Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vox used to own this place. His logo had once been stamped across every block, every corner, every screen. Now, when he tilted his head up, the empty scaffolding where his enormous face had once loomed gaped at him like an ugly eyesore.

They had taken it down very fast.

“What a clean uninstall,” he muttered at the blank metal, voice buzzing at the edges. His speakers crackled as if even they had pity on him.

The street below V tower was littered with flyers now- his face on some, angrily torn in half and spit on. Others were newer: cheap reproductions of Charlie Morningstar’s ridiculous hopeful smile, advertising her illustrious “Hazbin Hotel” with soft pastels and cartoon hearts that made his circuits itch.

“YOU CAN CHANGE”, the slogan said.

He made sure to step on that one deliberately.

The Pride Ring’s noise had changed too. Where once there had been a near constant murmur of his voice drifting from open windows- game shows, sitcom reruns, hellsports with his commentary on top- now he heard music. Swing tracks and soft jazz written decades before his time, and under it all, that old-timey cadence, that smug, syrupy laugh that was tinny but unmistakable, spilling from street corner radios.

Vox’s jaw clenched so hard his whole screen began to flicker.

Of course HE was thriving. In the ruins of Vox’s network, that old-timey analog bastard was flourishing, filling the space that had once been designated for himself.

He turned his receiver down, blocking the noise. The silence should have been comforting, but the sound of his ragged breathing and the distant hum of power lines did nothing for his turmoil.

He kept walking.

✦ ✦ ✦

He hadn’t gone “home” after the defeat. There was no point.

Home was V tower, and the moment the smoke cleared it had stopped being his.

He had limped back anyway. Of course he had. Where else was he going to go? He’d crashed through his own lobby doors, the screens flickering wildly, glitching into different aspect ratios as his system tried to compensate for damage it didn’t understand. He had to form a new body after Velvette and Valentino had thrown his severed head into a storage closet. It was new and sensitive, and the overexertion was starting to weigh heavily.

The elevator didn’t respond to his presence.

That had been the first warning.

The second was Valentino’s haughty, obnoxious laughter.

Vox had stopped dead in the middle of the tarnished lobby, every fiber of his body running cold. Valentino’s voice floated down from the ceiling, lazy and disinterested.

“Damn, baby,” the moth drawled out. “You look like shit.”

Vox looked up. His own cameras stared back at him, beady red eyes embedded into the drywall. He made feeble attempts to ping the network, to slide his consciousness into the building’s systems like he had done so naturally a million times before.

Access denied.

He felt it as though it was a physical sensation, like a door slamming shut in his face. A sharp pain behind the eyes. He stumbles a bit. ”Val,” Vox had said, trying for his trademark easy tone and landing somewhere much more brittle. “Open the line.”

Velvette’s voice had cut in from a different speaker, somewhere above the ruined reception desk. ”Ugh, look what the cat dragged in. Honey, this is embarrassing for you.”

Vox had turned, trying to place her. He felt like an idiot for spinning around to try and talk to wires. His display jumped from a blue to an ugly red, and then back again. ”Look,” he said, the strain evident in his voice. “We can regroup. I know I got carried away. But this- this is a setback! Nothing but-”

The main screen above the lobby, the one that used to show live feeds of his ratings, came roaring to life. His own logo flashed once, then cut to Valentino’s face, smug and composed. He blows smoke into the camera. ”Regroup?” Valentino had repeated, feigning surprise. “Baby, there’s no “we” left to group.”

Velvette’s pink, stylized avatar popped up in the corner of the display, chewing gum, looking him up and down. ”We did a little board vote,” she said, twirling a strand of hair. “And you got like, a ninety-eight percent no confidence rating. Sorry not sorry.”

Vox felt something grind painfully in the back of his head. ”You can’t- this is MY tower,” he said. “My network- My-”

The lights dimmed. The building’s mainframe had surged once, then shifted, the familiar code patterns changing right before his eyes. They must have hired someone to undo all of his handiwork, to keep him out of the equation.

”Not anymore,” Valentino said, smile widening. “We backed up what we needed, and trashed what we didn’t.” He leaned closer into the camera, as if to confide in him. “I don’t keep broken toys.”

For a second, Vox thought they were bluffing. That if he took a step closer to the console, if he reached out, the building would recognize its master.

So he took a step.

The floor under him had lit up, a glowing grid of eye-searing pink and red, and the security system he had written himself fired. He blasted backwards in a comet of digital energy that felt like he was being flayed from the inside out. His screen went dark, then hot, then back online in a chaotic scramble of error messages.

He laid there, smoke curling from the collar of his shirt as Valentino’s laughter echoed through the lobby. ”Aw, that must have hurt.”

Velvette’s avatar had manifested in thin air like a hologram, right before his sprawled body. She snapped a selfie. “Posting this,” she said. “#goingoutofbusiness.”

”You’re going to regret this,” Vox managed, pushing himself up with a hand braced on the floor, the other clutched over the new gash in his chest.

”Maybe,” Valentino shrugged. “But not today.” The moth adjusted his sunglasses like a judgy librarian, looking at him through the lenses with an oozing sense of false sympathy. “Why don’t you… I dunno. Go fuck yourself? Crawl into a hole until the world forgets about you? I bet you’d be really good at that.”

The feed cut out, the screens had gone dead.

The tower no longer recognized his heartbeat.

He goes back out into the street on legs that felt like they didn’t belong to him anymore, and he didn’t look back.

✦ ✦ ✦

By the time he reached the edge of the pride ring, where that godawful Hazbin Hotel stood as an eyesore on the skyline, his internal battery system was nagging him every few seconds.

The walk had been slow and arduous. Vox had never been good at sizing himself down, and trying to fold himself into smaller shapes to avoid being noticed by the general public was beyond difficult. He had trash and sharp broken bottles thrown at him from windows, shards of glass sticking into his suit like thorns. Notifications popped up at the edge of his peripheral vision and he batted them away like pests. His body felt slow, and heavy, like he was walking through syrup.

He never planned on ending up here.

He walked without thinking, following old maintenance lines, the thrum of memory where his signal begun to grow thin. The hotel had always been a strange blip in his system, like it was being protected by some divine interference. An irritation at one point, a non-problem. 

The building shouldn’t really have stood out, not in the neon mess that was the Pride Ring, but it did. Where most buildings clawed up into the sky with red spires and angry flickering signs promising temporary reprieve, the Hotel stayed hunched in the corner like a stubborn, battered relic. The place was still crooked from past collisions, but the Morningstars had patched it up well. Light spilled out from the windows, soft, golden. There were curtains. Who the fuck hung curtains in hell?

Vox stops at the bottom of the hill, staring.

Every instinct screamed at him to turn around.

This was enemy territory. Charlie’s pet project. Alastor’s playground. It was everything he’s known to mock, his obsession, his one true hatred.

Sentimental shit. The ability to change. Hope.

He already imagined the headlines: “DEADBEAT OVERLORD CRASHES AT LOSER HOTEL!” And a dry, bitter laugh fizzles out of him, static crackling at the corners of his vision.

He didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Desperate times.” he muttered, squaring his shoulders and ignoring the whines of protesting circuits and wires. He reached the top of the stairs, hand reaching for the handle. He was trembling like a pathetic leaf in the wind.

The door swung inward before he even touched it.

Warm light spilled over his battered and broken body. He squints away from it, the sensation foreign and unwelcome.

”Oh!” A bright voice exclaims. “Hi, there!” Charlie Morningstar stands in the doorway, the apron she wore dusted with flour. She had her hair tied up, a bowl of batter at her hip which she was still mixing at. Her eyes were wide and hopeful, and the sight of him hunched over and smoking like a deranged deliveryman sent a visible jolt through her.

She drops the bowl of batter. ”Vox?” She said, disbelief and alarm colliding together to determine her tone.

He scrubs batter away from his screen, leaning against the doorframe with what he hoped passed for nonchalance, but what was actually a desperate reprieve from standing on his full weight. “Heard you were running a little charity here, figured I’d drop by and not shoot it to hell for once.” His voice wobbled on the last syllable. Smooth.

Charlie’s gaze roves over him, taking in the cracks, the gash in his chest, the unsteady way he stood. ”Are you-” She stopped herself, swallowed, and tried once more. “You look… very bad. Do you um- do you need help?”

His instincts recoiled like an angry snake, and he almost spat out an insult out of sheer reflex. He had built and entire career out of never needing sympathy from anyone, and now he could barely stand straight. ”I need a drink,” he mutters. “And an outlet.”

Something in Charlie’s expression softened. She picks up the bowl she had dropped and winces, stepping away from the glob of spilled batter on the floor. ”We… can manage that. If you want to come in.” She opens the door further, a silent invitation.

Vox straightened as much as his body allowed and stepped past her into the lobby.

The hotel smelled like coffee and citrusy cleaning supplies and a faint trace of ozone from some sort of recent magical mishap. The place looked lived-in.

”Hey, babe. Who was at the-” A voice came from the bar area. Vox’s gaze snapped over.

Vaggie leaned against the counter, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. She froze, eyebrows furrowing. ”You,” she said flatly.

”Me,” Vox agrees, scrubbing an exhausted face over his screen. “Try to contain your joy.”

Vaggie’s single visible eye narrows. One hand twitched towards the spear she had lying on the ground, a habit stronger than reality. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I invited him in,” Charlie says quickly, stepping between them in a way that made Vox’s shorted-out pride twinge painfully. Like he was someone that needed protection. “He’s… a guest. If he wants to be. He came to us for help.”

Vox scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

He felt Vaggie bristling at the pet name. Charlie doesn’t flinch.

“You came to the hotel,” she said, meeting his gaze. “That usually means someone wants something. We can’t force you to stay. But if you need a place to rest, or-”

”Redemption?” Vox drawls, unable to help himself. “You going to hold my hand and sing about it, Princess?”

Vaggie grabs her spear and starts to walk, but Charlie squares her shoulders and straightens. There was steel under the sugar, he had remembered that still after all the broadcasts he had made to humiliate her. Humiliate all these people. His stomach turns sharply at the thought. “No,” Charlie said. “I’m going to offer you a room, and a chance. What you do with it is up to you.”

Something in her tone pressed on his circuits like a thumb on a bruise.

He opened his mouth with a snide comeback cached, and his vision blurred white. A warning flared in the center of his vision: CRITICAL BATTERY/SYSTEM INSTABILITY.

The room tilted.

For once humiliating, horrifying second, he thought he was about to faceplant in front of the Princess of Hell like some cheap, low-budget extra.

A hand clamped around his elbow, steadying him.

“Careful, now.”

The voice slid over him like a familiar, hated song. Warm, old-fashioned, threaded with amusement.

Vox turned his head.

And Alastor smiled back at him.

The Radio Demon stood close, dapper as ever. A shadow clings to his shoulder like an excited toddler, grinning from ear-to-ear at the irony of the situation.

“Wouldn’t want our illustrious new arrival to short out on the welcome mat. What a dreadful first impression that would make.”

Vox jerks his arm free, sparks snapping angrily where their skin had touched.

“I’m not your arrival,” he spat through his teeth. “And I don’t need your-” His vocal modulator crackled with rage he wasn’t doing well at hiding. “- fuckin’ pity.”

Alastor’s smile only grew.

“Oh, I assure you.” He said lightly, straightening his tie. “Pity doesn’t factor into it at all.”

Vaggie made a faint, frustrated noise. “We are not keeping him,” She turns to Charlie, as if Vox were a mangy stray dog left on their front porch. “He’s dangerous. He slandered us all. He’s-!”

“He’s hurt,” Charlie said firmly. “And he came here, to us. That means something.”

“It means he got desperate,” Vaggie shot back. “He doesn’t believe in what we’re doing. He laughed at you. All of us!”

Vox found truth in everything she said. He remembered the way he sneered at Charlie’s broadcast when the hotel had first been pitched to the viewing public. All the parody segments, the jokes he’d written, bitter, acrid hate for the Radio Demon’s unabashed support of her when he had asked for his partnership first and was rejected. The memory tasted metallic now.

Charlie swallowed. Her eyes flicked from Vaggie to Vox, to Alastor, then back.

“Of course, I know that.” She said, “I also know that this hotel is a place for people who have done bad things. For sinners. People who want to try and do better. She looked at Vox, straight on, no flinching. “Do you?”

The question hit him like a fastball to the stomach.

Want. Try. Better.

His screen glitches, a blur of old footage and buried memories- laugh tracks, applause, Valentino and Velvette’s raucous laughter, his ratings plummeting, his own grin torn and stomped in half by angry sinners- and he snaps back to the hotel lobby.

He could lie. He was very good at that. He could say no, make some scathing remark about how this was all bullshit, and leave.

And go where? Back to the home turned against him? To the streets, to fade into obscurity alone like the washed up overlord he now was?

He opened his mouth, but what came out wasn’t what he had planned.

“I don’t know what the hell I want,” he said, and the unfiltered honesty made his processors stutter uncomfortably. His voice was quieter than he’d meant it to be. “But I'm.. tired.”

Charlie’s expression shifted to something more hopeful and sympathetic.

“That’s enough,” she said.

Vaggie made an exasperated sound. “Babe-”

“That’s enough to start,” Charlie corrected, glancing at her with a small, apologetic smile. “We don’t need people to come in with everything figured out!” She looks back at Vox. “We just need them to walk through the door.”

“You do have a flair for dramatic entrances,” Alastor added cheerfully. “Albeit this one was some of your worst material, a lot more subdued than usual.”

Vox shot him a look that would have melted any lesser demon. “You enjoying this?” He sneers. “Watching me crawl in here?”

“Oh, immensely.” Alastor said, eyes crinkling with mirth. “I’d be lying if I claimed otherwise.”

Charlie claps her hands, as if to finalize her decision vocally. “Okay! Vox, if you want, we can get you a room. You can get some rest, and we’ll figure out the rest later. One step at a time!”

One step at a time. The phrase slotted neatly and comfortably into his psyche, but still he hesitated.

The thought of his home rejecting him like a faulty code. Of his former team making a mockery of him, of the empty, echoing silence of his head when he tuned out the city and was left alone with his own thoughts for the first time.

His shoulders sag at the thought, and he sighs in exasperation.

“Fine,” he said. “One room. Short-term. Don’t get sentimental about it. This isn’t some cheery redemption arc.” He grimaced at the phrase. “I just need somewhere to recharge.” He adds. “Temporarily.”

“Of course,” Charlie said, as if that answer were perfectly acceptable and not the barest scrap of confession on his part. “Temporary is okay.” She smiled, hopeful and stubborn for him all at once. “Come on, let’s get you to a room with a shiny new outlet!”

Vox rolled his eyes, his specific brand of sarcasm brought him comfort in this foreign place.

“An outlet,” he muttered. “Be still, my beating heart.”

He followed her towards the stairs. His steps felt leaden, but the promise of electricity tugged him along like gravity.

He could feel Alastor’s eyes tracking his movements upstairs, and he shakes the feeling off. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Vaggie drops her spear, groaning louder now that Charlie is gone.

“This is SUCH a terrible idea. I know our whole thing is redemption but- Vox? Really?”

