Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's difficult to describe nothingness; much less when there is no such thing as an awareness of it. Your eyes close, and either they stay closed, forever submerging you in that vast, and yet indefinite void; or you are thrust once more into an nearly unbroken stream of consciousness. There is a discrepancy, however.. a disconnect, as you come to, if you do. In Alastor's case, it was like a jolt of electricity, signaling his body of another presence, via the sensation of static pricking his skin. Even without any visual input, he recognized the distinct frequency, and immediately knew he was not only in enemy territory, but that the enemy was hunched over just a few feet in front of him.. he did not yet have any articulation over his limbs, still stuck in an in-between state. It was though he was trapped in between existence, and non-existence.. his body felt non-material, as though it could phase through the corporeal and send him orbiting off into nothing, and yet, he very distinctly could feel the faint, growing sense of a wall pressing up against his back. What should have registered as the ground to him was nothing more than static.. it was all static; the potential for sound was drowned out by Its loud buzzing. 

I need to wake up. 

It kept growing, and suddenly, it was as if he could visualize a figure standing mere meters away from his still body. He was stuck, however, in a state of complete paralysis, and unresponsiveness. 

I need to defend myself.

The static grew so loud, he felt as though he might succumb to its intensity; the pressure building up in his skull tripling whatever pain was emanating in his chest. It was unbearable, until finally: 

“Wake the hell up!”

An all too familiar voice rang out, accompanied by a cracking sensation of his ribs as his back was struck against the hard, concrete wall that had once propped him up.. 

Alastor gasped, and finally, his eyes gained the momentum they needed to move, and he could see. Though, the moment he could make out the view in front of him, he was immediately hit with the desire to once again be unconscious. 

“Seven years, you're gone; I feel traces of you in pentagram city, with no leads– you reappear, like some fucking magician doing his shitty vanishing act, and you're working with Charlie-fucking-morningstar?” An exasperated pause was followed by a re-emphasis: “Let me repeat that again in case your scrambled mind didn't catch that: Charlie-fucking-morningstar.”

Alastor felt like he was being bombarded; he could barely differentiate the floor from his hand just a few moments ago, and now he was being interrogated by his former friend, now arch-nemesis. He could barely make out the words as words; more like a garbled mess of sounds that only somewhat had a connection with what came before. 

“No need to repeat.. I heard you just fine the first time. But, yes. That's right. What of it, old chum?” 

Vox could have blown a fuse right then and there; but, with a surprising level of composure, kept himself from exploding. He grabbed Alastor right by the shredded lapel, and came dangerously close to look him in the eyes. 

“ Don't act all chum with me. I want answers. I want to know why you left.” 

Alastor winced at the forced, sudden movement.. His chest ached with a pain indescribable to him; and not only from the presumed kick he sustained to the ribs, but from a much deeper wound that threatened his very life; a gash cut cleanly by the speciality of blessed steel.. Still, he would not succumb to the pressure applied by his foe.

“Like I said.. I was taking a very well earned leave. A seven year sabbatical, so to speak.” Alastor heaved out in a single, strained breath.

Vox's grip tightened, his anger evident as his claws ripped through the fabric and into Alastor's skin. 

“You left without a single damn word, and you expect me to believe you were on some ‘sabbatical?’ You didn't just leave, you went completely radio silent! And now, you're just.. you.” Vox trampled over his words, before letting out an infuriated groan.

“You didn't say shit! And you have the nerve to go parading around like you own the block!” 

Alastor was getting more and more impatient with the conversation; his eyes darting around the high-tech room for some sort of escape. His staff was nowhere to be found; and that made him nervous, though he made a controlled effort not to show it. 

“And why would I need to tell you of all people what I planned to do with my afterlife? I didn't owe you anything then, and I don't owe you an answer now.”

Vox seemed to be taken aback by the answer, pushing Alastor back down, and releasing him from his hold; standing up to pace in an entitled disbelief; creating the distance in order to articulate with large hand movements.

“We were business partners! We were friends! We were..” a forlorn look struck Vox, but before he could continue what would have been another tangent, Alastor hit him right back;

“‘Business partners’ don't accept offers from other people that their business partner doesn't agree with! Especially when those people have such poor, unrefined taste!’” Alastor spat out with a certain venom indignant in his words when he made reference to the other people; his eyes shot, sincere in their anger. 

“You can't be serious! Entertainment is about catering to all tastes– you of all people should know that! By combining my sphere of influence with Valentino, I dominate every facet of media! If you weren't so much of a prude, and weren't allergic to advancements, you would have been a part of our empire! You didn't even give Valentino a chance!” 

Alastor huffed, rolling his eyes, despite the deterioration of his physical state. 

“If I had given him a chance, I would have wound up as miserable, and unhappy as you. Do you honestly even like what you do anymore? Because all I see you churn out these days is completely oversaturated, slop.” 

Vox's head snapped in a mere instant; and instead of thinking, he allowed his emotions to take control of his actions; telepathically commanding the wires that covered the room to drag Alastor from the wall to where he now stood; suspending him in the air from the ceiling, so that they he could look him straight in the eyes.

“Don't you dare insult my work. Of course I'm happy. ” Vox lied straight through his pixelated teeth. “I'm the happiest I've ever been! Vox's volume elevated; though it did nothing to conceal the doubt in his voice, at least not to Alastor, who knew the man in front of him down to even his most minuscule flaws, and insecurities. To anyone else, it may have seemed genuine; they may have taken it at face value, but to Alastor, it was a mere poorly disguised farce. “You held me back, anyways. I'd be a damn fossil stuck in the dinosaur ages if it were for you.” Vox averted his gaze for a moment, as if responding to a deep ache within himself.

“Then, shouldn't you be thanking me? Clearly, you're much better off without me; and I did you a great service.” Alastor didn't flinch in the slightest, even as Vox approached him with such velocity, and he hung from the ceiling. His tone, of course, came out as vindictive, and sarcastic as ever. “I don't care…” –A struggled pause– “...for your happiness, anyhow; your choices don't affect me. If you honestly want to put up with that temperamental roach on the daily, then by all means, it's your business. But, what I truly feel lacks clarity in this moment is exactly why you've dragged me to your shoddy lair in the first place. At this rate, I'll expire from anticipation, and not a fatal angelic wound.” Honestly, even just speaking was excruciating for Alastor; he was droning in, and out, and even speaking coherently felt like a mess– but, he couldn't pass up on a delightful opportunity to take Vox down a couple of pegs; it became second nature, by this point. 

“Just shut up, do you ever know when to shut up? God, fucking– You don't know anything. You haven't even been around to know anything. At this rate, I hope you do die, that way, I won't have to hear your grating, stupid loser voice ever again.” Vox was losing it; but, strangely, he never came close to striking him, despite his flailing, theatrical hand gestures. Alastor watched from thinly-lidded eyes; though his signature smile did not once falter. “Then why, pray tell, don't you finish the job? That is what you brought me here to do, isn't it?” Alastor figured he was on borrowed time anyways; and without his staff, he was as good as toast. The finality of nothingness terrified him. Being the ever eccentric showman he was, simply ceasing to exist, it frightened him to his very core.. always being in the limelight; having his voice constantly reaching large masses. It made the prospect of being obsolete, something he couldn't even fathom. In the end, he preferred not to elongate an inevitable fate. Knowing Vox, he worried it would be slow, but he supposed he deserved such a demise. 

“I want fucking answers. We'll discuss your final arrangements later. But while you're here, in M Y house, you're going to treat me with some fucking respect, and you're going to answer my damn questions.” Alastor couldn't help but laugh, even from his suspended state. “The outcomes the same, old friend; you're asking a dead man to honor your wishes. You're going to be rather disappointed, I assure you.” Vox immediately reacted by grabbing Alastor by his ears, yanking them in his direction so their eyes locked. “You will answer all my questions, truthfully and without the attitude, do you understand me?”

Vox's eyes turned into intense, red swirls; hypnotic in nature, as they attempted to to embed themselves into Alastor's mind. “No, don't you–!” Alastor threw his head back in defiance, fighting against the very hands that held his skull in place. “You said you would never–!” Alastor refused to stay still, mentally trying to erase the image of Vox's swirling eyes from his mind. “And you said you'd never leave! Open your fucking eyes!” Alastor used his suspended legs to kick Vox right in his chest, momentarily granting him the ability to escape from his bindings; though he did not get far with his wound, as Vox quickly got up to his feet, and practically threw himself onto Alastor; wires like snakes slithering to grasp his flailing limbs before finally he could place his full weight on top of his body. Alastor yelled in an imemse amount of pain, as the knee on top of him fell directly on his wounded chest; it was like there was fire scorching him, spreading all throughout his body in an instance. The bindings had become so tight they constricted any possible motion he could make, and finally all that was left in his defense were his shut eyes… until Vox began to pry them open, too. “Vox, please– don't!”

There was no negotiating, however, as the swirls began once more– and everything he could see, warped into red, and black haze. “ Now. You will answer me, and It better be the complete truth. No half-lies or half-truths. The complete, and honest, unadultered version of the truth. Do you hear me? I dont want any attitude.” Alastor was now locked into Vox; though there was clear restraint still visible on his face, trying to fight back the urge to follow the command. “ I said, do you hear me?” Alastor finally broke, and replied– a more subdued version of his voice taking front. “ Yes.” Spoken simply, and softly. 

“Where were you the seven years you were gone?”

A reluctant pause. The swirling only intensified; as well as Vox's grip. “ I said where were you for the seven years you were gone?” Alastor looked pained, as if every word that was being drawn out of him caused him physical damage. “ Put away.” Vox had to pause for a moment; his hypnotic affect slipping away for a second before he refocused himself. He didnt expect that answer. “What do you mean put away? Be more specific.” Alastor looked like he was getting physically sick at this question; as though every fiber of his being was trying to fight against the hypnosis. “I.. needed to be put away. She told me.. my usability needed to be saved for another time..” Vox was now starting to get impatient with the cryptic messaging. “Alastor, who is she? Tell me who she is.”  

Alastor tried to press back into the ground, as if trying to get away somehow, though it did nothing to transport him from revealing what was being forced out of him. “My master.” He spoke painfully. “You're… What?” Vox was beyond astounded, and confused; he had no idea what to expect, going into this, but, this was nowhere near the realm of anything he thought possible. It took him a moment to realize what the weak, red-headed man splayed out below him meant, until finally: “Are you.. Are you on a leash?” Vox asked, for once, genuinely dumbfounded. “Yes.” Alastor replied without so much as a beat. 

“I- You cant be serious right now. You, the radio demon, on a leash? How did that even– When– you didn't?” By that point, Vox's screen monitor was hot, and his internal fans were screaming. He didn't even know where to begin. It was all so much he didn't know how to process it. “When did this happen?” He asked, a more serious tone enveloping his voice now. “Before I left.” 

“Tell me more.”

