Chapter Text
Five years ago, if anyone had asked Alastor what his life would be like in five years time, he would never have been able to predict his current existence.
Not that life was bad! No, no, far from it; life was good. But, that’s not to say the last five years hadn’t been challenging.
He and his ma had moved from New Orleans, Luisiana, when he was 22 - he had to drop out of college for that, but he didn’t regret it. Alastor and Jacqueline had traveled across the country, all the way to Mendocino County, California, where they settled down in a nice little town with a population of under 9,000 people.
The move was necessary; Alastor’s abusive, shit-for brains asshole of a father had come to an untimely end, launching their cross-country excursion. While the police agreed that it seemed the drunkard had slipped and hit his head on the boardwalk along the edge of the bayou and drowned, his ma knew the truth. But Jacqueine would be damned if she ever let anything bad come to her baby boy.
So she had taken Alastor out of school, packed up all their belongings that could fit in their little old Volkswagen, and with the insurance money and whatever small amounts of savings her good-for-nothing husband left her and her son, they booked it.
Jacqueline had no idea where she was going, all she knew was that she had to get as far away from New Orleans, from the reminders of her abuser and the death and horror of the place as humanly possible.
Alastor hated that he hadn’t been able to protect his mother more. She had always shielded him from the worst of it, taking the brunt of every blow, every harsh word, every hateful thing his dad had to give him. And he had a lot of hate to give.
At first Alastor was too small, too young to understand what was going on. The brunet spent most of his days out in the bayou, playing along the riverbank and catching frogs and fireflies. As he got older, he started to notice that his family dynamic was different from those of his peers at school. His friends’ moms didn’t have black eyes and fresh bruises on their wrists every week. His friends’ dads didn’t come home every day drunk, or hit them when they made a simple mistake or got a bad grade.
His family was… different.
Alastor grew to hate his father, especially as he got older and saw how badly the fucker treated his ma. But Alastor was still such a scrawny little thing, even as a teenager; he couldn’t do anything to protect his mother.
Even if he could, she wouldn’t want him to.
Jacqueline made it very clear that it was her place to protect Alastor. When he had hit puberty and suddenly felt so much more wrong and messed up than ever before, she had gently told Alastor that she would love him no matter what, support him regardless of who he loved.
It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later that he realized his ma thought he was a homosexual.
She wasn’t completely wrong.
Keeping his gender a secret from his dad was hard, but Alastor managed. He spent the majority of his time out of the house anyway, away from the yelling and the fists and the anger. He kept his hair short, and managed to get his hands on a second-hand binder from a friend at school.
The brunet wished he could take his ma with him to school, take her out of the house with him. But Alastor knew she wouldn’t have that. She was certain that keeping his dad’s attention on herself was the best way to keep Alastor safe.
Unfortunately, she was right.
Over time Alastor developed a fascination with serial killers; he listened to radio shows on true crime, read books on the psychology of killers, watched movies about murder mysteries. He imagined he was the main character - or the villain, the one with the knife, with the poison, with the gun. If he had that kind of weapon, that kind of power… well, he wouldn’t be so afraid of his father anymore, for one.
By the time Alastor had graduated high school his morbid fascination had grown from the hypothetical to the practical. He had taken to “borrowing” his father’s hunting knives, setting up rudimentary traps in the bayou to try to catch small game - little things, like frogs and rabbits. As he waited to hopefully catch something, Alastor practice throwing the knifes, working on his aim, developing his skills with the knives. He was beyond thrilled when he first caught a squirrel, thrashing frantically in its trap until Alastor stabbed it messily to death. It was not a clean kill in the slightest - he had no idea what he was doing yet.
A new urge reared its head in Alastor that day; the desire to consume the creature he had just killed, drink its blood, devour it whole and raw.
Alastor probably would have given into that urge there and then, if he didn’t know the dangers of eating raw, wild animal meat. However, he learned how to cook his catches to the bare minimum needed to be safe to eat, where the flesh was still tender and blood still spilled when he sliced into the cut. He would cook his meat just barely, so it was practically raw, at home before his father came back from work and his ma was busy, or out in the woods over a small campfire he’d construct.
The next couple of years found Alastor honing his knife skills, reading about hunting game alongside his schoolwork and radio shows on true crime, watching videos on how to skin an animal, going out into the bayou after school to see what he had caught in his traps - and practicing carving them up.
He intended to do something about his father eventually - that had always been his intention. But the brunet needed to get stronger first, get better and faster and smarter. Alastor had gone through a growth spurt his first year of college, leaving him at 6’4” - which only gave him a couple of inches on his father. But the man was stronger, more muscular than Alastor; he had worked as a miner (a dying, struggling business that definitely didn’t help his father’s sour disposition), a physically demanding job that left him very well built and fit. Alastor on the other hand was skinny as a pole, all lanky limbs and gangly awkwardness. He absolutely could not take his father.
