Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Charlie hadn’t turned up to breakfast that morning and Alastor was getting a little worried. She was usually among the first of the Hotel’s residents up of a morning, bouncing around, dragging poor Vaggie, who was decidedly not a morning person, along with her, but she had yet to show her face this time. Vaggie said that it was fine, Charlie had just had a late night and deserved a lie in. Alastor hadn’t minded, carrying on with his usual routine of making breakfast for their little group - while the rest of the residents ate whatever the chefs had cooked - and sorting through applications from sinners to join the Hotel afterwards.

After an hour of this, when he’d run out of applications to go through, he decided to check on Charlie, knowing she’d be upset if she didn’t get through the day’s activities with her group of residents.

Alastor made his way up towards her room, passing many sinners making their way through the long halls. Originally, Charlie and Vaggie’s room had been close to the ground floor, yelling distance from the rooms of their measly four residents - himself not included, he’d made sure his room was as far away from others as possible -, but since their win against Heaven the Hotel had gained a booming popularity, sinners swarming the doors of the building for a chance at redemption. They’d wanted to keep their room close to the original residents’, but after an incident with one particular sinner walking in on the two of them while they’d been engaging in.. salacious.. activities... the two had relocated to one of the top floors with him. He tried his best not to think about the things they engaged in on his floor.

The number of wandering sinners petered out to zero as he made it to Charlie and Vaggie’s room. He knocked politely on the door.

“Charlie my dear, are you in there?” He asked, getting a groan from inside. He held onto the door handle.

“May I come in?” He received another groan and a tired “yep” from the princess. He turned the handle and entered, leaving the door open behind him. Charlie was sprawled face first on the messed up bed, hair a mess and a brush on the floor, a metre away from her hand where it rested on the edge of the blanket.

“You look a mess my dear, what’s the matter?” He asked, standing beside the bed, hands resting on his cane. She lifted a hand and waved it vaguely at her hair. He sighed.

“Well that just won’t do.” He said, resting his cane against a wall. He leant over and grabbed the hair brush as Charlie tilted her head up at him.

“What are you doing Al?” She asked, mumbling into her blanket. He chuckled, sitting near the edge of the bed.

“We can’t have the princess of Hell sulking over something as insignificant as her hair, can we? Come on, up you hop.” He said, gesturing with his hands for her to sit up. She did so sluggishly, dragging herself up with a groan, though there was a curious glint in her eyes. She sat facing him and he rolled his eyes.

“Turn around, my dear. I can’t very well tame your hair if I can’t see it can I?” He said, chuckling as she did so cautiously.

“I’m not going to bite you my dear.” He said, taking in the mess of blonde matts and frizz that was her head. He started by taking out the hair ties in her hair, or at least the ones that still remained in place; a few had already been removed. He had to gently tug on them sometimes, tangled up in her hair as they were. Once they’d been removed he bunched up the hair around its middle in his left hand so that he wouldn’t tug on her head and gently ran the brush through the ends, slowly undoing the knots. Charlie sat there perplexed.

“I didn’t know you could do hair Al.” She said, more cheerful than she’d been a moment ago, though not quite to her usual level. He leant around her slightly, raising an eyebrow as she looked back at him.

“Do you think my hair does this on its own? I put a lot of effort into it, you know.” Alastor said, leaning back to continue brushing through her hair, slowly making his way upwards. “Sure, it curls on its own, but it looks an absolute mess if I just let it run free. I've spent many hours of my life, and afterlife, making it behave.” He finished with a laugh.

“Huh.” Charlie said thoughtfully. “I just never pegged you as someone to care about that sort of thing.” Alastor shrugged.

“Well, now you know.” He said, moving his hand up to hold her hair closer to her head while the other continued to hack the brush through her hair, tugging at knots as gently as he could.

“How did it get this bad?” He asked after a moment of comfortable silence. Charlie shrugged, tilting her head down dejectedly before he gently reached around to tilt her back up.

“I don’t know, I just kept putting it off I guess, it was raining and humid yesterday so it was frizzy and staticky, and then I was up all night trying to come up with new plans for the hotel, then apparently I slept like tumbleweed and I tried to fix it but I just kept making it worse so I just.. gave up. Then you showed up.” She said tiredly. Alastor made a sympathetic noise, pulling the brush through a particularly stubborn tangle.

“Oh the struggles of having hair, I contemplate hacking all mine off sometimes, I can’t imagine trying to tame hair like yours.” Charlie chuckled.

“Yea I get that, so much effort and for what, to make the noodles that hang off my scalp look pretty?” Alastor laughed. He got to the base of her head with the brush, stopping when he felt the clusters of small knots there. He had to let go of her hair with his left hand, now having no way to stop it from tugging. He slowly, gently, pulled the brush through the tangles on the underside of her head. At her wince he paused.

“I know my dear, this part is awful.” He said, running his left hand through her hair gently after every brush in an attempt to soothe her pain. He worked through the knots quickly, trying not to tug too hard lest he hurt her, muttering soft reassurances the whole time.

Once he’d finally made it through the last of the small knots near the base of her skull he ran the brush over the top of her head, getting out the frizziness and the small knots produced from sleep. He brushed slowly through the finer hairs around her ears, slowly prying them apart. Once he was finished he ran the brush through her hair a few more times before putting it down and running his hands through it, feeling the renewed softness. Charlie made to turn around now but he placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her gently in place. She tilted her head around to look at him curiously and he smiled before grabbing one of the hair ties he’d removed earlier. He pulled off the loose hair that had been wrapped around it before rolling it onto his wrist.

He parted her hair down the middle, separating her hair into two halves, immensely grateful for his clawed fingers right now because he didn’t have to go find a comb. He swept the left half over her shoulder, keeping it away from the right. He took a hold of a small section of the front of her hair and split it into three smaller sections, plaiting them; folding the section on the left beneath the middle section, then folding the right section beneath the new middle section. He held the hair separated in one hand while the other gathered a small section of hair from the centre of her head and added it to the left section of hair, folding it beneath the middle section, before doing the same to the section on the right. He continued this process, carefully adding sections of hair to the braid as he twisted them around each other, making his way down her head. Once he reached the base of her skull and there was no more hair left to add into the braid he simply plaited the rest, folding the three sections into each other until there was a short stick of hair left at the end. He held onto the plait with his right hand while his left rolled the hair tie up and over his wrist and onto the hair, twisting it several times around the end. Charlie spoke up once he moved on to the left side of her head where he repeated the process, only flipped.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Charlie asked. She’d been content to sit there and let Al braid her hair, feeling as his fingers gently parted and twisted the fine strands, but now her curiosity got the best of her.

