Chapter Text
The sweltering heat of New Orleans came with far too many mosquitoes. The still water covered in layers of moss held the promise of danger at every corner, never knowing where a gator might be hiding. Having lived there his whole life, Alain knew what to look for. Life and death were a constant in the bayou, an aspect the teenage boy gave great respect to. Down a familiar game trail, he followed behind the footfalls of his father. The large wide back was covered in a white shirt that clung to his body, revealing patches of the bronze skin kissed by long hours in the sun.
It was quiet, save for the crunch of their boots against grass, gravel, and the odd stick in the path. But never silent. Not in the wilds. There was always some songbird singing, a hiss from the water, the rustling of thickets, and other natural sounds of the forest. It was true silence that would give a reason for alarm. The insects were everywhere, a reminder of the woman who still held a collar on his soul. It was as if her eyes were there, watching.
Alain’s father was the only one to ever bear the rifle. His father only officially let him carry with him a single knife. It was a well-loved blade that had tasted the life of many creatures, and Alain preferred it, to be honest. It was much more personal. Guns were noisy and lacked artistry. The human body had a certain beauty in how complex it was, and how fragile it could be when one knows where to cut to bleed a man out.
A dangerous weapon like a rifle in Gordy’s hands was terrifying. Alain could only wonder how long until he’d turn it on his mother. He kept to fist and words alone for now, but Alain lived in fear that one day he’d be too late in taking his father’s life.
Gordy's feet suddenly stopped, rifle aimed at a thicket. Alain knew better than to ask, waiting for his father to finish his observations. He bent down, snatching up a stone. When Gordy stepped back, so did Alain. The stone whistled at the speed it was sent through the air. Moments later an angry gator hissed, throwing its head up. That was all his father needed to take aim and shoot. Alain covered his ears before the sound ruptured the air. It helped, but it didn’t save him from the ringing in his head that drowned out the rest of the wilds.
Birds fluttered from the mangrove trees, and the shaking of the thickets gave way to small rodents fearing the crack of the gun. Smoke billowed from the muzzle, the smell of gunpowder thick in the air. It was a clean shot to the head. A shot that preserved the hide and meat, a rare commodity for the Hartfelts. The hide- if cleaned well- meant a better chance to survive the coming winter.
Gordy lowered the gun, making eye contact with his son who lingered by his side. The sight of death being so close to him inspires nothing in him. Alain could feel the gaze of his father hot on him, making the hair on the back of his neck prickle far more than the maw of a gator. An animal kills because it is hungry, indiscriminate, and only by instinct. But his father was not half as simple. His wrath came from a sense of insecurity he could not begin to understand with his pride.
“Do you know why I brought you out with me today, Alain?” Gordy finally broke the sacred silence, one that Alain would have preferred to keep. He was only obliging an angry boar’s request to placate him. Playing twenty questions did not interest him.
“To go hunting,” Alain answered, bored.
Gordy refused to take his mind off the gator. The small horn in its head felt conclusive enough, but you could never be too careful when it came to beasts. A gator, a deer, or anything wild could hurt and kill you.
“I know what you are, Alain.”
“And what is that, Father?” Alain answered as he always did, with a smile that betrayed nothing of his thoughts inside. His mother had imparted to him the best lessons for fitting in. Always maintain a smile! It makes people trust you, it makes you friendly, and approachable. Best of all? It pissed off his father who hated the sight of it.
“A monster.” He answered. A laugh broke free from Alain’s lips, finding the accusation ironic. But Gordy only dug in his heels.
“There’s something in you; broken. Your mother thinks there’s something human in you somewhere, so she does everything she can to fill you with love and help you fit in. But all she’s doing is teaching a monster how to hide its claws.”
Alain met his father’s eyes. There was no emotion in his voice, it was a simple observation he made, and wanted him aware of it.
“You’ve been calling me one since I was a child, Father. What is the point of this conversation?” His father shifted on his feet, tucking his thumb into his pocket as his head leaned to the side. Gordy inhaled and exhaled heavily, a scowl twisting on his suntanned features.
“I wish I fed you to the gators when you were a baby. I had hoped I could beat this twisted nature of yours out of you. But all it did was make it worse.” Gordy pressed the muzzle of the rifle against the gator’s snout, checking signs of life. He tapped the snout, jabbed against the eye and when he didn’t get a response, he determined it was well and truly dead.
“So, did you bring me out here to kill me, Father?” Part of Alain hoped so, it meant he would have a perfectly good reason to cash in on his favor with HER.
