Work Text:
Vox stared hard at the screens, scowling. His gaze flicked between one, then another, then yet another.
Not there… not on that one… what about— no.
Sinking into his chair, he heaved a sigh. He’d been searching the feeds for days, and the best he could tell… Alastor wasn’t anywhere. Sure, he’d gone underground before, in the old days. Vox remembered vague, cryptic lines with a laugh and a handwave accompanying them meaning that Alastor wouldn’t be around for a while.
He’d always known where though. He’d always told him. Of course… that had been before.
Before he’d tried to modernize and caused an argument. Before he’d met Valentino. Before…— had Alastor been jealous? Vox scoffed at the memory. The Radio Demon had gotten plenty of chances to be with Vox. He’d practically offered himself on a silver platter for him on more than one occasion, and the bastard had always shaken his head or waved him off. Once, he’d even laughed. That one still twisted something in Vox’s chest.
There had been one time though…. Vox had told him… so much. He’d bared his past life—pre-death, something so few seemed to talk about anymore—and very nearly choked up talking about parts of it.
His wife. His daughter.
The fact he couldn’t remember their faces anymore…
He told Alastor about the day he realized he couldn’t remember what his wife looked like. And then how a few weeks later he couldn’t envision his daughter’s face either. How he’d been so emotional he’d broken his screen and had to wait for it to mend because he couldn’t find a single suitable replacement in the entire fucking city. He had talked about so much. Missing her laugh, her tiny hands, her little pigtails. He could remember those, but not the color of her eyes, not the shape of her nose or the curve of her smile.
Alastor had listened to it all, had held his hand... His stupid fucking smile had never dipped, because Alastor never stopped smiling. He’d learned to read the various ones, sure, and the curve of his brows, the narrowing of his gaze. How many teeth and how much of his gums… He’d learned all the details and intricacies of Alastor’s face while somehow his family’s had been replaced. He hadn’t wanted to unpack that. Hadn’t mentioned it.
It was only later he realized how many signs he’d missed. How easy it would have been to fall into something. He’d been grieving though… he’d missed the signals, and then those signs of softness seemed to close up again afterward and Alastor had gone back to laughing off his advances with a smirk.
And now… what? He was just gone? No. Sure, they hadn’t talked cordially in— he wasn’t even sure how long. They hadn’t hung out. Alastor didn’t approve of his new look or the Vees or any of it. Definitely didn’t approve of Val and the way he’d quickly looped Vox into something messy and intimate. Too bad, Al, you missed your shot. His lip curled.
Slamming a fist on his desk, he shoved his chair back, spinning away from the screens. Fine. If Alastor wanted to vanish without a trace, Vox would let him. They weren’t friends anymore. The fight had proven that. Alastor had almost beaten him—not that he’d admit that aloud even if Val and Velvette both hadn’t shut up about the close call. It wouldn’t have mattered. He’d have come back.
Alastor wouldn’t have wrecked his soul on air like the other overlords he’d taken out… Right?
No. No. Their history had to mean something. Alastor had pulled back on purpose, he was sure. The fucking Radio Demon didn’t pull back when he was that close to winning unless he didn’t care about beating you. Or he didn’t want to. Not that Vox had ever seen that, but he imagined that to be the case.
But fine. If he wanted to vanish without a trace and leave Vox in the dust for good… fine. He could move on without him in turn. Hell, he’d already started doing that anyway. If anything, he could turn his full fucking focus to it now. The other Vees would be glad, he was sure. He’d handle their bullshit and keep track of their images and control and cash flow, and they’d keep raking in the dough with their schemes. All the while he’d be live on air subtly weaving himself through the visual side of media, pushing more and more sinners to watch and trust and consume.
——————
He didn’t care to explain to Velvette or Valentino why he got so obsessive about storing feeds from the past few years. He didn’t care to let them in on why he had stashed so many artifacts from his early days in Hell. He didn’t owe them an explanation for any of it. No. They didn’t see the breakdown he had when he discovered another lapse in his data. A gap, from so early on he couldn’t recover it. They didn’t know about how he’d screamed and curled in on himself, sobbing onto his console until he had nothing left to cry. He didn’t tell them about that night. He just doubled down.
It didn’t matter that most of the recorded memories had a certain red-hued asshole featured prominently. It didn’t matterthat he had a catalogue of that fucker’s expressions filed away with notes. It didn’t fucking matter that he’d made sure the half of their picture together from so, so long ago that remained unblemished was the half with Alastor, practically unchanged and standing so casually… All he’d had to do was wave it off as information to use against him later. When and if he came back, he said, he’d be sure to kill Alastor for good.