“My mother.” Alastor said. He gained a fond tone as he continued talking. “She’d always done her hair herself but as she got older her hands didn’t work as well, they were sore and shaky and it didn’t take much to cut them, dry and cracked as they were. She’d refused originally, when I first offered to help her. She always worried after me, worried that I’d be picked on; most of the skills I knew were classified as ‘women’s work’ in my time, cooking, cleaning, sewing up clothes, she didn’t want to add hairstyling to that list. I didn’t care though, and eventually, once her hands worsened, she gave in and taught me how to style hair. I did her hair for her everyday after that.” He finished, a warm tone in his voice. Charlie smiled.

“She seems like a wonderful woman.” Alastor laughed.

“She certainly was. Is. She’ll be up in Heaven now, I’m sure.” He’d finished braiding Charlie’s hair by now and she turned around, looking at him happily, a wide smile on her face.

“Thanks Al, this was really sweet of you.” She said, back to her usual chipper mood. Alastor was about to respond when she launched at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He tensed for a moment, unsure of what to do before slowly relaxing, wrapping his arms around her in return when he realised he didn’t hate the touch.

“You are most welcome, Charlie.” He said, a fond, genuine smile on his face that she couldn’t see.

“Come now my dear, I saved you some pancakes.” He said, letting go of her slowly and getting up off the bed, helping her to her feet.

Charlie received many compliments on her hair that day and to each one she replied,

“Thanks! Al did it for me!”

An equal number of people were left gaping as Charlie walked away happily to relay the compliments to Alastor.

Chapter Text

It was late when there was a knock at his door. Everyone else had long since gone to bed, leaving him to his own devices. He almost always stayed up later than the others, finishing up his broadcast for his late night listeners, and to make sure that no one at the hotel was up plotting anything against him. Not because he cared about the wellbeing of the others, not at all.

He’d just pulled on a soft red turtleneck jumper, appreciating the tightness around his arms and torso, when there was a quiet rap on his door. His ears turned towards the sound before his head followed, no one was usually up at this time, let alone knocking on his door. He headed over to the door, opening it and seeing no one. He looked down, finding Niffty staring up at him wearing a nightgown, her large eye red rimmed.

“Niffty darling, what are you doing up at this time? I’m sure you need sleep after yesterday’s activities.” Niffty’s activities the day before included holding off an army of roaches, but it wore her out the same everyday. She blinked and looked down, speaking quietly.

“I had a nightmare.” Alastor tilted his head before leaning down to her and picking her up. She climbed into his arms, sitting there like she belonged there, which she may as well by now. Alastor started the trek down to the kitchen.

“A nightmare, my dear? Whatever about?” He said, holding her carefully so as to not jostle her as he walked down the myriad of stairs. She sniffed, fiddling with a dead roach that she’d just pulled out of her pocket.

“My life.. My husband.” She said, leaning against his shoulder. Alastor’s interest peaked; Niffty rarely ever mentioned her life, and when she did it was in the same chaotically casual manner that she normally spoke in, so he never brought it up. She’d spoken about her husband only once, that same sadistic tone in her voice that she got when chasing roaches as she mentioned having killed her husband in his sleep during a bonding activity.

“Oh? Go on.” He said encouragingly, though not sternly. They reached the kitchen and he made his way over to his little corner that the chefs steered clear of. There had been an incident when they’d first hired more staff for the Hotel, when it became obvious that a bartender and a single maid weren’t going to cut it, when the chefs all chose their own sections in the kitchen; one of these chefs made the mistake of choosing the little spot in the corner. Alastor had very nearly ripped the poor bastard to pieces and arranged his organs like a modern art piece when he’d seen how he’d reorganised his spice cabinet before Vaggie intervened and gave him a different spot. He quit soon after because dead roaches kept appearing in his bed.

Alastor placed Niffty gently on the bench beside him, keeping her within arms reach as he filled up the old kettle and placed it on the stove, letting it boil. Niffty stayed silent while it boiled and they fell into a comfortable silence for a while.

The kettle screeched as it finished boiling and he turned off the stove, pouring the water into the mugs and dropping the tea bags in, letting them steep. He didn’t like tea all that much, but he would tolerate it, for her. Niffty spoke as Alastor watched the water slowly turn a warm brown colour.

“He was.. hitting me. I don’t know why.” She said, her voice watery. “I think I spilled something on him.. I don’t remember, but he was mad at me.”

Alastor rarely ever got angry on behalf of others, but right now he was barely keeping himself from going outside and violently ripping apart and eating the first sinner he saw, before going to find Nifftys shit-bag of a husband and torturing him because there was no way he’d made it to Heaven.

Alastor had heard of the horrendous things done to people only a short while after his own death, people whose only sins were that they were a little different to others, needed a little extra support, and were instead stabbed through the skull and deemed ‘fixed’.

Alastor may be a cannibalistic serial killer, but he had morals. Skewed as they may be.

He had never received confirmation but he had his suspicions about Niffty. The time she was from and her scattered tendencies made him suspect that she may have been victim to one of these ‘surgeries’, and this just made him want to tear her husband limb from limb just that little bit more, because he can’t imagine her choosing to willingly undergo the procedure, and for him to abuse her like that? Especially in such a vulnerable position?

Alastor moved away from the mugs, reaching out for her. She held no hesitation as she tipped forward to lean against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, carding a hand through her hair gently, careful not to tug. She cried against him as he held her, speaking softly.

“You’re alright my dear, that horrible man isn’t here, he can’t hurt you anymore, you’ll be okay.”

She calmed slowly in his arms, her cries and sniffles quieting. He loosened his hold a little and leant back, removing his hand from her hair and tilting her head up gently, brushing her hair away from her face. He smiled softly at her.

“I imagine he got what was coming to him?” He asked knowingly. Niffty giggled, nodding.

“First person I tortured down here.” She said, Alastor laughed, ruffling her hair.