Gordy spat out a laugh.
“No. God would send me to Hell for sending my blood and kin to the devil. He will smite you personally, one of these days. You’re a demon given clay and form, stealing the blood and bone of the true son I should have had. But until that day I won’t have any man carrying my name being raised as a fucking pussy. Doesn’t it bother you, Alain?”
Ah, the name of the Holy Father was a name often invoked on the lips of his mother. Never had the woman gone without her prayers. She spent so much time on her knees that she had scabs, and prayer beads worn smooth from the oils on her hands. The name of the omnipotent force was the only one he could pay lip service to for the sake of his mother, but to Alain, there was only one true God. The strange force that visited him in the attic, left him wondering if she was a mirage or a dream. Or something he conjured to tolerate the isolation of those weeks.
“That I’m a monster?” Alain asked, pressing a hand against his chest. “Should it? If anything I feel like I see the world in far more clarity than you and the others. You’re all slaves to your emotions and lust for women and alcohol. There is so much more to life and all you look for are distractions and substances to numb you. I’m thankful to be honest.” All the smugness in his smile was immediately smacked right off his face.
Alain’s whole world spun, the harsh smack of the impact heard before he felt it. His mind struggled to realize what happened as he fell into the mud. The clothes he’d washed with his mother only a few days prior were now covered in filth with the insects lingering beneath the surface crawling over his forearm. The instinctive need to claw off his skin was only held back thanks to the hot throbbing pain he felt in his jaw, sending spots of color dancing in his eyes. A horrible ringing noise in his ear drowned out everything but the blood rushing in his head. Alain could hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest.
The sight of his father’s filthy mud-covered boots came into view. Worn out from years of work, and patched over and over again because new shoes were a luxury. Shoes at all were a luxury. What they had would be worn until it was falling apart into leather strips, and a man needed a good pair of boots more than a woman needed a piece of clothing with some color to it.
The beastly noise of saliva collecting mucus in the back of Gordy’s throat was almost as disgusting as how viscous that glob of spit was when it landed on the earth. It refused to assimilate into the earth, bubbles frothing and seeping into the cracks in one swift motion rather than a stream.
“Don’t get on your high horse, demon. You are laid low by Earthly means just like any other human. You’re not special.” Gordys’ rough hand snatched Alain’s dark hair, yanking him from the dirt. Alain gritted his teeth and stood on his knees to save himself from the pain. Stubbornly he maintained his smile, refusing to allow his father the privilege of seeing him beaten.
“Do you even feel a little bad for your poor mother who has sacrificed everything for you?” Gordy asked. “No, of course not. A monster like you only knows how to take.”
Alain’s face remained as a mask, even when the words themselves felt like a spear jabbed into his heart. It would bleed, but for all Gordy knew his son truly was just an emotionless monster. Gordy narrowed his eyes, hoping for some reaction. When no answer came, he released Alain’s hair and sighed. Alain hit the dirt, catching himself with his hands to keep his face clear of the filth.
Gordy slung his rifle and picked up the gator, draping the kill over his shoulders. One hand held the back protectively to keep it from slipping away. The man’s rippling musculature meant he had no issues lifting the beast; the closest thing to his own father’s perceived ideal masculine body, with all its terrifying trappings of strength and power. Introduce alcohol, and it became a weapon one couldn’t control.
“I will kill you one of these days,” Alain promised. Gordy raised his head, looking at the skies above. A clear blue sky with not a single cloud to mar its uniform color. A beautiful day in New Orleans, where a man was out hunting with his boy. A day to be proud of, if he didn’t despise what he bore with all his heart.
“You’ll only get one chance, Alain. I’ll break your fucking neck the day you try.” The man cracked his head to the side, once, twice. “But, the day you do? It’ll break your mother. It’s the only reason I let you live. I know you don’t care of course. You’re a monster incapable of loving anyone but yourself. So I’ll be waiting.”
Gordy stepped past Alain, retreading the path back home. The squawk of a heron taking flight called overhead, with a shadow flying past overhead. It felt unbearably loud with the pain in his jaw and the suffocating feeling of sudden pressure on his shoulders. He sank into the mud, darkness taking him, unable to even claw his way out when he couldn’t tell which way was up. His body thrashed, wanting nothing more to make sense of what held him down when at last, his eyes opened.
