Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alastor was, to put it bluntly, having a terrible fucking time. Between Charlie's mother-henning, Lucifer's vitriol, and goddamn Vox's smear campaigns, he was just about ready to march back up to heaven and demand they finish the job. Charlie, he tried to be gentler with. She was his… friend, he supposed. Always smiling, always trying. It was as adorable as it was pathetic. Like watching a puppy try to carry a stick that was far too big for it.

Are you okay, Alastor? Sorry, I know you can take care of yourself, it's just, you disappeared for so long after that fight and holy magic can take forever to heal and your smile's been doing that thing that I think's a grimace lately so if you're in pain at all just know you can tell me and you can take a break—

He would be breaking something, alright.

Well, well, well, look who decided to come crawling back once the fight was over. Aww, did you hurt your wittle weg? Maybe you should fuck off for another seven years and leave the hotel you're oh-so passionate about protecting open to the angels again! Throw my daughter right to them while you're at it! I cannot wait for her to realize she doesn't need your cheap party tricks anymore.

Growling, he leaned against the wall as he limped back to his room. His knee creaked in protest. One thing about Hell; injuries sustained in life didn't go away. His staff wasn't just for aesthetics. But, with it snapped in twine, it wasn't much help. Why had he agreed to have it be his arcane focus? Such a feeble thing could hardly stand up to a well-aimed kick from the hotel's resident spider, much less a fucking angel's magic. He couldn't even teleport to his room, to spare himself the looks from other residents.

They had been finicky around him since the grand re-opening. He had been helping Vaggie hang a banner over the doors. Far too weak from the gash on his chest, he had been forced to use a ladder. Vox's obnoxious little crew had been there, as well as that Killjoy woman, reporting the goings on (ie. negging the staff). The sun had been especially hot that day. Perhaps a petty revenge from The Big Man himself. Alastor had refused to be seen in anything less than his usual getup. He would be damned again if he let anyone see him that weak. Heat and pain had proven too much for his body.

When he woke up on his couch with a cold compress on his forehead, Vaggie had been watching the story on her cellular device. Breaking News: The Radio Demon's Fall? We're coming at you live from the studio to report that the Hazbin Hack, Alastor, seems to be worse off than he's letting on! Reporters spotted him plummeting from a ladder after being asked to move a sign, quote, 'a little to the left'. Rescued by the Princess of Hell's former Exorcist bestie before his brains met the pavement. Was it heatstroke, or has the damage from former Head Exorcist Adam's holy light finally killed this fucking relic shambling around as a demon? Find out now!

He snarled. The glitchy footage of Vaggie swooping down to catch his limp body would haunt him until he was erased. At least the cameraman that had followed them into the hotel got a boot to the face and a busted lens for his trouble. Creak. His ears flicked upwards. “What.”

“You forgot your water.” He resisted the urge to hiss. For all her faults, Vaggie at least recalled that he was a grown man who didn't need coddling. She also recalled that he was quite stubborn and was not afraid to make demands when needed. It had amounted to little aside from the bare minimum of self-maintenance. She had also been wrestling Charlie and Nifty away from his side for the better part of the morning. For that, the cameraman's broken nose, and the decent conversation while he was forced to rest, he owed her decency.

Turning, he snatched the offered glass and chugged it. “There. Will that be all?”

“For now.” She took the glass back. Glanced at the leg he was favouring. “You want something for that?”

“Peace and quiet.”

She snorted. “Good luck with that, you live here.”

“Solitude, then.” He turned back around, tucking his hands behind his back and strutting towards his room, ignoring the pain.

Vaggie sighed and shook her head. “Take it easy, Shitlord.”

There was no malice behind her words. He sometimes wished there was. It would be so much easier to hate her, then. To hate them all. Or perhaps to remain indifferent. It wasn't as though the feeling wouldn't be mutual. Groaning, he let himself slump against the wall again. The ladder to his tower had never seemed so precarious. Shuffle, shuffle. Click. “Uhg, what?!”

“'Hey Angel, how are you doing? You look nice today!' Aw shucks, thanks Al, not too bad yourself!”

“I beg to fucking differ,” Husk groused.

Alastor sighed, bearing his fangs as he grinned at the duo. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Angel reached into his cleavage and pulled out a monogrammed envelope. “Delivery imp left this in the mail for ya. Figured we'd grab it before onna Vox's goons could snag it.”

“Ah.” He took the envelope, not missing how Angel held it by the very edge, so as to not accidentally touch him. “Thank you. Heaven knows that hack would wither away the moment he's forced to stop trailing after me like a lost puppy. How is Dimple, by the by?” He unsheathed a claw, opening the letter with care.

“Alright. They got they horns pierced again. 'S gonna be more metal than bone, soon.”

Alastor tucked his monocle away, replacing it with his reading glasses.

Your place
Bring me something sweet to bite
Yours Truly

The letter burst into green flames. Angel and Husk eyed him warily as his grin stretched unnaturally wide. “ⱧɄ₴₭ɆⱤ! ” His voice buzzed with feedback. “You and I have an errand to run!”

“Whu—?”

“Come, come, no time to dilly-dally!” He grabbed Husk's wrist and marched back down the hall. “We must alert Charlie!”

The Radio Demon, for all his pride, did so despise being alone, especially when he felt unwell. Husk was fun to torment, should the mood strike him. Apparently that tidbit had reached the illustrious ears of Angel Dust, likely over one of their many shared nights at the bar. So, Alastor had found himself half-way through a rushed excuse to leave, reluctant cat in tow, when Angel had spoken up.

“How's about I go with yas? Everybody saw you eat shit on TV, twice, they probably gonna be clamouring to get they mitts on The Big Bad Radio Demon. Y' might need a good shot to keep an eye out.” He wrapped his arm around Husk's shoulders and gave him a stern tug out of Alastor's grip.

“Oh, Angel, that's a great idea!” Charlie squealed. Alastor shot him a warning glare. “That's so sweet of you to offer!”

