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Charlie’s hands flew to her face, covering her mouth as a horrified gasp escaped her. Alastor coughed, arms trembling against the floor and his bones still rattling with the force of Lilith’s blow. His face stung, blood was dripping down the back of his throat thanks to the bloody nose she’d given him – and all because Charlie had dared to suggest Lilith let him go home.
That she set him free.
They’d been locked in this stalemate for days; this useless game of trying to convince Charlie to lead a war she didn’t believe in. Alastor, too, was struggling to make himself care enough about it to be a believable advocate.
It was difficult to care overmuch about anything when one’s nights consisted of punishment for their failures of the day before.
So far, Lilith had kept up the façade – weak though it was. She’d never before lashed out at Alastor in Charlie’s presence, always waiting until she’d dismissed her daughter and secured her in her rooms. It seemed that the question of his freedom was pushing her patience too far, however – or perhaps she was simply in a bad mood.
Alastor collapsed onto his hip, turning to sit on his rear and prop his elbows on his knees as he pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back. Blood trickled over his lips and stained his teeth – though considering the state of him, it wasn’t making all that much of a difference.
He really had tried. Had tried to convince Charlie to bow to Lilith’s whims, but the girl was quite set in her ideals. It would have been admirable – if it didn’t result in the slow torture of his mind and body, his breath wheezing in his throat as he thought of another night locked in a box not even big enough to turn his head in.
It was becoming increasingly clear that Lilith may well kill him. He’d thought she might resort to that when Charlie had tried to point out that there was no use in Alastor being here, because she wasn’t going to be convinced to go to war without at least talking to somebody. After all – if there was no use in him being here, then Lilith might as well tear his soul apart.
It’s what he would have done, upon finding out a pawn had become more troublesome than useful.
“Mom!” Charlie finally managed to get out, tugging on Lilith’s still raised arm. She looked close to tears, regret shining on her face. “Mom, why – you’re not like this, mom. This isn’t you. I know it isn’t.”
Lilith stared at Alastor a moment longer, her gaze as cold as that of a corpse. Something flickered in her eyes – if Alastor didn’t know how far over the line of insanity she walked, he might have almost called it remorse.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Lilith murmured, turning to Charlie and gathering her into a hug. Charlie wrapped her arms around her mother’s back – and for the first time Alastor could remember, Lilith wavered on her feet.
“I don’t… I didn't want you to see that. I just want what’s best for you – you know that. I don’t know why I’m…” Lilith said with slightly slurred speech, blinking over the top of Charlie’s head as she caught Alastor’s eye.
He held his breath, not wanting to disturb this brief, fragile moment of lucidity.
“Then let him go, mom. Please,” Charlie begged, fingers tightening in the back of Lilith’s dress as her voice cracked. A second later, the spell was broken – Lilith shook her head, as if clearing out some misplaced cobweb of compassion, and her gaze hardened once more.
“Oh, no. He’s just a sinner, Charlie – he shouldn’t be so argumentative. And you should listen to your mother. Go to your room,” Lilith said coldly, stepping back and holding Charlie out at arm’s length.
Charlie sputtered a shocked protest, even as Alastor’s heart sank straight into the pits of his stomach.
Whatever window into reason Charlie had found, the shutters of Lilith’s madness had firmly closed around her mind once more. He shivered, clad in naught but his shirt sleeves – for he’d bundled his coat up before being put in the box the previous night, hoping to trick whatever spells operated it into giving him some additional headroom.
All he’d managed to do was give himself a painful crick in the neck and tear through the seams along one sleeve with his antlers, the tattered remnants of it not fit to wear. When Charlie didn’t immediately listen – when her expression firmed, her mouth thinning into a line across the bottom of her face and her brows lowered in readiness of an argument – Lilith held out a hand, a high, pure note ringing in the air.
Alastor jerked, his hands yanked to the ground at his back and nearly wrenching his shoulders out of place. His heels dug into the carpet, mouth open as he panted against the fire suddenly dancing through his veins. The pain was enough to choke him, the blood in his throat turning to bitter bile as he retched, and he could barely hear Charlie’s voice over the hiss and whine of his static, a radio station turned to full volume with no station to tune into.
He clutched his frequency close, static darting over his skin in a useless attempt to stem the rising tide of panic threatening to drown him, an ache blooming in his chest as he tried to remember what Vox’s signal might feel like. He was under no illusion he might ever get to feel it again – and besides, what would Vox want with him now?