“AL! Al wake up!” The first thing Alastor saw when he woke up was an intensely familiar blue face. His closest companion for decades, a constant figure by his side that was so distant from his life in the sun it immediately told him it had to be a dream. A face housed within an oaken television set could only be the imagining of madmen for the living.
Ripped from the muggy heat of New Orleans, Alastor’s skin was no less covered in sweat when he jolted forward from the pillow. The static in his eyes cleared away to the usual shades of red dancing erratically within the crimson sclera. The pitch black bedroom was cast in a faint blue light thanks to the man standing by the bedside, like a night light that banished away the darkness. Alastor’s hands dug into the man’s shoulders, tearing through the loose nightshirt he wore, feeling the cold coolant that made up his blood running down his fingers and his wrist. Cold, sterile;everything his home was not.
Vox’s eyes were wide with concern. He didn’t even seem to notice the stinging pain in his shoulders, breathing a little easier when he saw Alastor returning to the real world. Alastor felt Vox’s shoulders shift under his hands as they fell in relief, a gentle closed-lip smile greeting him. The clock on the wall read: 3 A.M.
“You were having a nightmare. You… alright?” Vox asked.
“How did you know?” Rather than an admission he could be anything than alright, Alastor deflected.
“I heard you. Woke me right up from deep sleep. Gotta say… if I wasn’t scared shitless I’d be dead tired.” Relieved, Vox released Alastor’s shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed. “Want to talk about it?”
Alastor clicked his tongue, brushing his hands through his hair. The bright red strands were matted to his flesh from the sweat, leaving his skin and hands feeling sticky. If anyone else had seen him in this state he would have ripped their eyes out and beat the memory out of them. But Vox had a frustrating capacity to become his exception. He’d never speak the words, but he trusted him. A feeling he found baffling, but Vox never gave him reason to… rescind it.
“I… had a dream about my father.” The confession spilled far too easily.
Vox looked almost bug-like with how large his eyes became. He was shocked by the honest admission- he had expected Alastor to brush it off. His shock became greater when Alastor pushed his way out from under the covers, crawled on all fours to sit down beside him, and smacked his head against Vox’s shoulder. His forehead buried into the sleeve so Vox couldn’t see his face, ears flat against his skull.
A silent signal to Vox, one he answered by scratching his head with his free claw. The feel of those claws running across his scalp eased Alastor, delighting him further when the trace of those claws drew to the nape of his neck where the fade of his hair was thin and far more sensitive. Vox’s hands were cold, so cold and inhuman, which made them perfect.
“It was an old memory when he took me hunting. The day when he told me that he knew what I was.” Alastor snorted, burying his forehead further into the shoulder. He hated how quiet Vox remained, instead of fussing like any other would by now. Others would offer some sympathetic word or another, when the last thing he needed was pity. It was frustrating because it showed how well Vox understood what he wanted and needed at that moment. It meant leaning on somebody and feeling safe to do so.
And Vox made it far too easy.
“And did he know what you were?” Vox asked.
“He called me a monster. An emotionless demon that took the place of his true son. A creature incapable of love. Which-- he’s not wrong. But I cannot say I like the thought that disgusting pig had me figured out better than anyone else.”
“That’s… a joke right?” Vox asked.
“And what about that statement sounds like a joke, old friend?” Alastor asked, voice tense like a strung wire.
“Well-- because he’s wrong. I’ve seen you crack up over far too many accidents and mangled bodies to doubt that for one.” A guilty set of snickering from the Radio Demon only further proved Vox’s point, one that left the fellow overlord mocking him with a fake, ‘Haha’.
“You’re capable of love too. He’s right about you being a demon or a monster, however. Like me.” The tenderness that marked the end of the sentence washed away any remaining tension in Alastor’s body.
“You should know better than anyone, Vox. I’m not a man who loves. The idea is ridiculous even.” Alastor tried to laugh it off, but the cool press of Vox’s palm against his temple robbed him of the will to be contrarian.
“But you do. I’ve never felt so loved as I have these past couple of decades with you. You don’t express it in the… same way everyone else might but you’ve said it a thousand times. Just not out loud. Remember the flowers? Or when you taught me how to play the guitar? Don’t forget the amount of time and effort you put into Rosie’s gifts each year! Or the effort you put into breakfast each day, even when you know I’d be happy with the bare minimum. And just now, sharing that story about your father? Took must have taken a great deal of trust.”
Alastor was always baffled by how an electronic screen could portray such tenderness without true human expression. It was uncomfortable, it made him want to laugh it off and shove him away.