But then came that fateful day, the day five years ago when everything had changed. Alastor had gotten back home from university early that day only to find his father choking his ma to death. He had done so before, but this was different; he was waisted, and boiling mad, and clearly serious this time. There was a pot of burnt food spilled across the kitchen floor - the catalyst for this altercation. An unfair, ridiculous, frankly disgustingly petty reason to lash out at his wife in such a way.
Vision going red, before he knew it Alastor had grabbed a rolling pin and bashed it into the side of his father’s head. The man stumbled back, hands coming up to clutch at his head, a cry of pain ripping from his throat. Alastor swung again, hitting him even harder, satisfied at the loud crack he heard as the rolling pin connected with his father’s skull. Blood welled up along the split skin of his temple, dark red liquid trickling down his face. His father stumbled, falling, turning as he did with wide eyes to stare at Alastor.
Alastor bludgeoned the man, hitting him again and again until his skull was split and blood coated his hands and rolling pin, until his father had stopped moving, stopped trying to speak, stopped breathing.
His ma had helped him dispose of the body.
The police hadn’t cared enough to investigate the death thoroughly.
It helped that Alastor’s dad was already known as a drunkard and violent fool around town. His going on a walk at night and falling off a dock onto some sharp rocks in the bayou made sense to everyone. No one questioned it.
No one questioned it when they moved soon after either.
The little town they ended up settling down in was honestly perfect, if you asked Alastor. Far enough away from the main hustle and bustle of civilization to explore his own dark activities, while also being a fairly popular tourist location - meaning that plenty of people came through town. Some more unsavory than others.
See, Alastor now had a taste for human blood, and he wanted more.
He got a job at the local radio station to support him and his ma, working as a paid intern. Alastor hit it off swimmingly with the network’s main radio host, who took Alastor under his wing as if he was the boy’s father. He knew the brunet didn’t have a dad, though didn’t press for details. His name was Zestial, and he was kind to Alastor, and that was good enough for him.
Also, Alastor was going to take over his job one day.
Zestial liked to hunt on the side, and when Alastor shared his interest in the activity as well, he quickly found himself a hunting buddy. Zestial taught Alastor how to use a gun, the best spots in the nearby woods to catch game, the ins and outs of setting up traps. The brunet was positively thrilled by this. Of course he didn’t tell Zestial that on top of deer and rabbits and pheasants he sometimes indulged in a different, more dangerous kind of game.
It didn’t take long before Alastor was rising through the ranks at work; his voice was simply made for radio. The young upstart who owned the local television station wanted Alastor for his enterprise, but he politely turned Victor down.
That (unfortunately) didn’t seem to dissuade the TV obsessed young man.
It didn’t matter though! Alastor had been promoted from getting coffee and organizing paperwork to having his own segment during Zestial’s morning show. Alongside getting coffee and organizing paperwork, of course.
The people of the town were generally an older population, folks that had moved out here to retire and be in nature. Radio was a thriving industry here, and the folks loved Alastor’s voice, especially his specific segment (today in history: what amazing things occurred on this fine day during the past couple of centuries?), which quickly grew in popularity.
From having a short segment in Zestial’s show, to getting his own time slot to expand on his segment, to being offered a whole radio show of his own three times a week, Alastor was doing fairly well for himself. Each upwards step brought with it a pay raise, and that he was more than happy to give ninety percent of to his dear old ma.
And then his beloved mother suddenly passed away of a heart attack.
The weeks after his ma’s death had been some of the darkest, hardest days for Alastor. They had only been living here for a little over a year, and while they were pretty well established and had gotten to know the community and people, Alastor still felt so alone and unmoored, especially now that his ma had passed away.
Zestial stepped up to help Alastor during this time. He even got a lot of the local community to chip in in whatever ways they could, offering food or money or goods to Alastor that he might need.
That’s how Alastor got to know Rosie better, the owner of the butcher shop in town better. He had already met her, given that he was carnivorous in nature, but his mother’s death had her reaching out to him and being there for Alastor unlike anytime before. He really appreciated it.
This was also how Alastor discovered that Rosie had a similar inclination for meat - and types of meat - as he did. Of course, they only discovered this about each other by accident, but it was a happy accident. One that only made them better friends.
Things were bad, but they weren’t all bad, Alastor had realized. He had found himself in a place where he could really be himself. So why not focus on being who he wanted to be and doing what he wanted to do?
The brunet was able to pull himself together once more, giving himself time to process his mother’s death properly while realizing he still had so much to live for. So much he wanted to do with his life. He decided to throw himself into being the best version of himself he could be instead. He started taking hormones. With Zestial’s help he found a plot of land near the state park for sale and bought it. Rosie with all her connections around town was able to give him information on the abusive, predatory scumbags and miscreants who came to their little town as a way to get away from it all and take a little vacation - they never made it home from their vacations. They were never missed.
Alastor shared the spoils of his hunts with Rosie of course - that was his thanks for the information she provided. It worked out well for the both of them.