“That’s my girl.” He turned back to the tea, pulling the teabags out one by one and wringing them on a teaspoon with the string before dropping them in the bin. He filled the mugs the rest of the way with milk and dumped a teaspoon of sugar into one, handing it to Niffty, taking the other for himself. Niffty thanked him and they sipped their drinks quietly.

“Who’s this one?” Alastor asked after a minute of silence, pointing to the dead roach that Niffty was still playing with. It had lost a few legs since she’d brought it out.

“This one is Dan, I found him yesterday. I’m pretty sure he had a family but they’re next.” She said, Alastor laughing along as she talked about the previous day's discoveries.

They finished their tea and Alastor picked her up again, carrying her up the stairs once more. He stopped outside her door and went to place her back down on the floor but she looked up at him and clung to his chest.

“Can I.. stay with you tonight?” She asked and Alastor responded immediately, bringing her back up and turning on his heel.

“Of course my dear, you are always welcome with me.” He said and she beamed at him. He headed to his room, going up a few more floors before he reached it. Unlike him, she revelled in the chaos of being surrounded by the other residents of the Hotel, and she had stayed in her original room.

They reached his room and he opened the door, shuffling inside and closing it behind him. He walked over to his bed and placed Niffty down on top of it, watching and chuckling quietly as she dived under the fluffy blanket.

“Where did you get this blanket!? This isn’t one of the Hotel’s blankets!” She cried happily, rolling into a ball underneath the fabric. He laughed and climbed in beside her.

“I made it my dear.” He said as she stared up at him in amazement.

“Can you make me one? Or can you show me how to make it? Please?” She practically begged and he pulled her to his chest, laughing all the while.

“Of course darling, I’d be honoured to make you one. Now let's get some sleep, alright?” She nodded and curled up in his arms as they wrapped around her, holding her to his chest gently. He hummed a soft melody as her breathing slowed down and eyes fluttered shut.

Alastor waited until he was sure she was asleep to doze off himself, making sure she was free of nightmares for now.

He held her just a fraction tighter as his humming quieted and stopped as he slowly drifted off, Niffty wrapped up protectively in his arms.

Chapter Text

Charlie was up in their room.

Charlie was up in their room and Vaggie had taken up temporary residence in an empty room a few floors down.

The moment they returned Charlie had gone up to their shared bedroom and locked the door, not saying a word. Vaggie understood. She’d probably be the same if she found out her partner had been lying to her for years, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Vaggie had then had to face the others and explain everything that went wrong up in Heaven, revealing her status as an ex member of the Heavenly host. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to see their reactions.

So now, here she was. Curled up under a dusty blanket wishing for the hellish sun of the realm to expand and consume them all whole instantly. She wasn’t crying, or fuming, or clawing at the walls, no, she just lay there, unmoving, for as long as it would take for the world to start moving around her.

And move it did.

There was a knock at the door, followed by the turning of a handle and the click of a door shutting as someone walked in. The bed dipped behind her and she stayed resolutely still as she became aware of the static that had followed the other person into the room.

“What’s got you hiding under there for?” Alastor asked, the words heavy with his usual vivacity. She stayed quiet and he seemed to change tactics.

“I’m assuming Charlie didn’t take all too well to your.. angelic status?” He asked, softer now, unusually so. Vaggie had never heard him speak in such a tone; if he’d ever used it, he’d never aimed it at her before. She curled up tighter.

“My dear, I can’t say I understand what you’re going through right now, these sorts of relationships remain a mystery to me, but I’m sure Charlie will come around, she’s quite forgiving you know.” He said, lighthearted towards the end. “You guys have had plenty of arguments before, no?” Vaggie growled.

“This is different!” She snapped, pulling the blanket down from her head. Her face was flushed and her hair was ruffled slightly.

“How so?” Vaggie rolled over, facing his general direction but not meeting his eyes.

“I’ve never lied to her like this before. Small things sure, getting her to go out for a bit so I could plan a surprise birthday party, not telling her that I was the one who ate the last cupcake, but this?” She scoffed. Alastor remained quiet and she looked up at him, seeing perhaps the closest thing to a frown he’d ever seen from him. His smile was small and didn’t reach his eyes. She raised an eyebrow.

“Haven’t you ever had someone lie to you about something big? Something that made you look at them differently?” She asked. Alastor made to open his mouth but paused, before nodding once. She kept speaking.

“That one lie breaks whatever trust that person placed in you. Sure, you can build it back up again, restore what was lost, but it will never be the same. They’ll always look at you with a nagging thought in the back of their head of ‘what if?’” Her voice cracked. “That’s what Charlie feels like right now. If anything, you should be checking up on her, not me.” She looked down at the bed, vision starting to blur.

“Charlie needs a little while to collect her thoughts, I figured she’d want a moment to herself. I’ll check on her later, but right now, you seem to be in quite a lot of distress over this.” He said, shifting his body to face her. “She’ll understand, my dear. Sure, it may take her a while, you did lie to her and she is hurt over it, but this will not be permanent. In time, she’ll understand why you did it, and you’ll both be able to move past it. I doubt she will struggle to trust you, this doesn’t seem like the type of thing you’re rushing to replicate, and, to my knowledge, this is the only time something like this has happened, yes?” He tilts his head, waiting for her response. She nods. “Everyone makes mistakes, my dear, and Charlie knows this. That’s what this hotel is all about isn’t it? Acknowledging your mistakes and moving past them?” She grumbles, sitting up beside him slowly. “Maybe..” She says reluctantly.

They sit in silence for a moment before slowly, Vaggie leans to the side, methodically pressing her shoulder to his arm before angling her head to rest on his shoulder. She remains tense for a few seconds, holding herself up despite their position, before slowly slumping against him, letting him take her weight. They say nothing, not acknowledging the change.

The small amount of trust she’d let slip through the cracks started to push and shove her emotions around inside her, cracking and splintering the wall and suddenly she was crying, a wet patch forming on the shoulder of Alastor’s coat. He probably deserved it for something she thought distantly.

“She looked so angry,” she cried, between choked sobs. “I- I’ve never seen her like that before.” Alastor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and just held her while she cried, letting her fall apart under his arm.

“How do I even begin to apologise?” She asked once the tears had slowed. He tilted his head, looking down at her.