“As I began to rise the ranks in Hell, I began noticing irregularities. It began in my mind; nightmares a little too abhorrent and real. Voices calling to me from dark corners, telling me to let her in. I would end up in places I never remembered going to. That was when my disappearances first began.. at first, I thought these occurrences were just another one of Hell's sick games-- or perhaps that I was truly going mad. But, in the end, the little humanity I had left in me made me susceptible to something far more evil than any of us can imagine. To the very root of humanities sins, and darkest desires. ” 

Vox was left silent; he felt the room grow a little darker, and in that moment, he felt it was not just them in the room, but something.. else. Something entirely indescribable. It made him shrink, for just a moment, as if it had unearthed a fear within him he hadn't felt since dying. Even in life, Vox always stuck around longer than he should– in all cases. It never ended well for him, eventually, leading him to his death. But, in that instant, he really considered just leaving.. turning away, and never looking back. “Is that why you left without saying anything?” When it came to Alastor, however, he was an idiot; and no amount of obvious stop signs were going to keep him from the answers he had been desperately looking for all these years.

“Yes, but I had other reasons”

“And those were?” 

“If I had told you then, you would have tried to throw yourself at my problem. You would have gotten yourself hurt, or worse; and i wouldn't allow that to happen on my accord. I knew you wouldnt accept it if i told you.”

Vox looked devastated; he didn't know how to process the information that was rapidly coming at him. He kept flashing between unbridled anger, to grief, to confusion– a look of sheer defeat, and betrayal clear in his eyes.

“If you had just told me– everything could be exactly as its meant to be. We could have found a solution together- I would have fixed it. We could have fixed it. But, instead you wanted to play fucking savior– and now– now– everything's DIFFERENT!"

Alastor looked at him with conflicted eyes; as if one side of him wanted to empathize, and the other wanted to rip him to shreds for forcibly ripping the truth out of him– for using an ability on him, that he promised never to turn on him. The hypnosis had broken, due to Vox's emotional state, and now nothing was left besides silence. The silence of a weight being lifted, on top of a realization so heavy is choked them both out to their very core. “There is no solution, Vox. You have no idea what I'm up against.” Alastor looked tired, lying on the floor with no struggle whatsoever; his eyes turned away from Vox, where they then rested on the ceiling. 

“You always think you know better than me– that you can do everything on your own. You don't know that there isn't a solution! We have technology thats never been seen before nowadays– I could have helped you, but like always, you underestimated me, and overestimated what you could handle!” Vox looked distraught in all ways, appearing aimless, and lost.

“You were going to replace me anyways! I didn’t want your help, or his!” Alastor yelled; this being the first time he had truly raised his voice in the span of their whole entire interaction. Vox fell silent, as he stood up to rub his screen as though he was exhausted. He took a few steps to where his work desk was; a large set up with hundreds of thousands of sleek, modern monitors, and cameras. From underneath, he grabbed what looked to be an uninteresting cardboard box. Moving briskly, he came to Alastor's side, only to reveal the contents of the box– a proper first aid. Gauze, bandages, tape..

“What are you doing?” Alastor asked, looking defensive before Vox began loosening the cables with his magic. “What does it look like?” With that, Vox began to try and unfasten the ripped front of his shirt, which Alastor immediately replied to him with a hoof to the screen. “Ow! I'm trying to fucking help you!” Vox flailed backwards, holding a crack that formed on his screen with a grimace. “I didn't ask for you to touch me!” Alastor retorted with an uneasy snarl, as if set off by the sudden touch. Vox, however, was not dissuaded; given there was no internal damage as far as he can tell, his resolve hardened. He no longer had the same patience, or gentleness from when he and Alastor were business partners; he had been jaded by the years, and his heart severely hardened by the absence of someone he once held so dear, not to mention what he had to put with on a day to day basis. He was sharper; and no longer knew how to handle a situation with care or tenderness. 

His eyebrows furrowed deeply into his two dimensional eyes, and with a flick of the wrist, the cables were once again summoned, and rapidly took hold of Alastor once more. “Not only are you seconds away from bleeding out, but, you were cut with an angelic blade– which means that your wound won't close naturally. If I don't deal with it, you're going to die. And, I don't think you really want to do die, do you? So shut the fuck up and don't make this harder than it needs to be.”

Alastor was ready to snap back, but, the second Vox discarded his torn shirt, he was reeling backwards in pain (as much as he was able to even move). His whole body broke into a cold sweat, and even if he wanted to make a snide remark, or fight for autonomy in some way, he was absolutely in shock from the pain, trembling like a leaf as Vox began to disinfect the wound. They were both silent, in complete, and utter focus; or in Alastor's case, dissociation. Both were riddled with a mixture of conflicting feelings, and thoughts.

Vox couldn't help but trace his eyes over Alastor's chest; the ragged scars, old and new, that covered him from head to toe. Even as he worked, they distracted him. Not because they were shocking, or new to him at all, but because it had been so long that he had such an intimate, close moment with Alastor.. he had always appreciated the deer's body; though he only ever was allowed glimpses. He was by no means disgusted, but completely entranced. He always thought Alastor was perfect. In every single way, in every context. Vox imagined Alastor's skin like a canvas; and every blemish like a stroke of art sitting beautifully on his flesh. Vox was never a poet, but, there was something so romantic about the radio demon's simple, small frame. He despised the thoughts that flooded his mind, corrupting his ability to work, as he fumbled with the needle in his hand. First aid wasn't even something he naturally knew.. it was Alastor who taught him how to heal. And yet, how ironic was it that Alastor also completely shattered him?

Absorbed by his own thoughts, his hand slipped, and the needle poked a less than favorable spot. Alastor immediately buckled in his arms, making a sound akin to an animal groaning. “If youre not going to do it right, you may as well just let me do it myself.” Alastor's voice sounded small, and weak; as though he was just barely managing to compose himself. “I've– i’ve got this, alright? I know what im doing.” Vox continued, more expertly this time; as he began to focus on Alastor's weakened state. “Just, focus on me, okay?” Alastor's big red eyes looked up from the ground, and amassed all his existence in just one stare. He had never seen Alastor so.. candidly. Alastor looked like he would collapse any moment; and on top of that, everytime he touched him, he flinched. “Just.. relax.” Vox opened his eyes real wide, and produced a gentle swirl. Alastor immediately tried to turn away, a look of genuine fear evident in his gaze before he shut his eyes. “No, Vox. Please.” Alastor pleaded weakly, expecting his mind to be taken over once more. “I'm not going to get in your head– i swear on it. Just, please trust me. I can help you.. I can make the pain more manageable if you just let me.”

Alastor was reluctant, but, when he realized that Vox wasn't at all forcing his hand, he began to test the waters– first opening one eye, than another. He looked unsure at first, but, allowed the process to continue, even with the great unease he felt. “When you look into my eyes, you're going to feel all better, okay?” Alastor stared deeply into his pulsating eye, until finally he replied with a faint..

“All better…” 

With that, several minutes passed by, and Vox had successfully finished stitching up Alastor's wound. It would likely break open, and need constant cleaning, but, at the very least it wasn't an open wound anymore. He wasn't sure if the muscles on the inside would be able to reconnect, or if that would require a more special hand than his, considering it was made by an angelic blade. Alastor didn't move, or speak for a while afterwards; laying still as though he were a body with bloodshot eyes staring at the ceiling. Vox cleaned up the first aid material, as well as any blood that was left on his hands after finishing. Alastor should have been out cold by that point, but, of course, he held on to what little awareness he had; still not trusting Vox, or his surroundings enough to let his guard down.

“I'm taking you to my room; you can rest there.” Vox was not feeling particularly trusting either; though, it's less that he didn't trust Alastor, and more that, he didn't know what to do with the new information he acquired. He never once thought something like that could be true. And now, here he was, processing a completely new reality. “I don't want to..” Alastor slurred over his words; not putting up a very compelling argument, or reason, as Vox slung him into his arms. “No one's going to see you– you won't be comfortable in here. You should be grateful I'm even lending you my room in the first place.” Alastor groaned, but could give no dignified retort. Vox left his office quickly; making sure to look in every direction before he scurried over to the elevator for the penthouse suite. If Alastor wasn't in such a negligible state, he would have transported them no problem via electric currents to the top floor, but, with Alastors condition, it was too risky to try without potentially jeopardizing Alastlor's health further.

He ran into the elevator, dodging employees like the plague, and especially hoping not to run into Valentino or Velvette. Thankfully, his eyes and surveillance were everywhere, so he knew they wouldn't catch him going into the elevator, but, he was worried about the excuse he'd have to come up with for as to why Valentino couldn't go into his room.. it's not like he slept anyways. Maybe Vark had an accident? He'd have to workshop that later. Bolting it to his room, he laid Alastor on his bed, and for a moment, quintessentially took in the sight of Alastor engulfed in his sheets. It was a dream.. They once had a peaceful relationship. This was once.. normal. Not the Alastor getting fatally injured part, of course; but the scene of Alastor simply laying there.. his red locs draped over his contrasting, blue sheets; it was picture-esque beauty in his eyes. It made him nostalgic for a time long forgotten to them both. It made him ache like there was no tomorrow. “I never meant to replace you. I never wanted that. You were drifting further a part from me. I didn't know what else to do. Valentino was there.. you can say what you want, but when you.. left, he was there. He picked up the mess you made.” Alastor couldn't say anything; only watch, as Vox's eyes shifted to the floor. “I wish you had told me, so that things could have been different.” 

No response came, as Alastor fell into nothing once again.

Chapter Text

Vox’s internal sensors burned in the dark, as he stared at an unfinished stack of paperwork; the daunting, unstable heap containing everything from important contracts, to various business inquiries sent by companies extending across all parts of the pentagram. Most would likely be rejected, as few businesses met the Voxtek brand standard; a large portion of the inquiries coming from low-end organizations wanting to upscale themselves without putting in the effort. 

The Vees were powerful on their own. They had created an alliance that merged all sects of media; and as the internet became radically accepted into modern life, it also became a means to subjugate, and control. Entertainment was a business in itself; and, with all of the advancements made to visual mediums, you could lead a narrative with lies, and so long as you made the edits to make it believable, the average consumer wouldn’t think to dig deeper.  This was their business practice. 

Vox had been unable to do his work as usual; falling into unproductive thought cycles that all led back to Alastor. There was still so much unresolved tension between them; so many unanswered questions that kept gnawing at the back of his virtual mind. There was no computation for his confusion; only a steep slope that he was unable to climb out of. He had been unable to attend several meetings; and the ones he had come to, it was clear that his mind was occupied by thoughts not corresponding to the conversation . He was slacking behind; and he wasn’t the only one beginning to notice his recent shift in priorities. Valentino and Velvette both had their own business to deal with; and because the three of them had joint responsibilities, when any of them fell short of their duties, the remaining would have to shoulder the weight. They were each a pillar of their enterprise; and it wasn’t just money that was left on the line when one of them slacked off, it was influence– and in Hell, how much sway you had was worth more than cash. 