Bitterness managed to break past the swell of pain, darkness laced over agony as he admitted the reality of the situation. His back was a bloody mess, crisscrossed with oozing welts where Lilith’s magic had struck him; his chest was black and blue with bruises.
There was a sound – the slam of a door, the click of a lock – and the fire holding him prisoner abruptly vanished, leaving him to collapse against the floor and curl into a ball, trying not to whimper as he twitched with the aftershocks of that hurt. His ears pressed flat to his skull, lips bleeding for how tightly they strained over his wild smile – and Lilith’s foot nudged at his shoulder, trying to make him let go of his grip on her rug.
“Pathetic. I would have hoped that seeing you like that would make her understand how vital it is that we fight – but she still refuses to listen. What she’s witnessing against you is but a fraction of the violence she’s been forced to see, every day of her life – the barest sliver of the torture Heaven inflicted on Lucifer and myself. Maybe she’s right – maybe you are useless to me, pet. I thought you might know her well enough to convince her…”
Lilith trailed off with a sigh, kneeling down to stroke over his ears. He flinched, eyes squeezed shut – as though if he didn’t look at her, she might not see the terror vibrating through every inch of his flesh.
“I don’t want to do this, you know. I get no joy from seeing you suffer. It’s a means to an end, but it doesn’t seem to be working – does it, darling? Very well – if she wants to talk to somebody, she can speak with Adam’s little sycophant. Maybe then she’ll see that Heaven’s forces won’t be reasoned with,” Lilith mused aloud.
Her nails were like needles against the thin, sensitive flesh of his ears, and he wanted to tear them straight off his skull so she could no longer fondle them.
“Get some rest, darling. I’ll arrange a meeting for them, but I don’t think you’ll be of much use.”
With that, Alastor heard the lid of the music box snap open. He choked on a bubble of static when darkness coiled around him, the space mercifully larger than it had been of late. Pathetic gratitude for Lilith allowing him even that much swelled behind his ribs, even as he crawled into a corner – putting himself into the smallest space available anyway, because he couldn’t see more than a foot in front of him, and he needed something solid at his back.
His eyes burned as he stared into the darkness, strained with the effort. Something suspiciously close to a sob wrenched his tight throat.
He missed Vox.
* * * * * *
The curl of Vox’s static over his pulse point was oddly familiar by now. His limbs were languid and warm in the other man’s hold, the smell of ozone and citrus strong within the heavily curtained confines of Vox’s bed.
“Why do you do that?” Alastor asked, lifting his cheek from Vox’s chest to prop his chin on it instead, head tilted in playful curiosity. Vox’s screen was fuzzy and out of focus – though that might be more Alastor’s fault than Vox’s, considering he didn’t have his monocle on.
He liked the way the colours of Vox’s eyes blurred at the edges, a swirl of electronic colour so different from other people’s features that Alastor thought he could stare at it for hours – and not once grow bored.
“Do what?” Vox answered in a mutter, one claw tracing lazily over the scars on Alastor’s back.
(There was a flare of pain – and Alastor didn’t know where that had come from, because those wounds were long since healed. He shook it from his mind, focusing more intently on the feeling of Vox’s solid weight beneath him.)
“You’re always… putting your fingers over my wrist. Or your signal. Why?” Alastor asked again, his jaw creaking as he stifled a yawn. They were neither of them ready to get up yet – although Vox’s phone would soon be chiming with reminders that it couldn’t be put off forever.
Vox’s smile quirked, self-consciousness sparking through his static. Alastor brushed it away, returning only threads of fond amusement as he lowered his face again, one ear twitching against Vox’s screen. The whirr of his fans was a dangerous thing – tempting him back to sleep when he knew they ought to be about their business.
“Don’t know,” Vox mumbled, catching Alastor’s hand when it wandered too close to his vents and threading their claws together.
(And his hands were trapped at his sides – he couldn’t move. But no: Vox wasn’t holding him so tightly. Alastor pushed down the sudden twist of his stomach, chastising his racing heart.)
“I like it, I guess. Makes it more obvious that you’re real – not just a fantasy, or a… a…” Vox trailed off, shame clouding his frequency so thickly Alastor almost coughed.
He squeezed Vox’s hand in his, a silent reminder that he held no negative opinions of the man for any of the rumours – true or otherwise – that had circulated Hell during their long feud.