“Well.. I think you should be honest. Acknowledge why her feelings are valid, acknowledge why your own feelings are valid, and explain why you didn’t tell her. Understand that she might need more time, don’t expect to be forgiven immediately.” He advised gently. They spent the next minute in a comfortable silence, before Alastor pulled away just enough to tilt her head up with his free hand.

“Have I ever made you beignets?”

Vaggie looked confused at the sudden topic change, leaning away to look up at him. “What?”

Alastor stood up and grabbed her by the hand, tugging her to stand in front of him before she could register that he’d moved.

“A travesty my dear! Come now, we’re making lunch.” He said, pulling her gently out the door before letting go, trusting that she would follow him. He led her down the stairs and into the kitchen, heading for his corner. He leant down, shuffling through drawers and cupboards, pulling out a pot, a rolling pin, a medium sized bowl, and a sieve.

“Al, what?” He stood back up, hooking an arm around hers and pulling her towards the large industrial style fridge along the back wall. He dropped her arm to open one of the doors, reaching in and pulling out a bowl covered in cling wrap, immediately placing it in her hands, making her jump as she tried not to drop it.

“Beignets my dear! One of the greatest treasures of New Orleans.” He said, heading over to the large walk-in pantry. He went in and came out with a bottle of vegetable oil, a bag of flour, and a bag of powdered sugar. He went back over to the counter, Vaggie chasing him, and dumped everything on it. He put the pot on the stove and handed her the vegetable oil.

“Pour some of that into the pot would you?” He said, taking off his coat and hanging it on a hook on the wall. He tied up his hair and rolled up his sleeves, removing his gloves, letting Vaggie see the way the warm brown of his arms blended into a dark black, starting at his wrists and reaching the tips of his clawed fingers; she took the hint and pulled off her own gloves.

She looked between the pot and the bottle and uncapped it slowly, hesitantly tipping some into the bottom. He looked over and scoffed.

“Don’t be afraid of it dear.” He said, coming over and placing a finger near the bottom of the bottle, tilting it in her hand and making her fumble to grip it lest it fall into the pot as oil poured from it and filled the bottom half. He plucked the bottle from her hand and capped it, placing it along the back of the bench. He stepped back towards the other end of the bench where the bags of flour and powdered sugar sat before stopping and turning back to her, rolling another hair tie up his wrist to sit around the base of his fingers and pulling her hair into a ponytail for her.

She said nothing, she just kind of stood there, not really sure what to do as he started to move around her, turning one of the knobs on the stove, starting up a flame beneath the pot before going over to her other side and dumping some of the powdered sugar into the sieve. She looked around helplessly.

“Uh, Al?” He looked up, as if remembering she was still there.

“My apologies, Vagatha, if you could roll out the dough that would be much appreciated.” He said, turning back to the sieve, tapping the side against his hand, shaking the powdered sugar into the bowl below. She hesitantly peeled the cling wrap off the bowl and tipped it upside down on the bench, letting the dough drop down onto the surface. Alastor looked over and sighed before shooing her away. She threw up her hands.

“I didn’t even do anything!” She said, making Alastor roll his eyes. He opened the bag of flour and grabbed a small handful, spreading it lightly over the counter top before picking up the dough and placing it on top of the now dusted surface.

“Exactly, the dough will stick unless you cover the bench in flour, I thought you could cook?” He said, exasperated. She scoffed.

“Cook, yea, baking is a very different thing.” Alastor just sighed, covering one hand in flour before running it along the rolling pin, making it pale and dusty, before handing it to her.

“I trust that you know what this does?” He asked. She raised an eyebrow and snatched the rolling pin, immediately pressing it against the dough and starting to roll it flat. He nodded and went back to the sieve.

Once he’d finished sifting the powdered sugar he leant back down to the cupboard and pulled out a baking sheet and a cooling rack, placing the former on the bench beside the pot, and the latter on top of it. He turned to watch her continue to roll out the dough, stopping her once he’d deemed it thin enough. He took a small butter knife and cut the dough into a bunch of rough squares before grabbing a tea towel from the basket beneath the bench and soaking it, wringing it out and draping it over the top of them. He then grabbed a plate and put it on the other side of the bowl.

He pushed her gently to the bowl of powdered sugar, fluffy from having been sifted several times. He flicked the corner of the towel up and dropped three squares into the oil, watching as the liquid bubbled around the edges of them.

“Once I take these out, leave them on the rack for a minute, just long enough for most of the oil to drip off, then roll them around in the sugar and put them on that plate.” He instructed. Vaggie nodded and they stood in silence, watching as the dough slowly puffed up. After about a minute and a half he flipped them all, revealing the golden brown undersides. Another minute passed and he plucked them out with a pair of tongs, placing them on the rack before dropping another three in.

“How long do you wait until you take them out?” Vaggie asked. Alastor shrugged.

“Measurements and time limits are fickle things, you just get a feel for it after a while.” He laughed to himself, gesturing to the flame beneath the pot. “I don’t even know what temperature that’s currently at, but the oil is bubbling and nothing has caught fire yet so, seems good enough; baking is an art, my dear, not a science.” He said cheerily. Vaggie nearly face palmed, instead grabbing one of the hot beignets, dropping it in the bowl and rolling it around for a moment before grabbing it out and placing it on the plate, doing the same with the next two.

“You know I prepared the dough for these yesterday, put them in the fridge to rise overnight. I had planned on making them in celebration if you both returned successful but well, this seems like as good a reason as any doesn’t it?” He said, dropping a few more on the rack. She rolled the previous batch around in the bowl, humming in response. They continued in a comfortable silence, finishing off the rest of the beignets.

Alastor turned the heat off and started to wipe down the bench, leaving the pot to cool. He dumped the leftover powdered sugar into a ziplock bag and shoved it into a drawer, full of other ziplock bags full of various powders, flour, sugar, cocoa powder, that had been contaminated but could still be of use at some point. He dropped the bowl, sieve, cooling rack, and baking sheet into the sink, leaving the rolling pin along the edge to be wiped off later.

He grabbed a beignet from the plate and bit into it, closing his eyes and leaning back against the bench. He opened one eye when he felt her watching him and he smiled brightly, gesturing to the plate.