“That’s… not the same thing,” Alastor argued, shifting in place. Like any other soul, he did not like the idea of anyone challenging a deeply held core belief about themselves.
“People have been trying to define what love is since before civilization. Everyone has a different answer about the shape it takes. But as long as you hold certain people important to you, it’s only natural the expression of that love will show itself in some way.” The brush of those claws traced the shell of his ears, bringing a stillness to his heart that had once been racing with anxiety. Pulling him further away from the memory of the time when he was weak, helpless, jumping at every shadow.
Alastor took in those words in silence. When he had digested their meaning he raised his head, matching the comforting gaze of his dearest companion. His hands reached out to touch the oaken frame that housed Vox’s face. There was nothing that could have prepared Vox for when Alastor leaned forward. Alastor gripped his furthest shoulder with one hand while the other prevented him from turning his face away when Alastor pressed his lips against the glass screen.
Vox’s hands hovered in the air, at first unsure of what was happening. The inexperienced demon turned the screen to face him better, encouraging him to kiss him back. At long last, the cool claw fell against the small of Alastor’s back, inspiring a wiggle of the tail. When Alastor knew no longer what to do, he pulled the kiss free and met Vox’s eyes.
“Is that supposed to make me feel something?” Alastor asked.
Still trying to process the sudden kiss, Vox’s head tilted to the side, storms of static covering his screen. To get the man’s man back on track, Alastor rapped his knuckles against the side of his head. With a lurch, Vox extended a finger to ask for a moment.
“So… for me?” Vox began, taking in a deep breath. “You just made my brain melt, my heart’s pounding a mile a minute in my chest, aaand I’m getting more than a little excited down there. I certainly feel something” Vox confessed with a clenched smile.
Alastor didn’t doubt his words, but when he laid a hand over his chest he didn’t feel anything such as he described. Compared to the tempest of so many fans running inside Vox’s body trying to cool him back down, Alastor felt completely tranquil.
“I feel calmer.” There was a faint tingling from the static and an instinctive desire that told him to reach for the comfort that was within reach.
“You… uh, d-didn’t dislike it?” Vox wondered out loud, jerking his hand and wondering if he should remove it. But when Alastor didn’t react to the touch, Vox let it re-settle. His hand brushed up and down the deer’s back in a comforting motion, moments later sending Alastor’s face falling against his chest. Alastor shifted, throwing a knee onto the other side of Vox’s leg until his upper body lay against Vox’s.
“I don’t feel the desire to engage in anything carnal, nor do I experience any excitement that you describe. But it…” Alastor’s ears flipped back again. “Makes the uncomfortable feeling that the nightmare left me disappear. Same when you touch me like this. I wouldn’t mind it if you kissed me too.”
Vox sputtered a laugh, unsure how to respond. Once more back at that conundrum being unable to desire where he put his hands. Even the curve of his back felt lascivious. The place between his shoulder blades was equally attractive, an easy place to slip his arms around and indulge in an act he’d daydreamed about countless times.
“That’s a little unfa--ir to me, Al. You know how I feel about you.” Vox’s voice cracked halfway, the small cyan pupils dancing within the bright red sclera as the temptation tested his will in ways he would curse each deity for if any were listening.
“I’m permitting you to kiss me, Vox. Only for tonight. I hardly see why you are holding back. I would have thought you’d jump on the chance.”
After his will had wavered a hundred times in the impressive span of a couple of minutes he pried Alastor off of him and crawled back to put distance between him and his dear friend. Left to hold himself up by his own strength, Alastor gripped the sheets while the reality of the rejection settled in.
“Al-- It’s just a kiss to you. A comfort that will make tonight pass easier for you. But it means… a lot to me. You face tomorrow returning to what we were yesterday. It’s not that simple for me, it’ll make it harder for me when I can’t kiss you tomorrow.”
Just a kiss. Alastor couldn’t sense the falsity in those words. It was a pleasant sensation but hardly anything significant as far as he could tell. Yet, the burning sensation in his chest refused to be settled with his now injured pride. Vox had made it quite clear his less than platonic feelings for him, and here Alastor was offering what he desired on a silver platter. Alastor chased Vox across the bed, until the other man ran out of space to back up. One arm dangled off the edge of the bed as Vox’s body lurched backwards. Alastor yanked him by the legs to haul him flat on his back and placed a heavy palm against his chest. In moments, Alastor grew nearly twice in size. Trapping the weaker, smaller overlord beneath him.