“I’m real, Picture Box. I should certainly hope I am, at least – otherwise why have I been wasting my time on things like hotel management... when I could be indulging in something much more fun?” Alastor grinned, lifting his head again and giving Vox a guileless sort of look.
“Oh yeah? Like what?” Vox challenged. The sputter of his frequency turned erratic, threads of it tangling in Alastor's hair and wrapping around his antlers. There was an undeniably suggestive purr to his words as his hand tightened on Alastor's hip, his smile turning cocky.
“Murder,” Alastor shot back airily, canned laughter ringing around him when Vox's face flickered with disappointment. “Or this.”
This, of course – being the press of his lips to Vox's screen, capturing the startled noise Vox let out and swallowing as though it were a physical thing. Vox's lips manifested under his, his arms wrapping more tightly around Alastor's torso.
(Too tightly – too tight, and Alastor couldn't even wiggle, he was–)
With a panicked bleat, Alastor jerked awake, shivering as he felt the walls of the box pressing against his sides. If he breathed too deeply, his chest brushed the lid, sparking a new wave of panic and adrenaline that had nowhere to go.
He tried to hold on to the threads of that dream – but terror quickly tore the tapestry of it apart, his muscles still cramped and aching from Lilith's earlier lullaby. Her harp, this time, coaxing his muscles into spasms that left him twitching long after she stopped playing. His body felt like a shell around him, not something for him to use – merely something he was shackled with, something Lilith could use to torment him.
In the darkness, he curled his claws into his palms until hot blood spurted from them, filling the box with the scent of copper and layering it atop the stink of fear-sweat.
* * * * * *
Alastor suspected Lilith had forgotten about him. Though it was impossible to tell time in the confines of his prison, he’d slept and woken enough times that he was sure it had been days since last they spoke – and the fact that the gnawing emptiness in his stomach had all but vanished, hunger pangs fading into nothingness…
Well, he was familiar with that sensation, to say the least.
It was with no small amount of surprise that he felt himself jostled, the back of his skull cracking against the wall of the box with enough force that stars burst in his vision, already dizzy by the time Lilith upended him onto the rug. His demonic healing was sluggish up here, his body weak, and he blinked stupidly up at her as she bared her teeth down at him in a furious grimace.
“What did you do?” She accused, clearly agitated – though he couldn’t for the life of him work out why.
Her room looked the same as it ever did, the wards on Charlie’s door shining with their strength – and he struggled up onto his elbows, one leg crooked towards the ceiling as his arms shook. Lilith whirled towards a door he’d never witnessed her using, and something tingled at the edge of his senses – some faint spark of a thing so familiar it hurt him to even consider.
Alastor’s signal hummed against his skin, threads of static venturing uselessly into the air – and his eyes widened as he felt a frequency he knew intimately well answer back.
It couldn’t be, though – Vox couldn’t possibly be here. There was no way he’d achieved redemption, they’d talked about that. But the hum of his signal was getting louder, Lilith’s hands clenching into fists at her sides – and Alastor felt his stomach lurch as the door burst open, the doorjamb splintering as the lock sizzled and melted.
Vox lowered his foot, a snarl on his screen and his frame racing with electricity – though it was quickly petering out, whatever power he held onto quailing under the same weight that kept Alastor’s from his grasp.
Alastor stared at him, wondering if this might be a vision conjured up by his despairing mind – but Lilith’s anger was quite real, her howl of fury so high pitched that a crack appeared in Vox’s screen. The TV demon winced, but it did not deter him – he stepped into the room, his electricity sputtering around his knuckles – and Alastor glimpsed a somewhat familiar face peering through the door, a halo hovering around curled antennae and shimmering wings turned to curtains of pure gold.
Diamond was holding a crystal, a pink version of her own namesake. She brought it to her lips as she disappeared from sight, gently petting over it with one hand. Alastor could not spare her his attention for long – his eyes were drawn inexorably back to Vox, dread quickly replacing the hope that had started to blossom in his chest as he watched the man he adored raise his hands to the Queen of Hell.
“Vox, don’t –” Alastor croaked, his voice rough from days of disuse and his filter unable to settle over his words. He coughed, wincing as the motion tore open a scab on his back, gluing his shirt to his skin again with fresh blood.
Vox’s eyes widened, horror flickering over his screen. Alastor’s ears drooped, and he hastily wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. It came away sticky with blood and spittle, his cheeks burning at the realisation of the sight he must make. How pathetic he must look, weak and cowering on the floor.
