Reflections on the Formation and Distribution of Power

by Doctor_Briarwood

Summary:

It’s fine. It’s totally fine that Alastor is back – he is completely normal about it. In fact, he’s got plans. Good plans, nay great plans, to finally get the edge over the Radio Demon, once and for all. And, sure, if he gets more power in the process, that’s fine, too.

Or Vox begins a foray into politics and local government.

Who knew there’d be fine print?

Chapter 1: prologue

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Not at all.

He wanted revenge – wanted to rub Alastor’s face in his failures like a naughty puppy who had urinated inside the house. Wanted to laugh at his humiliation and finally, finally, knock the Radio Demon down where he belonged. And how much sweeter was it that he could grab so much power at the same time? How could anyone possibly blame him for jumping at the opportunity laid out in front of him on a fucking silver platter? He would’ve been an idiot not to have taken the chance.

But he hadn’t even thought to look for a catch.

Now everything he had worked so hard for nearly seventy years to secure was in ruins. His company was in shambles, his partner dead, and his own life draining away. He wrenched his arms against the angelic steel restraints that held him in place, crying out as delicate wrist bones stretched too far. Across the room, Velvette glanced over at him.

“If we could all please keep the screaming and crying to a minimum, I’d really appreciate it.” She looked down at the small device in her hand and grinned. Holding it aloft, she spun in a small circle, skirt flapping up around her. “Oh, it’s done! Everyone, this is going to be so exciting!”

He could barely focus his attention long enough to realize that she was now standing in front of him. He shuddered in revulsion as she dragged a fingernail down his chest. She followed the buttons down to the hem of his shirt and rucked it up enough for the pads of her fingers to slide against bare skin.

“Are you ready, my dear?”

He let his head fall backwards with a thump, eyes squeezing shut as his heart began to pick up a truly frantic pace. “Vel, stop. Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” she cooed, flattening her hand against his stomach. He felt her fingernails sharpen and gasped as sticky rivulets of blood began to run beneath her hand. “But we’ve gone much too far to stop now.”

She shot a dark glance over her shoulder, smile sharpening. “So, let’s begin.”

Chapter 2: he's making a list and checking it twice

December 24, 1956

 

You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
I’m telling you-

[Rise and shine!]

With a grunt of annoyance, Vincent flung his arm over the side of the bed and fumbled for the alarm clock on the nightstand.

“Vin, turn it off.”

“Yeah, I’m working on it.” His palm hit the clock successfully this time and the bright brass number cut off, leaving an echoing quiet in its wake. The first light of day hadn’t quite begun to filter through the dark blue curtains. Vincent blinked up at the darkened ceiling above the bed, noting the tiny water stain strangely resembling a fish had grown since the last time he had looked at it.

Add that to the Honey-Do list.

He let his head loll onto his shoulder, cheekbone resting against a soft pink pillowcase. Beside him, colorless as a shadow in the room’s dim light, his wife sighed. Even in the dim light, she was so pretty that it made him ache to lay beside her without touching her.

“It’s seven?” she asked drowsily, dragging her forearm up and over her face. He considered reaching out in the murky darkness, letting his fingers smooth down the length of her arm. Grasping her wrist in his hand and closing the gap between them. It was easy enough to imagine the warmth of her body against his own, still pliant from sleep and softly accommodating. Her skin would still smell faintly of the lilac lotion she smoothed over it each night and her mouth would taste like the stale peppermint of last night’s toothpaste. “How is it already morning?”

Her question interrupted his train of thought, and a good thing, too. Neither of them would be getting out of bed if he continued down that path. He chuckled. “Christmas Eve, too.”

“Think the kids are still sleeping?” Her fingers stretched out, joints crackling gently with the movement, before falling slack again.

Vincent held his breath for a moment, listening. “We aren’t that lucky.”

On cue, he heard the telltale creaking of their daughter’s bedroom door down the hall. Soft footsteps padded across the hall into the bathroom and the door clicked shut. There was a beat of silence before a shriek ripped through the early morning stillness.

“Daddy! Daddy, he did it again!"

“I did not!”

The bathroom door swung open with a definitive crash.

“How do you know what I’m talking about if you didn’t do it?”

“Because you’re trying to blame me for it, and I didn’t even do anything!”

Vincent lurched out of bed with a groan. “It’s so early,” he complained. His wife chuckled and dropped her arm down to her side.

“You wanted a second one,” she reminded him.

He shrugged as he stuffed his feet into his battered slippers, absentmindedly hoping that a new pair would find its way under the Christmas tree tomorrow morning. “Yeah, well, I thought they were like puppies. They get lonely if you only get one.”

“No, that’s definitely just puppies.” She sat up and stretched. Vincent took in the view of her slender shape shifting under the gauzy blue nightgown appreciatively. He leaned forward and dropped his hands onto the bed, a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Want to try for another one, Gracie?”

In the hallway outside, he felt more than heard his son’s bedroom door slam open, quickly followed by an indigent yell.

“Get out of my room!”

“You put your disgusting wet socks on top of my nylons, Bobby!”

“Then don’t leave them hanging over the side of the bathtub!”

Vincent didn’t move, except to tilt his head ever so slightly. His wife only quirked an eyebrow in amusement before shaking her head.

“Oh, yes, darling. Give me another one right now.” She rolled her shoulder back and let the nightgown slip ever so slightly down her arm. He knew she said it with complete sarcasm, but he couldn’t help the gentle tightening low in his stomach at the sight of her soft skin. He would have climbed right back into their bed, too, if not for the sudden banging on the bedroom door.

“Daddy, are you awake?”

Fuck’s sake.

“Patty, the entire neighborhood is awake,” he called, pushing himself upright.

Vincent opened the door to his fourteen-year-old daughter holding a pair of damp nylons in her fist, cheeks pink with outrage. She jabbed her arm in the direction where her brother was standing with crossed arms in the hallway. Both children had inherited his blue eyes and dark hair and were currently wearing nearly identical sour expressions. He held up a hand as his daughter opened her mouth to speak.

“No.” He finished shrugging into a soft red flannel robe. “I can’t do this before coffee.”

“But what am I supposed to do? Mama promised that I could wear my nylons to church tonight! I told Peggy Campbell that I was going to and if I don’t, she’s going to tell everyone that I’m not and then-”

“Coffee, doll.” He reached out and rested his hands on her thin shoulders. A blue crackle of static electricity bounced between his hand and her flannel nightgown. She flicked her head ever so slightly, eyes flashing defiantly. “Coffee and I’ll solve the world’s problems, starting with those nylons.”

Two hours, a cup of coffee, and several near disasters later, Vincent stood in front of the hallway mirror, trying to straighten his tie. Behind him, his son stuffed the last of his breakfast into his mouth while his wife plucked at the burgundy bow carefully securing his daughter’s hair back from her face.

“Stop touching it, Patty,” Grace admonished.

“It doesn’t feel right,” the girl said, reaching up to undoubtedly comb her fingers through carefully curled strands. She widened her eyes as her mother caught her wrist. “Mama!”

“Patty, you’re nearly a grown woman now, you have to stop fiddling with your hair.”

“Yeah, Patty,” Bobby sneered through a mouthful of toast, expression brightening to glee at the angry noise that escaped his sister.

“Oh, shut up, Bobby!”

Vincent sighed. “Why isn’t this straight?” He turned back towards the kitchen, raising his hands palms up in frustration. “Gracie?”

“I don’t know why you’re even going into the office today,” she replied, giving her daughter a soft swat before walking to stand in front of him. She tugged at the tie, releasing it from the knot that he had tangled it into. “Isn’t everywhere else closed today?”

Vincent sighed and rolled his eyes. “No rest for the wicked, I guess.”

A crackle of static prickled through the air before Bing Crosby’s voice began to sing.


He sees you when you’re sleeping
And he knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good
So be good for goodness’ sake


“Bobby!”

“It wasn’t me,” the boy protested. Vincent glanced at his daughter who shrugged.

“It’s been turning itself on a lot lately, Daddy.” She eyed her mother’s back for a moment before twitching her fingers up to tug at one of her curls. “Maybe it’s broken or something.”

“Maybe it’s witches,” Bobby teased, and Patty stuck her tongue out at him.

“Or ghosts.”

“Goblins!”

“It’s demons!” Patty giggled. “The radio is possessed!”

[Can he hear me?]

[No, I don’t think he’s listening.]

The voices were soft, crackling through the radio, obviously not a part of the recording. Vincent wondered if someone at the station had forgotten to turn off their microphone. He squinted at the radio, trying to catch where the dial was resting. If it was a Kelley Media station, it was going to be annoying to have to sit through another corporate in-service on proper broadcasting protocol.

“Hmm, maybe,” Grace said, tugging her husband’s chin so that his gaze rested on her once more. “Don’t stay too late.”

“I’ll stay as late as Mr. Kelley wants me to stay,” he replied, knowing full well how annoyed his wife would be with that response. She didn’t disappoint, hands jerking his tie harder than what was strictly necessary. Once again, the little flutter in stomach made itself known and he couldn’t help the lopsided grin he flashed down at her. “I won’t let him keep me past seven.”

“Five,” she snapped. “The service starts at six and you promised to read scripture tonight.”

“Did I?”

She leaned against him, wrapping the end of the tie skillfully around her slender fingers and putting enough pressure on his neck that he had to stoop slightly to accommodate it. “I’m in no mood to play with you right now, darling.” Her soft gray eyes bore into his with more than a little intensity, voice dropping to a low whisper. “But, if you’re a very good boy, maybe Mrs. Claus will make a visit tonight.”

Vincent’s gaze dropped down to his wife’s mouth, unconsciously letting the tip of his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “That would be very nice, Mrs. Claus.”

“It would be, wouldn’t it?”

“D’you know, I think Mr. Claus will have a big package just waiting for her.”

“To finish wrapping?” she purred. She leaned forward to let her warm lips graze against his ear. “I’m sure she has plenty of ribbons and string to just tie everything up nice and tight.”

Shit. Merry Christmas to me.

“Ma, Patty’s touching her hair again.”

Vincent’s gaze darted back into the kitchen where his daughter slammed both of her hands down on the table, jumping to her feet.

“Fink! I’m going to kill you!”

Vincent mourned the loss of warmth from his wife’s body as she pulled away from him to whirl back towards the children. He turned back to the mirror, admiring her handiwork with his tie as she proceeded to yell at both children to hurry along to their half day at school.

 

*

 

The drive to the studio was relatively uneventful, save for a few near misses on the ice-slicked roads. He wasn’t surprised that his fellow drivers were slipping along the main street, cars occasionally fishtailing before they straightened out. He watched a Buick Roadmaster slowly slide past its intended parking space and thump its front bumper into a snowbank. A huff of laughter escaped his lips as the other driver slapped his hand against the steering wheel, mouth moving in an obvious curse.


The kids in girls and boy land
Will have a jubilee
They’re gonna build a toy land town
All around the Christmas tree


Vincent tightened his fingers on the steering wheel and flicked off the radio in annoyance. Was there nothing else to play? He’d have to stop upstairs at the radio station once he got to the studio and have a little discussion with the day’s host.

Vincent strolled into the studio. Really, it was more of a stagger as the wind caught his back before the door shut and he slapped his gloved hand to his head to keep his hat from blowing away. He flashed a winning smile and shook off the layer of snow that had accumulated on his coat during his short walk from the car to the studio’s entrance.

“Mr. Walker, sir! I didn’t realize you were coming in today,” a breathless young man behind the front desk called. Joe? John? Jermiah? Something vaguely biblical?

“Of course, I’m here today! What a silly thing to say.” Another brush over his left shoulder to make sure he hadn’t missed any snow. “It isn’t really Christmas Eve until Chicago has had their annual dose of Vincent Walker’s A Christmas Carol, am I right?”

“Isn’t that a Dickens novel?"

“Novella.” Vincent narrowed his eyes. “Jacob, isn’t it?”

“Martin, sir.” The young man blanched. “It’s, uh, it’s Martin, Mr. Walker. Sir.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting me a coffee or something?”

The young man blinked and averted his gaze back down to the desk in front of him. “Ah, yes, sir. Right away. Let me just call Miss Dorothy and let her know you’re on your way upstairs.”

Vincent nodded and made his way to the elevator, taking note of the few staffers on the ground floor who had come out of their offices. He let his expression slide into his most charming smile and felt it tighten as the elevator doors shut and nobody smiled in return.

Well, that was fine. Folks were probably just annoyed to have to be here on Christmas Eve instead of with their families and friends where they would have no doubt preferred to be. He wouldn’t mind being at home now, either. Sans kids. With his wife wearing that little red teddy he had given her last year. With the Santa boots that came with the costume he had bought when the kids were small. And the white fur trimmed scarlet coat. Oh, and maybe the beard?

Did he have a Santa Claus kink now? Best not to think too hard on that one for the time being.

Vincent glanced up at the ceiling of the elevator as it began its ascent. One of the bulbs in the light fixture flickered and, as he watched, suddenly flared into a shower of sparks before burning out. Vincent slapped his open hand against his shoulder before examining it to make sure that the light bulb hadn’t burned a hole in his coat.

The elevator stopped as the dial indicating the floor number clicked into place on the fourteenth floor. He blinked, light flooding his vision as the doors opened, and was immediately faced with five feet of agitated secretary. Her meticulously styled silver hair was swept back from her face and her dark brown eyes wide behind heavy glasses.

“Good morning, Dot! How are you this fine wintery morning?”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t drop his smile as she shook her head. Her eyes darted nervously, ferretlike in their intensity. “I need to talk to you, sir. Immediately.”

“Immediately?” He glanced towards his boss’s office door, noting that the man’s secretary was absent from her desk. “Whatever for? Certainly, there’s not a broadcast emergency on Christmas Eve. Oh!” He leaned in. “Unless Santa’s sleigh was shot down by the Russians.”

Dot’s eyes settled on his face, and she gave him a withering glare. “Sir. It’s about… all beef jerky.”

Vincent glanced over her head at the smirking face of the morning anchor, George Tipton. The man was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and had his other on his hip. George raised his mug ever so slightly and let his smirk widen to crinkle the corners of his eyes.

“Ha ha, Dot. You got me there.” He furrowed his brow slightly. Oh, God, was she having a stroke? She was certainly old enough and had spent many hours bemoaning how his recklessness and stupidity would be the death of her. He hoped not – she was one of the few competent people in their office and just about the only one who he cared about. Not to mention that it would be an absolute bitch to try to hire someone to replace her who wouldn’t make him want to tear his hair out.

“Sir, now.” Her eyes were positively boring holes in his soul now.

Fine, jeez, all right. He sighed and gestured with his hand towards his office. “Lead the way.”

Dot swept his briefcase from his hands in a maneuver she had learned years ago to hurry him along. At least she wasn’t sheep dogging him along, using her small body to herd him exactly where she wanted him to go. Again.

Vincent allowed himself to be led through the office space where the top executives and important personalities kept their offices. He set his hat on the coatrack next to his office door as he passed. Dot shut the door behind him and Vincent turned to face her.

“Cryptic and unsettling, Dot.” He stuck the tip of his gloved finger in his mouth and began to pull it from his hand. “Is that what you were aiming for? Because you absolutely achieved it.”

“I couldn’t remember the code word!”

“Albuquerque,” came his muffled response.

“Oh shit, what did I say?” Dot held up her hand as he opened his mouth. “No, shut up. This is serious.”

“Seems like it.”

She tapped her fingers against her thigh for a moment before sucking in a deep breath. “There’s a rumor going around right now and you’re not going to like it.”

“Oh, you know I like gossip!” He set his gloves down on the desk and began to unbutton his coat. “Especially gossip about me.”

“Vin, people are saying that you’re blacklisted.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m the Voice of Chicago,” he replied with a huff. “Why would they say that?”

“Because that’s what I told them.”

He blinked. “Okay.” He waited for her to keep going but she only stared at him, twisting her hands in front of her. “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but why are you going around telling people that I’m blacklisted, Dot?”

“Because it’s better than the truth.”

“Cryptic and unsettling,” he repeated, feeling a twinge in his gut. “Seriously, spit it out, Dot.”

“Kelley found out, Vin.”

The twinge turned into a full-blown ache in his stomach and Vincent felt some of the strength melt from his legs. He stepped back, but with nowhere to go, the lip of his desk hit the back of his thighs, and he sank awkwardly against the furniture. “Found out, found out?”

She nodded briskly then glanced towards the window facing into the inner office space. With terrifying efficiency, she strode to the window and pulled down the blinds, shutting out the faces of their curious officemates. Vincent grabbed onto the edge of the desk to steady himself.

“I-I don’t…” He cleared his throat. God, it felt like he had swallowed a handful of cotton balls. “I don’t know how he could have found out.”

“Fuck, I don’t know!” Dot threw her hands up in frustration. “I heard him yelling on the phone at someone in his office and when he came out, he looked pissed. No, more than pissed. Like he was ready to murder someone.”

“But… me?”

“He asked where you were when he came out and was not happy that we weren’t in yet.”

“Ah.”

Dot crossed the room and grabbed his hand in her smaller ones, searching his face for answers. He felt the blood drain from his face under her scrutiny. “Did you hide everything?”

“Yes!” He shook his head. “I mean, maybe? I thought I did, but shit! How does he even know?”

“Then we have to go,” she said firmly, giving him what he assumed was meant to be a reassuring pat on the hand. “Now. And make sure everything is burned before he has evidence.”

“I just got here.” He looked around his office, heart pounding in his chest. He had been so careful. “They’re going to ask questions.”

“They think you’re being blacklisted. For… other reasons.” Vincent swallowed, feeling his stomach twist again. Motherfucking George.

Dot tugged at his hand. “Please, Vin, we need to head them off. If we can destroy everything before he figures out where it is, you might get out of this in one piece.” She tightened her grip slightly. “Vin?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Dot nodded. “Good. We should go to my place first. The scripts are all there still.”

“All right.”

They left his office and headed back toward the elevator that he had just rode up on. He didn’t miss the ill-disguised glee on the morning anchor’s face as he passed but, for once, didn’t take the bait. Dot was gathering her coat and purse from her desk, he just needed to get into the elevator without saying anything. It’d take some fancy footwork, but maybe this whole thing would blow over. He just needed to stay calm.

“So, that’s why Kelley was so mad this morning,” George snickered, and Vincent could feel the cloud of smoke blown against the back of his neck as he pressed the down button.

Is this stupid bastard going to follow me down to the lobby?

The doors slid open, and he walked in. Dot could catch the next one. George slid in beside him as the doors shut and Vincent turned and unconsciously pressed himself against the back railing. The morning anchor hit the hold button after they had descended two floors and Vincent grit his teeth.

“Found out you were being blacklisted? His favorite pet is about be persona non gratia in the industry and he’s got to figure out who to replace you with.”

“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Vincent said, willing himself to relax. He smiled as George blew another plume of smoke in his face.

“Oh, I think you do.” A smarmy grin stole across his face, and he leaned a little closer. “I’m just trying to figure out why.”

Oh, you fucker. Vincent cocked his head to the side. “I thought you heard the rumors.”

George hummed. “Well, Dot was exceedingly vague. Just left it up to everyone’s imaginations, really.” He tapped his finger against Vincent’s forearm, seeming to relish the way the dark-haired man’s brows furrowed. “Still, I can’t imagine it has anything to do with me since he only seems angry with you.”

Vincent reached forward and hit the resume button, feeling unsteady as the elevator jerked before continuing down to the lobby.

“Who says he’s angry with me?”

“Heard an awful lot of your name being flung around in that office, Vin.” George shrugged. “It didn’t sound like it was being said with love, either.”

Vincent met the taller man’s gaze. “You know, as much fun as it would be to hear your theories, I’m afraid I just don’t have the time.” He couldn’t help but cough as another cloud of smoke stung his nostrils. The elevator bell rang, and the doors slid open to the lobby. “You’ll have to fill me in after lunch.”

George chuckled, cigarette resting between his fingers. “Sure thing.” A sharp burst of static crackled over the speakers.

[… old pal.]

Vincent startled. “What?”

“I said, sure thing, Walker.” George rolled his eyes and tapped cigarette ash down onto the linoleum floor of the elevator. Vincent stared down at the small pile. “Yeah, you’re the fucking picture of innocence.”

Vincent darted through the open doors, relieved to see that Dot was somehow already waiting for him. He offered his arm, and they swept out into the freezing December air.

 

*

 

The ride to the country was silent and tense. They had spent several hours at Dot’s apartment, throwing scripts into the incinerator. By the end, Vincents hands were decorated with numerous tiny cuts from handling paper so quickly. He knew he should have kept his gloves on but worry that the ink on the paper would bleed onto the imported leather kept his fingers vulnerable and begging to be sliced into.

The sky was rapidly shifting from the milky gray of gathering storm clouds to a heavy darkness that felt like its weight was settling directly onto his chest. The bare elm and ash trees clustered alongside the road were stark and threatening into their bareness, black against the late afternoon sky.

Dot sat mostly still beside him, occasionally raising her hand to her mouth to chew at her nails. Vincent tried to focus on the white noise around them, the groan of the tires against the snowy road and the heavy slap of sleet on the windshield. If he listened hard enough, it was almost enough to slow his mind. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the tension palpable.

Dot huffed and turned away from the window. “I can’t stand this silence.”

She flicked her hand over the radio dial and started tuning it to a station. A blurt of jazz skipped quickly over to the brassy sounds of a trumpet.


He knows if you’ve been good or bad
So be good for goodness-


“Fuck!” Vincent shouted, slamming his palm against the steering wheel, horn blaring loud enough to cover the sounds of the radio. Dot flinched back as he wrenched the dial hard enough that it snapped off in his fingers, a few sparks flying as it detached. He flung the dial against the dash, eyes wild. “That fucking song has been following me all day!”

“How can a song be following you?” she asked breathlessly, and Vincent glanced at her long enough to take in her terrified expression. He swallowed hard and looked back out onto the dimming landscape.

“It just keeps playing,” he said, forcing his voice lower, quieter. He felt Dot’s hand rest against his shoulder. Firm, reassuring. Like she always was.

“We’re almost there,” she said. He nodded quickly. “We just need to clean house and they’ll never be able to pin anything on you.”

“Yeah.”

Vincent slowed the car and coasted down the sloping driveway to the small cabin. It looked as abandoned as ever and he breathed a soft sigh of relief. They had gotten there first. He helped Dot out of the car, letting her use his arm for support as her kitten heels sunk down into the fresh snow. He caught her more firmly around the waist and guided her around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“Keep it running?” She nodded, sliding into the driver’s seat. He opened the back door of the Plymouth Belvedere and pulled an oil lantern out of the cardboard box of supplies they had packed before leaving Dot’s apartment. He paused then reached under the driver’s seat to grab and secure a second item in the inner pocket of his overcoat. “Keep it running and be ready to get out of here as soon as I’m back outside.”

“Go,” she said and shooed him away with a wave of her hand.

Vincent pulled his coat collar up tighter under his chin and slogged through the snow to the cabin’s front and only door. The key turned easily in the lock and Vincent squinted against the darkness.

It was an old hunting cabin of his grandfather’s that he had inherited after the old man had died. One room with a separate outhouse in the back. He hadn’t seen a use for it and had almost sold the property for cash when inspiration struck. All the sneaking around that he and Dot had been doing to air his show could be done here. Sure, it was inconvenient as anything, nearly two and a half hours outside of the city, but he could piggyback on the same frequencies as he did in the city without anyone knowing where he was.

He shut the door behind him, fumbling with the lantern in his hand. It lit with a reluctant hiss, and he set it down on the small kitchen table. It was only once he had tugged his gloves from his hands that he smelled a very familiar scent. He whirled around in time to see a large man step from the shadows, moving between him and the cabin’s door.

Frank. One of the security guards employed by Kelley Media. He spent most of his time skulking around the studio grounds, meaty arms folded over his chest. He might be a man of few words but had no short supply of menacing stares. A tall man with ruddy hair and freckles, Frank tilted his head ever so slightly to the side in a clear demonstration of intimidation.

It was working.

Vincent struggled to swallow down the panic threatening to bubble over in his chest. He could hear a distant melody playing over the old radio that he kept in the cabin. There were more static and popping sounds coming from the ancient machine, so he couldn’t quite pick out the sound, but had the growing suspicion that it was Bing Crosby’s voice underneath the white noise.

“Frank, my good man! This-” His throat clicked dryly as Frank cracked his knuckles. “This, ah, is private property.”

“So’s all this, Mister Walker,” a voice still in the shadows. “Seems you’ve been behind all of the missing and broken shipment orders lately.”

He shook his head, a trickle of sweat breaking free, running down his back. Oh, shit. It wasn’t just Frank. “Haha, me? What? No! I’m a company man, I would never-”

“Mister Kelley wanted me to deliver a message.” The voice came closer and a young man with mousy brown hair stepped into the dim light. Tommy Dartmouth. Mister Kelley’s second in command, despite his youth. Vincent had heard that Tommy had been promoted quickly to his official position as executive assistant thanks to his ruthlessness and general antipathy towards anyone breathing air in his vicinity. His left hand was tucked into the pocket of his overcoat while a half-smoked cigarette was pinched in the fingers of his right. “Would you like to hear it now or after?”

“After what?” Vincent asked, marveling at his ability to keep his voice as even as it was. He tried a crooked smile and a suggestively raised eyebrow. “After the cigarette?”

Tommy let the cigarette drop to the floor and ground the embers under his heel. He then removed his hand from his coat and flicked his wrist to reveal a vicious blade glinting in the low light. Vincent followed the movement of the younger man’s hand as he gracefully moved the knife to his other hand, fingers curling around the handle as though it was simply an extension of his arm. Tommy shrugged. “Just… after.”

The blade moved in a predictable rhythm, suddenly syncing with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the cabin, and a cold calm settled over him. The panic that had been threatening to overtake him suddenly fled from his body and the tension in his shoulders released. He let his arms drop loose to his sides and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

Okay. He could do this.

[Fuck them up, baby.]

He breathed out through his mouth and took a quick step backwards, swinging his leg back hard against the rickety kitchen table. His eyes snapped open at the sound of shattering glass and a sudden hiss of flame. He had just enough time to register Tommy’s proximity before rolling his shoulder and deflecting most of the blade’s blow. It still sliced through his coat and cut into his upper arm, but it didn’t lodge there. He caught the younger man’s arm to steady himself and drove his knee upwards into his groin. Tommy grunted, curling forward in pain, and Vincent used his advantage to shove the other man to his right.

“Oh, you bastard!” Frank growled and Vincent flung himself at the larger man. Vincent wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist and used his momentum to slam Frank against the cabin’s door, rattling it on its hinges. Frank grunted in surprise and Vincent slammed his fist upwards into the other man’s belly twice before Frank’s fists crashed down on his back.

Vincent let his knees drop, wincing as he pitched to the side, bringing them both to the ground. He kicked out, feeling a jolt up his leg as he connected with Frank’s thigh.

“Little prick!” Frank snarled as he thrashed against Vincent’s hold.

“Your mother didn’t seem to think so,” he laughed breathlessly as Frank slammed another fist against his back. “She was singing my praises all night long!”

A hand on the back of his collar started to pull him up and backwards and he punched out to connect with Frank’s ear before he was dragged out of reach. He reached up with one hand to catch hold of Tommy’s wrist and used his other to dig into the inner pocket of his overcoat.

Tommy slammed his knife against Vincent’s side, blade glancing off a rib before catching in the heavy fabric of his overcoat. The sudden burst of pain made him cry out. “Shit!”

He struggled as Tommy punched his fist against the side of Vincent’s head once, twice before Vincent’s fingers caught his prize. He jerked the gun out and fired it in front of him in Frank’s direction before lurching forward to throw Tommy’s balance off. Tommy’s foot connected with his kidney as Vincent used the forward momentum to roll Tommy up and over his shoulder. The younger man landed with a crash in front of him and Vincent scuttled backwards on his knees, pointing his gun at Tommy. He shot a glance at Frank and quickly looked away again at the bloody mess that was now the man’s face.

Tommy snarled. “Do you think you’re getting out of this alive?”

“My odds aren’t so bad,” Vincent gasped, breathless from the struggle. He sucked in a breath and immediately coughed on the heavy air that filled his mouth. He whipped his head around, startled by the sudden realization that it had become much brighter and hotter than it had been several minutes ago. “Fuck!”

The lantern he had brought into the cabin and set on the table was now lying in broken pieces on the floor, spilled oil splashed in a sloppy circle. The previously contained flame was rapidly spreading out across the floor as it crept across the wooden floorboard. He had expected the lantern to break and set fire to the cabin, but he hadn’t expected it to spread this quickly. He covered his mouth, trying to block some of the smoke from getting into his lungs.

His momentary distraction was all that Tommy needed to launch himself forward, slashing his knife down across Vincent’s face and sending them both to the ground. Bright pain blossomed in Vincent’s skull, and he was unable to stop the scream that fell from his lips as his vision was consumed by red. He could feel Tommy pinning him back onto the floor, felt the heat of the nearby flames lick at his skin, but nothing compared to the pain.

“I don’t care that Kelley wanted you alive,” Tommy growled and caught Vincent’s hair in his hand. Without hesitation, he slammed Vincent’s head against the floor and barked out a laugh at the choking noise that fell from the other man’s lips. “You’re so much more trouble than you’re worth.”

“So’s your face,” Vincent sputtered, trying to twist his head out of Tommy’s grip. He wedged his arm between their bodies.

“Doesn’t even make sense!” Tommy roared, spit flying onto Vincent’s face. “Stop talking!”

Another blow to the head left Vincent’s head spinning.

“I’m going to kill you now,” Tommy panted above him and wrenched Vincent’s coat collar to the side with the hand still clutching his knife. Vincent scrabbled at the younger man’s face, desperation taking control. He felt the sharp edge of Tommy’s knife start to pierce through the skin on his neck and shoved the palm of his hand against Tommy’s face hard enough to give himself just a few extra inches of space.

Another gunshot rang out in the cabin, close enough to set Vincent’s ears ringing. He watched Tommy’s face contort in shock and kicked his legs out to dislodge the man on top of him. He rolled to the side, stunned, and pulled in a ragged breath, only to be rewarded by a fit of coughing as smoke seared his nose and mouth.

Unthinking, he dragged himself back up, staggering to his feet and stumbling towards the door. He could distantly hear Tommy struggling to do the same behind him and blindly fired the gun once more in his general direction before his blood-wet fingers let the weapon slip to the floor.

All that mattered now was getting out of the cabin and he managed that in seconds, hand clasped over his bleeding face. The sudden spiral of snowflakes set his vision spinning and he stumbled over the uneven ground towards the car. The wind stung against his skin, tiny needles pricking at his cheeks and nose.

He hurried to the running car, opening the passenger side door and throwing himself against the front seat. Dot let out a sound that could have been a sob if he didn’t know her better and felt her cold fingers graze against his hairline as he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position.

“Your face!”

“Drive,” he wheezed, unable to stop the coughing fit that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt her fingers withdraw and jolted as the car shifted gears into drive. He forced his arm out to the side to grasp the metal handle and pull the passenger door shut.

His eyes were drawn to the bright flames now licking at the darkness of the winter countryside. Sillouted in the doorframe of the now burning cabin, Tommy lurched forward as he raised an arm toward them. Vincent stared with his still functioning eye but couldn’t comprehend why Tommy would be pointing at him. The car launched forward, tires grinding down into the heavy snow. The tread caught against the underlying gravel, and they were pulling forward.

[Watch your heads!]

The back window blew out behind them, spraying sparkling shards of glass through the car and Dot screamed.

Oh, right. His gun.

“Drive faster,” Vincent gritted out between his teeth.

“Do you want to drive?” Dot shrieked with borderline hysteria. She shot him a manic expression before stabbing her hand out over the dash. “Because, otherwise, shut up and stop distracting me!”

He sank down further in his seat, unable to see anything in the now dark landscape except the swirling snow in the headlights. He could hear several more gunshots, but they were growing quieter as the car tore up the winding driveway.

Vincent dropped his head back against the seat. His throat burned with each breath and a sudden wave of nausea had him fighting not to vomit as the car lurched along the snow slick road.

He wanted to say something to soothe Dot, but didn’t know what. If she was on the verge of tears, she was right to cry. They had gotten away for now, but this was so much worse than stealing equipment and pirating airwaves for his own profit. He had just killed a man, and one under Mister Kelley’s employ. He hadn’t exactly left Tommy in great shape either.

“Where do we go?” Dot demanded suddenly, voice thick with tears. Vincent blinked, not tearing his gaze from the snowflakes dancing in the high beams.

“I don’t know.”

Grace. The kids. Fuck, he had to warn them somehow, had to get them out of Chicago. Had to get them out before-


He’s making a list and checking it twice
He’s gonna find out who’s naughty or nice
Santa Claus is coming to town


Dot gasped and Vincent turned horrified eyes to the radio which had once again turned itself on. He bunched his fingers into the legs of his trousers and shook his head as the song dissolved into heavy crackling.

[Don’t fight the next part.]

“No,” he breathed. “What is happening? What the-”

Something very large and very dark sprang up in front of the car. Horror seized his chest as Dot slammed both feet on the brakes, struggling to avoid a head-on collision.

A sickening squeal of metal and breaking glass overpowered the cheerful Christmas song and Vincent was flung forward with enough force to launch him hard against the dash. Pain exploded over his head, thousands of fiery ants scuttling over his scalp as he heard breaking glass once more.

There was a final force that slammed Vincent’s body against the passenger door, jarring it partially open and rocketing him half out onto snow. He felt a searing pain as his legs caught on something sharp, jerking him to stop before he could tumble completely out of the vehicle. His head hit the ground sharply and Vincent’s vision blacked out for several seconds.

Before he could make sense of what was happening, it was over. There was just…

Nothing.

Just the sound of the wind and his own ragged breathing in his ears. He tried to sit up but found that his body would not obey him. His fingers clenched against something warm and wet, but he wasn’t sure what and didn’t want to know. His breath hitched wetly in his throat as he struggled to force his eyes open.

That took a lot of effort.

And he was suddenly so very cold.

“Dot,” he croaked, not expecting to hear anything back.

He could hear a faint crunching sound as an animal moved through the fresh snow. Vincent dragged his weakening gaze to the animal and recognized its shape as the one which had flashed in the headlights just before the car spun off the road.

“G’ home…” he breathed, head lolling against the wet snow. “Mrs. Claus…”

The voice on the radio chuckled.

[Come along now, Vox. We haven’t got time to spare.]

He could hear the wet rattle in his lungs as he struggled to drag in another breath. Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep and dark inside as his fingers spasmed against the wet warmth. He felt himself seize up in agony and muttered a curse.

The buck turned its head to stare down at him, antlers black as pitch in the night. He couldn’t say that he was surprised as the animal’s eyes brightened to a glowing ruby, radiating light of their own into the darkness. The creature’s lips pulled back, a yellow smile slashing across its face. Radio static hissed around them, overwhelming Vincent’s hearing until there was nothing else. There had never been anything else.

“Yes, deer,” he giggled and fell silent.

 

*

 

He awoke with a jolt and drew a breath deep into his lungs. On the exhale, it turned into a high-pitched keen that he had no control over. His limbs were trembling, and his chest was heaving as he struggled to suck in the suffocatingly hot air.

Wait.

He opened his eyes and was greeted with a blood red sky in place of the swirling white that had been dancing through the darkness of midwinter. Red and so very dry and Vincent was sitting upright before he knew what he was doing.

And, oh, that hurt. His neck screamed under a heavy weight. He pressed his palm to the side of his head and felt only a smooth, hard surface. His eyes widened in mounting horror as he slammed his other hand up to where his head should be.

Where his head was?

“No,” he moaned, breathing accelerating. “Nonono!”

“Well, hello there, little Sinner!”

Vincent looked up into a set of mismatched red and purple eyes and whimpered. The smile below the eyes grew to show a row of vicious, black stained teeth.

“I see you ended up on the naughty list.”

And Vincent couldn’t help the scream that tore from his throat.

Chapter 3: wink your eye, then fix your tie, be as I, be happy

Present Day


Vox lay in bed, positively vibrating as he stared up at the ceiling above him. Two more minutes. He just had to be quiet and still for two more minutes.

Beside him, Valentino made a strange choking sound in the back of his throat, coughed violently, then rolled over towards Vox. A quick glance confirmed that the moth demon was still sound asleep, even if he was making more noise than anything else in the room. Fucking sleep apnea. It was Hell, so sure, but he really wished Val would use the machine that he had spent entirely too much money to import from Sloth so that he wouldn’t wake Vox up at all hours with his sudden coughing and gagging.

Not that he minded hearing Val cough and gag, but context was important.

Val’s arm slung over the smaller demon’s chest and Vox could feel him trying to cover his leg with his own. For once, Val hadn’t kicked the covers off and his feet were pleasantly toasty. Vox snuggled down a bit and checked his internal clock. One minute.

He glanced over at the aquarium nestled into the wall of his bedroom. It was nowhere near as massive as the main tank that was showcased in Vee Tower boardroom, but it was large enough to host a school of small glittering gold and green Hell fish. He watched them swim lazily in the dark, the only illumination in the room a small blue light glowing from behind the tank and Vox’s own face.

5:00 AM.

The sound of trumpets blaring revelry crashed through the room (and, Vox knew, the rest of Vee Tower). He shot upright with a giddy laugh as Val screamed and flailed beside him, narrowly missing punching a hole into Vox’s screen.


He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way
He had a boogie style that no one else play
He was the top man at his craft
But then, his number came up, and he was gone with the draft


“It’s morning, bitches,” he crowed in delight and easily wriggled free from Val’s grabbing hands to hop down out of the bed. “Up and at ‘em!”

“Asshole,” Val hissed and slung his arm over his eyes as the room was flooded with bright light. He scrambled with one of his lower hands to drag the comforter over his head.

“Time to embrace the day!” Vox danced away from the bed, swinging his hips even though he knew Valentino was buried too far below the bedcovers to appreciate it. He clapped his hands along with the beat. “And now the company jumps when he plays revelry! He’s the boogie-woogie bugle boy of Company B!”

Val snarled wordlessly and jammed his pillow over his head, angry squeaks still audible.

Vox had just enough time to spin himself into the bathroom, giving himself finger guns in the mirror as he passed, before he caught a pop of purple in his periphery. Vox locked the bathroom door with a thought and turned on the shower. He shed his pajamas, cackling as the door rattled on its hinges.

“Vox, you come out here so that I can kill you!” Velvette screeched. The door shuddered under her fist.

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the music,” he called back.

“Why are you even playing this old-timey bullshit?” Right. He flicked his wrist, and the Andrews Sisters were replaced by Lil Jon demanding to know for what he should turn down. “No, Vox! So much worse!”

He raised the volume just a little bit more and popped open the cap of the lilac bodywash Val liked to leave in his bathroom. He poured out a generous measure onto a washcloth and began his morning routine, ignoring Velvette’s death threats until she gave up and left.

Forty-five minutes later and he strolled into the common living area, straightening his tie as he walked. Valentino and Velvette were seated at the table near the window where they had most of their family style meals, a spread of baked goods and fruit laid out in front of them. Velvette was slumped over, her forehead resting on a glossy magazine while her hand clutched at a still steaming mug of coffee. Val raised an eyebrow from where he was sitting and raised his own coffee to his mouth.

Vox twirled in a circle and spread his arms out wide. “Good morning, good morning! It’s great to stay up late!” He let a small shower of electric sparks fly from his fingers as he twisted his wrists for enthusiastic jazz hands. “Good morning, good morning to you!”

Valentino looked impressively unimpressed. Velvette groaned.

“Val, can you please tell Vox to go play in traffic?”

“You are in a hideously good mood this morning, amorcito,” the Overlord of Porn observed, and Vox nodded.

“I am!” He approached the coffee maker and sighed. “You only made enough for yourselves?”

“Figured you didn’t actually need any,” Val replied with a shrug. “Or deserve it.”

“Just put some coke in your Voot Floops, you psychopath,” Velvette grumbled. She raised her head the absolute bare minimum needed to suck a sip of coffee from her mug. Vox hummed and popped a coffee pod into the single serve machine.

“Aw, I’m sorry I’m ruining your morning, babydoll,” he told her. Velvette shot him a baleful glare. “Don’t you even want to know why I’m so excited this morning?”

“I’m gonna assume it has something to do with the Radio Bitch?”

“Ha!” Vox took down his favorite mug and waved it in her direction. “Yes, it does. Fuck Alastor!”

“Fuck Alastor,” the other Vees parroted loyally, but with considerably less enthusiasm. Vel leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Vox breathed in the scent of fresh coffee as the machine began to percolate before continuing.

“Well, you both saw him get his ass handed to him by the First Man. I mean, he really got his shit rocked, right? Haha, fuck him!” Val and Vel exchanged a look as a tiny trickle of bright red blood began to creep out of the corner of Vox’s mouth. Vox swiped at it with the back of his hand. “Now’s the time to strike and put him out of his misery.”

“And how do we do that?” Velvette demanded. She held up her hands in front of her as Vox’s eyebrows shot up. “Look, Vee, I don’t think either of us are saying that you shouldn’t declare open deer season, but what’s the plan?”

“We should send in a spy,” Valentino volunteered, and Velvette sighed.

“Because that worked so well the last time?”

“Pentious was a little bitch,” Vox replied defensively. “We couldn’t have known he’d just join the hotel instead of actually doing the one job he had.”

“He had one job.” Val smeared a bagel with cream cheese and tore a massive chunk off with his teeth. Chewing noisily, he shook his head. “One job and he really fucked it hard.”

“I know you’re saying it like that on purpose,” Vel snapped. She glanced down at her phone. “I’m not rubberstamping another half-baked scheme unless you think of a better idea.”

Vox sputtered. “Me? Why am I the only one who has to think of ways to destroy Alastor?”

“Because Voxy,” Valentino started and nudged Velvette slightly. She looked up and grinned.

“Killing Alastor is your kink.”

“You taught her that?”

“Oi, don’t say that like I’m some puppy he taught to sit.” She shot her middle finger up at him. “Fuck you!”

Vox raised his steaming coffee mug to his screen and let it fog over the lower half of his face before taking a sip. “So, neither of you are going to help me with this?”

Velvette rolled her eyes. “We’ll help once you have a plan that isn’t completely balls to the wall insane.” Vox gaped. “No, because, seriously, Vee. In this state, you’re going to go full Wile E. Coyote and just start dropping anvils on his head.”

“That would be something,” Val chuckled. “Do you think his whole body would just smash flat underneath or would there be blood and gore splattered everywhere?”

Vel shot him a look that plainly conveyed her disapproval of how off-track Val was threatening to take the conversation.

“A plan, Vox.” She raised her phone in front of her face and flicked her free hand in dismissal. “Now, fuck off so I can eat breakfast.”

“Sinstagram it, more like.”

Vox sat down across from the other Vees as they continued to playfully bicker through their breakfast.

Fine, then he’d think of a plan. It wasn’t like he wasn’t usually the one determining their strategy, anyways. He was the reason that the Vees were sitting at the top of Pentagram City, far above the clawing and scrabbling of the peons below. He was the reason that they were within reach of ruling over all of Pride, the mindless cattle eager to step in line behind anyone strong enough to lead them. He had built this fucking tower, this fucking empire with his own two hands and he would be double-damned if he was going to let anyone fuck with it now.

He sipped his coffee.

Besides, the whole Pentious thing had been Val’s dumbass idea, anyways.

 

*

 

“Wait, are these the fourth quarter reports?”

“Um.” The tiny squirrel Sinner began to rifle through the pile of papers in front of her. He could never remember her name. Of course, it was too late now to ask, and he couldn’t be bothered to look through her personnel file. He knew for sure it started with a C or an S (one of the hissing sounding letters). Cindy/Sandy, it was.

“Um, no, sir. These are the third quarter reports.”

Vox drummed his claws against his desk, raising an eyebrow. “Well, where are the fourth quarter reports?”

“I don’t have those reports, sir.”

“What?” Vox narrowed his eyes. The little squirrel’s pupils dilated. “Why not?”

“Well, sir, it’s only the third week of the quarter.” Cindy/Sandy gulped. “Do you want last year’s data?”

“And what would I do with that?” He watched with sadistic glee as Cindy/Sandy’s eyes darted around the office in a panic. Ah, and there was the faint, but growing, smell of flop sweat. “How would that help Voxtek stay ahead of the curve?”

“I don’t know, sir!” she whimpered, shrinking back into her seat. “Please, sir!”

The office phone buzzed on the desk beside him, its bright red button lighting up. Vox pressed the speaker button without taking his eyes from Cindy/Sandy. “What is it?”

“Miss Dot’s here to see you, Mister Vox,” his assistant chirped. Vox sighed.

“Send her in.”

Dot swept into the room without ceremony or the impression that she didn’t own the entire building. Getting to his feet, Vox felt a surge of relief when he saw the massive pile of papers she was carrying in her arms. Good old Dot. He swept around the desk to take some of the weight from her tiny arms.

If Vox had landed in Hell as an unholy amalgamation of meat and machinery, Dot had arrived in one neatly definable package. He envied her the ease with which she seemed to have wrested control over her demonic form, though he knew she had been less than thrilled to wake up and discover that she was now a ferret.

Well, a ferret Sinner, but the resemblance was so uncanny that it was hard not to just think of her as an anthropomorphic rodent. Not even her precisely coordinated outfits, mostly consisting of pencil skirts and pressed blouses with prim kitten heels, could distract from her animalistic features. Her ear flicked impatiently before he slid his hands under the pile and took the weight of it on himself.

Dot huffed a breath of gratitude, and he turned to set the papers down on his desk. Cindy/Sandy stared up at him with wide eyes. A single bead of sweat chose that moment to run from her temple down her cheek. With a blink, Vox let his left eye begin to swirl.

“You can go now.” Cindy/Sandy jumped up from her chair, gathering her own files in her arms, expression blank. “And forget that you saw Dot come in here, hm?”

“Yes, sir,” Cindy/Sandy said dazedly before shuffling from the room. Dot waited until the door shut behind her to sigh.

“You don’t have to hypnotize her every time you meet with her,” she said, letting herself fall into the chair that Cindy/Sandy had left unoccupied. Vox picked the top file off the pile and sat down in his own chair.

“I mean, I don’t have to, but then where’s the fun in it for me?” He leafed through the papers, brow furrowing as he read. “Ugh, this is all just legal stuff. What, are we going to sue the hotel into oblivion to fuck up the Radio Demon? Shuffle him from courtroom to courtroom until he has a nervous breakdown and finally admits that the Vees are superior to him in every way?”

“Satan, no,” Dot breathed, nose scrunching adorably. Not that he would ever tell her that she was adorable or make any other comment on her appearance – Val had tried that once and had spent a week regrowing his lower right arm. “Could you imagine how long that would take?”

Vox’s face darkened. “He’d probably love it anyway, attention-seeking asshole.”

Dot pushed some of the stack aside and grabbed a thick tome, bound in leather. What kind of leather was debatable, but at least it was smooth and clean and not held together with heavy black stitches and smudged with blood. That had been the last time that he took Alastor up on his offer to provide Vox with suggested reading materials. He still had the fang marks on his thigh from that little misadventure.

“What’s this?”

Dot grinned. “It’s a book of local laws.”

“We just agreed no legal stuff.” Vox thumbed the cover of the book open and read the title page.

A Comprehensive Treatise on Hellish Administration and Governance
(Excluding Greed Ring Governance)
(Because Fuck Mammon. Cheap Bastard Wouldn’t Shell Out a Dime, So Let Him Write His Own Book.)
Written by Daniel Webster

“Oh, a Webster treatise?” Vox hummed and flipped to the table of contents. “You know, I’ve always meant to read one of these.”

“Really?”

Vox shrugged. “No, but it feels like something I should want to read.”

Dot pulled the book from his hands, flipped roughly midway into the volume, and pointed to a specific passage. Vox didn’t bother to ask her to flip the book back around so that he could read it. He didn’t need to.

“This is the most promising thing I’ve come across,” Dot said.

Vox read quietly, his eyes growing wider with each passing sentence. A spark flew from his antenna. “Whoa…”

He took the book from Dot’s paws and reread the first passage over again, not quite believing what was in front of him before continuing. Much like he was prone to get pulled along in the data stream without noticing that time had passed, he had read through nearly fifty pages before he looked up. Dot straightened and glanced over the top of her phone. Satisfied that he was done reading, she silenced the tiny bells and chimes of whatever insipid game she had been playing and set the phone down.

Vox swallowed. “Did I read that right?”

“Judging by the shock on your face, I’m pretty sure you did.”

“So… what? We just go down to City Hall?” He checked his internal clock. “Like now? Because I’m pretty sure any Hellish government facility closes at 5, hard stop.”

Dot grinned. “It’s the place to start.”

*

 

“Vox, what are we doing here?” Valentino whined, sprawling in his chair and letting his feet stretch forwards. Velvette nudged him away from her with a swift movement of her toe, black thigh high boots reflecting the luminescent glow of the shark tank. She didn’t bother to look up from her phone.

“Some of us have things to do with our afterlives, Vox.” She barked a derisive laugh and tilted her phone to where Val could see it. “Look at this! Can you even imagine?”

Val cackled along with her.

Vox glanced at where Dot was watching them, ankles crossed demurely where she sat beside him. She was shuffling through the stack of paperwork that they had been given at City Hall to sign and date. Most of it was already completed, but Dot was carefully checking for any invisible or magicked clauses that might not be as readily apparent to the unschooled eye.

“I have an announcement to make,” he declared.

“We know! You said that to get us up here.” Val’s whine grew slightly higher in pitch and Vox’s lip curled in annoyance. “Papito, hurry it up so that we can get back to our important schedules.”

“Important-” Vox pinched the bridge of his nonexistent nose. “Val, you just want to run out of here so that you can show Angel Dust off at that stupid club.”

“It’s an Asmodeus pop-up, Vox, and you wouldn’t understand.” Val flicked his cigarette, letting the ash cascade onto the boardroom’s real Earth-sourced mahogany. Not even bothering with an ashtray again, the fucker. “Do you know how many arms I had to pull off to get a table there?”

“Just say pull,” Velvette said helpfully unhelpful. “You don’t need to add the ‘off’.”

Val blinked. “But I did. I pulled their arms right off, clean out of the socket.”

“Oh.” The Overlord of Fashion and Social Media clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Well, that sounds gross and excessive.”

“But effective.”

“Enxz-ough!” Vox’s voice glitched and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from inadvertently hypnotizing everyone in the room.

“Jeez, baby, lighten up.”

“No, listen, both of you!” Vox opened his eyes and was relieved to see that Val was now sitting upright and Vel had lowered her phone to her lap. “I think I’ve found a way to neutralize Alastor once and for all.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

Vox lowered the lights in the boardroom with a thought and started sharing the screen from his desktop on his face. Velvette cringed backwards in disgust.

“Oh, sweet Lucifer, you made a PowerPoint?”

Val groaned and got to his feet as Vox triumphantly shared the first slide, “Reasons Why the Radio Demon is a Menace to Society and Should Be Handled with Extreme Prejudice.” Vox took a step back.

“Val, no!”

Valentino caught him with little effort and pinned his arms to his sides with his lower limbs before immobilizing his screen with his upper left hand. Using the pointer finger of his upper right hand, he dragged his finger pad across Vox’s face, swiping each slide to the left impatiently. He clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“Did you animate some of these?”

“Dammit, Valentino, do you know how much time I put into this PowerPoint?” Vox struggled against his lover’s grip. “Just let me do the presentation!”

“Ah, here we go!” Val stopped at the one slide that Vox had been really looking forward to. The piece de resistance. “Oh, Voxy! Mayor of Pentagram City!”

“Bullshit!” Velvette cried, bouncing onto her feet and hip checking Valentino out of the way. She grabbed the bottom of Vox’s screen and pulled.

“Ouch!” He slapped out of her grip now that Valentino had dropped his hold on Vox’s arms. “Guys, come on. It was going to be a good presentation, too.”

He stopped sharing.

Velvette blinked up at him. “But what does that mean? Do you have to run in an election or something? Does the King just appoint you?”

Vox waved her away from him before returning to his seat beside Dot. The tiny ferret Sinner squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

“You know, this was all in the PowerPoint.” Val scoffed. “But here’s the TLDR summary: every twenty-three years, Pentagram City holds a mayoral election. Only Sinners can run for office because it’s an office designed by Sinners.”

“That tracks.” Velvette shrugged at the expression on Valentino’s face. “What? Humans invented elected government, so of course it came down to Hell with us.”

“The mayor holds a lot of power in this city. Besides assisting Lucifer oversee the governance of Pride, the mayor is supposed to be a voice for Sinners in Hell.” Neither of the other Vees looked particularly impressed by this. “They can negotiate with the upper echelons of Hellish society. The Goetia, the Sins…”

“The royal family?” Velvette asked, eyes lighting up with malicious delight.

“Even the Morningstars.” Vox grinned, teeth glinting in the cool blue glow of the aquarium.

“We could do more with that power than just annihilating Alastor,” Val purred, sliding up behind his chair to trace a hand over Vox’s shoulder. He hooked another finger under Vox’s chin and tilted his head back. “We could bring all of Pride to its knees.”

“Well, only the ones we like,” Vox countered. Val’s smile sharpened and Vox shifted in his chair subtly, though not subtly enough to prevent Dot’s eyeroll or Velvette’s gagging sound. He sighed then clapped his hands, straightening back up despite Val’s pout. “The really great news is that there’s an election coming right up in two weeks.”

“Well, that’s convenient.” Vox hummed in agreement.

“So, why I haven’t heard about it? There isn’t anything happening in Pride that I haven’t heard of.” Velvette’s fingers flew over her phone as her eyes darted back and forth over the tiny screen. “Nothing on Sinstagram… or anywhere else.”

“Apparently, there hasn’t been an election since 1932.” Vox tried very hard to ignore the way that Velvette’s eyebrow shot up, even if the rest of her expression didn’t change as she scrolled through Hellish internet sites. “The last mayor died a few years after the election and nobody came forward to take credit, so they just stopped having elections.”

“What?” Vel laughed, looking up from her phone. “Why the fuck would they stop?”

“According to the treatise, an election can only be held when there is a living mayor,” Dot chirped up. Val looked down at the passage she was pointing to. “If there is no living mayor, everything just falls apart.”

“How does that work, exactly?” Val asked, confused.

“There’s a provision in here about that.” She flipped a few pages ahead. “Here. If the mayor is murdered, then the Sinner who did the murdering automatically becomes the new mayor. That Sinner can then be challenged in an election at the regular time, but until then they’re the new mayor.”

“But if nobody challenges them because nobody knows who murdered them, then what?” Vox sighed and Dot frowned.

“Then that Sinner remains the mayor in perpetuity. Or until someone does extend a challenge.”

“So, there’s some mystery Sinner, that nobody ever elected, who is mayor of a city that probably doesn’t even remember that they have a mayor anymore, let alone that there’s an election in two weeks?” Velvette tossed a hand in the air. “Of fucking course!”

“Well, how are you supposed to run for mayor if we don’t even know who this mystery murderer is?” Valentino took a drag on his cigarette and let a plume of smoke out slowly over Vox’s head. Vox waved his hand impatiently.

“I’ve got someone checking the Dark Archives.”

“Oh, the death scrolls?” Val finally looked impressed. “I didn’t know you had access to those.”

“You’d be amazed at what money can buy.” Vox shrugged. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t.”

“It had better not be that squirrel girl you’ve got doing your fiscal reports,” Velvette sniped. “She looks ready to have a heart attack every time I talk to her. Honestly! It’s not even like I’m that mean to her.” Vox raised an eyebrow. “To her, specifically.”

“Chica, you’re mean to everyone and that’s why we love you.”

“Gee, thanks, Val.” She mimed snatching something out of the air. “I’ll save that one for a rainy day.”

Vox’s phone chimed and he glanced down with a grin. His people really did have fantastic timing. He opened Cindy/Sandy’s text message and jolted as surge of electricity shot through his head. Error messages began popping up over his screen faster than he could close them out. He slammed his hands palms down on the table and let out a roar of rage and frustration twenty years in the making.

“Voxy?” The lights in the boardroom began to flash ominously. Not that Vox was in any mood to notice. “Baby?”

He felt Velvette pull his phone from his grip and start laughing.

“Oh! Oh, this is pure gold!”

Vox jerked the device out of her hands and crushed it to dust into his grip. He ignored the shards of metal and glass slicing into his palm and balled his other hand into a fist, trying to keep control over the electricity threatening to knock the power out of half of Pentagram City.

“MOTHERFUCKER!”

Notes:

Full disclosure: this is the first fic that I have worked on in years, so I'm still working the kinks out of my writing. Thank you in advance for your patience and understanding while I get my groove back.

HC: Vox is absolutely the type of person who will make you sit through PowerPoint presentations during meetings that could have been emails and insert unnecessary tables and charts just because he wants you to know he can. Want to see a pivot table, or twenty? If he's going to suffer, you better believe you will, too.

Chapter 4: when you smile and it tears your face, it’s time for the inhuman race

December 25, 1956

Vincent finished screaming and snapped his mouth shut. The creature above him blinked.

“You’re rather noisy, aren’t you?” Its head tilted with what Vincent could only assume was curiosity. A clawed hand reached out and tapped against the top of his head. There was a very distinctive plink. “Oh, is this real mahogany?”

Vincent opened his mouth then shut it again, unable to reconcile reality with the thing in front of him. It defied every law of nature and decency. He could feel himself shaking his head, but it was more of a reflex than any intentional movement on his part.

“You don’t talk? Curious.” The clawed fingers hooked around the back of his head and pulled him forward. Oh, shit. “You scream.”

“I don’t know!” Vincent blurted out then clapped a hand over his mouth. The sleeve of his coat rubbed against his face, and he brushed it back thoughtlessly. His palm was met with smooth, cool glass where his mouth ought to be, and his mind filled with white noise for a split-second before shuffling that discovery down the line for processing.

The creature tilted his head down towards the ground, jiggling the joint at the base of his skull a little as if testing its range of motion. The ground under him wobbled along with his head. The creature hummed, seemingly satisfied with its evaluation. “What don’t you know?”

Vincent continued to hold his palm to the place where his mouth should be and started to hyperventilate. “Oh my god, oh my god.” A hard whack to the back of his head and Vincent’s impossible face knocked against his knees. It reminded him of running into a glass door as a child. His hands shot out to the sides to try and catch his fall forward. “What are you doing?”

“Percussive maintenance,” it murmured and smacked his head again.

There was a warm snuffling that moved from the top of his head to the back of his neck and Vincent struggled against the urge to scream again. The creature jerked his head back upright without warning and he stared in open mouthed terror as its eyes wobbled within their sockets, wet and slightly filmy. It smiled.

“You’re fresh, too!” It nodded with obvious pleasure. A faint line of black fluid began to trickle from its mouth down its chin. “Oh, I bet you just fell, didn’t you? Fresh from the Mortal Realm and on Sinsmas Day, no less!” It tittered. “How wonderful!”

Vincent splayed his fingers out over the concrete beside him.

“Where am I?” he asked in a small voice and the creature slumped a little, eyes growing fond like it was looking at beloved pet.

“Well, you’re dead, aren’t you?” When Vincent didn’t answer, it went on. “And you clearly didn’t live a virtuous life since you’re here now. In Hell.” It glanced up and above itself. “More specifically, Pentagram City.”

“Hell.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Hell.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And you’re…”

“A demon, of course.” It backed up a few paces and Vincent was finally able to get a good look at its massive body. A dreadful combination of mud brown scales and limp yellow feathers plastered against its neck with a bizarrely bird shaped face rising on a long, curving neck. “So are you now.”

An embarrassing whine suddenly escaped Vincent’s throat and he leaned back. “No.”

The bird monster shrugged. “Them’s the brakes, huh?” It reached out to pat Vincent on the head like a puppy. “Hey, want to see a magic trick?”

“What?”

The creature’s eyes fell from its head in a rush of blood and its head began to spin clockwise on its neck. Vincent screamed and scrambled backwards, frantically trying to brush away the heavy red fluid from where it splashed onto the front of his coat. The demon caught his ankle and dragged him back, eyes dangling from thick cords below its chin. It grinned.

“See? Magic!” Heavy eyelids blinked and its eyes returned to their previous state with a damp squelch and the faintest sound of a jacket being zippered. Vincent whimpered, and the creature sighed. “Oh, don’t do that. We’re just having some fun.”

It stood up and towered over Vincent. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, unable to stop the hysterical noises now erupting from deep inside himself. The creature reached up over the top of him and hooked its clawed fingers into the back of his coat collar. He let out a wet shriek as he was hauled to his feet, his feet slipping around in his suddenly too big shoes. It steadied him with another of its arms.

“Shh, now, there’s a good boy.” It narrowed its eyes. “You are a boy one, right? I can never remember.”

Vincent wrapped his arms around his middle. “Yeah, a boy one.”

“Marvelous!” A scaley limb snaked around his back and pulled him forward. “You hungry? I know just the place to take a little Sinner like yourself.”

Hungry? Was he hungry? He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten but staring into the monster’s now gaping jaws left him starting to suspect that he might not being the one perusing the menu, but on it. Besides, his current company was definitely not providing him with any inspiration to eat.

“I… I don’t know?”

The creature tossed its head back to laugh suddenly, a cacophony of noises amongst which Vincent thought he recognized the sounds of squealing pigs, operatic singing, and, most unsettlingly, the gentle ding of a bicycle bell. He shrank down, trembling.

“So funny!” It licked its lips and brought its face in close once more. “I’m going to hurt you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I like you,” it continued as if the last sentence hadn’t fallen from its lips. “Come along, let’s get you to the store.”

“What store?” Vincent stumbled as the creature began to pull him along at a brisk pace. His legs struggled to keep pace without breaking into a trot. “What store?”

“The store,” the creature said, giving him a dubious look before the feathers around its neck puffed out. “Where everyone buys the things. I can’t imagine you don’t do have those topside anymore.” It gave him a small shake. “Do you not have stores anymore?”

“We do! We have stores!”

It nodded, seemingly pleased with his answer and another clawed hand hooked itself underneath his armpit, pulling his feet from the ground as it continued to walk forward. “Hurry, hurry. We have so much to see and do today!”

“Wait, put me down!” Vincent cried out, panicking. “I don’t want to go!”

“Stuff and nonsense, my friend.” The deafening laughter boomed out around them again. “I’m Dung!”

“Dung.” he repeated. “Dung?”

“Yes?”

“Put me down!”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that.” Something wet dragged across the top of his head. Was it burning? Vincent shuddered in horror, just knowing it was the creature’s tongue. “You taste of batteries. What do you think of me?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Make an assessment!”

Vincent screamed once more as he was swung fully from the ground and held out at arms’ length in front of the creature’s gaping maw. His shoes clattered to the ground, leaving his socked feet kicking out in the air. He lashed out frantically, swinging his legs and pounding his fists against the creature’s arms as it began to pull him in closer, its blackened teeth growing longer.

“Oh, Dung! I thought that was you!”

The creature froze, made a soft chirring noise then snaked its head forward and past Vincent’s to look at whatever was talking to it. Vincent whimpered as its feathered neck brushed against the side of his head.

“Alabaster.” It made a deep rumble in its chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Just out enjoying a brisk afternoon stroll. Good for the constitution.” Vincent could hear a soft strain of jazz music begin to play. “Oh, who’s this?”

Dung’s neck feathers fluffed again, a particularly greasy one poking against Vincent’s nonexistent cheek. He began to hyperventilate as the creature stroked a claw over the top of his head.

“A playmate.”

The other voice tsked. “Now, Dung. What has Zestial told you about that?”

Dung hissed. “Zestial’s not here.”

“No,” the other voice agreed. “But I am.”

There was a sudden darkening around them and Vincent kicked out once again as the creature swung him up closer to its chest. Not close enough to land a kick, but it made him feel better. Like he was participating in the conversation to determine whether he was about to die a gruesome death.

Again, apparently.

Something very cold curled around Vincent’s body and he blinked into the face of a shadow that grinned back at him. It winked before dissolving into mist. Once again, his mind stuttered in protest.

Dung huffed indignantly. “Oh, fine then.”

Vincent yelped as the clawed hands holding him simply opened and he plummeted down. Something cold and firm, yet surprisingly gentle, stopped his fall and lowered him the rest of the way to the ground. Dung looked down at him then shook his head.

“He wouldn’t have been very scrumptious anyways,” the creature told the owner of the other voice. It gave Vincent an accusing look before shuffling forward, bumping him off-balance as it went. Vincent stared straight ahead for a moment before sagging to his knees.

A soft chuckle came from behind him. “You’ll have to forgive Dung. He’s very old and very mad.”

Vincent slumped then, letting his bottom sit flat on the ground. There was a delicate tap-tap of boots walking around him before they stopped directly in front of him. He looked up dully.

“I’m Alastor,” the demon in front of him said with a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure!”

Vincent swallowed dryly but didn’t respond. The demon squatted down in front of him, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“Do you have a name?” Vincent opened his mouth to reply but the crimson haired demon held up a quick finger. “Ah-ah! No names from the mortal world. Folks down here aren’t very… scrupulous about how they use that knowledge.”

He wanted to scream. I’m Vincent fucking Walker! The fucking Voice of fucking Chicago. What am I doing here?!

Instead, he stuck out the tip of his tongue and wet his lips. He didn’t understand how he was able to do it since his face was fucking glass, but it happened, nonetheless.

“Vox,” he said after a beat. “I’m Vox.”

 

*

 

Alastor gestured to the chair in front of him, raising an eyebrow. “Please, sit!” His smile grew as the Sinner who had been trailing after him during their walk to Rosie’s slowly shut his eyes and stood still for a moment before nodding. Vox climbed onto the chair with a soft grunt of effort and Alastor noted with amusement that his feet didn’t quite touch the floor.

He was quite a curious little thing, this Vox. Judging from the way his brown suit was hanging off him, it had clearly been made to fit a much larger man. The little Sinner was pushing his sleeves up to his forearms constantly and seemed in danger of tripping over his own trousers as the hems pooled around his feet. He’d be surprised if Vox even managed to clear five feet.

Mm, but the dramatic difference in size that the Sinner had clearly experienced was of little interest compared to his head. Alastor had seen a few technology based Sinner forms, but nothing as absurd as an entire television for a head. He wasn’t sure if it was made of metal, wood, and glass, or some strange magic that crafted Sinner flesh into something only appearing inorganic. He decided to be charmed by the small demon’s face, consisting entirely of brightly expressive cartoon drawings.

And, oh, the static! Vox didn’t appear to be aware that he was emitting a soft prickling static. It had fluctuated violently when Alastor had encountered him in Dung’s claws but had settled down to a low buzz. If he had to name it, Alastor would guess that Vox was transmitting his shock through the airwaves.

“Would you like a menu?” Vox stared at him blankly, his sepia toned face looking positively exhausted. “No, perhaps not. I’ll order for you.”

The little Sinner nodded and stared down at the wood grain of the tabletop. Alastor proceeded to order a series of hot beverages, bakery goods, and a tray of lady fingers. He wasn’t sure if Vox would appreciate those, but he was very welcome to the almond cookies that were set down in front of them first. Vox seemed unaware of the food and Alastor cleared his throat to get his attention. Wide cartoon eyes blinked back up at him.

“You should eat something, Vox.” He sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “You look a little peaky.”

“Peaky,” Vox repeatedly quietly. He didn’t make a move towards the food, though he did lift his hands to settle the tips of his fingers on the edge of the table.

Alastor hummed. “Yes, but Rosie’s almond cookies should do the trick. They’re vegetarian, you know.”

“Ah.” The small Sinner drummed his fingers against the table edge. Vox carefully took a cookie from the plate and stared at it for a long moment before looking back up at Alastor helplessly. “How… how do I eat this?”

“Oh, it’s not a dipping cookie, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though we could get some biscotti, if you’d like. They make a Sinner blood one that really isn’t half bad. Not too dissimilar to the raspberry.”

No indication that Vox was horrified by one of Rosie’s best sellers. He didn’t flinch or even wrinkle his nose. That was promising.

Vox shook his head. “No, I mean… how?” He gestured to his face. “I don’t have a mouth.”

Alastor laughed but put his hand over his own mouth apologetically when Vox scowled. “You certainly do have a mouth. I imagine you just put the food inside the same way you used to.”

“It’s glass.”

How delightful! The new Sinner’s face was so expressive – Alastor would never need to wonder what was going on in that funny little head of his. He snatched a cookie from the vegetarian plate and held it out in front of Vox’s face. The man’s eyes somehow managed to widen even more, practically circles in his head.

“Close your eyes,” Alastor instructed, and Vox did after a beat. “Now, open your mouth.”

And good at direction!

Alastor slid the cookie against Vox’s open mouth and marveled how the glass rippled with small staticky bursts before an actual mouth formed. He set the cookie against Vox’s tongue and chuckled lightly as the other demon’s eyes flew open, his teeth clamping down over the confectionary. His hand flew up to his mouth as the other half of the cookie crumbled down towards his shirt. Messy, but nothing Alastor couldn’t work with.

“Shit,” Vox mumbled around the cookie, eyes wide. He stared at Alastor in momentary awe before beginning to chew frantically. “Oh!”

Alastor leaned back to watch as Vox tore into the plates of food in front of him, occasionally stopping to gulp down mouthfuls of coffee and tea. If any of the drinks burned him, he certainly didn’t show it. The Radio Demon sipped his coffee with amusement.

“So, you must be very new,” he stated as Vox aggressively stuffed a lemon cookie covered in powdered sugar in his mouth. Vox looked up from his feast and nodded.

“Uh, yeah, that’s right,” he said and curled his hand around the handle of a cup of coffee. He paused. Obviously waiting for the Radio Demon to ask another question. When Alastor said nothing, he raised his drink to his mouth to wash down the mouthful of chewed cookie.

“When did you die?” he asked, timing his question as Vox was mid-gulp. The television choked a bit and set the mug down with another scowl, looking like he was debating saying something unpleasant in response. Alastor wondered if the man’s temper would improve or intensify as he adjusted to his new reality. He really hoped it was the latter.

“Today.” He wiped his hand over the back of his mouth and Alastor tutted, pointedly looking down at the napkin beside Vox. Falling to Hell was no reason to forget one’s table manners. A darker brown seeped onto the man’s screen and, after a moment, Alastor realized the little Sinner was blushing. “I think. It might have been yesterday. I don’t…”

Vox trailed off, staring down at the napkin clutched in his surprisingly human hand. The nails were gently rounded; his skin appeared to be soft. Not a hint of claw or scale anywhere. Alastor wondered why Hell would curse him with such soft, harmless appendages. Surely, he wasn’t meant to be able to defend himself like this.

Ah, but that was part of the ineffable punishment, wasn’t it? Bestow Sinners with features designed to torture them, based on their time in the living world. Alastor would know. He was a fucking deer, of all things.

“You’ll be needing someplace to stay,” Alastor said, softness creeping unbidden into his voice. Vox looked up and around as though just now seeing where they were. A tiny spark ran up the antenna atop his head and how did that work?

“I don’t have any money,” he said, swallowing hard. He began to pat his coat pocket, perhaps searching for a wallet or money clip. “At least, I don’t think I have anything anyone here would take.”

“Oh, people will take more than money, my good man.” Alastor let reality darken around him, delighted with the way the green of his magic shimmered over Vox’s glass face. “You could always barter.”

“With what?” Vox asked with sudden breathlessness. The Radio Demon’s grin split his face, sclera darkening to black, and antlers extending with audible cracks. Vox’s eyes grew impossibly big in his head.

“Why, with hard work and honest labor!” Alastor shrunk back to his usual form with a laugh and Vox flinched. “I’m sure you’re not above having to get your hands dirty now and again?”

“Oh, I can work!” Vox answered quickly. His fingers bunched around the napkin, chest puffing with anticipation. “Are you… are you offering me a job?”

“Heavens, no!”

Vox deflated. His disappointment was delicious. “Oh.”

“But I think my friend is looking for a stock boy. She’d probably even give you lodging, too, if you can prove your worth.” Alastor leaned forward, letting gentle jazz begin to play. “Can you do that, do you think? Prove your worth?”

Alastor’s grin sharpened at the eager nod from Vox.

“Lovely!” His gaze swept over the table. “Let’s pay her a call once you’re done eating.”

 

*

 

Several hours later, Vincent found himself sweeping out a stock room with a frown. Alastor had indeed introduced him to his friend, an intimidatingly tall woman with blank black eyes named Rosie, before promptly asking her how much Vincent owed for all the food he had consumed. Rosie had chuckled, giving Alastor a fond look like this was just something he did (which, Vincent was beginning to suspect, was likely since everyone he had encountered so far was one flavor of bastard or another).

“I can pay,” Vincent had sputtered, glancing quickly between them. “I’ll do whatever you need!”

“Oh, splendid.” Rosie leaned down as if to pinch his cheek, realized he didn’t have any, and patted the side of his television head with a smile. “You’ll be an absolute Hellsend!”

His fingers tightened around the broom handle he was holding and Vincent stopped sweeping. He hadn’t had much time to process the last twenty-four hours, and the monotonous motion of the broom had lulled his head into quiet. He stared at the fingers that were not his own at the ends of arms that weren’t his own and felt his breath catch in his throat. The broom clattered to the floor as Vincent started to walk backwards, fingers splaying onto the sides of his head in growing horror.

“No.” Distantly, he heard the crackle of static followed by a high-pitched whine.

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t. He had never been an especially good person, but he wasn’t evil either.

Right?

His fingers scrabbled at his collar, hooking onto his tie. He couldn’t breathe.

“Help,” he whimpered as the tie refused to come loose. “Grace!”

Grace would help him. She always helped him with his tie. He never put it on correctly, she always said, and now he couldn’t get it off. His fingers dug into the fabric and Vincent’s back hit the shelves behind him, knocking bags of flour onto the ground. He struggled for a moment with the tie before his knees buckled beneath him and he crashed to the ground in a plume of white.

I’m dying!

He coughed harshly as the powder coated the inside of his mouth, reaching an arm out in front of him, fingers curling to catch something, anything to anchor him. Blinding panic stole over him and the whine mutated into an air raid siren, pulsing with urgency.

Distantly, he felt his body being dragged up from the ground. He wanted to lash out, kick and claw at whatever new horror was pulling him into its embrace, but he only had the strength to push weakly against the unyielding force. His body was enclosed in warmth, and he struggled fruitlessly.

“Let me go!”

Gradually, he became aware that his body was moving gently. Back and forth, in a slow, predictable rhythm. He was being rocked. Vincent gasped, his voice wet with tears he hadn’t been aware he was shedding, and pressed his face forward against heavily starched fabric. A faint smell of roses and, just beneath it, blood.

“Shh, there now,” a soft voice murmured above him. He felt soft fingers smoothing down his back. “I’ve got you.”

Vincent hiccoughed, fingers clenching into the fabric. He opened his eyes to take in blurry white muslin, dotted with miniscule red roses.

“Help me,” he whispered, and the fingers stopped petting. He was pressed forward suddenly, and it took him several seconds to realize he was being hugged. Cradled and rocked as though he were something precious. “I don’t… please…”

Vincent let himself sag against Rosie’s dress and began to sob in earnest.

Chapter 5: and every time I see your grin, I’m such a happy individual

July 1957

 

In less than six months, Vox had worked his way up from stock boy to cashier and he had no intention of going back.

To that, or to Vincent.

He wasn’t sure when he started thinking of himself as Vox in his own head. Perhaps it came after months of no one knowing him as anything but Vox and only ever hearing that name spoken to him, but it helped ease his acceptance of his fate and status as a demon. His previous life was slowly beginning to fade into a dull dream, leaching color as it settled into the back of his mind.

Rosie had been delighted by the freshly fallen Sinner, praising his hard work each day and leaning down to pat the side of his face affectionally. He was beginning to suspect that she might think of him as more of a child, or even a pet, than a grown man who had died in middle age, but it bothered him less than he expected. She was warm, friendly, and seemed to radiate mother hen vibes that captivated everyone around her, so he decided not to take it personally.

He had only seen a different side of her once when a drunken demon had staggered into her store and had accused her of ruining his marriage by giving advice to his husband. Rosie had stared at him while he sloppily pointed his finger in her face and yelled. She had given him a solid two minutes to rant before unhinging her lower jaw and tearing his face clean from his skull. The other cannibals in the store froze in anticipation. Rosie sighed.

“Oh, go on. I don’t want to dirty this dress by dragging a bloody corpse back to the icebox.”

Vox hid himself behind the counter, limbs trembling to the sounds of rending sinew and snarling demons squabbling over Sinner flesh. His fright had only been eased by the appearance of Alastor who grinned at him while he squatted on the emporium’s floor, trying to find a hole in the counter to peek through.

“Ah, dinnertime already?” Alastor asked him and cued a laugh track.

But that had been months ago, and Vox was much braver now. He barely even needed to cower when cannibals fought over a limb in the street, let alone in Rosie’s Emporium where he had something of a protected status as her employee.

Vox stood behind the counter now, thumbing through cash from the register, moving his mouth as he counted. He stood on a wooden stepstool that Franklin, Rosie’s husband, had built for him. After one too many jokes about his small stature from the customers, Rosie seemed to be able to sense it was only a matter of time before Vox started swinging. Instead of breaking up an inevitably messy altercation (the glass alone would take days to sweep away), she preemptively presented him with the stepstool to ease his way around the shop.

The bell above the door rang and the now familiar tingle of radio waves prickled down his antennae. Vox glanced up, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face. He quickly turned his attention back to the money in his hands before Alastor noticed his smile.

“Good afternoon, my good man!” Alastor strolled up to the counter, cocking a hip as he rested long, sharp claws atop his cane. “Why, that must be the most money you’ve held in your entire afterlife.”

“Haha.” Vox shook his head. “Don’t interrupt me. I’m trying to reconcile my till before we go to lunch.”

Alastor watched him for a minute. “I’m feeling in the mood for something spicy.”

“You’re always in the mood for something spicy.”

“You haven’t known me long enough to say that with any confidence.” Vox felt Alastor’s eyes watching his hands as he counted the bills. “All right, fine. You’re right. But I’m in the mood for something especially spicy today.”

“Alastor, shh.” Vox struggled to remember where he was. “Please.”

“Is this new?” Alastor reached over the counter to pluck at the striped apron covering Vox’s clothes. His claw pressed to Vox’s waist before hooking onto the string tied around his middle, the pressure of its sharp edge ensnaring the smaller demon’s complete attention. Vox stumbled forward a step, stepstool shifting with his weight, as Alastor pulled. His mouth opened in a tiny circle and the bow tied neatly at his navel loosened. “It’s sweet.”

Fucking handsy Radio Demon. Vox was torn between being annoyed at the distraction and hoping that Alastor’s claw would press just a bit harder against his stomach. His eyes snapped up to meet Alastor’s and, after staring for a heartbeat entirely too long, he closed his mouth, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He furrowed his eyebrows and was rewarded with the tiniest crinkle of amusement at the corners of Alastor’s eyes.

“Damn it.” Vox set the money back in the heavy metal register and snapped the till closed. “I’ll just count it after lunch.”

“Splendid!” Alastor leaned on his cane and beamed down at Vox as he hopped down from the stool and stretched his hands over his head, relishing the tiny pops and cracks along his spine. He walked around the counter, shucking his apron as he went. “Did you remember to get that record you wanted to show me?”

Vox slapped his palm against the side of his head. “It’s in the stockroom.”

“Oh, dear.” Alastor magicked his pocket watch into his hand and made a minor production of opening it. “I hope that we’ll still be able to get a table at this rate.”

“I can get it now, just wait for me.”

Alastor caught Vox’s wrist before the small Sinner could get far. Vox paused; his heart stuttered in his chest. He tilted his head back to meet Alastor’s eyes.

“You can retrieve it after lunch.” Alastor smiled lightly down at him and adjusted his grip to clasp Vox’s hand properly. “I’m sure it will be just as provocative after we eat.”

Yeah, the record is what’s provocative, Vox thought. He struggled to keep the blush from his screen as Alastor led him out onto the street.

“Where are we going today?” Vox asked. Alastor inclined his head towards a couple of cannibal ladies who were waving at him from the other side of the street.

“Another beautiful day, ladies,” the Radio Demon called and was rewarded with giggles as they flicked their fans up towards their faces. Vox rolled his eyes and squeezed Alastor’s fingers for an answer. “Ears Today and Gums Tomorrow. Isn’t that clever?”

Vox skipped lightly over a puddle of congealing viscera, letting his groan be clearly heard. “No, not another cannibal place.”

“Whyever not?” A black tipped ear flicked in annoyance. “I thought you liked it when I picked out the restaurants.”

“I do, but – oh, that’s disgusting.”

They paused briefly while Vox scraped a smushed eyeball from his shoe. His mouth flattened into a line of revulsion as he peeled the optic nerve from along the side of his shoe – not even the bottom, fuck his life. Now he would have a faint greasy line on the side of one of his brand-new, whole week’s salary shoes.

“A bit of baking soda should get that right out,” Alastor supplied helpfully. Vox tossed the nerve to one side. “You don’t want to go the place I picked out?”

“It’s just… some of these places don’t always have… uh, vegetarian options.”

“Oh, but I called ahead to be sure this time. I didn’t want a repeat of Gaston’s.” They both shuddered, remembering the incident very clearly. “Anyways, they even have a whole vegetarian section on the menu. You’ll find something you like, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Alastor glanced at the storefront to Vox’s left and grimaced. “My dear, would you mind waiting out here for just a minute? I just remembered an errand I must attend to.”

Vox turned his head to look at the cheerfully painted sign hanging over the door to Cannibal Town’s only apothecary.

 

Doctor Bell’s Apothecary
Potions, Spells, and Powders
Specialty Salves Made to Order
Locally Owned and Operated
(Now Hiring!)

 

“Oh, no.” Vox gave Alastor a sympathetic look. “Did you eat another loan shark that didn’t agree with you?”

“Mmm, not this time. Just need to replenish my usual provisions.” He patted Vox on the head as condescendingly as possible and chuckled when the smaller Sinner reached up to swat him away. “Now, be a good picture box and wait right here.”

Vox crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not a child, Al.”

“And, yet, I find myself laughing at your infantile antics on a daily basis.” Alastor swept past him and into the store before Vox could retort. He frowned, scoffed, then kicked a pebble with his shoe for good measure.

“Not a kid.” He swung his arms down to his sides. Even if I look like one.

Vox debated crossing the street over to the ice cream shop just so that he could dare Alastor to call him a child once more while he ate a chocolate cone. Maybe he could spill a bit down the front of his shirt and see if Alastor would help him clean it off. He wondered if the Radio Demon would dab at his clothes with his handkerchief and scold him while doing so.

Call him a bad boy for making a mess.

A shiver raced up Vox’s spine and he quickly tamped down on that thought. He didn’t want Alastor to come back out to find Vox half-hard and desperate to avoid eye contact. Ugh. Not again.

He dipped his hand in his front pocket to see how much money he had. He could still do the ice cream schtick as revenge so long as he kept the horny thoughts under lock and key.

Before he could pull the coins out to check, a frisson of electricity shot through his body. He couldn’t even gasp in air as his body locked up tight, muscles going completely rigid. His brain went blank, and his face dissolved into gray static.

 

*

 

Inside Doctor Bell’s, Alastor strolled through the shop front, tossing items into the handbasket now nestled on his arm. He indiscriminately added several potions along with a box of bandages before getting to the counter. The imp working at the cash register snapped her bubblegum with a sigh.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” she asked with such a bored tone Alastor wondered if she might be in danger of perishing from ennui.

“Ah, yes. Mostly.” He leaned forward on the counter, resting his elbow against the hard wood. “I would like to speak with the manager, however.”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Is there anything I can help you with before I go find him?”

“No, my dear. You’ve been helpful enough.”

Alastor watched in amusement as the tiny imp hopped down from her stool and shot him a disgusted look before moving slower than molasses to the back room. Leaving the store completely empty and without supervision. He glanced around at the ceiling to floor shelves, lined in glass bottles and delicate paper wrappings. Why, anyone could do whatever they pleased and there wouldn’t be anyone to stop them!

He chuckled before examining his clawed hand. There was faint smudge of something sticky on his palm where he had taken Vox’s hand. He took a tentative sniff, stuck the tip of tongue to the smudge, and rolled his eyes. Honey. The morning’s breakfast, perhaps? Alastor had seen, and been accordingly appalled, by the sheer volume of the sticky sweet fluid that Vox took in his tea.

Speaking of Vox, he wondered if he would enjoy some little trinket. Alastor knew, knew, that the younger man disliked being condescended to, being treated like he was a helpless little ingenue, but Alastor did enjoy making those massive eyes light up with wonder or delight. He wasn’t sure what Vox had done to earn his one-way ticket to damnation, but the Radio Demon was certain he had done it charmingly. 

A small wooden paddle ball caught his eye, and he plucked it off the counter to study it. Perfect! Something that Vox would end up enjoying, he was sure, and something that would be just condescending enough to be funny without launching Vox into a week-long sulk. He added it carefully to his pile of purchases.

His ruminations halted as the store’s proprietor shuffled through the back-room’s door, leaning heavily on a thick wooden cane, and smiled broadly.

“Ah, Alastor!” Doctor Bell stretched his hand across the counter and Alastor took it quickly, giving him a firm shake. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Alastor pulled his hand back from the doctor and reached into his breast pocket to take out a firm yellow envelope. “It seems that our mailman has been delivering your mail to my place of residence.”

He moved the envelope toward Doctor Bell, but didn’t release it as the doctor reached out to pinch the other side with his own fingers. Doctor Bell’s eyebrows raised slowly, and Alastor gave him a sharp grin. “I figured I ought to bring it to your attention immediately. Would be such a shame if you missed out on an important correspondence.”

“Yes, it would,” the doctor murmured and took the envelope from Alastor.  He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his cane banging heavily against the wooden floor as he redistributed his bulk. “I appreciate your courtesy in the matter.”

Satisfied that the good doctor needed no further prompting, a cheerful strain of music began to play.

“No trouble at all, old pal!” He glanced at the little imp. “I’m ready to complete my transaction now, if it’s convenient.”

She shrugged and began to jot numbers down onto a small pad of paper next to the register. “Whatever.”

Alastor strolled out of the pharmacy, purchased packaged neatly in brown paper and string. “Oh, Vox! Look what I found for you.” He waved the paddle ball. “Just because you waited so well!”

He glanced around, expecting to find the small Sinner leaning against the wall and fiddling with his shirt sleeves. Not seeing him, Alastor glanced around, eyebrows raising in confusion. “Vox?”

“Oh, Alastor, I’m so glad I’ve run into you,” Rosie called as she walked towards him, arms burdened with heavy boxes and bags. “You don’t mind giving me a hand, do you?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes, of course.” He snapped his fingers, and a Void portal opened on the sidewalk between them. Rosie dropped her purchases neatly into the portal, sighing when it closed. “You haven’t seen Vox, have you?”

“No, why?”

“Well, we were supposed to go to that new place for lunch and now he’s gone. I made reservations.” Alastor tsked in annoyance. “You know, I even found a place with a few vegetarian options for him.”

Rosie took the paddle ball from his hand and laughed. “He probably ran off when he figured out where you were going.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “He’s forgiven me for Gaston’s.”

“I doubt that.” Rosie looped her arm through the Radio Demon’s. “Come on. I’ll go with you. Wouldn’t want you to lose out on that reservation.”

 

 

*

 

Full consciousness bubbled just out of Vox’s reach. He could feel it, his head just below the ice, ready to break through to gulp in fresh air. But it remained just out of reach, his body limp and unwilling to respond.

Had he had a seizure? He never had one in life, but Hell was creative in its punishments. As a child, he remembered once watching a boy collapse to the ground, body wrenching painfully as he looked on. He had been hurried away by his mother, who had admonished him not to stare, but the image remained burned in his young mind. Perhaps this was a punishment for not helping the other child, though he didn’t think there was much he could have done.

He could feel his lips moving and realized that he was speaking. Or, trying to, at least.

“Alzz-xstor?”

“Are you waking up?” Vox’s eyes opened slowly, and he groaned as bright light flooded into them. “Oh, sorry about that. Let me just – there we go.”

He blinked in relief as some of the brightness left the room. His head was throbbing.

“Whe-rrr-x?”

“Don’t worry yourself with specifics.”

Vox tried to turn his head towards the quiet voice and realized with a flicker of fear that he couldn’t. There was something tight holding him in place. A strap, maybe? His breathing quickened. “Whaaa-xxt?”

“Look,” the voice said, losing some of its softness in leu of obvious impatience. “It’s not going to do you any good to struggle.” Vox gasped as something tightened over his chest. “This is going to happen either way, so stop fussing. You might as well just try and relax while we wait for the doctor.”

Vox cleared his throat and tried to focus on keeping his voice from glitching. “Lie back and th-h-hink of England, huh?”

There was a soft shuffling, and Vox felt the constraints on his head loosen enough so that he could let his head loll weakly onto his shoulder. His throat clicked dryly as he took in his surroundings.

Beside a Sinner with grayish green skin and curling horns jutting from his forehead sat a shiny silver cart. He could see gleaming metal instruments carefully organized on the top and a pair of long black gloves dangling from a hook underneath the top tray.  It took him a minute to process what he was seeing, but once he did, Vox’s breath hitched in his throat, and he began to thrash against his restraints.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kxz-idding me!”

The Sinner frowned. “I didn’t let you move your head so that you could fight.”

Vox tried to curl his hands into fists, tried to summon the diffuse electrical current that his Hellish form had running through it. His fingers scrabbled vainly against a hard wooden surface, and he grunted in frustration. A tapping on the wood drew Vox’s attention back to the other Sinner.

“It’s wood, so don’t think you can try to use it to electrocute anyone.”

Vox snapped his teeth at the man’s fingers as he tried to pick up the leather strap that had been restraining his head. “I’ll bite them clean off,” he warned.

The man sighed exasperatedly and held his hands up in concession.

“Fine, I’ll let you look around for a few minutes.” The large demon turned its gaze to a clock on the wall. Vox’s eyes raised up to it as well, his heart sinking as he read the time. Four o’clock.

He had left for lunch with Alastor hours ago. He jerked against the leather straps holding his wrists in place. Would Alastor even know to look for him when he realized that Vox wasn’t waiting outside the apothecary, or would he chalk it up to Vox’s tendency to be easily distracted and just assume that his attention had taken him elsewhere? It wouldn’t be the first time that Vox had lost time in his pursuits.

He growled and tried to wrench his wrists free. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

The Sinner chuckled. “Yes, Vox. I know who I’m talking to.”

Shit. It knew his fucking name.

“Well, then –” His voice crumbled into a squeal of feedback as tiny bones in his wrist snapped. He clenched his teeth and wrenched his head back to face the ceiling. “Fuuuxz-xck!”

His eyes began to prickle with frustrated tears and fought to calm himself. The man moved to take a seat beside him and Vox focused on pulling air in and out of his lungs. There was loaded tension in the silence and Vox’s arms twitched with the desire to lash out.

“You were going to threaten me?” the man sighed.

Fucking guy. Vox panted for a minute then focused his energy on curling his broken hand into a fist, very slowly letting his middle finger out. The other man gave a small huff of laughter.

“OK, proceed with the threatening.”

“Rosie,” he said. “I work for Rosie.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“You know if you hurt me, she’s going to be angry.” Vox swallowed once, barely able to keep his voice steady. He squirmed against the restraints again as the Sinner got back to his feet. “She’s going to –”

“Do what, Vox?” Strong hands caught the sides of his head and forced his gaze back to the side. The man stared at him with an unimpressed expression. “She’s not going to do anything. You’re just a cashier who works in her store. She’s not going to risk anything just to swoop in and rescue you. Besides, how do you know that she’s not already aware of what’s happening? How do you know she isn’t the one calling the shots here?” Vox grit his teeth. “Awfully comfortable with someone you haven’t even known a year.”

Distantly, he heard heavy footsteps coming closer. Vox frantically studied the other Sinner’s face, trying to decide what to believe. He let out a startled sob when his head was turned to face the ceiling once more, the heavy strap pulling tight against his skull. He pressed his lips together firmly, desperate to maintain any dignity he had left.

“Careful, Basil,” a raspy voice admonished. “Let’s not damage the merchandise.”

“Apologies, Doctor Bell.”

Vox tried once more to free his hands and gave up when pain lanced through his broken wrist.

“If you let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He recoiled as a cold hand closed around his throat. “I’ll make a deal!”

And dignity was off the table. Scuttled out the door, hopped a bus to the big city, and only called on holidays.

Alastor had warned him about making deals. How easily anyone could fall under the power and control of someone else if they weren’t careful. (“It’s as easy as breathing, Vox.”) The worst thing he could do was make a deal that left him with a more powerful demon owning his soul.

The demon who Vox assumed was Doctor Bell chuckled lightly, and Vox felt his throat start to numb under the cold fingers. His mouth opened in wordless protest as he felt the cold seep through the column of his throat and down through his chest.

“Easy now, young man,” Doctor Bell said gently. “I have no use for your soul.”

Vox began to shiver. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“No, your body is plenty.” He started in terror as the roar of a buzzing saw invaded the quiet room. “I can’t sell a soul for its parts.”

 

*

 

Time became unpredictable.

He may have been stashed away in Doctor Bell’s operating room for months or only days. There were no windows to use the darkening of the sky to mark the passage of time, only the steady ticking of the wall clock. But without any context, without knowing if it was even day or night, they just became numbers on the wall, forever ticking the time away.

After his first regeneration, Basil had unstrapped him from the wooden butcher’s block that served as a surgical table and carried him with surprising gentleness to recover on a cot in the corner of the room. He watched the doctor polish the wood finish on the television set that had previously been his head with detachment. Doctor Bell had noticed his attention and gestured towards him with a smile.

“See, there’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “You’ll just regenerate each time.”

No, nothing to worry about, his thoughts dull with a permeating, numbing fog. He would learn that the fog only lasted for a few hours after the initial regeneration, but not long enough to keep the pain at bay while nerves regrew, and sinews finished securing his new head to his neck.

Doctor Bell would give him some respite between the operations, though Vox figured it was likely to tamp down any suspicion when he bartered away television sets. It was Hell and nobody would likely be bothered by someone selling off Sinner parts, especially in Cannibal Town, but televisions were still a novel commodity and worthy of notice.

Initially, he tried to struggle and fight his way free. Basil seemed to anticipate his attacks, though, and was quick to quash any rebellion. He was creative in his means of control and Vox could never be sure if he would be choked unconscious, experience the rending crunch of his spinal column, or if he would just be wrestled into the back closet, left to scream until his voice faltered and gave out.

He wondered if Rosie had found the record in the storeroom.

Over time, he stopped fighting. He never completely cooperated when Basil would lift him onto the wooden table, sometimes still begging to be let go and other times letting himself cry as he was strapped down.

Gradually, though, with each passing operation, his protests grew weaker. Until one day he climbed up onto the table on his own and waited patiently to feel the numbing touch of Doctor Bell’s cold hands.

Chapter 6: i guess there’s gotta be a break in the monotony, but jesus when it rains, how it pours

Present Day


Everyone knows that shadows are the perfect disguise for a myriad of clandestine activities that required the dark cover of night to conduct. Lovers can steal kisses, thieves can slip away with their treasures, murderers can slide the cool edge of a blade between ribs. Why, there wasn’t much one couldn’t do in the shadows.

Of course, Alastor was engaging in none of those activities as he leaned his shoulders back against a wall behind the bar, shadows concealing him from view. He was about ninety percent certain that Husk knew he was there, though his thrall had refused to acknowledge him as he unpacked and broke down cardboard boxes containing the fresh shipment of supplies that had just come in. Alastor was feeling rather out of sorts and itching for something to take his mind off the persistent burn of the angelic wound slashed across his chest.

It was healing, but slowly. He was beginning to suspect that the dark magic that he had employed to sew its edges together and purge the infectious tissue with might not hold up against pure angelic energy for much longer. That was a pity, because his selection of angelic energy sources to combat the injury left something to be desired.

Alastor folded his hands together in front of him, claws clicking together faintly. Without his cane, he wasn’t always entirely sure where to put his hands now. Naturally, there were far more significant issues involving his broken microphone than awkward social interactions, but it rankled, nonetheless.

Husk grunted as he lifted a case of dark colored liquor and hauled it behind the bar. He set it down on the counter then looked about an inch off from Alastor’s face.

“I’m going to need you to move now if you’d like me to put this stuff away.” His dark eyes scanned the shadows with resigned annoyance. Behind him, Angel Dust glanced around, distracted from his conversation with Cherri Bomb.

“Who are you talking to, kitty-cat?”

“Why me, of course!” Alastor spoke up, letting the shadows dissolve from his body. Angel flinched back, fingers tightening around the stem of his glass.

“It’s always jump scares with you, huh, Smiles?” he asked with a hint of resentment.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Alastor moved aside as Husk approached with two bottles in each paw. “Oh, excellent, you remembered the brands I like.”

Husk snorted. “Yeah, it has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been drinking the same thing since the thirties.”

“Mm, yes, but it’s still the thought that counts.” Cherri giggled into her drink, and he felt a splinter of irritation start to wiggle its way into his good mood. “Something amusing you, Miss Cherri?”

“Yeah, you two,” she replied waving her fingers back and forth between Husk and Alastor. “You talk like an old married couple. Do you fuck like one, too?”

Husker’s lips curled back from his fangs as his ears flattened to his skull and, while he did remain physically still, that didn’t stop Alastor’s studio audience from letting out gasps of horror. Angel coughed his drink back into his glass and Cherri slammed her fist against his back supportively, not dropping her amused smile.

He was shocked. Nay, appalled. Not at the suggestion that he and Husk behaved little better than a pair of pensioners joined in marital bliss – he was perfectly cognizant of how their bickering came off and took malicious delight in not only irritating his Husker but also in horrifying people with the thought of what a romantic entanglement with the Radio Demon might entail.

No, he was put off by how familiar her observation was. How perfectly comfortable she was discussing his personal life to his own face. Granted, she appeared to be three sheets to the wind, eyes blinking out of turn, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be offended. Or at least, play at being offended.

Alastor blinked then cracked his neck to one side.

“Fuck’s sake,” Husk sighed and covered his face with his paw.

“Miss Cherri, I marvel at your audacity,” he began, the boundaries of the Hellish realm weakening against the incoming Eldritch magic he summoned. “That you would think to imply that there is any sort of impropriety taking place between myself and those in my thrall does not reflect well on the state of your soul. Should you ever release another foul utterance of the sort in my presence again-”

“Alastor!”

Shit.

He swung around, tucking his arms neatly behind his back. Cherri snickered something under her breath to Angel, but he ignored them as Vaggie walked up and planted herself squarely in front of him.

“Alastor, what in the actual, literal fuck?” she demanded and held up a small brown mechanical device.

“What can I assist you with, Vagatha?”

She narrowed her eyes and stabbed her pointer finger against one of the buttons on the front of the box.

“Salutations! It seems like you’ve tried to call the Hazbin Hotel and aren’t having any luck getting in contact with one of our esteemed staff. Please leave a detailed story of the unfortunate chain of events that has led you to calling our number and we’ll get back to you if we find it entertaining.” There was a garble of static accompanied by the unmistakable sound of someone fumbling with the machine. “How do you turn this blasted thing off, Niffty? No, don’t hit-”

The little box beeped cheerfully.

Vaggie stared at Alastor and he stared pleasantly back. She held up her hand, three fingers raised.

“One: what is that message? Two: who installed the phone line because I took a poll, and nobody saw anyone come in to do it.” She looked back down at the box in her hands. “Three: where in Hell did you find a working answering machine? I thought these were extinct.”

“Ah, my dear, what is a man without his mysteries?” He wagged a finger at her. “Besides, you should know better by now than to ask how the sausage is made.”

Angel and Cherri exchanged looks.

Alastor reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. “Why, look at the time! I better be going.” Vaggie shook her head and stabbed her finger back at the box. “I really must go see a man about a horse.”

“I know what that means, Alastor.” Alastor dissolved back into shadows. “No! You come back here!”

He rematerialized in the kitchen, where Niffty was laying on top of the counter, scribbling frantically into a notebook. She perked up when he appeared, and his smile softened.

“Hello, sir! Would you like to see what I’ve been working on?”

Alastor hesitated, taking in the sheer volume of scribbles written in the book. He had learned a very long time ago not to read anything that Niffty herself had written. The last volume she had shown him had contained a violently erotic story featuring himself, Angel Dust, and a pair of questionably durable lace garters. Really, her notebooks only ended in tragedy for all parties. Niffty herself excluded, of course.

“Oh. Well, Niffty, you see, I’ve only just come into the kitchen for…” He scoured the newly remodeled space quickly. “Coffee!”

He hurriedly took down his favorite mug and poured himself a generous share. Niffty nodded slowly, staring at the mug with unsettling intensity.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Niffty.”

“Do you know any other bad boys who like coffee?” She blinked at him. “For research.”

Alastor took a quick sip, uncomfortable. “Can’t say that I do, my dear.”

“Aw. That’s too bad.” She picked up her pen and began to scribble once more. “I’ll just have to pretend one of them likes it.”

“I beg your pardon. One of them? Just how many –” He abruptly stopped midsentence while Niffty’s smile grew just a little more crazed. “You know what? I’m probably needed out in the lobby. Enjoy your writing, my dear.”

“I will.”

Alastor sunk back into the shadows once more, shuddering slightly at the mad giggles that chased him into the Void. He considered snapping all of the pens in the hotel but decided against it when he remembered how upsettingly creative she was. Instead of a cockroach crown, she’s likely just ground up the cockroaches themselves to make the ink she’d continue writing her stories with.

He wondered idly what color cockroach ink would produce as he headed back to the bar. Husk was nearly finished unpacking the first box of spirits and groaned when Alastor appeared by his side once more. Thankfully, Vaggie had wandered off. No doubt to hunt for some other indiscretion of his.

“Oh, come on.” He nudged Alastor aside with his shoulder with exactly the right amount of force to get the job done without sending him off on a murderous tirade. “I really am almost done here, Boss.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

He stood quietly behind the bar for a few minutes, sipping at his cup of coffee. While Husk watched in annoyance, he plucked a bottle of a particularly nice bourbon off the shelf and poured it into his “Oh Deer” mug for exactly two seconds too long. Husk scowled.

“Brand new bottle, man.”

“Ah, well, it would’ve been opened eventually.” He sipped at the smokey flavor infusing his coffee and smiled. “Perfect.”

Angel Dust swallowed his drink hard, threatening to choke on it. Alastor sighed. He really hated choking deaths that didn’t involve squeezing the life out of someone else’s body. They were just plain messy and tended to spray unpleasant fluids in an insultingly indiscriminate manner. One couldn’t even argue that there was a certain macabre artistry in a choking death, unlike the blood spray from a severed artery.

Husk’s gaze shifted from Alastor to Angel, softening almost imperceptivity as he noticed the spider demon staring at his phone.

“Is it Val?” he asked, and Angel shook his head.

“Uh, no. Not Val.” He held his phone out for Husk to see and Alastor’s eyes narrowed at the sudden bark of laughter from his thrall.

“What’s so funny, Husker?”

“It’s the big boss man.” Angel glanced between Husk and Alastor for a moment before turning the phone so that Alastor could see it, too. Alastor adjusted his monocle pointedly and leaned forward to read the text on Angel’s phone.


Business Daddy [8:01:00 pm]: angel, are you with that rotting piece of carrion?
Me [8:03:34 pm]: who
Business Daddy [8:04:02 pm]: the radio fucker.
Me [8:09:23 pm]: ;‑) why you wanna know daddy
Business Daddy [8:09:45 pm]: do not call me that.
Business Daddy [8:10:45 pm]: seriously angel. answer my question.
Me [8:13:52 pm]: ok ok yeah he’s right here
Business Daddy [8:14:20 pm]: tell him he’s about to get fucked.


“Do you think he hears himself when he says shit like that?” Angel asked. “Like, does he say it out loud before he types it out?”

Alastor’s grin sharpened. “Well, the idiot box is certainly welcome to come here and try it. He won’t be able to walk straight for a week once I’m done with him.”

“Do you think he hears himself when he says shit like that?”

 

*

 

After Vox had managed to get himself back under control enough to not short-circuit the whole of Pentagram City – thank fuck for that – he retreated to what Velvette had once jokingly called his man cave. It hadn’t been a very good joke, he had thought in the confines of his own mind, letting her get away with it for the sake of peace.

No, this was his fortress. One of the few places where he reigned with absolute supremacy and where no one could threaten that. Call him fucking Superman, because this was his fortress of solitude.

Vox sank down in his chair, fingers trembling with some unidentifiable but barely suppressed emotion. The manic energy of the last twenty-four hours had begun to bleed from his veins, leaving his body shaky and tired.

It all made perfect sense, really. If there was some great cosmic entity out there, spinning the wheel of fate and dealing out destinies, it was out to fuck him, and hard too. Usually without lube. And its twisted sense of humor just loved using the Radio Demon as its proxy.

He turned to the monitor that was surveying the outside of the Hotel, silently watching as his drone circled the building. They had rebuilt it after the First Man sliced it in half and Alastor’s radio tower clung to the side, a murky reminder of the fucking parasite that he was. Latching on and slowly draining any joy or hope from his victims, always smiling, always knowing that the realization of what was happening would come too late.

Vox jerked his gaze away from the radio tower with a sneer.

“You couldn’t just let me have one thing, could you?”

He scoured the data feeds to see what was trending under #RadioDemon, #Alastor, #DeerDaddy, and several other less savory tags. Nothing new, just the usual thirst traps that Vox was certain would send Alastor into a dead faint at their very impropriety, but that wasn’t surprising. Despite everything, he was still able to command an active, usually salivating audience, and didn’t that just burn Vox up inside?

Velvette didn’t knock before coming into his hideout, but he had seen her coming through the security feed. She didn’t make a habit of knocking and this was no exception. (It should be noted, however, that following the Peppermint Incident of Sinsmas 2019, she always made sure to knock loudly and violently at either his or Valentino’s bedroom doors.)

“Sorry I laughed, Vee,” she said as she entered the room, smile not at all in agreement with her words. He pursed his lips. “Do you need a hug?”

“Eat a bag of dicks, Vel,” he replied without any heat. She stood in front of him, amused smile widening.

“After you.” She waved her phone in his direction. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna run down to the Hotel and spank the geriatric fucker into submission?”

Vox arched an eyebrow. “Spank?”

“Did I stutter?” She leaned over to peer into one of the monitors, swiping a finger across it, and he shuddered because it wasn’t a fucking smart monitor. She examined the smudge she had made. “With that raging hate boner you have for him, I figured you might be into some kinky shit once you get your hands on him.”

“How do you live with Valentino and still think a bit of spanking is kinky?”

“Well, it’s not like that’s all you two might get up to.” She chuckled. “He’s got those tentacles –”

Vox groaned and detached himself from the main cables plugged into the back of his head, chair spinning back to face her fully. “What are you doing here, Vel?”

He had to hand it to her – her face gave absolutely nothing away as her eyes flicked to the monitor featuring the Hotel.

“You’re going down there.”

He considered bantering with her more but sighed instead. “I mean, yeah.”

“And say what? ‘Oh, hi, Alastor. Remember that murder you did a century ago? Well, guess who’s going to use it make your life miserable?’”

“Something along those lines.”

“And when he uses your skin to make the new coat he desperately needs?”

“He won’t dare,” Vox replied with a certainty he didn’t quite feel. “If he’s never mentioned this whole thing before, never used it before, there must be some reason. And he’s keeping it from the Princess, I will guarantee it.”

He glanced over at Velvette, watching as her fingers gracefully tapped away at her phone. There was a moment of silence.

“You don’t want back up for this, right?” she asked, raising her eyes to meet his with a flash of uncertainty that she so rarely showed. His gaze was drawn back to the screen where the Hotel flickered, occasionally lost in static.

Did it matter if he did? He couldn’t say “oh, please, Vel, come with me so that I don’t have to face my ex all alone!” or “yes, come so that when the Radio Demon inevitably decides to pull my spine out through the top of my head, there will be someone to tell my story afterwards.”

But, worse, he didn’t want to have to tell her that through all the manic posturing, all the desperate need to show that he was in charge for once, a feeling of icy dread was sloughing through his veins. Something crawling, creeping below the surface, warning of danger. Even if he was resolutely choosing to pretend it wasn’t there, he could sense it clawing at the edges of his mind, barely there and so easy to ignore.

“No, I don’t need you there.”

Velvette hummed and turned her attention back to her phone.

 

*

 

Vox stood under the awning of the Hazbin Hotel’s front door and stared, wondering if he had ever encountered something quite as paralyzingly unassuming.

“It’s just a door,” he breathed, voice almost imperceptible. “You know how to knock on a fucking door, you idiot.”

He rolled his shoulders back, letting the joints crackle and pop. Right. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t nervous or afraid of anything or anyone who would be lurking inside the Hotel. He was an Overlord, for Lucifer’s sake, and one of the most powerful ones that Hell had seen in centuries, if he could be forgiven his hubris. He did not second guess himself, he did not wonder if he had acted too impulsively (again), and he did not let himself stand frozen in front of a hotel door, unable to lift his hand to knock.

Besides, Alastor wasn’t stupid enough to do anything permanent while he was busy sitting pretty as the Princess’s pet Overlord and Princess Charlotte didn’t strike him as a terribly vindictive person. She’d left Valentino not only alive and in one piece, but with barely even a slap on the wrist. Frankly, it had been a fucking miracle that Vox hadn’t fried the lanky idiot himself when Val had gloated that he had licked the Princess’s arm like a damn Saint Bernard, but Val’s sheer continued existence afterwards had proven at least one of his hypotheses. He didn’t imagine the Princess would do anything to him on the premise of a simple business meeting, so long he could contain his temper and rein in the fiery rage that threatened to erupt whenever his mind ground to halt on Alastor.

He knocked.

The door swung open instantly as if the greeter had been right inside, waiting for him and, yeah, that absolutely tracked. He tilted his chin up ever so slightly as Alastor’s yellow grin slashed across his face. His breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t look any different and fuck Alastor for that. Fuck Alastor for looking exactly the same as he had nearly a decade ago, the last time that Vox had actually stood face to face with him. Fuck Alastor for smiling at him as if nothing had changed, no time had passed, and as though he was pleased to see Vox.

“Vox, old pal! Are you here on a social visit?”

It took his mind a moment to sift through the mountains of data his sensors were bombarding him with. Despite himself, he suddenly wanted to reach up and touch. Wanted to see if his skin was still as cool as it had always been, desperate to know whether the fur on his ears was just as velvety soft.

“Hardly.” Vox laughed, somehow managing to tamp down the hysterical edge that his voice was threatening to take. “I have a bone to pick with you, old timer.”

Alastor’s eyelids lowered, but his expression otherwise remained unchanged. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, it is.” Let me in.

Vox’s attention was pulled from Alastor as the Princess of Hell herself ran up beside him, placing her hand on the other Overlord’s arm in such a familiar way that Vox felt as though he had been burned. He mentally bitch slapped himself, ordering himself to snap out of whatever this was. Because it didn’t matter how his stomach was ready to tie itself in knots with Alastor standing in front of him.

It didn’t matter.

It had only been moments, but he knew that Alastor had noticed his hesitation and was already plotting a way to exploit it. He just had to stay one step ahead and he was fine. Vox turned his best, most brilliant smile on the Princess, shark’s teeth glinting under the awning’s light.

“You must be Princess Morningstar.” He extended his hand out, an unexpected rush of glee surging through him at the miniscule twitch under Alastor’s eye. Good thing he had a fucking computer for a head, otherwise he might have missed it. Charlie took his hand after a moment of hesitation, eyes darting to gauge Alastor’s reaction first. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness.”

“Oh, thanks, but you can just call me Charlie,” she said, looking up into his face inquisitively. Like she was trying to glean something important by studying his reactions. “Everyone else does.”

“Charlie, then.” Vox pulled his hand back. “I hate to be a bother, but I’m afraid I have the need for a private conversation with your hotelier.”

“It’s the bad boy.”

Vox’s eyes snapped from Charlie’s face to where Niffty was standing near a seating area in the front lobby, single eye as wide as he had ever seen it. She was practically salivating as the tiny pupil flickered between him and Alastor.

Shit, he had forgotten to factor Niffty into this visit.

He took a step back as she scrambled forwards, scaling up the front of his suit and clutching his lapels as pressed her tiny nose against his screen. “You’re Mister Alastor’s favorite bad boy.”

Radio static erupted with what Vox could only assume was pure displeasure.

Charlie plucked Niffty away with a nervous chuckle. The demoness wriggled in her arms, tiny hands stretching back out to the television Overlord before slipping out of Charlie’s grip. Vox had a moment of dread when her feet hit the ground (fuck, he going to have to fucking punt her across the hotel lobby before he even got through the front door, fuck fuck fuck) and happened to glance over at Alastor, whose expression had shifted from feigned indifference to open hostility.

Vox glanced down at his clenched fist and let it fall open slowly.

“What is it that you need, Vox?” he asked quietly. Vox didn’t need a supercomputer for a brain to recognize the danger. Still, he didn’t really want to do this in the fucking doorway, of all places. But, if Alastor was going to force his hand, then he could deal with the fall out.

“Lantern Jack.”

The Radio Demon’s eyes widened in surprise, back stiffening in a movement that Vox recognized. Alastor was caught off-guard, and Vox had the upper hand. He shot a glance at Charlie before schooling his face into a more neutral expression.

Gotcha, fucker.

“Won’t you come in?” he asked after a beat and Vox let his mouth curl into a smirk.

“What, that’s it?” He spread his hands in front of him, palms up. “No song and dance? No rambling lecture about the untrustworthy television demon for the dear Princess’s benefit?”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Hey!”

“As you said, Vox, this is perhaps a conversation better had in private.” Alastor stepped back from the door and gestured inside.

Vox took a moment to catalogue the lobby as he crossed the threshold. He knew that they had rebuilt the hotel, and with Lucifer’s help, it was bigger and better than it had ever been. The scarlet and gold apple motif was… well, it was certainly something. Really pounding home that whole unholy royalty vibe that he just knew the Princess wasn’t going for. He scoffed quietly and slid his hands in his pockets.

Behind the bar, former Overlord Husk was focused on pretending to clean a whiskey tumbler, looking between Vox and Alastor apprehensively. If anyone at the Hotel had any real comprehension of the animosity between the two media demons, it would be Husk. He had known the pair the longest, and as Alastor’s thrall, probably had dealt with fallout from the media demons’ fights.

Husk inclined his head ever so slightly in greeting as Vox passed the bar and the television demon returned the gesture. He and Husk had never been antagonistic, never exactly friends either, but shared the begrudging respect of two professionals who really would rather be anywhere but here.

Vox allowed Alastor to lead him to the foot of the stairs before reaching out to catch the older demon by the wrist. Alastor stiffened. “Easy there, Dexter. I’m not following you to a secondary location. This is far enough.”

And still in sight of witnesses, should Alastor make good on previous threats of seeing whether Vox’s technological head was digestible.

The Radio Demon rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist impatiently. “Well, go on then. I don’t have all day to waste with your shenanigans.”

“You don’t -” Vox could feel his cortisol levels climbing. “All right, listen up, chuckle fuck. This one’s on you. I figured out what you did back in the thirties with Lantern Jack and now it’s time for you to finally get the fucking consequences that you deserve.”

“What does it matter what I did to whom ninety years ago?” Alastor hummed, examining his claws and making every effort to appear bored to tears with the conversation.

“Because you murdered the fucking mayor, you absolute nightmare of a man!”

All noise in the room ground to halt. Yeah, that came out maybe a bit louder than he intended it to. Alastor raised his eyes back to Vox’s face and the shadows got just a little bit darker. Vox’s sensors told him that he would’ve felt his ears pop with the sudden pressure change, if he had any ears.

“You’re overplaying your hand,” Alastor hissed and took a step towards Vox, all but closing the space between them. This might have been a fantasy fulfilled once upon a time, but right now it was just pissing him off.

He pushed his hand against Alastor’s chest, intending to force him to back off, and sudden radio feedback screeched through the lobby. Alastor’s antlers extended over his head, cracking into new and gruesome points, and his eyes fully swung to radio dials. He caught Vox’s wrist and wrenched it back toward his body, fingers splaying helplessly upwards, and Vox yelped.

“Dickhead!” He snarled and hit back with a bolt of electricity. He could hear the hotel residents start to yell in the background, heard Charlie commanding them to stop, but all that mattered was the look of pure rage darkening the Radio Demon’s face. “Yeah, okay. Let’s dance, bitch.”

The weight of angelic energy came crashing down on them, driving both media demons to their knees. Vox could distantly hear Charlie arguing in protest but was so wholly consumed by the burning golden light that he could only manage to wrap his arms around his bowed head, wondering if being obliterated by holy energy was as painless as Pentious had made it look.

It stopped almost as quickly as it had started and Vox was left gasping on the floor, Alastor doing the same beside him. With nauseating effort, he opened his eyes to see an irritated King of Hell looking down at him as if he were an especially disgusting specimen stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Fucking Sinners,” Lucifer grumbled then snapped his fingers. Vox found himself back on his feet, wobbling as he tried to maintain his balance and not face plant. Alastor groaned quietly at his side. “Let’s go. The three of us have some things to discuss.”

Vox tried to put one foot in front of the other and somehow managed to hook the toe of his shoe around his ankle. His sensors began to scream in warning, and he flailed his arms to catch his balance before a hard and unyielding hand caught his elbow, steadying him. Vox shot a baffled glance behind him as Alastor released his arm, taking a moment to brush his hand off on his coat. He sneered then fell in line behind Lucifer.

“What the fuck?” Vox mouthed silently and had to hurry to catch up.

The three entered what Vox assumed was the Princess’s office. He allowed himself a moment to be horrified by the “Hang In There!” poster on the wall and a “Mondays, am I right?” mug on the dark wooden desk. His scent processors registered the barest hint of lavender in the air before he caught sight of the essential oil diffuser.

Vox folded his hands in front of him, clasping them together without thought before he noticed Alastor staring. With a sneer, he carefully untangled his fingers and let his hands fall to his sides. Lucifer stared at them for long enough that Vox began to shuffle his weight nervously.

“So what? The two of you in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel?” Alastor’s scoff was so loud that it was fucking insulting. Vox whirled to face him, a dozen prepared insults whirling to the front of his brain before noticing that Lucifer had raised his hand for them to be quiet. “What is it then? Because I won’t have you putting the reputation of this Hotel at risk for some petty Overlord bullshit.”

“He killed Lantern Jack,” Vox blurted out, pointing at the Radio Demon with one metal claw.

“Tattletale,” Alastor mocked with a smirk.

“Whatever. And now I’m going to fuck him!”

“You’re going to fuck him?” Lucifer asked dully. Harsh feedback screeched through the little office and Vox winced.

“Not like that!” He closed his eyes for a beat, trying to regain some semblance of control over himself. He was a fucking Overlord, adored and feared throughout the entire Pride Ring, not the idiot schoolboy that Alastor somehow brought out in him. “What I meant to say, your majesty, is that I have submitted all the necessary paperwork for my candidacy as mayor.”

Lucifer stood expressionless for a long minute then raised an eyebrow at Alastor. “People elected you. On purpose?”

Alastor tilted his head slightly, eyeing Vox. “Well, not precisely.”

“Oh, by all means, let’s hear the precise story.” Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure I’m going to love this one.”

Alastor let out one of his painfully forced laughs. “You know how it is. I was freshly fallen, and he was not freshly stupid. One thing led to another, and I honestly cannot be considered at fault for tearing his throat out and adding his screams to my radio show.”

Lucifer stared. “Uh huh.”

“Jackass,” Vox added under his breath.

“Well, once people started to realize that I had liberated Lantern Jack from his wretched corporeal existence, nobody quite had the courage, or stupidity, to challenge me.” He eyed Vox resentfully. “Until now, it would seem.”

“Heh, he had a stupid name, didn’t he?” Lucifer glanced between the media demons. “So, this is happening now? I have to watch the two of you fight to decide who gets to assist me with governing Pride even when no one’s been doing it for ninety years and there just doesn’t seem like there’s actually a need?”

“There’s an election process.”

“Oh, even better!” Lucifer scowled and leaned his hip against Charlie’s desk. He pointed at Alastor accusingly. “I knew you’d find some new fucking way to annoy me today, but I didn’t think it would be this.”

“Vox could always withdraw his bid.”

Vox’s head turned to face Alastor with record speed. “Or you could fucking resign.”

“Not going to happen.” The Radio Demon chuckled. “Not when I know how delicious your humiliation will be.”

“Right,” Lucifer drawled, narrowed his eyes at Alastor. “On that note. Don’t you have some bellhop-y duties to attend to? Bellhop?”

Alastor’s smile tightened ever so slightly, ears twitching in annoyance. He looked between Vox and the King of Hell for a moment, before spinning on his heel. He strode from the room, static buzzing angrily around him.

Had he just won that round? Vox was tempted to pinch himself but decided to hold off until he was alone and out of sight of any Morningstars or Radio Demons.

The door swung shut, leaving Vox alone with the King. He swallowed and fished frantically in his head for the cheat sheet on royal interactions that he had downloaded before coming to the Hotel. What to do when the King of Hell trapped you in a room with just the two of you after watching your nemesis storm out was not on the list.

Lucifer gestured towards the door. “The bellhop. First word that pops into your head.”

“Shit.”

Lucifer couldn’t hide the amused quirk of his mouth. “You wanna expand on that?”

“He’s like a Russian nesting doll, okay?” Lucifer tilted his head slightly and Vox spread his hands out in front of him. “You think, that’s intriguing, an entire doll made of pure shit. I wonder what could possibly be inside of this thing that they would think to make the outside entirely out of shit. Surely, if you dig deep enough, he must have some deeper emotional and motivational layers.” Lucifer didn’t look sold on the metaphor. “So, you open the first layer and, what’s that? Another layer of shit. And every doll after is just a new layer of shit until you get the very middle of it all and it’s just a tiny little shit with a tiny little sign that reads ‘fuck you for trying.’”

“That’s disgusting.” Lucifer’s amused grin said otherwise. Vox shrugged.

“You shouldn’t trust him.” He twitched his hands back to his sides. “He’d just as soon stab you in the back the moment he thinks he can’t control you or can’t use you for his own little ends.”

“You say that like you’ve got personal experience.”

Vox laughed. “Something like that.”

Chapter 7: when you’re with me, baby, the skies will be blue

January 1963

Truth be told, Alastor was tired. It wasn’t so terribly late in the evening, but he had had a busy day. Several minor deals made and some light menacing in the morning followed by helping one of the Cannibal Town ladies repair a fence broken by a street fight featuring a disgruntled buzzard Sinner insisting on a refund for a cut of meat that he hadn’t realized was Sinner. Paula had been right to throw him out of her shop. Honestly, anyone trying to procure vegetarian options from a shop called Sinners and Sweets deserved the surprise they received.

But he had agreed to help Rosie take stock while she was in the process of hiring someone new to replace the last stockboy. Alastor had warned her against hiring a rat Sinner, but had Rosie listened and taken his advice to heart? No, and look where that got her this time. Holes chewed in half the dry stores and blood stains on the newly poured concrete floor where Franklin had dispatched the little thief.

Alastor bent down, peering down at the lower shelves, letting his claws tap against the clipboard in his hands. He reread the item on the list and squinted back down at the stock. “I don’t see it.”

Rosie bustled back into the room, sleeves pushed up to her elbows as they worked. She glanced at his list. “I could’ve sworn I put it on the bottom shelf.” She peered down at the same place he was looking then pointed triumphantly. “There! Right next to the pickled frog eyes.”

“Oh.” He picked up the tin of dried frog legs and straightened with an unsettling crackle of his spine. “Ha! Why, I’d lose my head if it weren’t somewhat attached to my neck.”

“Perhaps it’s time you considered a proper set of glasses,” Rosie teased. Alastor rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need them.” He adjusted his monocle pointedly as she huffed out a quiet laugh, handing him a new jar of dried frog legs to stock. Despite it being apparently new stock, the label was already beginning to peel from the glass and had already developed a faintly brown patina. With a flick of his wrist, the older jars moved to the front of the shelf and Alastor reached down and back to place the new jar behind them.

He noticed a pop of yellow nestled back behind the dusty tins and jars. “What’s this?” He snapped his fingers, and a dusty square materialized in his hand. A record tucked into a dirty paper sleeve. He blew across the top, scattering dust into the air.

“Alastor.”

“Rosie.” He studied the paper sleeve but there didn’t appear to be anything written on it. “One of yours?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Hm, shall we have a listen?”

A record player materialized. Alastor eased the forty-five out of its paper sleeve and set it carefully on the machine. With the arm adjusted properly, he let the needle fall onto the record and a soft melody began to play in the stockroom. Alastor’s ears twitched at the singer’s melancholy tone. Rosie tapped her hand against his shoulder.

“Oh, I know this one, Alastor.” She took the clipboard from his hands and set it down beside them on the stock shelves. “Dance with me.”

Alastor started to protest but then the tempo picked up. He swayed for a moment to pick up the beat before catching Rosie’s waist in one hand and swinging them into a proper dance. She laughed and let herself be led through the stockroom. They moved smoothly over the floor, dodging boxes of new stock with ease. Rosie’s skirt bloomed out around them as Alastor twirled her.

“It’s not your usual style,” Alastor said.

“Oh, I’m open to all sorts of new things,” she replied with a wink, laughing when Alastor simply stared back at her. “But, no, this isn’t one of mine. I don’t make it a habit of leaving records around the stockroom.”

They touched their palms together and then pushed off from one another, Alastor catching her hand before she was out of reach. He spun her back towards himself so that she ended up pressed to his side, facing in the same direction. He leaned further over to the side, forcing her to lean her weight onto his hip and Rosie kicked her leg up to the side, exactly on the beat. Alastor spun her back out again and Rosie clapped.

Realization struck him and a face that he hadn’t thought about in years popped into his head. “Oh. Vox.”

Rosie’s smile relaxed, staring intently at his face as if to catch something. Alastor flushed, remembering how upset he had been when Vox had disappeared while he had run one simple errand. His anger drained out to be replaced with worry when the little Sinner hadn’t reappeared. But as was the case in Hell, he figured that Vox had met a permanent and likely miserable end. Alastor eventually stopped thinking about the little man altogether – no use in crying over spilled milk.

“This was one of his?” Rosie asked, gesturing towards the record player.

Alastor moved away from her to examine the record slowly spinning, needle gently scratching through the grooves. “He wanted to show me this.”

Rosie sighed and brushed her hands against her skirts, expression mild. “Such a shame. He was an entertaining little thing.”

“Yes,” Alastor agreed.

Strange that the thought of Vox would bring down his mood after so many years. He rarely found himself growing fond or attached to anyone, in the living world or Hell, but he supposed that Vox had started to worm his way in before he disappeared.

How curious!

There was a knock at the back door, and he looked up from the record player. “Expecting company?”

“At the back door?” Rosie’s smile sharpened.

Alastor manifested his cane with a twirl. Cannibal Town was Rosie’s territory and one of the safest places they could find themselves was in her emporium, but that didn’t change the fact that friendly visitors didn’t make a habit of knocking at back doors after dark. He cocked his head at Rosie, and she gestured towards the door. He turned the doorknob and threw the door open with a wide, threatening grin.

Alastor’s gaze swept up then down, taking in the Sinner’s appearance in a second. Tall, though not quite as tall as himself. The man wore a dark brown sweater, though the color was debatable with the dirt and grime that seemed to be caked onto it. His trousers were equally dirty and mussed, to say nothing of the shoes on his feet. Though, Alastor was loathe to even attach the label shoes to the pathetic lumps the man was standing in.

But, oh.

He’d recognize that face anywhere, even if the shape of the head that held it was somewhat larger, somewhat heavier. As he stared, the Sinner’s expression shifted from hopeful to hesitant. Alastor narrowed his eyes, fingers tightening around his cane.

“I’m afraid the store is closed for the evening.” He hummed lowly. The man’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You’ll have to come back in the morning.”

“It’s me,” the man said quietly. He glanced from Alastor to Rosie, mouth opening then closing quickly before he took a breath. “Vox.”

“That’s a dangerous little game,” Rosie countered.

Alastor tilted his head. “I’d advise you to take your leave, chum.”

One of the man’s hands flew up to his head, palm pressing flat to the side of his head in an eerily familiar gesture. His eyes darted back and forth. “You don’t believe me.”

Beside him, a low rattling hiss came from where Rosie was standing, and Alastor could feel the pressure change as she began to shift to her demonic form. No wonder, either. Rosie had grown fond of the little Sinner in the short time that he had been around and now this person thought that he’d… what? Infiltrate the emporium under the guise that he was Vox? To what purpose?

Reality shifted around Alastor as dark shadows began to leach in around him. The man standing at the door took a step back, eyes impossibly round.

“Alastor, it’s me. It’s Vox.”

Even his voice was the same and Alastor’s patience was wearing thin. He didn’t particularly feel like killing some unknown Sinner impersonating an old friend tonight, so might as well cut this unpleasant business short while that was still an option.  With a flick of his wrist, the door swung to close.

The man caught the door by placing his palms flat against the wood and Alastor’s ears fell back, eyes darkening to black. He felt resistance as the other man pushed against the door, his voice suddenly breaking in desperation.

“Al, please just listen!”

Beneath his anger, Alastor felt something almost forgotten creep across the airwaves. A timid crackling of static that caught his attention instantly. He homed in on the signal playing across a frequency he had only ever shared with one other demon. The darkness blinked from his eyes.

“Vox?”

He released the weight against the door and Vox stumbled into the room, catching himself against the handle. Alastor took a step back, eyes widening in astonishment.

Vox clasped his hands together in front of him, twisting them briskly with unconcealed anxiety. Alastor could almost taste the fear and uncertainty radiating off him, a flavor that he would ordinarily have savored but now just left a bad taste in his mouth. He glanced over at Rosie, disbelief still written on her face. He raised his hand slightly in her direction, asking for time.

Alastor looked him up and down and shook his head.

“Vox, you’ve… you’ve grown!” Alastor barked out a laugh in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”

Vox shrank back slightly and took another look between Rosie and Alastor. “I haven’t grown.” His voice was tight and scratchy like he had grown unused to using it. “I… I’m just… different.”

“How is that possible?” Rosie asked, stepping forward.

Vox’s hands clenched together tightly enough that Alastor could smell the blood as his fingernails pricked against his skin. No, not fingernails. He took a closer look, intrigued. Vox’s soft human fingertips, which Alastor had found so charmingly impractical, were now covered in shining metal claws with what appeared to be dried blood flaking from them.

Ah, so he’s made some use of those claws.