“Yeah, well, somebody's gotta look after these knuckleheads.”

“I assure you, ₳₦₲ɆⱠ ĐɄ₴₮, I am quite capable of taking care of myself, and our resident house cat.”

“Yeah, sure, Mr. One Hit Wonder,” Lucifer said from above, helping Nifty dust one of the chandeliers. Alastor hissed, bearing his fangs. The snide little reference to him fleeing after Adam had nearly killed him with a single strike was becoming a more prominent nickname than 'Smiles'. Alastor almost missed the latter.

“Dad,” Charlie groaned, hiding behind her hands.

Angel paid them no mind, walking out with a much more willing cat in tow. “Ciao, Toots, be back whenever.”

“Oh no,” Vaggie, who had been kneeling by the television, stood and started after them, to Alastor's immense and obvious displeasure. “You three together are a disaster waiting to happen.” He wanted to rip her other eye out and lob it at Angel Dust's ridiculous hair.

---

Alastor's jaw twinged with how hard he was grinning. They passed shop after drab shop, offering little that would tickle his patron. There was a particular bakery she favoured, one co-owned by the delightful imp that delivered their mail. Chi-Miracle Sweets and Treats. Way out of the way, but worth the good mood it put her in. Tight pain shot up his ankle and into his knee as he took step after step down Hell's cobblestone walkway. He could mend his staff himself, but his patron's magic was more refined than his. It would take less time. Get him back to work on Charlie's little project quicker. If she was amendable.

Pastel bricks came into view at the end of the sidewalk. Finally. A shrill squeal pierced his ears as Angel Dust rushed ahead, dragging Husk along behind him. “I love this joint! They make the cutest little piggy treats! C'mon!” Husk could only yelp as he was pulled through the doors. Alastor supposed watching Angel torment Husk was a good enough consolation prize.

He followed after the boys, Vaggie on his heel. A bell chimed, announcing their presence. “Since when do you like sweets?”

He ignored her, the line parting like the red sea as he approached the cashier. “Dimple!”

The little imp, who had been cowering under the vitriol of a beefy bull demon, brightened at his voice. “Alastor! Howdy!” They grinned, snake fang piercings glinting under the shop's soft yellow lighting. Their curled horns were studded with spikes, gems, and teeth. Peach fuzz adorned their head, a result of being unable to find hair dye that wasn't black or white. A thin, spiked tail wagged to and fro. Their forked tongue flicked out, likely to taste the static energy that radiated off of him, to gauge his mood. “What can I do ya for?”

“I'm here on behalf of Yours Truly. Have you anything to suit such a fancy?”

To their credit, Dimple didn't drop their smile. “A-ah, urm, right. Okay, I'll, uh, I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you kindly, my dear.” He grinned at the bull, who whimpered and scurried out of the store. Good riddance. “Oh, and Dimple?” He dropped a handful of bills into their tip jar. “I am in quite the rush.”

“O-of course!” The darling little thing saluted and then scuttled about the display cases, scrutinizing every pastry with the eye of a hawk. He watched them scoop up cupcakes, scones, and tarts, all garnished with fresh fruit. Alastor would have to be very careful not to touch them, lest it rot. Dimple snaked their way through the crowd, holding the box above their head, then leapt back behind the counter and handed him their selection. “Here you are, Mr. Alastor! G-give our best to Yours, yeah?”

“Of course.” He paid for the assortment, then dropped more bills into their tip jar. “You have a swell night.”

“Th-thank you!” Alastor turned on his heel, storing the box among his shadows before heading out. Vaggie shouted for him to slow down. Again, he ignored her, forcing her and Angel and Husk to catch up to him.

“Dickhead,” Angel began, panting. “It ain't a race, fuckin' slow down.”

He walked faster.

The red sun bathed the city in a soft pink hue as it settled over the horizon. His old Radio Tower stood mighty, still. Some cracks in the brick here, some overgrown flora there. He hadn't had time to repair it before that flat-headed smarmy fuck had forced a tactical retreat. The light in his study was on, preventing him from sending shadows up to scout it out. Through the window, her silhouette beckoned him with a curl of her finger. She stepped away from view as the other three rounded the corner.

“Jee-zus H,” Angel rasped, “you ashamed to be seen with us or something?”

The bulb of a nearby lamp post shattered. Angel only scoffed as Alastor made his way inside. The spider had been scoffing at him far too much lately. He should consider himself lucky that Alastor hadn't ended his miserable existence yet. Or perhaps unlucky. There was little Alastor could do (or was willing to do) to him that Valentino couldn't do worse. The cruellest option was to keep him breathing, keep him hopeful, and never let him forget just how much his existence bothered him. Angel was still, what the kids called, an 'attention whore' at the end of the day. Alastor knew his disinterest and sometimes disgust got under Angel's skin. Valentino had likely made sure such things would. He really ought to pay the rat a visit. Maybe if Angel got to let off a little steam, he would be less insufferable.

“How long will this take?” Vaggie asked as she jogged to keep pace with him. “Charlie has some business to sort out once we get back and it's already late—”

“ł₮ ₩łⱠⱠ ₮₳₭Ɇ ₳₴ ⱠØ₦₲ ₳₴ ł ₦ɆɆĐ ł₮ ₮Ø ₮₳₭Ɇ,” he hissed, shivering as his body began to glitch with fear rage. He dug his nails into his palm, the sharp pain grounding him. “You may rest in the lounge while I search the upper floors.”

