Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been quite some time since he'd felt the pull of a summoning. Usually the individuals who summoned him were those fake covens of pretend witches or a group of adolescents attempting to prove that demons don’t exist and this attempt at summoning will prove it. Those poor little fools always regret it not long after when he’s standing in their little circle, with their summoning book in hand and a mix of pure shock and fear written on their faces, shining in their eyes.

Ah, now that’s entertainment.

So imagine Alastor’s pleasant—though slightly irked—surprise when he’s pulled away from his work and suddenly standing in an all too familiar summoning circle. He’d just come to the end of a wondrous massacre and was readying to slaughter the last survivor, and now here he is, covered in demonic blood and the taste of the kill on his tongue. Ah well, he’ll make quick work of the humans that decided to yank him away from his work and try to bind him to do their bidding.

Only when he glances about, he’s not in some living space or a basement. There’s no group of young teens cowering and realizing what they’ve done, no no no. He’s in a forest—a swamp, and before him stands one lone human.

This human looks different from the rest. They hold the book with confidence, they don’t cower, they stare him dead in the eye with nary a hint of fear.

Oh… this will be interesting.

Alastor keeps his posture tall, his grin ever present, his microphone cane leaning casually against his arm. His antlers cr-crack as they slowly revert back to their normal state. He brings a free hand up, eyes remaining locked with the human as he licks the blood off his hand.

He licks his lips and hums, "My, my… What have we here?" He watches the human closely, and they do the same with him.

They're quite a dirty little thing, aren't they? Hair a tangled mess, clothes covered in filth and blood. He takes note of the cut, swollen lip and dark bruise on their cheek. Yet despite the injuries on their face he also notices their bloodied, torn knuckles with their fingers dyed a deep red.

Already he feels in interest piquing.

Alastor tilts his head at them, grin widening a fraction. "Now indulge me, sweetheart. How did a broken little thing like yourself manage such a feat as this?" He makes a gesture to the little summoning circle they set up.

They don't flinch at his quip, nor shy away as he steps out of the summoning circle. "Lots of research," they say, their voice hoarse. Most likely from running, or something else. "Alastor, I presume?"

"Well, now I feel rather silly! Here you are knowing my name and I assume my profession?" He gestures towards them and they nod. "And yet here I am, not knowing a single thing about you, my dear."

"You know one thing." They close the book and tuck it under their arm. "You know I summoned you for a reason."

"Hmm, do I?" Alastor taps his chin, taking another bold step forward. The human doesn't back away. Nor do they cower as he continues his advance until he stands right in front of them, having to bend low to meet their gaze. He places a single finger under their chin—noting their subtle flinch—and tilts it up to better look at their face. He asks, “What makes you think that, my dear?”

“Your eyes.” They look over his face, seemingly taking everything in. “They showed interest. Otherwise you’d’ve killed me by now.”

Oh, he likes this human.

Alastor stands tall again, throwing his head back and letting out a hearty laugh. “Hahaha! You’re quite a perceptive little thing, aren’t you?” He adjusts his bowtie before taking a grand bow. “And might I say it is an absolute pleasure to meet you, sweetheart! It’s been so long since I’ve met such an interesting individual—especially a human.”

He slowly begins walking around the human, taking in their full appearance. Their clothes don’t say much about them, he vaguely remembers the style from his own time for the less fortunate people, if styled a little different. Has it truly only been a few decades? How time seems to slow when you’re having a blast massacring a good portion of Hell’s population.

“You’re not like the other humans that have summoned me.” He stops behind them, placing a clawed hand on their shoulder and bending down to their ear. Their flinch was a heavier one this time. He feels them tensing under his grip, catches their feet positioning themselves into a position ready to run.

Hmm… curious.

He says, “You’re right in your observations, darling. Were you any other human I would’ve added you to my ever growing body count.” His hand slips forward to drape an arm around their shoulders, pulling them closer and erasing any hope of running. “But you’re one of the first to show no fear towards a demon that could easily snap you in two!” He lets out another laugh.

“Humor me some more, exactly how much do you know about me?” His head tilts curiously as they side-glance him, tensing further under his ever tightening grip.

They say, “Some decades ago you went on a little murder-spree and broadcasted it on your talk-show. The details on how that all ended and how you died are hazy and there’s been little talk about it after.” They clutch the book against their chest. “...Until out of nowhere rumors began spreading of people trying to summon your spirit to speak with you or bind you to do their bidding. Reports say that those who attempted to contact you were found brutally murdered not long after.”

They not-so-subtly try to slip out of Alastor’s grasp, to which he responds by pulling them closer, practically squished against his side. “Leaving so soon, my dear? We haven’t even gotten to the finale!” His microphone stand vanishes with a wave of his hand and he places a finger under their chin, tilting their head up to meet his gaze. “How did little you come to acquire this set up?” He taps the book.

“The same way every other human who’s summoned you did. I looked in the right places.”

“Hmm, a rather dull answer if you ask me.” Alastor’s claws tap a rhythm on the human’s shoulder.

Their brows pinch downward. “Did you want me to tell you the story of how I stabbed the shopkeep in the throat and saved their blood for this summoning? Sorry it doesn’t meet your standards.”

He laughs, “Quite the tongue on you, darling!” He pinches their chin. “And quite the imagination for you. Now while your wit is oh so entertaining, why don’t we discuss why you summoned me, hmm?”

Their jaw clenches and Alastor can see anger and hatred burning hot in their eyes. Not for him, but for something—or someone—else. “There’s a list of people I want you to kill.”

Oh, well that’s a little disappointing. Alastor’s big smile shrinks a smidge, but never falters. “Ah, revenge in the form of murder. A nice little go-to request if I say so myself.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” His eyes snap back to them. “You’re already thinking of ways to kill them, aren’t you?” His grip on them loosens enough to allow them to face him fully. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, I want you to do that. And then I want you to do worse.”

There it is. The thing that makes this human so interesting. His smile strengthens once more. “I see…” His mind already races with the possibilities of what he could do. But, of course, there’s more important things to address at the moment. “And what do I get out of this, dearest?”

“Besides my soul, what else do you want?”

Alastor chuckles, “Oh, sweetheart. You should know better than to ask a demon what they want in return for whatever you're having them do.” He pulls them closer once more. His free hand grabs their face, his claws tapping against their cheeks, his voice dropping an octave as he says, “It can lead to rather… dangerous dealings…”

“I do know better,” they retort, “you act like this is a spur of the moment decision. I’ve researched for months on how to do this right, who I wanted to summon to do this, and gaining the right materials without looking suspicious. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the term but to get everything together I had to be subtle.”

Before Alastor can say his own little comeback, they continue, “And I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I know I’m bound to go to Hell sooner or later. Might as well make it sooner and make damn sure those bastards come with me. I don’t care what happens to me at the end of this deal, as long as my end of the bargain is fulfilled.”

Alastor takes a moment to take in what they’ve said. Truly take it in.

A deal like this where it’s mostly in his favor isn’t something that happens often, and he oh so loves to cherish those deals. While they’re rather self-destructive and aren’t one to keep up their appearance (which he will have to change post haste), their observation skills are unmatched. Quick-witted, not quick to cower in fear, and judging from their little monologue, they’re good at remaining hidden from sight.

And yet despite all these pros, there’s still that little condition with physical touch he’s noticing. The twitching of their eyebrow, the slight trembling of their hands, the weight subtly shifting between feet. What could’ve made them so reluctant towards a simple thing? So ready to fight or run at the slightest touch?

There’s more to this little human than meets the eye, and he wants to wring out every last detail.

“Now now, my dear.” He tenderly starts combing out any tangles he finds in their hair. He feels them freeze under his grip, their own grip on the book tightening further and further until their knuckles turn white.

Hmm… curious, indeed.

He says, “You mustn’t think of yourself as something so easily thrown away. Someone with a tongue as sharp as yours and with an eye for detail would make quite a few of the sinners down below trip over themselves to claim you as theirs.”

They don’t say anything, instead watching him from the corner of their eye as he effortlessly detangles their hair. “I’ll fulfill my end of the bargain, and in return…” He pauses a moment to watch them perk up and listen more attentively. “You become my right hand. You’ll do what I say, when I say without question. Of course, you’ll be free to do as you wish when you’re not needed, and since I’m feeling rather generous—” he chuckles when they raise a skeptical brow “—I’ll even allow you to wield a small fraction of my power. It’d be a shame if you were to die too quickly once we descend back to my home, soon to be your new home.”

Alastor finally releases them and takes a step back. “Simple as that, darling.”

“No deal with a demon is ever simple.” Ah, that quick-wit he likes so much about them. He simply can’t let someone as interesting as them slip out of his grasp.

He bends forward to meet their gaze. “Indeed, my dear. But…” He chuckles, his entire demeanor changing. The shadows around them close in, a thick static filling the air. His antlers cr—cr—crack, growing larger and larger. His hands morph into sharp talons that he flexes. He opens his eyes to reveal his signature radio dials. 

“ What else do you have to lose? ”

Despite his more demonic state, they don’t recoil in fear. The only reaction he gets is a furrow of their brow and their frown deepening. He asks, “Now, won’t you do me the honor of telling me your name?”

They hesitate, of course. Names hold power. Giving it away so freely, especially to a demon, can end badly if one is careless. But Alastor knows that look. It’s one he’s seen all too often. 

The look that says he’s right, they don’t have anything to lose.

Their mouth works, their hunched shoulders lowering a fraction. They tell him their name.

Alastor hums. “A lovely name for a lovely little human such as yourself. And soon… it will belong to me. Now…” He holds a clawed hand out to them, gaze never moving away, grin never falling. A ghostly green aura luminates the area around them in a small radius, revealing glowing eyes watching, waiting, whispering incomprehensible things.

“ Do we have a deal, my dear? ”

————

You were going to have to be honest with yourself sooner or later. You had no idea what you were supposed to expect when meeting the infamous New Orleans serial killer. You knew what you wanted, what you were going to say, and you were ready in case things went bad and had to send him back to Hell.

But…

He’s just so… weird. And happy. Not what you were expecting from a serial killer.

Granted, from what you’ve heard he was a very charismatic man back when he was alive, so in truth it’s something you should’ve expected. You’re sure, if things went according to plan, you’d get used to it with time.

But despite his strangely chipper attitude he’s calculating, observant. He’s good at not showing anything in his expression, always hidden behind that smile of his. But his eyes gave away a lot.

Upon first summoning him, you noticed his rigid, annoyed posture. You noticed the blood coating him, soaking into his clothes. You noticed the antlers upon his head, large though slowly beginning to shrink. You noticed the curious look in his eyes when he saw just you here, and how his claws retracted back into normal hands.

He spoke to you with an interested and polite tone, but you didn’t let your guard down. He’s a demon. A killer. A predator. If you showed any weakness he’d take any and all advantage of it.

If only he weren’t so fucking touchy. You wished you had more time to better prepare yourself for it, but… well, sometimes things can’t exactly go as planned. Judging from the mischief shining in his eyes he’s not going to stop invading your personal space any time soon.

Oh well, it’s a small price you’re just gonna have to pay.

You talked through the night. All the while he listened, made his own quips, and stalked around you like a wolf waiting for the sheep to make one wrong step. His interest in you was strong, that was clear. He seemed already very keen on keeping you close by his side, refusing to release you for even a second.

So far so good.

You answered his questions honestly, told him what you wanted, and gave him only one condition. The conditions for his end of the bargain are—as you expected—vague at best. Doing whatever he asked could mean anything. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit annoyed, but what else could you have expected from a demon, especially a dealmaker like him?

And besides, he’s right… you don’t have anything to lose. Not anymore, at least. 

Now here you stand, staring at most likely one of the most dangerous demons in the overworld and underworld. His near-full demonic form presented, his hand extended to you, watching, waiting. You stare at him, then his hand, then back at him. “The people I want dead…”

“My dear,” his voice is thick with radio static, his mouth unmoving, “I am a demon of my word. They will suffer like no other, as per your end of the bargain.”

“And in return… I’m yours.”

“All mine.”

With nothing else to say and nothing left to lose, you reach out and take his hand in yours. “Then it’s a deal.”

The wind around you two grows stronger, the light glowing brighter. Alastor yanks you towards him, his other hand pressing to the small of your back to hold you even closer, his smile growing impossibly large. “ Excellent. ”

All too suddenly your hand feels like it’s on fire. Instinctively you try to pull free, but Alastor’s grip remains like that of a vice. He laughs, his voice morphing, “Worry not, sweetheart. It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

The burning sensation runs up your arm, gathers up in your chest. You feel like the air is being knocked out of you and it’s as you let out a pained wheeze. Alastor moves his other hand from your back to in front of you. His hand closes on something and you feel it being yanked out of your chest. Left behind is nothing but a horrid emptiness.

Yet you also feel something else being left behind. Something… foreign. Powerful. All around you you hear a cacophony of voices whispering, echoing in the recesses of your mind.

new new one new! like like alastor like him have same power but but not him not not him not alastor! who who who are you who are you?

They were so loud. You wince instinctively, hands twitching and shoulders hunching upwards. The burning sensation, the screeching whispers, it causes you to curl in as much as you can until your head bumps against Alastor’s chest.

All too soon, all too abruptly, the wind dies down, the glowing fades, the whispers silence. The only sound between you two were your breathless pants and the quiet cr-cracking of Alastor’s antlers reverting back to their smaller appearance.

You freeze upon feeling a hand on your back. A gentle pat, feigning gentleness. “There, there, darling.” Alastor then pats your head. “Enough of that now, you’re quite fine. Better than fine, even!”

You gulp in some air and slowly straighten yourself. Alastor pulls away, releasing his hand from your vice-grip and adjusting his bowtie. His grin is still ever present and looking very pleased. You run your fingers through your hair, letting out a heavy sigh.

“A warning or something would’ve been nice, you know.”

Alastor chuckles, “And where would the fun in that have been, darling?”

Scrunching up your nose, you fix your hair and start dusting yourself off. And it was there you finally noticed  the entirely new ensemble you now wore. Your knuckles, once torn and bloodied, are healed and clean with your nails painted black. Your cheek and lip no longer hurt, and for the first time in a while you felt clean.

Your outfit is a close match to Alastor’s. Underneath a pinstriped dark red coat—not matching his in length—was a nice red dress shirt, all come together with your own little black bowtie. Your old tattered trousers were replaced with black dress pants and shoes. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t look or feel nice to wear, but it was still a slight shock.

“Uh—”

“What, you think I would simply let you waltz around looking like a bum from the streets? Hah!” Alastor waves his hand. “My right hand must hold higher standards to their appearance.”

He places a finger under your chin and lifts your gaze up to him. “By the end of tonight, your little wish will be granted and those whom you want dead will have suffered a most delectable, torturous death. Meanwhile…” He holds your chin firmly now, his grin stretching further. “ You , my dear, are now mine.”

Releasing your face and grasping your hand once more, he twirls you around and holds you against him. As if nothing happened, his cheery demeanor from before returns, gleefully saying, “Now! How about a nice show before dinner?”

You scoff. “Only if you’re buying.”

Alastor lets out a hearty laugh. “But of course, darling! What kind of gentleman do you take me for?”

“Do you really want me to answer that honestly?”

“Hahaha! Your sense of humor is quite refreshing. And lovely to know you have one.” He lets you go to summon his microphone cane. “Though while I do love our banter, we have business here before we return home. Shall we?” He takes a low bow, holding out his free hand to you. 

You hesitate for just a moment, then take his hand and can only watch as the shadows close in around you both. It felt like you both were moving at impossible speeds all while standing still. Your hair and clothes moved as if pushed by light wind but you felt and heard no breeze. And everything was impossibly dark, not even Alastor’s eyes provided any light for you. 

You weren’t exactly the

Dark dark too dark too too dark don’t like it don’t like it I don’t I don’t like it

happiest passenger, your grip like that of a vice as you held onto him.

And then the feeling was gone, just as quickly as it came. The darkness rippled, shifted, and you were standing in front of a house. Your house. The lights were still on.

Alastor releases you, cane twirling in one hand while the other adjusts his coat. “I’ll be but a moment, my dear! Stay here, if you wish. Or, if you want a show…” His grin pointed towards you shows nothing but pure excitement and malicious intent. “You’re more than welcome to come with me and stand aside while I work.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, turning and walking straight for the front door, humming a happy tune. You blink, dumbly watching him before shaking off your initial shock of the rapid shadow transportation, and hurry to catch up with him.

The people in that house had watched you suffer for years, participated in it even. You’re not missing out on watching their deaths play out before you.

It’s as you watch Alastor gleefully tear apart the people you once thought family limb from limb that you contemplated several things. You can’t help but wonder what people would say to you, hearing them question why you would do it, how you could do it. You already know the answer; very easily. They’ve hurt you in ways you’re not fond of remembering ever again, laughed at your agony.

You’re not sure how working for Alastor for all eternity will play out, but you’re positive it’ll be a hundred times better than the previous life you led.

Already you feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders just thinking about your old life coming to an end. No more fists. No more blood. No more crying, hiding, fighting until your knuckles are so bloody your hands are dyed red. Sure, Hell won’t be much different you muse, but it’s not like you were a saint that was bound to walk up to the golden gates of Heaven. If you’re going down, you’re going to make damn sure they come with you, and ensure their deaths are as painful as possible.

It’s as you stand on the sidelines, quietly watching Alastor happily fulfil his end of the bargain you wonder if someone can be killed more than once in Hell. Is there a final death for them? Or do they just come back over and over, experiencing excruciating pain as they breath their “last” breath? You can’t help but be curious, but now isn’t exactly the time to ask such questions. You already knew better than to interrupt Alastor while he worked.

One thing you very quickly learn about Alastor is he’s a man—demon of his word. He did exactly what you wanted him to do and then some. And he only laughed as the people who ruined your life—the people you thought you could call friends and family, people you thought you could trust—begged for their lives and screamed and cried.

Just like you had.

And when the screams finally silenced that Alastor approached you, coated in blood and having a joyous grin on his face. He doesn’t hesitate to take your hand and pull you into a dance. His and your shoes make wet squelching sounds as you dance across the carnage, splatters of blood and torn meat splashing into the air with each harsh step. He twirls you, dips you low before bringing you back up, all while happily singing about a lover somewhere beyond the sea.

You couldn’t bite back the big smile on your face if you tried, your laughter ringing through the walls of your old home and mixing with Alastor’s singing.

Your waltz ends with Alastor spinning you and smoothly stepping away, falling into a bow. Your laughter had fallen into a fit of giggles at that point, until you’ve finally calmed and wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

He reaches out and pinches your cheek, hard, saying, “You have such a lovely smile, my dear.” He merely laughs as you slap his hand away, smile already falling into a frown while you nurse your cheek. He wags a finger, strolling for the door with you in tow. “Don’t let me stop you from continuing to smile! Remember, you’re never fully dressed without one.”

“Uh-huh.”

Once outside, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. He says, “Now, with that little errand out of the way, let us return home. Best hold tight darling, the descent can be quite bumpy.”  

Without even waiting for you to brace yourself, he snaps his fingers and the shadows close in on you once more. Bumpy was an understatement. You felt like your entire stomach was about to get lodged into your throat. It’s still dark as anything, but you can hear. The sounds are indescribable, enough to leave goosebumps on your skin. The cool night air warms a hint, and you can see flashing of lights behind your tightly shut eyelids.

And all too quickly everything stills. You hear idle chatter from what sounds like below you. You feel Alastor giving your arm a squeeze. “Here we are, sweetheart.”

You peek one eye open, then the other. Red is the first thing you see. The sky, darkened with grey and black clouds, is a deep hue of red. You look around, slowly taking everything in. The area you were in seemed to be more… urban. Not what you were expecting of Hell at all. You weren’t expecting just some regular old city. Certain buildings look like they were taken down with a canon, others pristine and untouched. Sure, there’s signs and creatures you see flying about that give it that flare of Hell, but this definitely wasn’t what you were expecting.

You notice you’re standing on a tall building, overlooking the city. You step away from Alastor and he proceeds to promptly adjust his coat and bowtie. You peek over the edge of the building, taking everything in. Other creatures—demons, all varying in size, color, shape, some with wings and some without, all walking through the streets below you.

Alastor takes his place beside you. He fixes his cuffs, asking, “So, what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Everyone always talks about Hell being a place of eternal torture and suffering for your sins and that’s kind of what you expect to experience when you die if you’ve lived a sinful life.” Legs feeling like jelly more than ever, you take a moment to sit on the edge.

“Nothing like this. It’s just… a city? And while the inhabitants are sinners and most have definitely done horrible things to be sent here, they’re just… casually living?” You lean forward, arms resting on your knees. “But I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re wondering. Just… I don’t know, weirded out? But not in a bad way.”

Glancing up at Alastor, you realize he’s been watching you this whole time. “Does that answer your question?”

His only response is a chuckle and a hand held out to you. He pulls you to your feet and links his arm with yours, taking several steps forward. “All that and more, my dear. Come let us grab a bite to eat, I’m positively starved!”

Transporting through shadows is something you’re sure you’ll get used to eventually, but your stomach and your nerves do not agree with it now. One second you’re on the roof of some building, and now you’re on the streets, walking side by side with Alastor. With him being taller and taking longer strides, you struggle for several blocks until you can actually find a nice pace to comfortably keep up with him.

You look about the streets during your stroll, blinking and taking everything in. Most of the shops were drug stores, liquor stores, others seemed to be just… regular shops. This really was some plain old city like all the rest. Well, as plain as one in Hell can be. You see displays of various knick-knacks, stands with demons selling questionable meat in a shopping cart, and the like.

And as you take everything in, you’re slowly beginning to notice that everyone is staring at you.

Everyone.

You can hear their whispers, feel their stares boring into you. Some are confused, others are filled with hate, most with hunger.

“What the—”

“Is that a fucking human? ”

“Look who it’s walking with!”

“What’s the Radio Demon doing with a human?”

“You think he’s gonna eat it?”

“Lucky son of a bitch… I’d love to have a taste.”

Their eyes burn, burn, burn into every section of your body. Your lips curl up into a sneer, whispering to Alastor, “Can we move faster? I’m getting tired of hearing these idiots.” You try quickening your pace, but his grip on you remains unrelenting, forcing you to stay by his side.

He pats your hand. “Patience, my dear.” He looks down at you, eyes squinting with delight. “They search for fear, and in attempting to move at a quickened pace, you show that fear.”

You scoff, “I’m not scared of them. I just hate their stares.”

“Ah, a bit of stage fright, then?” He hums. “The same advice still applies. Down here, a single hint of weakness can and will be exploited. But you have nothing to worry about, I won’t let anything happen to you, darling.”

“My hero.” He chuckles at your deadpan response and you continue you walk in semi-silence. Alastor had begun to hum a familiar tune while you attempt to ignore the stares of the demons and instead opt to read their body language.

They look to you with interest and hunger, but they look at Alastor with fear, many referring to him as the “Radio Demon” which in all honesty you feel fits him. There are demons you notice that look as though they want to snatch you right up, but the minute they register who you’re with they immediately make way for the both of you.

He must have quite the reputation down here. You’re sure that if you were alone, you’d’ve been kidnapped the second you stepped foot into the light.

Along with watching demons, gauging their body language, hearing their whispers, you keep hearing more. Whispers from people not there, it was just at the edge of hearing. You can barely make them out, but you get the feeling

you you you don’t know you like alastor same same power but different not him you’re not him who are you who who are you?

they were talking about you. Maybe even trying to talk to you? You’re not sure.

You’re not sure where you’re going on this little walk, but judging the look in Alastor’s eye he’s taking the scenic route on purpose. Maybe he’s testing you, seeing how quick you’ll break under the pressure of other demons whispering and eyeing you up. Maybe he’s taking multiple twists and turns to lose the other demons who’ve been following you. You’ll never know, and you’re pretty sure he won’t answer if you asked, so you bite your tongue and keep going. You can be patient if you really need to be, and you can deal with stares and whispers. You’ve dealt with worse.

You walk for several more blocks, passing by several shops, one in particular catching your eye that looks to have antiques and the like inside. You could only make out the name “Rosie” on the shop sign before you’re pulled around the corner with Alastor, stopping in front of a rather nice looking apartment building.

You had safely figured that when Alastor said ‘dinner’ he meant going to some restaurant, a bar, something like that. You weren’t really expecting to follow him up several flights of stairs and into a quaint little flat. Though bare of necessities and probably due for a little clean up, it was pretty alright.

“And here we are!” Alastor frees you from his vice-grip and begins walking about the flat, looking at the small amount of amenities. You go at your own pace to look about the flat as well, taking it all in. Compared to your previous living conditions, it might as well be a mansion for you.

The kitchen is divided off by a little bar and the main living space only has one sofa and a TV on an old-looking stand with a door leading out to a balcony. Upon looking into the wash room it has the necessary appliances for cleaning and relieving yourself, while the bedroom just has a single queen-sized bed in the middle, a door to the closet off in the corner.

You and Alastor meet back in the living area. He turns to you, his smile ever-present, his eyes shining with a hint of mischief. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“About this place?” You take another quick glance around. “It’s alright, but why are we here?”

“Why this is your new living space, my dear! You’re free to furnish it however you wish, of course, and I’ve already handled all the other things required to ensure your security here.” Alastor idly waves a hand as he walks to the kitchen, opening the fridge and looking inside.

“Already? But we just got here. When did you do that?” You follow him to the kitchen, leaning against the bar and watch him as he quietly tuts and shuts the fridge door.

“Ah, this just won’t do. I suppose I could furnish the area a little bit just this once, at least for supper.” His cane vanishes in a flash of smoke and he snaps his fingers. Right before your eyes pots and kitchenware materialize out of nowhere with various types of foods and spices set off to the side for preparing. He walks past you to hang his coat on a coat rack you hadn’t noticed being there before.

“And to answer your question, my dear,” he pauses in front of you on his way back into the kitchen, pinching your chin as he says, “I have my ways and my influences.”

“Right… very reassuring.” You watch as Alastor rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt and removes his gloves.

His hands—more like claws, were dark. They looked like they had been burned multiple times, the skin completely charred black and fading to his original skin tone close to his elbow.

He says, “Rest assured, sweetheart, you’re perfectly safe here! No one would be foolish enough to trouble you in this fine building.” And then ends the conversation by effortlessly cutting meats and mixing spices into a huge pot, all the while humming to himself.

You never would’ve expected a renowned serial killer and feared demon of Hell to know how to cook, but again you never would’ve expected Hell itself to just be a huge city. You can’t help but feel your curiosity tugging at you, making you wonder what else there is to Alastor.

In the middle of watching Alastor do his magic, your eyes get drawn to movement near his posterior. Your eyes hone in on a deer tail, red and black matching Alastor’s hair, flicking with a small wag every few seconds. You blink, mouth agape and trying to process how a powerful and apparently very feared individual in Hell could have something so… cute.

Should you ask about it?

Would he rip your throat out for asking?

Maybe you shouldn’t, that’s probably a really bad and really stupid idea.

Shaking off the initial shock, you comment, “Y’know… when you said grab a bite, I figured we’d just be going somewhere to eat instead of you cooking something.”

“Ah, I did say that, didn’t I?” Alastor tilts his head in question with his brows slightly furrowed, though the glimmer in his eyes shows that yes, he does know he said that. “But then I would have to deprive you of this exquisite jambalaya recipe my mother showed me!”

You watch him work for a moment or two, before you quietly admit, “I’ve never had jambalaya.”

Maybe it was something about your voice that made Alastor pause for a fraction of a moment. The sad, longing tone? You’ll never know. He recovered much too quickly for you to get a proper read.

But you do notice something else. “Well, my dear,” he says, “I can assure you it’s an absolute delight.” Something was different. He didn’t have the usual teasing, ‘haha’ tone in his voice. “My mother said that this recipe’s kick was right out of Hell!” Ah, there it was.

You look down as Alastor continues to hum and cook, that moment already forgotten. You fiddle with the cuff of your sleeve before once again noticing the mark upon your hand. Glancing back up to confirm he’s busy cooking, you quietly step away. Alastor’s hum breaks out into song.

See the pyramids along the Nile,

You walk into the washroom while he sings, removing your coat and bowtie and begin to unbutton your dress shirt.

Watch the sunrise from a tropic isle,

You look at yourself in the mirror, hands on the final button to your dress shirt. Heaving a sigh, you undo the button and slowly pull it off.

Just remember darling, all the while…

Starting from the palms of your hands and running up along your arms, ending at the center of your upper torso, is what looks to be a tattoo of antlers. Huge antlers. Several branches wrap around your arms and over your shoulders and around your neck. You can’t stop staring. Out of the corner of your eye you see the shadows shifting, moving, eyes staring at you.

You belong to me.

Chapter Text

You wake up in a bed made of soft, if a bit itchy but warm sheets, the smell of bacon wafting into your room from the kitchen. You blink. Stare at the peeling wallpaper across the room, only one question going through your groggy head: someone was cooking and it actually smelled good?

You blink again, slowly pushing yourself up into a sitting position, your mind like that of a snail trying to travel up hill, but you manage to register where you are, and what happened last night.

Rubbing at your face, you sigh deeply. Riiiiight… you had summoned a demon and made a deal with him. An apparently very infamous demon down in Hell. You scratch at the back of your neck, your head, run your fingers through your hair, and notice the tattoo running down your arm. Looking it over, you lightly trace it with two fingers. It’s warm.

The memory of shaking Alastor’s hand, feeling the burning sensation bloom from your chest and travel down your arms causes small bouts of ghost pains to surface, passing as soon as they come. Memories of everything else transpiring came not long after the ghost pains. Alastor’s laughter mixing with the screams of dead people you once knew. Him pulling you into a dance, staining your shoes and trousers with blood and other bodily fluids. It brings a small smile to your face.

With a soft groan, you push yourself up, the thick comforter sliding off you. Your feet touch the matted, dirty carpet and you go to look out your window. The sky is dyed a deep, deep red, the “sun” looking more to be a sphere with a pentagram painted on it. Weird, but something you could get used to with time.

You notice several different demons from a neighboring building had opened their windows either smoking, drinking coffee, or the like. Remembering the hungry gazes of the other demons from last night, you quickly close the curtains before they notice you. You’d rather not draw too much attention to where you live. Sure, Alastor said you were safe, but you’d still rather not take your chances. At least when he’s not around.

As if to remind you why you woke up, you hear noises in the kitchen and smell something good cooking. You vaguely remember Alastor mentioning he wouldn’t even be here when you woke up, something about business or work he had to do on the other side of the city. He had left you with some basic instructions and a list of places to go to so you can furnish your living space, not being subtle at all with his desire for you to have actual things in it and have it cleaned up.

You remember him only laughing at the uncertain look on your face and your question about the other demons outside and saying, “I gave you a piece of my power for a reason, sweetheart! You’re fully capable of defending yourself.”

“You never told me about any of those powers, though.”

“Now where would the fun in that be?” Alastor chuckled, “Worry not, my dear, you will not fall so quickly or easily to the ruffians on the streets. I’ll be back before sunset, ta ta!”

And then he was gone.

Which leaves you wondering now: Did he already finish his work? What time was it even?

Your question was quickly answered when you stepped over to the kitchen to see someone who definitely wasn’t Alastor. For one they were way too short, and was (probably?) a girl.

The little demon in your kitchen standing on a stool and happily humming to herself was but a button high. Her fluffy hot pink hair had a yellow undertone to it, her outfit consisting of a dark pink scarf, a white shirt with pink dots and a pink skirt with a little poodle on it. You remember seeing a few people with a style like that back home, but not many. At least not around where you lived.

When the little demon turns around you can see her face consists of a big single pink and orange eye with a yellow iris. Her smile is big and bright yet full of sharp teeth. She doesn’t even seem to notice you, darting rapidly around the kitchen, organizing and cooking and humming happily to herself all at once.

You dumbly blink, watching her dart about with impossible speed, before several thoughts occurred to you. Who was she? Why is she cooking in your kitchen? And most importantly, how did she get in?

“Uhm,” you clear your throat. The little demon stops atop the stool she’d been using to reach the stove and turns to you. Her grin seems to widen ten-fold and suddenly she’s on the bar, several inches away from your face.

“Oh, you’re awake! Sorry if I woke you from all the noise, I was just so excited to meet you and wanted to make a good first impression. I thought a nice little breakfast would be the best way to do just that!” She giggles, happily waving. “I’m Niffty! Allie already told me all about you and he asked me to make sure you felt welcome and had a nice little meal and looking at you now you could really use some more meat on your bones!”

The little demon—Niffty, circles around you, lifting up an arm and squeezing it to feel how skinny it was. Her touch sends a wave of static up your arm and you reflexively yank it away from her. Realizing what she’d done, she backs off as quickly as she had invaded your space, hands up in an apologetic way. “Sorry, that was rude of me to grab you suddenly, I’m just so excited. It’s always nice to make new friends.” She giggles again. “What’s your name?”

You blink once. Twice. Still holding your arms close to you, taking a step back from her, all you can really say is, “Uh…”

“‘Uh’ isn’t a name, silly! Well, it probably could be, but that’s not yours! Or is it? Oh, I’m sorry if it is!”

“It… it’s not…” Wow, it is too early for this. You were not expecting this much energy so early in the morning. You take a moment to compose yourself and rather than tell Niffty your name, you ask, “How did you get in here and… who’s ‘Allie’?”

Niffty laughs, “Alastor, of course! He lets me call him ‘Allie.’ And he gave me the key to this place! He asked me to look after you while he was gone and man, looking at you now you really do need some looking after no offense.”

“None… taken…” Your groggy mind slowly catches up to Niffty’s rapid explanation. She calls Alastor, Allie? That’s… actually adorable, and you’re pretty sure that she’s the only person who can actually call him that without seeing their intestines on the floor a second later. You can’t help but wonder how he would react if you called him that…

You turn your attention back to Niffty. She seems nice. As nice as a demon could be, you’re sure. You look over her face, her expression, the shine in her single, big eye. She seems to be the type to be the overly honest sort, yet also not giving out too much. She was telling the truth as far as you could tell at least.

But you’re also not sure if Alastor is simply trying to test how quickly you trust strange demons you don’t know that claim he had sent them.

Then again he did reassure you that you were safe here. If you weren’t you’re pretty sure someone would’ve broken into the apartment by now.

But what if he was lying to you about that too? You wouldn’t put it past him.

Niffty snaps you out of your thoughts—literally—and asks, “You okay? You kinda spaced out there for a minute.”

“Uh, yeah. I tend to do that.” You look her over again, biting your lip. Your name isn’t exactly something you’re sure you should give to random demons, friends of Alastor or not. You know the rules, your name is his now, thus making you belong to him, but you can’t exactly say you’re positive you know what would happen if you give your name out to someone despite it already belonging to another demon already. There’s not exactly a lot of writings on what to do with such a thing.

Better safe than sorry, at least. You think, playing with the hem of your shirt, before saying, “You can call me Red.” Not exactly the most creative, but it’ll do.

“Red. Hmmm…” Niffty taps her chin, looking you over and tilting her head this way and that before smiling. “I like it! It suits you and all that red you wear!” She giggles, Both lovely and fitting!” She hops off the bar and goes back to cooking. “Go ahead and get some coffee and get yourself ready for the day, I’ll finish up here!”

Coffee? You look around the kitchen, quickly finding the coffee pot and go over to pour yourself a cup. With a bit more searching, you noticed it’s actually more furnished than you thought.

Huh, Alastor must’ve added it when you were sleeping or something.

Making your coffee just how you like it, you take a slow sip, closing your eyes and reveling in this… peace. You haven’t had a peaceful morning like this in a long time.

“Hey, Niffty,” you start. She hums in question, glancing at you briefly as she begins plating some bacon and eggs. You ignore the watering of your mouth and ask, “You said Alastor gave you a key, right? Is this a… physical key?”

“Oh, no no, silly! Physical keys can easily be stolen,” Niffty laughs, finishing up some hashbrowns and skillet potatoes and holy shit it all looked so good you can’t even remember when you last had breakfast like this. You have to tear your gaze away from the delicious-looking food to pay attention to Niffty as she continues talking, “His little friends know to let me in, so I can come and go and come and go whenever I want!”

“His… little friends?”

“Yeah! His shadows!” Niffty effortlessly carries three plates—one in each hand and one on her head—and places them on the bar. “Y’know, the little things he likes to summon sometimes. They’re really good at playing music!”

As if on cue, you notice something moving out of the corner of your eye. Glancing over, you see a small shadow creature boldly watching you. The minute you make eye contact with it the creature floats closer, whirling around you and then stopping in front of your face. Then you notice another little shadow creature peeking out from behind Niffty. And another behind the sofa. And another appearing from under your feet. All in varying sizes but all looking like impish little things with curling horns and glowing white eyes.

They all move closer to you, looking you over, curious yet cautious.

And then you hear a voice, voices, whispering, spilling into your mind like a shower of sparks.

you you who you who you who are you? not him not master not radio not him not not alastor! but but same feeling same power must must protect you protect but who? who who who who are you?

They’re so loud . Their words ricochet against the insides of your head and you clap your hands to your ears instinctively.

Stop stop too loud loud too loud stop please stop hurts hurts STOP!

The voices silence almost instantly. The little shadows don’t flee, though continue to stare, ever curiously.

“There they are!” Niffty waves at the little shadows and a few return the gesture. “Aren’t they just the sweetest?”

“If you call screeching into your ears until they bleed sweet, then sure.” You itch at your ear, making a face at them.

“Huh? I didn’t hear anything.” Niffty tilts her head at you. “You must be hungrier than I thought. Maybe I should’ve made more food… ah well, c’mon, have a bite! The rest of you shoo now, shoo! Let them eat!” She waves off the little creatures to no avail, as they’re all still staring at you.

It’s when you say, “Can you stop fucking staring at me?”   That all of them quickly vanish back into the shadows. All but one. The first one that had approached you remains floating in front of you, continuing to stare.

It seems to be smaller than the rest of the others with a more rounded diamond shape to their head and their horns curling behind their head. They looked like a voodoo doll almost, stitches lining their side and pins coming out of their back.

It circles around you some more before stopping in front of your face, a big toothy grin slowly appearing.

You’re not surprised that the grin reminds you of Alastor.

you i like you, a little voice inside your head says, funny stay i want to stay can can i stay?

You raise a very unamused brow at the little shadow.

won’t yell won’t be loud please? It starts rubbing itself under your chin, much like a cat. please please? want to i want to stay

You heave a sigh. “Fine.” And the little shadow looks absolutely ecstatic, wrapping around your shoulders and nuzzling your cheek happily.

yay! thank thank you thank you will be quiet, will be good promise i promise!

“Mhmm,” you hum noncommittally, giving the shadow’s face a gentle push away from your own face.

Niffty, who’d been watching the entire thing, just smiles up at you. “Looks like they like you!” She giggles and grabs her stool, dragging it over to the bar while you take your own seat and the two of you start eating.

Much like your meal last night with Alastor, you only really speak when spoken to. Niffty seems like she can hold ten conversations at once, and she might as well be right now.

“I’m surprised you were sleeping the entire time I was making food, I had to leave a few times to get a few other things when they weren’t here. You must’ve had a really long night to have slept so soundly.”

Explains why there’s so much more in the kitchen than you remember there being.

“Oh, oh, there’s this really nice store down the street that sells nice furniture we could get and bring back here. Then we can get you some more outfits and things for the kitchen and—”

You don’t mean to tune out her rambling, you’re just lost in thought. You make a humming noise occasionally to let her know you’re still kind of listening, but you’re not really retaining most of what she’s saying.

Sitting around and eating supper with Alastor last night… eating breakfast with Niffty… despite everything it felt so normal . Just sitting here and eating with someone. Nothing being thrown at you, no hot water splashed your way to scald you,no one taking away your food and forcibly shoving you into your room, none of that. It felt surreal.

Is it weird my first normal breakfast is in Hell of all places? You find yourself thinking.

don’t know, the same little voice answers, never had life like like you

Hold on. What?

You pause eating for a moment, slowly glancing at the little shadow around your shoulders. It’s staring at the food, almost perplexed. Despite it having no pupils or irises, you can feel it looking back at you. You hesitate for a second, then test it out, You can hear me?

The shadow grins, responding with, can hear you yes yes, can see things too. people throwing, hurting, who who are they?

Mm… no one important, they’re dead. You quickly change the subject, Is this how Alastor talks with all of you?

The shadow stretches, taking some of your hair and begins to play with it between their shadowy claws. no not not all the time. sometimes. doesn’t always need to say or think words. sometimes uses pictures. feeling. 

Interesting. So this is the power Alastor gave you. You’re not sure how hearing and talking to the little shadow creatures will help protect you from the other demons outside, but it’s something. You’re still good at sneaking around and remaining unseen, at the very least.

“Hey, Niffty.” You poke at the last of your food as her single eye hones in on you. “Alastor already pointed out a few places we could go to to furnish this place and get more of the necessities, and what to do and say, but… how are we gonna carry it all back?” You turn to her now, saying, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly have a lot of upper body strength to carry a sofa .”

“Hmm…” Niffty taps her chin. “Allie always just snaps his fingers and pop! Things appear!” She takes the plates, skipping to the sink. You decide to lend a hand in grabbing the stool for her to stand on. “But it’s okay! We can just focus on the other things first instead of the furniture. Things like food and cleaning supplies most definitely, this place could really use a lady’s touch.”

“What are you thinking?” You hold out an offering hand with a drying towel in the other, to which Niffty very happily gives you to. Together you finish cleaning up the kitchen in no time, all while Niffty chatters on.

“Well for one I think it needs new wallpaper and the carpet definitely needs a good vacuuming and maybe some paintings or—”

“Let’s… try taking it one step at a time, Niffty.” You can’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. It’s kind of refreshing in a way. Sure, Alastor seems to be happy all the time as well, but his is more mischievous enthusiasm rather than, well, cute enthusiasm. “If you want, we can start with getting the place cleaned, then work on furnishing. It might be easier to clean now while there’s not a lot of furniture and whatnot in here.”

“Ooh, that’s a good point!” Niffty gives you one of her big toothy grins. “Then go get dressed and let’s get the things we need to make this place spick and span!”

“Right.” As you’re walking to the washroom to freshen yourself up and prepare for the day, you notice the little shadow removing themselves from around your shoulders and is now “sitting” on the toilet. As much as a shadow monster with no legs could sit. You ask it, “Do you even have a name?”

no name no no name. i’ve never never had one never.

You look at the little shadow. You can’t help but feel a small pang in your chest when they say that to you. You chew your lip, then ask, hesitant, “Do… do you want one?”

They tilt their head at you, as if confused. Then you can feel the excitement rising in them. mine? a name? my name? for for me? just me me my name for me mine mine my name just me??

“If you want.” You start brushing your hair. “You can even think of your own rather than me coming up with one for you. And take some time to think about it, you don’t have to immediately think of one.”

You hear their voice make a thoughtful humming sound in your mind, almost like a purr. Throughout your routine of showering and getting ready, their voice rings in your mind. Though they’re more so muttering to themselves than anything you can hear them clear as day, name for me but what what name? many good ones many many bad ones which one for for me?

They follow you out of the washroom and into your bedroom, still muttering to themselves all the while. Getting dressed was quick enough, but you hesitated at the bowtie, staring at the fabric with a small frown. Why, of all things, did Alastor have to make it a damned bowtie? You don’t know how to tie one of these things.

“Ugh… screw it.” The little shadow perks up as you leave the room, hastily following after you and vanishing into your coat. You leave the fabric on your bed, buttoning up the rest of your dress shirt as you walk towards the door. “I’m ready to go Niffty.” 

As if appearing from nowhere, Niffty is in front of you, excitedly bouncing on her feet. “Oh, you look so cute in your little outfit! C’mon, let’s go!”

“Yeah, about that, Niffty…” You open the door for her, allowing her to leave first before shutting the door behind you.  “All things considered, we should probably try and be inconspicuous? Since… y’know.” You make a vague gesture to yourself.

“Of course, silly! I wasn’t just gonna lead you through the streets in the open!” Niffty giggles, “Don’t worry, I know a few good shortcuts to where we gotta go, follow me!”

She holds out her hand for you to take, but you hesitate. Rubbing at your arm, you gesture for her to lead the way, an awkward smile on your face. The gesture causes her smile to fall into a confused frown, but she brushes it off and is smiling once more, guiding you out of the building and down the street.

Keeping up with Niffty might be as hard as keeping up with Alastor. When looking at the two, anyone would assume that Alastor would be the faster walker with his long strides. But no, Niffty is giving him a run for his money by darting from one end of the street to the next so quickly.

You were not expecting to be running around to keep up with such a little demon today and kinda wished you had other clothes that weren't just a tux. But even though she was quick and keeping up with her was difficult, the entire trip you weren’t spotted once by other demons. There were a few close calls here and there, but you managed to slip by just well enough thanks to Niffty’s guidance. You remain hidden in the alleys while Niffty would go into the shops and get the needed items, then help her carry what she got.

The first trip went well enough, it was even a bit fun. The two of you got what you needed and worked together to get your flat nice and cleaned. You started with the kitchen, which didn’t take too long seeing as Niffty already took the liberty of cleaning a good portion of it while you were still asleep. You got halfway through your living space before you had to go out again for more supplies.

With the living space done came the washroom and your bedroom. Two trips became three. The entire flat was spotless and it wasn’t even three in the afternoon. You feel kinda bad Niffty did a good portion of the work but she waved it off with a smile, stating she loved cleaning anyhow. 

With your flat nice and clean, you and Niffty agree that it’s finally time to start getting actual items in the place. 

Starting with some food and repainting the walls, three trips became four. The kitchen was nice and stocked up with food and other such utensils needed for cooking. You quietly took a mental note to ask Niffty if she could teach you how to cook past basic eggs later.

Despite the orb that’s supposed to act as the sun not moving, you did notice a large clocktower in the middle of the city, indicating the time and telling you just how long you two have been cleaning and decorating. By the time the kitchen was furnished and the walls were painted, you were ready to keel over, but agreed to go out one last time for minor decoration.

The look Niffty was giving you was too cute and you couldn’t say no. Thankfully she agreed it’s the last trip out for today.

Unfortunately, this particular trip wasn’t one you could just hide in the alley for. It was decorations for your flat and while your trust in Niffty is steadily growing fraction by fraction, you’re not a fan of some of the ideas she had for your flat.

You decide to go into the shop you had seen yesterday, which you can now read properly as “Rosie’s Emporium.” Despite not really wanting to go in and just wishing to lay low, you step inside with Niffty, thankful it’s mostly empty aside from the clerk.

The clerk was a woman with short white hair donned in a beautiful vintage-looking dress with a large hat bearing multiple feathers, flowers, and a couple skulls. She gives you and Niffty a lovely smile, her pure black eyes never leaving you two as you go about the store.

It was mostly stocked with antiques and other vintage looking items. Some were too fancy for your tastes, but you did manage to find a nice wall clock, better looking curtains, and a radio—one of the old fashioned ones in surprisingly good condition. You’re not sure why you were so drawn to this particular radio, but you’ve always wanted one anyway, so you get it. You did want to get more, but with all the other work you’ve put in today, you’re not sure if you have the energy for heavy duty decorating.

It was a nice little emporium, you have to admit. It would be nicer if the clerk wasn’t staring at you the entire time, but what can you do? When you approach and get ready to say the specific phrase Alastor gave you (a guaranteed payment, he had assured), the clerk waves her hand at you with a knowing smile.

“Worry not, sweetheart,” she says, her voice like velvet, “just tell Alastor to come visit sometime. I do miss our chats.”

Looking at her now, rather than side-glancing her like you were earlier, you can see a fondness in her gaze and her tone. There was definitely history between her and Alastor, good history.

You nod. “Sure. It’d be no trouble, miss…?”

She gives a big grin that’s all teeth. “Rosie, darling.”

“Miss Rosie. I’ll be sure to tell him.” You give a polite smile and, with your things in hand, get ready to leave.

“See you again soon, dear,” Rosie calls after you as the door to the emporium shuts.

Of course, with you being in Hell, there’s always going to be something that goes wrong.

As you and Niffty—who has finally decided to slow down and walk with you—start heading back you feel it. Someone, or something, is watching you. Following you.

You frown, keeping your eyes on Niffty as she guides you. You don’t know how close they are so you don’t know how quiet you have to be. You don’t even know how Niffty will react if you tell her someone’s following you. She doesn’t seem to be the type to crack under pressure so quickly or easily, considering her desire to deep clean the entire flat in one day.

But someone following the two of you all the way back to your flat could lead to a very bad situation. 

There’s gotta be something you can do.

Feeling the strange chill makes you hesitate briefly. Was that the little shadow that went into your coat earlier?

You test it out, Hey, are you there?

Their voice rings back, yes? wrong something’s wrong what’s what’s wrong?

Someone’s following us. Can you check it out without being seen?

The little shadow peaks out of your coat in front of you. go i go look. others watching too. protect, keep you safe. They slip down and meld into your shadow, then with the rest of the shadows in the alley. You purse your lips, fighting the deepening frown. At this rate, whoever was following you would know where you lived. Security or not, you’re not a fan of that.