And he would.
Definitely.
——————
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, who could really say—it hadn’t taken long to store away every video and photographic proof of Alastor’s existence. The fucker hardly cared to be captured visually on a good day, and Hell didn’t get many of those, so there hadn’t been much to tuck away. That did mean, though, that once that was complete, he’d been able to throw himself into work. For seven long, exhausting years, that’s what he’d done. Power and fame and wealth and… problems and headaches and drama and carefully avoided scandal. Fuck his life…
Until one day, after calming Val down from another Angel Dust rant, he’d gotten the news. Alastor was back. It had been seven fucking years, but the Radio Demon had decided to show up again. Naturally, right about the time Vox had finally stopped being tempted to look for him.
He hadn’t actually scanned the feeds in a long while, but on bad nights—and there were many— the temptation would wrap around his limbs and wheedle into his mind and he’d almost, almost go settle at the terminal and waste the hours looking. Usually, he found something else to distract himself with. Some nights, he’d stare at the ceiling until sleep found him. The hardest nights, it never would.
Alastor was back though. Vox had a reason to search the cameras again, and he quickly busied himself doing just that, initially seething at his apparently oh-so helpful involvement at Lucifer’s freakishly optimistic daughter’s hotel. Then he’d come—somewhat—face to face with Alastor on Pentious’s watch, and everything had felt like it slid sideways on him.
Old pal…
Those two words had rung in his mind for days.
Eventually, with Val and Vel’s help, he’d gotten over it and found himself laughing at whatever stupid shit it seemed like Charlie was sending Alastor around to do. And then… what? They were going to fight Heaven? It was laughable. It became like reality television. He supposed, technically, it was.
He knew the video feed of the fight with Adam was one of the few ways anyone in all of Hell had managed to see Alastor get injured. That part hadn’t broadcasted live. He’d set it aside. The Radio Demon was missing for a few brief moments in the aftermath and rebuild, and he’d actually found himself celebrating. The pressure was off him. He hadn’t been the one to deal the final blow, but who cared, right? They could all go back to the normal that things had settled into for almost a decade…
And then he’d shown back up. Because, as Vox was coming to realize, Alastor was almost fucking impossible to get rid of, even when he wasn’t actually around.
In the days that followed, he made a choice. He needed to talk to the smiling freak and set the record straight. He needed to get some shit off of his chest, and he knew it wasn’t anything he could say to the other Vees. Only Alastor could hear it. That’s the only way Vox would get closure. He could move on after that. So, he went to the hotel.
——————
The little angel, Vaggie, nearly punched him in the face if he hadn’t side-stepped, too used to dodging blows and thrown objects thanks to a certain moth demon back at the tower. Still, he didn’t want to risk a broken screen, so he stepped back further after her initial swing, and he smiled when she didn’t follow him.
“I’m not here to fuss with your silly little hotel, don’t worry. I just need to speak with the deer.” He kept his tone flat, uncaring. Almost uninterested.
Vaggie blinked at him, brows furrowing. “The— Alastor? What do you want with him? Anyway, he’s busy.”
Vox sighed. “I’m sure he is. And I’m sure what I want with him is none of your business. Just send a message up to him that I’m here, that Vox wants to chat. I’ll wait.”
As much as he knew Alastor loved to skirt his way around danger like he was personally trying to piss it off, the tease, Vox also knew Alastor couldn’t resist a juicy twist if it might get him information. He just hoped his showing up outright was juicy enough. It wasn’t as though he was known for leaving Vee tower. He hardly ever needed to, for one, and for two, it was simpler to avoid those who didn’t like you when you made anyone who wanted to deal with you come straight into your place of power.
Vaggie scoffed and turned on her heel, and for a moment, he thought she was blowing him off. Instead, he watched her walk to an interface on the wall and press a button. Huh. They had an intercom now? He bet Alastor hated that. Too bad he hadn’t been around for the construction. Off licking his wounds, Vox was sure, too busy healing to come help lay even a single brick. Plus, Lucifer had it under control. Alastor wasn’t the strongest thing in the hotel anymore…
He didn’t hear what she said, too distracted with his own thoughts for once, but Vaggie turned back to face him with a suspicious glare afterward, crossing her arms. “I should just put a spear straight through your weird rectangle head, shouldn’t I? I know who you are, obviously. You’re just as bad as Angel’s boss. Not exactly the type to work with a vision like Charlie’s.”