“I don’t –” Vox’s mouth worked like he was trying to wrestle something back inside himself. Several sparks shot up his antenna and Alastor felt the strangest sensation swell inside him. “I didn’t want...”

“Vox?” Rosie hurried forward and caught one of Vox’s hands in her own. His gaze shot to the ground as he let her clasp his hand tightly, though the sudden tension in his body didn’t go unnoticed. “Did someone put you under a contract?”

“No, nothing like that,” Vox said quietly. “You told me not to do that, right?”

His eyes met Alastor’s, and the Radio Demon nodded, suddenly unsettled. “That’s right, Vox.”

Vox raised a hand to his face and pressed the heel of his hand in, putting what Alastor imagined was too much pressure on the glass. His eyes screwed shut and he blew a sharp breath out through his mouth.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tears began to run down his face and static began to rise in the room. It took Alastor a moment to realize it was his own. “Did you get to have your lunch?”

Alastor blinked at the strange concern in Vox’s tone, the oddity of the question. He narrowed his eyes, a creeping feeling in his gut whispering that he was missing something. What, though, he wasn’t yet certain.

“I did.” Rosie squeezed Vox’s hand comfortingly, glancing at Alastor for help. Alastor huffed in frustration. He wasn’t sure if he remembered how to comfort someone he cared about. There were precious few people in Hell that he considered worth his time and, so far, none of them had needed him for anything remotely resembling emotional support. He reached out and patted Vox on the shoulder, dismayed when Vox shuddered slightly at his touch. “Ah… you don’t need to apologize. All’s forgiven.”

He steadfastly refused to meet Rosie’s mildly horrified gaze, knowing he had likely just said the wrong thing. Nevertheless, Vox nodded and pulled himself back from Rosie’s grasp. He let out a wet laugh and swiped his hands over his face, claws squealing as they cut into the glass. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Okay,” he said, settling his gaze on the ground. “Okay, then.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Rosie asked and Vox shook his head, brows furrowing.

“Where would I go?” He spoke the question more to himself than either of the Overlords.

Alastor breathed in deeply, feeling distinctly off-balance. Vox smelled different, too. His warm wooden aroma was cut with something sharper, metallic somehow. The scent of blood clung to him stronger than he had ever noticed before. The younger Sinner hadn’t been especially bloodthirsty or interested in carnage the way that Alastor had hoped once he adjusted to his afterlife, but now he positively stank of blood. He peered closer at the stains on the man’s clothing, realizing that a fair amount of the grime that he had first observed was actually drying blood and gore.

How hadn’t he noticed that? If he was still damp with viscera, he couldn’t have come from very far.

“You can stay here, dear,” Rosie offered. Vox looked up, as though to protest and she shook her head. “No, it’d be good to have you back. Besides, Franklin just fired the stockboy, so I’m looking for a replacement.”

“Right back where I started.” Vox laughed, an unhinged and unsettling sound. He stifled it down after a few seconds, nodding briskly. “No, that’s good. I can do that.”

Alastor stood back and watched as Rosie guided Vox back to where he had stayed originally, bustling around with a nervous energy that he could sympathize with. Vox resumed the uncomfortable looking wringing with his hands. Alastor didn’t miss the droplets of blood spilling onto the wooden floor, and he knew Rosie didn’t either, but didn’t say anything.

“Do you need anything?” Alastor asked as Vox stood in the center of the room, clutching a clean set of clothes in his hands. He held it out in front of him as though he was worried about dirtying them. Vox tilted his head slightly as though he didn’t understand the question. Alastor’s ears threatened to fall back but he stiffened his back and kept them firmly upright. “Well, then. I suppose we’ll leave you here.” Vox didn’t say anything.

“Good night, dear,” Rosie tried, and Vox’s mouth moved in a weak facsimile of a smile.

Alastor couldn’t get out the stockroom quickly enough, his tail flagging reflectively under his clothes. He bid Rosie a quick good night and left for his own home.

Once there, he paced until his Shadow tugged at his arm impatiently.

“What do you want?” The Shadow walked its fingers along the wall and shrugged at him. Alastor raised his eyebrow. He considered the smirk growing across the Shadow’s face. “You might have a point. Very well, but I’ll be watching.”

Alastor settled himself down into one of the armchairs in his parlor, closing his eyes and relaxing into the Shadow’s mind. An unpleasant rush of icy nothingness collapsed over the top of him as he sunk down. He shivered and rested his clawed hands on the armrests.

As always, the Shadow’s vision wasn’t nearly as clear as his own. It rarely seemed able to keep its attention on what he wanted to see, so he’d have to expel even more energy to keep it focused where he wanted it.

It was back at Rosie’s after several detours (Alastor had to wrestle it away from slinking after a hell cat that it targeted for a meal), and crept unnoticed into the back rooms. Vox was emerging from the bathroom, looking much better than he had before. He looked around for a moment before placing his soiled clothing in a pile, rubbing his hand against the back of his head. His claws caught in a groove in the back panel and his face darkened before he tugged it free, a ribbon of silver metal spiraling to the ground.

He muttered something under his breath, though the Shadow’s attention was starting to drift. Alastor clenched his jaw with the effort of wrangling his disobedient Shadow back to Vox. He could feel its annoyance shift to fury for a moment before it turned back huffily. By that point, Vox was standing in front of the record player that they had forgotten to put away, staring down at it with an unreadable expression. He cocked his head, as though listening to something that neither Alastor nor his Shadow could hear.

Alastor could see his mouth moving and tapped his claws against the armchair in frustration. If he could just get a bit closer, maybe he could read his lips, know what the younger man was muttering to himself. Was he singing something?

With a sudden snarl, Vox struck his metal claws straight down onto the record player and released a blue-white flash of energy so intense that Alastor’s Shadow screamed across their connection and tried to flee. He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep it still, but he gasped with the effort of it as Vox pulsed another bolt of energy into the record player. It burst apart, wooden splinters and vinyl shattering through the stockroom. Several bottles smashed with the force of the explosion. Vox’s head snapped up; screen dark but for one pulsing eye.

Alastor jolted back into his own body, sweat beading along his forehead. Moments later, his Shadow careened into the room, shrill chattering enough to send Alastor’s ears back against his skull.

“I know!” he snapped, his Shadow shrinking down against the floor. He panted for a minute before realizing that his claws had sunk into his hair and were busy tugging strands free. He shook his hand free and flicked the hair away. “I saw it, too.”

 

 

*

 

“Can you watch cartoons on your face?”

Vox sighed, brushing his hands down the front of his apron. He could hear soft, tiny footsteps scuttle up behind him. An equally little hand tugged at his pants leg.

“I don’t think so,” he replied with reluctance. “I don’t think it works that way.”

A little demoness darted in front of him and scrambled up on the countertop, sitting directly in front of where he had been trying to read through the user manuals of late model television sets from the living world. They had cost him more than he was willing to admit, but he couldn’t help himself from studying them with growing fascination.

She blinked a single, disconcerting eye up at him.

“How does it work?” She reached out to try to catch the corner of his screen in her hand and he jerked his head back. One of her feet caught the edge of a manual, tearing the cover slightly. He snatched it back with a growl.

“Don’t touch my face, Niffty. Or my things.” She pouted. “You’re just going to get everything sticky.”

She held up her hands innocently. “I don’t even got any bug guts on me.”

“Yeah, but that’s not really the point, is it?” He shuffled the booklets back away from her, scooping them into his arms before depositing them on a shelf under the cash register for safe keeping. He put his hands on his hips. “Can you move?”

Her grin turned wicked in an instant. “You can try and make me.”

Vox groaned. “No, Niffty. I’m not going to – stop!” He stumbled back a step, swatting at her tiny grabby hands.

“I just wanna touch.”

She was on top of his head before he could process what was happening and pinched one of the antennae with alarming strength.

His vision blanked for a second, greyscale static flashing over his face. Beneath her tiny fingers, he could feel much larger ones tugging his head into place, mindless of his cries. Hands holding him down, ice cold as the Void, and just as merciless. He jerked backwards, his hands reaching up to fling her away before he knew what was happening and another set of hands were grabbing his shoulders and turning him.

“Get off!” he snarled. His eyes began to throb painfully, and he tried to heave himself away. “G-xzet off!”

The hands went limp, and Vox managed to stagger backwards, his back hitting the unyielding structure of the cash register. He cringed at the sharp pain of metal buttons and levers digging into his back and the discomfort was enough to clear his vision. He blinked, mouth turning down in dismay.

Alastor stood with his hands out in front of him, at the perfect height to rest on Vox’s shoulders. The Radio Demon shivered and the faint swirling in his eyes dissolved. Heart pounding, Vox opened his mouth to apologize, and Alastor only held up a finger. He shook his head as if to clear it before lowering his hands. They stared at one another.

“Al…”

Alastor sighed, summoning his cane with a twirl and gesturing toward the interior of the emporium. “My dear, did you really need to throw Niffty halfway across the store?”

Vox turned to his head, guilt twisting his stomach, and looked at where Niffty was spinning slowly from one of the overhead banners. She waved at him with a wide grin.

“The bad boy can throw me around any time he wants,” she called, spinning away from them. “I like it rough.”

“Niffty,” Alastor sighed, rolling his eyes. Vox turned back to the older man.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Alastor chuckled. “I figured. Otherwise, she’d have gone through the back wall.” Niffty cackled and Vox shifted uneasily. “My dear, perhaps you could use a break. Come walk with me?”

Vox glanced back at Niffty, who was gnawing her way through the banner. Several female cannibals stood nearby, whispering and pointing at the tiny demoness. He winced as she sliced through the final piece of linen and crashed to the floor.

“Yeah, a walk would be good.”

He followed Alastor from the store, trailing him as he was prone to do lately. It had been several months since he had returned to Rosie’s and though the raw panic and paralyzing terror had begun to subside, he was reluctant to draw too close to other Sinners. He felt mildly more comfortable with the Hellborn he encountered, mostly because only unassuming Imps dared to visit Cannibal Town. Higher born demons tended to steer clear, wary of the two cannibal Overlords who had a reputation for disemboweling first and asking questions later.

Alastor slowed his pace gradually as Vox sunk into his thoughts and he realized with a startled glance that the Radio Demon was walking alongside him. Vox interlaced his fingers in front of him, pressing his hands together hard enough for his metal tipped fingers to cut into the soft skin beneath it. He jumped when he felt Alastor’s hand catch his wrist, using his surprise to wrap his hand firmly around Vox’s. Vox looked down at their hands in surprise.

“I don’t think making yourself bleed on the middle of Main Street is such a good idea, hmm?” Vox shook his head slowly. “Now, let’s talk.”

Vox looked away, mouth twisting petulantly. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“No?” Alastor chuckled softly. “Admittedly, the Niffty situation… well, it’s certainly less than ideal, let’s just say that. I’ll try to have another discussion with her, but you know as well as I do that it’ll hardly quash her little… ah, infatuation.”

“Oh, my god,” Vox groaned. “Please don’t call it that.”

“Your feelings won’t change the facts, Vox.” Smug bastard was enjoying himself now. “Besides, who am I to try and stand in the way of young love.”

“Alastor.” Vox tried to tug his hand away and only succeeded in wrenching his wrist a bit when Alastor stubbornly held tight. He sighed. “I know you didn’t want to talk about Niffty.”

“Well, not only.” He eyed Vox. “You did your little eye thing again.”

“I know!” Frustration was welling up inside Vox and he wasn’t sure how to defend himself. He knew Alastor hated it, but he wasn’t getting any better at controlling it when he was especially upset or stressed. “I’m trying to get it under control, I really am.”

Alastor hummed and stopped walking forwards. Vox stumbled to a stop beside him and looked around.

“This isn’t Cannibal Town.”

“Can’t get anything past that clever head of yours!” Vox scowled and tried once again, fruitlessly, to tug his hand away. “This is an entirely different flavor of Hell.”

The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and –

“Oh.”

Alastor laughed out loud this time. “Yes, indeed. Want to know a secret?”

Vox’s nose wrinkled, or it would have if he had a nose. He really didn’t want to know what kind of secret Alastor was keeping in what looked like an entire neighborhood devoted to services provided by negotiable women for discerning men. Or negotiable men for discerning women. Or –

“What kind of secret would you have here?”

Alastor leaned in close, and Vox’s heart thumped a little faster. He could feel his eyes growing wide as Alastor’s smile turned wicked.

“This neighborhood is one of my favorite hunting grounds.” Vox’s tongue darted out to lick his lower lip and he felt a very familiar, almost forgotten clench in his stomach. Oh, damn it, Alastor. “I have a special arrangement with some of the workers here. I take care of more, let’s say, unsavory customers and they provide me with services I can’t easily find elsewhere.”

“Special… services.”

“Yes, you’d be surprised how openly people discuss their personal and business lives with whores,” he said with uncharacteristic vulgarity. Vox’s gaze snapped from Alastor’s mouth to look him straight in the eyes. “I think a little blood under your claws would be good for you.”

Vox swallowed, unable to look away. “This better not awaken anything in me.”

Alastor’s grin widened. “Oh, but I hope it does.”

 

*

 

“Idiot!”

Flames slammed against the far stone wall, billowing upwards before they dispersed over the ceiling. A mirage of shimmering heat was left in their wake.

“What were you thinking?”

She took in the sight of Doctor Bell kneeling before her with fury. Even after millennia, these insects were still finding novel ways to disappoint. She had handed him everything he had needed, practically gift wrapped the little Sinner for him, and he had escaped? It was all she could do to not direct a blast of infernal fire at him.

“My Lady, I have no excuses.” She watched the barely tamped down terror shudder through his body. If she weren’t so furious, she might have appreciated his little show, but as it was, it only made her blood boil hotter.

“No excuses?” She barked a laugh, high and cold, and Doctor Bell flinched. “You’re absolutely right that you have no excuses. You disobeyed me.”

Doctor Bell’s head shot up, his expression surprisingly defiant. “With all due respect, my Lady, it was not done deliberately. I was betrayed.” He clenched his fists at his sides, tiny rivulets of blood leaving crimson stains on the stone beneath him. “We were both betrayed.”

She shook her head with growing impatience. What did this man know of betrayal? What did any of these creatures know of betrayal, crawling on their bellies through the dirt and filth of Hell? They had only themselves to blame for their fates.

“Did you think he wasn’t going to take the first opportunity he could and escape?” She lowered her voice with the question and Doctor Bell’s eyes flickered over her face, trying to judge what she might do next. It wasn’t going to be a surprise, though they always did end up looking so amazed when the inevitable happened.

“No, I knew he would. He fought at times, but he has been one of the easier patients to manage.” Doctor Bell shook his head in frustration. “No, my assistant must have aided him.”

“Hmm. Perhaps your management skills have waned if you can’t even keep your own help loyal.”

Her eyes darkened; she let reality begin to warp around her. Doctor Bell gasped suddenly and raised his hands to scrabble at his throat. She watched as the invisible chain bit into the tender flesh of his throat.

“I gave you one task, Doctor.” He was raised to his feet, balanced on the tips of his toes, shoes scuffing against the stone floor. “Just one. Keep the little Sinner under your watch and make sure that he breaks. But could you do that?”

Doctor Bell’s face flushed a deep red as his mouth gaped in a desperate effort to draw air into his lungs. She was growing tired of this.

“I even allowed you to profit from him like you’ve done in the past.” She flicked her wrist and the doctor’s feet swept off the ground as the chain lifted him upwards. His chest heaved pointlessly. “But no. No, you couldn’t do the one thing required of you.”

He was desperately trying to bargain with her, but no words made it past his lips. His eyes rolled like cattle before the slaughter.

“What use are you to me now?” She twisted her wrist and Doctor Bell’s neck snapped, all struggle dissipating in an instant. His body collapsed to the ground with a meaty thud. She impatiently banished the body from her presence and closed the eyes of her physical form.

She let herself expand, felt the icy burn of her essence as it flickered amongst the Ever Watchful. It would know what she sought and allow her to gaze through its own eyes, even as she remained trapped in this half-life.

She searched fruitlessly for what may have been hours, or years, before pulling back with a growl. No sign of the little Sinner or of the doctor’s erstwhile assistant. Her claws cut into the stone she had enthroned herself on, unyielding as a hot knife through butter.

There was no point in dwelling on it further, she consoled herself. She would just have to press forward with a new plan.

Notes:

Rating and tag changes to reflect upcoming chapters.

Chapter 8: i see a bad moon rising, i see trouble on the way

Notes:

content warnings at the end

1952

It was hotter than the very bowels of Hell in his office.

At least, that’s what Vincent thought as he leaned back in his chair. He pushed away from his desk to peek through the closed blinds out onto the parking lot. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and he should have been gone hours ago, but it was just one thing after another for the newly minted evening anchor.

The only cars left in the parking lot were his own and George Tipton’s.

He sighed softly. George was beginning to become something of a thorn in his side since Kelley had announced Vincent’s promotion – dropping catty little remarks here and there throughout the office. Nothing Vincent couldn’t handle, but nothing he wanted to handle. It was one thing to have George working hard to be better than him, but it rankled to watch the younger man attempt to undermine him.

Vincent set his pen down on the desk and stretched upwards, groaning at the tightness in his shoulders. He let his hands drop to the back of his neck to massage the steel cords that appeared to have replaced his muscles and closed his eyes.

“Long day?”

He cracked an eye open. George was standing in the doorway, framed in the low light of the outer office space like some kind of comic book villain. The top few buttons of his white button down were undone, his tie long discarded and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Artfully disheveled, almost like he was trying to still look good despite the heat. Vincent shrugged dispassionately.

“I’ve had longer.” George huffed and walked into the office. It took him a second to realize that the other man was carrying a pair of glass tumblers in one hand and a bottle filled with amber liquid in the other. Vincent eyed him warily but decided to be amiable when he saw the bottle’s label. “But, by all means, you’re welcome to come in here with that.”

“I assumed so.”

George set the tumblers on Vincent’s desk and poured a couple of fingers of bourbon into each one. Vincent snatched his up and groaned in appreciation as the rich, softly textured spirit slipped into his mouth and down his throat. George laughed and sat down, leaning on one elbow with a smirk.

“Good?”

“George, after the miserable day that I have been having, this is a blessing in a glass.” Vincent closed his eyes and raised his glass for another sip. “This is ambrosia, the fucking nectar of the gods. I can almost forgive you for being the massive asshole that you are.”

“Me? An asshole?” George scoffed.

“Yes, you.”

They sat in companionable silence, sipping the bourbon slowly. From the corner of the room, quiet music played on the radio. Vincent felt his body loosen from the day’s stress as he sank back into the soft leather of his chair. It was almost enough to have him drifting off before he sighed and opened his eyes to find George watching him with an unreadable expression.

Vincent hummed quietly. “What is it?”

“You’re different when you’re relaxed,” George replied, his voice low and tinged with something dark. Vincent noticed that the younger man’s blonde hair was tousled as though he had combed his fingers through it. He blinked.

“Is that so?” He watched George stand and place his glass on the filing cabinet, eyes sweeping over his lithe body appreciatively. He could hand it to the younger man – he cut a rather dashing figure in those well-tailored suits of his. His pulse quickened slightly as George rolled his neck, eyes not moving from Vincent’s as he walked around the desk. Vincent turned his chair around to follow George’s movement. “What are you doing?”

“Well, that depends on you, Vin.”

“Yeah?” Vincent looked up as George stood directly in front of him. “Depends on me, how?”

“On what you want.” George leaned forward, his hands falling on the chair’s armrests, boxing the older man in. He brushed a thumb over the pulse point on Vincent’s wrist and his mouth twisted into a sharp smile when the dark-haired man shivered. “What do you want me to do?”

It was rather different being on the receiving end of a seduction, Vincent mused. He almost exclusively slept with women; he was very clear on what his role was during those encounters. Why not let George take the lead he was so desperately angling for? He could use a little entertainment.

He drained his glass and set it beside him on the desk.

“Whatever you want,” he replied, looking up through his eyelashes, deciding to give George the coquettish performance that he was looking for.

George leaned in, his face suddenly inches away, bright eyes staring deep into his own. Vincent shrank back slightly and opened his mouth to say something, anything really, but no words came out. He let his tongue slip out to lick at his lower lip and George pounced.

The younger man’s hands threaded into his hair and jerked him forwards into a vicious kiss, all tongue and clacking teeth. Vincent winced before tilting his head, trying to give George a better angle to work with. George hummed in approval and darted his tongue against Vincent’s lips, demanding entrance.

As far as kissing went, he’d had better. It was on the wrong side of rough and demanding, but whether it was because it was his office nemesis, or the late hour, or the ungodly heat of the day, it worked. Vincent allowed himself to be pressed against the back of his chair as George’s tongue swept through his mouth, occasionally pulling back to nip at his lips. His breath caught in his throat when George’s hand came up to his neck, squeezing just hard enough to send a jolt of adrenaline through Vincent’s bloodstream.

He pressed his palms to George’s shoulders and gave him a gentle, but firm push. George pulled back with a grumble, worrying Vincent’s lower lip with a sudden viciousness and a few drops of blood burst into his mouth. He swallowed roughly, not sure how he felt about those long, slender fingers tightening against his throat. With a quiet gasp, he blinked at George.

“Fuck’s sake,” he murmured, pressing his fingertips to his mouth.

George pulled away from him with a stifled groan and tapped the edge of Vincent’s desk. “Get up.”

He really did consider refusing the command. Wanted to tell George to fuck off, he was the one charge in this office. He would do the telling.

But, instead, he nodded briskly, fumbling to untuck his shirt from his pants as he sat on the edge of the desk. His eyes widened when George swatted his hands away and finished pulling his shirt out. The younger man swept his hand down over Vincent’s hip then cupped him through his trousers. If Vincent let out a yelp of surprise, it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

“You’re so pretty, Vin,” George growled, grinding his palm against Vincent with one hand and reaching up to catch the back of his neck in the other. Vincent’s breath hitched as George moved into the space between his spread legs, so close that he could feel the other’s body heat searing onto his own. He felt himself harden under George’s ministrations.

“Gonna fuck you on your desk, honey.” Shit. Vincent swallowed back the moan that threatened to spill from his lips and George chuckled before capturing his mouth in another stinging kiss. He pulled back with an obscene smack that Vincent would have ordinarily been appalled by – if he wasn’t so distractedly horny. “You like the idea of that, don’t you?”

“Shut up, asshole,” Vincent hissed, stretching up for another kiss. He snaked his arms around George’s neck, groaning when George’s hand disappeared. With a scowl, he rocked his hips forward impatiently. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not.” Vincent glanced down eagerly as George unbuckled his own belt and unbuttoned his trousers one-handed with practiced ease. He snickered at Vincent’s staring and the older man felt a blush creep over his cheeks. “Still good, babydoll?”

He hesitated for a moment then nodded, tongue darting back out to wet his lips. He felt fucking dizzy with anticipation. His hips jerked forward as George hurriedly did away with the barriers around Vincent’s waist, his hand slipping him out of his underwear and stroking with confidence. Vincent gasped as George’s mouth sealed over his once more, drawing the breathy sounds into himself.

His grasp was too tight, and he bucked his hips to get George to loosen his hold. Instead, he felt George’s length slide in against him and whined this time. Oh, God, he was going to die of humiliation. George squeezed them both a little harder.

“That’s it, Vin,” he cooed against his mouth and Vincent tightened his arms around George’s neck in displeasure. He might die of humiliation, but George was going to be choked to death if he didn’t shut his mouth and hurry things up. “Doing so good, sweetheart.”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

A particularly vicious twist of George’s wrist had Vincent crying out, fingers scrabbling against the soft fabric of his white shirt and legs flying up around George’s hips. He wrenched his face from George’s and buried it against the younger man’s neck.

“Shit,” he whimpered. “Shit. Shit! George, oh- oh, fuck!”

“Come on,” George grunted, thrusting his hips against Vincent’s and rocking him back onto the desk. Vincent had a terrifying moment when he knew he was going to topple over the front of the desk and experience the absolute worst orgasm of his life before George’s firm hand slid from his neck to the small of his back. He tugged Vincent back towards him and curled his fingernails into his back.

“George, please!” Vincent didn’t know what he was begging for, only that he needed to say something. He pressed his heel into the back of George’s thigh, forcing him closer. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“That’s my good boy,” George purred against his ear and Vincent’s entire body tensed. He couldn’t breathe; his entire being shrank down to a burning singularity. “Come for me.”

And Vincent did. He panted against George’s neck and snapped his hips forward in tight, desperate thrusts, fingernails digging into his own arms. He could distantly hear himself whimpering George’s name and hoped the other man wasn’t listening too closely as he finished shortly afterwards.

He clung against the younger man, arms and legs refusing to unlock. George laughed breathlessly, moving his hand from Vincent’s back to comb through the damp hair on the back of his head.

“That was nice.”

Vincent shuddered through another round of aftershocks and pressed his face closer, breathing George’s scent. Cinnamon, cigarette smoke, and the faintest trace of gasoline. Damn the bastard for smelling amazing on top of everything else. George’s fingers teased along his hairline, sending shivery little shocks up and over his scalp.

“You’re going to have to let go eventually, sweetheart.”

“Then don’t make me come so hard, dear,” Vincent retorted, voice barely more than a mumble. He felt George’s other arm move from between their bodies to loop around his lower back, pulling him forward.

“Up you go!” Vincent yelped as he was dragged forward, forced to unwrap his legs from around George’s waist if he didn’t want to be toppled unceremoniously to the ground. He let his arms fall behind him to grab onto the desk, hoping that George wouldn’t notice his unsteady sway which, of course, he did. He dropped his hands to Vincent’s waist to stabilize him. “All right?”

Vincent nodded and looked away, cheeks flushing with another blush. “Yeah. I’m good.”

George patted his cheek with a smug grin and stepped away to tidy himself up. Vincent tried to swallow, surprised to discover how parched his mouth was, and not yet caring that he was still leaning against his own desk with his pants open. He steadied his breathing as he watched George fasten his belt, dress shirt already tucked neatly into his trousers.

“What was that?” he asked, suddenly struck with the reality of what just happened. “I mean, we just… you know.”

“We did just you know,” George agreed. “And what, you’d like some helpful feedback on your performance?”

Vincent grimaced. “God, no.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

His mind raced, already making a list a mile long about why he couldn’t just fuck his subordinate. None of it seemed particularly convincing in the face of George’s smirk. He shook his head.

“No problem.”

“Good.” George stepped forward, offering the older man a clean handkerchief. Vincent took it wordlessly and wiped himself clean. He folded it up, clean side out, and dropped it on his desk. George’s fingers were back on his body, deftly tucking his shirt into his trousers and buttoning him back up. Vincent looked up at George’s face with a frown. The younger man caught him staring and pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to his lips.

“This doesn’t change anything, George.”

George patted Vincent’s clothed crotch and laughed when the older man flinched back and swatted him away.

“Of course, it doesn’t.” He rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. He raised an eyebrow to offer one and Vincent shook his head. George shrugged and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag and letting it out slowly. “We can fuck without it meaning anything, you know.”

“That so?” Vincent sunk down into his chair, running his hand over his face. “You do this sort of thing often enough to know?”

“Why, would that offend your Puritanical morality? Only ever fucked your wife?”

Vincent shot George a dark look. “Careful.”

“Kill joy.” George rolled his eyes, taking another drag on his cigarette. “Have you ever slept with another man, Vincent?”

He didn’t know what possessed him to answer truthfully. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” There was something predatory about the look that George gave him then and Vincent felt a shiver work its way up his spine.

“You know,” he replied, shifting his gaze away. “You get close to someone over there, and the world is going to hell. Things just… happen. Sometimes.”

“That’s right. You were one of our brave boys, weren’t you?” George chuckled. “Where’d you serve?”

“Ah, George…” He really didn’t want to do this. He was reconciled with the impromptu hand job, but he wasn’t interested in discussing his previous sexual exploits or any details about his time in the Army. “Just drop it."

George flicked his wrist impatiently. “Just getting to know you better, doll.”

“You know me plenty well already.”

George smiled. He ran his tongue over his lips and flicked his cigarette ash onto the ashtray on Vincent’s desk. “There might be a few more things that I’d like to know.”

Vincent considered that. He sighed and reached down to his belt buckle.

“Fine, but none of that sweetheart, babydoll bullshit.”

 

*

 

Present Day

“Did I say a blue tie? His entire fucking face is blue, why would you keep bringing me blue?” Velvette snatched the tie away from her assistant with a snarl. “If you bring me another blue tie, I will personally choke you out with it and drop your unconscious body into the shark tank so that you can keep regenerating in there until I get bored.”

“Sorry, Miss Velvette!” The anxious Sinner trembled in front of her, crumpling the tie between her fingers. Velvette let her expression darken.

“Don’t damage the merchandise.”

She watched with satisfaction as her assistant scampered away with a soft sob of terror. Movement from the corner of the room drew her attention and she brightened.

“Do we like this?” Vox asked, turning around slowly, arms out at his sides. His face twisted with uncertainty. “I don’t know why I can’t just wear one of my usual suits.”

“Stripes on stripes,” Velvette scolded. “I don’t care if you insist on wearing that mess on your talk show, but you’re going to look properly electable during the debate tonight.”

Vox grumbled, fingers tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. “What does that even mean?”

Vel strode across the room and slapped his hands away. Vox scoffed. “It means that you need to look more professional than Danger Deer and his fuck-ass bob.”

Valentino laughed quietly from his perch on the side of the room. He had lost interest once Velvette had started to grill Vox on debate topics and responses, sulking like the massive baby he was with his phone. She rolled her eyes. Fuck him. If she wasn’t managing one of them, it was the other.

Vox’s face desaturated, his eyes glazing over as he delved into the notes that they had been compiling for the past three hours. Everything from district demographics to the rising cost of utilities (which, Vox was quick to point out with a satisfied smirk, was the direct result of the Vees cornering the market on the electric grid in Pentagram City) to the growing worry about Heaven’s retribution for the failed Extermination. It was a lot of data and trends to comb through, but Velvette was nothing if not a professional at keeping her finger on the pulse of popular sentiment.

She watched with growing fondness as he silently mouthed through different sound bites, fingers twitching at his side where she could tell he was trying not to talk with his hands. A crumpled ball of paper flew from the other side of the room and bounced off his screen. Vox’s features sharpened and his eyes refocused.

“The fuck, Val?” he demanded.

Valentino sighed, setting his phone on his lap. “Is this thing starting soon or what? I’m bored.”

“You could actually help instead of being a pain in my ass.”

“I like being a pain in your ass, amorcito,” Val leered.

Vox rolled his eyes and looked to Vel for assistance.

Stupid wankers. How they had managed to accomplish anything before she joined them was a constant source of confusion.

She shook her head, slapped his hands away from his collar once more, and walked back to the table in the dressing room to look over the new ties her assistant had brought. There was a blue one in the bunch, and she really should’ve made good with her threat to strangle the little idiot, but she selected a maroon tie instead and held it up in the air to inspect it. There were almost imperceptible threads of gold running through the fabric that would glint subtly in the stage lights.

Perfect.

“This one,” she said, turning to show it to Vox. His mouth flattened.

“That is exactly what I wear every day.”

“It’s not.” She snapped her fingers, and the tie wrapped itself around his neck, knotting in place perhaps a bit too snugly, judging by his sudden gulp. She cocked her head, daring him to say anything, pleased that he chose instead to give her a sour expression. “That looks good.”

“You’ve got a whole JFK vibe going on over there.” Val smiled and blew a cloud of pink smoke in the television demon’s direction.

Vox’s eyes lidded and he smirked, interest clear. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mm, yes. Come sit on my lap, papito, and I’ll give you a missile crisis to solve."

“No,” Velvette barked, voice deepening for a moment as her eyes glowed ominously. “Do not do that before he has to go onstage to debate the fucking Radio Demon. I swear to Lucifer, you two are impossible.” Val’s mouth turned down in a sulky pout. “Do you want him to send the city into another black-out because he’s got Hell’s most confused hate boner?”

“I’m not going to short-circuit the grid again,” Vox replied resentfully, cutting in before Val could.

The big red light in the dressing room suddenly flashed and Vox looked up, startled. He shook his hands out at his sides then bounced on the balls of his feet, hyping himself up. Velvette hurried over to him and stared up at him for a moment before wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

“I’ll cut your intestines out and use them for trim on the spring line if you fuck this up,” she whispered into his jacket. She pushed him back, grinning viciously as he shook his head in amusement. “Go fuck him up, Vee.”

She watched Vox stride onto the stage like it was a second home to him, waving with both hands as the studio audience burst into applause. Valentino sidled up next to her and they watched Vox blow a few kisses to his adoring audience.

“Shake a few hands and kiss a few babies, and our boy is golden,” Val purred, looking incredibly satisfied. Velvette couldn’t help but agree. Taking his place behind the podium, Vox looked every bit the perfect candidate. If he could just stay on topic and not let his emotions get the better of him, he had a better than good chance of winning. After all, he only had to beat Alastor.

And speaking of the devil…

Alastor materialized onstage, shadows swirling around him like Katniss fucking Everdeen in her fire dress. The audience’s reaction was a mix of startled screams, a handful of wild cheers, and a lone voice crying “Put your fawns in me, Radio Daddy!”

The Radio Demon waved cheerfully before turning to Vox. Velvette could see his fingers tighten on the top of the podium, though he did manage to keep his face relaxed.

“Ah, Vox!” Alastor said, walking towards his own podium with measured ease. Vox followed his progress with his eyes. “Quite the pleasure to be seeing you here!”

Vox chuckled lightly. “Yes, such a pleasure.”

Velvette’s attention snapped over to where Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench had signaled their readiness to begin. The two media demons eyed one another for a moment and Velvette imagined she could hear Vox’s fans whirring already.

“Welcome to the first, and only, mayoral debate, Pentagram City,” Katie said, adjusting her microphone. Tom shifted in his seat, glancing back and forth between Vox and Alastor like he wasn’t entirely sold on the whole event. “It’ll be the only one because there’s an election in one week – what, really? Is that true, Tom?”

Tom shrugged.

“Bringing your A game already, you inept failure?” She stared dead into the camera. “You’ve got a choice between two Overlords and you bitches are gonna need to simp for one of them.”

She laughed and turned to Vox. “Mister Vox, I’d like to address the elephant in the room, if I may.” Vox inclined his head. “Why now? Sinners didn’t even know there was a mayor and now you’ve just magically pulled this out of your ass.”

“That’s not the only thing he’s had in his ass today,” Val snickered.

Velvette rolled her eyes and looked down at her phone, tuning Vox’s answer out as she began to scroll through the live feeds of the debate.


33thankunext5: unholy shit!
applebottommomjeans: i’d hit that
guessthiswasthesongthatended12: hot damn, look at vox’s suit and tie. HOT
27Sharknado: vox is daddy
Cybermurderer4realz: you know velvette dressed him
mothman69: i’d let him mansplain the Cuban missile crisis to me any day
33thankunext5: can velvette dress me?
27Sharknado: daddydaddydaddy
mothman69: 12/10 would smash


She nodded. So far so good. The thirst wasn’t quite where she wanted it yet, but there was still time. Besides, Vox was really leaning into his whole nerdy explanation right now (she knew he was reading off that fucking PowerPoint, he never fucking listened), so he wasn’t really giving people much more than a pretty face.

Velvette paused and scrolled back up. “Val, are you live Veeting right now?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Come here.” She turned her back to the stage and tugged him down to her eye level. He let her arrange him how she wanted before snapping a series of carefully posed selfies, making sure that Vox featured in the background. She posted several of the pictures onto her Sinstagram, grinning at the immediate reactions.


Honeytrap24523: slay queen
doomsdaydiva: yaas, girl!
27Sharknado: catch daddy in the background!
mothman69: 13/10 would smash


Time sped by as Velvette alternated between watching Vox and making sure that #Vees continued to trend, along with a series of other tags that she only checked occasionally. Their main tag was on fire and most of it was positive. There were a few salty whores whining about VoxTek products or Love Potion, but those were easy to shut down by Velvette sliding into their DMs with a carefully and creatively phrased threat to the author.

She was in her element, feeling the threads of her power coalescing around her. It wasn’t like Vox’s sensitivity to electricity and radio waves or Val’s venom – she hadn’t crashed into Hell already armed with a way to protect herself. She’d had to #BossBitch her way out of the squirming masses and would do it all over again, stepping on the necks of her enemies, just to end up right back on top.

The haters could get unpleasantly fucked.

Her skin tingled as she released more of her power, feeling her reach creep through her phone and up into the silly putty brains of millions of Sinners. She imagined it wasn’t dissimilar to the rush that Vox must feel when he turned on his hypnosis, though she wasn’t sure if he could feel their minds in quite the same way that she was able to.

“Modernization might be the name of Vox’s game, but let’s all remember how he got to where he is now.”

Velvette looked up from her phone, eyes narrowing as Alastor spoke up. Fuck, she could see Vox’s mouth tighten from here. She debated sending him an emergency text to relax but knew that would probably do more harm than good at this point.

“How did he get there?” Tom Trench asked. He cringed back as Katie Killjoy whipped her head around to face him, vertebrae snapping.

“Tom, you sentient enema, let the Radio Demon finish his thought!”

“Thank you, Miss Killjoy!” Alastor chirped. “Vox got to those dizzying heights, high up in his Tower, thanks to those who came before him. How else could he have climbed so far if not for the hard work of those who built the ladder that he used to ascend?”

“Wait a minute –”

“And, if I may be so bold to say so, without demons like me, Vox would never have achieved anything.”

Vox slammed his fist onto the podium, sparks flying, and Velvette winced. Shit, he was letting Alastor get to him. “That’s not true!”

Alastor laughed. “Sinners, don’t you see? Without me, Vox would still be the pathetic, useless little nobody he was when he first crashed into Hell. A mewling disgrace happy to humiliate and debase himself with only the hope of getting the attention of someone who genuinely matters.” He gave Vox a once over. “Not that much has really changed.”

Vox’s mouth twitched before he cast his gaze out over the studio audience, all watching him in rapt attention, and finally settled on Velvette. Oh, shit, she recognized that expression. She shook her head rapidly. Do not fuck this up.

Vox took a deep breath and Velvette hoped that she was the only one who heard the shakiness of his exhale. “The Radio Demon is welcome to believe what he likes, but the truth speaks for itself. Who brought the internet to Hell? Who helped Hell connect to a consistent, reliable power source? Who brings the very best entertainment into your homes every day and doesn’t fuck off for seven years?” He grinned. “You can trust me when I say that a vote for me is a vote for continued progress and innovation.”

Velvette sighed. Not a great save, but it would have to do. At least he hadn’t burst into an insane tirade or started electrocuting Alastor on stage in front of everyone, so she’d have to work with the little wins.

Thankfully, the debate ended before Vox had the opportunity to really lose his cool and she leaned against Valentino as both candidates gave their closing speeches. Predictably, Alastor melted into the shadows while Vox stepped to the front of the stage, letting eager fans snap selfies with him. The younger Vees walked back into the dressing room, Val curling an arm around Velvette’s shoulders.

“He did good,” Val assured her, and Velvette sighed. He wasn’t wrong.

“What’s up, douche canoes?”

Ugh.

“Katie, you scheming bitch,” Val replied, voice half-affectionate and half-exasperated. “You went easy on the Radio Demon.”

Katie Killjoy took a drag from a cigarette that had magically appeared, half smoked, in the time it took for her to walk into the dressing room. She raised an eyebrow. “I went easy on your boy, too. Do you think anyone actually gives a shit what either of them say?”

“They like the sound bites.”

“Please. You like the sounds bites, babydoll.” Velvette wrinkled her nose but didn’t bother to look up from her phone. #DaddyVox was now trending. “You know most people watching this were just hoping that they’d fight or fuck on camera, especially since the Radio Demon was almost visible for once. And they did neither, so nobody’s going to remember this shit show.”

“A shame, too. We could’ve charged a pay-per-view if they had,” Val said thoughtfully.

Katie laughed, cigarette smoke curling around her. “Look, I know there are some fucked up people out there who would pay money to see the Radio Demon fuck, but Vox?” She shrugged. “He is mediocre, at best.”

“You’re just salty because he hasn’t fucked you since the nineties, Katie.”

“Correction, I haven’t fucked him since the nineties.” She dropped her cigarette butt onto the floor and ground it under her heel. “And I do mean that exactly the way I worded it.”

“Did you guys see that fucking fucker?” Vox demanded as he stormed into the room, all pretense of pleasantness vanished. He noticed Katie with a scowl. “How did you get back here? Did you bite off your tracking device again?”

She hummed. “Darling, you know that I have full access to this entire studio.”

“Yeah, I really need to do something about that.” Vox tugged at his bowtie. When she didn’t reply, he flicked a hand dismissively. “Piss off, Katie.”

“Wait, I wanted to give you something before I left.” Katie dropped her hand into her purse and began rummaging around. “Just a little souvenir to remember this auspicious day by.”

“What?” Vox asked, voice suddenly tired.

“Oh, here it is.” She pulled her hand out of the bag, middle finger up. Velvette smirked despite herself. “Later losers!”

“I really hate that bitch.” He tugged the bowtie off and shoved it into the hands of one of Velvette’s cowering assistants.

“You fucked her.” Val tutted. “Sorry, she fucked you.”

Vox’s screen flushed faintly pink. “It was the seventies and there was a lot of coke involved.”

“Still.”

 

*

 

Several hours later Velvette was cozied up in her own bed in her own apartment. The limo ride back to the Tower had been an absolute nightmare of Vox ranting about the Radio Demon while attempting to drink his bodyweight in expensive whiskey. Val had tried valiantly to district him with silky promises of what he would do to the older man once they got back to the Tower, while trying to keep things as Velvette-approved as possible (she drew a hard line at allowing them to venture past a strictly PG-13 rating with her around).

It was only once they were in the Tower, ensconced in their common living area, that Val had grabbed a still raving Vox by the shoulders and given him a hard shake.

“Lucifer in Hell, Vox. Shut up!”

“An’ ‘nother thing…” Vox’s eyes blinked out of sync; he squinted. “How’s tha’?”

“Val wants you to fuck him,” Velvette replied patiently.

Delight lit up the television demon’s face. “Yeah? Babe, you… you wan’ all this?” He gestured sloppily down his body with a smile that was more goofy than sultry, though Velvette was sure he was trying.

“Voxy, honey, I have tried to be subtle here, but if you aren’t pounding me hard enough that I can taste your fucking dick in the next five minutes, I am going to throw you from the roof.”

Vox giggled and turned his head slowly to look at Velvette. “Gonna get some.”

She grimaced, vaguely horrified. “For Lucifer’s sake, the two of you need to fuck off.”

And she hadn’t seen heads or tails of them since, which, she was hoping, meant that Valentino was using his powers for good for once. Well, sort of good. Good for Velvette at least.

She scratched her fingernails over her scalp, sighing softly. With a stretch, she reached across the mattress to retrieve the television remote resting atop the comforter. After several minutes of mindless surfing, she finally settled on a rerun and let herself sag against the pillows. Minutes ticked by.

Gradually, she was aware of a voice whispering gently. She struggled to look for the source, but heavy limbs and drooping eyelids kept her still beneath the sheets.

Velvette.

“Wha…?”

She sagged against the pillows, unable to command her limbs to move as a little girl dressed in an eerily familiar red sweater and black leggings crawled up onto the side of her bed. Heart pounding in her throat, her first thought was to scream as the child settled beside her, small legs crossed underneath her as she stared into Velvette’s eyes. The sound strangled in her throat as she tried to push herself up and away.

That’s what we call ourselves now? Velvette?

Velvette’s mouth dropped open as she suddenly recognized the sweater. Then the little girl.

“You’re me,” she breathed.

I am. The little girl looked pleased and patted a tiny hand against Velvette’s leg. She shuddered at the cold that pierced through the blanket and down to her skin. I’ve been waiting for such a long time to see you.

Notes:

CW: smut in the beginning of the chapter

Chapter 9: this magic music grooves me, that dirty rhythm fools me

Notes:

content warnings in the end notes

1976


“Vox! Are you quite ready?”

Running his hands down the front of his shirt, Vox gave himself a last-minute appraisal in the mirror. Alastor would call him a vain creature, but he wasn’t going to leave the apartment without making sure he looked good. Alastor could make all the face made for radio jokes that he wanted, but Vox had a literal television for a head, so he had to work extra hard to ensure that he didn’t come off as a complete joke. There were only so many times he could laugh off someone pretending to turn the channel on his face before he had to break a leg or two.

And, anyways, he had an image and reputation to maintain now. Actual clout and power of his own– wasn’t just swimming behind in Alastor’s wake, snapping up the scraps that the Radio Demon left behind. Sovereign Overlord of Television and New Media. He meant something now.

Alastor sighed and leaned against the bathroom door, looking as good as he ever did. “I don’t know what it is you need to fuss over. Your face looks the same as it always does.”

“And we both know that’s a lie,” Vox replied. He rubbed at a smudge on his screen with a frown. “Seeing as how I just did an upgrade last week.”

“Upgrade.” Alastor sniffed impatiently, giving Vox a quick appraisal. “Is the ensemble new, too?”

“Yep.” Brand fucking new and now that he had money enough of his own, he had even taken the time to make sure that it was tailored to his body precisely. His fingers tugged at the hem of the red, gold, and blue paisley button-down shirt, suddenly self-conscious. Did Alastor think it was too flashy? “Do you not like it?”

Alastor’s expression softened into something fond, and Vox’s heart gave a couple of extra, hopeful beats. “It’s fine. Now, if you’re finished preening, I suggest we get a move on. We were trying to get there by… oh, dear. Well, in five minutes.”

“Shit. We’re never going to get there by eight.” Alastor’s eyes widened, excited, and it took Vox exactly two seconds too long to realize why. “What? No, don’t –”

He didn’t have time to protest further before Alastor’s arm was securely wrapped around his waist and a portal into the Void opened below them. Although he remembered to clamp his mouth shut (the Void had a very literal way of taking his breath away), he sure didn’t close his eyes in time.

And, really, it wouldn’t be so bad if the Void was just a void, empty and nothing. But there were always flashes of things that Vox couldn’t identify, didn’t want to identify, in the darkness that made his heart stutter and his skin crawl. Lovecraftian horrors, squirming just under where the naked eye could detect. Unfortunately for Vox, his eyes weren’t organic, and he was able to see more than he suspected even Alastor was aware of. It took every ounce of self-control not to scream when something fucking touched his leg. He wrapped his arms around Alastor’s shoulders, cringing back from the simultaneously prickly and wet sensation squirming up his leg.

They rematerialized in the physical world and Vox stayed frozen in place for a long minute, wondering when he’d remember how to breathe again. Alastor grinned at him, entirely unbothered, and gave him a squeeze.

“See? Much quicker! Oh, dear.”

Vox wrenched away and vomited on the street, in full view of Forbidden Fruit’s patrons. A pair of female Imps giggled and pointed at him. He really wished he could care, but the only thing he was able to focus on was keeping his hands on his knees while he emptied the contents of his stomach into the gutter. Alastor patted his back in what Vox imagined was meant to be a comforting fashion – undercut by the fact that this was wholly his fault.

“Better out than in,” the older demon told him cheerfully. “But look at it this way, my dear. You’re improving! Not even one scream.”

“Oh, my god,” Vox gasped between heaves.

“What’s his problem?”

No! Vox did not want a bigger fucking audience for this!

“Void travel, if you can believe it,” Alastor chirped, not even bothering to disguise his delight. Vox let out a sob before depositing the rest of his lunch on the concrete. “You’re looking well rested, Husker.”

“Fuck you.” Vox tried not to gag as the smell from Husk’s cigar hit him. “Seriously, though. He’s fucking green, Alastor.”

“I hate you,” Vox managed, shuddering.

“Yes, dear.”

Vox hiccupped and closed his eyes, swaying slightly. “Psychopath.”

Alastor hummed in agreement and rubbed his back soothingly until Vox was able to stand upright again. He groaned and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

“When did I eat chicken?”

Alastor pulled him against his body, arm looped casually around his waist for support (but also not casually at all because Alastor was the fucking master at mixed signals). And, as much as he wanted to make a good impression, he was grateful for the support while his queasy stomach settled. The security at the door took one at the three Overlords, and Alastor’s freakishly wide smile, and waved them inside.

Under the low light of the club, broken up by the spinning mirror balls hanging from the ceiling, Sinners and Hellborn alike danced to lively disco music. Vox closed his eyes and let the pounding rhythm soothe and settle him. Something about the percussive beat always helped him feel better – he suspected it had to something to do with frequency of the sound waves, but didn’t trouble himself with too much speculation.

Vox began to nod his head appreciatively, starting to sway a bit with the beat. He opened his eyes and gave Alastor a wide smile. He swung his hips a little more, forcing Alastor to move along with him if he didn’t want to be knocked off-balance.

“There had better be a decent selection of whiskey here,” Alastor said, looking around dubiously. Vox admired the way that flashing lights played over the older man’s crimson hair. “It’s so… modern.”

“You’ll live.” Alastor laughed at that. “Well, I mean, you won’t double-die from it.”

“It’s your night, Vox. You earned the right to pick this place.” Alastor squeezed him a bit closer and lowered his voice for dramatic effect. “But, if you make me come here again, I will be forced to feed your own legs to you.”

“Ugh,” Husk groaned, raising his cigar to his mouth to take a deep drag.

Vox laughed, skin tingling pleasantly where Alastor’s fingers were gripping him. “Graphic.”

“Vox, baby, you made it!”

Vox grinned helplessly as Valentino swept up from a table near the door and caught his face between his hands. A soft scoff came from Alastor and Vox was released from his hold. He decided to ignore Alastor’s obvious irritation in favor of returning Val’s enthusiastic kiss. Maybe it was something he’d get used to in the future, if this little thing between them continued, but Vox was immediately caught up in the pink venom dripping from Val’s tongue and groaned quietly.

“Eh hem.”

He pulled away from the moth demon with a sheepish smile. “Al, you know Valentino.”

Alastor hummed, waving his hand vaguely and looked suddenly bored. Yep, he recognized that little gesture for what it was. “I’m familiar with him, yes.”

“And Husk?”

Husk narrowed his eyes at Valentino, openly appraising him. “You’re fucking tall.”

Vox felt his screen heat up. Lucifer, he couldn’t take them anywhere, socially inept assholes.

Val chuckled, unbothered. “Come sit, Voxy. I already got us a booth.”

He tugged at Vox’s wrist and the older demon was happy to follow him. The music was pounding in Vox’s head, just the way he liked it. He let himself be shuffled into one of the larger booths, laughing when Val settled himself on Vox’s lap. Alastor’s expression was one of careful neutrality as he took a seat across from them. Husk plunked himself down next to Alastor, shooting him a look that warned him against any of his usual nonsense.

“You like this brand, right?” Valentino asked him, already pouring generous shares of champagne into flute glasses. “I figured we’d splurge tonight. Given the circumstances.”

Alastor rolled his eyes but still accepted the glass.

“To the newest Overlord,” Val said clinking his glass against Vox’s. “May he be a merciless bastard and grind all of Pride under his heel.”

“That, I’ll toast to,” Alastor agreed. They sipped their champagne for a moment and Vox was suddenly struck with the realization that he was genuinely happy. Happier than he had been in years, maybe. He squeezed Val closer and relished the tiny squeak that the moth demon let out.

“You sluts here to party?” a tiny pig Sinner asked them, sauntering up to the table with a couple of bottles in one hand and a set of glass tumblers in the other.

Alastor’s grin sharpened. “Yes. We’d be delighted to sample your selection of illicit substances.”

“Just say drugs, baby,” Valentino scoffed.

He dragged a finger down the side of Vox’s head, hooking it under his chin and pulling his face up for another kiss. Vox flexed his fingers against Val’s hips, chuckling darkly when Val turned around to straddle him. He barely registered the uptick of static as Val deepened the kiss before pulling back and turning to wink suggestively at their server.

The pig Sinner blushed, tapping her tiny hoofs on the floor as she shuffled back slightly.

“You can do that, right, gorgeous?” Valentino purred. “Lots and lots of drugs?”

“I was promised top-shelf whiskey. Whatever’s the most expensive bottle you have,” Husk told the server. Alastor rolled his eyes.

“Husker, at least pretend you’re here because you’re happy for Vox.”

“I will not.” Husk met Vox’s gaze and shrugged. “No offence.”

“I’m very happy for you,” Val whispered, grinding his hips down just hard enough to force a gasp out of Vox.

“I can make all of that happen,” their server giggled before glancing over at where Alastor was sitting. Vox didn’t need to see his face, if the sudden way the little pig Sinner blanched before averting her gaze to the floor was any indication. He rolled his eyes and pushed against Val’s middle to settle him back to his original sideways position on Vox’s lap.

“And make sure there’s tons of fucking coke!” Val called after her as she trotted away from their booth. “And food!”

Valentino lit one of his cigarettes before blowing the smoke in Alastor’s direction, eyes hooding enough for Vox to just guess what the next words out of his mouth would be. It was going to be stupid and ridiculous. No, no, no. He squeezed Val’s hip, hoping to head him off.

“Wanna have a foursome?” Vox closed his eyes for a beat, wondering what Val’s viscera splashed across his screen would feel like. Probably unpleasantly sticky and it would be an absolute nightmare to get out of polyester.

Husk snorted into his glass of champagne and Alastor hummed. “No, thank you.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, my god. Shut up, Val.”

Valentino pressed a finger against his mouth and Vox’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Shh, baby, the grown-ups are talking.”

That got a reaction out of Alastor. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, smile growing razor sharp with malice. Husk rolled his eyes, attention already wandering towards the dance floor.

“What makes you think I’d be interested in sharing?” His gaze flicked to Vox’s for a moment and Vox’s heart stuttered against his ribs. Oh. Wow, okay.

“Aren’t you sharing now?” Val retorted. He dropped his hand down into Vox’s lap and laughed delightedly when Vox’s screen helplessly darkened in a blush. Vox dropped his forehead against Val’s shoulder with groan. Fuck his entire afterlife. Twice.

“Val…” he pleaded, shifting his weight enough for the moth demon to get the message. Pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to the top of Vox’s head, Val snickered quietly.

“Relax, papito. I’ll play nice with the Radio Demon.”

Thank Lucifer in the palace that he never left that the little pig woman returned shortly after, laying out a spread of assorted rainbow-colored pills, piles of cocaine, and more weed than Vox had seen laid out in one place before. She waved a bottle of tequila and topped off Val’s and Vox’s glasses, shrinking back when Alastor simply covered his own glass with a sharp tipped claw. Husk took the bottle of proffered whiskey and flipped Alastor off.

“Until next time, fuckface,” he said and got up from the table, disappearing into the crowd. Probably to drink himself into a stupor with Alastor’s bribe.

Val picked up a glass and pressed it against Vox’s lips. “Let’s get sloppy, sweetie.”

Many drinks, countless lines of cocaine, and a handful of dubious pills later, Vox found himself being spun around the dance floor by a very enthusiastic Valentino. Swirls of pink smoke trailed after them as they moved amongst the other clubgoers, and Vox closed his eyes to feel the pounding drum lines better. Val’s perfume wafted around him, and he breathed it in deeply. Underneath the candy bright tones of cherries and sugar, he could make out a richer, woody undertone. 

“This is groovy!”

“What?”

“I said this is groovy!”

“You want to go see a movie?” Vox opened his eyes again and Valentino frowned, expression hopelessly adorable behind the big pink sunglasses he insisted on wearing. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”

“I know!” He pulled away from Val and began to spin his hands around one another in front of him, swaying his hips as he backed away. “I don’t care!”

Admittedly, Vox had been eager to get on board with the new craze as soon as he sniffed it out. Disco had hit the Hell clubbing landscape with record speed, and despite Alastor’s grumbling, Vox had dragged them to every club embracing the new sound. It certainly didn’t hurt that the new trend included obscene quantities of drugs as well. He could swear he got a contact high just from passing the Entertainment District’s newest disco.

He continued to dance away from Valentino, using his newly learned moves to stay just out of reach, laughing whenever Val almost caught him. “You’re going to have to move faster than that, Casanova. I’m fucking electric!”

To prove his point, he zapped himself into the bright lights shining into the swirling mirror ball hanging from the ceiling, only to rematerialize behind Val and spin him around. Purple and gold light glittered around the room and Vox could practically taste Val’s pheromones on his tongue as he dipped him low. Val clutched at his shoulders in surprise.

“Vox!”

“I’m so fucking wasted right now!” He cackled madly, eye swirling exactly twice before he remembered to stop it. “Whoops, fuck!”

He snapped them both upright again, twirling Val around without remorse before flinging him away from his body. Vox caught his hand at the last moment to stop him from being launched into the increasingly wary crowd. The moth demon has the sense of mind to twist his hand free before Vox was on the move again. Which was totally fine because Vox was in the mood to show off.

Shit, he could do this all night. The pounding music and cocaine had erased most thought from his mind, leaving only euphoria behind. Silver sparkles of light glinted off the tips of his claws and his skin was warm beneath his clothes. The snap of the electrical current pulsed around him, wrapping around his body and licking at his skin like a lover. It thrummed relentlessly from the very floor he was standing on, vibrating up through his legs.

This was part of what he had been working so hard towards – the money and the freedom to lose himself without consequence. Nobody in this club had a doubt who he was, and nobody was stupid enough to try anything with the freshly minted Overlord. He was still somewhat of an unknown to most Sinners, so they only watched curiously as he let loose, murmuring to themselves.

It certainly didn’t hurt his image to have one of the hottest demons in Pentagram City clinging to him while he danced him mercilessly around the dance floor.

“Vox!” He caught Valentino’s wrist and yanked him close again. There was the softest squeak and, shit, if Vox wasn’t already buzzing with excitement, that was enough to get him going. He leered up at Val.

“Yeah, Papi?”

Valentino winced. “You stepped on my foot.”

“Oh, shit, did I?” He looked down in surprise.

“Mind if I cut in?”

For what might have been the first and possibly last time ever, Valentino gave the Radio Demon a relieved look. He pulled himself away from Vox as Alastor smirked. Val waved an impatient hand in Alastor’s direction, studying his scuffed heel with disdain. “He’s all yours.”

“Aw, but we were dancing,” Vox pouted, trying to catch some part of the moth demon before he could escape. Val slipped out of his grasp and limped off, muttering under his breath.

Vox gulped when Alastor caught his wrist and yanked him in close enough that all he could see were Alastor’s brilliant crimson eyes. Oh. Suddenly, losing Val didn’t seem like such a tragedy as he felt the Radio Demon’s strong hand at the small of his back, pulling him in so close that Vox could’ve wept at the sudden relief of finally feeling wanted. It didn’t even matter if he was, if he could just keep Alastor’s gaze fixed on him like this.

“Noone said you had to stop.”

His hands pressed up against Alastor’s shoulders and his mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Don’t want to stop.”

The older man’s head tilted, an impossibly fond expression flitting across his face before it brightened into a manic grin. He flicked a sharp claw against Vox’s antenna, chuckling at the small sound that slipped from his lips.

“Then let’s cut a rug, Vox.”

Dancing with the Radio Demon was much more… athletic than dancing with Valentino, who tended to sweep him along in a fashion designed almost exclusively to turn him on. There was certainly something to be said about being seduced on the dance floor, but sometimes a man just wanted to dance. At least, he did.

As he struggled to keep up, Vox wasn’t surprised that Alastor had learned most of the modern dances. He was always such a stick in the mud about anything new but had surprised Vox so many times by learning the latest dances on the sly that Vox now took it for granted that Alastor would just already know each new step.

The pulsing beat of the music eased, and Vox sighed, relaxing in Alastor’s arms. This was good, being pulled back in and resting some of his weight against his partner’s body. Alastor’s smile softened and he pulled Vox into a slow waltz.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Vox considered that. One of Alastor’s hands was holding his while the other was pressed against the middle of his back. Even if the entire building were to burn down around them, and there was always a better than good chance of that, this was easily one of the best nights of his afterlife. Without thinking, Vox leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Alastor’s.

The older man’s mouth opened in a soft gasp of surprise and Vox pressed forward, flicking his tongue against Alastor’s lips. There was a moment when Alastor’s body moved closer, pressing his hand insistently against Vox’s back. Vox wondered if it was possible to swoon with enough stimulants in his blood stream to keep an elephant awake for a month. He swept his hand up and around Alastor’s shoulders, desperate to eliminate any space between them.

When Alastor loosened his grip and pulled back, Vox’s heart jolted with a sudden unnamed fear. He felt his face flushing pink and only stared as Alastor’s ears pressed down against his head. No.

“M’sorry,” he said quickly, feeling like an idiot when he couldn’t bring himself to lower his arms. Maybe Alastor would change his mind, he dared to hope.

But Alastor only shook his head. He pulled away and Vox’s good mood rapidly dropped along with his arms. An icy chill ran down his spine as Alastor’s expression drew in tightly, face darkening.

He’d fucked up. Shit, again. Always fucking this up. “Al…”

“No, it isn’t you, my dear. This… this was a bad idea.”

“A bad idea?”

Alastor’s face brightened so suddenly that Vox flinched. The deer demon’s ears snapped back upright. “Why don’t we get you another drink? You must be thirsty!”

Vox allowed himself to lead the bar, blinking in confusion. Like nothing had happened, Alastor handed him another drink with a smile and Vox found himself smiling shakily back.

He wasn’t sure how many drinks he gulped down before he realized that Alastor had disappeared back into the crowd again. He wondered if he had been left alone, a slight thrill of apprehension thrumming in his chest at the thought of being completely on his own, surrounded by strange demons, half out of his mind on booze and coke.

His eyes fell upon Valentino, who had ventured back out onto the dance floor with a less manic partner, and the tension in his shoulders eased minutely. He resumed his drinking, feeling oddly comforted knowing that there was at least one friendly demon in the crowd.

An hour, maybe more, passed before Vox set his glass on the bar top and blinked blearily at the bartender who regarded him with increasingly hostile scowls.

Between the coke and the pills and the tequila (so much tequila, why he had drunk so much tequila, he didn’t even like it that much), Vox was higher than he had ever been in either life or afterlife. Fuck, maybe it was the result of his very confusing dance with Alastor, but now he was suddenly horny, too. He shifted his weight slightly, looking around.

And was immediately flooded with disappointment. Val was all the way on the other side of the club; he would never be able to make it back over there again. He was stuck to languish forever, propped against the bar. He attempted to wave, hoping to catch the moth demon’s attention, and only succeeded in smacking himself on the side of the head.

“Sad,” he grumbled, swaying slightly on his feet. Ugh. Did anyone else taste that? He smacked his lips together a few times and sighed.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few minutes, he could manage to move enough to find a seat. But probably not. The likelihood of crashing face first to the dubiously sticky floor of the Forbidden Fruit was high. Maybe as high as he was.

“Heh, funny guy,” he breathed, running his hand over his screen. “You shhh-ould be on television.”

He lurched to one side with all the grace of a newly born foal as the bartender slammed a glass of water down beside him.

“Drink some fucking water, idiot.”

Vox gave him a very menacing squint and picked up the glass. Or, tried to. It took a few swipes before he wrapped his hand around it and raised it halfway to his face. “You d-dxz-rink some water.”

“You are a fucking idiot.”

When Vox’s eyes managed to focus on the speaker, he cocked a smile at the pretty Sinner seated beside him at the bar. Her legs were crossed, skirt tugged tightly over the swell of her bare thighs. Oh. Well, that was good.

“Thank you.” He grinned widely, pressed the rim of the glass to his face, and took a big swallow. Massively overestimating his capacity to drink anything not in a shot glass, Vox gagged; half of the mouthful dribbled down his screen and onto his shirt. He scrambled to wipe the water from his shirt with a curse. She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Shit!”

“Charming.”

He listed towards the bar a bit, but didn’t even need anyone’s help to correct himself. “You… are a foxy lady.”

She snorted and gave him a once over. “I’ve been told.”

“Let me…?” Vox’s voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought. Was his head usually this warm? He should find a thermometer – did he have time to find a drugstore? Did Alastor already have one at home… didn’t seem like something he would keep just laying around, but Alastor was so fucking weird sometimes, so maybe he did. Vox should – well, there was something he should do. He should –

“Let you what?”

His attention snapped back, eyes dilating. He giggled. “We should have relations.”

“Oh, my.” A hand slapped his forehead, and he realized he had pitched forward for a kiss. He sputtered with indignation. “You are really fucked up, huh?”

He nodded. Yes. Yes, he was. “But ‘m not… even w-wxz-orried about it.”

She looked him over then sighed. “Can you even get it up?”

“What?”

“You don’t have whiskey dick?”

She pointed to his crotch and Vox squinted. “Didn’ even d-dzx-rink whiskey. Husk took it all. For himself.” He scoffed emphatically. “Asshole.”

“OK, then.” She glanced at the bartender who held up his hands, absolving himself of any responsibility over the intoxicated Overlord. She caught him by the wrist and tiny hearts lit up in Vox’s eyes. “God, it’s a good thing I like pathetic.”

“I am pathetic,” he agreed, following behind her like a puppy. As they walked (stumbled), he caught a glimpse of Valentino, now swaying on the dance floor. He gave the moth demon an enthusiastic thumbs up and Val burst out laughing.

“Babe, baby. Sugar. Sugar pie, honey bunch. You know that I love you. I can’t help myself; I love you and nobody else.” Vox smacked the side of his head with a resounding thump, cutting the musical interlude short. “I’ll be so pathetic for you.”

She led him to a dark alcove and spun him around to face the wall. Vox swayed at the sudden change of direction and pressed his hands up against the wall to steady himself. The blonde Sinner pressed against his back without hesitation, slender hands resting on his waist. He giggled as her lips pressed against the back of his neck.

“You’re going to stand there and be a good boy, yes?”

Vox nodded eagerly. “Very good. So good. You’ve n-xzz-ever seen anyone gooder.”

“Excellent,” she purred. Sharp claws ran over his shirt, threatening to snag against the soft threads, before tugging the hem up around his waist. He blinked. “Let Mommy take care of you.”

If Vox moaned at that, he wasn’t ever going to admit it. He really… well, he had really developed some new kinks since meeting Valentino, but this was certainly a surprise. Or maybe it wasn’t. He really couldn’t tell anymore.

She was quick to unbutton his trousers and draw them down his thighs. She palmed him through his underwear and Vox groaned. One of his hands shot backwards to fumble at her hip, pulling her flush against him.

“Relax,” she whispered. “I’m going to fuck you, but you have to be patient, sweetheart.”

“No,” Vox complained. “Just do it.”

He sagged against the wall and lost himself in the sensation of her hand stroking him to hardness, mind fogging over with lust and the literal pharmacy flowing through his veins. Everything felt very nice. Ten out of ten, he would recommend.

“Killjoy. Katie Killjoy.”

Vox gulped as she tugged his underwear down and kicked his ankles further apart. “Katie?”

“Don’t you want a name to call when you come?”

“Yes,” he whimpered. He tried to look back over his shoulder. “L-love you.”

“Shut up,” she laughed, pushing his face back towards the wall. Vox frowned in disappointment.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and marveled at the taste of tequila still on his tongue. It was just barely there, hiding away under the taste of tomato and cheese. When did he have tomatoes? He tried to twist around again to ask but instead let out a very undignified squeak as something slick pressed against him for a moment before working its way inside.

“Wha-xxz-t?” he managed as her hand slipped around his waist to settle against his stomach, steadying him. “Doing ba-xz-ck t-there?”

“Shh, babydoll.” Warm fingers pressed against his stomach, nails curling against his skin with just the slightest threat of pain. Fuck, he was so confused. “I told you I was going to fuck you.”

Oh.

“Oh!”

He watched as the exposed brick of the wall began to swirl around, tiny little bursts of light jumping from its rough surface to flutter past his face. One coalesced into what Vox’s addled brain suspected was supposed to be the shape of fairy, but like not a fairy fairy, right? Not a proper fairy. Maybe that cartoon fairy? What was it again? He had taken the kids to see it in the theater.

“‘ink’bell-er.” He groaned, vaguely aware of his hips moving. “You ‘member that?”

Katie shushed him and Vox obeyed with an indignant grunt. Fine, he would stay quiet then. It wasn’t like he actually wanted to have a conversation. Fuck him for being polite.

“Tryin’ to help,” he groused and shuddered when something inside him lit up like a Sinsmas tree on fire. His air raid siren blared for a second before he got it back under control. “‘s not emergency, babe. Foxy mama. She’s… b-zxx-rick. House.”

“Just shut up,” she growled against the back of his neck and bit down just hard enough to make him lurch forward and snap his face against the wall.

To say that his orgasm came out of nowhere was an understatement. One minute he was completely minding his own business and the next his body seized up, a wordless whimper falling from his mouth. Cheerful crowds applauded around him while a game show bell dinged wildly. His claws scored long marks down the brick wall as his screen flickered on and off, not quite sure whether he might like to be unconscious or not.

Sparks flew from his antennae as he struggled to regain at least some sense of orientation. He whined and pressed his face against the rough brick, not completely convinced he hadn’t just died again.

Open mouthed kisses peppered along the back of his neck and Vox flinched against the wall, suddenly remembering the pretty Sinner behind him. She dragged her nails up his stomach to his chest and he shook his head, completely overstimulated. Her laughter rang out too noisily behind him.

“You are adorable.” Her fingers slipped from inside him and Vox hissed at the sudden movement. “You know that? It’s not fair. For such a dick, you really don’t have the right to be so cute when you’re being fucked.”

He mumbled something unintelligible, grateful for her weight behind him otherwise his suddenly weak knees would’ve tumbled him straight to the floor. She wrapped her arm around his waist and held him firm. He closed his eyes, hoping that she would just stay still and hold him in place. If he focused, he could even pretend that it was another demon cradling him close through the afterglow.

“I didn’t even think to look for you.” He hummed unhappily. Couldn’t she just give him a minute to make believe? Fuck, his head was starting to throb. “Just went about my business and who do I see on the evening news? A flat-faced idiot with a very recognizable voice.”

“‘m on the… thing.” He sighed, refusing to open his eyes. “E’ry night.”

“Yes, you are.” Her arms tightened around him, and for just a moment, he imagined he could feel the familiar weight of Alastor’s arms. “The Voice of Pentagram City, now. Not so very different from topside.”

It took a long time for that to filter through the drugs. Eventually, however, a neuron fired correctly, and Vox blinked his eyes open in confusion.

“What?”

“Sweetheart, did you think this was the first time I’ve been inside you?” A surge of panicked adrenaline shot through his bloodstream and Vox tried to push away from the wall, suddenly frantic. She held tight. “Relax, babydoll. I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not right now.”

“Let go,” he pushed harder; she stepped back with a sigh, letting him turn around. Still unsteady, he slumped against the wall. He scanned her face, struggling to make any meaningful connection. “W-who?”

She laughed at that, a sharp sudden sound that made him cringe. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t recognize me.” She tapped her finger against the place where he would have had a nose. “Death really did change a few things.”

“S’true,” he offered. Always better to agree with crazy people, especially when they had you back against a wall with your pants down. “My head’s a tele… tele… a box now.”

Katie regarded him with a smirk. “Yes, sweetheart. A very cute box, too.”

“ ‘m your sweet… pie?” He wiped his face, confusion making the few thoughts he had managed to corral scatter again. “No, that’s not – s’not it.”

“I’ll give you a hint, how about that?” She eyed him affectionately. “The first time we fucked, we did it on your desk and it was so ridiculously hot in your office that your notes for the next day’s broadcast kept getting stuck to you.”

“Sounds bad.” Vox closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall. It was still hot, down here. In this club. Nothing ever changes. With his pants bunched down around his knees and –

He jolted, eyes snapping back open. “George.”

She laughed, sounding so fucking giddy that he wanted to scream. Well, maybe she didn’t sound giddy so much as his head was now spinning for an entirely different reason. “In the flesh!”

“Oh… oh, fuck m’ life.”

“Well, I don’t think I have the patience for that.” She tilted her head to the side, eyes looking him over. He had seen that look on Alastor and Rosie’s faces often enough to know the look of predator when he saw it. “We should get you back to your friends.”

“Val’s over…” He turned his head, trying to get a good look at the dance floor. Thank Lucifer Val was a tall motherfucker. Vox smiled, half fond, when he was able to pick out the fluffy antennae floating above the rest of the crowd then clicked his tongue in irritation. “I can’t dance.”

“I bet you can’t.” She caught his head and turned it back to her. His eyes dilated reflexively. “Bet you couldn’t even walk over there without falling on your face. Why, anyone could do anything to you, and you wouldn’t even be able to stop them.”

“That’s…” He narrowed his eyes and found enough coordination in his arms to give her a small push backwards. She obliged with a vicious grin. “That’s not true.”

“Are you going to pull up your pants, or do I need to help you?”

What? Oh, shit.

“I can do it myself,” Vox sulked and reached down to unsuccessfully grasp the waistband of his trousers. After several attempts, Katie finally batted his hands away.

“Really, you’re just too much, babydoll.”

Notes:

CW: recreational drug use, copious amounts of alcohol, smut. There is dubious consent with the smut (see the drug and alcohol warning).

Chapter 10: sweet dreams are made of these, who am I to disagree?

Notes:

content warning at the end of the chapter

1988


“Just a little bit more. Just a little bit…”

“Daddy, have you heard this one before?”

Lucifer’s hand jerked and the delicate pair of red lips turned into a grimacing snarl. The duck he had been creating for his wife now looked less like the elegant Queen of Hell and more like the Queen of Hell if she had been shooting Yaeger bombs until three in the morning only to be up again for an eight o’clock meeting.

Charlie yelped as she careened into his workshop and against one of the tables, sending a pile of ducks crashing to the floor. Lucifer whirled around, holding up his hand at her to stop. “Ducks down, Charlie!”

“Oops!”

He scampered forward, scooping ducks into his arms and trying to ignore the fact that Charlie was helping with equal fervor. He knew he ought to admonish her about being more dignified and behave in a manner befitting her station, but wow, wouldn’t that be the pot calling the kettle black? Not even the regular kind of black, but one of those ones that just sucks all the light into the universe deep inside. Crushing light and hope and goodness into a single miserable point…

Hmm.

“What is it, Charlie?” he asked, struggling to inject more life into his voice than he felt. Her eyes were bright with passion and that really shouldn’t have made it more difficult, but how could he possibly explain to her that it sometimes felt like every ounce of enthusiasm bubbling through her had been drained directly from his own veins?

“Listen!”

Lucifer jumped as music flooded in around him. Oh. She was getting better at that.

“Charlie, please.” He scrambled to readjust his hold on the pile of ducks in his arms. Several were threatening to swan dive back to the floor. Good riddance to the world and all that. “I’m trying to do something.”

She swept forward, blonde hair bouncing in the high ponytail that she had tied back in. It swished back and forth like it was an entirely separate entity from the Princess of Hell and might be considering another vocation. He watched its hypnotic sway for a moment before looking into his daughter’s eyes.

“Just one dance, Daddy.” She turned the full power of her puppy dog eyes on him and that wasn’t fair at all. He could feel his resolve melting, not that it been especially sturdy in the first place. “Please?”

“I don’t know…” She added the tiniest of whimpers, delicate and pleading. Lucifer called it. Game, set, match. “All right, but just one dance.”

Charlie squealed and clapped her hands. She snatched half the pile of ducks from his arms and dumped them unceremoniously back on the workbench. Lucifer hastily began to replace the remaining ducks, trying to sort out the mess before Charlie caught his wrist and the music increased in volume.


There’s never been a dance that’s so easy to do
It even makes you happy when you’re feeling blue


“I’m not going to do it right,” Lucifer chuckled as she pulled him forward.

“Oh, it’s easy.”

As Charlie tried to teach him the Locomotion, Lucifer felt some of the darkness hanging around his workshop loosen its grip. Oh, maybe today she was going to be a balm to his crushing depression instead of a reminder of everything he had ruined. He smiled as she swung her hips back and forth in time to the music.

“Like this,” she instructed, with a jump. She stretched her arms out in front of her and pulled them back in a rowing motion, bending her knees a little. She spun and grabbed his hands with her own. He let out a small squeak of surprise as he was pushed away then twirled back in.

Her enthusiasm was almost contagious, but he had never been a fan of modern Sinner music. Sure, after a couple of centuries, it might grow on him. Charlie was so passionate about getting her fingers on any modern Earth music she could that the time was shrinking between when he was first introduced to something new to when he could tolerate it or even like it. Give him a break, he was still trying to understand the appeal of jazz and she introduced him to that decades ago.

Lucifer slipped away with an awkward laugh. “You’ve almost got it, Dad.”

He willed the volume to lower, giving Charlie an indulgent smile. “Maybe we can practice this some other time.”

Charlie’s gaze darted to the duck propped up in a metal vice with nearly imperceptible speed, but the literal Devil in Hell could spot the movement a mile away. Lucifer blushed as a creeping shame threatened to come over him. He knew he had been spending too much time on his hobby, but it sometimes felt like the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Not that he wouldn’t mind loosening that tether a little but he had too many responsibilities to neglect to go completely off his rocker.

“I should finish getting ready for tonight anyways,” Charlie said, brushing a stray strand of hair back from her face. He nodded, taking a step back from her.

“Yeah, that would be good.” He started to turn then froze. “Wait, what’s tonight?”

He could see Charlie shift her weight from one foot to the other, sharp upper teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “You know that the party’s tonight, Dad.”

Party? He wracked his brain, struggling to find the file labeled “Daughter’s Social Life,” and came up with absolutely nothing. He could already see her irritation begin to rise and let out a laugh.

“Oh, the party. Must’ve slipped my mind, what with everything I’ve got going on around here.” There was a long, mournful squeak as the pile of ducks shifted and a single duck fell to the floor. They both glanced at the traitorous duck before Lucifer snatched it up and vanished it in the blink of an eye.

“Right.” Charlie shifted her weight again, drawing the word out while she clearly tried to piece together her next sentence. “So, you’re still all right with me going to the party in the Doomsday District tonight?”

Doomsday District? He didn’t know of anything in that district worth going to, but-

Oh, no. It was one of those Sinner parties, wasn’t it? Popping up in a burnt-out warehouse, just for the night so that no respectable Sinner (relatively speaking) had anything to lose if it happened to explode in the middle of a shindig.

But, yeah, no. He was left, wrong, and whatever else was the opposite of all right about her going to a Sinner party, of all things.

“Charlie, it’s not that I don’t trust you-”

“I knew it!” Her hands curled into fists at her sides and Lucifer cringed. He doubted this was a fire and brimstone kind of tantrum brewing inside her, but he hoped she would just back down without a fuss, without him having to manage her. “I knew you were going to go back on your word.”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“You promised you’d be cool about this!” Charlie’s horns began to grow with her rage, fire sweeping up around her.

Lucifer closed his eyes. In what other possible ways could he explain how vile and vicious Sinners were and that any party of theirs was bound to be an orgy of blood and violence in way that she would understand? They had tried to keep her shielded from as much as they could. After everything, it felt like an innate reflex to hide her away in the palace, safe from all the evil lurking beyond its doors.

“Charlie, we’re just trying to keep you safe.”

She sputtered. “Dad, I’m the Princess of Hell! How am I supposed to learn anything about ruling it if you won’t even let me leave the palace?”

“What’s all this?” They both turned as Lilith appeared in the doorway, no doubt drawn by Charlie’s shouting. Her brow was wrinkled ever so slightly with concern, but she drew herself up to her full height at the sight of Charlie’s demonic features.

“Oh, nothing, Mom,” Charlie replied bitterly. “Just Dad reminding me why they call him Father of Lies.”

“Uncalled for,” he muttered.

“It’s one stupid party!” His daughter’s tail lashed behind her. “I don’t understand why you never let me do anything unless you make sure it’s been completely sanitized first. I’m not a baby!”

Lucifer couldn’t seem to make his mouth move and shot a helpless glance at his wife. Lilith stared down at their daughter impassively before speaking.

“Princess Charlotte Morningstar,” she began, and Charlie flinched. Damn, Lil, whipping out the full name treatment right off the bat. He sometimes forgot that Queen of Hell wasn’t just a title for his wife. “As a member of this family, you are expected to uphold the dignity of your station and title. What do you think the Goetia, or the Sins, would think of you deigning to keep company with Sinners?”

“But they’re our people,” she protested, voice wobbling. Lilith’s eyes sparked.

“To rule over,” Lilith replied sharply. “Not to socialize with and befriend.”

“But Mom–”

“This conversation is over, Princess.”

Charlie looked to him for help, forgetting that only moments before the argument had been between them. Lucifer adverted his eyes as his daughter snarled in frustration and stormed from the room. The silence that filled the room in her wake was tangible.

He sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but Lilith held up her hand sharply. “You told her that she could go to that party?”

“Ah, no. No, I did not.” Charlie had mentioned it days ago and, in a now admittedly foolish attempt to avoid conflict, he had hemmed and hawed around the question, never quite granting her permission but not forbidding her either. Lucifer fiddled with his shirt cuffs. “No, I more specifically didn’t tell her that she couldn’t go.”

“Lucifer,” she breathed and shook her head. Half-expecting another outburst, he grit his teeth as she crossed the room before falling with obscene grace into one of the overstuffed armchairs. “What are we going to do with her?”

There’s the million-dollar question. It wasn’t as though Charlie was all that much trouble, comparatively speaking. Not like the children of some of the other Hellborn nobility. No, she was surprisingly sweet and kind, more celestial than demonic and was that any wonder? After all her years spent swaddled in soft opulence, she had no reason to be anything but the gentle girl that she was.

Lucifer could feel a headache coming on. “It’s not going to be like it was before.”

“At the rate she’s going-”

He bristled unconsciously. He glanced over at her. “No. It’s different. She’s different.”

Lilith’s expression softened and damn, if the sudden sadness effusing from her face wasn’t enough to bring his depression crashing back in full force, he didn’t know what was. He crossed the room quickly, dropping to his knees and taking her hands in his own.

“It’s Charlie.” Lilith’s gaze flickered to his before skittering away like a frightened animal. “She’s special.”

“What if she isn’t?” His stomach wrenched inside of him, and it was a good thing that he didn’t technically need to breathe because he found himself forgetting how to draw air into his lungs. Lilith swallowed hard and pulled her hands from his carefully. “I don’t think I can make it through all that again.”

No, he couldn’t either. The Fall had left them beaten and battered, almost too weak to pull themselves back up but they had. They had overcome those odds, and wasn’t it just lovely that it was in time to watch the humans that they had Fallen for begin to plummet down after them? His mind would never be able to erase the look on Lilith’s face when the first descendants of Adam and Eve crashed down to the bottom of the Pit.

And after everything else…

“Lucifer, tell me that it won’t happen again.” She cupped his face in her hands, drawing him up close. “Promise me we won’t have to make those same decisions again.”

No, he couldn’t promise that.

“She’s special,” he repeated, voice small in his uncertainty.

 

*

 

It was nearly two in the morning when she summoned him.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be awake in the wee hours of the night, far from it, and this night was no different. A completely regular, average kind of night preceded by an entirely quiet, uneventful evening. Save perhaps for the fact that instead of sleeping in his own bed, Vox was curled up on the living room couch, still fully clothed.

As much as Vox proclaimed to be the reigning star of late night, he tended to go to bed much earlier than Alastor, or even Niffty, whenever he had the chance. It was a habit that Alastor secretly found endearing even if he teased the younger man about it whenever he caught Vox slipping into his bedroom, clearly ready to sleep by ten o’clock.

Frankly, Alastor had expected him to turn in hours ago, but he had been so wrapped up in his own book that he hadn’t noticed when the television demon had fallen asleep, magazines spread around him. He hadn’t spared them much attention, save to note the strange machines on the glossy covers, before using a portal to drop them back onto the desk in Vox’s office.

He chuckled quietly when he noticed that Niffty had taken Vox’s unconsciousness as an invitation to snuggle up against his legs like a particularly vicious housecat lulled to rest on the warmth that he generated. Her hair was haloed around her head in a tangled mess and the soft fabric of her nightgown rode up on her tiny legs. Alastor adjusted her sleepwear with a flick of his wrist, thought about it for a moment, then switched out Vox’s t-shirt and jeans for a set of pajamas.

Well, that was better. He would be much more comfortable like that. Vox always complained whenever Alastor used his magic to switch out his outfits, but Alastor was too chuffed whenever the Television Overlord sputtered helplessly in protest to stop. Besides, some of the things that Vox put on his body were so atrocious that Alastor was really doing him a favor, even if he didn’t see it that way.

Niffty made a soft snuffling noise and rolled onto her side, pressing her face against the soft flannel covering Vox’s legs. Her small hands reached out to cling to his leg and the domesticity of it made Alastor smile, something warm blooming in his own long dead heart.

Alastor summoned a handmade quilt to keep the other Overlord warm while he slept, careful to slip it under Niffty. No sense in smothering her in her sleep – she would just regenerate in a foul mood and Alastor didn’t want to spend the next day hiding away while she stabbed anything that dared to move in her presence.

Vox rolled over, legs jostling Niffty just enough for her to stretch out her own limbs in sleepy protest before readjusting herself against him. Soft, scratchy music played from Vox’s head, intermingled with the voices of commercials filmed long ago. The gentle curve of his glass face was mostly dark with the occasional blip of gray-white static fizzing over it.

Alastor stood, intending to readjust the quilt, which had slid down to the younger man’s chest when he rolled over. He stopped short as the general brown noise of Vox’s sleeping body prickled and focused into a discernable melody.


You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
I’m telling you why


Vox’s face became more pronounced amongst the static, a sure sign that he was waking up. His brows furrowed and his mouth twisted into a grimace. A stray spark leapt from his antenna.

Not again.

Alastor sighed heavily, sitting down on the couch beside Vox’s now trembling body. It had been years and Alastor only knew that Vox hated this specific song, but never why. With no answer as to why the younger Overlord had nightmares with it playing in his head, Alastor was forced to ignore when he could and soothe when he couldn’t.

“Shh, my dear.” Alastor closed his eyes and gently tapped into their shared frequency, not surprised that Vox’s signal was becoming increasingly erratic. He released a few sharp bursts of static to draw the other man’s unconscious attention before easing him back to sleep with gentle white noise. Alastor opened his eyes to watch Vox’s face relax, fading back into his normal sleeping black screen. “That’s better.”

He ran a hand along the side of Vox’s head, charmed when the television demon huffed softly in his sleep and reached up to swat Alastor’s hand away like a troublesome insect. Silly picture box. He patted Vox’s arm after it settled back over the quilt, face soft with affection as he watched him sleep.

Alastor.

His head snapped up, sclera blackening in an instant. How was that possible? He had taken every precaution. He had even –

Oh, no.

With shaking hands, he pulled the layers of clothing from his midsection, jerking his undershirt up to examine the scar on his belly.

Shit. That stupid fight with Carmella’s goons this afternoon. How hadn’t he noticed before? The delicate rune he had carved into his skin with painstaking care had been torn in two by the force of the bullet that he had taken. It hadn’t been angelic steel, so he hadn’t paid it much mind, knowing full well it would heal with ease if left to its own devices. And, in fact, it had. Only the puckered pink scar tissue was enough to break the rune apart and leave him vulnerable.

Come to me.

Despite his rapidly rising terror, Alastor stood up from the couch, casting a grim look down at the two sleeping demons. He knew it would be better to deal with this now, instead of waiting, but he took the time to straighten the quilt over Vox and to summon a much smaller blanket to cover Niffty as well. Her tiny claws threaded through the loose weave of the blanket; she nuzzled her cheek down against its softness, a soft smile on her sleeping face.

Heart pounding, and with no other tasks he could reasonably use to delay the inevitable, Alastor conjured a portal and stepped through.

She stared at him with a smile on her face as he entered her realm. He had never quite been able to figure out where it was that she existed, only that it stood somewhere outside the three major realms of existence. There were other planes as well, but since they had not been studied in any sort of depth, there wasn’t much he could glean from the royal library’s pilfered volumes.

“Hello, Alastor.”

Heavy pressure swirled around him, and he tilted his chin up ever so slightly.

“My Lady.”

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve had the pleasure of your company.” She motioned for him to approach. “But you know that. You made sure of that.”

Alastor sighed. He had been hoping that the runes he had carved into his own skin as well as subtly around the places he frequented the most would be enough to keep her gaze from settling on him again. It wouldn’t have lasted for eternity, but perhaps long enough for her to grow bored with him and to move on to some other unfortunate soul.

“Forgive me, my Lady. They were general warding runes, I didn’t intend for them to make it impossible for you to locate me,” he lied, much less smoothly than he had hoped to. She chuckled.

“And, yet you didn’t attempt to seek me out?”

“Would you believe me if I said I have been very busy lately, what with all of the responsibilities of an Overlord?” he tried, hoping to lighten her mood. He doubted she’d believe him, but she did always seem so very interested whenever she compelled him to talk about any new power he had accumulated.

The pressure in the room increased and Alastor swallowed roughly as he felt his head begin to throb. This was one of her specialties, he had learned early on.

“I don’t believe that,” she replied. Sharp claws tapped against the stone throne she sat on. “I think that maybe you thought you could avoid me with your clever little magic tricks. That maybe you thought you could get around your deal if you just held me off for long enough.”

Alastor opened his mouth to respond, but the pressure in his head clamped down like a vice and he dropped to his knees with a grunt. Cradling his head between his hands, he couldn’t stop the wail of feedback that echoed through the room as blood began to pour from his nose and eye ducts.

She’d want him to beg and cry and humiliate himself and… she was going to get what she wanted.

“My Lady, please,” he gasped out wetly, blood spraying from his mouth as he tried to form coherent sentences. “I’m begging you!”

The pressure did not relent, and he was helpless to stop himself from crashing, face first, against the stone floor. That was painful, but he’d had worse. Done worse by his own hand, too. As if she could hear the very thoughts in his head, an invisible force raised his head a few inches from the floor and slammed it back down again.

He could feel his front teeth crack on impact, but that paled in comparison to feeling his own brain crushing in his skull. His lips moved, trying to beg for mercy, but only a wet gurgling sound came out. There was a final burst of crushing pain before it suddenly stopped, leaving him gasping against the hard ground, blood pooling around his head.

Oh, good. At least there wasn’t any brain matter this time.

“I’m disappointed.” Alastor closed his eyes and focused on the cool stone against his cheek. Just breathe through the worst of it. “I really thought that you understood the terms of your contract.”

She stood then and approached him, sweeping her dress aside to kneel next to him. Her hand brushed against the soft fur of his ears, and he shuddered at the coldness of her touch. No, don’t.

“I own you, little fawn.” She stroked the base of his ears with mock affection and sighed quietly. “You can try and fight me if you really want, but it’s always going to end like this. Always. Why can you not understand that?”

“I… I understand…” he managed, not opening his eyes. He tried to shift his focus from her hand to the fresh tear in his tongue, courtesy of his broken fangs, with little luck.

“Do you?” One of her claws caught on the delicate cartilage of his ear, tugging painfully enough that he hissed softly against the ground. “It’s so very hard to tell with you, Alastor. You must be one of the most frustrating souls I’ve ever owned – and I’ve owned so very, very many. You’re always talking in riddles and trying to stay two steps ahead of me.”

She pinched the soft appendage, and his eyes flew open as her claw pierced through the skin. “My Lady… please…”

“I’d be more amused with your antics if you weren’t trying to thwart my plans.” Her hand smoothed away from his head and came to rest in her own lap. “You really are quite the entertaining little thing, but I am so very tired of this prison and have no wish to remain here longer than I must. Do you understand?”

He nodded; grateful she was no longer touching him.

“Good. Then let’s talk.”

Alastor raised his head slowly, making eye contact with her. The absence of light in her eyes drew him in quickly enough to make him dizzy. He blinked and let his gaze fall back to the floor.

“Yes, of course, my Lady.” She was quiet for long enough that he ventured another peek, cringing back down at her expression. “My apologies.”

That seemed to help. She raised herself from the floor and began to walk slowly. “It’s been so long that there have been some big changes in Hell since the last time we spoke. New Overlords, from what I can tell.”

“Some,” he agreed tightly, refusing to volunteer any information. She would get the bare minimum out of him.

“It seems that your little pet is now one of them.” She chuckled quietly at the faint uptick of static. “Yes, your sweet, silly little picture box is making waves in Hell. That’s what you call him, isn’t it? Your picture box?”

“He’s nothing.” Please only mention him to needle at me.

“Oh, no?”

“He won’t last another decade.” Alastor pushed himself up, palms staying braced against the floor to ease his body’s swaying. “At least, not as an Overlord.”

“I bet you wish that were true. Then you could just go back to playing house without having to worry whether he’s becoming too powerful for you to control, hm?” Alastor winced but didn’t move. “Yes, that’s your game, isn’t it? The only people you really want to be around are those weaker than yourself.”

“That’s probably true.”

She paused. “Unfortunately for you, then, I do not want you to stand in his way.”

Fuck.

“Whyever not, my Lady?”

Her eyes glinted dangerously in the low light and Alastor winced at the aching sensation that crept under his skin. He still hadn’t figured out how she could so easily cause pain with just a thought, but it never failed to leave him both fascinated and horrified.

“What have I told you about asking questions? It is not your place to know more than what I have already told you.” She began to move again. “All you need to know is that I wish for your lover to succeed. Isn’t that enough?”

“He’s not–” Alastor smartly snapped his mouth shut, swallowing down his words. “I mean, yes, my Lady. It’s enough.”

“Good.” She settled back down on her stone throne and a glowing portal appeared by the wall. “I expect that we won’t go so long next time without a visit.”

He dragged himself to his feet, swaying slightly. “No, my Lady.”

She waved him away dismissively. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, Alastor made his way to the portal. She clicked her tongue against her teeth; he turned his head to look back at her.

“Bring me a treat next time, won’t you?”

You bitch. “Of course, my Lady.”

The moment he was back through the portal, and within the relative safety of his home, Alastor staggered into the kitchen. He stood still for a long time, trying to steady his overwrought nerves. A glance at the clock said it was nearly four-thirty in the morning. He drank a quick glass of water then vanished the blood from his body and clothes when the glass came away with bloody fingerprints.

Feeling slightly calmer, he made his way back into the living room. Dismay crossed his face when he saw that Vox was once again curled into a tight ball, face tucked against the back of the couch. Small, distressed noises crept over to Alastor’s ears; he tugged a clawed hand through his hair in frustration.

Logically, he knew that Vox wasn’t doing this on purpose, but after his latest encounter with her, his nerves were frayed. He wanted to shake the younger Sinner awake and demand that he finish the remainder of the night in his own bed, in his own room. But as he watched, something darker unfurled itself in his mind.

He could kill the younger man, right here, right now, and be done with it. It wasn’t like it would be hard to do, either. Overlord or not, Vox trusted him. Trusted him enough to sleep openly in front of him, not seeming to understand just how easy it would be for Alastor to take advantage of that trust. Such a stupid, pathetic little man. Such a waste of Alastor's worry and fear.

His hand tensed into a fist as he watched Vox’s body shift slightly, a choked whimper falling from his mouth. One metal tipped hand slid up to his head, raking down the side as though to comb through hair that no longer existed.

All Alastor needed to do was summon an angelic blade. He would press it down against Vox’s neck, where the blood flow would be impossible to stop, angelic weaponry or not. He would make sure that the cut would be fast and deep, merciful in one way, at least. Vox might not even understand what was happening before the blood was drained from his body and the light behind his screen went out forever.

Alastor could feel his bones shift, antlers pushing themselves out of his skull, at the prospect of a fresh kill. His mouth filled with saliva and his own blood began to pump harder through his veins. He opened his hand, readying himself to summon the blade.

But as that cheerful song began to play a little louder, beginning to drown out the garbled static that usually accompanied Vox’s sleep, Alastor froze in horror. He blinked the darkness from his eyes with a jolt, surprised at how quickly his thoughts had spiraled out of control. No.

Standing stock still, he breathed heavily until he felt the gathering bloodlust drain from his body, disgust taking its place. Alastor stumbled back a step, closing his eyes against the wave of exhaustion that threatened to overtake him.

Vox whimpered again, louder this time, and Alastor opened his eyes to watch the younger man jostle Niffty as he shifted restlessly. She made a quiet, unhappy noise, flailing her tiny arms in her sleep.

Alastor groaned softly and made his way over to the couch.

“Shh, Vox. I’m sorry,” he murmured, not sure if the younger man could even hear him. Hoping he couldn’t hear him. “Don’t…  please go back to sleep.”

Lifting the corner of the quilt, Alastor slid down beside Vox, curling up tightly behind him. He wrapped the younger man in his arms, eyes closing in defeat when he heard Vox gasp softly before jerking himself awake.

“No, please don’t–” Vox’s voice cut off abruptly. Beneath his hands, Alastor could feel the television demon’s heart racing against his palms. He pressed his forehead to the back of Vox’s neck, trying to catch his signal before he lashed out in terror. After a few seconds, the younger man’s hands came up to settle over his own, his breathing still too hard, too fast for Alastor’s comfort.

“Al?”

“Shh, my dear. It was only a nightmare.”

Vox clutched at him for a long few minutes while his breathing gradually slowed, and he relaxed back against Alastor’s chest. “Sorry.”

Unable to reply to the softness of Vox’s unnecessary apology, Alastor slipped one hand up over the top of Vox’s and gave it a squeeze. It was so much easier to keep pulsing static through their signal than to speak and he focused on sending soothing white noise through their shared signal until Vox gradually fell limp against him. His hands did not stop clinging to Alastor's, even as he slipped into what the older man hoped was a dreamless sleep.

What an absolutely miserable night.

Knowing he’d have to wake up and disentangle himself from the younger man before Niffty woke up in the morning, Alastor let himself tumble into a troubled slumber, holding his picture box close.

Notes:

CW: canon-typical level of violence. Alastor has a less than pleasant evening.

Chapter 11: there’s a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you’re around

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

1990

“Did you tell him eight?”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “Yes, Husker. I told him eight.”

Husk took a drag on his cigar. “So, why isn’t he here? I could be doing other shit, you know.” He pointed the lit end at Alastor. “Also, dickhead, don’t call me that.”

“Hmm.”

Truthfully, Alastor didn’t care one way or another if Husk was being inconvenienced by Vox’s tardiness. The gambler liked to complain – thrived on it, really. Give him something to gripe about and Husk was happily miserable. Really, he was doing the grumpy old cat a favor. Alastor checked his pocket watch. 8:16 PM.

It wasn’t like Vox to be running late. He was usually early – obnoxiously, problematically so. It had taken Alastor some time to convince the younger man that showing up nearly an hour before they had agreed to meet at the radio studio was not only inconvenient, but, depending on the show that Alastor had planned for the evening, dangerous. One just never knew when one’s victim might break free from their binds and try to stab their way to freedom. He’d used that particular instance as a teachable moment, stitching Vox up with no unnecessary gentleness.

He wouldn’t admit it, but Alastor was starting to worry. Vox was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and he was under no illusion that the television demon was helpless. Hadn’t Alastor watched him evolve for decades now – adapting himself from the wide-eyed, inexplicably sweet little creature that had landed in Hell into a frightfully competent Overlord? Why, just last week, he’d talked circles around Carmilla until she had threatened to ban him from the Overlord meetings for a month.

Alastor had felt a surge of pride when Vox had waited until her back was turned before sneaking a peek at the Radio Demon to give him a cheeky little wink.

Still, that didn’t stop his brain from dredging up worst case scenarios.

To date, Vox still hadn’t revealed anything about his disappearance. Any attempt at conversation (or, in Alastor’s case, unabashed prying) ended with Vox either shutting down in stony silence or excusing himself from the room entirely. It was very clear to Alastor that whatever had happened, wherever he had been, had left the younger Sinner deeply, perhaps irrevocably, traumatized.

The snarling creature inside his chest wanted to protect, but he wasn’t always sure the best way to go about doing that. He knew how to use that instinct when the obvious course of action involved violence and bloodshed, but how was he supposed to deal with an aggressor not physically present? He didn’t even have the monsters residing in Vox’s head to fight right now, just his own gnawing anxiety.

And that was to say nothing of her growing interest in Vox.

“Ah, sorry! Sorry, guys!”

Alastor snapped his pocket watch closed, eyes narrowing as Vox approached. Adjusting the blue and purple monstrosity that he called a windbreaker, the younger Sinner certainly seemed to be in high spirits. Not entirely certain how he managed it without ears, Alastor sighed at the dark aviator sunglasses covering the television demon’s eyes.

“About fucking time,” Husk huffed, acting for all the world like he had somewhere else to be. Alastor rolled his eyes. Poor delusional Husk. “Some of us have afterlives.”

“Well, don’t hold that against us, Husk,” Alastor deadpanned, earning himself an annoyed glare. He turned his attention to Vox. “Where have you been?”

“It’s only…” Vox stopped short and glanced at his wristwatch. Oh, no, how hadn’t Alastor noticed that before? It was plastic and… neon. Honestly, where was he finding these horrible little accessories? “I’m only fifteen minutes late.”

“Punctuality is the art of showing respect, to yourself and to others.”

Vox’s expression shifted subtly. “Yeah, okay, Emily Post. I said I was sorry. Calm down.” He looked at Husk, seemingly ignoring the way Alastor’s fingers tightened around the top of his microphone. “We gonna do this?”

Sweeping a hand towards the door, Husk rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

“Trust me, you won’t regret it!” Vox walked quickly into the casino, disappearing amongst the swirls of cigarette smoke and the clanging of slot machines. With an air of carefully cultivated boredom, Husk followed behind. Alastor sighed before entering the casino.

Truthfully, Husk has done a good job in replicating the living world’s Sin City. Not that Alastor would know personally, of course, but he had it on good authority – he had eaten another gambler a few months ago who was surprisingly forthcoming with knowledge of the living world in between screams for mercy.

He trailed Vox and Husk, who were now talking as they slipped into a private booth near the back corner of the main room. Cozy, secluded. Perfect for conducting business, and other less than savory, deals. He slid in beside Vox who passed him a copy of a meticulously typed contract.

“It isn’t a soul contract,” Vox prefaced before handing a copy to Husk. “Just a standard contract for services rendered.”

Husk snubbed out his cigar and glanced at the front page before leaning back against the booth. “You really think that your show can bring in more foot traffic?”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt, Husker,” Alastor cut in before Vox could speak. “Vox’s little show might not have quite the same reach as mine, but he has a few loyal viewers.”

Vox’s expression tightened. “Well, more than a few. It’s one of the top watched late-night shows. We’re projecting to overtake our top competitors in the coming quarter."

“On television,” Alastor said airily. “Can’t really compare those numbers to anything radio is able to accomplish. Why, they’ll let just about anyone on television nowadays!” He laughed and gestured toward the contract. “You’ll see that advertising on my show is included in the contract stipulations. That should really get the right people’s attention.”

“Yeah, but the television spots are the focus of this contract.” Vox’s hand curled into a fist on the tabletop before relaxing, clearly painfully aware of his body language. A single spark flew from his antennae and Alastor’s ears pricked forward. “The radio spots are just an added incentive.”

Husk glanced between the two of them, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Any other day, Alastor would find the way he looked between the media demon amusing – clearly trying to figure out what exactly their situation was. Today, though… he felt a prickle of irritated static against his fur, tiny strands floating into the air with the electrical current and pressed his lips together tightly. A quick glance at Vox revealed his expression was just irritated as his static.

“I’m gonna need a fucking drink for this.” Husk scoffed and got up from the table. “Do you think you two could sort out this little domestic before I get back?”

Not waiting for an answer, the Gambling Overlord shuffled away in search of whatever drink he thought would make this meeting more palatable. He was barely gone when Vox’s hands tightened around the contract in front of him. Alastor took a deep breath and tilted his head just enough to meet Vox’s eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” he hissed, and Alastor’s ear twitched. “My little show? What exactly are you trying to accomplish here, Alastor?”

“Let’s not give dear Husker unrealistic expectations.” He brought his arm onto the tabletop and propped his chin on his hand, studying Vox’s face. An interesting array of emotions were bubbling to the surface before the television demon was able to tuck them away again. “Your show is very nice, I suppose, but it just doesn’t compare.”

“Well, can you try not to sabotage the whole deal because you hate thinking that anyone else might be just as good as you?” Vox snapped. Alastor hummed and shrugged, hating the undercurrent of hurt in the younger demon’s voice. “You agreed to help me get Husk’s business, not torpedo the whole deal.”

“What if I’m having fun watching you dance to get what you want?”

Vox stared at him, eyes narrowing in what Alastor assumed was disbelief. “What?”

“Oh, relax, I’m just kidding.” Alastor sighed. “I’ll behave.”

And he did try. It was becoming harder and harder to try to restrain Vox’s growth while not attracting her attention and not alienating Vox at the same time. And he knew it was only a matter of time before the scales tipped in one direction or another.

Still, a few more little remarks that he honestly thought tiptoed the line between making Husk not take Vox quite so seriously and outright offending the television demon had Vox completely silent by the time they left Husk’s. He walked by Alastor’s side, body tense, and Alastor knew he had overplayed his hand once more. He was growing weary of this tightrope.

With a sigh, he reached down to catch Vox’s hand like he always did, ever since Vox was a freshly fallen Sinner. A spark of electricity had him jerking back in surprise. Vox stared straight ahead as he walked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t.” His face was so carefully schooled into a neutral expression that a flutter of pride would have played at Alastor’s long dead heart if he wasn’t busy being appalled by Vox’s rejection.

“Oh, don’t be upset, my dear,” Alastor tried. How could he fix this quickly? Vox’s shoulders tightened but he didn’t reply – perhaps that was a good thing. “I was only teasing.”

That got a reaction. Vox spun to face him, electrical energy crackling over his claws for a moment before he reined his power in. A shame, really. In different circumstances, Alastor did so enjoy when Vox let loose.

“You undermined the entire proposal with your fucking teasing,” Vox snapped, using air quotes to emphasize his point. Alastor sniffed. Well, he didn’t need to be rude about it.

“Yet Husk still signed off on it.” Alastor tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Seems like you should be thanking me for my help.”

“Thanking you,” Vox repeated. There was a telling tremor in his voice. “That’s what you think?”

Alastor glanced around them, very aware of the crowd that was beginning to gather. Not interested in being featured on 666 News for the fight that Vox was clearly ramping up to, he lifted his hands in front of him in a conciliatory gesture. “Let’s just go home.”

“No.” He rolled his shoulders back slightly, eyes darting away from Alastor’s. “I need to think.”

“Then come think at home.” Did Vox did not notice the other Sinners surrounding them, salivating at the prospect of an Overlord fight? They ought to be fleeing, if they valued their continued existences, but there were always opportunists just waiting for their chance to catch someone more powerful off-guard. None of them held a candle to Alastor and while Vox wasn’t exactly helpless either, he was painfully aware that the younger Sinner was at his weakest when he was emotional. “Now, Vox.”

“I’m not a fucking dog,” Vox snarled and this time the electricity crackling around his hands did not dissipate. The television demon’s face darkened. “I’m not your fucking pet, Alastor.”

“I know that.”

“Bullshit!”

An overly bold Sinner darted forward, charmingly small knife in her hand; Alastor genuinely wasn’t sure what she hoped to achieve. Not turning away from Alastor, Vox raised one sparking hand and unleased enough voltage to drop her to her knees, eyes bubbling in the sockets as she writhed on the ground. He was far from squeamish, but the smell of melting flesh made him wrinkle his nose in distaste.

Vox withdrew his power and the Sinner’s body stayed upright for a long few seconds before tilting over, hitting the ground with a curl of smoke. His eyes moved from Alastor’s face to scan the hushed crowd, daring anyone else to move forward. When nobody did, he focused his gaze back on Alastor once more.

“Fuck you, Al.”

Without warning, the younger man dissolved into the electric grid, disappearing with a blue-white bolt of lightning.

Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Alastor stared at the spot where Vox had been standing before black bled into his eyes. His neck snapped to one side, static rising to deafening levels. One unlucky Sinner had the misfortune of making eye contact with the Radio Demon as his eyes swung to radio dials. Antlers shot upwards, cracking like breaking ice in spring.

“Oh, shit,” the Sinner whimpered.

“Yes,” Alastor agreed. “Oh, shit, indeed.”

The carnage was decidedly unsatisfactory. Yes, the screams of the damned being torn limb from limb were a balm to his bruised ego. The two Overlords might have had an embarrassing domestic out in the middle of the street, but Alastor felt better after bathing the immediate area in buckets of blood. Hot, red, and pumping out of his victims in glorious spurts, he could imagine he was purifying the pavement of their fight.

When there was no one left to tear apart, Alastor dissolved into the shadows, flying to their home. He slammed his way through the door with as much fury as he could muster, aware that most of his rage wasn’t the result of their argument. He flung himself into an armchair beside the fireplace and scowled at the charred wood littering the bottom before a snap of his fingers had the fire roaring again. He curled his wrist around and had the flames dance up the chimney for a moment letting them fall back.

No sense in burning the house down in a fit of pique.

He tried to ignore his Shadow leaping and snarling along the walls, occasionally lashing out at him, but a particularly vicious tug at his ear forced him to confront the creature.

“Stop it!” He tried to grab the Shadow’s arms, knowing that he would be unsuccessful even as he tried. It slipped from his claws and extended itself upward towards the ceiling. Alastor panted for a moment, glaring up at the disobedient shade, before shaking his head and stepping back. “I imagine you want to find him.”

His Shadow nodded.

“Go then. Make sure he hasn’t done something completely idiotic.”

Alastor jumped to his feet as the Shadow fled, pacing the floor for a minute before swiping the decanter of whiskey from the side table and pouring himself a generous share. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it down his throat, hissing softly at the burn. He added another to be on the safe side before closing his eyes and sinking into the cold darkness to join his Shadow.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find himself in a small, but surprisingly luxurious apartment. Draped in smooth silks and lit with a dimly glowing pink light, he immediately recognized it as Valentino’s apartment. Incense burned on a low table near the couch.

Alastor grit his teeth to see that Valentino was standing in front of a clearly agitated Vox, wearing what could only be considered clothing in a loose definition of the word. He knew the two were… intimate but didn’t like to be reminded of it.

The moth demon took a drag on his cigarette, looking down at Vox contemplatively.

“Baby, are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have watch you have a meltdown all night?” He shrugged. “I mean, if that’s what you want to do, it’s whatever. I’m not even working tonight, but it does seem like kind of a bummer of a way to spend an evening.”

Vox was practically vibrating with fury. He tossed his drink back and Alastor did not miss the tremor in his hand as he set the glass back down against his knee. “I’m going to kill him one of these days, I swear!”

“Who, amorcito?”

“Alastor! Who the fuck else?”

Valentino studied him for a moment then rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. Fuck him.” Vox sneered into his empty glass.

Valentino sighed and straddled Vox on the couch. The television demon looked up, startled, as Val took his tumbler from his hand easily. He smiled before blowing heavy pink smoke into Vox’s face. The smaller demon coughed and waved his hand in front of his face.

Alastor’s smile stretched wider on his face, cracking the skin of his cheeks. He began to pace, claw tips biting into the soft skin of his palms.

“What did he do this time, baby?” Valentino pressed a kiss against Vox’s screen, between his eyebrows. Vox’s arms flew around his waist instinctively, his eyes searching the other Sinner’s with desperation.

“He humiliated me.”

Valentino cooed softly. “Aw, Voxy. And he didn’t even do it in a sexy kind of way, did he?”

Vox huffed out a shaky laugh and shook his head. “No, he did not.”

“Vox, you know as well as I do that you aren’t done with him.” Valentino licked a stripe up the side of Vox’s screen, chuckling at his shiver. “Tell me, papito. When you’re done fucking me, where are you going?”

“Who says I’m leaving you?”

Valentino cupped Vox’s head between his primary hands and tsked. “Aw, sweetie. Baby, sugar, darling. That’s very romantic, but what about tomorrow? Or the next day?” He sighed at Vox’s hesitation. “You are going to go back home to Alastor because you are so very painfully in love with him.”

Alastor balked. He knew, obviously, but he had always made a point to never actually confront Vox about his feelings. Nothing changed, but it was so much easier without the words being spoken aloud. They – Alastor – could continue to play house, as Vox fondly labelled it, so long as he had some degree of plausible deniability.

Vox stared back at Valentino with a desperately pitiful expression. “I’m not.”

“You are, Voxy.” Valentino kissed him with more tenderness than Alastor could stomach. “But, when you really are done with him, I’ll be right here.”

 

*

 

Present Day

“This can’t be fucking true!” Katie Killjoy snarled. She threw a stack of papers directly at Tom Trench’s head. “Did you fuck with these numbers?”

“No!” Tom lurched backwards to avoid Katie’s fist. “I swear, those are the results!”

Vox stared at the television playing on the wall, tuned to Channel 666 News. He was pretty sure Val was shaking his shoulders.

“I won,” he said quietly.

“Vox!” He was spun around and stared up at Valentino’s wide grin in shock. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, papito.”

His RAM began an inventory of the data surging around him while his brain struggled to keep up. Applause and congratulations from their employees. Blue and white balloons tumbling from the ceiling. Confetti party poppers exploding around him; tiny pieces of paper threatening to implant themselves in the vents on the back of his head. Vox vaguely swatted a piece of confetti that stuck itself over his eye, attracted to the static cling of his screen.

Where was Velvette? He scanned the room quickly, not finding her in the press of bodies around his own.

Vox stood in the middle of the chaos, accepting the celebratory atmosphere, even as something very small but very dark began to coil in his stomach. This was what he wanted, and it suddenly seemed too easy. Was the room tilting or was it him?

He wasn’t sure exactly what expression Valentino saw, but the moth demon’s face instantly darkened.

“Enough,” Val said suddenly. The general noise in the room tapered off. “Get out.”

When nobody moved, Val glared around the room and unfurled his wings. “Anyone not wanting to be horrifically dismembered should leave.”

The room cleared quickly as Val caught Vox’s screen between his hands. Neither demon moved until they were the only ones left. A metal tipped hand shot up to clasp Val’s hand, digital eyes scanning his face rapidly. His breath caught in his throat, as he tried to fight down his rising apprehension. The dark thing twisted in his gut.

Shit, he was missing something, he could feel it. He had no reason to think that he had, but how had he won so easily? How had Alastor not put up more of a fight, even if he wasn’t interested in the title? Out of sheer principle, he should’ve fought harder and Vox was fucking missing something–

“Vox!” His attention snapped back to the demon in front of him. Strong hands pulled him forward as Valentino stared down at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I don’t think. I don’t know?” He barely heard the whirr of his fans kicking on. There was slight pressure on the corners of his screen, and he knew Val was squeezing his face. He shook his head. “I’m not seeing it.”

“Seeing what?”

Vox snarled, frustrated. “I don’t know.” He squeezed his eyes shut, grasping for something determinedly staying out of his reach. “Fuck! I don’t know.”

Val stroked his face, clearly not understanding what was wrong. “Let me take care you?”

Vox nodded and let his mouth fall open as Valentino bent down to kiss him. The dizzyingly sweet taste of Val’s venom burst over his tongue, and he sighed with shaky relief. Val’s secondary hands settled on his hips and his anxiety began to dissolve. He tightened his grip over Val’s hand.

“Fuck me,” he growled between kisses. “I need to get out of my head.”

He startled as Val’s hands slid around the backs of his thighs and without warning swept him up off his feet. A sigh against Val’s mouth and he slung one arm around the back of moth demon’s neck. His legs wrapped themselves automatically around Val’s waist, pressing their bodies closer. There was a sudden gust of warm air; the light of the room disappeared as Val’s wings wrapped around them, leaving only the glow of Vox’s screen. Val pulled back enough to study Vox’s face for a moment. He nodded.

Vox barely registered the fact that they were moving before he was being put back on the ground, though not without a grumble of dissatisfaction. Damn good thing he knew that Val would make this buzzing in his brain stop because the creeping anxiety was threatening to turn into full-fledged panic. He glanced around his bedroom and lowered the ambient lighting with a thought.

Val wasted no time stripping them both, pushing Vox against the closed door. He dropped to his knees, hands pressing Vox’s hips back, and looked up. His eyes were darkly worshipful, and Vox’s mouth fell open in anticipation.

Vox nodded, though he needn’t have bothered; Val swallowed him down without any preamble or teasing. The media Overlord jolted against the door, head dropping back with a heavy thud.

“Val!” Val hummed and Vox stared up at the ceiling, still reeling.

Vox lost himself in the sensations as Val expertly teased and prepped him until he was squirming and whimpering. Fuck Val for always having lube somewhere close by. Vox vaguely wondered where he had found this bottle, but, oh. Thinking was getting difficult. He ran his hand over Val’s head, into the fluff around his shoulders, distractedly petting.

“Are you ready, baby?” Vox switched to a condescending head pat, earning himself a chuckle. “Get on the bed.”

Didn’t need to tell him twice. He practically pushed past the larger man, climbing onto the bed without hesitation. He scowled when, instead of immediately following him, Val watched him from across the room, a smug smirk on his face. Between Val’s venom and his teasing, Vox’s fuse had gone from short to nonexistent.

“Val.” His eye started to swirl before he could stop himself, but he figured the threat couldn’t hurt.

Valentino crossed the room in three long strides and shoved Vox, letting him bounce backwards before spreading his legs and climbing up over the top of him. Vox squirmed, eyes narrowing in frustration. He pressed his heels against the backs of Val’s thighs, trying to force him forwards. “I swear to everything unholy, if you don’t get inside me right now, I’m–”

“So impatient,” Val sighed as he slid inside. Vox’s back arched, pressing him against the unyielding mass of Val’s body. He panted as his smaller body struggled to adjust. No matter how many times they fucked like this, it always felt like Val was going to split him in half at the start. Long fingers massaged his lower abdomen soothingly. He closed his eyes and let Val pepper kisses over his screen as his body relaxed, discomfort melting away. “Shh, baby. I’m trying to pamper you.”

Vox laughed breathlessly. “Is that what this is?” His hand clenched into the bed sheets as Val shifted his weight, pressing in a little deeper. “You’re fucking torturing me.”

“Po-tay-toe, po-ta-toe.”

Vox didn’t bother to retort. He was too busy trying to get his bearings as Valentino began to rock gently against him. There was no rush in Val’s movements; he seemed perfectly content to take things slow and easy. It wasn’t something that they indulged in with any degree of regularity. Call him a hopeless romantic, or just a sucker, but Vox always melted whenever Val took the initiative to make love to him.

Everything had been so good between them for years now. Valentino was always an asshole, but his teasing was the way it had been when they had first met – humorous, playful, varying degrees of sexy. The hard, cruel edge that it had taken in more recent years, carefully curated to cut to the very bone, had evaporated and Vox had begun to finally relax again.

He could barely remember the last time Val had raised a hand to him – it must have been before Alastor fucked off for seven years. Huh. Maybe Alastor’s disappearance had resolved the possessive jealousy Vox knew Val was harboring – nothing to be jealous of if the object of one’s jealousy mysteriously fucked off into the ether.

Val traced a hand over his ribs and Vox blinked to refocus. He let his mouth fall open in invitation and Val obliged, tongue sweeping into Vox’s mouth and pressing his head back against the mattress. Venom danced along his tongue and slid down his throat, dissolving into his bloodstream with satisfying speed. He groaned appreciatively as another wave of arousal sparked across his nervous system.

One of Val’s secondary hands moved between their bodies and glided against Vox’s cock with a teasing touch. Tension coiled in his belly threateningly; Vox broke the kiss with a startled sound.

“Wait!” Vox reached between them to catch his wrist and Val stilled. “Not yet.”

Valentino laughed and slipped Vox’s grip easily. Fingers danced across skin made indigo in the low light to trace towards Vox’s hips instead. He let them slip over the slight dip before wrapping around the hipbone and began to thrust a little harder.  “Too soon? Do you want Daddy to make it last, baby?”

Vox groaned and opened his eyes. “You are really leaning into the whole ‘Daddy’ thing tonight.”

“What’s the matter? Don’t want Daddy to take care of you?” Vox growled and pushed his hips upwards, earning a laugh from Val. A particularly hard retaliatory thrust had Vox breathless before he could respond. “Aw, but you know I love it when you get pissy. My baby is so perfect when he wants to kill me.”

“Kill you,” Vox agreed, arching as Val’s hand slid under his lower back to pull him closer. He barely registered the sudden darkening of Valentino’s eyes over the overwhelming need surging through him. A clawed hand shot to his head, pressing flat against his screen; his eyes squeezed shut. “Oh, fuck!”

“You feel so good,” Val grunted, leaning down to rest his primary arms on either side of Vox, caging him in. The sudden press into the mattress made Vox whimper helplessly. His hand scrambled against the sheets, claws tearing at the slippery silk before he felt Val intertwine their fingers. Hard pressure forced his hand down against the bed for a fleeting moment before Val brought it to his mouth and kissed along the knuckles. Soft, reverent.

And wasn’t that always the way with Val? Predictable in his unpredictability. Rough and tender, at turns, and able to anticipate what Vox needed before he knew it himself. Another soft noise escaped his throat, and he brought his other hand from his face to clutch at Val’s shoulder with increasing desperation.

Val pulled their entangled hands up over Vox’s head and pressed them there with a finality that made Vox’s heart lurch in anticipation. Val’s hand resumed stroking his cock and Vox pressed his heels into the other Overlord’s back. Fuck, this was fantastic. This was exactly what he needed.

“So good for me.” Val’s mouth slid over his neck and Vox shuddered. “Fucking perfect.”

The tension in his belly was building again, but this time Vox let it. “Don’t stop, Val. Oh, fuck. Please don’t stop.”

His head was tipped back roughly and digital eyes snapped open. His breath hitched at the dark focus of Valentino’s gaze. His hands, everywhere and entirely consuming, tightened their grip on Vox’s body.

“You’re mine, Vox.” He thrust hard and Vox let out a soft sob. He slapped his hand over his face. Fuck, he wasn’t going to be able to last much longer. What even gave Val the right to be this fucking good? “Fucking… say it, Vox…”

“Yours,” he breathed. “All yours.”

He was slammed back against the mattress hard enough to rattle the teeth in his head. Val twisted his hips in a filthy grind and Vox’s nerves set alight, spreading through his body faster than his brain could process it. With a choked cry, he spilled over Val’s hand, body locking tight. He heard Val swear above him as his orgasm rocked through him, stuttering his thoughts into white noise.

Dimly, he was aware that Val finished soon after, collapsing down to crush Vox against the bed. The weight was comforting, heavy over his trembling muscles, and Vox weakly moved his hand from his screen to rest against the back of Val’s head. The larger demon nuzzled his face against Vox’s neck.

“Mine,” he growled possessively, and Vox agreed.

 

*

 

Finally.

Finally, things were beginning to unfold as she had intended. There had been enough false starts, enough infuriating incompetence, but finally she had reason to believe that this time would be successful.

Her long fingers curled around the chalice in her hand, darkened nails glinting in the low light. She didn’t need to eat or drink, strictly speaking, but she had never denied herself any indulgences, especially when they were so freely given.

“This is excellent,” she purred, sipping the dark wine appreciatively. The smaller figure standing in the shadows inclined his head.

“It was a difficult vintage to procure.”

She smiled. “Perhaps, but you like a challenge, don’t you?”

“Always.” Alastor stepped a little more into the light and she gave the demon a quick once over. Dressed the same as always, wasn’t that strangely comforting? He tilted his head. “Do you have any more need of me?”

“For now?” She hummed thoughtfully. “No.”

The demon’s eyes flickered over to the wall where she typically conjured the portal that he used to come and go. She raised the chalice to her lips again, smiling behind the smooth metal. So, he was eager to leave.

“Our plans are in motion now, little one.” Alastor’s eyes flared in the low light; she chuckled. “Are you prepared?”

“Of course.”

“Yes? You are prepared to do what is required of you without flinching?”

A low growl from the shadows. “I don’t flinch.”

“You might yet.” She studied the rigidness of the demon’s body. “You’ll have no room for error now.”

“We made a deal, my Lady. There will be no errors on my part.”

The smile fell from her mouth at the implication, but she decided to move past his impertinence. “Your feelings, whatever they may be now, will not stand in my way.”

She flicked her wrist, and a heavy purple chain appeared in her palm, the other end wrapping around the demon’s neck. She yanked it viciously, forcing Alastor to stagger forward to avoid being brought to his knees. She pulled him close and caught his chin in her hand, nails digging into his skin. His eyes flared brilliantly in the darkened room, and she savored the small noise of discomfort that escaped him.

“Do you understand?” His eyes darted away from her for moment before he nodded stiffly. “Even if the dead little thing you call a heart breaks, you will not fail me.”

“My Lady, what makes you think that I still have a heart in my chest?” his reply came, voice somewhat muffled by her grip. “I carved it out years ago, along with those troublesome emotions that you always accuse me of having.”

She tilted his head from one side to the other, studying him. “Very good.”

A glowing portal flamed into existence behind them, the outside glowing with sickly violet magic. She released his chin and snapped the chain out of sight. His hands stayed clenched at his sides for a moment before he relaxed slightly and took a step back.

“You may go.”

She waited until the demon had left before standing and making her way over to a small alcove nestled behind the throne. With a flick of her wrist, a small wooden door opened, revealing a bubbling darkness that few could gaze into without screaming themselves into insanity. It was a good thing, then, that she knew exactly where to look.

Creeping cold washed over her skin as she stared at a nearly invisible pinprick of light in boiling black. A faint humming sound, so high she almost couldn’t hear it, rang through her prison and she sighed as soft illumination washed over her suddenly.

“Hello, darling.” The light condensed into a small, pulsating orb before twisting itself free from the darkness. It spun lazily in a wavering circle and wrapped around her wrist in greeting. “You’ve been so wonderfully patient. I promise it won’t be much longer.”

The orb danced up her arm before sliding around her neck affectionately. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warm tingle it left in its wake. She tickled the light and laughed when it flared briefly before floating back into the small cupboard. The space began to warp, trying to pull the little orb back into the darkness.

“Oui, mon petit seigneur.” The humming focused into a single, pure note that sent goosebumps of her skin. “No, not long at all now.”

She didn’t flinch back when the orb was suddenly captured by the aching darkness, swallowed whole with a sudden shriek not unlike nails cutting into glass. A sneer crossed her face, and she gently closed the small door.

All the pieces were on the board now. She just needed to be careful now, just needed to move unseen, and it would all be theirs.

As it should be.

Notes:

CW: smut in the second section of the chapter

Chapter 12: bad bitches like me is hard to come by

Notes:

content warnings at the end

2010

Of all the things in the world that she appreciated, a job well done was easily her favorite. Nothing topped the high of being out her competitors and rubbing their noses in the dirt like the loser bitches they were. Shit, she could almost take or leave the money, just to watch them scream and cry every single time she beat them out.

Almost.

The money was amazeballs, too.

“Ha, dumb bitches,” she laughed and watched her offshore account fill with another two hundred thousand dollars. Sparkly pink and white sneakers kicked up off the ground as she dropped onto her couch, sinking down amongst the plush throw pillows. “Figure out the formula faster next time if you don’t like getting fucked up the arse.”

She covered her mouth and giggled as the text message came through.


X [8:34:02 pm]: good job, V
X [8:34:24 pm]: you’ll find the payment in your account shortly


Veronica sighed contentedly and threw her arm over her eyes. She had hoped that America would be as lit as the TV shows and movies made it out to be – full of fun, pleasure, and an unending source of entertainment. A completely hedonistic playground that a young, gorgeous, and viciously brilliant girl like her could take for all it was worth.

Turns out, it was so much better than that.

She had entered the graduate school at New York University at eighteen, something of a prodigy when it came to chemical analysis. And something of a prodigy when it came to hacking, where she just happened to find her way into the university’s database and switched her application for admission from waitlisted to accepted.

Four years later, she was almost done with her Ph.D. and already fielding professional employment offers in some of the most prestigious laboratories in the world. And that was lovely, it really was, but it was nothing compared to the work that she had already been doing via anonymous sources on the dark web. That was challenging, something she could really use her brain for.

She wasn’t a stupid woman – she knew perfectly well that she was creating some nasty little concoctions even if she was never given the full scope of what her formulas were being used for. Still, even without being told, she knew that nobody was out there creating specialized chemical formulas designed to paralyze human respiratory systems with good intentions. But, hey, she had some plausible deniability, right? She could always say she thought it was just a thought experiment and not something someone would actually produce and distribute.

“Hey, bae! What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Veronica rolled onto her side and grinned at her roommate, and sometime lover. “Oh, just got another job offer.”

“Damn, bitch, what’s that? Five? Six?” Courtney sank down on the couch beside Veronica and she smiled so prettily that it took the control of an absolute saint not to tackle her right then and there. “That’s low key amazing. We should celebrate.”

Ugh, a fucking invitation, too?

“I can think of a few ways we could do that,” she said, sitting up and leaning close. Courtney’s eyes widened and Veronica smirked, trailing a polished fingernail along the blonde’s bare arm. “What do you think?”

“I could be persuaded.”

Veronica wasted no time in threading her fingers in her roommate’s curls, grinning at the soft noise Courtney made. It was a shame that Courtney could be such an absolute bitch sometimes because she really did enjoy making the other woman scream.

She scrambled upright, shoving the other woman down onto her back. Courtney whined.

“Roni, my hair!”

“Shut up, you can fix it.”

“It took… well, it took me like forty-five minutes to get the curls to set.” Veronica rolled her eyes, dragging her fingers through the carefully coiffed coils with a vengeance. “Oh, my God! You’re such a bitch!”

“Then do something about it.”

Courtney did not do something about it. Or, rather, she let Veronica do something about it. Twice.

“Fuck, I think I can skip the gym tomorrow.” Veronica laughed breathlessly and crawled up to rest her head on Courtney’s stomach, purring in approval as the blonde woman scratched at her scalp. “You were really pent up.”

“I’m much better now.” She kissed along Courtney’s ribs, smiling cruelly at the way the other woman squirmed. “You going out tonight?”

Her head was caught in unyielding hands and her smile widened. “Well, yeah. Benny wants to check out that new club. YOLO, right? I thought you were going?”

“Nah, I still have like twenty pages to work on tonight.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss against Courtney’s smooth skin. “Brilliance waits for no man. Or woman. Whatever.”

Courtney pushed her head up and away and Veronica went willingly. She brushed her hair off her face and let her roommate pull her into another kiss. It was hard not to push herself right into Courtney’s lap when her tongue pushed past her lips and traced along her teeth with pleasing familiarity. She groaned and threw her arms around the other woman’s shoulders and Courtney let her for a minute before turning her face away with laugh.

“No, you thirsty whore.” She shoved Veronica back and scrambled up off the couch. “You’ve had enough.”

Veronica leaned back with a satisfied little grin and watched her roommate tug her clothes back in place before hurrying to the bathroom to clean up. She scooped her laptop off the ground and laughed quietly when Courtney must have seen the state of her hair in the mirror, a frustrated growl echoing out of the small room.