You reach over to Niffty and tap her shoulder once. She looks up at you, blinking curiously as you whisper, “Hey, someone’s following us. Can we circle around to try and lose them?”

Her smile seems to get bigger at that. “Roger!” And the next thing you know she’s taken your hand and starting guiding you down a whole different set of twists and turns. Buildings and lights pass by, some familiar, most not. You take a mental note to try and learn the layout of this place so it’s easier for you to navigate it alone should you ever need to.

Niffty suddenly stops pulling you with her. Her grip on your hand tightens a fraction, her grin growing bigger and bigger.

Standing at the very end of the alley were 

danger danger danger DANGER DANGER!

a group of demons—about four of them. Great. Two of them were tall but skinny with two sets of arms and horns pointing upwards, while the other two were much taller and held a lot more muscle to them. The two larger ones stood at the end to block off your exit while the two skinner ones leaned casually against the walls.

“Well, well, well… look at this Scotty,” the skinny demon on the left hums, “a lost little human being pulled around by a pathetic squirt of a demon…”

“Oh, I see it, Johnny.” The skinny demon on the right—Scotty says. He looks you up and down, an unimpressed stare in his eye. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I saw this same human wandering around with the Radio Demon of all demons.”

“No no, I think you’re right. I saw them just the other day walking together.” The left one—Johnny, tilts his head at you. “You belong to the Radio Demon, human?”

You scowl, eyes narrowing at them. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“Oh, feisty one, ain’t ya?” Scotty chuckles, “Can’t wait to break you like a twig. I bet you’ll make lovely little sounds.”

You bare your teeth into a snarl, “I’d love to see you try .”

Niffty, keeping an ever present grip on your hand, lowers herself a fraction, her smile borderline psychotic. “We’d love to stay and chat boys, but we got places to be,” even her giggle sounds manic, “You know how it is.”

“Oh, I do.” Johnny boldly steps closer, pointed tail swishing behind him. “I know how much a fresh human can go for. Untouched. Unsullied. I can smell that virgin blood from here.”

You want to run, to pick Niffty up and get out of here as fast as possible, but you don’t know how fast these demons can run. If this leads down to a brawl, you won’t hesitate to sock these assholes in the jaw, especially if they so much as touch Niffty.

You glance down when you feel your little shadow friend had returned and was just slipping back into your coat. You hear their voice ringing in your mind, behind you behind behind behind you lookout lookout behind you!

Static shoots up your arm as a large hand encloses around it. You stiffen, eyes widening, teeth gritting. Slowly, slowly you turn your head and see what you can only guess is a dog demon. His ears docked to a point, mouth pulled back to reveal a sharp row of teeth.

the man in your head with his fists raised and his hands bloodied who is he who who who is he who Who WHO IS HE?!

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Y’know, I thought the Radio Demon was smart enough to know not to leave his toys all by themselves.” His voice rumbles in his chest, his rancid breath invading your senses. His grip on your arm tightens. The static in your body, in your mind, grows louder and louder. “Guess he’s not as smart as we thought. How about you make this easier for everyone little human, and—”

Despite his large stature, you yank your arm free, the static ringing in your ears and down to your very core. You pull Niffty closer to you, staring this dog demon down and snarling, “Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.”

You don’t notice the static in your mind was ringing aloud for everyone to hear. You don’t notice the shadows slowly close in, leaving a thickness to the air. You do notice however, the dog demon. Clearly not expecting this, he takes a step back. All of the demons’ smug attitude melted away almost instantly, slowly beginning to back away.

You advance towards the dog demon, sneering, “What’s wrong? Scared of a little human? ”

Memories of the night before resurface. Alastor dancing over the carnage, the blood, the bits of bone and flesh that used to be something that once held a person together. You suddenly wonder if you could 

paint the walls red red red with their blood red is is such a pretty pretty color don’t you think?

do the same thing.

You remember how with a 

snap snap snap

of his fingers he would

rip them apart tear them tear them to pieces

Images of these demons being utterly pulverized against the walls flash in your mind. Reduced to nothing more than a chaotic jumble of flesh. How nice that would look, you think.

Suddenly, it felt as if someone was guiding you to lift your hand and position your fingers to prepare a snap. You don’t see anything in your peripherals, your eyes honed on this dog demon who’s yet to run away like the fool he is.

A voice, different but familiar, whispers to you, “Make them scream, darling.”

You snap your fingers.

Chapter Text

It was such a lovely day of death and carnage. Rivers of blood, meat, and bone flow down the streets and there’s a happy tune in the air. Alastor twirls his cane in one hand, the other neatly folded behind him, humming along to a happy song in his head. One nearly loses sense of time when you’re killing off an entire section of the city and joyfully broadcasting it everywhere to be heard.

But alas, he’s a busy demon and has things to attend to. Like checking in on his favorite little human and seeing how they’re settling in. Judging from what the shadows have told him, Niffty is taking good care of them, just like he asked. What a sweetheart that Niffty is. He’ll have to get a thank you gift for her later. But for now, he has other things to attend to.

Though during his happy stroll back to the other side of the city, he was pleasantly surprised to find one of his shadows peeking out from under his shoes. Their voice hisses in his mind, human danger danger! demons going to take take them take human!

Alastor’s grin grows in strength and quickens his step. Oh, not because he’s worried, of course not! His human has a piece of his power, they’re perfectly capable of defending themselves, leaving him with no reason to worry. He has confidence in their capabilities, their creativity.

No, he’s quickening his pace because he wants to watch .

He slips through the shadows, following the little trail of breadcrumbs that will take him to his human, eventually finding them with Niffty in one of the many alleys littering this side of the city. He watches from atop a building, eyes shining with manic glee. Five demons should be easy enough for his dear human to dispose of.

Ah, but yes, there’s that little condition they have with physical contact. Alastor’s eye twitches at the sight of the dog demon, but keeps his gaze honed on his human. His head tilts curiously at their reaction, their frozen form slowly moving to face their assaulter.

“Y’know,” Alastor hears the dog demon say, “I thought the Radio Demon was smart enough to know not to leave his toys all by themselves.” His eyes squint, quietly chuckling to himself. Oh, if only the little mutt knew… “Guess he’s not as smart as we thought. How about you make this easier for everyone little human, and—”

Alastor watches his human snap out of it, pulling themselves free, the static in the air growing thicker and thicker with their anger rising up, up, up. He hears them snarl, their voice nothing but fury, “Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.”

He leans forward, squinted eyes slowly widening as he waits with a newfound eagerness. Come now, darling, don’t leave him in suspense! His eyes remain glued on his human, watching them take a bold step to the dog demon, hearing them sneer, “What’s wrong? Scared of a little human?”

The grand finale is almost here… He can’t read their mind, nor see their memories, but

pain the walls red red red with their blood red is such a pretty pretty color don’t you think?

their face says it all. He can see it in their eyes, recalling the wonderful massacre from just the night prior. His smile stretches further, becoming impossibly big.

He watches the other demons react, the air laced with their delicious fear while they foolishly wait with baited breath to see if his human can

snap snap snap

their fingers just like him and 

rip them apart tear them tear them to pieces

Though he would love for his dear human to take their time with this, he’s never been a patient demon when excited. Perhaps just a little push will help move things along.

He lifts a hand to connect invisible strings with his human’s arm and helps them raise it and position their fingers to snap. He takes note of one of the demons foolish enough to run away—one of the skinny ones, their name matters not to him—and informs his shadow to tail after him.

Alastor chuckles darkly, whispering to his little human, “Make them scream, darling.”

The snap of their fingers… the screams of the pitiful ruffians… ah, it was music to his ears. He observes the scene below, eyes squinting with how big his smile is. What a bloodbath. Even he couldn’t tell which body part was which. Completely and utterly splattered against the walls. He never expected his little human to be an artist of all things.

Alastor lingers just a moment longer to watch his human process what happened, what they’ve done. They look over the carnage and the masses of blood and flesh, and Alastor sees a shine in their eyes, a small smile forming. What a lovely sight to behold! He’ll have to congratulate them on their first slaughter.

However, that will simply have to wait for the time being. Afterall, there’s still a few cockroaches they forgot to step on in that little show. Just this once he supposes he could clean up after them. Though he’s not a fan of being one of those “chasing” types, he’ll make a special exception here. Afterall, if one doesn’t rid their home of all the roaches, they’re bound to come back en masse.

When his shadow returns with news of the demon’s location, they share a knowing grin.

Alastor steps through the darkness, following the smell of sweat and fear. It’s so palpable in the air he can practically taste it. It makes his mouth water. He hums a happy tune as he strolls through the dark alleys, a soft static still hanging in the air. His fingers twitch gleefully as his eyes hone on the demon that ran. Leaning against the wall, sweating, panting, their fear thick enough to be cut with a knife.

It tasted delicious.

“Well, well! What’s this, dear listeners?” The demon nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around to face the last thing he’ll see before meeting his demise. Oh, how Alastor wishes he had a camera to commemorate this moment. Oh well, the memory alone will have to suffice.

“Why, it’s an exclusive broadcast for all of you!” The demon turns in a rather pathetic attempt to run, though Alastor’s shadow blocks the way. Alastor keeps his hands behind his back, casually strolling forward with a slight skip in his step. He reaches out to wrap an arm around the demon, yanking him close and smiling wide. “And here with me we have a special guest! A ruffian that doesn’t know not to touch things that aren’t his… ” His voice drops with a dark chuckle.

“I’m sure a good hefty portion of you all know of my new little plaything. It’s a lovely story, I assure you. Full of delicious deals and even more delicious slaughter! But I’m afraid I’ll have to save the story for my next broadcast. For now I feel as though I need to make sure a point is made…” His smile grows more sinister, his eyes turning into radio dials with just a simple blink. “For you see, not even a day has passed for my little toy to settle in before you lot give them the good old welcome to Hell by trying to take. Them. Away. From me. Me of all demons! Hahahaha!”

The static in the air grows louder, louder, louder. Voices spill into the alley, giggling, laughing, excitedly waiting for 

smear smear him all over the floor and and the walls let him let him scream let him bleed bleed bleed

Alastor’s command.

“Well… let this be a lesson for you and my wonderful listeners…” He raises a single hand, eyes never taken off of the demon for a second. “ Never touch what belongs to me. ”

He snaps his fingers.

————

You stand in the middle of what can only be described as a massacre. The scene before you was just like the scene in your mind before you had snapped your fingers. The demons all pulverized against the walls, nothing but meaty flesh slowly sliding down to pool on the ground. You look down at your hands, a wave of feelings coming over you all at once, but one more prominent than the rest.

Pure unadulterated ecstasy. You’ve never felt such power before, if ever . You clench your hands into fists, the corners of your lips slowly pulling up into a smile. It didn’t just feel good, it felt… honestly you’re not even sure if a word can describe the feelings swirling in your chest.

You’re violently thrusted out of your thoughts however when you hear Niffty say, “Golly gee…” Causing you to jump slightly. You’d almost completely forgotten she was still here. You look down at her, expecting a fearful expression, yet you find only a big smile.

“I can see why Allie likes you so much,” she giggles, “let’s get going back before it gets dark out!” She takes your hand and begins guiding you back to your flat.

“R—Right.” You ignore the static from her touch, saying, “Uh, sorry ‘bout… the mess. Must’ve been pretty gross.”

“Hehe, oh no silly. That doesn’t bother me at all.” She glances back at you. “Blood or guts or creepy stuff or bugs, none of that gives me the willies.”

“I thought you didn’t like messes?”

“Oh no, of course I don’t! Just because we’re in Hell doesn’t mean all of us should live like pigs!” Her smile grows a fraction. “But they don’t make me all squirmy. You don’t have to apologize for what you did, it was amazing.”

“Uh, thanks?” Her kindness is definitely something you’re not used to, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to it. You can’t help but wonder how someone as sweet as Niffty could end up in Hell of all places. But with it being well, Hell , there’s always a reason, no matter how big or small the sin is.

You walk with Niffty in relative silence the rest of the way to your flat. Not counting the little voice of your shadow friend ringing in your mind, fun fun that was fun lots of fun again we should do it again again again!

A soft smile forms at their enthusiasm. Maybe later, you think back. I don’t have the energy for more of that today.

Judging from the sound they make, it sounds like they’re disappointed, but they don’t complain.

Returning to your flat, you and Niffty work together to decide where everything should go. She was quite adamant on replacing your bedroom curtains first, clearly finding the old piece of cloth you had previously very distasteful. Comparing it to your new curtains, made of your favorite color in a rather nice design, you feel inclined to agree. The wall clock is put up in the living room, and the radio is placed on the far end of the bar. Niffty helped you get the radio setup and the minute it roars with life you fiddle with it to find a good station to listen to.

Niffty’s gone to start preparing supper, talking about everything and nothing while you hum to let her know you’re listening. The little shadow stays perched on your shoulder, watching you play around with your new radio. You settle on a familiar sounding station and let the music play.

Occasionally you give the shadow around your shoulders a gentle scritch on the head while watching Niffty cook, but otherwise the rest of the evening is… normal? It’s going to be strange, having this be your new normal now instead of everything else, but you honestly can’t complain.

You hear the shadow’s voice ringing in your mind, thought of one! thought of of a name for me me mine my name mine!

Did you? You think to them, What’d you think of?

grimm! grimm i like that one grimm call me grimm my name me mine grimm. The shadow—Grimm, clicks their shadowy claws together with sheer glee.

You smile at their child-like happiness, Grimm it is then. You scritch the little space between their horns, the rest of your time spent staring off into space and listening to the gentle sound of the music from the radio and Niffty’s quick darting about the kitchen.

She does unfortunately have to leave when she finishes cooking, saying something about promising to eat with a friend tonight after having cooked your supper. She moves to give you a hug, but stops herself when you step back with your hands up, an apologetic smile on your face.

“Ah, sorry Niffty… not exactly big on the whole… touching thing.”

“Oh, just like Allie? That’s fine!” Niffty dusts off her dress. “I probably should’ve asked anyway, I’m just so excited to have a new friend!” She looks at the wall clock, her smile falling into a pout. “I better get going now before Mimzy starts to worry. Make sure you get some meat on your bones, okay? And don’t let this place fall to ruin just because I’m not here!” She wags her finger at you, causing a small laugh to bubble out of you.

“I’ll be sure to remember that, Niffty. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the flat and myself.” You rub at your neck, saying softly, We should talk again sometime. It… was fun.”

“Oh, it was tons of fun! Especially the end of our little trip outside.” Niffty giggles, giving you one final wave before she’s out the door. “Bye, sweetie!”

Once the door is shut and you hear her footsteps fading down the hall, you heave a sigh. You’ll admit Niffty is… alright. Energetic and draining, but she’s alright. You pull your coat off and put it up on the coat rack, unbuttoning the first two buttons of your dress shirt and rolling up your sleeves.

You eat in relative silence aside from the music playing on the radio, continuously glancing at the wall clock. Alastor said he’d be back sometime tonight, but he never said what time he’d be back. Did he get held up somewhere? Maybe meeting up with a friend, if he has any other than Niffty or Miss Rosie? Either way, not really much you can do besides wait.

You finish your food and get up to clean your dish. It’s as your mind had begun to wander that Grimm, still perched around your shoulders, looks behind you. Their voice happily echoes in your mind and most likely someone else’s, back back you’re back welcome welcome back!

Even without them exclaiming it, you could feel his presence behind you coming closer. You don’t turn around, opting to listen to him tune the radio to a different station and then listen to his footsteps moving towards you.

“This station in particular has so many classics.” Alastor reaches around from behind you to pinch your cheek. “And I see this little troublemaker has taken quite a liking to you,” he chuckles as Grimm twirls around him and rests in his open hand.

“Got held up somewhere? You took your sweet time coming back.” You turn around to lean back against the counter, watching his expression, his eyes, everything.

“You could say I had to…” He idly waves his hand. “Clean up a mess.” He gives you his infamous grin, the glint in his eyes saying it all.

You guess one of the demons during that little “interaction” with that group was smart enough (or stupid enough, honestly) to have run away. You’re not really surprised he knows, seeing as his shadows are following you around all the time. He’s bound to know everything you’ll ever be doing, whether he’s around or not.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you had some fun?” You offer.

He does a twirl in front of you. “Oh, the grandest! Can’t you tell from all the carnage?” He tosses his cane and catches it, standing tall and proper once more, an arm out as if presenting himself.

Eying him up, you let out a small scoff, “Not really. The blood blends so well with your red coat and red everything.” You turn away from a laughing Alastor to put the rest of the dishes on the drying rack. “By the way, Rosie says she wants you to visit sometime soon. She misses your talks.”

“Ah, dearest Rosie. It’s been a moment since I’ve last spoken with her. Perhaps over a nice cup of joe. A true sweetheart, she is.” All too suddenly, his hands grip your shoulders. Static runs down your entire body and your shoulders tense at his tight grip. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, “And you did a marvelous job with those ruffians, my dear.”

You roll your shoulders to get him to let go of your shoulders, but if anything his grip tightens. You feel his claws digging in, almost piercing your coat. Gritting your teeth, you turn your head slightly to meet his ever-grinning face, his eyes watching you closely.

Breathing through your nose, you say, “It was more… reflexive than anything.”

His eyes squint, and he finally lets you go, waving a hand. “Oh, of course, darling.” He steps around you, folding his hands behind his back. “You lack focus on the bigger picture,” he says, gesturing with his hand. “While the end product was rather breathtaking, the process was quite sloppy. But for your first ever slaughter, I must commend you.”

You scoff again, but the ghost of a smile forms on your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s a moment’s pause as the radio begins playing a new song. While the song starts with a gentle piano, Alastor takes a low bow and presents his hand to you. “Dance with me, darling.”

You raise a brow and cross your arms, testing the waters, “And if I say no?”

In response, Alastor’s fingers twitch and your body jerks as if pulled by invisible string, arm jutting out and hand taking his. He pulls you with surprising strength to the middle of the living space and begins a small dance, placing his other hand behind your back and keeping you close to him.

He circles around the threshold of the living space while dexterously avoiding what little amenities were in it. You weren’t a dancer, you never properly learned, and from the way your body moved without your permission, feet sometimes jerking as if yanked by that invisible string, you can safely assume it’s Alastor controlling you.

“Come tomorrow, my dear… I’d love for you to accompany me into the city.” He smiles at you through half-lidded eyes, shining with nothing but mischief.

You knew it wasn’t a request, but you play along. “Is this for business or pleasure?” You’re twirled around, your back meeting his chest. “Never knew you for that kind of demon, Alastor.”

You feel his chest rumbling as he laughs, “Always business, my dear. Never pleasure.”

He twirls you back around, his hand on your lower back pulling you closer to him. “Though, I suppose if you call pleasure ending the lives of hundreds of other loathsome sinners and a rather irksome Overlord, then it could be considered that.”

“An Overlord?”

Instead of answering your question, he says, “Oh, just a meddlesome little cur who decided to cause trouble for a good friend of mine. A sweetheart she is, you’d like her.” He dips you low and brings you back up, side-stepping into a new type of dance as the song comes to an end, smoothly transitioning into another.

“Miss Rosie?”

“No, no. Her name is Mimzy. Lovely young lady she is, and has quite the witty tongue on her. I owe the darling a favor, and that favor happens to be taking out a bit of competition for a friend of hers.” He sighs rather dramatically. “The things I do for dear old friends. Ah wll, I was planning to be rid of him soon enough. Better sooner than later!”

You’re not exactly sure what an Overlord is, but you can guess that with a title like that they’re most likely someone higher up than the rest of the people in Hell. Killing one has to be hard, yet Alastor speaks as if it’s just a rock caught in his shoe.

The song comes to an end as Alastor spins you out of his arms and takes a low bow. You look off to the side and tap your chin, very clearly mocking him from last night. “Hmmm… I suppose I can find a way to squeeze you into my very busy schedule.”

“Oh, how you spoil me with such kindness, darling!” He grabs your cheeks and pinches them just a tad harder than usual. “Be sure to get a good night’s rest tonight for it’ll be a very early start tomorrow!” He ends the conversation with a single rough pat on the head, then walks away to sit over at the bar, snapping his fingers and pulling a book out of thin air, and begins to read it.

Safely assuming the conversation was over, you step away and start preparing yourself for bed. Aside from the music in the other room, it’s actually kind of peaceful. Settling down under the thick covers, you heave a sigh and close your eyes, drifting into a deep sleep.

A sleep that’s plagued by dancing shadows and endless whispers, giggling, sometimes screaming. More than once you wake from your slumber with a start, and the minute you manage to fall back asleep the process repeats itself. To say you didn’t sleep all that well is an understatement. You woke up with your limbs feeling heavy and mind foggier than a bayou after a rainy day.

The sound of the radio still playing is the first thing you hear, then Alastor moving about the kitchen all while happily humming to the tune.

You contemplate just staying in bed for a little while longer, maybe even all day. You were still tired and all you wanted was some actual sleep, not nightmares that make you wake in under a minute. But you can safely guess that Alastor will most likely throw you out of bed or something equally dramatic and outlandish, exclaiming something about how you shouldn’t sleep your day away when there’s so much to do.

An irritated groan erupts from your throat, but you get up nonetheless. You don’t bother trying to soften the annoyed stomps of your footsteps as you leave your room. Grimm slips out from under the bed, nuzzles your cheek in greeting. It brings a small, tired smile to your features, but it falls almost instantly when you walk into the kitchen and see Alastor. Coat hung up on the coat rack, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the same burn scars from before.

“Why good morning , sweetheart!” Alastor’s large grin only makes you squint in suspicion. He had just finished placing two plates on the bar before he takes your face in his hands, bright red eyes looking over your tired features, his own donning all but fake concern. “My, you look positively dreadful! Had a hard time sleeping?”

You grunt, lightly slapping his hands away and brushing past him to get yourself a cup of coffee. Only when you go to pour, three sad small drips fall into your mug. The loud siiiip causes you to look over at the origin of the sound, the origin of course being Alastor who’s smile was absolutely radiant behind the rim of his cup.

“Oh dear,” he places a hand to his cheek in feigned surprise, “darling, you should’ve said you liked coffee! I would’ve been more than happy to make enough for the both of us.” Though he makes no effort to move from his spot, continuing to sip his own coffee.

You can tell from his tone, his smile, and his eyes that he wasn’t sorry at all for making coffee for just himself. He’s feeling particularly mischievous today, isn’t he? Then again, he might always be like this. You’ve only known the guy for, what, not even two days?

But hey, if he wants to fuck with you, that’s fine. You can roll with his punches. You give Grimm a little pet on the head, responding to Alastor with, “Oh, don’t worry about it. There’s a very particular way I like my coffee anyway.” You turn away and start making a new bach for yourself.

You pay no attention to him watching your every move as you go through the process of waking yourself up as best you can. You sip your coffee, taking a small nibble of some bacon from your plate.

“Darliiiing,” you hear Alastor say in a sing-song voice. You close your eyes and slowly exhale through your nose, shifting your gaze over to him.

“What.”

His smile only seemed to get impossibly larger, clearly taking joy in being an absolute annoyance to you. “Once we’ve finished our business with that Overlord, be sure to remind me to go see Mimzy over at her jazz hall after. There’s some business we must discuss, she and I.”

You take a mental note of that, hum, “Mhmm.” And then gulp down the rest of your coffee and go get yourself ready for what you can only assume is going to be a day of nonstop slaughter and instilling fear into the populace. Much like yesterday, getting yourself ready with your hair brushed and clothes on, but again you find yourself pausing at your bowtie.

Your stupid pride refuses to let you ask Alastor for assistance. Besides, he’d most likely say something along the lines of you needing to learn yourself. So you huff and try your best to tie it yourself, going off of memories of watching your old man do so. And when you’re done, it looks very lopsided and messy, so you undo it and start over. Then your finger gets stuck, so you start over again. And again. And again.

“Sweetheart, do try not to dilly dally for too long! We have a schedule to keep!” You hear Alastor call out.

“I’m coming!” You huff, deciding to say fuck the bowtie. Grimm slips into your coat as you throw the bowtie into your room. You button up the rest of your dress shirt and step into the living space.

Alastor, who’d been waiting by the door for you with his cane in hand, looks you up and down before his eyes lock onto the spot where your bowtie should be. He tuts, saying, “My dear, just where is your bowtie?”

“I never learned how to tie a bowtie.” Your face scrunches up while he approaches you, his cane vanishing into a puff of smoke with a wave of his hand. “Why do I even have to wear it? I think I look alright without it.”

“Presentation is everything, sweetheart!” He snaps his fingers and some black fabric appears in his hand. He takes two fingers under your chin and slowly lifts it up, then proceeds to properly tie the bowtie. Once finished, he adjusts it so it’s just right and bops you on the nose. “You should always look good while tearing your enemies limb from limb. And without the final piece to keep your outfit altogether you look nothing more than like a hooligan trying to look fashionable. Remember that.”

He steps away, re-summoning his cane. “Now during your off time I must insist you learn how to tie that yourself, my dear.” He gives you a grin full of mischief, eyes glinting with excitement. He holds his arm out to you. “Shall we be off?”

Out of habit, you hesitate, and it’s only when you notice his fingers twitching and you feel the strings wrapping around you that you move forward on your own and link your arm with his.

“You seem… enthusiastic today.”

“Why of course, my dear!” He unlinks his arm from yours long enough to twirl you around. “Who wouldn’t be excited about showing you off to the city and causing some chaos while doing so?”

You raise a brow, but say nothing. The thought of dancing through carnage with him did bring a small smile to your lips, though it fell the minute you both stepped outside.

Very much like your first time walking through the streets of Hell with Alastor, most of the populace are too scared to even walk on the same sidewalk as him. Many take a wide berth while most others who don’t already know who you are gawk, point, and whisper in surprise at who’s with the infamous Radio Demon. You do your best to ignore their stares, your shoulders unconsciously hunching up the longer you walk beside Alastor out in the open.

Alastor then stops at an alley and unlinks his arm from yours to gesture into the alley. “After you, darling.”

“Such the gentleman.” You roll your eyes, walking into the alley with Alastor close behind you. He places one hand on your shoulder, pulling you against him as he turns towards the darkest section of the wall and taps it twice with his cane. You hear quiet, incomprehensible whispering, and notice the shadows moving and morphing, and Alastor pulls you in.

It feels like you’re walking upstairs with a horrible stomach ache, the feeling ending not a few moments later. Blinking away the dots in your vision, you notice you’re on the roof of a building in a completely different section of the city. Nothing looks familiar, except for the large clocktower which seems to be a landmark meant to be seen anywhere in the city.

Alastor removes his arm from around you, stepping forward to look over the edge. Adjusting his monocle, he smiles at you. “And here we are! Now… let’s get started, my dear.” He clears his throat and you hear what sounds like a radio tuning itself.

Then you hear his voice everywhere, loud and clear, “Ladies, gentlemen, and all other amalgamations of beings! Welcome back to the station and the show! I’m so happy you could tune in today to witness the carnage.” He chuckles darkly, the air already filling with a thick layer of static.

You hear a cacophony of voices giggling with eagerness and excitement.

fun fun fun this is going to be fun so much fun!

Linking his arm with yours once more, he starts walking off the building, stepping on the little shadow creatures that morph their bodies to look like stairs, all the while pulling you with him.

He continues on with a wave of his hand, “Now allow me to properly announce that we have a permanent addition to our show! Now picture it if you will… me! On the most wondrous of massacres, when suddenly I’m pulled out of nowhere into the living world!”

He hops down the last few steps into the streets, keeping his hand out to you and helping you down the rest of the way, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure you all can imagine my surprise when I found a most interesting human standing before me…” Already there are demons either fleeing in fear or too scared to move, some notice you and stop to stare in shock.

Alastor continues on, “And this human wished to strike a most delectable deal!” He unlinks his arm from yours to twirl you and pull you into the beginnings of a dance. “Now I’m happy to say we’ve come to an agreement where they’ll be my lovely new right hand for all eternity!”

He ends the small dance with a spin and on the final step snaps his fingers and from every alley, every nook and cranny and any little thing that casted just a fraction of darkness, the shadows all come in screeching with glee.

Grimm paused a moment to nuzzle your cheek, their little voice purring with delight, it’s time it’s time for fun time time for fun fun fun! And there they go.

Feeling something behind you that wasn’t Alastor, you turn around, coming face to face with another one of his shadows standing before you. It was practically an exact replica of Alastor, but made of pure shadow and its antlers in full display. It bows low before you, its hand held out in offering. You let the shadow-duplicate take your hand to press a cold-feeling kiss to it, and then it vanishes with a wild grin on its face.

“Daarliiiiing…” Alastor’s voice snaps your attention back to him. “Why don’t you say hello to everyone listening? Let them get to know you, some.”

He holds his cane to you, microphone pointed towards your face, his eyes half-lidded and brows raised in waiting. You stare at the mic for a moment, thinking about what you could possibly say to what you can only assume is a hefty portion of the population of Hell listening to this.

After a moment’s pause, you lean close to the cane and say, “Hello, everyone. Glad to see so many of you tuning in on your radios and also managing to make it here to see the carnage live and in person.”

Alastor’s laughter is full of pure joy and even a hint of pride. “Well said, my dear! Come, our audience awaits us!” He presents his arm to you once more, which you take and let him guide you through the already bloodying streets.

Many sinners talk of how that day in particular was definitely one of the most brutal of massacre’s the Radio Demon had ever caused. They whisper of how he sang and danced cheek to cheek with his newest right hand, a human of all things. And they speak of how that human sang and danced with him, their smile just as big as his.

A fond memory you won’t soon forget.

Chapter Text

Making a deal with a murderous demon and being at their every beck and call, you’re sure that anyone else in your shoes would be getting second thoughts within the first few hours . In truth, you can’t really blame those people. This isn’t the type of life most—if anyone—would want to live, but you? You’ve spent too long thinking about it, planning it. And even then, you’re sure—you know you’re not a saint, you never have been.

You’ve been bound to go to Hell ever since the incident. You just sped up the process and kept (most of) your humanity.

But that’s not important.

Adjusting to the life of being the Radio Demon’s right hand has been… eventful, to say the least. Within nearly a year so much has already happened.

You now wielded a name that guaranteed protection and power. Not even a week after your official announcement of being Alastor’s right hand other demons recoil in fear at the sight of you, with or without him being near. Even if some demons were still stupid enough to try and act aggressive to you, you ensured it was their last mistake.

Speaking of Alastor, you kept learning new things about him with each passing day of being with him.

You already knew bits and pieces of him just from your research back in the living world. You knew he was a serial murderer, a sadist who loved to torture, and very charismatic, making him able to easily avoid the law for so many years. You knew he used to be (and honestly still kind of is) a radio host and was quite loved before his death.

Yet there are things about him you, in all honesty, never expected to be a trait in someone like him.

You learned he loved to cook, to sing and dance, and was actually quite good at it. You very quickly learned that when he got overly excited he would either pull you into a sudden dance or pinch your cheeks whether you liked it or not. You learned he despises anything that’s sweet. He made that very clear when you tried making his coffee and gave you the most offended look he could possibly give with a smile plastered on his face. You weren’t allowed to make coffee for him for a couple weeks after that.

He took great pleasure in pulling pranks, especially ones ended with people failing at what they were attempting to do. He loved bad jokes more than anything, especially seeing your reaction to said joke. No matter how bad it was you couldn’t stop or hide the smile forming, sometimes even a chortle escaping. He doesn’t need his ego stroked anymore than it already is, and that didn’t help.

You learned that you could not under any circumstances touch him. Ever. He had to initiate the touch first. You already had an inkling about this considering his subtle dodges of you nearly touching him, but you definitely confirmed it when you went to tap his shoulder one day. His neck snapped and bent at an impossible speed and angle to look at you with a smile impossibly big. He then proceeded to, in a very polite tone that had the message “I will make you wish for death” hidden in it, ask you to not do that and never try that again .

You decided it’d be better to respect that than to try and fuck with him.

You learned the hard way that he’s quite the neat freak when he scolded you for a solid thirty minutes about how uncouth your bedroom looked. Nevermind the fact that he wasn’t helping with that at all. Nevermind the fact that for two weks straight all you did was sleep, get up and hastily get dressed to go with him for a good old fashioned walk and genocide of half the city, giving you hardly any time to clean your damn room.

Oh, let’s not forget the time he also went on another thirty minute scolding about how important it is to keep your kitchen clean. Because a messy kitchen will mean filth gets into the food and that’s not sanitary at all and do you really expect him to cook under these conditions?

While that’s a fair argument, neither of you are being helpful. What with Alastor constantly pulling you out of nowhere therefore you not having much time to actually clean, nor with you being used to having rather low expectations on food quality or even cleanliness. It’s a new ting both of you have had to get used to.

But nonetheless, while you’ve been learning new things about Alastor, you’ve also been learning new things about yourself. Or more specifically the piece of power he’d given you. While you’re sure the extent of your abilities definitely don’t match Alastor’s, you still have quite a fair bit.

You’ve figured out within the first couple weeks that, much like Alastor, you could step through shadows and go wherever you wanted. The first few tries made you pretty nauseous, but you got the hang of it. Thanks to Niffty’s tip from first meeting her of Alastor snapping his fingers to make objects appear (and seeing him do so as well), you’ve tried doing the same. You can’t really make anything bigger than a bottle of gin right now, but it’s something.

It’s not much in terms of amount of power, but with Alastor being so secretive about it, the most you can do is trial and error to find these things out. The only good thing that came from those two straight weeks of nonstop killing was the practice you were getting with said powers.

As far as you can deduce, all it is is simply wanting something and it’ll appear, or happen. With a mind moving as quickly as yours, it’s easier said than done, but if someone as excitable and full of thoughts as Alastor can do it, you’re sure you can too.

But hey, to top it all off, you were finally able to furnish your flat with the help of Niffty. Seeing her again felt… strange, but good. She says you two are friends, but that word has left such a bitter taste in your mouth that you can’t help but hesitate to accept her hand in friendship. Still, you enjoyed her company, and she was a good friend of Alastor and Mimzy (he was right she’s extremely sassy), the least you could do was be nice to her.

In the time you spent with Niffty you learned her general way of thinking, speaking, and acting. While it’s still a bit much for you at times, you always did your best to be patient with her. Her excitable attitude can be infectious at times, leaving you with a small smile on your face. Her presence often left you feeling more relaxed than you have in… well, ever.

You like Niffty. You do! And you’re willing to protect her from harm’s way if needed.

It’s just…

You’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to call Niffty a friend. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to call anyone a friend. But you know you can at least give her some of your trust.

With Niffty’s help your kitchen had more in it with its own little bar for alcohol, your washroom had more amenities to help clean yourself (and get the bloodstains how of your clothes). The comforter you had for your bed was replaced, more pillows were acquired, and you let Niffty help you pick out more outfits you can wear when going out. You kept the whole “red and black” aesthetic with Alastor’s own attire, as you’re sure he’d have a conniption otherwise.

Despite all the new things, your bedroom still felt pretty empty, and you decided to one day ask Alastor if there’s any way for him to get you one of those old upright pianos for your bedroom. You’d be lying if you said you never wanted to learn how to play one. Music has always been something that helped you through the worst of times back in the living world—you hesitate to say “home” because that place never really was your home—and you hoped to try and learn. 

Though you’re not sure how well it’ll go, what with the atrocious schedule Alastor likes to keep you on sometimes, you’re still willing to try.

The look on Alastor’s face when you asked him was such a mixture of surprise yet pure true joy told you you wouldn’t have to try anything to convince him. It was there that you learned he could play quite a few instruments, including the piano, and was more than happy to conjure one in your bedroom and show off his skills.

This became both a blessing and a curse, as Alastor doesn’t seem to ever sleep, and he will not give the smallest of shits if you’re in the middle of sleeping. If he wants you to listen to him ramble about some nonsense or another, he will ramble. If he’s in the mood to play piano, he will play. You’ve been woken up from your slumber more than once due to this, something he was very unapologetic about.

But with your bedroom finished, next came your living space, something Alastor adamantly stepped in for out of the goodness of his heart—his very sarcastic words, not yours. Nevermind the fact how only a few days ago he wanted you to do this yourself. You decided to keep that tidbit to yourself, knowing he’ll most likely make up some nonsense excuse, and just accepted his help.

He spent half the afternoon one day exclaiming what should go where, what could be added and what could be replaced. With him technically being your master and everything he says goes, you know you couldn’t argue too much, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t try.

It took a solid week of going back and forth and running in circles, but you did manage to convince him that the flat wasn’t big enough to have everything he was ranting about decorating it with. And so with everything finally done being up for debate, he snapped his fingers and the entire living space was… so different.

One of the things you put your foot down on was a new television. While Alastor was fond of the “picture show” as he put it, you argued that there was no point in having something you were hardly ever going to use. He (thankfully) relented and settled with conjuring a new stand for your radio, placing it where your television used to be. The old sofa you had in the living space was thrown out and replaced with a much nicer one, including a very comfy armchair and even a small bookcase. Various paintings decorated newly painted walls. The balcony didn’t have much besides a couple chairs and a table, but it still looked nice compared to the barren state it was in before.

All in all, your flat looked really nice after all the redecorating.

And with one thing on the long list of things you needed to do finished, ten more were added. Most were nonsense, something you’re pretty sure Alastor was having you to just because he could make you do it. Others were doing small favors for his other associates, finding and snuffing out anyone who’s plotting against him, or learning how to tie your bowtie—something he’s been making you continue to practice while offering no assistance in teaching you.

Right now however, you have pretty much been thrown to Rosie for the next few weeks over at Cannibal Colony, your only instructions being to follow what she says. Alastor himself said something about business he had to finish on his own on the other side of town.

“Isn’t the whole point of being your right hand supposed to be me always by your side?” You asked when he told you this, still struggling with your stupid bowtie.

Alastor slapped your hands out of the way and fixed it for you. “Dearest, the point of being my right hand is following every order I give you to the letter.” He took your chin in his hand, smiling down at you. “And if I tell you to stay with dearest Rosie for a little while, I expect you to do as I say.”

You simply continued to stare at him, the only reaction he got was your eye twitching a fraction at his grip. “Is it personal?” You found yourself asking.

Though he didn’t answer, the look in his eyes and the slight tightening of his grip said it all. He released your chin, patted your head once, said, “Do try not to cause too much trouble for Rosie, will you?”

And then he was gone.

So here you are. Having only interacted with Rosie a few times when doing small favors for her, you weren’t exactly sure what to expect. There was history between her and Alastor, you knew that much. There’s an unmistakable fondness in their expressions when both speak of the other, but it was purely platonic.

Rosie herself acts like a doting mother towards you and her Roselings (as you’ve decided to call them). Some of her mannerisms are the same as Alastor’s; such as pinching your cheeks or calling you little pet names, and sometimes she’ll even pet your head, though much gentler than Alastor ever does. Whenever he does so it’s more like a slap than anything, but Rosie’s head pat was always gentle, ending with her fixing your hair a tad.

She’s fairly stern yet also cheerful and surprisingly gentle for a demon. She doesn’t ask you to do much besides help her run small errands, sometimes even take a walk with her to meet with her other friends in that section of town. While Alastor likes to see you try to do something he clearly can do himself, Rosie just does it, often saying, “Just leave everything to me, sweetie.”

Today you’re sitting with her in her little living space above her emporium. As she sips her tea, the Roselings run about excitedly organizing everything and cleaning up any dust or cobwebs that are found. Whenever a Roseling finishes their task, they rush over to Rosie who then gives them a loving pet on the head and praises them. It’s kind of cute, actually.

“You know,” Rosie says suddenly, tracing the rim of her cup, “I’ve never seen Alastor take such a deep interest in someone until you came along.”

You perk up, blinking in surprise. “Really?” You can’t help but scoff and shake your head. “Don’t mean to sound rude Miss Rosie, but I highly doubt that.” You lean back in your chair, staring at your cup as you finish your too sweet tea.

Rosie’s gentle look turns a bit more stern. “Come now, love. Such posture is unbecoming of a lovely human such as yourself.” She waves hand. “Sit up now.”

You can’t stop the little grumble you make, but you sit up nonetheless. You say, “I’m sure he just saw an opportunity to have a nice loyal little minion and took it. Wouldn’t put it past him, either. It’s kinda what I was signing up for anyway.”

“Even so, while Alastor does love his deals, he’s not so quick to make them with just anyone.” Rosie gives you a knowing smile. “Even now I can see why he’s kept you, especially for this long.”

You find yourself leaning closer now, interested in what Rosie has to say. This honestly the most you’ve talked to her outside of requests and business, you can’t help but eagerly listen. “And what is it you see, exactly?”

Rosie laughs and says, “I see a lot, dear. But since you asked…” She laces her fingers together, resting her chin in her hands and looked you over. “You’re very perceptive and insightful. Reading expressions, body language, you excel at it. You notice details others—even Alastor—would glance over.”

You can only sit quietly and listen to her as she continues to say, “You’re not easily frightened, if at all, truthfully. I’ve heard many stories from Alastor of how you would barely even react to his attempts at frightening you. Of course you have your faults. Your temper needs reigning in, as you should never allow your enemies to know they’re affecting you. You act on instinct, rarely thinking before so, thus your ending result being quite sloppy. And then there’s your, hmm, condition with physical contact.” She looks over your face, as if searching. “Freezing up the way you do… it’s bound to end in disaster sooner or later.”

You hum noncommittally, opting to stare at your empty cup. Rosie continues watching you closely, saying in a voice so gentle, “But I’m sure it’s something you’ll be able to overcome, dear.”

You ask in a voice softer than you meant, “You think?”

She responds, her voice still just as gentle, “I know, sweetie.”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you, the only sounds heard are of the Roselings running about keeping everything neat and tidy.

You finally break the silence by asking, “I take it most of Alastor’s deals don’t last very long, all things considered?”

“Your deal is the one that’s lasted the longest, dear. At least, from what I have seen.” Rosie pours herself another cup, dipping a biscuit into the tea and taking a bite. “Most others who attempt to strike a deal with him tend to overlook certain conditions. In my time of knowing him, he’s told many stories of how many demons have struck a deal with him only to try and get out of it not long after finding out what they’ve done. It usually ends with them being consumed by his adorable little shadows.”

“Sounds like they deserved it for being fucking stupid.” Again, you scoff, then clear your throat. “If you’ll uh… forgive the harsh language, Miss Rosie.”

Rosie waves her hand. “Your uncouth language comes from your past. Many of us demons are stuck in our own times. Lucifer knows Alastor will sooner frown than try using any new technology Hell brings in.”

A sound between a scoff and a laugh leaves you. You look over your teacup, glancing at Grimm as they play with one of teaspoons. You ask, “Have you… ever seen Alastor frown?”

You don’t know why but the sheer thought of Alastor frowning causes your chest to tighten, an almost forgotten feeling settling deep in the pit of your stomach. The question makes Grimm pause, look at you, then Rosie, clutching the spoon with a coo that sounded sad and scared.

Rosie’s gaze turns elsewhere, staring off into space. Her expression is reminiscent. Her smile threatens to tug downward, but she manages to keep a small one up. “No, little love.”

She’s lying. The look on her face, her tone, her general posture said it all. You want to press for details, but the way she said no finalized the conversation. You knew pressing wouldn’t be the best idea, especially about something like this. And with Grimm reacting the way they did as well, you’re not sure if you really want to know anyway.

“How about we talk about something lighter, dear?” Rosie offers, her smile growing in strength once more. “I know you’ve been struggling with that bowtie of yours, and I hear you have a piano in your flat now. Would you like me to show you how to tie one? Perhaps some piano lessons?”

You look at her, the corners of your mouth pulling up into your own smile. “If it’s not too much trouble, Miss Rosie. I’d like that.”

Rosie reaches across the table, her warm hand cupping your cheek so lovingly you can’t help but lean into it. “It’s never too much trouble for you, sweetheart. Come now, we’ve some time before dear Alastor returns, let us begin.”

Chapter Text

You never knew what the yearly extermination was until today. Demons left and right were scurrying about trying to prepare for it. Shops were locked up, some buildings were just plain abandoned. It’s almost like they were preparing for the end of the world.

And in all honesty, to them, it might as well have been.

Alastor was—very unsurprisingly—unhelpful. He didn’t answer any of your questions, only told you to remain close to him, and started walking. The two of you travelled together swiftly, checking in on Niffty and Mimzy to ensure they would be safe during the extermination, and then Rosie.

Despite the happy nature on the outside, you knew better. They were nervous, even Alastor wasn’t acting as playful as he usually was. You just wish you knew why everyone was so on edge.

Niffty admitted her nervousness, but promised Mimzy’s little cellar they had would keep them safe. Mimzy, in her own Mimzy way, reassured you and Alastor that it’d be fine as well. It didn’t look or sound like either of them believed that.

Rosie, meanwhile, had a strained smile. Her Roselings were all gathered around her and grabbing at her dress in fear as she guided them to her own little panic room for all of them.

“You’re always welcome to stay here, Alastor,” Rosie said, “Both of you are.”

“Your offer will never be forgotten, darling, but we’ll be quite safe where we’re going.” He took Rosie’s hand to give it a kiss. When he started walking away, Rosie brushed some of your hair behind your ear, her hand cupping your face for a moment to gently pinch your cheek.

“See you when the dust settles, little love.”

“Right…” You follow after Alastor, struggling to keep up with his long quickened strides. “You wanna finally tell me what the fuck is going on? I’ve never seen Miss Rosie look so grim.”

“My dear… you haven’t figured it out yourself?” He glanced down at you. Despite the glee in his eyes and the eager twitch of his fingers, his smile was strained, as if he was forcing it to stay as big as it was. When you don’t answer, he says, “Then don’t let me ruin the surprise for you. You’ll find out soon enough.”

You weren’t used to this side of Alastor. It felt weird seeing him like this. Even the shadows felt anxious, moving and shifting as if to try and help shield the two of you, to hide you in the darkness as you walked. More than once you notice Alastor’s shadow (whom you’ve nicknamed Eon) revealing themselves to whisper incomprehensible things to him. Eon would then look at you and give you a little push to help you keep up with Alastor. Alastor ended up linking his arm with yours to ensure you wouldn’t fall behind.

You didn’t return to your flat. Instead Alastor guided you out of the thick, central part of the city and more southward. Urban turned to suburbs, which slowly turned to rural. You walked for what felt like hours in silence.

He didn’t hum, and there wasn’t even a single lick of static in the air. He took you to a small, quaint looking little village in the bayou. Guided through and out of this empty village, he took you to a small house, deep deep in the marsh. Approaching this house, he opens the door for you to enter first, shutting it behind him after.

You help him close all the curtains, follow him into a side room off the main bedroom, to which you watch him unveil a trapdoor hidden under a mass of clutter.

He gestures for you to go down first and you hesitate. Of course you hesitate. Waves and waves of memories flood your mind as you stare down into the darkness. Too many memories you just

Dark dark too dark can’t see can’t can’t see no stop no no no…

want to forget.

Alastor however has never known to be a patient man, especially not now. He gave you a hefty push, saying, “No time for dilly dallying, my dear! Down you go!” Said push almost had you landing on your face on the floor below.

As you stand up, he comes down and closes the trapdoor, leaving you both in

It’s it’s dark it’s too dark too small too small small can’t can’t!

complete darkness.

You want to move forward, to find something—anything—that could make some light for you. But your legs feel so heavy. The memories of a time you never want to recall return to you all too quickly, leaving your blood pumping in your ears.

Too dark too too dark too dark it’s too dark light light need light need something someone Alastor Alastor where where are you?

You fail spectacularly at hiding a startled jump when you feel Alastor’s hands suddenly grasping your shoulders. You hear his voice right by your ear whispering, “What’s the matter, darling?” You can hear the glee in his voice as if he’s had a revelation. “Afraid of the dark?”

You’re not sure how you manage to find your voice, but you do, and you say, “No.”

It’s only half-true. You’ve lived in darkness for a long long time. You’re not scared of it, nor of the things that could lurk in it. No, you’re afraid of the vulnerability of not being able to see where a potential attacker could be coming from. Unable to defend yourself. Completely left open, unknowing of who, what, or where a strike could come from.

You knew that even despite time being of the essence, Alastor was taking an extra moment to revel in the rare bit of fear you were showing. You heard him chuckle behind you. “There’s no need to be afraid, my dear.” You felt his hand tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.  “Afterall, I would never let anything happen to my favorite little human.”

You manage a small scoff and say, “My hero…” And he starts to guide you forward a short distance until he stops you. You feel his hand leave your shoulders, and hear him step away. “Is there a light in here or something?”

No response.

No no no…

“Al, this isn’t fucking funny. You were rushing me all day and now you’re taking your sweet time?”

Again, he says nothing.

No no no no stop.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you feel the claws of fear reaching out to your heart and digging in deep.  

Light light there has to be a light somewhere light somewhere where where?

You feel your chest tightening, your breathing becoming jagged, your legs feeling weak. You hate this you absolutely hate this fuck all of this you just want to go back to your flat.

You hear the familiar sound of footsteps moving towards your right and you listen intently. Step. Step. Step. Silence.

Who who is that who’s there? Alastor Alastor is that you Alastor where where are you?

“Alastor?” You hate how small your voice sounds. You hate that you know he’s reveling in it like the smug bastard he is. You reach out with a trembling hand—when did it start shaking so bad stop that stop it—and try to feel around the room, moving towards where you heard the footsteps.