Vox couldn’t suppress the smug, toothy smile that spread across his screen, patronizing and belittling with every curve and sharp line of teeth. Just like Al’s. He was sure she knew that sort of smile well, if she paid any attention to Alastor at all. “No, my dear, I couldn’t care less about the Princess’s mission here. I’d just like to settle some old business once and for all. Then I’ll leave you to your cute little…” He wiggled his fingers dismissively. “Bonding exercises.”
“Old business is certainly a way of putting it.” Alastor’s voice was unmistakable, and a zip of electricity flashed between Vox’s antennae as his gaze flicked to the staircase. Alastor stood tall and proud at the top, cane perched in front of himself as he sneered down at him.
Vox smirked right back. “Oh, be glad I didn’t tell her more, Alastor. Luckily, I knew you would be too curious to pass up making some time for me. So, let’s step outside. Have a chat. Lay some things to rest…” Vox didn’t wait to hear whatever smart, snappy response he’d come back with. He turned and smoothly walked back outside, moving away from the Hotel until he knew they’d be out of earshot of the door when Alastor followed.
He hadn’t expected him to materialize from the shadows beside him, and really, that was on him. He should have known better. Point for Alastor, fine. He at least credited himself with the fact he didn’t jump or flinch when he saw him in his periphery.
“What are you doing here, Vox? Really, now. All this way, just for a chat? I’m flattered. Otherwise, I may have torn you apart the moment you stepped inside.” Alastor wasn’t even looking at him, checking his claws like he’d freshly filed them, smile casual and one hip cocked as he leaned on his mic’s staff.
It was enough to make Vox’s blood boil. He kept it together though. He had to do better than the horrific on air embarrassment that he’d gone through right after learning he was back initially. “Seven years. Seven long-ass fucking years, and you come waltzing back in with more schemes and plans up your sleeve, like you never even left to begin with. What’s the game here, Al? You can’t seriously care about little redemption land. Why come back at all?”
Alastor’s smile sharpened as he finally met Vox’s gaze, one of his brows arching. “Why, Vox… are you jealous? Come now. You have the Vees. Perhaps I wanted to see about putting together my own little team.”
Vox rolled his eyes. “Bullshit. Don’t even try that with me. I know better. You don’t do teams or pals or anything meaningful. You pretend to. But it’s all bullshit to protect yourself. I would know.” Vox growled the last bit, eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists. “You used me, until I didn’t want to play by your old fashioned rules anymore and felt like standing on my own. Then you were all too happy to toss me aside like garbage. You don’t care about these people. You wouldn’t have run away from the fight if you did. So why come back now?”
With a dismissive sniff, Alastor straightened, smirking. “Had you given up? Stopped searching? How long did it take, Vox? How many sleepless nights? You cannot honestly expect me to believe you care that much about my return? Still so bitter you couldn’t beat me?”
“That isn’t why.” The words snapped out of him faster than he could catch them, and then he stared wide eyed at Alastor for a second, reveling in the surprise on the other sinner’s face in turn. “That isn’t it.” He might as well say it. This was putting things to rest. Letting go for good so he could move on with his life. “You left. You vanished. I thought…” His lips pursed. Maybe this was a mistake…
Alastor lifted a brow again, taking a step toward him. His curiosity was clearly piqued, but there was something else in his expression that Vox was struggling to read. Some softness that felt alien to him. “Did you think I was dead, Vox? It would take quite a lot to get rid of me, you know.”
“Seven years,” Vox reminded him, voice softer. “A lot can happen in seven years in Hell. That’s seven exterminations. Not to mention the other fuckers here vying for power. I should know.”
Alastor’s smile seemed to quirk up a little even as his gaze half-lidded, and Vox bit back bile at the way that made his expression seem almost… fond. He had to be imagining it. Alastor hadn’t looked at him fondly since early on in their old friendship. Decades ago... “Well, here I stand. Not dead, after seven years, six months, and a toe to toe fight with the First Man himself. So then what is the issue?”
“Yeah, I saw that fight.” Vox frowned at him. This had been a mistake. He needed to end it. Something felt off. It was all too easy. What was he missing? He needed to leave. And yet… he hadn’t even begun to get into why he was there at all.
He drew a deep, slow breath, and then huffed. Cards on the table. “I thought I was going to forget you, Alastor. I thought I’d wake up one day and you’d just be… totally gone. Physically and… in my memory.”