“Bring me back something to eat?” she called to Courtney as the other woman reentered the room, shrugging a faux fur lined parka over her shoulders.

“What do you want?”

“Something greasy, I don’t know.” She logged into one of her social media accounts, scrolling through with minimal interest. “Burgers?”

Veronica jumped in surprise when the hair in her ponytail was caught and wrenched backwards, tipping her head back and exposing her throat. Courtney glared down at her for a moment before softening her expression.

“It’s a really good thing you’re hot.”

“I know, right?”

Courtney pressed her lips to Veronica’s in quick goodbye kiss before releasing her hair and pushing her head back upright. She could complain, but Veronica had never been against a little manhandling. She flipped her middle finger up at Courtney’s back as she left the apartment, laughing when the other woman returned the gesture when she turned to shut the door.

She ignored the text message alert the first two times, already buried deep in drafting another section of her thesis. When Rihanna’s newest release started playing, Veronica snapped her laptop shut, face screwed up in annoyance. Who the fuck would start calling just because she didn’t respond to their texts?

“This better be a fucking emergency,” she snarled into the phone. “And by emergency, I mean that someone’s leg better be off and laying in a gutter.”

“Bitch, do you even know who you’re talking to?”

Veronica pulled the phone away from her face to check the caller ID. “No. But my previous statement still stands.”

“You fucked my boyfriend!”

And, God, did she not have time for this. She glanced at the clock – half past two and just in time for drunk coeds to be stumbling home from the bars. She rubbed a finger between her eyebrows.

“Babe, I really didn’t.” The girl on the other end scoffed. “I’d have to like dick a hell of a lot more than I do to want to fuck some other girl’s crusty ass boyfriend.”

“He isn’t crusty!”

Veronica jumped a little at the sudden pounding on the front door. “Shit, is that you?”

“You fucked –” The door shuddered. “My boyfriend!”

She jumped up, tossing her laptop on the couch, and marched straight to the door. Without any preamble, she flung it open, sneering at the sloppy drunk girl waiting on the other side.

“I am tits deep in work right now,” she said, careful to make sure her words were clear and enunciated. She had plenty of experience talking down intoxicated idiots. “I can’t play with you right now.”

Honestly, she really expected the girl, whose knock off Ugg boots were a fucking embarrassment, to back off. She didn’t expect her to swing her arms forward and actually land a shockingly loud slap across Veronica’s face.

“I’m gonna fight you for him!”

And, yeah, she wasn’t going to be doing that.

Except that she totally was as the girl staggered into the apartment, swinging her arms like a drunken pinwheel. The world’s most impractical winter boots clattered onto the wood flooring and Veronica backed up a few steps to avoid getting slapped again. She glowered.

“You need to back the fuck up. I’m not going to –” She didn’t get to finish that thought before she found herself being knocked backwards, the drunk girl having decided to tackle her to the ground. “The literal FUCK?!”

She wasn’t sure what exactly happened while she was scrambling on the ground, trying to keep her skin out of the other girl’s mouth and away from her sharp little fingernails, but she eventually managed to straddle the other girl. Fuck, but she was a slippery thing, and Veronica screeched in outrage as blue painted fingernails gouged into her face.

Hazy red mist clouded her vision and when she finally came back to herself, she was still straddling the other girl. Only, instead of spitting and scratching at her, the girl was staring up at her with eyes already glazed over. With a mess of blood and brains smashed around her head in a gruesome halo. Very much dead.

Veronica blinked rapidly before she looked down at her own hands, clutching her dripping laptop with white knuckled tension. She dropped the computer with a gasp and scrambled away and back onto her feet.

Red everywhere, dripping from her fingernails, staining her skin and Veronica pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle her infuriated screams. She staggered backwards, mind spinning so fast that she only barely registered that she was spreading the growing puddle of blood with her slippers.

“Fuck!” she hissed. (Fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck was she supposed to do with this?) “You stupid bitch! I have more important things to do than deal with your dead fucking body!”

Bleach, her brain supplied helpfully.

“Yes, fuck. Bleach.” She hurried to the kitchen and flung open the cupboard under the sink. “Fucking… where’s the fucking bleach, Courtney?” She raked a bloody hand through her hair. “Fucking moving things all the fucking time!”

Well, she’d just have to get some more bleach. That was fine, she could do that. She shrugged into her coat, smothering a hysterical laugh as she passed the body on her living room floor – too fucking surreal. Nope, she was not going to think about that. Right now, she just needed to get some fucking bleach.

Without grabbing her keys, Veronica raced down the stairs, barely keeping herself from tripping and snapping her neck at the last stretch. She didn’t register the icy slush that quickly soaked through her soft slippers as she ran out of the apartment building. And she definitely didn’t see the Porche rocketing down the street as she stepped off the curb.

She did, however, notice the car’s license plate as she lay bleeding out in the street, the sounds of screams muffled by the softly falling snow.

HELLORBUST

Veronica used her last breath to cough out a laugh.

Sure. Why the fuck not?

 

*

2015

“Is this gluten-free?” Valentino asked before taking an obnoxiously large bite of one of the wraps they had just purchased. Well, purchased was maybe the wrong word for it. Velvette had bullied the vendor into giving them their lunch for free after snapping a few pictures of their food and promising their little food cart exposure and increased sales in the future. The Vees were up and coming, popular with all the right people, so why wouldn’t a struggling Sinner take her up on her offer?

Vox cocked his head, eyes widening. “Why the fuck do you care about gluten all of a sudden?”

“Because it’s a carb and I’m off carbs now.”

“It’s not a carb, Val.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, you idiot.”

Velvette felt her mouth curl into a tiny smirk as Valentino’s fluff became fluffier. “And you’re the expert?”

“Uh, yeah, since I’ve got the fucking internet in my head, I’d say I’m something of an expert.” Vox gestured to his head, exasperated. He tore into his own wrap, chewing with unnecessary aggression.

Vel returned her attention to her phone as her partners continued to bicker. According to Voogle Maps, the shop they were looking to acquire should be right around the corner. She still wasn’t sure why Vox wanted an entirely separate storefront to sell their phones, but she was beginning to accept that his instincts were generally right. So, if he wanted to sell their phones in a storefront at the edge of the Entertainment District, on the boundary of a Hellborn neighborhood, who was she to argue?

She had only just joined the other two as a fellow Overlord within the last six months and was quickly learning that the new level of power came with a whole new set of headaches. Headache Number One reached out to snatch Headache Number Two’s wrap from his hand, just to have his hand slapped away. “Well, then, don’t eat it if you don’t believe me.”

“Don’t do it, Vox,” Headache Number Two warned, sweeping one of his wings around him to block Headache Number One from trying again. “I will smash your face in if you try and take my lunch again.”

Vox hesitated, smile fading ever so slightly from his face as he glanced over at Velvette. She blinked back at him and his expression brightened instantly. “No, you won’t.”

The television demon zapped himself in front of Val this time, moving in a streak of lightning. Valentino flicked his wing just hard enough to knock Vox off balance and cackled when the smaller demon stumbled into a murky puddle, splashing it up onto his shoes. “Keep playing, amorcito, and see where it gets you.”

“It’s right over there, you wankers,” Velvette said, a little louder than necessary, pointing towards a building on the corner of the block. Val stopped arguing with Vox long enough to take a deep drag of the perpetual cigarette he had dangling from his fingers, lunch apparently forgotten.

“This is such a dump, Voxy,” he said with vicious satisfaction. “You’re going to have to spend so much money just to get this place halfway decent.”

“Then, I guess I’m going to have to spend money because this is perfect.” He gestured towards the building. “Look how close it is to Pestilence Falls! All those Imps are going to be falling over themselves to snap up the latest VoxTek phone.”

“Uh, they already do?”

“OK, but this is progress. This is expansion.” Vox nodded, self-satisfied. “This is fucking manifest destiny.”

“Ew, that’s a fucking gross sentence,” Vel replied, too lost in a flurry of incoming texts to look up at him. “Is this some one-upping the crimson codger thing?”

Angry feedback crackled in the air and Velvette snickered. She had quickly learned that the best way to needle at Vox was to bring up his ex (even though he maintained with unwavering insistence that he and Alastor were never anything more than friends). If he didn’t want her to worry at that sore spot, he should really try harder to not being so fucking sensitive about the Radio Demon.

“No, it’s not an Alastor thing. Fuck’s sake, can you stop bringing him up?” She chanced a peek over at his screen and was rewarded with confirmation of his annoyance. “It’s bad enough we have to exist in the same fucking city as he does without you always bringing him up just to fuck with me.”

Val wrapped the Television Overlord in a hug from behind, ignoring the smaller demon’s sputtering indignation. “You know we love fucking with you, Voxy.” He lowered his mouth to whisper against one of the input ports that seemed to function as Vox’s ears. “I can fuck with you some more when we get home.”

Vox’s screen tinted ever so subtly, the faintest hint of pink infusing his cheeks. Well, where his cheeks would be if he actually had them. “I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to that.”

“Gross.” Velvette held up her phone to start snapping pictures of the general area. She pointedly refused to look when Vox let out a tiny squeak, just knowing Val had done something on her list of nasty things she didn’t want to watch them doing. “Can you at least keep your dicks in your pants long enough for us to get through this?”

“No,” Val replied simply and Vel rolled her eyes.

She noticed movement through the display on her phone. Lowering the device with a confused blink, she scanned the otherwise abandoned building.

“Did you see–”

Several Sinners poured from the building Vox was obsessed with purchasing, screaming in with pure panic. Velvette stumbled back as a cacophony of horrific sounds erupted from the building, a massive bird-like creature bursting into sight and stomping after the Sinners.

“Well, just fuck my entire afterlife, I guess,” Vox groaned. Velvette knew shit had just gotten real when Valentino didn’t chase after that low-hanging fruit.

“Why are you running away?” the creature rumbled, reaching out to snatch a particularly unfortunate Sinner up off the ground in one of its hideous claws. Vel felt herself pulled back and went willingly enough as Valentino shuffled her behind him. Vox separated himself from Val and stood in front of his partners, electricity snapping between his fingers.

“No!” the luckless Sinner screamed, arms flailing uselessly. “Help!”

“You’re being very rude to me. It’s not nice,” the monster told the Sinner accusingly before moving her up, staring her deep in the eyes. Velvette drew in a sharp breath as the strange black teeth in its beaky mouth began to grow into needle sharp points, dark saliva leaking from its mouth.

“You gonna stop this one?” Val asked quietly and Vox shook his head.

“Oh, no, she’s already fucked,” Vox responded.

Velvette pressed herself against Val’s back, peeking out around to watch a bizarrely hazy orange light pour from the monster’s mouth to swirl around the captive Sinner. The Sinner screamed, her voice cracking as it rose to an impossible pitch, before the light swept into her mouth, choking her into silence. Her body jerked in the monster’s claw; the light burst from her eyes with unholy radiance and she fell limp.

The shimmering light retreated into the monster; it dropped the Sinner to turn its attention to the staring Vees. Horror froze Velvette in place, and she could only fist her fingers into the back of Val’s shirt. Thankfully, Vox wasn’t so overwhelmed. An arc of lightning snapped from his hand and struck the ground in front of the monster.

“No,” he said, voice rumbling with a booming bass that she had never heard him use before. “Go home, Dung.”

The creature threw its head back, an eruption of operatic singing and grinding metal gears threading into its cry. Vel could see Vox’s shoulders roll back slightly, preparing for a fight. She’d seen a lot of shit since landing in Hell and had yet to be genuinely terrified to the point of inaction, but this thing, this fucking satanic looking Big Bird motherfucker, was enough make her finally want to curl in ball and lament the life choices she’d made that had landed her in Hell.

“I’m hungry,” it screamed back at Vox, renting the air with its cry. Valentino shivered and that wasn’t fucking reassuring. “I need to eat!”

“Not here,” Vox replied firmly. “This is my territory. You don’t feed here.”

The creature jerked forward with a speed that its bulky body did not suggest it was capable of; Velvette did scream in terror this time. Vox did not hesitate to release a massive charge of energy directly into the creature’s face and it lurched down into a crouch, chittering angrily. She distantly noticed the Sinner that had been clutched in the monster’s claws had risen to her feet, swaying slightly but not otherwise moving.

“No, Cox!” The monster bellowed into the air again and Velvette pressed her face against Valentino’s back with a distressed whine. “Not fair!”

“Mine.” She didn’t look but could hear the squeal of metal against metal that she knew meant Vox was growing into his full demonic form. Normally, she would have been fascinated with the blue and silver iridescent skin that stretched over the more shark-like body, but this time she could barely keep herself from collapsing in horror let alone appreciate her partner’s show of strength and raw power. “Don’t make me force you out, Dung.”

She could feel Val’s hand reach around behind him to catch her wrist and pull her forward. For a frightening moment, she thought he was going to throw her out in front of him as a sacrificial distraction before she realized he had pulled her against his side. A lower arm wrapped around her waist tightly and she knew he was preparing to take flight if needed.

Belligerent Big Bird stared down at Vox for a long minute, rotten, hot breath gusting out from its mouth hard enough that it ruffled the hair on Velvette’s head. Abruptly, it tossed its head like a dog, pulling itself back upright. Its eyes settled directly on Velvette, spinning slowly, and she shrank against Valentino as her mind began to fade into a fuzzy gray.

“Not even the little one?” the creature asked with eerie calm, tongue flitting out to lick at its beak. “You wouldn’t even notice. She is just a small morsal.”

“Mine,” Vox snarled. “They’re both mine.”

A strange swirl of dark shadows began to collect around the leader of the Vees.

“Those aren’t your shadows. You’re taking Alabaster’s shadows.” Vox didn’t reply, though another lightning strike in front of the creature’s feet was answer enough. The creature scoffed; rage seemingly forgotten for annoyance. “You are a cheater, Cox.”

Vox shrugged one shoulder, and the creature shook out its massive head, finally breaking its hypnotic stare. Velvette slumped against her partner with a desperate gasp, shaking too hard to keep herself on her feet. A rush of gratitude flooded through her when Val’s arm tightened around her, keeping her upright.

The creature turned away and lurched forward, heading back towards where it had emerged from the building. Vox waited until the monster had disappeared before turning back to his partners, eyes widening with worry when he caught Vel’s gaze, and she could only imagine the look on her face. He glanced up at Val, jerked his head to the side, and disappeared in a flash of white-blue lightning.

“Hey,” she managed to protest before her feet swept up off the ground and she realized that Val had launched himself off the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to him as the air tugged at her hair and clothes. Lucifer, she hated flying in his arms. Thankfully, it was over almost as soon as it started, and she was set back on the ground. She opened her eyes in time to see that they had not gone very far, maybe a few blocks from the building they were looking to buy.

Ozone flooded her nose as Vox rematerialized directly in front of her, pulling her from Val’s arms, and into his own. She wasn’t even aware that she had started crying until she felt him press her cheek to the soft fabric of his sweater vest.

“Hey, Vel, shh,” he soothed quietly, stroking her hair with surprising gentleness. “It’s all right, kid. You’re still in one piece.”

“What the fuck was that?” she demanded, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing as hard as she could. She just needed an anchor, just needed something to rid herself of the itchiness the creature’s gaze had left in her brain. “Fucking… Big Bird?”

Vox let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and let him hold her close for a few minutes before she got herself back under control again. With a sniffle, she pulled back, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Did he call you cocks?” she asked and was rewarded with a sudden bark of laughter from Valentino. Vox scowled down at her.

“That’s your takeaway from this interaction?”

“He did, papito. He absolutely called you cocks,” Val cackled, and Velvette felt some of the tension release from her body. “I’m going to call you that tonight.”

Vox gently pushed Vel away from him, glancing down to make sure she was ready to be released. He pointed a claw at Val. “You do and I won’t fuck you for a month.”

“It’ll be so worth it, though.”

Vox rolled his eyes and glanced back over his shoulder at their prospective real estate. “I’m going to have to get that place fucking fumigated before we can do anything with it.”

 

*

 

Present Day

By the time Velvette returned to her own rooms in Vee Tower, she was beat. Exhausted, absolutely knackered, etcetera, etcetera. She collapsed face first onto her bed and dragged a pillow over her head to block out any ambient light.

She had accompanied Vox, along with Valentino and an uncharacteristically animated Dot, to play witness to the transfer of power from the current mayor to the new one. She had expected more fanfare, but the King of Hell hadn’t authorized anything more than a quick ceremony at City Hall. Velvette had bitten her own lips bloody trying to keep back every little snarky comment she wanted to make. Probably a good thing, too, judging from how tense Vox had been to be stuck in such a small room with his nemesis.

On the flip side, she hadn’t expected another twist in this increasingly ridiculous saga.

After they both signed their names onto the binding contracts, power visibly surged into Vox, brightening his screen so much that everyone in the room save the Morningstars and Alastor ducked their faces down to avoid being blinded. That seemed normal enough, but when Alastor’s eyes lit up with unholy energy as well, Velvette was quick to point it out.

Lucifer’s sudden shit-eating grin made her stomach sink.

“I knew you two hadn’t bothered to read this thing through.” He gestured to the massive stack of paper that was supposedly passing for a contract. Velvette wasn’t entirely sure that the King hadn’t just dumped out a ream of printer paper and slapped a cover page on the top.

Alastor sniffed. “I did.”

“Then what just happened, bellhop?”

Velvette watched the Radio Demon adjust the cuffs of his sleeves, stalling for time. “Well, I presume it was a simple transfer of power.”

“Wrong!” Lucifer cackled suddenly, clapping his hands together. He gave a baffled Vox something of a sympathetic shrug. “Sorry, dude, you’re going to hate this, but check out this passage on page six seventy-three.”

The Devil snapped his fingers, and a golden contract unfurled itself in the air in front of them. Vox jostled past Alastor to get a closer look at the paper. The media demons let out synchronized groans of frustration.

“No!” Vox protested, flinging his hands into the air. “This is fucked!”

“I’m not doing that,” Alastor agreed.

“Too bad you don’t have a choice,” Lucifer laughed. He patted Vox on the back and the Television Overlord flinched away, shaking his head in disbelief. “For those in the back.”

The King of Hell flicked his wrist, and the glowing text rose from the contract into the air above them, sprawling in golden font.


Per the accordance of 1576, the losing party of any election cycle agrees to accept the office of Deputy Mayor and support the Mayoral office in any, and all, of its pursuits. Any attempt to refuse this position will be punishable with any, or all, of the following options: 

1. A year spent in a pot of boiling oil,
2. The removal of all fingernails and/or claws for five years,
3. And/or a decade in absolute darkness and solitude.

All punishments are at the discretion of his majesty, the King of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.


Vox’s reaction had been a predictable meltdown – though he had managed to make it back to the limo first. Sparking with rage, he strangled their driver and kicked his body out of the limo. (“He’s got fucking legs! He can fucking walk back!”) The ride back home, with an enraged Overlord behind the wheel, was definitely a memorable one, especially once Valentino was drunk enough to pop out the sunroof and scream at the pedestrians that they passed that he was fucking the Mayor.

Dot had diligently strapped herself in one of the back seats and quietly typed away on her laptop. Velvette had to admire her commitment.

Velvette, you’re back.

Oh, right. Her little self. Velvette removed the pillow and rolled on her side to find her child self pertly perched on the bed beside her. She regarded the child with tired eyes.

“Do you think you could your outside voice?” she asked. The little girl blinked. “It’s just that your, uh, inside voice gives me a headache and I’m already about to reach for the painkillers.”

“I can do that,” the child said amenably. “Was it fun?”

Velvette shrugged. “It was interesting, I’ll say that much.”

The girl nodded. “Interesting is good.”

“I doubt that Vox would agree with that.”

Velvette watched as the child’s face darkened. “Vox is just a silly man, anyways. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

Not for the first time, Velvette found herself agreeing with the little girl who wore her childhood face.

“He can be a very silly man,” she agreed, sitting up so that her position mirrored the child’s.

The Overlord of Social Media and Fashion was under no illusions that the child was actually some past version of herself, come to visit her in Hell. Not even Hell could possibly be so cruel. No, she hadn’t definitively figured out exactly what the child was, but she had a very good idea.

Velvette had seen Alastor’s creepy fucking semi-sentient Shadow enough times to realize that it was something of a familiar of his. She hadn’t ever expected to find one of her own, let alone have one appear to her entirely on its own, but here they were. As far as she could tell, it met all the criteria, but she was loathe to ask the little girl outright, in case she offended her or scared her off.

“I don’t like him. He holds you back.”

Velvette frowned. “He doesn’t. Not really.”

The girl shook her head with a pout and drew her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her small arms around her legs and settled her chin on top of her knees. The soft scent of lavender filled her nose; she knew that the child was producing the scent. It called back the days when Velvette had still been Veronica and had hidden in her mother’s closet while listening to the violent arguments between her parents. Simultaneously triggering and soothing, the scent made her head swim.

“Yes, he does. He always does! He was jerk at the Overlord meeting. Remember? He called and asked if you could handle it.”

“Yeah, he does things like that sometimes.” Vel looked away from her familiar with a frown. “I don’t think he means to be a jackass. Well, not all the time, at least.”

“He’s weak.”

Velvette hesitated. As much as she hated to admit it, there had been times that she had that exact thought. Vox was a complicated man, she knew that, but she had been mortified the first time she had watched him flinch away from Valentino and try to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. Like she didn’t even have eyes, didn’t even know exactly what she was looking at the moment she saw it.

“He’s not.” Better to defend him than confess one of her deepest secrets – that, as much as she had grown to love them, she sometimes wondered if she had made a mistake in aligning with Vox and Valentino.

“Yes, he is!” The child slammed a small fist against the bed and Velvette jumped at the soft sound. A shiver worked its way up her spine, and she covered her eyes with an uneasy sigh. Her head was starting to pound. “He knows you know how weak is and he hates it. He’s just old and afraid you’re going to take everything from him.”

“That makes no sense.” They sat in silence for a minute. “He knows he has nothing to worry about. With me, at least. We’re friends.”

“No.” The little girl patted her arm with a small palm. “Velvette, he’s going to do something bad to stop you.”

“He won’t,” she replied, suddenly feeling uneasy. “He trusts me.”

“He’s bad,” the girl insisted. “He hurts people. You know he does. He’s going to do something bad if you don’t stop him.”

Velvette cringed at that, pressing her hands harder against her eyes until she could see brightly colored splotches.

She had seen Vox’s ruthlessness firsthand. She’d helped him spread vicious lies and destroy the reputations of more than one competitor. Had seen him throw their lowest earning employees at Valentino’s feet and walk away without a backwards glance. Had been with him when the idiotic Pentious had called for help and Vox had only laughed in disgust before telling the unlucky Sinner to kill himself if the Hotel residents didn’t kill him themselves. Not that she was much better (she really wasn’t), but she had no doubt that he wasn’t above cold-blooded malice and could strike without warning. Especially if he was cornered.

Her familiar patted her hand and Velvette looked up, her eyes suddenly so heavy she could barely raise them. “You should do it first before he does.”

“Do what first?”

“Hurt him before he hurts you.”

Notes:

CW: canon-typical levels of violence, implied/referenced domestic violence

Chapter 13: he’s a well-respected man about town, doing the best things so conservatively

Present Day


“Rise and shine, you stupid pieces of shit!”

Vox jolted upright, a circular burst of electricity shooting out around him. Beside him, Val screamed before launching a pillow centimeters past Vox’s face where Velvette effortlessly batted it to the ground. She scowled at them both and Vox tugged the comforter up around himself.

“Fuck, Vel! A little fucking privacy would be nice.”

“It’s seven o’clock.”

“So what?” Vox stared at Velvette who stared back at him for a long fifteen seconds before it finally clicked. “Oh, fuck!”

He launched himself out of bed, apologizing rapidly when Velvette yelled at his nudity. Val flipped them off with three of his four hands, using the fourth to mash a pillow over his head. Vox scrambled to grab a pair of crumpled blue and white cotton pajama bottoms off the floor, almost falling face first in his haste to tug them on.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” he demanded and immediately flinched back from the dark expression on Velvette’s face. Oh, fuck, she was mad. Every appeasement protocol he had began to flash in his brain, demanding him to pick one if he wanted to avoid getting his ass kicked by the little Overlord. She knew he would only fight back so much, especially when it came to her, so it was easy for her to wallop him with one of his own pillows until he yielded. And, frankly, it was too fucking early to pick a fight with her anyways.

“Do I look like your fucking servant, you wanker?” She threw her hands up in the air, purple magic swirling around her before she reined it back in.  “Why the fuck didn’t your alarm go off?”

Vox paused and glanced back at the bed mutinously, fully prepared to throw his lover under the proverbial Velvette bus if he had to. Valentino shifted under the covers minutely, his fluffy antenna peeking out. “I turned it off so we could sleep in.”

“VAL!” Vox glitched for a moment and pressed his hands flat against his face. Do not kill Val, do not kill Val, do not kill Val. “Of all the fucking days for you to break into my phone!”

“Not your phone, amorcito. I used the touch screen on your face.” Val chanced a peek out of his blanket sanctuary, eyes squinting against the bright light. “You were just so cute, all cuddled up, and I kept you up so late last night–”

“No fucking time!” Velvette screeched and Vox ran into the bathroom, cursing colorfully enough to make a sailor blush. Val watched him fondly and sighed, looking over at a seething Velvette.

“I’m fucking the mayor, you know.”

Vox turned on the shower as Val started screaming anew, no doubt having incurred Velvette’s wrath. He winced at the water temperature and adjusted it, tuning out the sounds of Vel undoubtedly raining down unholy hell, glad that it wasn’t him.

When he emerged shortly afterwards (having an internal clock that told him the exact time was a blessing and a curse), he hurriedly dressed and strutted into the dining room with a flourish that was greeted by a somehow still infuriated doll demon and a sulking moth demon, perched at opposite ends of the table, sipping their respective breakfast beverages. Acting as a buffer, Dot was scribbling something in a notebook, vaguely chewing on a piece of toast.

Vox grinned, waiting for someone to congratulate him on his speed. “Ten minutes to spare!”

“You’re supposed to meet the King fifteen minutes before you’re supposed to start the day,” Dot replied, still writing.

“What?” There was no way that was true. He pulled up his calendar. “No!”

Dot flicked her wrist. “Just go. I’ll meet you there.”

Vox scrambled to pour as much coffee as he could fit in a travel mug, muttering to himself about idiotic moths who kept him up half the night and then turned off the alarm. Yeah, all right, the sex was amazing (it was always amazing), but it wasn’t worth the heart attack his body was threatening him with. Because, sure he’d get over a heart attack, but it wasn’t like he wanted to die first thing on the morning he was supposed to start a new job – it’d be fucking inconvenient.

“How have you put up with this shit for so long?” Velvette asked Dot curiously. Vox’s eyes darted over the ferret Sinner, silently hoping she wouldn’t be embarrassing about it. The biggest drawback to having someone in their inner loop who had known Vox since his living days (and for a very long time while they were alive, on top of it) was worrying that she would start to whip out the proverbial naked baby pictures of him without warning.

“Oh, he was a cute kid.” Vox shot a pleading look in her direction, but didn’t stop aggressively chewing the piece of toast he had pilfered from Val’s plate. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Handsome as anything.” Dot shrugged. “Just as stupid, though.”

Val snorted, glared back at Velvette’s dark glance, and reached out to slap Vox on the ass. Vox yelped, nearly choking on his toast, and moved away before Val could land a second smack. “Pretty and dumb, just the way I like ‘em.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He roughly swallowed the remains of his breakfast and popped the top onto the travel mug. “All right, say bye-bye to Daddy, kids.”

He left to a chorus of “bye, Daddy,” “fuck off,” and “eight minutes now, Vee.”

 

*

 

The first hour of mayoral duties was… underwhelming.

Lucifer gave him a guided tour of the building, occasionally pointing out places where previous mayors had met gruesome deaths. The wider Vox’s eyes grew, the quicker Lucifer was to point out that they didn’t stay dead, of course. After a while, he seemed to catch on and switched over to describing the architecture.

Then, just as quickly as he had greeted Vox in his office, the King was gone. Something about Kingly duties, though Vox suspected he was headed off to the Hotel to coddle the Princess some more or maybe hate-fuck the Radio Demon. And who was Vox kidding, the few interactions he’d seen between them were so painfully, and weirdly, sexually charged that even he was waiting for that to go public. Not that it was problem – nope! He was absolutely fine with Alastor fucking the King of Hell.

Thinking of the asshole made Vox remember the feeling of panic that had set in immediately after learning that he had won the election. He should do something about it now that he had some free time to actually think. Leaning back in his chair, he began to set parameters on a data search to sort through every single interaction he had with Alastor, directly or indirectly, and every scrap of data he had on the bastard. It would take days to sort and filter through decades of data, but he could keep the program running in the background while he went about his daily life.

Labeling the search “radio fucker sightings,” he eased it to the back of his mind to run while he went back to the more boring task of governing.

He sat behind the desk, idly tapping a pen against the top in time with a song he was playing internally. Dot had already found something to do in her little adjoining office and he envied her whatever she had to keep herself busy. He damn near jumped out of his chair in excitement when a fluffy sheep demoness rapped her knuckles against the door and popped her head in the office. Oh, yes, here we fucking go!

“Mister Mayor, sir?”

“Yes!” Vox exclaimed, entirely too excited. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dot lean forward against her desk, staring at him with wide eyes. In his excitement, he had turned on his hypnotic eyes, evident from the vacant stare he was met with, the little sheep’s eyes spiraling. He blinked hastily and waited until her eyes cleared to speak. “Haha, I mean, yes. I’m Vox, CEO of VoxTek, Overlord, Mayor of Pentagram City.”

“Oh.” The demoness blinked at him and decided it was safe enough to enter his office. He waved her closer, motioning for her to have a seat across from him. She was smart enough to continue staring at him suspiciously. “That’s nice.”

“Ah, what can I do for you?” He beamed, flashing his brightest, most charming smile. “I’m here to serve, after all.”

“Can you do something about my sister-in-law?"

Vox blinked. Okay. He wasn’t expecting that, but that was fine. He could think on his feet. “Uh… maybe? What do you want me to do about your sister-in-law?"

The little sheep woman crossed her arms over her chest with a humph. Her little ears flicked impatiently. “She’s chews too loudly.”

“She chews…”

“Too loudly, yes.” The demoness glared at him and Vox’s own eyes narrowed instinctively before he forced himself back into a more animable expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be like some kind of public servant now?”

Vox chuckled awkwardly, glancing over at Dot. Was this woman for real? Dot shook her head, equally baffled. “Well, I suppose I am, but I don’t see how I can stop your sister–”

“Denise.”

Vox stared for a few seconds. “I don’t see how I can make Denise chew any less loudly.”

“Well, you can make a law or something!” The demoness scowled. “I voted for you, you know. Because you’re supposed to be a man of the people. And that means you’re supposed to be making sure that the people are protected.”

“Against loud chewing?”

“It’s obscene!” she suddenly screamed, tiny tendrils of smoke emitting from her nostrils, and Vox flinched ever so slightly. Oh, sweet Lucifer. Was she going to fucking attack him in his office, on his first day? How was he going to explain to the King that he had murdered the very first constituent that had strolled into his office? He clasped his hands together in front of him, tilting his head while his smile widened. “It’s obscene and there should be laws.”

“Ms. …?”

“Mrs. Dunkirby.” She gave him a once over. Oh, okay. Yuck. Vox felt suddenly very dirty and not in a good way. “I’m not some kind of modern floozy. I’m a married woman!”

“Yes, well, Mrs. Dunkirby, I think you’re going to find that Hell doesn’t have an obscenity law in place.” He grinned. “At least, not in Pride.”

“There must be.”

“There aren’t. I air the very best pornography – I’d know.”

She stood up and pointed a tiny but sharp claw directly at his face. Lucifer, the set of balls on this one. “I should have voted for the Radio Demon.”

“Ah, well, no takesies-backsies.”

“What?” The smoke tendrils grew a little darker and he could hear a soft little hiss coming from Dot’s office. Knowing that Dot would be more than happy to intervene and tear this little Karen’s head right off for him, Vox decided to try a bit of damage control before shit really went off the rails.

Vox spread his hands out in front of him, palms up. “Well, of course, I appreciate your vote.” He stared at her straight on, letting his eye begin to spiral. The outraged expression on the sheep demon’s face instantly relaxed into a blank one. “I’ll have to look into your request. So, if you’d like to email my assistant later, I’d be happy to let you know what I uncover.”

Mrs. Dunkirby stood with spinning eyes for a minute before she nodded. “That… seems reasonable.”

“Excellent!” Vox hurried around the desk, keeping his hypnotic gaze focused on her. She allowed him to escort her back to the door. “Trust me, I’ll see what I can do to help you eradicate loud chewing.”

She nodded before wandering back down the hall where she had come from and Vox slowly, quietly, shut the door behind her. Once it clicked into place, he whirled around and pressed his back against it, staring wide-eyed at Dot.

“Holy shit.”

“She’s one of your constituents.” Dot barked a laugh, super amused with the whole situation and Vox shot her a quick little sneer. “Look at you, working with the general public!”

“There’s a reason I hide in my Tower all the time.” He turned back around, opening the door a crack to check whether Mrs. Dunkirby had left. When the coast seemed clear, he let the door swing halfway open. “I may have made a huge mistake.”

Dot laughed louder this time before picking up her phone to start playing another VoxTek app game. Vox slunk back to his desk, hoping against hope that there would be no other complaints today. But, of course, given Vox’s contentious relationship with fate, it was not to be.

The next few hours were a blur of absolute boredom that made Vox want to cry or sheer horror at what his constituency seemed to believe he could do. That also made him want to cry. Not a lot, but enough to wash some of the grime that was collecting inside his mind as the day progressed.

After the fifth constituent he had to escort from his office, Vox slumped face down at his desk and whined pitifully. Was it too late to tell the King that he had rethought his decision and would like very much to go back to just being a ridiculously rich and powerful businessman and relinquish this stupid Mayor thing?

He heard the suspiciously soft sound of fabric rustle next to his desk.

“What’s the matter, Vox? Did you underestimate the stupidity of your voter base?”

Vox jerked upright with a growl, eyes narrowing. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?”

Alastor beamed at him before taking a seat on the edge of the desk. He plucked a piece of paper from the desk and studied it. “Your drawings are getting better. Is that one supposed to be me?”

Vox snatched back the paper, any patience he had long gone. “Yep, and I’m cutting your head off. See?” He pointed at one of the doodles. “That’s the blood spurting out of your neck stump.”

“Very artistic, if not terribly accurate.” Alastor attempted to trace a finger down the paper but missed when Vox pulled it out of reach. “Arterial spray doesn’t shoot only straight up like that.”

“Are you critiquing a doodle?” he asked in disbelief, feeling his eye twitch, helpless to stop it. The Radio Demon shrugged.

“If you’re going to have it out where anybody could see it, you can’t be upset about constructive criticism.”

Vox flipped him off with maybe an unnecessary amount of aggression, but Alastor fucking deserved as much vitriol as Vox could muster. “Fuck you. I’ll repeat myself: what you are fucking doing here?”

Alastor tilted his head to the side, like he was considering that, which Vox could say was complete bullshit. There was no way the Radio Demon hadn’t arrived without some nefarious plan already in place. Alastor blinked with fake innocence. “Why, and here I was thinking that you had at least half a brain somewhere in that flat head of yours.”

Ugh, no. He was not going to get swept up in this. Forcing a serene smile onto his face, Vox leaned back in his chair. After a minute, Alastor’s expression turned sulky, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s not any fun if you don’t play along.”

Vox shrugged. “Oh, well. Die mad about it.”

“Fine.” Alastor looked away from the Television Overlord, seeming to notice Dot for the first time. He uncrossed his arms, resting his palms flat on either side of him. “Oh, hello, Miss Dot! How are you liking the new office?”

Much to Vox’s chagrin, Dot shrugged. How and/or why she still managed to maintain a pleasant relationship with Alastor never ceased to baffle him. “It’s not terrible. Did you know that there’s a pretty storied history here?”

“Oh?” Alastor leaned toward her and Dot nodded.

“Did you know that in this very office, the entire mayoral staff were executed by guillotine?” Alastor’s face brightened and Vox rolled his eyes. “Not permanently, obviously, but they had to paint the walls red because they never could get the blood out.”

Alastor laughed and Vox half-expected him to clap his hands together like the horrible little gremlin he was. “How delightful!”

“Dot,” Vox growled. “Stop being friendly with the Radio Demon.”

Alastor flicked his gaze back to the other Overlord as Dot rolled her eyes. “Jealously doesn’t suit you, my dear.”

Vox sputtered. “Jealously? You think that I’m jealous?”

“That I clearly enjoy Dot’s lovely company more than yours?” Alastor tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Mm, yes, I think you are.”

“You know what?” Vox stood up, painfully aware of how quickly Alastor’s grin sharpened. “You can fuck off now. I don’t have the patience for your shit today.”

“Too bad!” Alastor laughed; the sound tinged with a cruel edge. “You’re going to have to see a lot more of me, I’m afraid. Remember? I’m your Deputy, after all.”

The camel had many straws already resting on its back, but the reminder that Vox had inadvertently saddled himself with Alastor’s ongoing company was absolutely the one that broke its back. Sparks flew unbidden from Vox’s antennae. Alastor’s face had never looked more punchable than in that very moment and, before he could think about what he was doing, Vox swung his fist with the full force of his power as an Overlord and Mayor of Pentagram City. He registered the surprise in Alastor’s expression right before the hit landed, but the immediate aftermath was somewhat of a mystery.

Vox found himself flying backwards, electrical energy bursting from his body in blinding white light. He slammed against the wall behind his desk with enough force to trigger an automatic reboot. Pain took a minute to find him as he lay face down on the floor, fingers twitching as the remains of electricity fizzled out around him.

“…the fuck?” he groaned against the marble floor once his reboot had completed.

He heard a low whistle above him and his computer brain helpfully informed him that it was Alastor making the sound.

“Well, that’s new,” the Radio Demon said. Vox started to push himself up from the ground and let out an angry shout when he felt cold fucking shadow tendrils wrap around his arms and waist, tugging him onto his feet. He gave the obligatory thrash against his restraints, scowling. “You didn’t even touch me.”

“Because you used your creepy hentai tentacles before I could,” Vox groaned, deciding to just hang limply in the restraining shadows. Alastor chuckled, leaning forward to study Vox like a particularly interesting new toy.

“I did not,” he chided. “Hmm, I wonder…”

Vox’s eyebrows shot up as Alastor raised his own fist. The Radio Demon did not prefer to fight with his hands, not when he had all manner of creepy, shadow weapons to wield. Vox had only ever been on the receiving end of Alastor’s direct assault once and he cringed back, waiting for the blow to land.

Except it didn’t.

Vox watched in stunned amazement as Alastor’s fist came millimeters from hitting his screen only to catch the impossible sight of Alastor’s face snapping back as an invisible force crashed into it. He stumbled to catch himself as the shadow restraints dissolved and watched in surprise as Alastor was thrown backwards, landing on the marble floor with a pained grunt.

“You… you were going to crack my screen, you bitch!” Vox roared after a moment and launched another attack, this time with lightning. It should have come as no surprise to him when, instead of resulting in air-fried venison, his own body locked up from the voltage and he was deposited without fanfare to the ground. He coughed a plumb of smoke from his mouth as his body twitched helplessly. “What d-dzzx-id you do?”

Alastor stayed seated on the floor and began to laugh madly. Fucking jackass, he was going to fucking kill him just as soon as he had fine motor control again. Well, gross motor control, too, seeing as how his arms and legs no longer seemed to obey any commands from his brain. He tried to move his arm upwards and smacked himself so firmly in the throat that he had to spend a minute gagging on the unintentional assault before he could croak out any sound.

“Ow,” he whined in protest. He blinked his eyes open to see Dot watching them from the doorway of her own office, exasperated. “Dot, help me up so I can kill him.”

“I leave you alone for one day and this is what I come back to,” a now familiar voice called out and Vox stared up at the ceiling in defeat. Not even the annoyed humph from Alastor made him feel better. “Honestly, what’s the deal, fellas? Do you just need a little private, personal time to sort out these big feelings?”

Vox forced himself into a sitting position and glowered at the King of Hell.

Lucifer had appeared sometime during the… fight? Yeah, sure, why not call it a fight, even if it was the most confusing fight Vox had ever witnessed or been involved in. The diminutive archangel grinned down at him before turning his gaze to Alastor, who was dabbing daintily at his bleeding nose with a handkerchief.

“You’ve got some blood on your collar there, Alfred.” Alastor shot him a baleful look. “Sorry, jeez, just thought I’d be helpful. Hello, Dot.”

“Hello, your Majesty.”

“Please, just Lucifer.” He narrowed his eyes at the two Overlords on the ground. “I’m not extending that to either of you fuckwits, just FYI.”

“Cool,” Vox groaned. “That’s totally cool.”

Lucifer flicked his wrist and both Overlords were back on their feet and wow, Vox was really starting to hate that little trick. He gripped the edge of his desk, dark satisfaction flooding through him as Alastor had to do the same on the back of one of the chairs. Lucifer glanced over at Dot.

“I assume neither of these idiots did anymore reading after the last time?” he asked her and Dot, the little traitor that she was, shook her head. Lucifer tsked. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even surprised. Am I surprised? No, I guess not.”

“What are you rambling about?” Alastor growled.

“You know, I’m not even going to show you directly because obviously the last time didn’t prompt you to do your homework, so I’ll spell it out for you two: you can’t actually hurt one another, even if it’s some weird kink shit you’ve got going on.”

“To be really fucking clear, I am not fucking him,” Vox snapped, looking around the room to find only unsympathetic stares. “Just for the fucking record.”

“And why can’t I rip the tongue straight out of his blathering mouth?” Alastor demanded, just getting right to the heart of it. Crazy fucker didn’t even flinch when Lucifer stepped up closer to him, gaze fixed firmly on the Radio Demon.

“Because too many Sinners would just go off and murder their opponents to take their office for themselves. Which, you know, good for them if they could manage it.” Lucifer glowered at Alastor’s sudden prideful expression. “Except for you. Always except for fucking you.”

“You already said it. No takesies-backsies.”

Dot barked a laugh at that, shaking her head as she shot Vox a meaningful look. He dropped his gaze to the ground, praying to whoever was currently relevant that his face didn’t warm with a blush.

“As I was saying, you can’t hurt each other so that the rest of the city gets some peace.” Lucifer shook his head. “It’s bad enough that you are all constantly trying to torture and murder each other without having two overpowered pieces of shit leveling city blocks during their tantrums.”

Vox pointed at Alastor. “Uh, yeah, he already does that anyways.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” Lucifer sighed. “Anyways. Anything you do to hurt each other will just come right back at you.” He snapped his fingers with a sizzle of golden light. “Boom! Instant karma.”

“That’s completely ridiculous.” Vox didn’t give him the satisfaction of openly agreeing with Alastor, but he nodded internally.

Lucifer considered them both for a very long ten seconds before a wicked grin crept over his face. “You know what, it is kind of ridiculous. Ridiculous that I haven’t seen it up close. I mean, I did create the spell that holds it all together and I haven’t even had the opportunity to really see it in action.”

“Um, what,” Vox said intelligently, exchanging a wide-eyed look with Alastor.

Lucifer made unnerving eye contact with the Radio Demon. “Go on. Slap him.”

Alastor’s ears flattened at that, eyes darting between Vox and the King. Vox’s stomach twisted nervously in his gut. “Absolutely not.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

With a growl, Alastor stepped up to stand in front of Vox, clenching his fist reflexively. Oh, no fucking way. Vox swallowed, eyes widening and heart pounding instinctively as his newly minted Deputy raised a hand and snapped it forward.

He couldn’t help the disbelieving laugh that erupted from his mouth when Alastor’s head snapped to the side, a bright red handprint marking his cheek. Static rose in the air, heavy and angry, and Vox clapped his hands together with a burst of delighted glee.

“Oh! Oh, yes!” he cackled as Alastor slowly turned his head back to face Vox. “Amazing!”

“This is possibly the best idea I’ve ever had.” Lucifer smirked as Alastor bristled. “Really, truly the best one.”

“Considering the caliber of your other ideas, that isn’t saying very much,” Alastor bit out. Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” The King gestured towards the door. “Listen, Bambi. I need to talk to Thumper without your creepy ass hovering.”

Alastor glanced between the two of them and huffed out a breath. “Very well. I suppose I’ll just need to finish my discussion with the Mayor at a later time.”

Vox cast a glance over at Dot who gave the Radio Demon a tiny wave before disappearing back into her adjoining office. Only the desperate need to maintain what was left of his image in front of the King kept Vox from sticking his tongue out at Alastor’s retreating back.

“Have a seat,” Lucifer said, amused grin fading as Alastor swept out of the room and Vox found himself once more alone in a room with the King of Hell. Well, at least this time it was on neutral territory instead of the Princess’s terrible little office. He could still be crushed like a bug, but at least he wouldn’t die with a sad kitten dangling from a tree limb looking down at him. He started to walk to his chair at the mayoral desk but stopped short when Lucifer appeared seated with a flourish of angelic magic. The King gestured to one of the other chairs on the side of the desk, across from where Vox would normally sit, and the Overlord took a seat with a carefully neutral expression.

“So, I have to say that I am really enjoying this whole charade,” the King said.

Charade? Since when had he given anyone the impression that this was anything but serious to him? Sure, he joked and bantered playfully about the whole thing, but his desire for power and to wrest that power from Alastor, no less, was anything but a game. Ever since the fucker’s betrayal, he only had one focus – to build enough power to never be at anyone’s mercy ever again. Sure, it looked scattered and haphazard from the outside (the whole “I Fucked Your…” franchise wasn’t a cinematic masterpiece, but he could just blame that on Val), but it was all ultimately aimed towards that one singular goal.

“It’s not a game,” Vox replied with slight resentment. “I fully intend to fulfill my duties and responsibilities.”

“Unlike the bellhop?”

Vox’s mouth quirked into a crooked smile. “Unlike the bellhop.”

Lucifer nodded and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of Vox’s desk and cocking his head to one side. “I like you.”

“Oh.” That was a surprise.

“I mean, you’re a massive piece of shit, that’s for sure.”

“Thanks?”

“But you’re pissing off Albert, and I can respect that.” The King waved his hand dismissively. “Alfred? Whatever his name is. The point is, I think we can make this thing work.”

Better. Vox crossed his legs and nodded. “I am very good at making things work, I assure you.”

Lucifer hummed. “Good. That’s very good.” He snapped his fingers and massive stack of paperwork fell from a sudden glowing portal above Vox’s desk and landed with an impressive whoosh onto the imported wood. If Vox’s eyes widened in slowly dawning horror, he couldn’t be blamed.

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah, you’re my new paperwork bitch,” the King chuckled. “It’s all stuff that I usually just rubberstamp, but now that I have someone whose responsibilities include reading it, understanding it, and getting it done, it looks like that’s off my To-Do list. More time for the daily crossword, ya know?”

“I can’t –” Vox looked back and forth between the slightly swaying stack of paperwork and the literal Devil himself. “I mean, is it even possible to do all of this?”

“I don’t know!” Lucifer laughed and clapped his hands together once, making Vox jump. “I’ve never bothered to try, but you’re a go-getter. A real can-do kind of guy!”

Vox gulped. “Uh-huh.”

“A team player, huh? There’s no I in team.” The Devil’s grin sharpened. “Teamwork makes the dream work!”

“Right.”

Lucifer sighed, clearly not getting the reaction he was hoping for. “Well, I best be off.”

Lucifer stood and Vox hastily got to his feet as well, careful not to accidentally touch one of the swaying piles of paper and send it careening throughout the office. A glowing golden portal opened behind the King, and he stepped around Vox’s chair to leave. He paused halfway through the portal. “Delegate, I guess. I always do.”

With that, the King disappeared through the Portal (probably back to the fucking Hotel) and Vox walked with slightly unsteady legs to his desk chair. He touched the carefully designed arm rest, calibrated to his exact measurements, before slumping onto it with a queasy sigh. He looked up at the shifting piles of paperwork. Could paperwork laugh? Because these fucking piles were absolutely mocking him with each tiny movement.

“Yeah. Delegate.” He tapped the phone’s intercom. “Send Cindy/Sandy over.”

 

*

 

All things considered, Lucifer really was starting to like the flat-faced Overlord. Whatever his beef was with the bellhop, he was committed to the bit and seemed to comply easily enough with any demands. So far, at least. He could get used to having a halfway competent Overlord under his thumb.

He portaled directly into the Hotel’s lobby and headed directly to the bar. He might not like how hideous it was (fucking bellhop kept changing it back to the unholy mess it had been when he had first seen and, after the third attempt to fix it, Lucifer just gave up), but there was no denying that Husk could make a truly sinful appletini. As he was sipping his electric green beverage, perfectly content to demon-watch, the front door of the Hotel opened and the very last person he expected to come strolling in entered the Hotel with worry written over her ethereal face. Lucifer’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Lil?” he heard himself ask.

Before he could stop himself, he was standing in front of his estranged wife, twisting his hat in his hands in front of him. He hadn’t expected to see her again so soon.

“What are you doing here?” the King of Hell asked in a hushed tone. “How– I mean, why are you here?”

“You didn’t feel it?” she asked, taking his hand in her own and staring straight into his soul. If he had one. Jury was still out on that. Lucifer opened his mouth to tell her no, he hadn’t felt anything, what was she talking about, but Charlie’s voice cut him off.

“Mom?”

Lucifer stood still, watching as mother and daughter reunited. It should’ve been a sight to warm his heart, but Lilith wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to stay in Heaven, where it was safe. The Queen promised that she would sit down with her daughter to catch up before sweeping upstairs, trailed closely behind by an excitedly chattering Niffty.

Charlie turned to him and Lucifer could only stare mutely back at her.

“Dad. Did you know Mom was coming to the Hotel?” Her wide eyes watched her mother pause at the top of the staircase, where Alfonso was standing. The red fucker inclined his head slightly as they exchanged a few words before parting. “Dad?”

He shook his head. “Yeah? Sorry, Charlie, it’s just… surprising to see her again.” He clapped his hands suddenly, making her jump. “You know what, Char-Char? We should get started on making dinner. It won’t make itself, right?”

“Dad, wait!”

Maybe if he walked quickly enough, he could outmaneuver her questions. He busied himself by summoning a pot onto the gas range and the pilot light flared with a snap of his fingers.

“You have to put water it in first,” Charlie said quietly, and he felt his face warm.

“Oh, yeah.” Water splashed into the pot, slopping up over the sides and running down to hiss against the fire below. “A chef, I am not. Huh, Charlie?”

Charlie didn’t answer and they spent the next several minutes in awkward silence as Lucifer willed the pot to start boiling. He wasn’t even sure what he planned to put in the water when it did, but the important part was having literally anything to distract himself from his daughter’s scrutinizing gaze.

“What happened with you and Mom?” she asked finally, and Lucifer flinched.

Nope, he was not ready for this. Not now, maybe not ever. Thank Dad that he had been such a terrible, deadbeat father because he had managed to avoid this question for so many years now. He glanced over at Charlie and shrugged.

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

Charlie frowned. “You’ve never actually told me. Neither of you have. You both just keep giving me the same vague answers.” She sunk down on the stool she had pulled up beside him. “Aren’t I old enough yet to finally get a real answer?”

Yes, he thought. But no.

“It’s so complicated, honey.” He took her hand in his and ran his thumb over the back, not sure how to answer her. “It was so many years ago, when you were just a baby, and…” He sucked in a breath. Careful. “There are some things that you just can’t come back from.”

“Yeah, but you were together for so many years after that,” she said, confused. “How could you stay together for so long if… whatever happened when I was a baby? You’re not making any sense.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Was it me?” Her voice was so quiet and unsure that his hands flew up to frame her face, chest tightening at the sight of her distress.

“Oh, baby, no. Why would you think that?” Her eyes welled with tears and Lucifer swept her into a tight hug. “Of course, it wasn’t you.”

“Then what?”

He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “Please, Char-Char. It wasn’t you, I promise. But please… drop it?”

She squeezed him tightly, face pressed against his chest. He could hear her breath hitch as she struggled to rein in her tears and stroked his hand over her golden hair.

“You’ll tell me someday?” He closed his eyes.

“Of course,” he lied. “Someday.”

Notes:

So, here's a heads-up that a lot of the big, scary tags are about to get rolling in the coming chapters. I will make sure to post warnings in each individual chapter, but the story is about to really take off.

Chapter 14: i’m so sick of that same old love, feels like i’ve blown apart

Notes:

content warnings at the end

2017

Vox really spared no expense. As she watched the throngs of demons partying it up in the newly remodeled Vee Tower, Velvette sipped at a glass of champagne. She could see Vox and Valentino weaving in and out of the crowd, entertaining and shmoozing in turn. Their brand was perfection, and they were doing everything they could to sell it with mountains of gourmet food, fountains of bubbling champagne, and lavish decorations anywhere they could be artfully displayed.

Tonight, though, they were on the outs again. Despite it being a massive unveiling of the new Tower, Val had brought his whore with him just to put Vox on edge. Velvette wasn’t sure what had put them at one another’s throats this time, but it was obvious that Vox was doing his damnedest to avoid Val while the moth demon twirled Angel Dust around, lavishing attention on him instead of the other Vees. Velvette rolled her eyes.

She wished the two of them would just knock it off already. They clearly gave a shit about each other, but there was always something that set them off and had them bickering with one another. No, not bickering. Bickering she could handle without a second thought.

This was fighting. The first time she had seen Valentino backhand Vox hard enough to send him into a wall, cracking his screen, she had shrunk back in wordless horror. A flash of Vox’s pained expression and she was watching her own parents again, listening to her own mother scream that her father was a monster, instead of the two Overlords that she had thrown her lot in with. She had waited until they parted ways to follow Vox down to his mancave, watching as he slumped tiredly into his chair.

“You can come in, Velvette,” he said quietly. “The show’s over.”

Feeling like a child again, she crept into the room with wide eyes and her fingers wrapped so tightly around her phone that she was starting to lose feeling in them. Vox regarded her with a calm, neutral expression.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, and she shook her head after a beat. “It’s all right if you are. In fact, you should be.”

“Of you?”

Vox shrugged. “Of everyone. This is Hell, Velvette. Nobody here is a good person. Not Val, not me. Not you, either.”

“I know, but Val–”

Vox scoffed, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “That wasn’t even that bad, Velvette. Trust me, he’s done worse.” His screen darkened minutely. “No point in dwelling on it."

He’d changed the subject, asking about her newest line and Velvette had let herself be distracted. And while that may have been the first time she had actually seen Vox reveal any vulnerabilities, it wouldn’t be the last.

She shook her head with a scowl and retreated from the flashing lights and pounding music to the elevator, riding it up to the penthouse. Finally alone, she headed back into her own suite, shutting the door carefully behind her. She was being stupid, letting old memories drag themselves into the front of her mind, giving them any time of day, but still. She just needed a few minutes on her own to get herself right so that she, at least, wouldn’t be a miserable fucking embarrassment.

She walked into her closet, convincing herself that the real reason she had come up here was to change into a different outfit, but before she could touch the butter soft pair of pants she wanted to change into, purple sparks flew from her fingers. She shook her hands out with growing alarm when the sparks didn’t let up and suddenly raced up her arms and down her body. Velvette let out a shriek of panic as her clothing tightened suddenly and then… nothing.

Velvette glanced down at her body and gasped. What in the actual fuck? That wasn’t possible. She hurried over to the mirror and started to laugh in disbelief, turning to look at the new clothes that impossibly found their way onto her body.

But there they were. After a minute of staring at herself and plucking at the black shirt she was wearing, she held up her hands and narrowed her eyes. With a snap, a few purple wisps fluttered from her fingertips and Velvette cackled with delight.

She had fucking magic? Oh, Vox was going to lose his damn mind. Val probably wouldn’t care, but he could go fuck himself.

Something in the air shifted and her gaze was drawn to a cluster of shadows in the corner of the room that was darker than the rest. And, shit, she supposed she really shouldn’t have been surprised to see the brightly glowing yellow grin slice through the darkness, but she jumped anyways.

“Oi!” Alastor emerged from the shadows, his obsession with that red-on-red monstrosity he called an ensemble showing zero signs of fading, and Velvette sneered. “What, here for the free booze and food?”

“Mm, is that what that was?” Alastor asked. “And here I thought it was all decorative.”

Some of it was, that was true. Velvette had to have something to photograph. She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“You were doing magic,” the crazy codger said, smoothly avoiding her question. Velvette’s eyes widened as he approached. She hadn’t ever spent time one on one with the Radio Demon, but she had heard enough horror stories to put her on edge. “I didn’t realize that Vox had found himself a witch to partner with – he’s better at choosing his allies than I thought. Well, with you, at least.”

Velvette recognized the combination compliment/insult for what it was and shook her head. “I’m not a witch.”

“No?” He held up his hand and sickly green fire began to dance around his fingers. She watched it twist and turn with new interest. “Don’t think I can recognize magic when I see it?”

“I can’t do that,” she replied, feeling her guard drop and not caring. “All I can do is this.”

Okay, she could do this again. Huffing a breath out, she shut her eyes to focus. This time, she could feel almost painful prickles of power build in her fingers before she snapped her fingers and felt a swirl as her clothing swished against her body. She opened her eyes and laughed triumphantly to find her body wrapped in a short silver dress.

“Oh, my mistake, of course you aren’t a magic user,” Alastor said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Choosing to ignore his attitude, she looked up at the other Overlord with sudden hopefulness.

“Can I do that, too?” she asked, gesturing with her hands with what she hoped was a similar movement to how he had summoned the green flames in the first place. Alastor’s grin widened.

“Maybe.”

“Show me,” she demanded and without a thought, reached out to catch his wrist. She was too excited to pay attention to the fact that he allowed her to drag him over to the bed and sit them both on the edge. “Show me how to do that.”

Fire crackled over his knuckles and wrapped around his wrist. “What, this?”

“Yes, that!” she snapped impatiently. This fucking guy, why did he have to be so frustrating?

Velvette’s attention was jerked away by sudden loud shouting coming from the common area. The fire dancing along Alastor’s fingers dimmed then extinguished as he also turned to look at the door to her suite.

“Fuck you, Val, you couldn’t just pretend to be interested in anyone other than your little whore tonight?” Vox shouted, voice only slightly muffled through the wooden door. “I asked you to play nice for one fucking night! Shit, where the fuck did Vel go?”

“Oh, relax,” Valentino purred. “She’s around here somewhere. Probably just went to change her outfit again or something. Anyways, it’s not like anyone cares who’s hanging off my arm.”

“I care!” Vox yelled. “I fucking care!”

“Oh, no. Are you feeling a little jealous, baby?”

“Jealous? Jealous?” Vox barked a laugh that had a hysterical edge to it. Velvette shot a nervous look at Alastor who stared impassively back. “What the fuck do I have to be jealous of? I’m the one who built all of this, I’m the reason you even matter in the first place. Am I supposed to be jealous of a couple of whores? You’re a fucking embarrassment to everything I’ve –”

She didn’t need to see what was happening to know exactly why Vox’s angry tirade cut off mid-sentence, his voice choked off with a surprisingly small gasp. A scuffle of shoes on the newly installed flooring. Cloth rending under sharp claws. The loud thump of someone slammed against a wall and Velvette dropped her eyes to the floor, face burning with mortification. Valentino just had to fucking do this with Alastor sitting beside her, listening to everything.

“Careful, amorcito, or you’re going to make me angry.” Dress shoes slipped against the floor, making absurd sounding squeaks so out of place that Velvette could scream. She twisted a hand up into her hair, trying to stay perfectly still and silent as if that would make it stop. “You’re already pushing me as it is.”

Even from here, she could hear the heavy whirr of Vox’s exhaust fans. After a moment, there was a painful sounding gasp. “Val… let go…”

Valentino tsked. “Now, why would I do that? What would you learn if I just let you go, hm?”

“Get off me.” Stronger this time, more forceful.

“No.”

This time, Vox did cry out and Velvette was suddenly painfully aware of the shifting pressure change in the room. She glanced quickly at Alastor whose eyes were narrowed, fingers curling tightly around the top of his microphone.

“Val,” Vox gasped, voice wavering. “Stop.”

She wasn’t sure exactly what she was listening to, but it was clear from the new sounds of struggling that Val was doing something that hurt. There was another loud bang immediately followed by the sound of breaking glass and she knew that Vox’s screen had been broken. Again.

Fucking Valentino. Why was he fucking everything up and why was Vox letting him? He wasn’t using any of his powers to make Val stop – and Velvette had seen some of the shit he could do up close, knew just what a horrifyingly efficient killer Vox was. And yet, what? He didn’t want to kill Val for making him make those pathetic sounds, making him fucking sound like he was about to start crying like a weak little bitch?

She hated him at that moment, and she hated herself for hating him.

Velvette sucked in a shallow breath to try and keep herself calm as the shadows in the room grew darker. She could hear Vox’s panicked breathing, could hear what sounded like him choking on something. And she knew, fucking knew, that Val had his hands wrapped around Vox’s throat.

Once the novelty of their partnership had begun to wear off, Val didn’t seem to have any problem in demonstrating that the quickest way to cow Vox was to choke him into submission. It was shocking how fast Vox gave in, how the otherwise powerful Overlord would crumble under Valentino’s abuse.

“You’re… hurting me,” Vox choked out and the answering thud, she knew, was Val knocking his head back against the wall.

“Yeah, that’s the fucking point. What are you going to do about it – run back to Alastor?” Valentino scoffed. “You’re always fucking bitching about Angel, but what about your old pal? You’re just fucking dying for an excuse to go back to him. Poor little you, poor little Voxy – wouldn’t you just love it if he were to swoop in and save you?”

“No, don’t...” Vox swallowed loudly, voice rough. “Don’t talk about him.”

“I should fuck you right now, Vox, with your face all fucked up, and put you back in your fucking place,” Val snarled. Velvette flinched – she couldn’t listen to that. Not again. “Because he’s not coming back – he fucking hates you. Wishes he’d never met you. Wishes he’d just let you die, remember him telling you that, baby? And you need to fucking remember how lucky you are that you’ve still got me, even after all the fucking shit you talk.”

Velvette flinched as Alastor got his feet, shadows surging around him. Without thinking, she caught his wrist and stared up at him in muted horror. The Radio Demon looked down at her, eyes completely black with swinging radio dials. Velvette shook her head desperately.

You’ll only make it worse, she thought, panicked. And, as though he had heard her, Alastor stiffened and jerked his head to face the door again. After a few seconds, he sunk down beside her, static crackling in the air but quieter.

“Val, please…”

“What’s that?”

Vox coughed suddenly, a painful sound that made Velvette’s stomach twist. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. “I’m only not going to do it because there’s no fucking time, not because you don’t fucking need it.” A soft slap and Vox made a quiet grunt of protest. “Perfection, right, baby? Someone’s gotta go back down there and actually be useful around here.”

Vox didn’t answer.

“Right, Voxy?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” There was another scuffling sound followed by the sound of Valentino’s heels clicking against the hardwood. “Clean yourself up before coming back down. And baby?”

“What, Val?” His voice wavered, and Velvette clenched her fists in her lap. Fucking… fucking weak. Furious tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

“If you see Velvette, tell her to get her ass back downstairs. The little bitch needs to show her face, too.” Val laughed. “At least hers isn’t broken, si?”

She sat frozen in place as they listened to Val walking away before slamming the penthouse door behind him. There was a beat of silence before she heard the slide of fabric against a smooth surface followed by a heavy thump. Vox was breathing heavily, and she could hear the threat of tears on each exhale. Shit, she couldn’t just sit here and listen to him break down, couldn’t fucking handle that.

Getting to her feet, she glanced at Alastor. It took him a moment before he looked back up at her, eyes narrowed with what? Anger? She couldn’t understand why he, of all the demons in Hell, would possibly be upset over Vox getting his ass handed to him. Hadn’t the Radio Demon done the same thing, years ago?

With an unsteady gait, she walked to the door and opened it to find Vox leaning against the wall just outside her door. Crumpled on the ground like a discarded toy, lost and broken.

His head shot up, revealing the cracks across his screen. Over his hypnotic eye, like always – Val knew exactly what he needed to do to neutralize Vox as quickly as possible. Vox’s hand shot up to cover the broken part of his screen, mouth tightening into a thin line. Sparks flew from his fingertips like he couldn’t quite control them.

“Velvette,” he said in a horrible, cheerful tone after a few moments. A fake smile spread across his face. “Seems like I had a little too much to drink at the party.”

“Vox.”

“Haha, clumsy of me, right?” He tried to push himself up, only for his shoes to slip against the hardwood, sending him right back down again. Velvette watched in quiet horror as he dragged his claws down the side of his head with a high, manic laugh. Tiny curls of metal spiraled from the tips of his claws down the front of his tuxedo. “Fucking clumsy, that’s me.”

“It’s okay,” she tried, moving cautiously in front of him. She held out a hand to help him up.

“Of course, it’s okay.” Vox sneered at her hand before struggling upright on his own. He coughed harshly before rubbing a hand against his throat absentmindedly. His claws caught against the torn collar of his dress shirt, pulling enough to make him wince. “Everything is fine. Always is. Fucking A-OK.”

“I’m sorry.” Velvette found herself at loss as Vox started to tug his ripped jacket back in place, his functioning eye focusing hard on the task at hand.

“No, you’re not.” Vox shook his head. Velvette chose not to point out that his shaking fingers didn’t seem to be able to properly grasp the lapels. “You’re not because there’s nothing to be sorry about. Nothing’s wrong.” He tore a seam trying to adjust his jacket, the soft sound making his brows furrow in dismay. “Fuck. Fuck!”

Velvette stared at him silently for a moment before raising her hand. A snap of her fingers and Vox’s clothing glowed momentarily then, with a shimmer of purple light, repaired itself to perfection. Velvette waited for the surprise that was supposed to flash across his face when he realized that she had just used magic. Instead, he dropped his hands to his sides, looking defeated.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

His good eye glanced past her, through the open door, and she instantly knew that he had spotted Alastor. Horror spreading over his face, Vox took a step forward before halting, electricity crackling over his hands.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he asked quietly, and Velvette spun to find that the Radio Demon was standing behind her, murky green magic hissing and licking at the doorframe. Before she could answer, even though she didn’t have an answer that he would find acceptable, Alastor chuckled and clasped a hand over her shoulder.

“Why, I just stopped in to pay a visit to the littlest Vee,” he replied, all charm and good humor. Vox’s gaze darted between Alastor’s face and the hand he had on Velvette’s shoulder, mouth pulling into a thin line. Shit. She could tell he was weighing his options, and she suddenly wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t end up as collateral damage. “Not to worry, old pal. She wasn’t foolish enough to sell me her soul.”

The shift from unsettled apprehension to incandescent fury was instantaneous. Velvette shrank back as much as she could with the doorframe in her way as Vox roughly pushed her aside, knocking Alastor’s hand from her shoulder.

“What?” he roared. Lightning crackled from his hands, reaching towards Alastor as though it couldn’t wait to wrap its electric fingers around his throat and squeeze.

“Well, not yet at least.” Alastor blocked a bolt of lightning with his microphone, grin sharpening like he didn’t have an ounce of self-preservation. “I’m sure I’ll figure out something to tempt her with eventually.”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

Alastor dissolved into shadow and reappeared close to the window. She didn’t miss the way Vox swallowed roughly before he fired off more electricity, the air around them growing charged with the alchemical mix of their powers. The Radio Demon laughed lightly before tilting his head.

“Oh, don’t bother. I was just on my way out, anyways.”

Velvette shut her eyes against the sudden flare of light, her ears ringing with the clap of thunder in its wake. She forced herself to open her eyes again and realized with relief that Alastor had gone, leaving a shaking Vox behind. Shit. She shoved off from the doorframe and caught him around the waist, letting him sag against her. They stayed like that for a long time until he finally pushed against her arm. She let go and stared up at him, mouth working as she struggled to find the right words.

“Vox, I…” She trailed off at the exhausted expression on his face. “I just need to change my outfit.”

“Right. Yep.” Vox straightened himself and stared down at her impassively before gesturing vaguely to his head. “I’ll be down shortly. Need to see to… this.”

Velvette watched as he zapped himself away via one of the security cameras before breathing out a shaky sigh. Oh, fuck. This was bad. This one was really bad.

She yelped in surprise as the shadows quickly gathered before materializing into the Radio Demon. Despite the grin on his face, his expression managed to look drawn and just as uncomfortable as she felt. “Fuck, dude!”

Alastor held a dusty old book in his hand. He studied her for a moment before holding it out to her. “Take this.”

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Just a book of practical spells.” Velvette took the book cautiously. “You’ll find chapter twenty-three particularly useful, I think.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Alastor opened his mouth, clearly struggling with something. She suddenly had a thousand questions she wanted to ask him and didn’t know where to start. He didn’t seem to, either, because he inclined his head in a stiff, awkward motion before disappearing in his own shadows once more.

Velvette walked into the common living room and sank down on the couch. After a minute, she opened the book to chapter twenty-three.

Protection and Prevention: The Practical Use of Magical Binding.

Her eyes widened and she began to read, heedless of her promise to return downstairs.

 

*

 

Alastor rematerialized from the shadows in his home and pressed his palms against his eyes, breathing shallowly. It took all his willpower to keep himself from flying right back to the tower and methodically tearing the wings from the overgrown insect’s back. How dare he presume to treat Vox that way.

With a snarl, he dropped his hands to his sides and clenched his fists, filling with impotent rage. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, either – if Vox insisted on keeping the fool around, Alastor couldn’t help him anymore than he just had. He just had to hope that the little Vee would know what to do with the book he had given her. Wasn’t she supposed to be some kind of genius?

He began to pace, rubbing his hands against his forearms. He just needed to focus. Just needed to think about something besides the way Vox had begged Valentino not to hurt him, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from interfering and ruining everything. Vox was safer where he was. Safer than he would be if Alastor did what Valentino had taunted the television demon with and swooped in like a hero nobody wanted to rescue him.

“Shit,” he hissed.

He’d only gone to the new Tower to commit a little espionage. It was always useful to know an enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, and this offered an unprecedented opportunity to slip into Vox’s new stronghold without raising suspicions. After all, half of Pride’s elite were in attendance – who would even notice one little Overlord creeping around in the penthouse?

He shook his head, focusing hard on the other discovery he had made.

The little Vee was fascinating. How long had she been in Hell, been an Overlord even, and was only just now discovering her magic? Did something trigger it suddenly? Not every witch, every magic user, crashed into the Pit knowing how to access and use their powers. Not like him – he blinked his eyes open and had immediately felt a surge of infernal magic flood his veins.

All right. That was better. His thoughts were beginning to clear.

Alastor.

He shook his head, clamping his hands over his ears as heavy feedback erupted into the air. No, not now. Not after that. She couldn’t possibly want to see him after he had listened to that.

“No,” he growled. “Not now.”

The chain around his neck snapped him forward and he wrapped his hands around it, trying to tug back. It was a silly, pointless gesture, but he wasn’t going to go with at least being able to say that he tried to fight. He thrashed desperately, trying to summon his shadows to escape.

Do not test me.

He was driven to his knees the next time she pulled his chain and tried not to cry out in frustration as he was dragged through the portal that had suddenly appeared in front of him. Felt his trousers tear and his knees shred apart as he was yanked straight to her throne. Gasping for air, he slumped forward, barely bracing his weight on his hands. They stayed like that for several minutes until Alastor had enough air back in his lungs to snarl down at the floor.

“That was foolish,” she said quietly, and Alastor closed his eyes.

“I know.”

“And you did it anyways?” He could hear her rise from her throne and step down to stand in front of him. “You still love him, don’t you? Is that why you keep resisting me?”

He snapped his head up, eyes narrowing angrily. “I don’t love him.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Some people will do anything to protect the people that they love.”

Stop, he wanted to scream back. Instead, he sagged down, resting his hands on the tops of his thighs and focusing on the cold stone beneath his bleeding knees. He listened as she crouched down in front of him and tried not to flinch when she caught his chin in her hand, raising his face to stare into his eyes.

“I’m not unsympathetic, Alastor. It’s obvious how much you care about him.” He tried to jerk his face to the side, but she held fast. “Maybe there’s another way you can help me, if you’re so determined not to help me with your picture box.”

It was a trick. He knew it the instant the words came out of her mouth, but the prospect of finally diverting her attention from Vox, after decades of failure, gave him a moment of hideous hope.

“How?” he asked, stupidly. She released his chin and patted his cheek, lingering a moment too long and sending a chill down his spine with her icy touch.

“Train the girl.”

Alastor reeled, struggling to keep up. “What girl?”

“The little witch you were just with.” She smiled, a mockery of benevolence gracing her features. “She has potential.”

Velvette. No, he couldn’t do that. He barely knew the girl, but if she was special enough for Vox to take her under his wing, that was all he needed to know. He shook his head.

“No.”

She sighed once more and shook her head. “I figured you’d say that. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to spend the next thirty years convincing you to cooperate.”

Alastor flinched back as she snapped her fingers and the wooden door that had always been shrouded in shadows and gloom creaked open. Icy air flooded into the room, chilling him to the bone. He glanced up at her, heart racing in his chest.

“A few years ought to soften your resolve,” she said quietly and reached down to catch him by the back of his coat. Hauling him unceremoniously to his feet, she dragged him in front of the door and Alastor struggled to shrink back.

There weren’t words to describe what he was looking into – he only knew that his stomach dropped, and his knees buckled in terror as he stared into darkness behind the door. This wasn’t the Void that he was so used to traveling through, teeming with wicked, wild, untamable things that Alastor enjoyed taunting during his trips. There was something empty and desolate about the blackness he was staring into.

“No, please,” he gasped, trying to pull away. “Don’t do this. I’ll cooperate!”

“Yes, you will,” she replied, and tendrils of heavy darkness threaded around his wrists and ankles. A thick shadow snaked out from the icy Void and wrapped around his waist. Panting, Alastor clawed desperately to get free and caught her eye as he was slowly pulled forward. “After you’ve had some time to really think about it.”

 

*

 

Present Day

Vox had people to do things for him like hand deliver a cup of coffee from his favorite shop, but sometimes he just liked doing things for himself. As he waited in line, staring at his phone to avoid the risk of making eye contact and inadvertently having to interact with his constituents, he scrolled mindlessly through his socials. Nothing of any interest came across any of his feeds and he gave up scrolling after a few minutes. Unfortunately, tearing himself away from his phone had the unfortunate side effect of noticing that he was no longer the last person in line waiting to place their order.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned and slipped his phone into his pocket. “There’s no way you get coffee here.”

Katie Killjoy shrugged. “Who says I’m here to get coffee?”

“I swear to Lucifer, if you’re trying to trick me into giving you another bullshit interview–”

“Relax, sweetheart.” She took a drag on her cigarette and pointedly blew the smoke in his face, knowing full well how much he hated it. “I’m just fucking with you. I really am just here for a latte – you are an unhappy coincidence.”

“Right.” Vox shifted his weight from one foot to the other, frowning as he studied her. After a moment, Katie looked up from her phone.

“Can you stop undressing me with your eyes?” she snapped.

“I’m adding more clothes.”

She slipped her phone into her pocket and glared back at him for a long moment before scowling. “Okay, fine. I have an ulterior motive.”

“Fucking knew it!” Vox hissed triumphantly. He pointed at her accusingly. “It’s always something with you.”

“Yeah, all right, Poirot, you solved the big fucking mystery of my presence in a coffee shop.” She cocked her head. “Do you want a sticker to put on your big boy accomplishment chart?”

Such a bitch. “No. Just tell me what the fuck you want so we can both get on with our afterlives.”

“I want more airtime,” she answered bluntly. “And I want that fucker off my show, once and for all.”

“Who, Tom?” Vox rolled his eyes. “You know that half the audience you have is because they love watching you abuse that poor bastard.”

“Vox, if you don’t get rid of him, I’ll do it myself.”

He shrugged. “So? He’ll just regenerate and be even more pathetic the next day. And that’ll only raise your ratings and give me absolutely no reason to get rid of him.”

That got a rise out of her. He let his mouth slide into a lazy grin when she jabbed a sharp nail against the middle of his chest. “You’re an insufferable prick.”

“Aw, yeah, I am.” He slapped his own wrist, taking a perverse delight in the fury that filled her face. “What a bad TV man I am. Someone should spank me.”

“Fucking dickhead,” she snarled and gave him just enough of a shove to force him to take a step back but not hard enough to really piss him off. “I’m done putting up with your bullshit.”

Vox hummed dismissively and took his phone back out of his pocket. “Well, too bad that I’m the only game in town, sweetheart. You wanna stay on the air, you’ve got to deal with me.”

He managed to move his hand out of the way just in time to avoid her slapping his phone to the ground, raising an eyebrow. Katie sneered.

“Fuck you,” she spat out and whirled on her heel to storm from the coffee shop. “You’re going to fucking regret this, Vox!”

Vox chuckled and waved as she walked away. “Have a great day, Ms. Killjoy!”

She shot her middle finger up and left the shop, slamming the door hard on her way out. Vox noticed that he was next in line and approached the counter with an easy smile to place his order.

As he walked away with his drink, relishing the first sip of the bitter brew, he felt an uncomfortable prickling along the back of his neck. Vox blinked and looked around, confused for a moment, before it hit him.

The special, private little channel that he and Alastor had always used in the early halcyon days of their friendship. Where they could exchange snarky commentary while in the presence of others, trying to embarrass one another by trying to see who would burst into laughter first. Where they could communicate more complex feelings that they couldn’t put into words.

Where they could signal to one another when in danger.

And, unholy shit, Alastor was broadcasting loud and clear, blasting out a veritable S.O.S. so loud that Vox felt his head ring with it. He swallowed hard and pressed his hand against the side of his head, trying to dampen the signal and having no luck.

Fuck. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to fucking acknowledge that he could still feel Alastor’s signal through their shared frequency. He wasn’t as if the other Overlord would know that he could hear his distress signal anymore anyways, so he could go about his business and just ignore it until it stopped.

But if he didn’t go, he would never have a moment’s peace. Was Alastor actually hurt and reaching out to him for help or was it some elaborate ruse to fuck him over one more time? Alastor might not be able to physically hurt him, but Vox wasn’t stupid enough to think that the Radio Demon wouldn’t be able to find a way around that, if he really wanted to.

Shit, he had to know, either way.

Vox shook his head in frustration before setting his drink on the counter beside him. So much for a mid-afternoon caffeine fix, he thought to himself before zapping into the nearest electronic device.

It didn’t take long to find the Radio Demon – he was exactly where Vox expected to find him, holed up in his horrible little radio tower. Vox rematerialized with a burst of ozone and looked around, half expecting to find Alastor waiting for him with an angelic blade before he remembered just how that would end for the other Overlord. He looked around, stumped when there was no red bastard smirking at him.

“Alastor?” he asked, turning around to make sure he wasn’t standing directly behind him, grinning like the murderous psychopath he was. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Vox?”

Vox tilted his head and dropped his gaze lower to the ground, eyebrows raising in surprise when he caught sight of Alastor. The other Overlord was slumped on the ground, barely kept upright by his radio console. Scattered around him were a myriad of bandages, sharp surgical instruments, and a generous quantity of blood. Vox took a hesitant step forward, lip curling in disgust.

“Ugh, are you doing surgery on yourself?” he asked, moving so that Alastor could get a better look at him. “I knew you were hurt, but you must be pretty fucking desperate to hide out here and try to fix yourself.”

“Ah, only a little,” Alastor breathed, letting his head fall back against the console. “Do you have any idea how painful it is trying to sew your own lungs back together?”

Oh.

Vox stared down at the mess that was the Radio Demon and Alastor raised his gaze. After a moment, the other Overlord dropped into a crouch, leaning in to get a better look at the absolute disaster that was Alastor’s bare chest. He reached out, not thinking, and startled when Alastor caught his wrist with serpent-quick speed. Alastor’s gaze locked for a moment with his own and Vox swallowed.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he said quietly, and Alastor sniffed.

“You can’t hurt me.”

Right. “Yeah, but I don’t actually want to.”

Alastor studied him for a long time before letting his hand drop from Vox’s wrist. “How did you know I was here?”

“I could hear your distress signal.” Alastor chuckled dryly and Vox nodded in agreement. It was ridiculous.

“And now that you’re here?”

Vox selected a still wrapped gauze pad and carefully opened it. Without a word, he pressed it gently against an oozing section of the wound that had nearly killed the Radio Demon. Had it looked this serious when he watched it on his drone’s feed? Ignoring a quiet hiss of pain, Vox put a little more pressure on the gauze before shaking his head.

“I don’t know.” He let the gauze soak through with blood before adding another over the top. He struggled with the urge to be completely honest. “I wanted to see if you were really dying or just fucking with me.”

“No fucking today, I'm afraid,” Alastor replied, and Vox’s mouth curled up in a small smile. “What’s your plan, Vox? Planning to take me back to your Tower and patch me up?”

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t think Val would be very happy with me if I did.”

There was a sharp spike in Alastor’s ambient static, and Vox looked up in surprise. Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he studied Vox’s face and the younger Overlord felt himself shrink back slightly.

“Just as well.” Alastor sighed and let his head tip back, staring at the ceiling with pain glazed eyes. “By rights, you should just leave me here to die. It’d be fair.”

Vox froze for a moment, surprised that Alastor had the audacity to allude to the last time that they had spent any real time with one another before everything went to shit with them. He fought down his anger and began to work on threading the suture needle to give himself something to do with his hands.

“It would be fair, wouldn’t it?” he asked, voice low and neutral.

“Yes.” Vox pushed the needle through Alastor’s skin, without warning, and noted with satisfaction the hurt little gasp that escaped his lips. “It would be more than fair after what I did to you.”

Alastor winced and Vox couldn’t tell if it was from the sharp pain of the suture needle or his guilt. The television demon raised his eyes from the sutures and caught Alastor staring straight into his eyes. He might have flinched away if he wasn’t already half-expecting the intense eye contact.

“Do you remember what you said?” he asked, hands stilling. The skin around Alastor’s eyes tightened before he looked away.

“I remember everything, Vox.” He resumed his stitching, only stopping when Alastor’s hand settled over his own. “I… I should’ve been stronger.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Vox refused to look away from Alastor’s injury, pointedly not making eye contact. “You seemed pretty fucking strong when you broke my legs and left me for dead.”

“I know.” Alastor began to sound more flustered. Vox peeked up to see Alastor’s mouth open like he wanted to say something before snapping shut with an audible click. Like he couldn’t bring himself to say whatever he was trying to tell Vox. His hand tightened over Vox’s and the younger Sinner drew in a shaky breath. “I can’t fix any of it, Vox, but I am sorry.”

Vox’s head shot up, eyes darting over Alastor’s face as he tried to make sense of the fact that the fucking Radio Demon had just apologized, with sincerity. What was he supposed to do with that? Be grateful that Alastor was showing him a scrap of remorse?

“Don’t,” he said quietly, shaking his head. He looked back down at their hands, staring without saying anything, until Alastor slowly removed his hand. Taking a deeper breath than he’d been able to for minutes now, Vox resumed stitching together the other Overlord. They stayed in silence until Vox finally finished taping a fresh set of gauze over the sutures and rocked back on his heels.

“I missed you,” he said, face flushing in embarrassment as the words came out before he could stop them. “All of these fucking years and I still–”

He coughed uncomfortably and ran his hand over the back of his neck. Alastor reached out to catch his hand again and Vox jerked back, staggering to his feet. Fuck, his heart was hammering in his chest and his skin felt too tight.

“Vox, please.”

“You should get Lucifer to fix that for you. Those stitches won’t hold forever,” he said, gesturing vaguely. He made the mistake of looking directly at Alastor’s face and sucked in a sharp breath at the hurt expression on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t have the right to look at me like that.”

“I know.” Alastor ran his hand over his face, leaving a faint blood smear in its wake. “Vox, I…”

“What?” Vox balled his hands into fists. “After all these years and all your shit, what could you possibly have to say to me?”

Alastor’s eyes focused on his own, freezing Vox in place with their intensity. “You need to be careful.”

Eyes widening, Vox took a step back. “Are you fucking threatening me?”

“No. I’m trying to warn you, but–” His mouth snapped shut again and angry feedback screeched through the room. Vox shook his head incredulously as Alastor held up his hand, expression pleading. “Please. Just… be careful.”

“Fine, whatever.” He didn’t think he had ever wanted anything more than to leave this fucking tower and Alastor far behind. “I’ll be careful. Is that it, or do you have any more fucked up shit you want to say to me?”

Alastor huffed out a painful sounding laugh and shook his head. “No. You can go.”

“Thanks.” The despairing look on Alastor’s face was enough for Vox to turn abruptly away, carelessly wiping his bloody hands down the fronts of his trousers. Not that it mattered – he’d just throw these away when he was safely back in his suite. Maybe throw them in the incinerator so that nobody would ask why he was streaked in blood. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Go to Lucifer. Seriously, Alastor.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, zapping himself into pure electricity and racing for the sanctuary of his own tower.

 

*

 

Velvette cradled her head in her hands, struggling to fight back the pulsing waves of a migraine. Tears were falling unbidden from her eyes and she had destroyed her updo with the way she was clawing her fingers against her scalp. After a few minutes of suffering, she felt a small, cold hand press against her forehead and groaned at the momentary relief. Blinking her eyes open, she stared mournfully up at her familiar. The little girl stared sadly back.

“Do you want me to help you?” the child asked, and Velvette nodded tearfully.

“I don’t know why it won’t stop.”

The little girl caught Velvette’s hands with her own and pressed their foreheads together. Velvette’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Let me in and I’ll make it stop,” the familiar promised. Velvette squeezed her hands.

“Yes, please. Make it stop.”

She sighed in relief as icy cold swept over her. Almost immediately, the throbbing pain was gone. Velvette took a few deep breaths to steady herself before scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. She felt… refreshed. Shit, it was a shame she hadn’t known about this sooner – she’d never have any pain if she knew her little familiar could just swoop in like this and make it better.

Distantly, in the far back of her mind, where she could barely hear it, a soft voice whispered to her.

Good girl.

Notes:

CW: domestic violence, threat of rape, victim blaming, violence (Al pays a "visit" to his owner), blood and medical procedures (patching up Al's angelic wound - not super graphic but it's there if you're squeamish)

Chapter 15: don’t fret precious, i’m here

Summary:

Content warnings at the bottom - please be warned. This chapter will be intense.

Present Day


Alastor sighed and flipped open his pocket watch again.

On the bar top beside him, Niffty carefully threaded dried flowers onto a thick black thread. Charlie was really asking her to take a step down in creative license by suggesting that Niffty try using flowers or other inanimate objects instead of cockroaches when making assorted wearables for the hotel residents, but Niffty didn’t seem to mind much. He suspected she was amenable to any craft that still allowed her to stab things.

Perhaps he could find her a nice needlework to keep her occupied when she wasn’t committing bug genocide.

His ears perked forward when Charlie and Lucifer entered the Hotel, each carrying brown grocery bags and looking so very ordinary that Alastor couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He really couldn’t wrap his mind around two of the powerful beings in the entire realm wanting to appear that they were just like anyone else. Where was the fun in that? It wasn’t even like they were trying to use it for some nefarious subterfuge like he would have – well, like he had.

Still did.

“Charlie, dear, do you mind if I borrow His Highness for a minute?” he called, pushing off from the bar with easy grace. Lucifer’s face instantly darkened.

“What do you want?” Alastor suppressed the urge to laugh in delight at how quickly he was able to spoil even the best mood of the King of Hell. He did actually have something to accomplish after all and, as much as dropping another piano on his head would have been hilarious, he couldn’t do that until he addressed this particular gnawing issue.

“It’s something of a delicate nature, I’m afraid.” Lucifer’s lip curled and he gave Alastor a once over.

“Yeah, you know what? It’s a hard pass for me.”

“Nothing like that,” Alastor hissed back, unable to stop himself from stooping to the King’s very low level. He cleared his throat, trying to resume an air of detachment. “It’s just not something I wish to discuss in front of your daughter.”

“Ugh.” He glanced at Charlie who shrugged. “Fine.”

Before Alastor could suggest an alternate location, a glowing golden portal opened below him, and he plummeted downwards with a surprised shout.

“Dad!”

“What, Charlie? Those are screams of happiness.”

Alastor stuck the landing after the surprise portal, though it wasn’t without a price. There wasn’t much he hated more than succumbing to his body’s weaknesses, but this time he couldn’t stop himself from staggering backwards. Thankfully, he had landed near enough to a wall that he slumped against it heavily instead of collapsing to the floor. Lucifer easily stepped through another golden portal and took a hard look at the Sinner.

“You’re hurt.”

Alastor attempted a laugh that ended up sounding much more like a wheeze. “And on the first try.”

Lucifer sighed and took off his hat, setting it down carefully on a low table. Alastor took a moment to look around as the King loosened his tie and shrugged out of his coat. It should have occurred to him that the most private place that the King would think to take him would be the King’s own rooms. There was an alarming number of duck themed décor scattered throughout the royal apartment.

He startled when he noticed Lucifer standing in front of him with an expectant look. Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

“I assume you want me to heal you.” Alastor thought about protesting, just to be contrary but the prospect of relief was too appealing to stall. He nodded. “You’re going to have to show me where.”

He shrugged out of his own coat and quickly removed his other layers to reveal the angelic injury that had begun to fester under his skin. Lucifer whistled lowly.

“That’s horrific,” he said, a little too much glee in his voice. Alastor mustered his most unimpressed look.

“Yes, well, seeing as how I received it protecting your daughter and her Hotel, I think it’s reasonable to expect some kind of compensation.”

“Sure, sure.” Lucifer poked a sharp against a particularly gruesome dark line of infection snaking out from the original wound and Alastor hissed. “How are you still standing?”

And here we go.

“I have a benefactor who ensures my survival.”

Warmth tingled from where Lucifer’s claw was pressed, golden light suffusing his skin. The King glanced up, eyeing the Sinner carefully.

“Must be a pretty powerful benefactor if they’re able to keep you alive after an injury like this.” Alastor winced as the warmth grew hotter. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “In fact, they must be damn near one of the most powerful demons in Hell if they can protect you from angelic energy.”

“Yes. She is.”

Blinding white light consumed him briefly and when Alastor was able to register anything but the unadulterated holy energy, he was sprawled on the floor with Lucifer glaring down at him.

“What did you do?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again in surprise. Oh. That was much better. He raised his head and ran a hand over his chest, relieved to find it unmarred save for a twisted pink scar. He looked up at Lucifer.

“I’ll tell you what I can, but I want a deal first.”

He did a very good job of not shrinking back when Lucifer crouched on the floor beside him, horns extending from his head.

“I’m going to need a bit more than that before we make a deal, bellhop.”

 

*

 

“I want those files no later than COB tomorrow,” Vox said, typing on his phone as he walked, Dot hurrying to match his long stride. “No, I don’t care that it’ll take you longer than that. Hmm? Well, I pay you enough to get what I want when I want it.”

Dot shoved her tablet under his face. He raised an eyebrow at her, still listening to Hell’s most incompetent employee stammer. With a glance, his signature appeared at the bottom of the document. Dot nodded, satisfied, and went back to swiping through the employee contracts that needed revisions and amendments.

“Uh huh. Yes, but that really does sound like a you problem.” He rolled his eyes and Dot snickered. “Oh, good. I’ll expect it then. Always a thrill to speak with you.”

They finished walking down the hall and Vox opened the door to the penthouse, swiping his hand forward to indicate that she should go first. The dim lights in the living room brightened with a thought and both Sinners froze.

Staring at them with expressions ranging from vague disinterest to openly hostile contempt, several Goetia sat around the comfortable room sipping what looked like the expensive bourbon he had imported from the living world in the crystal tumblers that Valentino had given him years ago. He could sense Dot’s sudden tension, could see the fur on her tail begin to fluff up out of the corner of his eye. He accessed the apartment’s CCTV and took a tiny breath of relief when he didn’t see anyone else in the apartment.

He plastered a winning smile across his face. “Gentlemen, this is a surprise! I didn’t realize we had a meeting scheduled for this afternoon. Must’ve missed the memo.”

One of the Goetia leaned forward slightly from his perch on Vox’s armchair, tumbler of bourbon dangling from his fingers.

“This is a rather impromptu visit, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

A second Goetia looked at the first one and shrugged. “Less impromptu and more of a surprise on your side of things.”

The first Goetia hummed. “True. We had always intended to meet with you, Lord Mayor. Your contract ought to have led you to expect us at some point.”

Vox began to skim through the mayoral contract that he had signed with Alastor just days ago. It was, of course, over a thousand pages long and had refused to be completely digitized, so instead of performing a search for the word Goetia, he would have to set his image processors on scanning the documents in full to look it up. He had likely missed something in the contract, just like the Goetia were suggesting – because of course he fucking missed something in the stupid thing. He kept missing things because he didn’t have the time to read it through carefully and–

Oh, shit.

The “radio fucker sightings” data search he had initiated a few days ago chose that moment to ping and Vox’s brain skidded to a halt on a still frame of Alastor, from 2004. On the image that he tried to keep buried – Alastor standing over him, covered in Vox’s blood, right before he told Vox he wished he had let him die. Right before he smashed Vox’s legs and left him to scream himself voiceless on the filthy streets of Pentagram City. And, right there, ever so faint that it was no wonder he had missed it for twenty years.

A purple chain wrapped around the Radio Demon’s neck.

Vox took a deep breath, forcing himself back out of his head and into the present conversation. His heart began to race in his chest, and he felt a spike of adrenaline shoot through his bloodstream. No. He would have to hold off on this revelation until he could deal with his current inconvenience.

“I’m afraid it’s been something of a long day,” he replied, vaguely apologetic. He wondered if he could convince them to fuck off, at least until tomorrow – he just needed time to think. “If you wouldn’t mind reminding me why you’re here, I’d appreciate it.”

A third Goetia drew a long drag from one of Valentino’s cigarettes. Where he had found those, Vox wasn’t sure, but he was quickly losing patience.

“As members of Hellborn nobility, we have special… privileges where it pertains to your newly elected office.”

Vox’s attention snapped entirely to the present conversation, leaving the discovery that Alastor was on a fucking chain in the back of his mind. Dot glanced up at him quickly before she took a small step forward. “I’m afraid Mr. Vox is a very busy man. Perhaps we could set up a meeting soon to address this issue.”

“There is no issue,” the second Goetia replied. “We paid to make sure that this time would be available for us and we’re already here, so we might as well begin.”

Something twisted in Vox’s gut, the same small thing begging for his attention for weeks now – the animal instinct to react to the threat of danger. A spark of electricity shot into the air before he could stop it. He glanced down at Dot, trying to keep his expression neutral as he faced the growing horror in her eyes. He shook his head slightly.

“You should go, Dot.” Her eyes widened. “I’ll call you when I’m out of this meeting and we can work on those reports.”

“Vox…”

“Go, Dot.”

She shook her head, glanced over at the Goetia another time, then took a step back. Her claws dug minute holes into the tablet clutched in her hands. Shit, he was going to have to force her out and that wouldn’t look great, especially in front of Hellborn nobility who clearly had minimal respect for Sinners, if any at all.

Dot’s shoulders slumped after a few seconds. She spared another look at the Goetia before hurrying to the door. Vox breathed a small sigh of relief when she turned the handle and slipped out of the penthouse without another word.

The second Goetia approached one of the pillars near the door and gestured for him to come further into the penthouse. Silently, he obeyed and clasped his hands in front of him. With no small effort, he forced himself not to wring them together as apprehension pooled in his stomach.

He noticed the ancient rune scratched into the pillar and had a giddy moment of rage that they would dare deface anything in his home (even if it was on the ugly-ass décor that Val had convinced him to install). It faded almost as soon as it surged as his eyes glanced around the room to realize that similar, but not identical, runes had been carved in a rough circle around the common living room. He couldn’t quite place the meaning of each rune, would need time to research them, but felt sweat break out on the back of his neck at the realization that this might be much worse than he had anticipated.

“Take a seat,” the second Goetia told him and gestured to where the first Goetia had settled himself on Vox’s couch. He raised an eyebrow as the Hellborn demon raised his claw to the rune scratched into the pillar. With a small scrape downward, the rune lit up with a sickly red light as it was completed.

Vox’s eyes followed the sudden glow that circled the room as the chain of runes interconnected their magic with the completion of the final rune. He clenched his fists as a wave of nausea briefly washed over him, though it thankfully disappeared after a moment or two. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had just happened.

After decades of building his skills and scheming his way to ever-growing power, Vox felt suddenly as weak as he had the day he had landed in Hell as his powers drained from his body. Sudden fear caught the breath in his throat, and he swallowed drily.

All thoughts of Alastor and the chain around his neck were officially banished from Vox’s mind.

“Sit.” The command was clear and non-negotiable now.

Vox rolled his shoulders, joints popping in protest, and crossed the room to the couch. He sat beside the first Goetia with reluctance. The tall Hellborn pressed the tumbler of his bourbon into his hand, raising an eyebrow.

“It’ll be easier for you if you drink that.”

Fuck that. He wasn’t going to make this, whatever this was, easy. Not for the Hellborn, not for anyone.

When he refused to move, refused to bring the tumbler to his lips, the Goetia stood slowly. Vox fought down the urge to shiver when the Goetia stared down at him, studying him like a particularly grotesque insect. Vox could do nothing in protest when his head was snapped back, the tumbler snatched from his hand. He felt it press against his open mouth and the dark liquid spilled down his throat.

The Goetia stepped back and watched him cough dispassionately.

Oh, shit. Shit! He’d recognize that taste anywhere. Pink bubblegum and candied apple undercut the rich caramel flavor of the bourbon. Fucking Love Potion.

His body froze in place, waiting for his brain to begin sending out warning alarms, as it always did with Love Potion. Begging him to purge it from his body. He had programmed those alarms to be disabled whenever he willing chose to indulge in the potion, but the default had been designed to help him detect any time someone tried to slip it to him unawares. No alarms this time. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs, and he ground his teeth.

“Don’t be angry,” the first Goetia said. “It won’t help.”

“What happens now?” he asked tightly.

“You stand.” Vox obeyed with stiff legs. “And you remind us why even jumped-up little Sinners like yourself are inferior. You remind us why we even allow your continued existence.”

“All right.” Damn it, he could already feel the soft prickle of the potion beginning to warm his body. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

His answer came in the form of sharp strike to his screen, sending him reeling backwards, sprawling onto the couch. He could feel the spiderwebbing crawl over his screen as he tried to move backwards, to get away. Clawed hands hooked into his lapels and dragged him back onto his feet effortlessly.

“You’ll learn that your impertinence will not be tolerated.” He was given a hard shake, and he snapped his hands up to grab onto the Goetia’s wrists, hoping to steady himself. He realized that his screen wasn’t healing as quickly as it ought to.

“You have only been allowed this position, this power, because we have agreed to it,” another of the Goetia continued, though Vox wasn’t sure which one. “The Hellborn nobility thought it would be amusing to let Sinners think that they might have some control over their fates, might actually carve out a better bit of existence for themselves if they had someone to represent themselves in front of us.”

Vox sneered. “Are you fucking monologuing right now?”

“Hm?” He watched as the Goetia exchanged looks. “Good point.”

His jacket was released, and he stumbled back a bit. He glanced around the room and the Goetia standing in front of him retreated a few feet, gesturing to the smaller demon.

“Strip.”

His heart lurched and his eye gave a powerless pulse. “No.”

This time, the blow was to his stomach, doubling him over. He tried to wrap his arms around his middle but was jerked back upright by the back of his collar, pulling it taut against his throat. Terror shot through him. Icy fingers wrapping around his throat and the buzzing of a saw growing louder until it was all he could hear and–

He was released once more and allowed to sway in place, disoriented and with enough adrenaline thrumming through his veins to almost make up for the lack of electricity. Gulping in the increasingly stale air of the penthouse, he raised shaking fingers to slip his coat from his shoulders. He folded it slowly before setting it down on the arm of the couch.

Maybe, if he could stall long enough, Valentino or Velvette would return. With the runes in place throughout the living room, he was unable to access the wireless network with his own mind and he doubted he would get very far with the phone in his pocket. He’d have to wait for one of them to have a reason to return and it was nearing five o’clock now, so maybe Velvette would arrive shortly.

His vest came next, followed by his tie. He shuddered as he dropped the thin piece of fabric on top of his vest. Warmth was building through his body, and he realized that without even his regular strength and power, he might not be as immune to the potion’s effects. Fuck. Maybe if he could dip his hand into his pocket, he could send off an emergency alert to the other Vees. He could probably move quickly enough for that before they took his phone away.

“You’re stalling.”

Yeah, of course he was. Did they really expect him to jump up and beg for this?

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly thrilled about this,” he muttered.

Vox expected another blow, but instead a single claw reached forward to hook around the top button of his dress shirt before sliding down to effortlessly remove the rest. He fought the urge to grab either side of the ruined shirt and cover himself back up. The clawed hand hooked onto the waistband of his trousers and his eyes darted up to the Goetia in front of him.

“Perhaps we can negotiate some other way for me to fulfill my side of the contract.” His voice managed to remain even and neutral until his trousers were ripped open and tugged down. Vox shut his eyes, struggling to keep himself under control.

The Love Potion in his veins was finding all of this very stimulating and he wanted to scream when he felt himself starting to harden as the Goetia shoved him backwards onto the couch again. His shoes were wrenched from his feet hard enough that he felt his left ankle strain under the pressure and grimaced at the pain.

His trousers were yanked from his legs, nearly pulling him off the couch and the indignity of it set his heart racing. He slashed out wildly as cold claws pressed against bare skin, eyes flying open in sudden outrage. He wasn’t going to just lay still and take this. He was fucking Vox, not a pathetic whore crying at some rough treatment. If they wanted to play rough, he could do that.

“Fucking look at him!” A Goetia laughed. “There’s that Overlord savagery.”

One hand came close enough to his face that he was able to snap his teeth around the very tip of a long finger. Blood spurted against his face and Vox used the distraction to scramble away, trying to tug his ruined shirt around himself. He only made it a few feet before he was snatched from the ground, swearing angrily.

“I’m already tired of this,” one of the Goetia complained.

Vox slashed his claws against the arms holding him and was rewarded with a soft cry of pain. His mouth slashed into a wild grin, and he lowered his mouth to latch onto feathered flesh. The Goetia holding him howled in agony as he sawed serrated teeth down to the bone, blood pouring into his mouth and down his chin.

“You’ll just have to give him more,” another Goetia replied, sounding… what? Annoyed?

He thrashed violently, knowing that he was causing a reasonable amount of damage, even without his power. He threw his head backwards, satisfied with the loud snapping of breaking bone. Pain shot through his leg as he was dropped, his ankle protesting at the sudden weight.

The fucking door. He spat out a mouthful of blood and stumbled forward in desperation – he only needed to make it through the door, and he’d have his power back. Did they think he hadn’t noticed that the loop of magic only encircled this room? And once he was out, he was going to fry every fucking Goetia in Hell if he had to. Maybe have them plucked afterwards and make fucking throw pillows out of their feathers. Whatever, it didn’t matter now.

His fingers skimmed the doorknob when a sharp, excruciating pain lanced through his knee, sending him crashing to the ground. Blinding white agony surged through him and he screamed in frustration when he felt hands pulling him back, sitting him up. Before he could rake his claws through flesh again, a length of angelic steel threaded rope wrapped around his neck and jerked him onto his knees. Vox scrambled against the rope, any rage ceding the way to panic.

“Loosen it up a bit so he can swallow.”

Vox opened his mouth to gulp in air as the rope loosened only to feel liquid pouring down his throat. He choked and his body jerked in protest. Once the Goetia was satisfied that he swallowed the second dose, he was allowed to sag to the ground. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His body was on fire. 

He struggled halfheartedly as he was lifted onto his feet and made to march over to the coffee table. Had they shot him? His knee was barely able to hold his weight, and he was forced to lean against the Goetia for support. Vox grunted as he was dropped unceremoniously against the table and unyielding hands forced him onto his stomach. Without warning, his head was slammed against the table twice, smashing the right side of his screen in and rendering him limp.

Fuck, he could barely think. He tried to move, but his hands only weakly fumbled against the wooden surface. Arms spreading out onto either side of him, his elbows bent at an awkward angle. Why was everything so hot and uncomfortable? At least the table was cooler. He sagged against the smooth surface as his head began to spin in earnest. His claws dug into the wooden table below him and–

He was back in Doctor Bell’s laboratory. Only, instead of a numbing cold, his blood was boiling; he could feel everything. No. No, Doctor Bell was at least merciful enough to keep him numb during the operations, even if he never let him slip unconscious until the very end. Vox slid his hands under his face, pressing the heels hard against his eyes.

No. No, no, no.

“Al, please,” he whimpered, trying to reach out onto their shared frequency only to be met with silence.

If only he could get Alastor’s attention, the Radio Demon would surely come to his rescue. He would tear Doctor Bell apart without thought and help Vox because Vox was his funny little picture box friend. No, not Doctor Bell. He… he didn’t know who was holding him down anymore.

He cried out as his hips were maneuvered and a sudden tearing pain shot through him. Vox panted desperately as he was jolted forward. Past and present continued to swirl through his mind and he started to lose himself.

Dimly, he was aware of being moved and repositioned. Pain ebbed and flowed, occasionally making him tense up and scream. The sensations were overwhelming, and he felt himself orgasm at least once but couldn’t pinpoint why. As he started to come down from the worst of the Love Potion’s effects, he realized he was pinned down on his own couch, wrists restrained above his head. He gave them a tentative pull before another sharp pain rocketed through him and he gasped wetly, realizing that he was being held down by one of the Goetia, the Hellborn buried deep inside him. He tried to shake his head, struggling to use his legs to kick himself free.

“Stop,” he begged, and the Goetia sighed, gaze focusing on his face. He flinched back against the couch.

“Give him more. He’s easier to fuck when he isn’t fighting.”

He turned his head to the side, trying hard to accommodate for the awkwardness of his head, scanning the shadows in desperation. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Vel?”

Leaning against the wall, Velvette stood watching him disinterestedly. He felt hands on the bottom of his screen, trying to turn his face forward to force more Love Potion down his throat. He winced as an air raid siren began to blare.

“Ugh, shut him up already!”

“Velvette!” He let out a sob as the glass hovered over his lips. “Please!”

Pure Love Potion was poured into his open mouth and the Goetia covered his mouth to stop him from spitting it back out. A clawed hand wrapped around his throat, and he jerked back fearfully.

“Be a good little mayor now.”

The potion didn’t take long at all this time. Within a minute, Vox sagged heavily against the soft fabric of the couch, silent. His eyes drifted back over to Velvette, noticing the phone in her hand for the first time. His breath hitched when he saw the tiny red light at the top but couldn’t stop himself from tumbling back into unconsciousness.

 

*

 

A sudden twist in his stomach jerked him awake. Vox vomited before he could turn, only half aware that he was laying on his back. He started to choke and was quickly turned onto his side to cough out the thick pink potion that had been churning inside him. There was a small noise of disgust behind him.

“You’re making a mess.”

Vox continued to cough long after the potion and bourbon were gone. He drew his legs up towards his stomach, whimpering at the pain. His eyes stayed closed as he struggled to clear his head enough to think.

“Are you just going to lay there all night?”

He didn’t miss the accent or the annoyance in the voice that asked the question. Heart pounding, he cracked his eyes open and looked up from the floor to see Velvette sitting on the couch.

Her legs were crossed, and she was typing rather sedately on her phone. Not a hair was out of place and her outfit looked as pristine as always. She didn’t look at all like she was sitting beside her business partner after witnessing his brutal assault.

Vox tried pushing himself up into a sitting position, only half succeeding as he slumped against the front of the couch. His body screamed in protest, and he closed his eyes, praying that he didn’t faint.

“Why?” he managed to croak after a few minutes. She chuckled quietly.

“Such a big question, babe. Want to narrow it down some?”

Vox raised a shaking hand to his face, feeling along the broken glass anxiously. He figured that at least some of it would still be intact since he could see and speak, though each with some difficulty. He didn’t realize how thoroughly damaged the broken side of his face was, though. He’d have to do a complete replacement.

“You d-dxzz-idn’t help.”

Velvette hummed. “No, I didn’t. Well, I didn’t help you, at least.”

“W-why?”

“Vee, what do you want me to say?” He opened his eyes, realizing now that his right eye was only registering a rainbow of broken colors. “I had an opportunity, and I took it. You’d have done the same thing.”

Vox moved past that second statement because fuck her, he would not have done anything remotely like this to her and chose to focus instead on the first one.

“What opp-xzz-ortunity?”

She sighed and set her phone down on her lap. “The Goetian princes approached me about you and when they offered more money than I make with Love Potion in a year, I couldn’t refuse.” She narrowed her eyes. “They wanted to fuck you, and they had the money. I guess that means I pimped you out. Consider yourself my whore.”

Vox cringed back. “Fuck, Velvette.”

Her eyes flared with unholy energy, and he realized that she was able to use her magic. She stared straight into his eyes, and he felt his heart begin to pick up its pace again. Had her eyes always been so dark, so completely void of light? He couldn’t remember and trying to made his head spin.

After a long moment, she shrugged.

“Why not?” She lifted a small black rectangular device from the couch and placed it in her lap beside her phone. “Television is dead, Vee. And very soon, you’ll be, too. So, you know, you don’t need to get too upset about it.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “We’re f-fzxz-riends.”

“‘We’re friends!’” she simpered mockingly and that fucking stung.

He looked away for a moment, heart racing behind his ribs as though it just needed to get to the right speed before it could burst from his chest altogether. Fuck, he was burning up. He rubbed at his forearms, trying to scratch the crawling itch just below the skin.

“Well, isn’t that just fucking rainbows and puppy dogs? We’re business partners,” she corrected him. He watched as she scooted forward and leaned down to press his phone in his hand. “Here. You’ll want this.”

He closed his eyes, head spinning. For one long second, he was convinced he was going to be sick again. There was a shuffle on the couch, and he heard the wall mounted television in the living area turn on. Vox winced at the sudden loud noise.

“–believe this, Tom,” he heard Katie Killjoy’s voice ask. Why would Velvette think he cared about anything that bitch had to say right now? “Big fucking CEO Vox of VoxTek getting dicked down by a bunch of Hellborn nobility.”

Vox’s eyes flew open in stunned horror. His good eye focused with laser precision on the television as Katie shuffled a few papers in front of her and Tom Trench shook his head.

“Didn’t think he had it in him.” She cackled at her own turn of phrase. “But, you know, I guess he definitely does now.”

Ding.

He looked down at his phone and opened Dot’s text.


Dot [8:23:25 pm]: Are you hurt?


He couldn’t take his eyes off the tiny screen as Katie continued to laugh, Tom joining in with her after a couple of beats.

“Breaking news, it looks like VoxTek’s stock is plummeting as we speak. Yikes, that’s a drop.”


Dot [8:23:40 pm]: V, answer me.


“Looks like the mayor isn’t the only one around here getting screwed,” Tom chimed in.

“Shut up, Tom,” Katie bit back. “Let’s take another look at the video.”

Vox jolted and stared up at the television again in horror. Katie and Tom were replaced with a crystal-clear video. He couldn’t look away as he watched himself being fucked over the top of his own coffee table. The Goetia behind him snapped himself into Vox’s body and laughed at the broken sob that came out of the Sinner’s mouth. “Such a good little mayor. Takes it like a real professional.”


Dot [8:24:12 pm]: I’m coming up there.


Please, no.


Val [8:24:52 pm]: voxy, wat’s hapning? AD sent 666 vid


He shook his head, horror making it difficult to think straight. “How could you do this?”

“I already told you.”


That Rancid Killjoy Bitch [8:25:32 pm]: nothing personal, babe. 😊

Val [8:25:38 pm]: bb, pls answer


His phone slipped from his fingers, clattering against the floor. Velvette got up from the couch and crouched down in front of him. He could only stare in mute horror as she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small, but deadly angelic steel switchblade.

“But I don’t think you’re quite ready yet,” she said softly.

He whined pathetically as she pressed the blade against his throat, not hard enough to draw blood. Not yet. Vox pressed himself against the couch, tears springing to his eyes as he looked away from her.

“Aw, babe. Don’t cry. This won’t take too long.”

 

*

 

Valentino all but flew up to the penthouse when multiple texts to Vox went unanswered. If the video was true, he was going to murder any of those feathery fuckers still up there. Slowly and with no mercy.

He could smell the blood before he ever saw it. Angelic pistol in hand, he flung the door to the penthouse open, half expecting the bird fuckers to still be inside. He did not expect to find Velvette sobbing hysterically with Vox’s bloody and limp body half in her lap, stripped of everything but a bloodied white button down. Wild eyes stared up into Val’s as he approached.

“Help!” Vel shrieked, cradling Vox closer to her chest. “You have to help him!”

Valentino dropped to his knees beside the other Vees, not sure what to do or where to put his hands.

“What the fuck happened?” he demanded.

“I don’t know!” She began to rock back and forth. Val pressed a hand over an especially deep wound in Vox’s knee. Had to be a gunshot wound, if he wasn’t mistaken. “I just came up to shower before dinner and found him like this. Please, Val.”

“Is that angelic steel?”

Velvette nodded frantically. “It was still stuck in him. I pulled it out, but I shouldn’t have. He won’t stop bleeding.” She let out a heartbreaking sob. “What do we do?”

If those were angelic wounds, there was only one way to heal them. Valentino swore in frustration.

“We have to get him to that fucking hotel,” he snarled. He glanced up at Velvette. “Get a blanket or something. We’re not taking him like this.”

She squeezed Vox tighter against herself and Val swallowed roughly. “I’m not leaving him.”

“Fine, then put your hand here.” He snatched one of her wrists and pressed her palm against another wound gouged into Vox’s shoulder.

“Oh, my god.” Val’s head snapped to the door where Dot was standing, hands up over her mouth. Shit. Of course she would coming running up here without a thought. She adored Vox. “What happened…?”

Val stood up, strode to the door, and pulled Dot inside the penthouse, shutting the door behind her. He considered for a moment before dropping down to his knees, catching her hands in his own.

“You need to stay here and turn on any of the security protocols that are still working.” Dot tried to push past him suddenly and Val managed to catch her without fuss. “Please, Dot?”

With a sob, she nodded her head, and Valentino had a moment of relief before the sinking feeling in his stomach returned. Without another word, he stood and snatched a cashmere throw blanket from the cedar chest where they kept linens. He unfurled it with a snap and Velvette blinked up at him in surprise. She glanced down at Vox, as if noticing his bare skin for the first time and snapped her fingers. A clean button down and a pair of dark trousers flashed into existence, covering him. Undeterred, Val wrapped the blanket around his partner, trying not to focus on the blood already seeping through the fresh clothing. He swung Vox with effortless ease into his arms.

“Val,” Vox murmured, shuddering against his chest.

Val looked down hopefully. But no. Vox showed no other signs of consciousness, and they’d have to hurry if they had any hope of saving him. He grabbed one of Velvette’s hands and tugged her to her feet.

“Come on.”

Notes:

CW: non-consensual drug use, physical violence, rape, filming of sexual assault, broadcast of sexual assault, torture

Sorry, everyone. Things are definitely going to get worse before they get better. Take care of yourselves.

Chapter 16: o fortuna, velut luna statu variabilis, semper crescis aut decrescis

Notes:

Content warnings at the bottom. Another intense one.

But, we've finally arrived at the prologue!

Present Day


Alastor paced back and forth through the lobby, trying hard to maintain the scraps of composure he still had left. He ignored the curious looks that the Hotel’s residents were sending his way and finally slumped down at the bar, gratefully taking the drink that Husk pressed into his hand.

“Everything okay?” the former Overlord asked quietly, like he didn’t want to startle the Radio Demon. Alastor almost laughed at that.

Okay? No, everything was far from okay. He had felt Vox’s sudden rising apprehension through their shared frequency, sharp and sour, before it abruptly cut off, leaving nothing but silence. For hours. Alastor had been waiting for something, anything, to jump onto the signal, but just… nothing.

He had hoped there would be more time, had hoped he could accomplish more before she made her move, but she’d just dashed that hope. He would just have to make to do with what he had managed and hope that would be enough.

She hadn’t told him everything, would never have told him everything, but he wasn’t a fool. He had recorded every interaction with her and spent hours parsing through every word she said before burying himself in any book he could find or summon, desperate to put the pieces together.

She instructed him to throw the election. Of course she had. It would make Vox about as powerful as any Sinner could be, especially one that already had the tremendous strength of an Overlord. He’d done what he could to undermine the other Overlord, but he couldn’t go against a direct order so his scope was somewhat limited. Even so, he managed to belittle Vox on stage for all of Hell to see, despite the dismay that had flashed over the other man’s face for the briefest moment before he carefully, masterfully hidden it away. She certainly hadn’t appreciated that stunt, judging by the hour Alastor spent panting and heaving on the floor of his bathroom after she withdrew her protection and let the full effects of his angelic injury run rampant. Still, even if he had put more effort into winning, Vox might have won on his own merits anyways – he'd always been able to charm any doubtful party, even without his hypnosis tricks.

Alastor had his suspicions as to exactly how she planned to use Vox, but he knew for certain that the Hotel was where her scheming would come to fruition. Why else would she have instructed him to stay there, to protect the Princess and her precious Hotel? And he knew she needed him, too – hadn’t she told him many times that she only kept him around because he was useful, even if his stubborn refusal to cooperate was a constant thorn in her side?

Alastor tipped his drink back into his mouth and let it sit there for a moment, alcohol burning his gums, before swallowing it hard. He wanted another, wanted to drink himself into oblivion, but shook his head when Husk started to take his glass from him. He couldn’t risk it.

“This is a breaking news story.”

Alastor’s gaze flitted over to where Angel Dust and Cherri were seated, Angel’s phone propped up between them. Cherri scowled and crossed her arms over her chest while Angel reached out to flick the cellular device.

“Oh, come on,” he said, annoyed. “What ‘breaking news’ could there possibly be that needs to interrupt my film? It’s a fucking debut!”

He returned his attention to the glass in front of him, watching as the ice slowly melted into the remains of his drink. Alastor swirled the glass ever so slightly, not paying attention to Angel and Cherri and focusing solely on the gentle clink of ice against glass. He could feel himself start to relax, just a little. He just needed to stay calm, and he could do that. He hadn’t forged nerves of steel for over a century just to falter now, so close to the end. If he could keep his head on straight, force himself to think clearly, he stood a fighting chance.

Then, at the very edge of his awareness, he heard the soft, but very familiar sound of Vox’s voice. His head slowly turned back to Angel and Cherri, registering the confused horror on their faces before he realized that Vox’s voice was coming from Angel’s phone.

“No, please… I don’t… don’t want...” Vox was begging, voice tinny through the small speakers on Angel’s phone, but Alastor knew what he was hearing.

Angel’s mouth dropped open, and he jerked his gaze up to meet Alastor’s.

“What the fuck is this?” Cherri demanded, trying to take the phone from Angel and failing as the spider demon got to his feet. Alastor turned his face away, hoping that Angel wasn’t going to try and bring the terrible little device over to him so that he could watch. His ears pinned tight against his skull as he listened to Vox scream suddenly before Alastor could make out the distinct sounds of uncontrolled sobbing.

“Oh, he’s very pretty like that.” A voice Alastor didn’t recognize but committed to memory. He would make sure that the owner’s days were about to come to a violent and gruesome end. “Go on. Make him scream again.”

Alastor’s eyes flooded with black; a rattling hiss filled the lobby.

“Shit! I’m turning it off,” Angel yelled, fumbling with his phone until the sounds of Vox’s screams abruptly cut off. “Fuck. I… I need to text Val.”

Husk didn’t even protest, didn’t even ask if Angel wanted emotional support while he reached out to the vicious Overlord. Alastor’s hand clenched tightly on the bar top, claws slicing into the palms below before blood began to drip onto the wood.

“Alastor?” Husk’s voice was so quiet that Alastor just ignored him. Pretended he hadn’t even spoken at all. They sat in oppressive silence and Alastor watched his blood spread out in a pretty pool below his hands. He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed before Angel cleared his throat.

“Uh, Val’s going up to the penthouse.” His voice was small and unsure. “I guess. I don’t…”

In a burst of flames, Alastor felt pain flare over their shared frequency and nearly flinched back in horror at the sheer intensity of it.

[…hurts…]

His fingers flew to his head, claws twisting into a lock of hair that he pulled out with a harsh snap, desperate to feel some other pain. Alastor shook his head, mindless of the stares he was getting. He’d never felt so helpless, so powerless to act.

“Alastor?” He whipped his head around, radio dials swinging in his eyes as he stared at a wide-eyed Charlie. Beside her, elegant and regal, the Queen of Hell was watching him with narrowed eyes, and she had every right to judge. Of course she did.

He opened his mouth, swamped with a sudden desperation to confess everything to Charlie, but the stitches she had sewn over his lips tightened and he could only let out a strange, choked sound. His hands flew to his throat without his permission as he felt the chain around his neck tighten. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him that it was still there – she was still there.

“Al!” the Princess cried out, now alarmed. He shook his head. There was no sense in trying to fight her command – the King and Queen already knew everything he did, and he would have to be content with that.

[…Val... where…]

The screaming pain ebbed and flowed through the shared frequency and a particularly large spike had Alastor gasping for air. He couldn’t feel this anymore. With a thought, he severed their connection and caught his head in his hands as he leaned heavily against the bar.

Distantly, he could hear voices discussing what they had seen on Angel’s phone.  He focused on dragging air in and out of his lungs, grounding himself with the pain in his hands. It helped to clear his mind. He drew his magic tightly around him and heard the car pull up in front of the hotel before anyone else did. Alastor sighed and closed his eyes as the familiar voices of Valentino and Velvette crashed into the hotel, begging for help. The lobby erupted in chaos and Alastor only opened his eyes when he felt her presence draw closer.

“Please, Princess… you have to help him,” Velvette begged, and Alastor narrowed his eyes as the littlest Vee clutched at Charlie’s sleeve. Beside her, a strangely subdued Valentino was holding a blanketed bundle close to his chest. There was no hiding what was in his arms and Alastor slowly stood.

“What happened?” Charlie asked then flushed, mortified. “I mean, I know, but what… why?”

Velvette met Alastor’s eyes, and he staggered back against the bar.

Don’t spoil the surprise.

He pressed his lips together tightly and jerked his gaze to the body in Valentino’s arms. Unable to stop himself, he glanced back at her and took the quick glimpse she shot over at Vox as permission. It took all his control to walk over to Valentino and hold out his arms without simply snatching Vox away. Unsurprisingly, the other Overlord moved back slightly, tipping Vox closer to his chest.

“I won’t hurt him.” Alastor’s smile widened bitterly. “I can’t hurt him.”

Valentino showed absolutely no inclination to surrender his partner as his wings came out defensively and Alastor had just as little patience. With a burst of feedback, shadow tentacles wrapped around the moth demon’s limbs, effectively forcing him to drop the blanketed Overlord in his arms. Alastor was careful to ensure that Vox was caught gently by the shadows and swept off to the side before he stepped close to Valentino as the larger demon was forced onto his knees.

Alastor ignored the curses that began to fall freely from the other Overlord’s mouth and let his shadows sweep around his body. Oh, good. Exactly what he was hoping for. Alastor leaned in, part distraction and part genuine desire to see the fear build in the Sinner’s eyes as he studied Valentino with cold regard. His shadows squirreled their contraband away deep in their dark depths.

“I ought to take my time and peel every sinew from your body slowly just so I can really listen to you beg me to stop,” the Radio Demon whispered, keeping this between the two of them. “Your voice would make a lovely addition to my show, but since we don’t have time, I’ll just have to make do.”

Valentino’s head snapped to the side with the force of Alastor’s fist. He relished the surprised look on the other Overlord’s face for a moment before turning to Vox. He could see droplets of blood splattering on the floor below the media Overlord and braced himself before instructing his shadows to bring Vox closer. The scent of copper hung heavy in the air and Alastor finally forced himself to brush aside the blanket.

He'd been expecting what he found below the blanket, but that didn’t make it any easier to stare down at Vox’s broken screen and bloodied body. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the exact wounds below the curiously intact clothing, but it hardly mattered – the other man’s clothes were all but soaked through in bright red. Alastor pressed his lips together, trying to shut out the sound of Charlie gasping in horror as she approached.

“Mom, we have to help him.”

Alastor glanced over at her and she nodded ever so slightly before letting out another sob that was frankly brilliant in its deception.

“Please, I know we’re not your favorite people, but don’t let him die.” Velvette clutched at the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric between her fingers. An award-winning performance, truly. “We can’t lose him. I don’t – I don’t know what we’d…”

She dissolved into heartbreaking sobs and Alastor used the opportunity to glance wide eyed at the Queen, shifting his gaze pointedly, desperately at Vox. The Queen of Hell considered the unconscious Sinner for a moment then swept forward, magic glowing around her fingers. “There’s only so much we can do. The King… we need celestial magic to combat an angelic injury, but I can heal some of the more superficial ones.”

Alastor scooped Vox’s limp body from the shadows, holding him close as the soft glow of the Queen’s magic brushed against Vox’s head and body. From here, he could see the barely there rise and fall of the other Overlord’s chest. It occurred to him that he’d never seen Vox look quite so small, not even when he had first landed in Hell. He swallowed hard and restored their shared frequency.

[… no more… don’t… hurts…]

Vox’s signal was erratic, at best. He could barely catch it as it twisted around, dodging away from every attempt to connect. Too faint for him to force it to respond to his own, Alastor settled for sending as much soothing white noise that he could muster, hoping it would at least settle Vox somewhat, even if he couldn’t do anything to strengthen him. He flinched as another voice reached his ears.

“What’s all this?”

He stroked a hand over Vox’s still head as the King of Hell entered the lobby and paused some distance away. Lucifer locked eyes with her and Alastor’s ears flattened against his head as the King’s face darkened. He closed his eyes, waiting.

It’s time, Alastor.

“Looks like the family’s all here. Well, nearly,” Velvette said, almost too quietly for anyone but Alastor to hear. Almost, but not quite.

He opened his eyes as Lucifer’s wings burst out behind him, slashing through the air with undisguised aggression. Before he could summon any angelic power, Velvette pointed up at the woodwork above the bar and a blast of energy slashed downwards on a rune that Alastor hadn’t noticed before. It glowed ominously, now complete, before an explosion of purple magic flooded the lobby, erupting with horrifying force from Velvette’s hands. Alastor pressed Vox closer, shielding him as best as he could as he sank down onto his knees, even though he knew it wouldn’t make any difference.

Caught off guard, the Morningstars were hardly a match for her power, massively amplified by Velvette’s own considerable magical strength and Overlord power. Almost immediately Alastor felt her start to siphon directly from his own reserves, his magic being tugged away from him. He watched through squinting eyes as Lucifer and Lillith were slammed backwards and pulled into glowing purple ropes while Charlie was wrenched across the lobby and trapped in similar bindings.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Alastor swept his shadows out into the lobby, scooping the Hotel guests, Niffty, and Vaggie from their feet and depositing them firmly behind the bar. Husk let out a startled shout as the others were suddenly pressed up against him in the small space. He slammed down a shield around them, knowing that it likely wouldn’t hold for long, but not willing to risk any more collateral damage. As he had told Niffty, he had grown rather fond of their little ragtag group.

Her eyes flashed at him, acknowledging his action, but not yet punishing him for it. His gaze settled on Charlie again and felt a chill run down his spine. This was much worse than he had imagined. Why would she even need to separate Charlie from her parents, unless…

Oh.

Charlie.

The missing puzzle piece was Charlie.

Alastor hugged Vox tighter against him as the royal family struggled against their restraints and Velvette turned back to face him, eyes glowing with dark power. The chain around his neck manifested into reality and she crooked her finger, dragging him back onto his feet and towards her. Alastor didn’t struggle, didn’t fight the inevitable, but tightened his grip on Vox reflexively.

“Be a good boy and summon what we need?” she asked, her voice distorted. Alastor glanced over at Charlie who shook her head in disbelief. A heaviness dropped into his head as what she was commanding him to summon was made clear. This would be easier if he just went along with his mistress’s commands. Shifting Vox’s weight in his arms, he freed one hand and snapped his fingers.

First. He brought the strange, massive pillars into the Hotel’s lobby. It had taken him years to gather the individual stones that they had been constructed with, his first hint at what she was planning. The floor groaned under their weight and, as Alastor watched, gigantic cables attached them to one another through metal rings at their tops. Another snap summoned a thin ring, perhaps as tall as the Queen herself, which attached itself to the swaying cables.

Then, finally, Alastor summoned the last item. With a heavy, horrible thud, it landed in the lobby, and Valentino’s struggles renewed as he glared at it.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” the moth demon snarled.

Velvette gestured, politely, towards the heavy metal surgical table, and Alastor swallowed down the bile rising in the back of his throat.

“You know what to do.”

Dragging his feet as much as he could, he shut out the sounds of screaming protests, the sounds of insults. He shook the blanket from Vox’s body and set him gently on the table. There was a spike of pain across their shared frequency and Alastor realized that Vox’s screen was beginning to lighten, the heavy blackness of unconsciousness bleeding away. He ran his fingers over the other man’s wrist before seizing the thick straps, woven through with angelic steel fibers, and securing Vox to the table.

“Alastor, stop!” Charlie was screaming in the background, but it hardly mattered what she said. She could scream until her voice gave out.

By the time he had finished, the media Overlord was nearly awake, face flickering occasionally through the gray static. Alastor stepped away from the table and nodded towards Velvette. She smiled, holding her arms out and, before he could protest, Alastor was yanked forward into her embrace.

“Oh, you’ve done very well,” she purred and gave him tight squeeze before releasing him. Alastor staggered backwards, tail flagging beneath his many layers. “Now, would you like to do the honors, or shall I?”

His eyes widened, startled, and she laughed. “No? That’s all right. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.” Her gaze settled on the King’s and she stepped away from Alastor, keeping his chain in her hands as she walked slowly towards Lucifer. “You’ve put two and two together by now, haven’t you, Lightbringer?”

Lucifer snarled, thrashing against his restraints. She stopped in front of him, slipping a small knife and bowl from her pocket. There was a palpable tension that made Alastor try to shrink back, his chain the only thing keeping him as close behind her as he was. Without warning, she bent down and slashed the knife through the King’s forearm, sliding the bowl underneath to catch the dripping golden blood. His tail slashed behind him, and he leaned forward with a sneer.

“We should have just killed you. It was a fucking mistake to show you any mercy.”

