Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a well-known fact that Vox despised Alastor with every fiber of his being, but what most people didn’t know was just how all-consuming that hatred was. He had been known to spend hours watching the radio demon’s glitchy figure on his cameras, tracking his every move, writing about him in what was definitely not a diary, thank you very much- and while he was obsessive about almost everything, it was Alastor that captivated him the most. Captivated? No, no, captivated made it sound like he had a crush on the bastard or something, which he most certainly did not.

No, Vox just wanted to know what his enemy was doing at all times, so he could strategize, plan how he’d eventually defeat him, things like that. It was normal, healthy, intelligent- cautious! That’s what he was doing, he was taking precautions! Anyone would do the same if they had an enemy as powerful as the Radio Demon- oh, he shouldn’t capitalize that in his head, that made it seem like he respected the stupid furry asshole, which he didn’t. The radio demon, lowercase letters. Just some stupid wannabe hack with an outdated shtick.

Vox had always been obsessive, even before he died, and particularly obsessive over men, he could admit that. Maybe he had overreacted to the news that James was getting married, and maybe he should have just moved on, but really, what did that stupid cow Leah have that he didn’t? What could she have given James that he couldn’t? Nothing, except children, he supposed, but children were awful!

Maybe, Vox reflected, chewing on his pen as he watched Alastor saunter down the the main street of Cannibal Town, he wouldn’t be down here if he hadn’t murdered James in a fit of jealous rage, or maybe if he’d tried to keep living and make amends instead of immediately killing himself- but they were supposed to be together, it was a lover’s suicide, sort of like Romeo and Juliet, he’d thought. Except James must have gone to Heaven, because he never saw him again, and the first person in Hell to take him under his wing, explain how everything worked, had turned him down just like-

“Vox!”

“Ah,” Vox said, jumping slightly and frantically trying to switch cameras before giving up and turning to face Valentino. “Hello, Val! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’ve been in here all day,” Val said coldly, glaring at the array of screens lit up behind his on-again/off-again lover. “Jacking off to your little deer again?”

“I do not jack off to Alastor! I’m just making sure he’s not up to anything that could jeopardize our position! Frankly, you should be grateful that I-”

“You’re on in five minutes,” Val interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“In five-?” Vox checked his internal clock, cursed under his breath, and got to his feet, stretching rather uncomfortably. “Lost track of time,” he muttered.

“I can see that.”

As they walked to the studio, Vox frantically going over the list of topics he was supposed to cover- something about angelic security, which they still need to actually make, and a mention of those mutated rat creatures that have somehow found their way up to the Pride Ring from Gluttony- he began to calm down from his intense focus on Alastor and realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. There was no time to take care of that now, though, not when they were about to start filming.

“Good evening,” Vox began, smiling easily behind his desk, trying to look as calm and collected as possible- because he was calm, of course he was! No one in this fucking studio was as calm as him! He was the epitome of collected right now, he always was! He chattered easily, pleasantly, and it wasn’t until he finally settled into the familiar rhythm of his talk show, forgetting about Alastor for the time being, that he realized he hadn’t been to the bathroom since he woke up.

Vox kept his expression composed, but once he realized it he couldn’t stop realizing it- how had he not noticed before? He had to piss so bad it hurt, and he still had- oh, fuck, almost an hour left of this segment. This is all Alastor’s fault, he thought, crossing his legs in a way that hopefully looked casual to the viewers. Whose stupid idea had it been to have his entire desk in full view at all times? He couldn’t even hold himself, people would notice, there was nothing he could do except squeeze his thighs closer together and try not to squirm too much.

“We’re pretty sure the rats are-” Vox froze, electricity sparking around him, as he leaked involuntarily. An artificial blush colored his screen, one he desperately tried to will away, and he stammered, “We- we’re sure they’re from- I mean, we’re sure they’re caused by the… by the-” Just off-camera, his assistant frowned concernedly, and Vox swallowed hard, considered trying to suck it up and finish this segment- and he should be able to, shouldn’t he, he was an adult, he was- that thought vanished when he leaked again, and he might have actually whimpered, but he couldn’t admit that to himself.

“Excuse me, technical difficulties,” he blurted out, jumping up to run off set, trying to look like everything was fine, but it was too late, he’d waited too long or stood up too fast or both, and his body gave in before he was even halfway across the stage. Vox gasped, frantically untucking his sweater vest and tugging it down over his crotch, in a rather stupid attempt to hide his accident that only drew more attention to it. He heard crew members whispering, could practically feel the cameras on him- recording this live- but he was frozen in place, utterly horrified, watching the front of his pants darken as urine streamed down his legs, splashing on the floor, too humiliated to even enjoy the relief.

It took an embarrassingly long time to empty his bladder, and when he’d finally finished he just stared at the puddle around his perfect heeled dress shoes, the dark stain running down his perfect suit trousers, everything had been perfect, nothing out of place, everything flawless, our brand is perfection, and he’d gone and fucking pissed himself on live television. In front of the entire Pride Ring- in front of all of Hell, probably, this was exactly the kind of thing that would go viral, this was the worst day of his entire fucking afterlife, he could barely breathe- fuck, fuck, was he crying? Vox blinked rapidly, trying to will away the projected tears, but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything except stand there crying.

“Cut!” Vox barely registered the voice over the ringing in his… whatever passed for ears now, but Valentino had stormed onto set, clapped all four hands together to draw everyone’s attention onto himself. “Cut the fucking cameras, for crying out loud, what the hell’s wrong with you? All of you, get out. Fired, fired, fired, fired- not you, you stay. I said, cut the cameras!” Something shattered, and Vox glanced up, saw Val choking the life out of an unfortunate producer, a wildly expensive camera smashed on the ground before them.

“Val,” he called meekly, cursing himself when his voice came out soft and wavering. At once, his sometimes-boyfriend threw the producer into the wall and stomped over to him, an expression of utter disgust plastered across his face.

“You,” he snarled, lower hands clenching into fists as he grabbed Vox by the collar, “are fucking dead.”

“Wh- Val- I- I-” Vox felt like he was short-circuiting, and his screen briefly flashed an ERROR message, overwhelmed by the shame of what he’d just done and the unfamiliar sensation of Valentino’s raging temper directed at him. “I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Shut up!” Val grabbed his wrist, painfully tight, and dragged him out of the studio. Vox was too mortified to look anyone in the eyes, so he kept his gaze on the floor, trembling.

“I didn’t mean to,” he repeated quietly, feeling small and stupid in a way he hadn’t since he died.

“Oh, yeah? And what about all the other times?”

“Wh- that’s not- not now, Val, please,” Vox whined, flinching at the reminder that this wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for him- not that it was normal, of course, it didn’t happen that often at all! It had certainly never happened in front of people before, never on camera- on live television- he swallowed hard, trying not to think about how he’d definitely just ruined his image.

“No, no, I think now is exactly the right time to discuss this! All the fucking time-”

“It’s not all the time!” Vox protested, making a valiant effort to tug his arm away from his boyfriend.

“Yes, it fucking is! Obsessing over that goddamn bastard- Alastor this, Radio Demon that, watching him on your creepy little voyeur cameras for hours on end, and then this happens because you’re too stupid to remember to take care of yourself! Fucking hell, Vox, how many times this month have you called me crying, ‘oh, Val, I had an accident, Val, I was too busy fucking obsessing over Alastor to notice I had to piss’?”

“I- I-”

“Well? How fucking many?”

“I don’t know,” Vox whispered, adjusting his bowtie out of habit. He does know, and Val knows he knows, that he’s had to call Val four times this month, shamefacedly asking him to bring a change of clothes to his office. The last time it happened, Val had sarcastically suggested he start keeping clean clothes in a drawer, but Vox had insisted it would never happen again, he was going to start paying more attention, not get so caught up in his cameras and his notes, and look how that turned out.

“The hell you don’t. Four times this month alone,” Valentino snarled, squeezing his wrist hard enough to bruise. “And more than that last month. Ever since that bastard came back, he’s all you fucking think about!”

“I’m sorry-”

“Shut the fuck up! Velvette’s on damage control, Mr. Our-Brand-Is-Perfection, and you are not making any public appearances for at least a month, or until the next idiot fucks up hard enough to make everyone forget that ridiculous fucking display.”

“I didn’t-”

“What part of shut up are you not understanding? Do you have a mute button?”

Vox wisely stopped talking, and just followed Val in silence, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to stop crying. He could admit that maybe, just maybe, Val has a point- he’s obsessive about the radio demon, and it’s caused problems in the past, but never to this extent. Never to the point where people have seen- oh, fuck, will Alastor see? No, no, he doesn’t watch TV, he hates modern media, but- is it possible- will he hear about it? Surely he keeps up with other overlords- with Vox- right? Right?

“How is she doing damage control?” Vox asked quietly as Val led him into his room.

“Don’t worry about it. Just clean yourself up, baby,” Val responded, and the nickname oozed venom. “Meet us in the dining room when you’re done.”

Vox took longer than strictly necessary in the shower, and when he finally came downstairs he was smiling again, ready to pretend this never happened. It’s Hell, worse things are bound to capture people’s collective imaginations, right? There’s a new scandal around every corner, and if nothing happened organically, they could engineer something. A salacious affair between Katie Killjoy and Carmilla Carmine, perhaps, or-

“There you are,” Velvette said, sugar-sweet. Vox’s guard is up right away. “We were starting to think you tried to drown yourself.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Vox said, laughing nervously. “Val mentioned you were on damage control?”

“Sure,” Velvette shrugged, “but there’s only so much I can do at present. This doesn’t look good for us, Vox.” She showed him her phone screen, and he flinched at the video- he hadn’t realized how absolutely pathetic he looked, tugging his shirt down as if that could hide what was happening, tears welling up in his eyes, and the look on his face- he looked lost and afraid, like he wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

“You’re trending, you know,” Val chimed in, voice tense with fury. “Look.” He shoved his phone into Vox’s hands, and Vox flinched as he read what people were saying about him- loser, pitiful, freak, baby, idiot, failure…

“I’m not-”

“Not what? You realize how this makes us look? People latch onto the tiniest signs of weakness in overlords, and this is more than that, this is unacceptable!” Vox takes an instinctive step back, but Val follows him, and he’s uncomfortably reminded of how much taller the moth demon is. It doesn’t normally bother him, why does it bother him right now? Val’s never hurt me before, not on purpose, he reminds himself, fighting the urge to cover his screen with his hands, because every time Val’s hurt him in the past- by mistake, of course, he’s assured him it was always a mistake!- he’s shattered his screen. It was always Vox’s fault, and he knows he fucked up this time, Val has every right to be pissed at him- oh, bad choice of words-

“Are you even listening?” Velvette snaps.

“Yeah,” Vox says, still cringing away from Val. “I’m sorry, okay? I just got distracted, and I didn’t have time to use the bathroom before the show, but it won’t happen again-”

“That’s what you said last time,” Val snaps, and Vox’s eyes widen, he glances nervously at Velvette. Val swore he’d never-

“He told me while we were waiting on you to quit fucking pouting,” she says coldly. “Honestly, Vox, you’re a fucking wreck. Calling your daddy to bring you a change of clothes because you couldn’t make it to the potty on time?” She adopts a mocking croon, and Vox glares at her.

“I don’t fucking do it on purpose,” he snaps, then very nearly throws himself to the ground dodging Val’s backhand.

“Don’t swear at her,” he says coldly. Vox wants to say that Val swears at both of them all the fucking time, but his heart is racing, he really, really doesn’t want to be struck. Doesn’t want to replace his screen on top of everything else.

“Oh, I know, that’s why they’re called accidents,” Velvette coos. Vox wants to hit her. “Thing is, it’s understandable for little kids, yeah, but if a grown-ass man keeps pissing himself ‘cause he’s too fixated on his crush to take care of himself, you’ve got a problem. You’re like a goddamn toddler who doesn’t wanna stop playing to go potty, you know that? Worse than that! At least they learn their lesson the first fucking time!”

“Shut up,” Vox says, too quietly, his voice cracking, and Velvette laughs.

“Oh, what, no response? Because you know I’m fucking right.”