With that, he dipped into the shadows, ignoring Vaggie's indignant squawking, and materialized outside his study's door. He hunched, nausea crashing over him the moment his feet hit the ground. Without his staff to steady him, he toppled to his knees, sucking ragged breaths through his gritted teeth. What would they think of him now? Reduced to a quivering, sweaty mess by his own power. He grinned wider, pushing himself up. Tucked his trembling hands behind his back. The door to his study creaked open on its own. He entered, pulling the sweets out of the shadows and into his grasp. Cobwebs littered every surface. Roaches scuttled by his shoes. His old armchair was in tatters, gnawed apart by termites. The room was dead cold, despite the red glow emanating from lamps far too pretty for him to have owned. There would be no sinking away from her via shadows. Not that he could if he wanted to. Grinning still, he revealed the box from behind his back, keeping his eyes forward. Out his window. He traced the large crack on the right side, glanced from stain to stain, likely left by the crows he had befriended. He wondered if they had waited for him. If they had missed him.

“Alastor,” breathed a familiar, bone-chilling voice, right next to his ear. He barely had time to flinch before her arms were around him. Hot breath on his neck. Hands running up his arms. Long nails carding through his hair. “It's so good to see you again.”

He was going to be sick.

“Why, you look an absolute mess, my pet.”

He curled his lip. Get off get off get off get off—“I've been dealing with quite the mess, Madame.”

Lilith hummed, all honey-sweet, and Alastor felt the slide of her hair against his back as she leaned forward to place a delicate kiss on his cheek. “So it would seem.” She left behind a stamp of black lipstick. He wanted more than anything to rip the soiled skin off of his body. Despite seldom speaking with Angel Dust, Alastor listened in on his conversations with Husk, when he had nothing better to do. The spider often described lingering touch as a film that he couldn't scrub away no matter how long he showered. Lips and breaths that burrowed into the skin and sparked until the sensation was scratched away. Or numbed with drugs and drink. Alastor found himself relating to the spider far more than he would ever have wanted to, on that front.

Black blood trickled down his chin as Lilith finally released him, keeping a hand in his hair as she made her way to his front. Her purple dress hugged her body, emphasizing her in a way that made Alastor's skin crawl. There was nowhere safe to look, so he forced himself to stand up straight and meet her golden eyes. They glinted at the challenge. “Poor thing.” She ran her nails slowly over his ears, and the damn things folded backwards without his consent. Lilith smiled, and dug her nails into the base. “I see you've fetched me something.” He handed over the box of pasties, his hands trembling. Lilith laughed, lifting her free hand to wipe the blood off his chin. Heat rushed from his churning stomach to his face as she licked the droplets off her thumb, then finally took the box. Finally took her hand out of his hair. He bit back a retch.

She cooed at the (admittedly charming) display of treats. Cupcakes covered in baby pink icing and topped with strawberries, tarts baked to golden brown with a vibrant blueberry center, scones criss-crossed with cream cheese icing and cinnamon syrup. “Such a thoughtful little pet you are.” She took one of the cupcakes, biting into it with a hum. Alastor tried in vain to calm his racing heart while she ate. The touch was gone. Everything was fine. He was fine. Lilith licked the icing off her fingers in a way that suggested something. Alastor averted his eyes. “It seems my daughter had brought a non-insignificant amount of trouble on you.”

“No trouble, Madame. Just a challenge. A good man never turns his back on a challenge.” He grinned, all teeth and glowing red eyes.

Lilith tittered, snapping the pastries away and breaching his personal space again. He refused to flinch. “No, I suppose he doesn't. I've always loved that about you.” He swallowed a mouthful of blood. Snarled as Lilith cupped his face none-too gently, mirth oozing from her every pore. “I saw your little show. A shame you don't show well on camera. Quite the hit you took, wasn't it?”

“ɎɆ₴,” he croaked, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

She tightened her grip on his face. “Is there anything I can do for you?” A palm pressed into his chest, smoothing up his coat. He grit his teeth.

“Mɏ sŧȺff.” He snapped it into existence, holding the pieces out to her. “The angel... surprised me.”

Lilith tutted, releasing him once again. Alastor shuddered, then snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. In between shallow breaths, he got nosefuls of her floral perfume. Sickeningly sweet. Each breath sent pin pricks shooting up his body. The stench left sticky, affectionate residue over his bare skin despite him being dressed to the nines. He held his breath. “Alastor,” she chided, much like a parent scolding her child for wetting the bed. “Honestly, if you're going to be this reckless, why give you so much power to waste?”

“It was necessary to ensure your daughter wasn't destroyed—!”

White hot claws formed a chain around his neck, startling a cry out of him as Lilith yanked him nose-to-nose with her. “You misunderstand me, pet. I did not ask for your excuses. When I granted you this power, I asked only one thing of you: keep that girl under control. And what do you do? Not even a year later, and you wage war on Heaven. Does that sound under control to you?” Alastor's legs gave out. His bad knee hit the hardwood floor, making his bones rattle. The chain forced his head up, searing into his skin. He clawed at his neck, only for that same agony to wrap itself around his wrists and yank them behind his back. “Well?”

“Ɨŧ... wȺs Ⱥn ᵾnføɍsɇɇn ȼønsɇꝗᵾɇnȼɇ.”

“And what, exactly, did you think would happen?” The chains grew hotter, tighter, until he couldn't swallow the blood in his mouth. It dribbled down his chin and onto his suit. Red bled over his vision, but there was little he could do besides snarl. Manicured nails found their way back into his hair, and this time he did flinch. Lilith laughed, and yanked his head back using one of his antlers as leverage. “Oh, don't go whimpering away from me now, Alastor. When a pet makes a mess, you rub his nose in it. Haven't you ever raised a dog?”

Burning, solid pain morphed into thorns, snarling jaws crushing his jugular and wrists. No, no no no not again, it was over, it was supposed to be over! A screech of feedback shattered what was left of his window, as well as every light in the room. Alastor thrashed, the jaws only clamping down tighter. He felt the dog's snarls vibrate through his muscles as they ripped into him. His damn tail flicked up, flashing white; danger!, at nothing. His shadow sprang up, its gaping maw leaking blue as it lunged at his attacker. Lilith clicked her heel, and an orb of light surrounded her and Alastor, burning his id to the touch. “Bad boy.”