“Yes, but a mistake that I’m benefitting from, so you’re forgiven.” She jerked Alastor’s chain, pulling him close once more before waving her hand over the bowl. It disappeared and she pulled a second one from her pocket as she moved over to the Queen. She repeated the same process, once again vanishing the bloody bowl. “I was certain you’d see through the Radio Demon’s little guise of wanting to be at the Hotel for amusement. He really didn’t try very hard to give you all a convincing story.”

“Velvette, you bitch!” Alastor’s gaze snapped over to where Valentino had managed to force himself back onto his feet, sheer rage giving him enough power to fight against Alastor’s shadows. Of course, if Alastor had half a mind, he could have brought him back down, but since he was exerting so much of his energy on not flinching, he really didn’t care whether Valentino was on his feet or prone on the ground.

“We took you in, we protected you!” he continued, eyes blazing with fury. “And you fucking betray us the first chance you get?”

“Is that what you consider protection?” she asked quietly, and Alastor was sure he saw a flicker of the real Overlord underneath. “What you did to Vox? That was protection?”

Valentino cursed and struggled against his restraints. A soft sound came from the table and Alastor only turned his gaze, not wanting to alert anyone else to Vox’s returning consciousness. The signal on their frequency began to oscillate violently and he couldn’t help but wince at the sharp spike of panic and pain that slammed into him.

Velvette turned abruptly towards the table and her smile sharpened. “I don’t think our guest of honor can see anything, Alastor. Why don’t you help him?”

Once more, her instructions dropped heavily into his mind and Alastor clenched his hand into a fist, savoring the way his claws cut into the already injured palm. A few drops of blood fell to the ground before the surgical table rose from the ground several feet, tilting itself until it had rotated ninety degrees. With a thunderous crash, the foot of the table slammed into the ground, Vox’s eyes blinking in dizzy confusion as he was forced into a standing position. Valentino tried to lurch forward.

“Voxy? I’m right here, baby!”

Vox swallowed hard as his head lolled to the side. “Val?”

Alastor snarled and Vox jolted against his restraints, eyes widening in sudden panic as he seemed to realize where he was. He started to struggle in earnest, though Alastor could tell something was off about the way he pulled at the restraints. Like he couldn’t quite control the way his muscles were responding.

“No,” Vox gasped, tugging violently. Oh, he could see now where a fresh swell of blood welled through Vox’s shirt at his shoulder. The nerves must be damaged somehow to make him jerk so unevenly. Alastor was pulled out of his thoughts by the sharp sound of Vox’s head hitting the table with a ringing metallic bang. “No. No!”

“Let him go,” Valentino hissed with such a darkly menacing tone that Alastor might have felt a frisson of apprehension in different circumstances. His gaze was focused solely on Velvette. “You’ll beg for a permanent death before I’m even remotely done with you.”

She sighed and gestured towards Alastor. “Take care of that, would you?”

He didn’t need any prompting to pull one of the guns he had slipped off Valentino’s person and level it with the moth’s face. Behind him, he could hear Vox’s panicked struggling.

“No, don’t! Al, please!”

Without another moment of hesitation, he fired the weapon and watched with detached satisfaction as the other Overlord crumpled to the ground. The squeal of feedback behind him was almost too much to bear, even if he had no regrets about shooting Valentino dead.

He turned slowly back to Vox, expression as carefully neutral as he could keep it.

“Sorry, my dear.” Distantly, he knew the sounds of screaming and shouting in the lobby had ratcheted up another level, but all Alastor could process was the soft sputtering sound Vox was making as his eyes darted between his lover and the man he thought had left him for dead, all those years ago. A soft clicking sound drew his attention back to her and she raised an eyebrow at the gun smoking in his hand.

Don’t think you’ll get out of this that easily, Alastor. I forbid you from putting that gun, or the other one I know you have hidden away, to your head or any other body part of yours before this is done.

He sneered and gave her a curt nod. Her eyes crinkled in amusement, and she turned her attention back to Vox. His breath caught in his throat as her black eyes studied him coolly, face falling temporarily void of emotion.

“Now then.”  She slipped her hand into her pocket to pull out a small black device, no larger than a deck of cards. With a snap of her fingers, Alastor could see two clear vials attach themselves to complicated system of tubing and valves before slowly filing with liquid, one golden and the other red. He blinked, startled to see the machine finally complete. It was somehow worse than he had been expecting.

Vox tugged fruitlessly against his restraints, choking on a pained sound as Alastor heard the delicate bones in his wrist snap. The other Overlord whimpered pitifully, staring at his broken hand in despair. Stop struggling, Alastor thought desperately as Velvette scanned the room before returning her gaze to the Overlords.

“If we could all please keep the screaming and crying to a minimum, I’d really appreciate it,” she called. She looked down at the little device and grinned suddenly. She spun in a small circle, positively giddy with her success. Alastor gritted his teeth as Vox slumped forward suddenly, eyes fluttering as he slipped into a semi-conscious state. Furious, and with no other outlet, he tossed Valentino’s gun to the side, half hoping it would go off and create a diversion. “Oh, it’s done! Everyone, this is going to be so exciting!”

He couldn’t help the growl that tore from his throat as she approached them, walking with a confident, self-assured pace before stopping directly in front of the media Overlord. Her head tilted, predatory in its intention, and she waited patiently for the Sinner to jerk against his restraints as he regained consciousness. Velvette trailed a finger down the bloodied shirt sticking to his chest and Vox cringed away, shuddering helplessly. Alastor let his claws bite into his palms once more as she slid her hand beneath his shirt and skimmed her fingers against Vox’s bare skin.

Alastor could nearly taste the panic and revulsion through their shared frequency as he watched her. He was going to kill her before all of this was done, whichever body she chose to inhabit at the time.

“Are you ready, my dear?” she asked the other Overlord with soft menace and Vox’s head tipped back against the table, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

[Help me. Please, please, please.]

Thin, barely there, but Alastor could hear Vox pleading with him directly. He swallowed hard before turning his face away.

“Vel, stop,” Vox managed, voice distorted with a strange mechanical warbling. “Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” The pitiful sound that escaped him made Alastor’s blood begin to boil. “But we’ve gone much too far to stop now.”

He opened his eyes in time to catch the dark glance she shot over her shoulder at him, her smile razor sharp. “So, let’s begin.”

 

*

He was pretty sure he’d lost a lot of blood. Vox felt himself begin to run a biometric scan before he stopped it. He couldn’t afford to devote energy to scans for what he already knew.

He was dying. The angelic steel that Velvette had cut him with had sliced deeply, had carved its way so far into his flesh that he could still feel the cold metal cutting down through skin and muscle. Severing blood vessels and nerves alike and leaving him as helpless and limp as a marionette with its strings cut.

Vox couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped him as Velvette’s hand shifted ever so slightly lower, hooking a finger around his beltloop threateningly as she smiled up at him. He couldn’t force himself to look away from her dark eyes and felt his internal alarms warn him about his dangerously fast heart rate. She gave a small tug, lowering his waistband ever so slightly and he shook his head the best he was able.

“No,” he whispered, and her smile softened a little.

“It’s a shame,” she sighed up at him, “that I didn’t have the opportunity to have you myself before I kill you. You’re so emotive.”

Despite his best efforts (he was a fucking Overlord, how was this even happening to him), Vox felt tears begin to slip down his face as he cringed back. Velvette’s hand cupped him over his trousers, leaving no room for interpretation as his breath caught in his throat. Her fingers tightened just enough for her nails to dig in and this time he did start to cry openly.

So fucking weak.

“Shh, little one,” she purred. “You’re so sweet like this I can hardly bear it. You’re just making it harder to do what needs to be done.”

His eyes flickered over to where Valentino’s body lay in a motionless heap. He’d seen Val dead before (they’d all seen one another dead at one time or another), but this… he wasn’t going to get back up and shake it off, was he? Not this time.

“Please, Vel,” he murmured. “I don’t want this.”

“I know.” She squeezed her hand tighter, and he yelped, fruitlessly trying to squirm away. “Just relax and I promise it’ll be over soon.”

She pulled away from him and Vox sagged wordlessly against the restraints. His mind glitched for a moment and he shook his head to dispel the images of Doctor Bell’s laboratory. It wasn’t… it wasn’t the same…

His gaze skittered away only to settle on Alastor’s impassive smile, wide red eyes watching him with only the barest interest. Of course. It had to be Alastor. It was always going to be Alastor, wasn’t it? If he was going to die for a final, permanent time, it was only fitting that Alastor’s hand held the blade. Wasn’t it?

“Please… whatever I did, Vel… I’m sorry. Please, just… just let me go. I… I… we can just pretend… all right? Like this never happened, all right?” He drew in a wet breath. “Let’s just go home, okay?”

“Darling, all your honeyed words, that silver tongue of yours, won’t make a bit of difference.” She looked up from the small black device in her palm with a sympathetic smile. “If it makes any difference in these last moments, this was nothing personal. Of course, it was always you, it always had to be you, but it wasn’t because of anything you did.”

He felt himself start to go limp, fatigue and blood loss wearing him down. His vision began to grow foggy. Everything… hurt. He wanted to go home.

“Vox!”

He gasped and blinked, his gaze clearing to focus on Velvette’s face. Something was different in her eyes… he realized with a jolt that he was looking into her eyes, not the dark pools that he had been staring into.

“Vel?”

Her mouth worked for a moment, like she was struggling to tell him something before darkness bled back into her eyes. She sighed and raised her hand to snap her fingers. A thin cable appeared from nowhere (maybe not nowhere but he could barely make sense of his partner in front of him, so he could hardly focus on anything else happening around him) and she slid the connecting cable into the top of the device. With a flick of a switch, Vox winced as a bright light infused what looked like a tall ring.

“I needed to break you,” she said suddenly, and Vox could see Alastor flinch out of the corner of his eye. Distantly, he could hear shouting, but he couldn’t bring himself to listen or care. He struggled to keep his focus on the other Overlord. “If you were too willful, too confident, I couldn’t use you the way I needed you.” Her eyes darted to Alastor and Vox followed her gaze with a molasses slow speed. “Like him.”

Vox finally managed to catch Alastor’s gaze full on, realizing suddenly that there was something in his eyes that Vox hadn’t caught before – fear. He clenched his hands into fists, another wave of useless adrenaline flooding his veins as he tried hard to understand why Alastor would be afraid, of all things.

“And I do suppose I have to be grateful that my first attempt to break you failed.” She tilted her head a bit, serpentlike in her movement. “You remember, don’t you? You spent more than five years with the good doctor, and I’m still surprised you managed to bounce back from that.”

Vox gasped softly as the confusion on Alastor’s face morphed so suddenly into rage that it left the media Overlord breathless. He shook his head – how had she known about Doctor Bell? That had been… he hadn’t told anyone. Ever. Not even Alastor – even after years of him trying to trick Vox into telling him about those lost years. Velvette couldn’t possibly know. How...?

The room started to spin, and Vox sagged heavily against his restraints, struggling to make sense of that. His stomach twisted abruptly and couldn’t stop himself from vomiting a thin stream of bright pink down the front of his shirt. Velvette clicked her tongue impatiently as the sharp buzzing of saws and the phantom fumes of formaldehyde in Doctor Bell’s laboratory threatened to overwhelm him.

“But it ended up being a good thing, didn’t it? You were so much smaller, weaker back then. Just a widdle baby Sinner, barely able to summon a charge on your own. I’ll admit that my impatience made me stupid in thinking that you were ready at that point, broken or not.” He managed to raise his head again, coughing the remains of the Love Potion from his mouth. “No, it’s so much better now that you have this raw power at your fingertips. You are perfect, my sweet little fool.”

I want to go home.

“Please…”

Velvette lifted a sharp needle in her small hand that he hadn’t realized she was holding. She jerked the sleeve of his shirt up above his elbow and he felt it pierce his skin until it jolted to a halt deep inside, hitting the bone with sickening sound. He couldn’t stop himself from screaming and tried to pull away, the restraints holding him tight. In the air around them, a siren blared deafeningly.

“No,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath through the pain.

“Shh, darling,” she soothed, resting the device on a small hook on the table next to him as she dug around with the needle, setting his arm on fire.  “Just a little while longer and then you can rest.”

“I want to go home,” he heard himself sob, his voice almost unrecognizable. “Please, Vel. Please, let’s just go home.”

He noticed Alastor’s ears pin flat to his head and could suddenly feel a sharp burst of static wrap around his body. He shuddered, turning his face away as best as he was unable – he couldn’t stand any of Alastor’s pity.

Velvette picked up the device again and hit another couple of buttons – Vox’s body erupted in pain and his back arched against the sharp sensation stabbing at him. His head tilted back against his will and he jerked weakly against the restraints while the pain continued to build.

Then it all faded away as his body snapped rigidly against the table.

 

*

 

She admired her handiwork for a minute – everything was exactly how it needed to be. A thrill of satisfaction worked its way up her spine as she turned from the unconscious Overlord to scan the rest of the room. The Morningstars were still talking, trying to comfort the terrified Princess. Oh, her face was difficult to look at for long. Too familiar, too painful.

Listen to me!

Oh, dear. The little Overlord was becoming quite tiresome, wasn’t she? She was a stupid little fool to let herself be taken in by a simple projection and a bit of psychic manipulation, but it was another unexpected blessing that her thrall had refused to train her – she would’ve had a more difficult time convincing a wary Overlord who knew what to look for. She sighed as she felt the girl slam herself against the walls of her cage.

Settle down, little one. You don’t have to wait much longer. Minutes, at most.

No! Let me out!

She sighed and made the last remaining adjustments, feeling the thrum of power increase as the ritual began. With a flick of her wrist, Charlie Morningstar was dragged across the lobby, coming to an abrupt stop at her feet, staring up at her with wide, familiar eyes. She leaned down slightly and rested her hand against the Princess’s face tenderly.

“You won’t be hurt, dear girl,” she reassured the Princess. Charlie’s eyes darted over to where her parents were still restrained. “You are too precious.”

I didn’t ask you for this!

She closed her eyes briefly. The girl was becoming more of nuisance than she was worth.

I never would have been able to possess your body if you didn’t want me to.

I didn’t want this!

You thought he was weak, darling, and were all too eager to let me in. To let me help you.

That’s a lie and you know it! I would never hurt him – I kept him safe!

Just be quiet now. I need to concentrate.

She ignored the screaming of the little Overlord whose body she had taken. It didn’t matter what the girl had wanted – she had shown a moment of weakness, had let her guard down just enough and now she had the body of a powerful witch under her control. Her eyes flicked over to where her thrall was watching her with a murderous expression on his face.

She had once thought that she could use him as a power source for the ritual. Had even tried to use him initially, when she was still trying to perfect it, wondering if the strength of his magic would suffice but it hadn’t been quite right. Not to mention that he had proven himself to be too stubborn, too headstrong to be the passive instrument that she needed. A tool didn’t need to think, to fight against her – it just needed to be. She gave up on him quickly when she realized that even if she managed to break him down, his magic wouldn’t be able to support the machine. So, she had to turn elsewhere.

What a fortunate turn of events that her thrall had immediately taken the little television demon under his wing, protecting him and drawing her attention to his power. She doubted she would have noticed him, not immediately, had it not been for her thrall taking such an interest in him. And perhaps her own interest would have waned after he escaped from the doctor’s custody, but her thrall made him more fascinating to her each time he struggled to hide him away, each time he tried to thwart his ambitions to make him less appealing to her, each time he tried to push him away only to pull him right back in as if he just couldn’t seem to let go. Their little dance, which ended with such spectacular violence, had been a lovely diversion after years of monotony. She could hardly be blamed if her eyes hadn’t strayed – the Radio Demon had made his little companion irresistible.

Of course, the television demon’s power had been diffuse and weak in the beginning, barely worth notice. Left to his own devices, she was sure, he would have likely gone the same way as all the other Sinners with electrical powers during those early days – dead within months of falling, targeted by the Exterminator Angels who were rightfully wary of their powers. But he had been the first Sinner with any electrical powers in decades, no matter how weak, and she had grown ever so impatient. The last one before him had been a little Sinner made of clear glass back at the turn of the century, nearly fifty years before him. That one had been killed soon after, shattered to pieces by an Exterminator Angel.

There had only been a handful of these little electrical Sinners in all the years that she had been watching and most died before she could even get close enough to lure them to her. With the exception, as always, being her thrall’s little pet. He’d survived those dangerous first months and somehow escaped from the doctor’s laboratory, cracked and chipped at the edges but never completely broken.

Naturally, once she became aware that she was dealing with something special, she knew she would have nothing but him. So, she waited and passed the decades by watching the painful growth that pushed and pulled the two Sinners apart with detached amusement. Truthfully, she found their star-crossed lovers’ story oddly nostalgic, just similar enough to her own, further cementing her fixation on the television demon.

The time gave her a new sense of gratitude that her hastiness had not cost her the prize. She could admit that she had initially been wrong – she hadn’t even considered that he would need to build his powers before he would be genuinely useful. She had been stupid to try to use him before he was ready, before he was strong enough to the power the machine she had spent decades assembling. Ultimately, it had been fortunate that he had escaped and worked on building his strength and influence on his own for so many years until she could finally use him.

She glanced at the silly little demon, hanging unconsciously in his restraints and sighed fondly. The Goetia had been an excellent choice, if she did say so herself. They were fools, yes, and had gone off-script, but they were effective fools. Even considering the tense moment that she had been convinced that he would see straight through them and break for the door before they had the chance to drug him, it had been so enjoyable watching him suffer and break down into the perfect instrument for her use. She watched as pulses of electricity rippled from the needle in his arm to the heavy pillar closest to him and his eyelids fluttered occasionally – unconscious, but only just. Even injured as he was, he was crackling, brimming with power.

Yes, he was perfect.

Alastor.

The Radio Demon’s head whipped around at his name; eyes blackened as his antlers cracked menacingly. She gestured towards the other pillar, and he snarled before walking stiffly to the heavy stone before placing his hand against it. It glowed a sickly green and she grinned. Too stubborn, perhaps, to be her little battery, but that stubbornness didn’t matter if he was only an anchor. He just needed to stand there and keep the machine firmly secured in place throughout the ritual. She could order him to stay in place, but she knew he was still hoping to get him and his former friend (rival, enemy, companion, lover – whichever label suited them now, they had so many she could hardly keep up) out of this alive so he would be cooperative.

Besides, after seven years in the Void, unshielded by his magic, he was so much more malleable and willing to bend to her commands.

With a final press of a button on the little device, the room began to shake as the already weak barrier between the realms began to fail. She could thank Alastor’s little thrall for that – how convenient to kill the First Man in a place already steeped in heavy magic, rubbing thin the protective shield that kept the realms from bleeding into one another. His death was just another happy, happy coincidence.

A shrill mechanical whine had the lesser beings in the lobby clapping their hands over their ears, crying out in pain. As the ring began to brighten, she stepped forward eagerly, her smile softening as a faint orb of light began to solidify. Beside it, her own body materialized, and the two glided through the ring into the lobby.

She closed her eyes and allowed her essence to be pulled back where she belonged. She could hear the little Overlord’s body collapse behind her and opened her eyes in time to watch the golden orb hover in front of her body. With undisguised delight, she laughed as the light curled itself around her waist before drifting over to the Princess. As she watched, the orb began to twist and pulse, taking a faint but distinct masculine form before resting its hands on the Princess’s shoulders. Charlie Morningstar struggled against its grip fruitlessly before giving up and staring up at her captors.

She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be back in her own body. Wearing another’s meat suit was fine for a time but it eventually became stiff and uncomfortable. She looked up into the face of the shimmering golden man standing behind the Princess and let her smile soften with genuine affection.

“Darling,” she breathed.

“Hello, Eve,” he answered, voice ringing like a bell through the Hotel and she could barely resist the urge to fling her arms around his neck in delight.

“Oh, Michael. I’ve missed you.”

Notes:

cw: implied/referenced/off-screen rape/sexual assault, non-consensual touching/sexual assault, blood/gore, violence, character death, demon deals/ownership, torture, demonic possession.

Oof. Did I mention it gets worse before it gets better?

Chapter 17: dies iræ, dies illa, solvet sæclum in favilla

Notes:

Content warnings at the end. Another intense one.

Present Day


Alastor’s ears fell back against his skull as his mistress was once again reunited with her own body, unable to help the half step back he took. It didn’t surprise him in the least when he watched her body step through the portal, piloted by magic like some paranormal zombie. But he’d only ever interacted with her in her physical form inside her stone cell where her power was dampened, limited. To see her at her full power, dark and crackling around her not unlike his own static, made every prey instinct in his body scream for him to run and not look back. As it was, his tail flagged beneath his coat, and he took another step back, careful to keep his palm pressed against the stone pillar.

He winced when the golden figure rested its hands on Charlie’s shoulders and stole a quick look around the lobby. The King and Queen were still restrained, though Lucifer seemed to be making some progress against Eve’s magic. Between the warding she had somehow accomplished under Alastor’s nose and drawing Velvette’s magic directly from the small Overlord, she had given the King the first real challenge Alastor imagined he’d faced in centuries.

Vaggie had scrambled onto the bar top and was beating her fists against his shadow shield which he was frankly surprised had remained intact to this point. Tears were streaming from her good eye and she screamed Charlie’s name before sinking down to her knees. Behind her, Angel Dust wrapped a set of arms around the tiny angel, seemingly torn between pulling her back down and keeping her stabilized where she was.

Lucifer thrashed against his restraints with renewed vigor as the machine began to thrum with extraordinary amounts of energy. Alastor could see the golden threads of his celestial magic snapping against the restraints holding him in place and winced when the King suddenly slumped, the wind abruptly taken out of his sails as the golden figure stared straight back at him.

The Queen let out a soft, despairing sound and Alastor looked away quickly. “Michael!”

Eve turned away from the glowing figure, eyes passing over Alastor on their way to the King and, not for the first time, he felt like nothing more than an insect about to be crushed beneath the heel of her boot. The Second Woman knelt beside Charlie, careful to maintain eye contact with the King of Hell.

“Daddy, I think you owe your daughter an explanation, don’t you?” she asked, catching Charlie by the chin. “Why don’t you tell her exactly whose presence she’s in?”

Charlie struggled a little, though not as much as Alastor supposed she might otherwise have done. He wondered if her minimal resistance was only because she must’ve thought that she was expected to resist. None of the fear had left her face, though now her expression was infused with fascination as she craned her neck and studied the golden figure behind her.

Alastor used the royal family’s distraction to return his attention to Vox. The younger Overlord’s body was still stiff as power flowed through him and into the machine, screen flickering weakly. He hoped Vox was unconscious, hoped that he wasn’t aware of what was happening around him.

“Charlie, I…” Lucifer was speaking, he registered. Alastor’s eyes didn’t leave Vox. “Charlie, that’s…”

“It’s all right, Daddy,” Eve hissed, and Alastor did turn his attention to her this time. The Second Woman gave Charlie a little shake and Alastor’s lips curled up to reveal his fangs. “We’re all family here, aren’t we? There aren’t any secrets between us.”

“Shut up!” Lucifer snarled, giving another thrash against his restraints. For a dizzying moment, Alastor thought he saw the dark magic ripple against the surge of angelic magic, but it was probably just a figment of his imagination. “Charlie, don’t listen to her, all right?”

Eve growled in frustration, pushing Charlie’s face away as she got to her feet. She paced for a minute, staring down the King, trying to force his hand before finally caving.

“Charlie Morningstar,” she started, “this is Michael. Michael Morningstar.”

Charlie’s eyes widened impossibly, and she twisted around to look up at the golden figure. “Morningstar?”

Lucifer struggled up to his feet and Alastor’s heart leapt hopefully, but he only managed to make it a couple of steps before Eve’s magic brought him back down to his knees. Panting, the King watched as the glimmering figure moved gracefully to stand in front of Charlie, dropping to its knees so that they were face to face. One of the purple cords of magic dissipated and Charlie mindlessly lifted her hand to touch the figure’s face.

“Brother… I remember you,” she whispered, awed. “How did I ever forget you?”

Eve shot a smug smirk in Lucifer’s direction before moving away from the Morningstar siblings. She approached the surgical table once more and Alastor couldn’t help the snarl that ripped from his throat as she began to fiddle with the small box controlling the machine, Vox’s body jerking in response.

“You were very small,” the figure replied, the words somehow dropping directly into Alastor’s brain. He supposed that it came from lacking a physical form, but it was particularly unsettling when he noticed Lucifer flinch as well, confirming that he wasn’t the only one whose brain Michael Morningstar was dropping his words into. Charlie didn’t seem to notice and, rather, to mind.

“Yes, I was.” She turned her gaze briefly to her father and Lucifer sagged down in defeat. “You… you kept him from me? For all these years?”

“Charlie, please,” Lillith called. Charlie turned to her mother, face unreadable. “Please let us explain.”

“What’s to explain?” Eve snapped, tightening a loose restraint around Vox before she flicked a small switch. “Mommy and Daddy banished me to a tiny cell to spend the rest of eternity, cold and alone. But that’s nothing compared to your big brother.” Her eyes flashed at Lucifer challengingly. “They stripped Michael’s soul from his body, which they destroyed so that he could never return, and flung him straight into the Void, unshielded from the cold.”

Charlie shook her head. “No. They wouldn’t.”

Alastor raised an unsurprised eyebrow – it didn’t not sound like something his Highness would do. Before anyone could answer, Eve hit another button on the tiny black device in her hand and the machine powered down with a low rumble as she began to walk back towards the King. Light flashed around them for a moment and Alastor used the opportunity to rush to the metal table where Vox slumped forward, still unresponsive.

[Vox?]

Nothing. Alastor debated tearing the needle from his arm and slashing his claws through the restraints to free the other Overlord, but he knew he wouldn’t get far before she tugged him right back. At best, he could escape the Hotel with Vox for a few minutes before she hauled him back – at worst, he wouldn’t even get Vox completely free before she rained down an agonizing punishment. He settled for pressing his fingertips to Vox’s wrist, not sure if he was relieved to find a weak but present pulse.

“It’s not what you think,” Lucifer said, tone appeasing. Alastor glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Charlie, I promise, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, no!” Eve said, clapping her hand over her mouth dramatically. “Am I leaving out important contextual narrative?”

Lucifer’s eyes flared with celestial power and his wings snapped impatiently behind him. Despite himself, Alastor shrank back at the display, every infernal fiber of his being instinctively shying away from angelic power – he suspected any demon with an ounce of self-preservation would do the same. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a reasonable sample to compare himself to, what with all the other demonic beings in the Hotel either trapped behind a shadow forcefield or related to the fallen archangel (with sole exception of Eve, who didn’t seem the least bit concerned by the display), so he mollified himself with that knowledge.

Alastor turned back to Vox when he heard a soft, pained whimper. The television demon’s head lolled against his shoulder; eyes unfocused for a long few seconds before they settled on Alastor. He squeezed Vox’s fingers as the younger Sinner began to shake his head weakly.

“No,” he whispered, staring at Alastor with a mixture of horror and confusion. “Why did you do this?”

Alastor stomach dropped, but he couldn’t honestly say that he was surprised, could he? Of course, after everything that happened between the two of them, how could he think that Vox wouldn’t blame him for everything? He had every right to and, what made it even worse, he would be right.

How had he not realized that she had given him a starring role in Vox’s disappearance in the fifties? She had handed him the envelope to deliver directly to Doctor Bell and he had taken it there without a thought – she had plenty of other souls she owned, he knew that for a fact, but liked to use him as a messenger because it didn’t require the soul-draining work of summoning her other thralls directly to her. His own power made him easier to summon, but in the grand scheme of things, he really didn’t mind delivering the occasional note. It was always entertaining watching the faces of her other thralls dissolve into worry and fear when the Radio Demon came bearing a message.

But, oh, he was directly responsible for everything that had happened during those lost years. Responsible for all the nightmares and panic attacks that Vox suffered with for years afterwards (and maybe still did, he couldn’t be sure). And, to make matters worse, he kept hurting Vox with his poisonous words, his insidious little actions so many times, always under the pretense of protecting him, of trying to keep him safe from his mistress – when he should have just told him everything he knew. It would have spared them both a lot of pain and a lot of arguments. He had realized that years ago but had never stopped because they were only just words.

Except the time that they weren’t. Except the one time he had snapped under the pressure of trying to hold Vox back (keep him safe) and Vox finally, finally pushing back with the aggression that he should have shown for years. What he had done had finally, perhaps irreparably, damaged their relationship past the point of no return – and now he didn’t have the words to make anything right again.

He looked down at his fingers curled around Vox’s.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I didn’t intend to.”

Vox closed his eyes and squeezed Alastor’s fingers back as best he could. “Do we…? Are we supposed to die here?”

Alastor flinched. “Nobody’s dying here,” he assured Vox, gaze darting back up to where Eve was pacing in front of the King and Queen. “Can you trust me? Just one more time?”

“No,” Vox replied, voice tired. “Don’t ask me that.”

All right. That was fair enough. Alastor caught Eve staring at them and felt black bleed into his eyes, feedback screeching into the air. Vox cringed, turning his face away, and Alastor dropped his hand, settling his grip on his staff.

Get back to where you were.

Antlers cracking and expanding above his skull, he prowled back to the stone pillar, dragging his claws against it in defiance. His mistress hissed lowly, her voice vibrating deep in his bones and he had a heady moment of wondering if she would crush his head in as punishment for his insolence. But no. She still needed him.

She returned her attention to the King and Queen. “Do you understand why we need Charlie?”

Lucifer only bared his teeth, but didn’t otherwise respond, not taking his eyes from his children. Alastor felt a surge of unexpected sympathy as the King fought against his binds once more and managed to get another few steps closer before being brought back down to his knees. Eve laughed at his efforts, drifting back to crouch beside Michael Morningstar in front of Charlie.

“Do you understand, Charlie?” she asked, much more gently than Alastor would have expected. “It’s important to us that you understand.”

Charlie studied her brother’s face for a long time before she finally nodded. “There’s only two of us,” she answered eventually. “I’m the only one strong enough.”

Alastor’s ears pinned to his head, and he began to pace, careful to keep his palm pressed to the pillar. How could she possibly be so calm about this? Had Eve already performed some spell that he hadn’t noticed to ensure the Princess’s compliance?

Eve smiled gently and patted Charlie’s cheek. “You’re a very clever girl, Princess. It really is a shame that you’re stuck in the crosshairs. I would have liked to know you as my sister instead of like this.”

“You’re not–”

“Only because you stopped us.” His mistress’s head whipped around to stare at Lucifer, eyes flaring with such dark power that Alastor shrank back once more. “If you hadn’t, we would have already been seated on the thrones that are rightfully ours.”

She turned back to Michael Morningstar and nodded. “Go on, darling. We don’t owe them anything more.”

“Close your eyes,” the golden figure instructed the Princess and Alastor just barely fought down the urge to scream at Charlie to not listen. The glow of his essence grew impossibly bright until Alastor turned his face against the stone pillar, squeezing his eyes shut tight. A high frequency warbling filled the air, making the fur on the Radio Demon’s body stand on end and he gasped when the frequency burst above hearing. A sudden shockwave knocked him hard against the stone and he couldn’t keep his legs under him, crashing to the ground with a less than dignified grunt.

When he chanced to open his eyes once more, Alastor turned to see only Charlie Morningstar, standing upright and taking in the Hotel lobby like it was all new to her. Which, he supposed, it was in a way. All new to the Morningstar prince possessing her body, at least. She turned slowly, eyes sweeping over him, and Alastor noticed with dismay that they were somehow different. Somehow less Charlie and more Michael.

“We should bring your brothers and sisters home,” Michael said quietly to Eve, using Charlie’s voice to speak. “They’ve waited long enough.”

“Michael, do not do this,” Lucifer snarled, managing to break through more of his binds this time and Alastor hoped that he would finally be able to escape Eve’s magic. “No matter what she’s told you, you do not want this. You do not want to let those abominations back into Hell.”

Eve barked a sharp laugh and Alastor’s ear pricked forward when a soft noise caught his attention. Vox was struggling against his restraints, weakly and with no effect, but Alastor felt a moment of relief to see him still fighting. Maybe they hadn’t completely broken the other Overlord.

“Abominations?” she asked, tone cutting. “How delicious that you would call my siblings abominations. You really are such a hypocrite, Lucifer.”

The King fixed his eyes on Michael. “You know we never once thought of you that way.”

“A shame you didn’t try very hard to convince Heaven of that,” his son countered.

Alastor climbed back to his feet, figuring the royalty were too busy hashing out their own family drama to notice one little Overlord. He crept back over to where Vox was struggling and pressed his hand over the television demon’s mouth, raising his eyebrows to ensure Vox’s silence. After a moment, the younger man nodded slowly, and Alastor turned his attention to slicing away at the restraints on Vox’s arm. He could cut the thick canvas and the angelic steel fibers might just fall away on their own. Maybe by the time he managed to free Vox, Lucifer would finally snap the bonds Eve had put on him, and he could whisk them away before anyone noticed.

[Hurry up.]

Alastor’s smile widened into something a little more genuine. He much preferred an impatient Vox to the defeated man he had been watching since his fellow Overlords had brought his unconscious body into the Hotel. He glanced over at Valentino’s motionless body and rolled his eyes before returning to the task at hand. The man was certainly taking his sweet time.

He worked on sawing sharp claws through the restraints on Vox’s wrist first, cringing at the strange twang the angelic steel sent up through his claws each time he made contact. After a few seconds, Alastor decided to take a second to glance at Vox’s face and was rewarded with the Television Overlord scowling ever so slightly.

[Just fucking hurry up, asshole.]

Good. For the first time in what felt like hours, a flicker of hope lit itself into a tentative flame in Alastor’s long-dead heart and he sawed at the heavy restraints with renewed vigor. He hardly even noticed that Eve was standing at his back until he heard a sharp gasp escape from Vox’s mouth, his eyes snapping up to the other Overlord’s face. His stomach dropped as Vox’s eyes dilated and Alastor froze.

I warned you not to flinch.

The words dropped in his head and Alastor’s ears drooped. Her claws curled around his shoulder slowly, but he refused to look away from Vox, not willing to give her anything more than he already had. The Television Overlord’s eyes flicked from Alastor’s face to the woman standing behind him, breath quickening and Alastor used the moment to touch his fingertips to Vox’s wrist, desperate to give him some reassurance.

The next time you disobey me, I will cut you open and use your intestines to tie you to that pillar.

She didn’t give him the option to skulk back to the pillar but sent him flying against it with a flick of her wrist. Stars burst in front of his eyes as his head slammed against the unforgiving stone and Alastor slumped down while the room whirled around him. He could faintly hear Vox say something in protest and was vaguely aware that the ground had begun to shake beneath him again.

Oh. She had started the machine once more. He leaned his head back against the stone, vision doubling. Was someone screaming again? He closed his eyes wearily and let himself sink into a half-conscious state.

Just for a minute.

 

*

 

At least this time, Vox was able to stay conscious when the machine started again, bracing himself a little more against the colossal surge of power. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t prevent it from ripping energy straight from his very blood and bones, but he found he could reroute enough of his programming to keep himself awake.

The sounds coming through the glowing ring were otherworldly. Granted, all of Hell was otherworldly, but this was something he had almost no frame of reference for. The closest he could compare it to were the screams he had heard tear from Dung whenever the monstrosity was closing in for a kill. It was a good thing that Vox could control his audio input – he cut it by half before the noise could blow out one of his audio processors. But even with that, he couldn’t stop the full-bodied shudder that coursed through him as the source of the sound lurched halfway through the too-small ring and cast a glowing stare around the lobby.

“Oh, my god,” he gasped, struggling against the restraints.

His arms were starting to go numb, probably from the nerve damage and blood loss, but that was a blessing, wasn’t it? One less thing to feel, one less thing that fucking hurt. He tried to straighten himself up so that he could see better, but ended up leaning more to the right than he wanted as the arm gave out.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

The creature fully entered the Hotel lobby, a strange energy that Vox could sense through his infrared sensors leaching off it. It swung its massive head around to stare Vox straight in the eye and his heart stuttered in his chest with terror. He barely noticed Eve waving her hand at the creature until it redirected its gaze to her. They stared at one another and, having had plenty of experience communicating nonverbally, Vox knew that they were engaged in some kind of exchange. After a minute, the creature rumbled lowly, shaking the very bones in the Overlord’s body before crashing through the doors of the Hotel, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

They were all fucked.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed or how many horrors crept through the ring portal before he realized his energy was running out. Dimly, out of the corner of his eye, he could see movement. For a long few seconds, his brain didn’t register what he was seeing. It was only once he realized that the blur of crimson was growing larger in his peripheral vision that he noticed that Alastor was approaching him. And, fuck, if that didn’t give him one wild moment of hope – maybe he wasn’t going to die here after all, maybe Alastor was going to be the hero for once.

But his eyes drifted down to take in the flash of silver in the Radio Demon’s hand and Vox understood. It must be the same pistol that Alastor had used to murder Valentino, and it was cocked and ready to fire. Vox watched with detached fascination as Alastor grew closer and stopped directly in front of him, staring him straight in the face. Oh, yes, he understood.

He was the lynchpin, wasn’t he? Kill him and all of this was done. All Alastor had to do was fire a single shot, directly into Vox’s head, and Eve’s plans would collapse. One angelic bullet was all that was needed to end this and, with every fiber in his body screaming in pain, Vox was strangely at peace with that. At least it would be Alastor. At least he wouldn’t have to meet his end staring up into the jaws of a monster or having his body methodically sliced into and sold off for its parts.

At least he could look into Alastor’s eyes one last time before he died. That was okay.

He drew in a trembling breath as Alastor raised the pistol, pointing it directly between Vox’s eyes. He almost laughed when he realized it was Valentino’s gun – everything was just so fucking poetic, wasn’t it?

Alastor’s eyebrows furrowed as the machine screeched behind him. Vox could see another undefinable horror creep through the ring of light, just over Alastor’s shoulder, and forced himself to stare only at his former friend’s face. He could see Alastor’s ears pin back against his head and wasn’t that interesting? He hadn’t imagined Alastor would feel anything but dismissive annoyance at the prospect of killing Vox.

“It’s okay,” he whispered suddenly, unable to stop himself, even in these last moments, from trying to connect with the Radio Demon. Even fucking now. Alastor’s hand wavered for a moment, and he raised his other hand to stabilize himself. Vox nodded slowly. “I get it. I get it, Al. You have to.”

Alastor closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh, Vox.”

“It’s okay.” Vox nodded, trying not to shiver as Alastor’s eyes opened once more. “Please. Just do it.”

With a nod, the Radio Demon took a final step forward, finger wrapping around the trigger and Vox’s heart threatened to gallop straight out of his chest. “It’s going to be all right, Vox. I promise.”

“What–”

Even with his admittedly poor state of mind, Vox could process Alastor’s finger pulling the trigger of the pistol in his hand and the sharp report of the weapon firing. He could see the angelic bullet speeding towards his face and, instead of closing his eyes like he had planned, he found himself unable to look away from death as it came spinning towards him.

Except.

In mid-air, the bullet’s trajectory changed. Before Vox could begin to process what he was seeing, the projectile’s path bent and ripped through the air, straight into Alastor’s head. Vox watched in open-mouthed shock as the other Overlord’s head snapped backwards, the force of the bullet knocking him off his feet with a spray of blood in both directions. He barely felt the blood streak across his screen as he watched Alastor fall for an impossibly long time before he hit the ground with a heavy thud.

His sensors told him that the noise in the lobby had increased to an almost deadly level, but all he could do was gape at Alastor’s motionless body. He stared down, not believing what he was seeing, even as he watched Eve snatch his dead body from the ground and scream in rage.

“Idiot!” She tossed Alastor’s body away like a sack of garbage and Vox struggled to see where it landed. His shoulder whined in protest as he twisted his head to try to find Alastor in all the chaos. He tried not to let his eyes linger too long on Velvette’s still body near the glowing ring or the blood haloed around Valentino’s head as he scanned the room. Vox’s face was suddenly jerked forward, sharp claws cutting into the bottom of his screen, and he stared at Eve in shock.

“We aren’t done yet,” she hissed in his face and Vox tried to shake his head. Done? What did being done have to do with anything? Alastor was dead. Did she not understand that? Dead.

“He’s dead,” he heard himself whisper and his head snapped back against the table from a particularly sharp slap of her hand. “He’s dead.”

“Shut up,” she snarled, eyes wild. He stared back, unable to look away from the depths of darkness in her gaze. “Don’t think that he’s saved you.”

Saved him? Vox could hear laughter and glanced away from Eve, looking for the source. It only occurred to him that the laughter was his own when her claws caught his throat, pushing his head back against the table. He let his eyes flutter shut as the laughter became all consuming.

What a fucking joke! Didn’t she pay attention? Alastor never did anything unless it directly benefited him – hadn’t he rescued Vox that first time all those years ago, when he had freshly fallen into Hell, because he thought that Vox was amusing? There had been no altruistic motives then and there certainly weren’t any now. Alastor had taken the first opportunity to get out of this, fucking coward, and had left Vox behind to deal with what were undoubtedly the consequences of the Radio Demon’s actions.

His throat squeezed shut under the force of her grip, and Vox’s laughter sputtered to a stop. He tried to draw in another breath, fighting down the panic, and blinked his eyes open. With a sneer, he narrowed his eyes, daring her to finish it. She still fucking needed him, didn’t she?

“He’ll regret leaving you here on your own,” she growled, releasing his throat and Vox sucked in desperate gulps of air. “I’ll see to it personally.”

Vox tried blinking the spots out of his functioning eye and watched with sudden tiredness as she whipped around, gesturing to someone he couldn’t see. His vision began to blur, and he sucked in another searing breath. Had his lungs always felt like liquid metal? He couldn’t remember anymore.

Vox closed his eyes and shut out the sounds around him. It was easy enough to do – he just needed to sever his audio input and then there was nothing but the thumping of his beating heart in his chest.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

His thoughts began to drift as he let himself hang limply from the restraints holding him to the table. He’d planned for this – well, perhaps not for this specifically, but for the inevitable day that he found himself backed into a corner that he couldn’t escape. And he hadn’t told a single soul what he had done, either, making sure he would always be the one in control.

He licked his lips and dug into an old folder simply listed as “SOS.” The program in there was just as old, decades at this point, but it was such a simple sequence that he had never needed to upgrade it. It would do its job without fail.

Five.

With a shaky breath, he cued up the self-destruct sequence, giving himself a five second countdown. His vision flashed red, his other systems warning him to intervene before the sequence was complete.

He developed it twenty years ago, after almost dying at Alastor’s hand and the immediate aftermath of pure helpless terror that had threatened to overwhelm him. Knowing that he could be made so helpless again (after everything he had done to climb to the top, he was still vulnerable), he had sequestered himself in the laboratory day after day until he built a series of microchips that could explode outwards with angelic steel shrapnel.

Four.

Installing them had been nerve-wracking – he’d wired tiny bombs throughout his body, after all. It was a miracle that he’d been able to keep a steady enough hand throughout the procedure to not prematurely denote them himself. Even then, even after securing them with protective barriers and strings of code that could only be broken by his own command, Vox had still spent a dizzy few days in bed, barely able to move from the fear alone.

Three.

But, like all things in Hell, the horror of what he’d done began to diminish and, after a few years, their presence faded to the back of his mind. Oh, there had been a few times that he had momentarily considered using them (pinned face down, screaming at Valentino to stop), but he’d done what he always did – gritted his teeth and pushed through to the other side where he could emerge maybe not better or wiser, but with at least tougher skin and sharper teeth.

Two.

This time, at least, he was prepared. He wasn’t going to be a pawn in some celestial chess game, the stakes of which he didn’t even understand. Not anymore. He wasn’t the helpless little Sinner who let himself be imprisoned for five and a half years, suffering at the hands of a mad scientist. Hadn’t she said she wanted him stronger? Well, she had given him the time to grow not just stronger, but more cunning.

No, this time, he was the one in control of his fate.

He opened his eyes one more time, taking in the chaos of the room. His gaze locked onto Eve’s, and he winked.

“Yippee ki yay, bitch.”

One.

He sucked in a breath as the final number clicked down on the counter. His ribs strained against his chest for one last, agonizing moment and then searing fire consumed him with unforgiving finality.

Notes:

CW: blood/injury, violence, implied/reference rape/domestic violence, suicide (temporary, but still).

BUT! See the chapter count - 17/?... there's still plenty of story left to go, so don't despair too much.

Chapter 18: kiss me, kiss me, make me tell you i’m in love with you

1965

He couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment he fell in love with the Radio Demon.

Was it the night Alastor had walked with him through the streets of Cannibal Town, taking the time to point out everything he thought would be important for a newly fallen Sinner to know about? He hadn’t been in Hell for more than a couple of weeks at that point and had trailed behind Alastor with wide eyes, eager to learn everything and anything the older demon was willing to teach him. He had been filled with such awe and gratitude, he hadn’t even stopped to consider the butterflies that began to whip around in his stomach every time he set on eyes on Alastor.

Or maybe it was the day that Alastor had swooped in and plucked him from the claws of a gang of Sinners who wanted to see how his face would cave in if struck with heavy tree branches? The relief when the Radio Demon had used his shadow tentacles to scoop him out of harm’s way before laying waste to Vox’s attackers had been palpable. The funny butterflies had struck once more when Alastor had tended to his injuries with shocking gentleness and care.

He couldn’t deny that the first night he had fallen asleep on Alastor’s couch was a top contender, though it was so utterly chaste that he was hard pressed to articulate why finding Alastor’s arms around his waist when he woke up screaming from another nightmare had triggered the butterflies once the heart pounding terror had subsided. He had pressed himself as close as he possibly could while the older Sinner had played soft music, pulsing soothing white noise over their shared frequency. When he finally drifted back to sleep, he knew he was cradled close in the safest place in Hell.

But it was all the same at the end of the day.

He was in love with Alastor.

Vox smiled down at the case of canned green beans, feeling his screen start to warm at just the thought of the Radio Demon. Yep, he was in trouble. Every single song that played over the radio was a love song and every single one made him feel like a giddy teenager in the throes of first love. Had he ever felt this way about anyone else? Grace, he was fairly sure, but the memory of her had already faded into a sepia-toned dream that he couldn’t quite bring fully to the front of his mind.

He flicked his wrist to turn up the volume on the stereo, humming softly as he unpacked the canned goods.


When I want you in my arms
When I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Dream, dream, dream, dream


“You’ve bought another record.”

Vox grinned, the butterflies making another appearance in his stomach. He glanced over his shoulder, giving Alastor a shrug.

“Well, I’ve got to spend my money on something, don’t I?” Alastor’s smile was indulgent.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Vox wasn’t surprised when the Radio Demon extended his hand to the younger Sinner, tilting his head slightly. He got up off his knees and took Alastor’s hand, letting himself be pulled in close. “Dance with me?”

Vox nodded, happy grin threatening to make a permanent residence on his face. Alastor began to sway him along with the beat of the song before spinning him in an unexpected circle, drawing delighted laughter from the younger demon.

He was pretty sure that Hell wasn’t meant to be like this. After all, wasn’t he meant to be suffering for his sins? Not that he hadn’t been punished thoroughly already, but he was sure that Heaven hadn’t meant for him to be danced around a cozy storeroom in the arms of the man he adored, listening to love songs. This was something that definitely belonged in Heaven – not that Vox was remotely complaining.

Alastor pressed his hand against the middle of Vox’s back, drawing him close with a soft smile. Vox beamed back.

“Are you ready to go?” Alastor asked as the music faded out. Vox nodded.

“I can put the rest of it away tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s how it is now?” Rosie asked from the doorway, an indulgent smile on her face as she watched the two dance. Vox blushed and pulled away, brushing his hands down his apron front.

“Is that all right?” he asked. “We were going to go out for drinks and dancing.” He paused for a moment, glancing between the two Overlords. “If you want to come, you’re more than welcome.”

Rosie laughed and flicked a hand at Vox. “No, you two should go enjoy yourselves without an old lady tagging along at your heels.”

Vox smiled gratefully and took off his apron. “You’re not an old lady, Rosie.”

“Well, I ain’t young.” She exchanged a glance with Alastor. “Besides, I think you two might have a few things to discuss.”

Vox laughed. “That we can’t talk about in front of you?”

“Vox,” Alastor said pointedly, and Vox’s mouth snapped shut, eyes widening in surprise. “Rosie isn’t interested in coming out with us tonight.”

“Fine, jeez,” the younger Sinner grumbled. He hung up his apron, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Alastor. The Radio Demon’s grin widened. “See if I try and be polite again.”

He finished tidying himself up in the backroom that served as his bedroom while he listened to Alastor and Rosie talk quietly in the main storeroom. He switched out his work shirt and trousers for a nicer button down and a freshly pressed pair of pants. His work boots were kicked under his cot and he put on the one pair of dress shoes he had. Giving his screen a quick rub with a soft cloth to make sure he didn’t have any smears on it, Vox stepped back into the main storeroom and felt his face warm at the appraising look Alastor gave him.

“You clean up nicely, Vox,” Alastor said approvingly. Vox avoided Rosie’s amused gaze and shrugged.

“Thanks.” He nodded quickly at the door. “You ready?”

Vox let Alastor catch his hand and lead him through the back door, trying hard to stop his blush from spreading when he made the mistake of glancing at Rosie, only to see her wink in his direction. He really was that obvious, wasn’t he? With a shake of his head, he picked up his pace to keep up with Alastor’s brisk stride.

The dance hall they frequented was buzzing with noise and excitement by the time they arrived, and Vox was only too grateful when the bartender recognized them and motioned to a small table near the bar with a smile. They actually liked Alastor here, didn’t just fear him like they did in so many other places. Vox sat down in one of the chairs and felt his heart skip another few beats when Alastor dragged his own chair close enough to Vox’s so that they were nearly touching, under the guise of not being able to hear the television demon over the din of the dance hall.

“Here,” Alastor said once he returned from the bar with two glasses and bottle of what Vox assumed was a nice bottle of brandy. He still wasn’t entirely sure what constituted nice in Hell – he had grown confident while he was alive with what could be considered good, but bottles from the mortal realm were a luxury item and not something he had with any regularity anymore. “We deserve something nice tonight.”

“Cheers,” Vox replied once their drinks were poured and clinked his glass against Alastor’s. He swallowed down a generous gulp, unable to stop himself from blushing when Alastor shifted beside him, thigh pressing against Vox’s. He clutched his drink a little tighter, flashing a quick smile at the Radio Demon when the older man gave him a contented grin, sipping his own drink with casual grace.

They sat for a while, sipping their drinks while watching Sinners and Hellborn alike dance and laugh in the crowded hall. It was one of the very few places outside of Cannibal Town that Vox had been where everyone seemed happy and good-humored. Maybe that’s why Alastor liked bringing him here – it was safe, pleasant, and certainly served some of the nicest alcohol that Vox had gotten his hands on since he had died.

“I’ve been giving it some thought… Vox?” Vox blinked and turned his gaze back to Alastor. He was starting to feel a little… uncoordinated from all the nice brandy Alastor had been plying him with. “How would you feel about coming to live with me?”

Vox’s face flickered in the low light of the dance hall, and he could hear Alastor chuckle with amusement. “With you? Like… in your house? Together?”

“Well, yes. You’d have your own room and everything, of course, but it’s time you stopped living in the emporium storeroom, don’t you think?”

Vox couldn’t disagree. As kind as it was for Rosie to offer him a safe, warm place to sleep, he couldn’t spend an eternity sleeping on a little cot in the backroom of a shop. “I’d have a commute again,” he replied playfully.

“There’s that, too.” Alastor’s claw circled the rim of his glass and Vox watched it with contentment. “How would you like to do something you want to do?”

Vox blinked. Was that even an option? “Like what?”

“Oh, I have a few favors I could call in and get you something at the local news station.” Vox instantly perked up. He missed being in front of a camera, missed being admired and adored by the masses. Missed doing something that mattered. He paused for a moment before answering, a flicker of unease twisting in his stomach.

“I don’t want anything people would just say you got for me,” he said hesitantly. Being Alastor’s pal certainly had its perks, but there had been a few instances of other demons taunting him for being the Radio Demon’s pet that he didn’t especially want to repeat. “I want to earn my way.”

Alastor laughed. “Of course you do. I was thinking something in the mailroom until you can work your way up to owning the place.” He held up a hand. “All by yourself, of course.”

Vox nodded before setting down his glass. “I’ll think about it.” He tilted his head towards the dance floor. “Want to dance?”

Alastor grinned widened and he hopped to his feet. “You’ll have to try and keep up, Vox. I won’t go easy on your tonight.”

“When do you ever?” he retorted with a good-humored roll of his eyes. He let Alastor catch his hand and lead them out onto the dance floor.

How long they danced, Vox wasn’t sure, but between sets the two would return to their table to work on finishing off the bottle of brandy that Alastor dropped into whatever pocket dimension he used whenever they weren’t with the bottle (“All sorts of things you can hide in someone’s drink, Vox. Best to be safe.”). By the time they had finished the bottle, Alastor was hanging off his shoulder, flicking at his antennae and giggling every time Vox blushed and tried to stammer out a protest.

“D’you know, Vox?” Alastor asked, wrapping his arms around Vox’s shoulders. Thinking as quickly as his alcohol-soaked brain would let him, Vox caught Alastor around the waist to steady him. He giggled when Alastor leaned in conspiratorially. “I do believe I may be drunk.”

And, he was drunk, too. Not so drunk that he couldn’t remember his own name but drunk enough to feel soft warmth glow in his limbs and find the movement of Alastor’s lips the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire existence. Without a thought, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against his friend’s.

Alastor’s mouth was soft against his own and Vox breathed in the taste of him as his tongue darted out to lap at the small gap between the other man's lips. After a moment, Alastor’s lips parted, and Vox lapped into his mouth with sloppy enthusiasm. Alastor’s arms tightened around his shoulders and Vox surged forward, snaking a hand up between them as a thought occurred to him. He reached up to touch the Radio Demon’s ears in turn.

“How are they so soft?” he huffed when he had the ability to break the kiss. With a frown, he wiggled his other arm from around Alastor’s waist so that he could stroke both ears at the same time, so focused on marveling over Alastor’s ears that he didn’t notice the Radio Demon drop his own arms from Vox’s shoulders. He barely registered Alastor’s fingers curl around his waist possessively. “Seriously… are they always this ridiculously soft or am I just drunk?”

Alastor dragged him forward until their bodies were pressed together and Vox sucked in a surprised breath. “Both, I imagine.”

Vox blinked. “Oh,” he said intelligently.

“I thought you wanted to kiss me,” Alastor murmured, breath warm on the glass of Vox’s face. The younger Sinner nodded eagerly and resumed their kiss, finding himself growing weak in the knees like a schoolgirl and not caring. If Alastor wanted to kiss him until he was breathless and blue in the face, Vox sure wasn’t going to stop him. He whined softly when Alastor’s hand moved from his waist to the small of his back.

Around them, other Sinners and Hellborn continued to spin and spiral on the dance floor. Distantly, Vox could hear the band announce that they were going put on a record while they took a quick break. After a scratch on the record player, a new song began to play.

Alastor pulled away, sweeping his hand up to pull Vox’s hand from his head, huffing a soft laugh when Vox pouted. “We’re here to dance, aren’t we?”

He let Alastor sway him along with the scratchy record, breath catching in his throat a few times as they spun faster than Vox could keep up with. It had to be impossible, but for a few moments, he almost felt like his feet left the dance floor. Oh, dear – was it possible for someone’s heart to burst just from this?


They told me be sensible with your new love
Don’t be fooled thinking this is the last you’ll find
But they never stood in the dark with you, love
When you take me in your arms
And drive me slowly out of my mind


They kept going until the record ended and the band began to play a more upbeat song. The dancers around began to move at a decidedly faster pace and Alastor pulled him back in to stand still in the middle of it all. Vox freed his hand from Alastor’s and caught the Overlord’s face, pulling him for another breathless kiss.

“Home,” he begged when he could bring himself to break the kiss. “Please.”

Alastor pulled him in tight enough that the entire front of Vox’s body was pressed to his own. “Close your eyes.”

He obeyed and felt the chilling rush of being dropped into ice water – except ice water would probably be preferrable to the horrors that Vox knew were tumbling around them as they dropped through the Void. The solid warmth of Alastor’s body was comforting and before long, he felt the air warm as the rushing cold stopped. He opened his eyes and looked around to find himself in Alastor’s home.

The Radio Demon separated himself before snapping his fingers to turn on the record player that Vox had bought for him. It had almost been a point of contention when Alastor insisted that Vox had spent entirely too much money on it, especially as a gift, before Vox had reminded him of the one the television demon had recently destroyed. Alastor had accepted it with a sigh, worrying Vox that he would hide it somewhere to be kept from being used, but he was delighted when it occupied a prominent space in Alastor’s living room.

Alastor moved fluidly away from Vox, ending up at the small bar where he kept an assortment of imported Mortal Realm liquors and Hellish brands that were easier to procure. Vox accepted the simple cocktail that Alastor mixed for him and sank down on the couch where they stayed for hours. Laughing and talking while Vox grew impossibly warm and smitten. He wasn’t sure at what point Alastor suggested another dance, but before he knew it, he was stumbling along in the Radio Demon’s embrace, barely able to stand anymore. Alastor slowed their dance, pulling Vox in closely.


Put your head on my shoulder
Hold me in your arms, baby
Squeeze me, oh so tight
Show me that you love me too


Vox sighed and let his eyes slide shut, following the song’s instructions as he let his head rest against Alastor’s shoulder. Everything was floaty and perfect. Well, except for his coordination. He felt the toe of his shoe hook against the back of his ankle and staggered against Alastor.

“Oh, Vox… I do believe that you’re the drunk one now,” Alastor laughed as Vox stumbled again, nearly knocking them both to the ground. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Vox hummed and let Alastor lead him to the guest bedroom. His room now. He slumped onto the bed as Alastor took the time to diligently remove his shoes before giving him a push backwards. Vox laughed as the room spun around him then laughed harder when Alastor caught his legs and swung them onto the bed. Vox caught the Overlord’s wrist before Alastor could leave.

“Stay?”

“You’re very drunk,” Alastor replied with soft patience. Vox shrugged.

“Not… not like that.” He tugged Alastor’s wrist, scooting over on the bed until the other man had space to climb up beside him. “Just… hold me?”

Alastor laughed quietly, sliding his arm under Vox’s shoulders and rolling him to face the older Sinner. Vox wasted no time tangling his legs with Alastor’s before slinging an arm around his waist. He blinked blearily at Alastor.

“Do you… I mean…”

“Shh, Vox,” Alastor said softly. “You’re entirely too drunk to have a conversation.”

Vox thought about arguing that point but settled instead for nestling as close as he could get, enjoying the warmth of the other Sinner’s body. It took almost no time at all before his body went limp and he began to drift, sleep approaching ever closer.

[Vox? You need to come with me.]

He groaned and pressed his face against the smooth fabric of Alastor’s shirt.

“No,” he breathed. “Comfy now. G’way.”

[I can’t leave without you.]

Something almost imperceptible brushed his arm and Vox looked over Alastor’s shoulder where a shadow that was so much like Alastor’s own was standing, a hand extended out to him. He glanced down at his Alastor, the one now sleeping with their limbs tangled together, before looking at the shadow Alastor. Without thinking, he raised his arm from his Alastor’s waist and reached out until his fingertips touched the shadow, a soft blue glow lighting between them. The shadow smiled and backed away.

[You can sleep now, my dear.]

“Ugh,” Vox groaned softly. He slumped back down, nuzzling into Alastor’s chest, and tumbled immediately into sleep.

Notes:

A little fluff before we dive back in again. Enjoy. :)

Chapter 19: listen, mister, can’t you see - i got to get back to my baby once more

Present Day


Oh, fuck.

The very first thing Husk became aware of once the roaring noise around them settled into silence was the pounding pain in his head. If he didn’t know any better, he would chalk this up to the world’s worst hangover. Fuck, even his eyelashes hurt. Was that even possible?

“Fuck,” he swore softly as he glanced around him, realizing that they were now trapped beneath the bar. Good fucking thing he had put two and two together as Alastor started to raise his hand to shoot Vox and snatched Vaggie off the bar top in time before his magical shield collapsed. Didn’t even have the decency to warn anyone, but Husk was in no way, shape, or form surprised.

“Your knee is in my ribs,” Cherri hissed, kicking at Angel Dust. Angel sputtered, trying to twist away from her heel and not quite managing it.

“Yeah, well, your foot is – ah! Stop kicking me!” Angel hissed back.

Husk watched as the two struggled to rearrange their limbs before turning his attention to the mountain of rubble stacked behind the bar, blocking them in. It was probably a bad idea, but he pulled out a playing card and held it out in front of him, pressing it to the top of the pile – or at least the top of the pile he could see. Beside him, he could see Niffty’s eye light up as he charged the card.

“This is probably going to end badly,” he warned her quietly.

She nodded. “We have to rescue the bad boys.”

Ugh. The bad boys. Husk winced then tapped the card against the top of the pile of rubble.

To his surprise, the rubble blasted clear from the bar, spraying backwards and shattering thousands of dollars of alcohol. Or, would have, if the general chaos in the Hotel hadn’t done that already. He wasn’t sure which was the cause of this minor tragedy, but he wasn’t going to waste time with that when he was pretty sure they were about to walk to into an apocalyptic hellscape, courtesy of one deranged jazz-worshipping asshole.

Husk pushed his way out from under the bar and let out a low whistle as he looked around. The Hotel was… fucked. But he’d seen that before. Old news.

He was more interested in finding his owner and, after a moment of searching, his eyes settled on Alastor’s body, laying amid the rubble, shot through the head. Again, Husk suspected, judging by the eerie death mark that he seemed to delight in showing off and refusing to talk about. Husk still wasn’t sure if it was a touchy subject or if Alastor just enjoyed his obnoxious air of mystery. Either way, Husk had long given up wondering.

With a groan, he picked his way through the rubble, Niffty at his heels, and stopped to stare down at the bastard’s body. He felt Niffty’s tiny hand slip into his and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Somehow, Niff, I thought it would feel different with him gone.” He shook his head and fumbled in his pocket for a battered pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “But it’s exactly the fucking same.”

 

*

 

Being without a physical body was not something that Alastor would recommend.

Even when he traveled in the shadows or through the Void, he still had a physical body. Sure, its shape changed and resembled something less like a body and more a nebulous cluster of smoke and magic, but it was still there. He could still call all the diffuse parts of his essence back to him, could still step back into himself effortlessly.

Now, however, he was rather stuck in this strange state of not quite being, his soul bare in the ravaging magical winds of the Hellish realm, unable to shield himself in corporality.

“I’m going to need a bit more than that before we make a deal, bellhop.”

Alastor swallowed roughly. This was going to be tricky. It was one thing to confirm that his benefactress was powerful but he wasn’t sure just how far he would be able to go before her chain snapped tight around his neck. “I think you already know who I’m referring to.”

“That’s what I’m suspecting, too.” Lucifer studied him, his eyes darkening as he settled further into his demonic form. “I’ll repeat myself, Sinner: what did you do?”

He watched as the Void portal began to shake and shudder as his own body collapsed lifelessly to the ground. Watched as Eve screamed in rage at his death and choked Vox in retribution. If he still had a body, he knew for certain that he would have ripped her hand off for daring to touch the other Overlord again. Rage, or any other strong emotion, was difficult to muster. Like an anesthetic wrapping around his brain, he felt only a phantom emotion stirring in his essence.

As it was, Vox’s sudden hysterical laughter gave Alastor a thrill of hope. He was figuring it out, wasn’t he? He was remembering that Alastor couldn’t hurt him and realizing that Alastor had aimed the gun at him for an entirely different reason than Vox had first thought.

[Come on, Vox. You know what’s going on.] Alastor begged him. [You’re so clever – remember that I can’t hurt you.]

Heart sinking and with little else he could do besides watch helplessly, he drifted over to the younger Overlord as Vox slumped forward, eyes shutting in defeat. He wrapped as much of himself around the other man as he could, hoping that Vox could somehow sense his presence.

On the ground, the little Vee stirred, lifting her head with a pained wince. Alastor watched her push herself into a sitting position, looking around with dawning horror as she caught up to what was happening.

Lucifer frowned when Alastor’s attempt to answer only resulted in his mouth snapping shut. “Oh. I get it. D’you know what? I bet she only prevented you from talking about it. She’s always been sloppy with her loopholes.” He brushed Alastor’s bangs away from his face, frown deepening into a scowl at the worried look on the Sinner’s face. “You don’t need to talk for this.”

The King pressed his fingertips to Alastor’s forehead and his eyes fluttered shut before he could stop himself. A sudden dam burst inside him, and he could feel his memories come up hard and fast, pouring from him in a rush before he could stop himself, to insist on the deal he needed. It relieved none of the tension and only made him feel nauseous.

Eventually, though, it ended, and he opened his eyes, stomach clenching at the stony rage on Lucifer’s face. He dragged himself into a sitting position, pushing his back against the wall as the last of Lucifer’s power drained away. Energy gone, he slumped miserably and waited for Lucifer to smite him. Imagine his surprise when the King’s demonic form bled away, and he just shook his head tiredly.

“You’re an idiot,” he said with resignation. “But I guess I should be glad that you’re a clever idiot.”

“Thank you,” Alastor breathed. His heartrate began to slow as he realized that the King probably wasn’t going to kill him. Lucifer sighed.

“You’re going to repeat all of that for the Queen. And then we’re going to make a game plan.”

“My deal?” he remembered to ask, and Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

“What do you want?”

He watched as Eve tried fruitlessly to stabilize the portal before it could collapse. Watched while the King and Queen of Hell stared in stricken horror as their long-dead son use the body of their still-living daughter to help Eve. The bar appeared empty, though Alastor knew there was no way that any of them could have gotten far. If they had any sense whatsoever, they would be hiding underneath the heavy wood bar for the scant protection that it provided.

No, wait. There was Niffty, peeking out around the bar top, her eye as wide as Alastor had ever seen before he saw a pair of hands snatch her away. His attention returned to Vox in time to watch his face flash red, an ominous countdown ticking down across his screen.

Alastor tightened himself around Vox, trying his best to break through to the younger man. He tried to pound against Vox’s stupid rectangular head when he realized that the Overlord was initiating a self-destruction sequence, but the wisps of light and energy that made up his form brushed straight through his face. He screamed at him to stop. Nothing worked.

[No, you stupid man! I told you to trust me!]

Of course, Vox didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen. Alastor resigned himself to the fact that Vox would soon be joining him in this strange ghostly space. He could console him while they waited for Lucifer to return them to their bodies. Could reassure him that they would be fine, because Lucifer himself had made a deal with him. He had promised.

Then Alastor watched helplessly as the air around him warped with the intense heat of the explosion. Small streaks of silver shot outward from the television demon, peppering the lobby with molten shrapnel, and Vox’s body jerked like a puppet whose strings were being cut one by one. Suddenly, dozens of soft blue-white lights hovered in the air around his body before shooting outwards, tiny meteors flung across the night sky. In horror, he watched as they dissipated through the heavy magical netting that the King of Hell had put in place before the ritual began.

From the ground, Velvette began to scream.

“Keep everyone alive. If she’s going to do what I think… people are going to die.”

Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Like your boyfriend?”

“He’s not – you know what? Fine.” Alastor sneered. He didn’t have the energy for this. “Like my boyfriend.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Alastor snapped his fingers, producing a small book, bound in ancient red leather. He thumbed it open to the page he had bookmarked and passed the book to Lucifer. The King nodded with begrudging respect. “You’ve been giving it some thought, haven’t you? This is a very old spell. I’d forgotten it even existed.”

“But one that works?”

“If I do it, yes. If you do it, absolutely not.”

Alastor held out his hand. “Then make a deal with me and do it. Nobody dies.”

“I’ll return any loose souls to their bodies.”

“And nobody dies.” Lucifer shrugged impassively and that would just have to be good enough, he supposed.

He tried to reach out, tried to catch the little lights without hands, and screamed without a voice as the last one slipped free of the soul net. Alastor stared at the smoldering remains of Vox’s body before pressing his ghostlike hands on either side of the other Overlord’s head in disbelief, trying to catch sight of Vox’s soul on his empty screen.

Longing for claws to tear the hair from his head, Alastor jerked violently away from the other Sinner and flew through the lobby, howling with muted fury and despair that could be heard by no one. He should have warned Vox better. Should have told him that he had a plan, even if he couldn’t tell him what. Should have told him that he would protect him, even if it didn’t seem like it.

He should have asked Vox to trust him when he had the chance and not waited until he was bleeding out.

After what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to sink back to the ground, gliding over to where the King and Queen held one another, stunned and barely moving. The Hotel groaned as Hell’s reality gradually sealed itself off, its structure unstable after Eve’s performance. Alastor stopped in front of the King, hoping that he wouldn’t have to try to communicate – that Lucifer would sense him and finish their deal.

Lillith stared at him with an inscrutable gaze and Alastor shrank back from her, dropping his eyes to the floor. The strangest sensation of shame swept over him, and he did not care for it. He cried out when she caught his shoulder and spun him around, yanking his coat down from his neck, leaving the nape bare.

“I knew it,” she said softly. “Look at the brand.”

His mistress had branded him? Alastor bit back the snarl of outrage that started to climb out of his throat. “Brand?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lucifer said thoughtfully. “Look at that.”

“What brand?” he demanded again, trying to twist around.

“A brand to prevent anyone with celestial blood from noticing your chain, bellhop,” Lucifer sneered. Alastor stumbled away when the Queen released him. He had no memory of her putting a brand on him, but that certainly didn’t mean she hadn’t. How many times had she beaten him unconscious? She had a multitude of opportunities to do it. “Fuck. She’s really thought this through this time.”

“I knew I felt her growing stronger,” Lillith sighed. “She’s found a way back into Hell.”

[Your Highness.]

Lucifer twitched and Alastor sighed. Or, would have, if he had lungs anymore. He sank down in front of the grieving couple, giving them a few more minutes to compose themselves before he tried again.

[I do hate to be a bother, your Highness, but we have a deal.]

“You? Hating to be a bother?” Lucifer laughed drily. Lillith stared at him and the King vaguely waved his hand towards Alastor’s general vicinity. “Fucking bellhop.”

“Oh,” Lillith breathed and looked back down at her hands.

Alastor watched as the Hotel residents started to creep out from behind the heavy wooden bar. Husk made his way over to Alastor’s currently unoccupied body, followed closely behind by Niffty, and caught her hand in his when she reached up to him. Cherri and Angel Dust were close behind, though Angel appeared to be understandably much more interested in looking off to where Valentino was still sprawled on the Hotel floor. Vaggie simply stood next to the bar, looking stunned.

Not one of them looked as devastated as the littlest Vee.

With one arm wrapped around herself and the other tangled into her hair, Velvette’s screams had gradually faded into desperate whimpers as she rocked herself back and forth amongst the ruins. Her eyes darted between Vox and Valentino’s still bodies as her voice grew hoarser with each passing minute.

Alastor nudged at the King. He would hate to have to be rude, but his patience was at its end.

[Your Highness.]

Lucifer scowled before dragging himself to his feet, the Queen’s hand falling from his own as he made his way over to Alastor’s body. The Radio Demon watched, fascinated, as the King of Hell knelt beside it, letting his hands hover above Alastor’s head. Distantly, Husk scoffed.

“Wasn’t that an angelic bullet?” the bartender called. “He’s fucking dead-dead.”

“Is that right?” Lucifer murmured. “You still feel your chain?”

Husk looked surprised for a second before his expression morphed into anger. “That bastard,” he hissed. “Can’t even fucking die right, can he?”

Alastor would have laughed if he had a mouth. At least he got to make Husk angry. He would take the little wins today.

Suddenly, he felt a strange tug behind his navel and looked down to see a shimmering gold thread connecting him to his body. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was hauled forward and shoved, with shockingly little ceremony, back into the body he had called his own for almost a century. The floating, drifting sensation ripped away from him and was replaced by a heaviness of being that he was surprised he had forgotten so quickly.

Reentering one’s body from a strictly incorporeal state was another thing he would not recommend. Especially on an empty stomach.

As he felt his heart start again, skipping erratically to resume its normal rhythm, Alastor’s body jerked. Red eyes flung open suddenly and hot air flooded down his throat, filling his lungs with breath which he then violently expelled in a fit of choking coughs. His newly reopened ears picked up the sound of screaming, and although he was fairly certain it wasn’t coming from him, he couldn’t say that it wasn’t being caused by him.

“Absolutely not, fuck no! You fucking brought him back?” Husk shouted above him. Alastor grinned through the pain. “That’s not fucking possible!”

“And yet, here I am,” Alastor choked out, too busy gasping in burning air to really savor the outrage radiating from the former Overlord.

“Oh, fuck you, Alastor!”

“We made a deal,” Lucifer explained dully, exhaustion so plain in his voice that even Alastor was inclined to feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

He rolled onto his side, still coughing, and forced his grin to sharpen for Husk’s benefit. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. “You didn’t think you were getting out of your contract so easily, did you, Husker?”

He laughed (and immediately regretted it) when Husk gave him the middle finger. Wheezing heavily, he managed to drag himself into a sitting position, knees folding up towards his chest. Alastor rested his head on his knees for a minute, trying to catch his breath. Husk’s continued swearing was strangely soothing as Alastor adjusted to being anchored in his own body once more.

Dimly, he registered a throbbing pain in his head and raised a hand to his forehead. It came away bloody and he lifted his head just enough to peer at Lucifer. The King looked back at him with a tired gaze as Alastor held out his bloodied fingers.

“It would seem I’m still injured.”

Lucifer barked a laugh at that, startling the Queen who had joined him at Alastor’s side. “Yeah, about that. I never promised to completely heal you, just to make sure you got back into your body again.” He huffed. “It’s not my fault you decided to shoot yourself in the head with an angelic bullet. Dumb fucking move, by the way. I was almost free. You could have just waited another minute or two, but no. Had to do some complicated and unnecessary bullshit to what? Prove what a cool guy you are? Show the TV dude how awesome you are?”

Alastor scoffed then winced. “I feel like this violates the spirit of the deal.”

“I feel like this violates the spirit of the deal,” Lucifer repeated mockingly, sagging down onto his bottom. Lillith wrapped her arms around the fallen angel, pressing her mouth to the top of his head. “Fuck.”

Yes.

A thought occurred to him suddenly and his hands flew up to his neck, eyes widening in disbelief. “Is it gone?” he asked no one in particular. Lillith’s eyes looked him over and she nodded.

“It’s gone,” she confirmed. “You must have satisfied the terms of your agreement with her.”

Alastor began to laugh, covering his face with his hands as the weight of ninety years drained from his shoulders. And continued to laugh until he felt a tiny hand slip up to wrap around his fingers, pulling his hand away from his face. He looked down at Niffty’s dejected expression, reaching out to pull her up onto his knees.

“Why so glum, Niffty?” he asked. “Her chain is gone. My deal is done.”

Niffty touched his face softly before glancing in the direction of the machine that Eve had assembled, and Alastor felt his elation evaporate. “The bad boy, sir.”

Alastor’s head turned and he stared at the surgical table where Vox’s body hung limply as his brain struggled to catch up. Oh, no. Without much care, he shooed Niffty from his lap and staggered to his feet, stumbling over the rubble until he made his way to Vox. Desperation took over as he caught the other Overlord’s head between his hands, trying to catch a glimpse of any life.

“Vox?” Of course, he’s dead, an insidious voice inside his head whispered. You saw him die and you know he made sure to stay that way. “Oh, Vox. No. Wake up. Vox?”

“Stop touching him!”

He heard a voice screaming at him but refused to acknowledge it. His fingers began to fumble against the restraints holding Vox in place. If he could just get Vox out of these angelic bindings, he could help him. Well, Lucifer could help him, but it would be the same thing because he was the one who had proposed the deal. Nobody dies. Lucifer had promised.

Alastor reeled sideways as a tiny but determined doll demon slammed into him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blade extend from her hand moments before it slashed out at him and managed to dance away by a hair’s breadth. Velvette stared at him with murder in her eyes and he stepped quickly back as she pointed her small rapier at his heart.

“You don’t fucking touch him,” she snarled. “You don’t put your hands on him.”

Alastor held his hands up placatingly. “I’m going to help him.”

“You fucking killed him.” Velvette’s voice broke suddenly, a sob tearing from her throat. “You fucking helped her break him!”

He did.

Alastor's shoulders slumped in defeat, though he didn’t dare take his eyes away from the vicious little blade in Velvette’s hand. “Let me make it right. And then I’ll leave him alone. Forever.”

“How the fuck are you going to do that?” she demanded, gesturing at the television demon’s still body. “He’s dead.”

Her shoulders started to shake at that, and the little blade clattered to the floor as she stumbled backwards. Alastor tried to warn her about the rubble before her heel hit it and sent her to ground with a loud crash. After a stunned moment, the littlest Vee started to sob in earnest, clapping her hands over her face with a distressed wail.

This time, he knew, it wasn’t fake.

Alastor stared helplessly at the outpouring of grief, creeping back to Vox’s still body to start tugging at the restraints again. He’d chew them off himself if he needed to. His ear twitched at the sound of slow footsteps and looked over to see Husk crouch down beside Velvette. The former Overlord shot him a poisonous glare before clearing his throat gently and nudging Velvette with one of his wings. She jolted in horror, hands dropping and eyes flying open, before she noticed the very large bottle hanging from Husk’s hand.

“This has been an epically fucked up day, huh?” he asked quietly. The doll demon stared at him, hiccoughing through her tears. “I personally prefer a darker spirit, but this looks like your kind of drink.”

Velvette stared at him incredulously before snatching the bottle from his hand, unscrewing the top, and tilting the clear fluid straight into her mouth. She swallowed down a couple gulps before lowering the bottle with a violent cough. “Fuck!”

Husk nodded. “Yep.”

Alastor growled lowly at his thrall’s brazen display of disloyalty (real or perceived was immaterial) before scanning the room to meet the King’s gaze. “Fix him now. You promised.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “I promised to return any souls to their bodies.”

A harsh squeal of feedback rented the air and black bled over the Radio Demon’s eyes before he could stop it. He experienced the painful sensation of his antlers cracking their way through his skull, branching out as his eyes spun into radio dials. His bones began to snap and crack as his body grew into the spindly, misshapen horror of his full demonic form. Several long strides had him looming over the Devil, glaring furiously down at him, blood and ichor dripping from the jagged edges of his smile.

“You promised.”

 

*

 

If Alastor was going to go full Eldritch terror on the King of Hell, Husk was not going to sit around and watch. Or rather, he was not going to sit this close and watch. He caught Velvette under the elbow, hauling the little Overlord to her feet, and dragged her a more reasonable distance from the absolute shitshow that was about to go down.

“I told you that I would restore any loose souls that the soul net caught back to their bodies,” Lucifer corrected, unimpressed. “You can back the fuck up now.”

Shadows began to gather, and Husk cringed. There was no fucking way that Alastor stood a chance against Lucifer himself, but he knew the crazy bastard had no problem throwing down with the biggest, baddest demons he could find – and there wasn’t anyone bigger or badder than Lucifer.

Relatively speaking, of course.

Alastor roared full in the King’s face before a shadow tentacle lashed out, sending the little angel up into the air.

Oh, shit! Fuck, shit. Shit.

Husk dragged Velvette back a bit further, exchanging an understandably horrified look with the girl. In the air above them, Lucifer manifested six magnificent wings and twirled effortlessly above the Radio Demon’s head.

“You need to chill the fuck out, bellhop.”

Alastor slashed his claws through the air as Lucifer moved in a graceful ballet, avoiding every point of contact.

“You promised!” Alastor screamed in enraged frustration. “YOU PROMISED!”

“I said, knock it the fuck off!” Lucifer snapped, flicking his finger against Alastor’s forehead with the same level of annoyance one might afford a pesky insect. Husk watched with wide eyes as the Radio Demon was flung backwards, only saving himself from crashing into the surgical table Vox was strapped to by dissolving into shadows. Lucifer scowled. “Oh, come on! Get out of the shadows, you fucking menace to society.”

Husk heard Alastor’s next words rumble through the airwaves in the most unsettling manner possible.

[YOU FIX HIM! YOU PROMISED!]

Oh, fuck, he hated when the bastard did that. Beside him, the little Overlord clapped her hands over her ears, mouth turning down in a horrified expression. She glanced up at Husk and he shrugged.

“Fucking drama all day long with this guy.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes and drifted back to the ground as Alastor rematerialized just as big and gruesome as before. “Listen. Albert. I know we made a deal and I’m willing to honor it, but I can’t.”

Alastor lumbered forward, twisting his neck with a horrifying snap of vertebrae. Husk groaned when he reached over, claws clasping around the surgical table, and yanked it from the ground. He swung it in an arc, barely missing Husk and Velvette (which was great, thanks so much for that, fucking asshole), and slammed the bent table down in front of the King. Alastor pointed a wickedly curved claw down at Vox’s body, now horizontal with the table.

[WHY NOT?]

Lucifer gestured around himself with wide eyes. “There isn’t anything to fix. His soul isn’t here.”

[WHERE IS IT?]

“You’re going to give me a fucking headache with this bullshit, I swear to Dad.” Lucifer watched as Alastor cocked his head, vertebrae snapping as blood dripped from his mouth to splatter on the lobby’s floor. The King of Hell curled his lip in disgust. “Real nice. Charming.”

[WHERE IS HIS SOUL?]

“You saw what happened. He tore it to shreds right in front of you.” Lucifer pointed in the direction where Vox was. “I know you saw it, even if you were busy impersonating Casper the Wildly Unfriendly Ghost at the time.”

[YOU LIED.]

At that, Lucifer finally lost his patience. His horns erupted from his forehead and his tail began to lash out behind him. He reached out and caught the flapping hem of Alastor’s coat. With a twist of his wrist, he dragged the Sinner in close and slammed him onto his back effortlessly. Husk winced at the pained noise that escaped the Radio Demon before Lucifer pointed at Alastor, voice booming.

“I have a daughter to find because you think you’re clever enough to play with beings more powerful and ancient than you can possibly comprehend. Because you thought you could handle it after you made the stupidest deal of your entire afterlife. Because you DIDN’T FUCKING TELL ME SOONER!” Lucifer stood over him with blazing eyes. “Stop fucking with me.”

Alastor stared up at the ceiling, hands clenching into fists at his sides. For a heady moment, Husk wondered if the Radio Demon was going to leap up and try to fight the King of Hell with his fists. That would be a pay-per-view, once in a lifetime kind of experience and Husk wasn’t going to feel bad about wanting to see Lucifer bitch slap his owner into next week.

Instead, with no fanfare, Alastor shrank back down to his normal size and slapped his hands over his face. The room was quiet but for the soft sounds of Velvette’s waning tears and Alastor’s harsh breathing. He balled his hands into fists and pressed them hard against his eyes.

“You promised,” he breathed. If Husk didn’t know better, he might have thought that the Radio Demon had dissolved into tears. But he did – know better, that was. Lucifer’s demonic form melted away. He stared at the body strapped to the surgical table for a long time before sparing at glance at Alastor.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “There isn’t anything I can do.”

Beside him, Velvette started crying again, harder this time. And, oh fuck, Husk was the only one in the room who seemed to notice, wasn’t he? With a soft grumble, he wrapped an arm around the doll demon, patting her shoulder reassuringly when she startled and looked up at him in confusion.

“It’s all right,” he murmured softly. It really wasn’t but what the fuck was he supposed to say? Too bad that everyone you care about is dead and your entire afterlife completely fucked? Seemed a bit on the nose.

Velvette slumped against him after a moment before burying her face against his chest and Husk resigned himself to being the most emotionally mature person in the Hotel now. Which was frankly fucking terrifying, maybe even more awful than the fucking Void creatures that had paraded through the lobby not thirty minutes before.

He noticed Angel moving around out the corner of his eye and turned his gaze to settle on the other Sinner. He wondered how Angel was going to handle Valentino’s death and knew they were all seconds from finding out when Angel stopped next to the Overlord’s body, staring down with a hard to read expression.

“Good,” Angel said quietly. “It couldn’t have happened to a better guy.”

Husk nodded in agreement, turning his attention back to the little Overlord in his arms. She didn’t show any sign of slowing down anytime soon and Husk placed a hand on the back of her head, trying his best to comfort her without words. She probably didn’t want to hear a single thing he said anyways. He sighed and began to purr, hoping the rumble in his chest might soothe her enough to stop her tears.

A sudden scream interrupted his thoughts, and Husk snapped his head around to stare wide-eyed at Angel. He pointed his finger down at the Overlord at his feet and Husk was horrified to see Valentino groan and roll his head to the side. A weakly voiced string of curses fell from his lips, a jumble of English and Spanish that Husk did not understand outright but absolutely got the drift off.

“Why the fuck is he alive?” Angel whimpered, backing away with a panic-laced tone. “I thought you killed him! What the fuck, Alastor?”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Alastor?” Husk echoed, plenty annoyed on Angel’s behalf alone. Velvette jerked away, attention zeroing in on Valentino.

“Val?” she asked in disbelief.

Alastor didn’t move. After a minute, he let out a soft sigh. “There was only one angelic bullet. Why would I have bothered to waste it on the likes of him?”

Husk started to get to his feet, but Angel shot him a warning look, holding up his hand. He shook his head and stumbled away. Where he was planning to go with the Hotel once again in ruins, Husk wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew better than to chase after him if Angel didn’t want to be followed. He’d give him a head start and go after him in a few minutes. Give him a chance to process before Husk demanded any of his attention.

What a fucking mess. Alastor had really screwed the proverbial pooch this time.

He dragged his hand down his face, eyes drifting back to the bar as Velvette pulled herself free and staggered over to the other Vee. Vaggie had sunk down to the ground, still staring blankly ahead. Lillith must’ve followed his gaze because she sighed heavily.

“Vaggie,” she called, startling the fallen angel. “Hold on, I’m coming over.”

Husk started to turn his attention back to Alastor when a flash of light near the bar caught his eye. He squinted, trying to figure out what he saw when it darted between the legs of one of the chairs.

“What the hell is that?” Husk asked suddenly, entranced by a tiny blue-white orb floating aimlessly amongst the chairs at the bar. Lucifer’s attention immediately snapped over to the little orb and a curious smile spread over his lips.

The King of Hell got back onto his feet and crossed the floor with delicate steps, like he was trying very hard not to startle the little orb. As if that was possible. Lucifer knelt in front of the orb and waited with more patience than Husk had ever possessed in this life or the last. After a few minutes, the orb floated over to him, settling near the King’s outstretched hand. As though it knew exactly who Lucifer was, the little orb floated upwards, making its way towards his palm. Lucifer smiled down at it gently.

“Well, hello there.”

Alastor finally removed his hands from his eyes and turned to look at the little orb as it hovered upwards and finally settled itself in the King’s palm. “What…?”

Lucifer touched the little orb and was rewarded with it fluttering around his wrist in a quick little maneuver. He glanced over at Alastor’s drawn expression and his grin widened.

“You just might be in luck after all, bellhop.”

Chapter 20: i’m working my way back to you, babe

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

Present Day


Alastor watched dully as Lucifer removed the angelic steel restraints that held Vox to the table with a wave of his hand before tilting his hand down to let the tiny blue-white orb hover above the table near Vox’s feet. The little orb moved delicately around Vox’s foot and ankle before settling onto the table near his calf. Alastor stared at it for a long time while Lucifer prepared to do… whatever it was he was doing. Which apparently required the King to remove his hat and coat.

“Is…?” He cleared his throat and gestured to the little orb. “What is that?”

“That, bellhop, is your boyfriend.” Lucifer didn’t bother to explain further as he loosened his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up. “Stand back.”

Alastor stumbled back a few steps, fixated on the little orb. He felt an aching urge to reach out and touch it. A golden light began to glow around Lucifer’s hands and Alastor covered his eyes when it grew too bright to look at. There was a low groan of metal and the sharp sound of glass breaking, making his breath catch in his throat. A gentle heat pulsed from where Lucifer was standing and after a few minutes, he could sense the heat and light retreat. When he opened his eyes, he could only stare.

Vox was whole again. Not moving, and still covered in his own blood, but his screen was intact. From what Alastor could see, the other injuries were healed as well – at the very least, the awkward angles his limbs had been hanging from were straight again. If Alastor stared hard enough, it almost felt as though Vox was about to wake up, demanding to know what he was doing in the middle of the Hotel lobby with everyone staring at him.

“Is he…?”

“Mm?” Lucifer glanced at Alastor this time and shook his head, expression a little gentler. “No, he’s not alive. I only fixed his body.”

“But, why?” Alastor wanted to tug his fingers through his hair but held off. No sense in making himself look even more pathetic than he already felt, and he was feeling spectacularly pathetic. “Why bother?”

“Because.” Lucifer held out his hand to the blue-white orb and it floated to him immediately, resting in his palm once more. “He needs somewhere to return to once we collect all the pieces of his soul.”

Dizziness swept over him suddenly and Alastor was only spared landing hard on the floor by a chair Lucifer snapped into existence with impeccable timing. He sat down hard and closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the words coming out of the Devil’s mouth.

“I don’t understand,” he managed.

Lucifer hummed. “Not surprised. Look, all you need to know is this: we have one tiny little piece of your friend’s soul right here and, if we have that, I might be able to find the other pieces.”

“But… I saw them go through the net. When he…” Alastor trailed off and put his hand over his face with a groan. He didn’t trust you, the little voice in his head reminded him with dark glee. “I saw it.”

“I know.” Alastor peeked out from behind his hand. Lucifer looked at him with surprising compassion and Alastor closed his eyes again. He didn’t really feel like entertaining Lucifer’s sympathy. “I’ve seen this exactly one other time before. Ages ago – literally!”

“Oh, you watched someone blow their soul to pieces with angelic steel?” Alastor bit out, starting to feel anger begin to bubble inside him and what a relief that was. Much better anger than this dull apathy that was threatening to consume him.

“Something like that,” Lucifer answered, unbothered. Alastor heard a rustle of fabric. This time he lowered his hand as he opened his eyes. The bloodied clothing had been replaced with clean garments, exactly the same as the ones Vox usually wore on his late-night shows. Alastor huffed a small breath out and stared at Lucifer in surprise. The King shrugged. “I watch sometimes when there’s nothing good on.”

“You know he does that on purpose?” Alastor said, allowing himself the luxury of grazing the tips of his fingers along the soft fabric of Vox’s coat. “He only ever airs shows nobody wants to see when he’s on-air. He thought that airing nothing at all would be harder to explain.”

“Crafty bastard,” Lucifer said with an air of approval. He leveled his gaze with Alastor’s. “If I’m going to do this, you’re coming with me.”

“You need me?”

Lucifer frowned. “I don’t need you, need you. I can do it by myself, but it’ll take longer than if I have someone he knows with me.”

Alastor reached out to the little light orb and drew in a shaky breath when it immediately floated onto his palm, rotating slowly. This little thing was Vox. At least, it was a part of him, and it recognized him immediately. And it didn’t hate him. “When do we leave?”

“Now, if you’re ready.” He was never going to be ready for this. He didn’t even know what Lucifer was proposing, but the sick little twist in his gut was already warning him against it. There was no way that retrieving all those tiny lights was going to be an easy task. But he hardly deserved easy right now.

Lucifer conjured a small wooden box in his hands, taking a moment to open it up as if checking to make sure it would suit his needs. He glanced up at Alastor with a frown. “I’m not going to promise that this will work, though, so don’t get yourself bent out of shape and throw another tantrum if it doesn’t.”

Fine. He could control himself just fine. Besides, if this didn’t work, he would just wait until he could slip away and decimate a neighborhood he wasn’t especially fond of anyways. Maybe something in the Entertainment District – without Vox there, nothing could stop him from razing it to the ground.

“Seriously, Alan.” Alastor blinked and refocused on the King of Hell. He’d snapped the little box closed and was looking at Alastor with an expression that suggested he was managing expectations right now. “I don’t even know if we’re going to be able to find enough pieces to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

“Vox,” Velvette said softly, and Alastor glanced at her quickly, surprised that she was even paying attention to their conversation, though he supposed he shouldn’t be. “His name is Vox.”

The King of Hell’s expression softened minutely as he looked at the little Overlord, crouched down beside the disgusting moth. Her face was as earnest as Alastor had ever seen, and that must’ve counted for something because Lucifer finally nodded.

“Vox,” Lucifer agreed.

Trying to contain the nerves threatening to overwhelm him, Alastor listened carefully while Lucifer explained what they were going to need to do to collect the broken parts of Vox’s soul. How Alastor was going to need to retrieve them when he found them and what to expect while they were retrieving the pieces (“We might be able to be more physically present at some of the locations, but I’m not sure when or where, so we’re just going to have to wing it.”). He eventually asked Alastor to try and remember what he looked like while he was alive (“glamours are easier to apply when they’re rooted in some truth”) and reminded him more than once that while they might be able to interact at certain times and locations, they couldn’t change what had already happened so there would be no point in trying.

Alastor filed all of that into his head and straightened his coat, watching as Lucifer summoned a glowing golden portal in front of them. He caught the King’s sleeve before Lucifer could walk through, earning him a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?” he asked, quietly enough to keep this particular exchange between the two of them. “You don’t like me, and I can’t imagine you’re especially fond of him, either. So why bother when you have other things you should be doing?”

Lucifer studied him for a moment before answering. “We’re coming back to this exact moment in time when we return, maybe a few minutes later, at worst. Eve will be exactly where she is now. And, besides, she’s already gone dark.” His expression darkened. “There’s nothing for me to chase after yet. Not until she fucks up.”

“And you can just… walk away like that?” Alastor didn’t like the sudden vulnerability in his voice and looked away quickly.

“Do you mean, can I compartmentalize this shit show for the time being?” Lucifer chuckled humorlessly. “Bellhop, I have had ten thousand years to learn how to swallow down my feelings.” He held up a hand before Alastor could make a smart comment. “Granted, I’ve had varying degrees of success with that, but this will give me a chance to think, so why not? Why not help put your boyfriend back together?”

“Thank you,” Alastor replied quietly, and released his sleeve. Lucifer blinked in surprise. “I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to help you get Charlie back.”

“I appreciate that.” Lucifer’s eyebrow raised. “Though, you know you were going to have to do that anyways, right?”

“Well, I assumed,” Alastor huffed. “But I thought it would be the decent thing to offer.”

“Right. Because you’re a decent guy?”

“Only occasionally.” Alastor’s smile widened at Lucifer’s continued disbelief. “Very, very rarely.”

“Yeah, that’s more accurate.” Lucifer stared at the portal for a long few seconds then shrugged. “Let’s get this over with.”

Alastor followed the King through the portal, giving the ruined lobby one last glance before he did. He made a quick promise to himself to make sure that the next time he saw Vox, the man would be whole and glaring at him for unleashing a cataclysmic disaster over their heads. Vox would be at his furious best and Alastor would revel in the heat of his very justified outrage. This was just a temporary problem, that was all, and Alastor was damn well going to fix it.

Even if he had to rely on Lucifer’s help to do so.

 

*

 

1923

He looked around the small room they had entered, barely noticing as the portal sealed behind them with a flare of golden sparks. It was a bedroom, and a child’s bedroom, no less. His ears perked forward at the soft sound of singing and Alastor drew close to the heavily pregnant woman seated on the edge of the small bed.

Oh. He recognized this one – it was something he had sometimes caught Vox humming under his breath when they lived together, usually when working on some menial task or household chore. He claimed to never know the words, only the tune, and Alastor immediately knew what to expect as he slowly moved from the foot of the bed to where the woman was focusing her attention.

“Just one more,” the little boy in the bed pleaded and Alastor’s eyebrows raised with a sudden fond recognition. He’d never seen this child before, but he instantly knew who he was. “Please?”

The woman shook her head, pausing her song. “Vincent, it’s late. I’m tired and you’re tired. You’re not getting another story.”

The little boy wiggled under the covers, reaching up to catch his mother’s hand. “How about you tell me one more story tonight and then I get one less story tomorrow?”

“Are you trying to bargain with me?” she asked with fond exasperation. Vincent nodded, bright blue eyes earnest in their appeal.

“I promise I’ll go right to sleep after one more story.” His eyes darted over her face and Alastor didn’t know how she could possibly refuse. The little boy ran the fingers of his free hand through the dark, mussed hair on his head. “I know I just need one more.”

She sighed before nodding. “Fine. What kind of story do you want?”

“Something with a knight and a dragon,” Vincent replied instantly. Alastor’s heart thumped just a little harder. “And the knight gets to slay the dragon and rescues the princess. And maybe he gets to be king, but I’m not picky about that part.”

Lucifer snorted.

“All right,” she agreed and began to tell a story that she was clearly making up on the spot. But Vincent didn’t seem to mind at all. He squeezed his mother’s hand and let his eyes drift shut as she told exactly the story that he had been asking for.

A faint blue-white light began to glow around the boy’s head and Alastor glanced over at the King of Hell. Lucifer nodded.

“Go on,” he instructed. “Remember, you just have to reach out and let it come to you.”

Alastor did as he was told, somewhat begrudgingly on sheer principle, and was relieved when the blue-white glow lifted from the boy’s hair, forming into a tiny orb that drifted peacefully into Alastor’s hand. He turned away from the bed, holding the little light in his hand in awe, and looked up at Lucifer. The King opened the ornately decorated box in his hands and Alastor tipped the light inside.

Lucifer reopened the portal and Alastor stepped through with renewed confidence as they left the quiet bedroom behind them. Well. This might not be so very difficult after all. He could do this.

 

*

 

1924

A sudden clear light flooded his eyes, and it took him entirely too long to realize why the world around him was so alien. He hadn’t seen a blue sky in ninety years – no wonder it looked so foreign. Squinting against the bright yellow sunlight, he scanned their location for a few seconds before he realized that he was standing in the middle of a cemetery. A small group of black-clad mourners were standing beside an open grave as a coffin was lowered into the ground. To Alastor’s dismay, the same little boy was standing beside the grave, clutching the hand of a man who must have been his father.

They stood in silence as the interment ended. Alastor stepped forward, reaching out to the weeping little boy, and halted when the man holding onto Vincent’s hand narrowed his eyes. So, this is what Lucifer had meant. Alastor crouched down carefully, still holding out his hand which, he was shocked to discover, was the smooth, blunt fingered hand of his human self. Vincent shied back slightly, glancing up at his father.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Alastor offered. Vincent sniffled and, after a moment of consideration, touched Alastor’s hand. The blue-white orb jerked unsteadily from his fingers and Alastor cautiously stood, caging it in his hand. He nodded at the man holding Vincent’s hand. “My condolences.”

“Thank you,” the man said tightly before bending down to scoop the little boy into his arms. Vincent wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, peeking over his shoulder to watch Alastor as his father walked briskly away. He tried not to flinch when he noticed Lucifer standing beside him, already prepared with the soul box.

“Here,” Alastor said quietly, tipping the little light inside and looking up into Lucifer’s eyes. “Do you have any idea how many of these we have to find?”

Lucifer shook his head and Alastor sighed. This was fine. He could do this.

 

*

 

1942

He was surprised to arrive in the middle of a warzone, expecting this soul piece to be difficult to collect, but it was hard not to laugh along with Vincent as he tackled another solider into the muddy ground, waving a letter over his head.

Alastor couldn’t help staring at the dark-haired man in front of him with wonder. Is this what Vox looked like when he was alive? It must be, obviously, but Alastor had half-expected him to be a short, silly little man. Not a man as almost tall as Alastor himself was in his human body. Certainly not nearly as handsome.

“Can you believe it?” he asked, hugging the other man with delight. “I have a daughter! A daughter!”

The other man sighed a long-suffering sigh and Alastor laughed, despite the pouring rain. “Walker, that’s great. Really, it is. But can you let me up out of the mud now?”

“Oh, right, sorry!” Vincent let the other soldier go and they climbed to their feet, mud slopping from their uniforms. After a moment, Vincent grabbed the other man around the waist and swung him a circle before putting him back down again. He held up his hands placatingly while the other man sputtered indignantly. “I’m done now, I promise!”

Alastor rested his hand on Vincent’s shoulder and the blue-white orb burst from the man’s body with a shower of sparks before dancing giddily up Alastor’s arm. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing as it dove and dipped around his shoulders, finally hovering on his left shoulder, buzzing with what Alastor could only assume was excitement. Lucifer chuckled a little as Alastor struggled to catch it and tilt it into the box to join the others. It swirled around the other orbs dizzyingly before Lucifer closed the box.

“Excitable guy, huh?”

“That’s something of an understatement.”

 

*

 

1946

Alastor was instantly struck by the sterile, astringent smell that hit his nose. He made a face and glanced down at his hands. Still human then.

“We’re in a hospital,” Lucifer said, seemingly surprised. “And it’s so… clean.”

Alastor opened his mouth to respond when the swinging doors down the hall opened. A man weighted down by luggage and paper wrapped parcels stumbled through, face bright and beaming. He flashed a dazzling smile at them and Alastor’s heart skipped a beat. Before he could return the smile properly, Vincent looked past them and waved one arm as best as he could.

“Ladies! I have returned with everything we need,” he called. A soft sigh and both Lucifer and Alastor turned to find a small redheaded nurse standing behind them, clearly fighting back a grin at his enthusiasm.

“Mr. Walker, we already told you that you don’t need to bring all that to the hospital. Your wife has everything she needs.”

“Betsy, I am aware.” He set down the heavy luggage with a thud. “I have everything in here that she could ever possibly desire. You might have everything she needs, but I have everything she wants.”

“Please, Mr. Walker. You must call me Nurse Wyland,” the little nurse insisted and took a quick step back when the dark-haired man swept one of the packages out in front of him.

“And you have to call me Vincent,” he laughed. “This is an auspicious day, Betsy. When can we not forego formality if not today, such a blessed day?”

“What’s today?” Alastor heard himself ask and Vincent turned that magnificent smile on him directly. Alastor’s eyes widened, forgetting for a second that Lucifer had told him that he might be able to interact with his old friend. He fiddled with his cuffs self-consciously.

“What, the papers haven’t announced it?” he joked. “My good man, my wife has, on this joyous day, given me a son.” He winked at Nurse Wyland. “And everyone is getting cigars or kisses to celebrate.”

“Mr. Walker!” the nurse squealed in protest as he dropped the rest of the packages and caught her shoulders, planting a kiss to the top of her head. “No!”

Vincent spun around and held out his arms to Lucifer. “What’ll it be? I’m not picky today!”

“Uh…” Lucifer raised an eyebrow and glanced at Alastor in disbelief. Alastor wasn’t the least bit surprised – Vox had always been exuberant about any successes he achieved, and Alastor realized his children must be at the top of that list. “Cigar, definitely.”

Vincent ripped open the package and pulled out a cigar, only to push it against the King of Hell’s mouth so quickly that even Lucifer looked surprised. He whirled to Alastor before the surprise had left the fallen angel’s face. “And you?”

Alastor’s mouth opened but no words came out. He couldn’t drag his gaze from the brilliant blue of his eyes. Vincent grinned.

“A kiss it is!”

He caught Alastor’s face between his hands, pressed his lips to the older man’s mouth, and Alastor struggled to fight the urge not to melt into Vincent’s kiss. His eyes fluttered shut against his will and it was only a stroke of sheer luck that he remembered to call for the soul piece during the shortest kiss he might have ever shared with Vox. He felt the tiny fragment of Vox’s soul flutter against his palm and closed his fingers loosely around it.

“See?” Vincent laughed as he pulled away. “Who wouldn’t want a kiss from this handsome guy?”

“Mr. Walker!”

Before Alastor had the chance to fix his expression, Vincent whirled away, scrambling to pick up his discarded packages and luggage. “No time, Betsy! I’ve got a son to meet and a wife to worship!”

Alastor’s fingers traced along his lips as he watched Vincent disappear around the corner, stumbling under the weight of his baggage, the little nurse hurrying after him. After a few seconds, Lucifer burst out laughing.

“All right, there is no way he’s not your boyfriend,” he chuckled.

“He’s not,” Alastor mumbled.

“Yeah, okay.” The King gave him an expectant look. “Did you get it, at least?”

“What?” Alastor blinked. “Oh. Yes, I did.”

“All right, come on, lover boy. Let’s find the rest of your boyfriend.”

 

*

 

1955

“Well, that’s our show for today,” Vincent said, leaning his elbow on the desk to speak into the microphone. A small woman fiddled with a few dials and nodded along. “Thank you again for listening and, as always, we appreciate all our generous donors who make this hour possible. If you’re interested in making a financial contribution, please send a letter to P.O. Box 463 and our staff will be in touch. Au revoir, arrivederci, auf wiedersehen, and good night!”

Vincent hit a switch, and the on-air light flickered off. He sighed and rolled his neck before taking the bulky headphones off his head. With a glance at the small woman, he smoothed his hair down where the headphones had mussed it.

“‘Our staff,’” she huffed, raising an eyebrow. “We are the staff.”

Vincent hummed. “They don’t know that.”

“Well, if you’re going to say that the staff are the ones who will be reaching out to them, maybe you should start writing some of the return letters.”

“Oh, Dot, no!” Vincent groaned and Alastor’s grin widened at having the woman’s identity confirmed. “Don’t make me do that. I’ll give you more of the profits if you don’t make me write those letters.”

She shook her head with an indulgent smile. “We already split the profits fifty-fifty.”

“Then fifty-one, forty-nine, Dot, because I am not writing return letters.”

Dot pretended to think. “Fifty-two, forty-eight.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but I’ll agree to that,” Vincent replied with a grin. He thrust his hand out and Dot quickly caught it. They shook and Alastor half-expected to see a familiar swirl of blue-white magic around them. Instead, Vincent leaned back in his chair and his expression turned from teasing to smug. “Hey, it’s not like I’m taking much of a loss, Dot. A fool and his money are soon parted, and these fools just love throwing their money at us.”

“Yes, they do,” Dot agreed with a laugh.

 

*

 

1957

He was not surprised to find themselves standing off to the side of Rosie’s Emporium, watching Vox place the needle with care on the record that Alastor immediately recognized. Rosie and Franklin were talking quietly while past-Alastor flipped through a pamphlet.

“People will buy just about anything if you tell them that it’s a deal,” past-him remarked with a roll of his eyes. Vox, still in his original Hellish body, held out a hand as the record began to spin. Music began to float through the air and Alastor’s throat tightened as he watched his past self raise an eyebrow at Vox’s invitation.

“Come on, it’s not like you’re doing anything better,” Vox coaxed. Past-Alastor sighed and took Vox’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled into a slow dance with the little Sinner. “It’s too nice a night in Hell not to dance.”

Alastor remembered this dance. It was the first time that he had danced with Vox, and he had been in a foul mood that night. He had indulged Vox because Rosie had been watching, and he had wanted to maintain his standing as a gentleman in her eyes. Funny to think that what had been perhaps a slightly less than pleasant evening for him was featured in the apparent highlight reel of Vox’s afterlife. He ran his fingers over Vox’s shoulders and the little piece of soul came away, dancing into Alastor’s hands with the same swaying rhythm as the couple dancing through the shop.

They left Rosie’s shop and Alastor sighed, almost contently, as he secured this piece.

 

*

 

2004

He supposed he had let his guard down a little too much, though, so charmed by the pleasant memories that he didn’t recognize the shift in the air as they walked through a portal into a dark bedroom, overhead fan spinning lazily above them. Lucifer’s lips twitched as though he wanted to say something, and Alastor followed his gaze to the bed where an unconscious Vox was being propped onto his side by Valentino, the larger man muttering under his breath as he swept a small garbage can up beside the television demon’s head.

“Throw it up, Voxy,” he grumbled, sticking his fingers down into Vox’s throat. Alastor noticed the open bottle of pills on the bed next to them and winced. “I can’t believe you took that many.”

Alastor’s gaze drifted away from Vox’s face as he began to vomit and settled on the heavy casts on the other man’s legs. His throat tightened as he realized exactly when this moment was settled on Vox’s timeline. After a minute, Vox groaned weakly and Valentino gingerly set the garbage can on the floor beside the bed before he pulled Vox’s nearly naked body, save for a pair of baby blue boxers, up into his lap. He tugged a blanket that was crumpled at the foot of the bed up and over them both, cradling Vox against his chest.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Valentino told him, sounding upset. Alastor glanced at Lucifer helplessly and the King waved a hand towards the pair on the bed, telling him to retrieve the soul piece. Squaring his shoulders, Alastor walked to the bed and reached out to touch Vox’s hand. He flinched backwards, startled when Vox’s eyes fluttered open, settling on him for the barest moment.

“Leave me alone,” Vox groaned softly, eyes sliding shut again and Alastor made quick work of retrieving this piece, though it resisted him in a way that the others hadn’t. Vox’s breath hitched as the little part of his soul crept into Alastor’s palm. “Please, Val.”

He hurried back to Lucifer, the tiny piece of Vox’s soul clutched in his hand and nodded quickly. With a sigh, the King opened the little box containing the other pieces that they had retrieved so far, and Alastor tipped the tiny orb into the box. It went with a reluctance that the others hadn’t, and Lucifer caught his eye.

“That’s the tall guy you shot in the head,” he confirmed, and Alastor nodded. “If you want to go back now, I won’t judge you.”

No. This was his burden to bear – it was the literal least that Alastor could do for his old friend.

“There’s no need for that,” Alastor responded, ignoring the skeptical look on Lucifer’s face. “I’m perfectly fine. Let’s continue – the sooner we finish, the sooner we can get him back in one piece.”

“If you say so.”

 

*

 

The easiest pieces of Vox’s soul to collect, Alastor had quickly realized, were those that attached themselves to happier moments in Vox’s timeline. They all but jumped into Alastor’s hands, sparking with a joyous little light as if showing off these pleasant moments and Alastor was fighting hard not to get caught up as he began to feel their enthusiasm more with each piece they collected. If it were even possible (who knew what was possible anymore, he certainly didn’t), they seemed glad to have him there, enjoying his presence in times of celebration and joy.

Vincent clapping along with his daughter while they sang silly, made-up baby songs; Vox lying beside Valentino in bed, talking about nothing at all while Valentino traced little patterns onto his skin, chuckling lazily whenever Vox made some particularly humorous observation; Vox swinging an excited Velvette into the air when she showed him the latest breakthrough she had made. He wasn’t surprised to find that he featured in a large portion of those moments as well. Holding Vox’s hand in his original Hellish body as they strolled through Cannibal Town, Vox occasionally glancing up at him with wide eyes; Vox sitting crossed legged on the floor as he showed Niffty a page in one of his multitude of magazines while Alastor sat near the fire, listening to a record; Vox showing off his first paycheck from the news station to a proud Rosie while Alastor struggled to open a bottle of champagne without breaking it.

But the other pieces, the ones lodged in painful moments, were more and more difficult to extract and, as they went on, Alastor had the creeping sensation that he was bearing witness to events that he had no right to see or even know about. Alastor felt his chest growing tighter with each passing moment of Vox’s timeline that they walked into.

He watched Vincent shouting as he clutched another soldier to his chest, blood splattered over them both; tried fruitlessly to comfort Vox as he lay in bed, staring blankly into the darkness, having woken himself from one of countless nightmares. Vox trying to comfort a weeping Velvette whose eyes still looked fresh from the living world; Vox yelling at a past version of Alastor, throwing his arms out widely as they argued. About what didn’t matter, not anymore, and Alastor felt himself growing more dejected each time they stopped to retrieve another piece of Vox’s soul.

A gentle hand caught his elbow and Alastor blinked down at the King of Hell.

“Let’s take a break before the next one.”

Alastor nodded and lowered himself to the ground, cradling his head in his hands. He drew in a slow breath, focusing his thoughts and energy on the one, singular goal they were working towards. He could do this.

 

*

Present Day

The little Overlord sat watching Angel’s boss with a kind of tentative hope that made Husk sigh. Valentino was, without a doubt, a skyscraper of shit but apparently the doll demoness had a reason to stick by his side. Whatever, to each their own and all, but this was really who she had decided to hitch her wagon to? Vox, eh. Sure. He wasn’t a complete asshole (maybe, like, eighty-five to ninety percent asshole), but Valentino’s picture was next to the word in every English dictionary, both in print and out.

Valentino groaned, raising his hand to his head, fingers sliding through the brain, bone, and gore that the gunshot wound had left behind on his forehead. Husk’s lip curled slightly. He’d been shot in the head a few times himself (it was never not disgusting) and it looked like the bastard was aiming to make as much of a mess as possible. He was moving and muttering and seemed, by all accounts, to be heading along the proper path of regeneration. As he slowly recovered, the girl’s face looked more and more relieved.

Husk turned his attention to Niffty who was looking positively distraught now that she had realized the full state of destruction and mess around her. He… he probably should do something about that, but he was only just holding back from throwing the contents of the remaining bottles straight down his own throat. He really didn’t have the energy to try to wrangle Niffty as she was clearly readying herself for a full-blown manic cleaning episode.

“Do you think the bugs are hiding?” she stage-whispered and Husk shrugged. Who knew?

“Maybe,” he offered. “Maybe they are.”

“Hmm.” Niffty’s eye darted around the lobby and she clenched the sharp needle (that had miraculously appeared out of thin air which had to be some hidden talent she had because there was no fucking way she was storing that thing in her dress) tightly in her hand. “They won’t be hiding for long.”

“Get it, girl,” Cherri muttered as Niffty scuttled away with a high enough speed to give Husk visual whiplash. Well, it looked like she was opting to take this entire fever dream in her stride. Which was great, really, but couldn’t she do it with a little less mania?  Cherri sank down next to Husk, and he raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going up to talk to Angie?”

“I’m sure he needs a minute,” Husk reluctantly answered. She hummed and wrapped her arms around her legs.

“That was some seriously fucked shit, huh?”

“I don’t think that they’ve invented group therapy activities to address this kind of fuckery,” Husk replied. Crayons and glitter weren’t going to make a dent in this.

His eyes were drawn back to the two remaining Vees. Valentino’s eyes opened slowly, like he was too tired to drag them open any faster and settled on the little Overlord’s face after a minute. Velvette stared down at him with a cautious smile, dirt and grime streaked over her normally pristinely clean and put together face.

Slowly, deliberately, he sat up and lowered his hand down in his lap as he stared at Velvette with a neutral expression. Something stirred in Husk’s gut, and he turned his full attention to the Vees. Cherri narrowed her eye at him before following his gaze. Velvette reached out and took one of Valentino’s hands in her own small ones.

“Val,” she sniffled, tears streaking through the dirt on her face. She was on a real crying jag now, as Husk’s mother would’ve said. He slowly shifted his gaze to Valentino. “Val, I’m so sorry.”

Valentino looked away from her, eyes focusing behind her on the still body of their partner. Husk found himself standing before he realized he was doing it, hands settling into his pockets. “Vox is…?”

“Dead,” she said softly. Husk started to walk forward, wings unfolding behind him. “But Lucifer is going to help him. They’re going to make him better and then we can all just go home and–”

She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence before Valentino caught her throat in his hand, squeezing with enough force to cut off her speech, and air, in an instant. Her hands flew up to scramble at his wrist, trying to slice her way out of his grip. The fur along Husk’s back began to fluff up.

“Hey!” he snarled, picking up his pace as the doll demon’s eyes widened in horror, thrashing in Valentino’s grip.

“Val!” she gasped, barely audible. Husk pulled out a deck of cards, charging them. What a fucking piece of shit. “Please, Val!”

“I told you that you’d pay for this,” he growled lowly, and Velvette tried pounding her fists against his forearms in a desperate bid for freedom. “I’m going to kill you now, you little bitch.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Husk demanded and fired off a card that hit Valentino in the shoulder, knocking him backwards enough to throw his balance off. He overcompensated and ended up slamming Velvette onto her back, snarling up at Husk. For a moment, Husk considered putting his hands up and backing off. As much as Valentino was being an absolute tool, he was still an Overlord – and Husk wasn’t. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t even have Smiley McChucklefuck waiting creepily in the shadows in case things got really out of hand.

But fuck this Hotel and fuck the Princess of Hell (not really, Husk did like Charlie, but still) because he couldn’t just stop and let Valentino strangle his partner to death in front of him without doing something about. He fired off another card and silently cursed himself for starting to grow a fucking useless conscience.

Valentino lurched to his feet, fumbling in his clothes for a weapon, and dragging Velvette up into the air. Her feet kicked helplessly before Husk managed to land a card directly on the elbow of the arm holding her aloft. She dropped to the ground, gagging. Before Valentino could continue his assault or redirect it solely on Husk, a shower of hazy purple sparks flew from her outstretched hand, and he stumbled to a halt. Husk stared, completely dumbfounded because what in the actual fuck?

“That’s enough,” the Queen called over to them in a tone that tolerated no dissent. Husk shoved the cards back into his pocket, still cautiously watching Valentino as his arms dropped to his sides. Velvette continued to cough, hand still out in front of her like she was holding him back (and maybe she was, Husk had never seen that kind of magic before, but Hell was a big fucking place, and he certainly hadn’t seen it all). The Queen turned back to Vaggie, eyes softening.

And fuck his afterlife, because barely seconds after Valentino stopped actively trying to murder his business partner, a golden portal opened into the lobby and both the King and the Radio Demon stepped back into the Hotel. Husk had half a mind to sarcastically comment what took them so long before he noticed the entire… mess that was Alastor.

Ears pinned flat to his head, the Radio Demon clutched a small wooden box tightly in his hands, claws digging small grooves into sides. The static surrounding him was loud and grating and pops of feedback snapped into the air at random intervals. Without a word, Alastor dissolved into the shadows, much to Husk’s unending annoyance. Fucking dramatic fucking Radio Demon.

Lucifer caught his eye and shook his head slightly. “He needs a minute.”

“Well, he’ll get it,” Husk scowled and began to walk to the foot of the stairs. “By the time I get up to his fucking swamp, it’ll be at least five.”

He could hear Lucifer click his tongue impatiently but decided that he had been given permission when he wasn’t yanked away from the stairs. It was just as well. Despite everything, nobody else around here knew how to talk down a cantankerous Radio Demon quite like Husk did. He supposed he was going to earn every drop of whiskey Alastor could afford for this.

Husk squared his shoulders and began to head up the stairs.

Notes:

CW: referenced suicide, drug overdose, vomiting, Valentino being Valentino, strangulation.

Chapter 21: when the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is only light we’ll see

Notes:

Content warnings at the bottom.

October 1962


The instant Alastor’s eyes adjusted to the low light as he passed through the portal with Lucifer, his ears fell back against his head and his tail flagged. Breath catching in his throat, he shook his head as he recognized the storefront he hadn’t been in for over sixty years. Lucifer must’ve sensed his sudden apprehension, his horns extending from his head almost reflexively. Alastor shook his head.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Lucifer studied him for a moment before nodding briskly. “Then wait here and I’ll do it.”

Alastor almost let him walk past before reaching out to catch the King’s sleeve. “No… I don’t… I can’t just wait up here and leave him by himself. Again.” He looked around, seeing the store through an entirely different lens. “He was right here, right under my nose for years, and I never even knew.”

He followed Lucifer, half-dazed as he looked around the familiar, yet nearly forgotten, store. The sign announcing that Doctor’s Bell shop was closed for the night hung on the front door and he swallowed roughly as the pull of Vox’s soul led them to the back of the store, through the storeroom, and to a flight of dark, narrow stairs.

Was this where Vox had spent five and a half years? Where Alastor had never thought to look because he had so confidently dismissed the other Sinner’s disappearance as another unfortunate mishap that was only to be expected for the small and weak in Hell. His hand grazed the rough handrail as they made their way down the stairs, stomach twisting itself tighter with each step. By the time they reached the bottom, he could barely draw enough air into his lungs to keep the swimming black spots at bay. He let Lucifer catch his elbow as they entered what Alastor immediately recognized as a laboratory.

“Easy,” the King murmured, not unsympathetically. “We don’t have to stay here any longer than necessary. Just get his soul and we can leave.”

Alastor closed his eyes, drawing in a few deep breaths to steady himself. Faintly, he could hear a voice crackling over what sounded like a vintage radio. His ears twitched as he recognized his own laughter and forced his eyes open to look around the room.

“Sounds like my listeners could a little more joviality in their afterlives!” past-Alastor chuckled over the radio, followed by a sharp scream. Alastor stepped forward, following the sound of his own voice. “What do you say to some jokes, all in good fun?”

“Go fuck yourself, stupid fucking radio bitch!” There was a loud squeal that sounded like a pig and Alastor cocked his head with interest. “That’s right, I called you a bitch! Because you are – holy shit! What the fuck?!”

Oh, he remembered that show. He’d tortured that particular Overlord to the sounds of Cab Calloway and a smattering of very tasteful puns and riddles. Alastor’s mouth quirked into a more sincere grin as the memories came back to him and almost instantly faded away when he finally found the source of his show.

Huddled on a small cot, back pressed to the wall, Vox sat with a small radio on his lap. His head, boxy as it was when Alastor had first met him, was tilted back and his eyes were closed as his hands wrapped around the top of the radio possessively. His mouth was quirked in a faint smile as he listened to Alastor’s show and Alastor was struck by how small he was, taking up so little space in the corner of the otherwise sterile space.

“How do you make an artichoke?” past-Alastor asked brightly followed immediately by another scream.

“How?” Vox’s head tilted like a puppy waiting for a treat.

“No? Not even a guess?”

“No guesses here.” Vox’s voice sounded rough, like he had been overusing it. Alastor did not care for it, nor did he care for the bulk of what looked like a hastily applied plaster cast on his arm. Vox didn’t seem to notice it as he shifted his arm to rest along the top of the radio, the sound of plaster and wood rubbing together in a wholly unpleasant way that set Alastor’s teeth on edge. He crouched down in front of Vox, close enough to touch.

“You strangle it!”

Vox chuckled weakly, tapping his fingers against the radio. Alastor leaned in a bit, face softening as he noticed the very tips of Vox’s fingers. He still had his soft, blunt fingers, with the still human nails, that Alastor remembered thinking were so very impractical. “Oh, no! That’s terrible, Al.”

“But still funny,” he murmured back, reaching out to touch Vox’s uninjured arm.

“Who are you talking to, Vox?” a low-pitched voice asked, and Vox’s eyes flew open, his mouth twisting into a grimace. He raised his knees up towards his chest, pressing the radio closer to his body, and shook his head. Something bitter rose in the back of Alastor’s throat as he watched Vox’s entire demeanor shift. His ears twisted around to the source of the voice he hadn’t heard in decades.

“Nobody, Doctor Bell,” Vox replied quickly, voice shifting to something lighter, softer. Like an animal showing its belly, he became a cowering, submissive creature before Alastor’s eyes. Clearly, he hoped to appease his captors by showing just how little threat he posed. “Just listening to the r-rzx-adio.”

Alastor glanced over his shoulder, not yet standing as he felt his eyes begin to darken. Doctor Bell shuffled into the room, followed by his assistant. Herb? Cilantro? He couldn’t place the man’s name, but that didn’t stop the rage from boiling in his blood as he returned his attention to his friend and watched Vox shrink back, clutching the radio to his chest. His eyes darted between the two men.

“It’s t-too soon,” he said in a small voice. He raised his hand to rest against the heavy scarring on his throat. It must have healed before Alastor would have had the opportunity to notice it, and that was something he would have noticed. “My throat’s not right yet.”

Doctor Bell sighed. “I thought we were past this by now.” He patted the top of the table. “Be a good boy and climb on up. Save Basil the theatrics, hm?”

Vox’s mouth quivered and he remained motionless for a few seconds. Doctor Bell’s assistant took a step forward and Vox’s resolve instantly crumbled. With a sharp breath, he set the radio down on the cot beside him and climbed to his feet, the cast on his arm setting him off-balance. He approached the surgical table with obvious reluctance, hesitating as he looked up at the doctor. Alastor felt a renewed surge of fury when he realized that Vox was only dressed in a dingy gray hospital gown, his feet bare against the cold tile floor.

“What are you g-going to do today?” he asked, eyes fearful. Doctor Bell gestured impatiently to the table and Alastor’s breath caught in his throat as Vox climbed up onto the table, laying down obediently. He started to call frantically to the piece of Vox’s soul, desperate not to watch whatever the doctor had in mind with his patient.

“Basil made an interesting suggestion, actually,” the doctor replied as his assistant began to strap Vox down. The obvious parallel to what Eve had forced him to do to Vox was not lost on the Radio Demon. He swallowed harshly, trying to keep down the bile still threatening to rise in his throat. “It seems some of the struggle we’ve been having with encouraging you to regenerate larger models is the fact that your body is simply not designed to handle anything heavier than what you spawned originally in Hell with.”

“Oh,” Vox said softly. His fingers twitched uselessly against the table.

Doctor Bell hummed affirmatively and pulled a steel tray over to him, the surgical tools resting on top gleaming under the glare of the overhead lamp. He studied them for a few moments before selecting a sharp scalpel. “Yes. I’d like to replace those spindly little legs of yours and see if we can’t get you a little sturdier.” He raised his hand and rested his palm against Vox’s throat. The small Sinner swallowed roughly. “You should just regenerate the new limbs with the necessary augmentations like you’re able to do with your head. Of course, we’ll have to work on other parts of you as well, if all goes according to plan, but there’s no need to get ahead of ourselves. If the legs work, we can move onto your pelvis and spine.”

“His arms, too?” Basil asked, devoid of emotion. Vox’s breath hitched in his throat and Alastor’s ears flicked backwards for a beat before he regained control.

“P-please don’t,” Vox whispered, eyes staring unfocused up at the bright overhead lamp. His hands balled into fists and Alastor could see that he was starting to tremble. Heart pounding, Alastor stepped forward and smoothed his hand down the side of Vox’s head. “I d-dxz-on’t want that. Please, Doctor Bell?”

“Make him see me,” Alastor hissed suddenly. “He could see me at other times. Make him see me here.”

Lucifer sighed but didn’t otherwise show any sign that he heard Alastor’s plea. Alastor took a deep breath, knowing why the King wasn’t intervening, and continued to stroke the side of Vox’s head. Maybe Vox couldn’t feel him, couldn’t sense him, but Alastor could feel the warmth of Vox’s head beneath his palm, and he could pretend.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, wishing he had just once thought to look here. Why didn’t he ever think to look here? He pressed his forehead to the corner of Vox’s head. “Oh, Vox. I’m so sorry.”

“He might get too off-balance if we don’t do everything,” Basil continued as though Vox hadn’t spoken. Alastor did, however, notice the way that the large demon’s eyes flitted from the doctor to Vox for a moment.

“Yes, yes, Basil. All in good time.”

Alastor closed his eyes and focused all his energy on extracting the piece of Vox’s soul. After a moment, he felt Lucifer’s angelic power working alongside his and with a soft pop, a small, burning energy brushed over his fingers. Alastor’s eyes snapped open as the tiny bit of Vox’s soul darted up his arm, hovering almost fearfully behind his shoulder. He backed away from the table reluctantly as Doctor Bell pushed the gray gown’s hem up past Vox’s thighs, scalpel in hand as he contemplated where to cut first.

“Tell me your thoughts, Basil,” the doctor said. “Do you think we ought to start at the knee or directly at the hip?”

He tapped the flat of the blade against Vox’s thigh and Vox’s eyes finally screwed shut, a tear slipping down the side of his boxy head as Basil weighed in with his opinion.

Alastor’s eyes darted upwards in a panic. He had delighted in slaughtering thousands of demons without batting an eye, and was wickedly efficient in his methods, too. But the very thought of watching the doctor cut into Vox turned his stomach so violently that he had to press his hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting on the cold floor. He forced himself to stare upwards as he backed towards Lucifer, freezing in place when he noticed the scratches on the wall near the ceiling.

“Fucking Sinners,” Lucifer sneered in disgust before following Alastor’s gaze. He stared up with an increasingly dark expression on his face. “No wonder you never noticed him here.”

Alastor shook his head in disbelief, reading the runes carefully. She had kept Vox helpless for five and a half years, completely unable to use any of his powers, such as they were back in the early days. He wouldn’t have even been a threat to anyone at that point, didn’t have anything but his wits and teeth to defend himself. They didn’t need to go to all the trouble to subdue him with magic when he wasn’t even–

Alastor’s ears fell against his skull. He had always thought that Vox’s ability to communicate with him over long distances had been the result of whatever had happened to him during the years he was gone because they had only stumbled on that ability by sheer coincidence after his return. Before he had disappeared, he could sense Vox’s presence only when they were in the same room – they were just starting to figure out whether he could use it to communicate. It wasn’t until after he had returned that the range of their frequency expanded until they could communicate with one another across the city.

Had she known what he could do, right from the start, before either Alastor or Vox did, and limited his powers so that even if he had happened to discover this ability earlier, he would never be able to use it to capture Alastor’s attention? He couldn’t call out for help and Alastor couldn’t come to rescue him – she had planned for even that?

Breath quickening, Alastor reached back and gently caught hold of the trembling piece of Vox’s soul, carefully guiding it into the box. Lucifer was right – he had tried to play a complicated game of wits with a creature so ancient that he had never had any hope of outsmarting her. She had been as watchful and impassive as the Moirai for so many years that Alastor suddenly realized that he might never be able to unravel every single thread she had woven into their afterlives. He hurried back to Lucifer’s side.

“Go,” Alastor hissed desperately, standing as close to the King of Hell as he dared. Lucifer didn’t say anything as he summoned another portal and Alastor stepped through quickly, blocking out the sound of Vox’s sudden whimper. “We have to go back. To the Hotel. Now.”

With a swirl of golden magic, they found themselves back in the Hotel. Without a word, Alastor sank into the shadows, letting himself dissolve into the darkness, clutching the box of Vox’s soul pieces tightly to his chest. He emerged in his own room and stumbled into the bayou, sinking to his knees in the grass.

He couldn’t do this. Why had he thought it would be anything but tortuous to watch these deeply painful moments, to drag the terrified little bits of his soul away from where they had blindly sought sanctuary, and know that he was only doing it because he was too selfish to just let Vox go? He set the box down on his lap and hunched over the top of it, curling his claws against his head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Oh, Vox, I don’t think I can do this.”

“What the fuck,” a voice said from behind him and Alastor twisted his head around to see Husk standing in the doorway to his room. “I thought you were done when you two got back, but the King said you ran up here to pout.”

“He said that?” Alastor asked, surprised. Suddenly, he was very glad that none of the tears that had been threatening to fall were splashed onto his cheeks. Husk stared at him evenly for a few seconds before rolling his eyes.

“No, he said you needed a minute on your own.” Husk walked into the room and Alastor watched as he sat down in one of the armchairs beside the fireplace. “I added the part about pouting. What, do you prefer sulking?”

"So, naturally,” Alastor said, deciding to ignore Husk’s little dig, “you decided to impose your company on me anyways.”

Husk grinned with less malice than Alastor would’ve expected. He turned slowly to fully face his thrall. “Hey, you never respect my personal boundaries, why the fuck should I respect yours?”