“Stop it! I- I’m not- I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I was… I was distracted, and I-”

“You were stupid,” Val corrects. “So fixated on your little crush you forgot to take care of yourself. Every time, you promise you won’t do it again, and then a few weeks later you’re crying at me on the phone again. I’ve had enough of it.”

“I’ll do better- pay more attention-”

“I don’t believe you. You’ve proven over and over again that you won’t, so why the hell should I listen to you this time?”

“Because it’s different, Val! It’s- it’s- everyone saw-” Vox feels tears welling up again, and he covers his eyes with his hands. It’s a childish gesture, but he has no other options, he can’t wipe them away.

“Yeah, I fucking well know that.”

“I’ll get to the point, since I know your attention span’s so short,” Velvette interrupts. “This cannot be our image.” Val grabs Vox’s wrists, tugs his hands down, and Velvette holds the phone up to his face, forces him to look at himself again, that helpless, horrified expression, the puddle growing at his feet, and he whimpers involuntarily. “You understand that, right? You must know how bad this looks. An overlord pissing himself on live TV, crying about it- your reputation’s fucked, at least for now. And you’re not dragging us down with you.”

“Velvette- it’s not that big of a deal,” Vox pleads. “It won’t affect you-”

“Oh, won’t it? We’re a unit, dumbass, we all represent the Vees. Weakness is unacceptable.”

“If you can’t uphold our reputation, you’re out,” Val says, and Vox glitches, shakes his head frantically.

“I’m- what? That’s not funny-”

“I’m not joking. Image is everything, as they say.”

“You’ve said that,” Velvette adds, and it’s true, Vox may have said that at some point, but- well, this is bad for his image, but not devastating, this can be fixed, surely.

“It was just a… just an accident,” he says, the words tasting like dirt in his mouth. “You can’t cut me out over that-”

“I think you’ll find we can do whatever we damn well please,” Velvette says smugly. They’re crowding him, Vox can hear his fans whirring, it’s getting hard to breathe, he needs them out of his fucking face- “Oh, don’t cry, baby! You’re not going anywhere! Just because we don’t need your name attached to ours publicly doesn’t mean we don’t love you,” she says, pinching the corner of his screen playfully.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Val says, grinning in a way that usually means he’s about to invent some horrible plot for Angel Dust’s next film. “First, we’re changing your outfit. No more playing dress-up with these fancy suits.”

“Dre-”

“And, of course, there’s your little problem to worry about. You know who pisses themselves this often, Velvette?”

“Who?” she asks in an overly curious tone.

“Babies,” Val laughs, “and Vox, apparently.”

“Stop it,” Vox whines, but they just laugh.

“And there’s only one thing to do about that, isn’t there?” Val continues, tightening his grip on Vox’s wrists. “I guess we’ll just have to put the poor thing back in diapers, won’t we? He’s clearly not ready to be a big boy.”

“You can’t!” Vox tries to pull away from him, looks around for something electronic to vanish into, but he quickly realizes they took the cameras out of the dining room before this meeting, it’s just his aquarium, they’ve backed him into a literal corner. “Let go of me! This isn’t fucking funny!”

“No swearing,” Velvette says sharply, and then she smacks his thigh, like a mother would to threaten an unruly child with a spanking. It’s so unexpected that he freezes completely, an ERROR message flashing across his screen. “I don’t want to hear any more nasty language like that from you, do you understand?”

“Don’t hit me,” Vox whispers. It’s not the hardest someone’s hit him, not by a long shot, but the condescension of the gesture is stunning, painful.

“Be a good boy, then,” Velvette says simply. “Now, listen very, very carefully, alright, Voxxy? Everyone in Hell- and I mean Hell, not just the Pride Ring- watched you piss yourself and cry like a fucking bitch on live TV today. Everyone. That includes the souls you own, all of whom know that your death means their freedom. The only reason bound souls don’t rise up against us is because they know we are stronger than them, but everyone just saw how weak you really are. After a display like that, from an overlord, a person thousands of people have damn good reason to hate- your little technokinesis bullshit isn’t going to help you if we throw you out on the streets. There’s a reason overlords die so often- you slip up, you lose people’s fear for a second, you’re dead.”

“So, you can stay with us,” Val cuts in, stepping back to gesture smoothly to the door, “or you can take your chances on your own, because you’re not one of the Vees anymore, weak link.”

Vox swallows, eyes darting from Val to Velvette to the door and back again. “I’ll stay,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Chapter Text

Val and Velvette lead Vox down the hall, one of them on either side of him, holding his hands. He hates it, eyes every camera they pass and thinks about just zapping himself somewhere else, but where would he go? Velvette’s right that an overlord’s power lies in fear, and it’s true that overlords don’t last long, precisely because any sign of weakness is used to tear them apart. Still, he’s not entirely convinced this is enough of a weakness- better to play along for now, and they’ll get sick of this stupid game soon enough.

They end up on Velvette’s floor, in an unused, refreshingly generic bedroom. It’s all pink wallpaper and plush carpet, nothing out of the ordinary, but before Vox can feel relieved that it’s not some kind of dungeon, Val quite literally tears his suit jacket off. “Hey!” Vox shrieks, electricity sparking around him as he tries to jerk away, but he’s never been especially impressive physically.

“I told you, baby, no more dress-up. Velvette’s got a much nicer outfit for you,” Val coos, and Vox, gritting his teeth, obeys. He crosses his arms over chest once he’s fully nude, refusing to act embarrassed like they clearly expect him to. Why should he? He’s hot, isn’t he? Val thinks so, lots of people think so, he knows what people say about him online.

“Remember what we talked about, Voxxy? About how you just can’t seem to control your bladder like a grown-up?” Velvette asks, sickly sweet. If Vox had an actual face, he’s sure the blood would have drained from it at those words, but he just forces himself to nod. Play along, play along, play along until they get sick of this bullshit. “Use your words, honey, or are you too little for that?”

“I remember,” Vox hisses.

“Good. Why don’t you lie down, then?” She snaps her fingers, and a navy blue towel appears on the bed, patterned with little sharks.

“Y- you’re not- Velvette, you can change my clothes just like that, why-”

“Lie down, I said.” Vox inhales slowly, reminds himself it’s only temporary, and slowly walks to the bed, lying down on the towel as instructed. It’s very, very soft, he reflects. That’s nice, at least- and then Valentino’s grabbing his legs, forcing them up to his chest. Vox wants to make a joke about how he’s plenty used to this position, but Velvette isn’t usually there for it, until Val slides a fucking diaper under his hips and he can’t help it, he grabs a pillow and covers his screen with it, too ashamed to look them in the eyes.

“Aww, is he hiding?” Velvette coos. Vox just squeezes the pillow, and his claws easily tear through the thin fabric. She makes a sharp, irritated noise. “Can we get rid of those? I don’t want him slashing all my shit to ribbons.”

“Not unless we cut his fingers off,” Val says, and Vox tries to scramble away from him at that, claws unfortunately digging into the mattress again and only proving Velvette’s point, but she can replace it in an instant, who gives a damn?

“You-!”

“Oh, relax, Voxxy,” Val laughs, putting a hand on his chest and holding him firmly in place, “I’m only joking. Don’t be so sensitive, sweetheart! Now, lie back, we’re almost done here.” Vox glowers at him, but he does as he’s told, and as soon as Val steps away to admire his handiwork-how the hell does he even know how to change a diaper, Vox wonders, no one in their right mind would ever let him babysit- Velvette snaps her fingers and Vox is suddenly wearing a onesie, black with a shark outline across the chest. The diaper couldn’t be more obvious, so he holds the pillow over his lap in a lame attempt to hide it.

“You’re just the cutest!” Velvette squeals, reaching forward to pinch the corner of his screen. While he’s distracted trying to pull away from her, Val whips out his phone and snaps several pictures, prompting Vox to sit bolt upright.

“Delete those,” he snarls, spirals forming in his right eye, but Val’s always been immune to his hypnosis.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he says smugly. “As a matter of fact, Voxxy, we have something very important to talk to you about.”

“Fucking delete those!” Velvette’s sharp little fingernails dig into his inner elbow, and he pulls away, sparking, furious. “I’m serious, Val, I’ll-”

“Anymore attitude and I’ll put you over my knee,” Val says smoothly. “Be a good boy and listen, Vox, you’re going to want to hear this. These photos-” he waves his phone tauntingly- “are going up on my Sinstagram if you don’t. How many souls do you own?”

“What?” Vox is distracted by the phone, by the awful photo of himself, by the diaper forcing his legs apart, by everything.

“How many souls do you own? How many sinners have you made contracts with?”

“Uh- four thousand and something,” Vox mutters, trying to decide if he could grab the phone out of Val’s hands.

“Well, here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to sign your contracted souls over to us, evenly split, and we are going to allow you to stay here, under our protection.”

“You’re crazy,” Vox snarls.

“And you’re weak, Vox. Maybe I should phrase it in a way you’ll understand- if you don’t do it, I’ll post these pictures and throw you out on the street. See how long you last on your own now that your little secret’s out, eh?”

“Val- Val, please, be- be reasonable.” Vox hates how shaky his voice is. “You need me-”

“Do we? Television is a dying medium. Velvette’s got social media under wraps, and me- well, sex sells, baby. We’ll be just fine without you, but you need us more than you ever have.” A glowing golden contract appears before him, Valentino and Velvette’s names scrawled across the top, a space for Vox to sign his at the bottom. He gives the terms a quick once-over; exactly as Val said, all of his assets to them in addition to his soul.

“I don’t…”

“What? You really think you can take on four thousand sinners now that they’ve found a chink in your armor? Surely some of them have managed to scavenge some angelic steel.”

“We’ll be nice, sweetie,” Velvette chimes in, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Trust us.”

“Trust us with your safety,” Val sneers, mimicking Vox’s angelic security pitch. They never did start working on that.

“You won’t let anyone hurt me?” he finally asks, looking to Velvette for confirmation. He doesn’t trust Val as far as he can throw him, but Velvette’s his friend, genuinely. She’s never done anything like this before, she won’t let Val do anything crazy, he’s sure of it. She’s practically his protege. This whole diaper thing has to be Val’s idea, some fucked up kink he wants to try out, she’ll talk him out of it soon enough.

“You’re under our protection,” she promises, patting the back of his hand. After a long, long moment of hesitation, Vox takes a deep breath, lets it out, and signs the contract. His real name, long since forgotten, gleams at him from the page before the paper vanishes, and Val grins at him.

“Goddamn, Voxxy,” he whistles, an expression Vox has only seen directed at Angel Dust crossing his face, “I can’t fucking believe you. All these years as an overlord, and you forgot to read the fine print?”

Chapter Text

Vox’s blood ran cold, and he involuntarily tightened his grip on the pillow. “Fine print?” he repeated hoarsely, feeling like the biggest idiot in all of Hell. “The- you- there was-?”

“Right here,” Val purred, pulling the contract out of the ether again and unrolling it to show tiny print, further down the scroll, which had been curled in such a way Vox hadn’t even seen it when he signed.

“That’s cheating,” he said at once.

“Oh, is it? You’ve done the same thing, haven’t you?”

“You can’t do this to me!” Vox shrieked, reaching forward to slash the contract apart, but Velvette grabbed his arm right as Val pulled it away from him. “You can’t! I’m one of you, I’m a fucking overlord, I started this whole goddamn company, you can’t just-!” Before he could finish his tirade, Val sat down next to him and easily threw him over his lap, facedown. Vox screamed wordlessly, struggling to get free until a sharp smack landed on his bottom, at which point he froze up, shocked.

“I think we told you not to use ugly language like that,” Velvette scolded. With his screen pressed against the sheets, Vox couldn’t see anything, and the angle made it impossible for him to turn his head. Val hit him again, and Vox yelped, digging into the sheets. He heard the mattress tear, sunk his claws in deeper just to have the satisfaction of ruining one of Velvette’s possessions.

“Stop it,” he whined, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

“I think,” Val said cheerfully, continuing to hit him, “that the baby’s much too young to read over the terms and conditions for himself, don’t you, Velvette?”