He was supposed to be reliable. He was supposed to be the epitome of hard work, and dedication to his craft. And yet, he was failing. And all because Alastor had, once again, wedged himself in his thoughts. When Alastor first left, he resorted to work as his outlet. All the energy he once put into Alastor, he redirected into expanding himself. He did not just embody a machine on the outside; but, he turned himself into the most calculated, precise device. His signature was hard to miss. He became his work. Everytime something troubled him, he threw himself at his problems through business. The more control he had, the more at ease he felt. But, this time, work did nothing cure his incessant thinking. It didn’t change the way he felt, or how conflicted his insides were. 

Alastor had no intention of telling him the truth. If he hadn’t forced it out of him, he had no doubt that Alastor would have continued to play along with whatever role he was given; acting it out to perfection, because like him, that was the standard he followed. He questioned if knowing the truth really changed anything. If it would take back the years of heartbreak, or mend his heart, which he felt was no longer even inside of him, beating in his chest. Whatever he gave to Alastor, he never got back. He doubted he would ever be the same, and their rivalry– the hate that had been bred between them had become their only interaction. It had increased overtime, and It was as true as all of the bloody fights they had been in; the broken screens, and the bruised bodies. He and Alastor truly hated one another. Or at least it felt that way, for a very long time. Even before Alastor had left, their relationship was strained. It was always different after Valentino came into the picture. Alastor never liked him, but in the end, Valentino proved himself by staying by his side; no matter how many times he wound up having to repair himself as a result of their fighting. At least he knew what to expect. Alastor had gotten easier to read over time; but he never truly knew what he was in for with him. Perhaps that freshness is what he enjoyed so much about the stag. He also didn’t know what to make of Alastor being owned. A lack of freedom didn’t suit Alastor at all; he was as wild of a spirit as you could get, though his overly-refined attitude makes him appear uptight. Alastor despised being controlled. It made Vox question the validity of his words; but he also knew Alastor wouldn’t willingly make himself appear weak in front of him. He had built his image off of his independence; especially from him.

Vox pushed the stack to the side, and leaned back in his chair. It had only been three days since he and Alastor had their confrontation; and since then, Alastor had been lying in his bed, unconscious, vulnerable, and powerless. Anyone else would have killed him right then and there. But, Vox couldn’t; and even though it had crossed his mind, he knew it would be a greater waste. Instead, he performed frequent check-ups, perhaps a bit too frequent. But, he had to ensure Alastor’s vitals were in decent shape. He needed to make sure he was breathing; and that his wound was healing up properly. He did occasionally walk in, just to walk in, but he rationalized this by going in to pick something out from his room; even if he didn’t really need it. 

Today, he was going to check again. He told himself he would do it after he finished, but, he knew he wouldn’t be able to truly ‘get in the zone’ until he cleared his mind of what was bothering him. So, he transported himself through the intricate system of wires connecting every room of the building together, and made his way to the very top, which was several stories high. It always felt exhilarating, being ‘free’ from his physical body, even if for only a few seconds, which was how quick the transport often was. It was a flash of current, which wound him up exactly where he wanted to be; inside of his room. 

Vox froze immediately when he realized Alastor was nowhere to be seen. His bed was vacant. Vox’s expression formed into a mix of betrayal, dismay, and fury, as he rushed over to the bed, double, triple checking the sheets in denial. His heart was beating rapidly into his chest, as he sat on his bed in disbelief. Alastor had once again left. The realization hit with an awful sting. He used you again. You don’t matter to him. Did you really think things were going to change? Stupid, stupid Vox. Rejection, and abandonment began to seethe through his veins. His mind raced, and, without thinking, he struck the wall with his fist; a crater the size of a soccer ball forming on impact. “ Damn it!” He would have continued his rage, but, the moment he hit the wall, he heard a sound from outside his room that immediately drew his attention.

A scream, and various objects toppling over. Vox dashed outside of his room, onto to find Alastor hunched down on his kitchen floor, covered in the remnants of what appeared to be a meal. “Alastor?” Vox questioned, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing was real. “Hello, Vox.” Alastor spoke in a flat, unamused tone; his smile tight in between his cheeks. “So glad you’ve decided to join me at exactly this moment.” As Alastor spoke, his sarcasm was evident as ever, while he attempted to lift himself off of the ground; quickly proving to be an extremely poor choice, as he let out a short scream, clutching his chest in response to the shooting pain he felt. “Yeah, it’s a miracle I decided to show up before you wreck yourself, and my kitchen” Vox huffed, as he bent down to pick up a refusing Alastor. “I’m quite alright, I can get up on my–”

“And break open your stitches? Not after I spent hours on them.’ Vox retorted, allowing Aastor to stand once he lifted him up from off the ground. “What were you even up to? I specifically left meals in the fridge for you so you wouldn’t have to make something for yourself while wounded.”

“That was food?” Alastor wasn’t even being sarcastic; his face had scrunched up in such a way that indicated complete seriousness. When Vox didn’t seem to emote, Alastor’s expression became even more strained. “Vox, that was a product of utter culinary horror.” Alastor shuddered, as he began to recall the so-called ‘meal’ that had been left for him, 

“What do you mean? I thought you liked meat! I even mashed it up, so it would be easier for you to eat!” Vox responded, a flustered look forming on his face, as he looked at Alastor in disbelief. “ Yes, meat is a staple of my diet; but that was not meat. That was slop. And I really wish I could use another word to describe it that would give you more credit; but, it was oozing at me. What you did wasn't a mere mash, you completely obliterated all flavor, AND substance from it! Which it didn’t have in the first place, because you didn’t season it with anything other than salt and pepper!”

“I didn’t have anything else! And, really, slop? It wasn’t that.. Formless.” Vox didn’t seem very convinced, even by his own claim; as he began to recall the meat. It was supposed to be steak, but he figured that it would be too dense for the radio demon to consume in the state he was in; so he crushed it up a bit, and grounded it. He also used the microwave to cook it, because he figured it would be faster than the oven.. He was on a time crunch, so it seemed like the best option at the time. He didn’t think it would have that much of an effect on the flavor, because the seasoning was on the outside, anyways. “I thought I could just freeform the recipe, since I didn’t have all the ingredients..”

Alastor looked like he was about to pass out, and it wasn’t because of the excruciating pain he was in; but because he was so completely, and utterly offended by Vox’s lack of culinary skills, that he couldn’t even comprehend all of the mistakes that were made. He knew Vox.. struggled.. In the kitchen, to say the least, but that? It was on a whole new level. “You can freeform a recipe when you know how to cook, Vox. Not when you don’t even know the principles!” 

“Who even decides what the principles of cooking are…” Vox grumbled under his breath, as he looked at the mess that covered his kitchen tiles. Alastor, catching where his eyes went to, began explaining; a dramatic tone to his voice as he began to recall the tragic events.

“I was making myself a perfect Louisiana breakfast, and then, bang ! A loud crashing noise caused me to trip over myself! I wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to tell you where it came from, but.. You see what it resulted in.” Alastor looked down at his meal with a mournful expression; a look of real grief. 

Vox, of course, knew he was culprit number one; aware he was the cause of the loud crashing noise . He didn't particularly want to explain that he punched a hole through his own wall because he thought Alastor left him, though. He had been humiliated enough by his attempt at cooking, and didn’t want to be braised for anything else. “Well, you could always have slop.” Vox made a half-baked attempt at a joke, though it was poorly received by his single audience, who seemed to take offense by his suggestion. “If you’re trying to kill me, I would accept all ways to go besides ‘death by inedible slop.’ ” 

“You’re a drama queen.” Vox rolled his eyes, before crouching down to clean up, and discard the mess. It looked delectable, and certainly put his slop to shame.. Alastor was an amazing cook, and it had been so long since he’d been able to eat his food, that he almost considered secretly saving the wasted Louisiana breakfast for himself. Alastor may have been a contamination freak, but he certainly was not . Still, he decided against it, since Alastor was still standing right beside him. He would look like a starved dog if he did that in front of him. With every piece that landed in the trash, he felt a part of himself shrivel up, and die, as he imagined just how flavorful the authentic Louisiana dish must have been.. He remembered the colorful mix of spices Alastor would always mix into his cooking; it always ended up the most glorious color afterwards, while still maintaining a fairly balanced flavor. 

Alastor had to look away, nearly frowning as his rich, savory breakfast was thrown into the trash. “There goes my breakfast.” Alastor sighed, as he leaned his body on one of the modern, quartz counters for support. “I don’t suppose you have anything else I could prepare a meal with? I barely scraped by making that skillet; I had to use some substitutes, and play around with the ingredients a bit due to your kitchen cabinets being concerningly dry. How do you survive without all purpose seasoning? Or fresh vegetables?” Alastor had to catch his breath, as he detailed the savage scene. “I had to scrounge proper seasoning from “ ramen cups!””

Vox snapped his head towards Alastor from the trash in utter disbelief: “You ransacked my ramen stash?” Alastor nodded, which immediately sent Vox into a frenzy of digging through his trash, where he picked out one of the styrofoam cups, desperately peeling back the already opened seal to reveal the bland looking noodles. “I was going to eat those! They were perfectly good, you know!” 

“They expired over three years ago!” Alastor sputtered out, moving towards him, and grabbing the cup; pointing directly at a label which clearly proved his point. Vox took a closer look, realizing that he hadn’t actually bothered to check the labels.. Though, he was now starting to understand why he felt viscerally sick after he consumed one of them. He never actually put two and two together until someone pointed it out.. He never really had time to lounge in his apartment, anyways.. He decided to double down, though. “Maybe I like them that way!”

Alastor looked horrified, as he handed the expired ramen bowl back to Vox, clearly questioning both his tastes, and mental soundness. He backed down in the end so as to not give himself a brain aneurysm: “You know what? That explains a lot.” Vox was just about to defend his questionable choices, before they both audibly heard Alastor’s stomach growling; a sound followed by Alastor going a bit pale, and limp. He used the counter’s side for momentary support in order to regain his strength, while Vox wasted no time getting beside him. “Wow, hey, what’s going on?” Vox’s tone shifted into worry, guiding Alastor’s arm to grip onto his, so that if he became unstable, he could hold him up.

Alastor was starving. He hadn’t properly eaten in three days, and really needed some sort of sustenance, especially if he wanted to survive what should have been a fatal wound. He was beginning to get light headed, and his body felt cold, and dizzy. He knew he needed to get some solids in his system. “I can stand, Vox.” He lied, which became evident the moment he tried to [stand], his body nearly hitting the floor, before Vox once again hoisted him up. “This really isn’t the time to be stubborn. Let me sit you down.” Alastor was going to protest, but, at this point, that was beyond them both; Vox guided him to his couch, which was thankfully only a few steps away from the kitchen, since the penthouse was more of a fully utilized studio. “There you are.” Vox set Alastor down, and he sank into the couch immediately; laying down, and closing his eyes so as to not get vertigo. “You’re hungry, so, let me get you something.”

Alastor thought that meant making him something, so he jumped up, and tried to leave the couch, fearful that it would surely be his last meal. “Oh, no no, that won’t be necessary.” Vox sighed, and immediately, though gently, pushed him back down. “ What’s your favorite spot in cannibal town? I can order you something.” 