“Touché.” He ran his fingers over the top of the little box, feeling strangely, unnaturally inclined to share. At least it was only Husk, and he could just force the bartender to keep his mouth shut once their conversation was finished. “Husk, even if we finish this and get him back to rights… would he even forgive me?”

“Does he have to?”

Alastor considered it for a minute. “No. No, I don’t suppose he does.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Husk asked. He drummed his claws against the armrests and Alastor followed the movement closely with his eyes. “If you’re not doing this for his forgiveness, which I think you fucking know you don’t deserve, why are you doing it?” Husk frowned and shook his head. “No, forget that – I don’t want to know what your twisted motives are. Whatever they are, why the fuck are you stopping? After you tried to throw down with the fucking King of Hell himself just to get him back and everything.”

“Because it’s hard,” the Radio Demon answered with complete honesty. He fought back at wince at Husk’s hard stare.

“Shit, everything down here is hard,” Husk scoffed. “You think being on your chain is a walk in the fucking park? You’re a fucking creature feature horror show and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t secretly imagine ways for you to die.”

“Oh, Husk.” Alastor raised an eyebrow, glad for the excuse for a bit of levity. “Secretly?”

“Fine. Not so secretly.” He pointed a single claw at the opposite wall. “For example, I’d love to see you smeared on that wall right over there.”

“That’s a lovely, motivating sentiment, Husker. Thank you.”

Husk crossed his legs. “You’re welcome. My point is–”

“I know what your point is,” Alastor snapped, fingers tightening around the box.

“Then get your shit together.” They stared at one another for a minute before Alastor’s ears finally drooped and he nodded.

“I’ll be down shortly,” he sniffed and waited silently until Husk finally left. Alastor held the little box out at arm’s length and huffed out a sigh. “Well, Vox. You have my complete attention.”

By the time Alastor managed to wrangle his emotions under control and secure a neutral, unaffected smile in place, the lobby was eerily quiet. Emerging from the shadows, Alastor looked around at the different little groups that had splintered off. Husk was nowhere to be seen, though Alastor suspected he likely went off in search of Angel Dust who was also missing. The Queen was sitting beside Vaggie whose shock hadn’t yet worn off, patting her hand every so often. Lucifer, strangely, was deep in conversation with Valentino while Velvette was sitting near them with an irritable Cherri Bomb occasionally shooting death glares at the moth Overlord. Nifty was the only one who seemed not to be out-of-sorts, flitting from one spot to spot, muttering lowly under her breath.

And Vox. Vox was exactly where Alastor had left him.

“Oh, good, the Radio Demon has decided to grace us with his presence,” Valentino bit out and Alastor blinked passively back at him. “What’s next? Gonna sacrifice your little bug for a shot at more power or maybe the pretty kitty you’ve got on a leash? I know it wasn’t enough for you to fucking murder me and Vox and do whatever the fuck you did to babydoll over there.”

Velvette flinched minutely, arms wrapping around herself as she ducked her head. Alastor shrugged for Valentino’s benefit.

“Ah, who’s to say, if the offer is good enough.”

“Shutting up would be in your best interests right now, bellhop,” Lucifer said calmly.

Alastor blinked then inclined his head slightly. As much as he would love to go toe to toe with someone (anyone, it didn’t matter, just let him tear something apart with his teeth and claws), he knew better than try again with the King of Hell. Lucifer had shown him an astonishing amount of patience and understanding, but with his head on a little tighter, Alastor knew he risked annihilation if he continued to push. For now, at least.

“We can continue when you’re ready,” Alastor offered, holding the wooden box tightly in his hands. Valentino glanced quickly between Alastor and the King before holding up a hand.

“Not without me, you’re not.”

“What use would you be?” Alastor couldn’t help snapping, ears falling flat when Lucifer cocked his head inquisitively.

“You know, the last piece was a little trickier to pry free,” the King said. Alastor watched him, heart sinking, as Lucifer shrugged. “Do you think he’d respond more quickly to you?”

“Well, it couldn’t be any worse than the Radio Demon, hm?” Valentino hummed. “They do have some unresolved… issues, let’s say, that couldn’t be helping the situation.”

He could protest, but the thoughtful expression on the King’s face told him it wouldn’t be helpful. As much as Lucifer had suggested that he could use the time to think about his next steps in finding his daughter, Alastor could tell that he was growing impatient, too. Ready for this to be over. And Alastor couldn’t blame him.

Forcing down his feelings, bottling them up as tightly as he could, he shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “Well, if the insect thinks he’ll be helpful, we might as well try.”

Alastor made eye contact with Valentino for a moment before they finally stepped through the portal. He could always kill him again when they got back and make sure that this time stuck.

*

 

December 24, 1956

Valentino blinked and looked around him in disbelief. “Where are we?”

“Earth, obviously,” Alastor snapped back, resentment at the moth’s presence simmering under his skin. He raised an eyebrow when Lucifer licked his forefinger and held it up in the air for a few seconds before nodding sagely.

“America. Chicago, to be more precise,” he said, and Alastor narrowed his eyes. There was absolutely no way that the Devil could know that by holding his damp finger in the air. “December 24, 1956. 3:14 in the morning.”

“You can’t know that,” the Radio Demon huffed irritably. Lucifer flicked his wrist, and a small, glowing pocket watch snapped open in his palm. He pointed at the face of the clock and Alastor’s ears flicked impatiently. He looked around, suddenly realizing that they were standing in what looked like a living room with a tall Christmas tree standing in front of a picture window. It was decorated with a homey mixture of glass bulbs and handmade ornaments, many of which appeared to have been crafted by the small hands of children.

Alastor’s mind caught up with the sudden realization of the significance of the date. In less than twenty-four hours, Vox (Vincent, he was still Vincent here) would die and fall into Hell. He glanced around, wondering where the other man was. The Christmas tree was still lit, so perhaps he was bustling around in the house, somehow awake at this early morning hour.

“Where is he?” he asked to no one in particular. There was a soft creaking noise, distant and faint, and Alastor’s ears perked forward at the same instant that Valentino’s antennae did. Valentino’s mouth twitched into a grin.

“Oh, I bet I know,” he snickered quietly, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Alastor. Heat flooded into his cheeks, unbidden, and Alastor narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t be crude.”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like Voxy is being plenty crude right now,” Valentino replied before sweeping out of the living room and into the dark hallway. Alastor glanced helplessly at the King of Hell and Lucifer shrugged. They followed the moth demon through the house until they stopped outside a closed door that must have led into the master bedroom. The sounds on the other side of the door were unmistakable and Valentino laughed.

“I told you so,” he whispered. “He’s getting down and dirty with the missus right now.”

Lucifer caught his wrist tightly when Valentino went to reach out for the doorknob. “We can go in when they’re done.”

Valentino pouted. “Fine.”

Alastor leaned against the wall, trying not to listen to the sounds of Vincent and his wife making love behind one thin wooden door. He let his eyes slide shut and tuned into a local frequency. Well, it wasn’t exactly better, listening to the steady stream of Christmas carols playing in a cheerful loop, but it was better than sitting in a dark hallway with Valentino and Lucifer in awkward silence. Marginally so, but Alastor was trying to stay positive.

After a few minutes, Valentino’s grin sharpened. “I bet this is the first time you’ve heard him like this.” In a flash, Alastor’s eyes snapped open.

“All right,” Lucifer admonished quietly. “I can tell that this is a conversation that I do not want to be in the middle of.”

“You never did fuck him, did you?” Valentino continued as though Lucifer hadn’t spoken. Alastor’s eyes darkened. “Frigid little bitch that you are. You hate me so much for that, don’t you?”

“Be quiet,” Alastor snapped.

“Oh, baby, no. Not when it seems like the perfect time to finally clear the air.” Valentino studied him closely. “Tell me the truth: do you hate me because he finally chose me, or do you hate me because you were too much of a coward to fuck him when you had the chance? Does it just eat you up inside knowing that I get to have a part of him that you never did?”

“Enough,” Lucifer snarled before Alastor could answer. His eyes flashed with angelic energy and both Overlords shrank back. After a few minutes of stoney silence, Lucifer walked through the closed door, disappearing into the master bedroom. Valentino smirked and gestured in front of him.

“After you.” He caught Alastor’s elbow just before he could walk into the room, dragging him close. Only the threat of Lucifer stopped him from breaking the moth’s teeth.

“I’d advise you to remove your hand,” he warned. One warning was all he was going to give. Valentino leaned in closely.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to do it yet, but you’re going to pay for all of this bullshit that you’ve brought down on everyone.” Alastor scoffed, and the other Overlord’s hand tightened. “I mean it. You’re not going to get away with this free and clear, even if you’ve got the Devil himself feeling a little bit of pity for you.”

Valentino pushed him away and Alastor watched with simmering fury as he walked into the bedroom without looking back. Steeling himself, he followed behind, eyes adjusting slowly to the brighter light in the bedroom. The room was not entirely what he would have expected from Vox – an abundance of blue but with a feminine influence that softened it around the edges.

His eyes settled on the bed and the fury he was barely keeping in check seemed to fade as he stared at Vincent curled under the covers with his wife. His head rested on her breast, arm wrapped around her waist while she combed gently through his sweat-darkened hair. Their eyes were closed, but Alastor could tell that they were both still awake. Valentino paced to the far side of the bed, eyes fixed on Alastor.

“We have to get up early,” she murmured quietly, almost an afterthought. Vincent mumbled something before turning his face to press his mouth against her skin. She smiled. “I mean it. Don’t think you’re going to get another round out of me.”

“You are a cruel woman,” Vincent sighed. “But I don’t think I can move anymore anyways.”

Valentino’s smile sharpened for Alastor’s benefit. “I bet.”

“You two are the worst,” Lucifer hissed. He gestured to the bed irritably. “Hurry up, bellhop.”

Alastor moved toward the bed, raising his eyes to meet Valentino’s as he stroked his fingertips over Vincent’s shoulder, expecting the final blue-white orb to dance up his arm like all the others that he had coaxed from the happier moments in Vox’s timeline. But… nothing?

He looked down with a frown. There wasn’t any resistance, no force pulling back against him, no tiny fragment of Vox’s soul too afraid to leave the devil it already knew. Alastor tried again before raising his eyes to meet the taunting expression on Valentino’s face.

“What’s wrong? He doesn’t want you?”

Alastor tried again, squeezing his eyes shut as he focused himself on finding a frequency he couldn’t feel. After a few minutes, he took a step back, panting from the effort. He glanced at the King.

“You must’ve gone to the wrong time,” he said, feeling panicked. What if they had come to the wrong time or place in Vox’s timeline and they were missing him? What if the last fragment was lost completely and they were standing here staring at only an untouchable memory? What if–

“Relax.” Alastor swallowed roughly and allowed himself to be pushed none too gently aside as Lucifer raised a hand over Vincent’s now sleeping body. The faintest blue glow lit below the surface of Vincent’s skin, illuminating the room in an eerie glow. Lucifer lowered his hand. “He’s in there. You just need to be patient.”

“I’m trying,” Alastor snapped. He raised a hand to twist into his hair, caught Valentino’s gaze, and instead forced himself to adjust his lapel with the barest semblance of control. “I can’t reach him.”

“Let’s just take a break, all right?” He glanced between the two Overlords with suspicion. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere anyhow.”

Alastor paced over to a blue and white armchair in the corner of the room and slumped down with a sigh. After a few minutes, his eyes slid shut and he felt himself drifting. He couldn’t decide if he dreamed Lucifer and Valentino quietly talking, but only moments later, he felt himself snap awake with a jolt.

“What time is it?” he asked sharply, rubbing the back of his hand over his face. Valentino rolled his eyes.

“Almost seven.” Alastor nodded, strangely relieved. “They set the alarm for seven.”

“You could try using the alarm clock to get his attention. Try something familiar that his soul would recognize,” Lucifer suggested. “Is there a song he’d recognize, even now, at this point in his timeline?”

Alastor started to shrug then froze in horror. His mouth dropped open and he nearly flinched when Valentino was struck with the same realization, a growl rising from his throat.

“You bastard,” the other Overlord snarled, circling around the bed with terrifying speed to grab the Radio Demon by the throat. Well, it would have been terrifying for anyone other than Alastor who simply melted into the shadows, slipping his grasp instantly. “You fucking did that to him? This entire fucking time, that was you?”

“Whoa! Hey!” Lucifer hissed. “Come on, what’s wrong now?”

“Well, go on,” Valentino goaded darkly. “What’s one more thing at this point?”

“I don’t understand.” Alastor stared at Valentino as Lucifer spoke, heart sinking. “Hey, dumbasses, what the fuck are you two talking about?”

“Do it!”

Alastor looked down at Vincent, wishing he could do anything else to get his attention. His stomach twisted anxiously before he finally managed to beat down the worst of his nerves. He could deal with the guilt later, when he had the time to really wallow in it.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “I know what would work.”

Alastor cleared his throat and focused on the tiny alarm clock. 6:59. He cued up the music and waited until the clock flipped to seven o’clock to begin broadcasting.


You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
I’m telling you-


[Rise and shine!] Alastor called with a cheerful enthusiasm that he certainly did not feel, watching in dismay when Vincent made a displeased noise before reaching to try and swat the alarm clock.

“What, does he not like Christmas music?” Lucifer asked, baffled, and Alastor didn’t bother to answer. He tried reaching out twice before Vincent and his wife finally left the room to start their day, screaming children ratcheting the noise levels up high enough to force Alastor’s ears back against his head. How Vox had tolerated this noise and chaos that didn’t stem from glorious carnage and bloodshed – and seemed to genuinely enjoy it, at that – was something Alastor would never understand.

Two Overlords and one King of Hell followed Vincent through his home, unseen and unperceived, as he readied himself and his family for the upcoming day. Alastor wondered if he ought to feel a sense of jealousy towards his wife, but he was surprised when nothing bubbled to the surface. He could appreciate the way she smiled at Vincent and left little lingering touches on his arms and even made him shiver when she ran her nails over the back of his neck. Valentino smirked and made some inane comment, but Alastor stayed focused, reaching out several more times with no luck.

“Maybe he’ll come for me?” Valentino asked, suggestively, and it was Alastor’s turn to smirk when the Devil himself pointed a warning finger at the moth Overlord.

“Watch it, Mothra.” Lucifer studied Vincent as he let his wife adjust his tie. “Maybe, though. Try the music again and let him try.”

Resentfully, Alastor closed his eyes and eased his frequency into the radio. A soft clicking as the radio turned on, letting Bing Crosby play over the radio. Vincent’s eyebrow arched and he glanced around his wife to level a stare at his son.

“It wasn’t me!”

Alastor opened his eyes and summoned his microphone, tipping it towards Valentino. “You speak in this end,” he instructed drily.

“Oh, is that right?” Valentino replied with a roll of his eyes. He cleared his throat and leaned in.

[Voxy? You’re keeping everyone waiting here, baby.] Alastor stared at the insufferable Overlord for a long few seconds before Valentino narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“You think he’s going to listen to you if you remind him we’re on a timetable?”

“Fuck off,” Valentino said calmly. He tapped the top of the microphone, making it squeal with feedback before leaning in close.

[Amorcito, can you hear me?] He glanced at Alastor, still speaking into the microphone. [Can he hear me?]

Alastor yanked the microphone away, holding it close enough to his own mouth for it to pick up his voice. [No, I don’t think he’s listening.]

Except this time Vincent’s eyes narrowed at the radio, expression shifting into something vaguely perturbed. Excitement lit up inside Alastor and his grin sharpened. [Yes, right here! I know you can hear me, Vox.]

Grace tugged Vincent’s chin to settle his gaze back on her, his attention instantly shifting. Valentino groaned. “Really, papito?”

They settled in the backseat of Vincent’s car, Lucifer wedged firmly, and resentfully, in between the two Overlords. Alastor tried one more time to catch Vincent’s attention as he drove to his office. The song barely got through another verse before he flicked the radio off with clear annoyance, muttering something under his breath.

Lucifer caught Valentino’s arm before he could get out of the car and gestured to Alastor continue following Vincent. He trotted closely behind the heavily bundled man, noting with pleasure the immediate nervousness Vincent seemed to inspire in the man behind the front desk. Vincent demanded a coffee before heading onto the elevator, Alastor close at his heels.

For a moment, there was a soft flare of blue-white from around Vincent’s head and Alastor reached his hand up, hopeful that the last piece of Vox’s soul was about to come free. Instead, one of the lightbulbs above flared with the sudden surge of demonic energy, shattering the lightbulb in a shower of sparks. Vincent slapped at his shoulders with a scowl, glaring up at the burnt-out socket. Alastor’s grin grew just a little bit wider at the very familiar expression on the man’s face.

Alastor followed Vincent into his office, delighting in Dot’s presence. He debated trying to catch Vincent’s attention over the radio but decided it might be best to wait until he could get the man on his own. As an obviously agitated Vincent hurried back to the elevator, Alastor leaned beside the buttons, watching as a tall blonde man approached them. He did not care for the way Vincent’s face darkened or how he pressed himself against the railing in the elevator once they were inside, not pleased with their new companion.

“Mm, who’s this, then?” he asked, knowing that neither of them could hear him. The taller man blew a plumb of smoke directly into Vincent’s face, the doors sliding open as they reached their destination, Alastor couldn’t help the sharp burst of static that erupted from him at the uncomfortable expression on his face.

[Come along, then, old pal.]

Vincent’s eyes widened and he looked around in alarm. “What?”

Finally! The same blue-white glow light up around Vincent’s head and shoulders once more before fading back out again. At least they were making progress, at last.

Alastor doubled down on the song’s broadcast as they drove into the darkening winter afternoon. He didn’t miss the glance that Lucifer and Valentino exchanged when Vincent swore and pounded his hand against the car horn to block it out. It didn’t really matter what they thought – he was singularly focused on retrieving the stubborn little piece of Vox’s soul that insisted on evading him. He wasn’t going back without it.

Lucifer and Valentino followed him closely as he stalked after Vincent into the old cabin, Lucifer muttering under his breath about the cold. Once they were inside, Alastor immediately noticed the men waiting for Vincent in the shadows. He focused his attention on the radio in the cabin, ears flicking in frustration when he couldn’t get more than static and harsh pops to come out of the ancient machine.

A young man stepped forward, brandishing a knife that Vincent’s eyes instantly zeroed in on and Alastor felt his eyes finally start to bleed black at the obvious threat. He could feel his own power starting to gather around him and a familiar mania begin to overtake him – he was going to destroy anyone who tried to put their hands on Vincent.

“Hey, calm down,” Lucifer hissed. “You can’t actually do anything to them.”

“I can try,” he snarled in return. Valentino snapped his fingers irritably and Alastor’s neck snapped as he turned to focus on the other Overlord.

“Give me your microphone.” Alastor would’ve refused on principle, but something about the way Valentino issued his demand had Alastor curious. He handed it over, standing stiffly as the moth demon raised the microphone to his mouth. Vincent closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying himself.

[Fuck them up, baby.] Valentino broadcasted and Vincent proceeded to do just that.

Alastor prowled back and forth, blood starting to drip from his mouth as he watched Vincent fight. It was surprisingly exciting to watch the younger man fight with a scrappy brutality that Alastor always assumed he had taught him well after Vox had landed in Hell. His grin widened. Had Vox been playing him for a sucker all these years – had he pretended not to know much about how fight just so that Alastor would take the time to teach him?

His glee curdled when the younger man finally managed to get the upper hand, even if temporarily. He started to extend his shadows to intervene before remembering that he couldn’t. Instead, Alastor watched with clenched fists as a bloodied, hurt Vincent staggered out into the whipping wind and snow, only just managing to get into the car before Valentino snatched his microphone from his hands.

[Watch your heads!]

Alastor wrenched it away from him and braced himself against the car door as they bounced along the snowy, bumpy road. His eyes caught movement on the side of the road, ahead of the car, and he knew exactly what was about to happen. And despite knowing that he was only cementing the song further in Vox’s subconscious, Alastor tuned into the radio one final time.


He’s making a list and checking it twice
He’s gonna find out who’s naughty or nice
Santa Claus is coming to town


He couldn’t see Vincent’s face from the back seat, but he could hear the horror in his voice. Alastor caught the backrest of the passenger seat to steady himself before speaking into the microphone. This was it. It would all be over in seconds.

[Don’t fight the next part.]

The collision was exactly what Alastor anticipated – the screech of metal harsh in his ears, the sudden wet scent of blood as Vincent hit the windshield headfirst, and the abrupt silence once everything came a standstill only seconds later. Beside him, he could hear Valentino breathing heavily, as if he couldn’t quite put together what had just happened. Alastor focused hard and forced himself through the metal door, boots crunching down on top of the freshly fallen snow.

In front of him, Vincent was laying very still in the glowing darkness of the winter evening, his eyes fluttering as he bled out. Alastor glanced at the mangled mess that made up the lower half of the man’s body, winced, and looked around for his inspiration.

“There you are,” he breathed as the buck walked slowly towards him in the dark. He was certain it was the one that had just run Dot off the road. Alastor glanced back at the car, already knowing that Dot had died almost instantly in the crash, but wishing her a pain free passing, nevertheless. He turned his attention back to the deer. “It would seem that I need to ask a favor of you.”

Alastor had never been very good with possessions. They took a considerable amount of energy and patience that he didn’t have for such little pay-off. Well. At the level he was capable of, at least. Still, he had never been able to try his hand at the possession of an animal in the Mortal Realm. He let his eyes close and reached out.

It was a wildly disorienting sensation, feeling his consciousness slid into the animal’s body, and Alastor had to remind himself repeatedly that he was not the animal before he was able to focus enough to open its eyes. Pushing himself forward, he stared down at Vincent’s broken body as the man blinked up at him, a halo of bright crimson spreading out around his head. He chuckled and broadcast one last message over the dying car’s radio.

[Come along now, Vox. We haven’t got time to spare.]

Vincent drew in a wet breath and, to Alastor’s surprise, began to laugh. The bright blue-white light began to glow around him almost blindingly as Vincent’s laughter was cut off while he began to seize in pain. Alastor pulled the creature’s lips back into a grin, static hissing wildly around them, and bent down so that he was only inches from Vincent’s face.

“Yes, deer,” the dying man giggled one last time before falling silent.

And, just like that, a brilliantly bright orb shot up from Vincent’s body. Alastor launched himself out of the deer’s body and caught it in his hand, hysterical laughter falling from his lips as he caged the very last piece of Vox’s soul between his fingers. He didn’t know how long he stood there, relief and madness intertwining nauseatingly in his head, but eventually he managed to remember that he was not alone. He snapped his neck around, head cocking to the side at an unnatural angle.

“Once again, just a lovely fucking display,” Lucifer said, unimpressed. He opened the wooden box and held it out. “Let’s get him home.”

 

*

 

Present Day

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Valentino asked quietly, reaching out a hand as if he wanted to touch Vox and was afraid that any wrong move might send him flying to pieces once more. Alastor forced himself to look away from Vox to cast a pleading look to Lucifer. If anyone knew what was happening, it had to be him.

The King studied Vox’s still body for a few seconds then shrugged. “It should have worked. We got everything, as far as I can tell.” He tapped Vox’s screen thoughtfully. “He’s back in one piece, body and soul. There’s no reason he shouldn’t be waking up.”

Below him, a small hand slipped into his and Alastor didn’t need to look down to know that Niffty was holding onto him again. He waited another agonizing minute before stepping back in resignation. After everything, he’d still managed to fail Vox one final time.

He didn’t know what he was meant to do now, if he was no longer on a chain and no longer had anything, or anyone, to work towards. The Hotel was in ruins, again, but with Charlie gone there didn’t seem to be a point in rebuilding. He could always bury himself in his radio show and pick up where he had left off in slaughtering Overlords, but there didn’t seem much point in that anymore, either. He’d started to gain power and make a name for himself – he had both of those already, so what sense would there be in picking off the others?

Alastor turned away from the body in front of him and started to walk with Niffty in tow. He could retreat to his home, the one he hadn’t stepped foot in for the better part of a decade now and reevaluate his options. There wasn’t any reason to remain here.

“Alastor?” Husk called, but Husk was easily ignored. If Alastor wanted to listen to any more of his input, he could pull on his chain and demand to hear it. But right now? Right now, he was very tired, too tired to listen to anything more.

As he started to gather his shadows around himself and Niffty, a small sound caught his ear. The faint crackle of static across a dead frequency and Alastor froze in place, ears pricking forward.

[…Alastor…?]

He turned his head with a crack of vertebrae that made the others around him wince, zeroing in on Vox’s body with single-minded focus. The prickle of restless static met his own and he dropped Niffty’s hand to run back to the table, a sudden dangerous hope flooding through his veins. Alastor caught Vox’s hand in his own and closed his eyes, focusing hard.

[Just follow my voice, Vox.] He squeezed the other Overlord’s fingers. [You can do this.]

The static wound down, but before Alastor could sink back into despair, Vox’s eyes flew open with a gasp. The Television Overlord shot upright, electricity shooting out around him in a blast that nearly knocked Alastor off his feet and flattened any demon in the lobby who wasn’t Alastor or royalty. Even still, he staggered against the table and Vox’s head whipped around to stare at him in open-mouthed shock.

“Vox,” Alastor breathed, unable to think of anything else to say. Vox snatched his hand away like he had been burned and Alastor’s eyes widened, ears lowering as he took in the horrified expression on the younger man’s face.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Vox whimpered. “Why am I here?”

“Easy there,” Lucifer said in a calm, reassuring tone that set Alastor’s teeth on edge. “It’s a long story, but you’re back in one piece.”

“No, I died.” Vox’s hands flew to his head, claws curling threateningly against the hard plastic. “I did it. I’m dead.”

“Voxy, baby, it’s okay,” Valentino tried, touching Vox’s shoulder. And it should not have been a surprise to the moth demon that instead of sinking into his embrace, Vox released a blast of electricity high enough to send Valentino flying backwards. The scent of ozone and charred Sinner hung heavily in the air as Vox looked around frantically before scrambling off the table, nearly collapsing on the floor. He stumbled back from Alastor, hands up in front of him in a silent plea, though the Radio Demon couldn’t be sure what Vox was pleading for. Space? Mercy?

The Television Overlord glanced over his shoulder as Valentino staggered back onto his feet, coughing out smoke in a way that any other time would have had Alastor rolling on the floor with giddy laughter. Vox flinched back as Valentino’s gaze focused on him, expression hurt like Vox had betrayed him in some way.

“Vox, please–”

That was all he managed to get out before the same heavy scent of ozone thickened in the air and Vox was gone in a flash of blue-white lightning. A hand caught his shoulder and Alastor reeled around, ready to tear it from the owner’s arm before he realized it was Lucifer staring back at him.

“He can’t go off on his own,” he said sharply. Alastor tried to shake him off.

“I know!”

“If Eve gets her hands on him again, she’s not going to stop until she has all three realms at her feet,” Lucifer told him, and Alastor’s ears flattened against his head. “If you go after him, you have to keep him safe. No matter what.”

“Obviously,” Alastor snarled, wrenching himself free.

Lucifer snapped his fingers and pressed a small circular object in his hands. “You can use this in the meantime to shield him from her sight until I can come to put up a proper shield.”

“I can conjure shields, too,” he snapped with growing frustration.

“Oh, my bad. That must’ve been someone else’s bitch shield that Adam punched clean through.” Lucifer waited a beat for him to respond and nodded when Alastor’s eyes darted away for a moment. “Yeah, I thought so. Now get out of here.”

Alastor nodded. He closed his eyes and let himself center his focus on Vox’s frequency, screaming loud enough that he’d have to cut his connection to the other Overlord to avoid hearing it. After a few seconds, he was able to zero in on its location.

“Go,” Lucifer urged. “Now.”

He didn’t need any more prompting than that. With a deep breath, he sunk into the shadows, giving himself over to the pull of Vox’s signal.

Notes:

CW: Non-consensual body modification and unethical experimentation, brief acephobia, some blood and gore (not very graphic, but it's there)

I did promise that Doctor Bell would be back - this won't be his last appearance, either.

Also, this chapter and the previous chapter were originally one horribly massive chapter. I split them in two and still have two behemoth chapters for y'all to get through. :)

Chapter 22: i’m always walking after midnight, searching for you

January 1957


Vincent stared up at the ceiling thoughtfully. It was past midnight, but he couldn’t seem to convince his mind to slow down enough to sleep. He could feel the tension in his body build as he tried counting sheep, taking deep breaths, and any of half a dozen other methods to trick his exhausted mind into winding down. Nothing worked. The sheep gradually began to turn from soft, fluffy, normal sheep into blood-soaked Hell sheep, glinting fangs and all.

He sat up with a sigh and looked around the storeroom where Rosie had helped him set up the little cot he was now trying to sleep in. She’d taken more pity on him than he probably rightfully deserved, but he was appreciative, nevertheless. She even gave him an old pair of her husband’s pajamas to sleep in and asked around until she found a secondhand suit and shoes for him to wear so that he didn’t have to stumble around in the ill-fitting clothing he had woken up in Hell wearing. Rosie had lamented how big Franklin’s pajamas were until Vox demonstrated what a dab hand he was with a needle and thread (it was a surprisingly useful skill for him to pick up in the army, after all) and hemmed the pant legs until he could move around without tripping over them.

The light drifting into the room wasn’t very bright, but it was still enough to continue to convince his brain that maybe he should be up and out of bed. He dragged a hand down the front of his face and groaned. He’d really hoped that the insomnia he’d struggled with while alive would be one of those things that Hell thought he had already suffered with enough, but no such luck.

“Just get up,” he murmured to himself before flinging the blankets from his body and twisting around to swing his feet down onto the floor. He flexed the strange new toes that he was still struggling to adjust to before pushing off from the cot and standing. Maybe he could find a little bit of busy work to get his brain settled down. He might even be able to catch a few hours of sleep before he had to start the day restocking shelves and sweeping up after the crowds of people who frequented Rosie’s shop.

Stretching his arms above his head, he squinted to read the wall clock. After a few seconds, he sighed once more when he realized that it was already one o’clock and he hadn’t yet managed to sleep. He was going to be a wreck in the morning.

Maybe a bit of fresh air would do him good. Both Rosie and Alastor had warned him against going out at night, especially by himself. Rosie had tried to take the gentle approach and insisted that he wait until he’d been in Hell longer and understood the risks he might be taking. Alastor, on the other hand, had delightedly informed him what tended to happen to freshly fallen Sinners who didn’t take the proper precautions.

But he wasn’t too worried. Beyond the creature that had attacked him within seconds of arriving in Hell, the people here weren’t terrible. Alastor was an asshole, that was certain, and knew that he was an asshole, but he hadn’t done anything to Vincent to make him think that he would be a danger to him personally. In fact, for as much as he was a complete bastard, Alastor seemed to be genuinely interested in what Vincent had to say, which was more than he could say about some of the people he’d met while he was alive.

Rosie was a delightful woman, if a little frightening, but she also didn’t seem to be any threat to Vincent. And, in fact, she had spent a fair amount of time listening to him process what he could have done to land himself a one-ticket to damnation with a surprising amount of patience and compassion.

The other demons he’d met had been polite and courteous, though Rosie had hinted that her cannibals weren’t as mild-mannered as they seemed. He had some trouble believing that one, based on his own experience at the Emporium, where the cannibals he had met were more interested in talking to him while giving him the most intense stares he had ever witnessed. Once, when Vincent had tried to express his concern, Alastor had burst into laughter.

“They’re just trying to see what makes you tick,” he had soothed when Vox had complained about how close to him the cannibals were prone to standing. He tapped Vox’s screen with a smirk. “Your face is wildly entertaining, you know.”

Yeah, he got that much, at least. He’d spent the better part of an afternoon staring into a mirror, trying to understand how or why his head was the way it was. Especially when Rosie and Alastor had strange Hellish bodies, but at least human-adjacent faces. What had he done to earn a glass face that forced him to put special effort into things that he had never thought much about before? He’d never once thought about how to eat or drink, but now he had to not only think about it but also had to make the effort to stay focused on it otherwise he’d find himself trying to smash a sandwich against a mouth that no longer existed.

Maybe that would get better over time. Alastor sure seemed to have adapted and thrived, so Vincent could, too. He was nothing if not persistent and adaptable – he could absolutely catch up and keep pace with Alastor.

Vincent slipped out of his pajamas and quickly put his day clothing back on. Yes, a walk would do him wonders, he decided as he slipped his feet into his shoes and did up the laces. He wouldn’t bother Rosie to let her know that he was going out – he would be in and out before anyone knew he had gone, and he could keep his midnight wanderings as his own secret activity. He’d had plenty while alive – he could manage that in Hell, too.

He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob then took a couple of steps back. It was Hell, after all, and he was now in this strangely small and fragile body that he barely understood, let alone controlled with any consistency. Just earlier that day, he discovered that a knock on a very specific panel on his head had him reeling with dizziness until Alastor had discovered him crouched in the storeroom and sorted him out with another sharp, precise blow to the same panel. The dizziness ended as soon as it began, and Vincent made a mental note to experiment with that when he could convince Alastor to help.

With a shrug he walked over to the toolbox that Rosie kept in the storeroom in case any shelving decided to come loose or collapse. Vincent opened it as quietly as he could manage and slipped a long screwdriver in his front pocket. After a second of consideration, he added the hammer for good measure. They added considerable weight to his jacket, but it was a price he was willing to pay for a bit of peace of mind.

Vincent slipped out of the back door, carefully closing it behind him, and took a deep breath. His mouth turned down in a frown because, of course, it wasn’t the cool, crisp air that part of him had still been expecting. Sharp with the smell of snow and the warm scent of wood burning stoves. None of that now. Just the faint ever-present smell of sulfur, undercut by the metallic scent of blood.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and began to stroll, eyes wide in the low light. Even in Cannibal Town, the streets were dimly lit – didn’t seem like there was much a neighborhood committee to make sure the lampposts stayed lit through the night. Rosie didn’t seem like the type to trouble herself with making sure the streets were easily, and safely, walkable at this hour, despite her otherwise care for the souls under her charge.

It wasn’t long before Vincent realized he had made a mistake. His fingers closed around the handle of the hammer in his pocket as he realized that the soft clopping sounds behind him were keeping pace with him. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of several much larger horse Sinners following him. He might not have thought anything of it but for the sharp grin that the one in front gave him.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, hand clamped tightly around the hammer’s handle. Why didn’t he just fucking listen to Alastor? Heart beginning to beat harder in his chest, Vincent decided to duck into a nearby alley that he knew had an abundance of garbage cans that he could hide behind for a while until he could slip away.

He cut into the alleyway, dismayed to see that most of the garbage had been collected, leaving him precious little to hide behind. Damn Rosie and her tendency to make sure that Cannibal Town stayed neat and tidy. The sound of hooves grew louder, and Vincent spun around, hammer in his hand, as the other Sinners approached the mouth of the alley.

“Well, what do we have here? All by yourself, little fella?” the lead horse demon asked, grinning at Vincent. He glanced around at the others before tilting his head towards Vincent. “You have anything worthwhile on you? Money? Some kind of actual weapon?”

Vincent shook his head. “No, can’t say that I do. It’s just me and my hammer.”

The larger Sinner stepped forward until he was only a few feet away from Vincent, who resented having to crane his head back to maintain eye contact. Damn it, he hated being small.

“And what are you going to do with that hammer?” He looked around at his fellow horse Sinners and snickered. “Put up some shelves?”

The horse demon really had the whole looming menacingly thing down to an art. Vincent looked down at the hammer in his hand then back up at the other man.

“No.” He flicked his wrist and flipped the hammer around, catching it by the handle once more. “I’m going to do this.”

He swung the hammer with all his strength and felt the shock of it straight up his arm as it landed directly on the other Sinner’s knee. Or, at least, where Vincent suspected his knee was. Either way, the horse demon predictably collapsed to the ground with a scream and Vincent scampered backwards to avoid being landed on. He was pretty sure he’d be crushed under the sheer bulk of the other demon. He was also pretty sure that he’d just signed his own death sentence as the other Sinners moved in quickly.

“Give me that!” one of the other demons snarled, snatching the hammer from his hand when he tried to swing it again. He tossed it to the side without looking and Vincent fumbled quickly for the screwdriver. Yep, he was fucked. Well, at least Rosie had explained regeneration to him already – death wouldn’t be permanent this time, so all he could do was hope it’d at least be quick.

Of course, he wasn’t going to just let himself be killed. He slashed out with the screwdriver, backing away as the other Sinners drew around him in a loose half circle, eyes wide with sickening apprehension. He really, really hoped it’d be quick when one of the other Sinners drew out a switchblade and Vincent’s back hit a wall.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” one of the Sinners told him and Vincent squeezed his eyes shut as the glint of the blade slashed through the dark towards him.

After a few seconds, when nothing happened, he took a chance and opened his eyes again. To say it was a surprise to see each of the Sinners wrapped tightly in black shadows was an understatement. Vincent’s mouth dropped open and he looked around, only to find Alastor smiling at him. Cool as cucumber, leaning against a wall, with his cane hanging loosely from his fingers. He gave Vincent a little wave.

“Fancy meeting you here. Out for a midnight stroll, Vox?” Vincent stared for another moment before nodding mutely. Alastor twirled his cane and pushed away from the wall, strolling with an obscene level of calm for someone who had a gang of demons at his mercy. “Such a pity you didn’t call me first – I do love a late-night constitutional.”

Vincent blinked, at a loss. “Sorry?”

Alastor’s smile sharpened as he leaned forward, teeth glinting in the low light. “Oh, no need to apologize, my good man. You’ve provided me with a midnight snack, after all!”

Vincent had the presence of mind to squeeze his eyes shut while the sound of screams and rending flesh and bone overwhelmed the alley. He did try to clap his hands over the side of his head where his ears should be, but he could still hear as well as if he hadn’t and realized that he must be able to hear through some other avenue. Which was an unfortunate discovery to make while listening to demons being torn apart, but what could he do? Thankfully, Alastor made quick work of Vincent’s assailants and by the time he felt prepared enough to open his eyes and peek at the Radio Demon, Alastor was dabbing his face with a handkerchief. With a rough swallow, Vincent looked down at his blood splattered clothes in dismay.

“I… uh, thanks,” he offered weakly. Alastor chuckled and extended his hand towards him. Vincent tilted his head in confusion and Alastor rolled his eyes.

“Well, hurry up. We just won’t tell Rosie that you’re so drowsy tomorrow because we spent the wee hours walking through the town.” Vincent stepped forward and placed his hand cautiously in Alastor’s. “There now. Where should we go first?”

Vincent shook his head. “I don’t know anything around here. I trust your judgement.”

“Oh, dear.” Alastor’s smile turned fond as he looked down at Vincent and he felt his heart flutter. “That might not be an entirely wise decision.”

“Well, I’m already in Hell,” he responded, letting Alastor lead him back out of the alley and onto the street. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

*

Present Day

Vox tumbled through Pentagram City’s electrical grid without any destination in mind. He just needed to go. Needed to get away and get free before the next monster caught him in its claws. Maybe this time he’d be able to run hard enough and far enough to find someplace to hide before it found him first.

Not that he needed to, really, but the surge of adrenaline in his veins kept him moving forward. Kind of pointlessly, because he was dead. Dead dead. And maybe this was just the last nanosecond of his existence with whatever neurons and circuits were still firing creating some bizarre hallucinations for him to enjoy before the nothingness swallowed him.

Not that he was enjoying any of it.

He shot out of the grid, stumbling forward before falling onto his knees, panting desperately as he looked around. He’d made it to the very far edge of the grid with nothing but wilderness stretching out ahead of him. Dark, twisted trees loomed just ahead and he scrambled upright, slicing his palm on a rock and not caring enough to check before he rushed into the forest. Hallucination or not, he needed to keep moving.

Something caught the hem of his coat, and he whipped around with a gasp, discharging as massive a blast of electricity as he could muster. The branch that had snagged the edge of his coat burst into flames.

“Shit,” he whimpered and twisted himself out of the coat, leaving it behind as he stumbled further and further into the woods. The tie around his neck began to press harder against his throat as he felt himself growing breathless with the relentless pace he was setting and that had to go. With a sloppy twist of his claws, he cut through the fabric, feeling the skin at his neck sting when his claws cut a little too deeply.

He closed his eyes for a moment, scanning the radio signals rapidly before giving up. He didn’t have time for that – he needed to find someplace safe to hide. Before… before…

Up ahead, he recognized a familiar cabin coming into view. His heart leapt hopefully, and he forced himself into a run, the branches of nearby trees whipping against his face and body. There was a sharp report of breaking glass and Vox glanced over his shoulder fearfully. Nothing there. Not yet.

Good.

“Grandpa?” he called, shoving his way through the unlocked front door and slamming it behind him. “Is anyone home? Dad?”

His screen glitched and he stumbled back against the door, clutching his head. A series of errors began to pop up and he closed them out instantly. He didn’t have time for that.

“Fuck!” he hissed, feeling a metal claw puncture into the hard plastic casing. He wrenched it free and looked around again. This wasn’t his grandfather’s cabin, was it? It was still a cabin, though, so…

Alastor. It must be Alastor’s cabin. He’d lived here – he should know it. He should. He did.

Error. Error.

A wave of electricity pulsed outwards from his body, and he gasped at the sudden surge. Stumbling away from the door, he knocked his hip against the couch and spun away, suddenly disoriented. Reaching out blindly, he finally managed to stagger against a hard, unyielding surface and planted his hands against it. He blinked, staring at the wall that should be familiar, was familiar, wasn’t. Why would he hallucinate about this place? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this wasn’t a dream or the very last instant of awareness he’d ever experience. It certainly felt real, the wood warming under his palms.

Shit, he didn’t know.

He leaned his forehead against the wall and whimpered when the electrical surge repeated itself and, to his horror, kept repeating itself. A corrupt file tried to open, but he managed to close it out before it could do any damage. Dead or not, he should keep that under control. He ran his fingers over the wall, trying to ground himself. The wood under his fingers was smooth and time worn. He breathed deeply and almost caught the scent of something familiar.

Alastor?

Alastor was safe. If Alastor was here, he was home. Alastor was home. But… no. He wasn’t.

But he was supposed to be. That much Vox knew – Alastor was meant to be his home and his safety and... shit, his head was pounding. He let out another whimper and sank down against the wall, claws digging into the casing of his head.

Error. Error. Error.

He groaned and shook his head in frustration. If he could just get his head to stop hurting so much, he could sort all of this out the right way. Actually sit down and think and… why hadn’t he been able to think lately? He just needed the time. Which he either had or didn’t. Jury was still out on that.

Dimly, he was aware of the massive amounts of energy radiating from his body. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to melt something critical. He could already sense the error warnings readying themselves as he continued to helplessly pulse out blasts of electricity, surrounding himself in a fortress of pure energy.

He might have been crouched there for hours before he felt something stir against his antennae. A sharp burst of adrenaline shot through him, and he turned as best as he could on his knees, heart pounding as he readied himself for the next horror. Seemed like a mean way for his brain to live its last moments, but he was just along for the ride now.

Only… he recognized this. The soft warmth of white noise gliding gently over his frequency. He stared blindly down at the floor for a minute, letting the familiar sensation curl into the frayed and melting bits of his circuitry. Calming, soothing. He hadn’t heard it this close since…

Vox’s head rose up slowly as he struggled to make sense of the face in front of him. He knew who this was, he did, he knew he did. He clenched his fingers into the sleeves of his shirt, tearing in with his claws and feeling the hot pulse of blood run down his wrists. The person in front of him reached out and caught his hand. And, just like that, Vox knew.

“Al?” he asked, terrified that he might be wrong. He’d been wrong about Velvette, hadn’t he? He wasn’t sure anymore – it had been Velvette, but also not? Shit, he couldn’t remember. He tried to pull up a file and was warned in no uncertain terms that it had been corrupted. Fuck. But Alastor? Why was Alastor here? Why had he followed Vox when Vox was all but hemorrhaging power? What could he even possibly want from him now? What more was there to take – Vox was certain he had nothing left to give.

“Hello, my dear. I thought I might find you here,” Alastor said with quiet certainty.

Error. File not found.

Vox started to laugh. Sorry, file not found. It’s probably circling a black hole by now, don’t go looking – you’ll get pulled in too, dontcha know?

His laughter caught in his throat when he felt a warm hand slide onto his arm, cringing as Alastor’s fingers slipped beneath his own and carefully, gently, released his claws from his own flesh. “What…? What are you d-xzxx-oing?”

Alastor hummed softly before shifting his hand so that Vox’s was laid on top of his own, not gripping or grasping him. Not keeping him in place. He stared at their hands for a very long time before finally looking back up at Alastor’s face, baffled. Alastor’s smile was soft and genuine, and Vox’s heart pounded a little harder. It had been so very long since Alastor had looked at him like that.

“You f-zxz-ollowed me?” Vox glitched again, this time sending a blast of electricity out through his fingers, singeing the cuff of Alastor’s sleeve. The error messages popped up almost faster than he could stop them, and he flipped his hand over to brace himself against Alastor. “S-xzx-orry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Alastor asked after a beat, sounding baffled.

“For s-zxz-etting you on fire,” he managed before glitching again. His calendar popped up, warning him that his alarm clock was set to go off in fifteen minutes. It was so early! And he hadn’t even gotten any sleep last night – he was going to be a disaster for the rest of the day. “Be a doll and cancel my nine o’clock?”

“Already done,” Alastor said agreeably, and Vox nodded. Finally – somebody competent. Good help was so hard to find. Dot would have… she would’ve already fixed… Vox frowned and shook his head, rubbing his free hand against the side of his head.

“Why don’t you just rest now, my friend? You look like you could use it.”

Yes. He could use some rest now. Alastor was right. Alastor was always right. Except when he was wrong, of course.

Vox felt himself start to tip forward and instantly Alastor’s other hand propped against his chest, holding him in place as Vox blinked at the cabin around him. Yes, he needed to rest. He could feel his power really draining from him now – he just needed to plug in and sleep for a bit and everything would be right as rain again.


I'm singin' in the rain,
Just singin' in the rain,
What a glorious feeling,
I'm happy again!


Error. Error. Error.

Vox slapped the side of his head impatiently and the music cut off. Oh, he was so dizzy, he could barely think straight. He caught a glimpse of a framed photograph out of the corner of his eyes and jerked his head around to stare at it. Did he recognize that one? He was in it; he should recognize it. Alastor looked very happy, content even, and he did, too. He started to open his mouth to ask before frowning. If he didn’t recognize it, maybe it wasn’t real. He’d been running into that a lot lately, better proceed with caution.

“Do you want to sleep in your old bed?” Alastor asked quietly and Vox’s eyes refocused on his familiar face. “Or you could sleep out here, if you’d like.”

“Where?” Vox asked, gaze drifting away as he caught a flash of light of out the corner of his eye. Oh. Just light coming in through the window. A hand caught the bottom of his screen and gently guided him back.

“Do you think you can stand?” Vox blinked and considered that. He wasn’t sure that he could. His legs felt like putty. Alastor frowned thoughtfully. “No, probably not right now, hm? That’s all right. I’ll help you.”

Alastor was taking care of him? He suspected it might be a trap, but he realized he didn’t care about that. Alastor could trap him – just so long as he took care of him while he had him.

Before Vox could stop himself, he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around Alastor’s waist to catch himself and forcing the Radio Demon back. He heard the startled huff of breath as Alastor’s backside hit the floor and buried his face against his chest before Alastor could shove him away. Error messages began to pop up rapidly now and he could feel himself dangerously overheating.

“D-don’t go,” he whispered into Alastor’s coat as he felt himself start to shut down. The weakening of his limbs was terrifying, and he clung as hard as he could to his old friend’s warmth. “Please don’t g-xz-o.”

“I won’t,” Alastor promised him, voice dim and growing quieter by the second. Vox sagged, feeling the last of his strength ebb away, and warm, familiar arms wrapped protectively around him. “I won’t leave you. Not anymore.”

Home. Home. This was home.

Notes:

And they both lived happily ever after. THE END.

Just kidding. But this does conclude part one of the story.

I'll be taking a short break from posting while I work on part two, but I'll continue to write (and post!) updates on my other series in the meantime. I'll be around and will respond to your comments as soon as I can.

Otherwise, enjoy the playlist until part two!
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3teTDwBM8D760C4gHnSQWS?si=58_IPtmFT_uwXGi0MGJKfw

Chapter 23: even your emotions have an echo in so much space

1925


If there was one thing that Vincent knew about Chester Pierce, it was that he was a bully. Kick a guy while he was down kind of bully. Pick on the littler kids until they cry kind of bully. Tug a girl’s pigtails hard enough to make her cry kind of bully.

If there was a second that he knew about Chester, it was that he was deathly afraid of snakes. Scream and hide kind of afraid. Even little garden snakes that Vincent was, unfortunately for Chester, not afraid of at all.

So, when Chester discovered the little green snake slithering quietly near his feet and screamed, Vincent had one glorious minute of sweet vengeance before Chester’s eyes zeroed in on his delight. Then, the penny dropped, and Vincent was on his feet, running for his life as Chester and his gang raced after him. Well, not before Chester had managed to land one lucky blow and bloodied his nose, that was – but he was ahead of them now and that was the important thing.

All because they couldn’t understand that it wasn’t funny to spill milk down the back of Ruthie Dobbs’ dress. She had cried and Vincent knew that wasn’t right. A man didn’t make a girl cry just because he could and Vincent knew, as a man himself, that he had to stand up for her even if that meant that he was now sprinting through the forest at full tilt.

Lucky for him that he was so quick. A natural born runner, as his old man would say. Which was a good thing, too, because if one was going to have a smart mouth, one either needed the fists to back it up or the speed to evade the consequences. Which was another thing his old man would say.

Vincent leaped over a hollowed-out tree trunk and fell to the ground, pressing his back against the rough wood as he listened for the distant footfalls of half-grown boys running after him. He panted as quietly as he could manage, pressing his fists against his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. To his surprise, he was not the only one in the woods that day. Sitting several trees ahead of him, Mrs. Dorothy Dean stared back at him, a book settled in her lap. Her surprise quickly morphed into suspicion.

“Vincent Walker, what are you doing running through the woods like a mad man?” she demanded, already marking her place in her book. Vincent winced and held up his finger to his lips. She frowned and glanced up to scan the area where Vincent had come from. “Did you get yourself into another spot of trouble, young man?”

Vincent opened his mouth to ask her to be quiet, please and thank you, but froze when he heard Chester Pierce’s obnoxiously nasal voice call out his name. He cringed and shrank back against the tree trunk, hoping that he was hidden enough to wait Chester out. Mrs. Dorothy’s eyes snapped up and she climbed to her feet as the footsteps of the other boys grew closer.

“Vincent, you rat, where are you?” Chester called. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”

Vincent shook his head frantically but Mrs. Dorothy had no patience for the squabbles of young boys and placed her hands on her hips as the boys’ footsteps came to a halt, crunching onto the fallen leaves of the forest floor before falling into silence. Vincent could see Mrs. Dorothy tapping her foot impatiently and almost, for a barest of seconds, felt sorry for Chester and his gang.

“Chester Pierce, I know you’re not out here chasing smaller children,” she snapped. There was a general shuffling of feet and mumbling before a single pair of shoes crunched forward.

“Mrs. Dorothy, you haven’t seen Vincent Walker, have you? Only, we’re looking for him and I think he might have come this way.” Vincent narrowed his eyes. Chester was trying to make himself sound harmless, but Vincent knew better. And Mrs. Dorothy was smart enough to know better, too.

“Do you really think I’d tell you boys if I had seen him?” she asked. After a moment, there was a general mumbling once more before one of the boys in Chester’s gang cleared his throat.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then you had better get yourself home before I take a notion to sit down with each and every one of your mothers and tell them that you’re running around out here chasing the little ones.” Vincent rolled his eyes. She didn’t need to bring the mothers into this. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chester muttered, and Vincent could hear him kick at the leaves.

“I didn’t hear you, Chester Pierce. Do I make myself clear?”

Chester huffed. “Yes, ma’am. We’re sorry. Don’t tell our mothers. Please, ma’am.”

“Get yourselves home right now,” she replied, and Vincent listened as the other boys griped quietly amongst themselves before heading off. Mrs. Dorothy waited a few minutes to make sure they were really gone before turning her attention back to Vincent. He looked up and watched as she fished a handkerchief from her dress pocket and crouched down in front of him. Vincent scowled as she dabbed at the blood on his upper lip and chin. “Oh, Vin. Whatever are we going to do with you?”

“They’re bullies,” he said stubbornly. “And you always tell me that isn’t anything worse in this world than a bully.”

“Yes, that’s true, but you can’t always fight back with your fists.” She finished wiping the blood from his face and frowned at the bloody handkerchief. “Sometimes, you have to fight them with your brain, too.”

Vincent crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “Chester hasn’t got any brains. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

Mrs. Dorothy laughed at that, and he finally cracked a smile. “All right, get up.” She took his hand and pulled him onto his feet, brushing some of the loose dirt and leaves from his clothes. “All of your insides still inside and all of your outsides still outside?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then, let’s you back home to your father before he worries himself sick about you.”

 

*

 

Six Months Ago

Following Vox’s trail hadn’t been easy. Whether or not he had done so intentionally, his signal was diverted to multiple locations, and after the second dead end, Alastor was forced to leave the shadows and do some old-fashioned tracking. Trying to focus on the strongest source of Vox’s signal was difficult, but once he was able to home in on it, it led him to the outskirts of the city. To the forest that would inevitably lead Vox to Alastor’s cabin.

What Vox thought he would do out here to hide, where there were precious few electrical currents to ride, Alastor wasn’t sure, but he knew he was on the right track when he found a small tree on fire, threatening to set the entire forest alight. He extinguished the fire and plucked the charred remains of Vox’s coat from the ground between two claws. A quick glance around didn’t reveal any indication that there had been a struggle, so Alastor continued deeper through the forest, plucking bits of fabric from the ground that Vox had undoubtedly discarded.

As he entered the small clearing where his cabin was settled, he swallowed and stared at the shimmering electrical field that surrounded his home. He’d never seen anything quite like this before and Alastor had spent ninety years in Hell – he’d seen a lot.

He squared his shoulders. Vox had to be in there – what else could possibly be responsible for that? He took a step forward and was immediately rewarded with a hard pulse of electricity to his chest, knocking him backwards a few steps. He pressed the flat of his hand against the smoking spot on his jacket and watched as the electricity snapped forward threateningly, but didn’t make contact this time.

Alastor raised his eyebrows. The electrical field continued to pulse and flare as he paced back and forth in front of it. After a few minutes of searching for a weak point, and finding nothing, he bent over to retrieve a stone from the ground. He tossed it in his hand a couple of times before flicking his wrist forward and sending the stone straight into the shield surrounding the cabin.

There was a loud burst of noise accompanied by a blinding white light before the stone exploded into so many grains of sand. Alastor barely managed to cover his eyes before the debris sailed right back towards him, slicing tiny cuts into his skin. He grimaced then summoned a shield of his own.

Well. It looked like he’d have to force his way through and hope for the best.

The sting of electrical energy seared against his skin, even though his own shield, occasionally charging strands of his hair so that they floated upwards and around his head in a crimson halo. Alastor immediately knew that he had followed Vox’s trail correctly, could feel the familiar radio waves of the other Overlord prickle strongly against his own, though they were so unpredictable, so full of errant spikes, that he wouldn’t have recognized them if he hadn’t already known what to anticipate.

He pushed himself through the pulsating waves of energy, relieved that he had been given enough time for his body to heal and was back to normal. He might have been torn apart with anything less than his full strength – even then, Vox’s power lashed at him hard enough to take his breath away. He bent over to rest his hands on his knees once he broke through the barrier, panting heavily.

Alastor stared at the front door of his cabin, unexpected nostalgia washing over him. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Vox had fled here, wasn’t really surprised, but his heart clenched at the thought that the other Overlord had come here, of all places. Where he had once felt safe, so many years ago.

“Vox?” he called gently as he opened the door, not sure what he was expecting to find.

He stilled at the threshold, fingers tightening around his microphone when he finally caught a glimpse of Vox. Huddled against the wall with his arms curled over the top of his head, the younger Overlord’s screen was completely black, a long crack running along the upper right corner. He wouldn’t have even thought that Vox was conscious but for the blast of terrified static crashing against him, forcing him to take a step back.

Alastor attempted to send soothing reassurance over their shared frequency, dismayed when Vox’s head snapped over towards him, screen brightening to reveal wide, unfocused eyes. Walking in with delicate, deliberate steps, Alastor finally stopped just in front of Vox before crouching down. He could taste the fear radiating from the television demon’s body.

“Al?”

“Hello, my dear.” Vox’s already enormous eyes managed to widen more, taking up more of his screen than Alastor had imagined was possible, and he cringed against the wall with a quiet sound. After a moment, his gaze finally locked in with Alastor’s and the Radio Demon let his smile soften. “I thought I might find you here.”

 

*

 

At least Lucifer did one thing right: the charred remains of Vox’s body had been repaired so completely that no one would have ever guessed that the Overlord had been anything but whole and intact. Apart from the mysterious crack on Vox’s screen, he looked like himself. But Alastor had only needed to take one look at Vox’s face to know that any repairs done had only been skin-deep.

Before his battery drained enough to force his body into a shut down, Vox hadn’t made much sense and Alastor wondered if all the energy he was discharging had damaged some of his internal circuitry. Though, considering the past twenty-four hours, Alastor was amazed that Vox was even able to string a sentence together at all to begin with. A drained battery was hardly the worst thing they had faced today.

And, as Alastor had no way to charge him – didn’t even know what precisely to try and summon – he held Vox in his arms, there on the floor of the living room, rocking back and forth as he listened to the wind whip against the cabin’s walls. He gradually moved them so that he could rest against the wall and slipped the temporary shield from his pocket and turned it on. He closed his eyes as the warm glow of angelic energy surrounded the cabin. Every ounce of infernal energy inside him commanded him to bolt from the threat that Lucifer’s magic posed, but instead, he breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Vox was here and safe from any outside threats.

He must have fallen asleep like that because when he opened his eyes again, Vox was no longer in his arms. His ears fell back against his head, and he looked around rapidly, only to find himself staring at one tired-looking King of Hell.

“Where is he?” Alastor asked, fear already building in his chest. “Where is Vox?”

Lucifer inclined his head slightly, eyes flicking towards the couch. Vox was curled onto his side, head propped up by a precarious stack of pillows and buried underneath one of the homemade quilts Alastor kept stashed around the cabin for colder evenings in Hell. A heavy black cord was plugged into the back of his head. Alastor stumbled upright and made his way over.

“You know, getting him charged would be a lot easier if you weren’t an off-the-grid survivalist weirdo,” Lucifer said as Alastor sank down on the edge of the couch. “Lucky for you, I am the King of Hell and can do things like summon a generator.”

Oh. That would explain the loud engine he could hear outside.

He let himself reach out and touch Vox’s shoulder through the blanket, breathing a sigh of relief at the soft sound the other Overlord made. Vox was still breathing. He was still alive. Alastor let his hand rest on Vox’s shoulder for a while, feeling the warmth of him seeping through the quilt reassuringly and closed his eyes.

“Did you set up your shield?” he asked quietly and listened to Lucifer hum affirmatively.

“It’s good to go. You two should be safe here until we can get things sorted out.” He heard Lucifer walk a few steps closer to the window. “I also put up some barriers so he can’t just zap himself away again. Don’t especially feel like chasing him down every time he spooks and flies away.”

Alastor sat quietly for a long time, listening to the sound of Vox’s breath slowly easing its way in and out of his chest. The gentle rhythm of it almost had Alastor slipping back under himself. He blinked his eyes open rapidly and glanced back at Lucifer.

“He doesn’t seem right,” he said slowly. Lucifer nodded.

“He did a number on his head there.” Alastor looked back down at Vox, trying to see what Lucifer meant. “Fried a bunch of computer-y bits in the old noggin. I healed what I could, but it’s probably better if someone who knows what they’re doing comes in to look at it.”

Alastor shook his head quickly. “No. Nobody’s coming here.”

“Too late,” Lucifer countered. “I already called in technical support.”

No, that would not be happening. Alastor was not going to let a stranger come in and touch Vox, regardless of whether he and the Devil himself stood guard while it all happened. He let black bleed into his eyes before glancing back at Lucifer who sighed.

“They’ll have to get through me first,” he growled.

“Unholy shit, Albert! It’s fucking I.T.” Alastor snarled softly, letting his antlers extend a bit. “What’s the worst thing they’re going to do with you hovering over them – turn him off then back on again?”

“I don’t care.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Fine, we’ll just have to figure something out. Otherwise, your buddy there is just going to wander around with his screwed-up circuitry until it miraculously self-repairs or you get fed up enough to let someone else help.”

“I’m remarkably stubborn.” Alastor held the King’s gaze until Lucifer finally shrugged.

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are.”

Yes, he was ridiculous, and he intended to remain ridiculous until Vox was able to sort himself out. They didn’t need any outside intervention, Alastor could handle this just fine. He turned back to Vox and patted his shoulder comfortingly, even though he doubted the other Overlord could feel it.

“We’ll be fine.”

 

*

 

Lucifer finally left. But not, of course, before informing Alastor that he arranged for back up to arrive in a few hours. Alastor privately thought to himself that should anyone be foolish enough to come knocking on his door, he would practice the old “eat first, ask questions later” adage that had frequently served him so well.

Of course, that was before Vox unplugged himself, climbed off the couch, and began to drive Alastor’s already frayed nerves to their breaking point. Alastor stayed as still as he could in the armchair he had settled in, watching while Vox took in his surroundings before the younger man began to pace.

The other Overlord’s eyes flitted back and forth, unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds, and he muttered under his breath so low that even Alastor couldn’t pick up what he was saying. Occasionally, Vox would jolt whenever his eyes settled on the older demon, sparks flying from his fingertips and antennae with what looked to Alastor like surprise. All the while, he paced, steadily wearing Alastor down.

Vox seemed determined to wear a footpath on the wooden floors as he continued to shuffle through the cabin in the same loop over, and over again. His arms hung mostly limp at his sides, but Alastor could hear a soft thump followed by scraping wood anytime Vox passed through the halls and knew that he was dragging his metal claws along the walls.

At least he had managed to get him back onto his feet, Alastor mused wryly. He hadn’t managed anything else, but he could at least pretend that he was helping now that Vox was wandering the house mindlessly instead of cowering in the corner like a kicked puppy, body braced as though he was expecting all of Hell to rain down on him.

It was only when he heard the faint strains of that accursed song begin to play through Vox’s speakers that Alastor leaned forward to drop his head into his hands, finally giving in to exhaustion. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself begin to tremble as the last twenty-four hours threatened to crash down on him.

He huffed out a breath in irritation. He did not have the luxury to fall apart now. This was his doing, after all – if he hadn’t been so headstrong and arrogant, maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here, listening to his old friend bury himself in madness while his own body threatened to give in to the fear and guilt and grief that he had been smothering for so long. He threaded trembling fingers into his hair, gave a sharp tug, and sucked in another deep breath.

A soft chittering drew his attention away from his own misery and Alastor opened his eyes to see his Shadow staring up at him, mouth turned down with a frown. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he quirked an eyebrow at the sad little creature, relief palpable that it had survived. He stretched out his hand and sighed when it jumped up from the floor, twisting around to settle over his shoulders. It nudged its head against his with a plaintive whine.

“I’m afraid it’s a waiting game now,” Alastor murmured softly, reaching up to stroke the funny creature’s ears while it worried at his collar. “I’m glad you’re all right, at least.”

A soft creak of wooden floorboards and he looked up to see that Vox had returned to the living room. As he watched, the other Overlord twisted his hands together, clenching them hard enough that a thin stream of blood began to drip from his palms. Alastor winced.

“Vox.” He was loathe to speak, fearing any interaction at this stage would just push his friend further into the madness that seemed determined to root itself in his mind. From the way Vox’s body instantly went rigid, his fears seemed to be well founded. “Why don’t you come rest for a bit?”

Vox turned, eye spinning erratically, and Alastor looked ever so slightly away to avoid any accidental hypnotism. He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if he fell under Vox’s hypnotism while he was in this state of mind. Would he go just as mad as Vox was himself? Best not to test that hypothesis.

The ambient noise surrounding Vox slowly lowered until Alastor could only hear his own crackling static. He hesitantly made eye contact with the television demon, relieved that his eye had stopped spiraling.

“Al?” Vox asked in small voice, as though he were afraid to make too much noise. His eyes were still entirely too wide.

Alastor instantly nodded. “Yes, it’s me. Come over and have a seat with me.” He gestured toward the other armchair beside the fireplace. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Brow furrowing, Vox resumed wringing his hands. He glanced between Alastor and the chair, looking for all the world like he was moments away from fleeing altogether.

“Mm, suit yourself.”

Alastor snapped an open book into his hands and lowered his gaze in feigned indifference. After a minute, he heard Vox shuffle closer until he was standing within arm’s reach. Sparks fell gently from his fingertips and Alastor waited to raise his eyes from the book until the younger man moved to the offered armchair and sat down. Vox pulled his legs up from the floor, pushed tightly against the back of the chair, and wrapped his arms around his knees.

He's up off the floor. He’s up off the floor. He’s up off the floor.

Alastor tolerated another ten minutes of silence before setting the book down in his lap. Vox followed the movement carefully.

“Why don’t I make us something to eat?” So many little troubles could be solved with a full belly. Vox didn’t reply, but the way his gaze flicked towards the kitchen for a moment was encouragement enough. “I’ll whip up one of your favorites, hm?”

Vox looked away, staring down at the soft pajamas that Alastor had summoned for him after he realized the state of his clothing. He raised a sharp-tipped claw and began to pluck at the fabric. After a moment, Alastor could hear a soft tearing noise and shook his head slightly. He’d have to make sure to stop at the Tower sooner rather than later for clothing if Vox was going to shred everything Alastor put on him.

With a soft, cheerful hum, Alastor stood slowly. He could see Vox’s fingers slip in surprise, slicing into his leg. Not that the younger man seemed to notice the blood now freely flowing from his thigh. Alastor decided to ignore it, telling himself that it would heal on its own anyways, and made his way into the kitchen.

Here was something he could do. He gathered what he needed from the cupboards before glancing in the refrigerator that Vox had forced him to purchase in the 1970s. Half-irritated at the presumption, Alastor began to make selections from the fresh produce and meats that Lucifer had undoubtedly stocked while Alastor had been sleeping. He begrudgingly made a mental note to thank the King later for what appeared to be genuine Mortal realm supplies – he knew Vox would eat Hellish meats and produce (he didn’t have much choice), but the younger man always preferred what he called “real chicken” and “real potatoes” to the Hellish versions. It wasn’t like it was all the much different, once one got past the fact that Hell potatoes bled when they were diced up, and Alastor had always been considerate enough to ensure that Vox was not part of the cooking process once the younger Sinner had made that discovery.

With strips of chicken frying on the stove top and diced, seasoned potatoes roasting in the oven, Alastor peeked back into the living room to check on Vox. The younger man was still in the armchair where Alastor had left him, staring blankly into the crackling fireplace. Even from this distance, Alastor could see that Vox was making quick work of the pajama bottoms, fraying them slowly but surely, thread by careful thread.

Alastor shook his head and ducked back into the kitchen, checking on the chicken before taking another look in the refrigerator. To his surprise, he noticed several glass bottles of Mortal realm soda pop, in various flavors. He selected one and opened it before placing it on the kitchen table alongside the place setting he had put out for Vox, hoping that the crackling sounds of frying chicken (if not the aroma itself) would grab Vox’s interest.

He carefully plated their meals, making sure that Vox had the better pieces of chicken and more potatoes than Alastor himself (partly, if he were being honest, because he had grown to prefer Hell potatoes and the Mortal realm’s version were just not as satisfying anymore). Alastor walked carefully to the entrance of the kitchen and peeked out to where Vox was still seated. He allowed his frequency to brush against Vox’s gently, wincing a little when Vox’s head snapped over to him, claws tensing against his own legs.

“Would you like to something to eat?” Alastor asked softly and Vox blinked. “I’ve made chicken and potatoes.”

“Real potatoes?” Vox asked and Alastor’s smile softened.

“Yes, real potatoes. What else would I make for you?”

Vox hummed and glanced back at the fireplace, stilling for just long enough that Alastor started to worry again. He would need to eat eventually, and Alastor wasn’t looking forward to having to force the issue if it came to that. Thankfully, though, Vox looked back at him and nodded slightly before getting to his feet. He didn’t appear uncoordinated, so Alastor only watched as he made his way with alarming slowness through the living room before hesitating on the threshold to the kitchen.

“Did I…?”

Alastor sat down at his own place setting, carefully picking up his fork before looking up at Vox. “Yes, my dear?”

“Have I missed a meeting?” Vox asked. “Only… I think I missed a meeting today. I should… I should check my calendar, right?”

Alastor gestured to the plate across from his. “No, don’t trouble yourself with that. I rescheduled everything that needed to be rescheduled and cancelled anything that didn’t,” he lied with ease, hoping that someone had the wherewithal somewhere at VoxTek to have done that. “Come eat before your lunch gets cold.”

“Oh.” Vox walked to his chair and sat down, staring blankly at his plate for a minute before a frown crept over his face. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t worry,” Alastor replied, spearing a potato with his fork and popping it into his mouth. “I invited you for lunch.”

“Not that.” Vox copied Alastor and carefully put a small bite of potato into his mouth. He chewed for a bit before swallowing roughly. “I died, Al. Really died.”

Alastor looked down at his plate for a few seconds before meeting Vox’s gaze straight on. “I know.”

There was a burst of grating digital feedback and Alastor winced, though Vox didn’t seem to notice. He set his fork down with careful deliberateness and pushed away from the table. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m hungry.”

“Vox, wait–”

A heavy knock rattled the front door on its hinges and Vox’s eyes widened fearfully as his head whipped around to focus on the sound. Sparks popped off from his antennae and Alastor jumped up. Vox immediately copied his movement, knocking his own chair back onto the kitchen floor with a crash. Torn between comforting the other Overlord and making the knocking stop, Alastor held his hands up in front of himself placatingly as he moved as slowly and smoothly as he could.

“It’s only the door,” he assured the younger man. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone in.”

Vox backed towards the wall, letting his back slam against the wood. His hand twisted the hem of his shirt into a knot as he stared with visible fright towards the front door. Alastor made it out of the room before racing to the front door, teeth and claws growing as he moved and prepared himself to tear off the head of whichever “I.T.” demon Lucifer had sent to torment Vox with now. He flung the door open and stood still.

“Ding dong, Avon ladies,” Rosie said brightly, gesturing to herself and Dot.

The little ferret Sinner held a briefcase in her hand and what looked like a backpack strapped to her back. She narrowed her eyes up at Alastor and the Radio Demon took a step back.

“Where is he?” she demanded with no pretense of nicety. “Don’t think you’re going to stand in my way, Alastor.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dot swept into the cabin like she owned it, eyes darting around suspiciously before she set the briefcase down. Rosie followed her and reached out to squeeze Alastor’s shoulder. He instantly placed his hand over hers, suddenly feeling that there were no people in the world who had ever made him so happy before. No, not happy, exactly. Relieved.

She glanced around before heading towards the kitchen, perhaps drawn by the smell of a freshly cooked meal. Too clever by half, Dot was.

“Dot, wait.” Dot glanced over her shoulder, pausing as Alastor spoke. “He’s not doing well.”

“No, I wouldn’t imagine he would be.” She marched into the kitchen and Alastor all but flew in after her, suddenly filled with a terror that she wouldn’t be able to fight him off if Vox decided to lash out. He hadn’t yet, but he wasn’t sure what Vox would do right now – any comfort offered from predictability was strictly off the table at this point.

And his fear wasn’t unfounded. Vox was still pressed firmly against the wall, but sparks of electricity were crackling around his body threateningly as Dot entered the room, closely followed by Alastor and Rosie. Alastor quickly summoned his shadows, planning to drop the ladies through the Void and back into the safety of living room, when Vox’s hypnotic eye focused solely on Alastor. The world instantly grew hazy and Alastor felt himself releasing his control over his own magic, struggling to look away.

“Vincent Walker, don’t you dare!” He heard the command from a distance. “You let him go right now or so help me!”

Alastor gasped suddenly as Vox’s hypnotism eased and found himself staggering against Rosie before he could help himself. All five feet of Dot was standing in front of the Overlord and Mayor, her pointer finger thrust in his direction and a stern expression on her face. Still struggling out of the haze, Alastor blinked in astonishment as Vox’s powers withdrew and he stared down at Dot in consternation. He folded his hands in front of him while Dot slung the backpack off and set it down on the ground.

“Come here,” she commanded, and Vox did. Dot beckoned for him to bend over so that she could catch the sides of his screen in her hands, and they stared at one another. “All your insides still inside and all your outsides still outside?” Vox’s mouth quivered for a moment before he nodded. “Good. Then go sit down and let me look at you.”

Alastor watched in stunned silence as Vox obeyed her wordlessly and sat down at the table while she unzipped the backpack. She glanced over her shoulder. “If you want to be useful, you could retrieve my briefcase.”

Rosie chuckled quietly and left to retrieve said briefcase while Alastor continued to watch with wide eyes while Dot shoved their dishes to the far end of the table before laying out a clean microfiber cloth over the end where Vox was seated. She began laying out various tools that she scooped out of the backpack, along with other technological components that Alastor didn’t recognize. Dot made quick work of setting up the laptop inside the briefcase once Rosie returned, holding a cable loosely in her hand as she stared at Vox.

“I’m going to need to plug you in,” she said. It was clear that she expected his compliance, but her tone softened a little as she made eye contact with the seated Overlord. Vox’s hand reached out and caught hers, squeezing it for a few seconds before he nodded and turned his head to give her a better angle. She plugged the cable into the side of his head, taking a moment to pat him softly before she cleared her throat. “All right. Let’s get you sorted.”

Rosie slipped her arm around Alastor’s and gave him a little pull. He blinked at her. “Come on, Alastor. They need a little space, don’t you think?”

With one last glance at the mismatched pair, Alastor followed Rosie back out into the living room. She gestured to the couch, and he obediently took a seat. The warm weight of her settled down beside him and, before Alastor could protest, he felt her arm around his shoulder, tugging him down. He found himself with his head in Rosie’s lap and curled onto his side, threading his fingers into his hair. Vox was broken. Everything was broken.

“There, now,” she soothed quietly, stroking his hair and ears gently. Alastor’s breath caught in his throat, and he turned to press his face against the fabric of her dress. To his surprise, the tears that hadn’t come earlier began to stream from his eyes and he pressed harder against Rosie, desperately trying to stay as quiet as possible. “It’s all right now. Vox is here and he’s safe. Dot’s looking after him now. Alastor?”

“What?” he whimpered against her dress.

“Do you understand? Nothing is going to come after him here.” He shook his head. Why was Rosie being so understanding? Was she not aware that this, all of this, was his fault? “We can talk more about it later, but you’re safe here, too.”

Alastor didn’t respond besides shifting his weight enough to allow him to wrap his arm around her waist, clinging to her like a buoy in a stormy sea. And then he let the waves of grief and guilt overwhelm him.

 

*

 

Present Day

In the city below, Hell went about its business as usual. Violence and chaos, occasionally peppered with cold malice and premeditated crimes committed with impunity because it was Hell, and it was all part of the divine punishment for their sins.

Vox raised his drink to his mouth and took a slow sip. He had eyes everywhere, watching everything possible and yet he still couldn’t find the two people he had been scouring Hell for relentlessly for the past five months. No matter how many hours he spent scanning every screen, sending drones out knowing full well that they wouldn’t return, and driving himself over and over back to the brink, he could never find them.

Not that he was entirely sure what he would do if he did find them. Turning them over to the King and Queen of Hell would be the smart thing to do. Just giving Lucifer their coordinates would be the logical, intelligent thing to do. But, lately, Vox wasn’t feeling quite so logical. Quite so intelligent. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t just rush to them himself and destroy himself trying to bring them down on his own.

And, sure, he could call Alastor, and they could go down together, and wouldn’t that just be so very poetic? Romantic, even? Vox didn’t doubt that Alastor would do that for him, so mired in his own guilt and grief at this point that his permanent smile strained the edges of his face. All Vox needed to do was ask and Alastor would jump. And all it took was Vox’s death and sanity to finally achieve Alastor’s unwavering devotion.

He took another sip of his drink as he heard the soft tap of Valentino’s shoes approaching from behind. His eyes flicked up to the glass so that he could take in the other Overlord’s appearance. It had been a long six months and they were finally starting to reach an equilibrium. Valentino had stopped coddling him and Vox had mostly stopped flinching away from him every time Val tried to offer him any comfort. Mostly.

“Voxy, baby? Are you planning to sleep tonight?” Valentino asked, gracefully sliding up behind him. Vox’s fingers tightened around his glass, but he kept himself from wincing when Val’s arm looped around his waist, pulling him gently against the taller demon. “You’ve been staring out the window for hours now. I’m starting to worry.”

“Don’t worry,” he answered automatically. “I’m just looking.”

Val wrapped another arm around him and Vox distracted himself with his drink. “They’re not down there, you know?”

“I know.” He allowed himself to be held in Valentino’s embrace for another minute before he shrugged restlessly. “I should get back to work anyways.”

Valentino dropped his arms, and Vox could see his frown in the reflection in the window. “You could come to bed with me.” This time, he couldn’t hold back his discomfort and tried to hide his wince by looking down at the floor. “Just to sleep, Vox. That’s all.”

“I’m busy,” he replied hurriedly and ducked away, catching the hurt expression on Valentino’s face as he tossed the remainder of his drink down his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning, all right?”

He set the glass down and turned around to face his partner, folding his hands behind his back. Valentino might not notice that they were shaking if they were hiding where he couldn’t see. Even now, even in his own home, he couldn’t risk any appearance of weakness. He walked over to Val, reached out and caught the other man’s hand in his own, pressing a kiss to Valentino’s knuckles.

“In the morning. I promise.” He gave Val a crooked smile. “I’ll make you coffee.”

Valentino continued to frown as Vox let go of his hand and he made a mental note to do something nice like send him flowers or chocolates or some other bullshit thing so that he didn’t have to deal with the guilt of continuing to disappoint Val. He walked out of the penthouse, closing the door carefully behind himself, and shut his eyes. After a few seconds to compose himself, Vox took a deep breath and walked to the elevator.

He had a long night ahead of him.

Notes:

Hi all! Tags have been updated to reflect (some) of what to expect in part two. Not everything, of course - more specific warnings will applied to individual chapters.

Enjoy!

Chapter 24: oh, sinnerman, where you gonna run to?

Summary:

Content warnings at the end

1935


Alastor had an interesting week. Not good, no, not that, but certainly interesting.

It had all started when he was approached during one of his evening strolls. The demon had introduced himself as Lantern Jack (which was a very silly name, indeed, but not everyone was competent enough to select a decent name for themselves upon their death) and he had made the very enormous mistake of thinking that Alastor owed him something because of his title. Alastor had been very patient to start because he was a gentleman, but sometimes people just didn’t understand the word “no” unless they were the ones saying it.

Like he had said “no” over and over again as Alastor shredded his pathetic soul and added his screams to his broadcast. It was quite the achievement to murder the Mayor of Pentagram City, quite the feather in his cap. Of course, Alastor hadn’t realized what murdering a disgusting specimen like Lantern Jack would lead to – more power than he could handle and the attention of a mysterious voice that beckoned him to draw closer.

Alastor had followed the voice through a softly glowing purple portal and stumbled upon a tall, imposing woman who only smiled at him. Alastor knew smiles, Alastor had all but invented smiles, thank you very much, and he knew this one, too. If he had any sense, he would’ve at least run away before she flicked her wrist and closed the portal behind him. Still, it was something of a relief as the newfound power that had been whipping at him like the branches of a tree in a storm suddenly faded until he could hear himself think once more.

She smiled at him as he slumped in relief, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as the new power was tamped down by the mysterious woman. “That’s quite a lot of power for such a young Sinner. How did you acquire it?"

“Would you believe I spawned into Hell with it?” he asked, tucking his hands neatly behind his back as she circled him. Straightened his spine. Fixed his face, corrected his smile. She chuckled softly behind him, the sound of her voice melodic but with the sharp underpinning of malice.

“No, I would not.” Alastor flinched as icy fingers brushed across the nape of his neck, but whatever little bit of self-preservation he had left commanded him not to turn and lash out at her. Instead, he felt his ears started to twitch in agitation and narrowed his eyes as she circled back around in front of him. “No Sinner spawns into Hell with this kind of power. Not even one like you.” She tapped her fingers together. “I’ll give you a second chance to be honest with me.”

Alastor’s stomach twisted suddenly as he started to realize he probably shouldn’t have followed her voice into this stone cell. “I killed a powerful demon.”

“There we go,” she hummed, seemingly pleased. “Tell me all about that.”

He spent hours in her prison, telling her about his encounter with Lantern Jack, over and over again, until he was certain she was toying with him. Eventually, his throat was too dry to continue, and his legs felt weak from standing in place for so long. Only when his voice cracked, and he stumbled back did she raise her hand for him to stop.

“You’ll be useful, I can tell.” She stood from her stone throne and climbed down to stand directly in front of him. Alastor’s ears fell flat against his head, and he felt himself shrink back before he could stop himself. Her smile was blade sharp as she gazed down at him. “We’re going to have some fun together, little demon.” She pinched his chin between her pointed claws and tilted his head up, turning his head slightly to either side. “Mm, yes. We’re going to have a lot of fun, me and you.”

Well, Alastor couldn’t say that what had happened next was his idea of fun (though perhaps he might have found it more entertaining if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of the fun), but she had eventually released him from the chair she strapped him in with an offer. If he wanted his freedom, wanted to return to Hell, she would give him the opportunity – but only if he agreed to sign his soul to her and do her bidding.

He countered her offer with the omittance of his soul and promised to do her bidding until she achieved her revenge (these types always had a revenge fantasy, and he had been right on the button as soon he spoke, judging by the way her eyebrow quirked up ever so slightly) or until he experienced double death. Granted that didn’t really give him much wiggle room, but since he was certain she was planning to extinguish his soul if he didn’t agree anyways, he was willing to go from absolutely no room to a sliver. After all, Alastor was nothing if not resourceful – and he had an eternity to figure out how to get out of her grasp.

Then, before she could seal the deal, he threw in a caveat: she would help him to contain his newly acquired power and conceal it from Hell at large.

Governing was not a responsibility that Alastor had any interest in.

 

*

 

1965

Niffty was so excited she was buzzing.

Another bad boy. Living in the same home as she was, under the same roof, just down the hall from where she slept. Oh! She would be able to watch him sleep if she wanted to – and she very, very much wanted to. He told her that he didn’t think his face could show her cartoons, but she bet it would if she waited until he was sleeping. She wondered what he dreamed about – maybe he’d give her some inspiration for her writer’s block.

She watched with barely concealed glee as Alastor’s favorite bad boy, the baddest of all the boys, carried a cardboard box into the cabin and set it down on the floor near the couch. Niffty sat with her hands folded in her lap, like Alastor had asked her to do, and watched with rapt fascination. He gave her a smile, tucking his hand in his pocket.

“Hey, there, Niffty,” Vox called and Niffty’s eye grew even wider. She managed to twist a fold of her dress between her fingers while keeping her hands folded in her lap. Her body thrummed with unspent energy. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Staying out from under foot,” she told him. No, she couldn’t keep her hands folded. She gestured towards the door. “Alastor said I’d break someone’s neck.”

Vox blinked, glancing at where she was pointing, vaguely confused. Gee, gosh, she liked that. She wanted to make him make that confused little face again, maybe only just for her. That would be her special face. “Oh. I guess it’s good you’re over there, then.”

“I won’t break your neck,” she promised, voice rising in pitch before she managed to get herself back under control. She clapped her hands together breathlessly. What an exciting day! “You’re Alastor’s special friend.”

“Niffty!” Alastor walked into the cabin as Vox’s screen started to turn a very pretty shade of pink. She grinned and leaned forward – she really liked it when he blushed. Oh, she really, really hoped that Alastor would make him blush all the time. “We talked about this.”

“I know.” And she just couldn’t help herself – she had to see his screen up close with that pretty color on his screen. She darted forward, scrambled up Vox using his sweater to cling to, and stared deep into his wide eyes. “But he’s so pretty, Alastor!”

“Uh…” Vox caught her underneath her legs, keeping her from slipping down. The fabric of her dress crinkled softly as she shifted her weight, and she scrambled up so that she could press her hands on either side of his very curious head. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome!” Niffty pressed her face forward to feel the staticky prickle of his screen against her skin and giggled. “You’re going to sleep right down the hall.” She sucked in a breath before continuing. “Right down the hall from where I sleep. It’s almost like we’ll be sleeping together. Almost!” She giggled a little more desperately. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

“No,” Alastor said quickly and Niffty felt something pluck at the back of her dress, lifting her out of Vox’s arms. Much to her very great disappointment. No matter. They had so much time to spend together! She was spun slowly until she was facing Alastor. “Niffty, you must ask before you climb on Vox.”

“It’s okay.”

“It certainly is not.” Oh, Alastor was mad? That wouldn’t do. “Niffty is a well-mannered little lady, and it is certainly not proper for her to just throw herself on any young man who crosses her path. Isn’t that right?”

Niffty crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, continuing to slowly turn. She waited until she was facing Vox once more before nodding. “I promise I won’t climb on the bad boy unless he asks me to.”

Vox glanced at Alastor. “Thanks, Niffty.”

Alastor set her back down on the ground. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something moving and instantly fished into her dress for her needle. Vox took a quick step back, but that was fine. She needed to take care of this before she finished her conversation with him anyways.

By the time she finished executing the small bug family that thought they were going to move in on the same day as her new bad boy, Alastor and Vox had finished putting away his belongings and were comfortably chatting in the living room. Niffty wiped down her needle (as every good swordswoman ought to do – couldn’t put a weapon away dirty, just imagine!) and hurried over to stand close to Vox’s legs, staring up at them as they discussed what needed to be done before the day was over.

It was so domestic, she could scream!

Maybe she would, once she was alone in bed and could press her mouth into her pillow. But, right now, she settled for folding her hands in front of her as Alastor snapped his microphone into existence and glanced down at Niffty.

“I should be off – the business of show waits for no man, or demon, as the case may be. Make sure that you keep on eye on Vox for me,” he instructed. Niffty nodded obediently.

“I’ll keep the bad boy in line.”

Alastor patted her on the head. “That’s a good girl!” He glanced over at Vox, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. He reached out and patted Vox’s head before the other demon could duck away. “You two behave now.”

Niffty’s heart just about stopped when Vox caught his hand and tugged Alastor closer. Almost as if he wasn’t even thinking about it (how romantic!), Vox leaned in and pressed a kiss to Alastor’s lips.

Oh! It was happening!

She suffered from great disappointment when the high-pitched squeal that escaped her made the two bad boys jump apart. But Vox’s face was almost as red as Alastor’s hair and that almost made it worth it. She was going to have to learn how to be so, so quiet and then they would kiss more. And do other things, too, if she was lucky.

Oh, she was sure that they would do other things.

“Be good,” Alastor admonished her. “Or don’t. I don’t care, but don’t burn down the house, either way.”

Niffty watched with buzzing intensity as Vox made his way over to one of the armchairs near the fireplace, slowing down just enough to scoop up one of his very shiny magazines from the end table. She thought for a moment and decided that promising not to climb on Vox did not include climbing onto the armchair he was sitting in. So, she did just that, forcing his arm off the armrest so that she could settle herself next to him. He glanced at her with a grin and tilted the magazine.

“Do you want to read with me?” he asked. Niffty nodded and stared hard at the side of his head until he turned more fully to face her. “What?”

“I’m supposed to ask before I climb on you.”

He blinked then nodded. “You can climb on me.”

Niffty instantly scrambled up onto the top of his head, settling onto her stomach, hands bracing her chin upright. Vox’s head wobbled for a moment, and she felt him shift in the chair until he was evenly braced. Niffty patted the top of his head gratefully once she was level.

“Alastor likes you,” she told him, grinning when the magazine slipped a little in his hands. “You’re his favorite. You know that, right?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far–” Niffty scooted forward and tipped her head down over the front of his screen. Vox blinked back at her.

“You are.” She patted his silly face reassuringly. Oh, yes, he was a very silly bad boy. So silly, but she liked that about him. “I know these things.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and she wanted to kiss him in delight when his face started to flush pink again. She decided it was her new favorite shade of all the pink shades. Even more than flamingo and that had been her very favorite for such a long time. But, no, she liked this shade of pink best now. “How do you know these things?”

Niffty slid back onto the top of his head and studied his antennae. She could flick it and see what he would do, but then she remembered that he didn’t always like when she did that. She would have to ask before she touched his antennae. Wait. He’d asked her a question, hadn’t he?

“Oh, I was married,” she replied after she remembered what he had asked.

“What?” Vox tipped his head back in surprise and Niffty had to grab onto the side of his head to keep from being knocked off. “Sorry. But… I mean, what?”

“I was married,” she repeatedly slowly. She had thought she had enunciated properly, but maybe she was sitting on one of his ears. Niffty wasn’t sure how his head worked. “Back when I was alive, of course. Haven’t found the right bad boy down here yet.” She giggled. “But you did, and now we get to be housewives together!”

“I’m not a housewife,” Vox said, a little defensively. He was just too cute! She could almost see the scowl on his face.

“Then why are you home with me while Alastor goes off to work?” Vox was quiet. So cute, he was just so cute! “See? Housewives.” She thought about it for a moment. “But, you have to get married first if you want to be a housewife with me. Even if your husband ends up dying before you do.”

“What happened to your husband?” Vox asked cautiously.

Niffty flicked one of his antennae happily, forgetting herself. But he still rewarded her with a tiny little pop of electricity off the end and she hummed contentedly. “Oh, him? He died.”

“Yeah?” Vox shifted his weight ever so slightly. “How’d he die? He get sick or something?”

“No, no!” She laughed. “I stabbed him, silly goose. Mostly in the chest, but a little bit in the throat, too.” She patted his head again. “And shh, it’s a secret, but I stabbed him in the naughty bits, too, just because.”

Vox’s laugh sounded a little strained and that made Niffty sad. She wanted him to feel at home. Maybe she could make him a Jello mold – she had a nice new recipe book that she had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to break out. A housewarming dinner would be such a good reason.

“Do you like pineapple?” she asked.

“Um. Yes?”

“Oh, good! I have the perfect recipe for pineapple cheese Jello salad, and you’ll love it!” She was pretty sure he would. She hadn’t made it yet, but he liked pineapple so it should be a hit. Vox turned a page in his magazine and Niffty pointed quickly. “What’s that?”

Vox chuckled. “Okay, where do I start?”

Niffty didn’t really pay any attention as her new bad boy began to ramble on about the glossy pictures in his magazine. Instead, she closed her eyes and curled her legs up a little tighter, listening to the deep tenor of his voice. After a while, she could barely understand the words coming out of his mouth and sighed.

It was very nice to have two bad boys all to herself.

 

*

 

Six Months Ago

“Hurry!”

Velvette tightened her grip on Vox’s hand and pulled as hard as she could. They needed to keep moving, keep running but Vox kept stopping to stare up at the roiling black clouds above them with fearful eyes. No matter how hard she pulled his hand or screamed at him to keep going, he would stop. Pointed up at the clouds wordlessly before turning to stare at her with a heartbroken expression. She felt tears spilling down her face, splashing onto the ground before mingling with the acid rain that fell from the sky.

“Please, Vox,” she begged, wrapping her arms around his middle and trying to force him along. “We have to go. We can’t stay out in the rain.”

He just stood still, shaking his head and rain began to fall more heavily, sizzling against the plastic and metal casing that made up his head. Did he even notice it? Did he even feel it burning away at his face as he watched the heavy, blacker clouds began to drop from the sky, heading straight towards them?

“Come on,” Velvette gasped as the clouds began to close in around them, darkness overtaking everything but the blue glow of his screen. She pressed herself to his chest, burying her face in his jacket. “Don’t just stand there. Please don’t let it take you.”

Her arms were suddenly empty, and she whipped around to watch Vox standing still as darkness swirled around him, his screen fading with each passing second. Velvette reached out to catch his hand as the nothingness engulfed him, leaving her completely in the dark.

“Babydoll, wake up,” she heard as she opened her mouth to scream. With a jolt, her eyes flew open, and her arms flailed out to catch herself. It took only seconds to recognize where she was as a high-pitched keen was torn from her throat. She felt herself being sat up as a set of arms wrapped around her, two more brushing her hair back from her face. “Come on, Vel. You’re safe.”

“Vox!” she gasped, desperate to find his familiar face, but... no.

Her eyes shot up at stare at Valentino’s concerned expression before she sagged against him with a sob. Instantly, his arms tightened around her, and she was pulled close to his chest, his wings wrapping themselves around her.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered. “It was only a bad dream.”

Velvette clung to him, worried that he might disappear, too. “Val… he’s gone. He wouldn’t come with me,” she wept bitterly against his chest. “I couldn’t help… I tried…”

He didn’t answer, only stroked her hair and rocked her gently back and forth until her tears stopped. Gradually, she relaxed against him and felt herself slowly being lowered back onto the bed. Quiet words were being murmured to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to listen closely enough to understand.

“Go back to sleep,” Val told her gently and she nodded, refusing to let him go as she sank back into sleep.

 

*

 

For all the barriers that Lucifer himself had put in place to block prying eyes and keep Vox in place, there was nothing he could do to stop her from using the Ever Watchful to peer into her former thrall’s home. Eve noted with bitter satisfaction that the television demon was just as damaged as he had been when she had fled the Hotel with Michael at her side. Sure, Lucifer had fixed his body and poured his soul back into it like water, but his mind was so charmingly fractured. Hadn’t Lucifer learned yet that the mind wasn’t just something he could snap his fingers and fix?

At first, the demon seemed stunned and flinched away from everything that came too close. Except for Alastor. Silly man let the Radio Demon get close to him again, had dove right back into his arms, desperate for comfort and protection. Which was fine – Alastor would betray him again, like he always did, and she would be able to scoop him back up as soon as they let their guard down. He might even go willingly, if she could figure out how to get Alastor back on a leash again.

But the true balm after her only halfway successful attempt, was watching him decompensate further despite any interventions they tried to come up with. His little secretary bunked down in the cabin with them, tirelessly running diagnostics and swapping out burnt circuitry every time he overloaded them. It was delicious how each time they finished a round of repairs he seemed to improve temporarily only to rapidly decline within hours.

Alastor had to know what was happening, judging by the careful way he would move around Vox during those times. Maybe the television demon was broadcasting his thoughts over their shared frequency (that she had never managed to tap into, try as she might) or perhaps he just noticed the way Vox would zero in on him the moment Alastor would enter a room. Not once letting the Radio Demon out of sight, tense in a way he wasn’t when he was alone. Muttering to himself at times, just enough that she knew he wasn’t sure whether he was looking at Alastor or some illusion of him that his malfunctioning circuitry was producing.

Oh, and how she laughed the first time when he lashed out violently at Alastor, using the full force of his electricity to try to stop the Radio Demon’s heart, only to seize up as it overloaded his own body and dropped him to the floor, very dead. Alastor’s Overlord friend had comforted him while Vox regenerated and once more when the mayor tried it again. When Lucifer himself returned and discovered that Vox had already died twice, he promptly put a restriction on any magical powers being used within the cabin. Oh, and he didn’t like that, poor little picture box.

Without the ability to use any of his powers, Vox became a wonderfully feral creature, lashing out viciously when he realized what was happening. She focused in the first time he swung his claws out, tearing the ferret demon’s sleeve and leaving behind a bloody gash before Alastor caught him in a bear hug from behind. He snapped his teeth down towards the deer demon’s arms and an undeterred Alastor dragged him back.

“Vox, stop!” Alastor begged. She laughed in delight at the desperation in her former thrall’s voice. “Please, you have to stop!”

“Get off me!” the other Overlord screamed, thrashing against his hold. He tried to use his claws and teeth to free himself, occasionally kicking back behind him to try and free himself, only to have each attempt land right back on himself. Credit where credit was due. Despite his obvious distress, Alastor did not release Vox, holding him closely to limit his range of motion and the damage he was doing. Vox was bruised and bloodied by the time he slumped in the Radio Demon’s arms, sobbing with exhaustion. “You’re fucking dead, you died! I saw you do it!”

“I know,” Alastor answered. “I know you saw it. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not even here!” Vox gave another hard thrash, throwing his head back to smash his head against Alastor’s face, only to let out an anguished shout as his screen cracked into thin spiderwebs of jagged glass. He tried to double over, gasping through the pain, but Alastor didn’t let him go. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry,” Alastor whimpered, clutching the other man close to his chest. He sank down to the ground with Vox, pressing his forehead against the back of the television demon’s head as Vox wept miserably in his arms. The younger Overlord’s body shook with despair, and he finally stopped trying to wrestle his way from Alastor’s hold. His tears dried, and he stared blankly ahead, screen still flushed and breathing uneven. Alastor rocked back and forth, murmuring softly as he held Vox securely in place. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m real. I’m real, Vox.”

When Lucifer returned once more to make sure that his precious shield was still holding, Alastor begged him to suspend the mayoral contract, at least until Vox was healed.

“It won’t be forever – you don’t think I understand how contracts work?” Alastor snapped at the King. “But he can’t keep doing this. He doesn’t understand that he’s hurting himself. He thinks he’s fighting me and I’m the one hurting him.”

Oh, how Lucifer did hate to get involved in the contracts of Sinners, but he caved readily enough and granted a temporary suspension of their contract. And, as much as she did enjoy watching Vox pummel himself with no apparent comprehension that he was responsible for his own pain, she liked it even more when he was finally able to land his blows on the Radio Demon.

The second time he attacked Alastor, the television demon had more luck and even managed to slice open Alastor’s arms before he was brought down onto the ground. She was quite impressed, really, with the sheer amount of damage that he was able to inflict. He nearly managed to throw the older Overlord off him before the Radio Demon straddled him and pinned his wrists to the ground. And, oh, the horrified expression on his face was worth all the times she peeked in on them and there was nothing but uneasy silence.

“Don’t,” he gasped, going so very still. A slow smile spread over her lips as she watched him start to tremble. “Let me up. I’ll stop, I promise, please… I won’t fight anymore, I’ll be good. Please, just… just let me up?”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Alastor panted from the exertion of finally subduing his friend. He closed his eyes and lowered his forehead until he was resting against Vox’s chest. The younger man stared up at the ceiling, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I promise. Vox? I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

After a long time, the tension drained from his body and Alastor sat up enough to watch Vox’s eyes squeeze tightly shut, tears starting to leak from the corners. She half-hoped that it would be a ploy to get the Radio Demon to release him so that he could fight back again, but he only raised his hands to press against his eyes when Alastor let go of his wrists.

“I hate this,” Vox whispered, and Alastor climbed off him, laying down beside him on the floor. “I want to go home.”

“I know.” Alastor nodded, clearly exhausted, and closed his eyes. “I know you do.”

Eventually, Vox lowered his hand to reach for Alastor and the Radio Demon immediately took it. After an hour, he struggled to sit back up again, Alastor mirroring his movements. She was certain he would retreat to the room that they had set up for him, but instead he reached back out and wrapped his arms around the Radio Demon, clinging to him with tired desperation.

After a few more of these incidents, she was pleased to see Vox withdraw back into himself and grow quiet and docile. Perhaps some of the repairs that the little ferret demon was making to his electronic components were finally starting to stick or, more likely, he had resigned himself to his situation like he had under Doctor Bell’s guardianship.

The early confusion seemed to have taken hold again and he now wandered aimlessly through the cabin, only resting when prompted. Even then, he only stayed asleep for short periods before getting back up again. He asked Alastor strange questions and seemed to get lost in his thoughts frequently, allowing himself to be guided through the cabin by his companions’ gentle hands, and even pressed himself into their embraces occasionally. She smiled cruelly whenever he reached out for Alastor and the older man wrapped him into a protective hug, expression pained even as he comforted his old friend.

She preferred that he stay in this condition, quiet and reconciled to his fate. While she was more than capable of subduing him herself, it would be easier if he came along peacefully when she finally had the opportunity to snatch him back.

“Should we just go in after him before they can fix him?” Michael asked, approaching her from the side and peering through the Ever Watchful’s eyes. She reached down and clasped his hand in hers. Well, not his hand, but that was all right for now. They would find something more appropriate soon enough. She watched as the Radio Demon guided Vox back towards his bed once more before shaking her head.

“They’re expecting us now, my dear.” She turned and smiled. “We’re going to have to be so careful.” Michael nodded. “How is your sister? Has she quieted down any?”

“For now. Though I can’t imagine she’ll stay that way for long.”

Eve patted her lover’s new face. “With any luck, you won’t need to worry about that for very much longer.”

Yes, this was just the beginning of something wonderful.

Notes:

CW: temporary character death (in canon, regenerative deaths), violence

And, I know this doesn't necessarily warrant a warning... but there's a whole section of Niffty being Niffty. So do with that what you will. :)

Chapter 25: here’s the thing, we started out friends, it was cool, but it was all pretend

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

2004

It was a lovely autumn day in Hell. Hell-buzzards were squawking, the pentagram was irradiating the world below, and Alastor was in a mostly fine mood. He sipped his coffee and watched as demons strolled in relative peace through the watery afternoon light. In the quiet, he could almost pretend he had no worries or troubles bothering him. Gnawing away at his peace of mind, whispering that he was going to have to pay the piper and soon.

He set his coffee on the table in front of him and glanced around. How anyone could be going about their regular afterlives was beyond him. Well, they didn’t have a ticking time bomb strapped to their back, just waiting for their most recent transgression to be discovered, did they? He didn’t have many options at this point – he’d have to bite the bullet soon and seek Vox out before someone else had the chance to tell him.

Of course, fate didn’t see fit to afford him any more time in the matter.

A sudden pull on his shadows made Alastor’s head snap up, eyes narrowing. Years ago, following yet another attack by Pentagram City’s resident cryptid menace, Vox had come up with the idea that the two Overlords be allowed to share one another’s power if they were faced with an attack by Dung. As a rule of thumb, Alastor wasn’t keen on sharing his power with anyone, but it was Vox and, faced with the possibility of having one’s soul sucked out through one’s mouth, he could appreciate the sheer practicality of the idea.

The magic they had crafted had been as meticulously constructed as the contract they signed. They could only access one another’s powers if Dung was present and posed an immediate threat to either Overlord, or one of their thralls. Additionally, Vox had suggested that they couldn’t access the power of the other Overlord if using that demon’s power put them in immediate danger. It was all very practical, all very put-together, and Alastor had felt a surge of pride in the clean, crispness of the contract Vox had drawn up.

Now, though, he could feel his shadows pulling away from him towards the threat of Dung and instantly knew that Vox was in trouble. He jumped up from his chair before they could leave completely and flung himself through the Void to follow. Vox’s frequency was twisted and off somehow and Alastor realized with a sinking sensation that he was likely injured, prompting him to invoke the contract instead of just zapping himself into the electrical grid like he normally would.

Alastor moved swiftly and found himself spit out into a dark warehouse. It took him a moment to orient himself and realize that Vox’s frequency was not inside like he had immediately expected it to be, but outside. He ran towards a back door and burst into a back alley to be met with the stench of Dung, his greasy feathers flapping wildly as he dangled Vox by the ankle over his open mouth. Alastor was dismayed to see that he was covered in blood.

“No!” Vox yelled, flinging his hands towards the creature, weak shadows slapping against Dung’s head and beak. “Dung, absolutely not! Put me down!”

“I will make it so very quick, Cox. You won’t even feel it.” Dung waved an impatient arm at the shadows bouncing off his head. The monster's tongue darted from its mouth and swept across the bottom of Vox's screen, leaving behind a dripping trail of saliva. "You taste prickly."

Alastor shook himself into action as Dung started to lower a screaming Vox towards his mouth.

“Fuck no!” Vox howled, sparks of electricity raining down onto the concrete below. Alastor swept his microphone out in front of him, summoning his powers back and swirling his shadows around Vox effortlessly. He dropped the television demon into the Void, knowing full well he was going to get an earful for that, and pointed his staff at Dung unwaveringly. His bones cracked loudly as he grew into his full demonic form.

“Dung, you know better,” he snarled, radio waves distorting his voice enough to draw Dung’s confused attention. “You do not eat Overlords.”

“He was injured and helpless,” Dung replied, unfazed by Alastor’s intimidation tactics. “Why can’t I have him if he can’t stop me?”

[No, Dung.] Alastor let his voice reverberate through the air waves, knowing exactly how much the abomination in front of him hated it. Dung shrank back with a hiss, jaw snapping closed. [Bad monster.]

Dung tossed his head, and for a sickly moment, Alastor was convinced he was about to open his mouth and aim the full horror of his soul-eating capabilities directly at him. He braced himself, hoping he’d have enough time to dissolve into shadow before Dung could capture him, but instead Dung shook himself off like a massive, deranged dog and scowled at Alastor.

“You spoil everyone’s fun, Alabaster.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way." Alastor huffed out a breath and shrugged. "I personally think I’m a delight.”

Dung shook his head before lumbering away, greeted by screams as he made his way back onto the street. Oh, dear. Well, that was someone else’s problem now. Alastor shrank back down to his regular size and brushed off his coat before his eyes widened.

“Oh. Vox.” He swung his microphone, opening the Void again and holding out his arms to catch a still screaming Vox. He staggered under the other Overlord’s weight, knocking the top of his head against Vox’s screen, and seeing stars. He barely managed to catch Vox around the middle, stopping him before he fell face first onto the concrete and cracked his screen.

“Fucking shit, Alastor!” Vox shouted, punching any part of the Radio Demon he could reach with nowhere near his full strength.  “You fucking left me in there!”

“Stop hitting me,” Alastor hissed back, stumbling back towards the warehouse to brace himself against the bricks before his legs gave out under him. “I saved you!”

Vox swore again and gave him a kick. For good measure, Alastor assumed. He abruptly stopped struggling, no doubt glaring down at the ground. “Throwing me into the Void was still a dick move.”

“You’re welcome.”

Vox huffed, clearly irritated, before he pushed against Alastor’s legs. “Put me down already. We look fucking ridiculous.”

“You look ridiculous,” Alastor countered before tilting Vox so that his feet would hit the ground first. “I look heroic.”

“Yeah, big fucking hero,” Vox groaned as Alastor set him back onto the ground, guiding him towards the wall so he could support his own weight. Vox flung a hand up to brace against the rough brick, digging into his jacket pocket to retrieve a handkerchief. He rubbed it over his screen to remove the worst of the blood, gore, and monster spittle. Alastor hazarded a look down and sighed when he realized he was also smeared with Vox’s blood. “You’ve got a spot. Just there.”

Alastor laughed a little and shook his head. “I don’t know how you get yourself into these predicaments, Vox.”

“Hey, now. I had everything perfectly under control until fucking Dung showed up,” Vox said, with just a hint of bitterness. Alastor smirked. “That fucker came out of nowhere. Up until then, everything was going the way it was supposed to.”

“You planned this?” Alastor asked, gesturing to the entirety of Vox’s bloodied, disheveled appearance. “Did you pay someone to beat you?”

Vox grinned. “Maybe. Why, is that something you’re into?”

Alastor rolled his eyes. He was grateful, really, that his relationship with Vox had improved significantly since the younger Overlord had moved out a decade ago, but his sense of humor had become considerably more vulgar and suggestive since he had moved in with Valentino. Not that the undertones hadn’t always been there, but now he was more brazen about it. Still, as much as Alastor felt he ought to be offended, as a gentleman, he found himself fighting down a chuckle.

“Be serious, Vox,” he said, trying to keep his voice stern and knowing Vox would see right through it.

“Well, no, I didn’t plan on it.” Vox shrugged and waved a hand dismissively towards the building. “Business deal gone sideways, you know how it is. Admittedly… they did get a bit of a drop on me. I didn’t think they had a third partner waiting in the wings, though I have to give them some credit. They did their fucking homework.” He gestured up at his sparking antenna. “Snapped that very first thing.”

Alastor reached out, fingers hovering near Vox’s strangely bent antenna. “Is it painful?”

“No.” He watched Alastor’s fingers draw closer with narrowed eyes. “Of course, fucking Dung was waiting out back by the time I got out of the building. Fucking Dung.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I don’t think so, not really. Just rattled some of the components around in there.” Vox knocked his knuckles against the side of his head. “But I can’t use my powers right now, so he was thrilled to just snap me right up off the ground, fucking creep.” Alastor touched Vox’s antenna, and a spark snapped onto his claw. Vox swatted Alastor’s hand back. “Don’t touch it. I don’t know if it’s going to fuck with my head or something.”

“Hmm, we wouldn’t want that.” Vox mimicked his hum back at him and Alastor’s smile relaxed a little. He might look battered but at least his sense of humor seemed intact. “Do you want a hand getting back home?”

Vox eyed him suspiciously for a moment before shaking his head. “Nice try, old man. I am not taking another ride on your magical, mystery Void trip.” Alastor opened his mouth to protest but Vox laughed. “If you want to make sure I get home in one piece, you can walk with me. Just my powers are fucked up, not my legs.” He considered and looked down at his shoulder. “And this. Fucking shot me, too, can you believe it?”

“Did you at least kill them?” Alastor asked, concerned. It wouldn’t do if Vox hadn’t made sure to assert his dominance after an ambush like that. The younger Sinner nodded, wiggling his bloodied claws where Alastor could see them.

“Obviously.”

Alastor extended his hand, and Vox took it without question. Something twisted in Alastor’s stomach at the easy trust Vox placed in him, even after everything, and he swallowed down his suddenly growing apprehension. “Come on, then. I’ll take you home properly.”

“And a gentleman, too,” Vox replied blithely and followed Alastor’s lead. He glanced over at the older Overlord and grinned. “I listened to your show last night.”

“Oh?”

“It lacked a certain je ne sais quoi.” Alastor scoffed good-naturedly, ignoring the pounding of his heart. “Not as much screaming as usual. What happened? Did your muse abandon you?”

“Why, Vox, are you looking to fill in for that role?” Vox laughed at that. “No, us artists just go through the occasional uninspired periods. Happens to all of us who create real art.”

“Television is real art.”

“Hardly.”

They continued to stroll through the afternoon, Vox’s pace somewhat slower than usual. Alastor adjusted accordingly, not wanting to put anymore strain on what looked to be a wrenched ankle, though he knew Vox wouldn’t complain. A comfortable silence settled between them and Alastor used the opportunity to gather his courage. He opened his mouth to tell Vox what he had done but Vox beat him to the punch.

“Al? I wanted to ask you something,” the younger demon said, and Alastor snapped his mouth shut. Vox glanced at him, and he nodded accommodatingly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and… well, I’ve missed this. Us. I know I didn’t leave on the best terms–”

“You slipped out with a suitcase in the middle of the night,” Alastor said without any accusation in his voice. He knew why Vox had left – the argument they had had that evening had been spectacularly rough, filled with shouting, and Alastor had almost come to the same conclusion that Vox had later that night. The tension was too much for either of them to cope with and since Alastor couldn’t just explain everything to Vox, the only solution was inevitable.

Vox’s screen started to flush faintly pink in embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry, that wasn’t my finest moment.”

“It wasn’t mine, either,” Alastor admitted and gave the television demon’s hand a small squeeze. Vox returned it with a grateful little half-smile.

“Well…” Alastor couldn’t help the way his smile softened as Vox’s swung his arm forward, awkwardly trying to get himself back on topic. “Do you think you’d like to maybe partner up again?” Alastor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Professionally, of course. Maybe you could do an interview on Vox2Nite or I could do a cameo on your show – without the murdering bit, preferably. Or maybe, instead, we could–”

“Vox.”

“We could do a whole new segment, completely separate from either of our shows.” Vox snapped his fingers, and Alastor closed his eyes for moment, steadying his breathing. “Oh, what about a cooking show!”

“Vox.”

“Or, maybe we could do a televised radio hour, you know? Kind of like American Bandstand – you know that one, I showed it to you – or what if–”

“Vox!”

Vox jolted and turned his head to stare at Alastor with wide eyes. “What?”

“Come here.” Alastor tugged on Vox’s hand and the other Overlord followed him down into another alley. What Alastor had to tell him didn’t need a bigger audience. He guided Vox further back until the noise from the street dimmed and it was just the two of them. “I need to tell you something.”

Vox laughed uneasily. “You’re freaking me out a little bit here, Al. If you don’t want to partner up again, that’s fine, but you don’t have to make such a big deal about–”

“I own Husk’s soul,” Alastor blurted out before he could stop himself and, really, it was for the best. Rip the bandage off without teasing away at it and prolonging the hurt. Vox stared at him for a long time before he started to laugh, relief spreading over his face.

“Fuck’s sake, Al, I thought you were being serious,” he laughed. He gave the Radio Demon a small, friendly push on the shoulder and shook his head. “I own Husk’s soul. Ha ha ha. Funny joke, funny man. Jeez, and here I thought you were going to tell me something serious.”

“I am serious.”

Vox shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He studied Alastor’s face with widening eyes. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I did.” Vox’s expression froze and Alastor swallowed roughly. “I can show you the contract if you don’t believe me.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Vox’s eyes flashed down to where their hands were clasped together. Alastor felt his fingers tighten. “Al, please.”

“Husk got himself into a rather tight spot, so I offered to help him out,” he heard himself say, voice chipper and friendly even as Vox’s face fell.

Vox tugged against Alastor’s hand, his breath catching a little in his throat. “No.”

“Yes. I resolved his debt by purchasing his soul. And taking the casino. All of it is mine now.” Alastor met Vox’s horrified gaze. “The casino is closing down tomorrow, and Husk's soul is mine to do with as I please.”

“No.” This time, Vox wrenched himself free, eyes wide with disbelief. “Husk makes up almost twenty percent of my advertising revenue. Twenty percent, Alastor. Do you understand what that means?”

That I’ve crippled your business.

“I do,” he answered, stepping back and clasping his hands behind his back as Vox’s hand flew to his head, claws curling against the hard metal and plastic casing. “Terribly inconvenient, of course, I'll give you that. But that’s sometimes just how these things go, isn’t it? Que sera sera.”

“You bastard,” Vox whispered, taking a step back and Alastor’s ears pinned instantly to his head. “You fucking scheming bastard. Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to ruin me.” Vox’s wide eyes darted around the alley like he couldn’t quite decide where he ought to look. “Actively fucking sabotaging me. I thought we…”

The plaintive note in his voice made Alastor cringe. He wanted nothing more than to tell him that he was joking, that this was just another of his jokes, badly done and cruel, but a joke, nevertheless. Let Vox think that Alastor was asshole for making fun where he ought not to, but not for ripping the rug out from under the younger Sinner.

“You must have been mistaken, old pal,” he heard himself say, the words rolling off his tongue with cruel ease. “There is hardly a ‘we’ anymore. We don’t owe each other anything.”

Alastor turned abruptly on his heel as Vox’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace. Before he took more than a couple of steps, Alastor stumbled forward from the heavy hand that Vox shoved against his back. He twisted his head around to stare at Vox in astonishment. Vox had never put his hands on Alastor, in all the years that they had known one another. Sure, his tongue could be venomous if properly instigated, but he had never physically lashed out, not even during his worst panicked episodes.

“No,” Vox snarled. “No, you don’t just get to say that kind of shit to me and think you’re just going to walk away like nothing happened.” He shoved Alastor’s shoulders this time. “You don’t just get to say that and not answer for what you did.”

“Careful, Vox.”

It seemed that was the final straw. Vox lashed out suddenly, landing a solid punch to Alastor’s jaw before he realized what was happening. He staggered backward, feeling black bleed into his eyes. Vox swung again and, this time, before he could stop himself, Alastor dodged Vox’s fist and landed a punch of his own into Vox’s stomach.

“Asshole,” Vox gasped, stumbling back a step before he caught himself. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Alastor dodged another punch, clumsier than the first, starting to feel panicked. He wasn’t used to using his fists to fight anymore and struggled to hold back the bloodlust that was building in his veins. At least with his shadows and tentacles, he could fight from a detached distance and didn’t feel the immediate surge of adrenaline each time a blow landed. He found himself backing away from Vox, desperately trying to put space between them, but Vox seemed to want the exact opposite.

“I can’t believe you,” he growled, swinging again. Alastor blocked his punch with ease this time, Vox’s movements growing more predictable as he let his emotions cloud his judgement. “The first fucking opportunity… were you just waiting to tell me?” Vox swung again and Alastor winced as the blow landed on his forearm. “Just fucking jazzed out of your fucking mind to tell me that you fucked me over? Again!”

“Stop it, Vox,” Alastor begged, trying to keep the filters from distorting his voice too heavily. Trying to maintain control. Vox launched himself at Alastor then, punching and clawing at him with little coordination, and Alastor stumbled back a few steps. He managed to hold back until Vox’s claws slashed across his face.

There wasn’t much he could do to stop himself from throwing Vox off him, snarling as he slammed him down onto the ground. He could hear the breath leave Vox’s body as his back hit the hard concrete. He rained a volley of punches down over any part of Vox’s body that he could reach, not registering the fact that the younger Sinner threw his arms up to block the blows instead of fighting back. Only when Vox’s siren burst through the air did he manage to blink the rage from his eyes, staring down at the trembling demon below him.

“Alastor, stop!” Vox finally managed to get out, staring up at him in horror. Alastor sneered.

“I should have let Dung have you,” he hissed, the words sharp and venomous as they tripped off his tongue. “It would’ve been easier for both of us if I had just let him kill you when you first fell.”

Vox’s breath hitched. “What?”

“You heard me.” Alastor shoved himself up and away from Vox, staggering to his feet. As his rage started to bleed away, the sudden realization of what he had just said hit him. Tail flagging under his coat, Alastor swallowed hard. He couldn’t force himself to move until Vox sat up and swung his claws out at Alastor’s legs, slicing through the pant leg and cutting a neat gash into the flesh below. Alastor hissed and backed away.

“What, now you're afraid to fight back, you fucking coward?” Vox shouted, voice cracking under the strain. Alastor’s smile felt too wide on his face, and he struggled to hold back the monster bubbling under his skin. If he didn’t leave now, he would completely lose control. And if he lost control like that…

He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “You’re not worth the effort, old pal.”

And Vox’s face fell as if, of all the things that Alastor had said or done, this was the worst. He briskly turned on his heel, refusing to fight with Vox anymore. He would not lose any more control, would not let himself hurt Vox any further, even if the other man didn’t understand why he was turning away. Let Vox think he was a coward for refusing to continue this – he could think what he pleased.

Alastor only got a few feet before he heard Vox scramble back onto his feet and clenched his jaw in frustration. With a snarl, he lashed out a shadow tentacle behind him, wrapping Vox in its grasp. He heard Vox shout in protest and, with only the thought of giving himself enough space to walk away, he commanded the shadow to fling the other Overlord into the air.

They’d done it hundreds of times before. First, as an experiment to see just how much control Vox was able to exert over his electrical powers. Then, as the younger man grew more confident in his abilities, as a training exercise to hone and perfect his skills. They hadn’t done it in years, but Alastor knew that Vox had a near-perfect command of his powers and would do what he learned to do – zap himself into the nearest electrical field and into the safety that afforded himself until he could rematerialize. Usually directly in front of Alastor with a cocky grin on his face. Always with Alastor’s shadows forming a protective net beneath him.

“Alastor!”

He could hear Vox’s scream and for a heartbeat figured it for rage. Clenching his fists tight enough to draw blood, he let himself be swept into darkness, his shadows wrapping around him. Ready to whisk him away – away from Vox and this horrific encounter.

Except… then he remembered.

“I can’t use my powers right now.”

He didn’t leave his shadows, but Alastor’s neck snapped around as he watched Vox plummet back to the ground. Arms and legs flailing in a wild panic as his antennae sparked erratically. There was a split second when he was convinced that Vox managed to make eye contact with him before slamming back onto the ground with a sickening crack of bone and metal.

There was a moment of silence and Alastor watched Vox’s body freeze in place, his legs twisted unnaturally. He stared in horror for an eternity before Vox, who had ended up on his side, jerked like he was burned before the air was rent with the sound of an air raid siren and he opened his mouth to start screaming.

“Fu-u-zzx-ck!” he howled into the concrete below him, body wrenching helplessly. Vox snapped his hand down to reach towards his legs, screamed again, and withdrew as though he had been burned. Vox slapped his hands over his face. Alastor shook his head. No.

He turned his body to face Vox. The younger Overlord lowered one of his hands and pressed it down against the ground. He pushed down hard and flipped himself onto his back. Alastor would later swear that he heard the crunch of bone once more as Vox screamed up towards the crimson sky. The world narrowed down to the sight of Vox’s mangled legs, dark red blood pumping out of him from where the bone protruded. To the sound of his friend’s already hoarse voice forcing wordless agony from his lungs.

It must’ve only taken a few minutes, but Vox’s screams faded as his voice finally gave out. The pool of blood slowly spreading around him grew larger and larger, and Vox’s screams broke down into exhausted, rasping whimpers. Alastor watched him cover his face once more, ears so flat against his head that he wondered if anyone looking at him would even realize he had them.

“Alastor,” Vox wept, barely able to scrape the word out of his throat. His hands balled into fists, and he pressed them hard enough against the glass for it to whine in protest, threatening to break. “Don’t just… just leave me here...”

Alastor pressed his hand to his mouth, trying not to flee into the shadows altogether.

[Alastor! Come back!]

He squeezed his eyes shut, staggering back a step before forcing himself to stop. Vox’s signal was becoming increasingly erratic; he couldn’t just leave him here like this - where he’d be at the mercy of any half-way ambitious demon looking to take advantage of a vulnerable Overlord. But how could he possibly leave the shadows and approach him again?

[Asshole! I fucking trusted you!]

Alastor stayed frozen in place until Vox finally went limp, his weak cries falling silent. After a few seconds, he forced his eyes open and stepped back out of the shadows, walking towards Vox with mounting terror. He couldn’t have killed him (he couldn’t have, he wouldn’t have, god, he should’ve fucking realized), at least not permanently. As he watched, Vox’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

He realized that he would need to move fast.

Alastor scooped Vox’s body from the ground, adrenaline flooding his veins and making his arms shake. And even though Vox wasn’t especially heavy, he staggered under the weight of what he had done and tried to cradle the other Overlord with as much gentle care as he could. He couldn’t take him back to his own home and he certainly couldn’t bring him back to the apartment he shared with that moth. They had never been especially friendly with one another, though there had been an unspoken agreement to at least play at civility for Vox’s sake, but if Alastor showed up with Vox’s broken body…

He held Vox tight and summoned his shadows, plunging both into the Void. Mind reeling, Alastor’s eyes suddenly widened as he realized exactly where he should go. The cold and black swirled around them until they reached their destination, a small but tidy little home they had spent many comfortable hours in before Vox had left a decade earlier.

Dot blinked up at him from her seat at her dining table, dinner spread out in front of her, a sandwich halfway to her mouth. She stared at him for a long moment before her eyes settled on Vox, mouth tightening into a grim frown.

“What happened?” she demanded, dropping her sandwich onto her plate, and swept towards them with unwavering maternal authority. Alastor shook his head briskly.

“It was an accident,” he said quickly. “I thought… well, I thought he was… but…”

Dot scowled before gesturing for Alastor to place him on the couch. He did, finding it difficult to let go of Vox once he had settled him, and backed away. Nimble fingers reached for Vox’s belt then yanked it from around his waist before lifting his leg and looping it into a makeshift tourniquet.

In a daze, Alastor helped Dot patch up the Media Overlord until he was at least safe from death. He would still need a doctor to repair the damage to his legs, but he would heal eventually. Alastor sat down beside him on the blood-soaked couch and accepted the cold cup of coffee Dot pressed into his hands.

“Don’t tell him I brought him back here,” he said quietly, and Dot sighed. “Please, Dot. Tell him that you found him and brought him back yourself.”

She scoffed. “He won’t believe that I managed that on my own.”

“Then lie. Tell him you paid someone to help you.” Alastor stared down into the mug, watching the coffee splash against the ceramic in the waning evening light. “I don’t care. Just don’t… just don’t tell him that I brought him back. It’s better if he thinks I left him.”

Alastor drank a few more sips of coffee, excusing himself before Vox had a chance to regain consciousness. As he slipped back into the shadows, he watched Dot pick up a phone to call for medical assistance. As much as it hurt, as much as it twisted a knife further into his gut, Alastor couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of relief.

At least Vox would stay far away from him now. He’d be much safer at a distance.

 

*

 

Six months ago

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, listening carefully in the darkened room. There was a faint ticking from the clock on the wall and the gentle creaking of the windowpanes as they rattled in the Hellish breeze. He could hear his own fans running and, almost inaudibly, the buzz of static.

Vox sat up, blinking in the low light.

He recognized the room, but it wasn’t the right room where he ought to have been waking up. Instead of the sleek silvers and blue of his own bedroom, illuminated by the fishtanks that he could stare into for hours, this room was homey and warm, rich woods and cheerful knickknacks scattered throughout. He looked down at his hands, stark against the soft yellow and red quilt that was spread over his lap. Vox sighed.

Dot had told him that he needed to stay here for a while, until they had finished making repairs to Vee Tower. There was too many fumes and plaster powder flying around for him to tolerate safely – that kind of thing just got into his motors and gummed everything up. And Alastor, she said, had very kindly offered his own home to Vox in the meantime.

That was very nice of him.

Maybe. He still wasn’t completely sold on the whole “too many renovations, Vox needs to steer clear” story, but he wasn’t sure what else to believe. Dot wouldn’t lie to him, she never lied to him, and Alastor was shifty sometimes, but he didn’t lie to Vox, either. Not about anything important, anyways.

He pushed back the quilt and swung himself up out of the bed, taking another closer look around the room. Everything in here was so very familiar, like he had been here before and… well, he had, hadn’t he? He shrugged and slid his feet into the heavy, rubber-soled slippers resting on the floor next to the bed. Heading over to the door, he stopped long enough to pull the blue and red plaid robe from the hook and slipped into it before heading out into the hallway.

Oh, yes. This was Alastor’s house – he recognized it now. He noticed the deep grooves in the wood, several feet up from the ground and frowned. Alastor was not going to be pleased when he saw those. Perhaps Niffty had taken it upon herself to gouge out the wood while trying to exterminate the Hellish termites that seemed to pop up with unrelenting vigor. Vox wondered if there was a frequency that might repel them – perhaps he could rig something up for them that would turn the nasty little creatures away before they even tried to use Alastor’s home as their own personal smorgasbord.

He shuffled into the living room, blinking in confusion when he found Alastor curled up on the couch, facing the back. As far as Vox could tell, he was sound asleep, which was very strange because Alastor didn’t sleep out here. He’d only done it a few times, after forced movie marathons or when Vox would insist that they stay up to avoid having another nightmare–

Error.

A shudder ran through him and Vox patted his hands together in front of him, uneasy. He’d been so careful, too, like Dot had told him, to avoid error messages. A quick glance around the living room drew his attention to the old piano that was placed near the interior wall of the room, and he shuffled over to it, shaking out his hands and getting the blood flowing. He opened the fallboard before settling himself on the bench, running the pads of his fingers over the keys for a moment, deciding.

He'd always started with scales and chord progressions to warm up, but he didn’t feel much like warming up now. Settling his fingers over the keys, he began to play. B flat to G to F and back again in the right hand while a steady waltz kept pace in the left. Almost immediately, the familiar melody swept into his head, soothing the troublesome errors that threatened to pop up until all he could feel was the swaying rhythm of the nocturne his hands had not forgotten how to play.

After a few minutes, the song drew to a close, and Vox bowed his head over the keyboard as the last notes vibrated on the strings. He closed his eyes and listened to the echo of the notes still hanging in the air. Peaceful. Quiet.

“I haven’t heard you play in years,” a soft voice finally said after the room had settled back into silence. Vox nodded. “That was lovely.”

“My mother always preferred Chopin’s nocturnes. Only I can’t remember all of them anymore,” he replied quietly. He traced the keyboard again before turning on the bench, just enough to look back at Alastor. The other man was sitting up on the couch, looking tired, but paying him full attention. Vox frowned. “Why can’t I remember them?”

Alastor’s ears flicked. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, my dear. Everyone forgets things now and again. Not remembering the entirety of a composer’s catalogue is hardly cause for concern.”

Vox stared at him for a moment. Alastor looked very tired. Like he hadn’t slept for days. The bags under his eyes were pronounced and his usually straight posture was exchanged for a weary slump while Alastor rested his head on his palm, elbow propped in his lap. Vox tapped his fingers against the bench and sighed.

“I dreamed again, Al.”

To his credit, Alastor didn’t betray any kind of emotion at this revelation. Oh, perhaps Vox had already told him about the dreams. “What did you dream?”

“I dreamt…” Vox tried to remember but his mind felt fuzzy, and a cloud of gray swept over his thoughts. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

Alastor nodded. “I’m surprised you’re up again. You only went to sleep,” he squinted up at the clock on the wall, “an hour ago. Oh, Vox.”

“Sorry.” Vox watched Alastor rub his face with his hands, the gray in his mind making him dull. “I thought… I’ve been… it’s been longer, I thought…”

“Don’t worry,” Alastor murmured, tossing the blankets from his lap and climbing to his feet. “Let’s get you back to bed. You need to rest.”

“One more,” Vox answered, turning back to the keyboard before Alastor could protest. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind another melody pricked his consciousness. Without thinking, he began to play once more, the music rising from the piano in a wash of melancholy and longing. Distantly, he felt Alastor settle on the bench beside him, though it didn’t stop him from playing. If anything, he felt the music sink deeper into his mind as he played until it was the only thing in the entire world.

Except for the heat of Alastor’s body beside him.

Everything was wrong. Everything was wrong and he didn’t know how or why it was that way. He could sink down into the despair of Schubert’s composition and let it wash him away and then maybe everything wouldn’t be wrong anymore. If he wasn’t there to interrupt the flow of what should have been, everything might be right again.

He closed his eyes and continued to play, breath catching when he felt Alastor’s arm wrap tentatively around his waist. He became aware that something wet was sliding down his screen, dampening his face. Rain, perhaps, but he wasn’t outdoors, so it couldn’t be that. Alastor’s arm tightened ever so slightly, steadying him as he realized it was tears running down his face and choking in his throat. Eventually, he lowered his hands, settling them in his lap as he felt tiny drops of moisture drip onto them.

“Vox,” Alastor breathed, pressing against his side and holding him closely. He shook his head before raising a hand to his face to try and brush away the tears from his face.

“Why?” he gasped after a few minutes. “Why did you bother?”