Alastor brushes dust from his shoulder, picking up Vaggie’s spear and analyzing it with a critical eye. ”It shouldn't be a problem, my dear. It appears our sullen little friend just needs some time to lick his wounds. If it would please you, I could send my shadow to guard his door and make sure he doesn’t get up to trouble.”

Vaggie snatches her spear back, ready to fire back at him out of reflex but instead she relents.

“That- might not be a horrible idea. I don’t think any of us should let our guard down yet.”

Alastor hums in agreement and sticks two fingers in his mouth, letting out a shrill whistle. His shadow curls around him like a snake, and then manifests. Its smile is bigger than usual, seemingly happy that Vox is here in all his pathetic injured glory. Alastor points upstairs. “Be a dear and make sure he doesn’t cause us any problems. We don’t need anything getting in the way of our business.”

The shadow snickers, chittering to Alastor in some foreign tongue that was lost on Vaggie. It then slithers across the ground and begins to trail Charlie and Vox.

Vaggie sighs quietly, not finding the strength in her to thank Alastor. He was always out for something, after all. She rubs a hand over her face and walks away. ”Get Niffty to clean the spilled batter at the door. Or- somebody. I don’t care.”

Alastor watches her leave, tilting his head in utter amusement. His pathetic adversary checking into the hotel as a guest? This was too much. He hums happily, flicking his cane at the batter spilled on the ground and making it fall into an inky black void. Such fabulous news was deserving of listening to some good music and having a stiff drink.

✦ ✦ ✦

The second Charlie and Vox reached the end of the hallway at the second floor, Vox’s critical battery alert chimes again, much louder this time. His vision is greying out at the edges.

“Just in time,” Charlie said, reaching for the knob of his assigned room. “Here, this one should be perfect.”

The room was small but surprisingly cozy. A bed with mismatched but clean blankets, a nightstand with a lamp, an ornate red rug on the floor. A window looked out over the city, neon lights bleeding into vibrant pinks and blues. His eyes lock on V tower, and his stomach twists sharply again. He quickly glances at the bed, his gaze like a starving man spotting a hot meal.

Charlie followed it, then smiled. “We can get an extension cord if you need it. And if you need anything else- uh- parts? Tools? Just let us know. Niffty loves fixing things.”

His pride flared automatically. “I don’t need your freaky little maid crawling around my casing, thanks.”

“Okay,” Charlie said easily. She didn’t press him further, didn’t try to argue. “Um… rest well. I’ll send you coffee in the morning, or… whatever you drink.”

“Coffee, please.” Vox says, his legs starting to tremble as he moves towards the outlet. “Or anything strongly caffeinated.”

Charlie turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway, fingers curling around the frame. “I’m glad you’re here, Vox. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

“Don’t make it weird.” he says, but it came out more tired than sharp.

She smiled anyway. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll let you recharge.”

And she pulls the door closed.

Vox stood in the middle of the room for a moment, swaying. His internal systems screamed at him in angry red: BATTERY CRITICAL. VISUAL PROCESSING DEGRADED. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT.

He drops heavily onto the bed, biting back a wince as all of the cuts and wounds on his body cry out like a choir. The wire at the back of his head shoots out like a snake, fumbling for the outlet near the bed. He pushes the plug in with more force than needed.

There was a moment of resistance- plugging into the unfamiliar network of electricity- and then the current surged into him. He lets out a breathy exhale as it reaches all his systems.

The warnings blink out one by one, the bright flashing colors in his head ceasing and fading to black. The tremors in his hands eased, and he finds purchase in the blanket strewn across the bed and attempts to get more comfortable.

And he lets his head fall forward onto the pillows and lets all of the exhaustion pull him under, the world narrowing to the steady warmth of electricity crackling up his spine.

Alastor’s shadow chitters softly, sliding beneath the door to confirm that Vox had fallen asleep. It lurks in the corner, watching, obeying. Not out of fear that Vox was up to something, but out of newfound curiosity.

Chapter Text

Vox came back online slowly.

There was no dramatic flicker of power, no Valentino yanking out his power cord before he could get a full charge, just gentle creeping awareness. A line of code, a diagnostic ping, whispers of light behind his eyes.

He hadn’t slept properly in… well, ever. Not like this. In a bed, alone and undisturbed. He didn’t even have a bed back at hom- at V tower. Just a chair he managed to fall asleep in after burying himself in work. His typical “rest cycles” were frantic little autopilot resets, drifting in and out of consciousness during the slower parts of his days. Vox, the Media Overlord had no time for sleep.

But he wasn’t really himself anymore, alone and stripped of his power.

This was different, quiet. Too quiet.

His optics flicker open to a dimly lit room, red morning light creeping in-between the curtains. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, taking in the unfamiliar patterns overhead. The hum of gentle electricity in the walls, the sounds of people cooking and talking downstairs.

As he sits up, his loud groan crackles through all his speakers, glitching halfway. His joints complained, but they moved. His screen brightened. The error alerts were gone, replaced by little orange flags that he could manage, or ignore. Whatever he felt like.

He checked his internal battery percentage.

94%.

He blinked, dumbfounded.

He hasn’t seen a number that high in a very long time.

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. “So the outlet works. Good for the outlet.”

His room was nauseatingly domestic still, and he felt uneasy the longer he stared at it. He disconnects his charging cable with a sharp tug and stands, watching it retract back into the back of his head.

His legs held. Barely.

When he stretched, his joints popped like bubble wrap.

The mirror standing above the dresser caught his eye. He didn’t want to look at it, and that alone guaranteed that he would.

The reflection glared back at him. A thick crack through his screened face, dust and trash caked into the corners of it, his antenna dented and bent at a painful 90 degree angle, and that horrible gash across his chest. He opens up his shirt to see it barely starting to heal, the wires beneath his skin looping tightly atop each other to create a thin layer of safety.

He looked like someone had tipped a television down the world’s longest and most disgusting flight of stairs.

Vox grimaced. “Handsome as ever.”

The mirror didn’t disagree, but he hated what he saw.

He needed tools, expensive replacement parts. Repairs that only his specialist team knew how to handle. Which meant he needed access that he no longer had.

HIs processors buzz anxiously at the thought, and he shoves the noise aside.

One problem at a time.

He tries to take his shirt off, but the fabric snags at the wound on his chest. He hisses loudly.

A gentle knock at the door startles him so hard that his optics flickered.

“Vox?” Charlie’s voice chimed through the door, gently and stupidly cheerful. “Just checking in! We have breakfast downstairs if you’re hungry!”

Vox stared at the door with a slow-building horror.

He could still leave. He could pretend he didn’t hear. He could avoid the humiliating spectacle of walking down the stairs like some regular ass hotel guest.

He could. How far down was the jump from the window?

Charlie’s second knock brings him back to reality, though it was a little softer this time. “If you’re not ready to come down, that’s okay! I can bring you coffee!”

He closed his eyes and forced down all of his rancid, horrible thoughts.

“Fine!” He snapped before he could stop himself. “I’m coming down. Stop trying to fetch me.”

A delighted little squeak came through the wood. “Okay! Take your time!”

He hated her.

He hated her so much.

✦ ✦ ✦

Vox did take his time. His room came with an adjacent bathroom. It was very small, but it had the things he needed. He takes a long shower, wincing as he plucks out shards of glass from his bare body. The water made him miss his shark, and his home.

His clothes were soiled and disgusting. He stares at them with exasperation and throws them into the corner of the room. There wasn’t much in the ways of clothing, just a big red robe hanging in the bathroom. It was warm from the remnants of his hot shower, and he couldn’t help how good it felt putting it on over his frail and battered body. He checks the mirror once more before going out. He looked… a little better. Still broken and injured, but at least he was clean now. He straightens the robe, stepping out into the hallway.

The hotel’s lived-in nature was very strange indeed. It wasn’t neat, nowhere near spotless. Someone had left a cleaning cart partially blocking the wall, the rug runner was crooked, a painting hung at the end of the hallway off-centered.

Nothing was standardized or mechanical. Nothing looped. Nothing repeated. It was all strangely comforting chaos.

A hotel resident passes him as he trudges down the hallway, pulling her infant daughter closer at the sight of him.

Vox’s stomach twists sharply at the sight, guess this was his legacy now.

He descends the stairs, gripping the railing harder than he liked.

This place had really picked up since he last visited.

Sinners of every shape and size mulled about, some half-dressed, some in full glam makeup, some walking in for the very first time and absorbing the chaos like he was. Suitcases lined the wall. Someone was playing scales on a piano in the corner very, very badly and people crowded around him like he was fucking Mozart. Someone was juggling plates of pancakes. Someone was vomiting into a potted plant.

It was a mess.

A breathing, disastrous mess.

Vox stared down at the scene in frozen horror.

“What the fuck,” He whispered to no one.

A demon wearing bunny slippers passes him on the stairs, clearly not recognizing him or Vox would have a hole punched through his face by now.

“Hey, dude. You in line for breakfast? I’d hurry. That dude juggling the pancakes is hoarding them all.”

Vox recoiled. “Absolutely not.”

He hurried down the rest of the stairs before any more strangers could speak to him. The noise level hit him like a physical force- voices overlapping, laughter echoing, that fucking piano player and their horrible scales. His processors buzzed in self-defense. He was too weak for this shit.

A hand touches his arm. Gentle, light.

“Vox?”

Charlie stood beside him, hair frizzy from stress. She was still holding her morning coffee.

“You’re here! Good morning! She says brightly. “Sorry about- all of this. We have a lot of residents this morning.”

A sinner shouts across the room, “WHERE DO I PUT MY POISON VIALS?”

“NOT IN THE COFFEE!” Vaggie hollered back from somewhere near the kitchen.

Charlie winces. “See? Busy.”

Vox stared out into the crowd like a glitch that couldn’t be debugged. “Why are there so many of them?”

“Oh! Well, after the whole… Sir Pentious heaven broadcast thing was such a hit, we’ve had a huge surge in guests! Lots of people seem to believe in our message. Or… they’re hiding from things. We’re a little iffy on some of them.”

Both their eyes follow as a a chair gets thrown across the room.

Charlie gapes, and then clears her throat. “Anyway- this is probably super overwhelming. The lobby’s a lot right now.”

Vox narrows his eyes. “You don’t say.”

Charlie grabs him by the sleeve. “Let’s get you somewhere quieter. Come on- follow me.”

He didn’t argue.

Charlie pushed open a small door next to the kitchen. A paper sign was taped haphazardly to the front: EMPLOYEES ONLY!

Inside was some sort of break room, something blissfully quiet. It had a few couches, a kitchenette, and a bulletin board with a million pink sticky notes on it. Husk leaned in the corner nursing a cup of something strong. He looks up when Vox enters, his ears lowering. “Oh, it’s the jackass.”

Vox scowls back. “Good morning to you too.”

Charlie closes the door, and the roar of the lobby is muted. Vox can breathe easier almost immediately.

Husk takes a sip from his mug, leaning back. He had been in a worse mood lately, Charlie suspected it was because of Angel Dust’s absence. He was sorely missed, and the air was still tense.

Charlie takes a seat at the same table as Husk, running hands through her hair to soothe her nerves.

“The hotel’s getting a lot of attention now. I don’t know if we can keep up with this. We need to hire more people- or strengthen our messaging. Can you believe that some people were still trying to check in to learn how to kill angels?!” Charlie raises her voice in a manner unbefitting of her. “After everything we did with Heaven? Still!”

“It’s more than a few.” Husk muses, dropping his head against the wall. “Some of these fuckers got behavioral problems. I don’t want to be hearing all that hollering when I have a fuckin’ hangover.”

Vaggie opens the door midway through Husk’s sentence, wringing spilled coffee out of her shirt. She frowns.
”Husk, you are constantly hungover. That means nothing.”

Vox drops into a chair, absentmindedly listening to all this bickering. This place was still a mess, it seemed. “Disaster of a PR team, if you ask me.” He snorts, unable to hide his shit-eating grin.

“You slandered us on live TV,” Vaggie shot back, bristling. “You don’t get to talk about PR.”

Vox opened his mouth with an acidic comeback on his tongue, but pauses when the overhead lights flicker ominously.

A warm burst of static bursts through the room, and with a loud frequency whine, Alastor manifests in the center of the break room, cane twirling in his hand.
”Well, well!” He declared, adjusting his tie. “It is positively bedlam out there!”

He gestures vaguely towards the lobby with his cane.

“In the time it took me to brew my tea, I counted eight arguments, six fistfights, two demons getting pushed down the stairs, and one demon retching into our beloved houseplant.” His eyebrows furrow in distaste. “Might want to check on the last one.”

Vox just glowers at him, offended by his existence on multiple levels.

Charlie sighs fondly. Vaggie does not sigh fondly.

“Alastor,” Vaggie says with thinly-veiled irritation, “We are trying to have a quiet conversation.”

“Don’t be so dour, Vagatha!” Alastor’s grin widens. “Chaos keeps the blood moving.”

Vaggie bristles at the nickname. “Te retorceré el cuello, puta-"

Charlie loudly sets her mug down in determination. “Well, this is exactly why I’ve been talking to my dad.”

Vaggie’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Dad-” Charlie says, hands clasped. “He thinks- well- he told me I need a system. Something with structure. Punishments, warnings, rules that demons have to follow if they want to maintain residency here. He suggested a tiered behavior system. Strike warnings, or- chores! Maybe even a contract if things get really bad…”

Vaggie folds her arms thoughtfully. “A contract would work. And it would scare off most of the demons who are trying to stay here for the wrong reason.”

Husk shrugged lazily. “I’d sign if it meant fewer idiots at my bar.”

Alastor laughs. “How delightfully bureaucratic!”

Charlie smiles with shy pride. “We’ll talk more about it tonight. He’s coming over to help me finalize the plan. Oh! Speaking of help!” Charlie perks up. “The workshop!”

As if she had been cued to do so, Niffty opens the door, her body thrumming with all the energy of a toddler with candy. “HELLO! Is something broken? I heard something was broken.”

Vox stands and takes a full step back. “Absolutely not.”

Niffty gasps dramatically at Vox, inspecting him with excitement. “Cracked glass! Loose wiring! Dented corners! This is WONDERFUL!”
She crawls up him, holding his screened face like a koala.
”You’re a FULL project!”

Vox’s screen goes pale. He hears Alastor laughing at him.
”I regret waking up.”

Charlie claps cheerfully. “Perfect! Niffty and Alastor can take Vox down to the workshop.”

Vox removes Niffty like she was suctioned onto his face. She lands on the couch. He folds his arms.
”Oh, no no no. I am not letting that smarmy asshole ANYWHERE near me.”
He points at Alastor before he can open his mouth.
”No.”

Vaggie smirks upon seeing Vox’s discomfort. She leans against the wall. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Niffty tends to get a little carried away when she’s excited, and she only listens to him.”

Niffty crawls onto Alastor’s shoulder, laughing maniacally as she stabs a sewing needle through her own finger.

Vox shudders at the thought of the wretched thing going crazy and puncturing his screen with that needle over and over again. He looks at Alastor, immediately suspicious.

Alastor tilts his head innocently. “Don’t worry, Vox. I have no intention of dismantling you.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Oh, good. It wasn’t meant to be.”