Alastor seemed to perk up a bit at the idea; his eyes lighting up, as a devilish little grin formed on his face. “Well.. There is this place,” he seemed giddy just starting . “It’s a quaint little shop downtown; it’s called The Final Course.” Vox cringed a little at the name, knowing it was indeed a final course for many. “Alright, I can get someone to pick it up; what do you want?” 

“Hmm, well, It’s not my usual; but, I think the Hunter’s Stew would be preferable, since it’ll come down with more ease.” Vox checked that off, and immediately forwarded it to one of his errand boys with a threat attached; just so they knew they had to be quick on their feet. He didn’t tolerate any miss-managing of his time, and always expected his workers to be available when on the clock. “Alright, I've got it handled. It should be here in twenty minutes. I made sure to order the express delivery package.” 

“I didn’t know they offered delivery.” Alastor chimed, oblivious to what he really meant by express delivery.

Conversation always flowed so easily between them. Even now, as they sat together, undefined, and unresolved in their tension; they found momentum. It was effortless. They perfectly balanced out one another; and their conversations were akin to a game of ping-pong. There was always a reply, and always an answer. It came smoothly back and forth, and there was never an awkward pause, or moment where they were left bored. In the moments leading up to the delivery, they continued their banter; laughing about Vox’s poor cooking, and anything else they needed catching up on that didn’t delve into deeper territory. At that moment, it was obvious they were once friends. It was like their narrative was never interrupted; as if they were continuing decade old conversation without even having to stop to recall what it was. Neither of them realized this, in the moment; too lost in their mutual interest to think of anything other than the topic at hand. 

“Yeah, and then you made me laugh so hard water came out the sides of my screen! I didn’t even know that was possible. But, leave it to you to waterlog my systems!” Vox recalled the feeling of his head being filled with water. He didn’t entirely understand how that even worked; but, his body in general was a mystery, even to him. He had made many new discoveries over the years through his own personal adjustments, but he still couldn’t fix that. He had developed a small fear of drinking liquids after that, because of how terrible it felt in the moment.

“ That’s no excuse not to hydrate! You were terrified of drinking after that. I needed to practically force liquids down your throat, because you thought you’d drown every time you picked up a glass of anything.” Before Vox could give a reply, the doorbell to his penthouse chimed, interrupting his thoughts; and in the moment, he forgot he had ordered any food at all. He almost considered smashing whoever’s head had come in between him and Alastor’s conversation, but, he quickly remembered, thanks to Alastor’s growling stomach, (their unofficial third conversation wheel), that he had ordered food for Alastor. 

Vox got up, and went to the door; opening it to reveal a scrawny, nervous-looking shark demon. They were covered head to toe in slimy sweat, and looked as though they had just ran a marathon; not to mention a suspicious looking bite had been taken off of their tail.

“Here’s your delivery, sir! It’s exactly what you ordered and-” 

“You’re a minute late.” Vox grabbed the take-out bag, and watched as the sinner practically died right in front of him in fear. That was all he really wanted. He wasn’t actually going to dispose of one of his workers for something so menial; he wasn’t wasteful like Valentino, but he did like to keep his workers on his toes a little– that way, they feared him, and hence, wouldn’t question his authority. “I know, I’m so sorry sir, I won’t-” 

Vox shut the door with a bang, and walked towards Alastor, who looked as chipper as a little kid. Even though he hadn’t eaten yet, he was already regaining some energy; as if the mere arrival of the food had jolted him awake, or something. Vox couldn’t help but smile to himself, at the scene; as he sat down the food in front of Alastor on his living room table. “You had that poor shark-demon nearly pissing on themself,” Alastor chortled from the couch, a light hand over his mouth as he did. “He was late, he needed to have some fear put into him.” Vox jokingly scoffed, as he opened the bag. “So scary,” Alastor sarcastically replied in jest. “ Yeah , and now you better eat this all up. You didn’t mention your little ‘quaint shop’ was a five star, gourmet restaurant…”

“Since when have you known me to be wasteful?” Alastor snickered, as he popped open the plastic container that held his Hunter’s Stew . “And, I thought you’d be offended if I mentioned that; you would have thought I was calling you poor.” Alastor smiled deviously, before he began absolutely devouring the meal in front of him. It was gone by the minute, and Alastor did not care much for appearances while eating. He looked carnivorous, and his animal instincts immediately kicked in faster than he could reason; causing him to down the bowl without so much as a breath. Vox watched in stunned awe, as Alastor took the complimentary napkins from the take out bag, and politely cleaned himself off, patting down his face, and clearing his throat like a refined gentleman. “Yeah, that’s not going to cut it; you need a shower. Both for the mess, and because you’re still in what you wore from the extermination.. It’s not looking pretty.”

Alastor looked down at himself, admittedly not realizing just how bad of a shape his clothes were in. Not only were they soiled with dried blood, and other viscera, but they were torn, and didn’t fit on him right. They covered him up, still, but they needed to come off. He was upset about his tailored coat, but figured he would get a new one made just like it, when he could. 

“Ah, you’re right. I do feel rather gross. I didn’t realize how bad it was, due to being so hungry.” 

Vox nodded. “I’ve got some spare clothes. It might be a little long on you, but, they are clean; so it’ll be better than what you currently have as a getup.” 

Alastor wasn’t exactly enamored by the idea of dressing in Vox’s clothing; one, because he preferred fitted clothing, and two, because he was still unsure on where he and Vox standard. They had been pretending this whole time that there wasn’t something eating away at them, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He knew the ball would drop eventually. He knew this little moment of truce, and peace would be short-lived. For as long as he was in chains; he would never find true peace in his relationships with others. All of it, in the end, was not safe.

“Help me to your room?” Alastor asked, the first time he had choosingly requested assistance. He and Vox were similar height wise, but their body composition was entirely different. Vox was far more stocky, and muscled than him. He had a broad chest, and strong legs; while Alastor was not weak looking, but very small in appearance. His arms and legs were long, and skinny, and his chest was lean, not broad. They were completely different in that regard. 

Vox obliged, taking him by the arm, and walking him to his room. His bathroom was directly connected to his bedroom for convenience. He sat Alastor on his bed, and went to check what he had available in his drawers. He dug around a bit, before finding something. “Oh, look! These are Velvette’s, but your measurements are much closer.”

“You’re suggesting I wear women's clothes?” Alastor asked while cocking up an eyebrow. “It doesn’t look like women's clothes. It’s a sweater and a pair of pajama pants. Anything I have is going to fall right off you.” Vox replied, turning around to show him a black turtleneck with pink heart accents, and long, mix-matched pants. “Me and the other Vee’s were having a sleepover at my place a while back, and she probably forgot to take this back with her.”

Alastor didn’t know why, but the mention of Vox having a sleepover with the other Vee’s made him feel.. Something. He wasn’t sure how to describe it; but it made him hyper aware of himself, and his surroundings. It was though his mind didn’t want to register it. He and Vox used to have many ‘sleepovers,’ though they didn’t really call them that. They were just nights that either of them stayed over at each other’s place. These ‘sleepovers’ would usually last days, and they often alternated places. But, that was in the past now. He needed to keep his head in the present. “I suppose that will have to do.. I much prefer clothes that hug the skin, anyhow.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Vox handed him the new clothes, and pointed him over to the bathroom. “Velvette thankfully also has spare bottles of shampoo, and conditioner in there. You two have a similar hair texture, so it should work for you. I don’t have any hair, so.. If it weren’t for her, there wouldn’t be anything in there besides all-purpose body wash.” 

Alastor took the clothes, and stood up carefully; making his way over to the bathroom without Vox’s assistance. “Noted. Thank you. I’ll be getting clean now.” Right before Alastor walked in, he hesitantly turned around, and slowly asked: “You don’t have any.. cameras in there, do you?” 

Vox’s face scrunched up a bit at the question. “Absolutely not.. Why would I put cameras in a bathroom? Especially my own bathroom. I’m not some kind of voyeuristic creep.” Well, he was, a little bit, but that wasn’t important; and for all intents and purposes, he really didn’t put cameras in bathrooms. He only did that sometimes, and it wasn’t to creep on people, but to get information. It’s not like he wanted to see all the weird, fucked up shit people did in their spare time; but, being that a greater part of his domain was surveillance, it was kind of hard to avoid. 

“Ah, apologies. I wanted to be sure, is all. I didn’t think there would be much point to one in your own bathroom, but.. Better to ask?” Alastor nervously laughed, before opening the door to the restroom, and closing it behind him; locking it at once he was securely inside. 

He would still check for cameras, just to be safe, but, in such a small space, there wasn’t much ground to cover. Once he made certain that there were absolutely no hidden cameras by scouring high, and low; he began to undress. Alastor looked at himself in the mirror, and felt around his chest; hissing slightly at the tenderness of it. His locs were messy, as well.. He would need to get them touched up soon. But, in the meantime, he would have to undo them; they were far too matted up, and it wasn’t going to be productive to keep them in any longer. Thankfully, as Vox mentioned; Velvette, or whatever her name was, had left her own hair care supplies in the cabinet below the sink. Alastor sighed, knowing it would be a long process. Detangling always took the longest. Usually he had his abilities to help; but he wasn’t sure how much he had to offer in his decrepit state. Maybe he could…

Alastor sat in a bath after a few hours of detangling. He figured Vox had left a while ago to take care of his own business. The warm water burned his wound slightly; but, it was just what he needed. He would turn the shower for a quick rinse after, to really get the grime off, but he just needed some winding down. He sunk into the water; his hair floating buoyantly as he did. He needed to disconnect for a moment; it was all too much. He wasn’t good with sudden changes. He could adapt, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do in this case. For the first time, in a very long time, he had a conversation with Vox; and it was comfortable. It was exactly what he missed. But, he hated hope. It never provided him with anything good. Only scars, and pain. He didn’t hope for anything. If he wanted something, he went and made it happen; but if it relied on someone else, he put no faith into it. Nothing relied on him anymore. He wasn’t in control. 

Wasn’t.. In control. 

The bulb in the bathroom blew up. He froze immediately; a haunting chill running down his spine. His body instantly became alert; his ears standing upright, and becoming hypervigilant of all movement, and sound. He didn’t dare to breathe as he sat like a mannequin in the dark; his body still half-submerged in the water. He wanted to erase himself from existence in that moment; wanted to run away, and be anywhere else. He found himself even desperately wishing he knew where Vox was.. Perhaps, if he was still out there, he would hear him. Somebody would.. Hear him.

The room fell still; nothing made a sound. But he could feel a presence. A dark, deep presence. And he knew he wasn’t alone. She wanted him to relax again, but he wouldn’t. Alastor knew how she was. Whether or not he closed his eyes, it didn’t make a difference; what was coming, would come. It was already there. As fate had it, he was dragged into the water; and suddenly, it was though he was sinking in an ocean. There was no way he was still in the bathtub. These waters felt endless, and primordial; and yet so empty. He tried to swim up; knowing the air in his lungs was limited; but, he didn’t see a surface. There was no light. He didn’t know what direction he was even swimming in; it all felt the same. Gravity had no effect. He couldn’t see, but he knew it was tendrils that began to lap around his limbs; coiling themselves around his naked body, and dragging him further down in a direction that did not feel like down. It was everywhere, all at once. Alastor cried, as he writhed to no avail; kicking his legs to attempt to free himself, without any give on the tendrils whatsoever. He was running out of air. He was going to drown, but he couldn’t die. He was going to keep drowning.