She shoved him back by the antlers again, beckoning his staff to her. Golden light snaked around the handle, mending it with ease. Alastor uttered a raspy “Guh!” as power rushed back into it, nearly drowning him in energy. He could feel his shadows baring their fangs, ready to tear, to feed. If he could just—! Lilith held his cane just above her head, smirking down at him. “̶M̶̶a̶̶d̶̶a̶̶m̶̶e̶, ̶I̶—̶I̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶ ̶f̶̶i̶̶x̶ ̶t̶̶h̶̶i̶̶s̶. ̶Y̶̶o̶̶u̶̶r̶ ̶p̶̶e̶̶a̶̶c̶̶e̶ ̶w̶̶o̶̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶b̶̶e̶ ̶d̶̶i̶̶s̶̶t̶̶u̶̶r̶̶b̶̶e̶̶d̶ ̶a̶̶g̶̶a̶̶i̶̶n̶, ̶y̶̶o̶̶u̶ ̶h̶̶a̶̶v̶̶e̶ ̶m̶̶y̶ ̶w̶̶o̶̶r̶̶d̶! ̶J̶̶u̶̶s̶̶t̶—̶j̶-̶j̶̶u̶̶s̶̶t̶—̶p̶̶l̶̶e̶̶a̶̶s̶̶e̶—!” A static-laced shriek ripped its way out of him as the dogs sank their teeth into his shoulders.

“I do so love to hear you beg, Alastor.” She grinned, yanking him up so she could breathe against his quivering ear: “Do it again.” The Radio Demon whimpered. He wished Adam had struck his heart. Anything was better than this. On his knees, trembling, begging for his power that he had earned in life and death. His power, that he had so carelessly expended during his last feud with the Vees. His power, that he had sold his soul to regain, was hanging just above his nose, by the will of Hell's mighty Queen.

He heard the hum of flying silver before he heard Lilith's startled yelp. He blinked his watery eyes, and saw her clutching her face, golden-white blood dripping through her fingers. His mouth watered. It smelled divine. A whoosh above his head tousled his hair. His insides shifted; his power no longer constricted. His cane... where was his—?

Lilith was tackled with the force of a freight train, sent flying into a pile of rubble. Still holding his leash. Alastor was yanked forward by the neck. He landed on his belly, chin hitting the floor and knocking his teeth together. A familiar boot stomped on the chain—oh thank Hell the dogs were gone—splattering golden blood on the floor. “Get your fucking hands off of him!”

Lilith snarled, pushing herself up and manifesting his leash once more, only to shriek as a bullet tore through her hand. “You heard the broad.” Another, equally familiar boot appeared to his right. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. A large, fluffy mass landed over him, growling. How had they gotten up here?! There were no stairs! The elevator was broken! Alastor opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was pinned under Lilith's fiery glare.

“You.” It had been a while since Alastor heard Vaggie speak with such venom. Recognition flashed over Lilith's face. “Are you fucking kidding? You're still here?! Charlie's been calling—!”

Lilith aimed a sneer towards Alastor, who shrunk. She hadn't told him to come alone. He hadn't breached any parameters. He still choked on the chain around his neck, eyes watering as it sizzled against his skin. Then, Lilith stepped into the shadows and disappeared. She was furious. Furious with him. He had wanted to come up alone but they wouldn't let him! It wasn't his fault! She... oh, fuck, she was going to—going to—!

Alastor dug his nails into his hair, his scalp, his ears, and tore. He tore until the wretched buzz and prickle was gone, leaving only pain. Finally. Finally. He grinned, laughter bubbling up his throat as he ripped chunks of his face away. This, he could handle. Pain was good. He could control pain. He was pain. His laughter turned manic as he shredded his throat, still raw from the leash. He took a bite out of his wrist, snarling to lay claim, to warn others away from trying to take his meal.

“Alastor!” Hands. Hands on him. Hands.

“₦Ø! ” He swiped at nothing, bearing his fangs, trying to scramble away. Footsteps surrounded him, shrill voices calling his name, telling him to stop. Telling him it was okay. It wasn't okay. None of this was okay. She had touched him, like he was a pet, and he had let her, because he had to. Because he had been foolish. Arrogant. Reckless. He roared, ignoring the popping and ringing in his own ears, and chomped down on his other wrist. The hands were back. “₦Ø! ”

“Alastor, stop fucking eating yourself!”

“₲Ɇ₮ ɎØɄⱤ Ⱨ₳₦Đ₴ Ø₣₣ Ø₣ ₥Ɇ! ”

“I'm just—fuck! I'm just holding your hands so you don't hurt yourself!”

“ⱠɆ₮ ₲Ø! ” He yanked his hands backwards and swung his leg, knocking Vaggie off her feet and onto her back. He loomed over her, fighting to pin her down, still grinning despite his unhinged jaw. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and frantic, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. Good. You be afraid. You fear for your life. Not me. Never me.

She grit her teeth, pushing back against his hands. “For fuck's sake, Alastor, it's okay! She's gone!”

“₦Ø! ”

“Ey, Shitlord, back the fuck offa her—!”

“No! Angel, don't touch him!”

“Are you fucking insane?!”

“It's—” Vaggie took a deep breath. “It's okay, I'll tell you if I need help.” She spread her wings, slapping the floor to give herself leverage, and pushed back enough to keep them both in sitting positions. Alastor hissed, scrambling to regain control, his hooves leaving indents in the floor. “Alastor. I'm holding your hands so you don't hurt yourself. No one is going to touch you anywhere else. She's gone. You can relax now.”

“ĐØ ₦Ø₮ ₴₱Ɇ₳₭ ₮Ø ₥Ɇ Ⱡł₭Ɇ ₳ ₱Ɇ₮! ” Static clouded his mind, screaming danger, danger, danger! He could still feel her presence. Watching. Laughing. She would be back. She would be back and she would stroke his hair and touch his ears and grab his face and he would be forced to his knees and beg her to stop and she would laugh and—

“You're not a pet, Alastor, you're our friend.” Vaggie grunted as she pulled his hands down, towards the floor. “Hard as you fucking make it to remember that, sometimes.”

