, who rubbed the puncture wounds that he'd left behind. Alastor had to keep his hands to himself lest he take his anger further.
Vox watched him with a few emotions flicking by too quickly to identify. "Do… Do you really not mind me being with both of you?"
Alastor bit his tongue to suppress a growl that was brewing. That was what Vox wanted to focus on? Was he deaf?
"Do you really not mind insulting my capacity to negotiate?" Alastor mocked.
Vox flinched like he'd been struck. "Al- Alastor, what Valentino and I have is-" he circled his hands about, trying to craft his words together.
Alastor had no patience left for him though, "Was he before or after me?"
Vox sputtered, caught off guard, "What?"
"Before or after!" he raised his voice.
Alastor would find no reason to listen to Vox anymore if he expressed that he liked Valentino more than he did him. The only grace that Alastor could give was the promise wrapped around his finger, that Vox was worth this… small hiccup.
"It's complicated," Vox weaseled, watching his own hands.
"How?"
Vox jittered, and got up to pace the far end of the room. "We- we were close, then we weren't- and Val and I- and now I have you, but I still like being with Val…" Vox clutched at his screen as he paced, reaching up and down like he would physically grasp the answer out of his head.
Alastor watched him, rolling over Vox's words in his head. They had a brief break in which Valentino had come in and snatched Vox's attention? How disgusting, and very like a demon in hell, swooping in to take advantage of Vox while he was vulnerable.
It was good, then, that Vox had crawled his way back to him.
"I don't like him," Alastor deemed to share, making Vox snap to attention. "Did I know about this before? It would explain my reservations of him."
Vox rejoined him on the bed, scratching the back of his neck. "Al, I'm pretty sure all of Hell knows."
They lingered in the silence, Alastor fighting down the urge to reach over and throttle him. The fact that Vox had omitted telling him for more than a month rankled him still, but the small concession that Alastor had been Vox's first and final choice was smoothing over the betrayal he felt.
He'd have to find a way to use this knowledge against Valentino somehow. 'You'll never have what Vox and I have' his ass.
"To be honest…" Vox started slowly, his words carefully selected, "I thought you would've remembered that at least. Since you, uh… remembered more about Hell in general than you did about you and I being together."
Alastor scoffed, "I'd be insulted if I remembered your and Valentino's relationship before yours and mine."
Vox laughed, an easy smile slotting into place, "That's fair. But! If it means anything, you being here with me matters a whole lot more."
Alastor looked at his rings, "I should hope so."
"C'mon, Al, what do I need to say to prove to you you're better than him?"
It came easily; "Would you leave him if I asked you to?"
Vox's eyes popped wide, and his mouth gaped. Static rippled from one antennae to the other, and he mouthed like a fish for a few seconds, "What?"
Alastor sighed, hating to repeat himself. "If I asked it of you, would you stop spending nights with him?"
Vox squirmed, "What would I do about- would I be able to uh… be with you then? 'Cuz- uh- y'know, a man has his needs."
He was blushing furiously, and the implication disgusted Alastor.
"No."
Vox deflated, but packed his confidence back on, "Then uh- hypothetically, yes! But uh, if you don’t want to-"
"I don't."
"Then your 'negotiating skills,' as you say, are necessary," Vox quoted with his fingers, before crossing them in finality. He sparked, and a grin lit up his face, "Hey, he's not so bad once you get to know him! Maybe- maybe you can hang out with him like you did with Velvette-?"
Alastor wasn't impressed, "Velvette is a delightful woman, and not trying to come in between me and my husband."
"He's not-" Vox sighed.
"Dear," Alastor leaned in, softening his voice, "I don't like him. Now," he reached out and caressed Vox's chin, "Are you married to him or me?"
Vox flushed, "I- I'm married to you."
Alastor, mildly appeased, leaned back and let Vox go. "So that's enough of him out of you," he hoped that was the end of it. He'd have no choice but to tolerate Valentino in their lives, as he was an important business partner, but Alastor did not like the idea of Vox throwing him aside for some quick lay.
Vox glitched, "Wait, wait, wait, Al, please- Let me… uhm… He's nothing you got to worry about! He- he's funny, you'll like it! He- He has shit sight, right? I got a hilarious picture of him assembling a puzzle all wrong-" He pulled out his phone and started searching through it.
Smiling, Vox eagerly turned his phone around to show off a vibrant screen full of colours to Alastor. He reached out to hold the phone steady, pulling it into a distance where the image wasn't so horribly blurry.