“ Alastor… ” 

The voice echoed all around him. It sounded like a woman’s voice; but it was no woman. It was not even a person. It was a lie. Nothing about it was real, or even human-like. There was a certain intonation to it, that made it sound more like a poor imitation of what vocal cords should sound like.. And yet, it was completely entrancing, and beautiful. Alastor couldn’t speak, as his body convulsed with every ounce of water that began invading his nose, and mouth. 

“ Alastor.” 

It called out once more; sounding like a whisper being spoken right into his ear. He could now feel hands begin to glide over his body.. Soft, gentle hands, resting on his chest, and neck; along with breathing that pressed against him.. He could feel all sensations, now, as if he was floating in space. He was still drowning, but he was no longer submerged in water. 

“ Why are you disobeying me?” 

She asked monotonously, and Alastor stiffened. 

“My lady, I would never..” 

The hands gripped tighter; and Alastor began to choke against their grip. 

“ Then why, do I sense love coming from you again?”

Alastor cried, shaking as a tendril began to slither near his lower body. 

“There is no.. There is no love, My lady. Where in my heart would there be room for such a thing?” His voice shook, but, She was not convinced. She knew better.

“ Do you think you can keep the truth from me, Alastor? I know mankind. I know everything there is to know of humanity; your deepest, darkest corners. The very depths of your mind, and soul. Do not lie to me, Alastor.. Even after seven years, you cannot help but love him. I should have known this would be a distraction.. What have I told you?”

Alastor began to hyperventilate. He knew exactly what was coming; and all he could do was beg.“Please. Please, please My Lady.. Please. I didn’t mean to.. It wasn’t my fault. I stayed away; I did exactly what you asked of me. There was a complication; I didn’t intend for this–”

The tendril took a hold of exactly what it desired from him, and he could only break out into a sob when her disgusting hand began to stroke him. He didn’t want to be touched; he didn’t want those filthy hands on him. He did not feel pleasure; even if his body responded as though he did. But, She very quickly figured out that pain was not the way to break him. Alastor could handle pain. He had been taking hits since he was a young boy. It didn’t shatter him one bit, to withstand more. But, he was sensitive in other ways. 

“You know that this is where love leads.. This is the ultimate expression of human desire; and yet, you do not desire it. You have been broken. You are no longer desirable. People know.. Alastor. They talk. They question, and they can see right through your facade. You’ve been used. You’re disgusting.. You’re broken.” She continued on, for what felt like hours; and by the end, Alastor felt like exactly all the things she told him he was. Broken, used, undesirable.. He felt dirty, and spoiled; like every part of his body was wrong, and needed to be disposed of. He needed to be disposed of. By the time she finished, there was no strength left in his body; he was merely a puppet, and a toy. 

“You’re going to leave, and return to where you need to be. Where I said you belong. Isn’t that right?”

Alastor nodded, his face a wet mess; and the look in his eyes blank.

“ A nod is not a confirmation. I want to hear you, Alastor.”

Her ethereal body thrusted into him one final time as a warning. 

Alastor jolted back, a forced moan cutting through his sore throat.

“ Yes .” 

And with that, he was back in the bathtub; the light bulb was back to normal, and not a single scratch was misplaced along his body. But, the mental scars, and the physical pain lingered. Alastor got up, the water that had stuck to his body rolling down into the bath, as he drained it. It was as warm as when he first stepped in. He had no more tears to cry. He only felt numbness now, as he turned the shower on, and cranked the handle to the hottest setting. With each droplet that landed on his body, he felt fire scorching his flesh. But, it did not phase him. This was what he truly needed. This is what he deserved. 

—--

Vox had been giddy ever since his conversation with Alastor. He couldn’t recall the last time they had been so relaxed in the same room.. Since their conversation was more than just insults. He had been able to work; and suddenly, the stack of paper works on top of his desk felt less like a mountain, and more like an ant-hill. He had cleared his whole entire schedule for the week, just so that he could spend more time with Alastor. There was a lot for them to discuss; but, maybe they didn’t have to do that right away. Maybe.. They could just enjoy each other's company for a little while. He was so caught up in own daydreams, that he didn’t even realize when Valentino came storming into his office. Apparently, he had been standing there for more time than he had patience for, because he promptly got knocked into reality through a smack across the screen. “ Hello , Hell to Vox?” Valentino screamed, crossing his multiple arms as he waited for a response. Vox sputtered upwards, unconsciously sending a jolt of electricity towards Valentino. Valentino was quick to dodge, however the fur of signature coat instantly turned coal black. “What the fuck!” They both yelled in unison. 

“Why did you do that?” They asked again, in sync with each other.

“Because you attacked me while I was working!”

“Because you haven’t been responding to either me, Or Velvette’s texts since extermination, and you’ve been making us pick up your slack for the last few days!”

They both fell silent, and responded at the same time again.

“You should have been paying attention, and answered me the first time I called your name!”

“I’ve been busy! You know how sometimes I get caught up in other projects; this was just like that. I’m back in the groove, though, I swear. I even cleared my schedule for the week so you two wouldn’t pounce at me like two angry hellhounds for dishing it out onto you!” 

Valentino groaned, taking a big puff of a large cigar in between his fingers before he spoke. “That’s hardly an explanation or an apology. We had a fucking date, remember? Or, were you so ‘caught up in other projects’ that you forget about your fucking partner? He must not be important, I guess!”

Vox really did not want to deal with another argument right now; especially because he was actually in a good mood for once. “You blow me off all the time, what’s your problem? I have to forgive you when you decide my times not important enough to be on time, but when I miss a date once, I'm suddenly the ‘negligent, bad boyfriend who never shows up’? I mean come on, cut me some damn slack.” Vox could tell what he said didn’t go over well with Valentino, as, like all their other arguments, it would escalate fast; especially when he made a point that was actually reasonable. 

Valentino threw all of the papers on his desk; the unfinished, and finished, onto the ground in a single, coordinated sweep. “You were already behind, so why did you decide to finish these papers anyways? You knew, because I put it on your calendar, that we had a date today! You decided work was more important than me, again, and decided to finish this instead of coming to find me! So, no, Vox, I’m not cutting you some fucking slack; you’re a grown ass man! It’s not that hard!” 

They were at it again. This had become their routine. Vox’s circuits were pulsating, and adrenaline filled the room. This was all an act, in the end. It always leads to the same place. But, he didn’t know if he wanted it to end up there this time. Still, he carried on like he always did; because his body told him that he needed to. The constant highs, and the lows, they gave him a sense of life . “If I’m the grown ass man, then what does that make you? A fucking cry baby? Everytime you don’t get your way, you throw a tantrum, and make a mess that I have to clean up, and I’m fucking tired of it!” 

Valentino appeared to get bigger; his wings opening up behind him as he got angrier. It looked like a giant face staring at him; a natural repellent to predators. Though, this wasn’t the wild. At least not yet. Valentino’s large body bent over the office desk, where he grabbed Vox tightly by the collar, bringing him forward so that they were face to face. “So, I’m a fucking crybaby, now?” A low, dark trill, followed by an aggressive pull to the lips. Valentino was now forcibly, and roughly making out with him. Vox had no room to breathe, as Valentino’s whole body then began to climb on top of him; covering him in moth wing, and coat. Vox moaned, as Valentino pressed a hard knee on his boner. Valentino pulled away, a trail of spit interconnecting them; Vox gasped for air, as he stared at Valentino with an indefinite expression. Valentino’s second pair of arms began to wander down to his pants. “ Let me show you just how bad of a mess I can make, then, since I'm a crybaby.”

Vox was turned on. This was their usual routine. One of them would do something that pissed the other off, and violent hate-sex would ensue afterwards. It was like their version of foreplay. But, it never felt good afterwards. It sometimes didn’t even feel good in the moment. It was more like they were attacking one another sometimes; there was no tenderness, or love. Only lust, and aggression. Valentino knew exactly how to disarm him. All he had to do was press the right ‘buttons,’ and Vox was as good as putty in his hands. It happened frequently; sometimes he wasn’t in the mood, but, he would always end up giving in; his body becoming addicted to Valentino’s substance. Valentino continued on, taking his hand down to Vox’s erect penis, where he began to stroke it; all the while his other hands began ripping off his suit.. 

Vox was subdued for this moment; unthinking, and merely awaiting his imminent pleasure. He let out another moan, as Valentino began to mouth at his upper, exposed half– sinking in his fangs into his body, and injecting his venom. Another aphrodisiac. Vox was feeling uneasy now. Something was wrong. He began to think about Alastor; about how light, and effortless their conversation was. About how it didn’t need to resort to them fighting, or, what him and Valentino were doing now. Or perhaps what was being done to him. He wanted Alastor, but in an entirely different way. He wanted what they had. The drugs being pumped into his system did nothing to make him forget that. He wanted Alastor so badly, that it burned him on the inside. The pleasure he felt was no longer liberating; but soul-crushing, as he realized that this was what he had. This is what he deserved. Alastor would never want to stay. He was only lying to himself. 

He felt stupid, when he realized his heart was getting in the way of his rationale again; when he realized he was bound to get hurt. Alastor didn’t care about anyone besides himself. That’s what Valentino had instilled in his mind. And that’s what he came to believe, for a very long time. But, was that true? Did Alastor really leave because he didn’t care? Or did he leave because he did? That’s what he told him. But, he didn’t know if he could believe it. And even if he did, he wasn’t sure if it would matter. If only Valentino could be Alastor. But, Valentino was too tall; he didn’t have the same red, beautiful locs that Alastor did, or his alluring voice, or those ear-tufts that sat upright on his head that he always used to mess with.. Alastor never stopped him; albeit always complaining. But, he knew Alastor liked it when he did. He always furled up close to him; and they would sit there for hours. They wouldn’t even have to talk. Vox couldn’t take the pain he felt in his chest. 

He pinned Valentino down onto his desk; discarding all papers, or stationery that were once on there for work. This is what he needed. He needed to forget Alastor. He needed to focus on Valentino; on doing what his body told him to do. Valentino was there for him when Alastor wasn’t. Their relationship wasn’t perfect.. But, Valentino saved him. He put him back together, when Alastor left. Vox began to thrust into Valentino, who had spread his legs and wrapped himself around him; a look of anger, mixed with ecstasy built up on his face as he moaned loudly. Vox was locked into Valentino; pumping in and out of him with as much aggression as when they started, but, his mind wandered once again. No matter how focused he tried to be on fucking Valentino, he thought of Alastor . 

Alastor filled his mind, and senses. And, for a moment, when he opened his eyes, it wasn’t Valentino on the table; it was Alastor, taking every inch of him, splayed out in front of him, with his tiny hooves swaying beside him while he reached depths of him he had never once felt before. He imagined Alastor’s big red doe eyes looking into his, and how musical his sounds of pleasure would be in contrast to the sounds he made when they fought. He wanted to make him glow; he wanted to explore every inch of him, and make him his. Vox wanted Alastor beyond what words could describe; but.. Not like this. 