Charlie nods. “Yes! Take Vox downstairs. Niffty, be gentle with him. Alastor… please don’t stir anything up.”

“No promises,” Alastor says, smiling wide.

Niffty grabs onto Vox’s arm with shocking force. “WORKSHOP TIME!”

Vox stumbled. “Niffty- Niffty WAIT-”

And the pair disappear down the hallway.

Alastor’s grin grows. He hums a soft tune and follows behind them slowly, closing the door with his cane.

Husk lets out an amused huff. “That little TV-head prick is going to hate us.”

Vaggie laughs, sitting down beside him. “You think he’s mad now? Just wait until we win him over.”

✦ ✦ ✦

The basement workshop was a disaster. It was messy, and roach-infested. Niffty threw the light switch, and half the room lit up. The other half sputtered, buzzed, and died out immediately.

Vox rubs his temples, pointing his finger up at the dead light. Blue electricity crackles up his arm and focuses at his finger, and like a shark it leaps up and bites at the light. It turns on again.
”This place is a health hazard.”

Alastor leans carefully in the doorway, arms folded behind him, smile painted on like a perfect porcelain doll. “Now, now. It has… character.”

“It has mold,” Vox corrected.

“And character,” Alastor repeated, his smile growing bigger as he sees Vox squirm uncomfortably.

Niffty zipped around the cluttered tables, brushing aside piles of half-finished projects, sharp things, and what looked suspiciously like a spider with a nail file glued to it. She points triumphantly at an empty workbench. “Here! Sit!”

Vox sits stiffly on the bench, wondering if he truly could go any lower in life. He was on the top of Hell a few days ago, and now he was broken and battered in a dingy basement with the fucking Radio Demon and his creepy little maid. He grips the edge of the bench as she darts around him.

Niffty squints at the gash across his chest. “Ooooh. That’s a doozy.”

“It’s nothing.” Vox snapped.

The gash down the center of his torso did not agree. The crack ran from his collarbone to mid-chest, jagged and deep, exposing thin flickering wires near the edges and internal circuitry where the wound had yet to start healing. His screened face was cracked at the top right, spiderwebbing into a dark corner and spreading across the rest of his face like a bolt of lightning.

Niffty gasps. “How are you even WALKING?”

“Spite,” Vox said flatly, suppressing fresh memories of his own security system attacking him. “And caffeine.”

Niffty pulls up a little rolling stool in front of him and stands on top of it. “Okay! First step: Sanitation!”

Vox jerked backward, eyes wide in something that felt like fear. “I don’t think so.”

“It is required!” Niffty grabs an bottle of alcohol solution. “You have grime beneath your exposed circuitry. It’s unsanitary.”

Vox bristles. “I don’t think your sanitary standards really match mine, sweetheart. Have you seen the state of this place?”

As if Vox needed a punchline, a roach crawls onto his arm. He gags and flicks it away.

Alastor laughs in delight. “I’d let her work, Vox. She’ll only become more determined the longer you resist.”

Vox shot him a murderous glare. “Why are you even here?”

“To help,” Alastor lied. “And to enjoy the show.”

Niffty snaps her gloves dramatically, and Vox flinches forward again. “Okay! Let’s start with the crack on your big, ugly face. It’s going to sting.”

Vox furrows his eyebrows. “It’s fucking glass, it’s not going to sting-”

She dabbed the alcohol-soaked cloth to the cracked glass, and a white-hot pain shoots through his head. He recoils, gritting his teeth. “Fuck-!”

“I warned you.” Niffty said sweetly, like a mom chastising a child, “Now hold still.”

Niffty worked with surprising precision, her tiny hands moving quickly but carefully. She cleaned the fractured edges of his panel, wiping away black ash, flakes of melted plastic, and fine dust he had no idea was clinging to him. She hummed while she worked, some old-timey housewife tune that irritated him at first.

But then it didn’t.

It felt good to get the grime out. It lifted a weight he didn’t realize was there.

Alastor moved closer- not close enough to invade, but just to watch. Vox picks up on the frequency of his aura as he approaches, a tune he had long forgotten, something that used to be much nearer but was now mashed into obscurity into the back of his mind.

“So,” Alastor says conversationally, “What exactly caused that rather impressive gash?”

Vox stares straight ahead. “I’d rather not elaborate.”

Alastor just hums as if that told him everything he needed. Which it did.

Niffty moves down to the chest gash. The sight of exposed internal wiring made her body vibrate with a mix of delight and horror.

“Ohhhhh, Vox. Baby. Sweetie.” She taps the edge of the crack. “This is BAD.”

“It’s just superficial.” Vox lied, trying to hide the way he winces as she taps near the wound.

Niffty smooths a line of resin over the wound. It was healing itself, but it needed protection from the outside elements. The resin gleams faintly in the workshop light, glowing a brilliant blue from Vox’s inner workings. It settles into place like a second skin.

“There.” She steps back, admiring her handiwork. “That should hold until we can properly patch the inner frame.”

Vox looked at the line running across his torso. Cleaned, sealed, no longer gaping and sensitive. It wasn’t perfect- hell, none of this was- but the absence of cold, biting pain was welcome.

He nods in agreement. “It feels… stable.”

Niffty beamed. “Good. That’s what we want.”

He didn’t know how to respond to her kindness, so he didn’t. He simply slid off of the workbench, slow and careful to test the wound.

Standing didn’t hurt.

Relief floods through him. “Thank you,” he murmurs softly before he can really think about it.

Niffty waves him away with both hands. “Go rest, sweetie. That was a lot. You need downtime!”

He did.

He hated that he did.

Alastor opens the workshop door for him, and Vox steps past him with no comment. He feels that brief brush of warm static as their frequencies shift in close proximity.

The walk to his room was silent. There were many unspoken things between the two overlords, but how much of that mattered now? Vox had been defeated. Alastor would gain no benefit beyond personal entertainment from trying to challenge him once more. As they reach his door, Vox presses a hand to the sealed resin seam across his chest, and his voice comes out quiet and unsteady.

“I need something.”

The words make him want to vomit. The concept of needing something- anything- from Alastor of all people? Ugh. The audacity.

Alastor’s brows lifted, but he chose not to comment. “Go on.”

Vox kept his gaze on the floor. “My things. What’s left of them.” He swallows, a mechanical click of his throat. “Clothes, some personal things. Anything they didn’t tear up and destroy out of pettiness.”

The silence stretched. Vox almost immediately rescinds his request before exhaling slowly. “And Shockwave. They aren’t going to take care of her, and I can’t-”
He pauses. Was he about to cry? He perishes the thought.
”I can’t go back there.”

Alastor just blinks. “Your belongings, and your… shark acquaintance.”

“She can shrink,” Vox added, as if that made the request any less absurd. “And she’ll smell me on you and follow you automatically.” The words strained on the way out, worn thin by the shame of asking for anything from Alastor.

“You want me,” Alastor said gently, “to retrieve your belongings from V tower.”

Vox’s shoulders stiffen. He forced himself to nod. “You can get in without being immediately recognized, with your- shadows and what have you.”

“And the only one you trust to return,” Alastor finishes quietly.

Vox looked away. “Don’t read into it.”

Alastor smiled. It was soft, not sharp. “I’ll go.”

Vox’s breath caught, not visibly, but the pulse of his screen gave it away.

Alastor continued, “I can’t guarantee the Vees have left your things untouched. I mean… you did really piss them off!” He can’t help himself. He wipes away tears of mirth as Vox glowers at him. “But whatever remains, I will bring back to you.”

Vox swallows his pride sufficiently, giving a stiff nod. “I… appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Vox stepped into his room, the sight of his bed welcoming after the day he’s had. He paused once more, looking back over his shoulder. “She startles easily. Be gentle with her.”

Alastor chuckles quietly. “I’ll be gentle.”

Vox didn’t- couldn’t- respond. He simply closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a long trembling moment. This was truly rock bottom, it had to be.

He slides down to the floor, a hand on the resin seam. It felt warm now, now adapted to be an extension of his body. Even in all his misery, he didn’t feel alone. Maybe rock bottom wasn’t as bad as he thought.

And somewhere down the hallway, Alastor’s footsteps faded. Steady, purposeful, as he went to retrieve pieces of Vox’s shattered life for him.

Chapter Text

The walk from the Hazbin Hotel to V tower was not very far in distance, yet the atmosphere change was always jarring when Alastor left the cozy disarray of the hotel behind. The Pride Ring’s noise pressed in with eager teeth, the buzz of flickering lights, car horns, people yelling at each other drunkenly. The restless hum of damned souls.

Alastor did not mind noise.

Silence, after all, was something he cultivated only with the utmost intention.

But this day, underneath that surface hum of static, a quiet thread tugged at him like a loose frequency. Vox’s pathetic little request. Submission, almost. Such a startling amount of trust.

Alastor’s smile grows to himself.

How interesting indeed.

He approaches V tower with the stillness of a predator. The once thriving building loomed with a strange stillness, stripped of the irritating, but warm face that used to occupy its screens.

It seemed with the building’s disarray, Valentino and Velvette had fled in a hurry, leaving the heart of their former empire to bleed out alone.

The sliding glass doors outside recognized no master, remaining stubbornly closed. Alastor forces it open with an inky black shadow.

Inside, the lobby was dim. Emergency lights glowed red along the walls. Detached cables hung like the building’s exposed nervous system. Alastor pushes aside the rubble with his cane, nose twitching at the scent of ozone and distant, aggressive perfume application.

He wouldn’t admit it to most, but he knew this tower well. In the heyday of his radio broadcast as Vox’s former friend, he would visit often. To drink, to dream about the future. He frowns at the broken elevator shaft, maneuvering his body on top of the elevator car and using large shadowy tendrils to manually climb his way to the top. He grunts when he reaches the top floor, dusting himself off.

Vox’s scent lingered here. An intoxicating scent of static and coffee and ozone, all buried in this tower’s rubble. He feels his pupils dilating, and he scrubs a hand over his face in an attempt to rid of the feeling.

Vox’s private room was nearly immaculate, miraculously untouched. It was really just a room with a closet, and a large desk. No bed, nothing decorative. He didn’t need to pry- a man’s belongings often told a story with no words.

He finds a travel case in the corner of his room and begins to stuff it with clothing, cables, tools, and a few unmarked devices whose functions he recognized immediately.

He forces his shadow to push the suitcase along as he goes to find the shark tank, humming a soft tune. He begins to ask himself why he would even bother with such an odd task. Maybe he did feel pity for Vox, after all. Maybe he was entertained by the prospect of Vox trying to redeem himself and failing pathetically. Maybe he wanted his friend back. No, perish the thought.

He finds the shark tank. It was very large, surrounding the large throne surrounded by screens he used to do his broadcasts. A mechanical hum vibrates through the glass, the water stirring from within.

“Shockwave,” Alastor calls, spying the mechanical red eye from within the tank. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The shark surges forward, slamming into the glass with an open mouth. The thud shakes the room.

Alastor’s smile only widens. “Now, now, young lady. No need for theatrics.”

Shockwave’s mechanical eye twitches with something, almost recognition, then she began to shrink. Her enormous frame compressed down like folding machinery, plates sliding, the fins shortening until she was no larger than a handbag. The water begins to drain through a filtration tank as if the tank had been designed for the trick.

With a quiet mechanical chuff, the tiny shark bobs at the surface, offering a sharp bark of impatience.

Alastor inclines his head. “You’re coming with me.”

He reaches for the portable carrier next to the base of the tank. Shockwave leapt inside on her own accord, the lid fitting snugly over her dorsal line.

He descends the broken elevator with cargo in tow, only to find Velvette standing in the lobby, arms crossed, chewing gum so loudly it bordered on violent. “Well, look who’s dumpster diving,” she sneered.

Alastor did not break stride. “My, you look rather understaffed.”

“We’re reorganizing.” She flips her hair. “Vox didn’t exactly leave a lot of interesting shit to salvage.”

He bristles as Velvette blocks him with her body, forcing a smile that was ingenuously polite somehow. “You’re looking rather frayed around the edges. Is my dear adversary’s absence really that much of a stain on your pitiful little brand?”

She scoffed, blowing another bubble that popped against her lips. “It’s been a rough week. Valentino’s soaking up his new media presence like a horny sponge and I’ve been left to deal with Vox’s shit alone.”

Alastor did not blink. “Ah, yes. The consequences of mismanagement do tend to echo.”

She bristled. “Cut the crap. Vox is gone. Valentino’s jerking himself off, and now i’m finding you here picking up Vox’s shit for him So tell me-” Her eyes slide to the travel case. “what are you doing here?”

“Fulfilling a request for an injured friend. Nothing more.” He says simply, carefully choosing his words.

Velvette barked a laugh. “Vox? An injured friend? Don’t make me gag.” She leans in closer, eyes narrowing. “What’s in the bag? Old chargers? Dusty porn mags? More ego?”

“The necessities,” He replies softly, a headache beginning to pinch between his eyes. “And a creature it seems you have neglected in his absence.”

Her gaze drops to the shark carrier. Shockwave’s eye glows up at her like a neon knife.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “It was never my responsibility to take care of his overgrown chew toy. He should have thought about that before getting cancelled.”

Shockwave clicks her jaw sharply, and Velvette flinches.

Alastor smiled with all his teeth. “She has excellent taste.”

He stepped past her, unhurried. Velvette didn’t try to stop him. She only watches him go, popping her gum loudly once more.

As he pushed through the glass doors, he heard her call after him:

“He won’t last at that shithole hotel. You know that, right?”

Alastor didn’t bother turning around.
”That,” he said, “remains to be seen.”

✦ ✦ ✦

The streets feel a bit warmer on the way back. Brighter. Somewhere behind him, V tower flickered feebly in the distance, fading slowly from relevance.

Shockwave tapped anxiously at the inside of her carrier with her snout. Impatient, alert.

“You’ll see him soon,” Alastor murmured.

Inside the hotel, the lobby had quieted somewhat. Guests had settled, and the morning chaos settled into a steady afternoon hum of demons who were full from breakfast and were now avoiding Charlie’s chore list.

Alastor made his way towards Vox’s room without interruption.

He stopped at the door.

Soft, low static came from the inside, the sound of his systems at rest.

He opened the door a crack.

The room was dim, the curtains half drawn. On the bed, Vox lay on his back, his robe still on, screen blackened in sleep. His chest rose and fell in a slow, mechanical rhythm.

Charging for Vox was comparable to needing to drink water to remain hydrated. He could only sustain electricity inside himself for so long before shutting down. Sleep, however, was human. He was tired, rejected by the world. His bed felt like a safe place to be.

With how unguarded he was, Alastor knew this was the kind of sleep to only come in places where you know nobody is watching to strike.

Shockwave makes a tiny mechanical chirp from inside her carrier.

Alastor glanced down. “Yes, yes. He’s here. Quietly now.”

He sets the shark’s carrier gently beside the bed, in reaching distance for Vox when he woke. Then he placed the travel case in the corner, leaving it open with the contents arranged neatly.

