Chapter Text
Vox covered the jagged crack across his screen with his hand, leaning against one of the cold buildings that formed the dark, maze-like alleyways that littered Hell. He hadn’t moved from that spot since Val struck him hard and Vox curled in on himself in a nest of asphalt and betrayal, gritty pebbles biting into him.
Him and Val had worked together in the same place, towards the same goals for years. Despite knowing Valentino’s tendencies with his whores, Vox thought nothing of it. Whatever Val did was his own business as long as it brought in viewers. Vox knew, thought he knew , he was different. What he had with Val ran deeper than that. He meant something to Val. Was that ever true?
Valentino struck Vox like it was second nature, like it was nothing. No hesitation before, no guilt at the aftermath; the white LEDs that ran downwards in max brightness, broken lines along the left side of Vox’s face, shock evident in his expression. No, Val just said something in that uncaring, unwavering tone and left Vox to deal with his injuries. Vox couldn’t make out what Val said, still reeling. He could only hear static.
What were they even arguing about? Vox could only remember Val whining about his favorite slut, Angel Dust. Vox felt a brief shudder of jealousy at the mere mention of him. Maybe that’s why Vox was so reactive, quick to brush off Valentino’s ranting so he wouldn’t have to think about who Val’s favorite really was. Now Vox knew the answer to that, and he wasn’t sure being Val’s favorite was a good thing anymore, if it ever was. The argument devolved into a petty screaming match from there.
Now though, Vox had nowhere to go. He couldn’t just go back home, and it would be disastrous if the media saw him slumped over in a gross alley like some hopeless drunk. Val would almost certainly be at the V-Tower, waiting on an apology that he wouldn’t get. So for the past minutes that slowly ticked into hours, Vox sat alone, grief worming its way up his chest and onto his face. And when he tried to school his features, morph his mouth and eyes into the practiced smile he often wore, he could not.
Then it started to rain.
Of course. Of fucking course, as if this evening couldn’t get any worse, it had to start raining, the familiar pitter-patter filling the quiet streets in a lively chorus. Vox leaned closer to the concrete wall he was propped up against. A downpour could spell trouble for Vox, especially with the less than waterproofed gash across his screen. Shamefully, he choked back a sob as tears stung his eyes, a familiar telltale fuzziness needling its way into his head, clouding his thoughts as the sky darkened and a low battery warning flashed across his face.
“My, my! What do we have here?” A familiar radio-filtered voice echoed through the empty street.
Vox’s screen booted to life, screen dim aside from the broken LEDs that glowed a piercing white no matter what he did. Groggily, his eyes peeled open, and he was greeted by none other than Alastor leaning down to his level, a snarky smile adorning his stupid smug face. The unrelenting fuzzy feeling did not disappear on its own like Vox hoped. If anything, it multiplied tenfold, muffling his common sense. Instead of shoving the radio demon, disappearing through a nearby camera, or anything else, he just sat there frozen, looking up at him dumbly as his expression trembled.
“This really is a new low for you. The great media demon, laying down to die in an alleyway.” A laugh track accompanied the scathing words.
Vox took a shaky, distorted breath, planning the perfect rebuttal… and let out a crackling wail, doing nothing to hide the artificial tears streaming down his face. Alastor took a step back, briefly startled.
“Hm… how unusual.” Alastor pondered, eyes narrowed in thought.
“Go ‘way!” Vox’s shouts were all coated in static. He pushed himself off the ground and started towards the radio demon. Instead, ailed by the broken left side of his screen, his depth perception failed him and he stumbled right into Alastor’s buttoned red coat.
“Hm?” Alastor quirked a brow at Vox’s unbecoming and quite frankly, childish behavior. Vox followed through on his initial plan and shoved Alastor only to fall to the ground. Alastor stood a few feet away, completely unscathed, dusting off his coat where Vox’s hands had been clutching it.
“Go ‘way now!” Vox demanded in between stuttering cries. “I don’ wanna!”
“Hmm… what to do with you?” Alastor wondered aloud. “I could just kill you, but where’s the fun in that? Hardly a fair fight.” Alastor’s point was punctuated by a sniffle from Vox.
