Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This hotel was making Alastor weak .

That was the only logical explanation for why he’d acted so miserably in the kitchen after his meeting with Her only two days ago. He was more than used to his benefactor’s quirks and games by now - there was absolutely no reason for him to fall apart in the aftermath as he had. After all, it wasn’t like She’d done anything he wasn’t used to by now; seven years will do that to a person. 

The overlord had gone over it repeatedly since that night - morning - and he couldn’t think of a single reason that made sense that explained why he’d broken down like a spoiled child. No reason except for the hotel, and his newfound closeness to its inhabitants. These people were messing with his mind - forcing the deer sinner to let his walls down in ways that were not only foolish but downright dangerous. Dangerous in ways he was all too familiar with.

They were destroying him, ramming through his protective barriers and crushing his self-control into dust. Reducing him to this pathetic version of himself - the version that burnt scrambled eggs and sobbed foolishly in the kitchen in the middle of the night. 

What Alastor needed to do was take a step back from everyone. He needed to recollect himself, and rebuild his walls. He needed to reconstruct his fractured mask and regain his maliciously supportive but still unapproachable demeanor that he had at the beginning of this venture. The overlord very pointedly didn’t think about how much stepping back would hurt both himself and the others. He needed to do this for everyone’s own good. 

What he needed was to regain control . 

How? Alastor wondered, mindlessly chopping a stalk of celery for the food he was preparing. How can I get back to how I was before when I’ve fallen so far? How can I-

Thock!

Alastor was abruptly jolted from his thoughts by an unexpected spike of pain, instinctively dropping the knife with a hiss of breath and yanking away the hand that was holding the celery. He looked at his hand and saw that one of his fingers was covered in blood - a surprisingly deep cut on the slim digit. On autopilot, Alastor moved to the sink and turned on the water - holding the bleeding finger under the warm stream as he summoned a strip of gauze and a small winding of bandage. He didn’t bother to use disinfectant, simply cleaning the wound with hand soap.

As he methodically wrapped his finger in gauze and secured the bandage, the cogs in Alastor’s brain turned furiously. The pain the cut had caused had knocked him out of his thoughts effortlessly - forcing him to be in the present moment with an intense clarity that he hadn’t felt in years . Such a small injury had snapped him to the present instantly and finally cleared his mind in a way that none of the other pains he’s endured have.

His teeth crunched through a piece of celery as he pondered, the iron tang of his own blood hitting his tongue in a familiar way. While he didn’t mind demon blood in his food - obviously - he wouldn’t force it on anyone who didn’t want it, despite what the others believed to his general amusement. The untainted pieces were thrown into the pot of simmering broth, vegetables, and chicken that he’d been preparing, and Alastor began gently stirring the stew as he thought.

What was so different about this pain? Why had this pain cleared his mind so thoroughly? Then, with a blink Alastor realized that this wasn’t the first time pain had done such a thing. The radio host had a habit of pressing his claws into his palms or wrist when trying to keep his composure, or tugging at his hair when he was stressed. While neither were as drastic as the cut he’d sustained to his finger, they had much the same result. It was with that thought that Alastor realized the truth.

The pain worked differently because it was pain that he caused. It was pain that he had control over.

Alastor’s eyes widened at the realization. Then, another thought shot through him. If that one little accidental cut had provided so much clarity and freedom from his spiraling thoughts, could more…purposeful injuries have the same effect?

…Would it work better if it was on purpose?

As he turned off the stove, Alastor looked at his bandaged finger once more. The damaged tissue ached, but he could already feel it starting to stitch itself back together. Part of him flared angrily at that: he didn’t want it to heal yet. The pain was grounding - it was real in a way nothing else was. In a way that he needed to keep feeling. 

He absently filled a bowl and put it in the fridge with tin foil covering it - Angel Dust would want some when he got off work after all. The others were already in the dining room when he brought the food to the table. As everyone served themselves, Alastor was lost in thought, automatically filling two bowls - one for himself and one for Nifty. He ate silently as everyone else chattered, his mind a whirlwind.

Frustration filled him as he felt the cut closing under the bandages, but it also made him really think . It would probably work best if it didn’t heal quickly, right? But he couldn’t even touch angelic steel, let alone wield a weapon made from it - She had made sure of that. She claimed it was for his own good, we don’t want you getting any desperate ideas about escaping now do we? Most other types of material could only harm a sinner for however long their accelerated healing took to repair the injury. Even as he had the thought, a lightbulb brightened behind his eyes, an idea taking root.

I have a- Alastor’s train of thought was cut off by a hand gently patting his arm, forcing a surprised squeak that Alastor would swear against making to his second grave. His head jerked in the direction of his assailant to find Charlie’s wide eyed stare piercing into his soul.

“I’m sorry my dear, what was that?” Alastor asked, clearing his throat when his voice came out an octave higher than usual, discreetly moving his arm away from where her hand burned through his jacket and into his skin.

“I asked what happened to your hand - are you okay?” the princess’ tone was practically dripping with misplaced concern, and Alastor felt sick being on the receiving end of it.

“Perfectly fine, dear. Just a small nick - nothing to worry about! Even the best of us get humbled by the kitchen sometimes, haha!” the overlord slipped in a hopefully casual chuckle in an attempt to ease her worry, and get the stares burning into him to go back to what they were doing previously. 

“Oh, if you’re sure…” Charlie hesitantly agreed before lighting up again and turning to excitedly tell Vaggie about some plan or another. As the princess’ attention shifted, so too did the others’. Apparently a kitchen accident was a regular enough thing that the other residents truly found no reason for concern. Alastor internally sighed with relief and decided enough was enough - he didn’t want anyone else’s attention on him right now. Not when he was on the precipice of finding something to give himself the control he needed over his afterlife.

The deer sinner hastily dismissed himself from the table while trying to act as natural as possible. He went to rinse out his bowl then paused. Doing any sort of cleaning would likely upset Nifty, which he usually tried to avoid when possible. However, he didn’t want to leave a dried mess either. Alastor decided to compromise by just filling the bowl with water and leaving it in the sink. 

Alastor quickly slipped into his shadow and reappeared in his own room, at the base of the tree he usually slept under. Ducking into the empty space between the roots, Alastor snapped his fingers, then released a brief whistle that made the little glass jars hanging throughout the space slowly light up. Paying no mind to the display, the deer began to feel blindly under his nest of pillows and blankets for a familiar handle. Scarlet eyes practically lit up as his fingers brushed the intricately carved wooden grip, and Alastor immediately pulled the knife from its hiding spot.

It was a beautiful weapon - a curved blade with a deer skull carefully etched into the stainless steel. A dark crimson ruby was embedded in the hilt, and the wood used for the handle appeared to be as white as bone. Overall, the knife was about seven inches long, and his very being tingled with faint power once it came into contact with his skin. It had been a gift from Rosie before his disappearance, and he treated it with reverence. According to the other overlord, the knife had been used in over forty ritualistic murders and was tainted with dark magic as a result - hence it ending up in Hell. 

Cursed weapons weren’t rare in Hell, but they were incredibly difficult to get a hold of. Usually once they appeared, they were automatically sent to one of the Goetias to be processed and locked away. It wasn’t just for fun either - cursed weapons could be dangerous . Depending on the magic used, the weapons - usually blades - could do anything from cursing the bloodline of a Hellborn to forcing a sinner to relive their death over and over for all eternity. The only thing all cursed weapons had in common was that they couldn’t kill a soul permanently, for death was much too easy of a release from the suffering they wrought. That ability was reserved for angelic weapons and energy alone.

Fortunately, Rosie had tested out the knife she’d given Alastor, and all it could do was cause magic-resistant injuries. That meant that any injury inflicted by the blade would remain unaffected by accelerated healing - healing only at the rate of a human. Primary for lasting torture, but overall it was relatively tame compared to most other cursed blades, which was likely how it had escaped the Goetias’ notice. 

It was exactly what Alastor needed.

The cannibal stripped himself of his jacket and settled against one of the sloped walls, mesmerized by the faint glint of light along the blade. His finger gently traced the skull carving, remembering all the jokes Rosie had made as she gifted him the weapon.

Alastor was once again torn from his thoughts, but this time it was by Alexandre’s concerned chattering from the opposite wall. The shade’s ears were pinned back, and a deep frown marred their face as they seemed to look from Alastor to the knife in his hands. A burst of annoyance forced the overlord’s own ears to twist back as static built in the small space.

“Away with you - I know what I’m doing,” Alastor hissed, dismissing the shadow with a frustrated flick of the wrist. Their concern was not only unnecessary, but unwanted - Alastor didn’t need to be babied any more than he already had been the past weeks. He knew exactly what he needed, and the deer was going to make it happen if it was the last thing he did.

In a rush of frustration, Alastor set the knife down and yanked one of his sleeves upward, exposing the dark, velvet-like fur that covered the skin. He picked the knife up again, but as the blade touched his skin, Alastor hesitated.

Am I really doing this? He thought uncertainly, the barest thread of fear worming through his mind. Almost in response, the hackle-raising memory of Her touch ghosted over his back, tracing mockingly over the shameful scar tissue across the bridge of his shoulders. Disgust curdled in his belly, directed almost entirely inwards as his face set in grim lines. He had to do this - needed to. 

He needed to stop being a coward. He just needed to get back his control.

The sharp blade pressed punishingly against the soft skin of his forearm until crimson blood beaded on his fur. Alastor slowly pulled the knife away, watching with wide eyes as his blood carved warm rivulets over his arm, dripping steadily onto his pants. The pain was burning and real and his . It was Alastor’s pain - pain that he could put a stop to any time he wanted. 

Alastor did that. Not his owner, not Vox, not his father - Alastor . It felt like his skin was buzzing with energy. Euphoria and fear and determination combined into a giant whirlwind of emotion in Alastor’s head, and he thought, this must be what it’s like to have total autonomy, total control. It was addicting, and before he even realized he’d moved, Alastor had slashed the delicate skin of his forearm three more times.

The pain was so incredibly freeing . Knowing that he could stop any time he wanted to without having to beg or rely on the mercy of another felt liberating in a way Alastor hadn’t known he’d needed. 

He set the knife aside and simply watched the blood drip down his arm in slow streams. The faded fuchsia of his irises was almost completely concealed by blown pupils as the overlord stared in wide-eyed awe. Eventually, the pain faded slightly and Alastor broke out of his trance, grimacing slightly at the uncomfortable feeling of blood-soaked pants rubbing unpleasantly against his legs.

The deer went to grab the small first aid kit he usually kept within the tree before remembering that he had yet to restock it after his last attempt to wrap the wound Adam had inflicted. He was still hesitant to summon Alexandre, not wanting to deal with the shadow’s concern. He felt completely drained in the aftermath of the jittery high his self-mutilation had caused, and didn’t want to deal with anyone .

Sighing slightly, Alastor crawled from his little hiding place and began the trudge through the bayou towards his bathroom where the larger aid kit was kept. As he walked, the overlord kept his bloodied arm tucked close to his chest, and he kept glancing down at the slices with stunned and slightly giddy eyes.

He couldn’t believe how clear his mind was - how unmuddled his thoughts were. All it took was a few little cuts to restore his control over his mind - Alastor honestly couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to have this idea. Despite the exhaustion, he felt great .

Once he reached the bathroom, Alastor cleaned the cuts with a single-minded focus - the mocking voices that usually echoed in his ears strangely silent, which only further proved to the cervine demon that he’d made the right choice. He relished in the harsh sting caused by the antiseptic, and was almost reluctant to wrap the lacerations, only doing so for practicality. 

That, and a small part of him was terrified of what the others would think if they saw what he’d done. What he’d become .

He pushed the thought aside. That didn’t matter anyways.

Alastor changed into his pajamas, a set of red silk pants and a matching button up shirt. He couldn’t bother to clean up the blood, too exhausted to do anything but creep back to his hollow and curl up under the blankets. He could clean up in the morning.

In the dim light of the tree, Alastor stared at his arm, the injured limb cradled loosely by his opposite hand. Maybe his methods were a bit extreme, but it wasn’t like he had to do it every day, and he’d certainly done far worse for less! Besides, Alastor felt more like himself than he had in a long time - so what if the price was a little pain? As the overlord drifted off to sleep, one thought haunted his mind.

What else can I do to get control?

Chapter Text

Alastor slowly emerged from the dark cocoon of sleep, limbs heavy with the remnants of dreams long forgotten and the imprint of his pillow red on his cheek. Bleary scarlet eyes blinked lazily as the world sluggishly drifted into focus, the hum of crickets from the bayou almost tempting the overlord back to sleep. Reluctantly, Alastor forced himself to sit up, which revealed the curled, electrified-looking mess that was his hair. Errant strands poked out at random, and his ears almost blended in with the chaos. Feeling slightly lost, Alastor looked around with squinted eyes - the distinct impression of his monocle was etched into his cheek, though the little visual aid was notably absent. 

Alastor however, didn’t notice the missing accessory. He felt rather confused as he blinked in a futile attempt to clear his vision, unsure why his right eye was so blurry . An ear twitched as he rubbed at his eye, but that didn’t fix the problem either. Realization finally struck when his hand dropped back to the blankets only to hear a little tink of claws on glass, and he wrapped his fingers around the little piece of metal and colored glass. The deer shifted to clean any smudges with his shirt before putting it back in its place, pausing to allow himself to adjust to being able to see once more. 

The overlord cleared his throat before interlocking his fingers and stretching hugely, only relaxing when his limbs shook with strain, satisfaction running through his veins at the feeling. As he shifted again, a gasp hissed through his teeth at a sudden stinging pain in his arm. Instinctively, Alastor cradled the affected limb to his chest, gripping it tightly with his other hand in an unconscious attempt to alleviate the sharp pain. Confusion cut through his mind for a moment. What-?

Then he remembered.

Alastor froze for a breath, then relaxed his hold on his arm, tentatively pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal his forearm, eyes going wide at the damning sight of tan bandages concealing what he knew would be gauze stained a bright red - possibly browning at the edges as it dried. His breath stuttered in his chest as he stared at the covered injuries - shocked that he’d actually done that. He did that. Alastor had really consciously decided to mutilate himself - weaken himself, and he - he…

He felt…good. Really good. Hell, he might even say that he feels downright giddy. 

That was possibly the best he’d slept in decades, and it surely couldn’t be a coincidence that it was the same night that he’d chosen to use the cursed blade. Sure, he felt a tad bit emotionally drained, but he was so used to just ignoring unpleasant emotions that that particular side effect meant practically nothing. Clearly, the positives of his actions were vastly outweighing the negatives, which was exactly what Alastor needed. 

With that thought, Alastor emerged from the tree’s hollow and stood, stretching once more and bracing himself on the tree as darkness briefly flooded his vision and weakened his knees. After the world returned to his eyes, Alastor snapped his fingers to change into his usual attire only to immediately grimace. Sections of his pants were unpleasantly stiff with dried blood, and the feeling of the hardened fabric on his legs immediately made him want to claw his way out of his skin. A full-body shiver of disgust made his fur bristle as he hastily snapped his fingers again, the ruined pants disappearing and reappearing in a lump on the floor. 

A distressed growl rumbled in Alastor’s chest as he allowed his nerves to settle once more, hands repeatedly clenching into fists and splaying back out at his sides. One of his hooves stomped harshly against the ground in a fit of deer instinct he couldn’t quite suppress in time. After another moment, the overlord finally slumped and let out an aggrieved sigh as his hackles slowly lowered, his nerves recovering from the aggressively uncomfortable sensation.