Vox immediately snapped out of it, pushing himself out of Valentino mid thrust, and away from him. What would Alastor think, if he could know the type of thoughts that he had in his mind? If he could somehow peer into his brain, and witness all of the fantasies he had of him, even when he was gone? He felt disgusted at himself. He landed on the floor, and placed his hands over his screen. He needed to calm down. 

“What the fuck? I was about to finish!” Valentino snapped himself upwards, a look of betrayal on his face, as he stomped over to Vox, who looked like he was about to have a mental breakdown. “I don’t want this, Val. You need to leave. I can’t do this. Not tonight.”

Valentino was not taking no for an answer. “I don’t care what you do; but I’m not leaving until you finish what you started!” Valentino screamed, as he tried to climb up on top of Vox, who still had his lower-half exposed. They fought on the floor, as Valentino tried pinning him down in order to get back on top of him; going as far as to kiss him in order to infuse more of his addicting chemical into Vox’s system. Vox struggled to fight mentally, but he didn’t relent; throwing Valentino off of him, where he struck his office wall with a loud thud. “What I started? I’m not the one who barged into my office looking for a fight! Get off!” 

Valentino was furious, and hurt, as pieces of the wall came undone behind him. Vox knew that look, and it meant they were about to break out into a full-on battle. “How fucking dare you! You were into it, and then all of a sudden, you throw yourself off of me like I’m not good enough for you? And then throw me onto a fucking wall? You’re so fucking two-faced!” Valentino was just about ready to throw a potted plant at him, before Vox looked at him dead serious; jolting blue electricity dancing menacingly in the palm of his hand.

“You need to leave right now, I’m not in the fucking mood, and I don’t want this, or you. Leave me the fuck alone, before I zap the shit out of you.”

“You’re really threatening right now? Me?” Valentino looked at Vox with burning eyes, but, Vox didn’t back down. This caused Valentino to throw the artificial potted plant at the ground; the clay breaking apart onto the ground into sharp pieces, before he stormed out. “Fine! I’ll go find someone else to finish me off instead; see if I care!” And then the door slammed. 

Vox was alone now. And, all he knew how to do with his emotions, was to lash out. He broke his surroundings; and a power outage began to affect the whole pentagram. He was livid; but, more than that, he was upset at himself. What was he thinking? What was wrong with him? Nothing was going to change. This was what he deserved. 

Chapter Text

Vox had buried himself in his paperwork, and this was not a figurative statement. Since his conversation with Valentino, he decided to make himself useful, and go through all of the documents that had been so thoughtfully scattered across his office, and organize them. Either way, it was a task that couldn't be evaded. He needed to pick through the messy pile in order to find any blank sheets, given that all of his work; complete or incomplete, had been jumbled together in one indistinguishable mound. Vox had spent the whole night keeping his mind occupied; finding a new task every time he completed the last. He found this was most productive for running away from his problems; not only did it keep his business happy, but it kept the troubling thoughts at bay– so that was practically a win-win on both quarters! Nobody really confronted their problems in Hell, anyways. They indulged in them. That's how eternal punishment worked. People don't get better when they're surrounded by their vices, and when you have one good thing, it's immediately taken away from you; because the second you start believing you can build a happy life down here, you start to forget why you're really here. And that, in the end, is to suffer.

Vox had never loved anyone in his life; and what a crueler punishment to give him, then to make his first love be in the one place where love didn't exist? Vox had one-night stands. He had hookups, and awkward situationships, because all he really devoted himself to was making it big. He wanted fame, money; all of the things that really made a man feel like he was worth something. 

Now, he felt like he was nothing. Every ounce of him, wasted away to achieve what? He slowly hoisted himself up, staring at his reflection through the darkened screen in front of him– though it wasn’t really dark, given that his screen was always bright. His eyes looked… exhausted. If he still had possessed the ability to have eyebags, he was sure they would drag all the way to the floor. He hadn't slept properly in days. 

He had dozed off in the middle of his late night work; though even that was short-lived, as his thoughts eventually creeped in once qgqin, invading even the supposed sanctity of dreams. Groaning, he took a moment to orient himself; checking into his internal system for the time. 16:11. 

It was late in the afternoon. He had slept through the morning. 

He had slept through the morning. 

Vox immediately jolted up from his uncomfortable position of being slouched on his messy office desk; papers flying once again; as he turned into an intangible, erratic current of energy that traveled through wire. His amorphous body ascended the Vee Tower, taking him all the way up to his penthouse in less than a millisecond. Electricity traveled fast. 

Since Alastor had arrived, he had spent every morning with him, eating breakfast, and chatting. It had very quickly become his favorite part of the day. He wasn’t even a morning person– neither did he eat breakfast. But, Alastor was a morning person, and he sure did love his breakfast.. Vox also didn't have much time outside of breakfast to spend with Alastor, given that he had so much to do. So, even if it meant having to be up much earlier than he ever would be if he were on his own; it was a worthy sacrifice if it meant exchanging even a few words with Alastor. They were finally getting somewhere, and he couldn't afford not to be punctual, especially when Alastor put so much importance on punctuality, and being on time. If he started to make a routine with him, and then suddenly wasn't there, what would he think? 

Vox materialized from electricity in the middle of his living room, where he thought Alastor might be; considering it was well past his usual resting hours.

“Hey, Al, I'm really sorry about not making it for breakfast today, I got caught up with a bunch of important paperwork, and-” 

The room was eerily silent. There wasn't any radio feedback. No sound of their frequencies interacting, or the faint static that always seemed to emanate from, and around Alastor. Vox's whole entire body ran cold, as he registered the unnerving, and unnatural silence; immediately requiring assistance from his couch in order to remain on two feet, as he felt a weakness begin to attack his limbs. Behind all of his robotic parts; there was a very human interior– the internal mechanisms of a robot, even of his sophistication, were not all too different from a living organism. Artificial intelligence was modeled after the human mind, after all; wires were like veins, electricity like impulses of the brain. He had a heart– or, the closest thing he could possibly have to one. It functioned similarly. That was his punishment: no matter how much he sought to perfect himself, he could never do away with the ‘human bits;’ his mechanical parts would always act with the impotence, and flaws of his mortal self. 

Vox felt panic, as he became acutely aware of every little thing around him. “Al? Alastor?” He didn't know why he was panicking, or why he suddenly felt like his body had no internal support beams– the familiarity of his surroundings warped in his vision, as he staggered to the kitchen with a burning sense of hope in his chest that quickly died out like a flame on a used candle the moment he entered. His eyesight blurred; but even in the lack of clarity, he could make out no signature red outlines. He longed to see burgundy; tufts of strawberry red dipped in dark maroon standing upright to see him– but, his kitchen looked as boring and grey as the day he first moved in. There was no personality; no personal trinkets or an identity to be found. No Alastor, either. 

Vox felt as pitiful as the day Alastor left him; like a loyal dog kicked to the curb by its owner. He stood idly in the kitchen, supported only by his counter, as he looked around frantically; a lost look in his eyes, quickly transformed into one of pure rage. Alastor didn't own him; but he may as well, after causing him so much pain, and turmoil. He was brought back to that door slamming in his face; his panic, as he nearly ripped the door handle so he wouldn't lose sight of that horrid man that had become a part of him– a part of him he could not bear to lose. He remembered how cruel those final words were; how he was left on his own doorstep, yearning for something with no hope that he'd ever find it again. He remembered tripping over himself, as he reached his hand out, expecting to grab something, only to fall flat on his face– for the love of his life had disappeared like the wind, leaving only a faint presence in its longing. 

Vox went through all the motions, simply standing there; the battle taking place in his own mind, before he finally broke. Electricity surged wildly throughout his body without control, as he smiled pitifully to himself in the absence of sound that he wallowed in. It didn't take long for something to finally click, or rather, snap, as he finally stood upright, no longer requiring the counter for support to stand. Darkness enveloped his face while it hung low; he still felt numb, but in a different way. This numbness felt like sobriety. It felt like control, as he sharply inhaled the stagnant air; lifting his head up high, to reveal a manic grin. His eyes swirled into the ceiling; before he adjusted himself to face the truth in front of him with cruel, unfeeling eyes. If Alastor wanted to play chase, then he could play chase. After all, he was powerless; he had no tricks, no saving graces. He couldn't disappear this time. There wasn't a single stretch of city in his territory that he didn't have eyes on; even beyond that, he had cameras everywhere he could place them. Alastor wasn't getting out that easily. He couldn't just run away from him. Not again. 

Dangerous zaps of energy suffocated the air around him, as his body turned into static that whipped through the air– transporting him to his larger office, where all of his screens were. Where he could see everything. He commanded large wires with connectors to attach themselves to his back panel; loading his consciousness into a more metaphorical state– he was now limitless, larger than life itself. He could make computations, and think in mere nano-seconds; he could flip through feed at an inhuman speed.. Though his body was left vulnerable, he could access any, and all information that there was to access– it was like being within the internet itself, or rather, being a part of it. In this state, it didn't take very long for him to find exactly what he was looking for– a poorly disguised Alastor trying to find himself through the front doors. From the looks of it, he had ransacked whatever curtain he could find, and draped it over himself like some old hag. There was a clear attempt to avoid surveillance; as he watched erratic movements, and suspicious darting of the eyes.. Perhaps if he was in his prime, he would have been able to avoid him, but, Alastor was weak. His mind was faster. Stronger. It was perfect. He could see everything; know everything. He felt like a god. And there Alastor was, mocking him. 

Or, maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe Alastor wasn't trying to find an exit. Maybe he just.. didn't like the color of his carpet, or was getting tired of his room, so he wanted some fresh surroundings. Maybe, he was trying to find another bathroom, because he didn't want to be in Vox's, or he was hungry! Because, Alastor wouldn't, couldn't, leave him twice, could he? 

Vox felt like he was drowning, as his systems began to respond to his unstable state; and suddenly, being god felt maddening. He had to disconnect out of the necessity to remain himself. 

He wouldn't let him get far. 

—

Alastor felt like prey. He felt like how he did before he died; being chased in the bayou, as though he was game to be scored. He had been mistaken for a deer; and the cruel irony of this fatal error had followed him even to his grave, as he ran down nameless halls with an unbearable pressure in his chest. She was invading his mind. There was no safety, even in what he perceived; because his perception was not safe from her adulteration. A tiny detail that most denizens of Hell overlooked was the odd ‘decor’ of eyeballs that seemed to cover all of Hell's most notable, and inconspicuous buildings. Most sinners, including himself, simply thought this to be a natural part of Hell's landscape; considering everything was alive, in some regard. But, the eyes were not some mere animal; they were like a hive mind. They were a part of her. How else do you survive as a creature that fed off all of humanity's suffering? All of their sins, and darkest desires? You watched them; ceaselessly observing their worst moments. There is no real privacy in Hell. Nothing that remains undocumented in her eyes. As he tried maneuvering through the unfamiliar halls of the Vee's establishment; he could see thousands of eyes peering at him from the walls, and ceiling– even the ground. She was guiding him, in her corrupt way. Whenever he turned a direction she didn't want him to go, it turned dark; and he felt as though he was moments away from being devoured by a non-existing, yet ravenous void. His heart was pounding; his eyes could barely see. Everything flashed in front of him, like a stop-motion picture.. a singular snapshot of time, that he could not perceive with any real fluidity. He had made it floors down. It was like he was in a maze, or a labyrinth hellbent on swallowing him whole. 