The monstrous face he took on as his eyes turned to hollows and ichor bled from his maw reflected against the glassy surface beneath him. Ruby eyes were dilated in fear, as they ought to be. A God required two things: To be loved. And to be feared. Alastor liked the former well enough, but not even Vox could forget he was owed the second.
“A-al?” Vox squeaked out the name, clutching the sheets, tearing into the silken fabric like butter. “W-what’s wrong?”
Hot puffs of air tickled the weaving of cords that comprised Vox’s neck. It lacked the same pulsing red lifeblood that always soothed Alastor, just as well as a kiss or a hand against his back. If Vox wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he could merely take it. It was easy too, the man silently lay there while his maw clamped around his neck. The pulse of life throbbed against his tongue, and the harsh beat of that unnatural heart caged in Vox’s chassis thrummed. It aroused the instincts of the sadist in him, but it was missing something.
There was no fear or struggle. Just the calm breathing of somebody waiting for Alastor to simply rip his neck out like an obedient offering. Preventing him from making that fatal crunch.
“Al… I don’t know what I did to anger you. You know I’d give you anything. But I don’t know if I could continue being your friend if I passed that line for one night. It’s not something you can put back in the box. It’s like madness in a way. You can only sink deeper. Only if I stay where I am now, can I continue to stay where I am now.”
The ears on his skull fell back flat as he pulled his face away, meeting Vox’s eyes. The pressure on his chest eased.
“How can you stay so calm?”
“I’m not calm,” Vox answered. “I’m terrified right now, of losing you. Of being torn apart. I’ve just… always been like this. I’ve never been allowed to fall apart, so I don’t know how. I’ve been called inhuman for it more than once.”
Just like Alastor had been. The memory of that nightmare was still so distinct, including the memory of the same way he’d faced his father. Deathly calm, without emotion, saying whatever it was his Father wanted to hear to minimize how often he felt those fists. Called inhuman when he swallowed up everything inside him.
But Vox WASN’T like him. He was TOO empathetic. He could love people! He could be normal too, if he wanted to be. The sight of that tranquil face on the screen evoked the closest thing Alastor could feel to empathy. It was a face that started to resemble himself or some part of him long ago. The strength and size of the beast faded as he reached out to brush his palm over the glassy screen. All it took was one touch and Vox melted into the touch, the frigid mask melting away like it was never there.
“Why do you call yourself a monster?” Alastor asked. It had not been the first time Vox called himself that, and Alastor always figured it would make sense one day. He was never curious. Alastor’s body rose with the deep breath Vox took, preparing himself to speak his truth.
“Because. You, Rosie, and I are the only people in all existence I care about. I have no empathy at all for anyone outside of you two. In fact, I hate… almost everyone. Yet, I still want them all to love me, even when I can’t do the same. I constantly want more from them, but I never want to give in return. You remain the sole exception. The only one I want to see happy and thriving. I could give you everything, and I’d be happy as long as you kept smiling at me. Before you, there was nobody.
“I didn’t even feel like any part of me was human before you. I felt like I was fated to exist forever feeling like some impostor. Surrounded by people who would hate me if they knew what I was inside. So I learned to be what I thought they wanted. Then you came along. You were everything I was on the inside, but unafraid to show it.” Vox swallowed after his vulnerable confession. A delicious type of vulnerability that gave Alastor such power over Vox he could even forgive the transgression of his rejection.
Never had Alastor felt so fascinated to come to know somebody else. So much like him, while remaining his foil. A reflection of what he would have become if he had been born capable of empathy and love. Both hands cupped the oaken frame, a touch that Vox responded in kind by laying his own hands on top of his.
“Well my dear, you make for a beautiful Monster. You have the makings of a fine demon. After all, they say no blade can cut deeper than empathy! I lack the hand to wield it. So I’ll have to put it into your beautiful hands.”
Vox took one of the hands clasping his head to weave their fingers together. The silence had returned, with nothing but the ticking clock and the cries of crickets outside heard in the tranquil night. But the energy between them felt comforting instead of awkward now. Peaceful.
“Then I will have to show you the face of a man thrown into absolute despair.” Vox promised, A wicked smile spreading across the screen. The faint blue color dancing below his eyes was comically sweet against such nasty words. Alastor’s own eyes illuminated in excitement, with his tail wagging against his will.
“I can’t wait, my dear.” Alastor’s body bent double until his forehead met the cool glass between Vox’s eyes. “Life has certainly become more entertaining with you around.”