Note to self , he thought ruefully, don’t wear clothes that blood has dried in. Usually, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but Alastor had been too tired to deal with the soiled clothes the night before, and he did not want Nifty to see the blood and start asking questions. Ugh, the blood was going to be an absolute pain to get out. It was at that moment that Alastor remembered that he was just standing in the middle of his room in a shirt, coat, shoes, and underwear, and his brows furrowed slightly as he summoned a pair of plain black dress pants. He’d just have to deal with the looks at his slight change in wardrobe - at least it was just the pants. 

Despite his little mishap, Alastor could still confidently say that he felt great as he left his pants and bloodied bedding to soak in the bathtub before he melted into his shadows. He reappeared in the kitchen and immediately got to work, starting up the coffee pot for Vaggie and himself while he went to fetch the morning paper from the front step. He had to commend whoever delivered the paper each morning - either they had one hell of an arm or they made the trek up the ridiculous hill the hotel sat upon every morning. Either way, it was truly impressive. 

By the time Vaggie trudged down the stairs, Alastor was already working on his second cup of coffee, and was just about finished with the paper.

“Good morning my dear!” he greeted cheerfully, barely glancing up from his paper as the former exorcist grabbed her designated mug. However, curiosity nipped at his mind when she didn’t return the greeting and retreat to the dining room to complete her own morning ritual. For a moment, he was afraid she’d attempt another stilted heart-to-heart, and set aside the paper to meet her gaze. He blinked at the perplexed and mildly amused look in her eye - a small grin spreading over her normally downturned lips.

“You, uh - you sleep well last night?” She asked in a failed attempt at being casual. Alastor raised a confused brow as his own grin shrunk slightly in bafflement.

“Why are you asking?” he replied, brows furrowed slightly, and eyes narrowing as the former angel let a chuckle slip.

“You’ve got lines on your face, Al. And honestly, your hair’s a mess. Did you forget to look in the mirror before coming down?” Vaggie teased slightly. Alastor’s eyes widened and he hastily turned away to scrub at his face, hoping the other hadn’t seen his cheeks flushing hotly with embarrassment. He had in fact forgotten to look - too preoccupied with getting his bedding and clothes into the bath to remember the rest of his routine.

“Right - well-” Alastor cut himself off, ashamed of his uncharacteristic stuttering, which Vaggie immediately noticed.

“Hey - it’s fine,” Vaggie tried to comfort the overlord. She had just wanted to tease him - she hadn’t wanted to make him upset. Then, she perked up slightly as an idea hit her. “Here, how about this: you let me help you with your hair, and I don’t mention any of this to the others. Deal?”

Alastor turned around with a deer-in-headlights look as he noticed Vaggie’s outstretched hand. Hesitantly, he reached forward, pausing before making contact and drawing back slightly with suspicion in his eyes.

“Nothing else? No hidden loopholes or catch-alls?” he asked warily. Vaggie simply shook her head negatively - nothing but sincerity in her eye. 

“Nope. Just an offer to help in exchange for my silence - take it or leave it.” Vaggie wriggled her hand slightly to draw Alastor’s attention back to the extended limb. After another moment of wary consideration, Alastor rolled his eyes slightly and accepted. A small burst of magic lit up the kitchen with neon green as the pair were bound by the agreement. 

Vaggie took a long drink of her coffee before plucking the newspaper and half empty mug from Alastor’s fingers and setting them on the counter. Her warm hand wrapped around his frigid fingers and Alastor couldn’t help but stare at the point of contact as the winged woman dragged him to the nearest bathroom. Her touch felt like pins and needles at first before fading into a pleasant burning, and he tentatively returned her grip. Thankfully, Vaggie didn’t mention it.

She set her mug on the counter next to the sink before pushing him to sit on the closed toilet lid so she could skeptically study his mess of hair. She combed her fingers through the most wild sections to get an idea of its texture. 

“I didn’t know you had curly hair,” she mentioned curiously as his ears instinctively flattened under her touch. 

“Well, that’s because I usually straighten it, dear,” Alastor responded cheekily, flinching slightly when that earned him a well-deserved flick to the forehead.

“Yeah, no shit asshole,” Vaggie grumbled, though there was no real heat to her words. Confusion niggled at Alastor’s mind at the slight hint of fondness in her tone, and he shifted to meet her gaze.

“Why are you doing this?” He demanded, unsettled. “Why are you acting so… unusual ? If it’s pity, then stop - I’d rather spontaneously combust than accept your misplaced pity.”

Vaggie paused, removing her hands from his hair to seriously consider the demon before her. Part of her wanted to confront him on what she’d seen in the kitchen a few nights before, wanted to admit that she felt guilty for both failing to check on him, and for not letting anyone know what she’d seen. However, that would not only upset Alastor, but she knew it wasn’t the whole reason she was treating him differently either. 

Admittedly, the entire time she’d known Alastor, she’d had the belief that he was indestructible - that he had never really been human. That he’d always been something more that refused to be affected by injury or fear of death - let alone anxiety. That was part of what had made it so easy to hate him. When he always smiled and never seemed winded or upset by anything that happened, it was easy to forget that he was a person too.

It had felt like her worldview had been rocked when she saw him have that panic attack - and then it was shattered completely once they’d discovered his injury. Her perception of Alastor was completely turned on its head, and she was admittedly ashamed of the person she’d become around him. Ashamed of the way she’d acted based on her belief that he was nothing but a heartless monster. 

She’d acted the same way when she was exterminating sinners - when she believed that they were nothing but a threat to be erased without mercy. 

What made it worse was that once she stopped thinking of him as a monster, Alastor started reminding her of people she once cared about. His rare softer smiles reminded her of her older cousin on earth. The way he constantly twirled his cane reminded her of an old friend from highschool who would constantly fidget with pencils by spinning them around her fingers. His messy little doodles on every report he gave Charlie, and the more detailed sketches he’d done for an art therapy session made her remember one of her softer exterminator sisters who would paint landscapes in their rare downtime.

His consistently guarded nature felt like she was looking in a mirror. In another life, Vaggie could have ended up a lot more like him. The thought scared her sometimes. Other times, it made her sad - knowing that he possibly could have ended up like she did too. 

But in the end, she said none of that. Instead, she smiled ruefully and shrugged.

“I don’t know - I guess Charlie’s influence is a lot stronger than I thought. You stood with us during the extermination, so I figured I should give you a chance too.” Alastor’s eyes flicked over her face diligently, searching for an ulterior motive or sign of deceit. After a moment, he seemed to relax slightly, chuckling as he tore his gaze away.

“Yes, I suppose that she can be rather influential, can’t she?” the overlord mused. Vaggie huffed a laugh as well.

“That’s one way of putting it,” she joked. The former exorcist shifted through one last section of hair before pulling out her phone. After tapping at the screen for a moment, she held the phone up to Alastor’s head and looked back and forth between the screen and his hair thoughtfully.

“You’re probably closest to a type 2c…” she murmured, and Alastor raised a brow quizzically. 

“A what?” 

“A 2c hair type,” she explained, turning the phone so Alastor could see the picture chart she had pulled up. Alastor squinted at the sudden light, eyes aching slightly as they adjusted. He followed the chart until he found the hair Vaggie had mentioned and admitted to himself that it definitely looked like a less frizzy and damaged version of his hair. Vaggie pulled the phone back and tapped on the screen again before making a little sound of triumph and taking a moment to read whatever she’d found.

“Okay, can you summon a few things for me?”

“Does sinner meat taste like veal?” That was met with possibly the driest look Alastor had ever been on the receiving end of in his existence, and the overlord had to fight the urge to cackle. 

Completely unimpressed, Vaggie showed him a few pictures of hair products that Alastor summoned all at once, depositing them on the flat rim of the tub. 

Taking another drink of her coffee, she finally set her phone aside, gesturing for the deer sinner to stand. “You might want to take your coat off unless you want it to get wet,” she mentioned, taking off her shoes and socks and wrapping a towel over her skirt as she stepped into the tub. Alastor blinked in confusion.

“...What?”

Vaggie rolled her eye as she draped two folded towels over the rim of the tub to create a cushion over the hard edges. 

“We have to wash your hair first to fix it, and I figured you probably wouldn’t want to strip naked with me in the room,” she explained and Alastor flushed slightly in mortification.

“You’d be quite right,” he agreed hastily, beginning to unbutton his coat. After hooking it on the door - which he’d purposefully left cracked open - he turned back to face Vaggie only to immediately be hit in the face with a towel. Alastor sputtered indignantly as Vaggie choked on a laugh.

“Oh - shit, my bad,” she apologized through laughter, only to yelp in shock as the towel thwapped against her face surprisingly gently.

“Oops!” Alastor exclaimed with obviously fake sympathy, a huge shit-eating grin on his face as he pulled the towel back before she could grab it. There was a brief moment where the two glared at each other challengingly before simultaneously losing their composure, both bursting into quiet laughter.

“That’s fair, I guess,” Vaggie admitted as her laughter died down, and Alastor regained his composure soon after. He considered the towel for a moment before turning back towards Vaggie with a bemused look on his face.

“So…what exactly is this for if I’m not getting in the tub, dear?” he asked as Vaggie turned on the water.

“Unless you want your shirt getting soaked, you’re gonna drape it over your chest. Here - feel this,” she ordered, and Alastor ran his hand under the now warm water to test the temperature.

“That should be fine. How is this going to work?” Alastor asked, draping the towel over his chest as he’d been told. 

Under Vaggie’s instruction, Alastor sat sideways on the closed toilet and leaned backward until his shoulders rested on the padded section of the tub, his head hovering over the empty space. When Vaggie looked away to grab the movable shower head, Alastor let out a shaky sigh.

The position he was in was a lot more vulnerable then he’d like - his legs practically trapped between the toilet and the sink, and his balance was tenuous at best - it would only be too easy to take advantage of his position to take him out. After all, he was a threat to Vaggie’s girlfriend and Charlie’s dream, so why not take the opportunity? Alastor clenched his trembling hands in a hopefully discreet manner. 

The overlord flinched sharply when a hand unexpectedly cradled the back of his head, easing the weight off his neck. Blast it, he thought angrily, there’s no way she didn’t notice that one. This was why he needed to use the blade - clearly he’d have to use it again if he was already slipping like this at one little-

“Hey. Alastor.”

Alastor blinked back to the present and met Vaggie’s gaze. Her brows were furrowed slightly, giving away the concern she tried to hide behind her casual expression. Alastor hated it.

He forcefully pushed the slight warmth in his chest aside.

“Yes, my dear?” There was a slight rasp to Alastor’s voice that neither of them mentioned.

“...Turn your ears back unless you want to be hearing the ocean for the next week,” she ordered, forced humor injected in her tone. Alastor let out a hum of understanding and pinned his ears backwards, fighting the urge to twitch them when the rush of water changed as it moved from the faucet to the shower head. Vaggie rested the metal on his forehead facing away from the overlord’s eyes as she began wetting his hair, moving it over his scalp like a brush to ensure that every bit was soaked.

Almost against his will, Alastor slowly relaxed against the rhythmic feeling, his eyes briefly fluttering shut as static buzzed lowly in his chest. After a moment of silence broken only by the rushing water, Alastor opened his eyes once more to study Vaggie’s face.

She was watching her work intently, just as focused and intense as she would be for any other task. However, there was a distinct softness in her face that had never been directed at Alastor before. The others, sure - but never Alastor.

Unsettled, the deer closed his eyes again. He didn’t want her to trust him - to care for him. He needed her to be suspicious of him so at least someone would be prepared when he was inevitably made to betray the hotel, or do whatever it was She had planned. Alastor knew that this was a bad idea, that he should put a stop to this right now and probably throw a few pointed barbs at the fallen angel for good measure.

Instead, he simply allowed her to continue running the water over his scalp. He’d never been good at doing what he should do anyways.

Once his hair was thoroughly soaked, Vaggie grabbed one of the product bottles and began massaging the clear shampoo into his scalp, resting his head on her towel-covered knee. At first, Alastor tensed sharply, eyes shooting wide open at the contact, but after a moment, the overlord practically melted in Vaggie’s hands. His usual smile went closed-mouthed and wobbly as he pressed into her fingers, pleased static raising in volume until it was easily heard over the running water. Vaggie tried not to smile at the blissed out look on Alastor’s face - she’d never seen the overlord so relaxed before, and while she still felt guilty for not intervening in the kitchen a few nights ago, she was at least glad that she could help him relax now.

At first, Alastor was afraid that he would be reminded of Her degrading touch, but for some reason Vaggie’s ministrations felt…different. Safe. If he had to compare it to someone, he would say that she reminded him of Rosie. And it felt nice. Wonderful actually - to the point that Alastor was actually a little embarrassed by how much he enjoyed the simple touch. Little shivers were working up and down his spine, and the now familiar heat that accompanied any touch left him feeling pleasantly warm for a change. 

Vaggie knew for sure that Alastor wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing when she massaged the shampoo into the base of his ears, and the overlord let out a little high-pitched squeaking sound. Only her iron-clad self control stopped her from freezing at the sound, but her eye was comically wide. When it clicked in her mind that the sound was clearly the quiet happy bleat of a fawn, Vaggie momentarily regretted making a deal not to tell anyone - Charlie would have lost her damn mind if she learned that Alastor the Radio Demon squeaked like a fawn when his ears were scratched. However, she’d made a promise, and she refused to break it. 

She carefully washed out the shampoo then reapplied it and let it sit for a minute. The former exorcist considered Alastor’s hair carefully, noting the damage from consistent straightening and improper care. She used to have a friend that she would help like this back when she was alive, and while Vaggie had looked up care instructions and products for Alastor’s particular hair type, the process itself was achingly familiar.

“Hey, Alastor?” She asked, wondering if the overlord had fallen asleep. An answering hum disproved that theory, and Vaggie continued her thought tentatively, not wanting to shatter the fragile calm that enveloped the taller demon.

“Do you…know how to take care of your hair? Properly, I mean, not just washing it and straightening it.”

For a moment, Alastor was silent, and an unreadable look crossed his face. It made Vaggie immediately wish she’d just kept her mouth shut, but Alastor eventually responded.

“I know that I have to wait for it to completely dry before straightening it, but other than that, I suppose I just never learned. When I was alive it was important for me to be able to look as close to white as possible. Ironically, earth wasn’t as accepting of differences as Hell is, haha!” Alastor hesitated for a moment, then decided to just go for the plunge - he’d already been too vulnerable this morning anyways. What was a little more?

“A few times, I begged my mother to let me leave my hair curly like hers, but she…heavily disagreed. It was one of the few times she seemed truly angry at me, though I suppose I deserved it for being such a pain,” Alastor murmured, a surprisingly self-deprecating chuckle at the end that upset Vaggie much more than she thought it would.

“You weren’t a pain for wanting to be like your mom. That’s just what kids are like,” Vaggie argued softly. Alastor got a rueful look on his face.

“Oh trust me, dear - I was absolutely a pain when I was a boy. You know, I brought home a baby alligator once to try and convince my mother to let me keep it as a pet! Haha, she was definitely not happy about that one - but she didn’t know that I kept it in the bayou about five minutes away from our house. I fed it animals I hunted, and I named her Beatrice. She grew to be a good eleven feet long if you’d believe it!” Vaggie couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“I can’t even say I’m surprised, honestly - you would be crazy enough to keep an alligator as a pet.”