“Go on, try one.” He said encouragingly. She shrugged and grabbed one, biting into it. He smirked as her eyes widened and she came over to lean against the bench beside him.

“Al, these are really good!” She said, happily taking another bite out of it. He laughed, elbowing her gently.

“Told you so.” She chuckled, elbowing him back. They ate in silence for a minute, savouring the taste.

She sighed, looking down at the ground, powdered sugar on her fingertips and a small smile on her face.

“Thanks, Al.” She said, things still weren’t okay, but maybe they could be, eventually. He looked down at her fondly, reaching up with his clean hand and ruffling her hair that had slowly slid out of the loose ponytail.

“Anytime.”

Chapter Text

Alastor rolled over, squinting in the dim lighting at the old, vintage clock on the wall, groaning when it confirmed his suspicions; it was four in the morning, hardly a respectable time for anyone to be up - excluding the delivery boys and those lovely bakers -, even for him, despite his strange hours of slumber.

He groaned and pulled himself up, figuring it would be too much of a hassle to try and go back to sleep at this point. He straightened his shirt and plucked his staff from where it leant against the wall before exiting his room, forgoing his coat and shoes, figuring nobody else would be up for another few hours at least.

He listened to the tap of his hooves against the floor as it went from carpeted halls to hardwood stairs. He headed for the kitchen, the noise turning sharper on the tile as he went about preparing a cup of coffee, the dark liquid soothing him, before he went out to the main lobby. He supposed he should check on the place, some of the residents loved throwing small parties down there when they thought nobody was awake - he often was, not that he told anyone, it was great fun watching sinners as they desperately tried to improve, before ultimately caving and getting drunk enough that they couldn’t remember why their skulls were throbbing - and they always left such a mess afterwards. Why they held them in the main lobby instead of one of their rooms he would never understand, but, he supposed, some people were just born stupid.

He didn’t find the remains of a highly alcoholic, crappy party, but what he found instead was a certain tuxedo cat at the bar. The only surprising thing about this was that the cat was conscious, barely, but still. He stood in the middle of the lobby and sighed, getting Husk’s attention, who fixed him with a scowl, clutching a bottle of cheap whiskey tight in his paws.

“It is four in the morning Husker, what on Earth are you doing up?” Husk glared at him.

“None of your fuckin business.” He grumbled at him, taking another swig from the bottle. Alastor grimaced as the scent hit him. That was one of the only side effects of being a deer demon that Alastor appreciated; his heightened sense of smell (and his hearing) had gotten him out of many inconvenient situations, when they weren’t being overly sensitive and inconveniencing him even further. The smell was a mixture of the low quality whiskey and.. coffee?

“I could ask you the same question.” Husk added. Alastor ignored him, stepping up to the bar and taking a seat across from him. He reached over before Husk could realise he’d moved and plucked the bottle from his grip, lifting the nozzle up to his nose.

“What have you got in here?” He asked, sniffing the bottle. “Four, five shots of espresso?” Husk snatched it back, holding it against his chest like it were a newborn child.

“You know that’s decaf right?” At Husk’s bewildered look he continued speaking.

“When Charlie said she was getting rid of all drugs she meant, all drugs. Everything short of pain medication has been wiped from this building, and even that is locked up in her’s and Vaggie’s room. That bottle isn’t doing anything for you besides getting you drunk, which I have a feeling isn’t really the intention this time.” He said pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him. He scoffed.

“What would you know you red fuck.”

“You have a way with words my friend.” Husk ignored him and glanced at his cup of coffee sitting half empty beside him on the bartop before looking back up at him. Alastor grabbed it and took another sip.

“Yes, this is also decaf. Caffeine doesn’t seem to have any effect on me anymore so I have no issue with Charlie’s eradication of the substance, I just like the taste.” He said in response to the silent question. Husk gave him a bewildered look.

“You drink black coffee, for the taste?”

“You don’t?” Husk seemed just a little horrified.

“No, why do you think I have the whiskey? I wasn’t gonna fuck around making an actual cup but I’m not about to drink it straight, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Alastor laughed and waved a hand, taking another sip casually.

“A lot of things.” He perked up suddenly, putting the mug down and clapping his hands together.

“So! What’s the occasion? Surely you aren’t that dedicated to guarding the hotel doors that you’re staying up all night, hmm?” He asked cheerfully. Husk sighed, apparently understanding that he wasn’t going to let it go.

“Angel still hasn’t gotten back.” He grumbled. Alastor tilted his head.

“And, where has he gone?” Husk growled.

“His job you fuckin-” He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

“Valentino, the fuckin cunt, called him in. Nearly thirty hours ago.” Ah. That would certainly explain it. “That piece of shit has had him in the studio, doing whatever fucked up shit to him, for nearly thirty fucking hours. I’m gonna tear that fuckers dick off and feed it to him in pieces, cut off his second pair of arms, and use his wings as papermache to make his fucking coffin. Maybe burn off his other antenna while I’m at it.” Alastor listened to him rant for a while. Husk was usually pretty composed, this must have been building up for a while.

“I will never understand how he can enjoy engaging in the activities that take place in that studio.” Alastor said offhandedly at some point. Husk paused, fixing him with a dead stare.

“You’re talking about Valentino, right?” Alastor tilted his head.

“Well him too, but initially I was talking about Angel Dust.” Husks glare turned angry and he stood up suddenly, slamming his paws down on the bartop. His bottle wobbled and tipped. A mix of whiskey and coffee pooled on the wood and the bottle rolled and smashed on the floor, sending glass everywhere. Husk paid it no mind.

“You think he enjoys going to that fucking studio?” Husk asked once more. Alastor was confused.

“Well, considering he makes it most of his personality I had assumed he gets at least a little enjoyment out of it.” That seemed to anger Husk even further.

“He hates it, he hates that studio, he hates what that fucking moth does to him. Why would he enjoy being abused? Being raped? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alastor was taken aback. He was used to Husk’s anger being directed at him, he was typically the source of many of Husk’s problems afterall, but this time it felt different, more raw, more personal.

Alastor didn’t like it.

“I thought Valentino treated him better, being his favourite and everything.” Husk gaped at him.