He took a final moment to look at Vox sleeping, and something ugly rears its head into his heart. Something he hasn’t thought in a long time. He scrunches his face in distaste at the feeling, a radio whine sounding as he turns to leave. He closes the door with a soft click, leaving those feelings unburied and unspoken like he always did.

Chapter Text

When Vox shifts awake from his nap, he hears something tapping familiarly at his bedside.

He turned his head, and saw her.

Shockwave blinked up at him from inside the carrier by the bed, glowing eyes bright with excitement, fins twitching against the transparent carrier’s side.

For a beat, Vox simply stared.

Then something loosened in him so suddenly that his screen lit up to full brightness.
”Shockwave,” he whispered.

She chirped, high and electric and full of delight. The carrier rocked as she threw her body against the side, demanding release.

Vox didn’t hesitate.

His hands moved, almost clumsy in their urgency as he unlatched the carrier. The lid barely opened before Shockwave launched herself out, re-sizing into something much more huggable in mid-air, and landed in his lap. She butted her snout into his chest like she was scolding him for ever leaving her behind.

Vox’s laugh- an actual laugh- escaped before he could stop it. Loud, genuine, stunned.

“There you are,” He murmured sweetly, cupping the back of her head with his hand. “I thought-”

He didn’t finish.

He thought the worst, honestly.

That Val would have hurt his baby to spite him, the one thing he loved in this world.

Shockwave pressed her face into the seam of his robe, humming warm vibrations against his ribs. She shifted again, moving to wrap around his torso like a hug.

He returns the gesture, gathering her up in his arms like he was holding the most precious thing in all of Hell- which he was.

“You’re okay,” He said. “That’s a good girl.”

For the first time since he crawled into this hotel, Vox’s screen was bright and he was smiling so hard that his screen strained a bit at the edges. He held her for a long moment, feeling electricity thrum through her like a bloodstream. He traces over a few metal gashes on her face, likely from ramming the edge of the tank out of stress from being neglected. She had always been resilient, but he wasn’t sure how long she’d endure the tower without him.

“Alastor brought you home.” He murmured, almost in disbelief. He knew he asked, but after everything, part of him expected Alastor to have deceived him, to watch him wake up with no belongings and no shark to hold. To bathe in Vox’s misery in the manner he always did.

Shockwave clicked her teeth, as if unimpressed but grateful.

Vox lets out a slow, grounding breath. “Let’s get settled, yeah?”

Shockwave barks, running off the bed on stubby mechanical legs. She runs into a circle and waits for him eagerly.

Vox stands and stretches, feeling out the healing gash on his chest. The pain was much more subdued today, more like a gentle ebb and flow rather than sharp pains all over his body. He reaches for Shockwave and adjusts her in her favorite spot, snaked around neck like a scarf. Her presence rattled something inside of him that had been dormant since his defeat.

He wanted his space back.

He surveyed the room with a critical eye, and his overlord abilities began to stir, itching to be used. The hotel seemed to sense it, the electricity in the walls lifting like a held breath.

It had been a while since he bothered reshaping a space like this one.

Maybe he had forgotten how, or his injuries would prevent him from doing so.

Shockwave nudged his chin eagerly, and Vox lets out a breathy laugh. “Okay, okay. Let’s try.”

Vox holds his hand out, watching as the electricity from the overhead lights leaps into his skin, turning the room dark. He felt the power crackle through his fingertips, and then he shoots it out at the adjacent walls with both hands, watching a blue ripple spread from floor to ceiling like a sine wave.

When he raises his hand again, the room begins to shift.

It gains size, jutting out of the back of the hotel. The dead overhead light dissolved into pixels before reshaping as cool neon blue strips. The wallpaper peels back in coils, torn open by thick wires that now coated the walls, dowsing for electricity. His bedframe reshapes itself with a groan of metal, aligning to something better suited for him. Sharp corners, clean lines, a powerful outlet at the headboard, and a big soft shark pillow to rest his head on.

Then came his chair.

It rose from the floor in a bloom of shimmering sparks, an enormous elegant thing that pulled inspiration from all his previous workrooms, where he could get lost in information streams for hours at a time. Screens materialized around it, suspended by thick wires, flickering to life like obedient satellites waiting for his input. Instruments Vox hasn’t touched in days hovered just within his reach, his toys, his playthings.

His breathing hitched.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed the feeling of being surrounded by information; that constant him of purpose, of control.

Shockwave wriggled in his arms, then leapt down. She circles the chair with a curious rumble.

Vox smirks. “You approve.”

She did. But she also goes to the wall and nudges it expectantly.

Something was missing.

“Yes, yes. Patience.”

He raised both hands this time, and a rumble shakes the room. The floor parted like sliding panels, and a massive tank rose into place to replace the empty wall, beginning to fill with water that shimmered with a magical bioluminescence.

She padded to it immediately, dipped her head in, and slid inside with fluid mechanical grace. Her tail swept lazily through the glowing water as she turned to watch Vox proudly.

He gives a big smile, pressing his face to the glass.

“There you go, girl.”

Vox lets the breath ease out of him. For the first time in… however the fuck long, the air felt *right*.

And then- a soft knock at his door.

Followed immediately by the door cracking open.

“Vox? I just wanted to check in-”

Charlie stepped into the room and instantly stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes widened, pupils shimmering with reflected neon.

“Oh, wow!”

Vox immediately stiffened. “I, uh- didn’t realize I needed permission to-”

“No!” Charlie hurried forward, hands raised reassuringly. “No, you don’t. Guests can personalize their rooms however they want. It’s just-”

She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. The walls reinforced with wires, the towering screens, the massive command chair humming with barely concealed power, Shockwave swimming in her tank like a deity in her element.

“This is incredible,” she breathed. “It feels so… you.”

Vox glanced aside. His screens dimmed at the edges- embarrassment, faint but undeniable.

Shockwave chirped loudly from her tank, flicking her tail. Charlie gasped and pressed both hands to her heard.
”OH! She’s so cute! Can I-?”

“No,” Vox said immediately.

Charlie’s smile didn’t falter. “Okay! Totally fair!”

Once she got over her awe, Charlie’s expression softens with genuine concern. “I came to ask… how did things go with Niffty in the workshop? I wanted to make sure you were alright. Not- not that I wouldn’t trust her! She’s so sweet but sometimes she gets a little carried away.”

Vox glances at the resin sealing barely visible from his robe, then at his own reflection in the tank.

“She did her job,” he said. Then, quieter. “She didn’t try to kill me, so that’s a plus.”

“I’m glad,” Charlie said softly. “We just want you to feel safe. That’s all.”

He didn’t answer, but the tension in his posture loosened enough for her to see.

Charlie brightened again. “Actually, we’re about to start the resident meeting downstairs. My dad’s leading it, and we’re finalizing our new resident behavior and correction system!”

Vox’s eyes narrowed. “Behavior system.”

“Nothing scary!” Charlie said quickly. “More like boundaries. Structure. Encouraging accountability! We have a *lot* of new residents, and I can’t afford any more chair throwing fights.”

Vox gave her a flat, withering look. “Lucifer is presenting.”

She winces. “He is… very excited.”

Vox groans into his hand. Lucifer was the last person he wanted to be in proximity with, for obvious reasons. It was going to be hard to not heckle the whole thing, but he needed to keep a low profile around him. “Oh, wonderful. Lucifer’s PowerPoint presentation. Highlight of my day.”

Charlie tried not to laugh. “You don’t have to be an active participant! But since you are a resident it is kinda sorta… mandatory.”

“Right,” Vox muttered. “Because i’m a resident now.”

Charlie clasped her hands together. “Will you come? Please? You can sit in the back. Or- stand near the door. Or look displeased the whole time- I won’t judge!”

“Oh, I’ll be displeased,” Vox said dryly, folding his arms. “That’s non-negotiable.”

“So… yes?”

He sighed, long and theatrical. “Fine.”

Charlie lit up once more. “Great! We’re in the lobby whenever you’re ready.”

She started to leave, then paused in the doorway, her eyes drifting over his space again.

“Really, Vox. I’m glad you were able to get comfortable here.”

He looked away before his stupid screened face betrayed anything. “Yeah. Well. Had to do something.”

She gave him a soft smile and disappeared into the hall.

Vox rests a hand on Shockwave’s tank, groaning to nobody.

“This place is a fucking circus.”

Shockwave flicked water at him.

“I know. Nowhere else to go.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Vox descends the stairs in clean clothes, feeling better than he has in days physically, but emotionally feeling like a condemned man. Shockwave got to curl up and sleep peacefully-lucky creature- while he was sentenced to whatever fresh hell this was.

Voices filtered up from the lobby before he reached the bottom.

Lucifer’s voice specifically. Cheerful, loud, dramatically self-satisfied.

“… and THAT is why we must THINK about the consequences our choices leave behind- just like our friend Mr. Quackers!”

Vox paused mid-step.

Mr. what?

He continues to descend. The room was full; Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, Alastor asleep in an armchair off to the side, and all the hotel’s newest residents squished into mismatched chairs, half of them pajama clad and holding pillows like this was some god forsaken movie night.

Lucifer pauses mid-sentence when he noticed Vox approaching.

The smile stayed, the eyes did not.

Lucifer’s pupils narrowed into glittering slits, and his aura sharpened like a blade drawn an inch from its sheath.

That wasn’t a “how dare you be late and interrupt my bullshit presentation” glare.

That was a “you put me in a biological death machine” glare.

Vox forced himself forward with all the dignity he could muster, dropping into a chair near the very back. He gestures out sarcastically. “Oh, please. Don’t stop on my account.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lucifer said smoothly, voice bright but edged with poorly concealed anger. “I wouldn’t dream of it! After all, YOU of all people should understand the importance of taking responsibility for your actions.”

Vox withers as a few people turn to glare at him. He just glares back. “I already apologized.”

“Hardly.” Lucifer corrected, loudly. “Once, only after Alastor kicked your ass.”

“Semantics,” Vox muttered under his breath, feeling anger bubble up behind his screen. He wasn’t going to be able to act nonchalant for much longer.

Somewhere in the room, Alastor woke up, now finding this presentation to be a lot more interesting.

Lucifer adjusts his hat with a huff, turning back to his ducks.
”As I was SAYING-”

click

A new slide popped up, A duck wearing a top hat with poorly edited female ducks on both arms.

Lucifer cleared his throat. “This- our dear Mr. Quackers- represents a sinner who has been given rules, boundaries, and a PATHWAY to success.”

click

A duck setting a trash can on fire. Niffty audibly gasps.

“And THIS,” Lucifer said, pointing dramatically, “Is what happens when he is DEPRIVED of structure!”

Someone in the audience chimes in. “Oh, I get it! We’re not supposed to be throwing the chairs in the lobby and setting things on fire!”

Vox muffles a laugh into his hand. Holy shit, was this kindergarten?

Lucifer straightens, clearing his throat with theatrical gravitas. “So I propose… a three-strike system. Simple, elegant, universally fear-provoking!”

click

A chart appeared: three ducks in ascending chaos.

“A first offense warns a WARNING,” Lucifer explained. “A friendly conversation, a bit of coaching, perhaps a sticker if i’m feeling whimsical. Second offense: a formal strike. Documentation, reflection worksheets, a brisk chore assignment.”

Alastor hummed with slightly sarcastic interest. “Documentation? How professional. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Lucifer nods fervently. “I thought you’d enjoy the structure.”

Alastor tipped his head in polite acknowledgment.

“And then third strike…” Lucifer paused for drama. “…requires a correctional action.”

click

A duck scrubbing the floor appeared.

The audience gasped like someone had been shot.

“Community service,” Lucifer announced. “Supervised. Productive. Character building. This, my friends, is how you will all find the road to redemption! And that concludes my presentation. Any questions?”

No questions. Everyone was rigid in their seats.

Lucifer twirls, hitting the projector’s off button with his cane. “Good, then! Off to be better, not terrible versions of yourselves!”

Vaggie herds everyone towards a desk with information and reminder sheets with the hotel’s new system on them. Charlie turns towards her father with a warm smile. “That went really well, dad! I was a little apprehensive about the ducks, but I think they really helped everyone get the message!”

Lucifer didn’t smile back.

His wings shifted beneath his shirt. Slow, agitated, protective in a way only a parent could radiate.

“Charlotte,” he murmured, voice dipped low so other guests wouldn’t hear. He points at Vox, who had tried to escape but was currently being forced a information sheet by Vaggie. “What is he doing here?”

Charlie blinked. “Dad… Vox is a guest.”

“He is an Overlord,” Lucifer corrects sharply. “One who trapped me- ME! Lucifer! In a big weapon used to kill everyone like a week ago!”

Charlie’s shoulder’s dropped. “He needed help. He has nowhere else to go.”

“There are dozens of other hotels this side of the ring.”

“Not ones that would actually care about him!”

Lucifer snaps softly. “What what makes you think we should?”

Charlie swallowed, steeling her gaze. “Because we care about sinners who need it. That has always been the point, Dad. Everyone who walks through these doors has done bad things.”

Lucifer stared at her- at the daughter he loved more than anything, at the hotel she poured her heart into, at the ideals he found silly by nature.

“That man is dangerous,” he said quietly.

“He is trying.” Charlie replied, equally quiet.

Lucifer looked away, his jaw tightened.

Charlie gently touches his arm. “Please, dad. Trust me. He deserves a chance just like anyone else.”

Lucifer didn’t answer right away.

He exhaled, his wings settling.

“…One chance,” he finally said. “I mean it, Charlie. One.”

Charlie nodded, relief softening her posture. “That’s all he needs.”

Chapter Text

The hallway lights hummed softly as Vox slipped outside, pushing open one of the small balcony doors tucked near the end of the second floor. He didn’t bother with his coat, only in a black long-sleeved button up with the sleeves rolled up and the collar untucked.

He lights a cigarette with a touch of static from his fingertip.

The ember glowed bright orange against the dimly lit, sleepy city below. It shimmered in neon shadow, familiar, comforting, and yet further away than it’s ever felt before in this strange hotel.

He takes a slow drag, letting the smoke curl and dissipate into the night air.

Behind him, the balcony door clicked open.

“Ah,” Alastor said lightly, stepping out with the softest tap of his cane. “I wondered where you had vanished to.”

Vox didn’t turn. “Congratulations. You found me.”

Alastor came to stand beside him- not close, not touching, but near enough that Vox could feel that static hum of his presence again. Like a thick smoke curling into his brain to try and upheave buried memories. Utterly intrusive.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Alastor watched the city, Vox watched his cigarette burn. The silence stretched, thin but not hostile.

After a full minute, Alastor broke it.

“You seem troubled.”

Vox snorted. “Observant.”

“I try.”

Vox flicked ash over the railing. Sparks drifted downward like dying pixels. “You here to scold me for being out past curfew or something?”

“I wasn’t aware there was one.”

“There will be,” Vox muttered. “Give Lucifer time.”

Alastor chuckled softly.

Another moment of silence.

“But that is not why I came,” Alastor added.

Vox took another drag. “Let me guess. You want to know why i’m here.”

“Mm,” Alastor hummed. “Yes. That would be a good place to start.”

Vox let the smoke out slowly though his teeth.