“And don’t you forget it my dear!”

The pair continued to chatter as Vaggie rinsed Alastor’s hair once more and then worked conditioner into the ends - explaining what she was doing and why as she worked. Alastor may not have learned how to properly care for his hair, but damn it all if Vaggie wasn’t going to do her best to teach him. 

After rinsing for the final time, Vaggie turned off the water and had Alastor sit up. Upon her request, the overlord summoned a cotton shirt which she used to squeeze his hair of excess water. When it was just damp, she combed leave-in conditioner into the crimson locks with her fingers before drying off her hands and removing the wet towel from around her waist while Alastor stood. 

“Here, don’t touch this until it’s completely dry. Can you summon a bonnet? Preferably a silk one, it’s better for your hair.” At that request, Alastor hesitated, raising a skeptical brow at her. 

“My dear - there are a couple major factors that prevent me from wearing a bonnet,” he snarked, twitching an ear pointedly, which also drew Vaggie’s attention to the antlers firmly attached to his skull. For a woman who only had one eye, the exasperation when she rolled it could probably be heard in the other rings of Hell. 

“Well we’re going to work something out, estupido,” she snapped, and a familiar amusement at her irritation coursed through Alastor. That at least felt normal, much to Alastor’s relief. He hesitated just a moment longer to see that comforting annoyance in her gaze before snapping and summoning a black silk bonnet.

As soon as the bit of cloth was in her grasp, Vaggie reached forwards and yanked Alastor’s head towards her - startling an embarrassingly loud bleat out of the overlord. The former exorcist began measuring his head with a soft tape measure that she pulled seemingly out of nowhere. For a moment, Alastor simply stood there, head craned at an awkward angle as Vaggie measured his skull, ears, and antlers. He blinked a few times in confusion before attempting to straighten his posture, only to be immediately and violently corrected by Vaggie’s hand on his shirt collar. Discontented static rose from him, but Alastor made no further attempts to move. 

Finally satisfied with her work, Vaggie lightly pushed his head away, signaling to the deer that it was okay to move again. He straightened his posture with a slight huff before grabbing his coat and donning it once more - glad to have his usual number of layers. 

Vaggie typed all of the measurements into her phone then tucked the device in her pocket before turning back to address the taller sinner. 

“I’ll try to have this back to you by tonight,” she claimed, brandishing the bonnet as she continued, “and make sure you don’t touch or straighten your hair today - if you undo all of my hard work, my spear is going in some very unpleasant places. Oh, those are also yours,” she added, pointing at the mess of hair products lining the tub. 

“Send them up to your room, leave them here until later, I don’t care. Just make sure you use them every time you wash your hair. And do it in the same way I did. If you forget something, don’t be afraid to ask me, I used to do this a lot. And damn it all, we’re going to fix your fucked up hair,” Vaggie promised rather forcefully. Then, the angel paused for a moment before making intense eye-contact with the overlord.

“Don’t fuck up your progress by being too stubborn or afraid to ask for help, okay?”

For an uncomfortable moment, Alastor was certain she wasn’t just talking about his hair. He nodded in agreement, trying to ignore the way his arm ached.

The moment passed, and Vaggie looked at her phone again. “We should probably go - everyone else should be getting up soon.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Alastor murmured, absently flicking his wrist to teleport the hair products back to his room. Vaggie left the bathroom first before whipping around as Alastor tried to follow and pointing at his face dramatically.

“I mean it. Don’t. Touch . Your hair,” she warned, and it was Alastor’s turn to roll his eyes as he pushed her hand away.

“Yes, yes - I get it, dear. No touching.” Vaggie studied him for a moment before nodding sharply and spinning back on a dime to make her way to the dining room. Alastor followed her as far as the kitchen so he could get started on breakfast.

As far as their usual interactions went, Alastor couldn’t truthfully say that he hated the way he’d spent his morning, though part of him bristled anxiously at the thought of the debt he now owed the former angel. His hair had always been a small point of insecurity, even if it was much more so when he was a child. Maybe it would be nice to learn how to take care of it properly for once - to have a part of himself that he didn’t completely loathe. 

It didn’t escape his notice that this had only happened after his little self mutilation - same as his actually restful sleep. Clearly the act was continuing to reap benefits rather than drawbacks - just as he’d thought earlier. A sense of tentative joy filled him - this was exactly what he’d hoped would happen. Alastor’s control was back, and his situation was already improving!

The overlord grabbed his mug and took a sip of his coffee before grimacing. Ugh. It had gone cold.

Chapter Text

Vaggie had indeed kept her promise to give Alastor the bonnet by that evening, the silk headpiece having acquired a few new holes for his ears and antlers. Quite frankly, neither of them had any real idea about whether or not that would make the bonnet ineffective, but it wasn’t like they had many options to choose from. The first night sleeping with it had been odd, but he decided to continue using it at Vaggie’s insistence. There was also a part of himself that wanted to fix his hair, to have that piece of his mother in his reflection after over a century of being denied that luxury. 

He tried to ignore just how strange it felt to not straighten his hair in the morning. 

Thankfully, due to his insistence of properly straightening his hair, it wasn’t nearly as damaged as it could have been, and accelerated healing could apparently be applied to hair as well. It was only a few days later that clear signs of recovery made themselves apparent in his hair. It was still a work in progress, but when Alastor looked in the mirror not even a week after Vaggie had washed his hair, he noticed with excitement and some anxiety that his curls were becoming smoother and more defined. 

Loose spirals framed his face, and his bob haircut had softened, making the shape of it more natural and less drastic. Part of him loathed the way it softened his angular features, but that part was immediately drowned out by the bittersweet joy that came with seeing one of the few traits from his mother he’d been allowed to keep in Hell. That was her hair. Sure, it was shorter than hers, and it was red instead of black, but it was his mother’s. 

The others had noticed too. Mostly just with little compliments and comments about it, but Charlie had immediately started gushing about how “pretty” his curly hair looked, and he’d found himself astonishingly flustered by the eager affirmations.

With the way he’d been focusing on maintaining his hair recently, he hadn’t had time to really think about the blade hidden under his pillow. Sure, he’d pressed a thumb punishingly into the bandaged cuts a few times, but he hadn’t added any new injuries. Something always stopped him from truly considering it. 

There was a small voice in his head that spoke up every time the thought passed through his mind, one that whispered that he might have gone too far this time - that there was no coming back from what he’d done to himself.

At least he had so much experience with ignoring such things.

He was actually feeling pretty good at the moment, and Alastor was determined to enjoy it. A jaunty little tune played as he appeared in the lobby where Charlie was mercilessly forcing the others through some team building exercise. He watched from the doorway with faint amusement as Husk, Vaggie, Charlie, and Angel clumsily maneuvered themselves into what looked like some unholy abomination of a spider. Each person laid perpendicularly across someone else’s legs until they formed a rough square with only their feet holding them up. Their arms were interlocked in the middle while Nifty sat on Angel’s chest, giggling manically.

“Okay guys - that’s good!” Charlie huffed enthusiastically. “Now we just have to walk to the other end of the lobby!”

Alastor chuckled slightly at the groans that followed that, while Charlie rather predictably cheered the others on.

“Come on, we can do it! Everyone just start slowly. Take one step towards the fireplace, okay?”

To Alastor’s great surprise, they actually managed the first step, as well as the next three. However, on the fifth step, Angel seemed to slip slightly - unsurprising considering the rather drastic pink heels he was wearing. After that, it didn’t take much for the others to crumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs and loud protests. Alastor took that as his cue to make his way over, peering down at them with a raised brow and obvious amusement in his eyes. He met Charlie’s gaze through her hair, which had flopped over her face in the fall.

“Charlie dear, if you were looking for methods of torture, you should have just come to me! This seems like a bit of a stretch for a beginner, after all - though I admire your enthusiasm!” Charlie furrowed her brow indignantly for a moment before registering that it was Alastor who had spoken, and her face cleared with a sunny grin.

“Oh, hi Al! This isn’t torture, it’s a trust exercise!” Here, she took a moment to struggle into an upright position, accidentally letting Husk’s head slam onto the floor as it fell off her knees. 

“Ow.”

“Oh! Sorry Husk!” Charlie subconsciously placed her hand on the bartender’s forehead in what was likely supposed to be an attempt at comfort before completely forgetting it was there as she turned back to Alastor. The overlord had to stifle a snicker at the deadpan expression on Husk’s face.

“Did you want to join us? It’s fun!” There was a hopeful look in her eyes that almost made Alastor second guess his decision.

“Apologies my dear, but this isn’t quite my scene - besides, I have things to get done today. You know how it is - one is always busy when trying to keep our fine establishment afloat!”

There was a brief downtrodden expression on Charlie’s face, but she covered it back up with a determined look. “Well, that’s alright. However, there is a mandatory event tonight that residents and staff are required to attend - so I expect to see you back here after dinner tonight!” Alastor cocked his head to the side in bemused curiosity.

“Oh? And what exactly is this mandatory event?” At his interest, Charlie regained her excited look, hastily moving to stand and knocking into a few more stray limbs as she scrambled. Once she was on her feet, she pulled a folded scrap of paper from her pocket and thrust it into Alastor’s hands. He raised his brow at her once more before looking from her elated face to the paper.

It was folded to look like a card with the words “You’re Invited” glued on in brightly colored foam lettering. There were little hand-drawn rainbows and stars all across the front. He opened the card only to be immediately assaulted by glitter exploding outwards, which left a light sparkly dusting on his front and in his hair. The overlord blinked a few times before pinning Charlie with what was possibly the driest look he’d ever directed at another person in his entire existence. After a few moments with the princess showing no sign of remorse, Alastor turned his gaze back to the invitation with a quiet and reluctantly fond sigh. 

Nifty of course showed no such fondness, screeching as she ran off to grab a broom. Alastor winced, but turned his attention back to the card once more, figuring he could apologize and offer to help once she made her way back. 

The words on the inside were written unapologetically with a glitter pen, and it looked as though some were emphasized with added glitter glue. The page was liberally decorated with more (glittery) rainbows, as well as twisting depictions of antlers sprouting from the bottom on each side of the crease. It was very clearly personalized for him in particular, and Alastor would never admit just how touched he was by the sentiment. 

Written in red and neon green sparkling ink, the invitation read:

Dear Alastor,

You are cordially invited to the first (official) Happy Hotel sleepover!!! We will be watching movies, having snacks, playing games, and many more fun things!!! We will meet in the lobby after dinner TODAY to set up and get started!

All you need to bring is yourself, PJs, and a blanket and pillow (or multiple!!)! We will vote on movies while we set up, and there will be a minimum of four (but you can obviously go to sleep if you start feeling tired). Wake up in the morning will be later so everyone still gets the sleep they need even though we’ll be staying up later than usual.

Can’t wait to see you there!!!!!! =D

–Charlie Morningstar

The back was decorated with little drawings of beds and confetti, and there were stickers of food spanning the page as well. The princess had obviously put a lot of effort into the silly little card, and Alastor’s smile softened minutely.

He realized that Charlie was leaning close to him, and practically bouncing with excitement. When she realized he had noticed her, she immediately pointed at one of the stickers.

“They’re scratch and sniff,” she explained, much to Alastor’s confusion. Seeing his baffled expression, Charlie briefly took the card back and scratched at one of the stickers - it looked like a slice of apple pie. Once she finished, she held the card back up towards the deer’s face expectantly.

“Here - smell it!”

Skeptical, Alastor took a hesitant sniff, unsure if she wasn’t just pulling his leg. However, he was shocked to be met with a sweet scent similar to that of apple pie. It wasn’t exact, but it was surprisingly close. 

“My, how strange! And all of these stickers are like this?” Charlie simply nodded enthusiastically and handed the card back. There was that hopeful look again, though this time it appeared to have been amplified for maximum effectiveness. Alastor was surprised and slightly annoyed to find his defenses crumbling under her will.

Not willing to immediately give in, the overlord simply hummed in thought. “You know, this is hardly the most official invitation - entirely too much glitter for it to be considered an official document. In fact - if I remember correctly, all official forms are to be filled out with black ink to be considered within regulations!” Charlie’s face couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be hopeful, disappointed, or helplessly confused.

“It’s official if Charlie says it’s official,” Vaggie snarked from where she’d sat up on the floor, though there was noticeably much less heat then there usually was when she addressed Alastor. He didn’t know how to feel about that, so he tried not to analyze it too closely. 

“How do you know all that anyways, Smiles? You work in a government job or something?” Angel asked with curiosity and mild disbelief, not having bothered to sit up at all. Alastor chuckled dismissively.

“Oh heavens no! I…” Alastor paused for a moment in thought before conceding. “Well, yes actually.”

“Really?” Charlie asked, her tumultuous emotions seemingly forgotten in the face of more information on one of her friends.

“Yes, I was drafted for a two year contract during the Great War - or I suppose you all would know it as World War One. I was just old enough to be drafted when the war reached the United States.” Normally, Alastor would have made a comment on all of the carnage he saw overseas, but he preferred not to talk about the things he’d seen in the trenches - some things deserved to be forgotten after all. Thankfully, no one asked. 

“Yeah, I know what that’s like - I was drafted to serve in that shitshow too - but I was in my twenties,” Husk added, and the two shared a look of understanding. “I reenlisted for the second one, but they thought I was too old to be in the action, so I was mostly just a desk jockey. From what I heard from a few friends who went there, I got lucky.”

Vaggie nodded too. “I joined voluntarily when I turned twenty, but I was never sent into actual combat. I was stationed in Germany for a while before going to Hawaii.”

Charlie and Angel both paused for a moment to digest that. 

“Oh,” Angel started. “We’ve got a lot more military experience in this hotel than I thought. I didn’t serve or anything  - mafia boss for a dad will do that for you. Though my pops did apparently do some shit with the government stateside - he didn’t tell us much about it, just that he was temporarily going patriotic,” Angel chuckled ruefully. Charlie on the other hand looked almost painfully excited, practically bouncing in place as her eyes jumped from Vaggie to Husk to Alastor and back again.

“Oh my Satan! You guys can totally bond over that - you all have military service in common!” Alastor immediately moved to curb that thought before it could gain too much traction.

“Charlie my dear, you know I love your never-ending enthusiasm for all things - it is truly an admirable quality. However, not everything people have in common is necessarily a good thing, or something that people even want to discuss. You might make poor Husker uncomfortable after all!” His hands - which had taken their place on Charlie’s shoulders as he spoke - moved to gesture at the aforementioned bartender who displayed a half-hearted middle finger in Alastor’s general direction. 

He knew that Alastor was deflecting from the fact that talking of such things would likely make himself uncomfortable, but Husk wisely chose not to call him out on it. Husk may have been lucky enough to not be in the half of their forces that went to the front lines, but he could tell from a glance that Alastor hadn’t had the same good fortune. Besides, a nice bottle of scotch would most likely be waiting for him when he went back to the bar - as there always was whenever Alastor used him as a scapegoat to escape whatever made him squirm. He really was so predictable sometimes. 

“Oh! Husk, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” At the princess’ stricken expression, Husk simply waved off her concern, taking a brief swig from the bottle he’d had on the table. 

“It’s fine. Seriously.”

“Besides,” Alastor continued before Charlie could continue expressing her concerns over accidentally overstepping. “I have one major condition if I’m to attend this ‘sleepover’ that you’ve so graciously decided to host.” The overlord overemphasized the air quotes around the word ‘sleepover’ as if it were something they’d made up to mess with him. 