“Very well then!” Alastor announced after a few moments. Vox jolted at the noise. “It would be wise for you to be on your way.”
“Way where?” Vox sat upright, gazing up at the dumbfounded demon above him.
“You’re serious.” Alastor tested. Vox just blinked at him. Alastor raised his hand, smacking Vox across the already injured side of his face.
“Why?!” Vox just shrieked. “Why, Al?!” Alastor’s ears perked at the nickname. He hadn’t heard that one out of Vox in 7 years.
“I couldn’t have you tricking me with this… immature behavior.” He gestured to Vox with his hand. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“Nuh uh!” Vox insisted, shaking his head.
“You…” There was a glint of something as Alastor’s expression tightened. Pity? No, Vox knew better, even in his state. “Go home, Vox.”
Vox froze for a second, screen buffering before crying, “No! No, don’t wanna!”
“Vox, how old are you right now?” Alastor asked. Though the words were vaguely familiar on his tongue, it felt like a silly thing to ask.
Vox thought for a few moments. “Little,” his mumbling voice trailed off in shame.
“Alright. I will provide you shelter for the night, and you will tell me what caused you such distress tomorrow.” There was a genuine upward pull to Alastor’s smile. Or Vox was imagining it.
“Make deal?” Vox held out a hand, knowing how these agreements often went. Alastor took it, but instead of the expected green sparks, the pair melted into the shadows, reappearing moments later in Alastor’s hotel room.
Vox whipped around in awe, eagerly taking in the new setting, smiling despite the still visible tear tracks. “Magic trick!”
“Ha ha. Yes, you could call it that, hm?” Vox nodded. “Now, what to do with you…” Alastor hummed.
“Cold.” Vox pouted, shivering in his wet suit.
“That certainly won’t do.” The radio demon, after a bit of rummaging, presented Vox with a set of deep red pajamas. “Here. I assume you can do the rest.”
Vox was greeted with a warm cup of hot cocoa when he emerged from the restroom after some stumbling, flapping around the slightly too long sleeves of his shirt. Alastor turned to the sound of the door opening, towards the TV demon.
“So wonderful of you to join me. Sit.” Alastor motioned next to him on the bed. Vox obeyed, throwing himself onto the spot, kicking his feet.
He grabbed at the hot chocolate, which Alastor held a little out of his grasp. “For me?”
“You will not make a mess.” Alastor instructed sternly, handing the treat over. Vox slowed his swinging feet, taking a careful sip.
“Yummy, Al! Thank you!”
“It would do you good to get some rest.” The radio demon ordered, standing up.
“Where you sleeping?” Vox looked on with wide, curious eyes. He gripped the red comforter draped over the bed, crinkling the fabric.
“Do not fret. I will be back when it is morning.” Alastor said, voice a level above a whisper.
“Al stay?” Vox tried.
“You will call for me if you need anything.” Alastor compromised.
“‘Kay.” The little demon seemed satisfied with that, if not somewhat sad.
“Goodnight, Vox.”
“Night-night!” Vox ducked under the blankets, and Alastor turned down the lights, leaving a small lamp on dimly. When Vox got like this, he was afraid of the dark, Alastor recalled. Before he lingered on that for too long, he disappeared into the shadows and back into his radio tower.
Alastor gritted his teeth, letting out a huff of frustration in the empty room. Why did he do that? Inviting Vox, the enemy, into his room, giving up his bed, and for what? Because he was upset? Because he was hurt? That couldn’t be true; Alastor laughed at the TV demon in worse circumstances. The way terror overtook Vox in his vulnerable state when Alastor mentioned home… Alastor assumed it was inevitable. He warned Vox to be wary of that moth he seemed so fond of. It was surprising in Alastor’s opinion, that it took so long for it to sour. He supposed he wouldn’t know, though. Maybe it had died a long time ago, and Vox was hanging on to a rotting corpse of a relationship. He was pathetic enough to do just that, Alastor reasoned.
Then why did he care?
The question stuck in the back of Alastor’s mind, but he refused to entertain that train of thought. He helped Vox out of that alley to hold the whole ordeal over his head later. Nothing more. And tomorrow, Vox would be on his own.