“Obviously,” she said, patting the back of Vox’s head.

“Right. So, Voxxy, I’ll go ahead and tell you what exactly you signed. As you saw, we now own all of your contracted souls, making your status as an overlord null and void. We also own your soul, making you… what?”

“Let me go!”

“Making you our property, exactly. Here’s what you didn’t bother to read- we have complete ownership of you. It isn’t like Angel Dust’s contract, there’s no loopholes to exploit. You are not permitted to leave the tower unaccompanied, you are not permitted to speak to anyone without our express permission, and- are you listening?- we have the right to make any modifications we deem necessary.”

“Let go,” Vox sobbed, barely paying attention. Something something modifications or whatever, it didn’t matter, he just wanted Val to stop. The moth demon had suggested all kinds of kinky shit in the past, none of which Vox had the slightest interest in- he died unmarried in the 50’s, for fuck’s sake, the farthest he’d ever gone was sucking James off in the bathroom at work. Val had been over the moon to discover Vox was still a virgin when they started dating- well, what else would he be, he never had any opportunities before James, and he met Alastor as soon as he died, followed him around like a puppy for years and that bastard would sooner kill himself than get his dick wet, fucking freak- wait, shit, Val was still talking, wasn’t he?

“Understood?” He paused his assault long enough for Vox to catch his breath, not that he really needed to- the diaper was thick enough to stop it from really hurting, but that just made the whole experience even more humiliating.

“Fuck you,” Vox said, stupidly. He realized he’d made a mistake when Val resumed the- the spanking right away, harder than before. It was unfair that he was so fucking massive, Vox reflected bitterly. Goddamn Val and his damn height and his damn huge hands. As he tried to bury his face in the mattress, Vox thought back to what he’d told Val when the pimp tried to spank him in the bedroom, not too long ago- that it was gross, that he wasn’t a child in need of correction. He may have slipped up and said something about these new generations being a bunch of degenerates, but quickly corrected himself. Vox was, technically, eternally 28, he wasn’t some old man. Still, it made him uncomfortable, the idea of sexualizing-

“He’s not listening,” Velvette said loudly.

“Yeah, well, what did we expect? Babies have such short attention spans,” Val sighs. Thankfully, he finally stops, but then he picks Vox up.

“Let go, fucking freak- get off-”

“Honestly, what’s gotten into you? You were being so good just a minute ago,” Val says, giggling.

“You tricked me!”

“It’s your own fault for not reading the small print, Voxxy.”

“These are much too dangerous,” Velvette huffs, grabbing his hand and examining his razor-sharp claws. “Look, you tore my mattress to shreds.”

“Buy a new one,” Vox snaps.

“Oh, I will, but first, the claws have to go.”

“I can’t file them down-”

“I know.”

Before Vox can ask her what she means, Val sets him down, lights a cigarette and inhales slowly, watching Vox with a smile, before blowing a cloud of smoke in his face. Vox is familiar with the various effects of Val’s smoke- sometimes it’s an aphrodisiac, sometimes it’s a sedative, and right now, apparently, it’s a paralytic. He falls back on the bed, fully conscious but immobile, and feels his heart rate pick up. “Val-”

“Much, much too dangerous,” Val sighs, squeezing his hand before scooping him up again. “And I think he’s a little too tall, don’t you, Velvette? You can’t pick him up, can you?”

“No, I guess I can’t.”

“We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

“Val,” Vox repeats, trying to breathe evenly. “What-”

“Don’t worry, baby, it’ll be over just like that,” Val coos. He brings Vox to the bathroom, lays him in a pointlessly huge bathtub- Velvette loves massive tubs with jets, has been known to spend hours on end lounging in the bath- and crouches over him, still smiling. There’s a book on the counter, a heavy, leatherbound book that’s both out of place in a bathroom and out of character for Velvette to have- she doesn’t read books.

“What’s going on?” Vox whispers, then cries out involuntarily when Val withdraws a long, deadly sharp knife from his coat-wings. Before he has time to process, the blade has come down on his fingers, and the pain registers a second later, white-hot, pain like he hasn’t felt in… ever, maybe. He was lucky to be found by Alastor right after dying, protected from the worst dangers of Hell, and as an overlord he’s never worried about being tortured- there’s another sharp pain, his thumb, and then Val moves to the other hand. Someone is screaming, and Vox distantly realizes it must be him, but he has no idea how to make himself stop. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is Val moving lower, down to his legs.

When Vox opens his eyes, he’s looking at a… what are those things called? The spinny sort of things that go over cribs- a baby mobile, that’s it. He’s looking at a baby mobile, and he blinks sluggishly, watches it spin. It’s sharks, little teal and navy sharks, blue ribbons meant to suggest water, and it’s so bizarre that he reaches out to touch it, only to see that his fingers have been docked at the second knuckle, his thumb is gone entirely. Everything comes back to him in a rush, and Vox holds up his other hand, finds it exactly same.

“No, no, no, nononononono,” he says, voice coming out higher than he’d like, and he sits up, vaguely realizing he’s in a crib, but that’s the least of his worries right now. He intends to stand up, hop over the bars and run away because this is insane, he’ll take his fucking chances on his own, maybe his assistant will take pity on him- “No,” Vox repeats when he sees his legs, reaching to touch them with a trembling hand. Gone, just like his fingers, cut off just below the knee.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Valentino says from behind him, and Vox just whimpers in response. “Don’t worry, they’re already all healed! Velvette’s quite the sorceress, you know, that little spellbook fixed you right up.”

“No,” Vox says, barely above a whisper.

“What’s that, Voxxy, darling? You don’t like it? We thought you’d be happy you can still crawl around- I was going to cut them here, at first, but Velvette wanted to give you a little more mobility. You should thank her,” Val purrs, making a chopping motion in the middle of Vox’s thigh to demonstrate.

“You can’t do this,” Vox says, voice cracking. He knows it’s an inane thing to say, but he has no other words.

“Hmm? Let me show you your nursery. Velvette put it together while you were sleeping.” Vox tries to cringe away from Val’s arms, but he can’t get far, and the moth demon quickly picks him up. “Look, you’ve got a nice little play area here, a toy chest- ooh, look at this!” He seems genuinely excited as he crouches down to show Vox the giant shark plushie, at least 7 feet long, lying on the carpet. “It’s like a sleeping bag,” he chirps, holding the mouth open. “Isn’t that fun?”

“You’re crazy,” Vox whispers, but Val ignores him.

“Of course there’s a changing table, too, and speaking of which…” He unsnaps the buttons of Vox’s onesie, grabs his crotch and snickers. “You’re wet, poor baby. Let’s get you out of that icky diaper, hm?”

“What? No, I- I’m not- I didn’t-” Vox has, understandably, been distracted by the more pressing matter of his fucking amputations, but now that Val’s drawn attention to it, he realizes he is wet. An artificial blush colors his screen- he hasn’t wet the bed since he was alive,this isn’t normal anymore and it reminds him painfully of waking up in a wet cloth diaper, his father berating him furiously and the nurse trying to distract him like he was a fucking baby, they must have drugged him… or, more likely, it happened when Val cut his legs off. Anyone would have lost control of their bladder in that situation, though, no need to be embarrassed, he consoles himself. Val’s fault for being a fucking freak.

There’s a plastic mat with raised sides on the changing table, patterned, as with everything in this fucking nursery, with sharks. Vox is suddenly worried about the fate of his pets- he was the one to take care of them, Val thought they were creepy and Velvette simply didn’t care. “My sharks,” he blurts out, trying not to feel Val’s hands on him, tearing the tabs of his diaper, running a wet wipe over his genitals, too close, too big- no, no, don’t think about Val at all, he tells himself. “My- my pet sharks, are they okay? They weren’t in the fine print, were they? Don’t hurt them,” he begs.

“Voxxy! I’m insulted that you think so little of my integrity,” Val says, gasping dramatically. “Why in the world would I hurt your pets? Besides, it’s only been a day.”

“I want to see them.”

“Certainly.” Val tapes up the clean diaper, snaps his onesie shut again, and cleans his hands with a wet wipe. “As it so happens, Velvette planned for this.” He picks Vox up again and carries him back to the play area, where he pulls aside what Vox now notices is a floor to ceiling curtain- he’s got to pay better attention, but this situation is insane, he can hardly be blamed for not taking in every little detail- revealing Vox’s aquarium behind a glass wall. They turned one of his rooms into a nursery, then. “Here you are, baby. Why don’t you entertain yourself for a while?”

Vox ignores him, and Val sets him on the floor, close enough to reach out and touch the glass. He has four pet sharks, all of them housed in a massive aquarium in the center of the Vee’s tower, and one of them- Coffee- swims up to the glass, bumps her nose against his hand for a second. “Can I feed them?” he hears himself ask.

“They’ll be fed, I promise. If you’re good, we’ll take you to do it sometimes.”

“Okay,” Vox says softly, too tired to argue.

Chapter Text

Val closed the door behind him when he left, and Vox noticed that he didn’t even bother to lock it. Rude. As if Vox was too helpless to even leave on his own? He laid down on the floor, running the stumps of his fingers through the thick blue carpet, and watched his sharks swim around, feeling lightheaded but determined to take stock of his situation. So his claws are gone, that’s fine, it’s totally fine, it’s whatever. He can live without them. The legs are a bigger problem- being restricted to crawling is humiliating, and feeling like he’s completely at Valentino’s mercy is terrifying. He’s smaller, too. He’s not used to being small.

“Maybe I can just come live with you,” Vox says mournfully to Peanut, watching him swim by. Val told him the sharks have stupid names, but he just doesn’t appreciate them. Coffee, Toffee, Peanut and Hazelnut are adorable names for adorable pets. “But I can’t swim, I guess.”

He’s not sure how long he lays there watching the sharks, but he finally decides to get up and explore the… nursery. No point in pretending it’s anything else. It’s nice that everything is shark themed, he supposes, nice that it’s all various shades of blue. They could have put him in some pink, girly monstrosity, not that there’s anything wrong with pink, Velvette’s given him many, many lectures on the demonization of femininity- which doesn’t make much sense to him, given that they’re literally demons in Hell- but it’s not his style. It’s fine for Valentino and Angel Dust and men like that, just not him.

After a long, long moment of hesitation, Vox sits up and gets onto his hands and knees, takes a deep breath before making his way to the other side of the nursery. It’s awkward, humiliating, slow going, but he manages to explore every inch of the nursery, finds nothing exciting or interesting and ends up back in the play area, watching his pets. It’s cold in the nursery, so he tucks himself into the shark sleeping bag with some reluctance, finds that he enjoys the pressure and warmth of it more than expected.

Vox is half asleep when Velvette barges in, and he startles awake, tries to squirm out of the sleeping bag. “No, no, stay there! You look absolutely precious,” she chirps, snapping a picture on her phone.

“Delete that,” Vox says, but there’s no venom behind it.

“Why? Don’t you want our followers to see how sweet you are?”

“What?” That wakes him up, and Vox wiggles free of the toy shark, crawls over to her without hesitation, tries to sit up on his knees to reach for her phone, but he’s off balance, he falls to his side and yelps in pain.

“Our followers, baby,” Velvette says, giggling. “You didn’t think we were just going to lock you up and forget about you, did you? We don’t want people thinking we can’t control our employees.” He’s said that a million times, and it hurts to have his words thrown back in his face like that. “Have a look, but no grabbing. Hands to yourself, got it?”

She crouches down next to him and shows off her Sinstagram page, always constantly updated, and Vox’s eyes widen at her latest posts. He’s horrified by the pictures of himself- over Val’s knee, asleep in his crib, but worst of all is what looks like a video of Val cutting his legs off. Velvette notices where he’s looking and snickers. “You wanna see?”

“No! No, I don’t!”

“If you’re sure,” she shrugs. “People love it, though. They think you’re just the cutest little… what are you, exactly? A TV? They think you’re a cute, uh, TV.”

“I’m a person, Velvette, not an object. You can’t treat me like this-”

“Don’t act like you’re some innocent little victim, Voxxy. You were an overlord, just like us.”

“I didn’t do shit like this!”