“Kicked out,” he said simply. “But you knew that already.”

Alastor raised a brow. “Is that all?”

“It’s enough.”

“What about Velvette and Valentino?”

“What about them?” Vox said with studied indifference. “They didn’t want me. I left. End of story.”

Alastor’s smile softened. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“No,” Vox replied, tapping ash again. “I’m deciding to elaborate.”

Alastor tilted his head. “Such a difference.”

Vox huffed. “To me, yes.”

Another breeze swept across the balcony, billowing Alastor’s coat. Vox didn’t look at him, but he felt the deer’s gaze on him- measured and curious, but not unkind.

“You could have gone anywhere,” Alastor said quietly. “Any other tower. Any other gang. A dozen places where your name still holds a semblance of weight.”

Vox’s jaw tightened faintly. “And?”

“And yet… you chose here.”

Vox didn’t respond. He flicked the cigarette, watching the last ember fall into the subdued neon abyss below.

“I needed a room,” he said finally.

“A room,” Alastor repeated. “With a bed, and walls, and residents who see you as a threat. Such luxurious criteria!”

Vox inhaled, exhaled, and then crossed his arms. “You want the truth?”

“I rarely want anything else.”

Vox wiped a thumb along the metal seam on his chest, feeling the smooth resin beneath his shirt. “I didn’t think I’d walk in and be… tolerated.”

“Tolerated,” Alastor echoed, mirth in his voice.

“Accepted,” Vox corrected quietly. “Whatever.”

“You were hurt,” Alastor said simply.

Vox stiffened. “I’m not-”

“Physical wounds and emotional wounds are both wounds,” Alastor said calmly. “Though you seem far more reluctant to acknowledge the latter.”

Vox looked away sharply. “Drop it.”

Alastor didn’t push, and the night hummed around them.

After a long pause, Alastor spoke again- gentler this time. “It will take them a long time to fully trust you. You’re unpredictable, dangerous, and proud. And you have a history of rather questionable alliances.”

Vox snorted. “Look who’s talking.”

“But,” Alastor continued, ignoring the jab, “you asked for help. From me. And that is… not something I take lightly. Not anymore.”

Vox’s screen dimmed. “I didn’t have many options.”

“You had fewer than you deserved,” Alastor corrected softly.

Vox's throat tightened just enough to hurt.

Alastor let the silence carry for another moment. Then:

“Whatever your reasons… I’m glad you’re here.”

Vox blinked.

The smoke drifted gently between them.

“…Don’t get sentimental,” he muttered.

Alastor’s grin returned- gentle, sly, and unthreatening. ”Perish the thought.”

They stood together, two frequencies sharing the same stretch of night.

Neither spoke, both stayed.

And something quiet began to tune itself between them.

Chapter Text

Vox woke to the sound of metal tapping glass.

Sharp, rhythmic, impatient.

He cracked his screen on with a low groan.

Shockwave hovered at the edge of her tank, nose bumping the glass in a steady beat.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

“I’m up,” he muttered, scrubbing a sleepy hand over his eyes. He pushes himself upright slowly, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

Shockwave shrank as he stood, compressing into that smaller, sleeker version of herself and surfacing near the tank’s top. When he approached, she popped halfway out of the water and bumped her forehead into his palm.

“Needy as always.” He murmurs quietly, but with fondness lacing his voice.

She hummed in response, fins fluttering.

Without a bunch of useless assistants lying around, Vox found there wasn’t much to feed her here. In emergencies he settled for a container of Mammon’s “Shark Flakes, not a Fucking Cereal it’s actually for Sharks”, but he didn’t like giving her that processed slop.

Shockwave liked her meals fresh.

He would have to figure out something eventually, although he was certain Charlie would be less than pleased if she discovered Vox was feeding her hotel residents to his pet shark.

When he turned around, he noticed a piece of paper that looked like it had been partially slid under his door. He opens it a bit more, snatching the paper up and leaning against the doorframe.

Glitter glue on the edges, red marker, pen stabbed through at the top. Clearly Niffty’s handiwork.

At the top, scrawled in bright looping letters.

Daily Duties! (for all residents!)

Vox blinked slowly. Once.

Then he started to skim down the long list of each resident. There was apparently a lot that happened behind the scenes to keep this shithole running. He passes over some familiar names.

Alastor- Tidying the lobby.

Charlie- Kitchen cleanup.

Husk- Bar cleanup.

Niffty- General sanitizing.

Vaggie- Inventory checks.

And then:

Vox- Laundry Room.

Vox stared at the sheet for a full ten seconds, and then pinched between his eyes with two fingers.

“I am not doing laundry,” he whispered.

He turned on his heel to go right back into his room, when a voice cut through the hallway like a razor. ”Don’t.”

He froze mid-step.

Vaggie stood halfway down the hall with a clipboard tucked under her arm and the expression of someone who had run out of patience for the day before breakfast.

“Oh, fantastic,” Vox muttered. “The fun patrol is here.”

Vaggie matched up to him, wings flicking in sharp irritation. “You were about to go back into your room.”

“No,” Vox said with a strained smile. “I was simply thinking it over.”

“You were stalling.”

“I don’t stall.”

Vaggie bristles, pointing at the much more organized clipboard in her hand that had the same chore chart on it, minus the glitter glue. “Charlie made this chart for a reason.”

“I didn’t sign up for it.”

“You moved in.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Maybe. But you’re still here.” Vaggie crossed her arms. “So you’re doing laundry.”

He bristled. “I am an overlord. I do not- under any circumstances- wipe other people’s stains off of used towels.”

Vaggie gives him a smug grin. “Good news. The towels are clean before you fold them.”

Vox just stared at her like she spoke an alien dialect.

She sighed-exasperated, tired. “It’s one chore. One. Everyone else has theirs. It’s not like we’re asking you to spot clean the whole place.”

“Yet,” Vox snapped.

“Yet,” Vaggie agreed, deadpan.

Vox clenches his teeth. “This is a humiliation ritual. Need shit clean? Hire someone. This is beneath me.”

“It’s normal,” Vaggie corrected. “That’s the point. Nobody gets special treatment here.”

“I didn’t ask-”

“Then prove it.”

He froze.

Vaggie’s voice softened just enough to cut deeper. “Show us you’re not here to make more problems. Show Charlie you’re willing to try. Because more than anyone else here, she seriously believes that you’re here for good.”

Vox looked away immediately.

He hated how hard that hit.

Vaggie raised an eyebrow. “So. You going to the laundry room? Or am I dragging you down the stairs like a fucking toddler?”

“You. Are insufferable.” Vox spits, pushing his finger in her face before walking past her stiffly, faceplate set in what he considered to be an offended blue.

Vaggie smirks victoriously, and wordlessly follows him downstairs.

✦ ✦ ✦

The laundry room was humid, sticky almost. Several laundry baskets sat stacked against the wall, and a neat little instructional note hung above the detergent.

Sort, Wash, Dry, Fold! (You can do this, Vox!)

Vox wanted to set the sign on fire.

But Vaggie was still out in the hallway, arms crossed and making sure he didn’t try to bolt, so he glares at her and shuts the heavy door.

“Laundry,” he muttered to himself. “Fucking laundry.”

He tosses his chore slip onto the counter and grabs one of the laundry baskets sitting on the floor. Towels, sheets, various fabrics he did not want to be thinking about.

He sets the basket down, opened the dryer door, and stopped.

It smelled clean enough, but there was fluffy grey stuff inside. Lint. The remnants of other fabrics.

He stared at it in offended horror.

“I am not touching that.”

He grabbed a random white towel from the basket and used it like a shield between his hand to clean the inside of the machine. It sent all over his coat, and stuck to his screen, caking into the corners.

“Unbelievable,” He hissed, swatting at himself.

Lint stuck deeper.

He threw the towel across the room. “Fuck you!”

He paused, looked down at the line of like twenty other dryers, and sighed like a dying man.

He didn’t want to get lint up into his circuitry. It would take hours to purge out.

He needed something to protect his head.

He scanned the room, eyes landing on another clean white towel folded on the counter.

He stared.

“No,” He told it.

The towel remained a towel.

“No,” He repeated, louder.

The towel continued its silent resistance.

Five seconds later, Vox wrapped it around his screened head like an exasperated 1950’s housewife trying to keep her curlers dry.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the metal reflection of the dryer door.

It was humiliating. It was undignified.

It was effective.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” he lied to himself.

He turned around and came face-to-face with Alastor leaning casually against the dryer.

“Oh-ho!” Alastor said, voice much too loud. “What a charming ensemble!”

Vox whipped around and nearly tripped. “Get OUT.”

Alastor tapped his cane lightly on the tile. “I was just observing Charlie’s little chore chart and simply thought I’d check on your progress!”

“No you didn’t.”

“You’re right,” Alastor admitted cheerfully. “I came to enjoy this.”

Vox threw his hands up. “Of fucking course you did.”

He turned back to the row of washers and dumped the laundry basket in with excessive force.

Alastor hummed approvingly. “Look at you! Embracing domesticity.”

“I’m embracing fuck all.”

“You are wearing a towel on your head.”

“It’s protective.”

“It’s adorable.”

Vox hissed like a wet cat.

He grabbed the detergent, glared at the instructions on the bottle, then poured the liquid in with the delicate finesse of a crazed man pouring gasoline onto a roaring bonfire.

The washer lets out a confused beep.

“The fuck does that mean?” Vox snapped.

“It means,” Alastor said smoothly, “You put too much fabric in there.”

Vox froze, and poured more detergent in out of spite. He kicks the door shut and watches it roar to life.

“Excellent,” Alastor said. “Let us see if it explodes.”

“It won’t explode.”

The washer churns ominously.

“It might explode.” Vox admitted, but still stepped back with the smug proudness of someone who just performed open-heart surgery.

Alastor clapped twice, delighted. “Marvelous! You’ve operated a washing machine.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Never,” Alastor lied.

Vaggie opened the door, peeking in. She stops at the sight.

Vox. With a towel folded around his head like a housewife from a 1950’s detergent commercial. Staring in front of a running washing machine. Glaring.

“Oh my god, he actually did it.” She whispered.

Vox’s head turns, and he immediately snaps. “I did NOT do it because I WANTED to, I did it because you threatened me.”

Vaggie considers his words, and then snaps a picture of the scene. “Good!” She says, uncharacteristically bright. “Keep going.”

Vox stared at the empty doorway after she left. “She took a fucking picture of me.”

Alastor just grins in delight. “Proud of you.”

“Shut up.”

Vox’s towel slips down one inch.

He pushed it back up with dignity long dead.

✦ ✦ ✦

Vaggie all but sprinted down the hallway, fighting the urge to cackle. She bursts into the staff lounge so abruptly that Charlie, who had started organizing next week’s core charts, nearly dropped a stack of labels.

“Vaggie? What-”

“I need you to see this,” Vaggie said, breathless and triumphant.

Charlie blinked, curious and already smiling. “Okay…?”

Vaggie stepped closer, holding the phone to her chest dramatically, eyes up on the ceiling in bliss. Charlie leaned forward, eyes bright.

“What is it?

Vaggie flips it around. The photo had been perfectly framed.

Vox standing stiffly beside a washing machine, with a towel wrapped around his head like a retro housewife, expression pure murder.

Charlie slapped both hands over her mouth. “Oh my GOD.”

Vaggie grinned. “There it is.”

“OH my GOD,” Charlie repeated, voice pitching upward. “Vaggie- Vaggie, LOOK at him-”

“I am.”

“He looks like he’s about to bake cookies and kill people at the same time!”

“That’s an upgrade from his usual look,” Vaggie said dryly with a smile, placing her hand on the small of Charlie’s back.

Charlie doubles over in laughter, smiling so hard her face hurt. “He’s doing laundry. LAUNDRY, Vaggie!”

“With a towel hat.”

“I- I can’t. This is the BEST thing.”

Charlie grabbed the phone with both hands, staring at the picture like it was a rare baby animal.

“He looks so… so…”

“Domestic?” Vaggie offered.

“No- well- yes- but also…” Charlie squinted, tilting her head. “… kind of adorable?”

Vaggie’s smile softened into something more fond. “He’s trying.”

Charlie stopped laughing slowly, melting into a quiet warmth. “Yeah. He really is.”

Vaggie’s shoulders eased. “I know this is funny, and I'm going to pin it to the board the moment I get the printer fixed, but- this is a good sign. He didn’t try to blow up the place, or storm out, or glitch into a meltdown.”

“Exactly!” Charlie said. “That’s why this is adorable! He’s actually participating!”

Charlie stared at the photo a long moment more, her voice dropping to a gentler register.

“He looks… small. Not in a bad way. But like he’s figuring things out again.”

Vaggie wraps an arm around her waist. “He is. It’ll take time.”

Charlie nodded in agreement, eyes still on the image. “Should we… check on him again?”

Vaggie shakes her head. “Nah. Let him finish before he thinks too hard about it.”

Charlie giggled again, bright as sunlight. “Okay, okay. But I'm totally keeping this picture forever.”

Vaggie leaned over, kissing her on the cheek. “Whatever makes you happy, babe.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Vox had been at this for hours. He didn’t even want to check the time.

The line of dryers had finished, all singing out with discordant beeps. Vox slaps the top of one as he walks by, expression washed in misery. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up.”

He pulled one of the doors open and was immediately blasted with a wave of steam so thick it fogged up his faceplate. He reeled back, sputtering static.

“Why’s it so hot?” He fans his face. “That is unsafe. That is a hazard.”

He hesitantly pulls out the towels, keeping his face away from the steam, and begins to fold them into somewhat neat piles.

Fold.

Flip.

Stack.

Fold.

Flip.

Stack.

He had forgotten Alastor was sitting atop one of the dryers and watching him until he spoke. “You’re very good at that.”

Vox stiffened. “Don’t.”

“Competence suits you.”

“I said, don’t.”

Vox folded the final towel and placed it on the counter. He exhales hard. “Done.”

Alastor claps his hands. “Well done! Shall we return to civilization?”

Vox brushed past him, ripping off his head towel and throwing it across the room. “I’ve had enough of you for a day.”

Alastor just hums. “Of course.”

The hallway was cooler, much easier to breathe. Vox’s steps quickened out to the lobby, half in escape and half in stubborn pride, as he headed towards the staff lounge. Alastor followed from a polite distance, cane tapping in rhythm with the song he was humming.

The moment Vox stepped into the staff room, he knew.

He knew they had all seen the picture.

Charlie shot upright from where she had been leaning over the table, clipboard in hand. ”Vox!!” She squeaked.

Vaggie sat beside her, noticeably not making eye contact. Suspicious. Her mouth was pressed into a thin, trembling line- the kind that only happens when someone is dying not to laugh.

Husk took one look at Vox and hid his smile behind his mug.

Niffty pops up from under the table, chirping loudly. “Hi, Vox! Nice hair towel!”

Vox’s screen flickered violently. “I TOOK. IT. OFF.”

“I know!” Niffty says cheerfully. “But I saw the picture!”

Vox’s soul feels like it was leaving his body.

Vaggie slaps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.

Charlie’s whole face splits into a delighted smile. She clutched her clipboard to her chest like a lovesick teenager. ”Vox,” she breathed, “I love the picture.”