Alastor was silent before he leaned against Vox and rested his head on the younger man’s shoulder. Vox fumbled his hand down and Alastor caught it without saying a word. They sat in silence for a while, Vox’s quiet tears the only sound in the room.

“Why did you bother bringing me back?” he tried again.

Error. Error. Error.

He flinched as the error messages roiled through him, but Alastor held him closer, and he was grateful for his steady warmth. After a minute, Alastor’s fingers squeezed his and Vox let out a soft whimper.

“I’m a very selfish man, Vox.” Yes. Vox supposed he was. “I didn’t… I couldn’t imagine an existence without you in it.”

Vox sagged against him, letting Alastor take more of his weight. “I’m tired, Al.” He shook his head. “I’m so tired.”

“I know.” Why did Alastor’s voice suddenly sound strained? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Alastor squeezed his waist before he cleared his throat. “Let’s get you back to bed, my dear. It’s very late.”

Vox nodded and allowed Alastor to guide him up from the bench. Down the hall and back into the familiar bedroom, helping him remove his slippers and robe once more before guiding him back under the sheets. Vox caught his wrist and shook his head. With a sorrowful expression, Alastor shooed him over towards the wall before climbing into the bed beside him and sliding his arm over the younger man’s waist. Burrowing them both under the covers and creating a pocket of warmth that almost immediately eased the tension in Vox’s muscles. He stared up at the ceiling and listened to Alastor’s breathing gradually even out before finally closing his eyes.

Perhaps the next time he awoke, he would remember what he had dreamt.

Notes:

CW: violence and blood, though fairly canon-typical levels.

And there you have it - The Incident that finally drove them apart. How are we feeling?

The pieces Vox is playing in the second section of the chapter:
1. Frédéric Chopin's Nocturne op. 9 no. 2 in E Flat Major
2. Franz Schubert's Schwanengesang, specifically the Ständchen, or Serenade

Chapter 26: while i’m alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

1959

It had been four days since his most recent surgery and Vox was in misery.

Usually, at this point, Doctor Bell would occasionally provide him with some relief from his strange anesthetic touch, but the healing process was far enough along that he wouldn’t need much. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it took, but he had started to measure the start of his days based on when Doctor Bell would arrive, usually with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, and he had seen Doctor Bell at least three times since the surgery. He was generally able to be back up on his feet and moving around normally enough by now. Sure, his throat would still hurt, and eating was a chore, but he wasn’t bed-ridden.

This time, though…

He stayed on his cot, wrapped in his blanket, and stared blankly at the wall. Every part of his body hurt, not just his throat, and he was burning. He suspected he might have contracted an infection at some point, but didn’t have the strength to do anything about it. Doctor Bell wasn’t generally very attentive following any surgery, only checking in once or twice a day to ensure that Vox was healing appropriately. He hadn’t bothered to check yesterday, and Vox hadn’t seen Basil either, so when the fever set in, he could only huddle on his cot, shivering and trying not to think about how much everything hurt.

He didn’t register the sound of the door of the laboratory opening and he barely noticed the approaching footsteps though he did pick up on the sound of disgust behind him.

“Did you piss the bed?” Basil asked, irritation sharp in his voice and Vox blinked slowly, unable to turn towards the large demon. “Vox!”

He whined when Basil caught his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. There was a pause before Basil cursed quietly and Vox was lifted into the air. His hands flailed out as the world twisted around him and he started to gag helplessly.

“No, wait,” Basil instructed, and he managed to raise his hand and press it to his mouth. He was set on a cold surface and after a few seconds, turned onto his side. The sudden motion was enough to set it off and Vox vomited into the basin Basil had thrust under his head. He screwed his eyes shut, too dizzy to push the dirty bowl away and eventually he realized that Basil had removed it.

“Help,” he called weakly, not sure what he was asking for. He was turned onto his back again, much slower this time, and felt strangely gentle hands removing the dirty gown he was dressed in. Vox’s eyes opened heavily as he tried to catch the soiled fabric. “No, don’t.”

“I’m just getting rid of the dirty one,” Basil told him quietly. Vox tried to shake his head. He did not want to be naked. It was bad enough Basil stripped him whenever he had surgery, Doctor Bell complaining about how difficult it was to remove the bloodstains and how he wasn’t going to purchase a new gown each time Vox ruined one. Vox tried to hold onto the hem of the dirty gown, but Basil pulled it away effortlessly, leaving him shivering on the cold table.

After a moment, he felt something warm and damp brush along his skin and realized that he was being cleaned. His eyes fluttered shut and he must’ve slid back into unconsciousness for a while because by the time he was aware again, he was dressed in a fresh, clean gown, still laying up on the cold operating table. His head lolled to the side, and he watched Basil finish scrubbing down his cot before tossing the soiled blanket to the other side of the laboratory. The larger demon must’ve caught him staring because he stood up with a grunt, tucking his cleaning supplies under his arm.

“Back with me?” Basil asked, cocking his head at Vox.

“Hurts,” Vox managed, and Basil nodded.

“I know.” He left Vox’s eyeline for a while before returning with a glass of water and something in his hand. Vox watched blearily as Basil set the water down alongside a few colorful pills and blinked. “You’ve got a nasty infection. The doctor gave me some pills to help clear that up.” He paused for a moment. “And there’s something for the pain, too.”

Vox groaned as Basil forced him into a sitting position, keeping one arm wrapped around his shoulders before reaching for the pills. Vox sagged against Basil and opened his mouth willingly enough when Basil showed him the pills in his hand. Before he knew it, the pills were gone, the water half-drank, and he was being carried back to his cot again. A scratchy but warm blanket was drawn up over his shoulders and Vox let himself drift.

Sometime later, he awoke feeling better. The pain had lessened, and the burning was all but gone. He groaned softly before turning over, eyes blinking open to find Basil sitting in a folding chair beside him, a book open in his lap. Vox stared at him until Basil eventually looked down, realizing that he was awake.

“Your fever broke,” he said matter-of-factly, and Vox nodded in agreement. The larger Sinner’s eyes darted away from Vox to the small tray resting beside his cot. There was a bowl of saltine crackers and a glass of something fizzy. “Eat something. I don’t want to clean your vomit again.”

Vox struggled upright and retrieved the bowl, settling with his back against the wall. Slowly, he ate the crackers until he noticed Basil reaching out towards him, glass in hand. He took it somewhat hesitantly before raising it to his lips. It seemed safe enough, but he wasn’t completely sure what Basil might be encouraging him to drink. His eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked up at the other demon.

“Ginger ale?” he asked before taking another sip. The spicy sweet flavor bubbled in his mouth.

“What else would it be?” Basil countered and Vox lowered his eyes, carefully working on finishing the glass. By the time he was done, the combination of crackers and ginger ale had settled comfortingly in his stomach, and he breathed a soft sigh of relief. Basil glanced over at him from his book. “Are you finished?”

Vox nodded and watched Basil place a marker in his book before standing and setting the book on the chair. He walked away and Vox closed his eyes, still feeling uncomfortable but not quite so miserable. His eyes opened again as Basil took his seat once more, a small object in his hands. “I have something for you.”

Vox straightened up, interest piqued. “What… what is it?”

Basil held out the object and pushed it into Vox’s waiting hands. The small demon’s eyes widened, and he stared at it in disbelief.

“Thank you,” he breathed in astonishment, tilting the same small radio in his hands to take in every angle of it. It wasn’t anything special, not something Alastor would’ve considered worth a second look, but Vox smoothed his fingers over the top of it in awe. “Does it work?”

“Of course, it works,” Basil scoffed. Vox glanced up at him as Basil picked up his book, signaling that their interaction was over.

That was fine. Vox grinned down at the radio and turned it on, closing his eyes as the first music he’d heard in years came out of the speakers. He lay back, placing the radio next to him on the cot, and listened to Ella Fitzgerald sing. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed, and he slipped back to sleep, feeling better than he had in a very long time.
 

*
 

Six Months Ago

Alastor awoke in his own bed for the first time in weeks. Technically years, he supposed, since the bed he had summoned in the hotel hadn’t been the same bed he was laying in now. He had given it to Dot the past few weeks, not wanting her to sleep on the couch and reluctant to give Niffty’s bedroom to the ferret Sinner (not out of any loyalty to Niffty, but out of a deep-seated horror of what she might find if she spent any significant amount of time in the little bug woman’s bedroom). He supposed he could have created a guest bedroom while he still had access to his magic, but he didn’t quite have the energy to do it while he had a chance. But after he nearly collapsed from exhaustion the evening before from getting so little sleep he could barely function, Dot had shooed him into his own bedroom and had insisted on taking over the couch for the next few nights.

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and rolled over. After a few seconds, his eyes perked forward, and he realized what had drawn him out of his slumber. Distantly, he could hear the piano playing a light, gentle melody and flicked his eyes towards the clock on the wall. Nearly five-thirty in the morning. Had Vox really slept through the night for the first time since they had taken refuge in Alastor’s cabin? He sat up slowly, stretched, and tossed the bedding aside. Might as well start the day if Vox was already up – he wondered if he might be able to convince the other Overlord to sit with him in the kitchen while he prepared breakfast.

He walked quietly into the living room and drew his dressing gown around himself as he stopped to watch Vox at the piano once more. Alastor hadn’t heard him play in years until recently and had always been enchanted by his focus whenever he sat down at the keyboard, as though nothing and no one could draw him out of the music once he started. Unlike Alastor, and despite his usual need to be the center of attention, the piano was one of the few talents that Vox kept largely hidden. Whereas Alastor had gone so far as to use his skills on the ivories to assert dominance, Vox seemed to view it as a solitary activity that only a select few had the privilege of witnessing.

As if he sensed he had an audience, Vox stopped playing and turned around. Alastor waved his hand gently when the other Overlord’s eyes settled on him.

“You’re up early,” Alastor said conversationally, and Vox turned back to the piano, resting his fingers on top of the keys but not playing. “Would you like to help me with breakfast?”

Alastor waited a minute, but Vox didn’t move. He sighed and made his way into the kitchen, turning on the light as he went. He wasn’t especially hungry and if Vox’s appetite, or lack thereof, was the same as it had been, there wasn’t much point in making anything more complicated than eggs and toast. Definitely coffee – Alastor needed it to survive, and it was one of the only things that Vox would now consume with any consistency.

As the rich scent rose in the air, Alastor’s ears flicked back. He heard a faint shuffling behind him and glanced over his shoulder. From this distance, he could see the heavy bags under Vox’s eyes as he walked silently into the kitchen and sank down on one of the chairs at the table. He rested his head on his hands, elbows propped on the table and watched as Alastor cracked eggs over a hot pan. As the whites turned from clear to cloudy, Alastor cleared his throat.

“Do you want to start the toast?” he asked Vox, hoping to get him engaged in something. Anything, really. Vox stayed still and silent, and Alastor reluctantly finished preparing their meal on his own. Eventually, he slid Vox’s plate in front of him before taking his own seat across from him. Vox picked up his fork and poked disinterestedly at his eggs.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, but made no move to eat. Alastor scooped a forkful into his own mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“I can make something else if you want,” he offered, and Vox shook his head, mouth turning down into a frown.

“Why am I here?” the other Overlord asked, and Alastor hesitated, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. What a question and barely six in the morning, no less. He waited, hoping that Vox would choose to elaborate before he ended up answering the wrong question. Vox’s screen glitched and he shook his head as if to clear it. “No. I don’t mean… that’s not…”

“It’s all right,” Alastor replied quietly. He took a sip of his coffee while Vox struggled to find the words he wanted. “You don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to, Vox.”

“I do!” His screen glitched again and he gripped his fork more tightly, stabbing down into one of the eggs on his plate, breaking the yolk. “God, Al, just let me… I know what I want to say… I just… it’s not working.”

Alastor nodded and watched as Vox broke the yolks of his other eggs, smearing the mess around the plate. “Then take your time, my dear. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But why?” Vox plaintively. “Why are you still here? You saw everything. Everything.” Alastor winced. So, Vox had been paying attention when he had told Rosie and Dot about everything that happened. Everything he had done to bring Vox back to him. “I don’t know how… how can you stand it?”

“Vox…” Alastor took a sip of coffee to buy himself a few seconds. “What do you think I can’t stand?”

“Me,” he breathed and smashed his fork down onto one of the eggs, grinding it down against his plate until it grew mushy. Alastor stared at the mess on his plate, unblinking. “It’s just… there’s been so many times… you hate weakness, Al and I’m… you saw every time…”

“We didn’t see everything,” Alastor said before realization struck and his breath caught in his throat. “You think I hate you because I think you’re weak?”

“You know I’m weak,” Vox corrected miserably. His mouth quivered and he shut his eyes. “You’ve said it yourself… and you saw it… with the doctor… with Val, with you… how can you even…”

Alastor watched Vox carefully as he dropped his fork onto his plate and cradled his head in his hands. After a minute, the older Overlord raised his hand onto the table, palm up. A vulnerable position to be in, especially if Vox decided to take it into his head that Alastor’s hand was a much more interesting target than his fried eggs. Still, he kept his hand relaxed and open before he started speaking.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” he said slowly, and Vox’s shoulders hunched. “I never have. I know you didn’t want me to know those things, let alone see them, but it doesn’t change anything for me. You’re still my Vox. You’re still my…”

He trailed off, certain that this was not the time for that. He had been pushing his own feelings down deep inside, refusing to acknowledge them for decades now – he could continue to do so for a while longer still. At least until Vox was better again and Alastor could try to make it up to him first. He was selfish and could be impulsive, even when he tried to meticulously plan and plot so many of his moves, but he would keep this to himself until Vox was ready. And with only temporary periods of lucidity, Vox was very much not ready to hear Alastor make any grand confessions or proclamations.

“I don’t know,” Vox said softly, apparently missing where Alastor had cut himself off. “You’re just… you’ve always been just out of reach, you know? I’ve always been just a few steps behind, always trying to catch up, and now you have this over me, too. You know everything, Al, and you shouldn’t. Everything is so… unbalanced and I still… I still want… fuck, I’m not making any sense, am I?” He huffed out a breath and Alastor could hear the edge of tears in it. “It just… it makes me feel small, you know? It’s not… it’s not fair.”

Alastor stared at his hand, willing Vox to reach out. Eventually, he sighed. “I’m not sure I know how to fix that,” he admitted reluctantly.

“You don’t.” Vox lifted his head. “You can’t. And now all of Hell thinks…”

His screen glitched violently and Alastor reached out without thinking, pressing his hand over the top of Vox’s. After a few seconds, Vox’s breath hitched a little before he twisted his hand to intertwine his fingers with Alastor’s. They sat still like that for a few minutes before Vox lifted his head up enough to make eye contact and Alastor could instantly see the confusion fogging his eyes once more.

“What were we talking about?” Vox asked, lowering his hands, but keeping his hold on Alastor’s hand. “Was… was it important?”

“No,” Alastor lied, and gestured towards Vox’s plate. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? Your food is getting cold.”

“Oh.” Vox picked up his fork and speared a piece of egg. This time he raised it to his mouth and chewed carefully. “It’s still okay.”

“Good.” Alastor took another bite of his breakfast, holding tightly onto Vox’s hand as he watched his friend slowly start to eat. “That’s good.”

“You two are up early,” a bleary-eyed Dot said as she walked into the kitchen, pulling her robe tight around her waist. Vox looked up from his food and gave her a soft, if hesitant, smile. “Getting an early start to the day?”

“Something like that.”

*

High up in Vee Tower, in the beating heart of Pentagram City, Velvette paced restlessly and only paused momentarily to look down at her phone. Nothing from Vox. Not that she expected to see any calls or texts come through from him, but she was blindly hoping that something would come through. Even if she didn’t deserve it.

She watched the crew renovating the common area with detached interest. Apparently, it was one of the first things Dot had done once Lucifer returned Velvette and Valentino to the Tower, at least that’s what Val told her. A complete tear down and rebuild of the entire room, down to the studs. They were already to the point of laying down new flooring, the walls freshly rebuilt and painted, just different enough that she noticed, but close enough to still call it home. Velvette wondered if Vox would notice.

Eventually, she ended up curled onto the corner of the bed in Vox’s bedroom, arms wrapped around one of his pillows, trying to breathe in the scent of him. She really had ruined everything, hadn’t she? All she wanted to do was protect him, that was all she had ever wanted to do. He needed her to keep him safe, just like her mother had needed her, and she had managed it with her – why couldn’t she manage it for Vox, even after everything she had already done to protect him?

Besides, she knew the nightmares would stop if she could see him with her own eyes and hold him close to her. If she could just bury her nose against his chest and smell him, not just the afterthought of him. Then maybe she’d stop waking up screaming herself hoarse, wrapped up in Valentino’s arms while he calmed her down. She was always astonished by how quickly he was able to soothe her fears away, but then he did have a lot of experience with Vox’s nightmares, so she figured he was probably an expert by now.

Distantly, she heard the front door to the penthouse open. Pressing her face into Vox’s pillow, she waited until the quiet tapping of kitten heels paused close to the bed before tipping her face up just enough to look Dot in the eyes.

The ferret Sinner gave her a soft smile, reaching out to stroke her hand over Velvette’s hair. “Hello, girlie.”

Velvette scoffed but didn’t pull away. She closed her eyes and let Dot smooth her hair back from her face. “How is he?”

Dot hummed. “He’s healing,” she said softly, not volunteering any more information. She hadn’t given Velvette anything more than that since she had first returned to the Tower after going to Alastor’s cabin. All she knew was that he was supposedly safe with Alastor and that he was ‘healing.’ Whatever that meant.

“Can I see him yet?” she heard herself ask before she could stop herself. Every time she had asked before, Dot only shook her head, a distantly sad expression on her face. Tonight wouldn’t be any different, but she still opened her eyes with the scantiest bit of hope still lingering. Dot’s sad smile was the same.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart.” God, why did Dot make her feel like such a child and why didn’t she care? “He’s still not… himself. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“He should,” she muttered, burying her face back in his pillow.

Dot patted her head. “You know it’ll tear him up if he hurt you. You know how much he loves you.”

Velvette clutched the pillow tighter. She didn’t want to hear this. “I need some time by myself,” she mumbled into the pillow. Like the past two weeks hadn’t been spent largely on her own. Besides Dot’s check-ins and Valentino soothing her through the aftermath of her nightmares, Velvette had been left largely to her own devices. Scanning the web and squashing everything she could that made any of the Vees look bad – and she couldn’t keep up without Vox.

Dot sighed and gave the top of her head one more gentle pat. “I’m going back later tonight, but I’ll be around for a while if you need anything.”

She waited Dot out, and didn’t leave Vox’s bed until long after the ferret Sinner had left the penthouse again. Shoving herself up, Velvette swung her feet over the side of the bed and walked back to her suite, picking up speed as she went. Shutting the door firmly, and throwing the lock, Velvette began to draw down her spell books from the bookshelf in the bedroom. Careful to space everything out where she could see it, Velvette prepared for the spell she was loathe to cast.

Finally, once everything was in place, she drew a small knife across her palm and let the welling blood drip onto the sigil she had drawn onto her bedroom floor. The room lit up with the eerie purple light of her magic before a heavy darkness blanketed over the room. Velvette waited with bated breath.

A shimmer of incandescent light cut through the darkness, and she once again found herself kneeling before the two strange creatures that had helped her create her most powerful spell. Floating forward, the smaller of the two stopped inches away from her before shrinking down to her level, its shape slowly morphing into a more human form. Well, a human form something would have taken if it had only ever heard it be described rather than ever having seen one.

{Oh, it’s you again. What do you want now, little mortal?}

The figure had taken the shape of a woman, though it didn’t speak through its mouth, but instead dropped its words directly into her head. Velvette swallowed. She had dealt with these creatures once before and they had helped her, but the feeling of having words put into her head like that left her unsettled in a way it hadn’t before. “I need your help.”

{You’ve already had our help once. You know the rules – once only.}

“Please,” she begged, dropping any pretense of a confident, powerful Overlord. She was just Velvette. Just a girl, really, who wanted to protect her family and bring everyone home, together, in one piece. “It’s not for me. It’s for him.”

{We helped you with him already.} The feminine creature tittered gently, holding up the shape of hand over its mouth. {Poor little man – can he manage nothing on his own without your interventions?}

“I’ll pay you whatever you want,” she promised, ignoring the slight to Vox. The second creature assumed a more masculine form and tilted its head curiously as she spoke. “Anything. You can have more of my soul, if you want it. Please. Just let me help him one more time.”

The creatures glanced at one another. Slowly, as she watched, their forms began to mutate and solidify until they were as close to human shaped as Velvette imagined they could be. The light around them gradually dimmed. {What is it you want us to do?}

“Heal him.” Velvette sank down to rest on her heels. She was so fucking exhausted for someone who hadn’t done anything for two weeks. With a sigh, she rubbed her hands over her face – maybe they’d take pity on her if she showed them just how desperately exhausted worrying about Vox was making her. “He isn’t getting any better. I can’t – we can’t do this without him. We need him back home again.”

{He’ll heal eventually, little girl. It will take time, but he will heal.}

“But how long will it take?” she heard herself demanding, growing frustrated. “I can’t wait a year before he’s finally better. I fucked this up and I need to fix it now!”

{Oh, a year is very optimistic.} Velvette’s heart sank. What did that mean? Could it take decades before Vox was finally better? She couldn’t wait that long to fix this – she’d go mad herself, just waiting for him to come back home again.

“Anything you want. Please.”

They exchanged another look, and Velvette wasn’t so naïve as to not recognize the mischief playing in their eyes before the feminine creature grinned, leaning towards her. {I suppose we could find it in our hearts – if we had those – to help you one more time. But there is always a price to pay, silly little mortal.}

“Anything,” she agreed. “I’ll pay whatever you want. Just… just make him better and bring him back home, please.”

{Very well. Remember that you asked.}

Velvette nodded briskly. Whatever. Whatever price they wanted from her this time, she was more than willing to pay it.

*

Present Day

Valentino took a long drag of his cigarette and blew it out slowly as he watched Alastor and Vox sitting across from one another, pouring over some musty old books that the Radio Demon had brought with him to the Tower. Vox looked, if not exactly happy, comfortable as he flipped slowly through an especially heavy book that looked older than Zestial. He glanced up at Alastor and raised a hand to rub tiredly at the back of his neck.

“I’m not having any luck here,” Vox complained quietly. “Maybe I’ll just head back downstairs and do another deep dive.”

Val bristled. He did not want Vox back in his basement cave, cables plugged into every conceivable port as he sifted through endless data. Besides the fact that he knew how badly it drained the other Overlord, he hated knowing that Vox wasn’t going to find anything there either and would only return to the penthouse exhausted and even more irritable. No, the Radio Demon needed to go, and Vox needed something else to focus on.

“You nerds still doing homework?” he asked as he swept into the room, frankly a little annoyed that they both had the nerve to look surprised at his presence. Like he hadn’t been watching them for the past five minutes, just on the threshold of the room. Unsurprisingly, Alastor’s eyes immediately narrowed, and he scoffed before returning his attention to the open book in front of him. Vox gave him a soft smile. Valentino could see the bags under his eyes from here – how he could possibly have bags under his eyes when he had a cartoon for a face was beyond Val’s comprehension, but he felt his irritation start to drain away at the tired expression on Vox’s face.

“Yeah, we’ve been going over this stuff for hours now.” Vox pushed back away from the table and raised his arms over his head, stretching with a groan. Despite himself, Val found himself raking his eyes over his partner’s slim figure and hoping. “We should probably call it quits for the night anyways.”

“Are you sure?” Alastor asked and Val rolled his eyes.

“Let him have a break already.”

Vox sighed, letting his arms back down again. “He’s right, Alastor. Besides, if I try to decipher one more rune, I think my eyes might cross.”

Val watched with satisfaction as they carefully sorted the books into tidy piles before Alastor waved them away into one of his fucked up little portals. Knowing that the Radio Demon was purposefully ignoring his presence, Valentino watched with pursed lips while Alastor caught Vox’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, eyes scanning over Vox’s face carefully. Vox’s mouth tilted into a half-hearted smile before he glanced over at Val and nodded.

What the fuck? Why the fuck did Alastor think he could just come into their home, after all the shit he had done and everything he was responsible for, and act like Valentino was somehow the interloper? If he wasn’t worried that it would push Vox’s already somewhat untenable mood off into the deep end, he would’ve already shot Alastor straight through the head by now. Returned the favor, so to speak.

He waited while Alastor finished saying whatever goodbyes he was saying through the little shared frequency he and Vox had, before flicking his eyes towards the door to indicate that the Radio Demon’s presence was no longer needed or welcome. Alastor returned the gesture with a sneer before opening a Void portal and stepping through, offering Vox one final glance before disappearing.

Vox sighed when he was finally gone. “I know you two hate each other and everything, and I get it, I really fucking do… but it would be super helpful if you did it where I didn’t have to see it.”

“I don’t know why he’s here all the time, that’s all,” Valentino huffed, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Vox rubbed his shoulder and glanced away.

“He’s helping. He’s doing all the analog research and helping me get it digitized so that we can go through it more easily,” Vox replied. “Besides, he’s not here all the time.”

“It feels like he is.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Vox shrugged. “I have to do this, Val. I have to keep going with this and maybe you don’t understand that, but… it helps having him here sometimes. He keeps me on pace, you know?”

He didn’t understand that. Couldn’t understand that. Couldn’t understand why he wasn’t enough for Vox, why Velvette wasn’t enough for Vox. Why couldn’t he just be happy with what he had here, at the Tower, and not spend his time chasing after the Radio Demon? Again.

Fuck. He needed to back off from that line of thinking before it took over and he did something he regretted. Good thing he already had a plan. Forcing a crooked smile onto his face, Valentino pulled a small remote out of his pocket and Vox raised an eyebrow. Before Vox could protest, he hit the play button on the already cued up music.


Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life
Electric word, life, it means forever
And that’s a mighty long time


Vox laughed in surprise, the tension leaving his body almost immediately. Val took that as his sign to catch the older Overlord’s hand in his and pull him in a little closer. He slid his hand onto Vox’s waist before circling around to the small of his back, starting to sway a little.

“Really?”

Val grinned down at him. “You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that.” Vox started to sway along with him, sliding his hands up onto Valentino’s arms, his smile growing as the song began to build. Val couldn’t help but return his expression fondly. Vox began to nod his head along with the beat. The song picked up and Val spun Vox away from him, letting the smaller demon twirl out away from him to the full length of their arm span before tugging him back in. For the first time in such a long time, Vox’s screen brightened like it did whenever he was genuinely happy, and Valentino felt fucking vindicated for shooing Alastor away. The Radio Demon didn’t know how to make Vox happy the way Val did.

Before too long, Vox started to lead their dance and Valentino grinned. Good, that was much better. He was starting to behave like his old self, taking charge on the dance floor and Val knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be able to convince Vox to take charge in other areas as well. Until then…

He pulled Vox flush against his body as the song drew to a close, drums and guitar building to a dramatic crescendo. Vox stared up at him, mouth open, screen flushed such an adorable shade of pink that he couldn’t stop himself from catching his screen between his hands and pulling him in for a decadent kiss and, fuck, did Val miss this.

In a heartbeat, Vox stiffened in his arms and Valentino could’ve groaned in disappointment. Fuck, this was supposed to help. Get Vox nice and relaxed, feeling good. He tried to deepen the kiss, pouring venom into Vox’s mouth in hopes that it would loosen up anything that the dance hadn’t. Before he could really get Vox to melt against him, Valentino found himself with empty arms, the smell of ozone filling his nose. He blinked and looked to where Vox was standing a few feet away, hands clasped tightly in front of him as he rocked back a little onto his heels. Like he wanted so badly to run but was staying for Val’s sake. Val sighed quietly.

“Sorry.” The television demon shook his head, carefully avoiding Valentino’s gaze. His mouth set into a thin line, and he shifted his weight once more. Val could see the sharp rise and fall of his shoulders as he tried to get his breathing under control from here. He knew how badly Vox wanted everyone to see only perfection when they looked at him and didn’t seem to be aware of how easily Valentino could read his distress, even when he was trying his damnedest to appear unruffled. “Sorry. I don’t… I’m just… I’m not there yet.”

Fuck. So fucking frustrating, after all the effort Val had put into wooing Vox beforehand. He could force the issue, but that would just fuck everything up even more. And ever since Vox had come back from double death, Val was genuinely unsure if he would just electrocute him to death if Val pushed him too far. He’d never had the balls to do it before, but since Val had found out that Vox had gone so far as to attack Dot while the Radio Demon had him stashed away in his little cabin of horrors, he couldn’t be too sure that Vox wouldn’t do the same to him.

“It’s fine,” Val told him, careful to keep his voice steady and reassuring. Vox’s eyes focused in on him before darting over his face. He held up his hands placatingly and Val sighed.

“I’m working on it, I promise.” Vox tried to smile, but it just came off looking forced. “It’ll get better.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Vox nodded before tipping his head towards his bedroom – where he hadn’t let Valentino enter since returning to the Tower. “I’m just going to turn in, I guess.”

Val waited for a beat. “Do you want company?” He asked it every night, or some variation of it, and Vox’s response was exactly what he expected.

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

“That’s fine.” Valentino watched Vox hurry back to his own bedroom and crossed his arms over his chest.

This was growing old.

Notes:

CW: illness involving an infection (including incontinence and vomiting)

Vox is playing J.S. Bach's Prelude in C Major, BWV 846 in the second section of the chapter.

Chapter 27: so if you meet me, have some courtesy, have some sympathy, and some taste

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

Five Months Ago

Of all the places in Hell, they had to be at the bellhop’s house.

It hadn’t made much sense that the mayor would’ve fled here – really, he expected the demon to go to his own home, to the gaudy Tower that he had built and controlled every facet of. Not to a cabin in the middle of the woods (and wasn’t that a lovely place for a serial killer to make his home, if a little bit on the nose) where he couldn’t easily use his magic to jump through the electrical field.

Lucifer groaned and pressed a finger between his eyes – a headache was already setting in. He really had no interest in spending time with the nutty bastard today. Sure, he was starting to see the human side of the Radio Demon (and that was shocking because the daughter-stealing gremlin having real life human feelings was not on his bingo card), but that didn’t mean that he thought the man wasn’t still the absolute worst. Sue him, his pride was still smarting a bit from having a fucking piano dropped on his head – even the most tender displays of humanity didn’t erase that quickly.

But.

Eve was his mess. As easy as it would be to blame the radio jerk for this one, Lucifer knew that the whole Eve and Michael debacle rested solely at his feet. Even Lillith, who was usually the one to advocate for Sinners, had been hesitant to show her any mercy. And she had been right – like always.

He summoned a glowing golden portal and sighed. If he was going to track down Eve, and by extension Michael and Charlie, he was going to need to get all the information he could. While he really didn’t mind spending the time helping the mayor (who had been growing on him more and more), getting more information from him meant having to spend the afternoon with the Radio Demon.

Fuck. It was fine.

Lucifer stepped through the portal, directly into a room that was bizarrely normal, except for the fact that the room was in a building that appeared to be made of wood. Not for the first time, he rolled his eyes as he glanced around for the cabin’s occupants. Whoever heard of building a wooden cabin in a place that regularly spawned lava tornados and flash firestorms? The fucking height of hubris, this guy.

Alastor’s head jerked up in surprise before his eyes narrowed. Lucifer returned his expression.

“Hey, Arthur, where’s your boyfriend?” Alastor’s eyes flicked over to the other side of the room where the room felt a little heavier. Lucifer looked over and noted the soft blue glow of a television screen. Vox had an open book resting on his lap but was staring straight at the King of Hell with a neutral expression. Lucifer blinked – the mayor hadn’t looked at him so directly since before… well, before. “How is he?”

“He,” the mayor said quietly, “is sitting right here. Why don’t you ask him directly?”

Lucifer exchanged a quick look with Alastor, surprised by the complete coherence of the mayor’s question. The last time he’d been to the cabin to put a suspension on the mayoral contract, Vox had barely been able to string a full sentence together, his screen glitching helplessly whenever he tried. Alastor simply pressed his mouth into a thin, closed mouth smile and returned to the book he had been reading. So much for his help.

“So…” He approached the Overlord, slow and deliberate. Vox watched him silently, brows furrowing as his mouth twisted down in a frown. He closed the book in his lap before setting it slowly on the small round end table next to the chair. “How’s it going?”

“How’s it going?” he repeated softly, head tilting slightly like he didn’t understand the question. His eyes flickered over to where the other Overlord was sitting, disbelieving. His hands came up to rest on the armrests, claws flexing ever so slightly against the dull navy patterned fabric. “How is it going? Oh, gosh. How is it going, Alastor?” Lucifer’s gaze didn’t leave Vox’s face, but he could easily hear the small uptick in static behind him. “How would you like me to answer that one?”

The King of Hell had practically invented grief and loss. But looking the mayor in the face, knowing full well that it was his reluctance to permanently destroy either his son or the woman Michael had foolishly allowed himself to fall in love with that led him to this moment, he realized that he was going to have to be careful with how he handled this interaction. He preferred to get the information he came for with the mayor’s help, but it was obvious that the man was still so far from healed, Lucifer wasn’t sure he could manage it without triggering a complete meltdown. Of course, he could get it either way, but Lucifer knew he wasn’t prepared to force something else on the Sinner staring at him with such open disdain.

“Uh…” Lucifer glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing when the bellhop refused to look up from his book. Right. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not sure what to say – does sorry help?”

Vox scoffed and looked away, dropping his hands from the armrests to clasp them together in his lap. “Buddy, I’m not sure sorry really suffices, but if it makes you feel better, sure okay.”

“Look, buddy, I’m trying to be patient.” Lucifer snapped, growing irritated and impatient in the moment, and Vox instantly tensed. “Do you have any idea of what’s at stake here?”

Vox’s breath caught in his throat and his fingers twisted together, sharp metal claws digging into the soft flesh of his hands. The coppery scent of blood rose to meet Lucifer, heavy in the air. He watched as the first drop of Sinner blood fell from the man’s hands and splashed gently onto the fabric of his pants. A harsh record scratch cut through the ambient static in the room and Lucifer looked away in surprise.

The bellhop’s face was turned towards them, eyes narrowed and dark. He was right to be upset – it wasn’t like Lucifer was coming in here treating the other Sinner with kid gloves. Honey and vinegar, he reminded himself before taking a deep breath and returning his attention to the other man. Shit.

Vox’s gaze was firmly fixed on the wall beside him, eyes wide, and Lucifer slumped a little. He’d spent hours of his existence trying to put the Sinner back together again and he couldn’t be bothered to keep his temper in check now that the man seemed to be more coherent than he had been in weeks? He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Listen… this is very difficult for all of us. I’m just trying to get some information so that I can find my daughter and maybe stop the apocalypse.” Lucifer let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“No, that probably comes naturally,” the fucking bellhop chimed in and really, Lucifer used every ounce of self-control he had not to simply punt the bastard into next week. The King didn’t bother to respond, not moving his gaze from Vox.

“Sorry,” the mayor said finally, and Lucifer sighed. He wasn’t looking for an apology. Whether he refused to adjust his gaze or was unable, Lucifer wasn’t sure, but the Sinner continued to stare at the wall like there was something absolutely fascinating on the wooden surface.

Lucifer sank down in an armchair beside Vox and sat silently for a few minutes. He probably didn’t have any right to be terse, all things considered, but it was getting harder to stay rational and patient not knowing where Charlie was. What was happening to her right now. The only thing keeping him sane was the knowledge that she was the only vessel that Michael had available to him right now, and she would be kept safe if only for that reason.

“I just wanted to know more about…” He glanced at Vox, who had finally turned to look down at his lap. “About that night. Do you think you could help me?”

“What do you want to know?”

Lucifer didn’t miss the tremor in the Overlord’s voice and frowned. “I need to know what happened before you got to the Hotel.” Vox’s head snapped up, eyes widening anxiously.

“Before?” His eyes darted over to where the bellhop was sitting. “Why before?”

“To see if I missed anything.” Lucifer sighed. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but maybe she said something to you?”

Vox stumbled to his feet and began to pace, twisting his hands together with a vicious speed that soon had blood dripping freely to the floor. To his surprise, Alastor was at Vox’s side in an instant, catching one of his hands and pressing a clean handkerchief against his bleeding palm. The mayor stared at the rapidly staining cloth for a few seconds before he pulled away and resumed pacing, keeping the handkerchief clenched in his fist. He shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice tight with unease. “I can’t… I mean, I don’t think…” He made an anxious humming noise and pressed his bloodied hand against the side of his head. “Do I have to?”

“No,” the fucking bellhop snapped immediately and Lucifer bit back the growl rising in the back of his throat. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Vox.”

Vox’s gaze settled on Lucifer, and he laughed hollowly. “I don’t think I have a choice, do I?”

Lucifer shook his head gently, a fresh wave of pity washing over him as Vox squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment, his hand twitched towards the other Overlord and Alastor reached out to catch it, careful of the bloody slices cut into the palm.

“You don’t have to.” Vox shuddered, looking dangerously close to tears. Much to Lucifer’s dismay. He had watched the demon in front of him struggle for weeks (and had the terrible privilege of having witnessed so much of the trauma that he had already experienced). King of Hell or not, he didn’t want to break him down again, just to see if he had missed anything in his search for Eve.

Alastor gave Vox’s hand a small squeeze. “I’ll tell him to fuck off if you want.”

Preparing himself to be offended, Lucifer’s indignant response was interrupted by a weak laugh. “He’ll smite you.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

Oh, he would dare. Lucifer would absolutely dare.

“It’s fine,” Vox replied after another long pause, glancing at Lucifer. His face still set in a miserable frown. “I’ll do it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Lucifer told him carefully and Vox’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “I can, uh, just take a look directly in your mind.”

“Really?” Was that relief in his tone? Lucifer hoped so and nodded.

“Yeah, but you’re still going to experience everything while I’m in there. It’ll be like going through it all over again, only you’ll be seeing like I would… like a movie.” The two demons exchanged a look and Alastor nodded slightly. Lucifer gestured to the couch. “You’ll need to sit or lay down.”

Vox stared at the couch for a long time before he walked over, sitting down cautiously. After a moment, he took a deep breath and swung his legs up, reclining with his back resting against the armrest. Lucifer drew his power around him, letting the soft glow of angelic energy gather around his hands and taking a seat. Letting the Sinner see the angelic magic swirl between his fingers before he reached forward. Vox glanced up at Alastor, mouth falling open in apprehension, then looked back at the King. He nodded tightly.

Lucifer gave the Sinner an apologetic smile and pressed his fingertips between Vox’s eyes, breathing deeply as the man slumped backwards against the couch, eyelids fluttering shut. He pointedly ignored the anxious prickle of static wrapping around his body and let himself inside the Sinner’s mind.

He was almost immediately surprised when he could see the faces of the Goetia that had assaulted the Overlord. The video that had been broadcast had carefully avoided showing their faces and had focused instead on the agony of the Sinner as they violently abused him. But, here, in his memory, Lucifer could very clearly make out their features and felt an unsurprising surge of rage.

They weren’t even ruling Goetia – these were their fucking kids. What had Charlie called them once? Trust fund babies?

“As members of Hellborn nobility, we have special… privileges where it pertains to your newly elected office.”

What the fuck? There wasn’t anything in the contract about that. He would know – what parts he hadn’t written himself were all approved by him personally. He was very familiar with the damn thing.

He watched as they lured Vox further into the room, spouting off nonsense about how it was part of his contract and how they had special privileges with regards to his office. The newly minted mayor had followed them past the runes which Lucifer instantly recognized as Eve’s handwriting and seemed to believe everything they were saying. He sighed, feeling tired down to his very bones, as he watched them ply the Sinner with drug-laced liquor before starting the physical assault itself.

At least the Sinner put up a good fight, he thought as he watched Vox fight back viciously. Lucifer shook his head when he recognized the Goetian kid as the snotnosed brat that he’d gotten complaints about from another noble family. He hadn’t been sure what he was supposed to do about some kids fighting at school (wasn’t that supposed to be a normal thing?), so he had heard their complaint about the bully before dismissing it completely. Well, it looked like he was a young adult now, though Snotnose had clearly moved beyond just being a playground menace.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and realized that Eve was watching from the shadows, amusement on her face when Vox bit the finger off one of the Goetia then chewed a sizable chunk out of the arm of another. That… shouldn’t be possible. He took a fresh look at the runes surrounding the room and rolled his eyes. She neutralized their powers, too? Well, that explained his temporary success in fighting them off. Lucifer wondered if he would have been successful in escaping if he hadn’t been drugged first.

He brought his attention back to the Goetia who had by now managed to subdue Vox, pinning him against the coffee table. The one with the bitten arm was sneering at the Sinner, wrapping his arm up with one of the Vee’s blankets. He gestured with an exasperated roll of his eyes and Snotnose raised Vox’s hips off the table and lined himself up behind the other demon. Lucifer’s lip curled in disgust as the young Hellborn laughed while forcing himself into a panting Vox whose smashed face was wild with pain and terror. Ugh, he didn’t need to watch this.

He brushed quickly past nearly an hour of the assault before he noticed that Eve moved out from the shadows and into the mayor’s eyeline. Slowing time down once more, Lucifer watched her refuse to provide the help that he begged desperately for. The Goetia who had been griping about his injured arm shoved the Goetia currently raping the Sinner away as Vox succumbed to the latest round of drugs. With a sneer, he wrapped his hand around the Sinner’s throat, ignoring the weak struggle and choking him until Lucifer knew that Vox was dead.

“Assholes,” he snarled as the Goetia tossed him back against his own couch and they waited around for the Overlord to regenerate before continuing their assault. Joking about the dead man like he was nothing more than a passing amusement.

Shit. Besides the identity of the Goetia who had been responsible for implementing this part of Eve’s plan, he hadn’t learned anything new. He watched them leave the Sinner on the floor after they had their fun, chest barely moving as he drew in wet, rattling breaths. Eve approached them with a scowl.

“You went off-script,” she said, her eyes inky dark pools. “I told you what to say.”

“We still got the job done, didn’t we?” Snotnose asked with a grin. “Don’t worry about it, babydoll. He’s still going to be fucked up, right?”

“Get out,” Eve sneered, gesturing towards the door and waiting until they were gone before turning back to Vox. She tilted her head like a snake as she watched him gasp in shallow breaths before perching herself on the stained couch, slipping a phone out of her pocket and beginning to type.

Lucifer watched her torture the Overlord once he finally awoke, first by making him think it was his friend who had sent the video footage to the news and then with the tiny angelic blade that she used to strategically cut into him until he passed out again. The King finally stepped back out of the memories as the big moth man crashed into the penthouse, no doubt thinking he would be rescuing his partner.

Back in the bellhop’s cabin, he took a step back from the couch, frowning. Really, he had hoped to find something in the mayor’s memories, but Eve had been careful here, too. So very careful not to give Lucifer much of anything to work with, even though he had suspected she had done as much. He turned away from the Overlord and began to pace.

The runes were interesting. She had always had an affinity for runes, so he wasn’t surprised to see that she had used them to keep the Overlord at her mercy. Still, though, some of the runes had been new – had she invented some new spells during her captivity? He would have to spend some time really studying the writing and compare it with some of her other runes to be sure. It likely wouldn’t yield anything useful, but not much had so far.

“Are we done?”

Lucifer glanced over his shoulder. Vox sat up slowly, expression vaguely confused. Temporary memory loss was a known side effect of playing around in someone’s head and Lucifer gestured for him to lay back down.

“Yeah, we’re done. You did good.” Vox nodded uneasily as Alastor spread a knitted throw blanket over his lap. For a moment, the King could almost understand what Vox must’ve seen in Alastor to have befriended him at one point. He watched the bellhop press a glass of water into the mayor’s hand before raising his eyebrows and looking pointedly at the door. Unsubtle jackass. “I’ve got some things to deal with. Get some rest. That’s going to fuck with your head for a while.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s the first thing to fuck me lately,” he replied darkly before taking a sip of water. “It’s the hot new trend – all the rage! #FuckVox, amiright?”

Dismayed, Lucifer shifted his gaze to Alastor as he sunk down beside Vox on the couch. For once, the Radio Demon looked like he was at a loss, expression uncharacteristically vulnerable and Lucifer frowned when the Sinner glanced up at him. Was he looking for advice, Lucifer wondered when the bellhop opened his mouth to speak before huffing a small, defeated sigh. He leaned in slightly, pressing his shoulder against Vox’s. The television demon didn’t acknowledge his closeness but instead stared into his glass of water with a frown.

“Did…?” His frown deepened. “Did you see anything useful?”

“A few things,” Lucifer answered reluctantly. He really didn’t want to delve into any specifics.

“Do you know who they are?” Vox asked, hand tightening around the glass. A tiny network of delicate cracks began to spindle out from his fingertips. “Are you going to tell me?”

“I’m not sure who they are,” the Devil lied. No sense in sending the Overlord off half-cocked against a group of arrogant and immature but powerful Hellborn. He winced minutely when the demon suddenly launched the glass across the room with a furious shout, shattered glass raining down with the water as it crashed against the far wall.

“Then just fuck off,” he snarled, heedless of the potential danger he was putting himself in with his disrespect. Lucifer blinked at the Sinner in surprise. Alastor’s ears fell back against his head and his hands clenched into fists on his thighs, staring at Vox in alarm. “What’s the fucking point of you being here if you’re not going to help me?”

“Vox,” the bellhop said quietly, sending a pleading look in Lucifer’s direction. Vox shoved against the other Overlord, forcing Alastor up from the couch. Lucifer watched the Sinner stumble to his feet, swaying for a moment, before he caught himself.

“Fuck this,” he hissed, striding out of the room without another word. Alastor’s gaze darted between where the mayor had stormed off and Lucifer himself, mouth opening like he wanted to say something then snapping shut. Lucifer held up a hand, cutting off whatever excuse he was trying to come up with.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. He gestured vaguely towards the doorway Vox had exited through. “When did he, uh, get his mind back?”

“Yesterday,” Alastor said quietly. “He just woke up and wanted access to his powers again so that he could go through his calendar and work. I thought it was just another delusion but… he’s been completely coherent the entire time. He’s better?”

Lucifer considered this. Odd that it should have been so abrupt, but he didn’t exactly have the time or the energy to go digging into why the mayor’s sanity had so suddenly returned. “Think he’s ready to have his powers back again?”

“Yes,” Alastor said with more certainty.

Lucifer shrugged and snapped his fingers, removing the restrictions. Shadows immediately swirled around the bellhop before dissolving. The King of Hell paused for a moment then snapped his fingers once more, a vial of pills appearing in his hand. “He’s still not sleeping, either, is he?”

Alastor shook his head. “Hardly.”

“Try these.” Lucifer snapped his hand back when Alastor tried to take the vial, raising an eyebrow. “Fucking tell him before you give them to him.”

The bellhop didn’t even look offended by the implication, only resigned. He nodded and Lucifer let him take the vial. Great. Now he had two ridiculously overpowered, mentally unstable Overlords to deal with on top of the whole Eve and Michael business. As if he didn’t have enough already vying for his attention – he wasn’t sure he could promise any calm, rational response if he had to rein one of them in.

Eager to move on from this mess (and onto the next mess, fuck his life), Lucifer gave Alastor one last careful look before opening another golden portal. He knew exactly where he was heading next and stepped through the portal, this time directly into the room where he knew the Goetia were congregating.

“It was fucking awesome,” he heard a voice cackle as he stepped into the lushly decorated room silently, not announcing himself. He immediately picked up the scent of top-of-the-line marijuana and sighed. So great. “Seriously, I thought for sure that he was going to rip Sebastian’s arm right off.”

“It wasn’t funny!” Sebastian answered sulkily, staring down at a thin pink line on his arm. “I have a scar from it. A fucking scar. Can you even imagine? How am I supposed to ever wear short sleeves again?”

“It’s a battle scar, dude!” Lucifer’s horns began to manifest as another Goetia chimed in enthusiastically. He immediately recognized him as Snotnose. “You got to put your dick in an Overlord, and you’ve got the scar to prove it. That’s fucking badass.”

“What are you even talking about – are you fucking high right now?” Sebastian snapped back. Snotnose waved the blunt in his hand, rolling his eyes. “Like it’s hard to get your dick in an Overlord? Half of them will literally beg you to do it. And, anyways, getting marked by a Sinner? I should just die now from the embarrassment.”

“I liked the part when he was on the couch and was crying and begging Barnaby to stop. Remember that? He was so fucking surprised that when you told him to just be a good little mayor and fucking take it.” Snotnose made an exaggerated face of shock before bursting into laughter. “Fuck, Sinners, man. They’re so fucking pathetic.”

Lucifer chose that moment to step forward, fiery magic sizzling around him as he watched the Goetian brats scream and shout, trying to scramble backwards to safety. As if anyone was safe in his realm if he had any inclination to destroy them. He watched them all for a few seconds, letting them panic for a bit, before plastering a wide smile on his face.

“Gentlemen!” he laughed, clasping his hands in front of him and tilting his head to the side in what he knew was a frankly adorable gesture. Or so he’d been told. “What good luck that I’ve found you all here together!”

Snotnose recovered first, grinning and holding out his joint. “Yeah, we’re just reminiscing.”

Lucifer fought down the twitch his eye desperately threatened to do. “Oh, is that right? What would you be reminiscing about?”

Sebastian exchanged a glance with one of the other young Goetia. “Uh, just a little fun we had the other day. Barely even remember it now.”

Snotnose choked on the drag he just took and scowled at Sebastian. “Barely even…? Dude, we fucked the Sinner mayor hard. He was fucking bleeding by the time we were done. What do you mean, ‘barely even remember it?’”

Well, it looked like Lucifer had identified the idiot of the bunch. He zeroed in.

“I heard you told him that it was in his contract to let you fuck him,” Lucifer said, feeling slimy as he spoke. The words tasted sour in his mouth. Snotnose did not disappoint, though, laughing again.

“Yeah, that was my bad. Grandfather told me about the good old days, and I just thought it’d be cooler than telling him that he was already bought and paid for.” Lucifer bristled. “Barnaby over there was so pissed.”

Barnaby, a smaller Goetia than the other two idiots, sneered. “Because I had to fucking tap dance to make up for your stupid mistake. We were supposed to tell him that we paid the little Overlord to fuck him.”

“Did you?”

The smaller Goetia had the audacity to look offended. “Of course not! Why the fuck would we pay for a Sinner? We don’t have to pay for them – we just take them if we want them.”

Deep breaths, Lucifer, deep breaths.

“So, let me get this straight. She came to you and told you that you could fuck him, free of charge, but that you had to tell him that you paid for him?”

“Uh, yeah,” Snotnose replied, taking another long drag of his joint. He blew the smoke out above him after a few seconds. “She even gave us the keys to the castle. Told us to use him as hard as we wanted, too.”

“But you chuckle fucks improvised the whole story about the contract?” he asked through clenched teeth. Sebastian and Barnby exchanged a quick, anxious look, finally starting to sense the danger they were in. Snotnose had no such sense of self-preservation. “Why would you bother when she just handed you the keys and told you to tell him you paid for him?”

Snotnose scoffed. “Because it works.”

Lucifer fought the urge to simply smite the little prick on the spot. “What?”

“Well, it’s the easiest way to get access to Sinners. They’re so cagey but stupid, too, right? Never bother to read the contract. So, it’s easy to just tell them it’s in there and they’ll believe whatever you tell them. They’ll just fucking trust you, won’t they? I figured it would work better to get him in the room until we could contain him with the runes.”

“Because a mayor is strong enough to actually give you a run for your money at full power,” Lucifer acknowledged. Maybe not strong enough to outright defeat a Goetia hand to hand, but strong enough to do some damage and strong enough to fight his way to freedom if he needed to. The King of Hell rolled his eyes. “Fucking sporting of you.”

“Hey! He fucking bit me. Look at this!” Sebastian held out his arm, furious. “She didn’t fucking mention that the runes would neutralize us, too.”

“Of course she didn’t.” Lucifer cocked his head. “Are you really that stupid? She probably thought it would be funny to see what kind of damage he could do. It’s not like you weren’t going to win either way. It was still, what, four to one?”

Snotnose sniffed. “Three to one. Childebert didn’t take his turn.”

Lucifer eyed the said Goetia who looked away immediately, rubbing at his arm, eyes darting around the room like he was waiting for an excuse to leave. Well, there was one in every group, wasn’t there?

“How long have you been doing this?” Lucifer asked.

Snotnose shook his head. “This is our first one. Grandfather told about the one that he and his buddies humbled back, when?”

Barnby hummed thoughtfully. “I thought he said it was the mid-1800’s.”

“No, the late-1800’s.”

“We’re getting off track,” Lucifer bit out.

“Right, but anyways. There hasn’t been one in forever, so we had to make sure that we set an example.”

“Is that so?”

“We can’t let them think that they’re in charge.”

“Ah. Well, I’m so glad that we could get that sorted out.” He let the easy smile spread across his face, allowing the young Goetia in the room to shoot each other relaxed, self-satisfied grins. They were just about to start congratulating themselves on a job well done and approved by the King of Hell himself when Lucifer let the full force of his angelic form burst free from its confines.

“If this ever happens again – if I ever hear even a whisper of a rumor that you or any other Hellborn are preying on Sinners like this again – I will personally tear you apart at the atomic level and scatter your remains across every star in the galaxy.” He stared around the room at the cowering, whimpering idiots that he was cursed with ruling over. “Am I clear?”

“Why do you care about Sinners?” Snotnose demanded, idiocy taking the reins in his feathery head. “They’re sent here to be punished!”

“Not like that and not by you. Unless you would like me to ensure that the favor is returned. I understand that Overlord Valentino is on something of a warpath right now. I could snap away your powers like you did with his partner and see how long you last.” He grinned with satisfaction when he noticed the small yellow puddle collecting at Barnaby’s feet. “Besides I actually almost like this one and I hate to see people break the things I like.”

“But he’s just–”

“And if you breathe a word of what you’ve done to anyone,” Lucifer continued, “I will take your powers away for the next one hundred years and let you fend for yourselves out there.” He eyed them closely. “Just like Prince Stolas. How does that sound?”

Sebastain gulped. “Terrible. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Snotnose shot him a mutinous look but finally nodded. The other two Goetia nodded quickly, eyes wide.

“So glad we understand one another, gentlemen,” Lucifer interrupted. He was done with this. “I’d prefer not to see any of your faces for at least the next several decades. Understood?”

The Goetia muttered their understanding, too terrified to look him in the eye anymore. Good. He had a daughter to find.

Notes:

CW: PTSD, Lucifer looking into Vox's memories (nonconsensual drug use, violence, rape, temporary character death) - everything is in the past but he will see it unfold and perceive it as though it were happening in real time, perpetrators discussing rape/assault

Sorry. This chapter made me feel icky, too.

Chapter 28: look what you just made me do

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

2001


Veronica padded across the living room in bright pink fuzzy socks, dressed in her pajamas, and climbed onto the threadbare couch that her mother had tried to make look nicer with a quilt she had found in a secondhand shop. She made sure to stay as quiet as possible as she tucked her feet underneath her and pressed her palms flat against her thighs, gaze fixed firmly on the man breathing heavily on the floor.

It was three days after her thirteenth birthday and, instead of presents, her father had taken the opportunity to remind her that he was only still around because that’s what a man was supposed to do when he had children. He had drunk himself into a stupor, muttering occasionally how unbelievable it was that he had a teenager already, before passing out. Her mother had tried to salvage the day with cake, but Veronica assured her that everything was fine.

Because she’d been doing some thinking and maybe things would be a little easier without him around.

He clutched his chest, hand gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly, and looked around the room with dimming eyes. His gaze settled on hers for the briefest moment before his eyes fluttered shut, breath wet in his throat.

“Daddy,” she whispered as he drew in labored breaths. She tilted her head and listened carefully, but no sounds of movement from her parents’ bedroom. Good. Her mother was still asleep.

Veronica’s hands twitched nervously against her thighs before she clasped them in her lap. She’d always run to her mother or the phone in an emergency. Like the time her father had tried to keep himself from striking her and hit the wall instead, busting his knuckles open and splashing blood over the cheap white paint in their flat. Or the time she had burned herself on the oven door when it swung up while she was trying to take dinner out.

Of course, there was always a first time for everything.

On the floor, her father’s breathing grew deeper and sounded more painful than before. She wondered if he was in pain or just sounded like it. A part of her hoped he wasn’t, but not enough to intervene.

After a few more minutes, she whispered his name again as his breathing started to come at intervals further and further apart. It would be good to not have to worry about whether he would decide to go after her or her mother – he was never consistent about it, and she hated always guessing. At least if he could be more predictable, she could ready herself for his onslaught.

His breath began to rattle with each inhale and Veronica leaned forward curiously. The only dead body she had ever seen was her grandmother’s and that had been at the funeral when she had been caked in make-up that made her look not quite like herself. That was very different than how her father looked now as his lips began to turn a curious shade of blue.

At long last, he let out his final breath, a sickly wet rattling sound, and Veronica sighed in relief. She waited another few minutes before sliding down off the couch and laying down on the ground next to him. She wrapped an arm around his waist, settling her head on his chest, ostensibly to listen for a heartbeat. It was only once his body began to feel cool that she climbed back onto her feet and padded back to her parents’ bedroom, knocking quietly on the bedroom door.

“Mum?” she asked, opening the door as her mother sat up drowsily in bed. “I think Daddy’s sick.”

 

*

 

2017

Initially, Velvette had only planned to craft a binding spell to keep Valentino from flying into one of his rages and punishing Vox for whatever transgression he had committed (real or imagined didn’t seem to matter anymore). The spellbook that Alastor gifted her said that the spell was a simple one – even the most inexperienced conjurer could use it easily and expect to achieve good results. But Velvette wasn’t some pathetic newbie – she was a powerful Overlord, and she had no intention of simply keeping Valentino from hurting Vox. Her, either, if Velvette’s experiences had taught her anything – she figured it was just a matter of time before he zeroed in on her during one of his tantrums.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t good enough for Valentino to simply be unable to hurt Vox – she needed him to not want to hurt Vox. They were a family, despite all the bullshit, and she needed them to stay family. She wasn’t going to lose this second chance at domestic contentment just because Val couldn’t keep his hands to himself whenever Vox pissed him off. Or when one of his misbehaving whores pushed him over the edge. Or, sometimes, when he just seemed to want something to hurt without any apparent provocation.

And if Vox wasn’t going to do anything about it, she sure as hell was.

Valentino made good on his threat during the remodel party a week later and Velvette spent the evening trying not to hear the escalating arguing until Val had finally dragged Vox back into his suite, slamming the door behind them hard enough to shake the framed posters on Velvette’s wall. She crept into the common area, rooted to the spot while she listened to Vox try to backpedal and Valentino having none of it. Only when she heard fabric tearing, despite Vox’s increasingly frantic protests, did she hurry back into her own suite and slap a set of headphones over her ears, blasting her music loud enough to deafen her from hearing anything else.

Finding Vox at the breakfast table the next morning, hunched over a cup of untouched coffee and wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and boxers, was the last straw. She didn’t need to see the bruises and scratches he hadn’t bothered to hide this time, and she didn’t need to see the way he shrank in on himself when Valentino finally came in nonchalantly, settling beside Vox and wrapping an arm around his waist. Everyone pretending not to notice the way Vox’s hand shook when he tried to raise his coffee to his mouth. Just seeing him looking so dejected while he stared down into his sad little cup of coffee was enough for Velvette’s blood to finally boil over.

She waited until they both left for their respective days before calling down to her own department and telling them to handle their shit for the day, she was unavailable. Then, she locked down the Vees’ penthouse before pulling out the little spellbook Alastor had given her.

It was easy enough for her to begin the spell. She’d read it over the night Alastor had given it to her and had begun collecting the ingredients that she needed to make it work. Getting a bit of Valentino had been easy enough (he shed feathers from his wings like they were going out of style, so finding a loose one was easy-peasy), but Vox had been a bit tricker. Eventually, after steeling her nerves, she went into his suite and felt a curious mixture of relief and horror that Kitty hadn’t cleaned anything up yet. Trying not to see what she was touching, she scooped up Vox’s button down, crumpled and bloodied, from the floor and scraped the dried blood into a glass jar.

And maybe she was overly ambitious to think she could add so many new elements into a relatively simple spell, but she was a fucking Vee – how could she not be?

As she felt the still strange sensation of her magic gathering around her, she sensed something else in the room with her. Velvette’s head snapped up from the spellbook she was reading from, an unnatural wind whipping her hair back from her face as two brightly glowing creatures materialized in front of her. She later commended herself for not dropping the book completely and running away screaming.

{This is new.}

Velvette stayed rooted in place, mouth falling open in astonishment. “Who…?”

{Oh, yes, yes – we should introduce ourselves, shouldn’t we?}

{Where would the fun be in that?}

One of the creatures stepped forward and Velvette stared wordlessly as a masculine face took shape. {Where indeed? Tell me… can you speak like we do yet?}

She wasn’t sure what the fuck that meant, but she shook her head anyways. The male creature sighed.

“Such a shame. I do hate using these messy holes to speak with.” Velvette watched as the other creature swept up close enough to her face that she could touch it if she had a mind to (she didn’t, she really didn’t). The Overlord leaned back, eyes wide.

{You’re trying to complete a spell much more complex than any little mortal soul ought to attempt.}

Velvette glanced down at the spellbook, a sudden strange urge to share flooding her. Which was weird because she wasn’t typically one to share her feelings (unless they were feelings like rage and fury because those fucking feelings deserved to be shared with those who dragged them up inside a girl). “I need to protect him. I don’t want… I can’t lose him.”

{How sweet!} The second creature abruptly took on the shape of a woman and the little Overlord swallowed, forcing herself not to flinch back. {I do love a good protection spell.}

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” the male asked, and Velvette nodded despite her inclination not to. “You want the tall one to love you both enough to never want to hurt you.”

“He has to love us,” she heard herself blurt out, not entirely sure why she was exposing this raw nerve to their scrutiny. “I want us to be a family without all of the fucking shit.”

{We’ll see, we’ll see!} The feminine creature spun in a circle, a flash of bright silver flaring from her swirling vaporous skirt. {If he has those feelings, we can craft a spell to bring them to the surface, but if he doesn’t…}

Velvette winced.

“Nothing much will change,” the first creature said with a smile. “He just won’t hurt you two anymore.”

Fuck. That wasn’t what she wanted, not really, but she had to take the chance that Valentino really did give a shit, underneath it all. That he loved them. But, fuck, she knew he loved Vox, fucking knew he did – she’d caught them cuddling from time to time and heard Val whispering that lovey-dovey bullshit to a very receptive Vox before they realized she was there. And, yes, it would be better if Val actually cared, but either way, the Vees were staying together. She would fucking make sure of it.

{We can help you. Give you the power to make your spell work.}

“What do you want for it?”

“Clever girl!” the first creature’s eyes glinted with unconcealed glee. “You’re a treat!”

In the end, she didn’t need to sacrifice so very much. They hadn’t even asked for her entire soul, just the faintest sliver, and she barely even noticed when they had scythed it from her. Only a flash of light, a burst of white-hot pain, and a splash of metallic blood on the back of her tongue, and it was done. Velvette felt the magic bind itself to her, felt the pull of power spread out from her body, then the creatures were gone, and she collapsed to the floor.

By the time she woke up again, it was nearly seven in the evening, and she had spent the better part of the day unconscious on her bedroom floor. Velvette rubbed her aching back, trying to pop the tense joints, and made her way out into the common room to find Vox once more sitting by himself. Curled up, this time, on the living room couch, a laptop resting on his thighs as he absentmindedly typed while occasionally glancing up at the evening news report. He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.

“You look like shit,” he noted, a hint of concern in his voice and that was almost funny enough to make her laugh. “Have you been up here the whole day?”

“Got my period,” she said, knowing full well he would stop prying. Vox did not disappoint, rolling his eyes a little before returning to his computer. She studied the still dark finger-shaped bruises around his neck long enough for him to look back up, raising his hand self-consciously to shield against her stare.

She could feel the powerful magic anchoring him to her and knew with sudden certainty that the spell had worked. They would know for sure once Valentino returned, and it would take time to heal, but she knew that it had worked.

Velvette walked over to the couch and plopped down close to Vox’s side, jostling his laptop and earning herself a dirty look. She let her head drop onto his shoulder, happy he was down to his shirtsleeves and softer to lean against than he was when he wore his coat. Vox was still for a moment before he raised his arm and wrapped it behind her shoulders, pulling her close to him.

“Is everything all right?” he asked quietly, and Velvette glanced up at the concerned look on his face. “Did… Val didn’t do anything, right?”

“What? Fuck, no. He wouldn’t fucking dare.” And it wouldn’t even occur to him now, would it? “Can’t a girl just be nice once in a while?”

Vox narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know – can she?”

Velvette settled against his shoulder, nestling her cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, and nodded. “Yes, she can.”

 

*

 

Five Months Ago

Alastor didn’t want to let Vox go, but only days after Lucifer’s delve into Vox’s head, he was insistent. Alastor tried to convince him to stay, but the other Overlord made it clear that there was nothing to discuss. He would be returning to Vee Tower and resuming his roles as CEO of VoxTek and Mayor of Pentagram City. Alastor could either support his decision or remove himself entirely – Vox had work to do to repair his image and Alastor was not going to stand in his way out of some misplaced desire to protect him.

At least, that was what had been made painfully clear to him once Vox’s sanity returned with alarming suddenness and he became hyper-fixated on fixing his reputation and his company. At first, Alastor was concerned that Vox’s insistence on returning to the Tower might be another delusion masked by his abrupt coherence but soon enough he realized that Vox was Vox again. Curt and impatient, barely bothering to explain himself to Alastor as he reconnected to the internet for the first time.

Alastor wasn’t sure what Vox was doing while he was connected, but he suspected from the way that the younger Overlord would occasionally wince, he was already working on erasing everything he could from that fateful night. He wanted to pull him away from the small computer he was typing away on, for what felt like hours, but could sense the growing agitation in Vox’s frequency and had no desire to turn that agitation back on himself again. He’d had enough physical altercations with Vox in the past month to last the rest of his afterlife.

Still, despite his worry, Alastor couldn’t blame him. Not really. A demon’s reputation was everything in Hell. Rumors could make or break a demon trying to cement their hold in Hell and evidence of any weakness could spell a death sentence. And Vox had a mountain to scale before his reputation was solid once more.

If he even could.

Alastor forced himself to be supportive of Vox’s decision, even if the idea of him returning to the Tower, or anywhere that Alastor didn’t have completely locked down, made his stomach churn with anxiety. If anyone noticed that the Radio Demon stood just a bit too close behind the mayor during the first sighting the public had of Vox since the video of his assault dropped, they were intelligent enough not to comment on it.

He escorted Vox back to Vee Tower (knowing full well that Lucifer was waiting in the shadows for any sign of Eve or Michael), supposedly following a brief sabbatical from Pride to negotiate a new contract with Gluttony and Lust for goods and labor. Sinners weren’t allowed to travel between Rings, but with the King of Hell himself escorting his daughter’s hotelier and the mayor on this trip, it was difficult for anyone to deny that it had happened – especially when the reigning Sins acknowledged the Sinners’ trip.

Valentino had swept Vox into his arms immediately, either ignoring or not noticing how stiff Vox became before hesitantly returning the hug. Alastor hadn’t missed it and immediately sent soothing static through their shared frequency, even as he wished that Vox would change his mind. He couldn’t keep him safe if he refused to stay where Alastor could protect him.

And he needed to protect Vox. He’d ruined every chance he had in the past to do it right. He knew that. But, for some reason, an unknown deity had smiled on him and given him another chance to do it right and he’d be damned (again) if he fucked it up this time around.

Standing quietly, not at all like herself, the littlest Vee waited until Valentino had released his partner and Vox was standing directly in front of her before looking at him. After a few seconds, her mouth wavered and her eyes darted down to the ground, and Alastor supposed he knew the twisting pain of guilt in her chest as well as his own. To his surprise, Vox gave her a small, crooked smile as the little doll demon glanced up at him with wide eyes once more.

“Hello, my dear,” he said quietly. Velvette looked away again and Vox tucked his hands neatly behind his back, spine straightening. He glanced back at Alastor. “You can fuck off now, old-timer.”

[You’re sure?]

[I’m sure. I’ll be fine here.]

“Well?” Vox said aloud. “Trip’s over. I don’t particularly feel like looking at your hideous face for another minute. Don’t you have a village to slaughter or something?”

“Ha!” Alastor barked out a harsh laugh, masking the softness he felt in his heart when looking at a healed and healthy Vox. Maybe he wasn’t back to normal yet, not at the level of perfection he knew the other Overlord strived for, but he was more like himself than Alastor had seen in a month. “Everyone knows I don’t slaughter villages.”

Alastor’s grin widened expectantly. Vox waited for a beat before narrowing his eyes. “No. I’m not going to play into whatever joke you’re trying to set up.”

“Oh, come on now. Everyone loves my jokes.” Alastor cocked his head. “Even you, Vox.”

The Media Overlord rolled his eyes and turned his back on Alastor, walking through the lobby of Vee Tower towards the elevators. Valentino blew a thick cloud of pink smoke in Alastor’s direction before following, leaving only Velvette standing in front of the Radio Demon. She opened her mouth before snapping it shut and narrowing her eyes at him. Without a word, she spun on her heel and followed her colleagues to the elevator. Alastor made eye contact with Vox before the doors shut.

[Watch the presser tonight at six. You’ll find it entertaining.]

And, so, that was how Alastor found himself sitting in the recreational room at the Hotel with the King and Queen of Hell, their daughter’s girlfriend, the two Hotel guests, Alastor’s thralls, and a partridge in a pear tree. Niffty was flitting around the small space, dusting obsessively, until Angel Dust finally snatched her up from the ground and plopped her onto his lap.

“Stay still, Niff, you’re gonna give Smiles over there a stroke,” he stage-whispered and Alastor rolled his eyes. On one side of Angel, Cherri sat beside Vaggie, the two women speaking in hushed tones about nothing Alastor had any particular interest in. Husk sat on Angel’s other side, occasionally tossing wary glances in his direction, but Husk was of little matter right now. Especially when the King and Queen stopped their own discussion and turned to the television moments before it abruptly crackled with heavy static and feedback.

Vox’s face filled the screen, his smile razor sharp, then panned back to reveal a small studio room where Vox was standing with his hands on hips. The television demon gave a cheerful little wave, his eyes bright and engaging. Alastor might have even fallen for it if he hadn’t helped teach Vox how best to smile through his pain.

“Well, hello there, Pentagram City! It’s me, your beloved Mayor and CEO of VoxTek… Vox!” Alastor’s smile quirked a little wider as the camera panned back further to reveal that Vox was flanked on either side by Valentino and Velvette. “And, of course my lovely colleagues, Valentino and Velvette, are here to join me for a little press conference concerning some unsavory rumors that were brought to my attention upon my return to Pride.” Vox’s grin widened. “Speaking of which, you’ll all be pleased to hear that VoxTek has an exclusive release of Gluttony-inspired honey Vox-ka, created just for you Sinners in the City! It’s a limited edition, so get yours today!”

Vox’s hypnotic eye began to swirl, and Alastor glanced away while Vox took a few seconds to extol the virtues of his new product and encouraged anyone watching to buy, buy, buy. Vox had never been able to use his hypnosis on Alastor through the television, but he’d never tried since gaining his new power – it would be just Alastor’s luck if it did work, and the Radio Demon found himself sat at home with a case of Vox-ka that he had no intention of drinking. Beside him, he could hear Husk clear his throat.

“Hey, Boss…”

“No,” Alastor replied briskly, glancing at the glazed expression on the bartender’s face. Faint, concentric waves pulsed in his eyes and Alastor reached out to wave his hand in front of Husk. Oh, of all things. “We will not be ordering Vox-ka for the Hotel.”

“Yeah… okay, but…” Husk gestured towards the television vaguely. Beside him, Angel nodded dopily. “Vox says…”

“No, Husker.”

Husk frowned, mouth opening as if to protest, and Alastor nodded to his Shadow. It grinned back at him before sweeping up behind the bartender and wrapping its cold fingers over his face. Husk stayed silent for a long few seconds before he suddenly bristled and reached up to start swatting at the shadows with a hiss.

“Motherfucker, get it off me!”

Alastor turned his attention back to the television. The camera had panned back far enough now to show that the Vees weren’t in the studio by themselves. Tied to metal folding chairs, three other Sinners were gagged with VoxTek branded cloths and struggling in their seats. Ignoring Lucifer’s long-suffering sigh on the other side of the room, Alastor leaned forward with rapidly growing interest.

“You see, I heard that there was a nasty little video starring yours truly that made its debut on the very day that I left for Gluttony to secure special products just for you, Pentagram City.” Vox swept his hand out to the side, gesturing to the bound Sinners. “I guess it’s true what they say – when the cat’s away, the mice will play.” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he swept his gaze towards the clearly terrified demons at his mercy. “Silly mice forgot that they’re not dealing with a cat, didn’t they?”

With snap of Velvette’s fingers, one of the demon’s gag slipped out of her mouth, a faint hint of shimmering purple lingering for a moment. The doll demon settled her hands on her hips, looking positively predatory. “Go on, then, cupcake,” she purred. “Tell the people what you told us.”

The Sinner was a curious mixture of machine and animal, not entirely unlike Vox himself, with a softly glowing glass sphere for a head that faded into a delicately white furred body below. Her clothes were torn and bloodied, undoubtedly from being tortured, and she hiccoughed through her stream of tears.

“We did it,” the demon sobbed, staring miserably into the camera. “We made the AI, and we told it… we told it to run that scenario.”

Vox slapped the second bound Sinner upside the head before removing his gag. “And…?”

“And we thought it… we thought it would be funny to send it to 666,” the other Sinner sniffled. Alastor wrinkled his nose – so much crying! “We didn’t even think that Katie and Tom would air it!”

“Aw, but they did, didn’t they?” Vox glanced at the screen, his eye spiraling once more and Alastor almost didn’t look away quickly enough. “You made an AI revenge porn starring yours truly, just because it was funny, and 666 aired it because they’re idiots who thought they could get away with it while I was out of town.” Beside him, Alastor could see Husk nodding along. “How tacky, how uncouth. Don’t worry – 666 will be dealt with, too. But, first, I need to make sure you little gnats get the punishment you deserve.”

This time, when Alastor looked up, he wasn’t surprised to see Vox flex his fingers, metal claws drawing electricity to their tips with hot white sparks. He jammed his claws into the third Sinner’s back without ever letting him speak, and the demon’s body went ramrod straight as bolts of lightning shot from his eyes. Behind him, Vox simply grinned at the camera until heavy smoke began to rise from the demon – only then did he wrench his claws free, withdrawing his electricity as the Sinner slumped lifelessly in the metal folding chair. Beside him, Valentino clapped his hands.

“So sexy, Voxy,” he purred, and Vox gave him a sly smile.

“And benevolent.” Vox’s hypnosis turned back on as he walked slowly over to the little glass sphere sinner. “Think of all the really creative ways that I could make you suffer. Instead, I am giving you a quick and relatively easy death.” He stopped behind the Sinner and tapped the top of her head with a sharp metal claw. “But even the most altruistic man has his limits.”

The sudden blast of electricity through the little glass Sinner’s body blew her head into shards and her body immediately sagged against its binding. Lucifer groaned.

“This is a lot,” the King said. “Like, I get it, but is this really fucking necessary?”

Alastor glared at him. “Yes.”

Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. “Fucking Sinners.”

“I am your friendly, neighborhood CEO,” Vox continued as he prowled behind the final bound Sinner, who was blubbering miserably now. His eye never once stopped spiraling. “I am your elected Mayor. And I am here to stay. Take this as your warning, Pentagram City – anyone who tries to fuck with me or mine can expect to meet a far worse fate than a few hundred thousand volts of electricity. And I will guarantee that it be neither quick nor painless.” He rested his hands on the last Sinner’s shoulders and leaned down so that it appeared he was almost whispering in the demon’s ear. “Ready for the grand finale?”

“Mercy,” the Sinner blubbered miserably. “Please, sir!”

“You got it!”

Alastor nodded approvingly as Vox executed the final Sinner and walked away from his smoking body to close back in on the camera. Velvette and Valentino immediately flanked him, their smiles just as sharp, just as dangerous as Vox’s own.

“It was all fake – a silly little AI video made by equally silly engineers who thought they’d have a laugh at my expense. But you’re too smart to be fooled by such a shoddy video, aren’t you? Smart enough to respect and trust us to believe a second of it.” Vox’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s right – you trust us too much to believe anything bad you’ve seen about any of the three Vees. And we’re grateful that you trust us so much.” Vox all but snarled into the camera. “After all, who else can you possibly trust more than us? More than me? Thank you, Pentagram City, for taking the time to watch our little broadcast and, as always, trust us!”

With a squeal of feedback, the television’s screen whited out before it turned off. Alastor stared at the black screen for a long moment before turning cautiously to examine the other demons in the room.

In Angel’s lap, Niffty let out a squeal of delight before clapping her hands. “The bad boy puts on the best shows!”

“What the fuck?” Husk blinked rapidly before glancing up at a dazed Angel. The spider demon swallowed and dragged his eyes away from the screen.

“Wow, I didn’t know they could do all that with AI.”

The King and Queen exchanged a look, but before Lucifer had the chance to corner Alastor and demand to know if he had known what Vox was planning, the Radio Demon sank into the shadows. Sure, the King could chase him down effortlessly if he had a mind to do so, but after a few seconds passed and Alastor had no royal accompaniment, he continued to weave through the shadows a bit longer before dropping into the Void.

Only once he had reached Vee Tower did he leave the Void and slink through the shadows into the building. Despite everything, Alastor was surprised to see that Vox still hadn’t put up any barriers to keep him out – it couldn’t be an oversight, he was sure. Not with all the other security measures the Overlord had put into place. Yet, there was the tiniest gap in his fortress where Alastor was allowed to slip in. Like he wanted Alastor to find his way in.

Ah, well. Maybe he didn’t and it was only an oversight, but… Alastor permitted himself to hope, nonetheless.

He made his way up to the top floor, staying in the shadows and moving quickly. Just because Vox hadn’t outright stopped him from entering the Tower, it didn’t mean that anyone else would be particularly warm in their welcomes if they found him. Valentino, especially, was sure to cause him trouble – not that Alastor couldn’t deal with him directly, but no sense in creating a stir when all he wanted was to check in on Vox.

Through the shadows, he slipped into the penthouse and immediately found the Overlord of Television standing by one of the massive windows overlooking the city, hand resting on the drink cart that he had undoubtedly dragged along with him. A glass was already dangling from Vox’s fingers and Alastor sighed heavily. How much had he managed to throw down his throat in the time it took for him to zap himself upstairs from the studio and Alastor arriving? The Radio Demon stepped out of the darkness and into the light, announcing himself with a wave of warm static and jazz. Instantly, Vox’s glass slipped from his hand, shattering onto the floor, and he had an angelic pistol in his hand faster than should have been possible.

He pointed the weapon straight at Alastor’s face, his eyes dilating in undisguised terror. Alastor raised his hands slowly in front of him, showing his empty palms to the younger man. His stomach twisted at the hunted look in Vox’s eyes before recognition took hold. After a few seconds, Vox swallowed roughly and the rigidity in his arm relaxed a fraction.

“Fuck. It’s only you.” Alastor had a feeling he said it just as much for himself as for Alastor’s benefit. He nodded slowly, wiggling his fingers to show that he was very much unarmed. Vox lowered the pistol in his hand but not enough for Alastor to take his eyes off it. “Did you like the show?”

“Very entertaining, yes.” Alastor watched cautiously as Vox circled back around the drink cart. The gun dangled from his fingers with sloppy indifference – it was outright unsettling how blasé Vox was about handling an angelic weapon. Not that Alastor was especially careful himself, but it was a little different not being the one yielding the weapon. The scar over his chest gave a phantom pulse of pain. “Though I can’t say that I appreciated you trying to trick the entire Ring into buying your wares. I would be surprised if Husk hasn’t ordered half your stock by now.”

Vox’s mouth quirked up into a crooked grin. “Do you want something?” It took a moment for Alastor to realize what he was asking.

“Something dark,” he said, inclining his head toward one of the bottles of amber colored whiskey on the cart. Vox nodded, setting the pistol carelessly on the cart before he began to prepare cocktails for them both.

“I compensated them generously,” Vox said as he poured an equally generous amount of rye into each glass tumbler. Alastor tilted his head to the side. “It’s not like I need more enemies in my own company. Contracted them into silence about the money, of course, and made sure that they can’t fucking talk about anything, but it’s not like I just murdered them for the fun of it.”

“They’ll regenerate either way,” Alastor said pragmatically as Vox pressed the Manhattan into his palm. He could excuse a bit of practical murder. Vox stared down into his drink then nodded.

“They’ll regenerate,” he agreed. “And the rest of Hell will be none the wiser.”

Alastor took a sip of his drink, watching Vox as he crossed the room and sank down onto a pristine armchair. It smelled brand new, manufacturer chemicals included, though that hardly seemed to bother the other Overlord as he leaned back and swirled his glass aimlessly. Alastor followed him, but didn’t sit. Vox glanced up with a frown.

“I’m proud of you,” Alastor said softly, and Vox’s eyes grew a little wider. “I really am.”

“Wow,” Vox breathed. “That must be the first time you’ve ever said that.”

“No.” Irritation prickled faintly at the back of the Radio Demon’s mind. “You know it isn’t.”

“Yeah.” Vox took a sip of his drink. “I know it’s not.”

“Vox–”

He was cut off as the front door of the penthouse swung open and instinctively wrapped his shadows around himself, disappearing from sight before Valentino caught a glimpse of him. Vox rolled his eyes before returning his attention to his drink.

“Voxy, baby, you were a thing of beauty,” Valentino proclaimed as he swept into the penthouse. With a flurry of pink smoke and gossamer fabric, he approached Vox’s chair and dropped to his knees in front of the Media Overlord. Alastor watched as he settled his hands on Vox’s thighs. “Do you know how sexy you were?”

Vox winced, not lifting his eyes from his Manhattan. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Sure, you were, baby.” Valentino curled his fingers slowly around Vox’s legs and gently slid them apart, not seeming to notice the way Vox’s breath caught in his throat. “God, I missed you so fucking much.”

Vox pressed himself back in the chair a little more, fingers tightening around his glass. “Oh, yeah?”

“Of course, baby.” Valentino plucked the tumbler from Vox’s fingers, slowly moving into the space between his legs. Vox’s eyes searched over the other Overlord’s face, almost frantically. At least, to Alastor’s eyes. “It’s been actual Hell.”

“Val, I…” With nowhere left to go, Vox swallowed roughly when Valentino leaned up and pressed a gentle, closed mouth kiss to his lips. Vox’s eyes fluttered shut and he raised his hand to rest it against the moth demon’s cheek.

Had it always been so difficult to watch Valentino touch Vox? Growling softly, Alastor crossed his arms over his chest – if Vox wanted Valentino to kiss him and touch him, he should just slip away into the shadows and leave them be. He’d watched them kiss before, and it always left him with a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, but this…

It was taking every ounce of his self-control not to burst from the shadows and throw the idiotic moth across the length of the penthouse.

Valentino raised his hand to cup around the back of Vox’s neck, deepening the kiss, and Alastor could feel the sudden burst of panic through their frequency. An electrical arc shot up the Media Overlord’s antennae and Vox caught his partner’s wrist, dragging his hand away from his neck. Alastor’s arms tightened over his chest as Valentino pulled away.

“Amorcito?”

“No,” Vox rasped, eyes wide, and Valentino rocked back onto his heels. “Please.”

With a sharp crack, Alastor’s antlers began to grow. He only stayed in the shadows because Valentino made the intelligent decision to withdraw his hands and hold them in front of himself placatingly.

“Okay.” Vox swallowed again. “We don’t have to do anything tonight, if you’re not ready.”

“I just want to go to bed,” Vox answered tightly, avoiding confirming or denying his readiness. “It’s been a long fucking day.”

Valentino’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s only… baby, it’s only six-thirty.”

“And I’m tired.” Vox made to stand, forcing Valentino to back up. He got to his feet and pretended to stretch. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Valentino caught his hand before Vox could get far, and the older demon glanced down at their hands with a furrowed brow. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Vox answered sharply, and Valentino flinched like he had been struck. Vox’s screen flushed with what Alastor assumed was sudden embarrassment and he pulled his hand free gently. “Sorry, Val. I’m just… I’d rather be alone, I think. You know?”

“Alright,” Valentino murmured.

Alastor followed Vox back through the penthouse to the Media Overlord’s personal suite of rooms, leaving a perturbed Valentino still kneeling in the common room. Perhaps Vox forgot the Radio Demon had never left – he threw what looked like a freshly installed deadbolt on the bedroom door before the small panel by the door chirped, a bright blue light flashing twice. He walked stiffly back to his bed, sinking down on the edge and clenching his fists around the soft fabric of the comforter.

“What an oafish man!” Alastor finally said, emerging from the shadows. Vox fumbled into his jacket almost instantly and drew out another angelic pistol, eyes blown wide. How many did he have on him, Alastor wondered, baffled. And where exactly was he hiding them under his tight suit? They stared at one another for a long moment, before Alastor clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Is this going to be a habit going forward?”

Vox pointed the gun at Alastor’s face, eyes narrowing. “If you don’t stop jump-scaring me from the shadows, then yeah. I think it is.” When Alastor refused to move or show any indication that he was being intimidated, the Media Overlord rolled his eyes and lowered his weapon. A small voice in the back of Alastor's head wondered whether Vox remembered what would happen if he fired the weapon at Alastor, or if his panicked vigilance made him forget - he supposed it wouldn't matter either way, if Vox fired the gun. “Not that it matters, I guess. You’re going to do what you want, huh?”

“Usually, yes.” He waited for Vox to return the gun to the holster strapped beneath his jacket. “But I can leave if you’d like.”

Vox blinked in surprise, eyes widening. “You would?”

“Of course.” Alastor summoned his cane, feeling uneasy, and leaned on it. “If you’d like. I’d hardly want to overstay my welcome.” He met Vox’s eyes. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable and if that means I need to leave…” (Please don’t ask me to leave.)

“No, don’t go,” Vox said hurriedly then winced, turning his face away. Alastor could practically see the wheels turning in his head and could feel his uncertainty prickling through the airwaves. “I just… I don’t want to be alone, and I know Val’s out there but… stay?” His fingers drummed anxiously beside him on the bed. “I mean… you can stay. We can watch a movie or something.”

It was a struggle to keep up his unaffected smile once he heard the barest hint of a plaintive note in Vox’s voice, but Alastor managed. “Oh, no. Not one of those ones with all the explosions.”

Vox’s mouth twitched into a small smile despite himself. He looked down at his feet, hesitating, then kicked his shoes off. “Those tend to have a lot of blood and gore, too. You like that shit.”

“In context, my dear.” Alastor looked around, not entirely certain where they would be watching any type of movie and Vox immediately caught on to his unspoken question. He squinted for a moment, and a very clever little door opened in the ceiling. A large screen slowly unfurled as Alastor watched, and Vox waited before it was all the way down before pointing to small black machine above the bed. The screen lit up and Alastor’s face brightened as the opening credits began to roll. “Oh! I do like this one.”

“I know.” Vox shucked off his coat, throwing it carelessly toward the end of the bed before loosening the buttons on his dress shirt and rolling up the sleeves. He scooted back onto the bed, arranging himself with his back pressed up against the pillows. After a moment, he patted the space beside him. “You can sit up here if you want – you’ll be able to see better.”

Alastor didn’t need to be told twice. He climbed onto the bed beside Vox and followed his lead, rearranging the pillows until he was comfortable. Crossing one ankle over the other, he glanced at Vox. The other Overlord kept his eyes focused on the screen, but Alastor could tell he still had his attention. “Popcorn?”

“What?” Vox asked in surprise.

“Would you like popcorn?” Alastor raised a hand, ready to summon popcorn from the nearest movie theater. Hoping it would be salty and buttery enough to satisfy Vox without having to do anything to adjust it to his taste.

Vox turned his head to face Alastor, scanning his face for a moment before nodding. “That would be nice.”

“Lovely!”

Alastor summoned their snack and sank back into the pillows, watching Vox from the corner of his eye. He was pleased to see his friend toss a few fluffy pieces of popcorn into his mouth, staring up at the movie playing on the screen with rapt interest.

“I saw this when it came out,” Vox finally said.

“I was rather dead by then, I’m afraid. But I do so enjoy the heroine’s journey.” Alastor sighed, casting a glance at Vox for the briefest moment. Just in time see the television demon’s mouth tighten and his eyes narrow. Alastor’s smile twitched with mischievous humor. “It’s such a shame they killed her in the end.”

“Fucking Hell, Alastor!” Vox slapped his palm against his thigh, a spark of electricity popping off the end of his antenna, and Alastor just barely stopped himself from laughing. “Not this again. I’ve told you a hundred times that the Wicked Witch of the West is not the heroine!”

“Why not? At the very least, she is the wronged party – an anti-hero, perhaps?” Vox scowled and Alastor tapped his elbow ever so gently, just to see Vox jerk his arm away. “They killed her sister and stole her inheritance. How are they not the villains?”

“Shut up. I’m not having this debate with you. Again.”

“Oh, please do. I am so starved for a good debate.”

Vox grumbled, drawing his legs up towards his body, and hunched over his popcorn, refusing to look at Alastor and the Radio Demon’s grin widened. He’d caved eventually – he never could resist arguing with Alastor’s running commentary, especially when it came to the classics.

Before the movie was over, Vox had slumped in exhaustion and ended up tilting towards Alastor until his head rested against the Radio Demon’s shoulder. Despite the feeling of warm contentment that Vox had decided to trust him enough to fall asleep against him (just like he used to when they were friends), it was a terribly awkward position for both demons. Vox’s head, especially this new model, didn’t exactly lend to resting his head on anyone’s shoulder – Alastor wondered vaguely if the other man missed that. With a snap of his fingers, Alastor sent their snacks away and gently lowered Vox down to rest on his back, his head pillowed in Alastor’s lap. He sighed and summoned a nearby blanket, letting it fall over Vox’s sleeping body.

Vox’s eyes blinked open blearily and caught Alastor’s wrist as he tried to straighten the blanket. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you warm,” Alastor told him quietly. Wasn’t it obvious?

“You don’t need to do that.”

“But I want to.” Alastor tilted his head and let his ears flop ever so slightly to the side, the perfect picture of adorable innocence.

Vox huffed with feigned annoyance (at least, Alastor hoped it was feigned) and draped his arm over his face. “Fine. Just don’t murder me while I’m asleep, okay?”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“Asshole,” Vox muttered before drifting back to sleep. Alastor patted his shoulder soothingly and tried to watch the rest of the movie without worrying too much over the sleeping demon in his lap.

Notes:

CW: implied/referenced domestic violence, implied/reference child abuse, patricide (through intentional inaction), implied/referenced rape, demon deals, televised murder, PTSD

I promise this chapter isn't quite so ominous as the warnings indicate - all those warnings are definitely in here, but Vox does get to have movie night with one of the most obnoxious people to watch movies with, ever. 😉

Chapter 29: oh the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

Five Months Ago

The overwhelming sense of fucking dread that Katie Killjoy experienced was unreal. If she wasn’t already dead, she was sure that she would’ve collapsed from a heart attack by now – not that she still couldn’t die exactly that way again but this time she’d just wake right back up as soon as her body regenerated itself and wasn’t that just a fucking kick in the crotch?

Okay, so, she’d fucked up. Not that she necessarily regretted her decision to air the footage of Vox being fucked over by Hellish nobility – he deserved every fucking second of the humiliation she brought right to his doorstep by being an unimaginable prick ever since the day they met over seventy years ago. Frankly, it was a testament to her fucking patience that she hadn’t done something about his arrogant ass decades ago. She ought to be commended for exercising so much self-control all these years.

And hate-fucking him for much of that time was also an exercise in self-control, if people couldn’t see that for what it was. How fucking easy it would’ve been to cut his stupid fucking throat with angelic steel every single time she fucked him into whatever surface they were against – beds, walls, one very memorable occasion on the roof of their old station during an extermination and boy, had he fucking fretted the entire time. It was also a testament to her sexual prowess that she managed to get him off twice even while he whined about the Angels running them through with spears like he couldn’t just zap himself away effortlessly. Like he had to stay up there, letting her fuck him with her strap until he could barely articulate a coherent thought.

Hey, she wasn’t judging. Scared was sometimes the best way to be horny.

But back to regrets. She didn’t regret airing the footage – not right away, at least. She did, however, regret that he had fucking survived (some-fucking-how, don’t ask her, she didn’t run the show – things would be so much fucking different if she did, trust and believe) and was now apparently on the warpath, heading straight for her like a fucking torpedo. He’d made that abundantly clear during his presser when he slaughtered several of his own staff and blamed them for airing AI-generated content.

So, now, she guessed she was fucking next? And, Tom, too. Because she was going to be fucking damned all over again if that failed fucking abortion was going to make it out of this in one fucking piece. They were going down together, fucking co-anchors and everything.

Katie tapped her cue cards on top of the desk as the on-air light clicked off and swallowed. It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours since Vox had aired his presser, and she was already having trouble keeping the flop sweat hidden. She had everything under control, though, and was going meet the fucker head-on when he did come for her. This time, she was going to do her damnedest to make sure he caught the business end of her angelic steel pistol – it was high time Hell became a Vox-free zone.

And then the power cut out in the studio, the emergency generator kicking in a few seconds later, bathing the studio in an eerie red glow. She watched the crew glancing around before starting to mutter to themselves about how Vox had promised that he was going to make everyone pay for trying to muddy his name and were they included in everyone, even if they were just doing their jobs? Fuck, they were just doing the jobs that he had hired them to do in the first place.

[I’d love a word, Ms. Killjoy.]

She flinched, hard, against the news desk and beside her Tom let out a squeak. Oh, fuck, she had forgotten that he could take over the radio waves (when the fucking Radio Demon let him, she supposed, and what the fuck was the deal with those two stupid bitches?) and broadcast his voice with effortless ease through any electronic device that had a speaker. Which meant that his words were now echoing through the studio and eliciting terrified shrieks and whimpers from the crew. Fucking useless pieces of shit, all of them, being afraid of a fucking voice. Even if that voice belonged to the single most powerful Sinner in Pentagram City.

Tom started to get up from his chair and she whipped around. Caught his wrist and pinned him to the table.

“We’re going down together, fuck weasel,” she snarled.

[Oh, that’s for fucking sure.] The voice paused. [The rest of you are dismissed.]

Katie watched in dismay as the studio cleared in record time, leaving just her, Tom (who was whimpering and trying to tear his hand out of her grip, honestly it was minutes before he started to chew his own arm off like a fucking animal), and Vox’s disembodied voice. There was a soft whirring noise and Katie whipped the pistol out of her waistband, firing it without thinking in the direction of the noise. Amused laughter rose from the speakers.

[One bullet down, Katie. Careful or you’re going to use them all up before you even see my face.] Vox laughed. [And then what are you going to do?]

“Oh, fuck you, Vox!” she shouted, waving the pistol around over her head. Beside her, Tom started gnawing on his own arm (just like she fucking predicted, the asshole). “You think you’re so fucking scary? Then come say all of that to my face instead of hiding behind your little electronics – or are you scared that I’ll fuck you up, too?”

“Crazy fucking bitch,” Tom gasped, blood squirting up from his arm and onto Katie’s dress. She shrieked in righteous outrage – this was a nice fucking dress and now it was sprayed with Tom’s fucking fluids! Not even the best cleaning service could get rid of the knowledge that it had been there, even if they did manage to get the blood out.

She let go of his wrist and reached around to grab the back of his collar. “Get up and stop cowering!” She glanced around. “We’re getting out of here.”

“We?” Tom managed as she started to drag him away from the anchors’ desk.

“I’m using you as a fucking meat shield, don’t start thinking we’re friends.” They made their way into one of the back hallways. “I’ll throw you at him if I think it’ll buy me even a second.”

Above them, crackling through thick static on the studio speakers, Bobby Darin began to croon. Katie sneered. Fucking tacky fucking piece of shit, broadcasting this old-timey tune just to get under her skin. She was sure he was fucking cackling to himself for being so clever. Tom swayed against her, blood dripping from his arm.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Tom said weakly, already fucking delirious from the blood loss. Fuck, she might have to drop him sooner than she’d hoped. “It’s nice… that we’re friends.”

“Yeah.” Katie looked around quickly and stared with wide eyes at the security camera nestled into the ceiling above them. The camera swung down to point directly at her and the shutter flashed once. Blinking down at them and she could fucking see Vox’s fucking face when it did. She screamed in rage and fired her pistol up at the camera, smashing it to pieces.


You know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe
Scarlet billows start to spread


[Two down.] Tom started crying. [With that model, you’ve got another seven at most.]

“All of which are going directly into your head!” she snarled, dragging Tom behind her as he tried to slump down onto the ground. “Get the fuck up, Tom!”

[You don’t need to be so mean to him, Katie.] Vox’s laughter rose up from a set of speakers mounted on the ceiling a little further down the hall. [I’m happy to finish him off for you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? No more 666 News with Katie and Tom?]

Katie dropped Tom’s collar. He could fucking fend for himself – she stood a better chance of running out of the studio on her own, meat shield or not. She could hear him call her name as she kicked off her heels and sprinted down the hall, darting into one of the dressing rooms at the end of the hall.

She slammed the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust. And adjust they did. To her unending horror, she had found her way into the dressing room dedicated to the dancers and other live performers who needed floor to ceiling mirrors to check themselves over for any flaws before going live.


Now on the sidewalk, uh huh, huh
Ooh, Sunday morning, uh huh
Lies a body just oozin’ life, eek!


Outside, in the hallway, Tom let out a blood curdling scream which was quickly cut short by the sound of snapping electricity, so loud it might as well have been thunder. Katie raised her pistol in front of her.

There was a crackle of blue-white light out of the corner of her eye, and she whipped around, firing two shots. Hitting only a mirror which cracked then swung precariously before crashing to the floor below. Vox’s laughter rose up through the room.

[That’s fucking unlucky. Seven years of bad luck, babe.]

“Fucker!” she screamed. “Get out here and deal with me yourself unless you’re too much of a fucking bitch to do it.”

[Is that right? You think I’m a bitch?] He hummed. [Yes, I suppose I must’ve given you that impression. See, I just thought we were hate-fucking because there was nothing else to do and there isn’t anything like a good hate-fuck to get all the pent-up aggression out. Great stress relief, fucking someone you wish was fucking dead. Or double-dead.]

“Fuck, you love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?” Katie grumbled. There was a flash in one of the mirrors and she raised her pistol, but not firing.

[You’re so right! I do love to hear myself talk, but not as much as the Radio Demon does.]

Katie froze then fired this time at the movement in the mirror. No fucking surprise that it didn’t end up embedded in his stupid flat face, but Vox name-dropping the Radio Demon was nothing short of horrifying.

“What, are you friends with him again?” she asked, stunned. And feeling a little sick suddenly. Vox was one thing, but the Radio Demon…

[Hard to say, but I know he wasn’t pleased about what you did.] Vox hummed quietly and the room began to vibrate with a frequency so low she could only feel it sinking into her bones, making her dizzy and more nauseous by the second. [So, the way I see it, you’ve run out of options, Katie.]

“I’ve got plenty of fucking options,” she hissed.


Yes, that line forms on the right, babe
Now that Mack, he’s back in town
Look out, Old Mack, he is back!


A pair of mismatched eyes popped into the mirror on the other side of the room, and she fired her remaining bullets in rapid succession at Vox’s head. Why she thought that would work… well, she’d blame it on the way the room was spinning. She felt a sharply clawed hand settle on her shoulder and whirled around to stare at Vox. “You dick.”

Vox’s grin sharpened and he cocked his head to the side. “Want to make a deal, Katie?”

 

*

 

The thing that really pissed her off the most about Vox’s ability to travel through electricity was the fact that he could just drop in on anyone near an electrical field at any fucking time he pleased. And since Pentagram City was swamped in electrical energy, nothing was off-limits to the Overlord of Television. Including Velvette’s bedroom.

She had been reclining on her bed, idly thumbing through a magazine while she waited for Vox to return to the Tower. Had fucking expected him to come walking through the doors with a shit-eating grin on his face, the way he was fucking supposed to, not appearing in front of her with a burst of ozone and a splatter of blood. Slightly unsteady on his feet as he looked down at her incredulous stare, a crooked smile on his face.

“What in the actual fuck,” she breathed, looking him up and down. She set her magazine down beside her on the bed, sitting up straight. “Vox, I swear on everything that is–”

“Nailed it,” he said, swaying a little bit before he clasped his hand over the spreading bloodstain on his shoulder. Beneath his hand, Velvette could see where his jacket had been torn open. “Fucking nailed it.”

“Shit,” she hissed, jolting up from the bed. She closed the gap between them in a moment and, without thinking, pressed her hand over his, barely noticing the way his eyes widened in surprise. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt, you fucking idiot!”

“Well, I didn’t intentionally get hurt,” Vox answered, shrugging his shoulder back a little, like he was trying to pull out of her grasp. He rolled his neck to stare up at the ceiling, a breathy little laugh escaping him. A stray spark flew from his antenna, and she could feel the buzz of his electricity barely contained beneath her palm. “Occupational hazard.”

“You’re a CEO,” Velvette said dryly, moving her hand just enough to peek under and assess the damage. Vox’s hand stayed tightly pressed to his jacket, not giving her any assistance. She sighed. “The worst occupational hazards you’re supposed to encounter are papercuts and carpel tunnel syndrome.”

“Disgruntled employees, too. Apparently.” Vox rolled his shoulders again, head dropping back down to look at her. Velvette studied him a little more closely. His pupils were dilated, and his breathing was a little faster than normal. His grin widened ever so slightly. “Hey, Vel.”

“Are you high?” she asked incredulously. This stupid motherfucker, honest to fuck, he was going to make her stroke out or something.

“Me? No. Nah.” Vox shook his head with a coy roll of his eyes and Velvette nearly laughed at that. Fucking idiot. “Just took a little something to help me focus. Didn’t want to get caught off guard when I was fucking Killjoy’s shit up.”

“Right,” Velvette drawled, giving his shoulder the smallest pat and relishing the hiss he let out. “Can you at least chill the fuck out enough to let me look at your shoulder? I don’t want you bleeding out in my bedroom.”

“Cool.” Vox nodded, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Cool, cool. Yeah, let’s go do that.”

She wasted no time in herding him into the bathroom, ordering him to strip whatever he needed to so that she could see where he was hurt. He obeyed wordlessly, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub while he waited for her to gather the first aid kit. By the time Velvette got herself situated, the bite mark on Vox’s shoulder had all but stopped bleeding, only oozing sluggishly. Which was good – she’d only need to put a couple of stitches in to make sure it healed up fast and wouldn’t risk a lingering infection. Not that it would kill him, obviously, but an infection would suck, nevertheless.

“Hold still,” she commanded, holding up a bottle of sterile saline to wash out the wound. Vox flinched when she reached out to touch his bicep and, for a moment, she thought she had hurt him. She pulled back, freezing in place when she realized that he was staring at her, lips pressed firmly together. He blinked quickly, looking away, and shook his head.

“I’m fine. Keep going.”

“Sorry,” Velvette murmured and poured some of the saline over the bite mark. She spared him a glance before doing it once more. “Who the fuck bit you?”

Vox huffed out a laugh, rolling his uninjured shoulder. “Katie Killjoy. Did you know that she’s a fear biter?”

“She looks like one.” Velvette finished flushing the wound and set the bottle down to work on drying the area around the bite. Once that was done, she picked up the bottle of antiseptic and cleared her throat. “This is going to sting like a bitch.”

“Promises, promises.”

Cleaning his wound wasn’t too difficult to do. Even though the Killjoy bitch had fucking scissored her teeth straight into the muscle, the cuts were clean around the edges and his clothing had kept most of the usual disgusting shit that came with bite wounds out. Velvette chanced at a look at Vox’s face and frowned. He was staring past her into the middle distance, eyes unfocused as she worked. She tapped her index finger against an uninjured stretch of dark blue skin on his shoulder, and he blinked, eyes focusing on her.

“Did you get her in a contract finally?”

Vox nodded with satisfaction. “No wiggle room, either. Her soul is completely and utterly mine now.”

“Good.” Velvette patted some of the excess moisture from his skin with a dry gauze pad. “Did you punish her, too?”

“She signed the contract then I fried her to a crisp.” Vox sighed. “She’ll regenerate, of course, but she’s bound by the contract now. She won’t ever be able to step out of line again – can’t do a fucking thing I don’t want her to do.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s safe,” Vox corrected. “I don’t know if I would say it’s good.”

Velvette continued to work on cleaning him up before moving on to stitching the worst parts of the wound together. To his credit, Vox stared over her shoulder and didn’t flinch while she worked, though his face occasionally twisted in pain. After a while, she felt his hand settle on her waist, steadying himself while she tugged the needle through his skin. In a flash, she felt her heart start to race.

“Sorry,” she said again, unevenly, and he nodded. Like he couldn’t even hear the way her voice wavered, just the tiniest bit.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re the best with a needle and thread, Vel.” He tilted his head, smiling encouragingly at her. Fuck, with that stupid fucking crooked smile he did when he was trying to convince her of something. “It’s almost painless when you stitch me up.”

“No,” she snapped suddenly, and Vox froze, smile locked in place. With the stitches finished, she crossed her arms over her chest. Fuck, she was not going to cry. “No, I mean, I’m sorry. I haven’t really… I haven’t the chance to tell you, but… Vox, I’m sorry.”

Vox’s face fell and his gaze darted away from her. And, great, now she was making him uncomfortable, too, on top of everything. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right. If I hadn’t fucking let her possess me – and I get how fucked up that sentence is, holy shit – she wouldn’t have done all that shit to you.” Velvette’s face felt suddenly hot under her skin, and she felt the traitorous prickle of tears at the top of her nose. “And she used me to do it!”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Vox said quietly and moved his hand away from her, screen desaturating as he spoke. She could tell he was beginning to grow upset but she had to get this out. He needed to understand how much she hadn’t meant for this to happen.

“Okay, I know, but–”

“Velvette, stop!” She jolted at the sudden screech of feedback that accompanied his voice. Vox’s hypnotic eye spun on his screen for a moment, and he looked down at the floor before he could catch her with it. She took a step back, frightened, as he took a deep breath. “I know it wasn’t you, but please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she whispered, reaching over to grab the gauze. She could feel the tears in her eyes slip down her cheek and she brushed them away impatiently. Shit.

“Vel?” Vox asked. His voice was impossibly gentle, and she sniffled before meeting his gaze. “I promise I don’t blame you, all right? But... let’s just drop it. Please.”

“Yeah.” Fuck, it was too much, too soon. She could barely stand to think about it, either, but she needed him to understand how fucked up she was inside about it. It hadn’t been her, but it had been her fault. Even though she had been strapped down in the passenger seat while that bitch drove her body around like a junker that she planned to drive into the ground before she was done, Velvette had still been there. No matter how hard she had fought from inside her mind, no matter how loud she screamed, she had watched him suffer for so long and hadn’t been able to do a fucking thing about it.

“Hey.” She blinked and a few more tears spilled down her cheeks. Vox forced his mouth into a grin then reached up and pushed the corners of her mouth into a weak facsimile of a smile. “Hey, babydoll, give me a smile, huh? You’d look prettier if you smiled.”

Velvette scoffed, unable to stop a sharp burst of laughter. Vox’s grin became more genuine, and she jerked away from him.

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking creep.” She slapped the gauze onto his shoulder with maybe a bit more force than necessary, laughing a little easier when he groaned dramatically. With a quick bit of work, she taped down the gauze and pretended to glare at him. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

“God, Vel… so many fucking things,” he sighed. “But the worst is the fact that I don’t have a drink in my hand right now.”

Velvette caught his hand and helped him stand, appraising her work. “I can fix that.”

“Well, thank fuck for that.”

Notes:

CW: blood and violence.

Vox gets a bit of catharsis. :)

Chapter 30: i’d take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

4 months ago

The past two months had felt strangely disjointed, surreal almost, and Alastor was having a hard time integrating Vox’s presence into his afterlife once more.

He had reconciled himself to the lack of his old friend decades ago, learned to accept that the only piece of Vox he was allowed to have was his hatred, and had done his best to move on. It wasn’t as if he had any other choice – he’d made sure of that. And… it hurt, but it was fine. He was fine. He was right as rain, really. Everything had stabilized and Alastor watched from a distance while Vox rebuilt, eventually welcoming the little doll demon into his inner circle with Valentino.

Then.

Well.

Alastor was still struggling to wrap his mind around the past two months. He hadn’t thought there would be anything worse than that first month, watching Vox unravel and depending on him, his sworn enemy, for everything. He spent half his time caring for Vox and the other half trying to hold himself together, even as he felt the needling urge to collapse just at the edge of his consciousness. But, he had managed to keep going, to maintain the tentative balance of their situation despite the sick feeling that washed over him every time he rushed to find Vox screaming his way through another nightmare, or frozen in place when some new confusion overtook him, or even when he smiled at Alastor with vague, misplaced trust because he couldn’t even remember that Alastor was the reason they were stuck there in the first place.

But, for all of that, at least he had the benefit of being close to Vox and knowing exactly where he was at all times (something small and insidious whispered how nice it was to have Vox back home again and he tore at his own hair to make it stop). Now that Vox’s mind and sanity seemed to have returned with alarming abruptness, he didn’t even have the comfort of keeping Vox close to soothe the tumultuous thoughts in his mind.

Because Vox had gone home and Alastor had let him. When Vox started his revenge spree (ostensibly, he claimed to be fixing his reputation, but Alastor knew retribution when he saw it), Alastor had been supportive. There was no risk in killing his own employees, souls he already owned, especially when he was careful to make sure that they were gagged and compensated for their trouble (he’d been paying special attention to those particular Sinners for the past month and none of them seemed especially bothered by the whole ordeal – perhaps they recognized it was a better fate than what they might have suffered at the hands of another Overlord). There wasn’t much risk in roping Katie and Tom into soul-binding contracts and killing them off – Alastor had chuckled along with the video of the event that Vox showed him days later, gleefully replaying the exact moment Katie knew she was caught until Alastor had to redirect his attention elsewhere. He knew Vox was going to make Katie’s afterlife even more miserable once she regenerated and who was he to deny Vox a little indulgence in some well-earned schadenfreude?

All of that was to be expected, really – Overlords didn’t have the luxury of weakness that other Sinners might have and an Overlord like Vox especially so. But Vox was strong and competent, and Alastor hadn’t been worried much while he plotted and planned. Until now.

The Radio Demon stared up at the grid of monitors and thick wires spread out in front of him, stretching up to alarmingly high ceiling of Vox’s surveillance room like some twisted, mechanical tree. And, on each screen, was drone footage of Hell’s Goetian nobility. Dozens of individuals, almost all of whom Alastor knew had no part in the assault in Vox’s penthouse.

“What is all of this?” he asked quietly after he had spent a minute staring at the screens with anxiety twisting his stomach into uncomfortable knots. Vox jumped a little and spun around in his chair, his hand already halfway underneath his jacket before he stopped himself.

“I thought we were done with the jump scares,” he scoffed in answer and Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Vox… why does every screen in the room have footage of Goetia on it?”

The Television Overlord stared at him impassively before cocking his head. “You’re not that stupid, Alastor. You know what I’m doing.” Alastor hesitated before replying.

“You’re going after them directly.” He narrowed his eyes when canned applause echoed from Vox’s speakers. “This isn’t funny.”

“Sure, it is,” Vox retorted, turning back to his monitors. “It’s fucking hilarious. A comedy for the masses.”

“You can’t go after them. Not by yourself.” Alastor felt a chill run down his spine when Vox flicked his wrist dismissively. “Vox, they’re too powerful.”

“Don’t worry about it, Alastor. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, but this isn’t–”

“Alastor. It’s fine.”

He could tell by the bite in Vox’s voice that he was beginning to grow frustrated, but Alastor didn’t care. He was frustrated – he’d have to try a different tactic to reason with the other Overlord.

“But you’re only going to undermine yourself. You’ve already told all of Hell that it was all a scam to make you look bad – why would you then go hunt down seemingly random Goetia? If it was all a fake, who would you even have to punish?”

“So, they just get away with it?” Vox asked, voice ratcheting up a notch. Alastor felt sudden anger burst through their frequency. “I’m just supposed to sit on my fucking hands while they yuck it up somewhere like I’m a big fucking joke? I’m just supposed to be okay that they fucked me in my own fucking home like that and I couldn’t even stop them and…” He trailed off for a moment and Alastor listened to him breathe in shakily. “I’m not going to do that, Alastor. Everyone has to fucking pay – I don’t give a shit if I have to hypnotize all of Hell every fucking day – the fuckers aren’t just going to get away with this.”

“Vox, listen to me.”

“No. You can’t possibly understand what it’s been like, knowing they’re under my nose and I haven’t even...” Alastor could see his fingers flying over the keyboard as several monitors blipped in and out of what he assumed was live drone footage. “I’m going to destroy every one of them. Even if it fucking kills me.”

Unable to stop himself, Alastor caught the top of Vox’s chair and spun him away from his monitors, forcing him to stare up at the Radio Demon. Vox shrank back for a moment, before his hands tightened on the armrests.

“You’re being idiotic,” Alastor snarled, leaning down towards Vox. It was not surprising that his mouth pressed into a thin, barely visible line, his eyes narrowing as he glared up at Alastor. Why couldn’t Vox just listen to him? “I’m not going to let you go on a suicide mission.”

“You don’t–”

“This,” he snapped, gesturing towards the monitors now behind Vox, “is the easily one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done. I thought your sanity had returned, but I can see I was clearly mistaken if you’re so insistent on this idiocy.”

For a moment, neither of them moved and Alastor had enough presence of mind to hear the prickling crackle of static in the air around them before he realized just how heavy his head felt. He moved his neck slightly, feeling the weight of his extended antlers and took a moment to breathe before he slowly moved back out of Vox’s space. He… hadn’t meant to do that.

“Vox.” Ears flattening against his head, Alastor blinked rapidly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.” Vox leaned forward and the cables that were connecting him to the monitoring system snapped away from his body, the first sparks of electricity forming around his fingertips. “Vox, I’m sorry–”

“Fuck you, Alastor!” Vox snarled, electricity snapping threateningly. Alastor’s heart sank and he quickly forced himself back into his usual Hellish form. “I know it’s really fucking difficult for you to believe, but newsflash: you don’t know what’s best. In fact, it seems like you identify whatever is best and then run as hard and fast in the opposite direction as you fucking can.” He pointed at Alastor. “You’re the fucking reason we’re in this whole fucking situation in the first place and now you’re going to stand there, and fucking tell me what to do?”

Alastor swallowed hard. His throat was so dry. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do.”

“No?” Vox twitched his head slightly to the side and a perfect audio recording of his voice telling Vox not to chase after the Goetia played over the air. Alastor flinched. “That sure sounds an awful lot like you fucking telling me what to do, doesn’t it? But, hey, shit. Maybe you’re just so used to trying to control everything, you don’t even hear it anymore. Is that it?”

“Vox, I–”

“SHUT UP!”

It wasn’t fear, not exactly, that made Alastor’s mouth snap shut as Vox’s voice reverberated throughout the echoing space of his surveillance room. Still, he might not have been able to identify the feeling as anything else when sudden arcs of lightning cracked with blue-white brilliance around his friend’s body. If Vox had forgotten again and turned his power onto Alastor, he would have to watch his friend die again. Have to hold his stiff, unresponsive body, feel it grow cold beneath his hands and wonder if, this time, Vox wouldn’t wake up. And, if he didn’t…

“Please, Vox,” Alastor heard himself beg, taking a few steps back, hands raised in surrender. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“When have you ever actually fucking done that?” the other Overlord demanded. “When? Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like you’ve used that as an excuse to be a complete dickhead to me for decades.” He looked Alastor over. “Did you ever even give a shit about me? Ever?”

“Yes, of course, I did.” Alastor shook his head. “We were best friends. I only wanted to protect you.”

With a flash of light, Vox was inches from his face, a snarl on his screen. “Best friends? You all but wrapped me up with a pretty bow for that bitch, Alastor. Do you understand that? You gave me to her.”

“No.” Alastor’s hand flew up to his hair and he could dimly feel himself twisting the crimson strands tight around his fingers. “No, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I tried to stop her…”

“What, by strapping me down onto the table yourself?” A strange whine tore itself from Alastor’s throat. “Yeah, Val told me all about that. Told me you summoned her creepy fucking machine and strapped me down to the surgical table...” Vox’s voice wavered. “How could you do that to me?”

“I didn’t want to!” Alastor gasped, gaze dropping to the ground in front of him. “She made me do it because… because she knew, Vox. She’s always known and no matter how many times I said no, she still knew, and she was so angry… of course she made me to do that to you.”

“Why couldn’t you just say no?” Vox asked sharply. A metallic taste burst into Alastor’s mouth, and he raised his free hand to touch his lips, drawing his fingers back enough to look at the bright red blood streaked over them. There was a high-pitched whistle in the air. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t…” Alastor closed his eyes. Was the floor moving beneath his feet and how could Vox not hear that? “I’m sorry… Vox, I’m sorry…”

“And what? She made you do all that shit for fucking years?” He drew in a sharp breath. “Did she make you take Husk’s soul? Alastor? Did she make you do that, too?”

No. Alastor shook his head. “I thought… protected you…”

Distantly, he could hear Vox continue to demand answers that Alastor couldn’t provide. Not anymore. Not when it was so obvious now, in hindsight, that the things he had done had never been helpful, had never protected Vox. He had deluded himself into thinking they did because it was the only way he could think to handle things on his own, to keep as much control over the situation as possible and the whistling was so loud he couldn’t hear Vox’s voice above the din. He clapped his hands over his ears, but it just kept going.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, shaking his head and backing away from the Television Overlord. “I… shouldn’t have… sorry…”

The whistle became a blaring horn in his ears, drowning out everything else as the floor lurched below him and Alastor felt his knees buckle. The ground rushed up to meet him and Alastor gave into the darkness, only distantly registering the strong hands that caught him around the middle before his face smashed onto the hard surface.

“Alastor?”

He looked up, surprised to find himself sitting on the floor, legs drawn up to his chest. Vox knelt in front of him, his own hands resting on Alastor’s knees, worry coloring every pixel on his screen.

Vox patted his knee gently. “Hey. Are you back with me?”

“Why... why am I on the floor?” he heard himself ask. The words tasted sour in his mouth. Vox’s frown deepened.

“You, uh, started broadcasting a distress signal,” Vox said quietly. “Then you kind of… well, you fainted, I guess. I don’t know if that’s what it was, but it looked like it.”

Alastor flinched. “I did not faint.”

“Don’t worry, it was a very manly faint.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Barely even a swoon – I didn’t even need to run and get the smelling salts.”

Alastor squeezed his eyes shut again and leaned forward until his forehead was resting on Vox’s hands. He raised his arms and brought his fingers up to clutch at the sleeves of Vox’s jacket. “Please, Vox.”

“Please what?”

“Don’t go after them.” The floor continued to shift beneath him, though its pace was slowing and that was reassuring. He drew in a shaky breath. “If they don’t kill you, Eve will. She’s still looking, and she’ll never stop – even if you manage to take down the Goetia, she’ll catch you before you can get back safely.”

Vox was quiet and Alastor pressed his closed eyes against the other Overlord’s knuckles, not caring if Vox felt a hint of moisture when he did.

“Does it really scare you so much?”

Alastor nodded weakly. “I can’t lose you again.”

“Okay.” Vox’s tone was one of resignation, and Alastor clenched his fingers into his coat just a little tighter. “I’ll wait then.”

“Wait?”

“Yes. I’ll wait until Eve and Michal have been… handled… then I’ll do what I need to do.” Vox’s palms started to move in slow, soothing circles on Alastor’s knees. “Okay? I won’t make you worry about that until some of this other shit is off our plates.”

Alastor nodded, enjoying the feel of Vox’s hands moving beneath his face. “I’m sorry, Vox.”

“You said.”

“I am. I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything.” Vox didn’t respond to that, though his hands stopped moving. “I never needed to do any of the things I did, but I was too foolish and stubborn–”

“And arrogant,” Vox chimed in. “Don’t forget arrogant. Insufferable, selfish, petty, cruel, and just an all-around dickhead. Oh, you’re a coward, too.”

Alastor sniffed impatiently. “Are you quite done?”

“I have the fucking internet in my head and access to every known dictionary and thesaurus, past and present. Once you’re tired of hearing all words that describe you in English, I can move onto another language.”

He couldn’t help the soft huff of laughter that spilled out of him. Alastor gave Vox’s arm a small shake. “Vox?”

“Yes, Alastor?”

“I’m trying to apologize. Sincerely. Genuinely.” Vox hummed. Alastor sighed heavily and dragged his head up from where his forehead was resting on Vox’s hands. It took him a moment to force himself to make eye contact with the other Overlord. Vox’s face was carefully, painfully, neutral. “I know it’s not enough and I know that even if I apologize every day, every minute, for the rest of eternity, which I swear I will do, it’s never going to be enough–”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Vox said with chilling calm. “You’re never going to be able to apologize your way out of this mess, Alastor. There aren’t enough sorrys in the universe to fix this.”

Alastor’s ears drooped.  “Even still… Vox… do you think…?”

“Do I think what, Alastor?”

“Vox, do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”

Vox blinked, clearly surprised by the directness of the question. “I don’t know. The shit you did, Alastor… do you want me to forgive you, or do you just want to be absolved of everything you’ve done?”

What an interesting question. He hadn’t thought of that. “I want you to forgive me. But only if you genuinely want to.” Vox tilted his head slightly to the side. “I don’t want you to forgive me because you think you should or because you feel sorry for me. I want you to forgive me because I’ve earned your forgiveness and because you want to.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll understand.” He chuckled grimly when Vox raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “I will. And I’ll leave you alone, even, besides what that accursed contract requires of us.”

Vox nodded, fingers flexing against Alastor’s knees. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Look, Alastor… I don’t know if I want to forgive you, but I don’t know if I don’t want to forgive you either.” Alastor’s ears perked forward, hopeful. “Regardless, I don’t want to fight with you anymore. Whatever I decide to do – this? This needs to end. I can’t do this fucked up little dance with you anymore.”

“It’s done. It’s over. I will do better, and I will never put you through any of the hurt that I did ever again,” Alastor promised, and Vox sighed. Well, of course he did. Alastor hadn’t given him any reason to believe anything was any different, had he? “I’ll even make a deal with you, if you want.”

Vox stared hard at the hand Alastor extended toward him, a strange unreadable expression crossing his face. “What kind of deal would you want to make?”

“I…” Alastor thought about that for a minute. “Well, I’m not sure. I suppose some sort of retribution deal so that if I hurt you again, you have some kind of recompense.”

Vox’s frown deepened as he continued to stare at Alastor’s hand. After a while, he shook his head. “No deals. None of that shit, Alastor. I just need you to grow the fuck up and finally be honest with me. For once.”

“Yes,” Alastor replied quickly, taking his hand back and setting it over Vox’s hand. Enjoying the feel of his hand beneath his palm. “Yes, of course. I swear. Even if you don’t want to make a deal, I promise that things will be different going forward. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Maybe not everything,” Vox said with a frown. “I really don’t want to hear about who you ate for lunch.”

Alastor inclined his head. He had Rosie for those kinds of discussions anyways.

“I’m not ready to decide one way or the other, but… I’ll let you try, and we’ll go from there.” Vox sighed, studying Alastor’s face closely. “I’m not making any promises, Alastor. You fucked up so much and… I might not ever be able to forgive you.”

“I understand.”

“I hope so.” Vox pushed himself upright, stretching his limbs with faint pops and snaps before extending his hand down to Alastor. “Come on, get up. I’m supposed to be the emotional wreck of the two of us, right? It doesn’t look good if we’re both having breakdowns.”

“Well, why should you get to have all the fun?” Alastor sniffed, brushing the back of his hand over his face quickly.

Vox rolled his eyes before looking Alastor over. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “You hungry?”

Alastor nodded, grateful to be finished with this conversation. “Always.”

“I’ll… order in.”

 

*

 

Present Day

Vox watched as Velvette carried the bags of food into the dining area, setting them out on the table with the kind of pride that would’ve made a person think that she had cooked and prepared each individual item contained within instead of placing a Hell Run order. He almost suggested pulling out the plates in the cupboard that were being used with less and less frequency but stopped himself when he noticed the plastic plates that had come with her order. It was just as well – he had no interest in doing the dishes and Kitty, for all her other uses, broke the plates as often as she managed to clean them. With a tired sigh, he took a seat across from Vel and watched her open each takeout container, setting the lids beside the food carefully.

She glanced at him and frowned. “Well? Are you waiting for a personalized invitation?”

Instead of answering, Vox picked up a plate and began to place food on it with little discrimination. He honestly wasn’t all that hungry to begin with, but Velvette had been so fucking adamant about ordering food that he had caved quickly. It probably didn’t help that Dot had picked up on his more recent eating habits and he noticed that lately dinners were only a selection of his favorite foods instead of the regular rotating menu that accommodated each Vee (and Dot when she joined them) in turn. There was plenty of overlap, generally, between what they liked and there were few meals that he ever disliked, but now it seemed like everything placed in front of him were his favorite dishes from his favorite places.

Vox stared down at his plate and idly pushed the rice in small circles around his plate, hoping Velvette wouldn’t notice his reluctance.

“Something smells delicious,” Val purred as he sauntered into the dining room, looking like he had just woken up. Which, knowing him, he probably had. Vox set a plate in front of the seat beside him, earning a quick kiss to the top of his head for his trouble. “Thank you, baby.”

Vox watched with undisguised fondness as Val piled his plate with a near obscene amount of food and dug in with gusto. Despite everything, Val had really been far more patient with him than Vox had expected. More patient than he had been with himself. To be perfectly honest, Vox was starting to feel as fed up with himself as he was sure Valentino was – six months since the last time he and Val had been intimate in any kind of way was entirely too long. He wouldn’t have even blamed Val if he had pushed Vox harder, but so far… nothing.

He needed to get his shit together already. For himself as much as for Val. It had never taken him nearly this long to climb back on the horse (or moth, as the case may be) whenever things had gotten… rough between him and Val. He was good at compartmentalizing, he couldn’t not be, and it had never taken him six months to get over one of their difficult patches.

“Voxy?”

“Hmm?” Val tilted his head, an indulgent smile spreading across his face as Vox realized that the other man had asked him something at least once already. He felt a blush start to spread over his face. “Sorry, what?”

“The last eggroll is on your plate, papito.” Vox looked down. So it was. “Are you planning to eat it or are you saving it for a special occasion?”

“Val!” Velvette snapped. “Don’t steal the food from his fucking plate!”

“It’s not stealing if I ask for it, babydoll.”

“Don’t start,” Vox warned without any heat and plucked the eggroll off his plate and set it down on Val’s. “I don’t want it anyways.”

“Did you eat anything at all?” Velvette asked, dismayed.

Vox shoved a dumpling into his mouth and chewed pointedly, gesturing to his face. “Yes,” he said through his food. “See?”

“Children, both of you,” she grumbled and turned her attention back to her phone.

Well, Vox could be obliging. Even though he had no taste for it, he forced himself to eat some of the rice on his plate before popping a couple more dumplings into his mouth. At least now Velvette couldn’t report back to Dot that their boy wasn’t eating and think of new and horrible ways to get food down his throat.

He jumped a little when a phone call came through, eyes widening in surprise at the name and number. Not bothering to get up from the table (they never did, the Vees collectively had atrocious table manners, something he probably should’ve addressed years ago, but who cared in their own home?), Vox accepted the call.

“Alastor?”

Velvette’s eyes shot up from her own phone. She mouthed the Radio Demon’s name back at Vox in confusion and, yeah, that tracked. Alastor was much keener on simply appearing whenever he wanted an audience than having the decency to call a person. Maybe he spared Rosie the courtesy, but only rarely had Vox ever been given any kind of heads up before Alastor appeared in all his shadowy glory.

“Vox, this is Alastor.” There was a loud tapping noise followed by garbled static. “Can you hear me over this contraption?”

Valentino rolled his eyes and went back to eating while Velvette’s surprised expression quickly morphed into one of malicious delight. As much as she complained about the Radio Demon’s disdain for technology, Vox knew she secretly found it hilarious whenever Alastor struggled his way through things. Only trouble was, Vox knew that Alastor was perfectly proficient at using a telephone and had his doubts as to just how incompetent the older Overlord actually was with any technological advancements. He might claim to not understand anything past the day he died, but Vox had plenty of evidence to the contrary.

“I know you know how to use a phone, Alastor. Quit screwing around.”

Alastor was silent for a beat. “Very well. Just thought I’d have a bit of fun,” he said sullenly while his voice came through the phone crystal clear and without a hint of feedback. “Lucifer wants to confirm your breakfast date with us tomorrow morning.”

“Hey! Don’t say ‘us’ like ‘us’ is a thing, bellhop!”

“Oh, don’t be silly, who would ever think such a thing?” Alastor quipped in return and Vox caught Velvette’s eye just before her grin widened with anticipatory amusement. “Your Highness, I heard a very clever joke just the other day.”

“This guy,” Val muttered to himself as Vox waited for Alastor’s out of line joke.

“Did you hear the one about the twelve-inch king?”

“Be so very careful.”

“Turns out he was a terrible king, but an excellent ruler.”

“Okay, I am officially done with your shit today.”

“Ah, well, it seems I must make a hasty goodbye, Vox.” There was a crash followed by a shriek of feedback. “His Highness seems rather put out. Eight o’clock!” The line went dead, and Vox turned off his phone with a sigh.

“Why is everyone I know so fucking dramatic about everything?”

Velvette hummed. “Seeing as how you’re the common denominator in that equation…”

“Right.” Vox picked up his glass of water to take a sip. “Excellent point, my dear.”

“D’you think they’re kicking the shit out of each other like some weird kind of foreplay?” Valentino asked, sounding suspiciously hopeful and Vox couldn’t stop the way the smile fell from his face. Velvette glanced between them, her expression sobering as well, and snapped her phone up from the table. She paused long enough to give Vox a meaningful look and he tilted his head in the general direction of her suite.

“I’m going to go doomscroll for a few hours and let my brain melt out my ears,” she told them, and Val flicked his wrist dismissively.

“This isn’t an airport, babydoll. You don’t have to announce your departure.”

“Asshole,” Velvette replied, rolling her eyes. She got up from the table, snatching a few dumplings from one of the takeout boxes, and left for her suite. Vox wondered if she’d hole up in there for the rest of the night, reenacting what he was sure were her just delightful teenage years. He waited for the door to shut behind her before glancing at Valentino.