Your hand is suddenly grabbed and you’re yanked forward, causing a surprised cry to erupt from you. You feel the familiar feeling of Alastor’s hand grasping yours whilst his other holds you against him. You can just hear the smile on his face as he says, “Oh, so sorry sweetheart, did I startle you?”

Already your fear is burning away into rage. You slam your fist into his chest. “Get bent you insufferable son of a bitch!”

“You break my heart, darling! My mother was quite a lovely woman!” His entire demeanor from before seems to melt away, his usual attitude back to how it’s always been. He twirls you around and abruptly sits you in a chair. Then there was a soft click and the room was finally lit.

The room was small, full of different kinds of supplies, and covered in dried blood. There’s a strange air of familiarity with it, but you don’t remember ever being here. You look around at the various tools in the room. Saws, pliers, surgical tools, first aid kits, a blood-stained radio—

Wait. You turn to Alastor, mouth open and ready to ask, but when you look at him, he’s got a finger to his still smiling lips. Even though he doesn’t answer, there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He takes a seat in a chair next to the one you’re in, summons a book from nowhere, and pinches your chin.

“My dear, remain completely and utterly quiet from here on out… the show is about to start.”

You stare at his face, his eyes, searching for something. Today was such a roller coaster and Alastor’s mood kept shifting all over the place you’re not sure what to think, what to feel. So all you could do was dumbly nod. Satisfied, he turns away from you and begins reading his book.

Calming your still pounding heart, you take in every detail, every splatter of blood in the room—Alastor’s room—his work room. The room where he did all his killings, where he feasted on human flesh, where many victims most likely screamed in agony and pleaded for their lives while he probably sang along to a song and ignored them.

It wasn’t even an hour later you heard something outside. It’s faint, at first, it almost sounds like the flapping of wings. Then something else. It’s so distant it’s hard to make out, but you swear it sounded like screaming.

Still, you follow the orders given to you, and say nothing. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into an hour. There are moments you hear movement upstairs, outside, more screams of pure agony, and then silence. Grimm revealed themselves to wrap around your shoulders and nuzzle your cheek in reassurance.

okay it’s okay i’m here i’m here won’t let anything happen to you

The sweet gesture brings a small smile to your face, but doesn’t help with the fact you’re getting bored out of your mind. With nothing else to do, you opt to read Alastor’s book over his shoulder. Sitting still for too long leaves you antsy, you need some kind of distraction. So you play with the cuff of your sleeve while reading the book over his shoulder. You’re not the least bit surprised he’s into the more horror-themed novels. At least he picked good ones.

Two hours turn into three. Then three into four. Then four into five. You and Alastor—mostly Alastor since he can read much faster than you—have gone through at least two books at this point. You want to ask how much longer you have to wait, but know better than to go against one of his commands. Not to mention you didn’t know how good the hearing was of whatever the fuck was running around above ground causing all the screams, and you’re not keen on finding out anytime soon.

If Alastor of all demons is hiding down here from these things, it has to be bad. So you stay quiet.

It’s as Alastor is halfway through the third book he’s summoned that he pauses, head lifting up. You look at him, a questioning look on your face. He holds up a single finger, his ever present smile growing a fraction. The shadows in the room move towards the center, morphing and taking the shape of the familiar shadow Eon.

They share a knowing smile with Alastor before stepping forward and vanishing into the darkness. As soon as Eon’s gone, Grimm slips back into your sleeve and Alastor stands and pulls you to your feet.

“Looks like the show is over, my dear! Shall we go have a look at the no doubt wonderful carnage left behind?”

You don’t need to be told twice, happily following after him to get the fuck out of this room and this house. Sitting still for several hours might as well be its own form of torture, but at least it’s finally over.

Alastor guides you out of the house and through the bayou, his pace no longer rushed. In fact he’s taking his sweet time, idly glancing about this way and that with your arm linked in his. Looking around yourself, you don’t notice too much out of the ordinary besides a few dead demons here and there, which you quickly brushed off as some kinda scuffle ended badly. 

It’s when you get back into the city that you start to notice just how many dead there were. It was almost like Alastor had gone on a massacre and decided to up his performance by a hundred, if not a thousand. The streets were dyed a deep red from all the blood spilt, slowly other demons started coming out and moving bodies out of the way of shops or the street for vehicles.

You hear a loud gong from the clocktower you’ve never really paid too much attention to. You knew it was the largest landmark in the city, but aside from hourly marks, it never made such a sound. Looking over to the clocktower, finally taking a deeper look at it, you notice a set of numbers on it changing from “000” to “365” and the words above that read “Next Cleanse.”

“Cleanse…?” You mutter, taking in the scenery around you again. You mull it over while you and Alastor stroll back to Rosie’s to check in on her.

“Have you figured it out yet, my dear?” You look up at Alastor to see his eyes on you, smile wide and waiting with bated breath.

“I have a few theories…” When he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “At first I just thought it was just, ya know, a demon going on a casual genocidal stroll like we do.” The little quip makes Alastor chuckle, his smile strengthening a fraction. “But if that was the case, then pretty much every demon that could wouldn’t be hiding. Not Niffty, not Miss Rosie, and especially not you.”

You look over at another large pile of bodies, seeing several of them have spears sticking through their corpses. “And I’ve yet to see any demons with those kinds of weapons… so it wasn’t another demon.” You look up at him, the two of you pausing a few paces away from Rosie’s emporium. “Was it… angels?”

Alastor himself would never admit it, and you know better than to point it out, but you see a hint of pride shine in his eyes. “You figured it out faster than I thought you would, my dear. Well done.” He continues guiding you to Rosie’s emporium, his free hand idly gesturing as he says, “Yes indeed, those up in Heaven have decided there are simply too many loathsome sinners in Hell and so they must cull a hefty portion of them once every year.”

He gestures to some demons who were pulling the spears out of the dead. “And those weapons… are what cause a true final death for a demon.”

He knocks upon the emporium’s door, and you both wait. Rosie answers not long after, overjoyed to see both of you unharmed. She takes your face in her hands, fretting over you both and checking for any injuries, before welcoming you inside for tea.

You sip your tea, quiet, thinking, brows furrowed and a small frown on your face.

“Poppy? Is everything alright?” Rosie asks, placing a hand on yours.

The nickname Rosie gave you last week is still going to take some getting used to, honestly. It takes you a second to realize she’s talking to you, and you look up. “Ah, yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“Well, don’t be shy!” Alastor sips his own cup of tea, waving a hand for you to speak. “Speak up, darling!”

You chew your lip, then say, “You said those spears are what cause a final death, yeah?”

Rosie pauses, looks at Alastor, then back at you.

“What about the demons we kill?” You ask.

“Ah, yes!” Alastor places his cup down and claps his hands. “That fun little detail. You see, my dear, death is a rather fickle thing here.”

“A demon could lose their arm and die by bleeding out, but will awaken within a few hours, or even a day, fully regenerated,” Rosie says, pouring you and Alastor another cup. “However, if there’s nothing left to regenerate, that is a final death for a demon.”

Images of the demons you slaughtered the first week you were here flashed through your head. You’re pretty sure those guys didn’t come back from being pulverized in such a way.

“So not only can a demon truly die from just… not being able to regenerate, but those angelic weapons as well?”

“Yes.” Rosie delicately places her teacup down. “Those weapons are extremely dangerous to us, and are very commonly sold on the black market at unreasonably high prices.” She waves a hand and sighs.

Alastor speaks up this time, saying, “But while it’s the most common and efficient way, there are other ways to truly kill a demon. Other, more fun ways.” It’s his turn to wave a hand. “But enough of that! Come now, you said you acquired new China, dearest Rosie? I simply must see it!”

You spent a majority of the night catching up with Rosie and ensuring she and her Roselings was alright, Alastor and her idly chatting with you joining in on occasion. Afterwards, you followed Alastor to check in on Niffty and Mimzy, who also thankfully came out of the extermination unscathed.

It’s when you’re both in the privacy of your flat that you ask Alastor, “So the angels, they come down from Heaven and do this yearly… extermination because there’s so many sinners, yeah?”

“Indeed, sweetheart, and it’s quite a glorious bloodbath if I do say so myself!” He gives a hearty laugh as he pulls off his coat and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, strolling over to the kitchen. “A lovely sight to behold when taking a stroll down the road!”

“Would they kill me if they saw me?” That question must’ve been something Alastor wasn’t expecting, as it causes him to pause for a brief moment. You continue saying, “I may have sold my soul to you, but I’m still… human. Would that still give them enough reason to kill me? Because I’ve made a deal with you—a demon?”

“Such an interesting question, darling.” He continues gathering the ingredients for supper, pausing another moment to shoot you a mischievous smile. “Why don’t you wait until next year and ask them yourself if you’re so curious?” He chuckles, turning away.

“I’m curious, not stupid, Alastor.”

The quip caused him to let out a loud laugh. He says, “It pains me to admit it, but a human in Hell is so rare, it’s unknown whether or not an angel would kill you. Perhaps they would, for in their eyes you still sinned and gave away that final piece of humanity you had to a demon. Perhaps they wouldn’t and try to free your soul from the very demon that took it away. Or…” He chuckles, his voice morphing a moment like a radio on the fritz.

There’s a particularly dark tone in his voice as he says, “Perhaps they’d torture you. Get you to try and tell you where your master was hiding, or use you as bait. Angels like to sing praise at how pure they are yet they’re quick to hide their own sins behind the reasoning of it being righteous.”

He looks at you again. “But in the end, it might never be known.”

The rest of your night is spent having supper with Alastor, both of you making your own quips at each other, the crack of a smile playing your features and rolling your eyes at Alastor’s teasing. While no supper with him is ever peaceful, it’s definitely the most tame you’ve had with him.

As you finish preparing to sleep for the night, Alastor’s sitting on the bench of the piano, flipping through music sheets. And when you’re under the covers, comfy and content, Alastor begins to play.

Despite the upbeat tune to the song he plays, his voice jovial as he sings along, it lulls you into a deep sleep full of dreams of winged beings cutting down demon after demon.

Chapter Text

Decades pass.

You quickly learned that with every extermination comes a new turf war or three. While Alastor’s not the type to claim and hold territory for himself, he’s all too eager to go start or finish turf wars. You learned he prefers to simply wreak chaos by leaving areas open for other demons to slink in and try to claim it, only to come out from the darkness to rip them apart when they least expect it.

And despite not having any kind of territory for himself, Alastor continues to be one of the most feared demons in Hell.

Posters have begun being put up, warning others about the Radio Demon, and to not fuck with him should he be encountered. Alastor’s quite content with ensuring that fear remains instilled. All the while you remain by his side, demons fearing you just as much as they do Alastor. When you’re alone, demons that don’t know very quickly learn who you are, who you work for, and why they shouldn’t try messing with you.

It felt great. Having never had much in the living world, it felt odd to have everything and more down in the underworld. Odd but good, something you could and were getting used to.

Nowadays Alastor’s taken the habit of giving you small gifts. Much like how unpredictable he can be, his gifts would come in at completely random times and you’re never sure when to expect them or what they are.

Some days you’d be given various accessories for your outfits, from hair pins to more bowties—thanks to Rosie and Niffty’s help you can finally tie them on your own—and neckties. While fashion wasn’t exactly something you bothered with or cared about back home, Alastor kind of enforced you to care.

“One must always look good while ripping the intestines from your victims, my dear!” He’d always say with a laugh.

Other days you would have a freshly made pot of his infamous jambalaya with enough for leftovers—something you constantly eat because you still don’t know how to cook very well. Alastor’s effectively banned you from making anything past coffee after you nearly set the kitchen on fire just trying to make pasta. You have no idea how it caught fire, but you cleaned up the mess nonetheless.

Another day you’d have new music sheets to practice your piano skills. You’re nowhere near Alastor’s level, but you’ve been having fun learning and you feel like you’re improving, albeit slowly. Alastor himself has shown a strange amount of patience teaching you how to play. He’d still tease and make witty banter of course, but at the same time it was… different. You couldn’t help but have noticed the nostalgic look in his eyes when his hands guided yours to the correct keys, teaching you what each one was and what each one meant on the music sheet.

You don’t point it out to him. You feel like it’d be ruined if anything was said. Besides, you… actually kind of liked those small moments of peace.

Today however, you were offering a hand to Rosie.

The last extermination allowed her to claim a nice little section of the city to further enlarge Cannibal Colony and an upgrade to her emporium. She’s mentioned before that she might need to take on a business partner, as her Roselings are starting to be stretched a little thin. Naturally you offered a helping hand to her during your time off. Alastor said he’d had personal business to take care of southward and would be gone for some time, leaving you with not a lick of an idea on what to do with your spare time.

And so here you were. Most of the help Rosie needed was finding someone to be a suitable business partner for her. She’s given you a handful of fliers to put up around the Colony and even give a few to passing demons you think would be a good business partner while she worked to “acquire” more Roselings. You’re pretty sure there’s some kind of ability she has that allows her to make the adorable little minions she has, but you know better than to ask a demon what they can do, especially a lady such as Rosie.

Your stack of fliers was gone in a few hours. It wasn’t hard putting them up and handing them out to people you think Rosie would like. It really does help being able to read people just from their posture and how they hold themselves. When you’re all finished, Rosie let you have the rest of the day off, promising a nice little treat for you next time you come by.

So you walk back to your flat to practice more piano. Sure, you could simply traverse through shadows and be there in a snap, but you like taking scenic routes.

Though of course, taking the scenic route comes with rather interesting encounters. Such as hearing voices not far from you in a nearby alley just near the edge of the Colony border. Your curiosity getting the better of you, you peek around the corner to find three unfamiliar figures. 

Two larger individuals, bird demons in fancy zoot suits that make you think of that one avian mafia that’s starting up. One looks more like a crow, the other a colorful yellow and red parrot. They’re towering over a rather feminine looking spider demon who wears an extremely bored expression.

Said spider demon is tall, maybe even taller than Alastor if they stood up straight, their hair a fluffy white with pink spots decorating random sections. They too wear their own pink striped white suit, a black bowtie, miniskirt, and high heel boots with pink gloves to tie it all together. You notice their right eye has a white sclera and pink iris, while the left is just a dark sclera, almost black, with a pink iris and no pupil.

They’re casually looking over their nails—despite being covered by their gloves—while barely sparing a glance to the bird demons.

“Look buds, the tough guy act ain’t workin’ out too well for either of you,” says the spider demon. Despite the appearance, judging from the voice alone the demon sounds like a guy. “You don’t look tough. You look sad. Stoppit.” He shoos them away, something they don’t really appreciate.

“You think just because you’re one of Val’s lil’ toys you can just tell us what to do?” The crow takes a threatening step forward. The name Val rang a bell to you. You feel like you’ve heard it once or twice, but you can’t recall where. You hear the crow demon say, “We got rules ‘round here on our turf, little chickadee. And your kind ain’t welcome.”

“Aw, what are you gonna do, spank me?” The spider demon smiles a smile full of sharp teeth and mischief.

You raise a brow at the scene before you. Their turf? All of the Colony belonged to Rosie, and you know she doesn’t share. Maybe they didn’t get the memo that this section belongs to her now. She’s not gonna like hearing that some bird bimbos are encroaching on her freshly claimed territory. You look between the spider and the two avians, deciding to step forward and enter the conversation.

“Pardon the interruption, boys.” You casually brush past the bird demons, taking your place by the spider. Boy your assumptions were right, he was tall, you barely came up to that mass of fluff that was his chest. “I couldn’t help but overhear something interesting—”

“Pardon nothing.” The crow demon steps closer to you, reaching out with a clawed hand and grabbing your face. The static rings in your ears, your muscles seizing and your hands clench into fists.

In your mind you hear Grimm hissing, don’t don’t touch them no let go let let go i’ll i’ll rip you rip rip you apart tear you tear you to shreds!

You think back to them, Calm down. I’m fine. It’s okay. Shhh. Just wait.

“Who do you think you are, little human, to walk around here all brave like on your own without your master.”

“Toots, while your little intervention was all sweet and shit, probably wasn’t the smartest thing ya could’ve done.” The spider crosses both sets of arms in front of him, eyeing you then the other two. While he makes no move to help you, he doesn’t make a move to take this chance to run.

You push past the unpleasant feeling enough to slap the crow’s hand away. “I know what I’m doing. And I know this place isn’t your turf. It belongs to Miss Rosie, and you lot of trespassing.”

“Oh, your hers, huh? What are you gonna do about it, little human?” The two bird demons laugh at you. “Gonna go cry to her and tell her some demons beat you up?”

“Hold on… you don’t know who I am?” You can’t help but snicker at the sheer absurdity of it. “You really don’t know? Are you serious?”

“Do we look like we’re playin’ around, human?” The parrot sneers down at you. “Clearly your ‘Miss Rosie’ ain’t teachin’ you proper manners. But don’t worry, we’ll help her with that.”

You scoff as they crack their knuckles and cross your arms. “Huh. That’s new. Well, allow me to enlighten you boys before you ‘teach me manners.’ Miss Rosie is just a friend of my boss whom I’m helping out. Let me give you a little hint on just who my actual boss is.” You fold your hands behind your back, smile slowly growing wider as the shadows close in, a thick layer of static resonating with the air, popping, morphing, glitching. Almost immediately the bird demons look about ready to piss their pants, taking several fearful steps back.

“This is your one and only chance, boys.” You raise your hand and prepare it to snap. Grimm reveals himself to hover just behind you, their hands on your shoulders, their smile wide and full of manic glee. “Leave now, and you’ll still be allowed to keep those pretty little feathers of yours.”

You didn’t even finish your sentence before they were turning tail and running. You lower your hand and place it upon your hip. The shadows go back to normal, the static silences. Grimm remains hovering behind you, watching with you as the two demons run off.

“Grimm.” They perk up, eagerly waiting. “I’d like you to follow them. When they’ve made it back to their boss, rip their tongues out.” You shrug, waving a hand as you say, “Tell them… Miss Rosie won’t be so merciful should they try something like this again.”

Grimm’s giggling becomes ecstatic. They nuzzle your cheek, their voice whispering, go go i go careful be careful you’ll be careful, yes yes?

“When am I never careful?” Grimm swirls around you once before they meld into the shadows, their giggling slowly fading away as they follow after the two demons.

You hear a low whistle beside you, reminding you of the spider demon. You’re surprised he didn’t turn tail and run when he found out who you worked with. He’s looking you up and down now, a more… carnal yet also playful look in his eyes, lips pulling back into a bit smile and revealing a golden tooth.

“You play dirty and you play rough, toots . I like that.” He adjusts his bowtie and fixes his hair, bending low to meet your gaze, one of his many hands delicately placed under his chin. “Name’s Angel Dust, babe. But you can call me the best lay in Hell. Never fucked a human before. You’re pretty small, but I’ve fucked smaller men than you.”

Uh, wow. Okay. You were not expecting that of all things.

“Uh… huh…” You take a large step back. “Nice to meet you, nice to know, and while I’m sure you’re the best lay in Hell I’ll take a rain check on that one.”

“Heh, your loss, sweet cheeks.” Angel Dust stands back up to his full height with a shrug of his shoulders. He twirls a finger around you as he asks, “So what’s up with all that shadow, staticy bullshit, huh? Never seen a human have that kinda ability. Then again, ain’t never seen a human in Hell before.” He looks off, thoughtful, scratching his chin.

“Wait…” You slowly start to realize why he didn’t run away in the first place. The look in his eyes showed no fear, even after your little display to scare off the bird demons. “You… don’t know?”

Angel Dust looks at you now. “Don’t know what.”

You blink once. Twice. You have no idea how to feel right now, what to think. You’ve never been in a situation like this, your and Alastor’s reputation was so known it’s rare for a demon (even if they were new) to not know who you were. “What year did you die?”

“Jeez babe, you don’t even buy me dinner and you’re already tryna ask such personal questions.” Angel plops an arm on your head, pretty much using you as an armrest. “Don’t much remember the exact year off the top’a my head, but I’ve been here a while.”

You push his arm off you, fixing up your hair. “And you don’t know the Radio Demon?”

“Who?”

“One of the most powerful beings Hell has ever seen?” You make fake voodoo hands for emphasis. “Toppled Overlords who’ve been dominant for centuries in just a couple years? That Radio Demon?”

Angel Dust looks less interested now, crossing the upper set of his arms and shrugging the lower set into the air. “Eh, not big on the politics of Hell. Long as I get to have some fun and get paid I’m pretty happy.” He waggles his eyebrows at you, finishing it off with a wink.

“Fair enough…” You’re not sure how to feel about this. It’s not often you get to interact with a demon who didn’t even know you or Alastor, let alone show even a lick of fear at the small display of your powers.

It feels…

Weird?

Off-putting?

Looking over the casual posture he held, you can’t help but realize just how relaxed your own shoulders were. It feels almost like you were just chatting with Rosie or Niffty.

Finding a demon not associated with Alastor, not knowing him or you, and not being afraid… it’s… refreshing.

It’s been so long since you’ve talked to other demons who weren’t just outright scared of you, you didn’t realize how oddly lonely it felt. And this Angel Dust guy was interesting, you could say that much. You feel your own interest piquing, a small desire of wanting to spend more time with him rising in your chest.

“Alright Angel Dust, how about this.” You watch him look down at you, a questioning brow raised. “You look like a spider who likes to have a good time.”

His chest puffs up a hint with pride. “Heh, sweet cheeks I’m the definition of a good time.”

“Sure you are.” You huff a small laugh. “While I’m not exactly into that kind of thing, I am into having a good time in different ways.”

“Oh? ” There’s an interested look in his eyes now. He’s bending low again, one arm resting against your shoulder while the others rest casually against his hip. “What are ya thinkin, toots?”

“Dinner, a show, maybe some chaos?” You shrug, crossing your arms and offering your own smile to him. “Or even a bit of everything. It’ll be my treat, so take your pick.”

“Your treat?” Angel Dust laughs, his head falling forward and causing his hair to tickle your nose. “Now I know you want something from me. It’s Hell, babe, no one offers things without wanting something in return.”

He’s crass and blunt, but he’s right. No one does anything here out of the goodness of their heart. There’s always an ulterior motive. Even though you were offering a treat, it was for selfish reasons. It doesn’t matter if it’s as innocent as just wanting some different fucking company for onc e.

But as you read over his posture, his expression, and the fact he hasn’t walked away yet, something tells you he feels the same way. He longs for a different company. And for him it’s not everyday he’ll get the chance to meet a human in Hell, let alone hang out with one. He looks interested, but most likely isn’t one to openly admit such a thing.

You’re not sure if calling him out on such things would be a good idea. Sometimes Alastor gets a kick out of you reading him, sometimes he’s got that dangerous smile that tells you to be careful with what you say next. You get the feeling Angel Dust won’t take kindly to you reading him.

You just need to find a way to speak his language.

“Alright, ya caught me.” You shrug, fixing up your bowtie and leaning back against the wall, your arms crossing over your chest. You mull over what to say, watching him watch you. “Truth is, I’ve never actually been around this city. My boss and I tend to leave a dead body or a hundred in our wake when we go out together, and as I’m sure you can imagine, it’s not the best way to get a tour of the place.”

It’s partially true. You’ve seen certain sections when on walks with Rosie or out with Niffty, but never too much. Rosie was a lady of class and not a fan of the more unsavory parts of the city. Niffty was kind of the same, preferring the more jazzy areas and the like. Alastor, well, he was pretty self explanatory.

“So, what? You want to follow me around like a lost pup and show you ‘round?” Angel Dust’s laughter increases tenfold. “Man, am I glad I went out today. Hadn’t laughed like that in a while!” He wipes a tear away, shaking his head. “I ain’t no tour guide, doll.”

“Not even for whatever you want?” He raises a brow at you. “I wasn’t lying about it being my treat. Just point in a direction, say the word, and it’s yours. In return, you show me around the more… fun parts of the city.” You flash him a smile that’s all teeth and mischief.

Speak his language, make it sound like it’s in his favor. Even in Hell, not many can turn down something if it’s free and not much is wanted in return. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, his eyes looking over your face, searching, waiting for the catch.

When you say nothing else, he chuckles, “Jeez, you’re serious?” He takes one step forward and places one hand against the wall, the rest of his hands on his hips. “Your boss sounds like a real stick in the mud if ya ain’t ever been to the fun parts of the city, toots. But you look like a human who knows how to have some fun.” He flashes his own sharp-toothed grin.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Alright, sweet cheeks. I’ll take that offer of yours. Ain’t like I got anything better to do right now.” Angel Dust stands up straight, fixing his already perfect hair and adjusting the mass of fluff on his chest. “Hows about we get our little tour started with my favorite pitstop in town. Hope you can keep up, short stack. I lose ya, I leave ya.”

“You lose me, you lose free shit,” you retort, but still hurry to catch up with him. All that walking with Alastor really paid off. Angel Dust’s strides are definitely longer than Alastor’s so you’re still needing to work to keep up, but you’re managing.

“Babe, I can get free shit anytime I want.” He wraps one arm around you long enough to poke your cheek before giving you a small shove and continue walking. “Everyone trips over themselves to get a piece of me and give me gifts. Trust me, I got the creepy fan letters to prove it.” He winks down at you.

You scoff, “If you got low standards for a good time, then sure. I believe you.”

Angel Dust lets out the loudest guffaw you’ve heard from him yet. “Now that was a good comeback! I knew there was somethin’ I liked about ya.”

You couldn’t hide the small, proud grin if you tried. “Name’s Red, by the way.”

“Red, huh?” He throws an arm around your shoulders for a brief moment. “Well then, don’t you worry your pretty little human head, sweet cheeks, I’ll show ya all the fun parts of this town. Just make sure to keep up! I wasn’t kiddin’ about leavin’ ya if I lose ya!”

Chapter Text

Angel Dust—or Angel, as he insisted you called him—was a very interesting demon, just as you suspected he’d be.

The first place he took you to was an old fashioned vending machine that sold a large assortment of what you can only assume were drugs. He had then proceeded to give you the most offended look he could ever give when you admitted you’d never had them before.

“How the fuck have you never had drugs?! Where were you living back up top, under a fucking rock?”

You didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t far from wrong, all things considered.

“Jeez Red, you’d think you’d’ve tried some by now at the very least, if you’ve been here for as long as you were sayin’ you were.” Angel kept walking forward with his bag of white powder that you looked over curiously. Sure, you’ve heard of drugs, even seen it, but you’ve never had any. None of the kind that people use for, well, what Angel wants to use it for anyway.

You unconsciously scratched at your arm, the ghost pain of a needle being injected into your skin surfacing for but a brief moment, gone as soon as it came. You felt Grimm return to you, slinking into your shadow.

that woman she she pulled yanked twisted your hair stuck a needle in and peeled your skin she she she hurt you she hurt you i’ll hurt her i’ll kill her for hurting you! i’ll—

Shhhh, Grimm. She’s already dead. Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I’m okay.

Still sensing your tension, Grimm started to softly pur in the back of your mind. Their form wrapped around you from under your coat like that of a blanket. They poked out of the collar of your coat for a brief moment to nuzzle your cheek, before disappearing, their purring still present in your mind. It’s not much, but it did help a little. Already the tenseness of your shoulders eased, if by a fraction.

Remembering you’re not alone and actually walking with someone, you looked up at Angel. He’d taken the time to open up the bag and lick his finger, dip it into the powder, then put his finger back in his mouth.

“It never really crossed my mind,” you ended up saying, “and I never really had much interest in it back… up top… the most I’ve ever had was hard liquor.”

“Hard liquor is one thing, toots. This is a whole other thing.” He stuffed the bag into his pocket. “Well shit. Since you’re so green with drugs, we’ll save this little thing for another time. Don’t need you drugged up all day.”

He shot you a sly grin. “But don’t worry babe, there’s plenty of other places we can go to have some fun. Sbrigati, Red! Non c’è tempo da perdere!”

Those other places he talked about just happened to be several bars, strip clubs, and even a couple casinos. Before you knew it, you had spent pretty much the rest of the time off you had with Angel. And in all honesty, it was the most fun you’ve had in quite a while. 

Not to say you never have fun spending time with Rosie or Niffty or Alastor, of course not. 

Rosie’s company brings you a strange sense of comfort. Her touch is always warm and gentle enough for you to ignore the horrid static feeling running through your veins. Days spent with her are always the most peaceful, and out of the small circle of demons you know, she’s the most patient with you and your… well, condition.

Niffty makes sure you’re always on your feet doing something, whether it’s helping her reach for something she’s too short to get, or chasing after her as she darts from store to store. She’s always so happy to see you, taking a running start to jump into your arms and hug you from around the neck.

And Alastor? Alastor constantly challenges you. The minute you start seeing a pattern in what he’s doing, he changes it up purposefully just to throw you off. He never warns you of anything. He never announces himself. He’s always watching you learn at your own pace, never offering a hand until absolutely necessary for him to do so.

Angel’s nothing like them. Sure, he’s a wildcard like Alastor, he’s constantly moving like Niffty, his touch isn’t something that brings you immediate and intense discomfort like Rosie, but there’s also so much more to him.

He walks and talks like he’s the most important demon in Hell. He’s got a comeback for everything, almost nothing insults him, and whenever he can he will make a sex joke. He’s crass, blunt, rude, and not afraid to speak his mind. But he’s also playful, a prankster, and loves acting dramatic over the smallest, stupidest things.

And ever a man—or, well, spider—of his word, he took you to all these places to wreak a whole different type of chaos. Every day it’s a new place he takes you to, and going to each place with Angel was an experience in itself.

He seemed to have connections in every single one of the places he took you. Various owners or patrons to these places call him by name and give him free drinks, something he’s more than happy to take and share with you. Those very same patrons or owners look to you with either intense jealousy or intense fear, or a mix of both.

Your time with Angel starting off was tense, sure. But it wasn’t because you were scared of these idiots you’d run into at the bars. You had more than enough means to protect yourself. You were tense because… well, you’ve never really gone out before. Especially not with other people. You didn’t know what to do or how to act, not to mention you weren’t exactly a chatterbox. You preferred to leave that to Alastor or Rosie or literally anyone but yourself.

Luckily for you, Angel was all too happy to fill the silence with talk about all the movies and shows he’s starred in. Sometimes a fan would approach him and he’d either tell them to buzz off or chat them up, all depending on how said fan approached him. You were pretty much ignored the entire time, but you didn’t really mind. You were kind of used to standing in the back while the person you walked with would be chatted up. It always gave you time to people-watch.

You would, however, step in and tell certain fans to kindly get bent if they started showing signs of aggression towards Angel. Some who still had sense would recognize you and finally back off, going back to their drink and mumbling over their breath. Others who had just one drink too many would exclaim about you being human.

This more than once led to several other demons who were too drunk to recognize you and try to get a bite out of you to taste that ‘sweet virgin blood’ as they’d say it. You and Angel would leave more than one club with blood trailing behind you, Angel calling back to the owner that they really should do something about their less than savory patrons.

You had quickly deduced that you don’t like going to strip clubs. Nope. Too uncomfortable. You don’t need any demon parts wiggled in your face. You don’t need all that touching. You don’t need any of that. Grimm was working overtime to help you stay calm and not go into a full blown panic attack and reactively try to scare the demons off or straight up kill them.

Suffice to say you vetoed any and all strip clubs Angel wanted to go to.

“C’mon, take it easy, Red!” He’d always say if you said you didn’t want to do something. “You wanted fun, and this here babe, this is fun.” You never caught him actually looking over the uncomfortable stare at the bright lights of the sign for the strip joint. You never caught his brows furrowing, him chewing his lip.

You did catch him reaching for you before thinking better of it and turning away. “Dio, fottiti dannazione— alright fine, if ya wanna be such a stick in the mud. There’s other places we can go to anyway that are just as fun. Andiamo, Red.” And he’d start walking.

It wasn’t until the last couple days of your little time off before Alastor would return that Angel decided you were “ready” to try out his level of drugs. During your time with him, he’d have you try small things, nothing strong and never too much and it wasn’t… bad? The strange euphoria that came with smoking some of these drugs was actually kind of relaxing, though you’re not sure if you’d ever smoke it alone, or ever honestly.

But right now you were following him through the twists and turns of alleyways to avoid the main busy street of the central section of the city before you’re back out and in front of a large apartment complex.

Angel took you inside and into a rickety old lift that definitely sounds like it might fall apart sooner or later. It makes a pained groaning noise as the doors shut and starts taking you up to the higher floors. There’s no sound between you two besides the ricketing of the lift and the quiet purring of Grimm in your mind, always reminding you that they’re here with you.

The doors to the lift finally opens, and Angel leads you down a hall of doors, stopping at one and opening it up to a semi-nice looking apartment. Having never been in Angel’s apartment—you both would just agree to a meet up place whenever you had to part ways—you take the time to idly glance around as he walks in and tosses the bag of white powder onto the coffee table.

You glance around,  definitely take note of the many items used for the… ahem, more carnal desires. There were also piles of clothing, bags of makeup, and quite a few empty boxes of take out littering the place marked as something, but it’s written in another language.

Suffice to say, you feel like Niffty or Alastor or both would be blowing a gasket at just how messy this place was.

“Angel—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what you’re thinking, Red. I may like sex, but I’m not the type to push or force someone who ain’t into that kinda thing.” He waves his hand, walking over to the sofa and shoving the piles of clothes and… toys… out of the way. “Over here, sweet cheeks. Sit back and relax.”

You walk over and sit down on the sofa. It was comfy, but being in an unfamiliar environment leaves you less than relaxed. You hear an exasperated sigh and the sound of Angel flopping down next to you. “Jeez, this how you relax, Red?” He places a hair of hands on your shoulders and pushes them down—you didn’t even realize how hunched up they were. “C’mon, can’t be all tense when it’s your first time takin’ this shit, babe.”

You take a minute to try to circulate your breathing. You listen to the purring of Grimm, feel their presence with you. You feel the other little shadows who follow you as well, their reassurance that they’re there, and they’ll protect you. It helps you relax more, slowly but surely.

“There ya go, toots. Trust me, you’d’ve had a baaaaad trip if you were all tense before taking this.” He pulls out the bag again and opens it up. “Remember what I told ya before babe, don’t try keepin’ up with me. I don’t need ya frothin’ at the mouth and leavin’ me with you passed out on the floor, alright?”

“I get ya, Angel.” You watch him as he once again dips his finger into the powder and inserts it into his mouth. He then shifts his position so he’s facing you better.

“Va bene, toots. Not too much. Just like how I did it.”

You stare at the powdery substance, brows furrowing. You look at Angel, asking, “Exactly what is this drug, Angel?”

Already you can see his eyes changing, his one pupil dilating and his grin growing. “It’s Angel Dust, babe. But the fancy sciencey name for it is Phencyclidine.”

You stare, flabbergasted, at the spider before you. 

Did he seriously…

“Angel…”

“Eh?”

“You named yourself after a drug?”

He looks at you with a raised brow. “Yeah, che ne dici? Got a problem with that?”

“No, I’m shocked at just how uncreative that is.” Your deadpan reply causes Angel to burst out laughing, nearly causing the powder to fall out of the bag and onto the floor.

“Shit, Red. Breakin’ my heart over here!” He leans back against the sofa, holding out the drug to you. “Hurry up and give it a try already.”

Following how Angel took the drug, you lick your pinky and dip a small amount of it into the powder. Holding it up to your mouth, you stare at the drug, look back at Angel who’s watching you expectantly.

“What are ya waitin’ for, babe? Go on.” At your further hesitation, he groans, “Calmati, Red! Live a little! One tiny lick ain’t gonna kill ya.” He scoffs. “You’d think after everything else we’ve done you’d be jumpin’ over the moon to try this.”

He looks at you again. “Ya ain’t gonna hallucinate if that’s what you’re so worried about. Not visually, at least when startin’ out. Take enough of that shit and then you’ll start hearin’ shit. But it’s more of a… ah… hmm…” He thinks, licking his teeth, ten says, “Detachin’ yourself from reality. Numbing. Shit like that. Ya get me? You ain’t gonna take enough for it to really fuck with you.”

“Okay.” Knowing what to expect helped you better relax and mentally prepare for what was to come. Finally relenting, you put it into your mouth, licking off the white powder and swallowing. You don’t really… feel anything at first besides a strange numbness. It started at the tips of your fingers, slowly slinking up up up your arms and then all the way down to your toes.

“There ya go! How ya feel, babe?”

“Huh,” you find yourself saying, your words slurring together slightly, “I can’t feel my fingers.”

Angel laughs, taking another dose of the stuff, leaning back and throwing one of his many arms around your shoulders. “Yep, that’s always gonna happen. Wait till you can take more, doll. Diventa solo più divertente.”

“Huh?” Wow, you couldn’t feel anything in your legs. Or your arms. This was weird. But Angel felt warm and his touch didn’t make your body feel static and you wonder if that fluff on his chest is soft. It probably is.

“Don’t worry, Red. You’ll find out soon enough.” Again you watch him take another dose, before he sets the bag aside. “Just sit back and let it take you on a little trip, toots. Then we’ll get to have some more fun around town.”

You’re not exactly sure how long you’re sitting there with Angel, both of you talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Every so often he’d slip back into that other language of his, ranting ceaselessly about something or another, you have no idea, and you’re not really paying attention.

You don’t know how to feel about this… feeling? Words are hard right now. You haven’t had this sense of detachment in a while. It’s strange, but not in a bad way. Not like how it used to be, detaching to forget, to bear with what was happening.

Now you’re just… detaching because… you can? Well, you are but you aren’t. You’re still aware of where you are, the warmth of Angel and the softness of his chest fluff—your assumptions were right, by the way—and his voice, even if it sounds garbled. Every now and again you swear you saw the shadows moving, the echo of an old familiar song in the air and the lingering sound of static. But when you actually try to look, to listen, it’s gone.

And yet, something feels familiar about this numbness… you can’t help but feel like you’ve experienced something like this before. Once upon a very bad time. Part of you doesn’t like it. Part of you expects your limbs to dislocate, for your bones to snap. But another part doesn’t mind it. Another part registers Angel’s presence, knows he won’t try to hurt you.

It’s… peaceful. You find yourself relaxing against Angel, allowing his voice, his warmth and general softness. You haven’t felt so relaxed in… a while. You close your eyes, the ghost of a smile on your face. You could get used to this.

But alas, this is Hell, and peaceful moments never last long.

The sound of the telephone ringing causes you both to jump out of your drugged stupor. Angel, having been used to these feelings and much more aware of everything than you currently are, grumbles unhappily. He pushes you off his chest and stands up, strolling over to the telephone. You watch him hesitate in front of it, listening to it ring ring, ring ring.

You quietly stare, blinking at him as he heaves a sigh and finally picks it up.

Even in your state, you can see just how tense he was. One set of hands rubbed at his arms while the other crossed tightly over his chest, the final pair holding the receiver up to where his ear would be and twirling the cord around a finger. His face was twisted into a deep frown, brows furrowed.

In the short time knowing him, you’ve never seen him act like this. You don’t like it.

“Sì?” Even his voice sounded off. This was weird. Bad weird. You watch his body, his face. His tone is completely different towards whomever he’s talking to. You can practically feel his unease.

“I’m off, Val. You said I had the week—”

The name Val stirs your memory some more, but it doesn’t exactly help that you’re in a state like this. You know it’s short for something, but what?

“I’m not at the studio because—”

You stand up from the sofa. You can feel your head swim just from the small gesture. Walking was a feat on its own, it was more stumbling than anything, but you make it over to where Angel stands.

“I understand, boss, but—” He’s cut off again and his lips press into a thin line. You can’t make out what the voice on the other side is saying, but you can hear them, deep, smooth, and not sounding too happy.

Angel’s entire demeanor reminds you too much of the person you once were. A person who was too afraid to raise their fists and bare their teeth. A person who let others do

hurting hurting they hurt you they betrayed you they made you bleed made you scream made you cry i’ll i’ll kill them i’ll tear them apart i’ll i’ll

whatever they wanted.

Angel’s heavy sigh snaps you out of your thoughts. He says in the most defeated voice you’ve ever heard him say, “Yes, Val.” And he hangs up. He repeatedly runs his fingers through his hair, adjusting the mass of fluff that is his chest. You hate realizing now that it’s a nervous tick he has.

He sighs again, muttering something in another language and looking down at you. “What?” You stare at his face, his defensive stature and fidgeting hands. You get the feeling he really wasn’t in the mood for any form of teasing.

“Nothing,” you end up saying. “I take it party’s over? Time to split?”

Angel looks ready to snap, but stops himself and runs his hand through his hair again. “Fucking—yeah. Party’s over, Red…”

“It’s fine. Gimme your number, we’ll keep in touch.” You offer a small smile. “After all, I don’t think you showed me all the fun places in the city. Gotta make sure you keep that promise.”

He looks down at you again, raising a brow before he huffs, his lips twitching upward a tad. “And I gotta make sure you treat me to all of it.” He searches around for a moment before finding a pen and a slip of paper.

He writes his number down, hands it to you with a wink, his playful attitude coming back within only a minute. “Don’t give this out to anyone, ‘kay babe? Don’t need fans breakin’ down my door tryna get a piece of me.”

“I’ll make sure to make copies of these and post them everywhere.” The jest makes him chuckle. You take the paper and stuff it into your pocket, walking towards the door. You pause, looking back at him. “I’ll see ya around, Angel.”

“Yeah, yeah, see ya ‘round, Red. Now get outta here.” He waves you off, rolling his eyes and looking elsewhere.

You huff a laugh and walk out of his apartment, the door shutting with a soft click behind you. Almost instantly the smile is gone and you’re slapping your cheeks in a vain attempt to better get rid of the high you were still partially on. Breathing a sigh, you step—more stumble—towards a darkened section of the hallway. Putting your trust in the little shadows, you’re guided back to your flat. The familiar smell of black coffee and cooked venison entering your nostrils.

Rubbing your face, you turn on the radio and plop down on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling and reminiscing the time you spent with Angel.

Every minute the name Val comes back to you and you can’t help but feel like you know who that is. But the memory is just at the edge, waiting for you to find that final puzzle piece to put it all together.

You groan, taking one of the pillows on the sofa and putting it over your face, closing your eyes and allowing the music from the radio to drift you off into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

You wake the softness of your sheets and the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. You slowly sit up, rubbing your face and stifling a yawn. You brush the mess of your hair out of your face and slip out of bed—wait, didn’t you fall asleep on the couch? You blink, glancing around to confirm that yes, this is your bedroom.

You get up and walk to the kitchen, finding Alastor happily humming away and cooking up what you can assume to be some bacon and eggs.

Huh, looks like he came back early. You glance to the couch, then back at him. Did he carry you back to your bed? How gentlemanly of him, you’re kinda shocked he didn’t try waking you up as some kind of dumb prank.

You yawn, walking past him and getting the coffee maker ready.

Alastor’s humming stops abruptly as he says, “Why good morning, sweetheart!” He finished the last of breakfast, plating the food and setting the dishes aside to cool for a later washing. He strolls up behind you, placing both hands upon your shoulders and leaning down low. “Did you enjoy your time off, my dear?”

You grunt noncommittally, watching the coffee maker do it’s magic, only to be pulled into the living room for a sudden dance. You groan, “Al, c’mon.”

“What, I can’t have a lovely dance with my favorite darling little human after not seeing them in so long? You break my heart!” He dips you low, his smile full of mischief and eyes squinting with glee at your tired annoyance.

“We’ve talked about this. Coffee first. Dancing later.” You slip out of his grasp to walk back to the kitchen, a much more annoyed groan erupting from you when he pulls you back.

“But my dear, I have the most exciting news!” He holds you close, his cheek pressed against yours. “Don’t you want to hear it?”

It’s moments like these you wonder what would’ve happened if you sold your soul to some other demon. Any demon. As long as they weren’t a morning person like fucking Alastor was.

“You’re not gonna let me have my coffee until you tell me, are you?” The look on his face was the only answer you needed.

“You know me all too well, darling.” He twirls you around twice before pulling you back towards him, his arm securely around your shoulders. “My dear, this is a good day indeed! I’m happy to announce the arrival of an old partner in crime! Rather exciting, don’t you think?”

You raise a skeptical brow. You’ve never heard of Alastor ever having an accomplice back when he was alive. Then again a lot of the files on him were under pretty tight wraps, or maybe even his accomplice was better at not being caught. You’re not surprised this supposed accomplice also ended up in Hell, but you are surprised that after all this time they and Alastor are getting back together.

“Oh, don’t go giving me that look, sweetheart.” He releases you long enough to grab at your face and pinch your cheeks. “You will always be my darling dear little human, there’s no need to be jealous.”

You slap his hands away and nurse your cheeks. “I’m not jealous, I’m confused. I’ve never heard of this apparent old partner of yours, you never talked about them.”

Alastor’s smile grew tenfold, stretching to an impossible size. “Of course not! Why spoil the surprise for you, my dear?” He finally releases you and gives you a little push back towards the kitchen. 

Not needing to be pushed twice, you happily go make your coffee, taking the bit of bacon from your plate and nibbling on it. “Okay, so…” You look over his face, noting him watching you closer than he’s ever done before. “Who is this person? Where are they?” You’d figured he would’ve at least introduced you to this individual if he was so excited about them.

“Well, my dear…” He trailed a finger along the bar, eyes never leaving you. “I would’ve been more than happy to have introduced you to him the night prior, but you seemed a bit… preoccupied. For a moment I thought you finally kicked the bucket, even I couldn’t wake you!” He laughed heartily, lacing his fingers and resting his chin upon them. Wow, you must’ve been more under the influence than you thought if Alastor of all demons couldn’t wake you. If only a small dose like that can knock you out that cold you’re not really sure if you want to know what taking the amount Angel takes would do to you.

“But alas, you were resting so peacefully I couldn’t find it in my heart to try anymore to wake you.” He chuckles at your unamused stare, silently calling out his bullshit. “You had quite an interesting week from what I’ve heard, haven’t you, dear?”

You huff a small laugh. “That’s… one way to put it.”

“Ah, substance abuse. Never have been one for it myself.” Alastor waves his hand. “And while what you do with your off time is your business.” You raise a brow at him, knowing for a fact that was a filthy lie. “I would be most appreciative if you would abstain from doing so here.”

You sip your coffee. “I don’t really think it’s my kind of thing. Just… y’know, never tried it back up top.” You shrug. “Even then, I wasn’t planning on doing any drugs here, so no need to crack an antler.”

Alastor only hums as a response, a sign that that particular conversation was over. So you decide to change back to the subject at hand, “So about this partner of yours…”

He immediately perks up. “Ah, yes! Well my dear, it appears we’ve hit a bit of a bump with the old chap.” He sighs dramatically, chin resting on the top of his hand. “He didn’t exactly react all too happily to seeing you. He left in quite the huff, saying more than several rather crass things beforehand. Unfortunate, really.” He waved his other hand idly about as if it was just a small annoyance to him.

That explains why you haven’t met him yet. You already have a couple ideas as to why Alastor’s old partner didn’t react very well to seeing you, but you still ask, “I don’t get it. You’d think being your partner and stuff he’d be happy to see the work would be divided more evenly since y’know, you like to pile it. Why would he be so pissed?”

Alastor gives you one of his hundreds of smiles. He holds up a single finger to you, wagging it and tutting. “Now now my dear, you’re smarter than that.” After knowing him for decades you learned what each smile meant. This one in particular meant he knew what you were trying to do, and it wasn’t going to work on him. “We really should get Rosie to help you  work on your world play. One would think after so many years together you’d know better by now.”

You huff, “Fine, fine. I’m guessing… he was pissed to see me because I’m a human who made a deal with you?”

He hums, looking over the red detail of his gloves. “Close, my dear…” His bright eyes hone in on you. “But unfortunately, no cigar.”

Your brows furrow in question, but he provides no answer. You opt to look over his face, his demeanor. His posture was as relaxed and perfect as it always was. His smile is knowing, teasing, joyful. There’s a hint of fondness in his eyes, but it’s nothing like the fondness towards Rosie. With Rosie the fondness was always like that towards a dear friend.

This one was more like that towards a pet, almost the same way he always looked at you.

“If you’re so curious and eager to find out, darling…” Alastor stands and walks around the bar towards you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You can always ask him yourself.”

He then takes your hand and guides you to the living room into the beginnings of a dance. You follow his steps effortlessly, having gone through this hundreds, if not thousands of times. Alastor is nothing if not a good dance partner and teacher. Neither of you say a word, both watching the other closely, very closely. You mulling everything over, piecing it together, all while he watched you do so.

Given how dodgy he’s being with your questions, it’s most likely he wants you to find out and find his old partner on your own. The joyful smile makes you think he’s excited for you to meet this guy, which begs the question, why? Knowing him it’s most likely because he think it’d be entertaining to watch you two interact. But it feels like there’s more to it than that, you just can’t put your finger on it.

Just as Alastor dips you low to the ground, his nose almost touching yours, you ask, “I can’t even get one little hint on where to find this old partner? Surely you’re not that heartless, Al.”

Alastor’s smile shined brighter. “Better than your last try, darling.” He pulls you back up, twirling you around and around. “But still needs some work. Ah, though I do suppose I could offer one tiny hint to assist my favorite little human.”