Vox wanted the floor to open beneath him.

He jabbed a finger at Vaggie. “YOU. Delete it.”

Vaggie choked. “Absolutely not.”

“It is BLACKMAIL.”

“It’s ADORABLE!” Charlie corrected immediately, hands on the side of her face.

Vox’s screen glitched into static. This was too much.

Husk snorted into his drink. “Kid, I haven’t laughed that hard in decades.”

Charlie quickly hurried over, placing both hands on his arms, bright and earnest. “Vox- listen. No one’s making fun of you. We’re all just… proud of you.”

Vox blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. “Proud,” He echoes in quiet disbelief.

“Yeah!” Charlie beamed. “You passed my test! You did the hardest chore and now I know your intentions are earnest!”

Vox’s jaw goes agape, and then he scrubs a frustrated hand over his face. No wonder everything down there was faulty and hot and difficult. They gave him the hardest task to test his resilience.

And he had actually passed it.

Charlie clasps her hands together. “Oooh! We need to celebrate! Let’s order some food and then we can talk about Vox’s future here.”

Everyone in the room speaks in agreement about being hungry. Charlie lowers her voice and nudges Vox privately. “You did amazing work, Vox. Really.”

He swallowed again, looking away.

The group had deliberated on what food to get, and Vaggie looks at Vox expectantly. “Hey- are you joining us?”

Vox flinches up, drawn out of his thoughts. His screen glows just faintly with a color suspiciously close to warmth, and he smiles.

“Yeah, I am.”

Chapter Text

At multiple points in his life, Vox would have considered himself a foodie.

He was an all-American man. He liked big meals surrounded by family. But that was before years of running himself ragged on caffeine, liquor, and the kind of artificial sustenance that kept you wired but not well. Before Valentino’s endless shooting schedule and dinners where food was something to pose with, not consume.

Since becoming an overlord, his life became a blend of neon, stress, and empty calories.

So now, bundled up on the couch in the lounge with a plate of real, greasy, good-smelling pizza in hand.

His stomach lurched.

He hadn’t really been paying attention to the movie Charlie had put on, despite it being one of his favorites.

The Wizard of Oz.

It had come out when he was very young, just a bright eyed little boy watching it in a crowded theater with his father, clutching a nickel ticket in his hands and sitting in seats so close to the screen that the Technicolor practically burned into his retinas.

A boy who dreamed- naively, stupidly- about one day being part of that world. Leaving and stepping onto a yellow brick road of his own.

Leading, not following.

Vox stared at the pizza as nausea curled through him in slow, humiliating waves. Daydreaming had helped a little, but coming to the conclusion that he missed who he was when he had first seen this movie sent him right back to square one.

He could feel Husk’s eyes on him from the seat beside him, unimpressed but observant.

Vox had sat in the very back deliberately, not trying to make any more impressions today. Charlie, Vaggie, Niffty, and Cherri- who had crashed the movie night five minutes ago with two liter bottles of soda- were all sprawled out on the floor in a rather impressive network of blankets and soft things.

Husk was seated beside him a good distance away, leaning against the couch’s opposing arm with his tail flicking lazily. He was only here because he was offered a stiff drink with real alcohol, not that weak stuff they keep stocked in the bar for residents. He finally mutters, barely audible over the movie. “. . . It ain’t gonna grow legs and walk into your mouth, kid.”

Vox’s screen dimmed, and he furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t think I requested commentary.”

He did not. “Not hungry?”

Vox looks away. “I can’t stomach anything right now.”

Husk took a slow sip of his drink. “… Ah.”

Silence.

Charlie giggled quietly at the screen. Vaggie whispers something into her ear and they both laugh.

Husk leans back a little, eyes still on the film. “When’d you last eat something that wasn’t battery acid or fuckin’- liquid regret?” He swirls his drink a little, trying to accentuate his point.

Vox’s jaw tightened. He was in no mood for a lecture after the day he’d had. “I eat.”

“You’re anxious. Makes food hit wrong.”

Vox just freezes, feeling the edges of his screen get staticky as he grips his legs tighter.

Husk continued casually, like he wasn’t cutting straight to the point. “Been there. Still am there. Hell does that to you.”

Vox lifts up only to glare at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m trying, kid. Look, I know that feeling. Stomach in your throat. Food smells good but sits wrong. Sensory shit.” He took another drink. “I used to get it real bad after my deal.”

The word deal hung heavy in the air, even spoken quietly.

Vox didn’t look at Alastor, but he felt his presence somewhere in the very back of the room. He had checked out ages ago, dozing off with his shadow watching over the room with murderous intent in order to protect its master.

Husk continued, quieter now. “You live a long time being owned by someone, you stop taking care of yourself. Then you try again, and your body doesn’t remember how.”

Vox’s screen flickers in shaken recognition. He swallows thickly, stomach turning again.

Husk nudged the pizza plate closer with one claw. “Small bites. Not for them.” He jerked his head toward the others. “For you.”

Vox glances down at the slice, his throat immediately tightening up.

Husk nudges him. “Just one bite. Slow.”

Vox hesitated, and then took a small bite.

It sat heavy in his stomach, but not painfully so. Manageable.

Husk nods once, a quiet gesture of approval. “Good.”

Vox exhales and sets the slice down with shaky hands. “How do you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“. . . The anxiety.”

Husk’s expression flickers with something new. Hurt, quiet, something most people don’t see out of him. He didn’t answer immediately.

Then, softly:

“You find somethin’ to ground you. Someone. A routine. A feeling. Even if it’s stupid.”

He looked at the screen as Dorothy ran across the gray Kansas farm.

“Sometimes it’s a movie,” he added.

They fell silent again, the only sound the film’s score and the delighted chatter of the demons sprawled out on the floor.

Husk tilted his head a little, voice dropping a bit lower. “Angel used to-” He stopped, clearing his throat. His ears lower. “Forget it.”

Vox didn’t push. He had no right to.

Husk finished the thought anyway, his tail curled tersely now. “. . . He used to hate movie nights. Said sittin’ still made him itchy. But he tried. For us.” He swallows quietly. “Miss the little bastard.”

Vox just stares ahead, his throat tight.

Husk shrugged it off. “Point is- there’s no wrong way to be messed up. Just gotta keep trying.”

Vox took another small bite, almost subconsciously as he listened to Husk. His nausea didn’t vanish, but it eased a bit. He exhaled shakily. “Thanks.”

Husk grunts, waving a hand at him. “Don’t get all mushy on me, kid. Gotta have someone to keep it cynical.”

The corner of Vox’s mouth threatens to lift. He eases into the couch a bit more. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They weren’t close. After what he had done to Angel, Vox assumed they never would be.

But right here, under the light of the dim projector,

They understood each other.

✦ ✦ ✦

The credits rolled across the makeshift blanket-screen, tinny music trailing off into static as the projector shut down. Charlie clapped her hands together one last time, eyes misty. “That was SO good,” she sniffed. “It never stops being good.”

Vaggie chuckles softly, brushing popcorn kernels off of her lap. “You say that every time, babe.”

Husk stands and rolls his back in a feline manner. “Alright, movie’s over. Let’s clean up before someone trips over that fuckin’ thing.”

He gestures vaguely at the fort Niffty had built from her inability to stay still. It somehow had a second floor. She zips over to it and guards it with wide arms, glaring at him. ”OVER MY DEAD BODY.”

Vox stood slowly, adjusting his coat. Alastor had woken a few minutes before the movie ended, smooth as if he hadn’t just slept for the duration of it. He rose silently in the back, twisting his neck around with a sickening crack. He gives his shadow a polite nod, and it snickers quietly and slithers back into his own body.

Nobody had addressed the fact that he had fallen asleep, but everyone noticed.

Vox pretended he didn’t, instead bending down stiffly to pick up a discarded blanket. His nausea was still lingering faintly but it was much more manageable now.

Charlie bounced up, beginning to stack up empty popcorn containers. “That was such a great night! Good food, good movie, good company…”

Cherri stands from her spot on the floor as well. “Yo, I’ll help.” She kicked an empty box into an open trash bag. “That was actually kinda sick. Old-school vibe.”

Vaggie goes over to Vox, two pillows clutched under her arms. “Hey, Vox,” she said gently, “we, uh… wanted to talk about what comes next.”

Vox visibly stiffens. “Um- no.”

“You literally don’t even know what I’m saying yet.”

Vox chooses to feign nonchalance. He brushes dust off his shoulder. “I’m refusing preemptively.”

Cherri snorted. “Damn. He’s already learning boundaries. Good for you, king.”

Charlie took a slower approach. “Vox… you’re a resident now. You’ve done two really big things today.” She counted on her fingers. “You did your chore, and you stayed for a whole movie night.”

“And didn’t puke,” Husk added thoughtfully.

Cherri grimaced. “Dude. Gross.”

Vox points at him. “Shut UP.”

Charlie continued, undeterred. “We just want you to know- if you want to stay here, if you want a future here… we’d love that.”

Vox’s chest tightens painfully. He hated how much warmer the room felt with all of them. Hated- no, feared how badly he wanted to believe her.

Cherri tosses trash into a bag Husk was holding. “Look,” she said, tone softer than usual. “you don’t gotta become, like, Mr. Responsibility overnight.”

Niffty zipped across the room and latched onto his arm. “Yeah! And you watched a WHOLE MOVIE with us! That’s more than Alastor ever has!”

Alastor bows his head. “Touché.”

Vox felt heat build behind his screen. He gently shakes Niffty off. “That’s not- these aren’t…. metrics.”

“Sure they are,” Cherri said. “Just weird ones.”

Husk pats his back as he walks by, slinging the trash bag over his shoulder. “Whatever happens, you’re doing better than you think.”

Alastor added softly, “Time will reveal the rest.”

Vox swivels to meet Alastor’s eyes, trying to read him, detect the deceit in his tone- and found nothing. His smile only stretches, and he politely turns to leave the room.

Vox stares at the empty doorframe, and then turns around to look at them- this mismatched chaotic group who had somehow decided he deserved a chance. Even though he didn’t deserve one after everything he did. He turns to look at Vaggie, gently lightening her load by taking pillows from her.

“I’ll let you know when I have an answer. I need time to think things over.”

Vaggie just nods, her expression softening a bit as she watches Vox take the pillows. “No rush. We always have a room for you.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Vox reached his room with a quiet urgency he didn’t want to think about. He shut the door behind him and let the soft blues of his room swallow him whole.

Shockwave floated forward in her tank, fins fluttering in greeting.

“Hey, girl.” Vox muttered, voice low and frayed.

She nosed the glass, chirping, happy to see him return.

He forced a weak smile and pressed his palm to the tank, feeling that predictable jolt of electricity course through his arm as she gently rubs her snout against the glass. The soft hum of the filter, the faint glow of the water, the whir of her mechanical body. It did wonders to ground him.

“Longest day of my fucking life,” he said under his breath.

Shockwave responded with a soft digital trill, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore.

She was looking past him.

At his phone.

He had left it charging at his bedside all day. It was strange how quickly time seemed to pass here without him needing to check notifications or send emails to clients anymore. His screen glowed with a notification.

His stomach turns anxiously, and he sits down on the edge of his bed to read it.

1 NEW MESSAGE

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Cold static crawled across his screened face.

Voxxy.

Heard you’re slumming it over at the shithole hotel.

Cute.

Call me. We need to talk.

His vision fuzzed.

His grip tightened around the phone hard enough that the casing creaked.

He had blocked Valentino’s number days ago.

Shockwave chirps anxiously at the shift in his heartbeat, pressing her face to the glass.

Vox didn’t breathe.

He just stared at the words until they blurred, until they slithered back into old commands and expectations and wounds-

And then his stomach lurched violently.

He barely made it to the bathroom.

He hit his knees on cold tile, bracing himself on the rim of the toilet as his body revolted. Pizza, anxiety, old trauma. Everything he’d been forcing himself to swallow for hours.

It all came back up.

Shockwave lets out a loud, distressed whine from the other room, bumping the tank wall with her nose.

Vox heaved again, emptying nothing but fear and humiliation and sickening instinct from his previous relationship. When it passed, he collapsed back against the wall, shaking.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing in sharp, glitching gasps.

“God… fucking damnit,” he whispered, his voice ragged.

He didn’t cry- he refused to- but his body shook like it was trying to.

He forced himself to stand and splash some water on his face, rinsing the inside of his mouth out to get rid of the acrid taste.

He returned to his room on unsteady legs.

Shockwave pressed hard against the glass, whining in mechanical distress.

Vox just rests his head against the tank, eyes closed. “I’m okay,” he lied.

He forced himself upright again and walked to his nightstand. He set the phone face-down and pushed it far away.

He slowly sprawls out on his bed, exhaustion hitting him in devastating waves.

He was at the hotel. Rebuilding, trying.

And Valentino could still get to him.

It was there in the near silence of his room that the weight began to descend on him, and he felt hot tears welling up in his eyes. He swallows the feeling down, his voice coming out quiet. “Come here, girl.”

Shockwave chirps at the command, sizing herself down and leaping out of the top of her tank. She shakes the water off and hops onto his bed, sidling up next to her father.

Vox closes her arms around her and sobs softly.

✦ ✦ ✦

In the morning, Shockwave lays across his torso like an oversized metal cat, fins tucked in, her body rising and falling in her idle power cycle. She was an extension of him in a way, and she knew when he was about to wake. She taps her snout against his sternum.

“Morning,” Vox muttered, voice low and sanded down from sleep.

Shockwave nuzzles him, she had been watching his vitals from the moment his heart rate jumped from reading the message. She soothes at the steady thumping of his heart now, rutting against his chest.

“I’m fine now.” He murmurs, running a hand over her metallic head.

She squeaked, indignant, as if to say no you aren’t, and shoved her head into his hand.

Vox let out a small, barely-there laugh, the kind that surprised even him. “Okay, I get it. Christ.”

Vox sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. His legs trembled faintly, the memory of last night still sat in his muscles. But the numb dread was gone. Overnight, it had crystallized into something else.

Resolve.

The memory of Husk’s gruff, unexpected tenderness drifted back to him. Vox wasn’t used to people giving him coping advice. Giving him something to manage his anxiety instead of finding ways to exploit it.

But Husk had just… understood.

Shockwave moves to his nightstand, tapping lightly at the phone on his nightstand with the tip of her fin. It still sat face down where he had tossed it after seeing the message. It felt radioactive.

“I know,” Vox whispered. “I have to deal with it.”

He stands, pulling his coat over his shoulders. “You stay here,” he says, scratching under her chin. “I’ll be right back.”

Husk was behind the reception counter, wings half-unfurled, cleaning a stubborn stain out of a coffee mug for about the fifth time. He looked up as Vox approached.

“Damn,” Husk grunted, “You look wrecked.”

Vox takes a seat at the bar, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Thanks. I didn’t notice. Look, I wanted to talk to you.”

Husk raises an eyebrow at the tone of his voice, gently setting the mug down. “Here comes trouble.”

“It’s about Valentino.”

Husk froze.

Vox lowers his voice. “He contacted me last night. Hence the-” He gestures vaguely to his tired form. “This.”