“Tell me how you really feel,” he said, keeping his voice light. Val sighed.

“Voxy, baby, you know how I really feel.” Vox watched his partner spoon rice into his mouth and chew thoughtfully. “He’s going to hurt you again.”

Vox frowned. “You don’t know that.”

“Mm, I do, though. It’s a pattern with you two. He does some horrifically dickish thing to you, you get sad or mad about it, and then he lures you right back in again.” Val shrugged. “Over and over. You’ve been doing this dance with him the entire time I’ve known you, and that’s been… what? Fifty years now? And I bet he started before that, too.”

Vox sighed, but didn't correct him - after all, his relationship with the Radio Demon had always been complicated, so why not let Val think it had been difficult for so much longer than it was? It was easier than having to drag his relationship with Alastor under a spotlight, a bleak post mortem that Vox was still teasing the nuances out of. Besides, he wanted to make things better with Val and pointing out that the dance he had done with Val for years wasn’t so terribly different wouldn’t exactly put them on the track back to normal. He just didn’t want to fight anymore – not with Val, not with Alastor.

He… well, he was tired.

“You’re not wrong.”

Valentino nodded and went back to eating in silence. Vox lowered his eyes to his own plate and mashed some of the rice flat against the plastic, grinding it into a slowly congealing mush.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing with him,” Val said eventually and set his fork down. “Who knows what he’s hiding this time.”

And, perhaps foolishly, Vox hadn’t locked Alastor into any kind of deal to know if the Radio Demon did have something else up his sleeve. Waiting for the perfect moment to surprise Vox with his latest revelation. He frowned down at his plate as Val got to his feet to leave the table. Maybe he was right. Maybe Alastor did have an even more terrible secret – Vox supposed he really had no reason to believe otherwise. Except that Alastor had promised and it had felt sincere…

Vox reached out and caught Valentino’s sleeve before he could get far, searching his face for… something. He wasn’t exactly sure what.

“Val?”

Val paused, lower arms crossing in front of him. “What is it, Voxy?”

“Can you kiss me?”

His body tensed for the briefest moment, perhaps in disbelief, and Val blinked down at him. “What?”

“Kiss me. Please.” Vox shifted his weight so that he was completely facing the other Overlord. “I want you to.”

He must’ve been waiting for this, Vox thought as Val swooped down and caught his screen between his hands. Giving Vox a careful once over, Val’s expression warmed after a moment and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to Vox’s mouth. And, despite asking for this, it took Vox a few seconds to close his eyes and relax into his lover’s kiss.

And…

It felt good, he supposed. Normal. The way it usually did (barring the abrupt twist in his stomach that he was able to crush down by sheer power of will). Vox was content with that and even raised his hand to brush his fingers over Val’s. Still, though, when he felt Val’s tongue press to the seam of his lips, he pulled back a little.

“I just… can we just go slow?”

Val’s mouth quirked to the side, and he nodded. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

 

*

 

Eve was very good at disguises.

She’d had millennia to practice, after all. She could twist her physical appearance and her voice without a thought and even mastered the ability to change the shape and feeling of her aura as well. Exceptionally powerful beings like Lucifer and Lillith (and their children as well) could see through her mask, down to her very core, if they so desired, but the average Hellhound? Didn’t stand a chance.

“So… do you know how to find this Blitzo guy?” she asked, cutting off the rambling monologue of the creature in front of her. She was a cute little thing, really. Petite in her features, perky ears, bright eyes, and brindled fur that tapered into white around her paws and face. Modestly dressed, too, in gray slacks and a soft white shirt, which was something of a surprise. Sophie, she’d said her name was.

The Hellhound blinked at her in surprise then rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed to be interrupted. “Yeah, I mean, sort of. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows his daughter.” Her voice was sweet, too, Eve had to give her credit for that. Though the undertone of exasperation was wearing on Eve’s patience quickly. “So, like I have her phone number, and I could give you that.”

Excellent. Eve held out the phone in her hand with a smile. “Do you mind?” She wiggled her fingers, letting Sophie catch the glint of her nails in the pale morning light. “Just had these done.”

“Sure, why not?”

Once the little Hellhound had placed the digits into her phone, Eve contently took the device back and slipped it into her pocket.  She looked up at the increasingly irritated girl in front of her, knowing she was about to demand payment for her assistance. Too bad Eve had no intention of paying.

Without another word, she summoned an angelic dagger and plunged it into Sophie’s throat, catching her before she could collapse onto the ground. Eve stroked through the soft fur between her ears and waited until the choking, bubbling sounds stopped curdling in her throat. Really, as effective as cutting a throat was, it was a messy affair. She wiped the worst of the gore on the still white shoulder of Sophie’s shirt.

She set the Hellhound down and gave her a final condescending pat.

“You’ve been very helpful, darling.”

Notes:

CW: referenced past rape, panic attacks, referenced past character death, blood and violence, murder

Oh, look. Some of those healthy coping techniques are starting to appear.

I think it's safe to assume that one of Alastor's coping techniques is to make constant terrible jokes about Lucifer until the King of Hell has to chase him out of the Hotel for ten minutes of peace. It's working for them, so... okie dokie.

Chapter 31: i feel fine enough, i guess, considering everything’s a mess

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

Present Day

Vox stared into the dull blue glow of the massive tank in his bedroom, watching the sharks swimming placidly through the water as the clock hit 4:59 am. One more minute and he’d have to get out of bed to start his day. He wasn’t completely sure why he was waiting – it wasn’t like he had anything especially appealing to keep him in bed.

The alarm managed two sharp beeps before he turned it off and let his eyes settle above him on the ceiling. Now that the alarm had gone off, he didn’t want to move.

Fuck’s sake.

Vox sighed before sitting up and turning to let his legs dangle over the side of the bed. Today was really getting off to a great start.

His shower felt colder than usual, but he couldn’t be bothered to turn it up any hotter than it already was. Avoiding the bottle of Val’s body wash that was still in the shower (even though Val hadn’t showered in Vox’s bathroom in months), Vox selected a bar of unscented soap and scrubbed at his skin until he was clean. Once that was done, he dressed in his usual suit and tie before heading out to see if anyone had bothered to make coffee.

And well.

Velvette was already seated at the breakfast table, scrolling away on her phone while she sucked down whatever iced coffee abomination Kitty had made for her. Her avocado toast was largely untouched, which wasn’t a huge surprise – Vox suspected she liked it more for the aesthetic than the actual taste. More often than not the toast found its way into the garbage can while Velvette snuck a fistful of sugary cereal into her mouth before heading downstairs with her oversized travel mug of coffee.

“Morning,” Vox said quietly, popping a coffee pod into the single serve machine and sliding a plain blue mug underneath the drip. Velvette looked up and offered him a small smile in greeting. “Got anything interesting today?”

“No,” she scoffed. “Melissa discovered one of the interns has been fucking up the textile order every week for the last three weeks and–”

Vox sank down at the table beside her, sipping his coffee, and letting her words wash over him in a steady stream of irritable, but comforting, complaint. His coffee tasted especially bitter this morning, but he couldn't be bothered with getting up, so he continued to drink it without adding any sugar or cream to it. He was halfway done when he realized that Velvette was watching him, her tirade apparently over. Vox tilted his head, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“And then…?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, fuck off, Vox. I know you’re not even listening.”

“…did you have to kill anyone?”

“I did not.”

“Well, good.” Her eyes narrowed and Vox shrugged, returning his attention to his coffee. “Or not. Whatever it is you did is fine, I’m sure.”

They sat in silence for a while before Velvette tapped his wrist with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “Are you okay this morning?”

“I’m always okay.” Vox got up from the table, walking away to set his mug on the counter beside the sink. He refilled it and returned to the table. “You know that.”

“Vox?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I just…” She stared at him, and he stared back placidly. “Aren’t you meeting King and Codger for breakfast this morning?”

He was. At a little coffee shop that he suggested, despite Alastor’s misgivings. At some point the Radio Demon was going to need to accept the fact that Vox couldn’t just hide away, splitting his time between the Tower and the mayor’s office. Why the fuck should he? Why the fuck should he have to hide and cower (even if the idea of being out in the open sometimes made his skin crawl, thousands of tiny insects scrambling over him, made him want to scream)? Hell belonged to the Vee’s, belonged to him, why the fuck should he have to be the one to back down? He was fucking sick of it, fucking sick of always having to be the one to yield, over and over and–

Vox looked down at his clenched fist and slowly relaxed his hand. Velvette stared at him expectantly and he realized he hadn’t answered her question.

“I am,” he confirmed then raised an eyebrow. “Did you want to join us?”

Velvette scoffed. “Fuck, no. It’s way too early for that nonsense.” She flicked her wrist impatiently and returned her attention to her phone. “Invite me for lunch next time and I’ll go, but I don’t know how you possibly put up with their shit at eight in the morning.”

“It’s not without great suffering that I do,” Vox joked, and Velvette shrugged a shoulder. He rolled his eyes at her dismissive inattention before getting up, coffee cup still in hand. “I’ll see you after six today.”

“You want me to get something on Hell Run?” He nodded and she scrolled for a few seconds. “Fuck, I could murder a curry. You want curry?”

“Whatever you want is fine.” Velvette looked up with a frown. “Honestly. Whatever.”

They sat in silence for a while longer before Vox caught Velvette studying his hands. He flipped them over, confused as to what she was looking for.

“Are you going to be safe when you go there?” she asked, and he sighed. With a roll of his eyes, he pushed up one of his sleeves to show her the thin bracelet hidden beneath his clothes. Barely visible sigils circled the metal, providing a subtle, but effective shield that protected him from any direct attacks from Eve. At least until the magic wore off and he had to replace the jewelry, but Lucifer had assured him that it would last for a while before he’d need to do that.

“Yes, Ma, I’m using protection.”

“Gross.”

Velvette curled her lip in feigned disgust, and he smirked down into his coffee. Once he had finished, he bid Velvette a good day and even managed to give a sleepy Valentino a kiss on the cheek before he headed off for his breakfast meeting with Lucifer and Alastor.

There wouldn’t be any meaningful discussions over coffee and donuts, but that wasn’t why they were meeting – Alastor might still be playing the aloof loner sometimes, but Vox knew the practical uses of having powerful associates. As much as it smarted, it was good for him, good for VoxTek and the Vees, to have the public appearance of the King’s support. Since the King couldn’t be seen playing favorites, Alastor needed to come along for the ride.

Which was starting to become a problem.

Alastor was becoming a fixture in Vox’s afterlife, again, and it wasn’t until Valentino pointed out how much Alastor was at the Tower that Vox realized what was happening. He was letting himself slip back into domesticity and comfort around the Radio Demon, wasn’t he? Sharing little jokes and asides over their radio frequency, falling asleep in one another’s presence, and Vox was fucking letting Alastor hold his hand again like they had never stopped. Like there weren’t decades of hurt that should have stung him every single time Alastor touched him and… fucking didn’t.

Shit, he didn’t know anymore.

Things were starting to feel the way they had years ago, before all the bullshit, and Vox was nothing if not a sucker for Alastor’s charms - even when he didn’t want to be. Even when he knew it was going to hurt, knew it was going to stab him in the back or the heart (because the Radio Demon didn’t seem to have much of a preference, did he?), and yet…

He was letting Alastor burrow back into his mind like an invasive weed that Vox had tried so many times to uproot. And he never seemed to get everything out, did he? No matter how viciously he tore at the soil, determined to get all of Alastor out, some insidious root still managed to stay buried until it was able to spread again. But, fuck, he didn’t know if he even wanted to purge Alastor completely from his system.

Because this time, when Vox needed him more than ever before, Alastor had stayed.

Alastor hadn’t abandoned Vox this time. He hadn’t been left to bleed out in a dirty alley way, his heart shattered into so many pieces. No, this time, Alastor had stuck around and had put him back together, even if it had stung each time he fit another broken piece of Vox back into the whole. And, shockingly, he hadn’t given Vox his usual insincere “sorry” which somehow managed to hurt worse than if he had said nothing at all. His apology felt genuine, and he had been working so hard to earn Vox’s trust, he could feel how hard Alastor was trying, impossible as it seemed.

As much as it pissed Vox off to admit it, something, some insignificant little bud, was threatening to bloom deep inside him again.

Shit, he was so fucking pathetic. So fucked up. Why couldn’t he just get over it like he fucking knew he should?

Like Val said, they’d done this dance before, and it always ended badly for him. Always. Alastor always burned him and why the fuck was Vox so fucking eager to give him yet another opportunity to do it again? Even if Alastor tripped over himself to prove just how much he was trying to change, and even if Vox wanted Alastor to prove that this time would be different, why was Vox being stupid enough to believe it was ever going to be any different?

Was he that pathetically hopeful, even though he fucking knew better?

Vox materialized inside the coffee shop, foregoing the front entrance and appearing beside the booth where the Radio Demon was sipping coffee across from the King of Hell. Lucifer picked at a donut with little apparent interest but perked up a little when Vox arrived.

“Good morning,” Alastor greeted him brightly and all he could do was stare for a long moment, doubt still pounding in his head before he nodded in acknowledgement. Alastor’s smile faded by the faintest degree, but Vox turned to the King before his dopey fucking screen gave anything away.

“Your Majesty,” Vox offered with a small inclination of his head, noting dryly that he had been given the choice between sitting next to the Sin of Pride, Prince of Darkness, the Fallen Archangel himself, and Alastor. He quirked an eyebrow and sat down beside Lucifer, folding his hands on the tabletop. Relished the barely audible noise that crackled from Alastor’s microphone. “Alastor.”

“Are you going to order something?” the Radio Demon asked after a beat and Vox shrugged.

“Coffee, probably.” He looked around for wait staff before remembering that they had come to coffee shop on his recommendation and that meant he’d have to go up to the counter to place his order. He sighed. Just because he knew he needed to make some public appearances like this, it didn’t mean he wanted to mingle with the general public. “I should go put in my order.”

Lucifer shot him a sympathetic look which Vox almost took for pity, nearly ready to be offended, before he realized that the King’s expression was one of mutual suffering – at least one other person at this table could appreciate Vox’s newly developed aversion to socialization. That was comforting enough for Vox to roll his eyes and get up to place his order.

He let his mind wander as he waited in line, grateful that most of the patrons in the shop were far too wary to approach him. It gave him some time to watch Alastor and Lucifer make awkward small talk in the booth. Shit, they were so fucking weird with each other, weren’t they? Vox fucking bet that Alastor had done something irritating to get under Lucifer’s skin and they had been going back and forth about it ever since.

Either that or somebody had seen someone else naked by accident, and it was a whole thing now.

“It’s him!”

Hands landed on his shoulders and waist, tugging him off-balance, and Vox only barely managed to keep himself from releasing half a million volts directly into the offenders’ bodies. Adrenaline surged through his veins and the Overlord stumbled against a larger demon, eyes blowing wide as he struggled to pull a breath down deep enough into his lungs.

“Oh, my Satan, I can’t believe it’s you,” a Hellhound girl gasped, waving a VoxTek phone in one hand while her other pressed against her cheek. He blinked in surprise. She… she was a fucking teenager? He tilted his head back to see that the massive demon standing behind him was an equally young Hellhound with an identical, ecstatic grin on his face. The big demon gave him a thumbs up and Vox dropped his gaze back to the girl.  “Mr. Vox, we love your late show! Fucking love it. You’re so funny and oh, wow, it’s so fucking surreal to be meeting you in person. Like, is this for real life, you know?”

Vox’s eyes darted from her eager smiling face to focus on the harsh rictus of Alastor’s expression, the sclera of his eyes darkening with the perceived threat and, ah shit. Vox had just enough presence of mind to shake his head before Alastor went full Eldritch horror on these stupid fucking teenagers.

[They’re kids! Just stupid fucking kids!] he sent over their frequency and Alastor froze. Lucifer turned in his seat, raised one eyebrow and, perhaps seeing the lack of threat, turned back to picking his donut to pieces.

Vox gulped and took another moment to gather his wits before plastering a wide, fake smile over his screen. “Well, I’m always thrilled to meet fans!”

Still mired in heart-stopping levels of stress hormones, Vox smiled his way through his impromptu meeting with the pair of Hellhounds who did seem, as far as he could tell, to be genuine, honest-to-goodness fans of his. He hardly remembered what he said by the time it was done, but he put up with the handshaking, shoulder pats, and bear hugs for as long as he was able before excusing himself back to the booth.

Vox sank down, exhausted and with his skin crawling beneath the layers of his suit. Could anyone see the way he was shivering? He hoped not – hoped nobody else would be able to tell how close he was to fleeing into the electrical grid and disappearing back into his tower again. Coming out here was a stupid idea and…

He blinked and raised his eyes from the table as soft static gently poured through his shared frequency with Alastor. Sitting in stunned silence, it took him a few seconds before he noticed the way Alastor tilted his head at him, ears perked forward attentively. Vox looked back down at the table.

Fuck. He forgot the coffee.

“Here,” Alastor said, pushing a small cup across the table. It took Vox entirely too long to realize that Alastor must’ve gotten up while Vox was being accosted by his worshippers and purchased a cup of coffee for him. And fuck. Fuck. Fuck Alastor for being fucking considerate, the bastard. Vox stared down at the cup before hesitantly wrapping his fingers around it. The warmth felt good.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, refusing to look up and give Alastor the satisfaction of seeing his reaction. Whatever the fuck his reaction was.

Vox didn’t bother to listen to the conversation that Alastor and the King were having – he could just play it back later when he was in a headspace to pay attention. Instead, he sipped half-heartedly at his coffee and thought about what Val had said and, well, maybe he was right. Maybe Vox should stop letting Alastor come over quite so much – stop letting him into any part of his life that wasn’t strictly professional, strictly pertaining to their shared governing responsibilities or the fruitless search for Eve and Michael.

He ought to throw himself into fixing his relationship with Val because, at the very least, Val had stuck by him always. For better or worse, and all that bullshit. He should work on fixing that, the something real he did have. There were ways he could do that and absolutely none of them involved letting Alastor’s siren song coax him away from his partner.

“Vox?”

“Hmm?” He looked up, blinking in surprise to find both Alastor and Lucifer staring at him. Shit. He’d missed something important. “Uh… can you repeat that?”

Lucifer glanced at Alastor quickly. “I just asked if you could get up. We’re going to head out now.”

Vox nodded, an embarrassed flush threatening to spread onto his screen. He stood and gestured towards the door. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry about that. Time to put our noses to the old grindstone, huh?” He winked conspiratorially at the King of Hell. “Those who have them, of course.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes with good-humored chuckle and Vox grinned, trying to ignore the imploring look on Alastor’s face. He didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever Big Feelings ™ the Radio Demon was currently sifting through – Alastor would just have to figure out a way to sort those out on his own.

Vox was tired.

After making plans to show Lucifer the latest footage in their hunt (i.e. none whatsoever, Eve might as well be a ghost for all that he was able to track her), Vox zapped himself into the electrical grid, materializing in the mayoral office. Dot barely raised her head from her phone when he appeared, only pointed to his desk. A plate of buttered sourdough toast and a single serve bottle of orange juice sat in the middle, the desk suspiciously devoid of paperwork as if a ferret Sinner had snuck into his office and cleared it off before he had the chance to bury himself in it.

“Eat first,” she ordered, flicking her thumb across the glass screen of her phone. “I know you didn’t eat at your breakfast meeting.”

“You can’t prove that, Dot.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, and Vox almost immediately caved. “Fine. But it’s not like I’m hungry.”

“Then eat to make me happy.”

Vox grumbled but managed to force down a slice of toast and half the bottle of juice before he deposited the rest of it in the trash, daring Dot to say anything. She narrowed her eyes, and he fucking knew he was going to get an earful later, but fuck. It wasn’t like he could force himself to eat if his stomach was so twisted in knots that he could barely swallow down food when he wanted to eat.

With a sigh, he sank down in the seat behind the massive mayoral desk and steepled his hands in front of him.

“Bring on the hoards,” he muttered, forcing a smile onto his face as the first in a long, exhausting line of constituents began to file into his office.

Most of the complaints and inquiries were things that Vox could do something about that morning. Repairs to high-traffic roadways, clarification on contracts between the city and various Sinners, etcetera, etcetera. After a while, he felt the muscles in his body begin to relax as he found comfort in the mundane, pedestrian requests that his constituents had for him. Hell, if he didn’t know better, he might have even suspected that he was starting to enjoy himself.

“The sidewalks?” Vox watched as the Sinner in front of him nodded earnestly. “You want me to fix the sidewalks on your block so that your tenants don’t get hurt on them?”

“Yes.” The unlucky landlord sighed. “If they keep tripping over them and getting hurt, they fight me tooth and nail anytime I try to raise the rent.”

“Ah.” Vox tapped his fingers against the pen in his hands. Sharp little raps in the otherwise quiet office. “So, what you’re really saying, is that you want the mayor’s office to get the sidewalks fixed so that you can charge more rent?”

The landlord studied him for a moment before nodding once more. “Yes, sir. Mister Vox, sir.”

He sighed. “What’s in it for me?”

“Uh. For you?”

“Look,” Vox replied, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not like you’re asking me to repair something out of the goodness of your heart. You’re not trying to make anything better for anyone other than yourself, and while I respect the fuck out of your unconcealed greed, I’m not in the habit of just doing people favors for nothing.” He set the pen down on the desk. “So… what’s in it for me?”

The landlord squinted at him, trying to decide just how serious the mayor was. Vox stared blankly back. “Two percent of any increased revenue?”

“Two and a half,” Vox countered instantly. “And collateral. How buildings do you own?”

“Eight, sir.”

“Well, I guess you’re going to have to put half of them up as collateral.” Vox shrugged at the stunned expression on the landlord’s face. “I’ll fix your sidewalks, and you’ll give me the two point five percent with the buildings up as collateral.” He snapped his fingers and one of his basic contracts blinked itself into existence. “I won’t even ask for your soul.”

The demon stared at the contract for a minute then finally nodded. “So long as there’s nothing in there about my soul, I guess that’s reasonable.”

“I’m a reasonable man,” Vox agreed. “Go ahead and sign and I’ll make sure that there’s a crew out to your property by the end of the week.”

He watched the landlord sign the contract with growing boredom. Honestly, it wasn’t a terrible thing to spend the morning haggling, but he still felt an uneasy itch under his skin. What he wouldn’t give to be down in the laboratory right now, fiddling with one of his Eve-catching devices or even just spending the afternoon listening to Velvette bitch about her autumn line. Even after everything, she had figured out a way to plunge herself right back into her work again and Vox had to give her credit for that.

The landlord left uneventfully, and he closed his eyes.

“Dot?”

“Yes, Vee?”

“I think I’m going to take lunch,” he said. Dot made a soft clicking noise with her tongue and he turned his head towards the door, eyes opening to see a burly elk Sinner standing in the doorway with her. Ugh. Fine. One more petition and then he was taking lunch, even if he had to strangle any more stragglers. “One more.”

Dot gestured for the elk Sinner to enter Vox’s office, and the demon nodded with an air of gratitude. He held his phone in his hands and Vox wondered if this was secretly a ploy to convince Vox to fix his phone, of all things. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and he fucking knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“Uh… could I speak with the Mayor alone?” the demon asked with an awkward chuckle. “It’s kind of a sensitive subject.”

Dot’s eyes flicked from the elk Sinner to Vox. He shrugged. What could it hurt? The man probably had some weird fucking porn virus that he didn’t want a wider audience to witness. Val’s websites were notorious for not only the filth they provided, but for the almost certain viruses and malware that would turn a perfectly functional phone into a pretty brick. It wasn’t something Vox minded because it meant that people were only too willing to purchase another VoxTek phone and burn out the new one in the exact same way. It was a great source of passive income.

“I’m going to head out for the afternoon,” Dot said, and Vox nodded dismissively. It wasn’t like he needed a babysitter – he could handle a broken phone perfectly well on his own.

The Sinner waited until Dot had left the room, closing the door behind her, to walk over to Vox’s desk and lean heavily against the side. He thumbed over the screen for a few seconds before Vox’s frown turned into a scowl.

“Did your phone lock up with a virus?” he asked, growing irritable. He really ought to get something to eat. Even if he did end up only eating a few bites before he gave up and threw the rest away.

The elk Sinner grinned down at his phone. “Uh, no. It’s definitely not locked up.” He held out his phone after a few more seconds, hitting the large play button in the center of the screen. Vox froze.

He found himself staring at a slightly grainy video of his assault. Despite it having been months ago, he hadn’t yet been able to watch more than a few seconds of it, even as he scoured every website, server, and individual VoxTek device to delete it from existence. He knew that the video had to be saved on hard drives that he might not be able to access, but he didn’t think he’d have it shoved back into his face. His stomach dropped as he listened to his own voice begging for his attackers to stop. Somehow, witnessing it alongside Lucifer when he walked through Vox’s memories didn’t seem quite as violating as watching it on a stranger’s phone while said stranger leered down at him.

“I downloaded it onto my phone as soon as it dropped,” the elk demon explained. He slipped a gun from his other pocket, leveling it at Vox’s face. He could only bring himself to glance at the other Sinner for a moment before his attention was drawn back to the phone held out in front of him. “I figured you’d try and delete it everywhere, so I wanted to make sure I had a copy of my own.”

“Ah.” The back of Vox’s neck began to perspire as he watched the assault from this angle. So, this is what everyone else had seen. It looked even worse from what he remembered – from what Lucifer had seen. Fuck, he looked fucking pathetic, crying like that while the Goetia fucked him. He drew in a slow breath, trying to keep himself from looking away from the Sinner’s phone – refusing to let himself be intimidated by an overconfident creep. “You know it’s just bad AI, right?”

“It’s not,” the elk Sinner retorted simply. “We both know it’s really you.”

Vox’s heartrate picked up, but his screen didn’t so much as flicker. He stared at the Sinner’s phone with an air of affected boredom as it played the video of his assault, volume turned down low so as not to attract any unwanted attention. Thankful that his hands were under the table on his lap before the other demon had even entered the room, Vox threaded his fingers together and cocked his head.

“What is it that you’re trying to accomplish with this?” he asked quietly. “Because I can’t imagine you’ve thought this through very well, if you’re coming to me directly and making ambiguous threats.”

“Not ambiguous,” the other demon chuckled. “I want your soul, Mister Mayor.”

Vox blinked and looked up at the Sinner’s face. “Oh? Is that all? And what, pray tell, do you intend to do once you own my soul?” He separated his fingers and slowly slipped his hand up under the top middle drawer. Feeling around carefully until his fingers brushed against cool metal. “Stage a hostile takeover of VoxTek?”

The elk Sinner grinned meanly. “That’s one thing I want.” Vox stared, deliberately refusing to ask the question. “I want you, too.”

Of course he did. Knowing from experience the kind of absolute freaks that Valentino’s most violent porn attracted, Vox still couldn’t help the sudden, sick surge of adrenaline triggered by the other demon’s ill-disguised threat. He slipped the knife from its sheath under the desk and carefully adjusted it so that the hilt rested securely in his palm. He shook his head.

“I’m not for sale,” he replied, letting his eye begin to spiral. Maybe he could convince this asshole to shoot himself in the face and Vox wouldn’t have to get his hands messy. The other demon grinned, and his eyes didn’t take on the tell-tale rings of hypnosis. Vox swallowed drily.

“Your trick doesn’t work on me,” the man said, leaning his hand onto the mayoral desk and raised his eyebrow suggestively. Vox’s eye stopped spiraling as his fingers tightened around the knife’s handle. “Besides, everyone’s for sale. You, of all people, must know that. You just need to find their price point, Mister Mayor.” He shook the phone a little. “And I think we’ve found yours.”

“You’re forcing my hand here,” Vox said quietly.

“It doesn’t have to be force, baby. Not if you give me what I want.” He chuckled, raking his eyes over what he could see of Vox’s body. Vox felt a surge of bile rise in the back of his throat and swallowed roughly. “I can even make it good for you if you’re nice. Treat you so good you won’t even remember that you didn’t want it right away.”

“No, thanks.”

Vox used the second the other demon took to cock the gun in his hand to throw himself into the humming electrical field. Surprised, the elk demon fired the weapon as Vox dissolved into atoms. He flew around behind the other demon before rematerializing. Without another word, he grabbed the larger Sinner by the hip and dragged him in close. The knife slipped between his ribs effortlessly and Vox’s mouth turned down in a grim frown as he twisted it hard to the side, shredding the flesh around the initial wound. The elk let out a choked sound as blood began to pour from his back and Vox wrenched the knife free before stepping back.

“What…?” Vox stared down at the other demon as he sank down onto his knees. He waited a beat before circling around to the front of the larger Sinner and plucking the weapon from his astonished hand. “What did you do?”

Vox carefully set the gun onto his desktop, making sure to point the muzzle where it would only hit the wall if it went off. Threat neutralized or not, he had zero interest in accidently being shot in the back and forced to regenerate in front of this dirtbag. He made sure to keep his gaze locked on the Sinner’s eyes. “Who did you think you were threatening?”

“You can’t…” He slumped down onto his backside, staring up at Vox with growing realization.

“I’m afraid I already did,” Vox assured him. He leaned forward and pushed the other demon just hard enough to send him sprawling on the ground, gaping up at the ceiling. He stepped closer, only hesitating a moment, and squatted beside the dying demon. “Be grateful. I could’ve made an example of you.”

The other Sinner sputtered wetly. “Please.”

“Instead, I’ve granted you mercy.” Vox laid the edge of the blade against the elk Sinner’s throat. “Which you do not deserve. But seeing as how I’d rather not have to spend another minute with your pathetic ass, I’m just going to slit your throat and let you bleed out.” He lifted the blade to where the other man could see it. “It’s angelic steel, too, so you won’t get another chance.”

“Little bitch… you deserved to be raped..." Vox flinched, despite himself. The larger demon choked on a mouthful of blood before continuing. "It's just too bad it... it wasn't me...”

“I’m sure you're not the only one who feels that way," the Overlord said quietly and steadied his hand.

He cut the elk demon’s throat without another word, watching impassively as blood sprayed up from the gash in his throat and splashed against his screen. With a disgusted sniff, he cocked his head and stared down until the blood flow began to slow. The other Sinner stopped moving and Vox gave it another five minutes, just to be certain, before slowly climbing back on his feet.

His fingers tightened on the knife’s hilt as he stared down and felt something deep inside snap. With a snarl, he stomped down on the other Sinner’s face until it was a spattered pulp, gore dripping from his designer shoes. He only stopped when he slipped on the mess of blood, bone, and brains, staggering back against his desk. Vox wiped the back of his sleeve over his screen and stumbled around the desk until he could sink down into his chair.

He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and began to clean the knife blade, ignoring how his breath was heaving in and out of his lungs. After it was clean to his standards, he carefully slid it back into its sheath. His mouth trembled and he leaned his elbows onto the desktop before lowering his face into his hands.

“Fuck,” he whispered and closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

 

*

 

Valentino knew that Vox was back in the penthouse by the familiar scent of ozone and prickle of static along his antennae. Which was strange, given that Vox had been pitching himself headfirst into work lately, either too busy to step foot in their own home or locked away in his own suite, doing fuck all knows what. In her seat beside him on the couch, Velvette’s head turned slightly before she scoffed.

“Fuck’s sake, Vox! Why the fuck are you fucking covered in blood again?”

Valentino twisted in his seat on the couch to face the front door, antennae drooping in dismay to find Vox standing on the tile, ostensibly avoiding getting blood on harder to clean surfaces. Tossing her phone onto the couch, Velvette strode out of the room, muttering something about “this fucking stupid bitch.” Val turned his attention back to Vox.

“Voxy?” he asked, drawing the television demon’s gaze. Vox’s mouth twitched and Valentino got quickly to his feet, striding over to where his lover was standing. “Amorcito, what happened to you? Is this yours?”

“No,” Vox replied quietly. A drop of blood slipped from the end of one of his claws, slapping down onto the tile floor with far too loud a noise than seemed reasonable. “None of its mine.”

“Good,” Val murmured in response, waiting for Vox to tell him whose blood he was covered in, exactly. No answer came. Vox only stared up at him, expression difficult to read. “So… you aren’t hurt then?”

To his immense surprise, Vox closed the gap between them in an instant and wrapped his arms tightly around the other Overlord’s waist. Val stumbled back a step before catching himself and returned the embrace with an equally tight hold. He decided he didn’t even care that Vox was ruining the expensive new outfit that Val was wearing and cradled Vox against him with a sigh.

“Oh, baby, you’re shaking.” He rubbed the older demon’s back soothingly before sinking down onto his knees to get more on Vox’s level. Vox accepted the change in position without comment, burying his face against the heavy ruff around Val’s shoulders. “Do I need to go fuck a bitch up?”

“I already fucked the bitch up,” Vox replied and gave Val a squeeze, fingers combing through Val’s ruff in a manner that Val knew was just as much to soothe Val as it was for Vox’s comfort. “Angelic steel. Fucker won’t fuck with me again.”

Val smirked. “Good. I’m glad you handled it, Voxy, because I just had my nails done and you know how much I hate to ruin the good work the girls do on them.”

Vox huffed out a small laugh, breath warm against Val’s skin even through the layers of soft fur and feathers. “Selfish asshole.”

“Mm, guilty as charged.” Val guided Vox back to look at his face. “Are you sure you don’t need me to do anything?”

“Just… stay here for a minute, okay?”

Valentino’s expression softened and he raised a hand to rest against the back of Vox’s head, pulling him in tightly. If he listened carefully, he could hear Vox slowly getting his breathing back under control and, shit, if he needed Val to stay put with his emotional support fluff (as Velvette had once coined it after spending an inordinate amount of time nuzzling into it herself), Val was more than happy to do whatever he needed. He couldn’t hear any crying but wouldn’t be surprised if Vox was muffling that while he had his face safely hidden.

A small part of him was disappointed that Vox had already taken care of whoever the fuck had tried to fuck with him – Val would’ve loved to handle that problem for Vox himself. He rubbed the older man’s back soothingly and sighed, but before he could say anything Velvette came storming back into the room, weighted down with supplies and outrage.

“Don’t touch him,” she ordered, snapping her fingers and pointing to the spot where had been dripping gore minutes before. “He’s just going to ruin your outfit.”

“Your concern is touching,” Vox replied, voice barely audible. “Really, you’re a fucking delight in a crisis, Vel. A comforting balm to one's soul.”

“Eat glass,” she snapped. She shoved a thick robe against his arm until Vox pulled away, scowling down at her. “Put this on so at least you won’t get gore all over the brand-new carpeting and go straight to the bathroom to clean up. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“I’m not hurt,” Vox tried to argue as she thrust the robe into his hands. Val backed away, grinning at the snarl he earned when Velvette noticed the state of his outfit.

“I don’t care; I’m still checking you over.” She gestured in exasperation at Valentino. “You can help, or you can fuck off, but don’t you dare get in my way.”

Val held up his hands in surrender, grin widening at the frustrated growl Vox let out as Velvette bundled him into the robe and ushered him back towards his own suite. Well, that was certainly something, he thought, a smug feeling filling his chest as his partners disappeared into Vox’s suite.

Vox came to him.

Not Alastor.

Notes:

CW: depression/PTSD, non-consensual touching (though it is done innocently and without any malicious intent, it will still be very uncomfortable for the character experiencing it), attempted blackmail, threat of rape, violence, blood and gore, and a sprinkle of victim-blaming to top things off.

I probably ought to have mentioned it at the end of the previous chapter, but the next few chapters (as well as this one, if you haven't already read it and skipped down to the notes first) are going to be a bumpy ride. Ranging from uncomfortable to likely triggering for some readers. Please take care of yourselves while reading and let me know if I've missed any warnings on a specific chapter.

Chapter 32: take me through the darkness to the break of the day

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

1979

If someone had asked him thirty years ago if he thought he would be spending his afterlife running around with a heavy television set for a head, best friends with a cannibalistic deer-man who had the ability to shred souls apart and broadcast their screams over the radio, and fucking a ten-foot tall moth with aphrodisiac venom, he would have wondered why they weren’t already in a straightjacket, locked away at the local mental institution.

And, yet, here he was, in 1979, with a television for a head, palling around with psychotic Bambi, and fucking said moth straight into the mattress below them. Hell was a real mindfuck, wasn’t it?

“Voxy, baby, go faster,” Valentino growled beneath him and Vox snickered. He could feel Val’s lower hands settle on his hips and start to guide the speed that Vox was fucking him. “Oh, there you go! What a good boy.”

“Val, come on!” Vox tried to wriggle his hips, which didn’t free him in any way, but did draw a surprised squeak out of Val. Quickly followed by a pleased groan as the other demon tipped his head back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut. “You know I know what the fuck I’m doing. Fuck, you’re such a bitchy bottom. You gotta stop trying to control everything.”

“Mm, but it’s fun controlling you.” Val reached up and tapped Vox in the middle of his face. Vox fucked into him just a little harder. “You get so angry when I try to tell you what to do and it makes you fuck so much harder.” He yelped. “Like that!”

And, sure, he’d loved to be pissed that Val was such a condescending bitch, but it was getting him there. Fuck. He grabbed Valentino’s hand from his hip and pinned it down against the bed. There were still three other hands to contend with, but if he could get them both off quickly, Val wouldn’t be able to try any more tricks. For all of five minutes, maybe, but five minutes bought Vox enough time to breathe before Val was back on him again.

“You’re slowing down again,” Val taunted, and Vox stared up at the ceiling, hoping some deity somewhere would show him just a little bit of mercy. Valentino sure as shit wasn’t. “Are you sure you’re not getting tired, Daddy?”

“Fucking piece of…” Vox readjusted his grip. “Fine. Fucking fine. You want to be fucked hard? Here you go, Val. Fucking… here you… go…”

Pounding into Valentino with abandon, Vox felt the familiar build of static electricity start to crackle over his skin as he grew closer to finishing. Shit. Val wasn’t quite there yet, and he’d never fucking hear the end of it if he got off before Val did – mostly because Val was an asshole who would tease him for not lasting as long, but a little bit too because Vox loved to brag about getting all his partners off before him whenever he topped. Took fucking pride in being a courteous lover. Fuck.

He released Val’s wrist and leaned back just enough to wrap his fingers around Val’s already leaking cock, grinning down at the moth demon. “Come on, Val. What do you say? Ready to come for Daddy?”

“I think Daddy might be ready to come first.” Valentino’s answering leer was a thing of absolute sin and wickedness.

Vox’s grin dropped. He suddenly felt Val’s hands lock onto his hips and there was a terribly familiar slick pressure against his entrance. Ah, shit. “Val, don’t–”

Val locked his ankles behind Vox’s back and forced him to bottom out, unable to continue thrusting. Vox squeezed his eyes shut in defeat when Val’s finger slid into him and with only a few skilled flicks against his prostate had him jerking helplessly into an intense orgasm. Vox cursed against Valentino’s chest, channeling some of the stray electricity into the oversized piece of shit and taking some comfort in knowing that he had forced Val over the edge with him.

“Asshole,” he panted against the other demon’s skin. He fisted his fingers into Val’s ruff, breathing heavily as he shivered through the aftershocks. “Massive fucking asshole.”

“Not so massive, amorcito, otherwise you wouldn’t be so fond of telling me how tight I am,” Val taunted, and Vox laughed breathlessly, finally going limp on top of him.

“I hate you.”

Valentino laughed at that, unlocking his ankles and letting his legs drop to either side of the Television Overlord. “No, you don’t. Come on now, Daddy. Pull out.”

Vox did as he was told, but stayed on top of his partner, noting with a grimace that Valentino did not follow his own instructions. “Why are your fingers still inside me?” To his embarrassment, Valentino began to pump said fingers in and out slowly, drawing a low groan from him. “Val…”

“Sorry, I thought it was my turn.” Vox opened his mouth to retort, only to find himself flipped over with Valentino pushing his legs apart to work his fingers better inside. They sent jittery sparks racing up his spine each time they pressed against his prostate and Vox whined low in the back of his throat. He fisted his fingers into the sheets beneath him. “You don’t mind, do you? You’re always fine with a bit of overstimulation.”

Just disoriented enough to feel a dizzying rush of renewed arousal, Vox flung his arm over his face and let Val do what he wanted. Let. He was only really protesting because he knew Val liked it when he kicked up a fuss and pretended to be grouchy about it – Val always did like cheering up his cranky little TV, after all.

Vox sighed softly and chased the feeling of Val’s fingers with his hips, finally giving Val what he was looking for. He’d earned it – fuck, he’d earned it.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” he sighed. Val pressed against him and Vox took a moment to breathe, knowing that his lover would wait for his go-ahead. Once he had caught his breath and arousal overran any lingering discomfort of overstimulation, he moved his arm and grinned up at Valentino. “Go ahead and fuck me already, dickhead.”

Val cooed patronizingly, catching the bottom of Vox’s screen and bent to capture his mouth in a filthy kiss, giving him a generous dose of venom. Vox’s chuckle quickly turned into a groan as he felt the larger man slide inside him, wincing a little at the stretch. But, fuck, did it feel amazing once he adjusted. Val pulled back, trailing his fingers down along Vox’s ribs and settling on his hips.

“It would be my pleasure,” Valentino replied and set a smooth, rocking pace that Vox let himself dissolve into.

 

*

 

Present Day

One day, he would have to ask Husk how he died.

Had his demon form come about as a result of unrelenting, insatiably dangerous curiosity or was it just a result feeding all the data about his life into Hell’s random form generator and coming up a weird bird-cat creature? Either way, Vox wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t about to meet a messy end himself, if his own curiosity didn’t calm the fuck down.

Despite knowing better, he focused on the cameras in Valentino’s studios, scanning until he finally located his partner. And wasn’t exactly surprised to find Val doing what Val did best – fucking some random nobody, looking half-bored until he noticed the movement of the camera out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to looked directly down the lens. Vox swallowed drily.

He wanted Val. Heaven, or Hell, help him, but he did. Ever since the incident at the mayor’s office, nearly two weeks ago now, Vox’s attention had zeroed on his partner with a single-minded focus. He remembered how Val had teased him when they first started dating about how Vox could barely keep his hands to himself whenever they were together. How he could barely stand to go more than a few days before he found himself back in Valentino’s apartment, tangled in his bed sheets. And it was always Val’s place, never his and Alastor’s… even when things were bad, he could never bring himself to fuck Val in the house he shared with Alastor.

Fingers tightening around the armrests of his chair, Vox settled back and watched as Val grinned knowingly into the camera before renewing his efforts on the very lucky nobody in his arms. And, yet, for all that Vox might normally have watched for a while before zapping himself into the studio to banish everyone but Val, he felt a cold wave of unease spread through his veins until his eyes darted down to the floor. Heart starting to pound, he shoved himself up from the chair and zapped himself into the electrical field.

Not landing in the studio, but upstairs in his own bedroom, struggling to keep himself calm and not short out the city’s grid. After a few minutes, he managed to steady his nerves enough to think again and brushed his hands over the top of his head. He needed to get over this. ASAP. There was no way he was going to spend the rest of his afterlife flinching away from even the thought of fucking Val, or anyone else for that matter. He wasn't going to be some cowering piece of shit.

He looked down at his clothes and would have wrinkled his nose if he still had one. Instead, he quickly stripped off his blue striped suit for something a little different. Vox stood in front of his closet, bare in the low glow of the LED strips running along the edge of the walls and finally settled on a solid black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. He took his time slipping into the fresh clothing, studying himself in the full-length mirror, a frown spreading across his face. Val would salivate at the thought of tearing the suit right back off him – it would do.

Without another moment of hesitation, Vox dissolved back into the electrical field and raced effortlessly along until he reached his destination – a nightclub not owned by the Vees, or any of their competitors, but by one of the few demons in the Entertainment District that had managed to stay neutral. Vox smoothed his jacket with his palms, looking around the room until he found exactly who he was looking for.

Honey’s face brightened the moment they made eye contact and Vox let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. She tactfully made her exit from the Hellhound she was talking to and made her way over to him. Didn’t even slow her stride to pluck a second glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray, slipping it into his hand as soon as they were close together.

“Well, hello there, stranger,” she said, voice as sweet and smooth as her name. “Haven’t seen you around here in… years now.”

Vox smiled, only a little forced – it was hard not to relax in Honey’s presence. Probably why he found himself back here again. “What can I say, it’s been a good decade.”

And instantly pressed his lips together, knowing he had given himself away with his first fucking sentence. Honey’s smile softened and Vox glanced away, taking a sip of the sparkling beverage in his glass.

“Val treating you well?” she asked, voice purely conversational. There was nothing he could fault her with, but that didn’t stop him from shrugging defensively.

“He’s been great.” She seemed surprised by that and why wouldn’t she be? Vox only ever came around when things when considerably less than great with Valentino. “I just thought I’d see you. For old time’s sake.” He grinned over the top of his glass. “I figured you’d be amenable to that."

Honey returned his smile. "I'm always amenable to spending time with an old friend.”

It was just like it always was. Honey led him through the dark nightclub, her fingers twining with his as they moved through the tight press of dancing demons and into the backrooms that he knew were some of the most private, secluded places a demon could hope to find himself in while in the Entertainment District. She ushered him into one of the rooms and closed the door behind her. Vox tried not to shiver when he heard the lock slide into place and watched as Honey slipped out of her silky jacket, letting it drop to the floor.

“Like always, sweetheart?” she asked, and Vox’s screen flushed with sudden embarrassment. It was awful enough to he had to come here in the first place, that he needed this, but he didn’t need the reminder that they’d done this enough times that they had a “like always.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, dropping the façade. “Is that okay?”

Honey’s dress slipped down to the floor, and she brushed her hands down the front of his jacket. “Sure, darling. You know you always make it good.”

Vox let her strip his jacket and tie off and unbutton his shirt before catching her hand as she started to push it off as well. Honey raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head. “Not everything. Not tonight.”

He closed his eyes and let himself slip into the purely physical sensations as she kissed him and eased him back down onto the padded bench behind them. Let her guide him through the kiss, feeling as hesitant as he always did whenever he sought her out. He could feel himself sliding back into the familiar rhythm of her embrace, feel himself hardening beneath her hands and gave himself fully over to what his body wanted.

In no time at all, he found himself standing behind her, trousers halfway down his thighs. He stared down at the subtle curve of her back for a few moments before he closed his eyes once more and breathed out slowly. All he needed to do was focus on the here and now and not let himself get in his head about this. And there was plenty to focus on – the pounding music that filtered its way through his sound system, the smell of sweet perfume and sex, the velvety soft feeling of skin under his palms. No want for stimuli here.

Slowly, he let himself sink into the other Sinner, trying hard to keep his movements as purposeful as possible. No sense in trying to lose himself – he just needed to get this done and he could finally let Val back into his bed again. Just needed to get over the hump (heh), as it were. He flexed his claws against the other demon’s hips as he bottomed out.

“Ooh, sweetheart, right there!”

Vox cringed but didn’t open his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Why don’t you make me shut up?” Honey taunted gently, and Vox’s eyes opened reluctantly. He really didn’t want to play games – he was just here for a quick, no-strings-attached fuck. Honey glanced over her shoulder with a coy expression on her face and Vox immediately placed his palm on the top of her head.

“Don’t talk,” he instructed, letting his eye spiral. Could almost sigh in exasperation as his command with met with almost instant arousal, Honey’s eyes dilating. Fuck, she always did like when he used a little hypnosis on her, didn’t she? Not enough to force her into doing anything she didn’t want to do, but enough for her to feel the power that he could have over if he chose to. No wonder they got along so well – she was just as fucked up as he was.

Her pink little tongue darted out to moisten her lips and Vox let his expression relax, stroking his fingers over her hair. “Just… let me do this. Okay?” She nodded slowly and turned back to face front.

Vox closed his eyes again and, this time, slid fully into the instinctual motion of fucking into a warm, wet, and very willing body. The alcohol in his bloodstream was just enough to let him melt into everything, his head starting to spin the closer he came to release. But that was fine – he didn’t even care that his hands started to shake as he neared his orgasm. Not really.

Out of reflex more than anything else, he reached a hand down to ensure that Honey got off, too. It took a moment to find the sensitive little bundle of nerves as he refused to reopen his eyes until this was over, but he knew he hit the jackpot when she tightened around him with a genuine gasp.

Good.

That was good. His mouth screwed into a determined scowl, and he picked up the pace, focusing on the heat pooling his belly. He shifted his angle just so and felt her hand fly back to grab at his hand on her hip, threading their fingers together. He gritted his teeth and pictured Val in his head, thinking of exactly how he was going to get him back into his bed once this was done. How he was going to make it all worth it, lavish every ounce of affection and attention he had on his partner for being so fucking patient with him.

Oh, shit. He wasn’t going to last. He wasn’t going to last…

At the worst possible moment, Val’s eyes warped into a very different set of crimson irises, lidded, and looking at him with fond amusement and–

“Fuck,” he grunted, hips jerking forward as his release hit him hard. He did try to keep himself from digging his fingers into Honey’s hip, though he suspected by her sudden hiss that he might not have succeeded. Vox groaned and slumped forward, bracing himself on the padded bench. Wouldn’t help to crush her beneath him on top of all the other weird fucking shit he’d already expected her to put up with. “Fuck.”

Honey let him stay in place for a couple minutes before shifting impatiently and Vox did finally drag his eyes open, pushing himself up and away from the smaller Sinner. Noted with dismay the thin lines scratched into the smooth skin on her hip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, taking a step back. So… where were all the lovely hormones that he was so used to? Guess the endorphins were still on leave, he thought as post-nut clarity began to settle, bitter and cold, around him. He fumbled for the waistband of his trousers and jerked them back up around his hips, feeling his screen start to flush. Honey turned around and sat down on the bench to watch him expectantly. “You can talk now.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She combed her fingers through her hair as he tried to force himself to relax enough to adjust his clothing. “Something’s going on with you, isn’t there?” He blinked but didn’t answer. “Vox… there are rumors.”

He knew his eyes were dilated and adverted his gaze. “I know there are.” His fingers hesitated on his belt buckle. “I’ll handle them. I’ve been handling them.”

“Good to know.” Honey hummed softly. “You know... we could talk one of these times.”

Vox laughed, hearing his own voice taking a strange pitch as he did. “What’s there to talk about, Honey? You already know why I’m here – I don’t see what difference talking makes.”

“We’ve talked about it a little bit before. About Val.”

“That was always just to clear my head,” he told her quickly, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re trying to read anything more into any of it than that. It’s a reset, that’s all.” He shrugged. “Besides, before it… it was just Val. This isn’t… Honey, it’s just not the same thing.”

“All right.” Honey sighed. “But you can, if you want to. Talk, I mean.”

“Don’t push.” He finished fastening his belt, dread coiling in his gut as he realized he would be returning to the Tower with rumpled clothes and smelling like sex. “Please.”

“I won’t,” she said, raising her hands in surrender. “You’re big boy, Vox. You can handle yourself.”

Vox huffed. “Yeah, you’d think.”

“Give yourself a little credit,” Honey replied, tilting her head and letting her loose golden curls tumble over her shoulder. She gave him a smile and Vox relaxed just a little.

And even though his heart was beginning to pound in his chest as he struggled to figure out how he would get home again without Val knowing he’d fucked Honey before he could bring himself to do the same with Val, Vox leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks."

“You come back again and we’re going to talk some of this through.” Honey rolled her eyes when Vox’s lip curled back. “I’m serious. One of these days, you’re going to have to do more than fuck through the trauma, Vox.”

Fuck, no.

“That won’t be happening.” He held out his arms. “How do I look?”

Honey sighed and shrugged. “Like a mess, sweetheart.”

“Oh, good. Exactly what I was going for.” Vox placed his hands on hips, knowing perfectly well that she could see (and was analyzing) every micro expression and body movement. “A pleasure as always.”

“Next time, Vox.”

On that note… he’d had quite enough exposure therapy for one night.

 

*

 

“And then, he told me that he only fucked eights and above, but that Tiffany was an exception,” Angel Dust cackled gleefully, tossing his cocktail back like it was nothing but water and Husk couldn’t help but join in with his laughter.

It felt good to laugh openly, freely, especially when they couldn’t help but feel guilty any time it slipped out whenever the King or Queen were around. Vaggie, too, even though she kept mostly to herself these days, only really seeming to brighten in any way when the Queen was around. Since the Eve Incident, Lillith had been especially protective of the fallen Angel and even Husk could feel the maternal affection that the Queen felt for the girl.

Otherwise, things had been weird since the Eve Incident. People had been weird since the Eve Incident. Alastor had always been an atrocious, unpredictable asshole, but ever since returning from his “sabbatical” in his creepy fucking cabin in the woods, he was especially prickly. And, yeah, Husk had a general idea of what had happened (in the vaguest sense since everybody liked to bitch at the bartender but never bothered to keep him in the loop), so he wasn’t exactly surprised when Alastor lashed out a little more often in the following months. Still, it was sometimes hard to tell if it wasn’t just his usual asshole personality ripening with age like a particularly stinky cheese.

Husk’s laughter faded as he wiped down a glass that he had already wiped down twice since Angel arrived at the bar and let his mind wander further.

After Vox’s little on-air stunt a few months ago, Husk had spent a nauseating few hours huddled over the toilet in his bathroom while his brain struggled to reconcile what he fucking saw with his own damned eyes and what Vox’s press conference had forced into his head. Angel didn’t seem to have any problems with it, nor did Niffty or Cherri, but they weren’t former Overlords with their powers still intact (even if said former Overlord was trapped on the leash of a sadistic cannibal bastard and said powers were only as useful as said bastard allowed them to be). Eventually, Lucifer noticed his absence and took pity on him, plucking Vox’s ever-deepening hypnosis out before it could fully anchor itself in Husk’s brain and Husk spent the rest of eternity bosom buddies with his toilet.

Of course, the King hadn’t thought of taking out the not-subliminal messaging about the special edition Vox-ka, and Husk found himself staring down twelve cases of the stuff while Alastor looked on with something between amusement and exasperation.

“Looks like this is all you’re going to be drinking for the next few months, Husk,” Alastor had sniffed after Husk protested how much it wasn’t his fault that they were saddled with the surprisingly weird liquor. “I’m afraid you’ve made your bed and now you must lie in it.”

Asshole.

So, Husk had spent a couple of months trying to figure out cocktails that would make the strange honey vodka taste better with Angel and Cherri happily volunteering to be his Guinea pigs. The experiments had… varying results.

Angel smacked his lips and looked down into his empty glass. “This one wasn’t half bad, kittycat.”

Husk nodded, satisfied. “Good. That’s another one for the hit list.”

Distantly, he caught the smell of something bright and clean in the air. Husk’s ears perked forward, curious, and he turned towards the front door of the Hotel only to find a disheveled Overlord standing near the heavy doors. He was perfectly aware that Vox had been granted special access to the Hotel that he hadn’t had before, but Husk didn’t think he’d ever seen the Overlord just appear in the lobby – the few times that Husk was aware he even bothered to come here, he’d stayed strictly in Alastor’s rooms or, once, in the Princess’s office.

Not that Husk could blame him. Judging from the way Vox was looking around the pristine lobby, Husk knew he was already starting to regret showing up like he had. He could just imagine what was going through the man’s head as he took in the freshly remodeled Hotel. And, well, Husk wasn’t a big enough asshole to not offer the Overlord a bit of liquid courage.

“Hey, you thirsty?” Husk called, not acknowledging the way Angel turned to look at Vox before turning back to the bar with a roll of his eyes. Vox raised a hand, finger pointing to his own chest in a moment of confusion before his mouth turned down in what Husk imagined was an embarrassed scowl. Because… who the fuck else was Husk talking to?

“What are you pouring?” Vox asked, unnecessarily zapping himself from the front door to the bar. Husk didn’t miss the way his eyes didn’t quite seem to settle anywhere in particular. He also didn’t miss the unkempt state of Vox’s clothing, his jacket open and his shirt untucked, while his tie hung crooked around his neck. The Overlord rubbed the back of his neck uneasily and Husk felt a surge of pity for the other man.

“Believe it or not, we’re still working our way through the twelve fucking cases of Vox-ka I ordered five months ago.” Vox blinked, his eyes landing on the bottle. After a moment, he let out a bark of laughter and climbed up on one of the barstools. “Alastor is still fucking pissed that we have so much. Couldn’t even return the shit.”

Vox hummed. “Company policy.”

“Don’t you write the company policy?”

“Yes, and I wouldn’t want to send my employees mixed messages by offering you an exception.” The television demon eyed the bottle in Husk’s hand. “Seems like you’re going through it perfectly fine.”

“It’s sticky,” Angel retorted. “It sticks on the back of your tongue.”

Vox stared at him for a moment before shrugging carelessly. “Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

“Oh, right, because I suck so many dicks.” Husk was instantly on his guard as Angel’s expression darkened. “Yeah, I am used to it, thanks for reminding me. Creepy fucking voyeur like you would know all about it. Not personally, though, right? When’s the last time you got fucked or fucked someone yourself instead of jerking it while you watched, Voxy?”

Vox’s screen flushed but he didn’t say anything.

“Ugh,” Angel scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “And you’re embarrassed by your kinks, too? No wonder Val’s been spending so much time chasing my ass lately – bet you’re too busy with your little cameras to put out.”

“Angel,” Husk bit out sharply. He had no desire to referee between these two, especially when Vox already looked like he was on edge just being in the Hotel. The Overlord looked down at the bar, mouth pressed into a tight line, but thankfully didn’t say anything in retaliation. Husk took a moment to level a warning look at Angel before reaching beneath the bar to pluck up a glass tumbler and a hidden bottle of cheap whiskey (what the Radio Demon didn’t know couldn’t hurt him). He quickly poured a couple fingers into the glass and pushed it in front of Vox. “Here.”

Angel cocked his head, irritated expression firmly in place and Husk had to remind himself that while Angel could clearly remember everything that had happened at the Hotel months ago, Vox’s hypnosis had settled deep enough in his psyche for him to believe Vox’s Big Lie ™ that the video that had circulated briefly was just bad AI. Not that he wouldn’t put it past Angel to lash out at Vox, but he hoped that if Angel remembered the truth, he wouldn’t say the kind of shit he was saying now.

Then again, Vox had started it…

Setting his glass on the bar top, Angel slid gracefully to his feet. “I’m calling it a night,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Vox before heading towards the staircase. Husk considered calling him back and telling him to stop being an idiot, but a glance at the Media Overlord’s stiff shoulders told him it was probably best to just let Angel go and try to smooth things over in the morning. Husk vaguely began to wonder what excuse he could make for not immediately taking Angel’s side in that delightful little exchange.

“Hey,” he said instead, turning his attention back to Vox. “He doesn’t mean half the shit he says.”

“Sure, he does. He’s also not wrong.” Vox tipped half of the glass back into his mouth and swallowed roughly. He made a face. Husk raised an eyebrow expectantly. “This is awful, Husk… do you have more?”

“You’re not getting shitfaced at my bar,” Husk warned him before tipping another finger or two into Vox’s glass. “Go upstairs to Alastor’s room if you’re going to get blackout drunk.”

“Oh, fuck off, Husk,” Vox muttered, leaning his elbows on the bar and staring gloomily into his glass.

For once in his afterlife, Husk was glad when Alastor strolled into the Hotel nearly an hour later (using the front door like a normal fucking person for once) and came to a stop when he saw Vox slumped over his drink. Swirling a metal claw around the rim of his glass and looking miserable. He exchanged a meaningful look with Husk (at least, Husk thought it was meaningful, Alastor might have just had something in his eye for all that Husk understood how that fucker’s crazy mind worked) and sidled up to the bar, stopping beside Vox. The Television Overlord looked up and stared at Alastor with a strange expression on his face.

“Al’stor,” he mumbled. “S’yer hotel, huh?”

Alastor shot Husk a sharp look and Husk’s hands shot out on either side of him defensively. How the fuck was he supposed to stop Pentagram City’s, perhaps all of Pride’s, most powerful Sinner from getting wasted if he had it in his flat head to do so? He’d made the effort by warning him, but it wasn’t like he was going to risk Vox just zapping behind him and taking what he wanted directly from the bar himself. At least, this way, he’d been able to control the amount that Vox had thrown down his throat – sort of.

“Vox, what are you doing here?” Alastor asked gently. Husk rolled his eyes and went back to wiping down the same three glasses he always did when he not-so-secretly wanted to eavesdrop on a conversation.

Vox blinked, expression hazy. “Can’t jus’ go home like… like this… right, Al?”

“Oh.” Husk shrugged at Alastor’s slightly bewildered tone. “All right. Why don’t you come upstairs and we can talk there?”

Alastor reached out to touch Vox’s shoulder, eyes widening when Vox cringed away, hand tightening around his glass. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t…”

“Why don’t I give you a hand, Vox?” Husk said quickly, circling around the bar and stopping beside the drunk Sinner. “It’s not like I’m not used to pouring this one into bed when he’s had a few too many, right?”

Vox’s gaze darted between the two men before his mouth quirked into a reluctant smile. “Al gets so… so fucked up, huh?”

Husk looped his arm around Vox’s waist, clocked the way Alastor eyes narrowed incrementally when Vox didn’t cringe or flinch or shrug away from his touch, and helped the Overlord onto his feet. This close, there was no way Husk’s feline nose could miss the distinct mingling of scents hiding beneath Vox’s meticulously tailored suit and frowned. He exchanged a quick glance with Alastor and knew the Radio Demon could smell it as well. Shit. Vox was having a Hell of a fucking night.

The Overlord leaned against him heavily before slinging his arm around Husk’s shoulders and holding on for dear life. Husk stumbled a step before getting his balance (knowing full well that if he fell, Alastor would only catch Vox with his creepy fucking tentacles and let Husk sprawl onto his ass like an idiot). Husk groaned under the other demon’s weight. Fuck, he was a tall, unwieldy motherfucker, wasn’t he?

“Come on,” Husk instructed and began the arduous journey up to Alastor’s room, Radio Demon skulking behind them with an air of unnecessary menace. What did Alastor think Husk was going to do – drop the drunken idiot down the stairs and see if his weird TV head bounced on the way down?

Well… he could do that, he supposed, but decided that satisfying that round of curiosity was hardly worth the absolutely chaotic retribution that Alastor would undoubtedly rain down on him.

“Fuck, how are you so fucking heavy?” Husk demanded, back aching from trying to keep Vox upright by the time he got him to the threshold of Alastor’s room. Vox snickered and stumbled just enough into Husk that he nearly knocked them both over. Husk swore colorfully.

“Shh…” Vox whispered, earning a more genuine smile from Alastor as he pressed a finger momentarily to Husk’s lips. The bastard. “Issa secret.” He tapped his head with a metallic plink. “Heavy metal. Heh.” A wavering guitar solo blared from his speakers for a few seconds before Vox sighed. “M’drunk.”

“Yes, dear.” Alastor quickly pulled back the top covers and sheet on the bed and gestured for Husk to hurry. Like Husk didn’t already have an armful of fucked up Overlord. “We know.”

He half-dragged, half-marched Vox to the bed and let him slump over onto the mattress. Vox only marginally helped Husk maneuver him into the bed properly before grabbing onto Husk’s wrist and tugging him close. Wings flaring out, Husk’s eyes widened in alarm when Vox planted a messy kiss to where he must’ve thought Husk’s mouth was (he was about two inches to the left of his target, but that didn’t stop him from trying to slip Husk’s cheek a little tongue). He reeled away with a hiss of displeasure and Vox hummed softly, eyes already closed.

“Heya, Husk. Hey there, Huskaroni,” he mumbled, still clinging to Husk’s wrist. “M’back... inna saddle. Open fer business... wanna ride?”

Husk ignored the uptick in static, just knowing Alastor had some kind of fucked-up thing going on with his face right now. Undoubtedly to try and intimidate Husk like he had any interest in taking Vox up on his drunken offer. “Nah, man. That’s okay.”

“Val will,” Vox declared with unabashed confidence, throwing an arm over his face. “Val will.”

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed, and Husk glanced over to watch his eyes narrow slightly. He snapped his fingers and, abruptly, Vox’s rumpled suit was replaced by a set of dark red, pin-striped pajamas (which Husk instantly recognized as a set of Alastor’s own and hated his afterlife even harder that he knew what the fucker’s pajamas looked like). Vox yelped, glancing down at his change of clothes with wide-eyed surprise, before sagging back against the bed with a groan.

“My clothes?” he asked, and Alastor cocked his head to the side, ears flopping softly.

“Nifty will get them cleaned and returned to you shortly, Vox.”

“Ah… good.” Vox’s gaze turned up to the ceiling. “That’s… good.”

“Husk, a word?”

Husk gently pulled Vox’s fingers from his wrist and followed Alastor to the far side of the room, leaving the television demon on the bed. Not for the first time, Husk recognized the look of uncertainty on the Radio Demon’s face and, much to his annoyance, Husk felt something like sympathy for the red bastard bubble up inside him.

It was borderline sickening.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Did Vox say why he’s here?”

Husk glanced over at the bed, frowning as he watched Vox struggle to turn on his side. “No. He just appeared.”

“Smelling like that?” Alastor asked, wrinkling his nose a little. Husk shrugged.

“Who am I to judge?”

“Hmm.” On the bed, Vox managed to jam the pillows into such a configuration that he was able to roll onto his side. Husk could see his still open eyes watching them blearily. Soft music began to play in the air and Vox’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his eyes slid shut. “Would you like to stay for a minute, Husk? Perhaps a card game is in order.”

“Jackass,” Husk grumbled but sat in one of the chairs that Alastor offered anyways. While they played round after quiet round of rummy, both men took turns sneaking peeks at the Overlord in Alastor’s bed. Vox appeared to be struggling to fall asleep. Whenever he finally seemed to manage it, he would jerk awake violently after only a few minutes, breath quickening as his eyes blew wide. His gaze darted around the room frantically until he located Alastor and only then did he sag back against the pillows (always Alastor, not once did he look at Husk and find relief and that was just as well because the last thing Husk needed was a baby duckling Overlord at his heels).

Fuck, was this what it had been like in Alastor’s cabin for that first month after Eve’s attack? The way Alastor seemed to be perfectly comfortable with Vox’s untethered state, he had to assume this was offering him a dim little snapshot of it and damn. Husk hadn’t really given much thought to it, to be perfectly frank, but now that he saw a sliver of what he assumed it must’ve been like, it was no wonder that Alastor had all but collapsed into his bed the morning after Vox’s press conference. He had watched with disapproval whenever Niffty retreated upstairs to bring the Radio Demon food and comfort, but now he could see why she had been so concerned.

Eventually, though, Vox stopped moving and his screen dissolved into a fuzzy gray static, body going limp against the mattress. Alastor waited a few more minutes before setting his cards down on the table. Looked relieved.

“Let’s finish this round some other time, yes?” Husk started to nod when, from the bed, faint music began to play. In an instant, the relief bled from Alastor’s face to be replaced by some emotion that Husk struggled to pin down. Guilt, perhaps, but why Alastor would feel guilty about Vox playing a Christmas song in his dreams was above Husk’s pay grade (Husk had seen some shit with Alastor, so he knew it had to be something genuinely fucked up if a man who casually disemboweled people for shits and giggles was feeling guilty).

Man, he just worked here.

Before Husk could ask what was happening, Alastor disappeared from across the tiny table in a swirl of dark shadows. He rematerialized on the bed behind Vox and pulled him close, giving Husk a meaningful stare. “On your way, Husk.”

Husk stood and watched Vox for a moment before fixing his gaze right back at Alastor. “If you need any help, boss, you can call me.”

“Yes, I know I can,” Alastor snapped.

The music began to crescendo, and Alastor tugged Vox flush against his chest. Husk couldn’t help but stare in uncomfortable pity when a string of soft protests began to fall from the Television Overlord’s lips, his hands fumbling up to settle over Alastor’s. And, obviously, Husk wasn’t any kind of fucking mind-reader or anything, but he just knew what the other Sinner was dreaming about when the soft protests began to intermingle with breathless sobs.

“Stop,” Vox managed and unconsciously pressed himself back against the Radio Demon while Alastor murmured something inaudible against his head. The lights began to flicker, and Husk took a pragmatic step back away from the bed as sparks began to pop off Vox’s antennae. “Please… I-I can’t. Al, please… help me! Please, where are… Al, where are you?”

“Shh, Vox,” Alastor soothed quietly. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Vox whimpered brokenly as he shivered and curled his legs up closer to his body. After a few minutes, the nightmare slowly began winding down, Vox’s desperate pleas trailing off into silence. Eventually, he went limp in Alastor’s arms, though Husk could tell by his still-labored breathing, that the nightmare’s effects still had the Overlord in a chokehold. Alastor shifted his hands back over the top of Vox’s, rubbing his arms with an ease that was too smooth to not have been well-practiced. Only once Vox was finally still and quiet, Alastor looked back up at Husk and the former Overlord shook his head.

“I didn’t realize,” he said softly.

Alastor stared at him for a long time before inclining his head slightly. “Thank you for your help, Husk. I have it handled from here.”

Whoa. An honest-to-goodness thank you? Husk barely knew what to do with that, so he nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”

As he hurried out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him, Husk resolved not to let Angel simmer his outrage over Vox’s sudden appearance (and admittedly nasty bitch-ass comment) and started towards his room. If Alastor could be such a supportive [insert title of whatever the fuck they were defining themselves as now], Husk sure as shit could, too.

 

*

 

All night.

Vox had been gone all night, and Valentino was worried.

Once upon a time, it hadn’t been unusual for Vox to disappear occasionally, coming home smelling of sex, tempered with just a hint of remorse. Though he’d sometimes play the part of the hurt and put-upon partner, wondering why his lover had found someone else’s bed more appealing than his own, Val had never really cared if Vox went elsewhere to get his dick wet. After all, he’d had to share him with the Radio Demon for decades before Vox finally came to Val once and for all – sharing him with some anonymous demon he only wanted to fuck for a night was fine by Val.

It wasn’t as if Val was exactly monogamous, himself.

But then Vox stopped staying out all night. Years ago, now. Was fucking content to become more of a homebody. And Val had to admit that he really did enjoy coming back up to the penthouse on the days that Vox finished working at a reasonable hour to find dinner set out and his partners playfully bantering with one another as they waited for him to arrive to dig in.

It was fucking domestic, and despite himself, Val loved it.

So, Val waited, trying to decide exactly when he should say something to someone else about Vox’s absence – if he even should. Vox seemed confident of the protections surrounding him and Val knew that if he jumped the gun to report that Vox was gone, he’d just make things worse. Besides whatever had happened to him a couple of weeks ago to make him come home covered in someone else’s blood, things had been surprisingly uneventful and mundane for the past few months, so he wasn’t even sure if there was reason to worry.

Wouldn’t they know by now if Eve had gotten her claws into Vox again?

Vox finally came in through the front door of the apartment at 7:00 in the morning, looking worn down and fatigued, yet wearing a perfectly pressed, spotless black suit and tie. Val simply sat and studied him for a few minutes, appraising his crisp appearance in contrast to his obvious exhaustion. Vox stumbled around the kitchen, not looking completely awake yet, before finally landing at the middle island with a cup of piping hot coffee in his hand.

“You were out all night,” Val said quietly, and Vox jumped in surprise. His expression told Val that he hadn’t even noticed the other Overlord until he spoke. “Where were you?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Vox said, blinking some of the bleariness from his eyes. “I went to the Hotel.”

“To Alastor.”

“To work,” Vox said quickly, and Valentino narrowed his eyes. “I promise. I thought if we went over some of that boring shit he likes so much, it’d help knock me out.” Vox took a sip of coffee. “Didn’t help. Clearly.”

“I could’ve helped you sleep,” Val said sincerely, not even infusing his statement with the smarminess he could have. “And if I couldn’t, I would’ve stayed up with you.”

Hurt, and shame perhaps, flickered over Vox’s screen. “I know you would’ve. I just… I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“What about next time, Vox?” Val asked, not sure if he wanted an honest answer or not. “Are you going to come to me the next time you can’t sleep or are you going to run to Alastor again?”

Vox got to his feet and closed the space between them, catching Valentino’s hand in his own. “You, I swear. I wasn’t thinking – my head’s been so fucked up, you know? I should’ve just come to you in the first place.”

Mollified, Val nodded and pulled his lover into an embrace. To his relief, Vox slumped against him and wrapped his free arm around Val’s waist.

“I’ll take care of you, Voxy,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Vox’s head. “I always take care of you, don’t I?”

Vox nodded slowly and Val decided to be content with that. For now, at least.

Notes:

CW: Staticmoth smut at the very beginning of the chapter, Vox's very healthy coping skills (and more sex in the second section with female OC), internalized victim-blaming (and some external victim-blaming, though that's a little complicated to warn about), drinking to cope, PTSD and nightmares, Vox lying and Val manipulating (light, for them, on both accounts).

Chapter 33: i need you like god needs the devil, honey

Notes:

Content warnings at the end. Please read.

1993

Valentino had had a shitty night, all said and done. Not that he was expecting it to go swimmingly – he had too many fires to put out (literally and figuratively), so by the time he arrived back at his apartment, his temper was simmering under his straining self-control. He knew he didn’t have much patience left as he unlocked his front door and let himself in the luxurious two-bedroom overlooking the Entertainment District.

He stopped in surprise to see Vox waiting for him on his couch, already three-quarters of the way through a bottle of whiskey and looking just about as miserable as he had ever seen the Television Overlord. Val set his keys on the entryway table and carefully shut the door behind him. Vox’s eyes wandered up from their focus on the floor to meet Valentino’s.

“Can I stay here?” he asked in a small voice, and Val couldn’t help the tiny thrill that swept through him. Fucking finally. “Just… just until I can find my own place?”

He walked slowly over to the couch, kneeling in front of Vox with deliberate grace. “What happened this time, papito?”

Vox shook his head. “I just… I can’t keep doing it, you know?”

Val caught Vox’s ridiculous head between his hands and forced the other Overlord’s gaze to focus solely on him. “What can’t you keep doing?”

“This,” Vox replied quietly, gesturing with his free hand. “Putting up with his shit all the time and just going back to him every time because I think…” He considered for a moment. “I don’t think he even likes me sometimes, Val.”

“I like you,” Valentino offered, smiling gently at the conflicted expression that flashed over Vox’s screen. “I’ve always liked you.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He had always liked Vox. From the first time they met, Valentino had been charmed by the way Vox had grinned and winked at him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he didn’t need to try with Valentino. It wasn’t like Val would’ve turned him away, not when he was attractive (Val had never decided on whether it was because of or despite his television head) and had the trappings of real power almost within his grasp. He was so close to becoming an Overlord himself, had the umbrella of the Radio Demon’s protection over him (even if he didn’t like to acknowledge it, even back then), and was genuinely enthusiastic about what he was doing in a way that Valentino noticed seemed to evaporate with most Sinners within a few years of falling.

“Do you have a spare heart?” Vox had asked him all those years ago, leaning against the bar top next to Valentino. Val blinked in confusion at the strange Sinner wearing a soft yellow turtleneck beneath a brown coat, eyes studying him with an amused slyness.

“A spare heart?”

“Yeah, because I think you just stole mine.”

Valentino had snorted into his drink and shook his head. “Oh, that’s your game?”

“Mmhmm, do you like it?” Valentino shrugged. “But, seriously. Aside from being incredibly, stunningly gorgeous, what else do you do in your free time?”

At first, Vox fucked like a man on a mission and Val would’ve swooned if he had let himself. It was always the repressed ones who fucked the hardest, and judging by Vox’s bizarre relationship with the Radio Demon, there had to be some heavy repression happening there. As soon as Val gave him the green light, Vox was bending him over any surface that worked, pinning him to dirty alleyway walls, and fucking him until he was in genuine danger of forgetting his own name. Which was amazing. Val couldn’t get enough of it.

But, oh, when Vox let Valentino top…

Because besides being ridiculously bad at pick-up lines, Vox was endearingly vulnerable, and Valentino found himself hooked almost immediately. It was an entirely different experience to fuck someone who couldn’t seem to hide his emotions and wore his heart on his sleeve more often than Valentino supposed he was aware of. The first time he had fucked Vox, he had marveled at the way he clung to Val, gasped his approval, and insisted that Val stay close long after they had both finished.

“No, a little longer,” he had begged, tightening his legs around Val’s hips to prevent him from slipping away. “Just stay right there.”

So, Val had.

He eyed the mostly empty bottle of whiskey now in Vox’s hand, wondering if he had just drunk it all now or had been chipping away at it for a while. Not that it really mattered, either way – Vox was drunk and miserable and just looking to Val to take care of him. And Valentino would absolutely do that.

“Baby, do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently, slipping the bottle from Vox’s fingers before he could drop it and shatter the glass on the floor. He set it carefully on the floor beside the couch and set his hands on Vox’s knees, slowly pushing them apart. Vox shook his head, letting Valentino slide in close.

“No,” he said with such sadness that Val couldn’t help himself from pressing a kiss to his lips. Vox let out a hurt sound. “What did I do? How did I fuck this up? I keep trying and nothing I do is ever good enough, Val.”

“Aw, honey, he’s a textbook psychopath,” Val soothed, smoothing his hands down the sides of Vox’s head. “He fucking eats people. Maybe you’re not the problem?”

Vox laughed a little at that, his pain mixing deliciously with the sudden forced amusement in his eyes. “I doubt that, but thanks.”

Valentino pressed another kiss to Vox’s mouth and this time the older man chased after him, catching Val’s wrists in his hands to prevent him from moving away. After a few minutes of slow kissing, Vox dropped his hand down to grope at Val’s chest, trying to reach lower. No doubt trying to fumble for Valentino’s belt. It was with the strength of a fucking saint that Val pulled back, relishing the soft sound of protest that Vox let out at being denied.

“Baby, you’re wasted,” Val insisted, holding Vox effortlessly in place.

“Not so wasted.” Vox shrugged. “Besides… since when has that mattered? We’ve fucked plenty of times when we’re fucked up.”

“Yeah, but we’ve both been drunk or high or whatever.” Valentino needed to play this carefully. “I don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re the only one drunk.” The sudden softening of Vox’s expression let Val know that he was absolutely on the right track.

“You’re so…” Vox’s fingers fumbled against his chest and Val tried hard not to think about how hard he was getting. “You’re so good to me, Val.”

“You make it easy, amorcito.” Valentino shrugged. That was true, too. It was so easy to indulge Vox and treat him differently than he had ever bothered to treat any other lover. Part of it was the long game he was playing (twenty years of watching Vox bounce back and forth between himself and Alastor was the longest fucking game that Valentino had ever played). Part of it was that Vox was genuinely special and, for once in his life, Val wanted to put the effort in. He could play it different with Vox – it wasn’t even like it would be that hard.

Vox kissed him for a while longer before dragging Valentino up from his knees to straddle the older Overlord’s lap. Val stared down at him with genuine affection as Vox’s eyes darted over his face, brow furrowing.

“Promise me something?” Vox asked softly.

“What do you need, sweetie?”

“Don’t push me away?” Vox’s breath hitched. “Don’t leave me?”

Oh, if Valentino still had a heart in his dead chest, it might have clenched a little then. He peppered kisses over Vox’s face, humming quietly in approval when Vox wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“Oh, he really fucked you up, didn’t he?” Vox flinched, ducking his face down to tuck it against Val’s chest. Which was just as well, Valentino mused as he rocked the Television Overlord back and forth while a slow smile spread over his mouth. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t ever do that to you.”

“Promise me,” Vox murmured against his chest and Valentino felt a metal tipped hand slip into his. There was a spark of magic, and he immediately knew that Vox was initiating a deal. He drew in a careful breath. “Make a deal with me?”

“What kind of deal?”

“You don’t leave me or push me away unless we both agree.”

So sloppy and not at all like the usual deals Vox would have made if he wasn’t soaked in whiskey and misery. But it was the kind of ambiguous deal that suited Valentino just fine. He closed his hand around Vox’s, feeling their mutual power begin to intermingle as the deal began to take shape.

“Are you giving me your soul?” Val asked, more curious to know where Vox’s head was than any sincere desire to own the other Overlord’s soul. Vox’s head snapped up, eyes widening with sudden worry.

“You want my soul?” he breathed, his fingers tensing in Valentino’s hand, twitching like he was about to snatch them away. Valentino pressed his lips to the corner of Vox’s mouth and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“No, Voxy, I don’t want your soul. Just trying to figure you out.”

“Oh.”

“Partners?” Valentino offered and Vox nodded with obvious relief, head slumping back against Val’s chest. “Forever, baby, or until we both agree we’re done.”

“Yes,” Vox agreed. He tightened his arm around Val’s waist. “Just me and you, okay?”

“Deal.” Valentino felt the rush as their powers intermingled, sealing the deal between them. Vox dropped his hand and resumed clinging to Val with such a heady mixture of desperation and deeply misguided trust that Valentino kissed the top of his head with genuine fondness as he cradled him close.

“I love you,” Vox murmured, giving Val a squeeze to emphasis his point, and there was the tiniest chance that Valentino’s heart did warm in that moment. “I do, Val. I really do.”

“I know, amorcito.” Valentino sighed contentedly. “I love you, too.”

 

*

 

2004

He stared up at the ceiling, frozen in place as he listened to Valentino clean himself up in the bathroom. He couldn’t just leave – his legs were still so fucked up, encased in pounds of heavy plaster, that he couldn’t put weight on them and his ability to ride the electrical circuits was cut off until he could fix his antennae properly. And even then, who knew. He’d never had his antennae damaged like this before, at least not since Doctor Bell. Maybe they wouldn’t heal. Maybe he was going to be stuck in place forever, just like this: completely unable to run or defend himself, helpless, at someone else’s mercy again and–

“Voxy?”

His mouth twisted into a grimace as he struggled not to cry. He was not going to do that. He was not going to give Valentino the satisfaction of his tears, nor was he going to give him the satisfaction of answering him. Vox clenched his hand into a fist, bunching the corner of the sheet twisted over his hips into a knot. The bathroom door opened. Vox drew in a sharp breath, his heart picking up speed.

“Baby?” Valentino asked quietly and Vox turned his gaze away, refusing to look at him. He could hear the other Overlord approaching the bed and felt the weight of the towel as Valentino tossed it onto the bed. There was a long, painful pause before the moth demon huffed out a sigh. “Baby, I apologized.”

Vox flinched as Valentino climbed onto the bed beside him wrapping his arm around Vox’s waist and nuzzling against the television demon’s neck. His stomach twisted anxiously, and he tried to swallow despite the dryness in his throat. Why did he want to cuddle? He’d already turned Vox onto his back again (he could breathe, he could fucking breathe again, he could breathe) and tugged his boxers back into place – wasn’t that enough aftercare, considering?

Maybe this was just how he was, afterwards. He was surprisingly cuddly after regular sex (if he could call some of what they did regular, holy shit) and usually Vox loved that. Loved to be held close and listen to Val prattle on about nothing at all, making soft pillow talk until they either recovered enough to move on with the day or drifted off to sleep. He loved Val tracing little patterns onto his skin with no intention behind them and luxuriated in the lack of tension in his body with Val’s warmth beside him. He loved it when Val would sometimes whisper to him how special he was, how perfect he was for him, even if he wouldn’t admit how much he loved it to himself.

But this was different. This had never happened before – Val had never even raised a hand to him before and now this? Vox didn’t know how he was supposed to behave when the person who had just violently forced themselves inside his body wanted to cuddle up with him afterwards. It didn’t help that he couldn’t just get up and leave – he just had to stay here, listening to the pounding of his heart in his chest and hope it was over.

Val nuzzled his neck and Vox’s breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut and he raised one hand to cover his face.

“I didn’t want to do that,” Valentino said softly, remorse infused in each word. “Not with you, baby. You’re so special to me, Voxy. You know I love you.” He traced a hand over Vox’s chest and the television demon flinched. “I just… amorcito, you just pushed me too far this time. I couldn’t stop myself, Voxy. I’m sorry that had to happen.”

“Okay,” Vox murmured, his voice barely audible.

Valentino pressed a kiss against the pulse point on Vox’s neck. “Why can’t you just shut up about Alastor? It’s like I’ve done everything I can to bend over backwards for you and you just go on and on about him. Even after he just fucked you over. God, Voxy, look at what he did to you.”

Vox pressed his lips together to hold back a whimper when one of Val’s lower hands tapped gently against the heavy plaster encasing his leg. He didn’t need a fucking reminder of what Alastor had done – it was at the forefront of his mind every waking and sleeping moment since it happened.

“…. like you can’t stop, papi, you know?” Vox’s stomach twisted. “You’re sick about him. But look how much better you are now, baby. So quiet and peaceful. You’re not screaming about that old-timey bitch anymore. Hm?”

He should’ve known something was off. Ever since the thing with Alastor, and his legs, and fucking Husk, and the business taking what Vox hoped was only a temporary nosedive… Valentino had been watching him so closely, now that Vox had a chance to think about it, and fuck, how did he not realize how pissed off his partner was? He had to just kept going off about Alastor and… maybe Valentino was right, in his own fucked up way? Vox had brought this on himself.

“I guess not,” Vox muttered quietly. Valentino traced his fingers down Vox’s torso, sharp claws barely skimming along the soft, lighter blue of his stomach. He swallowed and took a steadying breath.

“Maybe you just need this sometimes,” Valentino continued. “Just need someone to knock you out of that big brain of yours and remind you what’s really important.”

No.

Maybe?

Vox desperately fought the urge to cry and shifted his weight uncomfortably. Valentino let out a soft squeak and contentedly squeezed Vox a little closer, either forgetting or not caring about his bruised ribs. He couldn’t help the whimper that escaped through his teeth and hoped that Valentino wouldn’t hear, but alas. Luck was not on his side lately. Valentino hummed quietly.

“Do you need anything?”

Please, just leave me alone. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, drawing it out as though expecting Vox to need something that Valentino could provide him with. After a minute, Vox lowered his hand and cautiously opened his eyes. His lover was staring at him expectantly and he glanced quickly downward at his legs.

“Could you get the painkillers?”

Valentino frowned, looking genuinely concerned. “Oh, your legs! Of course, baby, how could I forget? Wait right here.”

Vox covered his mouth to stifle the hysterical laughter that suddenly threatened to bubble out of him as Valentino climbed back out of the bed. Where the fuck was he going to go? He waited for the other Overlord to return and gently slid him into a seated position, the sheet slipping off his hips. Vox quickly adverted his eyes from the fresh bruising he could already see peeking out from under the edges of his boxers, taking the bottle of pills without comment. Valentino sighed as he set the glass of water down beside him on the bedside table.

“I’m going to get something to get you cleaned up, too.” He pressed a kiss against the side of Vox’s mouth and, spitefully, Vox forced himself to swallow the pills dry. Valentino studied him for a moment and the ball of dread down in his gut began to twist again. “We’re going to start over again, all right, Voxy? Move past this. Because it’s you and me, baby. Right? Do you remember?”

Vox grabbed the glass of water from the table and took a sip to avoid answering. Once he swallowed, he clutched the glass in his hand and eventually nodded.

“I remember, Val.” He looked up into his partner’s eyes. “Us against the world.”

“I love you, Voxy.”

“I know.” Vox dropped his gaze down into his lap, staring as beads of condensation rolled down the side of his water glass. “I love you, too.”

He waited for Valentino to return to the bathroom to gather towels and soap to clean him up before shaking another handful of pills into his hand. It wasn’t like they were going to kill him. Well, permanently, at least. He swallowed them down with another gulp of water and hoped they’d kick in quickly.

 

*

 

Present Day

Fucking Radio Demon.

Again.

Valentino had watched the two media demons talking together, heads close as they poured over whatever books Alastor had brought with him today. Vox could protest all he wanted, but Val could fucking see the way his lover glanced up at Alastor occasionally like he couldn’t quite believe that it was all happening. And he could see the little touches that Alastor was permitted even though the same touches had Vox shying away from Valentino if they weren’t announced in advance. Oh, he’d been doing better the past few weeks or so, but Val could see the effort Vox was putting into it.

He’d waited patiently (so patiently) for Alastor to leave before approaching Vox. Vox had let Val kiss him and had even stayed in place long enough for Val to run his hands down Vox’s back. He’d even tolerated a bit of tongue but that was followed by apologies and promises that it would be soon as Vox pulled away (without the fucking theatrics this time, at least, thank fuck for that).

Vox was working on it. He was getting there. He just needed some more time. And because he fucking respected Vox, he had accepted that with as much grace as he could muster.

Fuck, but he kept crawling back to Alastor over and over again. He was certain that nothing had happened the night Vox had slept at the Hotel (how could it when Alastor had never been bothered to fuck Vox when he had him all to himself?), but why the fuck was Vox letting Alastor have seemingly unlimited access to him? If Alastor offered, would Vox let Alastor fuck him when he had only just started to let Val hold him and kiss him again?

Valentino’s patience was gone. It was bad enough that he had to keep pretending that he had infinite stores of understanding whenever he was turned down, whenever Vox’s eyes grew too round and he would stammer out an excuse to leave, but to have to watch him all but offer himself up on a silver platter to the one fucking asshole who was responsible for all of it?

That was asking too much.

So, he waited again. Waited until it was later in the evening, when Vox had returned to the freshly remodeled living room and sank down on the couch with a Manhattan, quietly sipping at it while scrolling on his phone. Waited until the older man finally, finally looked relaxed, clad in soft cotton pajamas and legs tucked up underneath him.

“Hello, Voxy.”

Vox looked up quickly from his phone, putting a smile on his face with such haste that Valentino could see just how fake it was. He moved into the room slowly, picking up the television remote from the end table with deliberate nonchalance.

“Hey, Val.” He turned his phone off, watching the other Overlord with such careful precision that Val almost snarled in frustration. “How was your day?”

“Same old thing,” he answered and sank down on the couch next to, but not touching, his partner. Vox didn’t make some half-assed excuse and immediately flee, so that was encouraging. He gently waved the remote. “Want to watch a movie? We haven’t watched anything fun together in ages.”

Vox blinked in surprise. “A movie?”

“Or a show. I don’t really care.” He smiled easily and shrugged. “Just wanted to spend some time with you.”

Vox considered that for a moment then nodded, settling back against the couch cushions. “Okay, yeah.”

Val picked a movie that he had carefully selected before even coming into the room. The blandest vanilla rom-com he could find – nothing too funny, or sexy, or even terribly interesting. Something that he knew would lower Vox’s guard just enough to help him relax.

And it worked. Better than Val had expected, to be honest. Nearly an hour in and Vox had finished his second drink. He leaned his head on his hands while he watched, contributing the occasional smart-ass commentary, and Val smiled at the sense of normalcy they had slipped back into. He chanced draping an arm around the older demon’s shoulders and was rewarded with a soft sigh before Vox scooched closer to lean against his side. Fuck, had he forgotten how warm the smaller demon was?

“You like this?” he asked, gesturing toward the television. Vox reached out to pluck at the fabric of Val’s top.

“It’s stupid.” No heat or annoyance. Val grinned and leaned down to press a light kiss to the top of Vox’s head, pleased when Vox pressed closer with a hum. “You’re stupid, too.”

“Only with you, amorcito.”

Vox looked up, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Val?”

“Yeah?”

Vox studied him for another long moment, and he could see the gears turning in the older man’s head. Val stopped himself from a self-satisfied grin when Vox reached up to guide Val’s face down to his own, kissing him tentatively. Just a soft press of his lips to Val’s and, fuck, if Val didn’t know better than to startle him, he’d have jumped on top of the smaller demon right then.

Instead, with a great deal of restraint, he let Vox do what he wanted instead of taking the lead. He didn’t always top, but he been fucking the Television Overlord long enough to know that whenever things started out slow and soft like this, Vox expected him to. This time was probably the same, but there was just enough doubt in Valentino’s mind to keep his hands still while Vox kissed him more firmly.

Vox shifted on the couch, turning his body to face Val before rising onto his knees. He let out a soft sound against Val’s mouth and a little bit of the Overlord’s restraint crumbled. Shifting his arm from around Vox’s shoulders, he lowered it to his waist, pulling the smaller demon closer.

Vox drew in a sharp breath, lips parting. Val debated for a moment, then used one of his secondary hands to squeeze Vox’s ass. Vox arched forward with another agonizingly soft noise and there was more restraint gone. With a groan of his own, Val swung Vox around to straddle his lap, licking into the older demon’s mouth. Faint pricks of pain stung his skin as Vox pressed his hands against Val’s chest, sinking metal claws in ever so slightly.

Val pulled back, pleased to see the faint pink tint that Vox’s screen had taken. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of Vox’s pajama bottoms and pulled them out just enough for a satisfying little snap when he released them. Vox’s eyes narrowed.

“All right, Voxy?”

“Would I be in your lap if I wasn’t?” Yes.

“Guess not.” Val slid a hand down under the back of Vox’s pajama bottoms, tracing his fingers over the smooth skin. Vox rocked his hips forward a bit, expression unreadable. “Want me to fuck you?”

Vox shifted in his lap, brushing against Val in a way that made him grit his teeth. “Yeah, but…”

“But…?”

Vox slid his hand up to Val’s shoulder and the bastard ground down against the other Overlord. Val groaned at that and snapped his hands up to grip his lover’s hips, stilling him. Vox frowned, looking away.

“I want to be on top.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Well, he had clocked this wrong, but that all right. He loved when Vox topped, too, though it was admittedly much better when the television demon was pissed off about something. Val wondered what he might be able to say to get Vox in that headspace without ruining this entirely.

“Not that like,” Vox replied quickly. “I’d rather ride you than... you know.”

Aw, wasn’t that a pretty shade of pink saturating Vox’s screen? Blushing like a fucking flustered little virgin, and Valentino fucking loved that. He gave the pajama bottoms a tug, forcing them down past Vox’s hips to just below his ass. He fished a tube of lube from his pocket and gave Vox a wicked smile.

“You can ride me all night if you want to.”

Vox caught his hand as Valentino started to open the tube, his eyes searching. “Val?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.”

Nearly all of Valentino’s very admirable restraint melted at that. He caught the bottom of Vox’s screen, studying the earnest expression on Vox’s face, and pulled him in for a quick, chaste kiss. Vox’s hands clung to him and Val leaned back. “Love you, too, Voxy. You ready?”

Vox’s lips parted a little before he nodded and closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

The position trapped Vox’s legs in place, giving Val just enough space to prep him. It hadn’t really been that long (and it wasn’t like Val had taken a vow of celibacy while Vox avoided him), but Val drank up each little motion of Vox’s hips and each breathy gasp like a man dying of thirst. He had to force himself to take the time to draw out each little reaction and make sure that Vox was enjoying himself, knowing full well he would have to wait even longer the next time if he rushed this.

And maybe Vox was thinking the exact same thing, and coming to a different conclusion, because he leaned forward impatiently, pressing his forehead against Val’s chest: “Just fucking do it already.”

Oh, sure, that was so sexy. He rolled his eyes at the brusque command but used a free hand to undo his trousers and pull himself out. A couple of quick pumps to slick himself up and a kiss pressed against the top of Vox’s head. He pulled Vox up onto his knees and settled him over the top of his cock, letting it rub against Vox’s entrance for a moment before lowering him onto it.

Shit.

Vox breathed Valentino’s name helplessly against his chest.

“Fuck, baby,” Val groaned as he eased Vox down. “You feel amazing.”

Vox groaned quietly, metal claws digging into Valentino’s shoulder hard enough that he knew it was bleeding without having to look. Why does he have to be so tight? Val screwed his eyes shut, realizing with a jolt just how turned on he was. He let himself sink fully into his lover, holding him firmly to keep him from moving. Not that Vox was showing any signs of that – he stayed motionlessly pressed to Val’s chest, panting.

After a minute, Valentino pushed his hips upwards, grinning at the startled gasp he pushed out of Vox’s mouth.

“Look at that. Guess I’m fucking the mayor again,” he purred against the top of Vox’s head, tracing a finger down the older man’s spine. Vox flinched and tightened his grip on Val’s shoulder, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge that he’d spoken.

Ah, well, it wasn’t the first time that he had managed to fuck his lover into silence. It usually took longer, but if Vox was even half as pent up and frustrated as Val was, it probably just meant that he was already close.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m going to make this so good for you.” He caught the bottom of Vox’s screen and tilted his face up long enough to steal a kiss before Vox ducked back down into his hiding place, face buried in Val’s ruff. “You just let Daddy take care of you.”

Valentino set an easy rhythm, guiding Vox with the hand on his hip. Vox tried to match his pace, but Val could tell that the way his pajamas were pressing his legs close together didn’t help. Not that he was going to stop just to get rid of them. Besides, it made everything that much tighter and closer and hotter, and Val was appreciating the fuck out of the way Vox struggled to keep up. Still, though…

Tightening his grip on Vox’s hips, he pulled him up, tipping him more onto his knees before slamming him back down. Yes, that was better. So much better, especially when Vox tensed, and he could hear his shirt tear under the other Overlord’s claws. He sped up and Vox whimpered in that delicious way that Valentino loved.

“Can we slow down?” he asked quietly against Val’s chest. Val tilted his face up to draw him into another kiss, but Vox turned his face away. “Please, just… we don’t have to stop… Val, just give me a minute?”

It was so easy to set a demanding pace, especially with Vox letting himself be manhandled. He closed his eyes, relishing the heat of his lover’s body and congratulating himself on pulling this off. At least they could get one part of their afterlives back to normal.

“Val, please.”

“Easy, Voxy,” Val soothed distractedly, smoothing his hand down the back of Vox’s neck and feeling him shudder when his hand settled between the smaller man’s shoulder blades. “Don’t worry, baby – I’ve got you.”

Fuck, he had missed this. Missed the feeling of being inside Vox, missed having his hands on the smaller Overlord’s body. Missed the warmth of Vox’s body, missed the distinctly clean smell of him. Fuck, he had missed Vox. His Vox, his sweet, obsessive, ill-tempered, vicious little lover. How the fuck had he managed to go so long without feeling Vox in his arms, buried inside him, drawing those gorgeous sounds from his lips? He shifted his position so that Vox was forced flat against Valentino’s chest, barely noticing when the other Overlord tried to shove against his shoulder with one hand.

“Wait, Val. I don’t… I don’t like this…” Vox dug his claws into a new spot on Valentino’s shoulder, his voice pitching up a little higher. “Please, I w-xzz-ant to stop now.”

He felt the faint prickle of static rush over his skin, starting where Vox’s claws were embedded in his shoulder. Oh, he did like it when Vox used just enough of his powers to make things interesting, but sometimes the Television Overlord was a little too enthusiastic, so they always had to be careful about using that particular skill in the bedroom. Not that he was opposed to some pain in the bedroom (and, hey, he’d try anything once), but being electrocuted with enough voltage to cook his eyes still in his head was not on his list of turn-ons.

“No, s-stop,” Vox insisted, his voice muffled against Val’s chest. There was an overlay of electronic interference accompanying his voice but there usually was when Val fucked him well enough. “Val? I don’t… I want to stop, please stop! Val, stop!”

Electricity crackled in the air, bright enough for Valentino to see through his eyelids, and his eyes snapped open, annoyed. He caught the back of Vox’s neck and pulled him away from his hiding spot, irritated at the sudden burn he felt scorching into his skin. “What’s your problem?”

“I said stop!”

The next thing he knew, Vox’s claws were slicing across his face, narrowly missing his eyes. Without thinking, Valentino swept to his feet and spun around to slam Vox’s back against the couch, snarling at the breathless gasp that punched out of the smaller demon. He caught Vox’s wrists easily and backhanded him before Vox could react.

“Fucking bitch,” he sneered, thrusting harder to prove a point. He caught the older Sinner by the throat and Vox’s eyes blew wide. “Were you trying to scratch my fucking eyes out?”

He was done with this shit. Done with Vox’s harried little looks, like he was just so nervous all the time – especially when Val hadn’t even done anything. Had been nothing but supportive and a good fucking boyfriend this entire fucking time and – fuck! Vox’s fucking air raid siren ripped from his speakers and Val slapped him harder this time, cutting the sound off instantly. Fuck, he hated that fucking thing.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, squeezing Vox’s throat too hard for him to do anything but gape up at him wordlessly. He tightened his grip on Vox’s wrists when the other man tried to pull free. “Is this what you wanted? I’ve been so fucking patient with you, and this is what you fucking do?”

With a low growl, he thrust into Vox hard and fast, sneering at the panicked expression that consumed his lover’s face as he struggled to draw in air. Val could hear his fans whirring at top speed, could feel the smaller Overlord start to shake as sparks flew pathetically from his antennae. Val leaned down to shove his tongue into the television demon’s mouth, jerking back just in time to avoid Vox’s teeth from snapping down on him.

Vox thrashed against him suddenly, eyes wild, before he tried to turn his face to snap his teeth at Val’s arm. Vox might not have the taste for flesh that his little radio buddy did, but Val was very aware just how vicious those teeth could be when Vox was cornered. He yanked his arm away, cursing when the smell of ozone sparked in the air, and he fell forward onto the now empty couch. He whipped his head to the side to see Vox rematerialize just out of reach, electricity running over his body and eye swirling. Despite his offensive powers on open display, Val did not miss how hard the other Overlord was shaking.

For a moment, he considered just tackling Vox to the floor and finishing what they had started. The older demon was obviously not in a state of mind to stop Val from overpowering him if he moved quickly enough and was merciless in subduing him. Vox’s eyes were impossibly wide and, just as Valentino prepared himself to stand and put him back in his fucking place, a heavy force pushed back against him. Valentino blinked, disoriented, as he noticed a hazy purple fog wrapping around him for the first time and all thoughts of punishing his lover dissolved from his mind.

They stared at one another for a moment and Val’s stomach twisted with sudden confusion. Why had he just stopped – he had never stopped before when he had the intention of bringing Vox to heel. Not once. Rarely, Vox would fight him, and they would both end up battered and bruised by the end of it, but Valentino never started anything he didn’t intend to finish. What the fuck was this?

Then, as though the purple fog had wiped something in his mind, a sudden realization hit him. Even as his mouth turned down in a condescending sneer, electricity snapping around his body, Vox was terrified. Not defiant, not outraged – just frightened and trying his best to scare Valentino away before he had to use any more force. He couldn’t hide that, not from Val.

Ah, shit.

He watched silently as Vox tugged his pajamas back up around his waist, eyes still locked on Valentino. Still confused, Val ran a hand down his face, trying to relax his own features. Make himself look a little softer, a bit less of a threat – anything to soothe Vox before he lashed out and escalated the situation. Vox’s eyes dropped down to the knot in his drawstring, sucking in a trembling breath as he tried to loosen the tiny string with shaking hands.

“How could you do that?” Quietly. Barely audible and Val winced this time. He watched Vox swipe at his screen, knowing he was trying to brush away tears.

“Amorcito,” he said quietly, lips pressing together momentarily when Vox flinched and dropped the drawstring between his fingers. He waited for Vox to finally finish fixing his pajamas, smoothing them in place with more care than was necessary, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Voxy, I’m–”

“Don’t,” Vox snarled suddenly, electricity popping from his antennae. His gaze fixed on Valentino once more. Val looked him over, noticing a thin crack running down the side of Vox’s screen with dismay. “That… that was real fucking fucked up.”

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

Vox shook his head, holding a hand up to point at Val. “Don’t fucking f-fxxz-ollow me.”

He vanished in another flash of electricity and Valentino watched the smoke dissipate with a groan.

Well, he’d fucked that up.

Notes:

CW: Manipulation (so, so much manipulation), making deals while under the influence, immediate aftermath of rape, intentional drug overdose, withdrawn consent not being respected, rape, violence. Basically, this entire chapter earns the "Valentino is in Hell for a Reason," and "Abusive Valentino" tags.

 

This is another "oof" chapter. Please take care of yourself while reading and afterwards.

Chapter 34: oh yeah, it was electric, so frantically hectic

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

1977

“Did you know…?”

Vox stared down into the foamy glass of beer in front of him for a moment then smiled, really smiled, before looking up at his companions. Across the table from him, Alastor returned his smile (of course he did, he always did) and raised an eyebrow. Rosie sighed and tapped her fingers against the top of the table.

“Do we know what, Vox?”

“Wait, what?”

Alastor blinked. “You said ‘did you know…?’”

“Ha, no,” Vox chuckled, shaking his head. “I did not. I think I’d know if I did.”

“Boys,” Rosie chastised gently, already looking put-upon. “I don’t see why you didn’t wait for us to get started, Vox dear.”

“I got bored waiting,” Vox replied, leaning towards the Radio Demon with a conspiratorial grin which Alastor instantly returned. “Wanna bet that I can drink you under the table tonight?”

“Perhaps, but Vox? Please don’t order shots for the table again – I don’t even know what this is, but it looks foul.” Alastor tossed back a shot of something strangely purple and faintly luminescent, making a face at the taste. Vox tapped the rim of his glass, raising an eyebrow and Alastor rolled his eyes. “Anyways, you’ve had a head start, my dear. That hardly seems like a fair contest.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you catch up.” Vox eyed him closely before bringing his glass to his mouth. “Unless you’re scared you’re gonna lose. Because, hey, I get it. It’s fine, it’s groovy. Super cool, man. I’m a generous soul who’ll let you save face.”

Alastor flagged down the waitress as she tried to pass their table. “Whiskey, top shelf. Bring the entire bottle,” he said cooly, eyeing Vox for a moment before continuing. “And a bottle for my friend.”

“Oh, good,” Rosie said sarcastically, raising her glass of red wine (and blood, Vox was pretty sure there was blood in there, too, but he was a little afraid to ask outright). “It’s not a proper night out without at least one of you getting blood poisoning.”

“Not just blood poisoning.” Vox slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a very full bag of white powder that he hoped was cocaine. He couldn’t be completely sure since Valentino had given it to him, no strings attached, and he hadn’t tested it yet, so there was a fifty-fifty chance that it was just a baggie of baking soda. Val could be a dick about these kinds of things sometimes. Still. “Other kinds of poisoning, too.”

“Give me that,” Alastor snapped and snatched the bag out of Vox’s hands. He opened it and dipped a finger in to taste it before nodding. “All right. At least it’s not flour this time.”

Right. It had been flour last time, hadn’t it? Which turned out to be just as well because Alastor used it the next morning to whip up breakfast, much to Val’s amusement when Vox complained about it later.

It didn’t take them very long to drink their way through the bottles of whiskey and snort enough cocaine to make the room blur around the edges (well, Alastor snorted the cocaine... Vox found just pouring it onto his tongue and letting it dissolve in his mouth worked just as well). Rosie did try to slow them down, but Vox was in no mood to let himself be one-upped by Alastor. And before Vox knew it, Alastor’s hand was in his and they were out on the dance floor, trying to keep up with the latest song to find its way down to Hell.

Vox wasn’t completely sure how long they had been dancing when Rosie abandoned them. Well, not exactly abandoned… she said goodbye and everything. Even warned them not to get into too much trouble before Vox caught sight of her talking to Husk. The Gambling Overlord was standing near a craps table, watching the rest of the casino with a sharp eye. Alastor swung him in a wide circle, so Vox didn’t see how Husk reacted when Rosie gestured to them with what looked like an exasperated expression.

He did, however, get to focus his gaze back on Alastor’s face and giggled at the near-manic delight on the Radio Demon’s face. “Why’re you smiling so much?”

“What’s that?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

Vox sighed and let Alastor pull him close. “You know.”

“I feel like fighting something,” Alastor replied restlessly. Vox nodded. That made sense. Al did enjoy fighting when he was hopped up on coke – and Vox liked watching him fight when he was hopped up on coke. Even liked to help sometimes, too, if the mood struck him.

Which it had tonight.

“Great idea! We should fight…” He looked around the room. Across the room, he caught the eye of an ominously massive demon with the temper of rabid mongoose. Big Leroy was notorious for being the biggest, meanest (even meaner than Husk and that… was saying something), and baddest sonuvabitch in the whole of the Entertainment District. And Alastor certainly wasn’t to be underestimated but even he reassessed the situation if Big Leroy was involved. Vox slapped his hand against the Radio Demon’s shoulder and Alastor blinked his eyes open again. “We should fight Big Leroy.”

Alastor’s eyes widened. “Vox.” He looked at Big Leroy who looked back and slowly blinked his eyes out of turn. “Vox!”

“Yeah, doll.”

“He is very big.”

“So? So?” Vox leaned in, expression serious. Alastor tipped his head forward, letting his forehead touch Vox’s, brows furrowed in concentration. “We could take him. Together, you know? Because I’m strong. Like a fucking ox, Al. Right? Fucking… strong.”

“A small ox, Vox. Heh. Did you hear that? Vox the Ox. Oxen? Are you plural, Vox?”

“What?” Vox scoffed. “No, a big one. Like a manly ox.”

“Your face is very breakable,” Al reminded him and flicked the center of his screen. Vox wrinkled his non-existent nose in consternation. “Just… plink!”

“No, it’s not!” Vox scowled and leaned back. He thought about whether he wanted to feel put out and decided against it. “I can fuck his… ha-ha, his mother!” Alastor let out an offended trumpet blat. “No, wait, shut up. I can fuck… uh… his shit up. Yeah! Fuck, yeah. Fuck his shit all the way up. We can do him together.”

“Okay,” Alastor said, clearly unconvinced. That was all right – Vox was persuasive.

“So… okay.”

“This is very stupid.” Alastor adjusted his monocle, squinting at Vox. “Vox. It’s… very.”

“You only live once,” Vox whispered hopefully and Alastor squeezed his shoulder with a sigh.

“And die a few thousand times more.”

Vox nodded sagely. He knew a thing or two about dying. “And how.”

Things didn’t start out good, Vox had to admit, and they rapidly went downhill from there. The media demons strode over (well, stumbled, really – they very nearly ended up crawling over to Big Leroy, especially once Alastor inadvertently tripped Vox with his cane and had to grab him by the back of his sweater to prevent him from smashing his face on Husk’s tiled floor) to Big Leroy and Vox took great care to announce their intention to fight the massive Sinner. A hush fell over the casino as Vox stared up at Big Leroy, hands on his hips, and in the distance, he thought he could hear Husk curse.

See, what made Big Leroy so scary was simple – magic didn’t work on him. Vox knew. He’d tried to hypnotize the bastard a few times and had only survived because Alastor dropped them through the Void before Big Leroy’s fist could close around his head. Even his electricity didn’t do a damn thing and forget about Alastor’s shadows. Most of the time, Big Leroy didn’t even seem to notice when magic was used on him and when he did… well, it just made him angrier.

He managed to swing and land the first punch, but the alcohol must’ve slowed his reflexes (or evened them out because whoo buddy, the coke gave him razor sharp focus) because he was knocked to the ground within seconds of initiating the brawl, skidding across the floor and smacking his head against a slot machine. Above him, the machine let out a trombone’s whomp-whomp and the spinning tiles declared him a loser. Vox scowled and rubbed his head, resolving to talk to Husk about that. Once he was done fighting, of course. He couldn’t get distracted now.

“Vox!”

He blinked and returned his attention Big Leroy in time to watch him swing the Radio Demon up by his throat with effortless ease. Alastor kicked his legs, claws scratching at the massive demon’s arm. Vox gasped – he had not meant for Alastor to get caught while he was being casually insulted by gaming machines.

“No, wait. Hold on – I’ll save you, Al!” he called, scrambling up from the floor. His hand landed in something wet. Oh. He took a second to examine the sticky substance on his palm, wondering what it was, and raised it close to his face. He… could try licking it, but that didn’t seem like it would be the best idea. But he had to know, didn’t he? His mouth opened hesitantly, and Vox started to cringe before his tongue even snaked past his teeth. “Ugh…”

[Vox!]

Oh, shit. Vox dropped his hand and ran towards Big Leroy, waving his hands above his head.

[Hey! Motherfucker! Drop him… you jerkface.]

“No, Vox,” Alastor coughed, resorting to slapping Big Leroy’s arms as the massive Sinner swung him up into the air. “He can’t… can’t hear you!”

“Right.” Vox shook his head. Of course not. “Put him down! I insist.”

Alastor screamed a little (in a perfectly manly fashion, Vox felt) as Big Leroy tossed him away and lumbered toward Vox. Oh, fuck… this may have been a bad idea, now that he was faced with nine feet of angry, magic-resistant Sinner. His head craned back to keep eye contact with Big Leroy, and he swallowed.

“Wanna… oh, god… wanna dance, asshole?” Vox asked, shrinking back when Big Leroy caught the front of his sweater and yanked him off his feet. “Whoa, shit! I did not mean… sorry! Sorry, Big Leroy! We… we fucked up, man!”

A shot rang out close by and Vox shouted in surprise when he felt Big Leroy’s grip loosen. Blood sprayed out behind the big Sinner’s head, a single gunshot in his forehead smoking cartoonishly. For a moment, Vox wondered if he had done that somehow before he caught a glimpse of Husk’s wing in his peripheral vision. Before he could crash to the ground, a hand caught the back of his collar and lowered him… not gently, exactly, but at least it wasn’t a freefall.

Vox whirled around in surprise to find Husk glowering at him, magic crackling around the Gambling Overlord in red and black sparks and whorls. Before he could thank Husk for saving him, the other man reached around and smacked him upside the head.

“Fucking dumbass motherfuckers, both of you. I swear to fuck,” Husk hissed. Vox was suddenly aware that the casino had broken out in a series of fistfights while he and Alastor had been fighting Big Leroy. “Stay there.”

“Oh, Vox!”

Vox found himself caught up in Alastor’s arms and returned the hug with enthusiasm. “I beat him, Al! Did you… fucking… fucking see it?”

Alastor kissed him on the side of his boxy head and Vox blushed instantly. “You were very brave.”

“I know!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH.”

Vox sagged against Alastor, trying to press his palm against his mouth to stifle the sudden laughter bubbling up from his chest. Oh, no – he couldn’t stop it! And it was getting harder to hold it in when Husk shot them an angry, dangerous look. Vox buried his face against Alastor’s chest, shoulders shaking helplessly.

“Shh,” Alastor snickered, patting the back of Vox’s head. “You’re making Husk angry.”

“This is a casino, not a fucking fight club,” the Gambling Overlord boomed. “If you want to fight, get the fuck out. Otherwise, I’m putting more bullets in brains, and I can’t promise they won’t be angelic ones.”

“He’s so mean,” Vox giggled.

“Oh, no!” Alastor gasped and spun Vox around by the shoulders, facing away from the Radio Demon. “He’s coming back. Vox! Stand up straight!”

With the room still spinning around him (which Vox was chalking up to a heady mixture of whiskey, cocaine, and concussion – he was fairly certain he had one of those now, too), Vox stood as straight he could while Husk made his way over to them. His wings flared out on either side of him - Husk looked pissed.

Oh, dear.

“Oh, deer,” Vox breathed, and Alastor promptly dissolved into another fit of giggles.

“You two,” Husk snarled, pointing a claw at them. Vox pressed his hand flat against his chest, raising his eyebrows with faux confusion. The Gambling Overlord leveled his pistol at the Television Overlord’s face and stared him down for a full ten seconds before Vox hiccoughed helplessly. Husk rolled his eyes. “Holy shit. Get the fuck out.”

“He’s letting us go, Al,” Vox stage whispered and turned to the side to catch Alastor’s lapel in one clawed fist. “Hurry before he changes his mind.”

“Really, truly decent of you, Husker.” Alastor didn’t even flinch when Husk fired a bullet an inch from his foot, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Al was, Vox thought, also very brave. “All right. Fine. We can tell when we’re not wanted.”

“Not even a little bit wanted,” Vox supplied helpfully. “Fucking… fucking rude, is what it is.”

“Let us take our leave… Vox! We’re going.” Alastor raised his hand and gestured to the ceiling. “Vox, where is my coat?”

Vox whipped around, dragging Alastor with him. “I don’t… I don’t see it.”

“He’s fucking wearing it!” A firm hand bunched into the back of Vox’s sweater and despite his efforts to cling to Alastor, he was separated from the Radio Demon. He tried protesting as he was marched to the back door and shoved through with a shocking lack of ceremony. How dare he! Vox spun around, sputtering with indignation only to have his jacket tossed in his face, completely covering his head. “Just fucking stay out – the two of you are menaces to society and to me, in particular.”

Vox clawed his jacket off his head and watched sadly as it fell into a dingy puddle in front of him. “Oh, no.”

“That’s spilled milk,” Alastor sighed, and Vox turned to him. Delighted that he had made it out of the casino in one piece. Husk was mad.

“You’re alive!”

“I am!” Alastor hooked his claws in the front of Vox’s sweater and swung him around almost fast enough to make the copious amount of whiskey in Vox’s belly make a dramatic exit. He shoved the younger Sinner against the bricked wall of the alleyway behind Husk’s casino and Vox’s breath slammed out of him with an audible oof. Was something scratching the back of his head, he wondered and looked up in confusion. “Vox!”

“Yeah. What’s happening?” He dragged his eyes away from the row of irritable pigeons glaring down at them. Alastor’s face was very close to his own and Vox blinked, his smile softening helplessly. “Hey, Al.”

Alastor unhooked one of his hands and brought it up to rest on the side of Vox’s head. That was nice. Very nice. Eyes fluttering shut, Vox leaned into the warmth of the Radio Demon’s hand like a puppy, making no effort to hide his contentment.

“You’re my… my best friend,” Alastor said earnestly, and Vox’s eyes opened once more. “Truly. My very, very best friend.”

“You’re mine, too.” Vox put his hand on Alastor’s waist, tentatively, and pulled him just a little closer. “I think… no. No, I know! I know I love you… Al. Alastor.”

“Yes, darling?” Alastor hummed, bleary eyes refocusing on Vox as he processed the younger Sinner’s last statement. “I do, too.”

“Do what?”

“Love you. All… all the time, Vox.”

“Wow,” Vox breathed. Warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading up into his head. He could feel his screen heating up with a blush and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he studied Alastor’s mouth closely. He probably wasn’t going to remember any of this in the morning, so he might as well make the most of it. “I wanna kiss you now.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Oh.” That was… sad. Vox felt his heart sink a little, but then Alastor grabbed the other side of his head with a sharp-clawed hand and his heart recovered. Alastor’s thumbs smoothed over the shiny wooden surface of his casing lovingly and he didn’t get the uncomfortable chill down his spine that Doctor Bell had conditioned into him all those years ago. Alastor was probably not going to tear his head off, though… one could never be too careful with cannibals. Vox placed a hand over Alastor’s and smiled softly at his friend. “S’okay.”

“It’s not okay! It’s not, Vox, and you… can’t,” Alastor declared. Vox waited patiently while the wheels continued turning in Alastor’s head. They were both very fucked up right now, he mused, his gaze drifting back to the angry pigeons above them. They looked mad. “Because I’m… I’m kissing you now.”

"Huh?" Vox blinked in confusion, lowering his eyes back down to Alastor’s face. “Really?”

Alastor stuck his tongue in his mouth with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm – Vox had to jerk his head back a little to avoid being suffocated. His head thumped dully against the bricked alleyway wall. But! Then he got the hang of it, they got the hang of it, and the kiss turned soft and warm and yearning. Vox groaned softly.

Settling his hands on the Radio Demon’s waist, he melted against the wall with a whimper, pulling Alastor flush against him. This was good and very nice, and Vox was certain that Husk had done him a favor by kicking them out. Alastor’s hand dropped down from the side of his head and rested on Vox’s shoulder before he pulled away. “See?”

“S’good,” Vox agreed with a nod. “We should – oh, no.”

Alastor was decent enough to turn away from him before proceeding to empty his stomach on the alley’s rubbish infused pavement. Vox leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes with a triumphant sigh. He didn’t need to throw up.

He waited patiently for Alastor to finish before opening his eyes and straightening up – mostly. After giving Alastor’s back a soothing pat, he waited for his friend to stand back up, glancing around the alleyway with only vague interest. One of the pigeons had landed on a dumpster and stared at Vox with aloof judgement that he took offense to.

“Fuck off, bird,” he muttered and looked down at Alastor. “Wow. You threw up a lot, Al.”

“I know,” Alastor groaned miserably and finally straightened back up, only to sag against Vox. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Me either.” Vox pushed against the Radio Demon until he was standing upright on his own. He frowned thoughtfully and, after a moment’s consideration, reached out to straighten his friend’s tie. “But I didn’t throw up. So.”

“Doesn’t mean… mean you’re better than me,” Alastor said sourly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Vox sniffed and looked away for a moment.

“A little better,” he whispered quietly enough for Alastor to ignore him if he chose. There was an awkward silence, and the pigeon cooed mockingly. Which was uncalled for, Vox felt. He huffed and patted Alastor’s cheek. “S’okay, though. You’re good at things, too.”

“Huh.” Alastor seemed to consider that. “We should… oh… Vox, let’s go home.”

Vox nodded sagely, but that was before Alastor’s hand clasped together with his, lacing their fingers together. He was pretty sure that his screen had that dopey love-struck expression that Rosie had once pointed out to him. But it really was okay if Alastor saw the little hearts in his pupils – he’d seen them before, after all. Vox tilted his head and smiled.

He should tell him, even if they were only supposed to be friends. Enough time had passed and maybe Alastor had changed his mind. And they’d kissed like that again, like they had before and Vox suddenly knew, just knew, that Alastor had changed his mind. He squeezed the Radio Demon’s fingers with his own, feeling a fresh blush start to spread across his screen, the warmth of it strangely comforting this time.

He was going to tell Al everything, he was!

“Hey. Hey, Al, listen…”

Alastor’s eyes widened and, unnervingly, so did his smile. Vox froze. Because he knew what the Radio Demon had planned for him when Alastor dropped his hand and caught his waist with one clawed hand. He shrieked in panic and tried to jerk himself free. A cold rush of air swept his clothing forward and Alastor grabbed him in a bear hug.

“Wheee!” Alastor cackled and tumbled them backwards into the Void.

Vox screamed until there was no more air in his lungs.

 

*

 

Present Day

Four hundred and eighty years.

That’s how long Will had been in Hell. Four hundred and eighty years. Add another fifty-three years before that (for the long, frankly exhausting time he had spent in the living world), and it was a safe bet to say that he had seen just about everything. Well, just about everything that Earth and Hell had to offer – what was beyond Heaven’s gates were still a mystery (and always would be), but Will was content with his lot.

He’d been born into privilege and had died with it, too. Hobnobbed with richest and most powerful men of his day, had watched kings run through wives like water through a sieve, and had died a quick death in his own bed. No trip up Tower Green like so many of his peers, which was a blessing since he never could abide the sting of a blade, no matter the size. And, as luck would have it, he did get to have one final conversation with good old Hal before the mobs tore him apart – though Will quickly distanced himself and begged ignorance when anyone asked if he knew he who he had been talking to.

See, Will was nothing if not a clever and pragmatic man. He knew better than to boast when he fell into Hell. Knew better than to tell everyone his full name, or any of the now useless titles he had inherited or had bestowed upon him while he was alive. He was clever enough to slink into the shadows and remain unobtrusively anonymous for nearly five hundred years, learning to blend in and pick up the latest speech patterns and dialects until he barely remembered that he had once looked down on men like the one he was today.

Ah, but he’d survived this long and those other men of his status and stature… well, they were gone, little more than annotations in the annals of Hellish tomes buried under dust as old as he was.

He’d been around long enough to have learned the favorite haunts for those up to no good and, if ever someone thought that they had discovered someplace completely novel to conduct their nefarious business, Will could assure them with great confidence that they had not. It had all been done before and it would be all done again. If Hell had taught him nothing else, it was that damnation was eternal, cyclical, and generally void of novelty.

Which was why, when he happened to stumble into a dark alley (how dull and predictable) to find a very tall, very beautiful, and very terrible woman looming over a slight yet unaffected Imp, Will slid into the shadows to remain unnoticed. Safe to watch from his hiding place, at least until the immediate danger passed.

And he knew danger when he saw it.

“Yeah, we definitely don’t do that,” the Imp said, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow. “Kind of goes against the laws of nature and divinity and all that shit.”

The woman smiled, lethal in its intent, if Will had to guess. “Since when do Hellborn care about divinity?”

“I don’t give two flying fucks about it, but I bet the higher-ups do.” Will glanced between the two and pressed himself a little tighter into shadows when something dark and slippery loosened itself from the wall behind the woman. The Imp stared at it uneasily, his expression morphing from exasperation to ill-disguised worry. “I don’t even think it’s possible.”

“You won’t know until you try.” The woman held her hand and the thing slithered up around her body to settle around her shoulders like a deeply terrible stole. Its face, if it could even be called that by the most generous observer, split open to reveal rows of needle thin teeth extending down into its throat. Will flinched at the low, almost inaudible, rattle echoing from its gaping maw and the little Imp stared at it in mute horror. The woman clicked her tongue against her teeth and the Imp jerked his gaze from the monster back to her face. “And if you refuse to try… well, let’s just say that my sister has developed quite the taste for Hellhound flesh.”

Fury replaced fear on the Imp’s face, and he pointed a finger at the woman. “Don’t you dare.”

She chuckled and stroked the monster’s face, seemingly unaffected. “Oh, aren’t you a sweet little thing? So needlessly protective.” Her dark eyes scanned the alley suddenly and Will covered his mouth to avoid making any sound as her gaze raked over the shadows he was hidden in. “Do the job and I’ll have no reason to lay a finger on your daughter.”

“And… and if it’s not possible to drag a living human down into Hell?” the Imp asked, eyes once more fixed on the creature. Not that Will could blame him – in the dim light of the alleyway, its eyes had begun to a glow eerie, sickly yellow that made Will’s skin crawl.

“Well, I suppose if it simply isn’t possible, you’ll just have to do the next best thing.”

“Which would be…?”

“Kill the child, of course.” The Imp frowned and took a step back, protest dying on his tongue when the monster slithered down the woman’s body to the ground. It quickly wrapped itself in a circle around his feet, not touching the small Hellborn, but close enough that Will could see panic growing in the Imp’s eyes. “Hope it falls to Hell instead of ascending to Heaven. And, if that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to sit down together and discuss how you’ll help me moving forward, won’t we?”

The Imp rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed roughly. Will felt an unwanted surge of sympathy at his discomfort and hoped this conversation would wrap up soon, for both their sakes.

“You leave Loona out of this,” the Imp said quietly. “I won’t bring her with me, and I won’t have her be a part of this.”

“Do the job and she won’t even know we spoke,” the woman promised, extending a hand towards him. Will wanted to call out and tell him not to agree to this terrible deal.

“I’ll think about it.” Will breathed a sigh of relief. Why, he wasn’t quite sure – he certainly had no skin in this game, but still… there was something about the woman’s dark eyes that made him think that it would be best if the Imp walked away and didn’t look back. Left this particular deal on the table. “And I’ll let you know if I.M.P. will take the case.”

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours to decide.” She smiled. “Plenty of time, don’t you agree?”

“Whatever.” The Imp narrowed his eyes. “But if you even think about calling Loona’s phone again, I’ll report your whole freaky thing to the highest authority that’ll listen to me.”

She hummed pleasantly and the monster slithered back to her side. Will watched them part ways and waited for a long time in the shadows before he dared move again. Stepping back out of the shadows, Will glanced around carefully before closing his eyes and committing everything to memory. He hadn’t survived this long without keeping very careful track of who and what to avoid – and these two were definitely on the avoid-at-all-costs list.

He brushed off his coat and began to walk out towards the mouth of the alley.

“Fuck!” he shouted as sharp claws plunged into his arm.

Will barely had time to react before he found himself slammed against the rough brick of the alley, mouth covered by the terrible monster’s needle filled jaws. He screamed helplessly, catching sight of the woman’s black eyes before those terrible teeth latched onto his lips and began to suck.

“Oh, don’t struggle so,” she said gently as Will’s consciousness began to slip away in a haze of blood and pain. “Your time in Hell is quite finished, Lord William.”

Notes:

CW: copious recreational drug and alcohol consumption, violence, some blood and murder at the end

Thought we could use a little bit of a break. Enjoy a night out on the town with Vox and Al - these bitches are dumb. 💙❤️

Chapter 35: there ain’t no love like our love

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

Present Day

Initiation Sequence: Seven. Two. Alpha. Tom. Nine. Zero. Whiskey.

Security Code: 9s43-5ku@-s555

Vox zapped himself into his suite and initiated lockdown protocols, only dimly hearing angelic steel barriers slamming shut around him until the only sounds he could hear were those in the suite with him. He staggered forward a few steps before looking down at his disheveled pajamas, hands trembling as he started tearing at the soft cotton of his shirt. Barely noticing the nicks and scratches his claws made on his skin as he shredded the offending clothing, leaving it in tatters on his bedroom floor before heading into the bathroom.

Shit.

How could he be so fucking stupid?

How could he have possibly thought that this would be a good idea? Just because he wanted it, just because he wanted Val… it didn’t mean he was fucking ready for this. Fuck, he should’ve waited until he was completely sure – not tried to push himself through it when he knew that Val would want to try to do things he wasn’t ready for.

“Be a good little mayor now.”

But it wasn’t even like it was that bad, really. To start, at least. How many times had he ridden Val and let Val guide him along, just like that? Too many to count, that’s for damn sure. He had to fucking know that Val would do what they usually fucking did in that position – could he even fucking blame Val for expecting it to go just like it always did?

He took a moment to stare in the mirror at the bruises already starting to bloom around his neck, gingerly touching a fingertip to one and grimacing. At least it was low enough that he could cover it with his usual shirts and ties. Val had spared his screen this time, too, so that was one less thing to deal with. Just the one crack and it was already healing over.

“I should fuck you right now, Vox, with your face all fucked up, and put you back in your fucking place.”

With a sharp breath, he tilted his head just enough to see the scratches on his neck, close to the casing of his head. They shouldn’t be a problem, either. Not really. Wash them out to make sure that nothing got infected and keep them hidden, but they should heal up in a day or so and no one would be any wiser.

“Everyone’s for sale… you just need to find their price point, Mister Mayor.”

Vox loosened the drawstring of his pajamas bottoms and let them pool onto the bathroom floor, staring blankly at the blue cotton for a few minutes before kicking them away. Should probably just throw them into the garbage now instead of letting them sit around until he had the courage to touch them again, but he couldn’t bring himself to bend down to pick them up. Later. He’d take care of those later.

Something wet streaked down his face and Vox swiped at his screen impatiently.

“Aw, babe. Don’t cry. This won’t take too long.”

He just… he just needed to…

With shaking hands, he turned the faucet on in the shower and stared at the hot spray of water as panic continued to simmer in his chest. Fuck, he was an idiot. He stumbled into the shower, bracing himself against the wall as water pounded against his back. It was too hot against his skin and stung with sharp needle pricks of searing heat.

He wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought the urge to turn on the frequency he shared with Alastor. He didn’t want to be alone – he’d gotten used to Alastor again. All over again. Shit. Shit, he wanted Alastor.