The dance ends with Alastor bowing low before you. He takes your chin in his hand, leaning close, close to your face.

“My old partner always frequented casinos and was a master at sleight of hand. There’s my hint for you, darling.” He releases your chin to give you one rough pat on the head. “Off you go no! No time to lose!”

Curiosity overtaking you, you waste no time to get yourself ready and set out on this little investigation. What you didn’t realize however, was that this investigation was going to be more difficult than you initially thought.

Two weeks.

Two weeks have passed since that day.

You spent two nearly sleepless weeks of trying to find a demon you didn’t even know, the only hint being the one Alastor had given you. Alastor all the while merely watched you, clearly enjoying you struggling. You could see him out of the corner of your eye every time with that fucking smile of his.

And every time you’d lock eyes with him his fingers would tap against the table he’d be sitting at, a brow raised in patient waiting. You knew he knew where this old partner was, and you knew he wouldn’t tell you. At this point you didn’t want him helping and you didn’t want him fucking watching you with that stupid smile of his.

Your curiosity of this individual didn’t help either. It made your mind race and wander. What came with your mind unable to sit still was you unable to sleep. With you unable to sleep, your ability to think rationally slowly but surely deteriorated. It left you with going off of pure emotion and instinct, and that’s not exactly something you need when trying to find someone.

You sit at the bar of yet another casino, sipping at your drink and keeping your eyes over several blackjack tables. You feel eyes on you, especially Alastor’s, as you glance about the place. You didn't notice anyone in particular standing out, save for a very select few, but even then they don’t look like someone Alastor would work with.

You can’t help but feel like you’re missing something. Something Alastor didn’t tell you, but what? What the fuck were you missing? The more you thought the more frustrated you were becoming. Already you can feel your anger boiling deep inside you, slowly growing hotter and hotter. Your grip on your drink tightened, and any demons that were near you hastily started to give you a wide berth, not wanting to get caught into your sights.

Just as you were about to lash out at the nearest demon who was giving you a funny look, you Grimm’s voice echoes in your thoughts, gentle and purring, calm calm  can’t think straight can’t can’t not when mad calm you have to have to calm down calm calm calm…

You close your eyes and rub at the bridge of your nose. You breathe slowly, listen to Grimm’s gentle purring.

calm calm it’s okay it’s okay calm calm calm

They’re right. Breathe. Calm down. You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t get your anger under reigns. Alastor wants you to get frustrated. He wants you to get angry so you’ll fuck up more. He’s probably having a ball watching you right now.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, eyes closed, breathing, blocking out everything but Grimm. You focus on their voice, their presence, just them.

it’s okay it’s okay calm calm it’s okay i’m i’m here won’t leave will help but but you have to calm have to have to calm down calm calm calm

When you open your eyes again you’re still frustrated, but the anger no longer feels like it’s nearing a wildfire, but more so a controlled candle. 

You finish off the rest of your drink and move on to the next casino, taking the time during your walk to mull over everything. You know you’re missing something. Something important. You think and think and think about what it could possibly be, going over each and every moment from when Alastor told you about his partner to right now.

Alastor must’ve known his old partner for a long time back when he was alive. The shine in his eyes and the way he spoke of this partner said it all. He clearly knows something you don’t and he won’t tell you no matter how you asked. At this point it’s honestly sheer spite and stubbornness that stops you from even trying to ask him.

You sigh, thinking about why his partner would’ve reacted so badly to seeing you. Is it because he didn’t want to work with a human? Did he not want to share? The sheer thought of someone being possessive over Alastor almost makes you scoff.

It could explain the unhappy reaction he had, maybe. But it still doesn’t explain why it’s so difficult to find him.

You think and think and think.

He’s good at sleight of hand, he likes casinos…

Sleight of hand means he has to be good at sneaking, meaning…

…

Wait…

You stop walking suddenly.

Demons all around you keep a wide berth, many and all knowing who you were, and don’t question why you’ve stopped in the middle of the street.

What if…?

You whirl around, eyes looking, searching. You find Alastor standing just at the edge of an alleyway, both hands folded neatly behind his back. Your eyes lock with him and you can see that tiny hint of pride on his face when he sees you’ve finally, finally figure it out.

You try and fail to hide a small triumphant smirk. You turn away and start walking again with a newfound vigor.

You can’t believe you were so stupid to miss something so easy to see. You can’t find his partner because he doesn’t want to be found. That little thing says so much about him. It says why he wasn’t caught with Alastor back when they were both alive. It says why you can’t find him right now.

He’s a master at blending in, staying hidden and unassuming. God, you can’t believe it took you this long to find out he’s just like you.

This wasn’t just an introduction. This was a test.

All you have to do is to start thinking like him, like how you used to back in the living world.

He’s been avoiding you so well because he saw you while you were sleeping. He already has an advantage on you; he knows what you look like, but you don’t know what he looks like. And you’ve been parading around pretty much announcing your presence. It’s no wonder he’s been able to so easily avoid you.

You step out of the streets, instead slinking into the darkness and away from prying eyes. It’s almost like second nature to you, having already lived like this for so long before meeting Alastor, you’re glad you’re not getting too rusty.

Speaking of Alastor…

The shadows move with you, cloaking you in a veil of darkness to help you blend in better. You use Alastor as your test subject, weaving in and out of alleys and feeling him following after you. To get into the head of his partner, first you need to lose Alastor. You can’t let him see you or keep up with you, you have to force him to use his shadows to be able to keep an eye on you. The minute you stop feeling his prying eyes boring into your back, you can really get to work.

The air is filled with a newfound giddiness, you can feel it blossoming in your chest. You can also feel it radiating off of Alastor even with how far he is from you now.

The game of cat and mouse continues for the better part of an hour, you cutting corners and walking through darkness and Alastor just barely on your heels each time. You let that giddiness fuel you, keep you moving, running, hiding from Alastor until you finally don’t feel his eyes on you anymore.

You still feel and hear the quiet whispers of his shadows, knowing they’ll always be with you, watching you, but no longer do you feel his red red eyes burning a hole into your back. Whether he let you out of his sight or you actually managed to finally lose him yourself, you’ll never know. Right now you don’t really care.

You move onward towards the next casino, stepping through the darkness itself to enter it instead of going through the entrance. You stay in that darkness, let it become a veil for you to hide. Instead of watching the tables, you watch the doors first. See who’s leaving, who’s coming in. You watch their gait, their posture.

You don’t expect it to immediately work. Afterall, there’s so many casinos you’ve yet to search and just because you figured out how one piece of the puzzle doesn’t mean you’re going to find him on your very next try. You still need to move onward after waiting for some time. Not just to make sure you can catch him, but also to make sure Alastor stays off your tail.

And it’s not until it’s deep deep into one night, after two more sleepless days of trying to not only stay out of Alastor’s sight but also his partner’s, you notice something—someone.

A cat demon, from what you can see. You notice as you have remained hidden in the darkness, their ears perked up, their nose twitch. Their eyes scanned the area, narrowed, and suddenly they were moving with a purpose to leave, quickly trying to blend into the crowd to be lost.

That’s him. It has to be.

You follow this cat demon several paces away, quietly requesting Grimm to keep an eye on him as well in case you lose sight. The more you follow this demon, the more you believe this guy was Alastor’s old partner. He walks with too much purpose to not be heard, he’s too alert, trying too hard to disappear into the crowd. All signs are pointing to him. So you follow.

But alas, that exhaustion you’ve been feeling and have been barely managing to push away was bound to catch up to you sooner or later. You round a corner, chasing after this cat demon, and find nothing. You huff, searching desperately for any sign of where he could’ve possibly gone. You blame the exhaustion when you don’t hear someone creeping behind you. You blame the exhaustion when you don’t react fast enough even after hearing Grimm’s warning screaming in your mind.

A clawed hand slams you into the wall, grabbing at the collar of your coat and pushing you against it. Standing a good head and a half over you was the very cat demon you were following, mouth pulled back into an annoyed snarl and revealing sharp sharp teeth.

His fur is a greyish-brown color with white accents, his eyes a dark brown with orange pupils and black hearts above long red eyebrows. You notice his long tail with a plume-like end, red with white and black stripes, but what you really notice are his wings. Big and red with black stripes and suit markings. As if topping it off to show he really belongs in a casino, he wore a black top hat with red ribbon decorating it, and a red bowtie.

“Listen and listen good.” His voice was deep, gruff, and you could smell a hefty amount of alcohol on him. “Tell that smiley shit stain I ain’t babysitting some fucking kid for him and I ain’t joining him on anymore of his goddamn schemes. I’m done, you hear me?”

“Kid?” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth. “I’m older than you.”

The cat demon scoffs, “Nice try kid, I’m old enough to be your goddamn grandpa.”

“Right.” You reach up and place a hand on his. “Ages aside, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t fucking touch me.” You shove his hand away and give him a good push for measure. There’s a look of genuine shock on him at your own short aggressive display.

Did he think you were going to be just like Alastor?

You take a moment to take in his posture. It’s stiff, his tail swishing behind him in annoyance, his wings open and equally aggressive, but also ready to take off should he need to. You take in the first words he said to you, and it’s there you start to realize the possibility that not everyone Alastor knew in the past would react so happily to seeing him or working with him again.

It really makes all the more sense as to why he reacted so badly and doesn’t want to be found. But you can see it in this cat demon’s eyes, there is a history between them. A history he most likely wants to forget but can’t.

You decide to play on that. “You say you’re done, but are you?” You watch him scowl, leaning back and staring down at you with extreme caution. “You’re in Hell, man. You should’ve expected to end up here. You should’ve expected you were going to see Alastor again. And if you’re an old partner of his, you of all people should know he’s not just going to give up and leave you alone.”

The cat demon growls in annoyance, turning and starting to walk away. You were right and he knew you were right and he hated it. You follow after him, easily catching up and walking alongside him. His posture is more hunched, tired, his claws working on the tangles in his chest fluff. He doesn’t make any move or comment to make you leave, but he’s not exactly trying to be friendly either.

“Piece of shit… fucking smiling bastard…” Mumbling more than a few profanities under his breath as he walked.

He weaves through the crowds with an expertise you’ve never seen. Despite his tall stature and his wings, he moves as if they’re of no hindrance to him. You even almost missed him reaching into a demon’s grocery bag to take their bottle of their booze.

He moves so fluidly, like he’s been doing this for years.

He turns a corner and opens the bottle of booze, taking a big long gulp of it. You tilt your head and look at the bottle. It was pretty cheap vodka, but you suspect that for someone like him he’d be willing to take anything.

The cat demon side-glances you, eyes narrowed and annoyed. You feel his eyes looking you over, taking everything in, you can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. After another moment of silence, he grumbles, “Husk.”

You perk up and blink. “Huh?”

“My fucking name, kid. Figured Alastor wouldn’t tell you with how he is and his stupid tests.” He takes another gulp. You figure it’s not his real name, but honestly all things considered you have an inkling that the name Husk suits him.

“Yeah, he loves his tests.” You play with the cuffs of your sleeves. “The only hint he gave me in trying to find you was that you were good at sleight of hand and frequented casinos.”

Husk scoffs, “Sounds like the shithead.” He rounds another corner, you follow close behind him. You recognize this street, you’re actually near your flat now. “You even realize what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

You blink again, raising a brow in question. It’s as you're passing by a shop that you idly look in and see your reflection on the glass. It’s there you’re reminded that even after all these years you still look as young as you did when you first met Alastor.

You’d almost completely forgotten, it’s never really been something that bothered you much. Husk must think you only recently made a deal with Alastor.

“I’ve been around longer than you think.” You don’t give him a chance to comment and continue to say, “Trust me, I knew what I was getting into. I knew what was at stake. Hell, I asked for it.”

“Yeah?” He burps. Takes another swig. “And was whatever you wanted from him worth it?”

“If you’re trying to make me feel bad for making a deal with Alastor, you’re going to have to try harder than that, Husk.” You finally look up at him. “To answer your question though, yes. It was worth it. It was worth that and more.”

He stops walking and so do you. You finish your argument with saying, “You of all people shouldn’t be judging me for working with someone like Alastor. I had my reasons, as I’m sure you had yours.”

Husk doesn’t answer at first. You both stand there for a long time, staring, waiting for one or the other to cave. His eyes search your face, your posture, everything. All the while you do the same. In that quiet moment, you figure out why he reacted so negatively to seeing you. That night when he saw you, he most likely saw himself back when he was younger, back when he was with Alastor in the living world.

During this little stare-off, you get the feeling that you have a lot more in common with him than you initially thought.

Husk is the first to relent, grumbling as he turns away from you and finishes off the bottle. Tossing it behind him, the glass shatters all over the pavement and he continues walking as if nothing happened.

“Can definitely see why he kept you around this long.” He runs his claws through his chest fluff again, looking thoughtful. Finally, he sighs, “What the hell does he want from me now?”

“You really think he’d tell me? Bastard loves his surprises.” He huffs at the small jest you make. Not exactly a laugh, but it’s something. “But if I had to take a guess, it’s most likely wanting to wreak some chaos across Hell.”

“Mmm… C’mon, kid. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later. Hope you got booze at your place.”

You get a nagging feeling you’re going to have to hide some of your good alcohol before Husk can get to it.

Chapter Text

Alastor was over the moon when you returned to your flat with Husk in tow. Husk on the other hand, was a mix of indifferent and irritated, mostly because Alastor wouldn’t stop touching him no matter how much Husk told him to fuck off. The first thing he did after the “happy” reunion was look through your liquor cabinet, something you weren’t surprised about, but you did have to stop him from taking all your good bottles.

The next couple years after all that proved to be very… interesting. The first few months of Husk joining the crew, Alastor instructed you to shadow Husk. Learn a thing or two from him, to which he had grumbled irritably about but didn’t complain further. So you did.

Little did you know, shadowing Husk proved to be one of the most difficult things you’ve had to do yet. You can’t help but feel like Alastor is testing you further with having you shadow his old partner—well, returning partner. It’s a small hunch, but judging from the sly smile on his face when he gave you these instructions you're pretty positive it’s mostly for his own amusement of watching you struggle to keep up with Husk.

And it was very hard to keep up with Husk. He can be fast when he wants to be, and he doesn’t wait for you like Niffty does. He weaves through crowds, avoiding the touch of any demon as if it were nothing, like it was child’s play. He’s not even hindered by his wings or tail, it’s kind of admirable really.

You could’ve followed him easy enough by stepping through the shadows, but you don’t. The test with you finding Husk opened your eyes at how reliant you are on the powers Alastor had gifted you. While you weren’t extremely rusty at the very least, you’re not happy that you’re getting even a little rusty, so you opt out of using any of your abilities. You still ask Grimm to keep an eye out for Husk and help you find him should you end up losing sight, but even that is scarce.

You don’t cling to Husk’s side so much as you watch him from a respectful distance. You already knew he was good at walking through crowds without so much as bumping into a single demon—if he wanted to and if he wasn’t too drunk—and he was good at sleight of hand. But man, you never knew how good he was until you watched him play at cards.

Whatever card he needs to win just seems to appear in his hand, while the other demons at the table are none the wiser. Even with you watching him closely, you almost always missed his deft claws slipping out the cards he didn’t want out of his hand and the ones he did want into them. He truly seemed to shine in the casino. You watched him work his magic, shuffling cards and sometimes catching the hair end of him slipping cards into the dark fur of his forearms.

There was always a certain shine in his eyes when you watched him. A shine of genuine enjoyment and smugness as he knew he was going to win. His smile—which is much more common when Alastor wasn’t around—was as sly and mischievous’ as Alastor’s own grin. 

You knew Husk purposefully made himself to be as unassuming as possible as to not draw attention to himself. But you were surprised with how well it worked, especially with an appearance like his. Then again, remembering how Angel looks, you’re pretty sure that any demon down here could appear unassuming and unthreatening if they tried hard enough, no matter the appearance.

You learned Husk was a heavy gambler. While you already had an inkling since you searched for him for weeks in nothing but casinos, you didn’t know just how bad that gambling addiction was. The minute he won at one table he’d go to the next and try his hand at that. Whatever he didn’t win, his deft claws would take it when no one was looking and move on to the next place.

And much like his excessive gambling, he was also an excessive drinker. You always kept your liquor cabinet nice and stocked, as both you and Alastor do like to have a drink every once in a while. But Husk? Husk is the reason you have to hide half of your damn liquor, especially the good ones. When he’s not gambling away his winnings, he’s drinking.

And he can certainly hold his liquor. You learned that the hard way when you challenged him to a drinking contest—you thought it’d be a good way to bond—and he proceeded to drink you under the table and then some.

Alastor still won’t stop teasing you about it.

An interesting thing you learned about Husk was he knew multiple languages. You don’t know exactly how many, but it was quite a few. One of the languages was actually the one Angel spoke often, as you remember catching Husk muttering angrily under his breath and at your questioning told you it’s Italian.

With the knowledge of knowing so many languages came him often having trouble with articulating words in English, or even that language. One minute he’s having a conversation with you, teaching you how to play cards and suddenly he’s forgetting the words “full house” and begins muttering, “Come si chiama quella merda?” Until he’s remembered how to say it in English.

It’s admirable and hilarious that he knows so many languages and that it’s both a blessing and a curse for him.

During all of this you, Alastor, and now Husk had gone out several different times to wreak havoc and instill some fear. Husk didn’t join the bloodbath more so acted as a watchdog—which was kinda funny, considering the type of demon he was. Meanwhile you and Alastor merrily strolled down the street, arm in arm and walking over the bodies of dead or dying demons with a song in the air.

You’ve never seen Husk fight. And no matter how hard you tried to catch a glimpse of it, he’d already be done killing some demon that tried and failed to sneak up on you and Alastor in the middle of your dance. You’d always catch the tail end of him dropping the body of a demon and cleaning the blood off his claws. He’s so quick with the kill and so quiet, it’s hard for you to register it until it is already done.

As you shadowed Husk, watched how he worked, listened to his rare advice he’d give and watched intently as he’d expertly shuffle cards and hide certain ones until the fluff of his forearms, you also watched his interactions with Alastor and Niffty.

You didn’t think he’d get along with Niffty so well. You’d initially thought he would treat her bad, tell her to fuck off and ignore her. But he didn’t. In those moments of him talking to Niffty, you’d catch him smiling and looking relaxed, responding to any and all of her questions. He showed incredible patience with her, and Niffty was all too happy to converse and spend time with him.

Alastor on the other hand…

You can feel unfinished business between the two. Unspoken animosity. Though it was more one-sided with Husk having issues with Alastor, Alastor himself doesn’t seem all that bothered or phased. As if Husk acting this way was a common thing back in the living world. And maybe it was.

You noticed that despite Husk knowing Alastor’s reputation and just how powerful he is, Husk showed no fear whatsoever to him. If anything it was more annoyance. While you also hate being randomly pulled into one of Alastor’s schemes, you react to it with more playful annoyed banter. Husk on the other hand reacts with much more vulgarity.

You didn’t know one could say “fuck” so many times in one sentence. You’re kind of impressed.

But even so, Husk still goes with whatever Alastor asks him to do, easily swayed with the promise of alcohol. Something you definitely pocketed for later, should you ever need a favor of his.

Yet despite learning so much about Husk and in turn Alastor from their interactions, you can’t help but feel there’s still so much about the both of them you don’t know.

Alastor idly talks about his life before, speaking of the recipes his mother taught him and the like. But he never goes too deep into it and even then the comment is so passing and final that you’re never able—or allowed—to pry deeper.

Husk just plain refuses to talk about his life prior to ending up in Hell. No matter how drunk he was, he’d never talk about it. If anything the intoxication made him even less willing to talk about it.

Because of your curiosity and desire to know more, you can’t help but feel frustrated at how little they’re giving. Yet at the same time you understand why they’re so unwilling to talk about their life prior. Hell, you yourself try to forget everything before your first meeting with Alastor. Meanwhile he continues to poke and prod and try to get every last detail out of you no matter what you try to do to get him off your back.

Even with curiosity gnawing at you, you quietly decided it’s better to leave it be. Maybe in time one of them will talk more about their life. Maybe you will too. You don’t know.

Today, a few months after another extermination, you find Husk currently sitting on the sofa in your flat, head leaning back and wings outstretched and practically enveloping your entire sofa.

You noticed he has a tendency to do this at times, especially after an extermination. He just sits back and detaches himself. You learned that whenever he does this it’s the right time to take out a bottle of your good liquor. Sure, you could just leave him there on your sofa to just detach himself from the world, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

There’s always a strange look in his eyes when you meet up with him after an extermination. Glazed over, as if he weren’t there mentally. It always filled you with a desire to just sit with him. Keep him company.

You got a bottle of a particularly good and strong rum and grabbed two small glasses from the kitchen. When you approached the sofa, Husk’s ears twitched and one of his wings shifted enough for you to be able to sit on the sofa and not his wing. You sat next to him and put the glass of liquor into his expecting hand. He shifted some more until he was sitting up and eyed the bottle you brought over, then took a sip.

You both sat there in relative silence for a good while, the sound of your radio playing and the chatter of demons outside down below the only noise between you.

“I used to be a soldier in the military,” Husk said after finishing off his glass twice. You glance at him but he’s not looking at you, staring at the liquid in his glass as he poured himself some more.

You don’t say anything, instead just listen to him.

“Fought in a war. Not very long, got shot the minute I was out on the field.” He groaned as he sat back and gulped down the entire glass, pouring himself some more. “But it was… something… Not what I’d recommend to most others, though.”

“Why’d you join?”

He rubbed his face. “Happened after Alastor died. Didn’t really have much… uh… come si dici… “

You smile, but don’t tease him. After a moment of him mumbling to himself, you offer a hand. “Drive?”

“Yes!” His tail twitched, a brief moment of happiness that he finally got the word. “Didn’t have much drive after Alastor croaked. Drank, gambled. Made a bet with an old ex-friend that if I lost I’d join the military with him.” He sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “Obviously I lost. And off to the military I joined.”

“Did you at least enjoy it?”

“Fuck no.” He gulped down his drink, you gulp down yours. You pour a new glass for the both of you. “It was shit. They were shit. All of it was shit. But it was… something to do.”

“Something to do?” You shoot him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t—” he rubs his face, grunting “—shit kid, I didn’t… have much, alright? After helping Alastor with his stupid shit for so many years, after being done with it and him, and after he died? I didn’t have much after all that. I hated it, yeah. But it was something.”

“I… think I understand, actually.” It’s your turn to stare at your drink. “Kinda the same with me honestly, but it’s more… before I met Al? I didn’t… mmm…” Your chest tightens uncomfortably. You’ve definitely had too much to drink if you’re talking about this.

“Don’t gotta talk about it, kid,” Husk mutters. His voice was a lot softer now. “Ain’t a fuckin’ contest.”

“I know…” It’s your turn to sigh. “But hey, we’re both under the influence. I’m feelin’ a little talky.” You chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “I won’t… get too deep into it. I don’t—I don’t want to, but—it—” You frown at your glass and gulp down the rest of it, setting it down on the coffee table.

“It’s what made me who I am today.” You found yourself leaning against Husk. He tensed at first, but slowly started to relax and even wrapped his wing around you to ensure comfortability for both of you. “Before I met Alastor, I didn’t have much either. I used to live with—”

Your family?

No.

They stopped being your family years before you met Alastor.

“—with people,” you decide to say. “They weren’t exactly… the nicest… There was one person… She was a nurse. Real religious type. She—” Your throat closes. Fuck. You don’t want to talk about this anymore.

Memories you want to forget flood back. A hand meant to be gentle gripping your shoulder with malicious intent. Fingers reaching and grasping your hair, pulling taught, pulling tight. That same hand poking you with a needle that made you feel numb, unable to move or talk or do anything.

A voice, meant to be loving and maybe it was, telling you, Come on, sweetie. I have work to do and need your help. Be good. Be quiet. Be still.

“She hurt you,” Husk says, “So you hurt her back.”

It’s not a question. More an invitation, and you say, “No. I didn’t hurt her.” Images flash again. Her on the floor, blood pooling around her head while the same needle that was used to keep you well behaved was jammed into her eye. With a mixture of feelings—relief, guilt but no regret, maybe a bit of happiness—you say, “I killed her.”

You’re not sure if Husk meant to wrap his wing tighter around you, almost like a shield, but he did. You scooted closer, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders as you rested a head against his soft chest.

“You did what you had to,” Husk says.

“I’m not sorry for what I did.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You shouldn’t be.” He lifts his hand to place on your head and you wait for it to hurt and it doesn’t. It won’t. He won’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you. “Don’t have to make up an excuse. Don’t have to do any of that. I get it, kid.”

You feel like Husk isn’t saying that just to say it. You feel like he’s saying it because he does get it. You feel like out of everyone in the small circle of demons you knew, Husk would understand the most.

He gets it.

You feel like out of everyone, Husk is the one whom you could give a small bit of your trust.

Chapter Text

You and Husk never mentioned what you talked about that day. But you did notice he’s started to walk a bit slower when you’d shadow him. He wouldn’t talk to you so gruffly anymore, he’d show more patience to any questions you had for him. He’d give you tips, show you the proper ways to weave through crowds, how to pickpocket someone without being noticed.

Then he started making bets with you. It started innocently enough, he’d challenge you to try and get through a crowd without bumping into a single person, and if you bumped someone you’d have to buy drinks. It might have gotten just a little out of hand, as you now owe him many drinks. It doesn’t help you like challenges and are only a tad headstrong. You learned the hard way to never make a bet with Husk, he’ll more than likely win.

When in the comfort and (moderate) privacy of your flat, he’d wrap a wing around you as you sat together. Sometimes he’d even pat your head. You didn’t really talk about much, more just sat and drank and listened to the music from your radio, but it was surprisingly peaceful.

There’d always be a certain look in his eyes. A look that said he understood. It was weird. Knowing someone who actually understood what you felt. How you felt. What you went through. Husk may not have all the details—you’re not sure if you have the mental or emotional capacity to recall it—but he still just… got it. It was nice.

And as time continued to pass, you even started sitting with him at the blackjack or poker tables. No matter what you wore, demons would instantly recognize you and become nervous. Understandably so, considering your reputation, but with time they finally started to not be as tense. Some demons even recognized you because they remembered seeing you with Angel. Which also meant many of them asked a lot of questions.

A lot of very uncomfortable questions.

A hiss or two from Grimm and a “Fuck off” from Husk was more than enough to get those types of demons to stop at least.

But while at the tables with Husk, “sitting with him” more so meant “helping him cheat.” It took some time, but you and Husk developed a system. You’d use Grimm and some of the other little shadows to look at the opponent's cards, and you’d use a form of morse code you developed together to tell him what the opponents had. It was fun, a lot of fun, and very amusing to see the look on the demons' faces when they realized they horribly lost.

And Alastor noticed it all. Of course he did, he’s Alastor.  

His eyes would always watch the way you interacted with Husk. How Husk would stand or sit a bit closer than he did before, always watching your back while you were all on an “outing” more than he’d done previously. How you’d do the same, standing closer or smiling more often when talking to Husk.

You knew he noticed how Husk himself would look visibly more relaxed around your presence and would calm down faster when you’d put a hand on his shoulder. Alastor’s head would always tilt a bit, eyes shining with curiosity. You doubted he was jealous. If he wanted you all to himself he’d just make it so. You’re sure it’s only because he’s never seen that side of Husk.

Your theory was confirmed when you sat with Alastor one day in your flat. He sat next to you on the sofa, both of you sipping coffee while planning out the next few weeks. He suddenly said, “You and old Husker seem to be getting closer, my dear.” He tilts his head at you in question. “I’m curious as to how and why that is, if you’ll indulge me.”

Your eyes look over his face. Past the smiling mask he always wears, there’s genuine curiosity. Your only response is a small mischievous smile. It never hurts to poke at him every once in a while. “What’s wrong, Al? Jealous?”

Alastor blinks once. Twice. Then he burst out laughing, head thrown back and a hand daintily pressed to his chest. “Hahahaha! Jealous? Oh sweetheart, what jokes you tell!” He leans closer to you, your noses almost touching, and takes your chin in his hand. “Jealousy isn’t something I feel, my dear. Ever. I know what belongs to me, and dear old Husker knows you are mine. I’m simply curious as to why you both have suddenly become quite good friends.”

“That’s a funny way of saying you don’t know your own partner.” His head tilts the other way, eyes narrowing with a growing smile. “Husk’ll be heartbroken to hear you don’t know him at all.” His claws gently tap against your cheek in patient waiting. You huff a small laugh. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle what you dish out constantly?”

“While it’s lovely to see your adorable smile, my dear. My patience can only be spread so thin.” His grip on your face tightens a bit.

“Alright alright. No need to crack an antler.” You slap his hand away and scratch at the small indents his claws left. Not enough to draw blood at the very least. “In all honesty Alastor, I don’t know.” You swirl your coffee around in your mug. “One day after an extermination we were just talking. Then after we just… kind of had an understanding of each other, I guess.”

“Oh?” Alastor leans closer again, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to bring you closer to him.  He’s practically vibrating with excited interest. His fingers bury themselves into your hair and you couldn’t hold back the immediate tension you felt if you wanted to.

He doesn’t pull or yank, but more combs out any tangles he finds. He always liked doing this, you found out. You’re not sure if it’s to feign gentleness, to genuinely try and ease your tension, or because he just can’t ever sit still and his hands need to be doing something. You always go with the latter. “And just what was it you were talking about that had sewn such fruitful seeds of friendship?”

Man, you did… not want to talk about that again. You could feel Alastor’s eyes boring into you as you stare at your mug. You peek up to lock eyes with him, seeing a triumphant glare shimmering in them. With a roll of the eyes, you heave a sigh. You knew it didn’t matter whether or not you wanted to talk about it. If Alastor wanted an answer, he’d get it one way or another.

 So you say, “We were talking about our lives back up top.” You take a moment to sip your coffee. “What Husk did after you died and… a little but of what I did before I met you.”

“Interesting.” He starts playing with your hair now, twirling some locks around his fingers. “What did Husker do after I passed? The old chap never told me. Breaks the heart, really.”

“I’m sure it does.” He chuckles at your response. You then shrug. “Neither of us really said much. He only talked a little bit about being a soldier in the military. Fought in some war, never said what it was about or anything.”

“A soldier? Husker?” Alastor laughs. “Ah, now that’s something! Never thought the old boy had it in him to do such a thing!”

That made you even more curious as to what kind of person Husk was back up top during his time with Alastor. The question is on the tip of your tongue, but before you can even ask, Alastor is first. “What else was there, darling?”

“Well…” You start fixing your bowtie, trying to find something for your hands to do other than holding your coffee mug. “Just. A bit about—y’know—my—” you hesitate, swallow, say instead “—the uh, people I lived with. The people I had you kill.”

Alastor hums, slowly falling into a light laugh. “Ah yes, I recall them. Their screams of pure anguish are a fond memory I often look back on.”

“Yeah.” Though different memories flash in your mind. Memories of a man with raised fists punching and scratching and bending or yanking at bones until they’re dislodged or broken. His mouth pulled back into a malicious sneer. A voice, gruff and angry and never sorry, You deserve this, you know. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.

“Well…” You stare at your hands now. “We talked a bit. About that. Not much because—well—I don’t—I didn’t want to—y’know—fucking—”

You stop your idiotic rambles when you feel Alastor removing his hand from your hair and him shifting. His finger places itself under your chin and he lifts your head to look up at him.  Then he uses his index fingers to push the corners of your mouth up into a smile. “Uh, Al—?”

“Smile, my dear.” He doesn’t pull his hands away. “Afterall, you’re never fully dressed without one. Can’t have people seeing you walk around naked!” He laughs. “But do you remember what I said when I first brought you here?”

“Al, that was decades ago.”

His smile only grows, leaning closer, his fingers still pushing your mouth up into a smile. “Weaknesses can and will be exploited if they’re shown, my dear. Your past may be a tragic one, true. However, you should wear it like a shield, not a weight.” He finally pulls his fingers back to pinch your cheeks. “Nothing is worse than allowing a rival to see you showing weakness.”

You nurse your cheeks when he pulls away, your brows knitting downward. You knew that’s why he always smiled. Yet you also knew that despite the constant smile there were still people and things that got under his skin. You knew there were things that irked him, annoyed him, downright pissed him off.

You can’t help but remember your conversation with Rosie so so many years ago. You can’t help but wonder just what made Alastor frown. The thought alone seems… well, unthinkable. You can’t even imagine him with a frown. You want to ask him, you do. But you also knew better than to ask such a thing, so you hold your tongue.

Alastor’s eyes roam your face, head tilted. “Still so tense, my dear! That just won’t do.” He leans closer to you. “Would you care for a joke? I find a good joke or two always helps lighten the mood when I feel rather tense.”

“Sweet Lucifer, no.” You’ll never admit it openly that you find his jokes awfully hilarious, even though your laughter is enough for him to know you like them. But he doesn’t need that stroke on his already huge ego.

He throws an arm around your shoulders and asks, “Too bad, sweetheart! Now tell me, what do you call someone with no body and no nose?”

“Ugh…” You slowly brace yourself. Here we go. “What?”

“Nobody knows! Hahaha!” Alastor throws his head back in a fit of laughter, his antlers accidentally scraping against the wall.

You rub your face and groan, but behind your hands the tiniest hint of a smile was forming. “God Alastor, that was so bad.”

“Did you know the first French fries weren’t actually cooked in France, my dear?” Oh god he’s continuing. Why is he continuing?

“No… I didn’t, Alastor. Where… where were they cooked?” His smile couldn’t get any bigger than it already was.

“They were cooked in Greece!”

Another bout of laughter from Alastor makes you groan even louder, though the groan melts into a small laugh of your own. You knew this was only stoking the fires of his ego, and laughing along to his horrid jokes weren’t helping, but you couldn’t help but laugh at just how bad they were.

“Where do you even get these jokes?”

“A lovely question, darling! A sad thing I cannot tell. It’s been a trade secret passed down my line for many generations!”

Okay, fine. Fine! Two can play at that game.

“Alright, fine. I do have an important question, though.” You chew your lip, trying to bite back your own growing smile.

Alastor raises a single brow at you. There’s a knowing look in his eye, but he plays along anyway. “I’d be more than happy to answer, sweetheart! Fire away!”

“How do you make holy water?”

“Hmmm…” He taps his chin in mock thought. “Why I’m not sure, my dear. I seem to be drawing a blank!” His cheshire-smile is impossibly large. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

“Alastor, the answer is quite simple.” You tut, shaking your head, then say, “You boil the hell out of it!”

There’s a beat of silence, both trying to see who will break first. In the end, you both break at the same time, falling into a fit of laughter.

“Ah, always a classic, my dear!” Alastor pats you on the head, a hint of pride in his voice. “I do believe we’ve gotten quite enough work done. Come, my dear! How about a nice show before supper tonight?”

He hops to his feet and offers his hand to you, which you happily take. In a fluid motion he pulls you up and links his arm with yours. “You know I wouldn’t have it any other way, Al. Where’s the show gonna be this time?”

“Hmm… a good question indeed, my dear.” Once more he taps his chin as you both step through darkness and are outside. The air was already getting colder the closer it got to winter. Yet both Alastor and your binding mark just seems to radiate body heat, leaving you barely able to notice the bite of the chill. “It’s been some time since we’ve taken a stroll Eastward. What do you think about there, darling?”

“If I’m remembering correctly—I think there’s a few demons that might be getting a little too comfy.” You look up at him. “Some whisper about how they’re safe from the Radio Demon. And I dunno about you, but that just won’t do.”

“Haha! I agree sweetheart, that just won’t do at all!” His smile turns more sinister, eyes squinting until they’re nothing more than glowing red slits. “Shall we be off?”

“Lead the way, my good sir.”

Chapter Text

Something was off about Alastor.

He’s been acting weird—well, weirder.

You don’t know what it is or why, but he just seems to be acting more… possessive. He was already possessive of you, it was obvious, painfully so. He hated it when other demons would touch you, be too close to you, sometimes even talk to you. His reaction was almost always the same, pulling you away from the offending demon, giving them a smile to scare them off, or use his shadows.

But it was different this time. You can’t put your finger on it, on why, but it was just… different.

He’s taken to having you do even more work for no reason other than to just be with him. Which was weird in and of itself because you’re almost always with him and doing work, there was no need to pile more on it.

He seemed even less tolerable of demons approaching you. Any who recognized you because they saw you hanging out with Husk or Angel would be scared off the minute they took one step towards you. The next second Alastor would appear, his arm around you, casually drinking some whiskey or coffee or what have you, pretending nothing happened.

While there were moments you did appreciate him stepping in, as some of those demons gave you a bad feeling, it still left a weird taste in your mouth. But what really got you was how he’d act around Niffty or Rosie or Husk

When Niffty would jump into your arms to give you a hug, or help you style your hair—something that took you years to let her do, but she promised to always be careful and she always is—or walk with you to get more clothes…

When Rosie would take your face in her hands and stroke your cheeks with her thumbs, or walk with you through Cannibal Colony with your arm in hers, or sit closer to her when you’d have tea with her…

When Husk would teach you some more on how to play cards, how to hide cards in your sleeve, have a drink with you, or sit with you on the sofa and wrap a wing around you…

You’d always, always feel Alastor’s eyes burning a hole into you. His smile would look more strained, his fingers twitch with a strange anxiousness.

Acting in such a way around other demons he didn’t know, you kind of understood. But with Niffty or Rosie or even Husk? It was starting to get unsettling and you wanted to find out what his deal was. You didn’t ask him while you were both out. You knew he wouldn’t talk about it in any place where someone could be listening. You waited until it was just the two of you in your flat.

“Okay Alastor,” you started. He had perked up, eyes darting away from the book he was reading and over to you. Your hands on your hips, lips pursed into a frown, you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Pardon?” Alastor tilts his head. His eyes and face showed honest confusion. “Whatever could you mean, darling?”

You elaborate, “What’s wrong with you?” You make a point in gesturing to his person.

“Oh, sweetheart, where to start?” He laughed. Usually you’d laugh with him, but you didn’t. His laughter died down, blinking. “Well my dear, if you’re truly wondering what’s wrong with me. I could say that it’s quite depressing to see you frown!” He closes his book and stands, walking up to you and reaches out with his index fingers, pushing the corners of your lips into a smile. “Smile, darling.”

You step back, causing his hands to flinch away from you. Usually you’d simply allow him to do so, having grown more tolerant of others you trusted touching you. But now you shied away, and confusion flashed in his eyes.

“You’ve been acting weird. Weirder than usual.” You cross your arms over your chest. “You really think I wouldn’t notice? You’ve been staring at me every time I’m with anyone else but you, even if I’m around Niffty or Miss Rosie or Husk. So I ask again, what’s wrong?”

Alastor’s head tilts the other way, blinking once, twice. You watch his face as he mulls over his words. He really doesn’t seem to understand what could possibly be wrong with his behavior. 

Yet there was also something else… something you couldn’t pinpoint in his expression. As his eyes bored into you his stare felt so voracious.

He seems to settle on something and finally says, “Why my darling dear, I just couldn’t help but notice how little time we spend together!”

He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close. You don’t like how his touch now sends a wave of static through your body. “It breaks my old shriveled heart that I don’t get to see your lovely face as often!” His hands slowly formed into his claws, digging into your shoulder as if to keep you pinned to his side. The static intensifies, your shoulders tensing.

“Call me a sap, but I do so miss the good old days when we’d dance across the river of blood we’ve spilled nearly every day.” Finally, he looks at you. “Just you…” His smile is downright predatory. “...and me.”

For a second his stare alone kept you frozen in place, but you managed to find the will to move. You reach up and put your hand on his. His eye and hand twitch at the same time, but he doesn’t react further. That caused you to hesitate. Usually he reacts with a threat-laced request for you to not touch him, but he’s… tolerating it.

You slowly pull his hand off your shoulder, ensuring his claws didn’t rip your coat, and take a step back. “Alastor, we still spend a lot of time together. You practically live here with me.” You dust off your shoulders, fixing your sleeves as a way to hide rubbing your arms. “So what if I have other people to hang out with, I still spend the most time with you.”

You look up at him again, his hand still hanging in the air as it were still around your shoulders. “Ah, yes… good old Husker and that… spider fellow.” He takes your chin, his grip much gentler than you’ve ever felt from him before. “Of course, you’re right my darling dear, as always!”

Your eyes remain on his face, trying to get a read on him. He doesn’t sound convinced, and neither were you. The tone he held when he mentioned Angel showed a clear one-sided animosity for Angel. But instead of arguing, you say, “Alright.”

“You don’t sound too convinced, my dear.” He’s one to talk. He pulls you into the beginnings of a slow dance. “Tell me, do you trust me so little to not believe me?”

“I—” You pause.

Do you really trust him?

He could get rid of you with just the blink of an eye if he really wanted. He’s a dangerous, murderous demon, you of all people know this more than anyone in Hell.

Yet even after all these decades, he’s kept you around. He’s never hurt you. He was… kind to you. At least, as kind as someone like Alastor could be.

Do you trust him?

Trust is something that’s so hard for you to give. Trust is something that, once broken, can almost never be regained.

Even with Niffty or Rosie or Angel or—or Husk you were hesitant to give just a fraction of that trust.

Do you?

You look up at him and answer honestly, “I don’t know if I trust you. Not completely, anyway.”

His smile grew ten-fold, twirling you around and letting you fall, landing into his waiting hand that easily catches you.

You didn’t flinch, knowing he would catch you.

He says, “Good answer, darling.” He pulls you back up, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Would you care to join me for a good old fashioned walk?”

“With some bodies trailing behind us?” You ask. Despite the frustration you felt at achieving practically nothing with this talk, you can't help but show the ghost of a smile on your face.

Alastor laughs, releasing you so he could properly offer his arm to you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart!”

It didn’t exactly go away with time.

If anything, as the months went by, nearing closer and closer to the next extermination, Alastor’s behavior got worse.

You couldn’t go anywhere without feeling Alastor’s eyes leering at you from afar, up close, or hidden. Wherever you went, he was always there, even if you couldn’t see him.

You’d get this weird feeling in your chest whenever you were out on your own and demons from casinos recognized you and didn’t show fear, some approaching and casually talking. It felt like something was wrapping itself around your chest, your arms, your neck and it burned hot hot hot. You quickly found out that it was your binding mark that burned so fiercely. And right after that you knew it was because of Alastor.

Because you weren’t looking at just him.

You learned the minute your attention was on him and only him, when you’d talk to him and go out with him, your arm linked with his, chatting or wreaking chaos together, he’d go back to… relative normal. You don’t understand. It’s not like anything’s changed too much, you’re still constantly glued to his hip, you just found something to do in your off time whenever he’s out doing his personal thing.

Something Alastor is apparently not a fan of, as he’s started giving you less and less off time unless it’s absolutely necessary (in his eyes) to leave you be and take care of personal business.

It was especially bad when you would talk to or hang out with Angel. You finally got a telephone to actually be able to call and talk to him. He’s a busy spider and you were a busy human, so it was difficult to make the time where you could actually talk or even spend time together. Though you miraculously managed to make it work. Somehow.

Or at least, whenever Alastor wanted to allow it to work out.

Any time Alastor found you on the telephone talking to Angel, he’d walk over and hang up on Angel, leaving you confused as to why he’d do that. Any time you were getting ready to go meet up with Angel, Alastor would pull you away suddenly and tell you that there’s work to be done and he needs you. Said work would always be something he clearly didn’t need you on.

You don’t understand why he doesn’t like Angel so much. He clearly knew you’ve hung out with Angel before and had very little issues with it, aside from the drug abuse—something you’ve decided you’re not exactly a fan of. Liquor and the occasional cigarette is more than enough for you, thanks.

Yet now he’s suddenly extremely disapproving of Angel, for some reason or another, he refuses to tell you.

To say it’s frustrating is an understatement.

You really wished Alastor would just tell you what was wrong, why he didn’t like Angel, and why he was acting this way. But knowing Alastor and going off of the last time you tried asking him, he’d sooner frown than admit something was wrong. 

Today however, you were on your—now rare—off time, as Alastor said he had personal business to take care of. You quickly learned a long time ago him saying “personal business” meant he didn’t want you with him. Most likely him dealing with Overlords he doesn’t want you near.

From what you’ve heard about a few certain Overlords, especially a certain TV demon Alastor full on despises, you can understand.

He rarely ever gives you a set time at how long he’d be gone. Sometimes it’s a few hours, a few days, sometimes even a few weeks. Judging from the look in his eyes when he said he had business to attend to, you get the feeling that it might be a couple days before you see him again. You have at least until the day before the extermination until he gets back.

Plenty of time to think and try and find out just what the fuck was wrong with him.

You sat in a jazz hall, leaning back against the bar while nursing a cup of whiskey. As you sipped your drink, you mulled over these last few months. You noticed that nowadays when you’d be with Alastor, his smile would always be brighter, bigger, more genuine. You knew the extra chipperness in his attitude was because you were with him, but you didn’t know why. Again, it’s not like much had changed, but he acts like everything is so different.

Well sure, you have more people to spend time with. Rosie, Husk, Niffty and even Angel on occasion, but that’s always during your time off. You’d spent plenty of time with Niffty and Rosie even before Husk came into the picture and he never had an issue with it. Ugh, it’s so fucking frustrating not knowing what was wrong. It’s even more frustrating because you’re having a difficult time reading him, more than usual.

In the middle of all this endless thinking, an all too familiar voice snaps you out of it, “Red? Che cazzo ci fai qui?”

Huh, speak of the devil—or spider in this case—and he’ll appear. It didn’t take long to find where that spider was coming from, since he was making a direct beeline for you.

Angel saddled up beside you, snapping his fingers to get the bartender’s attention to order a drink. His suit this time was black, his long stockings white with pink stripes on them and very fashionable high heels (because he absolutely needed to be taller than he already was), his gloves this time were more dark pink lace. He looked good.

He looked you over, admiring your own attire. Today you went with a red and black flapper dress with black gloves going up past your elbows, very nice high heels and a black headpiece with a small assortment of red feathers to top it all off. Niffty picked it out for you a long long time ago and you thought it’d be good to finally wear it, and was pleasantly surprised to find it quite comfortable.

Angel whistles low, “Damn, Red. You all dolled up for a reason?” He leans lower with a teasing smile. “You tryna convert me, toots?”

You scoff. “Nice try, but no dice. I know you’re into men, Angel. I’m not exactly a man, as you can tell.”

“Yeah, you ain’t no woman either, babe.” Angel takes the drink from the bartender, winking as he does so, and takes a sip. “If a customer is payin’ high enough I’m more than willing to play a little wrestling game with any guy, gal, or anything in-between.”

His wink is aimed your way that time and you can’t help but laugh.

“It’s astounding how often and how quickly you forget I’m not a fan of sex.” You finish off your whiskey and order another.

“Hey, it pays the shitty bills. Don’t judge!” He leans back in the stool to take a rather dramatic pose. Gesturing to his legs, he says, “This flawless body needs to be seen by all and used by all! Or, well, used by the highest bidder.” 

You both share a chuckle as you grab your refilled drink. “I’m not judging. What would give you that idea?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you’re not.” Angel throws an arm around your shoulders. “And I’m just a saint of a man who doesn't suck dick for a living.”

“You’re not?” You give him a shocked look, putting a hand to your chest in mock hurt. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time? Angel Dust, I’m disappointed in you.”

“What can I say, toots? A sinner through and through.”

“Didn’t you just say you were a saint?” You raise a brow at him, lips curling into a smile and holding back a laugh. It’s been much too long since you’ve actually seen Angel, it felt… nice seeing him again. He just had a way of getting your mind off of things that bothered you, whether he intended to or not.

“A sinner always lies, babe!” He gives you his own cheshire-like grin, mis-matched eyes shining with mischief. “Never expect the truth from me.”

“I never do, Angel.” You suddenly remember that porno short he talked about weeks ago over the phone and ask, “So what are you doing here? I figured you’d still be busy with that new short you were talking about.”

“Heh, surprised you remember that.” Angel shrugs, one of his hands making a so-so gesture. “That was finished a few days ago. I’m here ‘cuz I had business to take care of for the boss. Was just on my way back when I saw you.” He sips his own drink, a happy sigh leaving him. “‘Sides, the drinks here are top notch so of course I had to get one before makin’ my way outta here.”

You look over his face. He wasn’t lying, but he also wasn’t telling the truth. You get the feeling that yeah, there was business his boss needed finished, but Angel most likely wasn’t their first choice. Hell, he might’ve even gone against his boss’ wishes and went to get it done without telling them.

“And what about you, sweet cheeks?” He leans lower, grin turning sly. “Got a hot date, other than yours truly?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just off for the time being. Taking said time off to think.”

“Think or brood?” Angel laughs at your furrowed brows and deep frown. “You had a pretty fuckin’ sour look when I saw ya, scared off any demons that looked like they wanted to talk to ya.”

You blink, frown softening. “Did I look that bad?”

“Red, you looked ready to tear this whole bar into two.” Angel gulps down his drink. “You know what I think, toots? I think all that work your boss is makin’ ya do is gettin’ ya all tense.” His second set of arms wraps around you. “And I know just the thing to help ease some o’ that tension, if you waaaaaaaaaant.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh at Angel as he did a horrible eyebrow waggle at you. “I think I’ll stick with liquor, thanks. But I’d be more than willing to drink you under the table.”