It would shatter any respect Vox held for him, surely. He’d never seen Alastor so defeated. This was hundreds of times worse than his humiliating panic at the idea of riding an elevator; than his deluded terror in Ette’s surgery after Charlie had damn near killed him.
This was the lowest he’d been, and the bitterness clogging in his throat was foul enough that he wished he could choke to death on it.
He could feel the anger emanating from Vox’s frame, his static bristling with it. His heart sank into his stomach, acid eating away at it as he tried to work out how to apologise for getting himself into such a situation – for being so foolish as to leave the hotel, to think he could handle himself. If the seven years trapped with Lilith hadn’t already proven to him that he was too weak to do anything, then her torture over recent months should have done so.
“Get out of the fucking way, you psychopathic bitch,” Vox growled, his attention snapping back to Lilith. The sparks around his knuckles were fading, their intensity dimming the longer he remained in Heaven – and Lilith laughed.
It was a tinkling thing, like a crystal chandelier swaying in a gentle breeze, and Alastor couldn’t even shout as she waved her hand – as a violin dropped into her outstretched palm, a dainty wooden instrument carved of finest maple.
“How quaint. My pet’s found himself a little mate, hmm? I knew I should have had him neutered,” Lilith said with a cruel smile.
The sparks on Vox’s hands glowed red, and before Alastor could issue him another warning – he slashed a hand through the air, electricity sailing from his fingers like a whip as it cut through the room and flew straight towards Lilith’s head.
With the laziest and most insulting flick of a finger, Lilith plucked a note from her violin – not even bothering to draw the bow across the strings. Vox’s electricity went wild, and Alastor barely managed to curl into a sudden ball in time to avoid getting struck in the shoulder. He buried his hands in his hair, terror that he was going to be the cause of Vox’s death chilling his veins and squeezing his lungs, until his breath was nothing more than a series of panicked squeaks.
Stop, he couldn’t shout. Couldn’t do anything as he heard Lilith’s bow glide across the strings of her violin – as the agonised squeal of white noise from Vox’s sputtering speakers speared him straight through the heart, his nerves aching with sympathy; humming with an echo of the pain he knew Vox was currently experiencing.
Lights flashed in the room, electricity surging and burning them out. Lilith could put Alastor back in his box – but she clearly wanted him to hear as she melted Vox’s circuits and ripped his wires apart. He couldn’t bear to look – didn’t want to see the mangled corpse of his dear Picture Box.
There was an explosion of sound – another door bursting open, sailing over Alastor’s head as he tightened his hold in his hair and flinched. Power pressed against his senses, but not Lilith’s, not Heaven’s–
Charlie’s.
He forced his eyes open – blinked away the film over them, trying to focus past the headache doing so without his monocle caused him. Alastor peered through the gap between his forearms, bewildered at the sight of Charlie in her demonic form, her horns tangled in her hair and her eyes gone as red as her fathers were capable of. Her tail whipped the air at her back, a mirror image of Lucifer’s.
She looked ready to go to war.
But for whose cause?
“Mom, stop!” Charlie shouted, her appearance having already brought the wail of Lilith’s violin to an abrupt halt.
Charlie snapped her fingers, and a trident dropped into her hand – evidently her powers were not stifled by the same effect Heaven had on either Alastor or Vox. She lowered it until it was pointing at Lilith – who was standing, stunned, her bow hanging from limp fingers.
“Darling, this is all for–”
“It’s not, though. If it was for me, you’d listen to what I want – and I don’t want this. If you want me to work with you, mom, you can damn well start treating me like an adult – because surprise! I am one! I grew up while you were gone, and I grew up in Hell, and I like it there. I like my people, I love my home – and I’m not willing to throw everything away just because you’ve got this personal vendetta against Heaven. You think I deserve to live here? What if I don’t want to?” Charlie seethed, her fury boiling over until sparks were pouring between her lips.
Though her display of anger was admirable – and Alastor was grateful beyond measure that she’d finally found it within herself to stand up to her mother – his eyes were pulled towards Vox, currently forcing himself back to his feet as his face glitched on his screen. Vox pressed a hand into his knee, another into the wall, and stood on legs that were clearly still trembling from the way Lilith’s notes had pinched over his nerves – but his expression was no less determined for that fact.
“Charlie.” There was a note of panic in Lilith’s voice as power thrummed through the room. “Stop this – you have too much of your father’s signature, Heaven will–”
“Heaven will realise you’ve been hiding in our midst this entire time? I am going to smite whoever was blocking Lucifer’s attempts to contact me.”