“Yeah,” Husk said darkly. “I figured he would.”

“He wants to see me.”

Husk’s jaw clenched. “Angel’s there.”

Vox nodded once, steadying himself. “I want to talk to him. To Angel- to tell him he doesn’t have to work for Val.”

A beat passes.

“That he’s welcome here.”

Husk stared at him for so long that Vox almost rescinded his argument and fled back to his room.

Then Husk looked away, his wings drooping. “Angel’s not going to trust you.”

“I’m aware.”

“Valentino will twist everything you say.”

“He’s good at that.”

“And this could get you- both of you- hurt.”

“I know,” Vox repeated, softer.

Husk studied him. “So why do it?”

Vox took a deep breath.

Let the truth rise.

“Because I’m tired of being a part of the problem,” he said. “And because Angel deserves a chance. And because… I owe it to someone.”

Husk blinked. “Who?”

“You,” Vox said quietly, screen burning in slight embarrassment as he looked away.

Husk also looks away, like the words did psychic damage to him. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, screen.”

“I’m not,” Vox said, looking at him again. “I just… don’t want to squander the help you gave me.”

Husk ran a tired hand down his face. “You’re really serious about this?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Husk sighed, grabbing his coat from the back of a chair. “Alright, fine.”

Vox blinked. “Fine?”

“Fine,” Husk grumbled. “I’ll go with you.”

Vox felt his system stutter. “Seriously? You will?”

“I’m not doing this for you,” Husk said, shrugging into the coat. “I’m doing it for Angel.”

A beat. Then he points at him.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

Vox had no idea how to respond to that.

Husk waved him forward. “C’mon. Before that prissy little asshole gets mad and sends something worse than a text.”

Vox followed him, heart pounding, and that familiar new resolve hardening in his chest.

Chapter Text

The closer they got to Val’s district, the louder everything felt. The neon, the bass, the hum of the city.

Husk said nothing the entire way, but his wings were rigid, every feather tense and on alert. Vox didn’t blame him. This part of the city had a deep, ugly pull to it.

He experienced it firsthand.

By the time they reached the main studio doors, Vox’s stomach had dropped through the floor.

“Last chance to bail,” Husk muttered.

“No,” Vox said quietly, moving to throw open the doors.

Inside, the air hit them like a wall. Hot, humid, heavy with sweat and perfume. Vox can feel every single one of the cameras, the lines of electricity creeping up the walls and dangling from the ceiling like snakes. He tentatively signals one, and that same sensation returns again. The same painful sting behind his eyes he had felt after his own tower’s security system turned against him. A door slammed in his face.

He had absolutely no power here.

A set dominated the center of the room. Harsh spotlights, velvet curtains, deep red furniture trimmed with gold. Stagehands hustled back and forth- makeup artists, lighting operators, handlers.

A giant camera rig loomed at the foot of the stage, blinking red. Angel Dust stood under the harsh set lights, adjusting his sparkly robe between takes. Glitter was smeared beneath his eyes, his curled hair drooping slightly from sweat and exertion. He was dressed to film, but the exhaustion in his shoulders said he’d been here too long already.

The second he saw Husk and Vox, his whole body jerked. He grips the velvet backdrop, keeping his voice at a loud whisper to avoid drawing attention. “The hell are you doing here?”

Husk stepped forward, voice soft. “Angel-”

Angel’s gaze cut to him, then snapped to Vox, then back to Husk.

The hurt that flashed across his face wasn’t small.

It was devastating.

“You brought HIM?” Angel spat, pointing at Vox. “Seriously? After what he did to me?”

Husk froze. “Angel- listen-”

“No, YOU listen!” Angel’s voice cracked, fury roaring up to cover the fear underneath. “He hypnotized me! He made me attack my friends- my FAMILY!”

Vox swallowed, searing hot guilt clawing up his throat. “Angel-”

“Shut your mouth.” Angel snapped, and then his voice got softer when he turned to Husk. “I trusted you,” He whispered. “And you showed up with him? The media overlord? Vox?”

Husk holds his hands out, his wings drooping. “Angel, please. I didn’t bring him to hurt you.”

“Well congrats, ‘cause you did!” Angel folds his arms.

Makeup artists and handlers exchanged uneasy glances. The tension rippled like electricity.

Vox ignored the murmurs of the staff, locking eyes with Angel. “I didn’t come to instigate anything. I came because you deserve better than this.”

Angel’s jaw clenched hard. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“I know,” Vox said quietly.

“Then why the hell are you here?” Angel demanded, extending out his lower arms. “To fix your image? To make a scene? To what-? Undo everything you did to me? To all these innocent people?”

“No,” Vox said, the sound of his heartbeat in his head louder than his voice. “I came because someone who loves you asked me to.”

Husk went red under his fur.

Angel’s voice drops to a whisper. “Yeah? Well Husker loves a lot of people he shouldn’t.”

A slow clap echoed through the room.

Valentino stepped out from behind a curtain, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his lavish coat, smiling criminally wide.

“Well, well, well,” he purred. “If it isn’t my favorite disappointments.”

Angel’s face was drained of color.

Husk’s wings flare out, and the fur at the back of his neck spikes angrily.

Vox’s circuits scream within his body.

Valentino spread his arms out, grin cruel and gleaming.

“Welcome home, boys.”

Angel stands straight immediately, pulling his robe tight around himself. Husk moved just slightly to stand in front of Angel, casual enough to pretend he wasn’t shielding him, tense enough that anyone who really knew him could see the truth.

Vox just glares, unable to keep his eyes off of Valentino’s smile. The same shit-eating grin he saw before he was tossed out of his own tower like trash.

“Well,” Val drawled, eyes sliding across the three of them with predatory amusement. “This is a surprise!”

He stopped in front of him, adjusting his coat. It was noticeably fancier now, flakes of gold dusting the fluffy white collar. His smile sharpened when his gaze settled on his Vox.

“There you are, Voxxy.” he purred. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Vox’s chest tightened significantly. “I’m not here to hear you out.”

Valentino laughed softly. “Oh, baby. You always come crawling back when I call. It’s in your nature.”

Vox bristles, getting ready to fire back with something strongly worded, when Husk steps forward. His voice is low, shaking with anger. “We came for Angel. We’re taking him home.”

Angel’s breath audibly caught.

Val’s eyes flicked to Husk- slowly, lazily, like acknowledging him was nothing but a courtesy. “Oh, kitty cat. Sweetheart. You’re cute when you pretend to be relevant.”

Husk bristles now, hand twitching towards the deck of cards stashed in his pocket. Angel grabs his wrist gently and smooths his thumb over it.

Val’s attention slid back to Vox.

“I think,” he said lightly, “we should have a conversation. Privately.”

Vox’s voice came out just above a whisper. His screen glitches. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

Val’s smile turns razor sharp. “That wasn’t a request.”

Husk growls, stepping in front of Vox once more. “Like hell it is.”

Val raises his eyebrow in mild interest, and then snaps his fingers.

Two large bodyguards stepped out from behind the stage curtains. One of them grabs Husk and restrains him, causing him to let out a distressed yowl.

Angel’s eyes widen, and he goes to reach out to Husk. “Val-! Don’t do this. Please-”

“Shh, baby.” Val places a finger to Angel’s lips. “Grown ups are talking.” Then he lightly pushes Angel back onto the bed.

Vox loses his patience and grabs Val’s arm, screen glitching and flickering with simmering rage. “Stop fucking around. You want to talk to me, right? Let him go and we can talk.”

Valentino smiled like a man savoring a victory he never once doubted. He snaps his fingers again and Husk is released from the bodyguard’s grasp. He gasps for air, doubling over. Angel goes to his side, tears stinging his eyes. “Oh, Husker- fuck- I’m so sorry-”

Vox wordlessly follows Valentino as he walks to his office, not looking back at either of them.

If he did, he wouldn’t be able to walk further.

The office door opened, Vox stepped inside, and the door shut behind them with a soft, final click.

✦ ✦ ✦

Vox didn’t shrink, didn’t shake, didn’t let his screen reveal any of the terror welling up in his stomach.

He wouldn’t give Val the satisfaction.

Valentino sits in his chair, arms folded, studying him with a lazy smile. “Well look at you. No whining. All stiff and obedient for daddy. Just like old times.”

“Cut the theatrics.” Vox said flatly, eyebrows furrowing. “You texted me. I showed up. What do you want?”

Val’s eyebrows lifted- pleasantly surprised. “Oh, so we’re skipping the foreplay?”

Vox laughs bitterly. “Like you ever cared for foreplay. Always straight to the throat with you.”

Valentino laughed, loud and sharp and delighted all at once. “There he is! My little firebrand. For a minute I thought that rancid hotel had declawed you.”

Vox takes a step forward, eyes hard. HIs voice box gets glitchy. “You kicked me out of my own company. Don’t act like this is some romantic reunion.”

Val held his stare for a long, electric moment. Then he grinned, wider and sharper. “Fine. Straight to business then.”

He pushed off the desk, sauntered across the room, and dropped a glossy blue folder onto the table with a loud slap, “Your rebrand, since that pretty little face of yours is cancelled. He purred, tapping the folder with his nails. “On camera, on your knees. My golden boy- restored to his true purpose.”

Vox just stares at the papers, not even blinking. “… Go to hell.”

Val’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his demeanor immediately curdled. “Try again.”

“No,” Vox repeated, firmer this time. “I didn’t fight my way back to breathing just to let you chain me. I’m not your client, I'm not your toy, and I’m sure as shit not sighing that.”

He turns towards the door.

And then-

click

A quiet metallic sound behind him.

Vox froze.

The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

“You really think that hotel is going to change who you are?” Valentino asked, voice sugar-sweet venom. “You’re nothing without me, and I'm not letting you go anywhere until you’re on your knees for me again.”

Vox didn’t turn around, he simply exhaled once, grounding himself in the anger that had been brewing inside of him since the moment Val kicked him out of his home.

“That was the wrong fucking move, Val.” Vox muttered.

Before Valentino could blink, Vox snapped his hand forward. A thin metallic filament, one of the wires built into his chassis, shot out like a whip. It sliced clean across Valentino’s wrist. The gun flew from his hand, clattering across the floor and skidding underneath the desk.

Valentino jerked his hand back with a snark of shock. “Vete a la mierda-!”

Vox didn’t let him finish, bolting for the door. The studio lights hit him like a punch as he bursts back into the studio.

Both Angel and Husk spun around towards him.

“Kid?!” Husk shouted. “What? What did he-?”

“No time.” Vox barked, grabbing Angel’s wrist with one hand and the sleeve of Husk’s coat with the other. “We need to leave right the fuck now.”

Angel stumbles toward him, terrified. Husk catches his balance and pulls Angel closer with his arm, shielding him.

“What did he do?” Angel demanded, voice trembling. “Did he hurt you? I heard lots of yelling-”

“He tried,” Vox snapped. “Move.”

Vox narrows his eyes as he sees Val open the office door, wings fluttering with rage. The hand Vox had attacked was bleeding now.

Vox shoves the emergency exit open with his body, flinching as the studio’s emergency lights turn on and wash everything out in brightness. Angel ran first, Husk right behind him- one hand still on Angel’s arm, the other already flicking a card from his sleeve in case anyone came after them.

Vox was the last one out.

He reached to close the heavy metal door, chest heaving from exertion, when-

BANG-!!

Everything slowed.

Vox turned and saw the bullet slicing through the air toward his head, suspended in time like a drop of molten metal.

Angel’s eyes widened. Husk shouted his name.

Vox didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

His systems were overloaded, his limbs locked in place.

But then, right out of the alley concrete beneath them, a dark rippling mass lifting itself like smoke being rewound into shape.

Long limbs, sharp eyes, a grin carved from static.

The bullet reached its open mouth, and the shadow snapped its jaws shut around it.

CRUNCH.

A ripple of distorted sound echoed, low and hungry like a record being distorted by force.

The bullet disappeared inside the silhouette of the creature.

Slow motion cracked back to real time.

Vox stumbled forward, eyes wide, breath catching as the shadow swallowed and dissolved back into the ground like melting ink.

“The fuck was that?” Husk asks, the pitch of his voice raised from the intensity of the situation.

Angel stared at Vox, trembling. “Vox… that- that wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” Vox muttered, still staring at the asphalt where the shadow had vanished.

“That was Alastor.”

✦ ✦ ✦

They didn’t stop running until Val’s district shrank behind them- until the blinding neon turned softer and faded into Hell’s typical reds, until the air felt breathable again, until the only sound was their ragged breaths hitting the night.

Husk slowed first, pulling Angel close by instinct alone. Angel collapsed against him, trembling so hard his knees buckled. Vox stumbled to stop a few feet away, leaning a hand against a brick wall, catching his breath, screen flickering from the adrenaline crash.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Angel’s breath hitched- once, twice- and he crumpled forward, burying his face in Husk’s chest.

His wings puffed straight out, his ears flattened, his hands shot up. He wasn’t sure what to do with any part of his body.

Then Angel let out a soft, broken sob.

Husk melted.

He wrapped both arms around Angel, holding him tight- tight in a way that made Vox’s heart yearn uncomfortably. He turns away to give them a moment.

“Angel,” Husk whispered, voice cracking in a way he couldn’t hide. “You okay? You with me?”

Angel nodded against his chest, shoulders shaking. “I- I thought he was gonna-” He couldn’t finish.

Husk pulled him closer, chin resting on Angel’s hair. “I know,” he murmured. “I know. You’re safe. I got you.”

Angel sniffled, clutching the front of Husk’s shirt like he was drowning. “You came for me,” he said, voice so small it nearly vanished in the wind. “You actually came.”

“I always would.” Husk answered immediately, without thinking, without hesitation.

Angel froze.

Husk realized what he said and went beet red. “I mean- not- not always like- romantically always, or- or shit-” He cleared his throat violently. “I just meant… I’d come for you. Anytime. Every time. ‘Cause it’s you.”

Angel stared up at him with wide, wet eyes. “. . . Husker.”

The expression hit Husk so hard that his wings twitched behind him.

“Angel swallowed, voice wobbling. “I’m sorry I said I didn’t deserve to go back. I’m sorry I thought you’d be better off without me.”

Husk cupped Angel’s cheek very gently with one hand. “You deserve better than anything that bastard has to offer.” He whispered. “You deserve to come home.”

He leaned up timidly and pressed his forehead against Husk’s, and the world seemed to soften around them.

✦ ✦ ✦

While Husk and Angel clung to each other, whispering shakily in the dim streetlight, Vox stepped away to clear his conscience.

He leaned back against a cracked brick wall, exhaling slowly. His circuits buzzed with adrenaline and leftover terror, but underneath that was something else.

A gentle tug, a presence.

He lifted one hand.

“…Hey.” He murmured awkwardly into the alley air. “I know you’re there.”

No response.

Vox frowned. He concentrated on that familiar static, the prickling sensation at the base of his spine he always felt when Alastor was near.

“Come on,” he muttered. “I’m not stupid. I know you didn’t just miraculously stroll by me.”

Still nothing.