“Only ‘coz it didn’t serve you,” she sneers, and maybe she has a point. “You think being pragmatically evil gives you some kinda moral high ground? Please. Besides, you brought this on yourself, baby boy. Did you learn to listen to your body, pay more attention? I hope you learned to stop playing and go potty?”

“Leave me alone!” Vox shrieks, pushing himself up to try and crawl away from her. Maybe it’s childish to hide in the shark sleeping bag, but he can’t stand her right now, can’t look at her. Unfortunately, Velvette grabs him around the waist and pulls him into her arms, laughing at his desperate attempts to get away.

“It might interest you to know that your little boyfriend heard about what happened,” she purrs. “I guess he does think about you- probably not as much as you think about him, but enough to bring you up on his radio show.”

“What?” Vox freezes, staring at her in utter horror. Alastor knows?

“Yeah. It was all over the internet- you know his shows can’t be recorded, but apparently he talked about you for a while, about how pathetic you turned out to be, about how fragile new technology is.”

“Alastor saw?” Vox whispers, and Velvette laughs.

“Sorry, baby. I know you live your whole life trying to impress him.”

“I- I do not-”

“Mmhm. Are you hungry, sweetie? I think it’s dinner time.”

“I don’t believe you. Alastor doesn’t watch TV-”

“His friends do. You’re the biggest scandal in the Pride Ring, honey, it’s hard to miss.” Vox clings to her as she carries him out of the nursery, down the halls to the dining room- the dining room he designed, surrounded by his aquarium- then tries to hide his face when he sees who’s sitting at the table with Val, but fails due to the awkward bulk of his stupid TV head. This is stupid, Hell is stupid, he hates being a demon, he wants-

“Voxxy, don’t be rude to our guest,” Valentino purrs, and Velvette sets him in- fuck, is it a high chair? It is, he realizes, and instinctively tries to scratch Velvette’s hands as she puts the tray down, but his claws are gone. “Say hello.”

Vox opens his mouth to say something much nastier than hello, but the thought of Val punishing him in front of this cheap fucking whore has his blood running cold. “Hello, Anthony,” he says instead, feeling gratified when Angel Dust frowns at the usage of his real name.

“Hi,” he says, eyes darting from Vox to Val, probably almost as uncomfortable as Vox is.

“I thought you should meet your babysitter before tomorrow,” Val chirps.

“My what?”

“We can’t exactly leave you alone, can we? We’re going out of town for a few days,” Val says, beaming at Kitty when she walks in with drinks- and a sippy cup patterned with sharks, which he sets on the tray of Vox’s high chair.

“I didn’t realize Angel Dust’s skills extended beyond the bedroom,” Vox sneers, and Angel’s jaw tenses.

“Don’t be rude. Angel’s perfectly capable- you’ve taken care of babies before, right?”

“Had a lotta cousins and sh- stuff,” Angel confirms, looking at the table. At least he doesn’t want to be here anymore than Vox does.

“Perfect! Voxxy, drink your juice.” Vox glowers at Val, but he picks the sippy cup up- he has to use both hands, without his thumbs- and takes a sip, relaxing despite himself when he does so. It’s good, sweet, and he realizes how thirsty he’d been as he drinks gratefully.

“Is there a reason Kitty can’t… help… me?” Vox asks, voice strained. “Help that I wouldn’t need if you hadn’t mutilated me?”

“Ooh, fancy word, what a good vocabulary. Kitty’s tiny,” Val says dismissively, “even without legs, you’re too big for her to lift. Besides, Angel’s like a big stuffed animal, all fluffy. Lots of arms, too. He’s a perfect babysitter.”

“I can go back to the hotel when you guys come home, right?” Angel asks softly.

“Sure,” Val says, dropping his pleasant tone for a second. Angel flinches, downs his entire drink in one gulp. “Any other questions?”

“No,” Vox mutters, too overwhelmed to keep snarking at them.

“Is he, like, a little?” Angel asks.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Velvette chirps.

“A what now?” Vox demands. “What did you say to me?”

“Y’know, like… age regression an’ that kinda thing,” Angel says, tracing patterns on the table with his finger.

“What the fu- what are you talking about?”

“It’s, uh, it’s adults who sorta… who regress to a younger state a mind,” Angel says, quieter than before. “I just thought-”

“I’m not some kind of fucking retard,” Vox snarls, furious. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this bullshit, you filthy goddamn whore! Don’t-!”

Val digs his fingernails into his arm before he can finish, glaring at him, and Vox manages to shut up, but it takes a Herculean effort. Angel looks deeply uncomfortable, as if he has any fucking right when he’s the one who brought that shit up in the first place. What the hell is he even talking about, littles and regressing, what is that? Does he think Vox is stupid? Does he think this is some kind of mental deficiency? How dare he? He’s trying to kick him while he’s down-

“Ah, thank you, Kitty,” Val says, interrupting Vox’s spiraling thoughts. Kitty’s back, this time with food, and Vox wants to hit her when he notices her smile soften, pity crossing her features for a fraction of a second as she sets a plate on his tray. Worthless piece of fucking scrap metal. He tries to grab his fork, only to immediately remember that he has no thumbs. “Need some help?” Val asks, and Vox doesn’t respond. When Val picks up the fork and starts actually feeding him, he lets it happen.

Chapter Text

The longest, most humiliating dinner of Vox’s life and afterlife finally ended with Angel Dust’s dismissal. He scurried away at once- like an insect, Vox thought smugly, then wondered if spiders were insects and decided it didn’t really matter, they were bugs at any rate- and Val picked him up, balancing him on his hip, all four arms wrapped snugly around him. Vox leaned against him tiredly, too drained to argue.

“Are you sleepy?” Velvette cooed, but Vox didn’t dignify that with a response.

“I think he is,” Valentino giggled. “Bedtime for little ones.”

“You saw all the plushies we bought you, right? I picked them out,” Velvette said, trotting along after Val while Vox looked down at the floor, thinking that it was an awful long way away without his legs, he’d surely break his screen if Val dropped him, so he clung on tighter and hoped he’d make it back to the nursery in one piece.

Alastor had been one of the first people Vox met in Hell. Manifesting right after an extermination, confused, achey, with a bulky 1950’s television for a head had been terrifying, more so with the realization that his glass face was just as fragile as any TV screen. He spent the first week of his damnation hiding in an alleyway, hungry but too scared to venture out for food, figuring that it didn’t really matter since it wasn’t like he could die again.

Maybe he would have stayed there forever, just lying on his side, waiting for an exorcist to finish him off, if a massive, wolf-like sinner demon hadn’t wandered into the alleyway, possibly smelling his fear, possibly just looking for downtrodden souls. Vox ran from him, at first, then found himself backed into a corner and instinctively lashed out, scratched him with the deadly sharp claws he rather liked the look of, and succeeded only in pissing him off. He would have been torn apart if he hadn’t, by complete accident, shocked him with a burst of electricity, something he certainly hadn’t realized he could do.

Running past the demon’s unconscious body, Vox decided to start looking for a better hiding place, and ended up in the woods. He wandered aimlessly for a few days, still starving, but eventually ended up in front of a little cabin at the base of a radio tower. When he knocked on the door out of desperation, hunger, and a hope that whoever had made their home way out there would be understanding, Alastor answered, invited him in all too eagerly, which maybe should have been a red flag- and Vox was sure that Alastor had meant to eat him, but for whatever reason, he changed his mind, took Vox in as a sort of pet instead. As a friend, Vox thought at the time. As a lover, he hoped in the dead of night.

But that was a long, long time ago. Alastor didn’t want him, had made that abundantly clear. No one would ever want him again, he thought bitterly, looking at the way Val had ruined his body. He’d been unnerved by the TV head at first, but he’d grown to like it, made it work. Now, though-

“Looks like you’re thinking hard,” Val interrupted, throwing the nursery door open and carrying him to the crib.

“Leave me alone,” Vox muttered, curling in on himself. He glanced at the plushies- all sharks, a great white, a hammerhead, a goblin shark, a tiger shark- and grabbed the hammerhead with both hands, hugged it tightly. It looked like Toffee.

“Aww, he likes them!” Velvette squealed.

“Sleep tight, baby,” Val chirped, and Vox pulled the blankets over himself. They were surprisingly comfortable, soft and deep sea themed as everything else. The door closed behind Val and Velvette, leaving Vox alone in the silent nursery, a little shark nightlight glowing across the room and the very faint light from his screen providing his only light. He was reminded of Alastor’s bedroom, suddenly, of the enchanted candles he kept burning all night, the glow of artificial fireflies hovering in that bizarre swampy section he’d somehow tacked onto the room.

Vox had never visited Louisiana when he was alive, but Alastor swore it was the best place in the world, beautiful, dangerous, culturally vibrant, perfect in every way. The way Al talked about New Orleans, he could almost feel the humidity rising around him, see the French architecture and hear soft jazz playing somewhere far away.

Once, Vox had asked him why he kept lights on all night, and Alastor just shrugged, said he didn’t like to sleep in the dark. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the dark- Vox was pretty sure Alastor wasn’t afraid of anything, even things he absolutely should have been- but it made him uncomfortable, maybe triggered those prey instincts he tried so hard to hide. Or maybe it was something from when he was alive.

Vox sat up in his crib, leaned against the bars and watched his sharks swim, shadowed and hard to make out but still a comforting presence, for what felt like hours. He’d tried to check his internal clock earlier but found it restricted, along with his ability to access the internet, play videos, anything at all. He’d never felt more trapped.

After a few long, restless hours, he noticed a dull ache in his lower abdomen, swore under his breath, and squeezed his thighs together. “I’ll just wait until morning,” he muttered to the plush shark, adjusting himself to lie back down, pulling the other sharks under the blankets with him- for security, it was understandable to want comfort in this situation, anyone would- and tried to fall asleep, but the ever-increasing heaviness in his bladder kept him wide awake until it was too much, he sat up again and screamed, “Velvette! Velvette, I need you! Velvette! Velvette!”

Vox had no idea how long he sat there shrieking for Velvette, but she never came, and he burst into tears when he couldn’t wait anymore, flopping back down and holding a pillow over his face. It felt gross, especially when he couldn’t do anything about it. He tried to undo the snaps of his onesie, having a vague idea that he could at least take the wet diaper off, but without thumbs he couldn’t do much.

“Velvette,” Vox sobbed again, clutching his plush shark tighter. He didn’t understand why she was doing this to him, why she was going along with Val’s ideas like this- what had he ever done to deserve this? This wasn’t fair! Maybe he wasn’t exactly a good person, sure, but this was overkill! This was mean! Vox pounded his fist against the mattress, screaming wordlessly in impotent rage, and found the release of tension so satisfying he kept doing it, just shrieking at the top of his lungs until his throat hurt.

The next morning, Vox woke up with a headache- he’d cried himself to sleep, he supposed. Velvette was standing over his crib, and he reached for her instinctively. She was sick of this, surely. She didn’t really want to change diapers and play nanny, she didn’t really want to hurt him, they were friends. “Vel,” he said hoarsely, trying to grab her sleeve, “you’ll stop this, won’t you? It’s not funny anymore. Once I regenerate, everything will go back to normal, right?”

“Regenerate?” Velvette asked blankly.

“Yeah. Injuries aren’t permanent down here,” Vox laughed, struggling to sit up. “It’s okay that you- you know. I get it. Maybe it was kind of funny at first, but it’s gone on long enough-”

“Val’s knife is angelic steel,” Velvette interrupted. “You’re not going to regenerate.”

“What? No, no, Velvette, that’s not funny, I don’t like this-”

“It’s no joke, Voxxy, baby.” Velvette picked him up, grabbed his crotch and grinned wickedly. “Aw, somebody couldn’t keep his diaper dry all night, huh?”

“I- I- I called for you,” Vox said desperately, “I tried to- I tried to hold it- you-”

“Poor little guy.”

“Vel, please, tell me it wasn’t really angelic steel-”

“Let’s get you all cleaned up for the babysitter!”

“Velvette-”

“Hush up, Voxxy.”