“Oh, of course! What is it?” Charlie asked, her ever-present enthusiasm doing wonders to distract her from her supposed slight on the bartender as she gave Alastor her full attention.

“If I must watch whatever films you decide on, then my only request is that we do it properly with a projector rather than with one of those new-fangled picture boxes that relentlessly invade the residence of every inhabitant of this forsaken plane. Are we agreeable?” There was a strange look in Alastor’s eyes that the false cheer couldn’t hide, and Husk instantly realized why he was making the request. An almost imperceptible twitch of the overlord’s right ear betrayed him - a long-familiar tell.

Alastor was anxious. And Husk couldn’t blame him either, not after the stunts Vox had pulled not all that long ago. He wouldn’t want to watch TV either. With a slight sigh, Husk decided to cover for his boss once again within the span of a single conversation.

“Yeah, makes sense,” the chimera grumbled into his bottle, making brief eye-contact with Alastor before continuing. “Better than watching that tiny-ass screen anyways - we just need a sheet and an empty wall.”

The look he got in return wasn’t exactly grateful, but certainly hedged on it, and Husk lightly flicked his tail in acknowledgement. 

“Oh. My. Gosh. That’s a fan tastic idea!” Charlie immediately grabbed the idea and ran with it, thankfully not noticing Alastor’s uneasiness, though Angel threw a look his way that made the overlord prickle defensively. No one mentioned anything though once Charlie began darting around the room, already planning the setup for the evening. With the focus on the overenthusiastic princess, no one noticed when Alastor carefully slipped Charlie’s invitation into an empty pocket.

Nifty chose that moment to dart back into the room with her broom, dust pan, and feather duster, and set her eyes on the overlord with predatory intent. Before Alastor could make his escape, the maid had darted across the room and began scaling him like a jungle gym, furiously dusting glitter off his suit as she went.

“Ugh, it’s such a mess! I hate this stuff!” The woman grumbled as she continued her cleaning. Alastor snorted out a choked laugh as he tried to shy away from the feathers attacking his face, squirming slightly in place until she thankfully dropped to the floor to sweep up the mess of glitter. She grumbled about coming back with a vacuum as the glitter settled into the carpet, and Alastor took that as his cue to leave before he could be assaulted by any other cleaning supplies. If he stuck around too long, the maid would surely notice that there were still traces of glitter on him.

“Alright - I’m off to do my rounds my dear, do let me know if you require anything for the evening!” As Alastor gave his farewell, he snapped his fingers, allowing the projector that usually sat in a box in his room to appear on the table. He chuckled when Husk swore as the action almost knocked over his beer.

“Alastor, wait,” Vaggie’s voice called, making the deer sigh slightly before promptly about facing to meet her gaze.

“What is it dear?” He asked, his slowly recovering mood nosediving for reasons he didn’t really understand.

“There’s a leak in one of the fourth floor bathrooms-”

“Room 444?” Alastor asked with some exasperation. That room had been having problems since the new hotel was built. Leaks, outages, furniture somehow ending up outside, you name it, it had probably happened at some point. Alastor personally theorized that it was due to the number 444 sounding similar to the Chinese word for death - but he had no proof. It was simply another one of those Hellish inconveniences that sprang up from time to time. Vaggie nodded and Alastor sighed slightly.

“I’ll take a look at it,” he promised before turning around once more. This time he managed to get about three steps away before noticing he was being followed. The radio host chose to ignore Husk until they could round a corner, and thus missed the significant look that passed between him and Angel Dust behind his back.

“What’s troubling you my good man?” Alastor asked once they had lost their audience. He turned and watched Husk put a hand on his hip, the searching look that Alastor so loathed on his face. 

“I should be the one asking you that question - you’re acting off,” Husk rumbled, crossing his arms. He was taking a risk calling Alastor out on anything, but it was a necessary one. A small burst of feedback and the annoyed curl of Alastor’s lip only proved the bartender right. Alastor quickly recovered, ruffling Husk’s hair in an attempt to annoy him enough to chase the old cat off.

“Why I’m feeling right as rain, Husker! I truly have no clue what you’re talking about,” Alastor chuckled, but his tone had a warning lilt that Husk was familiar with. This was a familiar song and dance for both of them - Husk would push and push until Alastor either snapped or caved. It was only a matter of time once the game started until Alastor lost his composure. 

“You’ve been nervous - I had to save you twice just now, and you’re overcompensating with the bullshit chipper act. What’s wrong?” Alastor’s grin had rapidly twisted into a defensive snarl - he couldn’t have Husk asking questions, because then Angel would ask questions which would devolve into everyone asking questions. If they found out what he’d done…

No! Alastor thought viciously. They weren’t going to find out because he was putting an end to Husk’s prodding right now.  

Much sooner than Husk had thought, a neon green collar materialized around his throat, and Alastor tugged him forward sharply until his hand had fisted in the chains closest to the cat’s neck. Husk’s fur bushed out fearfully as he stared into angrily spinning radio dials.

“I think you’re forgetting who is in charge here Husker,” Alastor hissed softly, ears pinned back. “Do not make me remind you of your place.”

“Understood,” Husk murmured, adrenaline rushing through him at the thinly veiled threat. As quickly as it had started, it was over - Alastor releasing him with a gentle pat on the cheek before he melted into his shadows - presumably to “make his rounds”. 

The adrenaline faded pretty quickly after that - it was always more of an in-the-moment kind of terror. It never usually lasted because Alastor never actually made good on his threats, and as the lingering fear from having his leash tugged faded, Husk frowned thoughtfully. That was a lot faster than it usually took for Alastor to snap - clearly whatever was bothering him was serious enough to make him lose his carefully-crafted composure. Unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly a lot of new information. 

Husk sighed before turning back to the lobby. At least he’d have two bottles of the good stuff now. 

Alastor reappeared on the next floor up with his heart pounding in his chest - though whether it was from adrenaline, anger, or something else he wasn’t too sure. His mind was doing its best impression of a tornado, thoughts screaming and clamoring to be the first one heard, but only creating an indecipherable cacophony that roared in his pinned ears.

I shouldn’t have lost control so easily, I’m supposed to be better than that! Alastor mentally lashed himself for the break in composure, claws fisting angrily in his hair and yanking. Vaguely, he realized that he should get into a room in case anyone had followed him besides Husk. Staggering slightly, the overlord forced his way into the nearest room - sure to shut and lock the door behind him to prevent anyone from walking in on him and seeing him being an emotional mess again.

As he stood in the middle of the room, pulling his hair and panting slightly, Alastor thought of the blade hidden away in his bayou. A large part of him wanted to go to his room, grab the blade, and stop this emotional outburst that way - but deep down, a small voice begged him not to.

For once, he decided to listen to that little voice. Slowly, Alastor listened to each racing thought before tucking them away one at a time, each slow pull on his hair working to ground him as he swayed back and forth soothingly. His breathing hitched slightly before his brows furrowed and he forced himself to take deeper breaths. Soon, the shaking in his hands subsided and he began subconsciously petting his own ears gently - almost as if his body were trying to apologize for the pain it had inflicted. 

Once his breathing had evened out, and he didn’t feel like he was going to explode, Alastor let his arms fall uselessly to his sides. He still felt disgustingly fragile, and that frightening numbness from before was back, but Alastor was in control. As long as he had control, everything would be fine.

But will it really be? That little voice spoke up once more, but this time Alastor banished it with what he knew should have been anger. Instead, it was just that yawning grave of numbness. The nothingness that reminded him of seven years and Her. Reminded him of dark, and cold, and loneliness, and pain pain pain-

But he couldn’t afford to think about that. 

Instead, he quietly fixed his hair as much as he could with his fingers, brushed the torn red strands from his hands, and checked in the standing mirror all the rooms had to see if he was presentable. A faint hum of disgust made itself known beneath the numbness as Alastor stared at the pathetic whelp he had become in recent weeks. His face looked somehow soft and hallowed at the same time, eyes empty of anything and rimmed with redness from frustrated tears that had refused to fall. There was a furrow between his brows from stress, and he tried to relax his face as much as possible before leaving his brief sanctuary.

Alastor let his eyes fall shut, taking a moment to just breathe and reconstruct his mask. Gluing the pieces back together to conceal the jagged edges and burning off any frayed ends until the face that greeted him was carefully and flawlessly presentable. Smile sharp but just relaxed enough to fool the others into seeing tranquility where there was none. Eyes lidded and faintly smug in the way everyone had come to expect before he’d ruined everything-

Stop, Alastor commanded internally in a voice both alien and horrifyingly familiar. This will fix nothing. Stop thinking about everything so much and continue with your duties. Pull your weight. He briefly pressed his thumb into his wrist, now bare of bandages. The barely-there sting did little to help, but it was something.

Right. He’d been going to fix the leak in room 444. Despite his brief loss of composure, he still had a job to do. Alastor had fixed countless leaks in the hotel before - this was just a routine task.

He’d fixed leaks in the old hotel. The one he’d failed to keep from destruction. After his failure with Adam which had caused him to start this helpless spiral of failure after failure after failure -

It would be fine. Alastor would be fine, he just needed to fix this absolute pest of a leak, then he could retreat to his room until he could fully reconstruct his mask. Or he could always go on a rampage. It had been a while after all, and some good old fashioned carnage might be just what he needed to kickstart his way out of this nasty little emotional rut he was stuck in. 

The invitation seemed to warm in his pocket.

Right. No rampage then, he’d need something faster. But for now, he just had to go and fix that bothersome leak. Rather than chancing the hallways, Alastor dissolved into his shadows once more, forcing himself to take comfort in their chilling embrace. 

Reappearing in the possibly sentient room, Alastor immediately heard the telltale dripping of a leaky faucet, ears twitching in the direction of the bathroom. Sure enough, the sink was rapidly dripping, and turning the handles did nothing. Upon closer inspection, The piping underneath was leaking as well. Alastor sighed and stripped himself of his jacket, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he shut off the water to the bathroom.

He only let his eyes linger on the irritated lines on his forearm for a moment before turning back to the sink - a heavy feeling in his chest that Alastor convinced himself was pride. He sighed quietly before kneeling before the bothersome appliance.

It felt like he’d fixed this damned sink a hundred times, and yet it always seemed to go back to leaking after a few days. No matter what he tightened, or sealed, or adjusted, it always ended up being pointless after only a short time. 

The problem was that on the outside, everything looked perfectly fine besides the leaks themselves, but as much of a handyman as Alastor claimed to be, he wasn’t a professional. He grunted slightly as he loosened the plastic bit connecting the pipes - he’d clearly tightened it too much last time.

Part of him wanted to just destroy the blasted sink and stop bothering with it as it was clearly more trouble than it was worth. There were plenty of other rooms, they didn’t need this one. Yet for some reason, day after day, he found himself back in room 444 fixing this sink. Alastor looked through the pipe sections he’d managed to separate and grimaced: the insides were slowly degrading, looking worse and worse the further they got from the faucet. That meant that the pipes inside the wall were probably worse off and Alastor groaned to himself at the thought of removing them all.

“What a mess,” the overlord grumbled, setting the already loose tubes in the tub. The whole sink would have to be gutted, and the piping to the toilet and shower should be checked too in case the damage had spread. Alastor sighed once again and moved to sit criss-cross, resigning himself to the fact that he’d likely be there for a while.

For about half an hour he sat there loosening overly-tight connecting pieces and tossing the tubes haphazardly into the tub. Eventually, he’d removed everything outside of the wall and found himself unable to continue.

He didn’t want to see the damage the wall was concealing. He honestly didn’t even want to think about it, let alone start the process of actually tearing everything out and starting fresh. Really, it wasn’t even like they were getting an influx of guests - and if they did, they would most likely start off filling all the rooms on the first floor. The fourth floor and room 444 would be empty for a while to come. He had time to put it off for a little while - it was hardly an urgent problem. 

With that thought, Alastor eased himself to his feet with a groan, knees cracking and shoulders aching from fighting with the pipes. He braced himself on the counter for a moment as darkness encroached on his vision - thankfully easing off before his knees could give out and send him sprawling in a humiliating heap on the floor. Alastor summoned a pen and piece of paper from his shadow for a note to leave on the sink. 

“Under Repair - Leave water OFF!” It was a simple enough demand, and Alastor pinned the note in place with a bottle of hand soap before quickly donning his coat and leaving the bathroom. He tried not to think of all the damage that remained beneath the surface as he made his way back to his own room. He didn’t need to think about it because it didn’t even matter. Besides, Alastor had a “sleepover” to prepare for.

There were more important things to occupy his thoughts with than a leaky sink.

Chapter Text

The task of procuring snacks for this “sleepover” ended up being Alastor’s job. Well, Charlie had told him he didn’t have to, but Alastor would much prefer they have something actually edible rather than whatever junk the princess was originally planning to get. She’d still made him compromise though, with half of their food being home made, and the other half being random trash from the nearest grocery store.

Unfortunately, he’d have little to no say in what they purchased, since he’d been banned from going to that Hellmart unsupervised after the last time he accidentally knocked over all of the televisions on display. Apparently he’d caused about $50,000 in damages, which he was still quite proud of. However, since it had resulted in his removal of Hellmart privileges, he wouldn’t be permitted to go with Charlie and Vaggie to get the provisions required for the night. Part of him suspected that was why they’d chosen to go to that particular store in the first place. 

It was really no matter to him, as he had plenty to do in the hotel anyways to prepare for the evening.

If he quietly added jalapeno jerky and a bag of lemonheads to the list when no one was looking, that was purely Alastor’s business. Besides, Charlie was rich, so it was probably fine. She didn’t have to buy it - he’d added them to the bottom of the list for that exact reason.

Ever the opportunist, Alastor took the chance to ask Vaggie and Angel for snack suggestions - it never hurt to start putting a dent in one’s debt before anyone noticed it after all. He ended up making a dip tray with homemade tortilla chips at Vaggie’s request. It had the closest approximation to salsa, bean dip, guacamole, and buffalo chicken dip that he could manage with Hell’s ingredients. 

Angel had requested lemon-ricotta cookies, which were apparently a favorite of the spider’s Nonna. Alastor had agreed easily, willing to subject himself to sugar if there was the acidic tang of citrus accompanying it. It was even in the book of recipes he’d managed to snatch from one of his contacts when he’d been looking for the maritozzo recipe.

Nifty had also asked if she could assist him with preparing the food, and Alastor agreed. She was quite eager to have something gelatinous on their menu for the evening and Alastor faintly shuddered as he remembered her last jello-monstrosity. It had contained what looked to be eggs, tomatoes, cockroaches, and shrimp, which had made the overlord want to shed a few tears of despair. Instead, he’d simply had Alexandre dispose of the monstrosity in bite-sized pieces while the maid wasn’t looking. He’d at least enjoyed pretending to hold a moral superiority over everyone else as they struggled to even look at the dish.

However, Alastor had learned his lesson and carefully moderated what Nifty added to their jello mold. They ended up with something that was most likely edible since he’d only allowed her to put fruit in it, though he’d had to stop her from adding tomatoes and cucumbers. He knew they were technically fruits, but they should really only count as such when trying to anger people, not when actually preparing food.