A new voice joined the fray, and Vox collapsed against the wall with a grunt, his eyes squeezed shut against the brilliant white light suddenly pulsing through the doorway. The power coming off this new participant stung Alastor’s skin, further irritating already aching cuts and bruises.
Lilith’s bow dropped from her limp fingers, the colour draining from her face as Charlie’s rage boiled in the air around her. In the confusion, Vox edged along the wall, trying to stay out of the way as that flash of light faded to reveal a woman even taller than Lilith – possibly even taller than Valentino – with flinty eyes and a hard-set mouth. Six wings denoted her status, a seraphim – like Lucifer – and Alastor tried to make himself even smaller.
“So – you’re the person I have to thank for the sudden influx of new souls. And you’re the one redeeming them,” the woman observed, gaze drifting between Lilith and Charlie. As though Vox and Alastor weren’t even here.
She looked tired – and Charlie’s display of power started to wilt, relief sinking into her shoulders. She only sagged for a moment before once more turning her trident on Lilith.
“It would seem as though we have much to discuss. And I would dearly like to know who it was that made it possible – who let you hide in Heaven for so long,” the woman said as Lilith took a step back, hatred twisting her expression into something foul.
Lilith seemed as if she were about to launch herself at the interloper – but she recovered her composure, her face going as blank and cold as stone as she straightened.
“Good. Let’s talk, Sera. Let me just tidy up first–”
“No!” Vox yelped, diving the last few feet between the wall and Alastor, landing heavily on his back – crossing his forearms over his screen as he scrambled back to his knees. His shoulders heaved, his ports were sparking – but he didn’t hesitate at all to put himself between Alastor and Lilith, who had just snapped open the lid of her music box and turned to face him.
Like she’d only just seen them, Sera’s eyes widened, her lip curling as if she’d just scented something foul.
“And you bring sinners with you. Not redeemed souls – these souls are so steeped in sin that it’s a wonder I didn’t sense them even without Charlie’s help. You.” She pointed at Vox, clearly deeming him the fittest of the pair of them.
An apt assessment, given that Alastor was little better than a quaking, terrified fawn, left in a thicket and listening to the sound of gunshots filling the air.
“Take him out of here. I don’t know how you got here – though I suspect the former sinner currently trying to sneak past my wings might have something to do with it – but I presume you can return the same way. That was your plan, was it not?” Sera asked, parting the three wings on her left side to reveal Diamond’s startled face.
“Yeah,” Vox muttered. “Yeah – it was. I didn’t realise this place would drain me so quickly. Come on, Alastor,” he added, turning and offering Alastor a hand.
Alastor stared at it. His eyes drifted over Vox’s shoulder – to where Lilith was gazing down at him, head tilted, a knowing smirk on her face.
The message was quite clear – he could leave now, but his punishment would be all the worse when she wrangled her way out of this situation and seized him once again.
Shaking his head, Alastor shuffled along the floor. Retreating from Vox – until his back hit the leg of a couch and fire exploded across it, his eyes watering as an agonised bleat laced with feedback ripped from his throat.
Vox let out a pained sound of his own, his expression morphing into devastation as the corners of his mouth met the bottom of his screen, his brows pinched and concerned. Alastor could feel Vox’s signal prickling at him, scurrying across the floor and nibbling at his bare hooves like a particularly suicidal mouse – but he kept his own static wrapped so tightly around his frame that there was no way for Vox’s to weave its way in.
He couldn’t leave.
He’d been a fool to think he could ever be free. He’d trapped himself in this deal with Lilith, given her a hold over him – and now she could exploit it whenever she wanted. She could argue she was still keeping him safe from the exterminations, because who knew when they might next occur? The only way to save his life would be to make sure he was with her.
Naturally.
And if he did try to leave – if he disobeyed that silent order – then Vox would be at risk again. He was still sparking, still twitching – pain was still radiating from his signal, despite the comfort Alastor could feel prickling at the edge of his senses. He should be the only one who had to suffer for his mistakes.
The doubts that had been plaguing him attacked in force, self-loathing dripping down the back of his throat and poisoning his lungs.
Why would Vox even want him?
Within the span of a week Lilith had made the idea of somebody touching his ears repulsive enough that he wanted to tear them off – had opened up so many fresh scars his body probably looked little better than tenderised meat. Vox would be better off leaving him here, crippled excuse for a demon that he was. How could he ever show his face in Hell, parading around with the title of Overlord – knowing that at any moment, Lilith was capable of reducing him to such a state?