It was indeed a picture of Valentino, wearing quite a revealing outfit, and sprawled across a couch. Across the nearby coffee table, was a veritable mosaic of a puzzle, pieces visibly incorrectly jammed together in an attempt to put it together.
Vox gave a short laugh as he pulled his phone back, clearly fond of the memory.
It only served to carve another pit in Alastor's stomach.
"So you can take pictures of your loved ones?" he asked bitterly before he could curb it.
Vox looked at him with raised eyebrows, "Al?"
"I couldn't help but notice that there no pictures of us?" He waved a hand out vaguely to towards the door of the bedroom, "Our apartment is rather barren. The paintings are… nice, but there's no pictures of us. No photo albums, no self-portraits, no wedding photos. Why?"
"Ah- that's- well…" Vox filled the unsure canter of his words with vague gestures again. "Well, Al, you- you don't usually photograph well."
"What does that mean?" there was a sharp edge to his voice, and the way his ears flicked back was telling.
Vox grabbed Alastor's hands, and he leaned in, "Not like that! You're beautiful, Al! It's just…" he leaned back, gesturing widely at Alastor as a whole, taking his hands along for the ride, "You kind of break cameras."
Vox was not making any sense, whatsoever, "Velvette just took a video of me last night, and she did not complain about broken cameras." She had decided on the multiple angles option, and thus had many cameras that were still in tip-top shape, unaffected by an apparent camera-breaking ability that Alastor had.
Vox's grip on his hands got a bit tighter, "She what?"
"She took a video, for memory-keeping. Something that you seem to only want to do with Valentino," his ears pinned back, and he was angry all over again.
"No, no, Al, you don't understand- I told Vel she's not allowed to. She's just going to post them everywhere and that's just going to make a huge mess!" He tried to jump to his feet, surely to go give Velvette a piece of his mind, but he stilled when Alastor gave him a gentle tug. He watched him with a concerned look.
"We made an arrangement, dear, so sit down." He tugged again, and Vox complied. "Velvette will not release the video while I am unable to protect myself," as their deal dictated, so he was completely confident in the statement.
"Still," Vox relaxed slowly, "She shouldn't have. You wouldn't have allowed that."
Alastor perked up, a new nugget of information about himself dangling in front of him. "I wouldn't have?" he echoed.
"Maybe? Your powers involved a lot of… interference against digital devices. I think it was inherent- You never mentioned if you could activate it at will, at least. So, essentially, you couldn't get your picture taken until recently, after you nearly died."
"Ah," his near death struck again.
This wasn't the first time that Vox had implied that Alastor had been a force to be reckoned with prior to his current sorry state.
The snail's pace return of his own magic has been known to him and Vox for a while now. The nurses, when they had still been around, suggested that they don't attempt anything until he was more stable. With his injuries and Vox's mood swings being the far more pressing issues, the lack of his access to them had been equal to his lack of need for them.
He'd only been reminded of it recently with Velvette and the deal he made with her. Alastor mentally reminded himself to do that soul-searching later to see if he could unearth a few of his deals.
Now, though, it made him extraordinarily curious as to what exactly his powers were capable of, seeing as his mere presence was enough to destroy film. Time would only tell.
Meanwhile, if his powerlessness let him do something he hadn't been able to do before, he might as well enjoy it.
"It, uh, it was kind of disappointing to be honest," Vox played with the corner of his screen, looking off at a wall. Reminiscing on things and places they've been, most likely. "There's so many videos and images that are completely ruined-" he balked at his own words, "I mean, I guess the memories ought to be enough-" he winced. "Shit- uh… Do you want to take some with me then?"
Alastor raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "Why? You clearly don't want them."
"No! I do! I've uh- I may have taken a few since your injury, but I didn't know at the time you had amnesia, so I expected you to get mad at me?"
It stung that Vox thought pictures of him were taboo, and that he had to keep them -him- hidden away. "I'm not mad, Vox. I'm just disappointed that you haven't asked until now."
"Really?" Vox beamed. "Okay! I- I don't know how long it'll be till your powers are strong enough to cause the interference again, but we can take as many pictures as you like until then."
Alastor's permanent smile finally softened, "That is acceptable."
Unlocking his phone again, Vox held it up and asked Alastor to give him his best smile. Adjusting the blankets and trying to not look so pathetic, Alastor held still until the phone gave an artificial sound of a shutter.