He had waited all morning to greet Vox with eyes masqueraded in lies. To eat breakfast with him, albeit knowingly. To smile with him, for a few moments more; even if he knew he'd have to leave regardless. He waited for that moment, even as She urged him to leave without a second thought. He had withstood her pressure, just for the hope that he could speak with Vox once more. That was why she was being so cruel to him now, as he entered a room with a continuous staircase. He was close to reaching the ground floor; he could feel the impending release; this desperation that he was so close to finally pleasing her. To escaping the walls that seemed to close in on him– the hallucinations of his worst memories being replayed to him– cornering him– forcing him to move, even when he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground beneath him. This was not the afterlife he wanted for himself. Though perhaps he was given more than he ever deserved. He was foolish for testing her patience; for wanting to overstay his welcome, deep down. 

His shadows sheepishly ran with him, as he found himself, finally, on the last, and final floor. His lungs burned, as his chest heaved repeatedly. He must've made his way down at a record speed; avoiding as many elevators as possible, whilst trying to keep his anonymity. A few low-level workers had noticed him; though he simply pulled his makeshift cloak down lower onto his face, avoiding as much eye-contact as possible while simultaneously hoping his standoffishness would off-put anyone from interacting with him. As long as no one with any sway around here noticed him, and no cameras successfully caught a glimpse of him, he was sure that he could make it– Alastor looked dreadful; all the while making it quietly to the final floor. This was the most active, and dangerous floor for him to be on. One misstep, and he would be found out. This was where most of the actual work took place. Regrettably, as well, where the more.. suggestive screenings were had. The noises were nauseating; not to mention the stench of cigarettes, and sex. It was unmistakable, and only set off even more alarm bells in his head. 

Everything was so crowded; people moving left, and right. All he could do was keep a low profile. Her voice whipped back and forth inside of his head; growing in intensity, warning him not to mess this up. Alastor could take a lot of pressure before he cracked. He was a radio host, after all; his persona was everything to him. But, he was reaching his end– all he could do was move. He tried to override her voice with his own; tried to keep himself grounded with one foot at a time– but, the second he could finally taste those large glass exit doors, a single, cold hand gripped his arm, and everything in the room became obsolete. 

He felt it, before he registered anything else. The feeling of electricity, pulsating around his arm; not lethal, but enough to cause the hairs all over his body to stand up in reaction. He didn't need to see who was behind him to know who it was.  

“Where are you going?” Vox spoke grimly, as his grip around Alastor's arm tightened. Alastor looked down at the floor, fear beginning to swell in his body. He was so close. He was inches away from the exit. He wasn't afraid of Vox; in his mind, Vox wasn't even a threat– the real threat– the real terror was all around him; he could see the walls melting, crying out to him in agony like trapped souls. They were wailing; the whole entire room was alive, and it was being tortured, and no one else could see it. He was going to die. She was going to kill him. 

Alastor tried to pull away; not even meeting Vox's gaze, as he remained fixated on the exit. But, Vox wouldn't let him move, not even an inch. “Vox,” his name left his mouth like a concealed plea; as though there was more he was bound to say that his throat could not allow him to say. Tread carefully, little deer. A single tear ran down his face while it hung concealed in the darkness of his cloak. He could not defy her. 

Alastor heard her voice echo in his mind, and knew he had to act accordingly. He couldn't mess this up. He had to get out, and through those doors, or she would punish him for his failure. For his disobedience. He quickly hardened himself; though every part of him screamed at him from the back of his mind. He wanted so badly to fall, to be entirely in another time, in another place. To be anywhere but in front of Vox, having to tell him the same lies once more.

“I'm leaving, Vox.” The words left his mouth like chalk; his mouth felt dry, and his lips numb. Even though he only spoke three words, he felt out of breath; as though every single syllable had taken from his life force he desperately needed– but, he couldn’t afford to show his vulnerability. All he had to do was kill any and all emotions to his heart, and he could get through this. He made himself sound sincere; like he really meant it. Maybe, that way he’d also believe himself. Vox was just another overlord; what they had didn’t matter. He needed to keep repeating that in his head, forcing away all of the tender moments they had ever spent from his thoughts, in order to keep his resolve strong. 

When he looked into Vox's eyes, however, he didn't see the man he once knew; what he saw, actually frightened him. It made him feel unsafe. It immediately caused him the instantaneous reaction of pulling away once more– but Vox's grip was as set as stone. Letting go, meant losing him.

“Leaving?” Vox scoffed; as he pulled Alastor closer. “Why would you want to leave?” Vox looked down at him with a heartbreaking intensity; as though he wanted to break down just as badly as Alastor wanted to. Amidst the crowd, however, there was no room for error. No one had stopped to look yet; but Vox's presence in his own space was unmistakable, and demanded respect. They knew he was there; they only didn't turn to check, because they didn't want to incur his potential wrath. But, soon enough, it would be impossible not to. 

“I made sure you didn't die. I took care of you– I could have let you bleed out. I could have sent you anywhere; I could have sent you to the curb myself! But, because I was so kind, I made sure you had a warm place to rest– I stitched you up nice, and even went the extra mile to feed you. I went through all the trouble, and you really want to leave?.” Vox continued his facade; his perfectly practiced commercialized tone; speaking as though he was expressing himself through a televised ad. It was demeaning, and patronizing– as though he was talking down to Alastor. This was how he spoke to most people he deemed beneath him nowadays. This was the new him. The better him. 

“Vox, need I remind you that it was you who dragged me here to begin with? I did not ask for your help, or your interference. I already gave you my thanks, but I can stand on my own two feet now– therefore, there is no reason for you to keep me, or for me to overstay my welcome.” Alastor spoke in a whisper, addressing himself only to Vox, as he tried to keep their confrontation as private as possible. He didn't need anymore unnecessary attention– he needed out. 

“Interference?” Vox’s voice cracked, but just for a moment. His eyes darted back and forth, as if he needed to remind himself that one wrong move could cost him an audience. Vox’s eyes were as red as can be; a thin line holding his composure intact. He was shaking; staring so inte; the arm that kept Alastor in place jittering back and forth. “Why can’t you just admit you’re running away? Why can’t you just let me help you, and we can make this right?” Vox whispered under his breath, sending out a desperate, shaky frequency that only Alastor could feel. It hit Alastor like a tidal wave; he didn’t dare look at him, as he gulped down hard on his own words. “I’m not.. running. The radio demon doesn’t run.” Alastor looked like he was trying to convince himself that was true. 

Vox’s grip wore out for a moment. He looked hopeless, staring off into a far off memory that only he could see. Alastor knew he needed to move; the voices in his head screamed at him that this was the opportune moment. But, he was stuck in place; not because Vox held him there, but because he didn’t know how to leave Vox like that– disoriented, and helpless. It took every ounce of power he had, to take a step back– to try to remove himself from the building. But, Vox immediately snapped out of it, and this time, that same frightening look was back. “The radio demon doesn’t run, huh?” A grin tugged on Vox’s non-existent cheeks, as he doubled over in erratic laughter. A curse of his was that he could no longer experience the catharsis of crying. His body was incapable of producing tears. There was no release for him, no bodily function that allowed him to let go of emotional baggage. His staff was looking now; paying him mind, and the supposed ‘cloaked stranger’ he was so taken with. Alastor immediately noticed the shift in their audience’s attention; and became rather rigid, pulling back every so slightly, hoping that Vox would not respond in a manner so unhinged as his laughter– he hoped too, that it would be over. “Vox, you need to let me go.” Alastor’s voice was harsh, even in a whisper; but it carried a certain softness to it; as though his expression meant more than simply letting him go– as though he didn’t just mean allowing him to walk out of those large glass doors, but, as if it was his way of telling Vox that, he needed to move on– fill in the Alastor-shaped hole in his heart with something more worthy of his attention, and love. Something that wouldn’t infect him, as he did. 

Vox seemed to pause thoughtfully at Alastor’s words– standing upright for a moment with an air of sobriety to his rigid stance. He looked as though he really began considering the reality of simply letting Alastor go. That was a choice he could make. And, it would free him. He wouldn’t have to think of Alastor anymore.. He could go on to be the biggest, most successful overlord Hell has ever seen; he could continue to grow his tech empire, alongside his real friends, and business partners– The ones who wouldn’t leave. The ones that wouldn’t run. Alastor wasn’t his responsibility, or his problem. If he wanted to leave, then, why should he care? Vox could continue on with all his sleepless nights; work late in his office, and he could have everything he ever truly wanted. Fame, riches, always being in the limelight, control. Alastor made him less productive; and that was evident, even in the week he had been there– their daily breakfast, all of the meetings he had cancelled. He was in over his head– he couldn’t help Alastor. They were enemies now. 

But, then, he was reminded of their laughter; their endless conversation, and just how much he adored the sound of Alastor’s voice. It was so smooth– effortless, and yet lethal. It was both a poison, and an elixir. It cured one’s desire to hear something truly authentic, and real; and yet, the more you heard, the more you were subject to it. Everyone who ever knew Alastor knew this as true; he had such a way with words, that he could captivate any audience with a mere jest; that's why he was Vox's most fierce competition. He had to try to get the attention, and praise of others– Alastor simply had it. He didn't need a visual medium.. While Vox, he clung to it for his success. He felt worthless without being seen.

Vox never understood why Alastor never exploited new technology– though, he supposed that was good news for him– because if Alastor ever did decide that he wanted to move to video, he was sure he'd go out of business in an instant. Alastor was striking; every part of him was made for the cameras. He had been a long-time fan, before they ever truly became acquainted. More than his voice, Alastor was the only one who ever truly listened. Not like his parents, not like Velvette, not like.. Valentino. Alastor was special. Alastor was.. Different.

But, he was afraid. And he was too stubborn to accept his help. Alastor was afraid, and he needed control, and admitting he needed Vox’s help was like admitting to himself that he was less than. 

Vox knew that, there was a real chance that if he let Alastor walk through those doors, he'd never see him again– and if they did somehow cross paths, he was sure it'd be back to the insults and the fighting. He couldn't stand the thought, that after finally making progress– even if it was a mere morsel compared to everything that needed to be done for things to go back to normal– that, it could just as easily never have happened at all… if he let Alastor leave. 

Vox knew that he would pay the price for this action later, but, in the split second he decided, he felt that it would be worth it, if it meant Alastor would stay– even if it meant having to force his hand. In an instant, he yanked Alastor by his dangling arm, and held him up high for the whole floor to see. He shook him back and forth as though he was holding a prize; grinning wide, as he prepared his rotten showmanship. The whole room let out a collective gasp; taking several steps back, as they stared in awe– partly out of shock, and fear of what could ensue. 