“No! You can’t-”

She pulled something out of her pocket and shoved it in his mouth- a pacifier, he realized, trying and failing to spit it out. “There we go! Found your mute button,” she snickered.

“Mmph!”

“Don’t bother, sweetheart. Got a clever little charm on it, not going anywhere until I say so.”

Angel Dust showed up right after lunch, fidgeting in place. “Hey, Mistah Vox,” he said nervously, avoiding eye contact- easy to do, with Vox sitting on the floor and Angel towering over him. Why were all these bastards so damn tall?

“It’s just Voxxy now,” Val chirped, patting Angel’s head. “None of that ‘mister’ or ‘sir’ shit. He’s just a baby, got it?”

“Yes, Valentino.”

“Such a good boy! You have the list I gave you?”

“Yes, Valentino.”

“Perfect, perfect! Have a good time, you two. Voxxy, be good.”

With that, Val pranced out the nursery door, leaving Vox alone with the demon he hated almost as much as Alastor, the junkie whore Val dragged around like a crown jewel, Val’s fucking pet that he was always shoving in Vox’s face, always bringing up at the most inopportune times. Angel wouldn’t give me this attitude, Angel’s prettier than you, Angel doesn’t choke like this, Angel wouldn’t bitch and moan so much, Angel’s a better lay, Angel’s so sweet, Angel’s so soft, Angel Angel Angel, be more like-

“Angel,” Vox says, voice strained, and the spider stands at attention, blinking down at him, “don’t you fucking dare treat me like a baby.”

“I- uh- listen, uh, Mi- um, Vox- you gotta understand, Val’s got me under contract- I can’t just-”

“I’ll rip your ass out your mouth if you try to act like I’m some kid,” Vox hisses.

“I can’t- Vox, I’m sorry, I can’t disobey him.” Angel looks genuinely upset, and Vox wants to strangle him, but the most he can do is throw a little plastic shark at him with both hands. He misses entirely, screams in frustration, and slams the back of his head against the glass wall, too furious to think straight, trapped in his own body, utterly helpless.

“Whoa, whoa! Don’t hurt yaself, c’mon!” Four gloved hands are grabbing him, and Vox tries to slap him away, but either Angel’s stronger than he looks or Vox is weaker than he was, because the spider demon picks him up with no apparent difficulty and carries him back to the play area, further from the glass. “You can’t be doin’ that, Vox, gonna bust ya head open,” he says nervously, fidgeting with his shirt.

“Fuck you!”

“It’s my ass on the line if’n you hurt yaself.”

“See if I give a motherfuck,” Vox snarls, and Angel’s eye twitches. Pleased with the reaction, he eagerly continues, “What’s he gonna do to you, whore? Scared he’ll hit you, is that it? Scared he’ll cut your legs off? I bet he’d make more money off you that way, cunt, cut all your limbs off and-”

Angel lands a sharp smack to his thigh, and Vox cries out, more in surprise than pain. “Finish that fuckin’ sentence,” he hisses. “I dare you, Voxxy. I ain’t allowed to hurt ya, but they was real fuckin’ clear that I can discipline ya if I gotta. You wanna sit here and scream at me like a brat, be my guest, but I been waitin’ a hell of a long time to get back at one a you motherfuckers, and I wasn’t gonna do shit- y’hear me?- I was gonna be nice, ‘cause I felt sorry for your bitch ass, but I don’t gotta sit here and let ya treat me like dirt. I ain’t your punchin’ bag, got that? Think real careful ‘fore you open your fuckin’ mouth again.”

Vox hesitates, considers saying something else but decides he’ll actually have to kill himself if Angel Dust decides to put him over his knee, and crosses his arms over his chest, scowling at the floor. Angel snickers, and Vox wants to hit him. “Shut up, whore,” he snaps, then flinches, quickly adds, “Sorry-”

“That’s it,” Angel says, sounding more exhausted than angry. He grabs Vox around the waist, stands up, and… carries him to a corner, where he sets him down with his back to the nursery. “You can just fuckin’ stay here until you got somethin’ nice to say.”

“You can’t put me in time-out!” Vox shrieks, turning to glare at him, “I’m not a child!”

“Oh, no? Coulda fooled me, the way you been actin’. Yellin’ at the only person here tryin’ to help you, callin’ me names just ‘cause you’re in a pissy mood, throwin’ tantrums ‘cause y’ain’t gettin’ your way- and I saw your little accident on TV, Mistah Big Scary Overlord, I showed Al soon’s I saw it. He told me you always been a fuckin’ brat.”

“Well, Alastor- Alastor’s scared of the dark!” Vox cries, trying to think of anything that could incriminate his rival.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Angel says, rolling all eight of his eyes. “Sit here and shut up.”

“You can’t make me,” Vox whines, and Angel laughs out loud.

“I can’t, huh? How ‘bout this- if you won’t sit quietly like a good boy, I’ll take you back to the Hazbin Hotel with me. Valentino said I could take ya on field trips. How’s a vacation sound? Nice rooms, and Alastor’s been just dyin’ to see you like this. Al wants to play with the baby, ain’t that sweet?” Angel crouches down, pats Vox’s screen with a smirk. “You gonna be good for me, or do I gotta have Alastor straighten you out?”

“I’ll be good,” Vox whispers after a moment’s hesitation.

“That’s what the fuck I thought.”

Chapter Text

Vox is good for all of two minutes before boredom sets in.

“Can I move now?” he asks sharply, turning to look at Angel Dust, who’s tapping at his phone. He gives Vox an utterly unimpressed look.

“Really? Ya gotta learn patience, Vox.”

“I didn’t even do anything!”

“Maybe they really were onto somethin’, damn,” Angel mutters, setting his phone aside. “We ain’t never spent much time together- you always been such a fuckin’ brat?”

“I’m not! They put me in this fucked up situation, and then everyone gets mad at me for being upset! You’d be pissed, too!” Vox shrieks, hitting the carpet with an open palm.

“Uh-huh. Turn around, honey, y’ain’t done with time-out yet. Five minutes.”

“You can’t make me sit here-!”

“Bet Alastor could make you do whatever he wanted,” Angel interrupts, “so if ya don’t shut the fuck up, we’re goin’ straight to the hotel. You got one more chance to behave, I swear.”

“Who are you texting?” Vox asks, in a rather transparent attempt to change the subject.

“Turn the fuck around.”

“You wouldn’t really take me-”

“Are you stupid?” Angel asks incredulously, getting to his feet. He really is unfairly tall, Vox thinks, then yelps and tries to crawl back as Angel approaches him, but only ends up backed into a corner. “C’mon, up we go.”

“Fuck off!” Vox shrieks, fighting desperately against him when he’s picked up.

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m just puttin’ you in your crib for now. Clearly you can’t stay still in time-out,” Angel says, rolling his eyes. “Naptime for baby sharks.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Do you ever shut your damn mouth?” Angel hisses. He sets Vox down in his crib, surprisingly gentle, and, holding up his phone so Vox can see what he’s doing, dials Valentino.

“Angie, what a pleasant surprise,” Val purrs on speakerphone.

“Hey, Val. Listen, Vox is already, um… he ain’t…”

“Let me guess, he’s being a brat?” Val laughs.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t do nothin’ about it, so I was just checkin’ to make sure- can I bring him back to the hotel?”

“No!” Vox screams, reaching for the phone uselessly. “Val, he’s lying! I’m being good!” He hates how stupid he sounds yelling that, but it can’t be helped, Alastor can’t see him like this.

“Feel free,” Val says, a little colder now, “but bring him back before we get home.”

“Yes, Valentino.”

Vox shrieks again when Angel picks him up, realizes too late he’s instinctively grabbed onto a plush shark but doesn’t let go, doesn’t fight as much as he should. If Angel drops him, he’ll break his screen. “I’ll be good,” he promises weakly, but Angel just grunts, obviously fed up with his bullshit. “Please, Angel, please don’t take me to- I don’t want to see-”

Angel’s already dialing Princess Morningstar’s number, easily balancing Vox on one hip as he holds the phone to his ear. “Hey, Charlie! Listen, I need a favor- I’m at the Vee tower, yeah, like I said, takin’ care a Vox, but I think I oughta bring him back to the hotel- you seen, on Sinstagram, right? Yeah. If your dad could send a car…?”

The resulting squeal is so loud and high-pitched Vox is pretty sure his eardrums would have burst if he still had ears. “Of course!”

“Thanks, sugar.”

“Don’t,” Vox pleads, squeezing his shark plushie tighter.

“Too late, sorry. Shoulda fuckin’ listened, huh?”

Princess Morningstar practically tackles Angel when he walls through the front door, grabs Vox’s hand with both of hers, and eagerly shakes it. Not for the first time, Vox wonders what the hell she’s on. “Wow! So nice to have a new guest! Now, I know you might not realize it yet, but everyone has good deep down inside them! Inside of every sinner is a rainbow, I always say, and we here at the-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow your roll, there,” Angel butts in, “Vox ain’t here to get redeemed. I’m just babysittin’ for the weekend.”

“Oh,” Princess Morningstar says, visibly deflating. “I thought… I just thought maybe a traumatic event like this would make you want to…”

“I’m under contract,” Vox says through gritted teeth.

“Well, so’s Angel, and he can stay here!”

“Mine doesn’t work like that. Can’t leave unless they say I can.”

“If you’re interested in redemption, I’m sure my dad can talk to them-”

“Who’s this?” Speak of the devil and he will appear, Vox thinks, scowling at Lucifer, who’s just trotted into the lobby. In person, it’s hard to believe this is the king of Hell- he’s like a porcelain doll, petite and beautiful, more delicate-looking than his daughter. There are so many downright bizarre demons in Hell that Vox has long since stopped noticing- his head is a fucking TV, can’t get much weirder than that- but he’s never seen a demon who looks so innocent. If he was the king of Hell, he’d of ditched the whole angel look eons ago, but Lucifer clearly isn’t over Heaven yet.

“This is Vox,” Princess Morningstar says brightly. Lucifer approaches cautiously, a confused, slightly apprehensive expression across his sweet little face, and Vox realizes how he must look- clearly a grown man, dressed in a onesie with an obvious diaper bulge, legs and fingers cut off, clinging to a plush shark like his life depends on it. He fights the urge to hide his face in Angel’s ample chest fluff and very hesitantly extends a fingerless hand.

“Your majesty,” Vox mumbles. He’s not stupid enough to mouth off to the king of Hell, no matter how fragile he looks.

“Uh… pleased to meet you,” Lucifer says, polite but stilted. His tiny, dainty hand is ice cold, and Vox wonders if he doesn’t look more like a corpse than a doll. He’s seen photos like that- it was the Victorians who photographed their dead, wasn’t it? Pretty little Lucifer would fit right in, cold and white, lovely from a distance but uncanny on closer inspection. “What’s going on with all this, here?”

“I didn’t ask-!”

“He was an overlord, one of the Vees,” Angel interrupts, “and the other two decided he’d fucked their image up, so they… uh… they kinda, um… cut him up, and…”

“How horrible,” Lucifer says, frowning with what appears to be genuine sympathy. He has to tilt his head back to look at them- fuck, he barely comes up to Angel’s waist. Vox kind of wants to pat his head, but suspects that’s a good way to lose his hand altogether. He does have sharp teeth, but they don’t offset his gorgeous face or his wide, innocent eyes, yellow and red though they may be. “You are welcome to stay at my daughter’s hotel as long as you need.”

“I can’t, I signed a contract-”

“I’ll tell them to let you come over on weekends, then,” Lucifer says, waving a hand airily. “This place is much safer.”

“Uh- thank you, your majesty.”

“What have we here?” Vox goes stiff at the all-too familiar voice, high-pitched and crackling with radio static, that rings out across the lobby, childishly squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at Alastor. He hears his heels clicking on the floor, though, and then a too-warm hand on his arm, that awful stench of decay, like corpses rotting in a swamp. With great reluctance, Vox opens his eyes, takes in Alastor’s jagged yellow grin and stupid handsome face- no, no, not handsome face, why did he think that? Alastor is a fucking freak, Vox hates him, he isn’t-

“Al, don’t be mean,” Princess Morningstar says warningly, but Alastor just giggles, staring at Vox with openly sadistic glee.