He huffed, visibly annoyed now. “Okay, seriously? You caught a bullet for me. You saved my life. The least you can do is-”

A ripple spilled across the ground.

The shadow seeped upward from the pavement like spilled ink rewinding in time, rising into a tall, thin silhouette- vaguely canine, vaguely human, vaguely… Alastor.

Vox’s screen flickers.

“You,” he whispered.

The shadow tilted its head, unreadable.

“Okay,” Vox said, stepping closer beside himself. “I… guess I was right. You’ve been watching me.”

A long blink of those sharp, static eyes.

Vox let out a bitter laugh. “Great. Awesome. Creepy as hell. Totally normal.”

The shadow’s shoulders rose and fell- something like a shrug.

Vox’s expression softened despite everything. “Seriously” You’re not even going to pretend to be subtle?”

The creature blinked again.

Vox’s voice fell quieter, more honest. “How long?”

The shadow’s shape rippled, stretching upward, downward, sideways- as if thinking. Then it changes form, opening its maw to reveal a set of shark teeth.

Vox’s stomach tightens. “Since the first night in my room?”

A slow, deliberate nod.

Vox covered his face with both hands. “Oh my God. I didn’t even notice you! You’ve been trailing me this whole time- like- like a security detail?”

The shadow’s grin widens a bit.

“Why?!” Vox demanded, stepping forward, voice cracking with frustration and something like fear. “Why me? Why would Alastor…” Vox stops to think, his eyebrows furrowed. “Does he want something from me? Is this part of some deal Charlie doesn’t know about? Am I a project? A pawn?”

Silence.

“Is he watching me because he thinks I'm dangerous?”

The shadow tilted its head.

“No?” Vox guessed, voice softer.

A firm head shake.

Vox exhaled slowly, sinking back against the wall. His hands trembled at his sides. “Then why?”

The shadow approached, calm and slow, until it stood directly in front of him. Its limb extended, one thin finger tapping the center of Vox’s chest.

Right where his anxiety gathered.

Right where his core pulsed.

Right where his heart was.

“. . . You’re protecting me,” Vox whispered.

The shadow chitters happily, nodding its head.

Vox’s chest aches with confusion and something dangerously close to affection.

“I want answers,” he muttered. “I need answers.”

The shadow stepped backward, sinking one limb into the pavement.

About to leave.

“Wait!” Vox grabbed the air helplessly. “Just- just tell him- tell Alastor-”

The creature paused mid-sink.

Vox swallowed hard.

“. . . Tell him thank you. Just- don’t make a big deal out of it.”

The shadow froze.

Then its grin widened once more. A sound rolled through the alley, a soft, static laugh.

And then it vanished.

Vox stood alone again, his heart racing. He scrubs two hands over his face.

“God, what the fuck am I getting into?”

Chapter Text

From the uppermost window of his radio tower, Alastor watched Hell breathe.

Neon, smoke, static curling around him as he observes.

The city’s endless heartbeat never ceased to fascinate him. It reminded him of home, of New Orleans. Those loud and busy streets that never once saw slumber. There was always music playing somewhere, or a family loudly beckoning people in to join for dinner.

Simpler times, he thought.

But his eyes fixed on something far more interesting, three familiar shapes trudging toward the Hazbin Hotel’s warm glow.

Husk, Angel, and Vox.

Alastor tilted his head, intrigued. Even from this distance, with his heightened senses he saw it clearly.

Angel clinging to Husk’s arm, trembling. Husk stiff in protective silence, wing half-curled around him.

And Vox, walking like a man balancing on a tightrope, teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. His posture was rigid, defensive, flickering between brittle bravado and something more fragile- shock stretching thin across his body, adrenaline fading into exhaustion.

Alastor’s grin pulled wider.

“Well, well,” he murmured softly. “Quite the afternoon outing.”

Behind him, the shadows rustled endlessly.

“Come now,” he said without turning. “Show me.”

His shadow materialized behind him in a slow unfurling coil, its form twitching with agitation.

It slithered forward, practically vibrating.

“Ah-ah,” Alastor chided lightly. “Manners.”

The creature opened its jaws.

A small metallic object dropped neatly into his palm. Warm, fresh, light glinting off the engraving.

A bullet, with a heart engraved into the casing.

Alastor’s smile froze.

“Oh…” he breathed. “Now that is interesting.”

He twirled the bullet between elegant fingers, examining the heart etched with cheap, gaudy sentiment- Valentino’s signature of course.

“Nothing more charming than attempted murder,” he murmured.

Through the window, Vox paused on the hotel steps- glancing over his shoulder once, eyes sharp with paranoia. He looked… human, almost.

Alastor’s grin slowly thinned into something razor-edged.

“So Valentino aimed for you,” he murmured, watching the trio be ushered inside by Charlie. “How discourteous.”

The shadow whined softly, curling anxiously around his leg.

“Hush,” Alastor crooned, patting its head with chilling affection. “You did splendidly. You protected him exactly as I asked.”

The shadow straightened proudly.

A low, melodious hum of static rolled through the tower, a dangerous chord vibrating the walls.

“Valentino,” he said, pocketing the bullet, “should know better by now.”

His reflection in the red-tinted window flickered- half radio static, half wide, gleaming grin.

“And he certainly shouldn’t aim at someone under my… observation.”

He tapped his cane once against the floor.

Shadows pulsed outward in response.

Through the window, the Hazbin Hotel closed its door behind Vox. Safe.

Alastor turned away from the glass after watching the last echoes of the hotel’s warm light fade behind the front door.

“Well then,” he said calmly, “if Valentino wishes to escalate…”

A high pitched whine snapped through the air.

“. . . I would be delighted to reciprocate.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Charlie met them at the door like a blast of sunlight shoved into a small, dark closet.

The minute Vox crossed the threshold, she darted forward with the kind of frantic concern usually reserved for lost pets or dropped pastries. Her hands fluttered uselessly at first- hovering near his arms, his shoulders, his faceplate- like she wanted to check him for injuries but didn’t know where to touch.

“Oh my gosh- are you all okay?” she asked, eyes wide. “Angel, Husk, Vox- what happened?”

Angel practically folded into her, shaking. Husk still kept a wing around him. Vox stood a few feet back, stiff as rebar, feeling like he had wandered into a stranger’s home all over again.

Charlie’s gaze snapped to him. Her expression softened far too much.

“You look… shaken,” she said gently.

He didn’t know what to do with that. Nobody looked at him like that. Not before, not now.

Not like he mattered.

“I’m fine,” Vox said immediately. Too fast. Too sharp. His voice came out like clipped static. “Don’t- don’t start going all Hallmark card on me.”

Charlie blinked at the jab, not understanding it in the slightest, but her smile didn’t falter.

“That’s okay,” she said softly, as if reassuring a child. “You don’t have to talk about it yet.”

Vox bristled. “I didn’t say I wanted to talk-”

“I know,” she answered, still maddeningly gentle. “Just… sit down. You all deserve a moment to breathe.”

Husk grunted his agreement, steering Angel toward the lounge. Angel clung to him like a lifeline, mascara smudged and trembling but visibly steadier than he’d looked a minute ago.

Vox stayed rooted in place.

Charlie noticed. ”Vox,” she said quietly, eyebrows furrowed stubbornly.

Husk coughed from the lounge, voice scratchy from raising his voice so much. “Princess, give him a minute. You don’t have to take my word for it, but he’s had a real shitty day. We all have.”

Charlie stepped back with an unsure nod. “Take your time. When you’re ready, there’s space for you with the others. Just… sit. Rest. You’re safe here.”

The sentence hit him like a thrown brick.

He wasn’t safe anywhere. He didn’t deserve safe.

But the hotel’s warm lights spilled over him in soft gold, and Charlie’s smile didn’t waver, and suddenly Vox felt unbearably exposed. Like someone peeled off armor he had no memory of putting on.

“Right,” he muttered. “Sure. Whatever.”

By the time Angel and Husk had settled comfortably, Vox felt his internal battery pinging at him like a persistent migraine. A faint warning blinked at the edge of his vision.

He muttered something curt that could be mistaken for “I’ll be upstairs” and turned toward the staircase before Charlie had a chance to ask if he needed help again. He felt her worry following him like a draft, but she didn’t stop him.

Good. He couldn’t handle another round of that sickening kindness.

His steps were heavy, uneven, his joints buzzing faintly as he walked. When he finally reached his room, he shut the door behind him with a little too much force, sagging against it.

He went straight to the outlet.

His systems hummed as the charge flowed in. The tension in his body loosened by degrees. His screen brightened from a tired gray to a steadier glow.

He let out a long, quiet exhale and dropped onto the bed, lying back against the pillows.

He closed his eyes.

Then a voice said, directly beside his ear.

“You had quite the afternoon.”

Vox nearly flipped off the bed.

He launched upright with a strangled sound that was absolutely not a yelp- more of a dignified burst of static- and scrambled back so fast that his charger cord yanked taut.

“JESUS-! Warn me before you- before you materialize out of the fucking ether!”

Alastor stood at the foot of the bed like this was his room, posture immaculate, cane in hand, smile sharp and luminous in the dim blue light.

“My apologies,” Alastor said lightly. “I didn’t wish to disturb your rest. Only your sense of security.”

Vox clutched the comforter to his chest. “Get out.”

Alastor didn’t move.

He simply cocked his head. “You’re avoiding the more interesting matter of discussion.”

Vox’s screen flickered warily. “What discussion?”

“The bullet,” Alastor said, smile widening. “The one my shadow retrieved from your little encounter.”

Ice trickles down Vox’s spine. “You figured that out fast.”

“I know most things that happen. Sinners are predictable little fellows.” Alastor’s voice dipped into something deceptively pleasant. “But this event interested me enough to take a… closer look.”

Vox bristles. “So you were stalking me.”

“Such an ugly word.” Alastor placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I would call it monitoring. Supervising. Ensuring you did not collapse in an alleyway somewhere with heart-engraved bullets pumped into your body.”

“That’s not better,” Vox growled. “You don’t just send a shadow to tail someone like some creepy, eldritch paparazzi-”

“I do,” Alastor corrected cheerfully. “Quite regularly. You should consider it an honor.”

Vox’s hands clenched in the comforter, something annoyingly familiar and achey curling in his heart. He looks down. “Why are you doing this again? I thought you made it clear. No friends in Hell.” His eyes snap up. “You made it very clear, actually.”

Alastor’s smile changes a bit. It didn’t soften, but it almost seemed hesitant. As if even he was unsure of what was going to transpire.

“Because,” Alastor said, stepping forward with that slow, unhurried grace that made Vox’s wires feel tense. “I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?”

“Yes.” Alastor’s eyes glittered, reflecting something Vox couldn’t interpret. “One that requires you to remain alive long enough to hear it.”

The room seemed to shift around them, filling with the tense hum of radio static.

Vox’s voice thinned. “. . . So you saved me because I’m useful to you.”

“Of course,” Alastor said simply. “Do you imagine I act out of altruism?”

Vox scoffed, but a traitorous little flicker in his chest eased at the clarity. A motive was safer than mystery.

“What do you want?” Vox asked, voice lower. “What’s the catch?”

Alastor approached slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed. Vox stiffened, but didn’t retreat further.

“I will tell you soon,” Alastor said. “But not tonight. You are visibly exhausted, and this conversation requires your full attention.”

Vox felt his internal temperature spike. “You can’t just- tease something like that and then walk out.”

Alastor leaned in, smile so wide it bordered on cruel. “Oh, I certainly can.”

The static around them thickens, and then Alastor faded into the shadows like he’d never been there at all.

But his voice still trailed behind him.

“Sleep well, Vox. You’ll need your strength for what comes next.”

Vox sat frozen on the bed, cable humming faintly, mind racing in every direction at once.

“Great,” he muttered to himself. “Fantastic. I’m being stalked, babysat, propositioned, and threatened. Love this hotel. Five stars.”

Alastor reappeared on the second-floor overlook of the hotel.

He didn’t announce himself or move loudly, simply drifting forward with his hands folded neatly on the cane.

From his vantage point, he could see the lobby below.

Lucifer stood there- vibrant, animated, laughing about some nonsense with his daughter as they tidied up the lounge. The glow of the chandelier bathed them both in warm gold.

Alastor watches all of it quietly, with the deep analytical stillness of a predator studying the terrain he intended, one of these days, to reshape.

A shadow rippled at his feet like a loyal hound sensing its master’s focus.

A single floor separated the Prince of Hell, and the man in the shadows watching him.

An intense understanding washes over Alastor as he gazes at the prince.

The opening was created the moment Vox walked through the hotel doors.

Alastor turned away without a trace of haste, his cane tapping once against the carpeted floor before he disappeared back into the dark.

✦ ✦ ✦

Valentino slept like a man who believed he deserved the world.

Arms spread, silk sheets tangled around him, some escort curled up under one of his wings and snoring into his shoulder. A half-finished cigarette still smoldered in the tray beside the bed.

His suite was dark, and peaceful.

Until one of Alastor’s shadows seeped out from under the dresser like spilled ink.

Then another unfolded itself from the ceiling like a bat stretching its wings.

They looked at each other. Grinned identical static-white grins.

Showtime.

The first shadow slid across the floor and gently - almost lovingly - took Valentino’s cigarette from the ashtray.

It lifted it straight up.

And dropped it onto his expensive satin pillow.

A slow burn mark began to spread.

The second shadow lifted the blanket a full foot off the bed, held it for a moment, and then dropped it down again.

Valentino shot upward with a choking gasp.

“¿PERO QUÉ—?!” he sputtered, scrambling. “¿QUIÉN CARAJO—?!”

The poor sinner in his bed woke up screaming, kicking wildly as they backed to the wall.

Valentino grabbed the blanket, yanking it toward himself, only for the shadow to rip it out of his hands and drag itself up the wall like a haunted bedsheet.

“What the FUCK?!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

The shadows cackled soundlessly.

Valentino grabbed for a lamp. The lamp rose into the air by itself, rotating slowly like it was giving a product showcase.

“¡BAJA ESO! PUTA SOMBRA DE MIERDA—!”

The lamp stopped spinning.

Then it flew directly at his face.

“¡HIJO DE—!”

He ducked. The lamp embedded itself into the wall behind him with a loud CRUNCH.

The demon he’d brought home dove under the bed screaming. Valentino lunged for the door- only for it to slam shut on its own.

The shadows laughed in a bright, discordant burst of radio static.

Val froze, eyes wide, panting, face dripping sweat.

“Oh, of course,” he snarled. “Of course this is that old bastard’s BULLSHIT!”

One shadow leaned its head in close - closer- until its grin was inches from his face.

Then it poked him on the nose.

Valentino swung at it. His fist went through nothing but cold air.

Both shadows dissolved into the floor with a single fluid motion, leaving the room dead silent again.

Valentino stood trembling in the dark, glaring at the spot where they vanished.

“TE ODIO,” he shouted at the empty room. “I HOPE YOU GET TETANUS, YOU ANALOG FUCK!”

In the dark alleyway outside, two shadows reappeared beside each other, vibrating with delighted laughter. They chittered, bumped shoulders like mischievous children, and slithered back toward the hotel.

They were going to have a great time telling their master about this.