“Hah!” Angel uses a free hand to place on his chest, giving you an incredulous look. “You drink me under the table? You better get ready to eat those words, toots!”

Angel won the drinking contest.

But you didn’t really care. It was the first time you’ve had that kind of fun in what feels like forever.

These past few months have been so stressful. You had been racking your brain to pinpoint why Alastor was acting so much more possessive than he usually does, trying to make things work, trying to ignore his eyes on you, the burning of your mark. Not to mention he just won’t talk to you. It was… a lot.

It was nice to finally get your mind off of it, even for just a bit.

Angel practically carried you back to his apartment—since he didn’t know where you lived—and you both sat on his couch. While he proceeded to get high off his ass, you simply leaned against him, reveling in how nice and soft his chest fluff was while he rambled about movies or shorts or drag shows he’s gonna be in.

The entire time you don’t even think about Alastor or his weird behavior. Angel probably doesn’t even know just how much he’s helping you right now. Hell, even if he did you’re sure he wouldn’t care. But either way, you’re grateful for it, whether he’s conscious of what he’s doing or not.

You should think of a way to pay him back later.

Right now, you’re too busy losing yourself in the fluff of his chest.

Chapter Text

You spent the rest of those days with Angel. You didn’t realize—nor would you probably ever admit in front of him—how much you missed spending time with him until you were actually with him.

Though he was clearly unhappy that you still vetoed any and all strip joints, you both still managed to make it work out. Afterall, there were still plenty of other bars, casinos, and clubs to go to and wreak some Angel Dust levels of chaos.

It felt so weird to not have Alastor’s eyes constantly on you while he was gone, but it was also a breath of fresh air. Sure, the shadows were still with you, and you knew they were keeping Alastor updated on what you were doing. Eventually, you knew he was going to voice his displeasure towards you hanging out with Angel, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Hell, in all honesty you rarely even thought about Alastor during your time with Angel. He kept you constantly moving, giving you little to no time to think about anything. The minute you both arrived at the designated meet up spot, he’d grab your hand to the “best damn casinos in town,” his words, not yours. Sometimes it’s not even a casino, sometimes it’s a bar, or a club, or even one of those picture-shows.

You could see why Alastor was so fond of them after seeing a few for yourself.

And now, as the days come closer towards the extermination and Alastor’s inevitable return, Angel managed to convince you to go with him to one of those drag shows the very night right before the extermination. It was supposed to be some sort of party like it was your last day, and Angel said he got you the best seat in the place.

You were hesitant at first. You didn’t want Alastor to suddenly pop in and drag you away in the middle of all of it. Not to mention it was right before the extermination, you can’t help but feel paranoid that the angels might come down in the middle of the show and slaughter everyone.

Even so, you wanted to be there for Angel. He always talked about how well he performs in drag shows, and it made you curious. He also assured you that the show (and after show) would be over way before the extermination started. So you relented and went.

You had no idea what you were expecting when going to one, since Angel didn’t exactly tell you much about it other than he’d be dolling himself up and performing some dances with other drag queens. You sat at your table and patiently waited, scritching at the space between Grimm’s horns with one hand and nursing a cup of rum with the other.

Suffice to say, you didn’t think the person who came out on stage first was Angel. He looked completely different. It wasn’t until you saw one particularly drunk demon crossing the threshold of the stage to touch Angel that he stabbed said demon in the eye with his heel, that you had an inkling it was Angel himself. The wink he sent your way and the sly grin confirmed it.

Huh. Wow. You had to admit he looked good in all that getup.

You watched his entire performance as he danced and walked around the area, taking dollar bills from patrons who held them out to him. You never thought he could bend that way when dancing—hell, you didn’t even know the fucker could dance. He was good, really good. You watched him get all kinds of money and more from patrons, his chest fluff practically bursting with dollar bills.

You can see why he’s so famous. He just knows how to make other demons puddy in his hands and have them do what he wants. Not to mention he knows how to make sure all eyes stay on him.

At one point, nearing the end of his performance, he strolled over to your table and you can’t help but tense. You had no money. You never have money on you. You never had a need for it. Would it be rude to not give him anything while everyone else was watching?

Wait, you could just fucking make some money with a subtle snap of your fingers.

Though as you were just about to do that, Angel had made it to your table, all spotlights that followed him now illuminating the both of you, and he grabbed your face. He gave your cheeks a good pinching before pulling it into his chest fluff and wiggled. You’re positive there’s a word for what he did, but that’s the only one you can think of at the time, since your brain is practically short-circuited. He smelled like he took a bath in nothing but perfume.

He shoved your face away and you could hear everyone either cheering, laughing, or sneering at you because you were “so lucky” to have the privilege of experiencing… whatever the fuck that was. All you could do was stupidly blink, face flushed and stare at Angel as he danced away from you. He winked and blew a kiss your way and all you could do was dumbly blink and fix your hair. You applauded with the other patrons as Angel’s performance came to a close.

Throughout the rest of the performance, you made sure to actually have some money for the other demons that came out to dance. Though not many came to your table, still quite fearful because of your reputation, those who did you made sure to generously tip. There were a lot of different types of noises, smells, and demons trying to touch or get close to the performers and honestly it was kind of a lot, but even so you still had fun.

As everything started coming to an end with the bar about to close for the night, Angel and the other drag queens came out still in full drag costume and took many pictures with other demons who came up and either asked or demanded one. No one really paid you mind, most keeping a wide berth with the occasional queen winking at you, to which you responded with an impish grin of your own.

You simply stayed where you were, watching everyone interact and finishing off your drink. You’re more than content to stay here until everyone is gone. You were waiting for Angel to be finished anyway so you could leave together. You’d walk him home before heading back to your flat and wait for Alastor to return and head to his panic room for the extermination.

And, of course, the cycle beginning anew with him being overly possessive. You fought the frown threatening to tug at your lips, and smiled at Angel as he approached your table.

He took your hand and practically dragged you out of your corner. “C’mon Red, meet the girls! Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ wallflower.” He wrapped one of his lower arms around your shoulders and you were suddenly in the middle of a crowd of other drag queens. Some were tall and thin like angel, others a bit shorter and more plump. Though all of them were taller then you.

“Queens,” Angel gestures to you, “This is my lovely escort, Red.”

They all stared at you. Some were unsure of how to react to seeing the Radio Demon’s right hand standing so casually next to Angel and not threatening to rip his guts out. Others gave a toothy grin and wave. Meanwhile all you can do is give a meek wave and an even weaker smile. “Hey. You all did great on your performances.”

“Not as great as me, obviously.” Angel fluffs up some of the hair from his wig, using you as a leaning post while he made a dramatic pose.

Your smile fell into a deadpan expression. You say, “I retract my previous statement, you all did way better than Angel.”

The other drag queens laughed as Angel exclaimed, “‘Ey! Che cazzo, Red?!” Clearly that small joke was enough for the rest of them to relax a little more around you.

One of the queens, a fox demon with dark grey fur, slowly turning to black as it reached her snout and the tips of her ears and tail, bends down to meet your gaze. Her bright blue eyes look you over, muzzle pulling back into a smile. “You’re pretty cute, Red. For a human.”

“They’re a little short, don’t ya think?” Another queen—a moth demon with dark purple skin and her wings acting more like a long shawl around her shoulders—also comes closer to get a look at you.

“At least they have a sense of style. Unlike someone, Anna,” says a demon with dark skin and one big yellow eye and red iris, scoffing and taking your hands while the moth demon—Anna, you guess—sputters and fails to think of a comeback. “Don’t pay attention to them, sweetheart. Unlike these sluts, I for one had a blast performing for you.” She blinks at you and it takes you a second to realize she’s actually trying to wink. With one eye. “And not just because you tipped very generously.”

“Red, what the fuck? You tip them but not me?” Angel puts one hand to his chest. “I’m hurt!”

“I was going to, until you decided it was a great idea to try and suck me into that fluff of yours.” Once more the queen's laugh, Angel included after giving you a vengeful shove.

“I like them,” says the fox demon. “You sweetie can call me Su Blime.”

“Anna Conda,” says the moth demon, her arms crossed with a small pout on her face.

“Faye Boulous.” The one-eyed demon blinks—er, winks at you again.

All the other queens introduced themselves and you all fell into a long conversation. A majority of it were the queens asking you a plethora of questions about where you shopped, who did your hair, how you knew Angel, and so on.

You go with it as smoothly as you can, answering their questions and trying to be social with them, all while trying not to give out too much information. You pretty much refused to name-drop Niffty, as she was the one that always helped you pick out clothes. Even if these drag queens were being nice enough to you, they were still demons and could just be trying to get information out of you to use against you later.

Thankfully your social awkwardness made it pretty obvious that conversations and small talk wasn’t exactly your strong suit. The talk soon changed from asking you a thousand questions to talking about their performances, when the next show was, and so on. All the while Angel kept an arm around you, shooing away any of the other queens who wanted you to cling to them.

“Ey, fuck off girls,” he’d say, shooing them with one hand while the other pulled you closer against him, dangerously close to his chest fluff. “This one’s mine. Go find your own!”

You laughed at the gesture and the other queens pouting, trying to save yourself from the apparent endless abyss that was Angel Dust’s chest fluff. “Sorry, queens. Maybe next time around—”

All too suddenly you feel your binding mark burning. Not even a second later, you feel Alastor’s eyes stabbing into your back.

A voice that wasn’t Grimm’s hisses in the back of your mind, he’s he’s not happy not happy doesn’t want spider touching touching you not allowed not not allowed you’re his his his.

While the queens were all talking, you slowly turned your head back to where your table was, all the way back in the corner, in the darkness.

And of course, the last thing you wanted to happen was happening.

Alastor was there. His fingers were laced together, chin resting upon them as half-lidded eyes stared right back at you. There was a dangerous glint in them and his smile was more akin to a poorly hidden snarl, lips pulled back so far his gums were showing. It made an involuntary shiver run down your spine. Behind him you see his shadow Eon, staring at you as well, a wide grin on their shadowy face.

You’re surprised to only just find this out after all these years that that’s what Eon sounds like, but it’s not like they were a chatterbox. Not towards you, at least.

You think back to them, What’s the issue? It’s not like Angel’s doing anything bad.

Eon’s smile grows ten-fold. Their head tilts to the side, their voice sound like it came from everywhere and nowhere, like a hundred voices talking at the same time, touching you touching touching you he knows he he knows you belong to someone he knows you belong someone else he should know he should know better than than to touch things that aren’t his.

Oh boy, this is gonna turn ugly if you don’t resolve this fast. Already your mark burns uncomfortably on your skin. It feels like it’s tightening around your chest, your throat. You take a deep breath, the effort a small struggle in itself. You need to think of how to get Angel out of the path of Alastor’s possessive rage.

You think to Eon, Tell him to cool it and wait. We’re almost done here. You look away from Alastor—the gesture causing the mark to burn even worse—and turn your attention back to Angel and the other queens. Some of them have already left after giving a wave and wink your way, all the while you’re forcing a small smile for them.

It’s all you can do right now, your brain is working overtime to think of how to make sure Angel gets out of this unharmed. It doesn’t help the mark is burning and choking you and it feels as though something is restraining itself from pulling you back.

Angel leans down, using his large wig as a shield and whispers to you, “You’re more tense than a virgin in an orgy, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Leave it to Angel to show concern in his own “Angel way.” You side-glance him, chewing the inside of your lip. “I uh… I gotta go,” you whisper, your voice sounding strained. It felt like a hand was wrapping around your throat, as if trying to stop you from talking to Angel. “My boss isn’t exactly… the happiest to discover… I’ve been here all night....”

There’s a weird look in his eyes. It’s the same look Husk had back when you first told him a fraction of your past. It was a look of understanding, maybe even a hint of worry. But it was gone in an instant, replaced with disappointment and boredom.

“Man, your boss really is a stick up the ass. Lemme change and we’ll leave, I guess,” He sighs with a new found dramatism to it. He and the other queens walk off to go change and you unconsciously scratch at your neck, feeling the mark burn under your fingertips.

You turn again to lock eyes with Alastor. He lifts a single hand, slowly gesturing with his index finger for you to come to him. All the while he smiles, close-mouthed now, his eyes shining with an emotion you can’t name but it makes uncomfortable goosebumps run along your skin. You hesitate, glancing back to where Angel and the other queens left to change. You didn’t want to just ghost on him, you wanted to at least say goodbye first—

Your body moves on it’s own, stumbling towards Alastor and into the darkest corner of the bar. Looking at him again, you see his fingers moving as if pulling invisible strings. When you’re by his side, he stands—no he looms over you, and wraps an arm around your waist. The shadows close in on the two of you and you feel that stomach-dropping sensation as you’re traversing from one place to another.

And then you’re back in your flat.

Alastor’s hand grabs your face in a startlingly rough grip and forces you to look up at him. “My dear…” He says, his voice low and dangerous and laced with static and venom, “I don’t remember telling you to… fraternize with that spider and his associates…”

You frown at how his fingers slowly morph into claws, digging into your cheeks. His other hand remains glued to the small of your back, keeping you trapped in his hold. The mark burned burned burned against your skin and it kept wrapping itself around your arms, your chest, your throat. It hurt to breathe. You say slowly, “I don’t… remember you telling… me not to do such a thing.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls you closer, ever closer, until you’re practically being crushed against his chest. “I thought you were smarter than this.” He leans down, down to whisper into your ear, “To know I do not approve of that spider… and therefore wish for you to be nowhere near him.”

Your frown only deepens. You wheeze, “Why?”

Alastor tilts his head. “Why?” He repeats the question. “Darling, have you ever taken the time to ask the chap just who he works for?”

Who he works for? You knew he worked for some guy named Val, that’s it. You never tried to push for any more information on who his boss was, knowing it was a weird, touchy subject with him. “Why should that… m—matter?” It was only becoming more painful to talk. You attempt to lean back and get some of your personal space returned to you, but Alastor’s grip on you is like a vice. To say you were unsuccessful is the same as saying Hell’s rather large. “He doesn’t know… who you are. We… We never traded—” you take a second to try and breathe, with barely any success “—stories about our… bosses because there… there was no need.”

“And who’s to say he isn’t lying?” He finally releases your face to bury his fingers into your hair, clutching the back of your head. Involuntarily, you freeze, tenser than you’ve ever been. Your shoulders hunched up and you watch him closer than you ever have before.

It’s not like he hasn’t done this before.

He’s always played with your hair, touched it, twirled it around a finger.

But the way he’s holding it now, his fingers tangled into your locks.

He wouldn’t pull.

He wouldn’t.

…

Would he?

All you can do is stare as he continues to talk, “Who’s to say he’s not simply trying to get closer to you, darling? Waiting until the right moment to betray that small ounce of trust you’re giving him.” His smile turns absolutely manic.

He leans closer, closer until your noses are touching. “Your fragile, fragile trust. It would sadden me so to see you become upset over something that can be seen coming miles away.” His claws holding onto your lower back dig in deeper, causing you to wince. “Why are you doing this to yourself, darling?”

“What?” You find yourself saying, “What… the fuck, Alastor? Where is this… coming from?”

“Where is what coming from, my dear?” His grip on you couldn’t get any tighter than it already was. The static in the air resonates in your bones and you can see his eyes burning, burning with an unfamiliar emotion. “Concern for my dear right hand? The last thing I want is for your poor little heart to be broken.”

“N—No.” You finally find it in you to use the shadows to free yourself from his grip. You carefully breathe, the mark loosening enough for you to talk properly again, but still felt uncomfortably tight against you. “What you’re showing here? It’s… it’s not concern.” You carefully comb out your hair, watching his fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“I knew you didn’t like Angel… but you never told me why. You never gave me a reason to not hang out with him. You never gave me a logical reason. You’re just… going off of assumptions, paranoia. You never do that.” You run your fingers through your hair, exasperated. “Enough is enough, Alastor. What the fuck is going on in with you? With this?” You gesture to him.

Alastor blinks, his smile stretching wider and wider to impossible lengths. “Enough is enough?” His chuckles slowly break out into laughter. “Enough is enough, you say?”

He closed the distance between you in one step, his hand snapping forward and wrapping itself around your throat. “And who are you to say such a thing to me, my darling dear?” He yanks you closer, his grip tightening to the point you reaching up instinctively to grasp at his hand.

“Has that spider tainted your mind so much…” The static in the air, in your ears, in your very core, grew in volume and intensity. “...that you’ve forgotten one tiny yet oh so very important detail, darling?”

He doesn’t lean down, he lifts you up so you’re face to face with him, your toes don’t even graze the floor anymore. His antlers crack as they grow in size, his eyes melting into radio dials. His voice is so thick with radio static you almost have a hard time hearing him.

“I own you.”

He drops you suddenly as you feel the binding mark burning hot hot too hot. Giving you no time to recover, his arm wraps around your shoulders, his hand grasping your face once more and he pulls you closer, forcing you to look up.

Before you is a scene from so many years—so many decades ago. Past you and Alastor standing in the dark swamp with your make-shift summoning circle. He—past Alastor—had an arm wrapped around past you, and you were discussing the terms of the deal.

“I don’t care what happens to me at the end of this deal,” past you says, “as long as my end of the bargain is fulfilled.”

“Do you remember now, darling?” Alastor—current Alastor—releases your face to gently stroke your cheek. “You gave yourself to me. On a silver plate no less!” He laughs, twirling you around and dipping you low to the ground, all while the scene melts into shadows and you’re both back in your flat. “The terms were to do what I said, when I said… without question.”

He lifts you back up, one hand wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. “And when I want you to stay away from that spider…” His grip on you tightened, his smile stretching wider and wider. “I expect you to follow that wish without question.”

You stare up at him, brows furrowed and teeth gritting behind a close mouthed frown. You recall the terms of the deal. It’s something you never can or will forget. You stare him dead in the eye and make your retort, “I remember, Alastor. I also distinctly remember you saying I could do as I wished when I wasn’t needed.”

His eyes widen a fraction and you can’t help but feel a little victorious. “And much to the terms of our deal, I did as I wished when you didn’t need me. And what I wished to do was spend time with Angel.” His grip on you tightens at the mention of Angel. “It’s not my fault you’re deciding to suddenly become jealous for no good fucking reason.”

“Jealous, darling?” Alastor chuckles. “You misunderstand. I do not get jealous. I merely don’t enjoy other demons I don’t… hmm… approve of touching things that belong to me.”

Decades ago you would’ve believed it. Afterall, it’s not like he hasn’t done this before.

But now, you find it difficult to believe his word. Hell, months ago you were doubting he was jealous of your bonding with Husk. But with how his grip is tight on you, refusing to let go, his eyes swallowing you whole, never moving away from you. Only on you you you.

Now you’re positive he is jealous.

He just doesn’t seem to know it, or he’s in denial. You’re not sure. You’re not sure if you even care right now.

“And why do you not approve of Angel?” Again, you have to shift into the shadows to free yourself from Alastor’s vice-like grasp, and cross your arms defiantly. “I know for a fact it’s not because he’s crass. Husk is crass and you have no problem with him. Is it because Angel’s a pornstar? He’s lewd? Or because he’s not under your control as well?”

The shadows close in on the two of you, swirling at your feet. Tendrils of darkness licking at your ankles and coiling around them. You both keep your eyes pinned on the other, neither backing down yet neither advancing.

“Well? What is it?” You stare into those red red eyes of his. “Or are you drowning in so much of that stupid pride of yours and in so much denial that you won’t admit that you’re just being a jealous asshole?”

“I would watch my tone if I were you, darling.” His fingers twitched, most likely holding back the urge to wrap them around your throat again. “My patience can only be spread so thin.”

“Then answer my question.” You can see he’s trying to think of an answer. An excuse. Something to justify his behavior, his attitude. Yet as he thinks, you can see that there’s not even a single hint of regret on his face.

Anger simmers deep in the pit of your gut. Even now he still thinks he's right? That his behavior is justified?! You exhale sharply through your nose, trying to keep your anger under reigns. You need to get out of here. You know whatever Alastor gives you is only going to anger you further and you don’t want that.

“I’m not gonna stand around and wait for you to think of some other bullshit excuse, Alastor.” You take a step back, kicking at the shadows that dissipate like smoke. You see his eye twitch. “I’m spending the extermination with Husk. Let me know when you’re done throwing your stupid temper tantrum, and we’ll take later.”

You turn and start walking away

when suddenly

Alastor

grabs

your

hair

and 

pulls it.

Suddenly, all too suddenly an old, nearly forgotten panic ignites inside you and it roars.

You don’t hear Alastor say, “Do not walk away from me.”  

You don’t hear anything but 

No no no no no no!

the loud ringing in your ears

Stop stop stop stop please stop stop don’t hurt me don’t don’t hurt me stop stop!

your mind screaming

NO NO NO STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP IT STOP!!

at you

RUN AWAY RUN AWAY RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN AWAY AWAY AWAY!!

to fight back.

Your body moves on its own, yanking your hair free and whirling around. A fist raised.

And connects

with Alastor’s

cheek.

Later you’ll wish you hadn’t done that.

Later, you’ll feel the cold claws of regret delve deep deep into your heart, wishing you could take it back.

Later you’ll be lying in your bed, waking to Alastor’s knuckles barely touching your cheek, and whispering nonsense to him because the sedatives may have worked a little too well.

But alas, that’s all for later.

Because now, your heart hammers loud loud too loud in your ears. Your whole body shakes, your breathing ragged and broken and again your body moves on its own. You run out of your flat, out of the building, into the streets, into the dark alleys. You don’t know where you’re going, but you run and run and run until your feet hurt and then you run some more.

Alastor, all the while, simply placed a hand upon his cheek where you struck him, a smile still present but small and eyes wide with surprise and shock, his monocle having been knocked off from the blow. It didn’t take him long to register the tiniest hint of blood trickling down his chin.

He looked at the blood on his hand, then at the door, his smile growing wider and wider. “Is that truly how you wish for this to be, darling?” He chuckles darkly, his voice morphing and glitching like a radio on the fritz. He lifts up a hand.

“So be it.”

Alastor snaps his fingers.

Chapter Text

Running is all you can do right now.

It’s the only thing

RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!!!

on your mind.

You keep running and running, your breathing jagged, panic keeping you moving, going, getting away from there. You don’t even know where you’re going. Where are you now? Where were you before? How long have you been running?

You don’t know. You don’t care. You just need to keep going. Keep running.

You have to get away get away now now now.

You only stop running when you trip and nearly fall flat on your face. You stumble up to a building, wheezing, coughing, leaning against the building for support. Tears well in your eyes, your heart pounding so loud in your ears as you keep coughing and spitting and wiping your eyes.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice shaking, “I’m okay… I’m okay…” You find a small, dark alcove between two buildings and lean against a wall, wheezing, wheezing, trying to calm the hammering of your heart.

Breathe.

You have to breathe.

Why is it so hard to just fucking breathe?!

You gulp in air, exhaling and grasp your trembling hands—they’re shaking so bad you have to stop it, stop shaking—and try to calm down, just try you have to try.

You try again to breathe, to be quiet. You can’t let them find you and see you like this. They’ll take advantage, they’ll hurt you, they’ll break you, they’ll…

They’re…

they’re…

they’re dead.

The people in your mind, the people with raised fists or needles or weapons are dead. They’re dead.

They’re dead.

It’s okay.

“It’s okay… it’s okay… I’m okay…” You breathe. In, then out. In. Out.

Slowly, much too slowly, the panic that had you moving in the first place starts cooling down. Your heart, though still pounding, no longer thumped against your eardrums and deafened you from everything else. Your hands still trembled, but only slightly. Your breathing, still raspy, was more even.

And slowly, ever so slowly, you start recalling what threw you into the panic you were in in the first place.

The person you were running from.

The person you punched—

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

You punched—

You punched Alastor in the fucking face.

Well—you had a reason, yeah. And you absolutely feel like he deserved it, sure. But it doesn’t mean you should’ve actually done it. And it’s not gonna matter to him whether or not you had a reason or if he deserved it (which he will absolutely believe he didn’t). He was going to fucking erase you if he found you. Did he already know where you were? Shit, this was bad.

You force yourself to stand, trying to keep your breathing even despite feeling like you’ve run at least seven marathons. You walk to the edge of the alleyway, using the wall as a support as you’re positive you’d trip and fall on your face otherwise. Standing out near the edge of the alley, you look around.

You seemed to be in a section of the city that was nothing but sleazy apartment complexes. The northern section, if you remember correctly. Demons left and right were scurrying about, none of them really paying you mind. None of them even seemed to notice you. You lean against the wall once more, breathing slowly now, slowly. You rub your face and sluggishly slide down the wall and groan.

You can’t believe your body moved on its own like that.

You can’t believe you punched Alastor. No matter how obnoxious he’s been in the past, purposefully trying to anger you just for the fun of it… you’ve never struck him. Not once.

But he… he pulled…

He pulled your hair.

You still feel the ghost pain of his fingers tangling themselves into the lush length of your hair and pulling. Already your hands begin shaking once more, your breathing turning ragged.

Stop panicking. Stop stop stop.

You undo your bowtie, unbutton your coat, and undo the top button on your dress shirt. It’s too hard, too hard to breathe, you need more air. You close your eyes and try once more to even your breathing.

Calm down. Calm down. It’s okay.

It’s…

It’s okay…

…

Is it?

You never thought Alastor would stoop to such lengths. He was never the type to grab someone’s hair, not like that, no matter how angry he was. You of all people should know, you’ve known him for decades. Sure, he was sadistic, he reveled in the cries of his victims and would laugh as he tore them apart. But even then, you’ve never seen him do that.

You stumble back into the alley, tucking yourself between some dumpsters and hug your knees close to your chest, your head thumping against your knees and grabbing at either side of your head. You sit there for who knows how long and think the same thing over and over.

What are you supposed to do now?

You could go back to Alastor. You could try again. Try talking. But with how well it went the last time… You severely doubted it. If anything you’re positive he’s going to make you grovel at his feet and beg for forgiveness. And damn your pride, but you’d sooner die than do such a thing.

You could go to Rosie. She’d make you tea and she and her Roselings would sit with you and maybe she’d even sing to you. Her singing was always nice, it always made you feel safe, calm. You know she’d listen to you rant. Afterall, it’s not often you talk for very long. You’ve always just talked when spoken to, she’d enjoy listening to you talk. Maybe she could even provide some words of wisdom.

You could go to Niffty. You’re positive she’d be ecstatic to have you over. She’d most likely go on a cleaning spree of her place and you’d be roped into helping her. Or she’d sit with you and talk for hours and hours about everything and nothing, just to fill the silence. While you don’t think you’d have it in your heart to tell her about what happened, not right now, you’d still enjoy her company nonetheless. Maybe she could finally teach you how to cook.

You could… you could go to Husk. He’d grumble about it, but you know he’d let you stay for a bit. He’s not good with words, he never was, but he’s good with keeping company. You know he’d wrap his wing around you, hold you close. Not just because he could, because he knows it makes you feel safe. Maybe he’d even show you a magic trick to get your mind off of things.

You could.

You could go to any of them. You know they wouldn’t mind having you. Letting you stay with them for a short time.

But the issue was they all knew Alastor. They were all connected to him in one way or another. Rosie being a close friend, Niffty and Husk being his underlings. If you went to one of them, Alastor would absolutely find you in a wink—that is, if he wasn’t already just spying on you right now. And the last thing you want at this time is to see Alastor.

You could—

No it’s stupid. You can’t. You shouldn’t. Going to Angel would just make things worse than they already are. You’re positive if you went to him, Alastor would be on you in a flash and most likely turn Angel into nothing but a pile of spider mush. No. You can’t go to Angel. Part of you wishes you could. You remember that look in his eyes that was only a couple hours ago now. That look of understanding, that flash of concern. But you know it’d just make it worse if you went to him.

Besides, he’s probably hunkering down for

for…

for the…

Your eyes snap open and your head shoots up. You slowly peak out of your little hiding spot and look around. All too aware of your surroundings now, you notice just how quiet it was. There were still demons out and about scrambling to find a hiding spot, but they were all moving quietly—or at least they were trying to. You look around at this small alley you were in. There’s no way this spot will work as a hiding place.

Tick-tock.

Should you just swallow your pride and go back to Alastor? Hide until it’s over and just walk away again? You know you wouldn’t be able to stand being around him for too long, you’re still angry, still upset. But you’re not sure if that’s going to work out very well. He most likely let you leave the way you did because you shocked him so much after striking him. You doubt he’s going to let you go in such a way a second time.

Already you can see that glimpse of Heaven—always looking so close yet so far—brightening a fraction. Time was running out for you, you needed to move.

But where should you go? Where could you go?

Tick-tock.

You take in your surroundings. You recognized these streets. You were actually near where both Angel and Husk lived. Husk’s was a bit more of a hike; and Angel’s is closer, but… you’re positive if you hide with Angel during the extermination, he won’t last long after it when Alastor finds you. You’ll have to just go to Husk.

So you start moving as quickly and quietly as you can, on your way checking every single place you possibly could.

Tick-tock.

Cellar doors were locked. Shops, apartments, clubs, nearly every door was barricaded and those that weren’t you could already tell would act as a horrid hiding spot. The angels would find you within a minute if you hide in any of these spots.

Tick. Tock.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There’s nothing here for you.

Are you even going to make it to Husk’s place before it’s too late?

Fuck, calm down. You can just travel through the shadows and be there in less than a second.

Tick. Tock.

You imagine Husk’s living space. The piles and piles of empty bottles of alcohol littering the area. Overfilled cigarette ashtrays. Messy kitchen of reheatable food. It’s clear in your mind. You walk over to a particularly rundown building and breathe, pressing your hand into a dark shadow and stepping forward.

Only to walk into the wall.

…

Wait…

What?

Tick.

Tock.

You stare at the shadowy wall, feeling that panic settling in you again. What the fuck? Why can’t you warp? Why is it not working?

You try again.

Nothing happens.

Again.

Again…!

Again!

Nothing

happens.

You try to even your breathing. Why why why is it not working?! You look up, seeing winged figures in the sky coming down. Oh, fuck. You duck into the rundown building and find a nice darkened section of it. It’s not much, but it’s better than being out in the open.

Why did it not work? Why did the warp not fucking work?

You desperately call out in your mind, Grimm, I need a hand here.

But there was no response.

You try calling out again, Grimm! Not in the mood for a joke!

Nothing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it.

You think about Alastor’s old workroom, the image is so clear in your mind you’ve been there so many times. You even imagine Alastor sitting on one of the stools, reading a book probably, patiently sitting and waiting for the extermination to be over.

You press against the dark wall, the image clear in your mind.

But nothing happens.

No.

No no no…

You lean back from the wall, looking at the shadows, the darkness, pressing your hands against the wall and thinking of the workroom.

Nothing happens.

NO NO NO!

Grimm? You call to the little shadow, your little shadow as you turn and watch the angels coming down from Heaven. GRIMM?!

There’s

no

response.

He did it…

He fucking did it…

Alastor took away your powers.

You look at the binding mark on your hand. No longer did it burn. No longer was it even just a little bit warm.

It…

It was cold…

You’re ripped from your thoughts as you hear the wings of the angels flapping as they come down, some of them landing right outside of the building you were hiding in.

You dare not peak. You have to be stupid—downright suicidal to risk such a thing. Part of you is damning your stubborn pride for not just going back to Alastor when you had the chance. You should’ve just gone back. You should’ve swallowed your pride and returned to him. You should’ve told him that you two need to talk about it after the extermination.

You should’ve.

But you didn’t.

And now here you were, hiding in a rundown building listening to demons running and screaming only to be ultimately silenced. You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there, listening, waiting, but it’s all you can do.

You suddenly hear the door to the building cracking and breaking open as a demon’s body flies in. It skids along the ground, stopping right by your hiding spot. The demon was still alive, groaning and choking on their own blood. Their eyes locked with yours and their hand twitched, trying to reach for you until—

SHINK!

—a spear is jabbed into the demon’s head. You’ve watched plenty of demons die. You’ve seen life leave them before. You’ve been the reason life has left them. You don’t really feel anything watching this one die in front of you. But you do feel something when you slowly look up and see the being before you as it pulls the spear out.

This being loomed tall above you. They were lithe, their skin and feathers a deep gray and their wings unfurled to reveal slowly shifting from light to dark grey feathers. Their horns curled back and looped over itself, all while a white halo hovered over their head, looking like little blades were attached to it. In their hand was a long, sharp, blood-soaked spear. Their presence alone was too much for you, the aura they radiated was a mixture of something holy and something malicious. On their face appeared to be a mask of some sorts. It glitched, twitching, changing until it was one big eye, the other one being a large X, and a wide wide smile on their face.

All you can do is stare up at this creature—is that what angels really looked like? So much for white wings and innocence. Then again, you’re sure that the executioners are different from other angels. Should you move? Should you stay? You don’t know what would be better. Demons can easily smell you, your blood, especially when you’ve been hurt. Are angels the same way? You don’t think you should stick around to try and find out.

Deciding it’d be best to get the fuck outta Dodge, you move as quietly as you can while the angel is busy stabbing the demon a good seven more times to make sure it was dead—even tough the initial stab had indeed killed it. You just need to go deeper into the building. Maybe you’ll be safe there. Or maybe you could go out the back door and just try to sneak around all of the angels. That probably wouldn’t work.

Is this what the demons who didn’t have a hiding place have to deal with? Shit, you can’t help but feel for the poor sons of bitches. But hey, better them than you—

A clawed hand lands on your shoulder, causing your whole body to go rigid and stop you in your tracks. The angel turns you around, their head tilting at an unnatural angle as they looked you over. They leaned in to get a good look at your face, your clothes, probably even take in your scent.

Then they spoke, their voice sounding almost like it was being spoken through a gramophone, “Human?” Their other hand lifted their weapon, pointing the tip of the spear under your chin, then using it to move aside your collar and see the binding mark. “Oh, you poor little thing…” They say, though their voice held no remorse and their face—their mask didn’t change in the slightest.

“What a sad life you must’ve led…” Their hand removes itself from your shoulder and grabs your face, their claws digging into your skin. “To have stooped so low… tell me, sad human…” They lean closer, closer, until their mask grazes the tip of your nose. The mask glitches, morphs, the smile on it borderline psychotic.

“Was it all worth it?” Their wings unfurled, moving around you and blocking you from the rest of what was going on outside. You were blind and deaf to the rest of the world around you. All the screams, all the flapping of wings, all of it was muffled to you. The only thing you could see was this angel standing before you. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart from all the adrenaline you were feeling being injected into your veins.

You needed to leave, now.

They tilt their head, as if waiting for an answer from you. Your throat feels too dry to even think about speaking. You lick your lips, stare at them dead in the eye, and say with a voice much too hoarse, “Yes. All that and more.”

“That’s too bad.” They release your face and twirl the spear in their other hand. “To think I would have freed you from the binding, too…” They trailed off, as if waiting for you to respond with something. They’re trying to bait you. Even with the mask on, you can see it in their posture, hear it in their voice. They just want you to show them where Alastor was so they would kill both him and you.

You may be angry at Alastor, but not enough to want him dead.

You take a step back, they take a step forward. “Don’t you want to be free, sad human?” They reach out with their free hand and you step back further. “Don’t you want it all to end? I can end that for you. End the pain. The tears. The sadness.”

You side-eye a pipe sticking out of the wall near you. You look up at the angel, taking several more small steps back as they close in on you, their smile ever present. “You talk a lot of hot shit, calling yourselves holy and pure.” Their head tilts curiously at you, their laughter sending goosebumps up your arms. Your hand moves slowly, slowly towards the pipe. “So quick to hide your own sins behind the reasoning of it being righteous…” Your fingers coil around it. “Thanks, but no fucking thanks.”

CLANG!

The pipe bends when it connects with the side of their head. You didn’t expect them to stumble the way they did, you didn’t think that stupid plan would actually work. You’re positive they’re just humoring you, pretending to be shocked by you suddenly striking them. Or maybe they are, after all, not many demons would even dream or get the chance to try striking an angel.

Either way, you’re not sticking around long enough to ask them. You turn heel and book it deeper into the building. The deeper you go in, the more clutter there is that you have to hastily climb over. You slam any and every door behind you in hopes to slow down the angel. At least the ones that didn’t instantly fall off the hinges.

It’s as you’re reaching the doorway that leads out to the alley you stop, doing your best to calm and quiet your breathing. You don’t remember hearing the sound of clutter behind you as you ran. Your breathing slowly starts to even itself out enough for you to listen closely. Past the other angels finding and killing any poor sap that didn’t hide well enough, you didn’t hear anything chasing after you. You look up at the door labeled “EXIT.”

They went around and are waiting for you to run out, aren’t they? They have to be. There’s no way they’re not. Should you turn around and try to sneak out, or would that just give them a chance to go back around, or get their ally to trap you? You could try warping again. Would it even work? Should you risk trying it right now of all times?

In your hesitation, you see that same angel slowly step into the doorway, their mask cracked from where you hit them with the pipe. Their mask glitches and morphs, but that smile of theirs never goes away. They step closer to you.

“You…”

Step.

“Hit…”

Step.

“Me…”

Step.

Their grip was tight on their spear, their hand shaking. Their wings unfurled, feathers ruffling and the air around you felt downright suffocating. “You… a sad little human… dare…” Step. Step. Step. You back away with each step they took until your back hit the wall. The angel comes closer, closer still. “Hit… me.”

The angel stops in front of you. They tilt their head, a piece of their mask cracking off and falling to the floor, and then their hand shoots out and wraps around your throat. “I wonder… if I made you scream… would your master come to save you?” The smile on their mask twitches. They lift you off the ground and throw you out the door and into the alley. Your back hits the brick wall hard and before you can even try to recover the angel’s hand is around your throat again. They’re lifting you up, taking you out of the alley.

“Should I kill them first? Or you?” They muse aloud while you feebly try and fail to pry their hand away from your throat. They were holding too tight, it was getting hard to breathe. “Would you rather watch your master die? Would it bring comfort? Can a soulless being feel comfort? Your heart thumbs so loudly, I suppose it’s possible… Does that mean you’d be sad to see them go?”

They stop in front of one of the many many vending machines in Hell and they look at you again. “They haven’t tried to come and save you, though. Have they left you? Thrown you out right as we’ve begun our work and hoped we would end—” they slam you into the vending machine “—your poor—" slam "—sad—" slam! "—existence?” The final slam causes the glass of the vending machine to break. You feel several shards of glass embed themselves into your back and you bite back a groan of pain.

“I wonder… if they would still come for you if I were to harm you.” They slam you into the wall next, digging the glass shards deeper into your back. “They can tell when you’re in danger, can’t they?” They finally release your throat. You gulp in a breathful of air, coughing and wheezing, blood slowly dripping down your chin. The white coloring of their mask slowly faded to red, their grin growing wider and wider and wider.

“Shall we test it, sad human?” They lift their spear and with a resounding shink! jam it into your abdomen. They force you to the ground and give their spear a good twist.

All you can as a response is groan and cough, already feeling more blood trickle down your chin. You desperately grasp at the spear, trying to keep it upright as the angel lets it go and takes one small step back. They kneel down in front of you, tilting their head as you try to keep the spear in. You knew taking it out would only make the bleeding worse. You probably won’t even survive the blood loss if it was removed. Fuck, you don't even know if you're going to survive your current blood loss.

“Such a sad, sad little thing you are.” Already your vision is blurring, but you can feel the angel brushing their knuckles along your cheek to feign gentleness. “Even now you refuse to cry out for them. Has their manipulation affected you so that you no longer care for your own being? Are you thinking about them right now? Even as you're bleeding out? Have their words twisted your mind to where you can only think about them?” Even as they say all of this, you don’t hear a hint of sorrow in their voice. If anything, they’re enjoying your pain.

So much for being perfect saints.

You’re not sure what else they’re saying at this point. The pounding of your heart is so loud in your ears that their words are garbled, muffled. But you know the angel sits with you for the rest of the extermination. Until you hear the resounding gong gong gong of the clocktower.

You hear the angel speaking, saying something, but you can’t hear it at this point. It’s so hard to stay awake. You feel something brushing your cheek, and then you don’t see a gray blurry blob in your vision anymore. Just a red red sky. You see the flashes of blue and green and more red as the fireworks go off, signalling the end of the extermination.

You wonder how long you’re going to lay here before Alastor inevitably comes to collect you. You wonder what he’s going to do. No doubt patch you up so he can properly punish you, probably saying, “I’m the only one who can leave you bloodied,” or something along those lines.

Man, you really shouldn’t have punched him.

You shouldn’t have let your body move on its own like that.

You shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

You shouldn’t berate yourself like this either, not while it’s so… so hard to keep your eyes open.

Maybe

maybe just a little nap

won’t hurt anyone none

you’re sure he’ll come get you

soon…

Yeah…

You’ll just

close your eyes for

for just a little bit.

As you close your eyes and your consciousness fades, you hear the garbled sounds of a familiar voice calling out to you.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Angel had to complain about with post-extermination—aside from how fucking cold it gets afterwards—it’s how many bodies there are outside the door to his apartment building. These heels may not be new, but they’re still expensive and it’s annoying trying to get the blood out. But hey, what can ya do? At least he was able to step over the bodies easy enough this time around. Having such long, luscious legs certainly helps.

Let’s see… he had to get Val’s money for the next few weeks soon. He's also heard of one of those pieces of shit bird demons that janked Val on his money during that one deal that was still breathing, somehow. He could take care of that for the boss. Then he has that new short that’s gotta be filmed soon. He’s got time before he’s needed for that, at least.

From what he’s heard they’re still trying to find a good place to shoot that. While he doesn’t really care where it’s shot—it’s a place he’s getting fucked at, that’s all that matters to him—he’s not gonna say no to some more time off. Maybe he could check out that new drug shop that opened up recently. He heard they got some new shit. And from what he’s heard it’s damn strong.

Or maybe he could give Red a ring. There was that… weird look they had when they talked about their boss. And it sounded like they were having a hard time just breathing when mentioning it. He wonders if their boss came by while he changed and took them away. Afterall, it’s not like them to have just left while he changed out of his drag clothes.

Look, he’s not concerned, okay? He just wants to know why they decided to so rudely leave him looking like an idiot to the other queens. Angel Dust doesn’t feel concern for other people, not counting his family. It’s Hell, it’s every demon (or human in this case) for themselves. Shut up.

Angel runs his fingers through his hair, adjusting it to just the right angle and fluffs up his chest some more. Jeez, when did he start caring about some fucking human? It’s not like they’re anything special. Well yeah, he’s never seen a human before until he met Red, but he’s heard of humans in hell.

Val talks about them all the time with Vox and Velvet. From what he’s heard they’re lower than even imps, not worth anyone’s time and are usually just cheaper prostitutes. But Red was different. He’s noticed how some demons look at them with fear when they’d hang out. Whoever their boss was must’ve helped make that reputation they have. But that still begs the question of what the fuck was so special about Red?

Christ almighty, he needs a drink. And some drugs. He hates it when his head runs like this. Leads to things he doesn’t want to think about, feelings he doesn’t want to feel. Nah, he won’t give Red a ring. He’s got his own shit to do and whatever’s going on with them isn’t his concern—

He smells something. Something… strong.

He blinks, slowly walking down the way towards his favorite vending machine. From where he is he can see shattered glass and blood about. Some kinda brawl happen here after the extermination? Jeez, and he thought he was an early spider. And what the fuck is that smell? It’s so potent and yet it also… smells… kinda… good.

He comes closer to the vending machine and looks over at the source of all the blood, the smell, and

and he sees

he sees Red.

Little Red, leaning against the wall and bleeding with one of those fucking angel weapons jammed into their abdomen.

What…

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

What were they doing here?

How did they get here?

Are they even alive?

“Che cazzo, Red?” He breathes, hurrying to their side and kneeling down. His hands hover over them, not sure where to touch. What the fuck, what the fuck. He settles with lifting their head to look at their face, feel their neck.

…

…

Thump—thump…

It’s weak, but they still have a pulse. How are they still alive with an injury like that? It has to be because they’re human, he’s never seen a demon survive just a poke with that fucking weapon.

Why were they here?

Did their boss do this? Did their boss leave them out during the extermination??

Why the fuck would their boss do that to them?!

What should he do—?

Wait, why the fuck does he care?

Angel stands up, staring down at Red. They’re gonna die soon enough. He knows the other demons are gonna be coming out soon, hell some already have from what he saw on his way here. They’ll come and most likely tear Red apart and maybe even drink their blood because fuck their blood smells so good. Shit, is this how human virgin blood smelled to a demon?

Angel shakes his head to snap out of it. With a scoff he turns around. One pair of hands stuffed themselves into his suit pockets while the other set of arms crossed over his chest. It’s a dog eat dog world out here. Why should he care about some fucking human?

Who cares if they die?

Not him, no sirree.

Who cares if he doesn’t have…anyone else to…to hang out with…

Who cares if they were the only person who didn’t constantly ask about his boss. Who hung out with him because… they liked him… not just because of who he worked for. Or because they wanted to have sex with him…

Who…

Who cares?

Not him!

No!

He doesn't care!

Shut up!

He can live without talking to them ever again! Hanging out with them! Causing some chaos.

Getting drunk with them…

Telling jokes to each other…

Making him laugh…

…

…

God fucking dammit!

Angel turns around and walks back over to Red. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this. He’s got shit to do. Val’s gonna get on his ass if he doesn't have the money soon. He's already on thin ice as is. He shouldn't be doing this.

But here he is, pulling the spear out of Red’s abdomen. They groan, cough, wheeze. His third set of arms come out to help lift them up and apply pressure to their wound. He shifts them around until they’re secure in his arms, muttering, “C’mon Red… easy does it, babe.”

He feels something poking into his arms. Upon checking, he notices the glass shards embedded into Red’s back. Holy shit, they were in bad shape. And their blood is getting everywhere. It’s already all over his coat, seeping into his chest fluff that stuck out. This is gonna be annoying to get out, but that’s the least of his problems right now. Their blood had a very strong smell and it smelled so good.

Maybe one little lick couldn’t hurt—

He had to slap himself, literally, to snap out of it.

Christ, focus Angel.

He notices other demons already coming out, already starting to come closer to check what that delicious smell was. Shit. He quickly turns a corner, the movement jostling Red and causing them to groan.

“Shut up Red, shut up!” He hisses, peeking around the way. He’s not gonna get anywhere carrying them on the ground, where demons are already coming out and crowding around the scene. It doesn’t matter how fast he can run, he’s carrying literal near-dead weight.

Angel bends low, bracing Red against him and he breathes. He launches into the air, semi-gracefully landing on the roof of a building. Better to take his chances with some of the demons that can fly than with all the shits down below. They’re already swarming like annoying fucking flies around the pool of Red’s blood.

He starts moving, taking them further and further away from the scene, trying not to jostle them too much. A million thoughts run through his head as he carries them.

Where should he take them? He doesn’t know who their boss is. He never asked because he never cared. Would it even be a good idea to try and find out who their boss is and take them back? But didn’t their boss let this happen? Why would they do that to little Red?

No, fuck that. He’s not doing that. Fuck their boss, he’s decided. Sure, he’s had disagreements with Val, but Val’s never done this to him. Red’s boss can kiss his perky little ass, for all he cares.

So where should he take them instead? His apartment? He doesn’t have much, but he does have medical supplies that could work.

There ain’t no way he’s taking them to Arackniss. That jackass would never let him hear the end of it if he went to his brother for help.

Molly’s definitely a better choice. He knows she’d help him in a heartbeat, no matter what he needed. But she’s all the way in West Hell and that’s gonna take at least two days to get there, probably more with him carrying Red.

And they don't look like they’ll last two minutes.

Not to mention he doesn’t have a car, and he can’t really trust any other demon to take him to West Hell with a nearly dead human.

Fuck, his apartment really is the only place he can take them right now.

So he takes them there. He moves as quickly, as carefully, and as quietly as he can. It’s easier on the rooftops, but the hard part is jumping from roof to roof. He knew he could do it. He’s a good jumper—a great fucking jumper! But he can’t jostle Red too much or it’s gonna fuck up their injuries even more. He braces them as best he can against his chest when he does so, and all he gets is a weak groan from them.

“Almost there, toots. Just… just fuckin’ hang tight, alright? You owe me so big for this, fuckin’ hell…”

“A… Ah…” They wheeze and cough, their eyes barely open.

“Jeez, just shut it already, Red.” But he still holds them closer, his brows knitting down. Chews his lip, says in a voice softer than he meant, “I… I got ya, babe.”

They pant, “Ah—Al…”

“Dannazione, stai zitto,” Angel hissed, one of his many hands pressing their head closer to his chest. Not enough to suffocate, but hopefully enough to muffle. “Risparmia le forze.” They groan again, their bloodied fingers twitching, reaching, grasping at Angel’s soft coat, then they quiet once more, seemingly comforted by the softness.

Thank Lucifer they finally shut up. Now, who the fuck was Al? Is he their boss? Angel’s never heard of anyone named Al. Didn’t they say forever ago that their boss was some powerful demon or some horse shit? Fuck, he can’t remember, that was decades ago. And besides, it doesn’t even matter right now.