“You have no clue do you? I get it, sex and porn aren’t really your thing, but could you pull your head out of your ass for one a minute? If anything being his favourite makes it worse, he gets called in to do more scenes than any other sinner under Val. He sees Angel like his personal sex doll.” Husk spat out. He resisted the urge to grimace.

Alastor really didn’t like it.

“I.. apologise.” He said after a pause. Husk scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah right.” Alastor winced slightly. This was going to take more effort than he thought. He reached inside himself, attempting to pull together the few remaining parts of his heart that he would consider ‘soft’, parts that he’d reserved for Rosie and nothing and nobody else.

“I was under the assumption that it was consensual, I had no idea that he.. It doesn’t matter. What I am trying to say is that I am sorry, Husk. I was wrong in my assumption, and what I said was rude and insensitive. For that, I am sorry.” He said, in as kind a tone as he could manage. Husk looked up at him in shock. His shock wasn’t unwarranted of course, Alastor had not once apologised to him in all the time they’d known each other. He grumbled and looked up at him, still scowling, though it was smaller now.

“Y’know it’s hard to take you serious with that fuckin grin on your face.” Alastor winced and thinned his lips into as small a smile he could force them into before he could really process that he’d done so. Husk paused, looking constipated, before sighing and turning away from him, finally appearing to notice the shattered bottle on the floor and the now sticky puddle on the bartop.

“Yeah whatever.” He mumbled. Alastor counted it as a win. He was grateful that was over and done with, he’d reached his limit on the amount of emotions he could safely handle for the time being.

He took in Husk’s tired and bedraggled appearance, empathising with his current state. He stood up and rounded the bar, ignoring the mess - he’d deal with it later - and placed a hand on Husk’s back.

“Come now, you look awfully tired. Best sleep in today, hmm?” He offered, looking down at the cat. Husk looked up at him and stepped away, growling. So he was back to his normal attitude then, Alastor mused to himself.

“Fuck off, I’m waiting for Angel.” Alastor sighed.

“How do you think Angel will feel when he gets back and finds out that you’d stayed up waiting for him?” He asked, poking Husk in the shoulder when he didn't respond.

“Guilty. He will feel guilty because believe it or not, he cares about you. He will be worried about you because you sacrificed your own health for his sake. He will feel guilty for worrying you so much that you stayed up an extra six hours, at the very least, to make sure he made it to his room.” He said firmly but not unkindly, gripping Husk’s shoulder gently.

“I’ll wait for him, it’s not like I'll be going back to bed anytime soon. You need to sleep.” Husk didn’t respond for a moment, seeming to think it over. He slumped under his hand as he caved.

“Fine.” He said, before turning back to the bar. “Just let me clean this up.” Alastor pulled him back.

“Ah! Nope, I can do that too, seeing as I technically caused it. You’re going to bed, whether you like it or not.” Husk threw up his hands before turning back around.

“Whatever, just don’t fuckin terrify the guy when he gets here, alright?” Alastor chuckled and raised his hands in surrender.

“I’ll do my best.” He said as they both began walking up the stairs. Husk headed to his room and Alastor followed behind.

“The fuck are you doing.” Husk asked when it became apparent that yes, Alastor was following him to his room.

“Just making sure you actually go to your room instead of hiding in a corner somewhere.” Husk raised an eyebrow but continued walking, ignoring him. They made it to Husk’s room and he opened the door, entering it and going to shut it behind him before Alastor put a hand against it and peeked inside.

“My my Husker, look at the state of this room! You should get around to cleaning that up.” He said as he took in the myriad of bottles, blankets, and random pieces of paper scattered on the floor. Husk rolled his eyes.

“What are you, my mother?”

“Maybe.” Husk gave him a bewildered look and Alastor shot him a painfully cheerful grin.

“Fuckin creep.” He said as Alastor finally allowed him to shut the door.

“Have a good night Husker! Or morning!” Alastor called through the wood. He got a grunt in response. He walked about ten steps away, stepping just loudly enough for his footsteps to be heard through the walls, before walking silently back over to the door.

He stood there for a full ten minutes before Husk’s snoring could be heard, signalling to Alastor that it was time to leave, lest someone find him standing creepily outside the door of the bartender. He headed to his room, entering only for a moment to grab the book he was part way through reading before heading back down to the lobby. He placed the book on the couch before grabbing a cloth and dustpan and cleaning up the spillage and shattered glass all over the floor, careful not to step on any of it. He really didn’t want to have to deal with prying shards of glass out of his hooves. While he could clean the mess up with a snap of his fingers, he enjoyed the peacefulness of cleaning from time to time; it was an awful guilty pleasure of his, the domesticity.

When he finished cleaning everything up he grabbed his now lukewarm, half filled mug of coffee and settled onto the couch.

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Alastor had made it through a large chunk of his book when the hotel doors creaked open and Angel Dust stumbled in. He’d refilled and emptied his mug a second time within the previous two hours and he’d been about to do so a third time, but alas, he’d said he’d help Angel, and so help Angel he would. He put his mug down beside his closed book on the coffee table and stood to greet the spider. 

“Good morning Angel!” Said spider nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around to face him, one hand clutching at the front of his robe, keeping it closed; the belt seemed to be missing. His breathing had hitched but he relaxed when he saw Alastor. 

“Jesus fuckin- give a guy a warnin’ yea?” Angel yelped. Alastor tilted his head. 

“Apologies, it was not my intention to scare you.” Angel sighed. 

“What time is it?” Alastor turned to stare at the clock on the far wall. 

“About 6:20, my dear.” Angel groaned, throwing his head back, his neck cracking at the movement. When he faced forward again Alastor squinted at him through the dim lighting. Of what he could see, his fluff was all mussed up, tangled and clumped together with who knows what (Alastor could guess, though he really didn’t want to), and his usual eye makeup was utterly ruined, smudged and smeared down his cheeks. His fluffy robe seemed to be in a similar state. 

“Are you quite alright, Angel?” He asked him, watching as the spider scoffed and started to limp towards the stairs. “The fuck do you care?” He mumbled as he passed and Alastor sighed. 

“It is my duty as a manager of this hotel to ensure the wellbeing of the reside-” Angel cut him off with a mildly hysterical laugh. 

“Did Charlie put ya up to this? Fuck did Husk put ya up to this?” Angel asked, turning to face him with a snarl. “I don’t want ya fuckin pity, I don’t want a fuckin speech about my wellbeing,” 

“Angel.” 