“Well, look-it what we’ve got here, folks! How’d the radio demon manage to slither in under our noses? Too bad he’s so old, he doesn’t know how cameras work.” 

Alastor looked utterly devastated, as his cloak fell from his face, exposing him to every single sinner that so happened to be in the Vee Tower's first floor at that time. Alastor knew he couldn't fight back; but now, he was facing an audience, and he had to at least try to present himself as the fierce, indomitable Radio demon. There was no use in hiding his face anymore; so he had to improvise.. 

Vox dangled him around like a trophy, and it made him feel sick. He flashed Vox a disheartened look, as he waited for whatever would follow.. He thought he might have encountered some problems trying to leave, but he never once thought that Vox would use his reputation against him– that he would put him in such a vulnerable position. He didn't know what Vox had planned anymore; and he doubted it was for his own benefit. He didn't speak, as his body hung quietly from Vox's cold, metallic grip. 

Vox was quickly beginning to regret his course of action; seeing Alastor's eyes looking at him with such disapproval was enough to make him crumble. But, he pressed on, knowing it was too late to fall apart now. “You're usually.. so talkative, radio demon. Why the silence?” Vox brought Alastor closer to his face, squinting impudently as he looked deeply into Alastor's red eyes. They were tired. They didn't want to be there. He gulped down hard. 

“I find there's nothing to say, Vox. You've caught me. Are you fulfilled now that you've gotten to gloat in front of your infantry? I'm sure it makes you feel quite powerful.” Alastor's nose crinkled as he spoke. He was weaponizing Vox's own pride against him; making him feel simple, and dull-witted. Alastor smirked, as he saw the cogs in Vox's mind twist. 

Vox threw him down, 

“I am feeling quite fulfilled, I'm glad you noticed! And, it does. Because, you're completely powerless to stop me. Isn't that right, Alastor?” 

Alastor froze, his eyes widening for a split second before he quickly relaxed them– forcing himself to appear unphased, even as he felt completely unmasked in front of their audience. If they knew he couldn't fight back, he wouldn't be able to leave. He would become the most tantalizing target in all of Hell. There would be bounties on his head at every corner– he would be hunted everywhere he turned. If he couldn't fight back– he was dead. Was this his punishment? Was this her doing? 

“You're not making any sense, Vox.” He quickly retorted to try and save himself– hoping that Vox wouldn't peel back the truth any further. 

He was thrown down callously; his body meeting the hard floor with a loud thud– given that he was already injured, even just a mere smack to the ground hurt unimaginably. He held back his cries, as he grunted upwards– holding himself steady as he prepared to make a run for it. 

“Don't lie to the audience, we both know that you wouldn't let yourself be put in such a compromising position if you had a choice. The radio demon doesn't sneak around, because he doesn't have to. So, go on. Say it.” 

The audience was getting nervous; but by this point, they were hooked. They couldn't turn away. They had to see if it was true– even if it was out of some morbid, sick curiosity, they had to see. 

“I'm not saying anything.” Alastor growled from the ground, his demonic form rearing its head, despite the energy it took to maintain it. He coughed out blood as he grew, swaying before his body snapped itself upright. In this form, he towered over everyone in the room; his antlers large enough to pierce any foe. His teeth were jagged, and bloody– every part of him was sharper, and designed to kill. 

Vox could only muster out a pity laugh, as Alastor charged at him– he was about to send a strong voltage of electricity into his body, when Alastor quickly flashed out of the way, and behind him, where he darted towards the doors in desperation. 

Alastor's plan was never to strike him– it was to flee. But, even like this, Vox was quicker. Right as Alastor's body made it halfway out the door, Vox's whole entire body spun around, sending a wave of wires in his direction– coiling around Alastor's appendages, and dragging him back indoors. Alastor's claws dug into the outside pavement; creating permanent indentation in the cement as he held on with as much strength as he could draw from inside of him. Vox pulled harder, as Alastor let out inhuman screams; they echoed throughout the building, causing every glass window in or around the vicinity to shatter in an instant. 

“Enough!” 

Vox yelled; a guttural sound leaving his throat, as he threw his arms back– sending out a ruthless surge of electricity through the wires. Alastor convulsed; the smell of burning flesh filling the air, as he fought to maintain his demonic appearance while being dragged backwards. Only the adrenaline was keeping him lucid, as he felt his whole entire body pulsating with electricity. He couldn't keep his form any longer; he couldn't even control his body, as his nails immediately released their grip on the pavement, immediately causing him to be violently slung backwards. 

The audience looked terrified now, as the almighty radio demon lay limp on the marble floor; he looked truly pitiful. His whole entire body was charred; his hair frayed, as his limbs unconsciously twitched from the amount of voltage that he had sustained in his demonic form. Vox allowed his emotions to override his reason, and he had gone too far. Alastor's eyes looked glazed over. He was too hurt to move. Vox bit back his concern– though his face must've spoken for him. He had messed everything up. 

“Clean this up.” Vox's voice echoed hypnotically, effective immediately as the once captivated audience began mindlessly picking up after the tussle.’ 

He had no more energy to pretend. He picked Alastor up, a somber expression amidst his face, as he transported them both to his office. 

Alastor looked at him with half-lidded eyes, as he was placed upon a table. He looked hopeless, and angry. 

“I'm sorry. I couldn't let you go.” Vox lamented, as he looked down at Alastor with furrowed eyes. Alastor could barely move, but, even in his frail state, he replied. His voice was hoarse– likely due to his vocal chords being fried in their whole ordeal. He was badly damaged. “And for that, you have damned us both.” 

Vox balled up his fists, smacking them down harshly onto the metal bed. 

“You didn't give me any other choice!” Vox spat, as he took his hands and placed them on his screen– running them down in an exasperated manner. “I didn't want to humiliate you.” He sighed, wishing that he could rewind his actions, and find some other way.

“Really? Because it looked like.. you were enjoying yourself.” Alastor forced out of his aching lips. 

Vox knew that, in the end, it was his decision. He didn't want to admit it, but an angry part of him did want to hurt Alastor. He wanted to take back those seven years, in the cruelest way. He wanted Alastor to feel as empty, and as destroyed as he did. Long gone were the days of communication and trust– Vox found it more effective these days to express himself through petty arguments. That's how he and Valentino settled their scores, anyways. He didn't realize just how much that had changed him. Perhaps for the worst. He wanted to provoke Alastor– wanted to tear him down, and break him. But, he couldn't bring himself to do that– so he chose to go for his reputation instead. “I just want.. us to be happy again.” Vox spoke timidly, as he held himself with his arms– desperately needing someone to hold him. 

“Time has changed us, Vox. Rotted us. Neither you.. or I.. are the same. We won't ever be able to be happy again.” Alastor stared up into the ceiling with dead eyes, as he spoke. He had long-since accepted that this was punishment. He had come into Hell with aspirations. He never saw Hell as a true punishment; more of an opportunity. He was weak in life. That's why he was so easy to kill. He didn't have any fighting prowess– all he had was wit. He thought, perhaps he could outsmart the competition. And, he did. But, all good things must come to an end, and now he was as good as washed up. His name inspired much less fear, and, he couldn't even use his power. They were never his to begin with, he presumed. Perhaps Hell landed his ability to him for a short amount of time; just so it could tear it all away from him in the end. Either way, he knew there was no going back. 

Vox didn't seem any more optimistic than he was; as he stared blankly at his shoes. They both basked in the silence for a while; Vox had begun stirring Alastor's words in his mind, and Alastor simply lay there, motionless, and quiet. For a while, this was how they remained. Alastor figured that, if he was lucky, Vox would simply let him die, and he would be reduced to nothing– he would fall into obscurity, and he would cease to exist. It seemed like a much more fitting fate at this point than being attached to her any longer. But, Vox seemed to have other plans– just as he thought he would lose consciousness for the final time, Vox jolted him awake with a light static. 

“I know we'll never be the same. But, maybe there's a chance we can restart..”

Vox had a crazed look in his eyes, as he unsteadily began to inch closer to Alastor– who, in his debilitated state could not will himself away. “Vox, there is no restart–”

He was briskly cut off, as Vox's eyes shifted into something more suggestive.. glowing a deep, spell-binding red. “There may not be a restart for me, but, maybe for you there can be.” Alastor tried to look away, but, he couldn't bring himself to defend his own mind by breaking their gaze. He was locked in, and he could feel his own desires be stripped away, and replaced with Vox's command. 

“I'm sorry, I really am. I'll be sure to heal you after we're done, but, I need you as weak as possible so that you won't fight back.” Vox's eyes swirled, as every screen in the room lit up to project his image– there wasn't a corner of the room that didn't have his spiraling eyes being broadcasted. Alastor felt his mind slipping, all the while Vox dug his way deeper, and deeper into his thoughts. 

“I know you'll.. understand in the end.”

Alastor tried to look away, but, it felt as though his whole entire body was being pressed onto the table– he couldn't see anymore. The screams had come back; and he was now hyperventilating. Everything was going dark. He couldn't breathe. “Vox, please, what are you doing?” Alastor managed to choke out, as tears began to well in his eyes.

“Just.. Relax, okay Al? Relax, and let me help you forget.” Vox held Alastor's hands assuredly.

Alastor shook, and yet, somehow the hands that held him were the only things grounding him to reality- he knew what was being done to him wasn't good, but he had no choice but to comply.. and, little by little, forgetting started to feel.. good. It felt safe. Even as the screams clawed at the back of his mind, and he could hear her, the more he listened to Vox, the more subdued the pandemonium in his mind became. “Help me..” he repeated, as he held Vox as tightly as he could– all he could see was the red crom the screens. He couldn't think anymore. He felt numb.. but, he felt comforted.. 

“Yeah, that's right, Al. I'm helping. Once you let me in, I can make some changes.. and we can be happy again. Don't you want that, Al?” 

Alastor stopped to think.. He hadn't been happy in so long. He had been.. miserable. She had tortured him for 7 long years. Everything he ever worked for, his reputation, his broadcasts– the longer he was away, the more it decayed. He had endured torment, for 7 years, just to be brought back out like some party trick– he never wanted to be apart of some ‘hotel,’ especially not for the redemption of sinners like himself. Not that he was the target demographic, but, still. He couldn't remember the last time his smile truly meant something other than power and control. It was simply a tool. He couldn't go on like this. He needed to be free.. and if freedom meant forgetting, then, perhaps that's what he needed. “Yes.. I.. I want to be happy again.” 

Alastor sniffled, and Vox smiled. In reality, it was all manipulation– but, Alastor had agreed, and that was all he needed to be let in. Alastor's defenses were down, and maybe this time, his words could mean something. 

“That's a good deer. You can trust me, always.. I'll always keep you safe. You'll be okay..” Vox cooed, as he closed his eyes, and finally made his way into Alastor's mind. It was like plugging himself into his systems.. but, different. Either way, now that he was in, he could make certain changes. It shouldn't be any different from deleting fires on an old computer…

This was the only way.