He keeps moving.

The location of the vending machine from his apartment wasn’t far, but the trip back to it with Red bleeding in his arms made the trip feel like it was taking hours. He managed to make it easy enough at the very least, hastily going inside from the backdoor and hurried up the stairs—fuck the lift, it’s too slow—and up to his apartment.

The door clicks shut behind him and he hastily sets the locks. Keeping Red in his arms, he finds several moderately clean towels, clears off the couch, and sets them down as carefully as he could. Another pained wheeze leaves them as he does, but they quiet down quickly enough. Angel hastily searches his apartment for those shitty scented candles that were gifted to him ages ago. It won’t be much but at least it’ll get rid of some of the smell of Red’s blood.

With the candles found and lit, he starts searching for the medical supplies. They were… in the bathroom? No, no, the uh… the kitchen—ah! There they are! It’s not much, but there’s (hopefully) enough to get the job done.

But Molly should be doing this, not him. She’s way better at this kind of thing. Sure, he knows his way around a needle and thread and shit, but Molly was the expert. She knew way more than he did. But she’s not here right now, so he’ll have to make due. At least until he can call her and have her come over to check out his work and fix what he’ll inevitably fuck up.

Angel starts with getting Red’s blood-soaked clothes off. Once he’s positive there’s no bits of glass in the clothing, he throws it right into the washer along with his own coat. It’s most likely going to get ruined, but he had plenty others that fans had sent him. Besides, it wasn’t really his favorite, so he won’t shed any tears if it gets ruined.

He gets back to work, starting with cleaning the blood off of Red. He’s seen plenty of naked demons in his line of work, and plenty of naked humans back in his living years, seeing Red naked isn’t any different. If anything, he needs to slap himself occasionally to stay focused because the stench of their blood is so strong.

The one thing that does make him hesitate are the bruises he finds once cleaning up the blood. Around their neck, their shoulders. He looks them over, easily recognizing the bruises vaguely make the shape of fingers, a hand. He clenches his teeth. Did… did their boss do that to them…? What the fuck…

Angel shakes his head. Focus. No time to be some concerned asshole. He’s not concerned, he’s just gonna use this as leverage as a huge favor.

With his three sets of arms, he sits them up and works to get the remaining glass shards that were embedded into their back. It’s an endeavor to be sure, what with needing to be careful of their main injury while using shitty ass tweezers not meant for this kind of thing being used to get bits of glass out of them. But he makes do.

With the glass out of them and placed on an empty plate, he gets a closer look at the injuries. He doesn’t… think they need stitches for these injuries. Most of them were small, while others were a bit bigger but not by much. He’s pretty sure just some disinfectant and bandages will make that all better. But that injury on their abdomen… holy shit that’s definitely gonna need stitches.

Angel takes a deep breath and starts cleaning the blood off of them. He has to change the water at least four times but finally they’re all cleaned up of the dried blood. Next he has to disinfect the wounds, right? Yeah, he can do that. Easy.

He grabs some cotton swabs and the disinfectant and starts with Red’s back, carefully dabbing the cuts while bracing them against his other arms.

They groan, twitch, gasp, cough, “A—Ah…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know. It sucks. Well, what really sucks is I’m the one fuckin’ doing this,” Angel grumbled, continuing to clean their back. Once finished, he places some medical ointment on the cuts and then gauze and carefully lays them back down.

Okay, the easy part was done. Time for the hard part. He takes a breath and gets some new swabs, then starts delicately working on their main injury. The minute the disinfectant touches even the edge of the cut, Red starts trembling and whimpering. Their hand blindly reaches out, wheezing and grabbing at Angel’s wrist. “N—N… No… N—”

“Hey, hey. Stop that.” Using some of his hands, he grabs their wrists and moves them out of the way so he can continue working. “I’m tryna fuckin’ help ya, Red. Even though I have no reason to,” he muttered the last part, but continues nonetheless. Their struggling certainly wasn’t fucking helping, he had to use another set to hold onto their sides and hold them down. The entire time Red tries and fails horribly at pulling their hands free, their breathing quickening as he keeps trying to clean them up.

He manages to finish disinfecting the wound, no thanks to Red’s struggling. Angel leans back and groans, “Gesù Cristo, finalmente…” Okay, their injuries are disinfected, now he just needs to stitch them up. Don’t people use some kinda numbing agent to make sure the person getting stitched up can’t feel it? He looks at Red. They keep fading in and out, mumbling about that Al prick. Not to mention they might try struggling again while he’s in the middle of stitching that wound of theirs.

Better make sure they don’t wake up in the middle of him working. He takes their hand in his and brings their wrist up to his mouth. Glancing to their face, he takes a breath and then bites down with his fangs. As he injects his venom into their bloodstream, their movement slows, until they’re completely still. He pulls back and wipes his mouth, licking up some leftover blood—he couldn’t hold back a moan if he tried.

Holy fuck it tasted so good. Is that really what human blood tasted like? Shit, he can see why so many demons were swarming around the pool of Red’s blood.

Maybe…

Maybe just one more little lick won’t hurt…

Angel has to slap himself—literally—to stop that thought process. Holy shit, stop it Angel, he thinks to himself, Don’t even think about that. They’re you’re—

…

They’re his…

What… are they to him?

Angel’s never gone so far to help someone before. Not counting Molly or Val, but they were different. Molly was his sister, his Fluffy. Val was… his boss. Yeah. He’s gotten Angel out of plenty of nasty situations. Angel owes him everything and more, forget obligation.

But Red…

What about them?

What are they to him?

Were they his friend?

Maybe… maybe they—

Lucifer below, stop that. Shut up. They weren’t his friend. No way. Angel Dust doesn’t do friendship. He has to have a screw or two or seven loose if he’s thinking this way. Jeez, he’s gonna need a truckload of Bolivian marching powder after this. He hates feeling this way.

Alright, focus Angel. He looks at Red, watching them lay there, still and quiet. Someone could mistake them for being asleep. His venom should keep them out cold for a little while, more than long enough for him to stitch and bandage ‘em up.

He gets the needle and thread and gets started. To say he’s doing a good job stitching it up would be a horrible lie. He hasn’t needed to stitch an injury in years, decades even. That and this always has been up Molly’s alley, not his. He’ll definitely give her a ring after this. Get her to look Red over.

God damn, he’s going so far for one fucking human. Red’s gonna owe him big time for this, and he means it! He doesn’t normally do this for anyone—actually, he doesn’t do this at all. For anyone. God he’s such a weak-willed bitch.

But then he remembers the look on Red’s face when they told him their boss wasn’t happy that they were out all night. Their concern, their tenseness… the strain in their voice… it… it reminded him of…

Of…

Angel shakes his head. “Focus, you idiot. You’re stitching a fucking hole in someone closed… No time to just… think about that shit…” With a new found focus, Angel finishes stitching Red’s injury. It’s mediocre, but it'll have to do for now until Molly can come over. He carefully rubs medical ointment on their injuries, places some gauze on them, and then wraps bandages around them from their abdomen up to their back, needing to wrap it around their shoulder to ensure it doesn’t completely fall apart.

He really, really hopes he did all of that correctly. Angel leans back and looks over his handiwork. They’re so paler than before. Jeez, they lost a shit ton of blood. But they’re patched up as best as he could patch ‘em up and they’re sleeping. His venom should wear off in a few hours, and during that time… fucking hell, he had to get the rest of this smell out of the air.

Angel scours the rest of his apartment, managing to find several more scented candles buried deep under fan gifts. He lights them, puts his coat and Red’s clothes in the dryer, then shoves the bloodied towels into the wash next. Now he’s gotta clean up everything else… fuck, he really should’ve hired someone to clean his apartment for him.

He starts with the important shit first. The first-aid kit is set aside, the tools that needed to be cleaned are now clean and placed on the counter next to the phone. Red’s bloodied shoes are cleaned off and set by the door, then he finds a few comforters to place under and on top of Red while they sleep. With them wrapped up in blankets, he takes the other towels that were once under them and throws the towels into the washing room. He’ll wash those later.

Okay. More candles are lit and they’re getting rid of the smell of Red’s blood. Their clothes are currently drying. The towels are getting washed. Red’s all stitched up and sleeping.

Everything he’s done in those few hours was the most work he’s ever done that required actual effort in… a long ass time. He really needs to take a hit after all that, but he looks at the time and his frown only deepens. Val’s gonna get on his ass soon if he doesn’t get out now and start getting money together.

He takes a mental note to call Molly when he gets home tonight and starts changing into his more alluring attire. He takes one of the thicker, nicer looking coats and slips it on, pausing at the door to look over at Red. His hand grips the doorknob tighter, a tooth digging into his lip.

“Riposati, Red… Io tornerò presto.” And he was out the door.

Chapter Text

Two days passed.

It was the worst two days Angel’s experienced in a long ass time.

He’s been working more than a fucking dog trying to get everything done in time. He managed to get most of Val’s money together. Enough to keep Val off his ass while he gets the rest of the money together. He should be able to get the rest within the next day or so after. He’s got a few drag shows lined up too so there’s that. If he doesn’t get the money together before then, he’ll most likely have to dip into the tips he makes for it to pay Val, which fucking sucks but what else can he do?

Of course, what else can he do as well when that stupid fucking studio hasn’t gotten back to him on a location for the short? Those idiots can never seem to decide on a place to just shoot these shorts, why did Val even hire them? But whatever, he’s used to these kinds of work schedules. He’s been dealing with this kind of shit for years, decades even. It’s nothing he can’t handle.

What makes it bad is this stupid feeling in his chest. This stupid worry for Red. They’re still unconscious on his sofa, still sleeping, sometimes mumbling to themselves. He hates how up-tight it makes him feel. Not even a good old fashioned fucking could help ease the tension he felt in his body.

To make it worse, he’s had this feeling that he’s being watched since he finished patching up Red. And not in the “you look like a hot piece of meat I want to sink my teeth into” kinda way, but the “I’m your biggest fan and know where you sleep” kinda way. He keeps feeling a cold shiver run up his spine every time he goes anywhere near Red to check on them. His dreams were plagued by these weird whispers or seeing strange figures that just stare at him. And no matter where he goes or what he does, he feels like a thousand eyes are watching him.

It fucking sucked. He hasn’t had a good night's sleep these past two days. Not even a drug-induced sleep could save him from those weird fucking dreams.

The only good thing that’s happened in that time was calling Molly and hearing her chipper, happy voice. She came by nearing the end of the third day Angel had Red in his apartment after calling his sister and asking for her help. She was in a huff, as if she ran here, her big fluffy coat easily sliding off of her and being tossed aside.

She nearly dropped the bags of medical supplies Angel asked for when she saw Red, a look of pure shock on her face. Right, she’s probably never even seen a human in Hell before either. “Cosa nel—”

“Ehi, Fluffy. Sono contento che tu sia bene.” Angel snickers at Molly’s startled jump. Her shocked look morphs into joy, a big smile on her face when she sees him.

“Jumpy!” She placed the supplies down and rushed over to him, one pair of hands gently taking his face in them while the other was placed upon her hips. “Oh tesoro, guardati!” She leans in and places a kiss on his cheek. “You look like shit.”

Angel offers a weak chuckle, “I feel like shit, Fluffs.” Despite the horse shit he’s been through these past couple days, seeing his sister eases some of the tension he feels in his entire body. God, it’s been too long since he’s seen her. He leans in and places his own kiss on her cheek.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” She spends the next minute fussing over Angel’s appearance, helping him with his hair and fluffing his chest. “You won’t believe the taxi driver I had to deal with on my way here.”

“Ain’t no trouble. They’ve just been sleepin’ the entire time.” He can’t help but laugh as she adjusts his bowtie for him and then smiles at her handiwork.

Molly shakes her head, kissing his other cheek and giving it a loving pinch. “It just sounded so urgent, I didn’t wanna make ya wait too long! And now that I’m here I can definitely see why.” She looks over at Red. “I ain’t never even seen a human in Hell. Who are they?” She walked over and knelt down by them, getting a good look at their pale face.

“They go by Red. Don’t know their real name.” Molly nods in understanding. Real names aren’t exactly common in Hell, not unless you’re just that powerful or don’t care. Angel keeps off to the side to stay out of Molly’s way. He watches his sister instantly get to work by moving the comforter aside and carefully peeling off the bandages and gauze with the kind of care and expertise only she can have.

Angel says, “They got a boss who’s a real piece of shit, left ‘em to die durin’ the extermination the other day.” He runs his fingers through his hair. He felt a horrid shiver run up his spine as he finished that sentence, quickly glancing behind him to see nothing there. Jeez, stupid nerves…

“What?!” Molly gasped, her head whipping over to Angel, one hand to her mouth. “Why?!”

“Right? Fuck if I know why their boss did that. Dunno what the fuck happened between them, but it was bad.” Doesn’t matter how bad it was, though. Their boss shouldn’t have left them to die to the angels like that. He doesn’t say it, but he thinks it.

He takes a seat on the floor next to her. “Trust me when I say they were in a worse condition when I found them.”

“I can believe that.” Molly pauses a moment to brush some hair out of Red’s face. “The poor thing.” She cups their cheek and they groan and turn their head, leaning into Molly’s touch. Their brows furrow, mouth working, trying to form words but they fall apart, coming out in knots.

“A… Ah—Al…?” They wheeze and cough.

“Hush, sweetie-pie. Shh, shh.” She shushes them, one hand petting their head while her other hand runs a thumb along their knuckles. “It’s alright, honey. We’re gonna help ya out.” Red slowly quiets down, falling still and silent again. If their chest wasn’t subtly rising and falling, someone would think that they were actually dead, especially with how pale they were.

She starts looking over the stitch-work Angel did on their abdomen and tuts, “Oh, hun… you really need to work on your stitching.”

“Gimme a break, I haven’t had to do somethin’ like this in a while.” He brushes back his hair, his mouth contorting into a pout.

Molly only giggles as a response, then opens up the med-case and starts searching through it. She takes out a few items and sets them aside on the coffee table. “Can you gimme a hand, Jumpy?”

“All ya had to do was ask, Fluffy.” Angel takes his place beside her and holds whatever supplies she hands him. Molly’s eyes are focused, her mouth pulled into a little pout and her tongue sticking out. He has to bite back a smile, else she’ll slap him across the room. Some things never change.

“Have you heard of that name before?” He asks.

“Hmm?” She lifts Red’s wrist to her mouth and pokes one fang in to inject her venom. She then points to a pair of surgical scissors and holds out a waiting hand.

“Al.” Angel hands her the scissors. After a moment of waiting, Molly starts removing the stitches once she’s sure her venom properly numbed Red. All he can really do is watch her do her thing, her hands moving with expertise and precision. He really did miss watching her do her work, it brings back memories of happier times. When things weren’t so fucking complicated.

“Plenty o’ people named Al, Jumpy.” Molly carefully removes the old stitches, sets them aside, and begins getting everything ready for their new stitches. “Al could be short for a longer name, too. Alfred, Alan, Alexander…” One of her free hands counts off as she works, her eyes never leaving the injury on Red. She reapplies the disinfectant first and then injects a needle filled with antibiotics near their injury.

“Mm…” Angel rests his chin in one free hand, passing over the needle and threat when asked to. “They’re apparently a big deal or some shit. Enough to make most demons scared of Red over here. He even had some little official title that… honestly I don’t even remember. Didn’t care.”

“Oh, wow!” Molly properly prepares the needle and begins re-stitching up Red’s injury. “Never heard of such a thing honestly. I’ve been busy myself and never really liked gettin’ into those politics. You know me.”

He breathes a small laugh, “I’m with ya there, Fuffs.” He helps prop Red up so Molly can get a look at their back.

“Hmm…” She inspects each gash the glass had left behind, her sharp eye catching small bits of glass Angel had missed prior and promptly removes them with surgical tweezers. “None of these need stitches, thankfully. Just gotta be mindful of their back. It’s in pretty bad shape, can’t let nothin’ happen to it now.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.” He keeps Red propped up while Molly wraps new fresh bandages around them, then carefully lays them down.

“The worse they got is that one on their abdomen. As long as they don’t move around too much, try bending too far down, and the like, they should be alright.” Molly starts packing up some of the supplies and puts them on the counter. “Those stitches are top-notch, Jumpy, I tell you! They should stay together for a good long while, but there’s still risk of them breaking one or two of the smaller stitches, and thus reopening the injury. It won’t be too bad if they do, just cause a bit of minor bleeding—”

Angel nods while Molly continues on her rant. Most of it is in one ear and out the other for him, if he’s being honest. He’s also kind of tuning most of it out. But he doesn’t say anything. He knows Molly has a tendency to go off when she’s on the medical topic. And if there’s one person he refuses to be an ass to, it’s his sister. Even so, just hearing her voice again after so ling is nice. He didn’t realize how much he missed her until he actually got to see her again.

With a soft sigh, he closes his eyes, his head slowly starting to fall forward. Just at the back of his mind he starts hearing quiet whispers. He can’t make out their words, but they definitely don’t sound too nice—

“Now what about you, Jumpy?” The question makes him jump and look up at her.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” She walks back over to Angel and kneels in front of him, taking his face in her hands. He doesn’t like the worried look she’s giving him. His Fluffy shouldn’t be frowning in such a way. “You really really look like shit, hon. Have you been doin’ alright?”

Angel rubs his face, glancing off to the side. He doesn’t really want to answer, but he also doesn’t want to lie to Molly. Fuck, that’s his sister, the only person he can actually trust. But god damn does she worry about him too much sometimes. Especially when she has her own shit to deal with. As he’s looking off to the side, he swears he sees the shadows moving if only by a fraction, he almost missed it.

God, he needed sleep. A good night's sleep, too. Without these shitty, weird ass dreams he’s been having. “Just been havin’ a hard time sleepin’, Fluffs,” he settles with saying, “This, uh… ain’t exactly somethin’ I do on a daily basis…” He offers another weak chuckle.

Molly, sweet lovely fucking amazing Molly, just smiles back at him. But it didn’t help him, because he can still see the concern in his eyes. “Jumpy… if this ain’t somethin’ you do on a daily, why did you do it for them?”

That makes him hesitate. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He chews his lip, glances off to the side, at Red.

Because…

…

Molly tilts her head when he doesn’t answer. She says, “How about you take the rest of today to get some sleep? I don’t mind stayin’ a bit longer for ya and keepin’ an eye on Lil’ Red here.”

That makes him jump and hastily say, “Ah—Fluffs, no—”

Molly’s smile fell into a pout, her brows furrowing and one pair of arms crossed over her chest while another other firmly planted her hands on her hips. “Non iniziare con quello!” She wags a finger in his face. “You’ve been overworkin’ yourself for this little human right here. Don’t try to hide it! I can see it!” She gets behind him and starts pushing him towards his bedroom.

“Hey—!”

“Don’t try and stop me!” She pushes him all the way to his room. When he turns to face her, she’s got a stern look on her face that makes any other protests die at the tip of his tongue. He can only watch as her many eyes roam his face. Her stern look softens a tad. “You’re really worried about them, huh?”

“It ain’t that! It’s…” Angel hesitates. Again, he swears he sees something moving out of the corner of his eye. Is he going fucking crazy or something? He knows he’s not tripping on any drugs, he knows the side effects and none of the shit he’s experiencing is any of that.

God, this didn’t start until he helped Red. Maybe he never should’ve helped them in the first place.

But then if he didn’t help them, he’d probably never see them again—

Holy shit, shut up. Stop that. He’s not doing this because they’re his friend. He just wants them to owe him big for it, and by god they will absolutely owe him for it. That’s it. Definitely.

“It’s?” Molly makes a gesture with her hand to encourage him to continue talking.

“It’s—” Angel groans “—I dunno, alright? I don’t fucking know.” He starts pacing around the room, throwing his multitude of hands in the air as he makes gestures all around. “I dunno why I fuckin’ helped em, okay? I shouldn’t have! I don’t care! I shouldn’t care! But here I am, with a half-dead human on my fuckin’ couch and not a god damn clue what to do other than hope no one finds them!

“Why do I even care if someone finds them? All the better to get them out of my hair! But every time I think about just dumpin’ ‘em on the street I get this… this stupid tightness in my chest—” he pounds his fist against hi chest for emphasis “—and it’s fucking stupid and irrational and makes no fucking sense. Why do I care so much? They ain’t my family, they ain’t my friend—” are they? “—but I can’t seem to get that into my own thick skull!

“I’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind over here! I keep seein’ shit out of the corner of my eye and hearing weird stupid shit too and even when I’m high off my ass I still hear it! And none of this happened until my dumbass decided to help them! Dannazione pezzo di merda Sono stanco di tutto questo, che cazzo ho che non va?!”

Molly doesn’t say a word. She merely watches from the doorway as Angel walks about the room, aggressively picking up things and tossing them aside. Clothes go in one pile while his makeup is thrown onto the vanity. Then he’s yanking his shoes off with equal force and throwing them into the corner where his clothes are.

It’s when he sits on the bed, rubbing his face and groaning, that she walks up and sits beside him. He offers no resistance when she pulls him into a hug, all of her arms wrapping around him like a blanket. She runs her fingers through his hair, letting him rest his head on her shoulder.

“Nothing's wrong with ya, Angie,” Molly murmurs. Angel hates it when her voice gets this soft. God, he’s such a sap. And an idiot. He can’t believe he’s letting all of this get to him so bad. He shouldn’t be bugging his sister with all this stupid shit. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. Fucking hell.

She takes his face in her hands so he can properly look at her. “Ya hear me? Nothing’s wrong.” Her thumbs gentle run over his cheeks, careful to avoid his smaller sets of eyes. She looks like she wants to say more, but hesitates. Then she says, “Take today to take care of yourself. I’ll look over Lil’ Red, alright?”

“Ya don’t gotta—” The look Molly gives him shuts him up real quick.

She gets up and pushes him down on the bed. “Stay.” She then walks over to his vanity and starts rifling through his drug drawer. Finding his bag of PCP, she tosses it to him. “Relax, try and get some sleep, and don’t worry about them.”

Angel huffs, opening up the bag. “Yes mother.”

They share a laugh, Molly pausing a moment to pet his head. “I’ll look after ‘em while ya sleep.” Then walks out the room and shuts the door. Once the door is shut, Angel takes the biggest dose he knows he can tolerate, laying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling while he lets the drug do its work.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t working fast enough, because his mind was already wandering. From the things he has to do soon for both Val and the studio to wondering about Red.

What’s gonna happen when they finally wake up? Would they even tell him what the fuck happened between them and their boss? Would they go back to Al after what they did to Red? Why does he fucking care so much??

On top of it all, as his mind and body slowly starts to be overcome with the comfortable numbness, he asks himself one question over and over:

When did he turn into such a sap?

Chapter Text

Three days turned into a full seven.

Molly had to leave soon after she came, but didn’t leave without making sure Angel had everything needed to take care of Red. She gave him a big hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a cheek-pinching for good measure too. Angel wanted her to stay longer, but he understood more than anyone what it meant to be a busy spider. And considering her line of work, she definitely was a busy spider. So he bid her farewell, and was alone once more.

The next few days after that could’ve gone smoother. His dreams are still plagued by shadows and whispers, incomprehensible but loud and he swears that right when he’s waking up he sees a pair of red eyes watching him.

All in all, he’s getting pretty fucking sick of it.

Red’s been fading in and out of consciousness for a while, still in a daze and not really aware of where they are. They keep mumbling to themselves, saying something incomprehensible and falling right back asleep. They only really come to whenever Angel’s got the television on too loud or is walking around the apartment too loudly.

On the seventh day they woke up, their eyes finally finally opening more and looking directly at Angel. They’re on the borderline between delirious and aware, as there’s a shine of recognition in their eyes.

“Holy shit,” Angel couldn’t hold back the small laugh even if he tried. He patted their cheek. Pat. Pat. Pat. “Ya good, babe? Ya awake?”

“A…” They cough. “An… gel…?” They look at him again. “You… you sh—shouldn’t…” They trail off, mumbling something incomprehensible.

“What?” He leans closer, patting their cheek again. “Hey, hey, don’t go unconscious on me again! You sleep for days, wake up for two seconds and go back to sleep? C’mon, gimme somethin’ to work with here, Red. Shouldn’t what??”

“Shouldn’t… b—be here…” They wheeze a breath, cough, then wince at the pain. “Gotta… go be—before…”

“Before what?” Their eyes close and they’re unconscious again. He makes out Al’s name being said again and he throws his head back, groaning in frustration. “C’mon, babe! You can’t just fuckin’ go back to sleep now! Before what? What about Al?”

They’ve fallen back asleep.

God.

Fucking.

Dammit.

Angel has half a mind to shake them awake and demand to know what they were going to say. But right as he’s grabbing at the shirt he put on them, the phone starts ringing. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he gets up and goes to answer the phone.

It was one of Val’s associates, the guy who works at the studio getting ready to film the short. They finally fucking decided on where it’s going to be filmed and want him there to discuss the script. The conversation wasn’t very long, the guy just told Angel the place and when they wanted him to be there, then they hung up.

He sighs, rubbing his face and looking over at Red. If he wanted to make it on time, he’d have to get ready to leave right now. But Red was actually starting to become conscious again. Should he call Molly to come back? No, no. She’s busy with her own shit. He can’t ask her to just drop all of it to come help him out again, no matter the fact she’d do it in a heartbeat.

So he writes down a note for Red when they wake up. Takes their folded clothes (Molly folded them, not him) and puts them on the coffee table, the note on top of their clothes, and then starts to get ready to head out. A wave of emotions is flowing through him as he’s getting ready to leave, pulling his boots on and grabbing a coat and everything else he knows he’ll need. Worry, hesitation, relief, and so many more.

He can’t help but feel like leaving them now would be such a horrible idea. He doesn’t know why. It’s like something was taking his heart and wringing it out like a towel. His chest was so tight it was hard to breathe for a second.

Christ, he can’t act in this state and these stupid emotions need to be snuffed out as soon as possible. He’ll have to grab a fix on the way to the studio. With everything needed gathered up and him ready to go, he takes one last look at Red.

He opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, then turns and leaves.

————

…

…

…

…

…

You were dreaming.

At least, you’re pretty sure you were.

It was mostly just an eternal void. Nothing around you, under you, above you. Just… nothing.

You didn’t see anything. You didn’t hear anything. You were just laying in endless darkness. Sometimes, sometimes you do hear voices. Familiar. You think for a second it’s Alastor and you call out but then nothing happens.

It’s not so bad, laying here and just… hanging out, you guess. But god was it so boring. Even when you knew you were dreaming and tried to change it, nothing would happen. You’d try calling out to Alastor over and over, sometimes you’d even try calling out to Grimm, but nothing would happen.

You couldn’t even feel their eyes on you.

You were

all

alone

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t want it.

You just want to wake up.

But you can’t wake up. You don’t know why. Your mind was alert (at least in here it was) but your body just won’t move. Any time you tried twitching your fingers a spark of pain would shoot up your arm and it’d get harder to breathe. You’d feel a horrible pain in your abdomen, in your back, around your neck.

Then you’d hear that voice again. Familiar, chiding, telling you to stop doing whatever you were doing.

You wonder what happened. You try to remember but nothing comes up.

Maybe you’ll ask Alastor when you finally wake up. Maybe you’ll remember when you wake up. You’re not sure. But you’d like to wake up soon. This was getting really fucking boring and the loneliness was slowly but surely eating at you.

You hope that Alastor made some of his infamous jambalaya for when you wake up.

It’s been a little while since he’s last made some.

And you’d like to have it again…

Soon…

…

…

…

…

…

Angel was here. You see him. You hear him. He’s patting your cheek. Pat pat pat.

Why was he here?

He shouldn’t be here. Alastor’ll have a hernia or three if he sees Angel. You remember Alastor not having the fondest of looks in his eyes when Angel would get mentioned. You remember Alastor doesn’t like demons he doesn’t know or recognize or approve of in your flat.

You have to tell him to get out of here. You want to tell him to go, leave, it’s not safe. But your words fall apart the minute they reach your tongue.

You can hear him trying to talk to you. Asking you something. Patting your cheek some more.

You want to talk to him. Tell him he needs to go before Alastor sees him. 

But your words won’t work.

And using all that energy to try and talk to him is leaving you so…

So…

Tired…

…

…

…

…

…

Riiiiing! Riiiiing!

… 

…?

Riiiiing! Riiiiing!

What…?

Who…?

Who’s calling you?

The only person who knew your number was Angel.

Hell, Angel was the only reason you had a telephone in the first place.

You can’t help but feel like you were just trying to talk to him a minute ago. Was it a minute? How long were you out?

Riiiiing! Riiiiing!

Ugh, why was he calling you now of all times?

Wasn’t he busy with a new movie or something?

At first you wanted to wake up, but even as consciousness comes back to you, whether it be willingly or unwillingly, you just feel so tired.

Everything hurt. Why does everything hurt? What happened?

You want to go back to sleep.

Riiiiing! Riiiiing!

Not before you end that infernal ringing. God damn, it’s going to drive you insane.

You mumble, “Grimm—” your voice sounded horrible, almost like you haven’t used it in a while “—make it shut up. I’ll call Angel back later.” You pull the blanket over your face. Even that effort in itself made small waves of pain shoot through you, but nothing too intense. You don’t hear a response from your little shadow.

The ringing continues to go on and on until it finally silences.

Huh… that’s… weird. It’s not like Grimm to ignore you like that. You slowly peel your eyes open. It’s dark. “Grimm?”

Nothing.

“Grimm-Grimm?”

…

…

…

Riiiiing! Riiiiing!

“God fucking dammit.” Careful of the pain you’re feeling—something you don’t remember how you got—you peel the covers off and get up. It causes more waves of pain to ripple through your body, but they’re dull enough for you to ignore. It felt like something was taking a sledgehammer to your skull, or just applying so much pressure to it it’d break. And you felt so nauseous too.

Were you sick or something? Maybe you were just coming off of it. The only problem is you can’t remember how you got sick or even hurt, considering the pain in your back and abdomen. Did you get into a fight with someone? You remember… anger… fear… pain… and then darkness…

Maybe you did get into some kind of fight. Maybe Alastor would know. You know you’re not going to hear the end of it from him. No doubt he’s going to go on a dramatic rant on how he took time out of his no doubt very busy day to take care of you while you did nothing but sleep on the sofa.

Why were you on the sofa anyway?

Whatever.

Pushing past the pain and rubbing your eyes, you move towards the still ringing phone. Your legs felt so wobbly, like you haven’t walked in days. You nearly fell over a few times just trying to get to that stupid telephone. Using the counter as leverage, you blindly feel around for the handset and bring it up to your ear. “What the fuck—” you cough. God, you sounded awful “—do you want, Angel? I thought you were busy…”

“Well…” The voice on the other end chuckles. They… they sound nothing like Angel. “Don’t know who you think you are sugar, but you should know that I'm not a fan of being talked to in that kind of tone.”

You blink. Rub your eyes. Blink, blink, blink.

Slowly, everything starts becoming less blurry. You look at the handset, the telephone, then slowly look around the room. Blink, blink. This… was not your flat. This—it was Angel’s apartment.

What the fuck? 

What were you—?

Why were you—?

Flashbacks of what happened the night prior—was it longer than that? How long were you out?—come back to you. Like a train ramming into your entire body full force.

You nearly fall over again as you remember it all.

Every.

Last.

Detail.

You remember your argument with Alastor. Him grabbing your hair. You punching him. You leaving, running, hiding.

You remember the… the extermination, the angel. Alastor taking your powers away… The angel hurting you, leaving you to bleed out and die. To be devoured by the demons that wanted your blood.

You remember… being wrapped up in soft warmth, hearing a voice, familiar.

It had to have been Angel.

He… he found you… he saved you.

You look down, seeing a shirt comically too big for you doing a horrible job covering the bandages.

The bandages covering your wound..

The wound Angel most likely stitched up.

This crop-top and shorts you were donned in were probably his.

The only thing going through your head was how much you’re going to owe him for this. How you didn’t deserve such a thing from him. How much trouble he could get in for helping you.

But the voice on the other end of the phone brings you back to reality. It’s like poison-laced silk, deep and menacing and you can feel the anger behind it no matter how calm it sounds, “Now just who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that, sweetheart?”

You scowl, saying before you could stop yourself because damn your instinct to bite back, “Who I am is none of your fucking business.”

The voice chuckled, “A feisty one, aren’t you?” You can hear the grin in his tone. You carefully move your body around to test the bandages, the injuries, and to wake yourself and your body up quicker. Your mind, thankfully, was waking up faster than your body. The voice says, “And while we’re at it, wanna tell me where my most valued employee is?”

“I don’t know where Angel is. If you knew him as well as you thought you did, you’d’ve known he wouldn’t be home at this time.” You notice your clothes on the coffee table with a note on it. The trash can filled with old, bloodied bandages. Most likely yours.

Another chuckle. “Very feisty. I like you, sugar. How about you give a name to the voice?”

Your grip tightens on the handheld. You want nothing more than to tell this guy to fuck off and hang up on him, but you stop yourself. This had to be Angel Dust’s boss—his pimp more so, considering his line of work. You get the feeling that if you keep going like you are, Angel was going to be in a lot of trouble because of you.

Breathe. Calm down. Don’t make him angrier than he already was. Just roll with it and try to end this conversation as soon as possible.

You settle for saying, “You can call me Red.”

You hear him hum and sigh, “I didn’t ask what I could call you, baby. I asked for your name. It’s a very simple concept.”

Your eyes narrow. You look at your hand, your arm, finding that the binding mark was still there. Looks like Alastor’s decided to still keep you despite everything, for some reason or another. Yet that only makes you wonder why he would let Angel take care of you while you were injured. Knowing Alastor, he always has a reason. No matter how stupid his reasoning was to anyone else, as long as it made sense to him that’s all that mattered.

You touch your fingers to the binding mark.

It’s still cold.

You frown, looking at the phone, then say, “My name belongs to my boss, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh? And just who is your boss, Little Red?” The voice chuckles, “I’m dying to find out.”

Should you tell this guy? If Alastor hasn’t removed the binding mark, hell if he didn’t send his shadows to outright kill you, you still technically belong to him. But you can’t help but get the nagging feeling that telling this guy who was your boss would just end badly. Something about his tone just feels… off. You can’t put your finger on why, but it just does.

You don’t feel like you should answer.

You don’t want to answer. 

But then again, you feel like not answering would just be worse.

You lick your dry lips, hesitate a second longer, then ask, “Ever heard of the Radio Demon?”

There was no response for a long time.

The silence feels deafening.

Suffocating.

You hate how unnerved it leaves you.

And then the man on the other end suddenly starts laughing. “Sweetheart, you can’t be serious. The Radio Demon?” Before you can say anything else, he continues, “Oh, hun. Oh, sweet cheeks. You have no idea—you’ve just made my day!” He laughs for a moment longer. “Now correct me if I’m wrong… but you wouldn’t happen to be his precious little human, would you?”

His voice had changed completely. First he sounded annoyed, even a bit on edge. Now he just sounds like he won the lottery.

You don’t answer immediately, taking the time to think. This guy sounds way too happy to know who you are. Not many—no, there’s no demons that react with such joy at knowing who you are, who you worked for.

Who was this guy? This left you even more on edge than before. It had “bad” written all over it and you can’t help but feel like you should just hang up right now.

But instead you slowly say, “I am. And to whom do I owe the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Oh, honey… you don’t know me?” The voice purred. “That’s a damn shame, that is. You, sweetheart, can have the utmost privilege of calling me Valentino.”

Dead silence.

A pin could drop a mile away and it’d be heard.

You almost dropped the damn handheld from your shoulders dropping.

Valentino…

So that’s why he was so happy to know who you were.

Your situation just got worse. A lot worse. You were quietly grateful for all those lectures Rosie and Alastor gave you about the Overlords, but you were also berating yourself for fucking up so horrendously.

Valentino was a fucking Overlord. His work revolved mostly around the porn industry. He owned a lot of strip clubs, even some bars, and whichever ones he didn’t own will most likely end up in his possession soon enough. Many of the whores who worked for him were his eyes, ears, and mouth and he had tabs on practically any demon that frequented the places he owned. Which means he had to have known about you hanging out with Angel. Whether it be from Angel telling him or him hearing it from all the other demons that acted as his eyes.

You knew he worked alongside Vox and Velvet, two other Overlords of Hell, and appears to be good friends with.

From what you knew about Velvet she owned several drug stores and cafes and was very sadistic. Many demons who worked under her never lasted too long. She knew how to quickly and quietly get rid of people, but she also knew how to make it hurt. She knew how to make that hurt last for hours.

And Vox…

Vox had quite a few filming studios under his belt. He owned several advertisement companies, even a few game shows. He was just as manipulative as Valentino and just as sadistic as Velvet. But his power was something else. You remember experiencing a blackout or two because of how angry he could get. You knew his power rivaled Alastor’s, and you were under no circumstances ever to be caught alone around him.

Finally, you knew Valentino was also a master manipulator. Not as good as Lady Lilith (from your knowledge), but he was definitely good. You hate to say it, but he might even be better than Alastor. Valentino knew how to turn conversations around, make people sing the song he wanted to hear. He knew how to make them believe what he wanted them to believe.

While you knew who the Overlords were and what they did, you’ve never personally met any of them aside from Rosie. Alastor had no reason to interact with most of them—especially not Valentino, considering his line of work and who his associates were—and neither did you. Whenever Alastor would go to interact with an Overlord, he always left you with Rosie or Niffty and Mimzy or even Husk while he did so.

You especially never talked to any of the other Overlords on your own. Powers or no, you knew better than to actively seek out other Overlords without Alastor’s permission or just without him in general. You’ve met old Overlords before, yeah. You’ve even killed a few yourself, but Alastor was always with you.

But now Alastor wasn’t here.

Does he even know where you are?

Does he know who you’re talking to?

He has to know, right?

He always has his shadows watching you.

They have to be reporting back to him on what’s going on.

So he absolutely knows.

…

…

Right…?

You look around, at the shadows, waiting, listening. For so long you’ve always felt the eyes of the little shadows as they’d follow you, watch you, protect you. For so long you’ve heard their whispers, assuring you of their presence, their readiness to keep you safe.

But now…

Now you don’t feel their eyes, hear their voices.

It’s so quiet.

Does—

Does Alastor even care anymore?

Valentino’s voice rips you from your thoughts, “So tell me, Red baby, after hearing my name do you know just who I am?”

“I know everything about you, Valentino.” You manage to keep your voice even, despite the tenseness you felt in your body.

“Well, aren’t you smart?” He cooed, his voice all but condescending. “You know, my dear Angel Cakes never told me he was… fraternizing with the Radio Demon’s human.”

Angel never told him…? Wait, no. You can’t just go believing everything he says, he’s probably saying that to try and get you to spill something. But what if he’s telling the truth? What if Angel actually didn’t tell him, and it’s going to get him in huge trouble?

Fucking hell, this is horrible. You’re having such a hard time reading him from his voice, you can’t tell what’s true and what’s not.

“In Angel’s defense…” You carefully pick your words, knuckles turning white with how tight you’re gripping the phone, “I never told Alastor about Angel. And you also have eyes and ears everywhere. So why’s it such a big deal Angel didn’t tell you about me? You’ve probably known for a long time about us hanging out previously.”

Valentino doesn’t immediately respond and you can’t help but feel a little good about that small accomplishment. Then he says, his voice sultry and deep and much too calm, “You misunderstand, sweetcheeks… My dearest Angel tells me everything, and I do mean everything.”

You chew your lip. Was he telling the truth? Was he lying? You can’t fucking tell and it’s infuriating.

“And frankly, I’m quite surprised and… very upset that my lovely Angel never told me this…”

You can’t help but ask, “Why is that such a big deal?”

Valentino’s chuckle sends a chill up your spine, “Loyalty is everything, Little Red. I expect all my good little boys and girls and every freak between to follow my orders to the letter. When my Angie discovers something important, I expect him to tell me immediately.” There’s a small pause, as if he’s letting you process what he’s saying, then you hear him whisper, “And he didn’t tell me about you.”

You hold back an impulsive comeback that would’ve horribly backfired. You hate that you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. You absolutely fucking hate it. You’re positive if you were speaking to him face to face, you'd be able to tell easier by reading his expression, his body language, but to do that would be signing your own death contract.

Whether it’d be doing a favor for Vox (one whom you know absolutely wants you dead) or because he just didn’t want you “tainting” Angel, he’d no doubt kill you if you were alone in a room with him.

But this bastard is just… too good at masking his voice. Even Alastor has his own little tone shifts when he’s really annoyed. Even pissed off.

“My word alone might not be enough for you, Val,” you start saying, trying so so hard to keep your voice even, “but I assure you, we never traded… boss stories. I’m pretty sure if I blabbed about anything about Alastor, Angel would’ve gone to you immediately.”

“And what makes you think I’d believe such a horse-shit excuse, Little Red?” His response was instant, confident, smug. He knew you were flying by the seat of your pants. He knew you were getting desperate. “You’re right, baby. Your word alone ain’t enough to sway me. But if you were willing to come have a chat… face to face… I might reconsider the punishment I had in line for my dearest Angel for withholding such information from me.”

The minute those words fell from his mouth you felt your heart drop to your stomach.

No.

Fuck no.

You should say no.

You have to say no.

You need to say no.

This is a bad idea.

A horrible one.

It was so obviously a trap it hurt.

During your hesitation, you feebly call out in your mind, Grimm-Grimm? Are you there? And when you hear no response, you’re positive that Alastor still hasn’t returned your powers. Hell, he probably won’t give your powers back until you actually go apologize to him.

Which means… if you actually went through with talking to him face to face… you’d be completely unable to defend yourself against one of Hells most powerful demons.

If Valentino finds out you can’t even use your fucking powers…

If Velvet was there…

Oh god, if Vox was there…

You should say no. You have to say no. You’re in no state to go see a fucking Overlord with this injury and no way of defending yourself.

“And just what is that going to prove?” You have to try and get out of this. You have to try. “You’re a smart man, Val. You of all people should know that even if we were to meet face to face, you’d never know what I’m thinking. It’d be a waste of everyone’s valuable time.”

“And you would never know what I’m thinking,” Valentino responds without missing a single beat. “But that’s what makes it all the more fun, don’t you think, sugar? A nice little game, if you will.”

You’re not really surprised that it didn’t work. You weren’t expecting it to.. You still can’t go. You just can’t.

“I can hear you hesitating, sugar.” His voice draws you to listen. “And to think you and my sweet Angel seemed to be so close when you would spend time together.”

“We’re just acquaintances…” You hate how your voice shook a bit there.

“Oh? Is that so?” He hums. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands… if you care so little about what happens to dear Angel. Let me just say it’s been an absolute pleasure talking to you—”

“I never said I didn’t care. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Fuck why did you say that?! You should’ve left it well enough alone.

Angel can handle himself. He’d be fine. Valentino wouldn’t kill him over this.

He said so himself that Angel was his most valued employee. You knew that was true just from how famous Angel was. You’ve witnessed countless fans approaching him, talking to him. You’ve seen the creepy, shitty fan letters and mail sent to him.

He’s too valuable an asset to Valentino.

Valentino wouldn’t do anything too horrible to Angel.

He wouldn’t.

And yet…

Angel did so much for you.

He saved your life. He took care of you when he had no reason to. He put himself at risk—whether he knew it or not—to help you.

“If you care so much about him, then you wouldn’t be so hesitant to come here and vouch for him, sweetheart.” He’s trying to manipulate you. You know he is. He absolutely is. You can’t go through with this. It’s stupid, it’s suicidal.

But Angel practically did the same for you.

He risked so much for you.

Can you really stand aside and not do the same, despite the state you’re in?

You’d have no back up. Nothing to defend yourself.

Who knows if Alastor even knows what you might do. Who knows if he even cares right now.

Yet you know it’d be worse for Angel if you told Valentino to get bent and refused to see him. You don’t want to begin thinking about what he’d do to Angel if you did that.

You can’t let that happen. Not after all Angel’s done for you.

You can either save your own skin and possibly fuck him over.

Or go through with it and most likely get yourself killed.

There’s really no good way out of this.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“I’m not a patient man, sweetheart,” you hear Valentino say. “So what’ll it be?”

God dammit all. For Angel, this is for Angel.

It felt like his hands were guiding yours, hitting the final nail on the coffin as you say, “Fine. We’ll meet face to face.”

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s got a big, triumphant smile on it. “Good… My close associate will go and pick you up in a jiffy, Little Red. He’ll escort you to the studio.”

You feel your blood turn to ice.

No.

No no no.

Oh fuck fuck fuck please don’t let it be him oh shit please please don’t let it be him.

You try to say evenly but hastily, “There’s no need for such trouble. After all, a nice walk… is…” But you trail off as you notice the television flickering on.

The static from it rings in your ears. The screen morphs, changes color, shifts. The lights in the apartment flicker brighter, brighter, brighter. It makes you squint, flinch, and cover your eyes. Not a single shadow or dark spot cast in the area.

Oh god oh fuck you’re such a fucking idiot.

You hear Valentino on the other line say, “It’s no trouble at all, sugar. Afterall—” a gloved hand comes out of the screen, clutches the side of the television. Another hand comes out and clutches the other side. “—he’s been dying to meet you.”

Stepping out of the television was the last demon you would ever want to see in the state you’re currently in. Standing lean and tall with a wide, eager smile on his face, his fingers flexing and slowly morphing into claws, was the TV demon Vox.

Chapter Text

The television that acted as both Vox’s head and face was practically glowing with sheer delight at the sight of you, deep red eyes taking in every piece of you. He was donned in a dark tailcoat tuxedo with bright teal stripes on it with a black and red striped vest. His dress shirt was white, a red bowtie neatly tied around his neck, with dark dress trousers and dress shoes, and a tophat to put the entire ensemble together.

You hear Valentino say, “I look forward to your visit, Little Red~” Before hanging up.

All you can really do is stare like an idiot as Vox casually walks up to you, his hands loosely stuffed in his coat pockets, his eyes never leaving yours. You’ve never personally met Vox before now, but you remember Alastor reminding you over and over and over to never be caught alone with him. If Alastor didn’t want you anywhere near this guy while you still had your powers? Well…

How fucked can you be before it’s just… too fucked for you to get out? You’re pretty sure that’s where you are right now.

Alastor was going to be pissed when he finds out what you've just done to yourself.

If he finds out. You don’t even know if he’s watching.

If he cares.

He hasn’t come by yet to take you away. You feel like he’d be here by now, practically the minute Vox stepped out of the television.

If he didn’t want you anywhere near Vox, he would’ve come for you. He would’ve stepped in.

But

he

wasn’t

here.

Your mind is screaming for you to run, to leave now . But your feet feel like they’re covered in cement, keeping you locked in place. And you knew Vox wasn’t going to let you go that easily. Not when you were practically sitting in his grasp.

He’s one of the most powerful demons in Hell, his power rivals Alastor’s. There’s a very high chance that if the two were to duel Alastor would step out with quite a few wounds. Hell, there might be a chance he wouldn’t step out at all.

You just have to be wary. You can’t think or act like you normally did. Double that since you’re going to go meet fucking Valentino. You’re in uncharted, extremely dangerous territory and your usual way of thinking won’t fly here, especially with you injured and unable to fight back fairly. And especially since it’s not just your ass on the line here. Angel’s ass was on the line too, and you want to at least try to either ensure there’s no punishment on him or a light one. It’s the least you can do.

Yet, at the same time… you really should’ve expected this to happen.

You’re so fucking stupid.

Vox’s voice pulls you out of your shocked stupor. True to his form, his voice sounds like it was coming out of a television speaker as he says, “My, my, my…” He stands in front of you now, having more than a head or two over you in height. He takes a half bow, his voice morphing and glitching for a moment before clearing up. “Let me just say it’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you face to face, doll.” He offers a hand to you. “To think I’d be meeting the Radio Demon’s human of all people today. I feel like a kid on Christmas again.”

You lock eyes with Vox. His grin is ear-splitting—or, well, screen-splitting. Wide and full of malicious intent, both eyes squinting at you. You breathe through your nose and offer a smile of your own. You allow him to take your hand and he kisses it—which is more him pressing the back of your hand to his face-screen. “It’s a… pleasure to finally meet you too, Vox.”

“Well, don’t I feel silly now? You know my name and yet I don’t have the honor of knowing yours.” He leans down lower to get a better look at your face, grin growing wider and wider. “Won’t you grace me with a no doubt lovely name, doll?”

You hold back an impulsive insult and carefully think of the next words to say. You settle with, “Vox, you’re a smart man. You should know better than to ask a human their name when they clearly belong to someone else.” You tilt your head, keeping up your smile. “But you can call me Red, if you so desire.”

“Hmm,” Vox hums, chuckling. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” His other hand trails along your arm, tracing the binding mark. “He’s trained you so well, hasn’t he?”

The touch sends an uncomfortable static running up your arm, like a thousand pins and needles stabbing into your flesh following Vox’s fingers as they trace the mark. Your mouth pulls into a small snarl and you pull your arm free.