“Ya don’t even fuckin care about any of us, ya just sit there an’ watch us all fail!” 

“Angel.” 

“You overlords are all the fuckin same, ya sit there and watch, as everythin’ around ya burns with a flame that ya just keep adding fuel to-” 

“Angel!” Angel stopped talking, tears brimming in his eyes as he slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries. 

“Yes, while I volunteered to make sure you made it home in Husk’s stead, because I doubted you’d appreciate him neglecting his own sleep for your sake, I would not be here if I did not want to be. If I did not want to make sure you made it back, I wouldn’t have made Husk go to bed, and I wouldn’t have stayed up waiting for you.” Angel’s knees buckled and he collapsed onto the floor. Alastor sighed and stepped towards him. Angel reached for his legs, wrapping his arms around him and he ended up on the floor beside him, leaning against the first step holding an armful of limbs. It was not at all comfortable, the floor was hard and the corner of the step dug into his back, and holding a spider that was no less than a foot taller than him was nothing short of difficult, especially with all the sobbing he was doing, but it was probably the most comfortable Angel had been in days, so he could deal with it. 

Angel pushed and shoved at his chest at first, trying to hold onto him and get away at the same time, all the while sobbing into his chest. Alastor wasn’t entirely sure what to do, he was always uncomfortable around people when they cried, he usually went and got someone else to deal with the person, but he got the feeling he probably shouldn’t do that with Angel. 

With no other clue what to do, he threaded a hand through Angel’s hair - thankful for his gloves - and started to hum. It was something his mother used to do for him when he’d get like this when he was young. He’d turn into a ball of emotional energy and not know what to do with it, how to process it. It was uncomfortable and borderline painful and he’d lash out and sob and his mother would hold him and sing to him. He didn’t remember many of the words, it had been so long ago, but he remembered the rhythm, and humming was close enough, wasn’t it? 

Angel’s sobs slowed when he realised what he was doing. He tried to look up at him a few times but Alastor stared resolutely ahead. 

Alastor had no clue if the humming was actually helping or if Angel had been snapped out of his frenzy out of pure confusion, but he wasn’t about to stop now. 

Once Angel’s cries stopped he finished the song and looked down at him. 

“Are you going to yell at me again?” He asked, with no real malice. 

“Depends, are ya gonna keep humming’?” Alastor laughed. “So I take it that’s a no?” Angel snorted and they sat in silence for a moment, before Angel shifted awkwardly, prying himself away from Alastor and pulling himself up with the railing. Alastor stood after him, assuming the moment was over. 

“Thanks Al, I’m gonna head up now.” Alastor nodded. “Anytime Angel!” He made to turn back to the lounge but stopped when there was a thud and a yelp. He sighed and turned to look at the pile of spider that had collapsed on the second stair. Angel stared up at him, part embarrassed, part exasperated. Alastor stared back. 

“Would you like some assistance?” He asked, Angel nodded and he leant down to heave him up, putting his hands beneath Angel’s arms. He pulled him to stand and kept a hand on his back while Angel used two of his arms to lean on the railing and the other two to keep his robe shut. “Ready my dear?” Angel nodded and they started to slowly climb the stairs. Alastor kept his hand on his back, keeping Angel from falling backwards, and his other was ready to reach around if he fell forward. 

Angel was already shaking like a leaf, but by the time they made it up the stairs Alastor was surprised he hadn’t managed to bring the building down with how his knees wobbled. It was why it was no surprise to Alastor when he had to slow Angel’s descent when his knees buckled for a second time. He sighed and hooked his arms under Angel’s back and knees, heaving him up to carry him the rest of the way. Angel didn’t protest, closing his eyes. 

They had almost made it to Angel’s room when the spider whimpered quietly before lurching to the side, throwing up the contents of his stomach. Alastor grimaced and held Angel out in front of him. When Angel finished heaving, Alastor stepped away from the puddle on the floor and pulled him back against him. He summoned a shadow and it made a dome shape over the puddle, ensuring no unfortunate soul would step in it and drag it through the hotel. Just before the dome formed Alastor stole a glance at the puddle and grimaced at the slight pink tinge to it. He continued walking without a word. 

They made it to Angel’s room, the garishly pink door standing out like dog’s balls. A shadowy tentacle crept up and slid into the lock, molding to the mechanism before turning the handle. Alastor nudged the door open and kicked it gently shut upon entering. It was set out the same as all the other hotel rooms, sans his own, with a living/bedroom area, a bathroom, and a walk-in closet. The room was just as bright as the exterior foreshadowed, though it was stifled by the mess. The bed was unmade, the blankets tangled with the sheets, the pillows missing their cases and stained a blotchy yellow, and it was covered in crumbs. Clothes were dumped in piles on the floor, baskets overflowed with random trinkets, photos and posters and little bags of who knows what. The vanity against the far wall was cluttered with makeup, old dried up mascara wands gathered dust where they were stuck to the wood and there were streaks of colour smeared everywhere. The mirror looked filthy and hair littered every surface. Alastor shivered and headed for the bathroom door. 

Angel’s eyes were still shut but they opened blearily when the bathroom door opened. “Smiles..?” He murmured. Alastor ignored him resolutely, staring straight ahead. He lowered Angel onto the closed toilet lid and turned to the bath, dropping the plug in and turning the tap on. Maybe there was enough of whatever Valentino had drugged Angel with in his system that he wouldn’t remember this. Alastor conjured up that thought and clung to it. Nobody has to know about this. Only him. And the pig. Alastor swears he’ll eat it one day. 

Alastor ignored Angel’s staring and tried to decipher what all the different bottles were. It’s not his fault he doesn’t read fluent Italian. Eventually he grabbed a pink bottle that had images of bubbles on it and poured some into the bath. The water started to foam and Angel didn’t protest so he assumed he picked the right one. 

Once the bath was full he turned to Angel and sighed. “You have five minutes until I return. Scream if you start to drown.” He says before turning and exiting the bathroom. He closes the door over but doesn’t let it latch, letting the light leak through the gap. Ducking into the next door he started to shuffle through the dozens of cropped and mesh tops, skirts, and sweaters hanging up. He paused for a moment when he noticed the wall of guns behind the clothes, admiring the collection briefly before moving on. He could admire another man’s weaponry. Eventually he found a pair of black track pants and a light pink knitted sweater. He gave them a once over to ensure they were clean and not falling apart before shrugging and leaving the closet. 