“So nice to see you like this,” he chirps. “It suits you.”

“Get fucked,” Vox snaps.

“Such language from someone so little.”

“I’m not really a baby, this is just some fucked shit Val came up with, and he’ll get sick of it soon, so-”

“You tell yourself whatever you need to hear, darling,” Alastor coos, patting the side of Vox’s screen.

“Can we go home?” Vox asks Angel softly, fixing him with his best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You can go to my room for now,” Angel says in compromise, and Vox just looks away, notices Lucifer staring at him with an uncomfortably intense expression.

“May I watch him?” he says suddenly.

“Sure,” Angel shrugs. He pauses, obviously considering whether he should hand Vox over to the devil, then seems to realize Lucifer’s much too small to carry him, even without legs. He’s even shorter than Velvette.

Angel’s room is exactly what Vox would have expected, an explosion of pink fluff decorated liberally with posters, and he doesn’t miss the fuzzy handcuffs Angel quickly kicks under the bed before setting him down on the thick carpet. “Be good, or whatever,” he says coldly, then gives Lucifer a lazy, two-fingered salute and saunters out, snatching up that stupid pig as he goes.

To Vox’s immense surprise, Lucifer sits down across from him. “I hope this isn’t rude of me,” he begins, blushing a pretty gold color, “but I’m afraid I… really don’t understand what, exactly, is going on here.”

“Just some… uh… like I said, Valentino thinks it’s funny.”

“You were an overlord?”

“Yeah. Valentino and Velvette are my business partners,” Vox mumbles. “I mean- they were.”

“Now they own your soul, is that correct?”

“Mhm.”

“I know what it’s like to lose everything in an instant,” Lucifer says, eyes soft and sympathetic. “Whatever possessed them to do this to you?” He frowns, looking the TV demon over for a second before snapping his fingers. A collection of soft, thick blankets appear, and he starts wrapping them around Vox with great care. “You must be so cold in that, er… outfit. Here we go, let’s just cover that up, hm? Much better.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Vox says nervously. It is much more comfortable to be cocooned in blankets like this, especially with his plush shark clutched to his chest under them. “Uh… I, um, they think I made the Vees look bad. You probably saw.”

“Oh, I don’t watch television or anything like that. No offense.”

“None taken.” Vox hesitates, realizes Lucifer still expects and answer, and mutters, “I pissed myself on live TV. Didn’t mean to, I was trying to leave, but I waited too long and… and Valentino thought this would be… ironic, I guess. Funny.”

“Sounds like an awful man. I’m sorry that happened.” Vox just nods in response, then whimpers involuntarily when Lucifer pats the back of his hand. He tries to move closer to him, but the blankets prohibit that, and Lucifer quickly adjusts to sit next to him. Six giant wings appear suddenly, wrapping around them, and Vox has to admit it’s nice to be held. Lucifer is cold as death and hard as porcelain, but he smells sweet, his tiny hands are gentle, he lets Vox cuddle up to him. “You should stay here,” he says softly, in a voice like honey, “let me take care of you. I miss that, you know, taking care of someone. Charlie hasn’t needed me in a really long time.”

“Wanna stay,” Vox agrees, feeling lightheaded and tired. “Wanna go sleep.” He’s too exhausted to worry about his phrasing, about how he’s slurring his words.

“You can stay as long as you want, baby boy,” Lucifer says, and Vox closes his eyes, doesn’t see the slightly manic expression of glee on the devil’s pretty, pretty face.

Chapter Text

Vinny wakes up with a headache, but it goes away as soon as he opens his eyes. He’s in a huge, comfortable bed, clutching something soft- a stuffed shark, he thinks- and looking around, he sees the room is decorated like a circus tent. He sits up quickly, eager to explore- Mommy took him to the circus once, he loves the circus, didn’t think he’d ever be able to go again- but no one’s here to help him, and he doesn’t see his wheelchair anywhere.

“Mommy,” he calls, suddenly a little scared- she wouldn’t just leave him alone in a strange place, would she? Did something happen to her? “Mommy!”

The ornate door opens, and someone walks in- not Mommy, but someone so interesting that Vinny temporarily forgets about her all together. He- and Vinny only knows it’s a he because he’s wearing a suit, it’s impossible to tell from his face- is some kind of living doll, white skin, circles of red blush painted on his cheeks, pretty blond hair, and he’s tiny, standing at eye level with the doorknob.

“You’re awake!” the doll-thing exclaims. Vinny giggles- he didn’t know dolls could talk, or move around on their own, and when he hurries over to the bed, Vinny reaches to touch his face. Hard and cold, like the doll Mommy gave him, the one Daddy broke because dolls are for girls… but Daddy’s not here, Vinny can play with the doll if he wants to.

“Pretty dolly,” he says, and the doll blinks, then laughs.

“My wife used to say I look like a doll,” he says cheerfully. “You were asleep for a long time, huh? Do you know where you are?”

“Circus?” Vinny guesses, then notices, for the first time, that his fingers are gone- and is he wearing gloves? Why are his hands black? His head feels weird, too- reaching up, he touches the hard edge of something plastic, starts to panic as he keeps touching it- where’s his head?

“Oh, sweetie, calm down,” the doll coos, and suddenly all the fear is gone. Vinny can’t even remember what he was so worried about. “No, you’re not at a circus, but that’s a good guess. You’re in my daughter’s hotel, my room, but we’ll get you your own soon enough.” Vinny looks the doll up and down, raising his eyebrows doubtfully.

“Nuh-uh,” he decides, shaking his head, “you’re too little.”

“What?”

“Too little to have a daughter.”

“I’m older than I look,” the doll says, grinning, and Vinny shrinks back, scared of his sharp teeth- but then the fear is gone again, he’s calm. “You probably don’t remember my name, huh?” Vinny shakes his head. “I’m Lucifer.” That sounds vaguely familiar, and Vinny thinks it’s a bad person’s name- he heard it in church, he’s pretty sure, and it was someone evil, wasn’t it? But this is just a pretty little doll. He’s probably just confused.

“I’m Vincent,” he says, then quickly adds, “but call me Vinny, ‘kay? Vincent’s Daddy’s name. I’m just Vinny.”

“Just Vinny, got it,” Lucifer chirps. “What a cute name! How old are you, Vinny?”

“Four,” Vinny says. “I’m the oldest, ‘cept not really, ‘cause my big sister went to Heaven. Mommy says she can’t come back.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Lucifer says, frowning. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Polio. I had it, too, but I’m okay now, only my legs don’t work anymore. I was a baby, though, and I don’t even remember, so I’m not sad about it ‘cept when John’s mean to me. John lives next door and he’s really, really mean.”

“Well, your legs… I guess they’re not perfect, but they’re better now, in a sense,” Lucifer says. He pulls the blanket back, and Vinny sees that his legs are cut off below the knee, they’re the same strange coloring as the rest of him, but the expected panic doesn’t set in. He’s completely calm, accepts what Lucifer tells him without complaint. “You can crawl around, at least, so that’s nice, huh?”

“Yeah. I never been in such a fancy hotel.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s… it’s a very special hotel, that’s true. Would you like a tour? My daughter can carry you,” Lucifer offers.

“‘Cause you’re too little?” Vinny asks innocently, and Lucifer rolls his eyes, but he nods.

“Let me call her up here. She’s really excited to see you.”

“Is she a doll, too?”

“Charlie looks just like me,” Lucifer says proudly.

A few minutes later, the door opens and a tall, pretty woman walks in. She does look exactly like Lucifer, but when she comes up to the bed, she towers over him. Vinny thinks he’s lying about her being his daughter. “Oh my gosh, hello!” the woman squeals, bouncing in place. “I’m Charlie, and you’re Vinny, right? What a cute name! It is so, so, so, so, so good to have you here!”

“Hello,” Vinny says shyly. His excitement for the tour outweighs his nervousness at meeting someone new, so he holds his arms out to be picked up, and Charlie makes an eeee! sound, quickly scooping him into her arms. It suddenly occurs to Vinny that he’s a lot bigger than he should be, but then Lucifer touches his arm and he can’t remember what he was thinking about.

“You are so adorable!” Charlie exclaims, turning to walk to the door.

“Wait,” Vinny yelps, and she looks at him expectantly. “I’m still, um… still wearing…” Embarrassed, he makes a gesture to vague to mean anything, then whispers, “I only need diapers when I’m asleep. Don’t wanna wear this outside.” He doesn’t like admitting that he needs them at all, Daddy yells at him for wetting the bed, but obviously they already know about it.

“Oh… well, I’m not sure,” Charlie says hesitantly, looking to Lucifer. “Maybe we could put you in some different clothes, but…”

“Do you ever have accidents when you’re awake?” Lucifer asks.

“Only sometimes,” Vinny says. “Not hardly ever, honest. Only when there’s nobody to help me- sometimes Daddy leaves me alone a really long time, but Mommy says that’s not my fault. I don’t have to wear diapers at daytime, she said so.” Does his voice sound different? Vinny is suddenly distracted, reaches for his mouth and touches flat glass, whines in confusion before Lucifer smiles at him and he forgets what he was worried about again.

“I think that should be fine, then, if it’s what you’re used to,” Lucifer decides. “Tell us when you need to go, okay?”

“I will.” Vinny expects to be set down and changed, but instead Lucifer just snaps his fingers and he’s wearing a whole new outfit, soft corduroy pants tied off under his knees and a warm, cozy sweater that smells like apples. “Oh!” It makes sense that Lucifer can do magic, Vinny supposes- he’s a living doll, he has to be magic.

“Ready?” Charlie asks, and Vinny nods, eager to see the rest of the circus hotel.

“Why’re you wearing boy clothes?” he asks her, and she laughs.

“It’s just a suit, sweetheart. Clothes aren’t ‘for boys’ or ‘for girls’, you can wear whatever you want.”

“Nuh-uh. Suits are for boys, my daddy said so.”

“Well, your daddy was wrong,” Charlie says. “Girls can wear suits if we want, and boys can wear dresses.”

“No! I remember, ‘cause Mommy orders her clothes from a catalog, and I asked her could I have a dress like hers, and she said no, I’m a boy, and she didn’t tell Daddy but she said if she did he’d of spanked me, ‘cause it’s bad.”

“Well, why is it bad?” Charlie’s stopped walking to focus on Vinny, and he wishes he hadn’t brought all this up.

“‘Cause… ‘cause… um, ‘cause… I dunno. ‘Cause Daddy said.”

“Sometimes grown-ups are wrong,” Charlie says gently, and Vinny blinks at her, not understanding. “Think about it- why would that be bad?”

“I dunno. I guess… I guess it wouldn’t,” Vinny says after a minute. He falls silent, and Charlie starts walking, and after a minute blurts out, “Can I wear a dress, then? It was a pretty blue dress in the catalog…”

“Of course!” Lucifer says brightly, snapping his fingers. Vinny giggles, looks down at his new dress and clings a little tighter to Charlie, pleased.

The hotel is beautiful all the way through, very red, and Charlie stops frequently to let Vinny touch things, occasionally sets him down to crawl around and explore. It takes some time to get used to moving his legs at all, but he gets the hang of it quickly. Everything is absolutely perfect until Charlie happens to pause in front of a mirror, and Vinny sees- not himself. Surely. That can’t be him, but Charlie is holding the thing in her arms, it moves when he does, it has the black plasticky skin he was so upset by- and it has a boxy, plastic thin instead of a head, a blue mouth of razor sharp teeth behind a glass pane- it can’t be him, it can’t, it’s scary, it’s not even a person-

“Whoa, whoa, Vinny, what’s wrong?” Charlie exclaims when Vinny bursts into tears, brings his hands to his face and screams when he feels cold glass.

“Monster!” he shrieks, pointing to the mirror, then to himself. “Not me!”

“Ohhh,” Charlie whispers, quickly moving away, but Vinny can still feel- no, Lucifer is pulling his hands down, a calm, floaty sensation washes over him, and his artificial tears vanish, he forgets why he was crying. “Vinny, sweetheart, you… you’re, um…”

“It’s alright,” Lucifer interrupts, “he’s fine now, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Vinny agrees.