Once everything had been finished and stored properly, Alastor moved to set up the projector. Charlie and Vaggie clearly had given up at some point, seeing as there was a sheet pinned to the wall, furniture shuffled around to their liking, and the projector still sitting innocuously on the table. Alastor sorted through the various wires and adaptors until the little red light next to the power button flickered to life. 

The projector was a little modern for his tastes, but his old one had been crushed along with many of his other belongings during the extermination, so he’d had to tactically acquire a new one from an antique store. 

As evening rolled around, Alastor figured that he’d stalled long enough. The invitation claimed that the set attire was pajamas, so he’d unfortunately have to change. Normally he might have fought back on that stipulation, but the overlord just felt drained. It was too much effort to fight the headstrong princess on something so trivial, and a part of him was worried that if he drew too much attention to his clothes, then the others would become aware of his new little grounding technique. 

He wasn’t afraid. It just wasn’t any of their business, that’s all.

Alastor shadow-traveled to his room and began rifling through his drawers until he found a fresh set of pajamas. They were a simple plaid set of bottoms and a button-up top - soft and comfortable, but nothing too fancy and certainly nothing too revealing. Certain residents had seen entirely too much of his body for comfort as of late, thank-you-very-much.

He slowly walked to his sleeping tree, aware that he was stalling but unwilling to actually stop as he listened to the shifting water of the bayou. The mud and water disappeared from his legs as he reached the familiar clearing, the charm he’d put up to prevent messes sending a tingling warmth through his fur as soon as he was clear of the sucking mud. The overlord ducked into the comforting darkness of his personal sanctuary and grabbed the black silk bonnet and his favorite pillow. Bedding was on the list of required items after all.

For a moment, Alastor froze. Having been revealed by the removal of his pillow, the cursed blade glinted ominously in the dim lighting and for a moment, Alastor’s arm ached with an odd feeling. A desperate clawing need burned his throat, and he had the sudden fear that he was being watched. Feeling like he’d been caught doing something bad, he hastily shoved the knife under another pillow, hiding it from any potential prying eyes. 

He wasn’t afraid. But maybe a few little marks would make the night pass easier?

No, Alastor reasoned. They’d surely notice - Husker and the pig might smell the blood. Part of him withered at the idea of being found out; it wasn’t their business, but he just knew the others would try to interfere. Alastor forced himself to discard the train of thought, eyes instead settling on the still unopened package containing the weighted blanket, and the untouched bag of little trinkets the princess had bought for him.

He hadn’t touched any of them yet - using something Charlie insisted was “perfect for his anxiety” felt like giving up. It felt like admitting he was too weak to handle things on his own - but wasn’t he already past that stage? Could he really sink any lower in their eyes?

Do you really want to find out? A dark voice asked, and for a moment his arm felt like it was made of lead. He shook the thought aside angrily. This wasn’t about that, this was about whether or not he should bother using the stupid blanket taking up a corner of his sleep-nook. Besides, if he used it, it would be more for Charlie’s sake, wouldn’t it? He’d hate for her to have spent money on the damned thing only for him to never even bother with opening the package.

With an annoyed huff, he grabbed the blanket and melted into his shadows, refusing to spend even a moment longer overthinking something so simplistic as using a blanket. He reappeared outside of his room to lock his door, then started making his way downstairs. He purposefully avoided the deathtrap that was the elevator, and every step towards the lobby felt like a step towards his impending doom. 

He sucked it up anyways. It was just a silly little sleepover - he’d be fine. It was essentially the same thing as when he, Husker, and Angel had fallen asleep on the couch while he was drugged. 

Of course, that wouldn’t be the first bad decision you’ve made while drugged, is it? That nasty little voice was back again, and Alastor hissed irately in the privacy of the empty stairwell.

Shut up. This isn’t like that, he insisted, much too used to replying to voices in his head for a sane person. 

Isn’t it? The voice hissed, smug in its conviction. Alastor hesitated for a moment, faltering uncertainly. Then he shook the thought off, ploughing forwards grimly. It didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to let that happen this time. This time was different.

He eventually made it to the lobby and paused. Charlie and Vaggie were sitting by the movie rack, smiling warmly at each other as they talked and sorted through the films. Husk and Angel were still at the bar, Angel laughing joyously at something the bartender had said as Nifty poked her head up from behind the bar to laugh with them. They all looked so… happy. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen them that way - at least not around him. 

It wasn’t too late. He could snap his regular clothes back on, tell Charlie something had come up and he couldn’t attend. Leave them to their peace. It would be easy. It would probably be better for everyone too.

Something nudged his leg and Alastor looked down to see Fat Nuggets looking up at him imploringly, curled tail wagging in delight at seeing the deer sinner. Alastor’s previously strained smile softened into something more genuine, ears momentarily flattening in pleased acknowledgement of the piglet’s presence. 

“Well, let’s get on with it then,” Alastor sighed, a good-natured curl to his smile as he winked down at the pig, who snorted back happily. Watching as the hellhog ran excited circles around him, Alastor came to the abrupt realization that he was bare-hoofed. The carpeted floors had silenced the distinctive click of his own hooves, and he hadn’t been in the right headspace to realize he didn’t even own slippers, let alone that he wasn’t wearing any. 

It wasn’t really a big deal, but it felt significant somehow. Almost too vulnerable even though no one else would likely think twice about it. Fat Nuggets nipped his ankle gently, and Alastor forced himself to push the train of thought aside, instead moving slowly into the lobby to set up camp. 

He tried to project confidence into his stride, but any progress he’d made was immediately undone when he realized no one else had set up their bedding yet. Was he supposed to just lay it out on the floor? Were they all going to squeeze on the couch? That sounded overwhelming and unbearable and Alastor sincerely hoped that wasn’t the plan. Were there designated places for everyone on the floor? Should he just set his stuff down and get the snacks out, or should he wait until the movies were chosen? Should he ask, or would that make him look stupid? 

Who was he kidding - of course that would make him look stupid! Everyone else seemed perfectly at ease, Alastor asking questions would only highlight his ignorance. This was why Alastor hated being put into new social situations - where was the instruction manual for a sleepover? 

“Oh - hey Al, when’d you get down here?” Angel’s familiar voice interrupted Alastor’s internal struggle as he started ever so slightly. Before he could respond, Angel continued. “I like the flannel - it suits you.” The spider winked playfully in a way that both thankfully understood wasn’t meant to be flirtatious and Alastor relaxed slightly at the familiarity. His tail - the infernal thing - dared to wag slightly in tentative joy, though Alastor quickly stifled the humiliating reaction. He wasn’t a damned dog.  

“Great! Now that everyone’s here, we can get started!” Charlie practically squealed with excitement, making Husk and Alastor pin their ears back at the sheer pitch. She spread out a selection of eight movies on the floor, setting one aside. Alastor tilted his head slightly to read the title - “Home Alone”. The child on the cover looked almost amusingly distressed, but Alastor honestly couldn’t tell what genre it was supposed to be.

“These are the movies Vaggie and I picked, so we can pick from this group this time, then pick different ones next time! Each movie has to have at least three people who want to watch it, and we’re gonna try not to pick any movies anyone doesn’t like.” Charlie eagerly held up the film she’d set aside. “Vaggie and I picked this one, so we do have to watch it!” 

Angel laughed as he, Husk, and Nifty made their way over from the bar. “Toots, you do know it’s not anywhere near Christmas topside, right?”

Ah. Well that answered Alastor’s question about the genre - it was obviously horror, though how Charlie could get into it was beyond him. Charlie merely giggled in response to Angel’s teasing.

“Well yeah, but who says you can only watch “Home Alone” at Christmas time? We don’t even have Christmas here - just Sinsmas, so it’s fine. Anyways, come pick what movies you want!”

As everyone else moved closer to the films spread across the carpet, Alastor finally spotted where everyone else had put their bedding. Little piles of blankets and pillows were dropped haphazardly next to the television, which had been pushed to the far side of the room, and Alastor moved to set his belongings there as well - slightly separate from everyone else. 

“Hey Al,” Angel called, making Alastor start slightly once again - curse his pathetic nerves! As he looked over his shoulder at the spider, Angel continued. “What do you wanna watch? Anything in particular?”

“I’m rather behind in this form of media, so I’ll just let you all decide,” Alastor dismissed, grabbing his bonnet to fit it over his ears and antlers, carefully tucking his mess of curls into the fabric before tying it off securely. It was a little intimidating to wear the bonnet in front of others, but he knew Vaggie would have his head on a platter if she caught him sleeping without it - not that he necessarily planned to sleep at this sleepover. But the others didn’t know that, and they really didn’t need to know that either. 

He decided to busy himself with getting the snacks out, figuring that since the movies were being debated on, it likely wasn’t too early for food. He precariously balanced the cookies and the dip in his hands while Alexandre carried the chips and jello - which thankfully didn’t look too nightmarish. Alastor likely wouldn’t be having any though. 

He carefully set the trays on the table - wary of dropping anything on the projector that definitely would have been expensive if he’d paid for it. He would have paid for it, but it was a sudden expense, and it wasn’t like Charlie had any sort of concept of money - paying her employees seemed to be rather low on her list of priorities. But it was fine because he had access to her father’s bank account information since he was the one paying the utilities and Alastor was the one making sure those bills were actually paid. But unfortunately when he’d gone to get the projector the only thing he’d had on hand were a few crumpled ones and his shadows, so he’d made due. Besides, what Charlie didn’t know wouldn't hurt Alastor.

Thankfully, the others had finished picking their movies and were beginning to lay their bedding out - on the floor and not the couch, thank Satan. Alastor grabbed his blanket and pillow and tossed them down in an empty spot with the best view of the front door and the dark stairwell. He was a respectable but still reasonable distance from everyone else, so Alastor was surprised when Vaggie dropped her stuff loudly next to him.

He had no idea how she’d managed to make a pillow and blanket fall that loudly, but if anyone could, it would be the fiery former exorcist, so Alastor resigned himself to having to deal with her stubborn and aggressive care for the rest of the evening. Thankfully Charlie remained on the other side of her beau, and Husk and Angel stayed on their own side - though that was likely because Alastor had set up camp as far from the center of their improvised projector screen as possible. At least he wouldn’t be completely surrounded, even if he still had to listen to Vaggie’s grumblings the rest of the night. 

Alastor finally removed his weighted blanket from its packaging and grunted in surprise as he tried to straighten it out. It was only twelve pounds, but it felt like so much more with how unbelievably large it was. The overlord ended up folding it in half like a sleeping bag and still had plenty of room to spare. 

“Hey, shitheads! Here’s your snacks,” Vaggie called, brandishing a plastic bag like a weapon before dumping its contents on the floor unabashedly. Alastor discreetly grabbed his jerky and lemon heads through his shadows while everyone else swarmed the pile of snacks. His eyes widened at the sheer size of the bag of jerky before he swiftly hid both bags under his blanket - who could afford a full pound of jerky in this economy?

Vaggie caught his gaze and nodded slightly, a tiny smile curling her lips. Ah, right. Benefits of living with the Princess of Hell, Alastor reminded himself, blinking in appreciation before going back to pretending to be above the others and their store-bought trash food.

A bright gasp came from next to him as Vaggie and Angel set up the first movie, and Alastor let out a squeal of feedback as Charlie practically dove to grab his ankle.

“Ohmygosh you have hooves too?! So do I! We match!” Charlie cheered eagerly, kicking her own hooves into the air behind her. Alastor sat wide-eyed for a moment as she moved so she could put their hooves next to each other, her hands trapping both of his ankles in a firm hold. She let out a delighted sound as she compared their hooves - both red but hers were more sturdy and compact while his appeared much more delicate. They matched that of a goat and a deer respectively. His leg twitched as Charlie gently fiddled with his dew claws with a bright sort of curiosity - Alastor’s were larger and more pointed then hers and it fascinated the princess.

With a little choked sound, Alastor pulled away and tucked his hooves beneath himself securely. Once certain they’d be safe from scrutiny, the overlord chuckled indulgently at her enthusiasm. Alastor had never put much stock in his deer features, but it was nice to have them complimented every now and then - even if it left him a bit flustered.

Undeterred by him pulling away, Charlie beamed sunnily at him. Alastor sighed internally - he could already tell that the princess was cooking up some scheme or another in that overly enthusiastic brain of hers, and he settled in with a resigned but amused smile.

“We should do a hoof care day sometime!” she crowed, and Alastor grimaced slightly through his fond weariness. Thankfully before he had to come up with an excuse as to why he would definitely not be doing that, a cheerful little melody filled the room as Angel and Vaggie got the first movie going. 

Soon enough, everyone had settled in with their snacks and blankets, and Alastor used a tendril of shadow to flip the light switch just in time for a heavily-accented female voice - Scottish, if Alastor had to guess - began narrating. The overlord rolled his eyes slightly, but wormed his way under the heavy blanket anyways. His back was propped against the couch with his pillow acting as a cushion. It wasn’t the most comfortable setup, but Alastor had slept far worse in the past, so he’d be fine for a couple films.

Angel and Husk were sharing a very strange looking pillow that almost looked like the back and arms of a chair. It was hard to tell beneath the blankets, but it looked a bit like they were just wrapped around each other. It was surprising behavior from Husk, but Alastor remembered exactly what it felt like to be in the spider’s embrace, so he quietly decided he couldn’t judge. Nifty had curled up on top of their strange pillow and was playing with Husk’s ears as she watched the movie, and Alastor had to stifle a little laugh as his sharp ears picked up on a subtle purr vibrating in the bartender’s chest.

Charlie and Vaggie were close to them, also curled together as they leaned back on a perpetual mountain of pillows. Charlie would pass Vaggie chips with various dips on them, and the former angel would hum appreciatively after every bite. Alastor preened a little bit at the nonverbal praise - he’d always taken great pride in his cooking, and Vaggie was usually a tough girl to get appreciation from. He couldn’t let them get too comfortable around him though, so every once in a while he’d launch a lemon head at someone - sure to look back at the movie innocently once his victim started looking around for whoever it was. Vaggie caught on immediately since she knew he had the candy, but merely threw a few skittles back at him with an annoyed grumble. Everyone else was wonderfully clueless to his crimes.

Everything continued peacefully for about two movies. They all chatted and ate their snacks - which Alastor happily received more compliments for - and poked fun at the characters for making stupid choices. Though Charlie was rather quick to get teary-eyed at the more emotional moments. Some of them were admittedly well-done though, so Alastor couldn’t blame her, though he’d never say as much out loud. It simply wouldn’t do to let them all think he enjoyed this ridiculous medium.

Finally, it was time for them to watch this “Home Alone” nonsense that Charlie was so obsessed with, and Alastor was rather curious about what sort of horror film could possibly pique the interest of the princess of sunshine and rainbows. Charlie was chattering excitedly, and Alastor tuned back into the conversation just as Vaggie spoke up.

“Yeah, my family and I used to watch this every year around Christmas - it was a bit of a tradition,” the former exorcist laughed slightly. “One of my brothers could quote the entire movie from memory.” Charlie nodded a vehement agreement.

“Me too - I watch this movie all the time. I think I even have the soundtrack memorized!” She turned to the others with a questioning look. “Did you guys have Christmas traditions while you were alive?”

There was a slight pause before anyone answered, since it was usually pretty taboo to ask sinners about their lives. But the silence only lasted a moment before Angel sighed fondly.