“ⱠɆ₮ ₲Ø Ø₣ ₥Ɇ ØⱤ ł ₩łⱠⱠ Ɽł₱ ØɄ₮ ɎØɄⱤ Ø₮ⱧɆⱤ ɆɎɆ ₳₦Đ ₣ɆɆĐ ł₮ ₮Ø ₵Ⱨ₳ⱤⱠłɆ! ”

Vaggie fixed him with a hard glare. “I'm holding your hands so you don't hurt yourself. And if you ever pulled that shit, Charlie would kill your ass so quick you wouldn't even have time to play a sound effect from your fucking cane.”

“₥₳Ɏ฿Ɇ ₮Ⱨ₳₮'₴ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ł ₣Ʉ₵₭ł₦₲ ₩₳₦₮! ” He slumped, struggling to breathe around the panic in his chest. It swelled in his lungs, his stomach, up his throat, until he was choking on it. His eyes burned. Blood trickled down his forehead, down his cheeks, and stained his suit. He was hollow, cold, and burning up from the inside all at once. His hands were shaking. He must have scared Vaggie. Good. Maybe she would let him go and leave him to rot in peace.

He looked up.

She did look scared, but not of him. She looked... well, he imagined this was what he had looked like the first time Angel had offered his, er, services. Deer-in-the-headlights. Hah. What a sense of humour, those powers that be.

Husk broke the silence with a sigh. He walked to the one area of the study that hadn't been destroyed; a table with a record player placed on it. Under the table was a shelf of records, collections Alastor had taken with him from his life. Husk retrieved one and carefully placed it on the player. Soft, upbeat jazz began to croon through the room. Alastor's breathing mellowed in Pavlovian response.

Angel Dust sounded in confusion.

“He likes music,” was Husk's reply.

It was then that Alastor's brain caught up with him. His ears shot up-right, his grin shrunk, and the adrenaline flushed out of his body. Vaggie was still staring at him with wide-eyed horror. She was still holding his hands. It... it wasn't a terrible feeling. He didn't like it, but it was tolerable. She wasn't pulling or stroking. Just holding. He was bleeding on her. She didn't seem to notice.

“After the shit he pulled on you, you're gonna look after him?”

Husk sighed again. “I mean... look at him.”

It cut deeper than any insult. Look at him. He's pathetic. On his knees, trembling, begging for death. Because a woman touched him. Because he couldn't even fight off one pig to buy time for his fri—colleagues. There's no point getting mad at that. He's just a whimpering little pet. His throat tightened. No. He would not be showing weakness again. Hissing, he squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly sick under Vaggie's staring. “Łɇŧ mɇ ǥø.”

She blinked, frowning as she shifted to sit back on her calves. “I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“Oh, what does it fucking matter? I'll heal.”

“It matters because you don't deserve to be hurt like that.” He wanted to roll his eyes. Since when did she care? Since when did any of them care? They were just piling on the honey because they pitied him. “It... fuck, Charlie's so much better at this... it's okay to be,” she paused, frowning in thought, “angry. But chewing yourself up won't make that go away.”

“Yes, because you're the expert on these things.” Why was she still here?

“Alastor, you're not going to goad me into leaving you after you just admitted to having suicidal ideation.”

He curled his lip. “And why not? What's it to you? Charlie has Lucifer to guide her now, you have no need for me.” He wished he had stayed under the rubble of the old hotel. It wasn't as though they would have found him. They wouldn't have looked. They hadn't looked. That little group hug upon his surprise return had meant nothing. They had moved on before he had even left. “It's not as though I'll be missed. I thought you would have popped open the champagne by now.”

Vaggie had the gall to look offended. “I'd never—! Fuck, look, Alastor, even—even if Lilith put you up to this, you've still actually been helping. That means something to Charlie, so, it means something to me, too. And even if you hadn't, even if we never met you, that doesn't mean you deserve to be treated like that.” He scoffed, averting his eyes. “I'm serious. If Charlie knew her mother was—”

“ȻħȺɍłɨɇ wɨłł nɇvɇɍ ꝁnøw.” His shadows hissed and swirled around the room. “She can't. Don't—do not breathe a word of this to her, any of you!” Lilith would tear him to shreds, break him in ways he couldn't fathom, and the only man who could stop her would probably cheer her on.

“Okay,” Vaggie reassured, and Alastor wanted to lunge for her throat because how dare she speak to him like a child. “Okay,” she held his hands tighter, “no one's going to tell anyone anything anytime soon. It's o—” she hesitated, frowned, then took a deep breath. “It's a promise.”

Such fickle things, promises. Easily made, easily broken. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but couldn't get the words out around his rapid gasps. His muscles liquified. “I—I—I—” What was happening? What was she doing to him? He tried once more to yank his hands free, but his limbs merely twitched. Static popped in his ears, hissing louder and louder and louder—

“Whoa there, easy,” came a soft, nasally voice, much closer than he had been mere moments ago. Through the red haze clouding his eyes, he could make out Angel Dust kneeling next to Vaggie, who looked completely lost. “You're having a panic attack. That sounds worse than it actually is, I get 'em all the time. Just try to focus on your breathing. Deep, slow breaths, Smiles.”

“I'm not—I—I—I'm not a ch-ch-child!”

“No shit, asshole. I'm tryin' to be nice, here. Ya damn lucky ya lookin' like a wet fuckin' kitten 's pathetic enough ta tug on my heartstrings.”

“Angel,” Vaggie warned without any bite.

Alastor could only hiss.