He sold Jacqueline’s old Volkswagen, though it pained him to part with his ma’s car, and bought a sturdy pick up truck. He needed the truck bed for the game he would catch, and also for the next project Alastor intended to start.
Soon Alastor started building a house for himself on the plot of land he had bought. Zestial helped, as did the hardware store owner - Carmilla Carmine - and her daughters. Zestial had a crush on Carmilla, but he was a good bit older than her and shy about it. Alastor hadn’t even noticed Zestial trying to flirt with the woman until he had told the brunet about his woes in love. Then Alastor noticed, and did his best to wingman for his mentor.
It surprisingly worked - turned out Carmilla had been very aware of Zestial’s feelings and was just waiting for him to actually make a move.
They helped Alastor with the foundation of his cabin in the woods and getting materials, setting up plumbing and electrical work. But after that Alastor shooed them off, saying this was his project and no one else’s.
Truthfully, Alastor had some rather… unconventional plans for his cabin, and he didn’t want Zestial or Carmilla to see that.
It took the better part of three years, but Alastor managed to build his cabin (mostly) by himself. Zestial came back and helped a bit more here and there, after Alastor was sure the secret basement he put in was finished and properly hidden from prying eyes and questioning minds.
Alastor then moved out of the little apartment his ma and him had shared when they first moved to town, and into his new cabin.
It was perfect.
His next step in becoming his ideal version of himself involved getting top surgery; Rosie came to stay with him for a week in his new cabin while he recovered from the procedure, and after his post-op appointment to remove the dressing, Rosie started coming by every day instead of staying with him in the cabin. She still has a business to run! Alastor was grateful for her help, knowing she had to close the butchers shop fully for that first week, and had limited the establishment’s hours for the next two weeks to be able to make the trip out to check on Alastor every day during that time.
After that Alastor was able to return to work, though he had to take it slow and be gentle with himself. Rosie still stopped by daily to check on him, but only after work now and just for a couple of hours a day. He really appreciated her friendship and support.
Six weeks after his procedure, Alastor felt mostly back to normal. Zestial was planning on retiring soon, and he was thinking of giving his show over to Alastor. The brunet was thrilled by this, eager to rise even higher at his job. After a couple of weeks of talking with station management, Alastor became the official host of Zestial’s old morning broadcast, as well as being allowed to keep his afternoon show three times a week. People in town seemed to love listening to Alastor’s voice, and having two shows meant that the brunet had a decently thick paycheck every two weeks.
Suddenly Alastor was very busy, but that didn’t stop him from getting one more little procedure he had always wanted to get; tubal ligation. The brunet got his tubes tied, and was pleased as can be that the recovery period was fast and easy. He wasn’t interested in sex, never had been, but was even less interested in having children and wanted to make sure there was never a possibility of that happening to him. Now he felt more confident and happy in his body than he ever had before!
So yes, if five years ago someone had asked him what his life would be like in five years, Alastor would never have been able to guess. But things were good, so so good! He had a job he loved, a hobby he could indulge in, friends who were there for him, and had sculpted himself into the man he always knew he could be.
Alastor was happy.
The brunet hummed to himself as he left the radio station, getting into his pickup and sliding his bag across to the passengers seat. He was excited; it was late June on a Thursday afternoon, and hunting season would be starting soon. Sure, it was archery hunting season, but Alastor knew how to avoid the law in these parts. A silencer on his gun, traps set up in sneaky locations - he could still hunt the way he wanted without worrying.
Speaking of - Alastor had recently decided to try his hand at bear hunting. He had set up a rather large, expensive contraption deep in the woods, camouflaging it expertly. The brunet figured he should at least try to catch a bear sometime, considering that they were the closest thing to humans he could hunt in the woods. If this went well, he could repurpose the trap to hunt his fellow man - but mainly bears of course, since he didn’t want to attract too much suspicion. He bought a bear trap, he might as well catch some actual bears with it!
The trap had only been up for a day, but Alastor was itching to go check on it already. He knew he had set it up a tad early for hunting season, but could you blame him? He had gotten his hands on a shiny new toy, and had wanted to play with it!
The radio station was going to be having some remodeling done the next few weeks, so everyone had been given some paid time off. Rosie had given him the information of a new sleezebag (one that was running an underground trafficking operation) that had rolled into town recently and would be staying for a couple of weeks, so this was the perfect time for Alastor to do his research on this man and find out how he wanted to conduct his hunt.
Grinning to himself as he drove out of town, fingers drumming on the steering wheel with barely constrained excitement, Alastor made his way back home. It was summer, the sun still shining bright in the sky even though it was past five thirty now. He had considered stopping by Rosie’s for a bit before heading home, maybe picking up some fresh cuts of meat, but his desire to check on his new toy won out. He still had a little meat in the walk in freezer in his basement anyway, and he could always go back to Rosie’s tomorrow. He had the next three weeks off, after all!
Turned onto the gravel driveway marked ‘private property’ Alastor began whistling a bright, cheery tune.
It was going to be a good three weeks.
He could feel it in his bones.