“Well, we took part in the regular traditions and shit, but we also did the Feast of the Seven Fishes, which was on Christmas Eve. It was about holding off meat on the night before big holidays and stuff - it’s a Catholic thing.” Angel got a conspiratorial look in his eyes as he grinned slightly. “Molly and I also had a secret tradition of painting our principal’s house red and green while he slept.” That prompted a few laughs as the group imagined a little Angel Dust and his twin sneaking out to menace their principal.

“Oh, oh!” Nifty exclaimed, waving her hand eagerly in the air. “I used to wake up my parents really early so we could open presents and start cooking up brunch! Like really really early!” Alastor could honestly picture it, though his chest hurt a little when he remembered that most of the time Nifty’s parents would ignore her up until they forced her to get married and get lobotomized against her will. But he didn’t bring it up for her sake, not wanting to spoil her fond memories with the traumas she’d confided in him about. 

“That’s so fun!” Charlie cooed happily before turning to Husk. “What about you? Did you have any Christmas traditions?” 

Husk shrugged. “Eh, when I got older I’d mostly just go to the casino and get wasted. But when I was a kid we used to do family gatherings for Christmas, and my cousins and I would hold a championship wrestling match every year. I think I won four times after I turned fifteen.” The bartender chuckled fondly at the memory, a discreet soft look in his eyes

“Hell yeah,” Vaggie praised, looking at Husk consideringly, and the cat scoffed with a playful smirk.

“Don’t look at me like that - it’s been a long time since I did that shit, and my back would probably give out if we tried to spar.” Vaggie shrugged with an amused snort.

“Well, I tried,” she conceded, popping a chip with bean dip in her mouth. She turned to Alastor, who had mostly just been observing while he absently rubbed his fingers over the blanket, pleased by the texture.

“What about you? You have any Christmas traditions?” The former angel asked amicably. Alastor chuckled nervously, embarrassment threatening to heat his cheeks.

“Ah, well, I never really believed in Santa Claus or anything like that,” the overlord spoke quickly, trying to prevent anyone from asking questions. “We mostly celebrated Catholic holidays at my father’s insistence, though sometimes I’d be lucky, and my mother would take me out and we’d celebrate F ê te Gede or F ê te du Vodoun, or some of the other Vodoun holidays.”

“Oh, that’s so cool!” Charlie gasped, awe in her eyes - she didn’t get to hear about non-Christian celebrations often since people were so closed off about their lives in Hell, but she loved learning about other religions. Despite what many said, she believed that all religions had merit - existence was vast and never ending, so who was she to claim that someone’s beliefs weren’t sound just because she hadn’t seen anything herself? She’d definitely have to ask Alastor more about his religion some other time.

“Why didn’t you believe in Santa Claus?” Nifty asked curiously, and Alastor cringed. That was the question he’d been hoping to avoid.

“Ah, well, you know…I was just too mature for that kind of thing! Haha, I mean come on - you know me! I never would have fallen for that kind of thing, even in my youth.” Alastor hoped that his lie was convincing, but based on the way Angel was squinting at him skeptically, Alastor was pretty sure he’d been made.

“Bullshit!” Angel crowed, a gleeful look on his face. “What’s the real reason, because I know that’s a lie.”

“Me? Lie? Angel, my dear, I would never lie to you!” The immediate deadpan expressions from everyone - including Alexandre , the traitor - were humbling, but it was just nice to feel like things were normal for once. He’d missed having fun instead of feeling like everything was on the verge of crumbling around him. Maybe that was why he caved despite the embarrassment surrounding the story.

“Alright, maybe I wasn’t entirely truthful. My parents told me about Santa Claus when I was little but I…didn’t exactly take it well,” Alastor chuckled sheepishly, feeling embarrassment begin to warm his cheeks. Everyone else had confused looks on their faces, so Alastor elaborated.

“My parents told me about Santa, but I suppose I only focused on the fact that he was a fat old man who watched me in my sleep and I was, well, reasonably terrified,” Alastor admitted meekly, and understanding dawned over the group. Husk and Angel immediately burst into laughter, and Vaggie tried valiantly to suppress her own mirth as Charlie cooed in amused pity.

“Oh Alastor-” she started, her features lighting up with a pitying but mirthful smile.

“I was five! What five year old wouldn’t be afraid when they’ve been told a stranger watches them sleep and monitors their behavior?” Alastor immediately defended, ears pinned in embarrassment, but reluctant amusement curling his lips as he tried not to let his smile become genuine. It was nice to laugh with everyone, even if his own childhood was the joke.

“Most five year olds aren’t afraid of Santa Claus, boss,” Husk chuckled, gathering his composure. 

“W-what did you do?!” Angel wheezed, his own laughter finally dying down a bit. By now, Alastor’s face was bright red, and he was just thankful for the dim lighting so hopefully no one could tell.

“Well…I cried. Hysterically. For probably about ten minutes while my parents were frantically trying to reassure me that he wasn’t actually real. And for a good few years after that I’d get really paranoid of every old man with a beard around December.” Alastor laughed quietly, still a bit embarrassed, but mostly fond of one of his few pleasant childhood memories.

“I bet that’s why you really hate men,” Angel teased, and Alastor laughed too. They both knew that Santa Claus wasn’t the man who started Alastor’s discomfort around those of his own sex, but Alastor was just glad he wasn’t being treated like glass.

Once everyone had regained their composure, Charlie pressed play on the movie and everyone settled back in with their snacks. Alastor found himself unable to pay attention though despite his previous curiosity, his thoughts wandering back to that day.

Alastor had cried in pure terror at the thought of an unknown man watching him sleep, and after trying desperately to calm him down, his father had pulled him into a warm embrace and kissed the top of Alastor’s head. The man had promised that he would never let anyone scare Alastor like that, and that he’d always protect his son.

Right, Alastor thought darkly, his good mood dissolving like dew under a desert sun. So much for that, right dad?

The irony was almost amusing if it wasn’t so depressing. Less than two days later, the man had squandered all of his money on booze, and beat Alastor’s mother as a result. In the aftermath, Alastor’s mother had looked at her son with dead eyes for almost two weeks. 

He always wondered if his mother blamed him for his father’s abuse. Alastor wanted to say that she didn’t, but he didn’t believe that. 

Forcing himself back to the present, Alastor realized that at some point, Fat Nuggets had clambered into his lap, and Alastor had apparently started petting the little dictator. He scratched the pig behind the ears, knowing from experience that it felt nice. He could feel a pit forming in his chest, and he hated it. He absolutely loathed the fact that he could feel his mood dropping, little chills shooting through his body in a familiar way. 

They’d been having fun - why couldn’t he just enjoy himself like everyone else? Why did he have to sabotage his own happiness with miserable thoughts? He’d told a single happy story and suddenly his mood had tanked down to his hooves; why couldn’t he just be normal? The others must think him absolutely exhausting to be around.

He was exhausting to be around. If Alastor was exhausted dealing with his own bullshit, then there’s no way the others weren’t too. He needed to just move on - to let the good mood he’d been in come back so he could enjoy the rest of the evening, but he just couldn’t. The peaceful little moment he’d had was gone, and now Alastor was back to where he’d been earlier - numb and upset. Nothing had happened, but Alastor was still moping, and for what? A father who didn’t love him? His mother who was perfect and sweet, but spent most of their time together looking at him like he was a burden?

She’d had every right to look at him that way, but it still hurt. It hurt because Alastor knew that it was the truth. His mother was the most compassionate woman he’d ever met, but even she couldn’t love someone like Alastor for long. And if she couldn’t do it, how long did Alastor have until everyone in the hotel realized they’d be better off without him?

A hand absently rubbed his chest, his heart aching at the thought. 

As the movies continued and the hour grew later, Alastor felt as if his lips had sealed together, his smile just a touch smaller than usual. Despite the laughter and joyful banter around him, the overlord couldn’t bring himself to join in anymore, lungs suddenly too heavy for words. 

It was fine. Alastor knew it was better off that way.

Chapter Text

Alastor stared at the ceiling, flat on his back with furrowed brows. The lobby was dark, the others having fallen asleep hours ago. Honestly, it was much closer to the time he’d normally wake up then the time he’d go to sleep, but Alastor was wide awake despite the heavy exhaustion that trapped his limbs in place. He’d turned the projector off a couple hours previously, and wriggled his way under the blanket.

It really did feel nice, warm and heavy like a full-body embrace. It felt like Fat Nuggets if the piglet was much wider, and the fabric was admittedly a lot softer than the pig - though he’d never tell Fat Nuggets that. Alastor hadn’t been raised to be rude after all.

Alastor wished he could focus on the sensation so he could fully appreciate it, but he just couldn’t escape his spinning thoughts. The blanket was warm, but he felt inescapably cold down to his marrow, and his chest ached. There was a heavy feeling in his heart, and it made him indescribably angry that he was so upset after nothing happened. Nothing had even happened, yet here he was, stewing in his own misery.

He was pathetic. Truly pathetic. She was right about him - even on the rare occasion he wasn’t being tormented by Her, Alastor couldn’t help but sabotage his own happiness. It was frustrating, and thinking about it only served to worsen the pain in his heart.

Outside of the pain, there was only that frightening, oppressive numbness. It closed in on him like a dark fog, sucking all of the air from his lungs and the strength from his muscles. It terrified him, but even that feeling was numbed by the heavy fog. 

It felt as though he were trapped in the sucking mud of the bayou, icy water and muck leeching out his body’s warmth, and the rotted stench of peat sticking to his person stubbornly. Every step forward only served to make him sink deeper into the earth, and every struggle to escape only drew the moment he finally suffocated closer. The overlord’s thoughts weighed him down like heavy chains, forcing him to sink deeper into his own misery - but he couldn’t help but add more links to the oppressing shackles.

Wavering rings of almost-light edged Alastor’s vision as he stared into the darkness. Even Hell’s eternal red glow seemed missing, everything covered in black in a way that reminded him of…of…

Alastor was holding his breath. No. He was choking. There was a lump in his throat that oxygen couldn’t get around, and his pupils dilated to double their normal size with terror that left his ears pinned and his hands shaking. 

No. No - I can’t go back there! Alastor thought frantically, unable to move as his mind and body further numbed with pure terror. Logic would have told him that there was no way he’d left the lobby - he was still looking at the ceiling and could still feel the weight of the blanket and Fat Nuggets on his stomach. But logic had taken a backseat to the cold claws of fear, and the haunting memories of darkness and pain and please please I’m sorry-!

No! No, this had to stop before he woke someone up. Alastor couldn’t let them see him break again - not now, not ever!

Silently, Alastor melted into his shadows and bolted up the stairs, and Fat Nuggets’ sleeping form was deposited on the floor with a soft thump and a drowsy snort. His shadowy form slipped under his door and into the bayou, towards the tree that kept him safe, that housed his escape. 

As he reformed within his hollow - his dark, confined hollow - the best thing to do to bring himself down from his panic would have been to snap and light the jars hanging throughout the little space. But he didn’t do that. He couldn’t. The only thing Alastor could think of was grabbing that knife from under his pillow, his heavy pants breaking the silence as he frantically tore his nest apart with his desperate search.

Finally, his finger was barely nicked by something sharp, and Alastor lunged for the handle. The overlord hastily yanked up his right sleeve, uncaring for the mess around him, uncaring for the blood he was going to get on his blankets, and uncaring of the way Alexandre chittered in alarm. He silenced the shadow with an unintelligible snarl.

Just a few cuts. That’s all he needed. Just some pain to clear his mind, to bring him back to reality and make him stop dwelling on the past. The first cut was intoxicating, the pain blooming in his mind like a drug. It was addicting, and the knife sliced over and over and over until the pain was so overwhelming he couldn’t even think of being afraid.

With one last cut, Alastor dizzily dropped the blade before he slumped back against the wall of his hollow, body curled awkwardly around his injured arm. Dazed, Alastor stared off into the darkness once more, his mind mercifully blank. This time, there were no thoughts of Her, or his prison, or the agony She inflicted. There was no memory of his parents - his father with cruel words and eager fists, or his mother with her dead eyes and conditional affection. There was no self loathing. 

There was only silence. Silence, and the blossoming pain spreading fire across his forearm. 

After what could have been minutes or hours, Alastor slowly blinked his eyes into focus. His gaze drifted down to look at his arm, and he snapped the softly glowing lights into existence when he realized he couldn’t see. Upon seeing the damage, Alastor froze.

Surely I couldn’t have done it that many times? I could have sworn I’d only done it a few times… Alastor wondered hesitantly. Had he really lost that much control over himself?

There were fourteen new slices riddling his arm, ranging from just under the crease of his elbow to a couple inches away from where his shirt sleeve would normally cut off. Alastor hadn’t wanted to do fourteen, he could have sworn he’d only done five or six at most - but there they were. They were also significantly deeper than his first cuts; those had only drawn enough blood to drip and had healed with just a bandage. These almost looked like they’d need stitches, and his pajamas were soaked with blood. He noted absently that there was no spurting blood, so he’d be fine. He hadn’t hit an artery or anything major, so even if it wasn’t his original intention, this was technically exactly what he wanted. 

With a sigh, Alastor wiped the blade clean on his pant leg, figuring he’d have to wash these pajamas anyways, so it didn’t matter too much. He stashed it back under his pillow, eyes pointedly focused elsewhere. If asked why, Alastor wasn’t sure he’d know how to answer. The deer just didn’t want to look at the blade any more. In fact, he didn’t even want to look at the mess he’d made of his hollow either, so with a snap of trembling fingers, the lights faded into darkness once more. 

Wearily, Alastor staggered from his hollow, feeling slightly woozy from the blood loss. He could tell his fur was damp with blood where it had soaked completely through his clothes, and he realized he’d have to shower. More energy he didn’t have, but Alastor knew he’d force himself to do it just the same. Unable to draw enough focus to travel through his shadows, Alastor resigned himself to another long trek through the bayou.

By the time he got to his bathroom, Alastor was exhausted. He honestly didn’t think he’d make it through a shower, so instead he slowly stripped until he was completely bare of everything except the bonnet, clambered carefully into his bath tub, and turned on the faucet. First, he rinsed his arm under the warm water, hissing slightly at the sting as red swirled down the drain. Then, he grabbed a large plastic cup from the side edge of the tub and began filling it with water. He kept it so he didn’t have to awkwardly try to rinse out his fur with small handfuls of water, and it worked like a charm. He poured the water over his chest, stomach and legs, until the blood flushed completely from his fur and the water ran clear. Then he carefully massaged his body and fur wash - a gift from Charlie - into the spots he’d just rinsed, the metallic stench of blood easily masked by the strong but pleasant aroma of coconut and vanilla that stuck around even when he rinsed off again.

As he dried himself off, Alastor began filling the tub just enough to put his pajamas and blankets in to soak, though he’d have to have Alexandre fetch the blankets. A small part of him didn’t want to go back to his hollow just yet. A strange feeling had settled in his stomach that Alastor tried to brush off. It was fine. This was what he wanted. Thankfully Alexandre also had the foresight to bring him another set of pajamas, though he only had soft pants and a sweater left to choose from. He held off on donning the shirt as he grabbed a sterilized needle and thread from his first aid kit.

After the wounds had been rinsed off, Alastor was glad to find that only eight of the cuts required stitches. The others would be fine with simple gauze and bandages. He grabbed the needle only to realize his hands were shaking slightly, leaving the overlord thankful he’d pre-threaded all of his sewing needles after the first time he’d stitched up his chest wound.