“Yeah, case and fuckin' point. Now, copy me.” Angel made a show of breathing in, holding it, then exhaling, counting to four, two, and four again on his fingers. Left with little choice, Alastor copied him as best he could. Between the heart in his throat and his trembling limbs, it took some time before he could finally gulp down a complete breath. Angel gave soft encouragement every minute or so. Alastor hated how much it soothed his nerves. He hated how tightly he clung to Vaggie's hands, because he wasn't trying to hurt her despite himself, he just needed something to dig into. He hated how, when the music faded away, Husk automatically replaced it with a new record, then moved to sit at his back. Not touching. Just there. “There ya go,” Angel said as his breathing evened out a little. “You're doing great.”

“Sŧøᵽ.” His voice crackled with shame rage.

Angel growled, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Why do we even fucking bother with you?”

“He's being a shit on purpose,” Husk said. “Thinks it'll get us to leave him to sulk in peace.”

For the briefest moment, fury overtook any and every sensation in his body. Eyes flashing to dials, he made to reach into the either, for Husk's leash, but Vaggie held his hands tighter, keeping them pinned to the floor. “WȺŧȼħ ɏøᵾɍ fᵾȼꝁɨnǥ møᵾŧħ, Ħᵾsꝁɇɍ.”

“Alastor,” Vaggie snapped, baring her teeth and getting in his face. “I swear to whatever the fuck's listening, if you try to go all Evil Overlord on him when he's going out of his way to help you, Charlie will know every detail of what went down in this room the minute we get back to the hotel. Got it?”

Alastor growled. He couldn't kill her. He couldn't kill any of them. Charlie would surely get suspicious, and Luficer would turn over every pebble in Hell to prove him guilty of something. They knew it, too. Splendid. As if this couldn't get any more humiliating. He was tempted to headbutt her, maybe get his antlers involved. But that would only prove their point. He was pathetic. He had almost died at the hands of a pig, and then fled. Even with the extra power from Lilith, he was nothing. No wonder they hadn't gone looking for him while rebuilding the hotel.

Angel scoffed, kicking off the wall to join Husk at his back. “Bastard. That's all it takes to shut you up? No more facade of bein' above all us lowly sinners, huh?”

Alastor bit through his lip, black blood dribbling down his chin.

“That why you get your rocks off tossin' the souls you own around? Makes ya feel in control, after you went and fucked yourself with a bad deal?”

His nostrils flared, smelling his own blood and that vile perfume.

“Typical. Just like a fuckin' Overlord. You'll go outta your way to help 'those of fairer means' if it gets you whatcha want, and fuck 'em once you do.”

“Like you joined Charlie's little passion project out of the goodness of your heart, and not for a rent-free room.”

“Like you had some 10 foot tall creep waitin' to feel you up before you could even walk through your front door every day. You're not better than me, asshole. I'm not too pussy to stand up to my fuckin' owner and I ain't even got your magic.”

“That's enough—” Vaggie tried to intervene.

“Oh? I didn't realize the rat you got your gonorrhea from has ascended to royalty. Pray, what else have I missed?”

“Fuck you, asshole! She barely had to do anything and you was ready to suck her di—”

“ĐØ ₦Ø₮ ₣ł₦ł₴Ⱨ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ ₴Ɇ₦₮Ɇ₦₵Ɇ! ” He was going to kill him, send his shadow down his throat and tear him apart from the inside.

“Why? Ya too ashamed to admit it?”

“Ɏøᵾ ꝁnøw nøŧħɨnǥ Ⱥƀøᵾŧ ŧħɇ đɇŧȺɨłs øf mɏ đɇȺł!” Vaggie's grip on his hands was all that kept him from lunging for Angel Dust's throat. “These are delicate procedures that require thought, something I know you're unfamiliar with. Unlike some people, I cannot simply open my legs to solve all my problems!”

Angel whirled around. “Say that again—!”

Husk tugged him back. “Angel, chill, he's mad cuz you're right and he's embarrassed.”

“Oh fᵾȼꝁ øff, the lot of you!” Feedback rattled the room. He glitched, biting his lip clean off. Let them try to restrict his teeth without losing a limb. “Do you honestly believe my refusal to indulge her will be respected without some other caveat that would put me in danger?! Are you that fᵾȼꝁɨnǥ nȺɨvɇ as to believe the Queen of Hell would value anything outside her own whims?! Are you, Angel Dust, going to stand there and tell me Valentino wouldn't make your afterlife a nightmare should you point out a breach in your contract?! What in Hell makes you think Lilith would be any different?!” He panted, snarling nose-to-nose with the spider. He didn't remember standing up, or backing Angel and Husk up against a wall.

“Your misbehaviour only affects you. I have a wayward little Princess to keep out of danger, as well as a hotel full of ɨmƀɇȼɨłɇs who seem to have a death wish, waging war on heaven of all things! I make one move she doesn't like, boom, no more Radio Demon for you! You're all stuck with plain old Alastor! How do you think I would need to go about earning the privilege of my powers again, hmm? Any guesses? Anyone?” Angel only blinked, eyes wide and mouth a tight line. Husk was cowering behind him, shaking almost as badly as Alastor himself. He reared his gaping maw and sunken, black eyes on Vaggie. Her gaze flicked from his mouth, to his eyes, to his hands. The hands she was still holding. She met his eyes once again, shocked, but not afraid. Why wasn't she afraid?

Alastor hiccuped around rapid breaths, his chest now unbearably tight. “Oh, but it's fine,” his voice cracked, “The King will grace us with his mighty presence at the last possible minute, once my magic has been completely drained by keeping your heads on your shoulders. Problem solved! No need to worry! Isn't that just ǥɍȺnđ?” He tried to claw through his hair, but Vaggie held his hands tight. Roaring in frustration, he clung to her instead, digging his claws in just to make a point. She grimaced as golden-white blood pearled up from the wounds. It did not make Alastor feel better. “What is the fucking point... of kneeling at her feet if he—if he's just going to s-swoop in and suddenly decide to be a present father? What was the point of all this? What use am I now? What use is this deal?” If he lost his place at the hotel, Lilith would retrieve him. He would truly be her little pet, then. Fetch her whatever suited her fancy, made to kneel at her feet while she read, sit on her lap when she wanted to touch his ears—

Alastor collapsed to his knees once again. All he could smell was floral rot. It flooded his senses until he was gargling, spitting blood and bile onto the floor. Over his and Vaggie's hands. To her credit, she didn't let go. Didn't even cringe. Too busy staring at him, paralyzed. He sniffled. Blinked. Registered the wetness on his face. His eyes burned. More warm wetness slid down his cheeks. No. Please, no, anything but this. He opened his mouth to say something, anything. A choppy gasp was all he could manage. Every whimper he tried to swallow ripped its way out of him as a sob. His chest ached, holy wound rubbing against the bloody fabric of his shirt.