“Do you want to play for a minute?” Charlie asks, setting Vinny on the floor and conjuring up a teddy bear. He takes it eagerly, doesn’t pay much attention to the doll people walking a few feet away, whispering to each other. They return after a few minutes, and Charlie picks him back up, lets him keep the bear.

After what feels like a really, really long time, Charlie and Lucifer bring Vinny to a dining room, full of… things. He has no idea what they are, but they look cool- there’s a very, very tall- woman? Yes, a woman, except she’s covered in white and pink fur, and she has four arms. She’s talking to a cat with wings, a really big cat standing on two legs, and a teeny-tiny cyclops doll sits atop the table. The most normal-looking person is a woman with grey skin, who looks otherwise human.

“We’re getting ready to have dinner,” Charlie explains to Vinny as she sets him in a chair. She and Lucifer sit on either side of him, and Vinny watches the other semi-people sit down. The fluffy woman keeps giving him a look he can’t quite figure out, so he waves at her, trying to be nice. There’s already food laid out on the table, and Lucifer helps Vinny put things on his plate. He lets Vinny try to feed himself at first, but it’s too hard without fingers, so he quickly takes over.

“So…” the fluffy woman says, drawing the word out, “you really got him outta his contract just like that?”

“I suggested the Vees turn his soul over to me,” Lucifer confirms. “The suggestion may have been backed up by physical force.”

“Wonderful,” she mutters. Vinny wonders who they’re talking about, but the door opens before he can put too much thought into it, and a tall, skinny man dressed in red walks in. For some reason, he scares Vinny much more than the more obviously inhuman people in the room- his only odd traits are big fluffy ears and small horns, but he has the scariest smile Vinny’s ever seen, and he smells like rotting meat. He seats himself at the head of the table, staring right at Vinny, and no one else comments on his presence.

“I hear you’re going by Vincent, now?” the horned man asks suddenly.

“Vinny,” Vinny corrects. Wanting to be polite, he adds a soft, “And what’s your name, mister?”

“Alastor.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Vinny looks away from Alastor, wishing his mommy was here.

The fluffy woman starts chattering at the cat, and that distracts Vinny for a while, but when there’s a lull in their conversation Alastor meets Vinny’s eyes and sweetly asks, “Do you know where you are, sweetheart?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the grey woman snarls immediately.

“I’m in a hotel,” Vinny answers cautiously. “And there’s a circus room, too.”

“Quiet,” the grey woman snarls when Alastor opens his mouth again. “Not fucking now, you hear me?”

“Hmm,” Alastor responds, turning back to his food. Vinny watches him for a minute, privately thinking that he looks like the devil. Thoroughly creeped out, he looks at Lucifer instead, who smiles kindly, close-mouthed, and pats the back of his hand.

After dinner, Vinny’s brought to a bedroom right next to Lucifer’s, and he cries out in delight when he sees it- it’s not the room Mommy designed for him, but it’s done in the same style, with floral wallpaper and a pretty quilt bluebird-patterned quilt on the bed, a beautiful metal bed frame. Charlie gets him ready to go to sleep, Lucifer tucks him in, and he’s left alone, an apple-shaped nightlight glowing across the room.

As he watches the nightlight, though, the shadows seem to thicken, and Vinny squints at it, frowning. The room is hotter, unbearably humid, an awful stench of death and rot creeping in, and Vinny wonders if he should hide under his sheets or kick them off, starting to cry in fear- and then something is pressing on his chest, there’s a face in the darkness, an impossibly wide, sharp grin, radio dials ticking where eyes should be, sickly green light illuminating elk antlers, casting shifting shadows on the ceiling.

“I asked, earlier, if you know where you are.” The voice is filtered through heavy radio static, and Vinny sobs, tries to press himself back into the mattress. “Do you know where you are, Vincent?”

“Want Mommy,” Vinny whispers.

“Your mother is dead. You are dead. Look at yourself.” A mirror appears, forcing Vinny to look at the monster Lucifer made him forget earlier, the monster that copies his movements- “You know where you are. You know what you are. Don’t you, Vincent? You know, don’t you?” Vinny just sobs wordlessly, trembling, gasping for breath. “You know you’re in Hell- you know, right? Don’t you know that?”

“Lucifer!” Vinny wails, and everything goes away, he hears what sounds like Lucifer falling down in the next room over, a door slamming open, and then Lucifer runs into his room, flicking the light on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shadows,” Vinny gasps, unable to explain it any better. “Shadows- the devil- I’m in Hell, I’m in Hell-!”

“Shhh.” Lucifer touches his shoulder. Everything fades into a pleasant, soft blur. Vinny takes a deep, slow breath, smiles up at the pretty doll, the events of the past few minutes already forgotten. “Shadows, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing, baby boy. Go to sleep- I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything.”

Chapter Text

Lucifer doesn’t bother walking to Alastor’s room, choosing instead to simply materialize there without warning. He’s never actually been inside before, but it’s exactly what he expected, creepy hunting trophies and a fucking swamp somehow tacked onto it. The Radio Demon sits at his table, quietly sipping a glass of bourbon, and he just smiles when it explodes, cutting his hand.

“Is something wrong, your majesty?”

“Your little stunt scared Vinny half to death.”

“Vinny was very recently an overlord not unlike myself,” Alastor says primly, folding his hands on his lap. “Whatever you’ve done to him doesn’t change what he is- a loathsome, sadistic killer, with no regard for the souls he owned or the lives of those around him. Frankly, your highness-”

“Maybe this is better for him, then,” Lucifer interrupts. “Maybe it’ll help redeem him, huh?”

“Vox can’t be redeemed, and he has no interest in trying, I assure you. What did you do to make him act this way? It’s more than his usual immaturity- he doesn’t even recognize himself.”

“That’s none of your business,” Lucifer says coldly. Alastor’s right; while Lucifer could certainly force Vox into the regressed, childlike state the king sometimes finds himself slipping into, in moments of great distress, that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Charlie truly believes anyone can be redeemed, and after seeing what the other Vees did to Vox, Lucifer figured it couldn’t hurt to learn more about his past, about his sins and why he committed them… and he told him the truth, he does miss taking care of Charlie. What Vinny’s experiencing is something closer to amnesia- all memories of his adult life, death and afterlife forgotten, replaced with the child he once was.

“You hate sinners, don’t you? I fail to understand what moral objection you could possibly have to my actions. I played a trick on him, that’s all.”

“A trick,” Lucifer says flatly. “You don’t believe in redemption, do you, Alastor?”

“Not at all.”

“But Charlie thinks you can be redeemed.”

“My dear daughter has the most charming sense of optimism and a wonderful ability to see the best in everyone she meets.”

“My daughter,” Lucifer snaps, eye twitching.

“Ah, forgive me. I misspoke. It’s only because I’ve been there for her in your absence, so I thought-”

“You’ve been here to manipulate her! I don’t know what the fuck you’re planning, or if you just think it’s funny to jerk everyone here around like puppets, but I’ve had enough of your bullshit,” Lucifer snarls.

“Are you going to kill me? Charlie would be devastated,” Alastor simpers, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Who would run things while she’s busy looking after you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you so often fall into a state not unlike dear Vinny’s. Did you want a playmate, is that it?”

“That doesn’t happen often enough to be a concern, first of all, but second- maybe a playmate would be nice.” Lucifer hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Let’s see- Vinny says he’s four years old, and I don’t know if I regress to any particular age, but I’m certainly aware of my surroundings… I’d like a baby brother to play with.”

“Is that why you’re keeping Vox as some sort of pet?” Alastor snorts derisively. “Amusing.”

“No, no. Not Vox.” Lucifer smiles, leaning on his cane, and Alastor, apparently too arrogant to even consider what he’s obviously implying, rolls his eyes.

“Good luck getting Angel Dust away from that moth. He’s rather profitable.”

“I’m sure,” Lucifer says, giving Alastor his most innocent porcelain doll smile. “I meant you, Bambi.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alastor says, and Lucifer hopes he’s happy with that as his last coherent statement for a long, long time. The Radio Demon’s eyes widen slightly when Lucifer raises his hand, his mouth opens right as the devil snaps his fingers, and then he collapses to the floor like a marionette with his strings cut.

Alastor screams, the sound completely unfiltered by radio static, and Lucifer rushes to his side, pulls him into his arms. “There, there,” he coos, grinning to himself. The former Radio Demon screams again, kicks a heel against the floor, and Lucifer makes a soft chirping noise, rubs their foreheads together, scratches behind his ears, and Alastor settles at once, bleating softly and clumsily wiping at his teary eyes.

“Ma,” he says, patting Lucifer’s face before pulling away. “Ma? Ma?”

“Not here, little fawn. Come on, let’s get you to bed, okay?”

“Ma?”

“Lucifer.”

“Ma,” Alastor repeats, more insistently, and Lucifer has to forcefully soothe him again. He starts babbling softly to himself, completely unintelligible, and Lucifer pulls his phone out, dials Charlie. It’s not too late, she picks up at once.

Charlie holds a hand out for Alastor to grab at, frowning at her father. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she says softly.

“Charlie, honey, he was threatening you- threatening everyone here,” Lucifer says, lying as easily as breathing. “It’s just for now, just to get him under control.” Alastor tries to pull Charlie’s hand to his mouth, and Lucifer gently stops him, making a mental note to find very, very sturdy toys for him to chew on. “This will be good for him, I promise.”

“Maybe it will,” Charlie mutters. Alastor gurgles at her, reaches to touch her hair, and she smiles faintly. “Can you conjure up a nursery?”

“Of course. Next to Vinny’s room, I think.”

Chapter Text

Vox wakes up in a room he doesn’t initially recognize, but once he sits up and looks around, yesterday’s events come flying back to him, and he groans out loud, flopping down onto the (wildly comfortable) bed Lucifer must have conjured up for him. It’s obvious that the fallen angel forced him into some kind of amnesiac state, and he shudders as he remembers how ridiculous he must have been acting all day yesterday. Feeling like he could cry from sheer humiliation, Vox pulls the blankets over his head and hugs his stuffed shark to his chest.

A few minutes later, the door opens and Lucifer’s pleasant, even voice calls, “Vox? Are you awake? I thought I should talk to you…”

“Yes, your majesty,” Vox responds, muffled by the blanket.

“Good! Are you going to stay under there?”

“Ah- no.” Vox weakly pushes the blanket back and sits up, smiling, trying to look as adult as possible. At least this room is an improvement over the Vee tower nursery- it’s decorated in the approximate style of his childhood bedroom, he notices.

“So, as you may recall, I spoke to your former business partners and acquired your contract,” Lucifer says brightly. “They no longer own your soul.” But I do is left unspoken, and Vox fidgets with his stuffed shark, reflecting that it needs a name, he needs to find out what happened to his pets. “Charlie and I both think it would be best if you stayed here for a while, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Vox says meekly. Left on his own in this state, he wouldn’t last a week, and being under Lucifer’s protection will render him untouchable.

“Her goal is to redeem sinners, as you know. It might help to talk about your life- you mentioned you were afflicted with polio as a baby?”

“Uh, yeah,” Vox says, distinctly uncomfortable with this topic. He hasn’t thought about his human life in years, certainly hasn’t talked about it since he woe up in Hell. “I was lucky my parents were rich, I guess. I don’t remember what I told you, exactly…?”

“That your legs didn’t work.”

“Right. Yeah, I was paralyzed from the waist down.” Vox shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”

“Can I ask why you think you’re in Hell?”