After dealing with his injury from Adam, Alastor had learned that the first stitch was always the hardest to convince himself to do, so this time he didn’t let himself hesitate. He whimpered slightly as the thread tugged through his skin, nausea bubbling unpleasantly in his gut every time he watched the needle puncture his flesh. His smile trembled and ached at the reminder of its origin, and Alastor choked out another pitiful whimper. 

The deer sinner only allowed himself that weakness because there were no witnesses around, and stitching injuries had always been his least favorite part of getting hurt. The sight of a needle sinking beneath his skin made his knees weak, and the feeling of thread pulling always left him feeling faint. Of course, that wasn’t helped by the blood loss, and Alexandre helpfully appeared with a glass of apple juice from the fridge. Alastor didn’t particularly like apple juice, but he liked passing out on his bathroom floor even less, so once he tied off the stitches for his third cut, he drank the damned juice. 

Slowly but surely, Alastor made his way through the rest of the slices, a growing sense of urgency in his chest. It must have gotten closer to morning, and he didn’t want the others to wake up and realize he wasn’t there. That would lead to questions Alastor really didn’t want to answer, so he ignored the pain and sped up his stitching. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, Alastor tied off his last stitch, his hand starting to cramp slightly from over exertion. For a moment, he allowed himself to shake, pressing his sweaty forehead against the cool countertop as he dragged in shuddering breaths. The pain in his arm had built to unbearable levels about thirty stitches ago, and Alastor felt the familiar prickle of tears in his eyes now that the ordeal was over with. After a few minutes of just breathing, Alastor slowly straightened once more, blinking rapidly to chase away the darkness tunneling his vision. 

Once he could see straight, he put the needle in an empty floss container and dropped it in the trash; he didn’t want Nifty pricking herself on it if she took out his trash before he did. The overlord wet a paper towel and gently wiped off the unstitched cuts and surrounding skin free of blood, then patted the area completely dry before wrapping his forearm in gauze. A tan bandage was quick to follow and Alastor finally donned his sweater, his fur bristled with cold.

He sniffed at his arm experimentally, relieved to find that he couldn’t smell any blood through the bandages and shirt. Fat Nuggets and perhaps Keekee might be able to smell it if they were right next to him, but Husk wouldn’t be able to smell it unless he got close and was looking for it. 

Just to be safe, Alastor donned his soft maroon robe to further hide the bandages and to fight off the incessant chill burrowing beneath his skin. If the others asked why he had changed, he’d just tell them he’d gotten cold, which wasn’t necessarily a lie.

With a shaky breath, Alastor melted into his shadow and reappeared outside of his door. He decided to walk back down the lobby, mirroring his actions previously as he tried to fully compose himself. As he passed a clock, Alastor realized only an hour had passed since he’d fled the lobby - much less time than he’d originally assumed. That was good. That meant that he likely wouldn’t run into anyone else awake at this hour. Alastor wrapped his arms loosely around his middle, fingers gently petting the soft material of his robe in a soothing manner.

It was a good thing. He didn’t want to run into anyone.

The stairwell was somehow quieter than the rest of the hotel. There were no windows, and the only lights flickered slightly, which reminded Alastor he’d need to replace the bulbs in the morning. The stairs seemed endless and hypnotic and somewhere around the third floor, Alastor stopped his descent to stare at the wall ahead of him with wide eyes.

A familiar scarlet eye glared back at him from where it had embedded itself within the wallpaper, and Alastor froze like a deer in headlights. His collar tightened threateningly and Alastor choked at the phantom feeling. Beneath his robe, his tail flipped up to display the white underside as it trembled, and his ears pinned back in submission. She wasn’t here, but She would see his defiance if Alastor dared to meet Her gaze head-on. Phantom hands ghosted through his fur, and for a moment Alastor wanted nothing more than to rush back to his room and use the knife again if only to drown Her out. 

The deer stood frozen until Her presence faded away once more. His knees shook weakly, and Alastor wanted to collapse where he stood - to hide from the obvious threat that had already moved on. He dared to glance up and found that the eye was gone without a trace. Maybe it had never been there. Maybe it was just a hallucination - it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, it wouldn’t help for Alastor to dwell on things he had no control over, and he simply couldn’t go back to his room and use the knife again. Instead, he sucked in a steadying breath, pressed his thumb harshly against the stitches to bruise, and continued his way down the stairs.

Both sooner and later than he’d hoped, Alastor was back down in the lobby, and his hooves clicked quietly on the floor as he crept back to his makeshift bed. He didn’t seem to have woken anyone, and Alastor’s eyes carefully scanned the darkness, ears straining to hear even the slightest hint of an unwelcome presence within his space. His senses were on high alert after that terrifying moment in the stairwell, and his guilt only made him more paranoid.

There was something off. Something about the sounds had changed after Alastor left, but it was too dark to see anything and find out what it was. Alastor’s spine prickled as his hackles rose. If something was off, then that meant something was wrong, and Alastor felt his heart begin pounding in his chest as adrenaline rushed through his veins. Had She done something? Did Alastor upset Her, and in response She did something to his friends? Was She still here? His teeth bared threateningly into the darkness as he squinted and searched desperately. If only he could just-

“Boss?” The sudden voice breaking the silence made Alastor almost leap out of his skin as he whipped around with wide eyes and bared teeth and claws. Just before he could  attack the intruder, Alastor recognized the dark silhouette of Husk, who grunted as Fat Nuggets started writhing urgently in his hold.

As Husk set the pig down with an annoyed grumble, Alastor deflated with relief. The room sounded different because he couldn’t hear Husk’s quiet snores or Fat Nuggets’ sleepy snorts, not because something - or some one - was lurking in the darkness. He put a trembling hand over his heart, practically able to feel it pounding through his ribcage with leftover adrenaline.

“Husker, what are you doing up at this fine hour?” Alastor asked, forcing a cheer he didn’t feel into his voice. He kept his tone lowered, unwilling to deal with anyone else who decided to wake up. Fat Nuggets pawed at Alastor’s leg insistently until the overlord bundled the little pig into his arms. He had to conceal a wince when the action inadvertently pulled on the fresh stitches, and his skin felt hot beneath the bandages. It was still worth it to be able to hold Fat Nuggets close though. The piglet’s slow heartbeat seemed to soothe Alastor’s own racing heart until it gradually eased to match the other’s pace.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Husk challenged slightly as his eyes searched Alastor’s face for any tells.

“I was cold, so I changed,” Alastor huffed, gesturing towards himself as well as he could while holding a pig. Husk had already noticed the new outfit, and accepted the claim without much questioning. He knew that Alastor was usually pretty cold, so it made sense that he’d need to wear something warmer in weather a lot of people would consider unpleasantly hot. Well. Hell was always unpleasantly hot, but everyone got used to it after a while.

After another moment of scrutiny, Husk shrugged slightly, seemingly dropping the topic. “The pig woke me up. Figured he needed water or something, but I guess it’s because you left,” the bartender grumbled, taking a sip from his own cup of water. Alastor was struck with the realization that he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Husk drink water before, but he figured that the hotel had forced minute changes on all its residents - staff or otherwise.

There was a moment of tense silence between the pair. Husk knew something was wrong, but after earlier, he knew that concern or questioning wouldn’t be received well. Shit, Alastor refused to even meet his eyes, instead focused on the grumpily snorting pig in his grasp. After another few moments, Husk sighed.

“Look, it’s too early for this shit, so I’m going back to sleep. You need anything just let me know.” The chimera patted Alastor’s shoulder as he passed, moving back towards his and Angel’s little nest. They both ignored the way Alastor flinched slightly at the touch.

“Of course - you know I always do,” Alastor tried to sound smug, but they both knew it was hollow. There was a shared understanding that neither wanted to acknowledge, the one that told them that Alastor wouldn’t tell anyone what was wrong. That he would suffer in silence as he always did until he broke once more.

Alastor’s mouth tasted bitter with the lie, but he simply did what Alastor did best and ignored it. 

It was fine. Alastor was fine. He was coping, and it was helping. Regardless, Alastor stood frozen in the dark lobby for a long while, Fat Nuggets clutched against his chest like a lifeline. Eventually, the shuffling of blankets tapered off as Husk’s distinct snores started back up, but still Alastor stood frozen. It was only when Fat Nuggets sniffed sadly at Alastor’s wrist that the deer demon remembered himself. 

“I’m fine,” he reassured the distraught hellhog. “Just needed time to gather myself.” Alastor wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Fat Nuggets or himself, but instead of dwelling on it, he simply went back to his spot and wormed his way beneath the blanket. At least now he could somewhat appreciate the warmth and weight of it. 

Alastor laid on his back for a moment as he stared at the ceiling before he rolled onto his side, faced away from the others. He looked at his arm where it was splayed out in front of his face, robe and sweater hiding the damning bandages underneath. Fat Nuggets nuzzled into Alastor’s middle comfortingly as the overlord curled his knees into a fetal position beneath the blanket.

There’s really no coming back from this, is there? Alastor thought blankly, and his hand formed a tight fist before relaxing. It was fine. This was what he wanted.

Keekee slowly made her way over from where she’d been nestled between Charlie and Vaggie’s legs. She sniffed Alastor’s face for a moment before doing the same to his arm. Surely, she smelled the blood, but she didn’t recoil from it. Instead, the cat laid carefully on top of his injured limb and began purring loudly.

For some reason, that made Alastor’s eyes burn and his vision blur slightly. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. He was just coping. He was coping, and it was working. He didn’t have to think about Her, or his life, or his death, or anything because of the blade. He didn’t need to be upset, because he was going to be just fine.

Besides, it was exactly what he wanted.

Chapter Text

After the sleepover, Alastor forced himself into a routine. It was the only way to keep his new coping mechanism from becoming too obvious, and the routine gave him something to look forward to without the stress of spontaneity. 

He would start his broadcast at exactly 04:05 in the morning as always, and it would last until exactly 05:05. He’d been slacking a little recently, and it was high time he reminded the masses who he was. There were no new screams - Charlie would never allow him to create that sort of content within her walls. Most of the time he would play music and have segments covering news, drama, and whatever else he wanted to include from his scripts.

After the broadcast, he’d head down to make coffee for himself and Vaggie, read the paper, and make breakfast while laying out his chores for the day. Breakfast was usually over by 09:00 at the latest, and from there he allotted himself a time slot of three hours to take care of his usual chores. Those usually consisted of repairs - though he couldn’t bring himself to go back to room 444 yet - and paperwork. Bills, usually. Sometimes there’d be application letters for the hotel, but the overlord had yet to come across a single genuine one, which was rather insulting considering they’d fought off Heaven for these ingrates.

If he was needed, Alastor would make lunch for the hotel around noon, and if not he’d have his own lunch around thirty minutes after that. Afterwards, he’d take his walk around the Pentagram and finish any errands while he was out. Twice a week he’d go to visit Rosie, whom he’d also been neglecting as of late. Thankfully after a jar of pickled eyeballs and spiced pinkies, she was graciously forgiving of his accidental slight.

At around 15:00, Alastor dedicated about two hours to additional chores and repairs - there were always additional repairs. Lucifer could snap a new hotel into existence, but clearly had no experience with electrical wiring or plumbing because there was always something blowing out or flooding. Honestly, Alastor was pretty sure it was worse than the old building, which said a lot. At least the old hotel had character. This new building didn’t even have that much, and Alastor cringed every time he discovered a new tacky detail in their decor. Not to mention that with the amount of times he’d been zapped by the wiring while trying to fix it, Alastor could have sworn he was fighting Vox.

Alastor would usually start making dinner around 18:00, and everyone would clear the table by 19:30-ish. After that, Alastor would socialize with the others until 21:00 when he would retreat to his room. 

Once there, Alastor would lock his door, and shut himself in the bathroom where he would strip down to his boxers and sit on the edge of the tub. Then he’d grab his cursed knife - which had migrated from under his pillow to inside his bathroom drawer - and allow himself to be overcome by the mistakes and bad thoughts he’d repressed all day. By the time Alastor came back to himself, there would be plenty of new lines on the tops of his thighs.

He’d had to stop cutting his wrists after an accident with Charlie. The afternoon after the sleepover, the princess had tripped and grabbed Alastor’s wrist, which tugged on the bandages and stitches there. Alastor hadn’t even noticed the pain, too terrified that Charlie would notice the difference the bandages caused. Thankfully, she was too wrapped up in what she’d been talking about before to really notice anything off, but Alastor had learned his lesson. Clearly, his arms were much too obvious to be taking his frustrations out on, but his legs? No one would ever see his thighs, not like they could - and have - seen his arms and torso.

The marks on his arms would likely never fully fade, especially the ones that had needed stitches, but Alastor had fur so they weren’t quite as obvious as they could have been - even if the fur on his forearms was short and velvety. He’d removed the sutures a few days previously, and the scars were healing as well as he could hope. Besides, if anyone saw him without his shirt, they’d likely be distracted by his other, much uglier scars. 

Once he was satisfied with his work, Alastor would take a shower and prep his hair like how he’d been taught, and he’d clean and bandage the new cuts once he was dry. The rest of his night would be spent taking small naps to hopefully avoid dreaming, sitting at the bar alone while everyone else was sleeping, and desperately indulging in hobbies to avoid falling asleep completely. Then the cycle would continue.

It wasn’t perfect, but it worked for Alastor. Compartmentalizing everything until an allotted time slot made him less likely to lose control during the day when he was around other people. Best of all, the others clearly thought it was working too: Charlie had stopped looking at him like something fragile, and Nifty had started coming to him with her problems again. She’d stopped after his panic attack when she broke the bottle, and she’d finally deemed him stable enough to vent to once more.

Alastor had felt like there was a distance between them during that time period, and no matter how hard he’d tried, nothing had fixed it. Alastor could never decide if he loved Nifty like a daughter or a feral cat, but regardless the distance had hurt in ways the overlord wasn’t ready to admit to himself. The worst part was that he was certain the little maid thought she was protecting him, and Alastor simply had no way to tell her that the subtle shift in their relationship had hurt more than any physical wound.

But none of that mattered because things were finally starting to go Alastor’s way. Refining his day-to-day schedule had helped him regulate himself, and hopefully things could go back to normal. Well, as normal as Alastor could be anyways. 

Despite his vast improvements, there was a small problem Alastor had started to notice in recent days. Whenever he would come back to himself after his self-discipline, Alastor noticed that he’d have more and more cuts gracing his thighs every night. He’d also feel less satisfied after every session despite doing more. It frightened him. What if it got to the point that nothing felt like enough anymore? What was he going to do when it stopped helping at all? Would he force the blade deeper? Change spots? It was frustrating, and Alastor chopped a bell pepper with much more force than necessary.

He was making breakfast - just an assortment of omelets for everyone - as he contemplated his latest road block. Things were manageable for now, but what about later on when it wasn’t enough on its own? He couldn’t go back to the way things were; Alastor refused to let himself fall that far. If he had anything to say about it, Alastor would never force the others to deal with his affairs ever again, and the deer sinner was determined to have a say in it. He couldn’t go back to being a burden. He wouldn’t.

But that still left the question of what he would do once the cuts were no longer enough to maintain his hard-earned control. Obviously he’d keep cutting. It had become ingrained in his routine, and even if it became less effective, he knew it would still help at least a little bit. But what he needed was a support of sorts - something to strengthen the effect of his self discipline. What he needed was another control tactic, but what?  