“Alastor,” Vox whispered – and Alastor curled his arms around his head in shame, burying his claws into his hair as he tucked his knees to his chest.
In this cave of his own making, this paltry shelter of fragile flesh and bone, maybe he could pretend Vox wasn't seeing how low he'd fallen. His smile wouldn't leave his face, even now, locked into a grimace and clenched so tight his teeth were in danger of cracking.
“Mom. Let him go.” Charlie's voice cut into the room, cold fury carrying with it a hint of the power she had at her fingertips. Lilith's laugh might as well have been a whip, for when Alastor flinched at the sound of it, fresh pain lanced across his back.
His face was growing sticky, whether from the condensation of his own breath or from some hitherto unknown wound – he didn't know. All he could focus on was the hummingbird-quick beat of his heart, his claws scraping into his own scalp and wrapping around his hair.
“Charlie – I'm not holding him here. If he wants to go, he can go. Do you see me trying to stop him?” Lilith asked. There was a mocking lilt to her tone, and still Alastor refused to move.
Static pushed at him again, desperation in every tingling prickle. Alastor's scalp stung with the tightness of his grip, hair breaking under his claws. Why wouldn't Vox just leave?
Couldn't he see there wasn't enough left of Alastor to help?
“No, mom. Let him go. Call off your deal, and just – talk to me. If there's any part of you that still loves me, you'll do that,” Charlie said. Her resolve seemed like stone, unstoppable now that she'd decided her own course.
Her words hung in the air, tension drawn tight. There was no mistaking Lilith's sharp intake of breath – though Alastor was more focused on trying to knock Vox's outstretched hand aside with his static, the ropes of it he threw out as effective at deterring Vox as if he were trying to beat a charging bull away with a handful of streamers.
“...I have always loved you, Charlie. You're the only reason I'm fighting,” Lilith whispered, a hint of that lucidity Alastor had heard once before in her voice. Sera remained silent – an observant third party. How typical of a representative of Heaven.
“Then prove it.”
Charlie's demand would not be argued with – and Alastor drew in a shuddering breath as Lilith took a few unsteady steps towards him. Silence settled over the room, an unnatural spell that held everyone present in its grip.
He felt Vox move at his side, the air crackling with unspent electricity.
“If you take one more fucking step–”
A sharp whistle cut off Vox's impotent threat, high pitched and sweet. It pierced into Alastor's mind like an arrow, his static going silent as something in him snapped.
At first he thought it might be the last threads of his sanity, finally abandoning him after so long teetering on the edge. Power hummed under his skin, his bruises and abrasions hot and stinging under his clothing. He felt suddenly lightheaded, mind spinning with a sudden weightlessness. His grip on his head loosened a fraction as his limbs turned unresponsive, too shocked by this sudden change to do anything else.
“Vox – get him out of here. Please. Tell my dad I'll fix this – tell him I... I'll try to help,” Charlie begged. Though Alastor was staring into the darkness of his own curled body, darker shadows still were creeping in at the edges of his vision.
“Yes. Tell Lucifer I'll be in touch. And that those who prevented his contacting me will be found.”
Sera, then, giving her two cents. Alastor choked on a bubble of static, some kind of hysterical giggle welling in his chest as he panted into his knees.
He didn't try to crawl away again when Vox put a hand to his shoulder. He was barely conscious enough to parse what was happening – the flash of light as Diamond pressed the gemstone she was carrying, as Vox caught Alastor around the back and under the legs. His pained squeak was met with a wince, his claws abandoning their hold on his own hair and sinking instead into the cotton of Vox's jacket, shaking for how tightly they clutched him.
As his energy abandoned him, so too did the tight control he had over his frequency – and Vox's signal swept in to cover him, searching over his frame and pulsing with fear and agony and a desperate sort of comfort, though no amount of gentle static could soothe the welts Alastor was wearing.
His legs dangled over Vox's arm as the other man lifted him – and he buried his face into Vox's chest, breathing in the scent of him in quick, sharp, panicked bursts. He never thought he'd have that again.
Dizziness overcame him as Vox stepped forward, Alastor's head lolling limply on his neck. Trusting Vox not to let him fall – and dreading to think of how he'd react when he saw the full extent of how broken Alastor now was.
~to be continued~