“Hey,” Vaggie whispered, barely audible. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hey, uh, it—it's okay, uh...” She glanced left, right, down then back up at him. “Do you... uh, d'you wanna, I dunno... lean? On me? Or, something?” Alastor groaned. Face burning and a mess with blood, snot, and saliva, he crumpled forward. Vaggie tensed when his forehead hit her shoulder. He wept. Broken, strangled yowling. He was going to die again. He wished he could die again. It would be more merciful than whatever Lilith would do to him. “There you go,” came Vaggie's dazed voice, “just... let it out.” He felt her shift, heard a shrill “What the fuck do I do???”

“Fuck if I know! I didn't know the mother fucker could cry!”

“Maybe he's got, I dunno, some meat around here? He likes that shit, right? Let's go look—”

“Angel do not fucking leave me alone with him!”

“Fine, Husk, you go look.”

Though his ears were pinned back, Alastor heard the soft pap pap pap of Husk's paws retreating. Angel sighed, then Alastor felt heat near his back again. “What are we gonna do with you, Al...” A whoosh made one of his ears perk up. Vaggie had lifted one of her wings to hover over him. Offering shelter. A way to better hide his face. He wilted, taking the mercy with a grimace.

“Fuck... look, I'm—I'm sorry for pushing you earlier. Didn't know it bugged you this much... okay, I coulda guessed, but I didn't think it'd get you this upset.”

“I'm n-not u-ups-set, I'm fᵾɍɨøᵾs.” He was. He was furious with Angel for his snide comments. He was furious with Husker for egging him on. Furious with Vaggie for not giving him his fucking hands back. With Lucifer. With Lilith. With himself. How could he have been so careless?

“Yeah... still, 'm sorry. You're right; technicalities don't matter to 'em. I know that.” Silence stretched on just long enough for Alastor to get his hopes up. “It ain't your fault.” Fuck’s sake, shut up. “How she treats ya, I mean. 'S fucked up. Ain't got no right puttin' her hands on you like that. I know you hate that shit.”

“She owns me. She has every right.”

“Alastor?” Vaggie's voice cracked. He could smell the anxiety seeping out of her. “Does she... does she do more than just pet you?”

“Oh, she'd better fucking not,” Angel growled.

Alastor hesitated, tensing under their watchful eyes. Sometimes, he wished she did. Then at least his distress would be reasonable. “No.” His voice was barely audible, muffled by Vaggie's hair. “It's never not a possibility... but hardly a necessity.” Hot coals settled in his stomach, making him cringe. How pathetic was he, that she could topple him by petting his ears?

“Hey, it's okay,” Angel said, sounding about as confident as Sir Pentious when approaching Cherri Bomb. “Everybody's got their squicks. 'S fucked up to exploit that, no matter what they are. You're allowed to feel violated. You were violated.”

Alastor laughed, the sound wet and fragile. He hadn't given much thought to how he felt. It was hard to tell, most days. Some activities felt 'good', and others did not. There was little nuance to it. Certainly not enough for such specific words. He couldn't deny its accuracy, though.

Pap, pap, pap. He didn't need his eyes to know Husk had returned empty-handed. “Uh... everything okay?”

“Yeah, Hun, we're okay.” Hesitation, then, Alastor felt a gust ruffle his hair as Husk sat behind him once again.

He turned his head, enough to get proper breaths in. Four, two, four, like Angel had demonstrated. Bit by bit, the tension left his body. He inhaled through his nose, smelling the shampoo Vaggie and Charlie shared. Coconut and vanilla. He could feel his own blood and spit drying on his clothes, on his skin. He could feel Vaggie's skin. She had very soft hands. If he squeezed them, he could feel calluses on her palms and fingertips. Likely from training with her spear. It was... fascinating. Hands could tell such a story.

No one ever held his hands. Certainly not to keep him from hurting himself. It still didn't feel good, but it didn't feel bad, either. Vaggie wasn't going to touch him beyond this, he was certain. She didn't seem the type to enjoy getting elbow-deep in gore. Then again, her arms and shirt were splattered with his blood. It still dribbled out of his mouth, down his quivering chin, onto her skirt. “This is pathetic.”

“Welcome to the club, Babe,” Angel said. “Everybody in this room's been a pathetic mess at least once. We all losers, here.”

“You got company,” Husk added.

Vaggie squeezed his hands. “It's not bad to be pathetic.”

He cackled. “And here I was thinking you couldn't tell a joke to save your afterlife.”

“Strong people aren't strong because they never feel emotions. They're strong because they feel those emotions, and it doesn't change who they are. Running from your feelings is the cowardly thing to do.”

“I suppose you would know, wouldn't you?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Out of bait, Alastor opted to sit still and try to stop trembling. The breathing technique steadied his heart, while Vaggie's wing steadied his body. She had draped it over him, like a blanket. It didn't feel as bad as he would have thought. Gentle enough to ensure he didn't feel trapped, but not so much that it tickled. She had been surprisingly considerate. Or perhaps not surprising; Charlie wouldn't have fallen for someone unkind. It was surprising she would show that kindness to him, though. Surprising any of them would. “I...” he cleared his throat of static. “I would like to apologize for my behaviour, earlier. It was unbecoming. I… appreciate your care. All of you.” Getting his tongue around it was like swallowing rocks. Still, he meant it. He did not care for the person he became while distressed. He had never imagined others would.