With a sigh, Alastor added his chopped veggies and freshly grated cheddar to Vaggie’s omelet. He only had Nifty’s and his own left to make, the others all plated and in the warming drawer. If Alastor was grateful for one thing about the new hotel, it was the kitchen and new appliances. That warming drawer was a gift from divinity if Alastor had ever known any.

He hadn’t, but that was besides the point. 

As he carefully folded Vaggie’s omelet, his mind shifted to another issue. Recently Keekee had taken to laying across his lap and purring loudly. He’d learned some years ago that a cat’s purr had healing and pain managing properties, and that cats would sometimes do it for their owners if they had had a recent surgery or injury. The problem was that Alastor was afraid the others knew that as well, and might begin to suspect something was wrong if she kept it up. Obviously he couldn’t just throw her off - that would draw attention faster than anything, and Keekee was just trying to help.

He’d had to compromise by making his feedings more obvious and openly petting the feline so that no one would question her sudden affection. It was a bit humiliating, but not more so than the others trying to meddle in his affairs and thinking he was broken or unable to pull his weight. Besides, it wasn’t too bad. Alastor had always been a cat person, even as a young boy.

Once, he’d found a little gray tabby kitten and decided to keep it as a pet. He couldn’t have been more than five at the time, and his mother had encouraged it. She told him how in Haiti, cats were generally seen as good luck, and were sometimes interpreted as symbols of protection. Unfortunately when his father had found out, he’d shoved the kitten in a sack and forced Alastor to throw it in the bayou. He hadn’t been afraid to smack the boy around the first few times he’d refused either. When they’d gotten home, Alastor saw his mother’s black eye and understood exactly how his father had found out.

Alastor shuddered at the memory, ears pinned back and tail flagged beneath his coat as the overlord forced himself to shake the unpleasant thoughts away. He reminded himself that the kitchen was no place for such things, and turned his attention back to the stove. Still, he resolved to add an egg to Keekee’s food bowl later. 

As he moved on to Nifty’s eggs - a simple Denver omelet - his thoughts shifted once more. While Keekee could be explained away by food bribes, Fat Nuggets was a little harder to deal with. Thankfully he hadn’t started alerting to the scent of blood, but the fact that the little pig watched him like a hawk was bound to draw attention at some point. Thankfully, the little snitch had only alerted to him a few times - more indisputable proof that his new schedule was working. Unfortunately, Alastor knew it was only a matter of time before the piglet alerted to something in front of the others, then all of Alastor’s hard work would be for naught.

That was all the more reason that Alastor needed additional help controlling himself. He’d been doing better, but still wasn’t back to what he should be. He just needed something. But what? Control, control, control. That’s what it was all about. Alastor needed more control, but there was only so much he could do with his leash so tight it practically suffocated him. Hell, he couldn’t even control his own facial expressions! What else was there but pain?

As he folded Nifty’s omelet, the first flickerings of an idea danced at the corners of his mind, and Alastor’s brows furrowed in concentration. Disregarding the seven years he’d spent with Her, Alastor always had control over what he ate. And, well, he had been indulging a bit recently, hadn’t he? Three meals a day on top of snacks - surely it wouldn’t hurt to just…restrict himself a little bit? 

Honestly, was he even hungry when he snacked most of the time? Or was he just bored or looking for a distraction? It would probably be good for him to eat a little less, right? It wasn’t like he’d be wasting the food - if anything he would be leaving more for everyone else if he stuffed his face less often. 

He wasn’t new to rationing either - he’d learned plenty during his childhood, and in the trenches, and during the Great Depression. He was used to it - skipping a few meals would hardly mean the end of the world.

Wouldn’t it draw attention though? Alastor didn’t want the others worrying about him for any reason - he was an adult and could take care of himself. He didn’t want to be a burden anymore. As he plated Nifty’s omelet, Alastor’s hand hesitated over the eggs. The deer sinner worried his lip between his teeth before abruptly moving to turn off the stove instead. He didn’t allow himself to think about it, just placed the pan in the sink to cool and hastily put the leftover ingredients away. Despite only having two more eggs then he’d assumed it would, the carton felt much heavier than it should. Would the others notice? His ear flicked nervously, but he schooled his expression before placing the plates on the little food cart and rolling it into the dining room where the others had already gathered.

The overlord grinned widely and played a ditty little blat of trumpets as he presented the food dramatically, forever amused by the annoyed groans from Husk and Angel. The pair were definitely not morning people - that was for sure - and despite their recent closeness, Alastor couldn’t help but tease them with that fact. Surely he was allowed to - he made their food and their coffee every morning.

With the help of Alexandre (who really needed to mind their own business and stop looking at him like that), Alastor quickly passed out the plates and settled into his own seat. He grabbed his usual mug and filled it with coffee so that it was a little less conspicuous that he didn’t have anything else in front of him. He’d already read the paper that morning, but the overlord had Alexandre fetch it from the kitchen counter for him anyway - anything to make him look completely at ease.

For a few minutes, his casual attitude worked. At first, the others were so absorbed by their own conversations and food that they didn’t notice Alastor’s lack of a plate. Then Nifty - who always sat next to him - just had to mention it.

“Aren’t you going to eat, sir?” the maid questioned innocently. Alastor was certain there was a spark of concern in her eye as she looked at him, and dread sent his stomach down to his hooves at the thought of their relationship falling apart once more. He couldn’t live with that distance again, not after he’d worked so hard to fix everything. He felt the others turn their eyes towards him, and their worry burned. He wasn’t doing this again, he refused to let himself become their problem. 

“I got a little peckish earlier, and I’m afraid I spoiled my appetite, dear.” Alastor forced a chuckle, hoping it sounded more natural than it felt. “I’ll eat again a little later, don’t you worry about me,” the cervine demon hummed, taking a calculated sip from his coffee as he fought the urge to reach down and pick at the scabs on his thighs through his pants. His smile was carefully softened from its usual razor’s edge, just enough to be convincing without seeming too forced. 

Thankfully, it seemed to work as the others turned back to their own conversations - though Alastor didn’t miss the way Angel squinted at him for a moment. The actor’s eyes were calculating, and Alastor very casually looked back at the paper and pretended to read the same section he’d enjoyed this morning - Vox had apparently received some backlash from the Doomsday District for using hypnotism in his television programs. After another few moments of consideration, Angel appeared satisfied with what he saw and turned back to his conversation with Husk.

Internally, Alastor sighed with relief. Crisis averted, he thought proudly, rewarding himself with another sip of coffee. 

Best of all? Nifty turned to him not a minute later and started complaining about how hard it was to get bugs that would fit in the older outfits she’d made for her roach puppets. While it wasn’t something Alastor really had any experience with, Nifty still chose to tell him about it. She still chose to confide in him, which meant that she had accepted his excuse and was no longer needlessly concerned about him. Were he less composed, Alastor could have cried at the victory. Instead, he simply nodded along with Nifty’s ranting, only offering solutions when she specifically asked for them.

About halfway through the meal, Alastor had finished his coffee and stood from the table. Seeing as they had already accepted his previous excuse, no one questioned his departure from the dining room, though Charlie did coo happily when Keekee and Fat Nuggets followed after him. The overlord had taken up the task of feeding them every morning and evening - though any additional snacks were strictly between them. Thankfully, no one seemed to think too hard about them following him around all the time since he’d appointed himself as their feeder, which lifted an invisible weight from Alastor’s shoulders. 

As he poured food into their bowls, Alastor felt the weight that had settled in his chest lift a little bit. Not much, but enough to allow him to relax slightly. This was what he’d needed. The barely there ache of hunger in his belly was just distracting enough to provide the relief he’d been seeking. When combined with the lingering sting on his thigh every time his pants shifted the wrong way, the hunger was a perfect booster. Distracting, deserved, but not crippling. It felt like a reward and a punishment at the same time, and Alastor relished in the control it brought.

He added an egg to each bowl before setting them down next to each other as he mused. The overlord was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when Keekee looked at him strangely instead of digging into her meal like the piglet.

I don’t have to do it all the time, Alastor reasoned as he absently leaned down to pet the happily snuffing pig. Just when the knife doesn’t work as intended. Just to stay in control.  

He was jolted out of his thoughts when a small paw batted gently at his fingers. He glanced down at the culprit with a raised brow, and watched with bemused interest as Keekee circled around his ankles a few times before turning to her food bowl. However, instead of eating, the housecat grabbed a few pieces from her bowl and deposited them at Alastor’s feet with a little chirping meow. Then, she sat and draped her tail demurely over her paws as her large eye pinned the overlord with expectation.

Alastor let out a small huff of confusion. Keekee had never denied her food before, and he couldn’t see why she was doing so now. They hadn’t changed brands, and her feeding schedule was consistent. Maybe she wanted Alastor to watch her eat? It didn’t make sense to him, but Alastor had known cats to do weirder things, so he didn’t think about it too hard.

“Yes, I’m right here my dear. I can watch if you want, but I don’t know what you’d want otherwise.” He crouched to pick the pieces of food off the floor, blew them off, and deposited them back in her bowl. She immediately stood once more in displeasure, but arched into his hand eagerly when he offered to pet her, so Alastor figured it was nothing serious. He’d never understand cats, but he figured that was part of the joy of owning one.

He allowed himself to indulge in petting the little demons for another few moments before standing up. He did still have things to do after all, and a schedule to keep. Besides, Keekee needed to eat and clearly wasn’t going to do so with Alastor present. She meowed indignantly at his back, but Alastor ignored it so he could focus on his morning repairs.

He could already tell it was going to be a great day.

Alastor’s day had been an absolute nightmare.

He’d felt good after skipping breakfast, so Alastor had wanted to take another crack at fixing up that bathroom. Of course, nothing could go well for Alastor for too long, and he’d opened the bedroom door to find some sort of squirming, Hellish mold spotting over every surface. He wasn’t even able to see the bathroom before needing to slam the door shut for safety reasons.

The water damage must have been much more severe than Alastor had realized, and while Alastor was being lazy, the problem had festered to a completely unmanageable state. This was his own fault, and the overlord mentally lashed himself for his carelessness. 

As a result of his foolishness, Alastor had to disrupt his schedule to go to the hardware store for protective gear and the appropriate equipment for removing the mold since the mold that grew in Hell was magic resistant for maximum inconvenience. On top of that, he had to face Charlie and Vaggie - cheeks flushed with shame - and tell them that the fourth floor was completely off limits until he could resolve the issue. He should have had it fixed weeks ago, and now they knew how he’d failed them so thoroughly. Thankfully they’d offered to tell the others so he could go and get the equipment required, and Charlie handed him her debit card without a second thought.

He was so ashamed by his own careless mistake that he couldn’t even look the women in the eyes, and the stress in Vaggie’s posture showed that she likely blamed him for the whole mess as much as Alastor himself did. He wondered if this blunder would be enough to shatter whatever fragile relationship they’d been building. 

When he came back, Nifty immediately scampered to his side and offered to help. Alastor - who had already been stressed and embarrassed - had regrettably snapped at her. She hadn’t seemed too hurt by his words, but Alastor immediately piled the overreaction onto his list of faults for the day.

He spent the entire day throwing everything in the room away and scrubbing mold from the walls and ceiling. They'd have to completely refurnish the room, and replace the carpet since he’d had to tear that up too. The whole time, he couldn’t stop thinking about what a mistake he was. How could he have let this happen? Anyone with half a brain would have known this would eventually happen if he left everything alone for too long - Alastor was just too stupid to use his common sense. He knew that already, but he still couldn’t stop proving it right time and time again. It was beyond frustrating. 

Alastor worked right through lunch and into dinner, and by the time he was done, most of the other residents had gone to bed. Thankfully, they’d ordered take out, but another flash of guilt ripped through the overlord when he realized he’d completely forgotten to cook dinner for them. Someone had also fed Fat Nuggets and Keekee while he was busy, which stung for some reason. That was Alastor’s job. But so was facilities maintenance and meal preparation, which he’d already failed at, so they were right to take over that job before he completely fumbled it too.

With a snap he changed out of the white protective suit and gear into a more typical button up shirt and slacks. His curls were damp with sweat from the stifling heat of the protective suit, and his fur felt gross. He smelled like vinegar and bleach, and desperately wanted to shower, but knew he needed to drink some water unless he wanted passing out to be the way he ended his disaster of a day. 

It took a few glasses of cool water for Alastor to finally feel a bit normal, and only then did he notice the note on the counter. Slowly, he picked up the small square of paper to read the purple ink letters, hearts scribbled haphazardly over every empty space.

Hi Alastor!

We all appreciate you working so hard today, and we made sure to get you some food too! We ordered from a Chinese place Nifty liked, and Husk said that you really liked chicken fried rice and gyoza, so yours is on the counter in the fridge. If you need any help with anything on the fourth floor, just let us know! Hope you like the food.

-Charlie♡

Alastor’s chest hurt, and his eyes stung. Charlie really was too kind for Hell, and he had to wonder where she got it. After working all day and not eating anything since dinner the previous night, Alastor’s stomach ached with hunger, and Husk had definitely known what he was talking about when he put forth Alastor’s order. Even cold, it smelled enticing as he took it out of the fridge and set about reheating everything.

As Alastor sat at the bar to eat, he looked over the note again. Now that he could focus on something besides his hunger, the deer demon’s brows furrowed slightly at certain phrases the princess had written. 

“ Working so hard today,” she’d said. Today. That meant that even Charlie had noticed he’d been slacking behind, and Alastor’s smile slowly shrunk at the realization. If Charlie had noticed enough to mention it, what must they all think of him? His leg bounced anxiously under the bartop as he considered the possibilities. Obviously they had to know that it was all Alastor’s fault that the fourth floor was a disaster. Three rooms had ended up needing to be cleared out and treated, and Alastor had opened up just about every window on the fourth floor to make sure everything was ventilated enough. He’d at least had the common sense to ward the windows against intruders - sentient or otherwise. He wasn’t risking any more of Vox’s cameras entering the hotel after the last infestation. 

If they’d all known that it was Alastor’s fault in the first place, then they surely thought he was useless. A burden. Nothing had forced him to stop his work in the bathroom of room 444, he’d just been too lazy to do it. What kind of facilities manager let the facilities fall apart with no intervention? Surely they must loathe him for the slip up, but Charlie was likely trying to get him to get his act together as politely as possible with the note.

That was another thing. In the note, Charlie had told him to let the others know if he needed help with anything on the fourth floor. He’d clearly broken the princess’ trust in him, which made sense considering he’d dropped the ball so thoroughly. She must think him completely useless. Alastor couldn’t blame her for that either. He was.

The hotel was continuously destroyed under his watch, he couldn’t keep the electricity working after the rebuild, he couldn’t protect the old one from Adam, and now he couldn’t even be bothered to fix things he knew needed fixing. 

And the food. Alastor stopped eating even though there was still over half left. Normally, he could have eaten all of it easily while asking for seconds, but he could only stare at it in utter dejection. Every bite he’d taken felt like a rock in his stomach, and he was filled with guilt he couldn’t explain. Before, it had tasted amazing, but after only a few bites, it had turned to ash in his mouth. It was a debt. One he needed to pay back soon, because he hadn’t even earned the kindness of the meal. With a hard look in his eyes, Alastor wrapped his food back up and put it in the fridge once more. 

He’d eat the rest of it when he’d earned it.  

As he grimly made his way to his bedroom to start his nightly ritual, Alastor knew that with the way he’d acted recently, he still had a long way to go before he’d earned it. He had much work to do before then.

Starting with the blade in his drawer, and the hunger still gnawing at his belly.