“Murder, I guess.” This, Vox has never told anyone, never intended to tell anyone, but he can’t just brush off the king of Hell. “My family was wealthy, and I never… I died in 1956. You didn’t… it wasn’t… I wasn’t really educated. My father didn’t want me to go out much, and my mother didn’t want to send me away to an institution, so she taught me at home, and… I don’t know. I lived with my parents all my life, but my father hired a nurse after my mother died, and her brother drove her to our house. He’d hang around, sometimes, talk to me… I was so in love with him, and he- eventually, he- we were- he told me he loved me, he said we’d run away together, sometimes he even took me to work with him- he worked for a local news station, he thought it was, I dunno, scandalous to bring his boyfriend to work- and I really thought…”

Vox wipes at his screen uselessly, ducks his head to hide the artificial tears he can’t control. “Anyway, I was wrong,” he mutters. “He told me he was gonna get married- to a woman, obviously- and said he was sorry, he’d take me on a date as a goodbye, and then I’d never… never see him again, and I… he took me to his house to have dinner, and then we were watching a show together, and I- I’d been going crazy thinking about it, I brought a gun- I… you know. I just wanted to be with him.”

“I see,” Lucifer says, and Vox can hear the judgment in his voice. He thinks I’m crazy, too. Obsessed and crazy and delusional and- “Well, like you said, that was a long time ago. There are definitely people who did much, much worse- which reminds me! Do you remember Alastor’s idea of a joke, last night?”

“Fuck, don’t remind me,” Vox sighs. To think that piece of shit made him cry like that-

“I decided, and Charlie agreed, that Alastor could benefit from this… I suppose you could call it regression therapy, just as much as you could. A baby brother sounds nice, right?”

“You’re kidding. He’d never agree-”

“Oh, but I can make him agree,” Lucifer says, laughing. “Let me show you, eh?”

“Alright,” Vox says softly. He looks down at the way he’s dressed- a soft blue nightgown that extends long past the remnants of his legs, something he remembers made him squeal and clap his hands the night before. Vox blushes at the memory, then feels his screen heat up even more when he realizes he wet his diaper in his sleep. It was a lifelong problem when he was alive- he couldn’t wait very long awake, and asleep, he just didn’t wake up. In Hell, it was never a problem, but whatever Lucifer did to his mind… “Uh… is there any way I could… um, clean myself up?”

“Huh? Oh.” Lucifer snaps his fingers, and Vox shivers at an odd tingling sensation, but he’s quickly dry and wearing actual underwear, much to his relief. Another snap, and he’s wearing blue corduroy shortalls decorated with sharks

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it! Let’s go,” Lucifer says brightly. “I can get Charlie to carry you, or help you down so you can, uh, walk?”

“The latter.” Vox accepts Lucifer’s help, tries not to think about how stupid he feels crawling next to him like a dog, and accompanies him to the room next door. Yesterday, it was a normal hotel door, but today it’s pink, with a painting of a sleeping fawn in the center.

“I think he’s still sleeping,” Lucifer says softly, opening the door as quietly as possible. Vox follows him in, tries not to snicker at the extremely pink color scheme- it’s all rose patterns, pastel pinks, distinctly Victorian in style.

“Alastor died in the thirties,” Vox says, cautious, trying not to sound like the stalker he very much is.

“Yes, but he was born right before the turn of the century. If he had a nursery, it would have looked a little like this… well, maybe not so pink, I guess…” Lucifer walks to the oversized crib Vox has been nervously staring at, then freezes, swears under his breath, and drags a big, plush chair over next to the crib. “Can you climb up here? I can’t, uh, I can’t actually pick him up. Tall bastard.”

“I think so.” With some help, Vox manages to clamber onto the chair, takes a deep breath before leaning over the crib. He half expects this to be some kind of unhinged joke, but- no. Alastor is there, asleep, curled up in a ball, one hand in a loose fist at his chest and the other- oh, Vox would give anything for a camera, because Alastor is sucking his thumb, his perpetual smile gone. It’s an uncanny sight; the innocent sleeping pose contrasts sharply with his grey skin, his claws, his sunken cheeks and shadowed undereyes. Alastor could not more obviously be a grown man and a demon.

“I’ll get Charlie,” Lucifer decides, and Vox notices that he’s standing on tiptoe to see over the edge of the crib. He grins sheepishly at the TV demon. “This is basically my true form, minus the wings and horns. Can’t change it all that much, I’m afraid! I’d love to be taller…”

Charlie bursts into the room before Lucifer even has a chance to call her, absentmindedly pats her father’s head before leaning down to pick Alastor up. She’s a little shorter than him, but not enough to make things too awkward, so it doesn’t look to be too much of a problem. Vox snickers when he sees how they’ve dressed Alastor- the cutest pink nightgown, embroidered with red roses. He yawns, slowly blinks awake as Charlie carries him to a changing table (and, Vox thinks with an absurd level of pride, his room doesn’t have that), but doesn’t seem confused or upset.

Vox settles himself in the soft chair, watching with barely concealed schadenfreude as Charlie sets about changing Alastor’s diaper, although his enjoyment is somewhat mitigated by the Radio Demon’s complete lack of embarrassment. He seems more interested in looking around the nursery, babbling softly to himself, and occasionally trying to grab Charlie’s hair.

“I think we should have a tea party,” Lucifer announces suddenly. “Don’t you agree, Vinny?”

“Uh-”

“I thought so.” Lucifer smiles sweetly at Vox, touches the side of his screen-

-and Vinny smiles back at the pretty little doll, grabbing his cold hand curiously. “How d’you move if you’re a doll?”

“I’m magic,” Lucifer responds, winking at him.

Chapter Text

Vinny watches Charlie pick up the creepy smiling man, noticing that he doesn’t look quite as scary now- actually, he’s acting strange, and this room is like a baby’s nursery, only bigger. “What’s wrong with him?” he asks Lucifer, absentmindedly reaching to pet the doll’s hair.

“Nothing! Alastor’s just a baby, silly, you know that.” And Vinny does know that, as soon as Lucifer pats the back of his hand. “Don’t you want to play with your baby brother and I?”

“Yeah!” Vinny likes babies- he’s not allowed to hold his little sister, Daddy says he’ll drop her, even though it’s his legs that don’t work, not his arms. Lucifer helps him down, and he crawls after them- Lucifer practically skipping, obviously thrilled, Charlie walking with Alastor in her arms- to Lucifer’s circus-themed bedroom, to a table set up with dolls and toy ducks and a tea set. Lucifer quickly sets the toys aside, sits primly in one of the chairs- it’s too big for him, Vinny notes with some amusement, everything in this hotel makes Lucifer look even tinier than he already is.

“Maybe we should have our tea party on the floor,” Charlie suggests, smiling indulgently at her father. “I don’t want Al to fall- his balance isn’t great.”

“Sure, sure!” Lucifer waves a hand, and the table is closer to the floor, he flops down on the carpet and sets about pouring tea. Charlie sits cross-legged, Alastor in her lap, and Vinny accepts a tea cup, smiling.

“I never had a tea party before,” he informs them. “My cousins played tea party one time, but I wasn’t allowed. Mommy says polio is con-co-con-ta- uh, catching, but not anymore. I don’t have it anymore. You won’t get sick.” He’s suddenly worried that they won’t want the baby near him; Mommy’s friends don’t come over or let her bring him to their houses if they have babies, they say he’ll get them sick. Make them broken like he is. “Alastor’s not gonna get sick from me! I’m not still sick!”

“Calm down, honey, we know that,” Charlie soothes. Lucifer is too distracted with the teapot to notice Vinny’s distress. “It sounds like your cousins aren’t very nice.”

“They are nice! Daddy says they gotta right to be upset, ‘cause I shouldn’t be at family stuff anyway. Mommy wants me to go, but Daddy says it’s embarrassing for him, and it scares the other kids. Says, um, says nobody wants to think about babies getting sick and getting hurt, so they shouldn’t have to see me.”

“It’s not your fault you were sick, Vinny.”

“You’re so nice,” Vinny giggles, watching Lucifer push a teacup over to Alastor, who immediately pushes it over, spilling tea on the nice tablecloth.

“Hey!” Lucifer yells, and Charlie hushes him.

“Dad, don’t be upset. He’s just a baby, remember? It was an accident.”

“Fine,” Lucifer mutters, pouring more tea, but Alastor watches his annoyed face, grins mischievously, and pushes the cup over again.

“He’s doing it on purpose!” Lucifer shrieks, jumping to his feet. Alastor laughs in delight, and Charlie sighs, sets him aside. Vinny hesitates before grabbing onto him- he’s never been allowed to hold a baby before, and even though Alastor’s a lot bigger than a baby should be, he still wants to hold him. Alastor looks up at him curiously, smiling, and reaches to touch his face, making a soft gurgling noise. “Charlie, he did that on purpose, he did! He’s trying to-!”

“Dad, Dad! Calm down, please!”

“But he ruined my tablecloth!” Lucifer sounds like he’s about to cry, Vinny notices, concerned. Alastor takes the few seconds he’s distracted as an opportunity to try and bite him, but Vinny jerks away, pushing him out slightly.

“Creepy baby,” he mutters, and Alastor giggles.

“We can fix the tablecloth,” Charlie soothes. “Are you feeling little right now, huh? Is that why you’re so upset?”

“I just wanted to have a tea party, and he ruined everything!”

“Look- it’s fixed,” Charlie says, waving a hand. Sniffling, Lucifer looks at how the stain has vanished. “All better! Let’s go back to playing, okay?”

“I don’t like him,” Lucifer whines.

“It was your idea to-”

“Can’t hear you,” Lucifer interrupts, putting his hands over his ears. “Not listening!”

“Alrighty, then,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes. “How about we play a different game for now? Let’s play house. Al can be the baby, so you can practice being nice to him.”

“Can I be the fish?” Vinny asks hopefully.

“Uh… maybe you should be the mommy or daddy,” Charlie suggests.

“But I’m not.”

“I wanna be a mermaid,” Lucifer chimes in.

“I don’t think you’d learn much from that,” Charlie sighs.

“You can be the doll,” Vinny suggests, “and Al can be the baby, and I’ll be a fish.”

“Fish can’t play with dolls, silly! They don’t have hands,” Lucifer giggles. “How about you be the sister?”

“Okay,” Vinny agrees shyly. Lucifer snaps his fingers, and Vinny looks down to find himself in a pretty blue dress, making him squeak in delight and hug Al, who makes a bizarre sort of honking noise. When he looks up, Lucifer is wearing a Victorian-style dress, looking identical to a porcelain doll, and lets go of Alastor to crawl over to him. “What do we do now?”

“We have a tea party,” Lucifer says firmly, “just us, ‘cause Alastor was bad-”

“No,” Charlie interrupts, “you can’t leave him out. We’re learning to get along.”

“Fine. Then…” Lucifer grabs a cookie and holds it out to Alastor, who reaches to take it with a pleased expression, but Lucifer pulls it back at the last second. Alastor’s face screws up, and it looks like he might cry… until he reaches out and rakes his claws down Lucifer’s face, making the doll cry out in pain and drop the cookie, which Alastor promptly shoves in his mouth before stretching out on his stomach, tail wagging.

For his part, Lucifer is momentarily stunned before bursting into tears, sobbing so loud Alastor covers his big, fluffy ears and whines. “Charlie!” Lucifer wails, reaching for his daughter, who sighs and picks him up. The scratches are already healing, but she still bounces her petite father on her hip while he cries in her arms. “I don’t like him! He’s mean! Make him go away!”

“Dad, you wanted to make him like this,” Charlie reminds him again.

“I didn’t think he’d hurt me!”

“You’re an angel, sweetheart, you’re fine. Look, you’re all better now!”

“Ma,” Alastor chimes in, crawling forward to tug on Charlie’s pant leg. “Ma?”

“Go away!” Lucifer screams at him, trying to kick him in the head with his little hooves before Charlie grabs his ankle and steps back.

“Ma!” Alastor cries, and Vinny grabs onto him again, pulling him onto his lap. He can be helpful for Charlie, take care of the baby while she deals with… the other baby, he supposes.

“What’s your mommy like? Mine’s really nice,” he says, trying to calm Alastor down. The baby just blinks at him, then starts babbling, emitting an unpleasant static noise as he does. He looks happy, though.

Meanwhile, Charlie is talking softly to her father before quietly setting him down on the floor. Lucifer crosses his arms huffily, then reluctantly reaches to pet Alastor’s ears. The baby coos at the gesture, nuzzling against his hand. “Sorry I kicked you,” Lucifer mutters.

“I still wanna be a fish,” Vinny announces.