Chapter Text
Vox was grateful he got to keep any part of him, he really was.
Even if it was only this much.
Why was he allowed to keep him at all?
Perhaps a sign of good faith.
Perhaps to deter him from the idea of plotting revenge.
Perhaps as a cruel reminder of their defeat. Alastor reveled in giving him the choice to either finish off Valentino himself or accept he’ll have to protect him from others trying to finish him off, without Valentino ever being able to repay him. That sadistic prick. If it was up to Vox, that smug self-serving deer would be the one missing half his skin.
Perhaps because Princess Charlie Bleeding-Heart Morning-Star took pity on the tale of tragic love her creativity had spun at the sight of Vox breaking down over Valentino’s freshly mutilated barely alive body.
Perhaps because she believed everyone deserves a chance at self-improvement, even if it was hard for Vox to imagine how she expected Valentino to do anything to work towards redemption considering the state he was left in.
Perhaps all of those reasons.
It didn’t matter. They had made sure Valentino wouldn’t be a threat anymore and added a clause that if he was ever spotted causing trouble again, Vox wouldn’t have any shreds of his moth’s body left to hold. So Vox did the only thing he reasonably could and locked up his volatile treasure.
The Overlord of Television could be accused of a plethora of crimes and many of those accusations would be true: mass brainwashing, work safety violations, customer privacy violations, torture, wage slavery, actual slavery, false imprisonment, false advertising, stalking, sexual harassment, aiding and abetting sexual assault, faking documents to pay less for shipments from the lower rings, accessory to murder…
But no one could accuse him of not giving his precious moth the best afterlife he could. Well, the best afterlife his expensive pet moth could have while staying safely locked away.
The world outside the walls of the tower held no mercy for a broken demon like him.
Vox shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. No, Vox was the only one who could protect him from the consequences of his past misdeeds. For better or worse, Valentino was safest here, under his watchful eye.
The mangled body in his bed didn’t look much like the infamous, feared and lusted after Overlord Valentino, but, as much as he hated to admit it, it might be as close as he’ll get.
The mangled limbs, the burnt skin, the brain damage, the internal bleeding…
Vox spent a small fortune on reconstructive surgeries, physical therapy, medication, adaptive equipment… all to get back a piece of the life he had with Valentino. A shadow of his former glory, yet Vox remained devoted to reviving what was left.
Except because the injuries were sealed with an angelic force Valentino wouldn’t and couldn’t recover. Not ever. No matter how much time, money, research, and love Vox poured into him.
Vox was at best just giving him the closest thing to a life he could realistically have at this point. At worst he was extending his suffering. The injuries were beyond repair. A constant reminder of the horrors Valentino endured and the price he paid for his immortality. Horrors many would say were fully deserved.
Vox took a deep breath, steeling himself against the pang of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him. In that case, Vox's efforts took on an even deeper significance. By creating this makeshift existence for Valentino, some kind of... comfortable prison, he was offering what little comfort and security he could not just from the threat of Valentino acting like a dumbass and aggravating his injuries, but also safety from the many, many demons out for revenge on the incapacitated former overlord.
“You realize you might have to keep him like this forever?” Velvette asked, looking over the plans displayed on one of the monitors in Vox’s hub.
The older media overlord’s voice dropped to a whisper, quiet and somber. "It's a bittersweet act of love, really.”
“Didn’t peg you for a romantic poet.” Velvette turned to look at a different screen. “Except when it comes to writing diss tracks.”
“What do you propose we do instead?” Vox was glad she wasn’t looking directly in his direction, or she might have seen how devastated he looked.
To this question, Velvette had no answer.
Valentino had always been a lot to handle, but he could also be a useful asset. An effective boogeyman to scare employees to work faster lest they be sent off to the big bad moth as new chew toys or target practice. His bodily fluids were the base for the love potions which sold so well it was horrifying. Vox could attest Valentino knew how to fuck him so good it almost made him forget all the bullshit the moth regularly made him put up with.
Valentino was a high risk high reward game. Emphases on ‘was’.
This barely breathing lump (that Vox was supposed to be grateful for being graciously allowed to keep) demanded constant care but offered no reward aside from the vague hope that he might one day get a little better.
After all, what could Valentino possibly do to repay the effort needed to keep him alive in his current state? A sloppy kiss? A happy squeak when Vox approaches him? Nuzzling his head or his stumps against Vox's chest? A whimpered "I love you, Voxxy"?
At this point, Vox would gladly take even that.
Any of those would feel like winning the lottery compared to the incoherent groans and infuriating beeping monitors that oftentimes were the only sounds greeting Vox when he came to visit his former business partner.
He slowly walked up to the sickbed, keeping his eyes on the pitiful remnants of Valentino's once majestic form. His heart ached at the sight, a dull throb of pain that refused to subside no matter how much time passed since that sham of a judgment day. He had to remind himself he was already doing for him everything he reasonably could.
"Damn it, Val," He muttered, running a hand through the patchy short white fluff for what might have been the millionth time that week. "I've done everything I can. Why aren't you healing faster?"
He lightly petted the damaged antenna, wondering if Valentino could even feel it. If he could feel anything at all, really. The touch was tender, almost reverential, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace that has settled over his lover's ravaged features.
Like always, there was no reaction. Was he asleep? Locked in? If he was locked in, they would never know. Valentino’s blank red eyes made it impossible to track pupil movement.
"I know you're in there, baby," Vox whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "Fighting to come back to me."
"You were always so full of life, Val," he was scared to raise his voice. "So vibrant and powerful. It's hard to believe this is all that's left."
He moved closer to his unconscious lover, reaching out to trace the contours of Valentino's bandaged face with a gentle finger. Even through the layers of gauze and tape, he could feel the subtle warmth radiating from his lover's skin, a testament to the inextinguishable fire that still burned within.
"I won't give up on you," Vox repeated his old promise, his tone fierce and determined.
He closed his eyes. “I will never give up on my beautiful horny idiot.”