Husk grunted in response.

“'S okay,” Angel said.

“It's not,” Vaggie corrected, “but we appreciate the apology.”

“Yeah, that. You weren't yourself. I know I ain't pleasant t' be around when I'm panicking like that. Happens to us all.”

“Make no mistake; breathe a word of this to anyone, and I will have you swiftly dealt with.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're a big scary Overlord with a big fat—”

“Angel,” Husk warned.

“Ego,” Angel finished. “Don't worry Deer Daddy, nobody else 'll know you got feelings.”

Alastor bristled. “Do nøŧ call me that.”

“Angel,” Vaggie hissed through her teeth, “not the time for racism, shithead.”

“Wha? The fuck you on about?”

“He's black, don't call him a deer.”

Alastor momentarily forgot his humiliation. Had he ever mentioned his race at the hotel? He barely spoke to her at all, how had she known? He hadn't inherited much of his mother's features in life: he had been fairly light-skinned, though his hair had been curly and dark. He could have passed if he deemed it necessary. Now, his hair was thin, more akin to fur than anything. Vaggie must have registered his confusion, because she offered a simper as said, “I saw the photo of your mother on your mantle.”

Ah. One of the other possessions he'd managed to drag with him. By far his most precious.

“Uh...”

Vaggie sat up to meet Angel's gaze as she explained. “Slave traders called black people 'bucks' and 'does'.”

The room got very quiet. Alastor could feel eyes on his back. Hunching, he wiped his eyes on Vaggie's shoulder, wishing he could claw at his damn ears. He clung to her hands instead. “I didn't know you were alive to witness that, my dear.”

“I wasn't. I was never alive. But I still saw earth.” She shrunk a little. “I thought it was only people like that who wound up in Hell for the longest time. 'S why I was so down to... fly down here every year. I cannot believe that mother fucker decided to make you look like this when He was the one who let all that happen.”

“I can!” Alastor chirped, his voice raw.

Vaggie sighed. “Yeah... I guess I can. Still pissed about it, though.” Alastor smiled with less teeth. He had never liked touch he didn't initiate, even when he was alive. Especially not in his hair. Now, with the goddamn ears, demons just couldn't keep their hands to themselves. Usually the ones who knew why he hated them so much. It was... nice, to know that it irked someone else, too. And strange. People weren't supposed to care about him. That was why Lilith had propositioned him in the first place.

“Shit... sorry, Smiles, I had no idea.”

“Think nothing of it.” The response was thoughtless. He couldn't show more weakness. Weakness was why Lilith hugged so tightly, breathed so close, stroked his ears and tugged his tail and left her scent all over him until ripping himself to shreds was the only relief he could find. But, well, this was about as weak as he had ever been in front of others. They weren't clamouring to kill him, or even kick him while he was down. They were... his friends. “Do try to keep such comments to a minimum in the future.”

“Yeah, 'course.”

“Thank you.” Alastor sat up, cringing at the mess. “Vaggie, my hands, if you'd please?” She released him, albeit slowly. He snapped his fingers, ridding himself and her of his blood and tears. He glanced about. “My staff...?”

A grunt, and then it was all but shoved into his lap. He snatched it, grunting as his power rushed back into him. Already, he could feel the gash on his chest start to sew itself up. The skin he had ripped off began to regrow. Red static faded from his eyes, easing his migraine. Finally. Chittering was his only warning before his shadows popped up, grinning, laughing, and rough-housing with each other. They crawled up the walls, over the ceiling, skittered across the floor and ran around his friend's legs like overly excited dogs. His primary shadow rose from the floor, uttering its strange, rickety chirping. It rushed around the room, sniffing out any more danger.

Only once it purred and sank back into the floor did he click his heel, calling the others back. “Well! I don't know about you all, but I've had quite enough of today! What say we head on home, hmm?”

“Fuckin' fine by me,” Husk grumbled.

“Seconded,” Vaggie said. “I think I've earned a hot shower.”

“Way ahead of you bitches,” Angel called from the window. Alastor nearly suffered cardiac arrest when he hopped out. Zipping towards it, he was stunned to see the spider holding his gloves in his mouth, climbing down the wall like... well, like a spider. Once he was close enough, he leapt from the wall to a lamp post, twirling down and kart wheeling to his feet. To Alastor's left, Husk grunted out a chuckle.

“Show off.” He and Vaggie spread their wings and fluttered to the ground. Alastor wanted to kick himself. Of course, that was how they had gotten up to him.

He stepped into the shadows, appearing directly behind Angel Dust. “Onward!” Angel shrieked and jumped into Husk's—unprepared—arms, sending them both toppling to the ground. “To the Hazbin Hotel!” They both flipped him off as he cackled.

His motley crew let him take the lead on the stroll, content to joke amongst each other. What a queer evening. He had half a mind to pinch himself. But perhaps he didn't want to wake up, if this was a dream. If he had managed to fall asleep, he was riding that success until Hell snowed over. And this was one of his more pleasant fantasies.

When the hotel appeared over the horizon, Alastor heard the click of boots and rustle of paw-pads jogging to catch up to him. “Alastor?” He spun on his heel, greeting them with a toothy smile and a hum. “If you decide you want to talk to Charlie about,” Vaggie gestured vaguely with one hand, “that whole situation, just, know we'll be there with you.”

“That bitch ain't gettin' close to you without eating some fuckin' lead,” Angel added.

“If anyone's gonna kill your ass, it's gonna be me,” Husk grumbled.

Alastor felt he should guffaw. Play it off, be an ass, and call it a day. But he felt warm. In a good way, this time. Like his mother's hugs, but without the discomfort of physical touch. Delicious, and dangerous, should he grow used to it. Or worse yet, become addicted. He smiled with less teeth, letting the warmth spread throughout his body until he was tingling. “Thank you.”

Gluttony had always been one of his bigger sins.