Vox holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Touchy…” His eyes then roam your body, honing in on the fresh bandages. “Oh… and what’s this?” He reaches out, one finger trailing along the bandages around your shoulder. “Did something happen, Little Red?”

“No.” You may have replied a little too quickly.

He tilts his head, a singular brow raised. His finger slowly trails along the bandages, up your neck, and stops just under your chin. “Are you sure, doll?” He clearly doesn’t believe you. His ever-growing smile says it all. His hand placed itself back on your shoulder, the claws digging into the bandages. “I’d hate for you to have to walk around with a serious injury.”

“I can assure you it’s nothing serious.” You carefully remove his hand from your shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me… I should get myself changed for my little meeting with Valentino, don’t you think?”

“Mmm… I don’t know…” He looks you over again. You can see his eyes glazing over with a different type of hunger. A more carnal type of hunger. “I don’t think he’ll mind you lookin’ like this. I know I don’t.”

Deciding not to give him the pleasure of an answer, you step around him. You go to the coffee table and pick up your clothes and the note atop it. The entire time Vox is watching you, his fingers flexing, twitching with eagerness. His eyes roamed your body, as if deciding where he first wanted to sink his claws in. But they always went back to the bandages, searching, trying to discern where your injury might be.

His eyes snap to your face when you speak, “I’ll be just a moment, if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Doll, for you?” His laughter causes uncomfortable goosebumps to dance along your skin. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Neither of you break eye-contact for a solid minute. Both waiting for one or the other to make a move, any kind. You decide to move first, turning away and walking towards the restroom to change without Vox’s prying eyes who’ve never left your form as you walked away. The entire time you’re feeling the claws of guilt grasping at your heart. You clutch your clothes closer to you. Your clothes that had no more blood on them. Your clothes Angel had cleaned, despite having no need or reason to.

What did I do to deserve such a gesture from you, Angel? You found yourself thinking.

With a heavy heart and a heavy sigh, you make sure to lock the restroom door and set the clothes aside. You set the piece of paper next to the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re not too shocked at the person that looks back at you, considering the shit you’ve dealt with in the last few days. If you had to be completely honest with yourself, you looked like shit. Deathly pale with thick, dark circles resting under your eyes, your cheeks the only thing lightly flushed. Suffice to say, you really shouldn’t be going to meet two Overlords of Hell. But here you were. Talk about an interesting way to spend the day.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you get a look at your clothes.

There was no saving your dress shirt or coat without a tailor. Your dress shirt took the most damage, having been badly torn from when the angel hurt you, but at least your coat would be able to hide it despite it also being a bit ripped. Your trousers were—thankfully—not in as bad a state, and your bowtie was fine.

As you’re getting dressed, you try and try and try again to call out to the little shadow, your little shadow. You try calling out to any of the shadows. Hell, you even try calling out to Eon.

But there’s no response.

You don’t hear anything.

Not even the tiniest of whispers at the edge of hearing.

As if to rub salt in the wound, you still don’t feel any kind of power at the tips of your fingers. When you try summoning just a small bottlecap nothing appears.

You don’t feel the eyes of the little shadows, of Eon, of Alastor on you.

For the first time in years…

in decades…

you were completely

and utterly

alone .

For the first time in years, you feel tears welling at the corners of your eyes. Gripping at the sides of the sink, you lower your head and breathe.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

Don’t you dare fucking cry.

Alastor wants you to feel this way. He wants you to feel this horrid loneliness. He wants you to feel powerless. He wants you to feel all of these things so you’ll come crawling back and beg for forgiveness.

And Vox wants to see you look weak, helpless, hopeless. They want you to feel that horrid loneliness eat and eat and eat at you until there is nothing left.

Even if you wanted to, you know you can’t run away at this point. Vox wasn’t going to let you just leave and try returning to Alastor. You were finally finally alone and he had you right where he wanted you.

You look over the mark that bound you to Alastor. It was still there, but… more faded than how you remember it looking. You reach up and touch one of the branches of the antlers, feeling a surprising coldness to it.

All alone to face the wolves.

You breathe, slowly, shakily. Your entire body trembled with each breath.

You were broken. You always have been. Broken into so many pieces, rubbing together, ripping more holes into you and breaking further until there was just dust left behind. And people like Vox… like Valentino… like Alastor will continue to try to forcibly rub your broken pieces together to get a reaction out of you.

You grit your teeth, looking up to stare at yourself in the mirror. You wipe away the tears that were threatening to fall. You won’t cry. You won’t dare let them see you like this.

They want to see you at your worst?

Well, you’ll gladly give them your worst.

Just not the side they’ll expect.

How quickly wolves forget you have teeth to bear as well.

Despite your heart feeling heavier than before, you begin the process of pulling your clothes on. The dress shirt and coat was easy enough. Your trousers required a bit more care as you couldn’t bend down too low without feeling a pain in your abdomen. Though it was an endeavor to be sure, you managed.

You sigh and look over at the note, hesitating before picking it up and reading it. Already you can tell it was from Angel. Only he would have such ostentatious handwriting.

Red,

Had to go film for a new short. Gonna be gone for a little while.

If you wake up before I get back, there’s food and shit in the kitchen.

Don’t move or eat too much, y’hear? You puke it up, you clean it up.

Also don’t want you bleeding all over everything again.

You owe big me for all this!

Angel Dust ♥

You read the note over and over again, groaning and grabbing a fistful of your hair. Fucking hell Angel, why did he have to help you. You’re better off bleeding to death in the street. Oh, Angel… You think with a quiet groan, wiping at your eyes again. I really don’t deserve what you’ve done for me.

You take another deep breath. It’s gonna be okay. You just have to remain calm. Remember what Rosie and Alastor always told you. You can still bear teeth without provoking too much.

After giving yourself one last look in the mirror to ensure you’re at least a little presentable, you step out of the restroom and find Vox standing by the television again, leaning against it. The trash bin where your old, bloodied bandages was empty, and he was twirling them around his finger. There was a knowing smile on his face that pretty much screamed “I found you out” and it made your shoulders tense up. Though he doesn’t say anything, he does step forward, dropping the old bandages on the floor and approaches you. He circles around you, like a predator stalks its prey, taking in every piece of you once more.

He stops in front of you and then presents his hand to you. “All ready to go, doll?”

You wanted to write a note for Angel. To tell him how thankful you were, how much you owe him for everything he’s done. But looking at Vox, seeing his eagerness, practically feeling it radiating off of him… you knew he wouldn’t want to wait any longer. After a brief moment of hesitation, you delicately place your hand on his. “All ready.”

He tugs you closer and wraps his arm around your waist, holding you close to his side. His grip is firm, his claws pressing into your waist. “Then let’s not waste another second. Best hold on and watch your step, Little Red.” He pulls you along with him towards the television that flickered to life.

The light from the television flickered brighter and brighter until you see the light shifting, moving, changing. It stretched upwards, grew wider. It looked almost like a doorway when finished, the frame of it lined with bright electric currents and the other side looking almost like a waiting area. Vox took the first step in, guiding you with him into the lion’s den.

“Welcome to the studio, Little Red.” Vox’s fingers tap a rhythm at your side, tugging you down one of the many hallways. You glance behind you, wondering where you came out of, and see a much larger television displaying a rather… lewd scene. You looked away just as fast as you saw it. No thanks. Don’t need to see anymore than you just did.

“Y’know…” He idly talks as he guides you to the lift, pressing the call button. “After hearing about you for so, so many years… I never thought for a second I’d get the honor and privilege to finally meet you in the flesh.”

You purse your lips, thinking of what to say. You settle with, “Am I everything you expected?”

He chuckles, leaning down, down close to your ear and whispers in your ear, “You’re everything I expected and more, Little Red.”

He’s good at hiding the true meaning in his tone, much like Alastor and Valentino. However, also like Alastor, you can read it in his features. The grip he has on your waist is tight and even past the coat you can feel his claws digging in with barely contained restraint. He’s basking in having you right here in his grasp.

While you’re sure—no, you’re positive he wants to kill you, he’s going to wait for the right moment to do so. This is a once in an afterlife-time chance for someone like him. He’s going to revel in having you in his grasp until it’s time to dye his claws red with your blood.

The lift arrives and Vox releases you long enough to let you in first before wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing you against him once more. You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the pain you feel in your abdomen as you feel his claws dig in dangerously close to your injury.

“I’m sure you can imagine my pleasant surprise when I heard you decided to come to see old Val.” He says as he presses a series of buttons. The lift doors shut, further worsening your predicament in being trapped with this demon, and begins slowly, slowly going up. “Here I thought that piss-toothed prude forbade you from going anywhere near here.”

He was goading you. The smile and tone said it all. He was trying to make you react, to lash out, to give him a reason to dig his claws deeper into your soft flesh. You can feel them press deeper before retracting, barely holding back his desires to make you bleed, to hear you scream.

Your only response is, “Alastor doesn’t really forbid me from going anywhere. I just chose not to come here.” It’s a half-lie. While Alastor forbade you from ever going anywhere near other Overlords (with Rosie being the exception), he didn’t necessarily forbid you from going to certain places, even if it was in another Overlord’s territory. There was a quiet respect among Overlords, not including the animosity between Alastor and Vox. An Overlord wouldn’t randomly attack someone’s right hand, especially not the right hand of the Radio Demon.

Vox hums, almost disappointed in your response. He recovers just as quickly, though. “Glad to see dear old Val could change your mind in coming here, darling.”

You didn’t think you’d hate it when other people called you the very pet names Alastor always used, but you do. You hold back the impulsive desire to tell him to never call you that and bite your tongue. You have to remember he’s trying to get a reaction out of you. He’s doing this on purpose, he wants to see that he’s getting to you. He wants you to bear your teeth at the wrong moments.

You tilt your head up at him as you say, “It’s strictly business, Vox. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not one for the more carnal pleasures.” Business as in you were practically forced to come here because Valentino kept turning the conversation over, using Angel as the bargaining chip. Twisting and twisting and twisting until you finally broke.

Vox chuckles, reaching with his free hand to grasp your chin with a deceiving gentleness. His arm wrapped around you pulls you against his chest, though he keeps your face looking up at him. “I’d be more than happy to change that, sugar. I can assure you I make sure my night partners are always enjoying themselves.”

Until this day, you’ve never had a greater challenge than holding back the urge to break Vox’s wrist and knee him in his testicles. Then maybe crack that stupid face-screen of his. Not even Alastor’s prodding made you feel this way.

You feel your rage simmering deep inside you. Threatening to boil over and reveal itself. You exhale through your nose, giving him a smile that was all teeth. Easy, now. Easy. Control. Your hand rests on his chest, and get up on your tip-toes—which doesn’t do much as he’s still very much taller than you—and say, “With all due respect Vox, but not even if you were the last demon in Hell would I ever consider having sex with you.”

You feel Vox’s chest rumble as he chuckles, his grip on your chin tightening juuust a little. His claws dig into your cheeks, not enough to draw blood, but enough to be uncomfortable. “Val was right, you are a feisty one.” His grin is borderline manic. “I like that in a human…”

“You’ve been with many humans?” You raise a brow in question.

“You really think you’re the only human to have come down to Hell after making a deal with a demon?” Vox laughs. He removes his claws from your face and starts stroking your cheek with his knuckles. Your lips twitch, a snarl threatening to surface. “You may not have been the only human to have ended up down here, but you’ve definitely lasted the longest.”

You reach up, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away from your face. “Again, all due respect, but I would very much like it if you stopped fucking touching me.”

There’s a pregnant silence between you both as you stare at each other. The only sound were the quiet dings of the lift as it goes up to the next floor, and the one after that.

Time couldn’t be moving any slower.

Vox’s face went from surprised and offended that you of all people would dare touch him and talk to him that way, to a more amused one. He chuckles, pulls his hand free, and his grip around your waist loosens. “You remind me so much of Alastor… it’s adorable.”

You take that chance to take a large step away from him, fixing up your coat and idly messing with your sleeve cuffs. “Spending several decades remaining by the side of one singular person… tends to have you adopt pieces of their habits.”

The lift slowly, slowly goes ding ding ding as it continues to go up.

You hold back an annoyed growl as you watch the light indicating what floor you were on slowly go up higher and higher. How many fucking floors were there?

“You know…” Vox closes the distance between you two, wrapping his arm around your waist again.

Before he can get his thought out, you say, “When someone gives you a request, the true gentlemanly thing to do is to respect it.” You’re sure Rosie would chide you for spitting so much venom in that sentence, but the uncomfortable static from Vox’s touch is making you not care.

The only thing he does is laugh and tap his claws against your side. “What can I say, doll… I just can’t seem to control myself around you.” He reaches up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, before his hand returns to your waist. “You got me all giddy and excited, it seems I keep forgetting myself. You know how it is.”

You hum noncommittally, but do nothing further to shove him away. You keep your eyes glued on the floor number, watching the light.

Vox’s fingers tap against your waist. “Where was I… oh yeah, I’m actually quite curious, Little Red. Just how has our dear Alastor not killed you yet?”

Your eyes remain honed on that light, using it as your anchor, your focus. "Alastor thought I was interesting. That’s why he’s kept me around this long.”

He scoffs. “C’mon, doll. I know there’s more to it than that.” His hand touches your head and you stiffen, freezing in place. It’s so reactive at this point, you can’t help but brace for what you expected to come. You know Vox noticed, you know he did. Your eyes remained trained on the lift light, but you knew he was watching your every move.

“After all… you’re the human to have lasted the longest down here…” You can hear the smile in his tone. “And Alastor is known to be rather… ruthless. I’m just curious, is all.”

He slowly starts combing your hair. Recalling the times when Alastor would comb your hair, you can now say that he doesn’t do it to feign gentleness. Vox on the other hand, certainly does. His touch does nothing to help ease the tension in your shoulders, if anything it makes you more tense.

“I’m not shocked that humans don’t last very long here.” You keep your eyes trained on the floor counter. Almost there. Almost. This lift was starting to feel way too small at this point, you’d really like to get to a more open area. Small spaces never normally bothered you, but now… feeling so powerless and unable to do anything but deal with it and try to continue playing into still having powers… you hated it.

“You got that right.” Vox combs out the tangles in your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. “Most—if not all demons—find them to be a delicacy. Be it in sex, their flesh, or…” He leans down closer to you, his voice right next to your ear, hoarse and hungry, “their blood.”

You purse your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

“So what makes you different hmm?” Vox grabs your face suddenly and makes you look at him, his hand grabbing your side and yanking you. You feel his claws dig in deeper than needed and you hold back a wince. His face-screen glitches and shifts, lips pulled back into a malicious grin. “What makes you so fucking special, Little Red?”

He tilts his head at you, his eyes roaming your face. “Not even a lick of fear in your eyes, darling. You don’t fear anything, do you?” He chuckles, the screen glitching once more, the lights in the lift flickering. “Should I give you a reason to be scared of me ?”

“I wouldn’t be afraid of Lucifer himself even if he was standing in front of me, ready to rip my insides out,” you retort, shocking him enough to release your face. “You’re giving yourself too much credit, Vox. I may be human, and you a demon, an Overlord, but I’m not afraid of you. Of any of you.”

Despite your heart pounding and pounding in your ears, despite your tenseness under his touch, you keep your eyes on his. “After all, you know for a fact I’ve killed my fair share of Overlords.” Determined to prove him wrong, you keep looking at him, even as his claws dug in just a little too deep and your eye twitches from the brief moment of pain.

As much as you want to, you don’t strike him, you don’t push away, you don’t do any of the things you want to do right now. Don’t bare your teeth too much. Not when you can’t bite. You keep yourself moderately calm, staring him down with your lips pulled back into a small smile—though it could be argued that it was more of a snarl.

Vox’s annoyed frown slowly goes back to a grin of his own. “Now I can see why you’re still here, still alive, still with… him. You really are such an… interesting human, Little Red.” His grip on your side slackens enough so you no longer feel his claws digging in. His other hand reaches up to brush his knuckles along your cheek.

“It’s a shame you’re his. I can only imagine the fun we would have if you were mine.”

A near animalistic growl erupted from your throat. “Not even if my life fucking counted on it would I ever consider becoming yours.”

You know Alastor’s going to scold you for the momentary loss of control. You know any excuse you had wouldn’t fly. Shit, you’re mentally scolding yourself for that.

The sheer gall Vox had for saying that to you… it disgusted you so much you lost control.

And it was exactly what he was waiting for.

Rather than look angry, annoyed at your less than savory attitude, his smile only grew stronger. “Not even if I told you a way to override a deal with a demon?”

That makes you blink in surprise, unable to hide the disbelief. A low chuckle resonates from his chest. “Sounds impossible, I know. But it is! All you have to do…” He leans down, down, until your nose is nearly touching his screen.

“Is kill your master.”

It’s like a bomb was dropped in your mind, and the dust was slowly settling. No thoughts went through your head, no feelings aside from shock, disbelief, uncertainty.

What?

“It sounds like an unthinkable thing, I know, I know.” Vox leans back and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “But… should you kill Alastor, it’ll remove the binding mark placed upon you.”

You knew the angels had weapons specifically made for permanently killing demons. Not even Lucifer himself was safe from such things. There was a black market for those very weapons and the reason why so many Overlords try to get their hands on them to ensure the weapons aren’t used against them. You remember this, you remember Rosie and Alastor telling you this so many decades ago.

If you really, really wanted to… you could kill Alastor. End the deal with him.

“You’d be free to do as you wished. Free to… find a new master.”

You could.

But would you?

You stare at Vox, the only sound between you the quiet dinging of the lift as it nears the top. You mull over his words.

Alastor left you to die to the angels, left you to face Vox and Valentino alone with no way to defend yourself. All for just telling him he’s being an idiot. All for just punching him in the face. If he cared, he wouldn’t leave you to this fate. He wouldn’t have let it get this far. He would’ve snatched you up and taken you home, scolded you, punished you, something. Anything aside from just sitting aside while you were unconscious on Angel’s couch, while you were talking to Valentino, while Vox was walking with you.

Fuck, Alastor could take you back right now if he wanted. You can’t feel them, but you know he’s having the shadows watch you. He has to be having them watch you. They have to be ordered to not do anything but watch, otherwise they would’ve lashed out at Vox the second he showed himself. You know he’s watching. You know for a fucking fact he’s keeping tabs on you still.

Then why isn’t he here?

“What do you say, Little Red?” He holds out a hand to you, smiling wide with squinted eyes.

You look at his hand, then at him.

You think back to your time with Niffty. Her happy attitude, her big smile, her eagerness to help and be your friend. How overjoyed she is every time you come by to see her. How happy she’d be when you would visit her at Mimzy’s bar. How ecstatic she’d be to help you pick out your clothes for the day, help you style your hair, paint your nails if you so wished.

Would you do it?

You think back to your time with Rosie. Her gentle smile, her touch that almost never made you tense or uncomfortable. Her voice that always sounded so loving, her eyes that always shined with a fondness for you. The days with her would always be real days off, as she’d always do everything, almost never allowing you to lift a single finger. Always scolding Alastor for working you to the bone.

Would you kill him?

You think back to your time with Husk. His gruff attitude that hides so much more. The rare smile on his face when he taught you how to play cards, how to cheat at cards. The nights where he would drink you under the table, laughing as he always went to take another shot. The nights he would wrap a wing around you like a blanket, a shield, his rough voice softer than it usually was.

Would you kill Alastor?

They were all dangerous demons. They could hurt you. They could kill you if they really wanted. Alastor himself has proven he could take away everything he gave you if he wanted to. He could do whatever he wished and you would have no other choice but to deal with it. If he ever wished, he could end the deal himself and have you be consumed by his shadows.

Would you?

You think back to your time with Alastor. How he would keep you closer to his side when it got colder out. How he’d always always have breakfast ready for both of you. How his eyes would shine with pride and his smile growing ever bigger when you’d figure something out on your own. You recall the times he taught you how to play piano. His unusually gentle touch. The nostalgia shining in his eyes. His smile… small and soft and not like any other smile you’d seen on him before. His voice, while still teasing, surprisingly patient. It makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way, in a way you can’t even describe.

Would you?

You stare at Vox as the lift makes the final ding as you reach the top floor.

Killing Alastor, ridding yourself of the people who look at you with fondness, with joy, pride, gentleness. Things you’ve never experienced until coming to Hell, as ironic as it sounds…

You…

You wouldn’t.

You won’t.

You were mad at Alastor, you hated him, but you’d never… ever leave him.

You’d never kill him.

And to think

that Vox

would even suggest such a thing to you…

Deep, deep down, the anger that had been slowly boiling raises rapidly in heat. Growing hotter and hotter until it became too much to bear. Alastor and Rosie always told you you needed to keep that anger under reigns, often telling you how it leads to you putting your foot in your mouth. Sometimes both.

You smile, reaching out to him. His own smile couldn’t get any bigger, he’s practically vibrating with sheer delight. Your finger trails up up up his arm, to his bowtie which you promptly adjust. His smile slowly falls to confusion, then shock when you grab the collar of his coat and yank him down to your level.

Your rage burned hot, too hot for you to control. There’s no holding back now, so might as well put both of those feet in that stupid mouth of yours.

Your lips pull back into a vicious snarl, eyes burning hot with hatred. “Get. Bent. You loathesome teleivision-faced fuck.” You take advantage of his loose grip on you to shove him into the wall and turn, walking out of the lift and towards a big door that read “VIP Lounge.” If Valentino was anywhere, it’d be in there.

You hear Vox chuckling darkly behind you, the lights flickering rapidly. You keep walking.

“Oh, Little Red…” You hear his voice directly behind you, a clawed hand grabbing your shoulder and holding tight. He turns you around, his hand wrapping around your throat. His voice morphs, turning to static, sounding like a hundred voices at once, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

His grip tightens to the point you instinctively reach up to grasp at it. You grit your teeth, pulling your lips back into a snarl and narrowing your eyes. Vox only laughs, his other hand cupping your cheek. “Still so defiant, hmm? We’ll see how long that lasts…” His grip tightens again, a warning, before he lets go and allows you a moment to catch your breath.

“Oh, you have no idea how badly I want to hear that pretty little neck of yours snap into two. But… you have a meeting with my dear friend Val. It’d be rude of me to kill one of his guests… again. And besides…” Vox leans down, down, his screen grazing your cheek and you hear his voice right by your ear. “I want you for myself.”

He reaches around you and grabs the doorknob, slowly twisting it to the side, and the door swings open. He pushes you into the room, taking one step in before shutting the door behind him.

The resounding click of the door feels like the final nail you just hammered onto your coffin.

And as you stare at the demon you can only assume to be Valentino, an overly pleased and excited expression on his face, you’re positive that this is most likely going to be the last place you’ll see.

For the first time in years, you feel a fear reaching and grasping your heart in its claws.

For the first time in years, you’re scared.

Not for yourself. Not because you’re most likely going to die here.

But because you won’t be able to hear Grimm’s tiny voice in the back of your mind ever again. To see the wide mischievous grin on their shadowy face.

You won’t be able to have random sprees of cleaning or shopping with Niffty. You won’t be able to sit and have tea with Rosie. You won’t be able to play cards with Husk and try and fail to hide cards up your sleeve. You won’t be able to go with Angel to the many many bars he knows and drink with him.

You won’t be able to dance with Alastor again. To link arms with him and walk beside him down the street, listening to him humming a happy tune. To listen to him playing the piano and singing along. To sit together and dine and talk and laugh at quips and jokes only you two know.

And that…

That scares you more than anything.

Chapter Text

The demon named Valentino sat before you, casually lounging back in a large and plush chair. He was donned in a fur-lined hot pink coat with pink hearts along the white, overly-fluffy collar. The cuffs of his sleeves and edge of his coat were also lined with the same white fluff, though plain. He seems to be wearing what looks to be zebra print under his coat with a matching hot pink tophat also bearing a zebra print design.

His red eyes are covered by a pair of gold-rimmed heart shaped glasses, tinted a deep pink. His mouth is pulled back into a wide grin, revealing blood red teeth with a single gold tooth.

He certainly looks the part of a pimp, you’ll give him that.

“My, my…” He laughs, his voice just as silky and deep and pompous as you remember hearing it over the phone. “Vox buddy, I’m surprised you didn’t snap that pretty little neck of theirs on the way here.”

Vox’s grip on your shoulder tightens a hint. “Trust me, Val… they gave me a very good reason just a moment ago.” He pulls you with him to the sofa near Valentino’s excessively large armchair. He sits first, yanking you down with him and wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer and holding onto you tighter than before.

You swallow the pained grunt that threatened to erupt from your throat. You’re sure the rough handling messed with your stitches some. You hope not too much. You feel his hand roaming, claws digging into certain areas of your body, as if searching.

Vox may know you’re hurt, but he doesn’t know where. He’s trying to see whether or not you’ll react to it. To his poking, his prodding, his searching. Quietly you thank Husk for all the times he taught you how to keep a straight face during cards. It’s really paying off now, because Vox’s claws keep getting dangerously close to your injury.

“Now, where in Hell is Velvet? I know she’d love to meet Little Red here, too.” Vox emphasises his statement by giving your cheek a rough pinching.

Valentino smiles, watching you slap Vox’s hand away, then says, “The poor doll couldn’t make it, had some important business she herself had to take care of.”

You hold back the sigh of relief. While it’s still an extremely shitty situation that you’re stuck with Vox and Valentino, it would’ve been even worse than it already was if Velvet was also her.

“But I digress…” Valentino leans forward towards you, one pair of hands lacing their fingers together while the others reach for you. One hand grabs your chin, turning your face this way and that. His other hand moves with the intent to inspect your teeth. “Let’s take a look at you, hmm?”

Before his fingers could touch your lips, you slapped his hand away. You then grab his other hand and force him to release your chin, shoving it away. You smile, saying through clenched, bared teeth, “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me.”

Valentino only chuckles, shaking the hand you slapped. “My, we are fierce, aren’t we?” Despite his eyes having no pupils, you can feel them roaming your body, taking everything in. His smile was all teeth, malicious, hungry. “Don’t worry, sugar. Lots of demons like it when humans still have a bit of fight left in ‘em.” His grin widens. “Quite the looker too, gotta say… How’d you like a job here, sweet cheeks?”

“Not even in your wildest dreams, Val.” You keep your eyes on him, feeling Vox watching you, waiting for one little slip up. His claws tap an eager rhythm against your side.

He leans back in his chair again. One leg folds over the other. He rests his cheek in one of his hands. “Mmm… that’s too bad, sugar. You would’ve raked in a lot of money.” A long, red tongue slithers out of his mouth to lick his teeth. You hold back a look of disgust. “And I would’ve treated you just right.”

You stare him dead in the eye. You know he wouldn’t. If earlier this day told you anything, he’d fuck with your head until you didn’t know what to believe anymore. Until you could only rely on him for the truth. You say with a surprisingly calm tone, “I’m sure you would. But I’m fine with my current employment.”

He laughs, tilting his head at you, eyes squinting. “I gotta say, you really colored me surprised, sugar. Never thought I’d actually get to meet Alastor’s infamous… precious little human.” His tone, much like on the phone, is the same poison-laced silk, calm and smug. His face doesn’t reveal much as you look him over besides a conceited confidence.

You still can’t get much from his voice, and he’s good at masking his body language, but you still manage to catch small things. The tapping of his fingers on the arm of the chair. His foot bounced at a near-rapid pace. He’s eager for something. Knowing him and Vox, they’re both most likely eager to rip you to shreds.

He gives you another once-over. “Though you got a nice face and body, you’re not exactly the most… intimidating in appearance, are you? Gotta be honest sweetcheeks, I’m a bit disappointed.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Val.” You feel Vox’s claws go tap tap tap against your side. “You of all demons should know that. All things considered.” You look over him with a raised brow as if to make a point.

You almost missed the slightest twitch in his smile. Almost. He responds with a chuckle, “Got quite the tongue on you, Little Red. I can only imagine what else it could do with the right kind of… training.”

It was his turn to try and goad you into a reaction. A scowl, a flinch, something. You repeat in your mind over and over the words Rosie and Alastor have told you for so many years. Control, control. He wants to see he’s getting to you. For as long as you can help it, you won’t give him the satisfaction.

You exhale through your nose, nostrils flaring. “Again, not in your wildest dreams, Val. All the due respect to you and your business, but it’s not for me. And while this talk is absolutely riveting, I know that’s not why you asked me to come here.”

Valentino’s smile strengthens. “That’s right… I’d love to know why you think my dearest Angel would withhold information from me.” He leans forward again. “I’m dying to hear this, Little Red, let me tell you…”

You look over his face, try to find any kind of strange lilt in his voice. You don’t find anything in his voice. You test the waters, “I think it’s because he knew I already belonged to someone—” you present your hand, a piece of your binding mark in clear view “—what point would there be to tell you about a human already belonging to someone?”

“And what point would there be to not tell me, hmm?” Valentino laces his fingers. “In this business, information is important. Doesn’t matter if you belonged to another demon or not, knowing there was a human in Hell, belonging to someone, waltzing around in the open nice and safe is important enough for me to know immediately.”

You mulled his words over, read his body language. He took a drag from his pipe, pink smoke billowing out of his mouth and creating this haze around him. He looked relaxed, his smile a tell in how overconfident he was. 

Suddenly, you remember something Husk told you a long time ago.

“Sometimes the best thing you can do is not know anything. Or at least act like it, if you don’t have a full house yet,” he had said. “People who think they have the better hand than you act overconfident, reveal too much because they don’t think you’ll catch it. Use that to your advantage.”

You remember times when Angel had to go because he was called by Valentino. He’d be frustrated but would always go to get whatever job he had to do finished. Those instances alone show Angel’s loyalty to Valentino. If he was loyal, he wouldn’t withhold information…

Meaning…

He’s lying.

Angel told him from the start about you. Valentino just didn’t do anything most likely because he didn’t want Alastor on his ass.

Should you call him out on his bluff? Or should you try goading for more information? What he said was more than enough. You’re not sure what kind of reaction you’ll get from him if you call him out.

“You look like you want to say something, Red,” Valentino says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Don’t be shy, sugar.”

Right. You can’t be getting lost in your thoughts at a time like this. Not to mention Valentino is no doubt just as good—if not better at reading people than you are. You chew your lip, trying to ignore Vox’s grip. Taking one last second to think, you finally say, “You’re lying.”

“Oh? And what makes you think that?” You almost missed the brief flash on its eyes, a flash of disbelief.

“Angel Dust is your most valued employee, right?” You don’t wait for him to answer, you keep going, “In the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve noticed his loyalty to you. Meaning he would have told you about him meeting me. You most likely just didn't have anything happen because you knew who I was.”

There’s a brief, brief moment that Valentino’s eyes widen a fraction. His smile falters, shock overtaking him that you caught on. You even felt Vox’s grip on you loosening a fraction. Just as quickly as you noticed it, it was gone.

The silence in the room, much like back in Angel’s apartment, was suffocating.

“My, my, my… you’re quite a perceptive one, aren’t you?” Valentino’s fingers tap a rhythm against the aim of his chair. “I have to admit, you surprised me, sugar. Not many can succeed at such a thing.” There’s a newfound genuine interest shining in his eyes now. “I can see why dear old Al decided to keep you for so long… and why you didn’t simply kill them, Vox.”

Vox’s laugh sends a chill down your spine and goosebumps dance along your skin. “Oh, trust me… no one wants to hear their pretty little screams more than I do, Val. But…” He reaches a hand up, his fingers brushing your cheek with a feigned gentleness. “Rather than kill them… I think I’d prefer keeping them. Though Little Red, you could use some… disciplining.”

You lean away from his hand. “And your compliments could use some work, Vox. Maybe you should take some classes.” It’s Vox’s turn to have a stare down with you now, his eyes squinting with delight. It was easy to hide the tenseness from Valentino, but Vox was right beside you, forcing you to lean against him. He could feel it. And he was reveling in it.

“Such a smart little human you are. But you never fully answered my question. You know he told me about you when you first met decades ago. But…” He smiles a smile that’s all teeth and malicious intent. “He never told me about you staying at his humble little abode while he was out.”

“It’s simple enough. We were hanging out, I was too drugged to head back to my home, and passed out on his couch,” you say smoothly.

Vox’s grip on your waist tightens. You grunt, narrowing your eyes at him while his grin only widens. “Then what about your injury, Little Red?”

“A… scuffle…” You place a hand on his. “If you’d be so kind to fucking let go.”

“And dear old Al didn’t teach you to tend to those injuries?”

“This isn’t… about me. This is about Angel Dust.” You look at Valentino. “You seem pretty Hellbent on punishing him no matter what I say to try and defend him. Why is that? Does it make you feel powerful?” His eyes squint at you, lips slowly starting to tug downward. “It certain doesn’t make you look powerful.” His smile falls into a scowl. “If you ask me, Angel more deserves a raise for all the work he does for you—”

His hand shoots out, grabbing your face, yanking you forward.

Ah, there it was. Looks like if you twisted enough, he too could snap.

“Don’t… start assuming things, Little Red.” He leans uncomfortably close to your face. “Angel is my little whore. I get to do whatever the fuck I want with him.”

The tips of his claws are digging deep into your cheeks, but you still say, “Sounds like a bad business practice to me.” You reach up and grab his wrist. “Now let. Go. Of my face.”

His grip tightens on your face, while your own grip tightens around his wrist. His snarl slowly, slowly softens back into a smile. Finally, his hold on you relents. You release each other at the same time and as you’re lowering your hand, he starts chuckling, as if none of that just happened.

“Oh Red, Red, Red…” Valentino stands from his chair and strolls over to take a seat next to you. Great, astounding, now you were literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. It doesn’t help you were so fucking short, both Overlords towered over you even sitting.

One arm wraps around your shoulders, the other around your waist. You feel both Valentino and Vox’s fingers tapping against your side eagerly. Valentino’s arm around your shoulders takes some of your hair and twirls it around his finger. “They’re such a card, don’t you think, Vox?”

“It’s adorable how… innocent they are,” Vox chuckles. “How is it you know so much yet so little, hmm? You really don’t know how things work in this particular field, do you?”

“Sorry that the porn industry isn’t exactly my number one interest and problem to know everything about.” You hold back a flinch when you feel Valentino’s fingers dig into your side.

“Then let me educate you, sugar.” Valentino grabs your face and makes you look at him, leaning uncomfortably close. “I have many different types of employees. My underlings, and my whores. My job as a pimp is to make sure the whores make money, come home, and give it to me. While my underlings are my eyes, my mouth, and my weapons.” His hand now gripped your chin, furm and rough.

“If my employees are in danger from an outside source, I step in and save them from that danger. Otherwise, what I say goes. My sweet Angel baby continues to forget he’s not my underling, he’s my whore.”

You stare at him, resisting the desire to shove him away. “Okay, I understand that. From what you’re telling me, it sounds like he’s taking on jobs he shouldn’t be doing, yes?”

Valentino’s smile is all teeth. His chuckle is low, deep; that kind of chuckle that was pitying. As if you didn’t know a single thing. He leans closer and closer until his lips are just barely ghosting over yours.  “So you are smart. That’s good to see.”

He was way too close to your face and you were not a fan. But with every minute that passes you’re violently reminded of how powerless you really were. You could only bark and show your teeth so long before they realize you can no longer bite. But you ignore his jab and continue to say, “From what I saw, he’s capable and knows his shit. Why wouldn’t you want a jack of all trades like him?” 

Valentino tilts your head one way, leaning closer and inhaling deeply to take in your scent. Fucking disgusting. “Sweetheart, I made it this far as an Overlord by not trusting a single fucking demon under me. Both literally and figuratively.” He chuckles, placing a kiss on your earlobe. And then you feel his teeth graze your neck.

Oh, fuck no.

Your body reacts on instinct, grabbing at Valentino’s face and forcing him back. Though it unintentionally pushed yourself closer to Vox, it got Valentino away from your neck. “I thought I said not to fucking touch me.”

Your mouth contorts into a sneer, “You don’t trust any demons under you, you’ve come so far and rose so high, yet you’re nowhere near as feared as Alastor and I.” It’s your turn to lean closer to him. “And you never will be.”

Vox puts his free hand on your head and buries his fingers into your hair. You freeze, allowing Valentino to remove your hand from his face and rubbed his chin with a curious look in his eye. Your hand slowly falls back towards your abdomen, fingers grasping your coat. Vox leans down and says, “You really should watch what comes out of that pretty mouth of yours, Little Red.”

“I’ll say…” Valentino looks you over. “You’d think he’d’ve taught you some manners.”

Slowly, all too slowly, Vox removed his hand from your hair. You feel his arm tightening around you, his claws digging close much too close to your injury. You feel a sharp pain when he dug them in just a bit deeper than he had before and you grit your teeth, barely holding back a grunt of pain. You’re positive he just fucked your stitches, maybe even made a new puncture wound.

“You’re one to talk about manners,” you retort. “This is how you treat all your guests who come see you? Killing them before even seeing them or trying to play the strong, scary Overlord?” You bite the inside of your lip at Vox’s claws going deeper into your side, trying to hold back your grunt. “It doesn’t make you look strong and scary. It makes you look sad.”

The air was so thick with tension, anticipation. As each minute ticked by you tried harder and harder to keep yourself calm, your breathing even, hoping quietly, feebly, that your wound hadn’t re-opened too much for them to notice.

Yet you knew… that you shouldn’t do such a thing as hope in Hell.

“If us playing this little game of… ‘pretending’ to be big and strong is sad, Little Red…” The lights flicker as Vox hums, leaning closer to you, Valentino doing the same. Vox whispers to you, “What does that make you?”

~*~

“Indeed, dear Little Red.” Valentino suddenly grabs both of your wrists in one hand and moves it away from your abdomen. Another hand slowly starts unbuttoning your coat. “After all, from what I heard…” Instinctively you try pulling your hands free, but to no avail. “Alastor’s left you all alone to the angel’s.”

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Your head jumped to your throat, the mask you’ve done your best to keep up slowly cracking. Both of Vox’s hands grab at your shoulders, his claws digging in.

“You’re wondering how I know that, aren’t you?” Valentino chuckles, moving your hands out of the way. He then slowly unbuttoned your dress shirt. One. By. One. “Sugar… if you knew everything about me, you’d’ve known that I have eyes and ears everywhere in my territory… I’ve known about this—” He pushes the clothing aside to reveal your bandages, white slowly turning red “—ever since my dear Angie found you.”

“Gotta say, Red…” Vox pulls you back against his chest, his arm wrapping around your shoulders while the other grabs at the bandages and rips them off. “You are a cute little thing… yet also so stupidly brave…” His fingers tap tap tap against the stitches, some of which have been ruined from his insistent prodding. “To have come here injured.”

Your body feels so fucking tense. You can’t move, the shock and fear slowly grasping at your heart rendering you unable to move, unable to say anything or just fucking fight back. All you can really do is just stare and stare at Valentino and see his eyes shine with hunger. Your breathing shaky, your body shaking under Vox’s hold despite your best efforts.

Valentino’s hand strokes your cheek before placing a finger under your chin. He says, “You know… Demons are always curious about how humans are in bed now. Most never got the chance when they were alive, or they wonder what it’d feel like with their new form.” His finger runs down along your arm. “But of course… humans can be so easy to break.”

Vox’s claws dig into your injury and you groan, gritting your teeth.

“And their blood…” One of Valentino’s free hands juts forward and into your wound. Not by much, but definitely enough to ruin the rest of the stitching and reopen it. Red rubies drip out of your injury and coat Valentino’s hand.

His long red tongue slithers out of his mouth and he slooowly licks the blood off his fingers. His tongue wraps around each digit, his eyes remaining trained on you as he does all of this.

Suddenly, you feel Vox eagerly running his hand over the injury now to coat it with blood and you slowly turn your head to see his eyes on you, mouth opening and his own tongue phases through the screen of his face and happily licks up the blood.

Both Overlords practically moan as they do this.

No matter how hard you tried, the mask was broken and your face contorted into disgust and—you hate to say it—fear.

~*~

Valentino sighs happily, finally releasing your hands. “To die for.” Both he and Vox share a laugh, then he says, “Virgin blood especially. So pure… so unsullied…” He looks ready to lick up the rest of the blood seeping out of your injury.

You can’t even bring yourself to think of a witty comeback. Your hands move hastily to button your shirt and then apply pressure to your injury, slowly starting to coat your own hands with blood. Of all the things you were expecting them to do you weren’t expecting that. Again you hear your heart hammering in your ears. You can see the look of barely restrained control on their faces, feel their eyes roaming your body and honing in on your slowly reddenning hands.

“I find it curious and so, so sad that Alastor’s left you all… alone…” Vox’s knuckles brush against your cheek. “What would cause him to do such a thing, Little Red?”

“I’m quite curious as well, sugar.” Valentino leans closer to you, his smile wide and eager and taking in every last detail of your expression. “He’s always been so possessive of you…” One finger trails down the other side of your face and stops under your chin. “And yet… he’s left you all on your own with us with you injured and bleeding all over my sofa…” He suddenly grabs your face, his tall body looming over you. “Want to tell us why that is, Little Red?”

“I find it even more curious that they haven’t tried harder to stop us…” Vox comments. “You’d think… during all this time, they would’ve had those annoying shadows push us away, or just used some of that precious little power Alastor gave them.”

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck fuck fuck.

Is there a word for worse than worse? Because that’s the situation you’re in right now.

You’re beyond fucked at this point.

At this point you’re

you’re positive Alastor’s left you.

He doesn’t care about you anymore.

He doesn’t want you anymore.

He’s not coming for you.

He never was going to come for you.

He 

doesn’t 

care

about

you 

anymore.

And there’s no way you’re getting out of this unscathed.

Hell, you might not even get out of this alive.

“It’s almost like…” Vox places a hand on your head and you stiffen, your hands starting to tremble. “You can’t even use those little powers of yours anymore, can’t you? You’ve been bluffing the entire time.”

He twists a hand into your hair, winding the length of it around his hand and pulls it tight—

CRACK!

It’s so reactive, like a switch being flipped. You rammed your elbow into Vox’s face while your fist connected with Valeninto’s teeth. The sheer force from the blows cause them both to release you, giving you ample time to scramble away.

Your breathing becomes ragged, coughing and feeling blood trickle down your chin. Your hands tremble, eyes wide and body moving

RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!!!

on pure instinct and desire to survive.

You run—it’s more limping than anything—to the door and grab at the knob, only to cry out and yank your hand back. Wrapped around the doorknob was a cord coated in sparks. Following it to the source, you see Vox holding out a hand towards you, the cord coming out of his sleeve, while his other hand was covering the section of his face you elbowed.

Valentino licks the blood from his teeth, lips peeled back into a scowl. “Oh, Little Red…” He chuckles.

Vox removes the hand from his face, revealing a small crack on his face-screen. His smile is wide and manic, the screen glitching worse than it had before. The lights flicker on and off and on and off.

The same cord around the doorknob wraps around your neck to the point of borderline choking, yanking you closer to him until your face to face with him. “You really… really shouldn’t have done that…” His laughter morphs and lowers several pitches. He reaches out and grabs your face, his claws leaving behind small puncture wounds. “I don’t think they fully understand what they just did, Val.”

“I agree, that punch to the face hurt quite a bit.” Valentino rubs his chin, his scowl changing into a wicked grin. “Ya know, not many can even dream to strike an Overlord. Not many are stupid enough to even fathom such a thing… I think it’s only fair we repay the favor, don’t you?”

Vox laughs, the lights fading, dimming and dimming until it’s almost completely dark. “I think that’s more than fair.” He leans close to you, the crack on his face- screen causing it to glitch wildly. “Don’t worry, Little Red, I won’t kill you. Afterall, I wanna keep you for myself. But a punishment is necessary.”

He runs his knuckles down your cheek to feign gentleness. “Now do me a favor, Little Red…” His claws suddenly jut forward, digging into your wound and ripping the stitches. You gasp and cough, blood dripping from your mouth, from your injury, drenching Vox’s hand and coat and the floor with your blood.

“Scream nice and loud for me, won’t you?”

~*~

The next thing you felt was pure unadulterated agony. A series of intense burning and piercing sensations ran up and down your body.

The only noise that comes out of you is a pained groan.

“You call that a scream, doll?” You hear Vox say. “I fucking said scream.”

The burning and piercing intensified. It burns it burns.

You cry out and swallow the rest of it, your stubbornness shining through even as your heart hammers and the panic and fear finally settles in.Even as tears well in your eyes and you hear Vox and Valentino laughing at the pain they’ve caused you, you try so so hard to hold back your cries.

You try not to give them the satisfaction of showing them they’re causing you pain.

But it’s growing and growing and growing and it’s 

becoming 

too much

to bear

too much.

it’s too much

it’s too much.

You finally scream.

You scream and scream until your mouth fills with more blood and is coughed out and then you scream some more. Your throat tears itself apart and past your cries you can hear their laughter, their chortles of sheer delight at your pain.

~*~

And just as quickly as it started, it stops. You don’t feel the burning or the piercing. You don’t feel their claws or teeth dig into your flesh. Vox’s cords loosen around you and you start to fall down.

And you land in a pair of arms that hold you close against a warm chest. Gently, gently cradling your body.

The last thing you remember hearing before everything goes is the sound of radio static and a chorus of whispers.

Chapter Text

Alastor stood in the washroom, dabbing a wet cloth at his mouth to clean off the blood—his human really did pack a punch when they wished to—until he was satisfied with his handiwork. Setting the cloth aside, adjusting his monocle, and dusting off his coat, he strolled back to the living space. He takes in the small mess made during that little debacle with a single raised brow and a close-mouthed smile, cleaning it up with a simple wave of his hand. All the while he quietly mulled over what happened just a few moments ago.

What could’ve possibly caused his human to have reacted in such a way? They’ve been angry at him before yes, but never to the point of attempting to strike him. Even during that little disagreement, he did not see their eyes shining with intent to attack. Anger and confusion, perhaps even a small hint of delicious fear, but nothing past that. 

Were they rightfully angry? Of course not! They knew what they signed up for. They knew the terms of the deal, they knew there were rules that were meant to be followed.

They know better than to fraternize with demons he doesn’t approve of. And he does not approve of the spider. Especially after doing some deeper digging and finding out who that spider worked for. While Alastor himself never was and never will be a fan of the more lewd side of entertainment, he’s never had too much of an issue with Valentino. No no no, it’s that partner of his that Alastor so greatly disapproves of.

Indeed, that blasted TV demon has been a thorn in his side for much too long. Does his human not realize just how hard he’s worked to ensure they’ve remained out of Vox’s sights? Those days or sometimes even weeks of him being gone was almost always him dealing with that irksome Overlord. Of course, it’s not always Vox who acts as a thorn in Alastor’s side. There’s other demons or Overlords he’s had to deal with before, but Vox is truly the largest thorn and won’t be so easy to remove.

No, his human will never understand the amount of effort he’s gone through to ensure the distance is kept between them and the other demons who’ve had their eyes on his human for so many decades. Alas, they most likely never will. Such is the life of an unsung “hero.” Perhaps some time alone, some time without true power and only their wits and survival instincts will make them realize. Make them understand.

He idly wonders if they’ll seek shelter with one of their acquaintances. He knows dearest Rosie would be more than happy to take them in, allow them to stay for a while, perhaps even shield them somewhat from him. It wouldn’t work, of course. But he knows she’d try. Old Husker and darling Niffty are two possibilities as well.

Husker might become a larger problem when he finds out what happened between Alastor and his human. He’d most likely spew profanities for a solid ten minutes all while Alastor just smiles and listens. Husker’s little tantrums are always oh so entertaining. Yet he also knows that it’ll be less entertaining when dear old Husker decides to try and defy him and refuse to allow him to see his human.

And that wouldn’t do at all.

Yet no matter how the dice may fall, Alastor can’t help but be excited to see how this turns out.

Even now as he sits in his little safe room during the extermination, eyes on a book but not actually reading, his foot bounces with a newfound eagerness. He still wonders what caused his dear human to have reacted in such a way, yet he also wants to know what they’ll do now that they’re left completely and utterly powerless. Will they seek shelter with Rosie? Niffty? Husk? Ah, it won’t do if they try and seek it with that spider, but that’d simply make it all the more entertaining if they did.

Or maybe they’d try to hide like the other low lifes in the streets, finding an old abandoned building and hoping for the best. It’s a feeble, useless thing to do, of course. They wouldn’t last ten minutes out in the streets with the angels out and about. Then again, maybe he’s underestimating their survival instincts, their ability at staying quiet and hidden. So many fun little theories flowing through his head, it’s exciting to wonder how things will turn out for his dear  human.

The troublesome little shadow who’s clung to his human—Grimm, he remembers them being named—peeks out from under his shoes. He locks eyes with them, a single brow raised in question, causing the shadow to slip out and use his book as a hiding spot. Peaking over it, their claws click click click anxiously against the pages.

He hears their quiet voice whispering to him, hesitant, human human hurt hurt hurting pain angels poking stabbing hurt help help we have to have to help them please please?

Ah, so it seems they tried hiding. Just as he suspected, not ten minutes and they were already caught. It also seems those “holier than thou” angels do not care who or what is in Hell. Be it human or demon, they will strike a sinner down. Curious that it hasn’t killed his human yet. Perhaps the theory he idly spoke of so many decades ago of an angel using his human as bait was correct.