Alastor stared at him for a moment. “And this upset you.”
Instantly, Vox bristled, taking a step back and sweeping his arms out. “Of course it upset me, you absolute fucking prick! You know how fucked up it is? To know someone was important in your life, have clear knowledge they existed, remember the impact they had, but to just… not be able to conjure a single fucking thing about them? I’ve told you. You know that’s something that fucks with me.” Vox glared hard at him, teeth bared and brows furrowed. He only realized then that Alastor hadn't been asking, it had been a statement. Well, it was too late to take back the outburst. Even so, he deflated some, though his expression didn’t shift even as his shoulders drooped. “I didn’t want that. Not again. Not with you, not after—“
“Your daughter. Yes, I remember. You forgot them; your wife, and your daughter.” Alastor was watching him with an unreadable expression. Vox hated this.
And… fuck. Yeah, his wife too. Had he forgotten her even further? Had he been so focused on his daughter he’d absolutely forgotten his actual fucking wife? Would that happen with his little girl eventually too? Would a day come that he wouldn’t even think about her existence anymore? Could that happen with Alastor? He felt sick.
“I couldn’t forget you, Al. Not after everything we’ve been through. All those years. You knew me better than anyone. Longer than anyone up top. And I thought I knew you. Sometimes I still wonder… But I didn’t want you vanishing to be the last thing I could remember about you.” Why the fuck couldn’t he shut up? Why was all of this unloading now after years and years of keeping it bottled up, even before Alastor pulled a disappearing act?
There was a pause, and for a moment Vox thought Alastor was going to laugh at him. He was ready to snarl, ready to lash out at even a hint of a giggle…
He was not prepared for the hand on the side of his casing, thumb lightly rubbing at the edge of his screen as Alastor studied his expression. “The cameras… is that why? Oh, Vox…” Alastor’s smile was definitely fond then, no doubt about it. Vox made sure to check that his current feed was uploading directly to the drive it saved all the other Alastor memories under. He wouldn’t forget this. It made his chest ache that this was what he’d been craving for so long, and he was finally getting it in a conversation he’d never wanted to have. “You didn’t want to lose my face like theirs.”
Vox pursed his lips, looking away. How to answer that… “No. I didn’t. I don’t have images of them thanks to the whole… dying and being in Hell thing, but I have… I have pictures of you. Video feeds. Not many, but enough. Memories I could upload to a drive. If I just captured everything I could—well. You get it.” He sighed, shoulders falling as he looked back at Alastor.
“Not just me, old pal. You keep record of everything. You’re truly afraid of losing things now, aren’t you?” Alastor’s tone stung more than it should have, more than he likely intended. He was fascinated, unraveling something he’d clearly been curious about for ages.
Vox could have screamed. Why wouldn’t he be afraid of that? Anyone would be! Why would he simply accept losing parts of his own life? Alastor didn’t understand, clearly. “I’m not afraid. I’m cautious. Shit like that is important, but because of how long we’re stuck here, Hell can eat our memories like a hungry motherfucker. Doesn’t mean I’ll let it take anything else from me. Not if I can help it.”
Alastor’s expression smoothed out, and he stared at Vox long enough he was about to ask him what before he was finally speaking again. “What were their names?”
“Their…? Alastor, I…” He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember.
“You told me, before. You managed that much.” Alastor propped his cane in an elbow, head tilting as he waited.
Vox stared at him, eyes going wide. He’d told Alastor their names? What? No… no, he’d lost those. He thought he’d lost those so long ago even Alastor wouldn’t have a way to find them, but he’d apparently told Alastor, all those years ago? He didn’t even remember that conversation… Had that been the gap? The lapse he hadn’t been able to fill in? Was it some sort of targeted memory loss, specifically eating anything relating to his family?
“Your daughter’s name was Claire.” It was such a simple sentence, but Alastor could have knocked Vox on his ass with a light touch afterward. There was something about his tone that made Vox feel like he was missing something, but he was so blindsided by the name that he couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything else.
He couldn’t stop staring at him. He couldn’t breathe. Alastor… remembered. He’d cared enough back then to remember. Something in Vox’s gut twisted, suddenly ugly and sour. “Fuck you.”
A single blink was Alastor’s only response for a moment, and then a rare sort of bewildered confusion on his features as Vox’s lips curled. “Pardon…?”