Hadn’t he run to the Hotel, specifically to find Alastor, after his visit with Honey? Alastor hadn’t kicked him out or dropped him back into Vee Tower to figure it out for himself – even after Vox made an ass of himself by getting absolutely smashed at the Hotel bar. Alastor had put him in his own bed and held him through the night. Probably didn’t get much sleep, either, if the foggy nightmares Vox only barely remembered got too out of hand.

And then he woke up in the early morning hours, on his back, with Alastor curled against his side like an oversized, considerably more homicidal housecat – and he hadn’t felt the now-familiar curl of nervousness deep in his gut. There’d only been softness and comfort, like the past few decades had never happened. For the first time in fucking months, he’d finally felt safe.

He wanted Alastor to wrap him up in his arms again and promise him it’d be okay. Maybe he could forget himself for a while again and not have to be here, doing this. Fucking again.

Shit, shit, shit. No.

It would be so easy to call for help…

“He fucking hates you. Wishes he’d never met you. Wishes he’d just let you die, remember him telling you that, baby?"

But what would be the point in that – Alastor would come storming in, some unholy terror, and tear Valentino to shreds? Because he had anointed himself Vox’s protector? He knew that Alastor had cast himself as a dark vigilante during his living days and hadn’t he just effortlessly fallen back into the role, now that Vox was weak and pathetic and desperate for his care?

Because he was. Fuck.

But he didn’t want that, not any fucking part of that. Didn’t want Alastor to touch Val, didn’t want him to hurt Val. Val was still his fucking partner, still his lover (even if Vox hadn’t been very good at making sure that Val was getting what he needed in that department), and he still fucking loved him. He still loved him. He did. He did still.

So, no. No, he wouldn’t say shit to Alastor. Or anyone else – this was his fucking problem, and he needed to deal with it instead of hoisting it off on someone else. He’d done more than enough of that since… since… since…

Error. Error. Error.

He clapped a hand over his face, fighting his way through a vicious string of error messages.

“Give him more. He’s easier to fuck when he isn’t fighting.”

Vox felt something start to shift in his chest, heavy and uncomfortable, pushing up against his throat and blocking the air coming into his lungs. It was nothing (he knew it was nothing, he was just being fucking crazy), but that didn’t stop his knees from buckling and sending him down to the shower floor.

“Maybe you just need this sometimes.”

Whatever self-control he had left snapped, and Vox opened his mouth to scream, electricity arcing around him to scorch every surface in the bathroom. Wrapping his arms over his head, he drew his knees up to his chest and tried to ignore the hissing of water as it vaporized around him, burning his skin.

Dimly, over the sounds of his own voice, he could hear electronics powering down and only noticed that he was sitting in the dark when his voice finally gave out. Frayed and exhausted, he slumped to the side, resting his shoulder against the shower wall. Fuck. He’d fucking knocked out the power again, hadn’t he?

Ding.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes when a text from Velvette came through.


Velvette [10:34:42 pm]: wtf pwr dwn. u good?
Vox [10:35:02 pm]: My bad. Tripped the system by accident. 😂
Velvette [10:35:12 pm]: ❓❓❓
Vox [10:37:45 pm]: You don’t want to know. 😁
Velvette [10:38:01 pm]: 🚫
Velvette [10:38:09 pm]: fix it? 🛠️
Velvette [10:39:23 pm]: vox
Velvette [10:40:10 pm]: vox?
Velvette [10:41:33 pm]: u good?
Vox [10:41:48 pm]: Perfect, babydoll. 😊
Vox [10:45:33 pm]: Just need a few minutes.
Velvette [10:45:40 pm]: 👍


Vox covered his face with his hands and tried to catch his breath. He’d have to go down to the main power source to see if he had just tripped the system or if he had burned through the circuitry and power lines. Fixing a tripped circuit breaker was easy – repairing it after barbequing it was not.

Unfortunately, the longer he sat in the dark, listening to the sound of the now cold stream of water pounding against the marble floor, the more explanation he was going to have to give for the outage. The last fucking thing he wanted to do was try to think up an explanation for why Vee Tower randomly went dark. Maybe he could use a kernel of the truth and suggest that he and Val had been experimenting with some new toys that Val’s studio was releasing: VoxTek’s latest vibrators – so good they’ll knock the power out in your home, too.

Guaranteed! Trust Us with Your Pleasure!

Ugh.

He'd have to think of something before he got things up and running again.

Vox dragged himself out of the shower, ignoring the way his body was shivering, and dried off before throwing on loose, casual clothes – it’d lend some credence to the lie that Vox had knocked it out after fooling around with Val and their newest products. He wouldn’t have bothered to take the time to put on his suit and tie after that, would he? But then, that gave people an excuse to think about him and Val fucking and…

He didn’t want that, either.

He let himself out through the front door of the penthouse, grateful that Valentino had retreated to his own suite in the meantime and he didn’t have to engage just yet. If he was lucky, he could restart the power and zap himself back into his suite again before he ran into Val. He just needed to avoid the whole mess for a while and then he could figure out how to deal with the latest shitshow in his afterlife.

“Perfection, right, baby? Someone’s gotta go back down there and actually be useful around here.”

Vox sighed and took the stairs down to the basement. He’d handle this like he always fucking handled everything.

 

*

 

This was ridiculous.

Husk was fuming. Niffty was nearly vibrating from excitement. And Alastor was pleased.

The former Overlord had complained (griped, lamented, etc.) that there ought to be limits on what Alastor asked him to do – every owned soul should be allowed just a modicum of dignity, no matter which “rat bastard motherfucker” owned them. Especially if the “rat bastard motherfucker” was the Radio Demon. Husk continued complaining the entire way to Vee Tower, Alastor nodding along understandingly as Husk pointed out his near sadistic levels of glee when it came to humiliating Husk.

Niffty giggled and clapped her hands with delight.

They both knew that Husk was protesting to be able to say that he had – despite everything, Alastor knew that Husk didn’t really mind accompanying him (today, at least, and on this very specific errand), but if it made Husk feel better to complain, who was Alastor to stop him? Besides, he had already promised Husk the afternoon off so that once this little errand was complete, he could run down to Valentino’s studios right as Angel Dust was coming off his shift and do… well, whatever it was the two of them did together. Plus, being the generous and magnanimous man that he was, he’d even agreed not to use Void travel to get them to the building, so Husk ought to take his wins where he could.

Especially since Niffty, like Alastor, enjoyed Void travel and was a little put out that they took a cab.

With a sweeping gesture, Alastor encouraged Husk to knock on the door to Vox’s office and was pleased when Husk hit it hard enough to rattle the metal door in its frame. Alastor turned the doorknob, satisfied that Vox had been given sufficient warning of their arrival, and swung the door open.

Husk glowered at the surprised expression on Vox’s face and Niffty waved in greeting. Alastor simply planted his cane in front of him and tilted his head, letting his expression soften enough to put Vox at ease. They all stared at one another for a few seconds before Vox’s eyes darted back to the door, like he was expecting someone else to enter the room, then settled back on Husk.

“Uh… hi?” Vox said, folding his hands on top of his desk. It was a relief to see him looking completely normal, like the Radio Demon regularly came bursting into his office with thralls in tow, grin maybe just a hair too wide on his face. Niffty giggled and bounced forward.

“Hello, Vox!” she bellowed, barely able to contain herself, but stopping shy of leaping onto Vox’s desk. So, that was a move in a positive direction, Alastor supposed. “We have a special treat for you!”

Alastor had been worried about Vox ever since the night before when Vee Tower had gone black, power draining from the building with little fanfare. He wouldn’t have even known, to be perfectly honest, if Angel Dust hadn’t wandered into the parlor a few minutes later, complaining about the wi-fi going down. His first instinct had been to race to the tower and find Vox. Luckily (or not, depending on how one looked at the situation), Lucifer had been in the same room as the rest of the Hotel residents and staff and had only glanced at Alastor in confusion before raising a hand to stop the Radio Demon in his tracks. He disappeared in a flash of sparkling golden light and Alastor waited on tenterhooks until he returned with a shrug.

“Power went down, but they’re already fixing it,” Lucifer announced to the room once he was back at the Hotel. Angel rolled his eyes and went back to whatever discussion he had drummed up with Cherri in the meantime. Husk met Alastor’s gaze (silly man) and slowly raised an eyebrow. “Everything’s fine, otherwise. Well… relatively speaking, of course.”

Alastor had grown used to Vox turning their frequency off and on over the years, so it hadn’t raised any alarms when it switched off the night before. Right about the time he knew Vox preferred to turn in for the night, so he had assumed the younger Overlord was simply preparing for bed and didn’t want to broadcast over their shared frequency while he slept. To be honest, Alastor hadn’t thought anything of it until the power went down at the tower.

“Fucking finally,” Angel said when his phone pinged. He picked up the little device and began to scroll with his thumb. “You’d think we’d get fewer of these outages now that Big Daddy V is mayor and has all that crazy power now, but whatever.”

Vox’s frequency flipped back on, feeling strangely discordant and unsettled, and Alastor instantly reached out.

[Is everything all right?]

[Yeesh, you’d think there had never been a power outrage in all of Pride before.] Vox sounded tired, but… all right? Irritable, maybe, but Alastor wasn’t sure exactly what he was hearing in the man’s voice. [But, yeah. Everything is fine. No need to worry.]

[I can come over, if you want.] Alastor offered, careful not to push. [I can be over in a second if you need me.]

Vox was silent for long enough that Alastor wondered if he had turned off his side of the frequency again. Before he could check, he felt something from Vox’s side prickle against his signal. Uneasy and uncertain.

[It’s fine, Alastor. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.] Alastor clasped his hands in front of him, doing precisely the opposite of what Vox asked. [I’m heading to bed now that the crisis is handled. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch. Okay?]

[Yes, Vox.] He hesitated. [You’ll let me know if you need me?]

[Sure thing. Goodnight, Alastor.]

[Goodnight, Vox.]

“Hey,” Husk grumbled in greeting and Alastor’s ears perked forward in anticipation. Instead of reciting the script that Alastor had given him, Husk slapped a piece of paper on the desk where Vox could plainly read it and took a step back. “I’m supposed to recite this while these two do a whole song and dance, but I’m not going to do that.”

Alastor sighed. That was the entire point of bringing Husk along. “Oh, Husk.”

“He can read it himself,” his thrall snapped as Vox looked down at the paper in confusion. “And you can still do your little routine or whatever.”

“You just…” Alastor sighed as Niffty looked up at him with a frown. “You just suck the fun out of everything, Husk.”

“I’m sorry.” Vox stared at the paper for a long ten seconds before blinking up at Alastor, wide-eyed. “Have you gone insane? No. Sorry again. I mean, more insane?”

In reply, Alastor tapped his cane on the floor and music filled the room. As did his shadows and poppets, dancing around enthusiastically as they swept in with trays and carts of food, stacked high and balanced precariously. Most of it was a glamour, of course, and only the tray in front of Husk, laden down with a weighty silver cloche, was real. He flicked his wrist and both Husk and Niffty’s outfits changed into chef’s jackets.

Vox’s face stuttered into a momentary test screen before he slumped back against his chair, eyes round. Which was just fine by Alastor.

He always did like an attentive audience.

In the corner of Vox’s office, Alastor’s shadow band began to play. Several of the shadows swept through the room while the poppets caught one another by the hands and swung around in an increasingly raucous dance. Niffty squealed and grabbed the hands of one of Alastor’s poppets, dancing away in a whirl of black and white as the music began to hit a frenzied pace.

And, not that he was surprised, but it was still a bit of a disappointment when Husk only blinked and cast a pointed glance at the door. Husk could wait – they were in the middle of something, even if the way Vox was staring at them was less delighted, less charmed than utterly baffled.

Alastor spread his arms out, grin widening as the music came to an end.

Vox blinked, looking a little overwhelmed. “I don’t understand.”

“We’ve brought you lunch,” Alastor said, sweeping his hand towards the cart. Husk’s scowl managed to somehow deepen, and Alastor was reluctantly impressed with his commitment to the bit.

“I told you this was some deeply psychotic shit, Alastor,” Husk snarled. “I still say we could’ve just brought him food without all the theatrics.”

“Lunch.” Vox’s voice was quiet, disbelieving. “This is lunch?”

“Oh, fantastic work.” Husk began to clap slowly. “He’s fucking shell-shocked!”

Goodness, no. Alastor glanced at Vox who quickly shut his mouth and sat up a little straighter, clearly hoping to demonstrate that he was not, in fact, shell-shocked. Alastor appreciated Vox’s effort (though now he was beginning to wonder if his little plan to help improve Vox’s mood wasn’t sorely misguided) and he decided to ignore Husk’s comment.

“Lunch and a show. People pay good money for this kind of entertainment.” Husk huffed and Alastor finally dropped his hands, his forced good cheer entirely spoiled. “Fine, Husker. You played along – go.”

“Finally.” Husk inclined his head ever so slightly towards Vox, who continued to stare with wide eyes. “Enjoy, I guess. Come on, Niffty.”

Oh. Alastor watched Niffty waved to her favorite bad boy before trotting after Husk. He had no idea what the three of them were planning to do together, but that was probably a thought best unthought. He returned his attention to Vox, ears falling back in dismay at the still wide-eyed stare that the younger Overlord had focused on him.

“Was that too much?” he asked, voice uncertain. Vox always liked a big show, but… well, he didn’t look like he had enjoyed that very much. Alastor squeezed his cane tightly between his fingers, trying to figure out exactly what Vox was feeling, a task made all the more difficult by the fact that Vox still had his signal turned off.

“Well… it was a lot, that’s for fucking sure,” Vox said after a moment of consideration. Alastor sank down in the chair across from him. “But… you’re a lot, so.”

“Vox?”

“Don’t worry, Alastor. It was fine. I’m not about to have a meltdown or some shit just because you brought your little shadow friends into my office for a fucked-up homage to Beauty and the Beast.” Vox removed the silver cloche from the tray that had ended up in front of him, a startled smile spreading over his face. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Fresh from Envy,” Alastor said, feeling a little tired as he gestured towards the fish artfully arranged on Vox’s plate. “I know how you like fresh seafood.”

Vox’s expression shifted into something Alastor couldn’t instantly identify. “You had seafood imported from Envy because I like it?”

“Of course.” Alastor’s smile softened. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you, Vox.”

Vox sniffed and focused his attention entirely on his meal – Alastor took that as permission to summon his own meal from one of the shadow poppets that had continued to stay in the room, despite their musical number being very much over. He set the travel container down and sent a flash of green fire up through the ceramic bowl to heat up the venison (made in deference to Vox’s aversion to watching him eat raw venison).

“Thanks,” Vox said quietly, not looking up from his food. Alastor noticed with satisfaction that he was eating – perhaps not enthusiastically, but he was eating and not just smashing his food around his plate and pretending to eat. After a few minutes of eating in silence, Alastor slipped his hand onto the desk, palm up, and slid it towards Vox just far enough so that he knew the other Overlord could see it, but subtly enough that Vox could pretend not to if he wasn’t interested. Vox eyed his hand silently before clearing his throat. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for lunch.”

“I know,” Alastor agreed. “But you seemed so… unhappy last night.” Vox hesitated with his fork partway to his mouth. “And I wanted to do something to help you feel better.”

“Unhappy?”

“Yes.” Alastor’s ears tilted back, uncertain. “Unless I sensed your signal incorrectly.”

“Unhappy is as good as word as any,” Vox allowed and slowly slid his hand over to Alastor’s, touching their fingertips together for a moment. He swallowed and set down his fork. “I know this is Hell and everything, but sometimes… does it sometimes feel like too much Hell?”

“Yes.” Vox looked up, eyes wide, and Alastor nodded. “It frequently does.”

He couldn’t help the small burst of surprised static when Vox stood up from his chair and zapped himself into the electrical field, only to reappear next to Alastor. He stared down at the Radio Demon with the strangest expression on his face and Alastor quickly got to his feet, in time for Vox to wrap his arms around Alastor’s waist.

Oh.

Recovering from his surprise quickly, Alastor put his arms around Vox’s shoulders and held him as close as the other Overlord allowed. Vox hooked the bottom of his screen over his shoulder – Alastor figured that it was so he wouldn’t be able to look at Vox’s face. Which was a little alarming. Instead of calling attention to it (if Vox didn’t want to be seen, Alastor wouldn’t force him), Alastor sighed and splayed his hand flat against Vox’s upper back, between his shoulder blades. Pressed just hard enough to hear Vox’s echoing sigh. It sounded shaky and suspiciously watery.

“I’m still sorry if that was too much,” he murmured. Ugh, he was starting to sound like Charlie now, with his repeated apologies. Not, of course, that he could ever apologize enough to Vox, but he wished he didn’t have to sound so soft when he did (probably couldn’t be helped, though). “I’ll ask next time.”

Vox shook his head as much as he was able to in this position. “No, it was a good surprise. Alarming, but good.”

“You know…” Alastor was very aware that Vox hadn’t yet turned their shared frequency back on again and decided to proceed as cautiously as possible. “That promise I made about telling you everything?” He could feel Vox tense in his arms and smoothed a hand over his shoulder, soothingly. “I know it’s not quite the same thing, but it could go both ways.”

Vox tightened his grip. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be limited to me telling you everything – you can tell me anything you want, too.” Vox pressed in just a little closer and Alastor could feel the heat of his screen where it brushed against his ear. “You don’t have to, of course, but you can.”

“Okay.”

“Whenever you want or need to.” Sharp claws pressed against his back and, for a split-second, Alastor wondered exactly what Vox was going to do before he stepped into the little remaining space between them, putting himself almost flush against the Radio Demon. Alastor breathed in the very familiar scent of Vox, clean and sea-salt fresh then gave the younger Sinner a gentle squeeze. “I’m here if you need me, Vox.”

Vox stepped back, his expression so vulnerable that the temptation to pull him back into the safety of Alastor’s arms was nearly too strong to resist. Instead, he dropped his arms from Vox’s shoulders, opting instead to catch Vox’s hands in his. The other Overlord shook his head. “Promise?”

“Of course.”

Vox took another step back. “Okay. If I need you, I’ll call.” He released Alastor’s hands. “You should finish your lunch – we have work to do.”

Even after they had finished eating and Alastor helped Vox pour through the seemingly unending tomes from the dustiest of Hell’s library, he made sure to keep a careful eye on Vox. Something was wrong, he knew that now for certain. Still, he had resolved to stop trying to protect Vox behind his back – he’d have to wait until Vox asked him for help outright. Or until he had proof of what was happening.

Hopefully, it would be before anything too terrible happened.

 

*

 

“Oi,” Velvette shouted, tossing her jacket towards one of the chairs near the door as she entered the penthouse. “Fuckheads! Are you the two of you up here? I’m fucking starving and I’m going to stab the next person who speaks and doesn’t have a fucking dinner suggestion.”

And if that suggestion was pizza, Velvette was going to murder whoever suggested it. Even if it was Valentino suggesting Hawaiian pizza, just to be a dick and get a rise out of her (and only Velvette because Vox, fucking weirdo that he was, didn’t seem to mind Hawaiian pizza if it found its way onto his plate). Because, for whatever reason, Vox kept ordering pizza lately, like his robot brain had landed on something everyone ate and was sticking to it, damn the consequences. And half the time, he didn’t even eat it himself. Velvette wasn’t sure what that new bullshit was, but if she saw another slice of pizza in front of her, she might actually start screaming.

“Boys!” She looked around and scoffed. “Seriously, you wankers? I know you’re up here, Val – the studio said you left early today.”

Velvette walked toward the kitchen, still talking, and prepared to open the fridge with every intention of stuffing whatever she could find into her mouth. At this point, she didn’t even fucking care – she was having Girl Dinner if these two fuck weasels were going to play hide-and-seek. But, when she walked into the chrome and marble room Vox had designed under the guise of looking sleek and modern (it looked like a bad knock-off Star Trek command room, but she kept that to herself after the first time Vox had lost his shit over her comparison), her sentence died midway on her tongue.

Vox was standing with his back against the countertop, glass of water (or Voxka, who knew) in his hand, while Valentino loomed over him. Gesturing wildly with his upper hands while his lower hands were held out, palms up, Valentino looked considerably more upset than Vox. It only took a moment to look over Vox and recognize that the seemingly relaxed, neutral position he was in was anything but.

“Fuck, Voxy, it was a fucking accident,” Valentino said. No. “I’ve told you – I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It… it was an accident?” Vox asked, disbelieving.

Velvette’s heart began to sink. This couldn’t be happening – she’d made sure that this couldn’t happen anymore. Her fingers tightened around her phone as she glanced rapidly between the two other Vees.

“Yes!” Val snapped, exasperated. “You were fine, baby. You were having a good time and then you just… you fucking weren’t, and I snapped, okay?”

“But…” Vox blinked up at him, a pained expression crossing his screen. “But I asked you to stop.”

With a growl of frustration, Valentino stepped forward, into Vox’s space, and let his wings subtly flare out. Vox’s eyes widened, fingers tightening around his glass and his chin tipped up to maintain eye contact. Velvette could see him shift his weight in anticipation and, despite herself, she sucked in a sharp breath. Everything ground to a halt as both men seemed to finally sense her presence in the room. After a beat, Val stepped back and Vox slipped away from him, setting his glass down in the sink.

“Hey, Vel,” he said quietly, refusing to meet her gaze. Vox pulled out his phone and made a soft tsking sound. “Shit. It’s dinner time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Velvette nodded, unable to take her eyes off him. Fuck. Her eyes rapidly scanned every inch of him that she could see – she couldn’t see anything broken or damaged but that didn’t fucking mean anything. He was clever about hiding it, wasn’t he? Vox’s eyes darted up to meet hers, narrowing slightly at her scrutiny.

“Okay. I can order you guys a pizza. Do you want pizza tonight?”

Shit.

“Pizza is fine,” Valentino answered, heading over to the refrigerator to look for a drink. Vox watched him go with tired eyes before glancing at Velvette.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” she told him dully. He nodded, already flicking through his phone rapidly.

“Anything’s good, right?”

“No Hawaiian,” Velvette and Valentino said in unison. She closed her eyes for a beat before heading over to the table and burying herself in her own phone until the food arrived.

Turned out that Hawaiian would’ve been just fine, if Vox had decided to order that anyways – everything tasted like ash in her mouth as it was and she choked down her meal with a generous glass of wine. She vaguely noticed that Vox and Val were also drinking and made sure to stick around in the common area until Vox retreated to his suite. If nothing else, her presence made it awkward for the two men to continue their conversation – she could keep Val at bay for a little while that way. At least until she could get to the bottom of things.

Once she was able to lock herself in her own suite with a reasonable expectation of privacy (Vox was hiding away and probably wouldn’t be seen until morning while Val retreated down to his studios to put in some more hours), Velvette dragged out everything she needed to summon the two spirits who owed her some fucking answers.

She sliced her palm open without flinching and set her mouth into a grim frown as the otherworldly magic began to gather in the room. Velvette tilted her head back defiantly as the creatures appeared in front of her, swirling light consolidating into the now familiar forms. With a growl, she quickly got to her feet.

“What did you do?” she demanded. The two bright beings exchanged glances before the masculine one tilted his head curiously.

{How rude. Is this how you greet us, after everything that we have done for you?}

“What did you do?” Velvette repeated. She gestured towards the door to her suite. “Your spell isn’t working.”

{Which one?} the female creature asked, and Velvette flinched back when she swept across the room in an instant, her face close enough that she could feel the air she wasn’t certain the creature needed to breathe dance across her face. It smelled old and slightly rancid, air from the lungs of a corpse, and she swallowed roughly.

“The first one.” Velvette bit the sentence out, teeth gritted. After a few seconds, she turned her face away, unable to stomach the smell any longer. “The protection spell.”

{Ah. That sounds accurate.}

“What?”

{The spell should be fading by now.} The feminine creature moved away from the Overlord to stand by her companion’s side once more.

“Fading? How the fuck can it be fading - we made a deal!” she snapped, doing her damnedest to keep her voice steady as her stomach began to plumet with growing apprehension. How could a fucking spell made by great, cosmic beings fucking fade? “I gave you a piece of my fucking soul for him.”

{We remember, little girl.}

Velvette’s teeth ground together. “You lied to me.”

{Oh? How so?}

“He was supposed to be safe,” she snarled, her temper slipping through her fingers. “Valentino wasn’t supposed to be able to hurt him anymore. Ever! And obviously, he’s doing it again – so, you fucking lied to me. Maybe you always meant for Val to fucking do this shit to him again and it was just some fucking joke–”

{Enough. We told you that we could only help once.}

“And you made an exception!” Velvette screamed, not caring if Vox overheard anymore. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she balled her hands into fists, furious tears spilling down her cheeks. “You made him better!”

{And you offered us anything in exchange for it.}

{Yes. Anything.}

At that, Velvette could see the penny drop in front of her. Fuck. Fuck, she had. She had fucking offered them anything – she was so fucking stupid. She staggered back a step, a sick, cold horror rushing through her veins. “What did you take?”

{You received one favor from us.}

{And you were so adamant about another, so utterly devoted to your friend, that we decided that we would help you again. Only, our one favor rule still holds…}

“One?” she asked. Knees suddenly weak, Velvette lowered herself as gracefully to the ground as possible to avoid collapsing. The bright creatures exchanged another look.

{The scales must remain balanced.}

“You… you took the first spell away in payment for the second?” she asked, voice suddenly dull, even in her own ears. What had she done? “I paid for his sanity with his safety.”

{Yes.} The creature’s head cocked curiously. {But you did offer us anything we wanted – and we wanted our first spell back before we gave you another.}

“You should have said,” the youngest Overlord in Pentagram City said weakly. She barely felt the tears on her face anymore.

{You offered us anything, little girl. And this is what we took.} The creatures exchanged a look and the female’s smile seemed to soften somehow. {It balanced the scales so that we could offer you a second favor. More than one favor risks our exposure, but we liked you enough to try.}

{We were very generous.}

Somehow, Velvette felt that they were telling the truth – at least, their version of the truth. It probably did feel very generous to a pair of cosmically powerful beings. But they didn’t have to sit and watch Valentino methodically break Vox down. They didn’t have to look at Vox trying to hold his fucking shit together while Val was doing it and they didn’t have to try to eat their breakfast at the same fucking table when Val finally succeeded.

“It’s not fair,” she said softly.

The male being swooped in closely, studying her face from inches away before sighing. {No, you are probably right. What would you have us do – switch back to the original spell?}

And let Vox’s mind rot away again? Velvette shuddered. “No. I don’t… I don’t know what to do if you can’t give me both.”

{We can give you time to think.} Velvette combed her fingers up into her hair, closing her eyes in defeat. How had she not fucking seen this coming? {Still, the protection spell will grow weaker every day that you wait until it is gone completely.}

Velvette nodded. “Okay. I… I’ll think about it.”

{Very well. You know how to summon us when you have made your decision.}

She stayed on the ground for a long time after the glowing creatures left, only dragging herself to her feet with reluctance. After a few minutes, she bandaged her hand in a daze and wandered back out into the dark common room. The television was off and only the dim light of the baseboard lighting provided any light in the room. It looked quiet, cold. Not at all like the home she had made with Vox and Val.

Velvette sighed and scooped a bottle of bourbon off the drink cart, along with a couple of glass tumblers. It didn’t surprise her that Vox intercepted her in the doorway of his suite, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a VoxTek t-shirt, feet bare against the expensive wooden flooring. The bags under his eyes were heavy and he looked just as tired as she felt. She raised the bottle and gave it a small shake.

“Let’s drink.”

Vox pulled the door open a little further and gestured for her to come in.

Notes:

CW: implied/referenced sexual assault and domestic violence, panic attacks, heavy internalized victim-blaming, demon deals, and a little bit of blood.

Okay, full disclosure - this was supposed to be uploaded tomorrow afternoon but the Hazbin news has given me the zoomies, so enjoy this chapter a day early. 😊

And, I'm going to make an effort to be more active on the socials. Follow me on Bluesky for updates, previews, and whatever random stuff I decide to post and share.

https://bsky.app/profile/doctorbriarwood.bsky.social

Chapter 36: disappointment was my closest friend but then you came and it soon departed

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

1968

Her mother would’ve said that Alastor’s Bad Boy came home with a cloud hanging over his head. That he was down in the dumps, out of sorts, with a face like a wet weekend.

Niffty just thought he looked sad.

Well. He looked rumpled, is what he looked like, at first glance. His usually neatly pressed clothing was mussed and wrinkled like he didn’t even care at all about the pains that Niffty went through to make sure her boys looked good, and that wouldn’t do at all. And his shoes! Caked in mud and something green! Oh, dear. The leather was probably a lost cause, even with all her hard-won knowledge and very specific skill sets.

She was put out – she really, really was.

She had spent most of the afternoon experimenting in the kitchen with Alastor and the past half hour showing Dot how to perfect her coral stitch on a plain white blouse while they waited for Vox to finally get home, and she wasn’t going to let all her perfectly nice day go to waste because Vox walked in looking a little like a kicked puppy.

A very cute puppy, of course. He was always very cute, in Niffty’s expert opinion, especially with the droopy antennae and the big, sad eyes. Niffty imagined that if he had a tail, it might have been tucked up between his legs. She clasped her hands in her lap until the urge to pet him passed.

Alastor lowered his newspaper just enough to peer over the top as Vox shuffled in the door, kicked off his shoes, and flopped face first onto the couch without a word. Oh, dear. She exchanged a quick look with Dot before hopping down from her perch – she could take care of her needlework once Vox was properly sorted out.

Oh boy, did he need sorting. Imagine just kicking your shoes off without even putting them in the right place by the door. And imagine not stopping to kiss Alastor before sitting down on the couch, when Niffty had been waiting very patiently for the evening kiss all day long.

Had all his manners leaked out of that strange and wonderful head of his?

“Ouch!”

Niffty scrambled up on the couch, studied him for a moment and caught his antennae in her hand. She pulled upwards, forcing the television demon to scramble up onto his elbows to relieve the awkward angle. The dull gray sweater he was wearing twisted and bunched under his neck, pressing against the bottom of his screen. “Damn it, Niffty, don’t pull so hard!”

“You look miserable,” she accused, setting her free hand on her hip. Vox rolled his eyes and that was very rude, but she decided to forgive him because he was obviously in a state. “Why do you look so miserable?”

“I am miserable.” He tried to squirm away, flashing his very best puppy dog eyes, but Niffty wouldn’t be swayed so easily. She considered swatting his nose like the naughty puppy he was insisting on acting like, only he didn’t have a nose and that made the whole thing very difficult. Anyways. She knew his tricks and held tight. “Come on, cut me some slack, Niffty. It’s been a terrible day.”

“It certainly looks that way.” Alastor hummed, lowering his newspaper a little more. “What did they have you cover today, Vox?”

“Oh, I hope it wasn’t another Envy-gull migration,” Dot said, setting her sewing down and leveling a stare in their direction. “That was awful.”

Niffty remembered that – he had been pecked over nearly half his body and was sore for days afterwards. Good thing Niffty knew her salves and helped get him back into tip-top shape, otherwise he might still have those ugly beak-shaped scars on his hands. Envy-gulls were known for their venomous saliva that scarred even Sinners if left untreated.

Vox frowned and tried to twist his head out of Niffty’s iron grip, wincing when his movements only served to tug his antennae harder. She narrowed her eye – silly man could pull all he wanted; she had no intention of letting up until she got some answers. “No Envy-gulls. Thank Lucifer.”

“I wouldn’t thank him too much, dear.” Alastor’s smile widened just a bit. “He is the reason we’re all here, after all.”

After another minute of trying to stare Niffty down, Vox finally gave in. “I’m just frustrated, that’s all. I’m a cub reporter, all over again.” His eyes drifted over to Dot, and he sighed. “I used to anchor the regional news, and now I’m going out to get the news that nobody else in the office wants to be bothered with or I’m running around making sure that the higher-ups have their coffee topped off.” Niftty let go of his antennae and Vox’s face slapped against the couch without her holding him up. He grunted in annoyance but stayed with his screen buried in the cheerful fabric. “I thought I’d already paid my dues.”

“I could put in a word or two,” Alastor offered, and a spark popped off the top of Vox’s antenna.

“Absolutely not.” He pushed himself up again, attention completely focused on the Radio Demon. “I’m grateful for all the help already, Al, but I can’t have you jumping in just because I’m whining about a hard day at the office.”

Alastor shrugged and raised his newspaper again. “Suit yourself.”

“I know what you need,” Niffty declared and jumped down from the couch. Yes, she knew exactly what Vox needed to pull himself out of this funk. The old, tried-and-true method of getting Vox to stop moping around – it worked every time Alastor used it and Niffty was positive it would work now. She flipped open the wood-paneled stereo near the window and dropped a record on top. From the corner of her eye, she could see Vox scowl preemptively. Fine. He was welcome to be a stubborn silly if he wanted – Niffty always got her man in the end.


He rocks in the tree tops all day long
Hoppin’ and a-boppin’ and a-singing his song
All the little birds on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet, tweet, tweet


Vox groaned and buried his face back in the couch. “No, Niffty.”

Well, it didn’t really matter if Vox wanted to stay in his terrible mood – Niffty grinned when Dot clapped her hands together definitively and got to her feet. She walked over to the stereo and took Niffty’s hands in her own.

“His loss, dear,” Dot told her and danced her out onto the living room floor.

Niffty liked Dot.

She didn’t think she would the first time that they ran into Dot last fall, just outside of Cannibal Town. At first, she hadn’t thought anything of the ferret lady watching them with squinty eyes like she was trying to figure out who they were, but that changed when Alastor noticed her. Niffty followed happily behind when the Radio Demon swept up to the small Sinner and ask politely (he was very polite when he wanted to be) if she needed assistance with something. She only continued to stare at Vox until he stepped back uncomfortably, ducking his head – then, Niffty was on her guard.

Nobody made Vox uncomfortable but her – and she didn’t even mean to do it on purpose sometimes!

Dot asked Vox some silly question or another and after a few seconds of awkward conversation, Vox launched himself at the other Sinner, wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. Of course, Niffty did feel he should be saving those kinds of hugs for Alastor, but she was very polite about the whole thing when she realized they were crying by the time they pulled away from one another. Apologizing for whatever they’d done to one another (Niffty had stopped paying attention at that point after noticing a small beetle infestation at the ice cream shop) and only then did Vox take the time to introduce Dot properly.

Which he really should have done at the start of the conversation. Honestly, Vox needed to brush up on Niffty’s collection of Emily Post.

She spared a glance at their resident sourpuss and grinned when she saw that he had turned his head to watch them dance. His eyes narrowed instantly when he caught her looking at him and wrapped his arms up around his head so that she couldn’t see his mouth, but that was all right. She knew he was trying not to smile, even if he was stubborn and hid it.

When that record ended, Alastor’s Shadow seamlessly changed to the next record, and so on until Niffty was breathless and giddy from dancing. Still, she knew she was breaking Vox’s resolve down, piece by itty-bitty piece. Silly man couldn’t hold out forever – she knew he loved to dance, and he was really only hurting himself now.

Vox finally pushed up from his prone position to sit upright on the couch. Like every single other time when he pretended to be put out by something, he crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes just a little bit too dramatically not to be fake. But Niffty knew where to look and, sure enough, there was the little twitch at the corner of his mouth that told her he was fighting back a grin. Alastor’s Shadow finally abandoned the record player to sweep around the room in an excited loop, and Niffty ran back to the record player to put a new song on.

And Vox gave himself away by tapping his foot along with the music. Silly man.

The moment he started to bob his head despite himself, Alastor got to his feet and strode over to the couch, extending his hand with an exasperated expression. “Up.”

“No,” Vox groaned, clinging to the throw pillow he was using as a shield while Alastor tugged him to his feet. “No, I’m still very sad and despondent and no amount of dancing or shenanigans are going to cheer me up!”

He narrowed his eyes when Alastor yanked the pillow from his hands and tossed it away. Good thing Alastor saw right through his nonsense (just like Niffty did) and grabbed one of his hands to place it firmly on Alastor’s waist. The other was caught in Alastor’s hand and the Radio Demon leaned in.

“So, help me, Vox, if you don’t start leading right now, I will make you dance with my Shadow.” Vox’s gaze darted up to the smiling creature hovering behind them. It waved and Niffty giggled. “And I cannot promise you it won’t try to waltz you through the Void, just for its own amusement.”

Vox tightened his grip on Alastor’s waist. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.” Alastor’s smile sharpened a little. “I will.”

It was probably best that Vox just admitted that he’d lost this battle, Niffty thought to herself and changed the record.

“Come on, Al,” he protested half-heartedly, starting to move with the music. “Can’t a man just be sad without you gremlins forcing him to be happy?”

“Nope!” Alastor stepped in close, flush against the television demon, and Vox finally broke. The reluctant smile that crept across his face quickly grew when Alastor pressed a quick kiss to his lips (oh, good, finally they were getting to the kissing). Dot laughed and Niffty clapped her hands.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Vox grumbled, though the brightness of screen betrayed him. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that pathetic excuse for a kiss to get me – mmph!”

Niffty watched raptly while Alastor kissed Vox, cradling his head so he couldn’t get away, and finally pulled away with a laugh when Vox’s screen was bright pink (Niffy’s favorite shade of pink, too). Alastor swung Vox in a wide circle, dragging him in close again. “I think we found a winner, Niffty!”

“Yay!”

“No, you cannot use this song against me!” Vox protested. Very sweetly, Niffty felt.

“I can and I will.” Niffty stood up and began to dance alongside the pair of silly men. “I’m going to play this song whenever you are being a miserable curmudgeon, Vox, and force a smile back on your face.”

Vox flashed a bright, fake grin that quickly slid into the genuine thing and Niffty tugged on his pant leg, eager to climb up. But! She remembered herself and waited until Vox inclined his head in invitation before scrambling up onto his shoulder. Alastor gave the television demon another quick kiss (and, oh oh oh, she was so close to their mouths, she could practically be kissing them, too!) before Vox swung them around fast enough that Niffty had to wrap her arms around his neck to hold on.

“Remember you started this,” Vox laughed, dipping Alastor low enough to the ground that Niffty shrieked in anticipation of being dropped. “All three of you!”

It was a very good night after all.

*

 

Present Day

“I... oops, I think I’m getting… low. So low. Low, low, low. Hmm. How… how low can you go, Vel?”

Velvette brushed her hair from her face and squinted across the bed to where Vox was sitting, knees drawn up to his chest, arms circling his legs, and the tumbler of bourbon dangling precariously from his hand. She finished the remaining liquor in her own glass and let the empty tumbler drop onto the comforter. Vox’s eyes drifted over to her, and he blinked at the glass before a faint scowl crossed his face.

“S’gonna stain,” he grumbled. Velvette shook her head.

“We got twelve hundred zillion dollars,” she countered. “Buy more.”

“No.” Vox pointed at her, sloshing some of the bourbon out of his own glass. It hit the comforter with a wet splat. “Can’t just always.”

“Yeah, Vee. We can.” She raised herself up from her prone position on the bed and crawled over to where he was sitting. He was so fucking annoying sometimes when he was trying to be responsible – they were fucking loaded! No sense in being responsible. Barely managing to keep herself upright, Velvette snatched the glass from the other Overlord’s hand and tipped the remains of his drink into her mouth, ignoring the indignant noise he made. “We can do whatever the fuck. Whatever.”

He stared at her for a long moment and sighed. “M’sorry, Vel. I fucked up.”

What? How the fuck did he fuck this up? If anyone had screwed the proverbial Hellhound, it was Velvette. And she hadn’t even fucked a good-looking one like that one from the Imp agency that kept making the news. She’d found the most flea-bitten fucking Hellhound and ridden it fucking hard and now…

Fuck, the analogy was getting away from her. “No. I fucked up.”

“Both?”

Velvette grabbed one of his hands and jerked his arm up into the air before he could protest, wriggling herself against him. He let out another soft, irritable noise when she wrapped her arms around his waist, but settled his arm around her shoulders, nevertheless. After a moment, she felt the edge of his screen resting on the top of her head, staticky and warm against her hair.

“Prickly,” she groused, not actually upset that his screen was making her hair float upwards but feeling that perhaps she still ought to make some kind of protest. From this angle, she was able to glance up at Vox’s neck and below his screen and… well. There were the scratches and bruises that he had kept hidden all day.

Presumably. She’d clocked that whatever happened had happened the night before when the power had gone down. No fucking wonder he’d been so weird in his texts. She ought to have pushed more at the time. Ought to have come upstairs and figured out why the fuck the power went down in the entire tower. Ought to have figured out why he had been so slow to respond.

Fuck, there were a lot of things that she ought to have done.

“M’sorry you’re hurt,” she whispered, tilting her face back down into the soft fabric of his shirt. She didn’t want to look at the fading abuse on his skin anymore. Vox held her just a little closer but didn’t say anything. “M’sorry didn’t protect you.”

“That’s… oh, Vel. That’s my job.”

She brushed her face against his shirt. “Me, too. Partners, Vee. Partners.”

“Okay.” His fingers flexed around her shoulder, and he sighed. “Both. Me and you.”

Velvette gave him a hard squeeze and listened to the air wheeze out of him before loosening her grip. Right. She was fucking right. They were fucking partners, so… both.

After a few minutes, Vox pushed her head impatiently. “I’m gonna puke.”

“Oh, fuck.” Velvette fell back against the comforter and stared at the ceiling blearily while Vox hurried to the bathroom. She was going to have to figure out a way to both this whole protection thing. Maybe the fucking Radio Demon would help – he liked Vox again, yeah? She barely noticed when Vox crawled back up onto the bed and slumped down limply beside her. “You done being sick?”

“For now.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, she was going to have to figure this out. Beside her, Vox started snoring loudly and Velvette stuffed a pillow over her head to block out some of the noise.

 

*

 

Hell couldn’t give him a normal head, but it made sure that he could still get killer fucking hangover headaches. And no temples to rub to soothe them.

It’d been a few days since the whole thing with Val and the blackout. He and Vel had settled into a new, terribly unhealthy routine of getting blackout drunk (heh) every evening. While he knew he’d have to put a stop to it before it got too out of hand, it was nice to lock himself away with someone who had zero expectations of him and watch shitty videos and drink until morning snuck up on them.

And now he’d sat through several awkward breakfasts with Val and Vel, refusing to do anything more than drink coffee, despite Vel’s occasional and half-hearted prompts. And then, following Velvette’s obvious attempts (and subsequent failures) to leave after Valentino, he’d spent a few minutes each morning listening to Val’s apologies again until he could reasonably make his exit for the day.

As much as he hated to admit it, he would probably cave to Val’s pleading in a couple of days anyways. It was just easier to keep the peace, and Vox was too tired to drag things out for much longer. Besides, he’d already decided to forgive him, so what was the point? Things would still be awkward for a while (they always were), but eventually they’d go back to whatever passed for normal nowadays. And maybe Val wouldn’t be interested in another attempt to get Vox into bed again soon, so he’d have some more time to get his head right before they tried again.

Which would be good for everyone.

For now, though, Vox sat behind his desk, trying to keep himself still while he pretended to listen to whatever idiotic complaint the Sinner in front of him was making. Or request. Whatever. It didn’t really matter. He’d already decided that he was just going to give everyone whatever they wanted today to get them out of his face faster. It’d probably be a kick in the balls later, but he just didn’t have it in him to engage today, and he couldn’t exactly pass this one off on someone else, could he?

From the hallway, he could hear a slight uptick in the volume of conversation and let his eyes wander to the doorway.

“It’s the fucking Radio Demon.”

“Ah, shit. He’s going to fucking eat someone, isn’t he?”

Vox’s gaze drifted back to the goat Sinner across from him who swallowed roughly, eyes wide and round. He supposed whatever one-sided conversation they had been having was about to be interrupted by seven feet of deranged deer demon. His mouth quirked into a wry smile.

“No fucking clue but get ready to run if he and the mayor decide to fucking rumble.”

“He’ll just grab you with those nasty fucking tentacles. Better off playing dead.”

Vox sighed and rolled his eyes. They weren’t wrong.

Alastor walked into Vox’s office, sweeping past the line of Sinners waiting to talk to their mayor about… whatever. One or two grumbled under their breath, but none were brave enough to say anything to the Radio Demon’s face – as they ought to be. He came in bearing several boxes that were from the bakery down the street and a tray of coffee. Vox sat back in his chair a little, frowning – there had to be a way to convince everyone around to back off with the food already. Even if he did have a fondness for the little cherry Danishes that bakery sold.

With a cheerful grin, Alastor circled around the Sinner’s chair and perched on the edge of the desk. His smile was entirely too bright and welcoming. The goat demon’s mouth snapped shut as she cringed back.

“Well, don’t stop on my account!” Alastor chuckled, leaning down to chuck the goat under the chin. “You must be suffering incredibly to come all the way down to our offices and beg for our time and guidance.”

Alastor was an asshole, Vox mused, not bothering to interfere.

“I… uh…” She looked back and forth between the two Overlords, ears falling back fearfully. Like she had fucking forgotten that Vox was a clear and present danger and had only been reminded by Alastor’s appearance. He didn’t even have the energy to be irritated – he only flashed his own shark’s grin to speed up her processing time. “Actually, you know what? This… this is not worth it.”

“Oh, no,” Alastor pouted as the Sinner gathered her things with admirable haste. “Please. Don’t go. I swear – we really do want to hear all about it.”

She hurried from the room, tiny tail flagging in the air behind her. Alastor leaned back, resting his palms on the desk behind him and kicked a leg up in the air. Vox covered his face with his hands in defeat.

“Some of us have responsibilities, Alastor. In case you forgot. We can’t all get away with the whole ‘murdering as a day job’ schtick.” Alastor hummed, unbothered. Vox huffed with faux irritation and moved his hands just enough to peer at the Radio Demon. “I’m trying to work.”

“You work entirely too hard.” Alastor grinned at the next Sinner in line. “The mayor is now on break. Return in a couple of hours.”

“I’ve been waiting a couple of hours!” the Sinner snapped in return. Vox really hoped that Alastor wasn’t in a people-eating mood – he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the bloodstains. Or the screaming. Fuck, he needed an aspirin.

“And it looks like you’ll be waiting a couple more.” Alastor flicked his wrist, and the door slammed shut. Well… he couldn’t say that Alastor hadn’t just done what Vox had been fantasizing about for the past hour. He sighed and dropped his hands down onto the desk. Widening his grin, Alastor held up his peace offering. “I brought coffee and pastries!”

“Oh, well, in that case.” Vox reached out and Alastor placed one of the coffees in his hand. “I suppose all official government business should come to a grinding halt.”

“Indeed.” Alastor took a sip of his own coffee and winced. “This is swill.”

“So don’t drink it.” Vox laughed, despite himself. “Nobody’s forcing you.”

“I already paid for it,” the Radio Demon grumbled. “I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Vox was honestly surprised that he didn’t just intend to head right back down the street to tear the proprietor’s arms off for serving bad coffee, but it was just as well – he’d rather not get blacklisted at the only place with decent breakfast food within a mile of the mayoral offices. He could always hypnotize them into serving him, but he didn’t want to have to do that every time he decided to get a latte.

He plucked a cherry Danish from the box and hesitated when a thick red blob dripped from the end.

“You got these from the bakery down the street, right?” Vox asked, suddenly suspicious. He dropped the pastry back into the box. “Because I will kill you if you try to slip another blood doughnut past me.”

“Well, of course not. You’re too clever to let yourself be fooled twice.” Vox crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, go on then. I promise I only bought the ones I know you like. No cannibal doughnuts.” Vox stared Alastor down for another minute before the Radio Demon laughed, reached into the box, scooped out one of the “cherry” Danishes and took a bite. He winked at Vox. “Now you’ll never know.”

“Asshole.” Vox leaned forward and snatched an almond croissant from the box instead. It seemed like a safer bet. He picked at the pastry for a few moments before he felt his stomach start to tighten anxiously. He had barely managed to hold his shit together the last time Alastor had been this close to him. It had been an entire hour of pretending that his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest while he worried about accidentally letting something slip.

And now, here Alastor was again, sipping bad coffee with him in companionable silence.

He realized that his side of their shared frequency was broadcasting and cut it off so abruptly that Alastor’s ears flicked back towards his skull, surprise widening his eyes. Vox looked away, careful to keep his body relaxed and not give away too much.

“Vox?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Just need a little privacy.”

“All right.”

He kept his eyes down and picked up a sheet of paper, forcing himself to focus on the task in front of him. Within a minute, he was so deeply invested in reading over the contract in his hands that he barely noticed Alastor switch on his radio and reach for a contract himself. Slowly, Vox fell into a comfortable rhythm of reading and correcting contracts. Then a familiar song began to play.

Vox glanced up curiously.

He could tell by the loose way Alastor was sitting beside him, not looking up from his neat stack of paperwork, that he didn’t even realize that the song was playing. Probably had his internal demonic playlist on shuffle and this was the song that just so happened to come up in the queue next. Vox listened for a few seconds, watching Alastor flip a sheet of paper over and move on to the next one, before sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes.


Your love is lifting me higher
Than I’ve ever been lifted before
So keep it up, quench my desire
And I’ll be at your side forevermore


He felt himself start to relax for the first time since the unfortunate incident with Valentino and let the music wash over him. Memories of dancing in Alastor’s living room (in their living room, it had been their living room back then) flickered behind his eyelids. Before he could stop himself, he felt his fingers tapping out the beat on his lap, the tension in his shoulders draining away. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to have that simplicity again – just him and Alastor dancing in their cabin to something silly and sweet, without any thought for tomorrow.

There was a faint crackle of static, and he opened his eyes to find Alastor smiling wistfully at him. “Everything all right?”

“I’m going to play this song whenever you are being a miserable curmudgeon, Vox, and force a smile back on your face.”

Vox returned his smile half-heartedly and leaned forward to grab another triplicate form off the desk. “Oh, yeah. I’m living the dream, Alastor.”

Alastor rolled his eyes good-humoredly before returning to his work. After taking another minute to study the Radio Demon, Vox nodded and did the same.

Notes:

CW: alcohol consumption, implied/referenced domestic violence (though nothing explicit), internalized victim-blaming.

Oh, hey. Mostly comfort in this chapter. 😇

Which means it's the calm before the storm. 😈

Chapter 37: tell him that you’re never gonna leave him

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

October 1962

Vox still wasn’t sure what had gotten into him the other day.

He’d long since moved past the need to fight and struggle when the time came for one of his operations, but something brittle fractured inside him when Doctor Bell came into the room and began to slide on his heavy rubber gloves. Maybe it was the heavier than usual scent of formaldehyde in the air or the way the doctor didn’t spare him a glance when he entered the laboratory as though Vox wasn’t even worth the acknowledgement. But, either way, when Doctor Bell turned towards the table, already expecting that Vox was waiting for him, he snapped.

He screamed and thrashed against Basil when the massive demon effortlessly lifted him from the ground. Kicked his feet out hard enough to land a blow to the doctor’s shoulder (not that it made any difference) and snapped his teeth at anything that came too close, scrambling his fingers against the restraints holding one arm to the table. Eventually, the doctor grew tired of his struggle and, before Vox knew what was happening, his free arm was wrenched down onto the table with a sickening snap. He fell limp after that and stared up at the ceiling until everything went dark.

That was a week ago. His arm was still in a bulky cast, and he was struggling to get through the official punishment that Doctor Bell had sentenced him with – two weeks without his radio.

“You must learn that there are consequences for your actions,” Doctor Bell told him when he woke up, only able to stare wordlessly up at the scientist. “I will not tolerate another outburst like we had yesterday, Vox. I’ll only take away your radio this time because you’ve been good lately, but don’t expect me to be as lenient if this happens again.”

Vox’s eyes grew wide with dismay, and he tried desperately to shake his head to no avail. Frustrated and afraid, he opened his mouth and forced air through his recently severed larynx. “Please.”

“Now then, Vox.” The doctor sighed and patted his shoulder with what Vox supposed was meant to be a comforting gesture. “You’ve been here far too long to behave like that and not expect a punishment. Besides, this will help reenforce the obedience that I expect from you. Do you understand?”

Yes. He did.

Vox endured the first week, spending much of the time unconscious anyways. But now, entering the second week, his resolve to quietly bear his punishment was rapidly crumbling and the probability of facing another punishment when he couldn’t tolerate much more of the deafening silence was growing with each passing minute.

There was little else for him to do, especially while he was still recovering from his most recent surgery. So, instead of listening to the sound of his own heart beating, he curled into a ball on his cot and tried to force himself to sleep. It would be better than continuing to indulge in the frankly pathetic tears that had been streaming from his eyes for the better part of an hour now. Besides, it had to be late by now – when Doctor Bell last left, he’d offered Vox a bored good night before locking the door behind him. He hadn’t been back yet with his morning coffee, so it must still be night.

He jumped a little when he heard the door to the laboratory open and rolled onto his other side to watch Basil make his way into the sterile room, flicking on one of the small lamps as he passed. The large demon had a clipboard and pencil and was clearly downstairs to work on some late-night inventory. He did that sometimes and, occasionally, Vox wondered if he did it because the laboratory was doctor-free at night.

He brushed the back of his hand over his screen, trying to conceal his tears – there were few things that made Doctor Bell more irritable than crying and after last week’s fiasco, he didn’t suppose Basil would be especially tolerant either. Even though he was crying on his cot during the quiet hours that were supposed to be his.

The other man glanced down at him and frowned.

“Are you crying?” Basil asked and Vox cringed back.

“No,” he lied, trying to control his voice. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Right.” Basil narrowed his eyes and set the clipboard down on the table. “How long has it been since your surgery?”

“A week.” Vox made sure to answer quickly and obediently, already starting to feel panic set in after lying to Basil’s face about not crying. Shit, he really hoped he wouldn’t be punished for that, too.

Basil watched him for another few seconds before nodding to himself. He made his way over to the high shelves in the corner of the laboratory – the ones Basil and Doctor Bell could effortlessly reach up to the top shelves, but Vox couldn’t. The ones where Doctor Bell had set his radio at the very top, knowing Vox wouldn’t dare try to climb up after it. He watched in disbelief as Basil scooped the little radio off the shelf and brought it over to Vox’s cot, bending down to hold it out to the television demon.

“A week is enough,” Basil said quietly. Vox took it wordlessly. “But if you play it and Doctor Bell hears, I’m not going to take the blame for giving it back to you. Understand?”

“Yeah.” Vox ran his fingers gratefully over the metal knobs and sniffed his tears back. “Thank you, Basil. I’m sorry.”

Basil hummed and went back to his chores while Vox tugged the blanket up over his head. He turned the volume dial almost all the way down before turning on the radio and tuning it to Alastor’s station. Beneath the sounds of Basil puttering through the laboratory, Alastor’s voice drifted up from the radio.

Vox closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the radio. Alastor was in a joking mood tonight and that was good – Vox could use a few jokes. After a few minutes, he wrapped his arms around the radio, clutching it close, and began to whisper into the speaker even though he knew it was stupid and pointless.

“Al? Can you please hear me, just this once?” he breathed against the metallic mesh. “Please? I just want to come home.”

Alastor, of course, did not hear him and continued with his show completely undisturbed by Vox’s pleas. Which was fine – it wasn’t like Vox expected to be heard anyways.

 

*

 

Present Day

Nearly a week later and nothing from the little Imp. No calls, texts, requests to meet. Nothing.

Eve ground her teeth in frustration – there wasn’t much she could do at this point. Or, rather, there wasn’t much she wanted to do. There was such a fine line to walk between making sure that he was adequately pressured into doing what she needed from him and making him run scared.

At least with the Radio Demon, he hadn’t had anyone stronger or more powerful to run to when she forced his hand. Had chosen to isolate himself, the arrogant little fool, and had tried to deal with her entirely on his own. Which, for the most part, worked out in her favor.

She turned to the Ever-Watchful, restless in her wait, and focused on her former thrall. He was growing too comfortable, too safe in his newly found freedom. Time to remind him that he may have slipped his lead, but she could snap another back around his neck if she so chose.

Perhaps a bit of entertainment while she waited?

It took a fair amount of power and magic to cast a glamour that would keep her from attracting any unwanted attention, but it was worth it. After all, what did it matter if she burned through a few souls to make sure that she could slip into Cannibal Town unnoticed and sit across the quaint café from her former thrall? She would be swimming in souls soon enough.

Alastor and his Overlord friend were gossiping together over coffee and assorted cakes. None of which Alastor touched, of course, finicky little eater that he was. Eve sighed and stirred her own coffee while she waited.

Not much had changed in Cannibal Town since the last time she had set foot within its borders. It was still hideously picturesque and charming – perhaps the fashions had shifted a little in the past two hundred years, but not much else had. The cannibals still had the same polite but vicious aura surrounding them. Eve could appreciate their commitment to remain unchanged, even if it was tiresome.

She waited patiently until Alastor’s companion left before tracing her finger delicately on the tabletop, quietly and effectively dampening his magic to the point of rendering it useless against her. Then, with a flick of her wrist, swept a temporary barrier over any Void entrances, barring any quick escape the Radio Demon might try to make. It wouldn’t last very long, but she didn’t need it to – she only needed a couple of minutes to test the waters and see if the arrogant fool was ready to be plucked back up again.

Alastor’s head cocked to the side, suddenly aware that his powers had been significantly diminished. His eyes moved carefully around the café. She waited patiently for him to notice her and was not disappointed as his ears fell back, just for a second, in sudden fear when they finally locked eyes.

Hello, Alastor.

Ah, she had rather missed the way he would cover his panic with his smile, never quite understanding that his expressive eyes always gave him away. This time, she noticed his hands clenched into fists on the tabletop as he began to stand. But no. She didn’t want him to leave before they had the chance to catch up.

With a flick of her wrist, she pinned him into his chair and smiled warmly.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? What do you say to a little stroll around the block?

Alastor’s eyes darted around the bustling room, though what he was looking for, she wasn’t entirely sure. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go and no one to run to. After a few seconds, his ears drooped preciously, and he gave her a tight, curt little nod. Excellent. She hadn’t usually minded too much when he was defiant in the past (beating him back into submission gave her something to do to pass the long years of captivity, after all), but time was short, and they had so much to discuss before she would need to make her exit.

She released him with a flick of her wrist and beckoned him over, watching him stiffly stand with amusement. His ears stayed back, though not quite pressed to his skull, as he approached and she stood with her usual grace. Well-trained pet that he was, he extended his arm to her, carefully avoiding her gaze. She smiled a little more widely.

“Such a gentleman, Alastor,” she cooed mockingly. She leaned down to whisper against his ear, relishing the slight shudder that appeared to work its way down his spine. “I can’t stay long, but I believe you know better than to try and fight?”

Alastor glanced up sharply. “Do I?”

She let her claws sink into the arm he had offered her and pulled him close. “You do. This spell might not last long but,” she twisted her wrist to drive her point home, “you know I don’t need much time to make you behave.”

Eve glanced down at the spot of blood that splashed on the floor, feeling the fight drain from his body. Good. She’d have his cooperation for a little while, at least. That was all she really needed anyways.

“Shall we?” He inclined his head towards the door. She nodded, letting him take the lead until they were outside of the café, strolling casually through the quaint town. The smell of blood and baked goods wafted through the air in a heady mixture and Eve gave the Overlord a sharp smile.

“It’s lovely to finally spend some quality time together again,” she said softly as they began to walk. Alastor hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t speak. That was all right – he’d never been able to keep his secrets for very long. Not with her, at least. He’d only managed to pull off his little trick at the Hotel because he’d found the smallest of windows to convince the King of Hell himself for help. Not that it mattered much now. She had most of what she wanted, and the rest was just at her fingertips. She nudged her shoulder against him amiably. “Isn’t it so nice to visit with an old friend, Alastor?”

“How is the Princess?” Alastor asked quietly, staring straight ahead. Ears attentive, shoulders back. Ah, so he figured he’d do a bit of recognizance while she had him in her clutches. “I assume that she is still alive.”

“You assume correctly.” No harm in giving him a little information that he had to know already. “I was honest when I said that I had no intention of hurting her. She does make an excellent vessel.”

“For Michael.” Eve hummed in agreement, grin sharpening when Alastor glanced up at her. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me how you managed to ensnare the Prince of Hell in your net.”

Clever little man. “Oh, how does any girl catch the eye of a prince? Good looks, charm, and the promise of more power.” She batted her eyes. “Why, little deer? Looking to ensnare your own prince?”

Alastor looked away. “Hardly.”

“No, I suppose not.” She glanced around the street as they strolled, enjoying the curious looks that the citizens of Cannibal Town shot their way. It was good to have eyes on her again, good to be in the spotlight instead of shunted aside – cold, alone, all but forgotten. Alastor’s expression was agitated but not nearly as distraught as she would have liked – she needed to work on that. She tapped one sharp claw against his wrist. “You’d prefer a man who earned his title, wouldn’t you?”

Alastor bristled instantly, his ears flicking as if to bat her words away. “Not at all.”

“Don’t be silly, Alastor. Do you think I can’t see how you look at him, now that you think you’re free of me? You’re pining, darling.” Eve chuckled. “Besides, I saw how you doted on him while he was out of his mind, and I see how you continue to bend over backwards for him.”

“How could you possibly see that?” he snapped, tensing once more under her hand. Oh, how charming – he honestly still thought that the wards and spells surrounding his picture box prevented her from looking in on them. Well, she might not be able to touch him or get to him directly, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t watch everything that went on in that wretched Tower of his.

“I have my ways, sweetheart. Oh, look.” To the left, she recognized the squat building that once again hosted Cannibal Town’s only pharmacy. It was in different hands, of course, but the storefront remained eerily the same. “Remember Bell’s Apothecary? It looks like they rebuilt the old storefront, though I suppose it must look quite different inside now than it once did. I wonder if they included the laboratory when it was rebuilt.”

“I can’t say that I’d know,” Alastor answered. “I confess I’m a bit put out that I didn’t have the opportunity to burn it down myself.”

“I have no doubt,” she teased once more. “Especially now that you know a little bit about what experiments dear Vox helped the good doctor with, hm? Tell me, Alastor – do you lay awake in your bed each night, wondering exactly how many times the doctor took that silly head right off his shoulders?”

Alastor’s jaw tightened. He was always so good at the banter, the push and pull of their conversations. So quick and clever and charming, always ready with a quick quip or a sharp word, in turn, and yet here he was – unable to form a decent retort. There was no hiding the way that his muscles tensed, and she dropped her hand to wrap her arm tenderly around his waist, pulling him close. Summoning a small piece of electronic equipment, she caught his hand and pressed the bit of glass and metal against his palm.

He blinked down at it in confusion. “What’s this?”

“Oh, darling Vox has been sending drones after us since the moment his little head cleared. Just thought you’d like to give a piece of one of them back to him and let him know just how close he gets without ever managing any actual progress,” she answered, and Alastor’s eyes bled black for a few moments before he managed to regain control of himself. She smirked. “Always two steps behind, isn’t he? With me, with you. It bothers him so much to know how he’s always running behind you, always in your shadow. Always thinking he’ll never be enough, never able to catch up. Do you think he ever will, Alastor?”

“I’m not discussing him with you,” the Radio Demon growled, glancing around as though looking for an escape. He wouldn’t find one – not until she hammered her point home.

“He does hurt so deliciously, doesn’t he?” she murmured, pointedly ignoring his comment and moving onto another topic before he could catch his bearings. She did so enjoy the way her former thrall’s ears finally pinned to his skull. “Of course, you haven’t had the privilege of watching him hurt nearly as much as I have. I can tell you – it’s never a dull moment with him. Who knew digital tears were even more darling than organic ones? It’s so funny, my dear. He designed that head of his – you’d think he likes to be hurt with how precious his face looks every time he cries. I know I’ve had a thought or two about having him myself, just to see that emotive face up close when he breaks.” She sighed dreamily. “Do you think he made his face like that on purpose so everyone would enjoy hurting him even more?”

“No,” Alastor said quietly.

“Valentino certainly does seem to enjoy it, you know. Loves to hurt him just to see those pretty tears.” She continued their stroll, now nearly pulling Alastor along beside her. “But, of course, you know about that. You know what that moth does to him, don’t you? Holds him down and fucks him until he screams and–”

“Don’t.”

“Ah, but fuck is such a gentle word for it, isn’t it?” she purred. “Alastor, you know that buffoon beats and rapes your love, don’t you? Leaves him bloody and broken and so sad. I wonder if he thinks about you any time Valentino has him like that - asks himself if you’ll ever want to touch him again, especially when he doesn’t fight back. When he just lets it happen and doesn’t even try to stop it. What do you think, Alastor – can you imagine yourself touching such a filthy creature, knowing whose hands and mouth were all over him? Inside him?”

“Stop,” the Radio Demon begged, desperation bleeding into his voice. A sharp hiss of static stung the air. Excellent. They were certainly on the right track now. She moved her hand down to pat his hip comfortingly, pressing just a little harder when he flinched. “Stop it.”

“Oh, Alastor. You just left him there. Abandoned him all over again, didn’t you? Left him all alone to defend himself after he’s already proven how weak he is.” Alastor stared down at the ground, stumbling beside her like he could barely keep his feet beneath him. Such good progress and she hadn’t even told him anything she was certain he didn’t already know. Maybe a surprise or two would help. “But that’s nothing, darling, compared to what the good doctor did to him for years. Shall I tell you everything and leave nothing more to the imagination?”

Alastor shook his head. “No.”

Eve chuckled. Oh, he was delightful like this! All these years and she’d never been able to tell him about his picture box’s suffering. What a shame – it was such a quick and efficient way to break his resolve. She smiled and nudged her shoulder against him affectionately. Alastor was putty in her hands.

“Well, those aren’t my secrets to share, are they?” She smirked. “But I will tell you one or two, since we’re having such a nice time together. He had this little radio in the laboratory – that idiot Basil gave it to him.” She shook her head quickly, refusing to let the memory of that fool taint her special time with Alastor. “Sometimes, late at night, he’d curl up on that cute little cot of his and listen to your show under the blanket. As though nobody could hear him if he had it pulled over his head – isn’t that a sweet image? You remember how small he was when he fell, don’t you? He was so precious with his little radio under his little blanket.”

“Please,” Alastor pleaded. “What do you want from me?”

“And that’s not all,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Sometimes, when he’d had a really hard time, just a truly terrible day, he’d lay next to that little radio for hours and beg for you to come and rescue him.” Oh, the soft noise that fell from the Overlord’s lips was delicious. “He’d close his eyes and hold that little radio like it was something sacred. Sometimes, I think he was praying to you, Alastor. Like you were a god who would come in to save him, if only he found the right way to worship. But he must not have done it right, hm? You never did come for him.”

She came to a stop, satisfied by the way he was shaking beneath her hands. Slowly, she turned to face him and caught his chin in a sharp clawed hand, tilting his head back.

“You could save him this time, if you wanted.”

Alastor tried to jerk his face away, but she didn’t let go. “What are you talking about?”

“Give me your soul, darling,” she whispered, relishing the renewed horror in his eyes. “Give me your soul and I swear that you can keep him alive this time.”

“No,” he answered weakly.

“Yes.” She tilted his head slightly to one side, softening her gaze with faux sympathy. “I can change the machine. Change the spells this time so that he won’t need to die. I don’t need nearly as much power to finish bringing the others out of the Void – I could supplement his energy with other Sinners and return him to you when I’m done. The two of you can run off together in the time that you have left and you can make him yours once more, Alastor. Would you like that?”

“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “No.”

“Or you can refuse me, and I will make sure that the suffering he endured before will pale in comparison with what is to come.” She leaned forward so that her lips brushed against his ear. “Do you think you’ve seen him broken, Alastor? Do you think I couldn’t bring him even lower – a pathetic, mewling little thing, begging for death?”

“I… I…” His breathing was picking up by the second and, faintly, she could feel his magic beginning to return. Time was up, she supposed. She dug her nails into his face and dragged him close, breathing in the scent of his terror.

“Well, Alastor? What wouldn’t you do for your picture box?”

 

*

 

Vox felt Alastor well before he appeared in the Penthouse.

He hadn’t realized that Alastor’s frequency had gone dark shortly beforehand, more wrapped up in his own thoughts as he went through the motions of a normal afternoon. Well, a normal afternoon that included shutting himself up in his suite for an hour mid-afternoon to catch his breath and get his head back together.

Suddenly, though, he felt a painfully sharp burst of static shoot through their frequency and was on his feet before he knew exactly what he was doing. He flung open the door and ran out into the living room just in time to watch the shadows gather in the shape of the Radio Demon.

“Alastor?” he asked, throat dry. “What’s going on?”

Alastor stared back at him with wide, haunted eyes, struck speechless. It took him entirely too long to realize that Alastor was trembling and, abruptly, the panic that was threatening to overtake him stuttered to a halt at the sight of the great and mighty Radio Demon rendered silent with terror. He watched in silence as Alastor threaded the fingers of one hand into his hair while the other wrapped around his middle. Vox could hear the tension as the strands were pulled taut and slowly began to snap.

“Al?” he tried again and this time Alastor flinched a little, as if stung. Shit. Vox started to step forward then froze at the way Alastor shook his head suddenly.

“I promised to tell you everything,” he whispered finally. His stare was glassy with terror, and he wouldn’t quite make eye contact with Vox, staring instead at the tie around the television demon’s throat. Vox closed the space between them and tentatively, slowly, reached out. “Vox… she found me.”

Oh.

No.

Vox wrapped his hand around Alastor’s elbow and closed his eyes, using the warmth of the other man’s arm to anchor himself before he opened his mouth. He already knew the answer, of course, but the question slipped from his lips anyways. “Who?”

“Eve.”

Of course. Who else could it possibly be? Fuck, the air in the room felt hot and uncomfortable. Still, he forced out a slow breath and opened his eyes to focus on Alastor instead of the rapid thrumming of his heart. The older Overlord glanced around as though speaking her name would summon her into the room with them.

“I thought my wards would be enough, but… Vox, she came right up to me in the café, and I couldn’t stop her–” Alastor swallowed roughly before reaching up to press his palm flat against Vox’s chest. “But you’re still safe. Aren’t you?”

Vox nodded slowly, even as he struggled to keep himself calm. “I am.” He blinked down at Alastor’s hand on his chest, all but clinging to the fabric of his shirt. “Are you? Safe, I mean. Did she hurt you?”

Alastor blinked rapidly and looked up at him, stunned. “What?”

“Did she hurt you, Alastor?” Vox looked over the other man, noticing blood dripping from his sleeve. After a closer look, he realized that the Radio Demon had something clenched in his fist, blood trickling through his fingers. “What… what’s in your hand?”

Alastor raised his hand and held it out to Vox, slowly uncurling his fingers. Vox recognized the blue V logo on the metal immediately. Ah. So, that’s where all the drones had gone. He supposed it made sense that she had destroyed everything single one of them without him ever putting two and two together. Of course.

It took him a moment before he was able to look back up at the other Overlord’s face.

“She wanted me to give it back to you,” the older man said dully. Vox could see where the metal had sliced into Alastor’s fingers, angry gashes in the slender digits. He winced a little, debating whether he should try to patch Alastor up or just let them heal on their own. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it back.”

“It’s fine,” Vox lied. No sense in letting on that seeing that crushed piece of his own technology made him want to scream and rage until he’d burned half of Pentagram City to the ground. No sense in letting Alastor see how close to losing control he was – it’d only push the Radio Demon over the edge and then where would they be? “I don’t care about that. Did she do anything to you?”

Alastor stared at him for a long moment before his gaze skittered away. To Vox’s horror, the older man shrank back just a little, his ears flattening against his skull. The bit of drone in his hand clattered noisily to the floor and Alastor started to shake his head. No. Vox’s mouth twisted into a grimace. No, he wouldn’t. “She offered me a deal.”

“No.”

“She did, Vox.” Alastor met his gaze once more, a burst of hysterical laughter bubbling from his lips. The heat of the room began to bleed away, and Vox felt a chill run up his spine. “She offered me a deal right in the middle of Cannibal Town.”

“What did you do?” Vox gasped, pulling away from the Radio Demon and stumbling back a step. Alastor only shook his head harder, clapping his hand over his mouth. “Alastor, what the fuck did you do this time?”

“Nothing!”

Before Vox could do anything, Alastor pitched forward and wrapped his arms around Vox’s neck, burying his face in the crook of the Media Overlord’s neck. He couldn’t quite stop the way his breath caught in his throat and nearly zapped himself into the electrical field to run – then he heard the erratic, jarring screech of a radio struggling to tune itself. After a moment of hesitation, Vox returned the embrace, pulling Alastor close.

“Al?”

“I didn’t take it. I didn’t even entertain it. I’d kill myself before I let her use me to hurt you again.” Alastor’s breath was warm on his neck and Vox closed his eyes. His hands were shaking, but that was the least of his worries – his knees felt suspiciously close to buckling and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to keep them upright if Alastor kept heaping on the revelations. “I’ll swear on anything you want. Make you any deal you want so that you know I’m not lying.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.” Alastor dug his claws into Vox’s shirt. “Anything.”

Vox could feel Alastor’s magic begin to rise between them, murky and heavy in the air, and tugged Alastor in closer. “No deals. Just… how did you get away from her?”

“The second her spell faded, I ran,” Alastor said, voice still sharp. Agitated. As though he was a hair’s breadth away from snapping completely. “Threw myself straight into the Void and came to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes, idiot box, to you,” Alastor snarled, and Vox felt the echo of Alastor’s hysterical laughter in his own throat. He clenched his claws into the back of Alastor’s coat to stop himself from bursting out into laughter that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to break. “Did you think I stopped off for a quick errand or two after that bitch tried to take my soul? Perhaps a quick look around the grocer’s for tonight’s dinner or–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Vox interrupted, torn between holding Alastor tighter and pushing him away to see his face. After a moment, he clutched Alastor closer to him, very aware that his trembling hadn’t stopped. “She tried to take your soul?”

“That’s what I said!”

They stood in silence for a minute before Alastor sagged against him and, to Vox’s astonishment, whimpered quietly. Shit. Okay, this was so fucked up, but he could handle this. He took a deep breath. Then another.

Just like everything else – he could handle this.

“I’m locking everything down,” he said quietly. A quick scan confirmed that they were the only two in the penthouse. Valentino was downstairs in his studio and Velvette was fiddling with what looked like an oversized needle in hers. “And calling the King.”

Alastor groaned, pressing himself close, and Vox nearly laughed once more. “Must you?”

“Yeah, I think I must. Come on,” he urged, pulling away from the Radio Demon just enough to wrap his arm around the other man’s waist and began to guide back him towards his own suite. He initiated the emergency lockdown protocol, sending direct messages to Valentino and Velvette to instruct them to get to one of the lockdown spaces in the Tower. Then he sent a text directly to the King of Hell, the Fallen Angel himself. “Let’s get you comfortable before he gets here, okay?”

Alastor nodded and let Vox take more of his weight, his feet stumbling against the floor as Vox led him into his suite and back to the bedroom. Carefully, he made sure to scan the penthouse one more time to make sure that they were truly alone and everything was locked down, before settling Alastor on the bed. It was more than a little strange to have their positions reversed for the first time in decades, but Vox climbed up beside the older man without comment and let Alastor curl against him, head resting against his shoulder. A sharp clawed hand splayed over his chest and Vox realized that Alastor was feeling his heart beating beneath his palm.

“She told me about the radio,” Alastor murmured after a long silence. Vox blinked.

“What radio?”

“The radio that Basil gave you.” Vox tensed beneath Alastor’s hand. “I already knew about it, of course, but I didn’t realize that you listened to it so much. She… she told me that you used to talk to it sometimes?”

“I…” Vox closed his eyes. Shit. He hadn’t ever wanted to tell Alastor any of this, but if they were going down the whole “no secrets” path, he supposed this was one that he could share. It would only cost him a bit of his dignity, so nothing he wasn’t used to losing anyways. “Yeah, sometimes… well… a lot of times. When things were bad.”

“I’m so sorry.” Alastor’s fingers clenched in his Vox’s shirt. “I would’ve… I wouldn’t have left you there if I had known.”

“How could you have known?” Vox shook his head, throat tightening. “Anyways… it’s fine. It’s in the past. No sense in dwelling on it.”

He felt Alastor shift his weight and catch either side of his head with sharp clawed hands, pulling his head to face the Radio Demon. Vox blinked his eyes open, faintly startled when he realized how close Alastor was. He felt his breath quicken.

“I’m not going to leave you alone like that ever again,” Alastor whispered. “I promise. You’re never going to go through anything like that so long as I have breath in my body.”

Vox laughed dully. “You can’t promise that.”

“Vox, I…”

“Okay, I know you didn’t call me over here for this.” Vox jumped, eyes darting to the doorway where Lucifer stood, leaning on his cane with a thoroughly irritated expression on his face. Static crackled menacingly in the air and the King of Hell rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. What happened this time?”

“Eve tried to take Alastor’s soul,” Vox said bluntly, too tired to pussyfoot around the problem at hand. Lucifer’s eyes took on an infernal glow that made the Overlord’s gaze drop away. Slowly, two dainty footsteps approached the bed, and Vox could feel Alastor shift in his arms as the shadows around them darkened.

“Don’t fuck with me right now,” Lucifer snapped, and Vox winced as the shadows were immediately banished with a blaze of angelic light. Every atom in his body wanted to flinch away in terror, but he stayed still, only daring to clutch Alastor a little closer. After a few seconds, when Lucifer didn’t obliterate Alastor (Vox was certain it would be purely out of spite at this point), he hesitantly looked back up. Lucifer scowled darkly at the Radio Demon. “Bellhop, you had best tell me everything.”

“Wait,” Alastor said, holding up a hand and Vox was fucking stunned when Lucifer did. “You should summon the Queen, too. She’ll be able to confirm that Eve doesn’t have me on a chain again.” He glanced at the other Overlord apprehensively. “You’ll know for sure that I’m telling the truth.”

Vox looked away quickly, startled despite himself – Alastor had promised no more lying, no more secrets. Very much without his permission, he felt his screen start to heat up just a little as the Radio Demon’s gesture to ensure Vox knew he was keeping his promise made his heart give a couple extra hard pulses in his chest. Some microscopically small piece inside him began to glow with the knowledge of it and his stomach twisted.

Vox closed his eyes.

Oh, fuck.

Notes:

CW: major character injuries, punishments, implied/referenced domestic violence, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced torture, heavy victim-blaming, panic attacks.

Eve is back and she is vicious in this chapter - very little actual physical harm comes to either Vox or Alastor, but Eve does heap a bunch of psychological abuse onto Alastor.

Also, behold - Lucifer's really excellent timing! 😄

Chapter 38: hit that switch, make it hotter

Notes:

Content warnings at the end.

Present Day

“Do it again.”

Vaggie lowered her spear, scowl deepening. “You’re bleeding.”

“No shit,” Velvette sneered and brushed her hand over her nose. Of course, she was fucking bleeding – this dumb fucking angel had just elbowed her in the face. Out of fucking nowhere, she might add. If Velvette wasn’t so determined to get herself as battle ready as possible, she might’ve slammed the bitch down on the ground and did a little bit of damage herself. Bloodied the little bitch up so that she also felt the dull throb of a possibly broken nose on her own face. But, since she needed to play nice…

“You hit me in the fucking face.” She glanced down at the blood on her palm then brushed it impatiently against her hip. “You’re not supposed to hit me in the fucking face.”

“You’re right, I’m not. Because you’re supposed to be blocking me from doing that,” Vaggie snapped back. She put her hand on her hip, wings flaring minutely behind her. At the bar, Velvette could see Val’s favorite whore giggle behind his hand with the bartender whose mouth was also quirked into an amused smile. “Not leaving your face wide open for anyone to hit you.”

Velvette’s magic curled around her fingers ominously. “I did not leave my face wide open.”

“Then explain how the fuck you have a broken nose right now.”

“Now, now, ladies.” Velvette cast an irritated look at where Alastor was standing beside Vox, leaning on his cane with his hip cocked to the side in the cuntiest position in existence. Looking at him now, she would never have guessed that he was the same man who had just a couple of days ago sat in Vee Tower, looking lost and stunned silent – guess arrogant assholes recovered from trauma faster than everybody else. Vox’s eyes darted up from his laptop for a moment, focused entirely on Alastor, before he shifted his weight and returned to his work. Whatever fucking work he was doing while Velvette was letting one of these losers kick her ass. “We’re all here to help you train, not to watch you bicker like an old married couple.”

“Fuck you, Alastor,” Vaggie and Velvette growled in unison. Velvette heard the soft huff of laughter that their shared animosity for the Radio Demon forced out of Vox and glared at him out of pure reflex. Sensing her gaze, he glanced back up just long enough to wink at her. Like an asshole.

He was sitting apart from everyone but Alastor, ostensibly to work but Velvette suspected it had more to do with his discomfort around the others than anything else. Oh, he hid it well enough – his expression as bright and welcoming as ever, always the showman – but she could see the tension in his shoulders and the way his brow furrowed almost microscopically whenever anyone’s attention lingered on him for too long.

Which she didn’t blame him for – Eve had just popped back into everyone’s lives again like the world’s most malignant STD. After Vox allowed them back up into the penthouse and assured them that he was only going to the Hotel to help a visibly shaken Radio Demon settle back into his own rooms, Valentino had waited just long enough for the others to leave before tearing apart the new furniture in the common area. Velvette sat down heavily at the kitchen island while he had his tantrum and sipped a glass of wine until her nerves were settled.

Shit, the dust had barely had time to settle, too. Vox was still looking over his shoulder every five fucking seconds, it seemed, and his nightmares were absolutely raging again. They had been since Valentino and his latest fuckery, but the past two nights had been especially brutal. And now Velvette was managing them, opting just to spend the night in his bed instead of her own to save time.

She was going to use her magic to pin that bitch down and use her for a pincushion. Stab her for every single time she’d watched Vox scream himself awake and Velvette had to hold him tightly until the screaming stopped.

And, well, that mindset was how she found herself with a rapier in one hand, her magic tingling against her other palm, and a bloodied nose in between. It was strangely nostalgic to feel the weight of the slender sword in her hand again, down to the blood smeared over her lips and chin. She imagined she looked quite mad and vicious – which was exactly how she how wanted to meet Eve the next time.

Mad and vicious.

Vaggie sighed and rubbed her finger between her eyes. “Fine. Another round.” She tilted her head to the side, rolling out the tension, before adjusting her spear. “This time, you have to block me before I can elbow you in the face.”

“Worry about your own fucking face,” Velvette grumbled. Then nodded. Ugh. It sucked that she needed one of the Hotel do-gooders to help her, but… she glanced at Vox, focused once more on his laptop. His eyes darting over the screen while his fingers typed frenetically over the keyboard.

It was worth it.

*

After Eve’s open confrontation with Alastor, there were only a few “safe” places left in Hell for Vox, and he could slowly feel her noose tightening around his neck. Just like before, the creeping sense of dread was at his periphery – at least this time he knew what to look for. Not that it quieted the growing fear that he was being hunted once again, but taking away the unknown of the entity that was stalking him made things just a little easier to handle.

He sat very still amongst the rows of monitors, and keyboards, and computers, and servers that were slowly but surely leaching increasingly more energy from Vee Tower as he obsessively ran through every second of footage he could find that might give him some kind of clue as to where she was. If she was bold enough to come directly into Cannibal Town to scoop Alastor out from under Rosie’s nose, even with the glamour that Lucifer was quick to point out, she must’ve been bold enough to venture out into the city other times as well, right?

Her visit had been a few days ago, and Vox was still trying to figure out whether he was terrified of what was coming down the pipeline or if he was boiling with rage that she would be so insidious as to approach Alastor like that and pour her filth and poison into his ears until he was almost broken. Though… probably both. After he told the King and Queen what had happened, he fell silent, staring down at the dining room table with wide, unseeing eyes. Not that he gave them any details about what they had discussed but, given the haunted glances he periodically shot in Vox’s direction, he had a few guesses.

But, for the first time in a long time, Alastor needed him. And even though he knew it was fucked up and even though he knew he was going to pay a price with Val later (hopefully limited to some mild property damage and tantrums, but he had to be fucking wary again, didn’t he?), he offered to come back to the Hotel with Alastor and spent the evening trying to relieve some of the pain behind the Radio Demon’s eyes. Music helped and so did Vox’s attempt to cook, especially when Alastor was forced out of his stupor to put out a small fire Vox inadvertently set in the Hotel kitchen. Eventually, they ended up lounging in Alastor’s suite of rooms, extending back out into the extra-dimensional bayou that he had, of course, created.

Vox stared into the Earthly night sky and swirled his scotch around in his glass. “Do you miss it?”

Alastor opened his eyes, more fully present than he’d been in hours. “Miss what?”

“Earth. Home,” Vox said and took a sip from his glass. The scotch slipped down the back of his throat, smooth and rich, and fuck it if Alastor didn’t have some of the best alcohol available. He wondered briefly whether Alastor knew where it came from or if Husk quietly kept him well-stocked – it seemed like something the former Overlord would do. If for no other reason than to keep Alastor off his back and out of his business as much as possible. “I miss it.”

“I miss specific things, specific people, but not Earth itself so very much,” Alastor answered quietly. “I much prefer the power I have down here.”

Vox hummed thoughtfully. “I miss my head,” he said with a chuckle and rapped his knuckles on the side of his head. “I miss having hair. You’re lucky, you know. You’re almost human looking sometimes – it’s nice that you still have hair. Every month, my wife would…”

He trailed off. They didn’t talk about their families much – never had. Alastor shifted in his seat. “Go on.”

“She’d trim our hair,” he said, looking out into the bayou instead of at Alastor. “Me and the kids. She learned how to do it during the war from one of the old barbers who stayed behind. Said it saved money to do it at home, and she did it so well that I never questioned her. Besides, it’s nice. Having someone comb their fingers through your hair.” He glanced at Alastor who stared keenly back at him. “I miss it sometimes.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman.”

Vox smiled. “She was. She’s definitely not down here with us, I can tell you that. Of course, I think she’s probably pissed that I’m not up there with her, but what can you do?”

“What indeed.”

They sat in silence for a long time before Vox glanced over at Alastor, a frown on his face.

“What else did she say to you?” Alastor’s brows furrowed and he looked away, into the bayou. Distantly, fireflies sparkled over the cool water and Vox could swear he heard the gentle chirping of crickets. When Alastor didn’t respond immediately, Vox took a deep breath. “That pleasant, huh?”

“I don’t want to upset you,” Alastor replied quietly. “If it was that terrible to hear her say those things, I can’t imagine how it must’ve been to live through them.”

“I didn’t, did I?” Vox said, trying to inject a bit of humor. “Because I’m already dead.”

“Vox.”

“Alastor. Please.” He turned back to the Radio Demon, not sure why he was pushing to know. Maybe just to keep tabs on what precisely Alastor knew – he had thought that Alastor knew everything already (he’d time-traveled through Vox’s entire fucking existence, after all) but had begun to realize that he maybe he hadn’t seen everything. “What did she tell you to fuck with your head like that?”

“She… told me about the radio.” Vox nodded. Alastor had already mentioned that, mentioned talking to the radio, and that was all right. Embarrassing, maybe, but she must not have delved into the more humiliating aspects of that since Alastor only mentioned the talking (not the crying, or the pleading, or the begging to come home, thank fuck for that). Alastor got to his feet and began to pace. The knot in Vox’s stomach tightened.

“What else?”

“I…” Alastor glanced at him, ears drooping a little. “Vox. Can you… the other night. Why…?” Vox swallowed and looked back out into the bayou. “Why were you unhappy?”

Fuck. Fuck her. How the fuck did she know? Vox wanted to tear her fucking head from her fucking body and set her on fire. Burn her through with his electricity and use his hypnosis to make her stay awake through it all.

“I don’t have enough to be unhappy about?” he asked tightly. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut – he had such a problem with that. “I just was.”

“She… reminded me that your partner is… unkind to you.” Vox gritted his teeth together in frustration. Fuck. “She reminded me what he had done before, and I knew.” Vox’s hand drifted up to his head, the sharp tips of his claws pressing against the plastic casing. He managed to stop himself from dragging his hand down, but only just.

“You don’t know shit.”

“Vox…”

“Shut up.” He jerked his chin up a little. “Just shut the fuck up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I was there. At the party. Do you remember?” Vox drew in a sharp breath. “I saw what he did to you, and I heard what he said. I’ve known for a long time, but you two seemed so content with one another this time around... and I promised myself not to interfere and stop trying to control you and…” Alastor approached his chair and crouched down in front of him, raising a hand like he wanted nothing more in the entire world than to take Vox’s hand in his own. Vox refused to look away from the bayou. “Vox… did he do that to you again the other night?”

“I… no. No, he didn’t… no. I don’t want to talk about it.” Vox’s voice was weak, his hands were starting to sweat, and he raised his glass to his lips. Nearly spilled the scotch down the front of his sweater trying to keep his hand steady. His eyes finally met Alastor’s. “Please? I… I don’t…”

Alastor took his hand. “We don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to, but if you want me to–”

“Don’t touch him.” Vox cut him off quickly, finding a little more strength to infuse in his voice. “Don’t try and get revenge for me. I don’t want it. I don’t want you to hurt him or lay a finger on him.” He studied Alastor’s face. “Or use any of your fucking magic or anything. Understand? I still… I fucking love him, even if he is a massive fucking dick sometimes.”

Alastor’s fingers tightened around his own. “I understand.”

“Okay.” Vox threw back the last of his drink and looked back down into the other Overlord’s eyes. Suddenly, the twisted knot inside started to unravel and he gasped, trying to hold himself together (fuck, he didn’t have the fucking luxury for another breakdown, not when Eve was so fucking close, he could feel her fucking breathing down the back of his neck). “It wasn’t his fault. I thought… I thought I was ready…”

Before he could stop himself, the hot flash of tears began to streak down his face. His glass was plucked from his hand before he could fully comprehend what was happening and set down on the table beside him. Alastor rose to his feet, tugging on Vox’s hand as he stood. Like Alastor’s obedient fucking dog, he followed as a miserable sob tore out of his throat.

“Can I hold you?” Alastor asked softly. All he could manage was a nod before Vox was pulled into the Radio Demon’s tight embrace. And, once again, he found himself breaking down in Alastor’s arms, though it felt… different this time. Somehow.

“I shouldn’t have tried,” he wept, clinging to Alastor as the floodgates opened once again. “I… I asked him to stop; I begged him to stop… but I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have put him in that position to start.” He pressed his hand to his face. “Fuck! It’s my fucking fault, isn’t it? I fucked it all up.”

“You didn’t,” Alastor whispered gently. “Darling, you didn’t.”

Vox shook his head. “But I did. If I had just said no to… to start… I could’ve just gone to bed and he would’ve gone to bed… or fucked one of his whores, who the fuck knows.” He drew in a few deep breaths to calm himself and pulled away, pretending not to notice the pain in Alastor’s eyes. “I feel like an idiot, Alastor. I only seem to see it after the fact. You know? And I… I can fucking recognize patterns just fine with everyone except him – then I’m a fucking idiot who never remembers when to keep my fucking mouth shut or when not to try and fuck someone when I can barely get fucking hard.”

“It still wasn’t your fault.”

“You weren’t there.”

“It still wasn’t your fault,” Alastor repeated. Vox wiped the tears from his screen with the back of his hand and shrugged.  He didn’t want to argue.

“Okay.” He shrugged and pulled his hand away. “Whatever. Let’s just drop it.”

“Of course.” Alastor studied him closely and Vox dropped his gaze to the floor. “What do you say we go down to the bar in a few minutes and force Husk to make us the most complicated, time-consuming cocktails known to man and demon kind?”

“What would be the point of that?” he asked quietly. Alastor fingers hooked beneath his screen and tilted it up so that he had to make eye contact.

“Why, purely for entertainment purposes.” Alastor’s smile brightened (falsely, shit, had he ever seen a smile so fake in his life?) and he cocked his head, letting his big, fluffy ears flop to the side. “We can drink and watch Husk’s murderous rage grow with each passing second. We could take bets on when he’ll snap and start smashing things.” He shifted his hand to pat the side of Vox’s head. “That sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Husk’s always a delightful diversion when he’s ready to kill me.”

Vox smiled wanly. “You’re a sadist.”

“So are you.”

Well. Sometimes, yes.

“One of these days, I hope he does murder you,” he replied, and Alastor’s smile looked just a little more genuine. “I really do.”

“You know, I was very careful about the murder clause in Husk’s contract – I only specified that he couldn’t permanently kill me with angelic steel or the like.” Alastor shrugged. “I wonder if he hasn’t figured it out yet or if he’s just saving it up for something truly spectacular.”

“Well… you do deserve the spectacular.” Vox watched Alastor for a moment before letting out a soft sound of surprise when Alastor caught him in another hug. His arms were warm and strong, and Vox closed his eyes, a sense of relief washing over him to have finally told his old friend (his current friend… something else?) after all these years. He half-expected a kiss before Alastor pulled back, holding him at arm’s length. “Alastor?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I…” He hesitated, not sure what he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Alastor stared at him expectantly and Vox forced a weak smile onto his face. “Thanks, I guess.”

Alastor had only given him a squeeze before shooing him into the bathroom to clean himself up and Vox had gone without an argument. No fucking way was he going to sit at Husk’s bar for the foreseeable future with a streaked screen, letting everyone know that he’d just had another nervous breakdown.

They’d insist on keeping a fainting couch and the smelling salts handy, just in case.

That was, of course, a couple of days ago. Today, after spending the afternoon watching Velvette channel her inner swordswoman (and, uh, what the fuck?), he flicked through data feeds and security footage, feeling the phantom touch of her fingers against his neck. He could feel himself wearing down – he wasn’t going to be able to keep this up for too much longer before his body forced itself into a regenerative shut-down.

But all he needed was a little bit more time and maybe his brain would be satisfied with the effort he’d already put in and let him think about something besides hunting down Eve. Just another minute would be all right. Probably. That’s all he’d give himself until he gave up for the night.

Then, to his horror, he found something.

He isolated the video feed and tossed it up onto the biggest screen he had, scrubbing the resolution clean until he had a crystal-clear picture. The timestamp told him that it was only the night before Eve’s initial attack. As he watched, she strolled out of the penthouse, wearing Velvette’s body. She glanced up at the camera, like she was expecting someone to eventually find this footage and winked cheekily.

Vox watched as she stepped into the elevator and switched feeds to follow her. She didn’t do anything in the elevator – just stood passively and occasionally examined her nails until she reached the floor that housed Valentino’s studio. Once more, he switched feeds and watched her approach Angel Dust. Though what the fuck she’d want with him, Vox certainly didn’t know. She beckoned for him to follow, which he did with a roll of his eyes, and led him into one of the closet sized storage rooms. Closed the door tight behind them.

The footage was a little harder to see now since neither of them had turned on a light – briefly, Vox wondered if Angel thought maybe she was trying to get him to fuck her. Stranger things happened in Hell, he supposed.

But no.

Eerily reminiscent of the way Alastor disrupted video footage, the camera began to glitch. Not enough so that he couldn’t fucking see what she was doing, but enough to let him know that whatever she was about to do would be terrible. He was right, of course – she crooked her finger at Angel until he bent down then pressed a kiss to his mouth. Vox watched in horror as a thick purple cloud stole up around them, blocking them from view for a few seconds, before he heard the thump of a body hit the ground.

He watched the cloud dissolve almost as quickly as it had appeared. Angel Dust stared down at Velvette’s limp body for a moment before scooping her up and shuffling her behind a stack of costumes, making sure to pile more on top of her before leaving the storage closet. He quickly locked it behind himself and looked up into the camera with Void-dark eyes. Vox’s breath hitched when Eve took a moment to wink once more. He was supposed to have died that night (he had died) – who the fuck was she winking at?

Stomach sinking, he followed Angel as he left the Tower in one of the company cars and made his way to the Hotel. Good thing Vox had his own technology lining the streets of Pentagram City, right? So, he could get a crystal-clear picture of whatever the fuck Eve was going to do with Angel Dust’s body. He rubbed his hands together, trying to force himself not to twist his claws into the soft flesh of his palms and knowing he was about to fail. His eyes flicked down to one of the other monitors and he switched into the cameras within the hotel. It was two o’clock in the morning and the building was dark while most of its inhabitants slept quietly through the night.

They weren’t as clear as the others because they weren’t his – he’d figured it was out of spite and a general distrust of him that Alastor had refused to let any of his CCTV technology into the hotel. But now that he knew Alastor was trying to do Eve’s bidding without anyone (including Vox) knowing, it made him all the sadder to try to follow Angel’s movements through the old, glitchy cameras that he could find in the lobby. Angel pulled out his phone and purposefully propped it up to give Vox a clear view – and because he was an idiot, Vox switched into the phone’s feed and watched while Angel carefully dragged out a ladder. He propped it against the wall (fuck, Vox’s curiosity was starting to override his sense of dread and that was saying something).

And then he began to scratch sigils and runes into the dark wood along the top of the lobby, near the ceiling.

“Oh,” Vox breathed, slumping back in the chair. He hadn’t even thought about Angel – hadn’t even considered that she would be able to possess anyone she felt like, especially since she had made her way in the Hellish realm once more. Fuck, though. If she could possess Angel so easily, what would stop her from possessing anyone else around Vox? Any of his assistants could be possessed at any time, couldn’t they? Val? Dot?

He couldn’t fucking trust anyone.

Vox covered his face with his hand and turned off the feed. He’d see enough. He needed to focus on not having a fucking panic attack now. Fuck, his heart felt like it was going to pound straight out of his chest.

Alastor.

He could call Alastor. Yes. He would call Alastor. That would help.

[You around?] He asked quietly, almost afraid that she would be able to hear him. A soft crackle of static played over their frequency, a radio tuning itself before Alastor’s voice greeted him. Vox sagged against his chair with relief.

[Of course.]

[I… I need you to come to the Tower. Please.] He closed his eyes and rested his hand over his heart, trying to calm its rapid beating. [I need you… I… there’s something you need to see.]

[I’m coming right now. Vox?]

[Yeah?]

[Should I have the King accompany me?]

Vox shook his head. [Later. Please? I just… I need…]

When Alastor didn’t respond, he felt his breath catch in his throat, a heavy lump threatening to choke him again. This was shit. This was such fucking shit. Slowly, an oppressive layer of ozone began to build in the room and Vox felt electricity threaten to spark around him – he wondered if he could burn down the entire Tower if he really let himself slip, just went ahead and–

“Vox?”

He turned and lowered his hand, staring at Alastor in surprise. “You… you’re here.”

“I’m here.” He walked up to Vox and settled a firm hand on his shoulder. Grounding him. Vox shut his eyes gratefully for a few seconds. “Show me.”

Okay. Yeah, it’d be easier to watch if he had Alastor watching by his side. Vox glanced up at Alastor.

“I figured out how she got those runes in the Hotel before her ritual.”

*

She was walking into a trap.

Obviously.

She wasn’t a fool – she knew once the little Imp hadn’t met her deadline that he wasn’t going to work with her without some significant persuasion. That didn’t bother her so much. She’d never shied away from using her power to bring others in line, force them to do her bidding. Pain was a universal language.

She had hoped, however, that she might have just one task go easily for them. Ah, well.

Instead of finding the little Imp waiting for her at their agreed meeting point alone, he stood slightly behind Lucifer himself. Arms folded over his chest like she had somehow earned his disapproval. She shook her head with a soft laugh and shrugged.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d rat me out,” she said quietly. The Imp’s lip curled in open defiance. “I am surprised that you were able to catch the King’s ear. How very enterprising of you to go straight to the top of the heap.”

The Imp shrugged. “Look, lady, your offer to not kill my daughter if I cooperated with you… well, let’s just say that was all red flags and alarm bells.” He glanced at Lucifer once more. “And you know, I know a guy who knows a guy, so bringing your commission to the very top was no problemo.”

“Mm, how clever of you.” This would only slow things down, but it wouldn’t make anything impossible. She could still figure out a way to get her hands on that child, even without his help. “Well, go on then. There doesn’t seem to be any point in asking you to stay.”

“First of all – uh. What?” The Imp blinked. “Oh. I thought you were going to put up a fight.”

“Not with you, dear.” Eve flashed her sharp teeth at the Hellborn creature and watched with dim satisfaction when he shrank back. “You’re not worth the air you suck into that pathetic little face.”

Lucifer rolled his neck a little, flames starting to crackle around him. “Go home, Blitzo. Your services are much appreciated.”

“I… fuck. Fine, all right.” He jabbed a claw in her direction. “I was hoping to fuck your shit up, lady, but it looks like you’ve got a pass today.”

“Lucky me,” she purred as a celestial portal opened behind him. “Run home to your fallen prince, little Imp. You might not have much time to appreciate his company.”

The Imp stepped back through the portal, sticking up his middle finger as he went. Ugh. Such a hassle, these hostile little creatures, so ready to fight and fuck (usually in that order, though it did seem interchangeable). Mewling, grasping things. She would be sure to rid Hell of the lot of them once the throne was hers. Theirs. Once she ruled over Hell (and the other realms, as well, which would fall easily once Hell did) with the Morningstar children by her side.

Eve twisted the locket hanging down around her neck, gaze sliding from the collapsed portal to the King of Hell himself. Wings flared out on either side of him, eyes blazing with hellfire itself, Lucifer looked like the King of Hell ought to look instead of the ridiculous little fool that strutted around Hell most of the time. If he could’ve kept up this kind of rage and passion, he might have been able to stop her the first time around. Instead, he allowed his attention to be diverted while she stole his son away. Out from under his non-existent nose.

“There’s nowhere for you to run,” Lucifer said quietly, stepping forward. The fire around him faded, leaving nothing but a sad little clown. "Nowhere for you to hide."

“Oh, there’s always somewhere,” she purred, pleased by how confident he was. “Always, Morningstar. You’ve always been the center of attention, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Where’s Charlie?” he asked, still impassive. She wished he’d be respectful enough to stay angry. To rage and scream at her to release his beloved daughter. She’d fucking earned at least that much. “Where’s my daughter, Eve? Where are my children?”

“They’re both perfectly fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, if you overlook the fact that Michael doesn’t have a body of his own, of course. But that’s your fault, isn’t it?”

“Equally yours,” he shot back and moved forward again. “If you hadn’t convinced him to open that portal, Heaven never would’ve pushed for your punishments.”

“At least he understands now what I tried to explain to him for years.” Eve eyed him carefully. “That you only pretend to care about anyone but yourself. You did condemn them all to eternal damnation, didn’t you?”

“That isn’t going to work,” Lucifer assured her. “I’m not here to argue with you.”

“Good.” She twisted the locket around her neck once more. “I’m not here to argue with you, either. But since you’ve meddled in my business once again, inserted yourself where you do not belong, I should return the favor.” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Let’s see if you can catch me and save your pet project as well.”

Before he could respond, she cracked the locket in half. Poisonous fumes filled the alley instantly and, though she knew they wouldn’t kill him, they would buy a few seconds to get away. Eve raised her hand and opened a Void portal with a snap of her fingers. Gave the Devil himself a coy grin and waved her hand before stepping into the darkness. His fingers just skimmed the edge of the Void before the portal closed off in front of him.

She plummeted down through the dark of the Void, spreading her arms out on either side of her. Phantom claws and wings and teeth pricked at the edges of her being as she fell and she sent out an unheard promise that they would soon leave the darkness to reemerge into Hell, into corporal existence once more. Back into the light.

It’d been so long since they’d seen it, after all.

Eve reopened the portal, catching sight of the bright neon of the Entertainment District. Distantly, she could sense the once-living souls on the other side of the Void – breathing, fucking, killing, reveling in their sin and debauchery. Her gaze racked over the landscape until she settled on a slightly deeper silhouette in the darkness.

Michael stepped from the shadows, the blonde hair on his head pulled back into a heavy braid that whipped away from his face as Eve stepped from the Void. It occurred to her that he still hadn’t cut it away, though she was certain he would have wanted to – throughout their entire courtship, he only ever wore it short. Perhaps occasionally a little longer, soft curls tickling the back of his neck until he had it cut again.

It was sweet.

She swept her lover into her arms, kissing him for a moment before he turned his face away in protest. Despite herself, Eve felt displeasure streak through her – she understood his hesitation, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he was still uncomfortable with any physical intimacies while he was trapped in his sister’s body. But they were so close to getting what they needed to make sure that he wouldn’t be stuck much longer – he could afford to loosen up his moral qualms. Just a little.

“Your father is on his way,” she whispered, and Michael nodded. Without a word, he held up the small stone in his hand and scratched his claw down the surface to complete the rune. All Hell broke loose as the Void portal she had narrowly escaped through wrenched open once more, spilling multitudes of crawling, heaving monstrous beasts onto the streets of Pentagram City.

She caught the gaze of one creature, drawing herself up to her full height when it hissed menacingly at her, its dripping eyes focused blearily on her.

You may kill all of them except the one I need. She threw the mental picture of her target into the creature’s mind, heedless of the snarl that tore out of it. He is mine, without exception.

CRASH.

The front door of Vee Tower wrenched from its hinges with the force of the monster’s blow, glass blowing onto the street in a spray of shimmering light. Oh, how she wanted to stay for the worst of it, but she could already feel Lucifer fast on her heels. But she could stay for just long enough…

Her gaze slowly made its way to the gaping hole in the front of the building, and she let her smile sharpen as electricity spun in tendrils of blue-white before materializing into the Mayor of Pentagram City himself. Alone and so easy for one of the Void creatures to snatch him up in its claws. She watched as he looked around, confused by the sudden chaos his home had been enveloped in – at least until he caught sight of her.

Eve raised her hand and curled her fingers into a small wave, laughing in delight when the brilliant blue of his screen began to desaturate. How lovely he looked, standing frozen in place, delicate prey for her taking. She couldn’t touch him directly, couldn’t hurt him, but she could frighten him and perhaps then convince him to come along with her of his own volition. And, besides, if she couldn’t convince him, his protections against her didn’t extend to any of her siblings – one of them could take him themselves and drag him to her current sanctuary until she could figure out how to remove every single sigil and ward that protected him.

With a flick of her wrist, the sickly purple of her magic rushed toward him, spinning up around him in a flurry of heavy fog. His eyes widened and he raised his hand in front of him defensively, as if to block her magic.

Now, now. Don’t fret, little picture box.

The words carried through the air to him, and he clapped his hands over his head where his ears ought to be. As though he could physically hear her and block her voice – which was frankly ridiculous. She knew he could, and did, speak directly to her former thrall through their special little frequency. That it should have come as any surprise to him that she had her own way of dropping her voice directly into his head was laughable.

Her magic curled up around his neck, unable to touch him, but close enough to blow his eyes wide in terror. She stepped forward, magical winds whipping her hair around her head, and slowly held out her hand.

This doesn’t need to be such an ordeal. Take my hand, sweetheart, and it’ll be over before you know it.

He managed to stagger back a step, electricity crackling pointlessly around him, before coming to a halt. As though he could do her any real harm. Perhaps, if he did manage to survive the next ritual, she would keep him for herself – as a pet. A toy for her entertainment. He was certainly enjoyable enough and precious, too.

If you cooperate, I promise you won’t suffer unnecessarily. I promise that it won’t be nearly as troublesome as it was last time.

Beside him, a swirl of thick, heavy shadows materialized into the Radio Demon, and she laughed in delight as he raised his hand, summoning his own magic around him. Oh, was he about to play the hero - ready to stand and fight for his love, who was uselessly frozen in terror? Well, she had no problem with tearing him apart while the little fool watched. Let him watch her destroy the Radio Demon and see how compliant he became afterwards. She took a step towards them, locking eyes with Vox as she began to redirect her magic.

“Charlie!”

Eve stared at him for a long moment. She assumed he understood that this was only a temporary reprieve. Another moment of freedom. With a snarl, she recalled her magic and stepped back, wrapping her arm around Michael’s waist protectively.

Before Lucifer could do anything more than scream his daughter’s name, Eve threw them both back into the Void, smashing the entrance behind them with enough violence to ensure it would never be used again. Michael clung to her as they tumbled through the Void and Eve reminded herself that neither Morningstar child had much experience with Void travel to keep her patience intact. No matter – soon they wouldn’t need to travel by Void and keep to the shadows to avoid detection.

No, soon enough they would walk openly through the streets of Hell, all the way to the palace gates to be hailed as its new King and Queen. For now, though, she was just glad to have slipped through Lucifer’s attempt to capture her. He couldn’t do much besides finding her a new prison, and on some level he must know that, but she was hardly interested in spending another minute locked away. Watching while time passed her by.

Eve turned to Michael and ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms to catch his hands in hers. He blinked up at her and she smiled comfortingly.

“Very good, my love,” she praised him, enjoying the shaky smile that crossed his face. “Now, shall we watch those little wretches die?”

Notes:

CW: a bit of blood, references to domestic violence/rape, heavy internalized victim-blaming, panic attacks.

Vox finally tells Alastor what happened the other night and Eve arrives. 😈

Chapter 39: he’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight

Present Day

Alastor watched the portal slam shut, Eve and Michael safely on the other side, with an odd sense of relief and dismay. She wouldn’t be a direct factor in this battle that they had found themselves in the middle of – which Alastor preferred, frankly. Even at his most arrogant, he knew better than to think he could handle her in direct combat. He’d managed to outwit her before, but if there was absolutely no chance that he could pit his magic against hers and hope to win (perhaps if he used a bit of subterfuge, he could manage something spectacular, but this was too fast, too sudden for him to have prepared anything). Behind him, he could feel the terror radiating through his shared frequency with Vox and spared a quick glance at the other Overlord.

Vox’s hands had settled over his throat, and his eyes were locked on the space where the portal had closed – largely unseeing if Alastor’s suspicions were correct. Around them, monstrous creatures bellowed and roared, slamming against the Tower and the temporary shield Alastor had thrown up around them. It was already beginning to weaken.

“Vox!” he shouted, grateful that the Media Overlord’s gaze instantly snapped to his face instead of staying locked ahead. “Go back into the Tower!”

Nearby, Lucifer’s magic began to whip out around him, corralling some of the Void monsters with golden whips and lassos. One of the creatures screamed into the Devil’s face and the King of Hell spun around effortlessly to wrap the monster in glowing golden rope, bringing it to the ground.

Alastor took a moment (just a moment, he needed that much, at least) to roll his eyes at the frankly flamboyant display before returning his attention to Vox. The instant their eyes locked, Alastor felt his ears perk up. The horror that etched itself onto Vox’s face had dissolved into pure fury. Electricity arced over and around Vox’s body and his screen darkened, his hypnotic eye swirling.

“My fucking house?” he snarled and took a step forward. To Alastor’s surprise, he swept his palm in front of him, knocking away the black and green shield protecting them from the Void beasts.

“Vox–”

“MY FUCKING HOUSE?!” Vox bellowed at the nearest creature. It stopped and stared dumbly at him before glancing around. “REALLY?! MY FUCKING HOUSE?!”

Ah, excellent. Alastor had to admit that, despite the circumstances, the prospect of watching an infuriated Vox jump into battle was a thrilling one. He recalled his magic and let it settle around him in a fog of murky green.

[Get the fuck away from my fucking house!]

Even Lucifer looked over in their direction as the words reverberated around the Entertainment District, blaring through every nearby speaker. Vox’s screen was dark as pitch and his voice splintered into dozens of pitches and volumes. A nearby speaker blew out. As Alastor watched, the heavy electrical cables connecting Vee Tower to the rest of the city wrenched free from the building and swung down in a cascade of fiery electricity. Vox tilted his head down, body jolting forward as the cables snapped into the back of his head.

The scent of ozone hung heavier in the air by the second and, despite himself, Alastor stepped away from the other Overlord. He wasn’t entirely certain Vox wouldn’t electrocute him (if inadvertently) as blue-white lightning crackled around him ominously. His head snapped back up, eye impossibly wide as he scanned the area around them. Vox raised his hands in front of him, crackling electricity dancing around his fingers.

[Come on then, you ugly motherfucker.] The words tore through a nearby speaker as one of the Void creatures turned its attention in his direction, sparks popping out through the metallic mesh threateningly. [I’ve had enough of this shit.]

A deafening clap of thunder snapped through the air and the lights in the nearby buildings went out in a rapid cascade until the only light surrounding them was Vox’s electricity, the sickly green of Alastor’s magic, and the angelic glow of Lucifer’s. It took Alastor a few seconds before he realized that Vox had siphoned the nearby buildings of their power (perhaps the entire city’s, for all he could tell) and poured it directly into his own body.

For a moment, everything was still, potential energy rising in the air. Alastor could swear he tasted copper on the back of his tongue as Vox balled in his hand in a fist, reminding the Radio Demon of some mythical god as heavy clouds began to roll in overhead.

[Get fucked.]

Lightning erupted around them, thunder deafening, and Alastor raised his hand reflexively to shield his eyes. Oh, Vox had gotten much stronger with the boost from his mayoral power. It almost frightened him a little, seeing just how much power Vox now commanded – he wondered if his friend felt the same out of control surge of energy that he had felt when he first acquired the same power.

The Void creature screamed as the lightning coursed through its body. Slowly, the other monsters turned their attention to their companion. With a final rattling noise in the back of what Alastor assumed was its throat, it collapsed to the ground. The lightning snapping from Vox’s hands ceased and his fingers opened loosely.

Vox walked forward, glancing at his open hands for a moment, before a bright, sharp smile cut its way across his screen. Giddiness shot through Alastor, and he couldn’t quite stop the manic laughter that suddenly erupted from him. To his delight, Vox glanced at him and cocked his head to the side.

[Are you just going to fucking stand there?]

[No.] Alastor swept his microphone ahead of him, unleashing a hoard of shadow poppets. He extended his arm out toward the rapidly approaching monsters. [After you, dear.]

Vox laughed and disappeared in a flash of lightning, the heavy cables connecting him to the rest of the grid falling lifelessly to the ground where he had stood. Oh, Alastor had always enjoyed when Vox used his electrical powers to move effortlessly around in a fight – he was unpredictable and beautiful, entirely dangerous when he was surrounded by the serrated edges of lightning. If Alastor were allowed to, he would happily stand still and just watch Vox move through the sudden battlefield, deadly and agile.

Of course, he couldn’t just stand there and watch Vox fight as if he had no skin in the game himself. But he mused, this was the very first time he had fought beside Vox without her leash around his neck. In the early days, he hadn’t given it much thought, but in the later years, the shadow of her chain was always there. She could pull him away from Vox at any time she so chose and leave the other man alone to fight a battle that he might not be able to win.

But now, with his chain broken, he could fight without the fear of her snatching him away. She could still rejoin this battle (and perhaps she would, though Alastor hoped against hope that she would stay away), but now he owed her no allegiance, and she had no more control over him than she did anyone else.

His shadow poppets ran up and over an especially vicious creature with dozens of snapping jaws, a dizzying swirl of blood red dust only loosely holding it together. He wrenched his cane down, towards his body, and the dust creature slammed to the ground with a howl that set his teeth on edge. Using its teeth to drag itself closer, Alastor suddenly realized with a jolt of fear that he wasn’t entirely sure that he could completely subdue any of these monsters, let alone kill them. He backed up, gathering more magic to him, and tried to decide where the best place to attack a being that seemed to consist entirely of dust and snapping teeth was.

“Whoops!”

He jerked his gaze to the side in time to watch Lucifer open a Void portal directly beneath the monster, dropping it back inside. The King of Hell settled his hand on hip and Alastor narrowed his eyes reflexively.

“You’re not going to be able to kill them, Albert,” he called, wings flaring out behind in all their angelic glory. He was regal and resplendent, looking entirely in control of the situation despite the chaos erupting around them. Alastor’s lip curled.

It was disgusting.

“Then what do I do with them?” He attempted to open a Void portal beneath one of the other monsters. Unsurprisingly, the portal barely flickered into existence before fizzling out completely. “I can’t open a portal near them.”

The monster bellowed at him and began to lumber towards the Radio Demon, a substance which Alastor would only assume was blood splattering from its body with each step.

“Bring them down for me and I’ll toss them into a portal,” Lucifer replied with infuriating calm. He raised his hand and squeezed his fingers together in a fist. The monster skidded to a halt and fell to its knees (perhaps it was its knees, Alastor was sure there was no way to know for certain). “It’ll go more quickly that way.”

“Well, far be it from me to slow down the process,” Alastor griped. He directed his shadows to pin the creature to the ground. “We can’t all be angelic beings.”

“Yeah, well. Sucks to be you.”

A sudden burst of blue-white lit up the buildings surrounding Vee Tower and Vox reappeared just long to jam a heavy length of rebar into the center of one of the monsters, sending surge after surge of lightning directly into it until it collapsed. He backed away from the monster, panting and eyed the monster that Alastor had brought down.

“That’s it?” he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. Which was an entirely unnecessary gesture since he could just broadcast into Alastor’s head. “You’ve only brought down one of these fuckers?”

Only then did Alastor notice that there were no less than three monsters collapsed on the concrete pavement, smoking rising almost comedically from their bodies. Lucifer grinned and flashed Vox a thumbs-up.

“Good work, big guy!”

Alastor narrowed his eyes, feeling distinctly ganged up on. Well, he could remedy that…

He certainly didn’t keep track of the number of Void beasts that he brought to the ground (four, at present count, which was a perfectly respectable number of Lovecraftian nightmares to incapacitate, he was sure) nor was he paying attention to Vox’s count (five, going on six now, but he wasn’t counting). And he definitely wasn’t falling behind just a bit because he kept being distracted by how present and engaged Vox was while fighting. He wasn’t happy, Alastor knew he wasn’t, but he looked as close to it as the Radio Demon had seen him in months (years, perhaps) while he moved fluidly through the rapidly dwindling creatures.

Suddenly, Vox was standing at Alastor’s back. A searing streak of lightning shot into the air behind him and Alastor twisted around in time to see one of the beasts collapse before it could bring its heavy arm (maybe arm?) down over his head. He blinked at Vox and tilted his head.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Right.

To Alastor’s delight, as the field cleared, Vox stayed close by, and the fight became a dance just as it had been in the old days. Vox occasionally reached out to him to fling him back out and around, giving Alastor just a little extra boost of speed to spear a monster with his cane. And Alastor used his shadow tentacles to boost Vox into the air so that he could drop down over the top of one of their opponents.

He pointedly chose not to remember letting Vox fall all those years ago.

If he allowed himself to forget why they were fighting these creatures, Alastor would have thought that he had been flung decades into the past. Fighting by Vox’s side once more as a team, exchanging rapid fire banter, pushing each other to fight harder, smarter, faster. He’d missed this – missed being entirely and completely on Vox’s side and knowing that the other man was on his as well. Vox hadn’t yet forgiven him (hadn’t said it, at least, even if he had), but standing with his back pressed against Alastor’s, he could almost pretend that they had never lost all those years. That things were exactly as they ought to be.

“Alastor!”

Alastor turned in time to see a razor-sharp set of claws swing down towards his face. Oh. He had been rather in his head, hadn’t he? Hopefully, an injury from a Void creature wouldn’t be nearly as painful nor as permanent as an angelic one. Alastor wasn’t sure – he’d never been on the receiving end of a Void monster’s claws.

Just as his ears fell back and he raised his staff (even a little bit of protection was better than nothing, at this point), the world twisted and spun around him in a dizzying array of blue-white. Alastor’s eyes blew wide in shock, barely noticing the hands that pulled him close. If he could just figure out which way was up…

He landed with an audible “oof” as the air was pushed from his lungs in a rush. Deciding it might be best to wait until he knew for certain that he didn’t have a broken neck or back, he stayed still for a few seconds before pushing against the soft fabric beneath his palms. After a moment, his brain caught up with his eyes and he realized he was staring down at Vox’s worried face. Then he realized that they were on the ground, a shimmering electrical shield wrapped around them.

“Vox.”

“Al.”

The electrical field below them collapsed and Vox grunted when his back hit the ground. Alastor blinked down at him and felt the other Overlord’s fingers tighten around his waist. Oh. They were very close, weren’t they? He should probably say something instead of just staring into Vox’s eyes.

“Uh… hello,” he said and immediately slapped himself internally. Hello? Not thank you for saving my life, dear friend – just… hello? He wasn’t supposed to be the tongue-tied idiot.

Vox’s expression softened. “Hi.”

“Did you… are you hurt?”

Alastor watched while Vox considered that. “No. Are you?”

“No, I’m all right.”

“That’s good.” Vox studied him for a moment. “Al, can you…?”

“Hey!” Alastor jumped and tore his gaze from Vox. Whipping a golden lasso around him, Lucifer stood not far away with a scowl etched onto his face. “Whatever moment the two of you are having really needs to fucking wait until all these things are rounded up.” His lasso wrapped around the neck of a creature that looked like a massive stink bug with equally horrifying propeller wings. With a sharp jerk, the King of Hell brought the monster down to the ground. “Or at least take it elsewhere so I can deal with these things without a distraction!”

“We’re not a distract– oh!”

Alastor found himself lying face down on the ground when Vox zapped himself out from under him. Struggling to save just a little face, he pushed himself up onto his knees and watched as Vox rematerialized beside Lucifer, lightning already crackling around him as he prepared himself to help the King of Hell bring down another abomination from the Void. Which was perfectly fine, of course, but he could have at least warned Alastor before leaving him in the literal dust.

He brushed the dust from his suit impatiently as Lucifer and Vox subdued the final creature. Snick. A long rip from the shoulder seam to his elbow displayed the shirt beneath his coat. Of course. A trip to the tailor’s was imminent, wasn’t it?

“And into the Void you go!”

He blinked as the final monster was wrestled back into the Void by little more than five feet of angelic power. Lucifer closed the portal with a twist of his wrist before brushing his hands together to knock away any dirt that had accumulated and tipped his hat to the space where the portal had closed. Alastor stared at him, dumbfounded.

It would never cease to amaze him that this was the most powerful being in Hell.

Never.

A burst of ozone filled his nose and Vox appeared beside him; a smile stretched across his screen – it looked genuine. The Media Overlord reached his hand down to Alastor.

“Not half bad for a decrepit relic,” he teased. Alastor snorted.

“Your own performance was nearly mediocre.” He allowed Vox to pull him to his feet. “Nearly.”

Vox opened his mouth to retort and stopped before anything came out. His gaze shifted towards the front doors of the Tower and his mouth flattened into a thin line. Alastor instantly turned to see what had dampened Vox’s good mood and was more surprised than he should have been to see Valentino standing with his arms crossed across his chest. By his side, Velvette was holding her little sword, looking infuriated.

Lucifer followed their gaze and waved his hand. “Oops, sorry. Didn’t want anyone coming out to join us.” An invisible shield fell in a shimmer of golden light and Velvette instantly ran towards them. “Unnecessary distractions, you know?”

“Unnecessary distractions, my perfect fucking ass.” She stopped in front of Vox and glared at him for a few seconds before punching him hard in the shoulder. He opened his mouth to protest, and she pointed a finger at his face. “We’re a fucking team, Vee! You don’t fight without us!”

“Wasn’t exactly planning to fight anything at all,” Vox replied, clearly distracted by the stare that Valentino had leveled at him. He caught Velvette by the shoulders and looked down at her. “I’ve got to handle him, Vel.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed instantly. Handle him?

Lucifer strolled over. “Well, that was some fucked-up shit, wasn’t it? But you two handled it pretty well – even you, bellhop.” Alastor let a soft, rattling hiss rise from his microphone. “Oh, take the fucking compliment, dumbass.”

“Yeah, Alastor,” Vox said quietly, his eyes locked on Valentino. “Take the compliment.”

Lucifer clapped his hands together. “All right. Before we do anything else, I feel obligated to ask: everybody good? Everyone’s got all their limbs, no hidden soul-threatening injuries that they want to disclose? Anyone? Anyone? Bellhop?”

Alastor tore his gaze away from Valentino’s baleful glare which was focused entirely on Vox. “I am completely free of injuries, your Highness. Soul-threatening or otherwise.”

Lucifer looked expectantly at Vox, but the Overlord’s gaze didn’t move from Valentino. His expression softened a bit. “How about you, big fella? You good?”

“Huh?” Vox glanced at the King of Hell, eyebrows raised. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He gestured towards the Tower. “I need check on my partner.”

“Oh, that guy.” Lucifer shrugged. “Yeah, go for it.”

Alastor caught Velvette by the elbow before she could follow Vox. She stiffened in his grip. “Let go.”

“We should talk, little Vee,” the Radio Demon replied, letting his tone brook no argument. She glanced between him and her partners (Vox was now standing in front of Valentino, much to his dismay) before sighing and giving him a quick nod.

“Make it fast.”

Alastor led her away under the guise of assessing the damage on the south facing side of the building. He knew Vox would see it as a ruse (Alastor never fixed things himself if he could have one of the many souls he owned do it for him), but Vox was too busy cajoling his ghastly nightmare of a partner to pay very much attention to what Alastor and his other business partner were doing. He tapped one of the cracked columns with the end of his cane and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Velvette crossed her arms over her chest.

“I assume you made use of the book I gave you,” he said quietly. Her eyes darted over to where her partners stood, already engaged in what appeared to be a tense exchange, before observing her curt little nod with satisfaction. Ah, so she was clever enough to know exactly where he intended to take this conversation. “Then it appears your spell is failing.”

“Does it?” she snapped. “Does it appear that way?”

Alastor bit back the urge to respond in kind. “It does.” He tapped the column again and sent a wave of magic up through the sturdy structure, gluing the fault back together. “I can help you, Velvette. Help him. I won’t see him hurt like that again.”

“Do you think I want to see that either?” she hissed. “I’m dealing with it.”

How very much like Vox she was, Alastor thought with a twinge of sadness. Near the broken doors, Vox was gesturing towards them, talking rapidly, while Valentino took a long drag of his cigarette. He blew the smoke in Vox’s direction, earning himself a scowl as Vox swept the smoke away with his hand. Alastor sighed.

“I am sure that you are, my dear.” He hesitated a moment then reached out and touched her shoulder, half-expecting her to shrug him off. “But if you’d like assistance…

“I’m fine.” She studied his face for a few seconds then shrugged. “But if I want help, I’ll ask.”

“Damn it, Vox!"

They turned at the same time to watch Valentino throw his hands in the air in obvious frustration, his wings flaring out on either side of him. Alastor’s attention didn’t stay on him for more than a second before shifting to Vox. It wasn’t surprising, exactly, that the Media Overlord was standing with his arms crossed and a frown etched on his face.

“Lower your voice,” he hissed. “People are watching us.”

Valentino moved forward to stand inches from Alastor’s friend and Vox tilted his head back to stare at him evenly. “People are always watching us, Voxy – it didn’t seem to bother you when you had the Radio Demon in your arms.”

“What?” Vox asked, his voice suddenly unsure. “He wasn’t in my arms.”

The tiresome moth blew another cloud of thick pink smoke directly into Vox’s face and, this time, he didn’t brush it away. “Don’t lie to me, baby.”

Vox glanced helplessly in their direction and Alastor’s ears twitched backward. “Val…”

“Mmm?”

Alastor shook his head a little, not sure what else to do (he could always eat Valentino, as a last resort, he supposed, but that was almost certainly the wrong choice), and Vox turned back to the taller demon. “Let’s go upstairs and talk. Not in front of everyone.”

“What if I want to air our dirty laundry for all of Hell to see?” Valentino asked, voice sugar sweet. He leaned in and rested his hands on Vox’s shoulders. “What then, Voxy?”

Vox’s shoulders slumped and he reached up to catch one of Valentino’s hands. “Come on, Val,” he said softly. “Please? I’m sorry if that’s what it looked like, but it wasn’t what you think, I swear. Just… let’s just talk about it. I didn’t plan–”

“No, you never plan for him, do you?” Valentino said quietly, staring at Vox as though seeing him for the first time. Vox shrank back ever so slightly and shook his head. The world felt very quiet suddenly. “He’s always just there.”

“Val, I–”

Valentino wrapped an arm around Vox’s shoulder and pulled him close. Alastor’s mouth went very dry. “You’re right, baby. We should talk.”

Without thought, Alastor stepped away from Velvette, towards the older two Vees. “Vox…”

“I haven’t found any stragglers, so that’s the good news.” Alastor couldn’t help the startled flinch when Lucifer spoke and stared in wide-eyed disbelief as the tiny monarch sauntered from wherever he had disappeared to (he could’ve done the very decent thing and stayed there, but no… Alastor would never be so lucky…). He took off his hat and dusted off the brim before replacing it on his head. “The medium news is that your tower here is structurally sound and all of the protection spells kept the interior of the building safe, but the bad news is that –” One of the concrete columns holding up a glass awning further down in the courtyard collapsed in plumb of heavy dust. “Heh. The exteriors are looking a little rough.”

Vox slid an arm around Valentino’s waist, a calm mask slipping down over his face. He gave Lucifer an easy smile. “That’s great news – at least those are easy enough fixes.” Valentino’s arm tightened around his shoulders. “But I could use a break before tackling anything else. If you don’t mind, I’d like to recharge for a bit.”

Lucifer frowned, glancing between the two. “Sure thing. Let’s regroup in an hour.”

“We might need longer than that,” Valentino said softly, and Vox glanced down at the ground for a moment before nodding.

“No,” Alastor said suddenly.

“No?” the King of Hell asked, looking confused (and ridiculous – how he was still dressed entirely in spotless white after battling other dimensional monsters).

“No.” Alastor’s voice was sharp, and Vox raised his eyes, frown firmly in place. “Vox, don’t–"

[You’re going to make things worse, Alastor.] Vox raised his eyebrows, pleading. [Please just let me handle this. Please.]

[Don’t ask me to just let you–] The rise of electronic feedback in the air was nearly deafening and, not for the first time, Alastor felt himself staring at Vox helplessly. He spread his hands out in front of him, ignoring the baffled look Lucifer was shooting between them (as though he wasn’t aware that they could speak through their own radio frequency… Alastor had mentioned it in passing at least once, he was sure). [You don’t have to do this, Vox. You don’t have to fix anything.]

[Yes. I do. I love him, Alastor.]

Vox turned his gaze to Velvette. “Can you stay down here and help the King assess the damage, Vel?”

For once, she didn’t argue. “Sure, Vee.”

“Good.” Vox nodded and Alastor took a step back, already gathering his shadows as his heart began to race. They exchanged one more look, Vox’s mouth curving up into a facsimile of a smile.

[I’ll stay close, Vox. You only have to call.]

Vox inclined his head in Lucifer’s direction without breaking eye contact, pointedly not acknowledging Alastor’s promise. “Thank you for the assistance, your Majesty.” His eyes then flashed up to Valentino. “Come on, Val. Let’s talk.”

Blood pounding in his ears, Alastor helplessly watched Vox and Valentino retreat into the Tower before he drew the darkness around him and sank down into the shadows, quite ignoring Lucifer’s indignant protests.

Notes:

Yay! Monsters!