He knocked on the bathroom door twice before pushing it open tentatively, sighing a breath of relief when he saw Angel seated in the bath, his lower half hidden under copious amounts of bubbles and his lungs not waterlogged. He placed the clothes on the counter before he grabbed a cloth and silently draped it over the edge of the bath beside Angel. “I’m not going to clean you, though I doubt you’d want me to in your current state.” He said as he knelt down behind Angel. A wide tooth comb hung from the tap and Alastor reached over and grabbed it. He wasn’t going to wash Angel’s body, but he didn’t say anything about his hair. He rolled his sleeves up and a plastic cup appeared in his free hand. He noticed that Angel had taken the cloth and was attempting to clean himself, sluggishly. He must have used up the last of his energy yelling at me, Alastor thought. 

He started to run the comb through Angel’s hair, starting at the ends and making his way to his scalp. His hair was matted with who knows what, Alastor shivered at the thought and powered through it. There were dozens of tiny knots buried in the ends of the hair that he had to work out with his fingers, the comb being too wide to do so. Larger tangles were hidden deeper in Angel’s hair that he attacked with the comb, carefully undoing the torment the spider had faced. The hair closest to his scalp was damp with sweat and grime and he cringed as he ran the comb through it. He could see where older sweat had dried and clumped his fur together, forming a line along his hair line and framing the shorter hair on his face. He put the comb down and took the cup, dipping it into the bath and filling it with water. He leant up to lean over Angel and pushed him forward ever so slightly, just to get his back off the edge of the bath. Angel didn’t respond, which Alastor found strange considering what he knew of the man but it made the situation easier so he carried on. He slowly poured the water out over Angel’s hair, using his free hand to shield his eyes. He placed the cup down beside the comb once Angel’s hair was soaking and he leant forward. 

“Which of these bottles of yours is shampoo?” He asked. When he received no answer he leant around the bath and sighed when he saw Angel fast asleep. That explains the lack of talking. He sighed again, just because he wanted to, and summoned his own soaps from his room. It was no use trying to decipher what any of Angel’s soaps were. He poured some of his shampoo into his hand - sandalwood scented thank you very much - and rubbed his damp hands together until it started to bubble. He then braced himself, both mentally and physically, before slipping his hands into Angel’s hair, one on either side of his head. He rubbed it in gently, making sure to push it into the harder to reach spots, his fingers pressing into the nape of his neck and rubbing small circles along the edge of his face. He took the comb and ran it through Angel’s hair a few times to slick it back before going back to the cup, rinsing Angel's hair thoroughly. 

He then did this again. 

He sacrificed yet another blob of shampoo, albeit a little smaller this time, and ran his hands through Angel’s hair once more, lingering on the same spots once more. He rinsed and combed the hair back again before squeezing a blob of conditioner - also sandalwood scented - onto his palm. He rubbed it between his hands for a moment, just to spread it out, before slipping his hands back into Angel’s hair. He rubbed it through his hair, avoiding his scalp itself. He started at the back then moved to the top layers of hair and then down to the sides, gently rubbing the hair between his fingers. He combed it out once more and then pulled himself to his feet. He vanished his bottles back to his room and rinsed his hands in the sink. 

Glancing out of the bathroom into the main bedroom he took in the state of the bed for a second time. He looked down at Angel, making sure he wasn’t going to drown if left unattended for a moment, before heading out of the bathroom. He wasn’t going to let Angel sleep in that mess of a bed freshly washed. Scanning the bed again he decided to just start from scratch. He tossed all the pillows and blankets into the centre of the bed and yanked the fitted sheet off the corners, bundling everything up inside it and making a makeshift sack. He thanked every deity he could think of that Charlotte had the forethought to put mattress protectors on all the beds and he yanked that off too before dumping everything just outside the door for Niffty to deal with later. He left his shadow to watch over Angel while he ducked out of the room, heading to the supply closet at the end of the hall to get a new everything. 

Dumping everything on the bed for the moment he headed back into the bathroom, figuring it had been long enough, and knelt back down to rinse the conditioner out of the still sleeping Angel’s hair. Once rinsed and combed he gently nudged him awake. He’d done a lot of things this morning that he’d never admit to, but drying Angel manually was a line he was not going to cross. 

Angel blinked his eyes open and stared up at Alastor, confused for a moment before he seemed to remember being carried to his room and dumped in the bath. 

“I’m not drying you.” Alastor said simply and Angel decided to just go with it as he was hoisted up out of the bath, all while Alastor did his best to not look at him. He made sure the spider wouldn’t fall over and left him with a towel to dry off before heading back out into the main bedroom. 

He wrapped the bed back up in a protector and fitted sheet and then placed the pillows and blankets - he even went to the effort of putting cases on the pillows this time. Noting that Angel was still drying himself off he figured it wouldn’t hurt to clean up some other parts of his room. Just until Angel was dressed. He kicked all the dirty clothes on the floor out into the hall with the sheets and attacked the vanity mirror with a makeup wipe, the pack having been conveniently left out with the rest of Angel’s makeup. Looking at the surface of the vanity itself he cringed, having absolutely no idea where to start, nor the time. He decided to just make sure all the makeup was closed and shoved it all to the side, giving the wooden surface a once over with another wipe. He hadn’t done much, but it was something. 

Finally, Angel emerged from the bathroom, donning the warm pants and sweater. Alastor had ducked into the walk in closet, leaving an inch gap in the door to peak through. Angel looked around for a moment before accepting that he’d left. Another look and he notices the newly made bed and suddenly clearer floor. He blinks, tilts his head, and a smile nips at the corners of his lips for a moment before flicking the light off and climbing into the bed. Once he’s certain Angel is asleep Alastor slips into his shadows and materialises back in the lobby. 

Alastor tries to justify this sickening act of affection as he puts the empty mug back into the kitchen, saying to himself that the spider would feel indebted to him. As he heads back up to his own room with his book he does his best to ignore the way his already existing dislike for Valentino grew just a little with this encounter, along with a tiny flicker of affection for Angel.