Vox took a step toward him. “Fuck you. That clearer? You don’t get to hang on to their names for over a decade after leaving me, becoming my enemy, and then vanishing for seven years, just to throw them back in my face when I’m here to… to put everything behind me! You don’t get to be kind like that after so fucking long. Fuck you, you stuck up, selfish, old-fashioned fucking coward.” Vox grit his teeth, reaching out to grab Alastor by the front of his shirt and drag him close. “You only fed me that name to distract me. But I won’t let it work, Alastor. Not this time. Probably wasn’t even her name.” Even as he said that, he could feel in his heart that it was. No other name would have sparked the briefest flash of a face in his mind’s eye, already fading back into obscurity. Crumbling into ash. He swallowed down a sob and a lump in his throat he’d never admit was there to begin with.
Shoving Alastor back away from himself, he jabbed a finger in his direction. “I’m sick of you. Sick of all your bullshit and your disappearing acts and how you always seem to think you can just walk back in like nothing ever happened. Like life didn’t carry on fine without you.” A vicious smile curved Vox’s lips. Here it was… his moment to hurt him. He knew exactly how to undercut everything Lucifer’s brat had been building for months. “Guess what, though, Al. It does. Shit moves on. I worked with the Vees to rise to power like you never could have. Not without me. And your precious hotel? They rebuilt in the aftermath without you.” He barked a laugh, shoving Alastor back again. “They didn’t even look for you, Alastor. You know that? Cowardly slimeball Pentious got a painting, and the little goat-dragon-thing got a damn statue, but they didn’t so much as search for your ass or call your name once.”
He felt vicious. Cruel. Powerful. But as he spoke about the hotel, about Alastor’s absence going uncommented on… He was surprised to see Alastor looking a little… shocked? Sad? Disappointed. It thrilled and broke him in equal measure. He pushed on. “Ah… did you think they’d at least looked? Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I noticed you were missing. Me. Not them. Not till you showed back up. Think about how that feels for a minute, Alastor. What’s thatmean?” He didn’t want to think about the faint bit of surprise on Alastor’s face, or the way it mingled with something… touched? No. That was a mockery, he was sure. He shut that down, continued with a sneer. “Don’t worry though, they sure cheered when you came back to be their janitor again.”
Alastor pursed his lips at him after that final jab. It was the closest he’d get to a frown. He tugged at his coat to settle it back into place properly, then smoothed down his shirt. “That’s quite enough of that, Vox.”
“Is it? If you don’t believe me, I have plenty of video evidence. I only noticed their lack of awareness later, you know. Too busy celebrating your loss with Val.” He put emphasis on that particular barb, and he felt a rush of victory when it landed. Alastor’s eye twitched. Was he still jealous?
“Do your Vees get this same level of ‘care?’ Do you stalk them, track when they leave?” Alastor’s sneer was almost as sharp and vicious as his own then.
“No, but that isn’t the point. Things with us are—“
He cut Vox off, lifting a brow. “Why fixate on me like this, Vox? Why go to all this hassle? It doesn’t—“
“Because I loved you, Alastor!”
He didn’t mean to say it. He hadn’t wanted to, but there it was.
“You…” Alastor’s eyes were wide, his expression unguarded for once. Alastor didn’t… do unguarded.
Vox had to fix it. Rewind. Backtrack, so he could fucking leave. “Past tense, before you get any funny ideas. Loved. You made damn sure I didn’t have any funny ideas about you returning that affection. So I killed that love real quick.” Liar, his mind whispered. “I’d erase you from my memory bank if I could, Alastor.” Liar, his mind screamed. “But you… you made too much of a fucking impact. Good and bad. You’re why I am the way I am. How does that feel? Proud of yourself?” His smile was bitter, fists shaking at his side.
“No. No I’m not. Not proud. Just… tired.” Alastor sighed, stepping back. Despite knowing better, Vox told himself he wasn’t going to latch onto the pained look in Alastor’s eyes. The trembling edges of his smile. No. Alastor didn’t care. He didn’t care about anyone. He didn’t care about Vox, especially. Right…? “Believe what you like. I have work to do. Good day, Vox. It was good to see you again… old pal.”
And just like that, Alastor was slipping through his fingers again, shadow-stepping back into the hotel and closing the door. Almost immediately, he regretted nearly every word. It wasn’t past tense… he still loved Alastor. And maybe… maybe Alastor did love him back. His touch, his expressions… offering her name back to him... Vox had ruined it though. Lit it on fire and watched it blaze into ashes before his eyes… again.
At least he had the memories. At least he wouldn’t forget Alastor. Their timing was just off. He could always try again, like usual.
Small mercies.