And they call themselves saints. Hah!

He returns his attention to the shadow in his hand. Dear little one, he thinks back, shutting his book softly and holding out a hand to them. They come closer, resting in his outstretched hand while his other is placed upon their head, gently scratching the space between their horns with a single clawed finger. You know we cannot do such a thing.

Their purring is soft, sad. Even now he can feel their displeasure in his answer. Yet they still try, but but hurting they’re they’re hurting didn’t mean to didn’t didn’t mean to hit you didn’t they didn’t please help please please please?

Rules are rules, little shadow. Unless you wish to be thrown back into the darkness, I’d suggest you follow them. He lets them slowly slink out of his hand. Their voice hums with sadness, their form morphing and threatening to break the stitches holding them together. But they relent, butting their head against his hand one last time before vanishing into his sleeve.

Such a troublesome little thing, that one’s become. So clingy now too. Alastor supposed it was going to happen sooner or later considering how much his human loved spoiling his shadows so. Even now he can hear the chorus of saddened whines from the other little shadows that always followed his human around. They silence the moment he hums, but he knows their insistent whining and begging to allow his human’s return will begin within the hour.

Once this little temper tantrum his human is having is over, he really should speak to them about spoiling those shadows.

Speaking of: his own personal shadow returns to inform him of the end of the extermination. He stands, instructing more of his personal shadows—not the ones that have spent so long with his human, no, he knows they’ll intervene—to keep an eye on his human, giving strict instructions to not interact. Just because he’s punishing them by taking their power doesn’t mean he’s not going to keep tabs on them.

He knows they will not die so easily. They’re a survivor. He knows they’ll pull through. It's why he's kept them around so long. It’s why he finds them oh so interesting.

He traverses through the darkness to return—home?—to his human’s flat. With a small wave of his hand, the scene before him changes, though not by much. The shadows slowly close in, shifting, morphing, changing their shape until a copy of him and his human stand before him. The scene that happened only a few hours ago now replays. He watches it over and over, keeping his eyes glued on his human, watching their face, their reaction, all the way up to them turning and striking him in the face.

Right as they’re turning to leave, he watches his past self reaching and grasping their hair. Mmm yes, he remembers not being in the… best of moods around that point in the argument. Not his finest moments, he’ll admit it.

His eyes snap to his human, watching them whirl around and strike him. He freezes that moment, stepping closer to better inspect the image of his human, their expression. He notes the look of genuine shock and fear, yet even as they looked at Alastor—past Alastor, of course—their eyes were glazed over, as if they were recalling something from their past.

Ah… so pulling their hair was the trigger. It seems to throw them into an immediate fight or flight (or both), blinded by the memories of their life prior to becoming his little minion. He snaps his fingers and the shadows melt and go back to their original positions. Interesting. And yet, while that explains their reaction, it will not excuse their outburst and horrid attitude.

No, they still must be punished for what they’ve done. He can’t just let them do whatever they wished and not face the consequences of their actions. He’ll graciously grant them this small bit of space from him, however. Maybe they’ll gain some sense while out there unable to feel the eyes of his shadows or even his own on them.

He wonders how bad the feeling of loneliness will affect them. Most likely they’ll have a breakdown or three, and it’ll be all the better if they do. They must experience the worst before giving back everything Alastor had gifted them in the first place, afterall.

They must be reminded that he is the one who is in charge. Not them. So he will remain off to the side, letting his shadows watch and keep him updated.

While he isn’t exactly pleased to find out his human was found and taken in by the spider, he could make this work in his favor. 

A little haunting here and there never hurt anyone. Shadows in the corner of one’s eyes. Hearing voices. Seeing things in their dreams. It’s been some time since Alastor’s had that kind of fun with somebody. It’ll take out two birds with one stone, as most say. He’ll be able to watch over his human, all the while terrorizing that spider.

Hopefully it’ll scare the spider from ever wanting to go near his human again. It’s tempting, to be sure, to step into the spider’s less than savory home to make him realize just who’s human he’s housing. But he relents. No need to go farther than he already has, this was fun enough in itself.

As for everyone else… Well, them finding out is an inevitable thing. He knows, one by one, eventually their acquaintances would ask where his human was, what could have possibly happened between them, and so on.

Old Husker is the first to notice.

Of course he is. Alastor chose Husk as his partner back in the living world for a reason. He’s approached Husk to get back together in Hell for that reason as well. Nothing gets past those sharp eyes of his, even when he’s had a little too much giggle juice. Alastor knew he would be the perfect demon to ensure his human’s eyes stayed sharp and focused.

And a good thing too, seeing as that spider demon was corrupting them so.

Not to mention they’ve become quite close as of late, strangely enough. Old Husker has never been one to get close to anyone. And his human… well, he assumed their fragile little trust couldn’t be so easily given out, but it seems he assumed wrong. Even so, it’s a rather strange sight, seeing them look so relaxed around one another.

So Alastor’s not surprised when he’s in the living space of his human’s flat the day after the extermination and sees Husk coming in. Never one for knocking, is he? Ah well. Husk brushes by him, his claws working on the tangles of his chest fluff, as he walks towards his human’s room.

Not a second passes before he’s back in the living space, staring down at Alastor who’s reading a book, sipping a cup of coffee.

“Where’s the kid?”

Alastor’s head tilts one way. He set the coffee cup aside and tapped his chin in mock thinking. “Hmm, that’s a good question… where are they?”

Husk’s eyes narrow, his ears flicking and folding back. His eyes roam Alastor’s face, taking in his expression, his posture. Alastor just smiles at Husk, as he always has and always will. He can practically see and hear the wheels turning in Husk’s mind. Husk then asks, “What happened?”

Even after all the drinks he no doubt had before coming here, his eyes still remain so sharp, mind quick to catch up and come to conclusions. Alastor feels his smile growing. He hops to his feet, slamming the book shut and allowing it to dissipate into smoke. “Another good question! What happened indeed, Husker dear?”

“Don’t fuckin’ play stupid with me, you son of a bitch,” Husk lets out an annoyed growl. “Something happened between you two, so what is it?”

Ah, nothing can get past Husk’s keen eyes.

“Well my good friend, it seems my dearest little human has decided to enact a little… rebellion of sorts.” Alastor idly gestures with one hand while the other neatly folds behind his back. He walks forward, circling around Husk and stopping behind him. He threw an arm around Husk’s shoulder and yanked him close. “And it seems they’ve forgotten just who is in charge, who pulls the strings, who has their life in his hands.”

He feels Husk’s tenseness under his grip, causing his grin to only grow. He says, “And I had to take it upon myself to remind them.”

“Yeah?” Husk raises a single, long brow. “And what caused this in the first place?”

“So many interesting questions today, Husker old pal!” One of Husk’s wings thwacks Alastor in the face. Alastor spits out a single feather and adjusts his monocle while Husk backs off and crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You’re a perceptive lad…” He bends forward a tad to come face to face with Husk, eyes squinting with his growing smile. “What do you think happened, hmm?”

Husk. Dear old Husker. His closest companion and dearest (now one-sided) friend, narrows his eyes in displeasure. “I think you were being an even bigger piece of shit than you’ve been these past few months.” Alastor only tilts his head while Husk continues, throwing his hands up as he says, “You don’t think I didn’t fuckin’ notice? All those creepy looks you were throwin’ at the kid, fuckin’ acting like you have? You really think they were just gonna take it and let it happen?”

“My dear friend, they are mine. They—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before.” Husk furiously runs his claws through his chest fluff.  “I’m not a fuckin’ idiot. I noticed all of it, and I know you know I did. Are you really that fuckin’ dense to not see what you’re doing?”

Alastor sighs and shakes his head. Of course, dear Husker doesn’t understand either. Such a pity. “My good friend, what I’m doing is watching over my human and ensuring their safety.” He waves his hand about while he paces the living space. “That fragile, fragile trust of theirs can be so easily broken, you see! And it would simply break my cold shriveled heart should that trust of theirs be abused by the less… savory individuals of Hell.”

“Who could they possibly spend time with outside of us?” Husk remains where he stands, arms crossed and tail flicking behind him with increased frustration. “Even then, why the fuck would it matter so much? They’re still doing whatever you fucking ask them to, against their better judgement sometimes,” he mumbles the last bit, but Alastor’s keen ears pick it up.

He crosses the threshold to lean closer to Husk’s face once more. “So quick to defend them. Have you known about this all along, my good friend?”

“I never knew about this apparent ‘secret friend’ of theirs.” Husk emphasizes by making air quotes with his claws. “But I ask again, why the fuck should that matter? They can do whatever the fuck they want with their free time.” His ears twitch and fold back, attempting to mask the light flinch at the increase of static in the air, but Alastor catches it.

“They should know better than to mix themselves with certain demons of Hell. I did not spend all. These. Decades—” he emphasizes each word with a smack, smack, smack on Husk’s head with his cane “—using my precious time to teach them whomst they should be cautious of and whomst they shouldn’t waste their time with!”  He gives his cane a twirl and tucks it in his elbow, smiling widely at Husk, his other hand folded behind his back.

“And just who the Hell are they spending time with? You keep saying they’ve done this and that but never elaborated.”

“Why, dear Husker, they’re fraternizing with an associate of Valentino, of course!” Alastor throws his free hand up. “Rosie and I had spent decades teaching them of all the Overlords, and I made it abundantly clear to ensure they mustn’t get close to any of the associates of said Overlords!”

“Did you even tell them who this person was associated with?” Husk squints with a raised brow.

Alastor sighs, “Oh, my dear friend. It shouldn’t matter if I did or didn’t. They should have known through whose territory they were wandering through, and whose associates they were fraternizing with. I simply can’t do everything for them!”

Alastor can tell Husk is thinking, mulling over it all. His eyes search Alastor’s face, expression, then narrow. He then lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “Whatever you fuckin’ say.” He brushes past Alastor and walks to the door. “Lemme know when you’re both done being fucking idiots.”

Hmm. Curious. Husk looked as if he wanted to say something. “Hold just a moment there, dear Husker—” the door slams in Alastor’s face and all he can really do is blink and tilt his head.

It’s not like Husk to hold back his opinion on anything! He’s always been one to voice his displeasure with whatever could be happening, no matter how trivial it was. Anything that mildly inconvenienced him (or anything that Alastor did, really), he’d be quick to go on a swear-filled rant.

And yet, he walked away when Alastor knew he had more he wished to say.

Curious, indeed…

Darling Niffty is the next to notice. Because his human apparently promised to spend some time with her on this particular day. As always, she was excited and bouncing eagerly in place, talking for a solid five minutes about all the things she and his human were going to do today. Leave it to Niffty to always have so much energy and stay oh so adorable. Even as her smile faltered a hint and genuine confusion shone in that big eye of hers after Alastor informed her of his human’s punishment for stepping out of line. So cute.

Alastor loved her for her honesty, her energy, and her hard work. The day always seems to brighten some when he was gifted with the chance and time to converse with her. Her honesty and tendency to over-share was the most endearing factor of her, however. It was the one thing he loved the most, as it offered rare moments of her throwing him for a loop with her questions.

“You didn’t kill them, did you?” She sits next to him on the sofa, a cup of tea—with a hint of whiskey—in her hands.

“Why of course not, darling! They’re simply undergoing a little punishment for their rather rude outburst and horrid attitude. Why would you think such a thing?” Alastor crosses a leg over the other, a smile ever present as he sips his coffee.

“Because the last time this happened you just killed them. Like, poof!” She snaps her fingers as an example. “And they were gone!” He paused in the middle of taking another sip, eyes trained forward.

Huh…

“It’s just weird. Not bad, though! I’d be really sad if they had to die. They’ve been the best friend I’ve made yet! Second to Mimzy, of course.” Niffty giggles, finishing off her tea.

Alastor only hums to show he’s still listening. “Hmm…”

What an interesting question…

And quite the eye opener, too.

Why was he allowing them to live?

He had old Husker back, after all. Husk’s skills far surpassed his human’s. Of course, they had their own quirks Alastor found endearing. They were much more tolerant towards his antics, and their responses were far more entertaining than Husk’s usual spewing of profanities. Not to say Husk’s reactions weren’t funny, they were hilarious!

But… something about his human…

Hmm… why let them live now that he has Husk back in the game? He has every reason to simply kill them now. He's killed plenty of previous minions for less.

So why?

“Such an interesting question, my dear…” Alastor sips his coffee, thinking, thinking. “The answer is quite simple, I assure you. They’re just far too entertaining to kill over one little spat such as this.”

It’s true. Well, half-true. That human— his human—has been the most entertaining thing he’s encountered in years, before and after meeting them. Their quips, their comebacks, their general sense of humor. It was quite a spectacle to watch and experience. They almost never react how Alastor expects them to. They always carry a sense of unpredictability with them, that’s what makes them so fun.

Yet he can’t help but feel like there’s… more to why he’s letting them live. But he can’t quite put his finger on it right now.

Niffty however, seemed satisfied with the answer and continued on her rant about all the things she’d love to do with his human once they were no longer being punished. Alastor simply sat, smiled, and listened, thinking all the while.

Why, why, why indeed…

Already several days have gone by since his human was taken in by the spider to be cared for. It was quite amusing, having his shadows instill the fear and paranoia of being watched. Slowly his human recovers, and he should be sure to go collect them once they’re truly up and on their feet again.

Now if only that troublesome little shadow wasn’t constantly bothering him. The others learned their lessons, they learned to stay silent, to keep their complaints to themselves. But this one… this little one that’s become so attached to his human, little Grimm they like to call themselves, is slowly turning into a nuisance.

Every day ever since his human has begun their recovery, that irksome little pest has constantly whispered in his mind what his human was doing. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew they were trying to make him feel guilty—guilty of all things!—for what transpired between him and his human. They constantly tell him of them mumbling his name in their sleep.

And in his rare days of when he too needed rest, he can feel the shadow going as far as attempting to influence his dreams to make his human appear there. As if something like that would tug at anything left of his heart strings. It doesn’t. And this little shadow attempting to try such a thing is becoming more irksome by the day.

Them trying to influence his dreams and make him feel something he never has and never will feel didn’t work. After all he knows he was in the right and his human in the wrong, and he was the master of his dreams, and no bothersome little shadow is going to be able to overpower him. Not when he was the one that created them in the first place. If anything their attempts worked to annoy him.

All it took was one little pluck at a single stitch that held the shadow together to make them stop what they were trying immediately. Next time he won’t be so merciful.

But…

Why was he being merciful in the first place?

He made each and every one of the shadows that follow him and his word. Any shadow that steps even just a millimeter out of line is cast back into the void where they came from. He has every reason to do so to this bothersome little cur.

But he doesn’t.

Every time he thinks of banishing the shadow, throwing them back into the void, he hesitates. He’s never hesitated before—he doesn’t hesitate. Whenever someone or something was in his way, he’d simply get rid of it. With a snap of his fingers they were gone in an instant and he’d continue on his merry way.

And yet… with this little shadow, with this human—his human, he hesitates.

Why does he hesitate?

Each time his fingers are clutching at the stitchings that hold the shadow together, his fingers freeze in place. An image in his mind. His human, a frown on their face, refusing to look at him, refusing to talk to him, once they find out this single shadow would no longer be part of this world. A shine in their eyes akin to sadness and other nameless emotions.

It’s what makes him simply swat his hand at the shadow and cause them to dissipate into nothing for oh, a few hours. They’d reform after that and pout for a time before going right back to whining over his human.

What a strange, curious feeling he’s experiencing. There has to be a word for it, yet he’s unable to place a finger on it. 

Perhaps with time, he’ll be able to recall it.

Dearest Rosie was the last to notice. She would’ve been the first had Alastor visited her sooner, but he was a very busy man, especially after what happened.

And even then, she didn’t learn it from him at all. Oh no, he was pleasantly shocked to find out that old Husker had spoken to her. He only found this out at the last moment when she requested his presence for a cup of tea and saw the old chap sitting at the table with her, looking extremely out of place yet stubbornly staying.

Alastor wasn’t called at exactly the best of times. As his human had finally, finally woken up and he wished to go have a little chat. But alas, Rosie insisted that it was an important matter, and he relented. Just for her. After everything she’s done for him, this is the very least he could do in return.

It’s as he’s sitting at the table with them, a cup of black coffee already made for him, that the bothersome little shadow whispers in his mind. Their tone was different this time around, hushed, scared, human human talking to him val val valentino going going meeting him have to have to help have to get get get them out get them to to safety take them home have to have to please please please please please…

Going to speak with Valentino would inevitably mean his human would meet the last demon he’d want them to meet.

His fingers twitched, his teeth grinding together. The mug would’ve broken under his grip, but he would hate to destroy such a beautiful mug, and he’s sure it’s a one of a kind—Rosie only picks the finest of dishware—and he knows Rosie would not be happy with him were he to destroy it because he lost his temper from this bit of information.

He exhales. Easy now, old boy. Easy. Control. Think.

His human knows—or at least he hopes they know—who Valentino was, who his partners were, and why they are so utterly foolish to have agreed to do such a thing as meeting the man in the flesh. Knowing Valentino, he most likely twisted his words and manipulated the conversation to end in his favor. While he wasn’t exactly strong in terms of raw power, Alastor knew to watch himself when it came to a battle of wits and words with that one.

His human has to know what they’ve gotten themselves into. They have to. He taught them better than that, he knows he did. If they willingly decided to speak with Valentino, they must have some reason to do so, right? They should. Otherwise they’d’ve never even bothered speaking to him. They know who Valentino works with. They know the risks of going to meet this man with no powers.

How high the possibility of them running into Vox is…The very demon Alastor’s worked so hard to ensure they never made contact with…

…

Well, what can one do with someone so stubborn?

If they got themselves into that situation, they must have a plan to get themselves out of it. If they so badly wish to meet Valentino and inevitably Vox, then so be it. He’s confident in their wits, their brains, their ability to assess their situation and know how to get out of a bad one.

Besides, the best way to learn from a mistake made is dealing with the repercussions. He’ll be sure to pluck them out of whatever situation they’ve gotten themselves in after this little meeting.

Feeling the little shadow’s anxiousness, he finally responds, Keep a very close eye on them, little one. Do not intervene until I tell you to. Do you understand?

Later, he’ll wish he hadn’t given that order.

Later, he’ll wish a lot of things.

He knows the shadow is dissatisfied with his order, but they follow it nonetheless. He finally gives his full attention to Husk and Rosie, who both were sitting there patiently (at least Rosie was), watching, waiting. He knows they’re trying to read his expression, trying to look past the mask he always has and always will keep up.

“Terribly sorry, Rosie my dear! You were saying something, yes?”

Rosie, ever the observant young lass and just as good at hiding her true intentions behind a smile as him, says, “I heard from Mister Husk here what happened between you and your dear human.”

“Ah yes, a tragedy that is!” His eyes snap to Husk, lips moving to a more close-mouthed smile. “However, I’m sure dear old Husker hadn’t informed you of everything that had happened between my dearest human and I.”

“While he might not have told me everything…” Rosie sips her tea, her little minions running about as they always have, making sure everything is spick and span. “He told me all I needed to know to be able to connect the missing piece to this puzzle I’ve been trying to solve.”

That causes Alastor’s attention to snap right back to her. He tilts his head, blinking and smile widening back open to reveal his teeth. “Puzzle, darling?” He waves his hand with a light laugh. “There is no puzzle needed to be solved! It’s quite simple, I assure you. A little spat between master and minion that will be… talked over soon.”

“Au contraire, dearest Alastor.” She gives him her own close-mouthed smile, setting her cup to the side and placing one hand atop another. “You may not see it as such, but dear Husk and I do.” Behind long eyelashes, she stares at him. “This is quite a puzzle I’ve been piecing together and attempting to solve during these past several months.”

There was a certain little look in those eyes of hers that said she wanted him to ask. While he already knew the answer to this silly little puzzle, he’s always been amused by others thinking they knew better. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense, my dear!” He leans forward, resting his chin on laced fingers and squinting. The static that always followed his presence hummed in amused excitement. “I’m ever so curious.”

Her smile grows, but remains gentle. “Have you ever taken a moment to truly think why you’re feeling the way you do?”

Feeling the way he does? “What ever could you mean, my dear? I feel quite fine!” He fixes his already perfect bowtie to give his hands something to do, then idly makes gestures here and there. “If you’re speaking of my dearest human, then I’m sure you’re speaking of the concern in my cold cold heart for them to make foolish decisions? I must say it’s quite frustrating they haven’t exactly gotten it through that very thick skull of theirs that they simply can’t go trusting every demon they meet down here—”

“That isn’t what I was talking about, Alastor.” The statement has him tilting his head the other way. “I’m talking about how you’ve been feeling recently. In truth… I simply thought it was just me at first. But your dear companion here—” Husk scoffs at that “—confirmed that it’s not just my imagination.”

She traces the rim of her cup with the tip of her finger. “Alastor darling… You are a very charming man. Powerful, intelligent, observant…” Alastor’s chest puffs up a hint at her praise, adjusting his monocle and chuckle. Ah yes, all true! Though he knows that look in her eyes. He knows a “but” is coming. He adores Rosie so, but spending so much time with her has allowed him to learn many of her tactics of charming others. She always butters them up before breaking them right back down, only to gently put them back together however she desires.

So he patiently waits as she continues, “But your stubborn ego will be your final death.” There it was. She always makes the cutest attempts, even when she knows it will do nothing to him.

“What has brought you to such a conclusion, hmm?”

“Alastor… think for a moment. What has made you feel the way you have?” She steeples her fingers and leans forward now. There was this… curious look in her eye that Alastor couldn’t place his finger on. “Have you truly thought about the reason why you slowly started disliking your human spending time with anyone else but you? Why you feel that strange tightness in your chest?”

Now that

that question has Alastor stopping mid-sip of his coffee.

He remembers his human asking close to the same thing.

Rosie asks, “Why do you feel the desire to keep them to yourself and no one else, not even us? Why, even after the debacle you’ve had with them… whatever had happened… you allow them to live?”

He remembers Niffty asking him if he had killed them. The look of confusion in her one eye when he said he hadn’t just simply done so.

This feeling in his chest… these bizarre new desires surfacing…

All

these

questions.

Why allow them to live?

Why keep the binding mark on them?

Why keep tabs on them?

Why not just kill them and rid himself of that meddlesome little shadow that won’t leave him alone?

Why why why does he let them live?

He’s killed for less than what his human’s done. He banished shadows before that started to think they could disobey him. He’s done so much worse than what he’s done right now.

Yet with them he hesitates.

There’s that feeling in his chest again. Strange, foreign, something he’s never felt before. He’s been alive for a long long time, he should be able to know, but he doesn’t. This feeling is so odd, so different from every other emotion he’s ever felt.

What was this feeling?

He really should answer all those questions Rosie asked him, it’s only polite thing to do. He’s not a dishonest man, afterall. Ask him any question and he’ll be all too happy to answer.

He usually has an answer.

He used to have an answer for this particular question.

But now

now he

he doesn’t have an answer.

He doesn’t know.

Alastor places his mug down and opens his mouth to say something—anything to try and change the subject, stall, allow him time to slip away and mull over it all. But the moment he’s about to say something, several of his shadows abruptly reveal themselves.

Their voices echo and scream in his mind, urgent, terrified, human human danger in danger danger human hurting in pain bleeding burning danger Danger DANGER!!

Alastor snaps his fingers and just as quickly as they were yelling, they were silent. His hand moves slowly, as if someone was trying to hold him back, and he adjusts his monocle. He tilts his head at the shadows, feeling Rosie and Husk’s eyes burning holes into his back.

Something ignites in Alastor’s chest. Not fear—never fear, that’s not a word in his vocabulary. Yet it wasn’t annoyance either. What was this feeling again?

“Would you… like to elaborate, boys?”

valentino val val valentino

tv the tv demon vox vox vox

hurting hurting burning shocking making them bleed bleed everywhere

cutting bruising striking hurting stabbing

blood going drip drip drip

The feeling in his chest suddenly grows stronger. No longer does it sit warm, in resting. It burns.

Ah yes, he remembers this rare feeling. He was angry—

No no no. That’s not quite right.

Alastor wasn’t angry.

He was furious. 

His smile stretches to impossible size, threatening to break skin. His eyes melt into his infamous radio dials. The static rings in his ears, in the air, in every single bone and muscle in his body. Even as his head sluggishly turns to Rosie and Husk, the sound in the air is like a record being slooowly scratched, making a horrid high-pitched noise, he smiles.

“Won’t both of you be lovely dears for me…” He says, his voice thick with the static, “And prepare a few things for my dear human and I when we return?”

He doesn’t even wait for them to respond. He’s already walking out of the study.

His shadows trail behind him, some vanishing into his sleeves, his pockets. As he steps outside, his own shadow stands before him. Alastor says, “Show me.” And they open up wider and wider until he sees a scene before him.

His human. Broken. Blooded. Panting and coughing and wrapped up in that wretched bastard’s cords. He hears a slight sizzling noise, smells burnt flesh.

He hears Vox say, “You call that a scream, doll? I fucking said scream.”

He watches, listens for all of one second as his human is electrocuted to the point of screaming in pure agony before something deep inside him snaps. It’s not even a full second later before he’s stepping through the darkness to his human. He need not snap his fingers, his shadows know what they must do.

Vox’s cords are cut and removed from around his human. Their screams silence, their body falls into his waiting arms. He cradles them close to his chest gently now, gently.

A finger presses against their neck, waiting. He feels it. A pulse. Weak, but there. They were still alive, if only barely.

Alive.

They’re still alive.

And these

two

demons 

dared

to harm

to try and kill…

what was rightfully his.

Alastor chuckled, low and menacing and barely holding himself together. Darkness closes around the room. The lights, one by one go pop! pop! pop! as the sheer force of Alastor’s presence causes them to blow out.

His antlers make a horrid cr—cr—cr—crrrraaaaaacking noise as they grow larger and larger, branches jutting out in any and all directions.

Valentino’s smile falls into an annoyed scowl, while Vox’s grows with a newfound eagerness. His fingers twitch, more cords slipping from his sleeves and coat to replace the ones that were destroyed.

Alastor slowly stands to his full height, his head snapping at impossible angles. His antlers scrrrrraaaaaaaaape against the ceiling.

“My dear fellows…” He chuckles, his voice everywhere and nowhere at once. “Didn’t your mothers ever tell you… not to touch things that don’t belong to you?”

Chapter Text

Alastor clutches his human close to his chest. His smile stretches wide, so impossibly wide. His eyes shined brightly, basking the room with a deep red hue. Shadows loom behind him, their smile just as big, just as malicious, just as eager to

rip them rip them apart apart reduce them to nothing nothing more than a pile of mush

paint the walls red red red paint it red with their blood

devour them devour devour them how how how dare they how dare they how dare they

end their miserable existence.

Vox’s grin stretches further, mirroring  Alastor’s manic smile. His fingers twitch and electricity pulses between them. “So nice of you to finally join the party, Al.” The pointed ends of his cords crack and explode, pulsing with hot energy. He brings his hand to his face, as a tongue phased through his screen to lick up the left over blood. Alastor’s human’s blood. “Unfortunately you missed the best part. Their screams sounded so lovely.”

Alastor’s entire body vibrated with rage. A branch juts out of his antlers, making a horrible cracking sound. The static in the air rises in volume, in pitch, the room getting darker, darker, darker. “Vox, my dear fellow…” He laughs, his voice stuttering like a radio on the fritz. Shadowy tendrils seep out of the dark corners of the room, lurking, waiting. “You misunderstand…” 

He spots movement from the corner of his eye. It seems several of Vox’s cords were slithering along the ground attempting to stay out of his sight. Unfortunate, really. All that effort in vain. They’re dealt with easy enough, being sliced up or torn apart and turned into nothing more than black ooze on the ground, swallowed by the darkness.

Alastor locks eyes with Vox, feeling the skin of his lips splitting with how wide he smiled. “The best part happens now.” His own tendrils of shadows emerge from random sections of the dark room, aiming for the weak spots of both Overlords.

His eyes have been honed on the fracture of Vox’s screen since he entered the room, no doubt his human’s work. One good hit right there will knock Vox out for the count. Perhaps it would give him the chance to end the old chap once and for all. Maybe he could also rip off a few limbs, he knows he’s going to need to let off leftover steam after all this.

Such a shame that Valentino’s admittedly beautiful wings will have to be torn from underneath his coat and into bits, but that’s just something that has to be done. Taking an arm or three will also do. Maybe Alastor should rip off his antennae as well for good measure. Take out a few teeth.

He clutches his human closer, tucking their head under his chin.

Lessons must be learned.

Even his own.

And these old boys need to learn the only one allowed to punish his human is him.

Vox, however, seemed to have seen Alastor’s little surprise attack coming, his grin wicked and excited. He clapped his lightning covered hands and waved them around him, radiating an energized shockwave from them.  With one loud BOOOOM! the tendrils disintegrated into nothing. The sound caused Alastor’s skin to tingle in all the wrong ways and his ears hurt. He felt blood trickling down his cheeks, a sense of dizziness overcoming him.

For a second, he couldn’t hear a thing, but he could still see, still feel.

He felt his human in his arms, felt them tremble. He saw the blood trickling out of their own ears and his chest tightens at the sight, adding more and more fuel to the fires of rage.

He looks back to Vox and Valentino just in time to see Valentino pulling one of the no doubt many guns hidden in his coat out.

Aiming it,

but not 

at 

him.

Valentino was

aiming at his human—

BANG!

The movement was automatic, like he was tugged by an invisible force. Before he knew it, searing pain bloomed from his right shoulder. Alastor grits his teeth, his smile twitching and his brows furrowing. 

Valentino hums, his lips pulled back into a vicious sneer, “That looks like it hurt, Alastor dear.”

The sheer amount of static in the air masks Alastor’s pained groan. Ah, of course Valentino’s bullets are made from melted angelic weaponry. That really shouldn’t have been a surprise to him. He’s going to need to get that bullet removed later lest he wishes to burn further.

He has to leave. His human is nearly dead weight, unconscious in his arms like this. He won’t be able to properly fight and counter his enemies while ensuring that his human does not get harmed further. He doesn’t know why his body moved on its own like that, taking the bullet instead of allowing his human to. But he knows it will cause very big, very unwanted problems. Judging from the looks in Vox and Valentino’s eyes, they’re slowly plotting out new moves. They were glancing at his human, their grins growing bigger and bigger.

Another of Vox’s cords is grabbed by Alastor’s personal shadow, ripped apart with a loud hiss and screech. They grow in size, their form slowly solidifying bit by bit. One of their shadowy claws slam into the floor, the tiles cracking beneath it. Their other hand wraps around Alastor and his human, acting as a shield.

Vox’s eyes narrow. “Gonna hide in the darkness, old pal?” Several more cords slither out of his coat. Valentino retrieves another one of his guns, effortlessly twirling it. “I didn’t know the Radio Demon was some coward.”

Alastor lets out a hearty laugh. “Quite the contrary, my dear fellow! I’m simply taking some liberties. After all, I took you both for gentlemen.” He instructs several shadowy tendrils to slither around behind Vox and Valentino. “Yet here you are, being poor hosts for my dearest human, and targeting them when they’re unable to fight back!”

The tendrils lash out, narrowly missing Vox’s head but managing to grab his wrist, snapping it at an unnatural angle. They slice at his side, leaving a large gash before burying into his leg. One of Valentino’s many arms became a victim to the tendrils' violence, as he could feel the bones of his arms shatter at their vice grip. A cut was left on his face from the assault. His glasses break under the crack of the tendrils. One of his guns was ripped from his hand and destroyed. 

Alastor lets out another hearty laugh at their pained snarls. His tendrils are destroyed by another one of Vox’s shockwaves, but he’s able to brace himself and his human for the sound this time. 

He tilts his head, asking, “Have you grown so desperate to best me you pull these sad little stunts?”

Vox’s smile fell into a scowl, sparks flying out of the new injuries and cut cords, only causing Alastor’s smile to strengthen. Valentino however, just chuckles, removing his glasses and daintily dabbing at the wound on his face with a handkerchief.

“Your dearest human, you say?” It’s his turn to laugh. “You mean the human that so easily fell for my taunts—which was child’s play, might I add—and foolishly came here on their own without the means to defend themselves, and while injured?” His eyes squint with how large his sneer is. “That human?”

Alastor’s self appointed victory is short-lived, as he squints at Valentino while his personal shadow moves their large hand to shield his human more.

Before he can come up with his own little retort, Vox quickly catches onto what Valentino was doing and plays along by saying, “Gotta say, I’m surprised. You worked so hard to keep them away from the other Overlords…” He shrugs and snaps his wrist back into place. “And yet you let them come see dear old Val here, knowing damn well of the chances of me being here.”

Vox takes a bold step closer. “All those years of keeping them out of the sights of the other Overlords, away from me.” He makes a wide, grand gesture as he exclaims, “And suddenly you turn your gaze away from them, let them wrap themselves up with a nice little bow and deliver themselves to us!”

Alastor usually doesn’t let these types of taunts affect him. In fact, they never have. His human often attempted at getting back at him for his own teasing by giving him a taste of his own medicine. It never worked. And his enemies always tried as well—taunting, goading, getting under his skin, but it never worked.

He knows Valentino and Vox are doing this right now. He knows they’re trying to dig in deep and get under his skin and poke and prod until he allows his emotions to get the better of him. He knows this. He knows better than to let their words affect him.

“It just makes me think you’re not… suitable for such a valuable little toy as them…” Valentino lifts one of his hands to his mouth, his red tongue slithering out and licking up the blood left behind from his human. “They’re skilled, yes. Perceptive, insightful, quick wit and… supposedly not quick to break under pressure.”

He shouldn’t react. He knows he shouldn’t. But the anger boiling deep in him keeps burning hotter and hotter. His back cr-cracks as he hunches over, clutching his human closer to him, his claws jutting out, ripping his gloves and revealing black, charred skin. 

“But y’know, Val,” Vox waves his uninjured hand, tilting his head towards Valentino. “There’s still that little attitude adjustment they need. They’ve said quite a few things that pissed me off, gotta say.” His lips curl back into a malicious snarl. “Some proper disciplining is needed with that one… one I’ll be more than happy to go ahead and do for dear old Al.” His face-screen glitches as he laughs, “I’d love hearing their screams again.”

Alastor’s legs start distorting now, bending and twisting and cracking themselves into place, his shoes now ruined as sharp talons tear through them.

He’s never let taunts like these affect him before.

Yet now he feels the static in the air growing in volume, the room getting darker and darker.

They spoke amongst each other, as if Alastor was not standing before them. Valentino hums and chuckles, “I agree Vox, I haven’t heard such screams in a long time. Music to my ears.”

So why?

Valentino licks the rest of the blood off his hand, groaning, “And I can only imagine how much money that blood of theirs will rake in…” 

Why is now so different?

Why is them hurting his human angering him so much?

The pressure of the atmosphere intensifies more and more until it feels like a heavy weight is pulling down on Alastor’s shoulders.

“You misunderstand…” He begins saying, his voice low and laced thick with static. His lips twitched, his smile straining, his teeth grinding and his entire body shaking with rage. “They are not in the market for new employment or a new master.” As he continues speaking, his voice lowers more and more until he’s practically growling.

All the while his body contorts into a horrible monstrosity.

Into his true demonic form.

“They…” The shadows close in slowly, slowly.

“Are…” More and more of his shadowy minions reveal themselves.

Alastor practically snarls, “Mine.”

The shadows descend on Vox and Valentino. Their claws tear, their teeth bite, their voices screech loud loud loud. Vox’s shockwaves grant him and Valentino a small moment to breathe until the shadows return tenfold.

Alastor finally moves, slowly, cautiously. A step backward. Another.

He can’t stay any longer than he already has. He can feel the life force of his human flickering like a candle running too low on wax, threatening to die out. He’s amused these two long enough, he has to go.

He stalls for just one extra moment, just long enough to see a shadowy tendril stab into the crack on Vox’s screen and another impale Valentino in his stomach.

And then he lets the shadows take him away back—home?—to the flat. He has to move carefully as his form has yet to revert back, needing to bend low and tilt his head so his antlers don’t tear at the walls and ceiling.

Alastor places his human down on their bed. Gently, gently. Control.

His fury still burns hotter than the hellfires themselves, deep in the pit of his chest and spreading through the rest of his body. Even now his hands still clench and tremble and he feels the static coursing through his veins, through his entire being. The desire to rend and tear flesh, to spill blood, to rip out organs and bathe in them.

But he relents. Control, control. He must not allow his fury to harm his human further. No. They were safe. They were alive, barely so, but alive. Vox and Valentino won’t be so quick to try what they’ve done again.

Not even a full minute passed before he hears the door to the flat opening, footsteps approaching from behind. He steps aside, allowing Rosie to hurry past him with Husk and Niffty in tow. They all hesitate, Rosie throwing a hand to her mouth with a gasp, but quickly recovers and rushes to their side. Poor little Niffty looks about ready to cry, but hastily wipes the tears from her eye and joins Rosie’s side. Husk throws a hand to his nose and groans. “What the fuck—”

“Come sweetie, I need your claws.” Rosie. Sweet Rosie, always level-headed and quick to recover from the initial shock and get to get to work, is carefully using a pair of sewing scissors Niffty handed her to cut off the old, tattered bandages.

Husk’s ears flattened against his head as he hesitated a moment longer. Alastor truly can’t blame him. Much like himself, Husk’s sense of smell was much stronger. The scent of his human’s blood was coating this room, this flat.

It was all over him. His clothes.

And it smelled

absolutely

delicious.

He breathes slowly, slowly, control.

Husk steps forward and starts helping Rosie, not before glancing Alastor’s way for a brief moment.

Alastor’s fingers twitch while he watches. His smile is strained, his breathing heavy, trying and failing to morph back to his more “human” form. He has to hunch low to avoid scraping his antlers against the ceiling and walls, his eyes fading between their normal appearance and their radio dials. The shadows dance and lick at his feet, the bed, nearing it but shying away at the last minute.

He hears the cacophony of voices of nearly every little shadow he’s created echoing, hissing, weeping,

little little human no no little human no no no no…

up up wake up wake up wake wake up wake up

don’t die please please don’t die miss you we’ll we’ll miss you miss you miss you so much

ok ok they’ll be ok right right alastor right? they’ll they’ll be okay they’ll wake up right alastor right right right?

already expecting the worst.

Even in his state of pure rage, he knows better than to try and step in. He knows better than to try taking over. His hands tremble, claws retracting and growing with the desire to cut, to hurt, to hunt, to kill. Not to mention he’s having… difficulties reverting back to normal, his true demonic form out for all to see.

He wouldn’t be able to work as accurately as he desired. As much as he wishes to step in, to take over and close the wounds inflicted upon his human, he doesn’t. Instead he leaves it up to his dear companions. He’ll remain watching from the sidelines.

Rosie spares a glance at him once she, Husk, and Niffty have finished removing the old bandages and clothing from his human. There’s a knowing look in those black voids that were her eyes. She stands, allowing Husk and Niffty to take over and treat the burns on his human and approaches him.

She only says one thing, “Leave.” And when all he does is blink, she says further, “Go let it out. Do not let your rage simmer any longer than it already has, love.”

He hesitates. It’s something he’s been doing much more often when it concerns his human. He looks at them, watching Niffty and Husk work together to clean them up. He twitches, feeling static surging through his body when Rosie places a single finger on his cheek, making him look at her.

“I will ensure nothing further happens to them.” She says, “They are safe, Alastor dear.”

She is right. They’re safe. He knows Vox and Valentino learned their lessons. They won’t be so quick to try something like that again.

And yet…

He can’t bring himself to move, to leave them. Usually he’s quick to leave when he needs to… let off some steam, to attend to personal matters.

But this isn’t exactly something that usually happens, now is it?

“Alastor, love.” Rosie’s soft voice draws his eyes back to her. She reaches with a single index finger, pushing the corner of his mouth upward—when did it start falling? When did it start feeling so strained? “Go.”

He takes a step back, casting one last glance to his human, informing several of his most loyal shadows to remain by their side, including their own little clingy one, and he’s out the door.

Alastor places a clawed hand to his face after he steps out into the cool night air.

His smile faltered.

It nearly dropped.

What kind of sorcery was this that this single human has nearly caused him to do something he’s only done once in his afterlife? All because he saw them bloodied and broken and nearly dead. All because he could feel the flame of their life force flickering and weakening and slowly burning out.

The image of his human like that… it stirred memories nearly long forgotten, just drifting at the border of his mind. All too suddenly he’s assaulted with an image of an individual laying in a pool of blood, someone else hiding in the shadows with a blood-soaked knife. How alike the scenes were, stirring the same anger that still burned so hot inside him.

Alastor closes his eyes and breathes. He slowly exhales one more time. He looks at his hands, gazing at the blood coating them. His human’s blood.

His human’s

intoxicating 

blood.

He brings a hand closer and inhales. Angels take him, it smelled so good. He slowly licks one claw clean, a mix between a groan and an animalistic snarl rumbling in his throat. How has he never tasted his own human’s blood, after all these decades? What stopped him from doing so? He owns them, he can do whatever he wished, yet he’s never tried making them bleed and drinking up their sweet red liquid.

Licking one hand clean of his human’s blood only makes his lust for red grow.

Alastor really should go clear his head. He can’t return to his dear human like this. Not while he’s in this state. Perhaps a stroll around Vox’s neighborhood while he’s… indisposed will help.

It wasn’t Alastor’s finest work he’s ever done, he’ll admit it. But oh, the screams and cries of those pathetic little sinners as he descended upon them and painted the streets and buildings a deep, beautiful red. The taste of their flesh will never amount to his human’s blood, but it’ll suffice.

And of course, it’s never true entertainment to him until he’s ensuring to broadcast his massacre all across Hell, ensuring anyone and everyone with and even without a radio heard the screams echoing in the streets. Hell hasn’t seen such a bloodbath since the Radio Demon had announced his new right hand. They’ll never know or understand why Alastor’s rampage was so brutal, so ruthless, seemingly unending.

All that’ll be known and remembered was how the streets became rivers of organs and bones and so much blood.

Chapter Text

Alastor didn’t return for some time. He’s not sure how long he was out and about, slaughtering a little over half of the sinners living within Vox’s territory. He knows it’s been a few hours, maybe more. The amount of time he was out didn’t matter, all that did matter was that he felt much better after that stroll. In fact, he felt thirty years younger!

He wonders how his dearest friends are doing back at the flat with his human. He really should be returning. Ah, but he should make sure to clean himself up first. Niffty will have quite the conniption if he were to return completely drenched in delicious blood. He licked off some of the sweet red liquid from his gloves, finding a stray bit of flesh stuck on his antlers—all back to normal now, too—and promptly plucked it off. Giving it a sniff and taste test deemed it good enough to snack on whilst he strolled back, cleaning himself up with a mere snap of his fingers.

As he walked back, he listened to the shadows whispering to him, giving him updates on both his human and the state of Vox and Valentino.

His human was in their bed, bandaged up and resting soundly while Rosie watched over them. He’ll be sure to ask for a full run down on the injuries his human sustained. He’s already come to terms with the fact they’ll remain unconscious for quite a while, longer than when they were injured by that angel.

Vox and Valentino on the other hand… it’s unfortunate that they managed to survive—barely so—and get away. He’s not sure of all the injuries they’ve sustained, but he knows they’ll be out of commission for quite some time. He’d hoped that at least Vox would’ve perished in that onslaught, but it seems luck was on his side at that moment. A damn shame, really. But that just means Alastor will get to watch the life leave Vox’s eyes live and in person when he’s finally able to kill off the old chap. And he wouldn’t miss that for the world.

Already he’s heard whispers in the streets of how something had gone horribly wrong at Valentino’s studio. Whatever had happened involved the Radio Demon and his human, and the entire VIP lounge was destroyed in the process. Not long after the onslaught in Vox’s territory began. Oh, the loathsome sinners can only begin to imagine what might’ve happened.

Alastor adjusts his bowtie, fixes up his hair, and continues onward. Let them wonder, let them bury the side of the story they’ll never learn. It matters not to him. He likes it when the denizens of Hell craft their own stories in situations like these. It’s so amusing when they over-exaggerate certain aspects of what truly happened.

But alas, he has no time to remain and listen in on the fun little retellings of the story. He has a human to check in on.

While his anger had subsided, that other unnamed feeling still remained in his chest. Going on that onslaught didn’t make it go away. And thinking about his human just made it intensify. It made him want to quicken his pace and hurry right back to the flat, to stand by their bedside and wait for them to wake. What a strange feeling, to have lingered with him for so long and refuse to go away with time. He knows his human was the cause of it and the reason it won’t go away. If only he knew where this sudden and strange tightness of his chest came from and why it won’t leave.

Ah well, with his head much clearer now, he’s positive it’ll come to him soon enough.

He crosses the threshold into the flat, shutting the door behind him. The first thing he takes notice of is the missing armchair in the living space. The second thing he notices is the lump of red and black laying on the sofa. His head tilts curiously as he steps over and watches Husk and Niffty sleep for a moment. Niffty was tucked up under Husk’s wing, both she and Husk curled up into balls on the side of the couch.

Alastor must’ve been gone longer than he originally thought. He walks through the flat towards his human’s room, spotting darling Rosie sitting in the armchair resting by his human’s bed, sipping tea and reading a book. He glances over to his human’s bed, raising a singular brow at the sheer amount of shadows that were lying on the bed around his human. All of them being the little shadows that always followed his human around. The troublesome little one—Grimm, was laying on their chest, staring at them.

Rosie glances up from her book, her smile softening at the sight of him. She then follows his gaze and chuckles, “They’ve been like this ever since we finished.” She marks the page she was on and sets the book down on the nearby nightstand. He steps closer, pausing by the armchair. The shadows all looked up at him, some of them starting to slink away while others remained, unmoving. The troublesome shadow remained where they were, watching them, claws clicking together anxiously.

“How are you feeling, love?” His eyes snap over to Rosie. She’s observing him, her eyes alert despite her body slumped and showing exhaustion. The poor dear.

“Much better, darling!” He adjusts his bowtie and folds his hands behind his back, observing his human as they rest. “I haven’t had that much fun during a massacre since my darling human here was announced to all of Hell!” He laughs heartily with a hand to his chest.

As his laughter dies down, he stares at his human for several more moments, truly taking everything in. All of their limbs, including their head, were slightly elevated on extra pillows. They were in their sleep clothes now, bandages wrapped all around them. His eyes hone in on the bandages around their neck, then he turns his attention to Rosie.

All it took was a single tilt of his head, and she started speaking softly, “They’ll be resting for some time. Considering they’re still human, they’ll heal faster than any of us would be able to from these injuries.” She reaches over, gently running her thumb along their hand. “A majority of their burns are second degree, but they do have several third degree burns here… here… here…” Rosie starts pointing out where the burns resided. One was around his human’s neck, their wrists, their arms, their legs. Vital places.

He feels his rage reigniting, but is able to keep it under better control, thanks to his “walk” earlier.

“A stab wound in their abdomen, cuts along their back that are mostly healed, and then several lacerations and a couple bits of flesh torn as if bitten off,” Rosie continues. “They lost a lot of blood, love. They’ll be unconscious for a few days and bedridden for most of their recovery.” She sighs, placing her hands on her lap.

“While you were gone Niffty and I ensured to stock the medicine cabinet with the necessary supplies. Sedatives for the pain, ointment for the burns, extra stitches if they break the ones they have…” She stands and steps to the side, fixing up her dress. “They’ll recover as long as they rest and do not push themselves. That means you must let them rest.” She wags a finger in his face, causing both of them to share a small chuckle.

Alastor hums, turning his gaze to his human once more. “I suppose I can grant them this reprieve from work… just this once.”

Rosie smiles, then continues to say,  “Two times per day the ointment I put in the medicine cabinet must be applied to their burns in a thin layer, then the appropriate gauze next to the ointment must be reapplied as well.” She brushes some stray strands of hair out of his human’s face. “When they are able to stand on their own, it’s important to have them moving and using their burned limbs. It’ll help exercise their joints and stretch new skin.”

Alastor hums to show he’s listening, his eyes having never left his human. Though Rosie asking, “Have you thought about it?” Has him looking at her with a raised brow. “Your answer to my question?”

Ah, yes… he never really truly answered her, didn’t he?

In truth, he’d hoped to have more time to sort it out for himself, then return to dearest Rosie with an answer. But he really should’ve known better than to expect her to forget such an important subject—or anything for that matter. So instead he continues to stare at his human, watching their chest rise and fall with each breath they take.

“It pains me to admit, darling…” Alastor finds himself reaching out and brushing his knuckles against his human’s cheek. “But I do not have an answer. This strange tightness in my chest is such a foreign thing to me… and the fact that they have this strange hold on me…” He moves his hand over to the troublesome shadow—Grimm, and places a hand on their head. Their voice purrs softly in his mind as he scritches the space between their horns. “Is so strange, so frustrating, yet also so exciting to wonder and only makes me all the more eager to find out.”

He opens his hand and little Grimm lays on it. He lifts his hand, staring into their glowing eyes. “Normally I would’ve ended their miserable existence for what they’ve said, what they’ve done.” He reaches with his other hand to gently thumb at the stitches under Grimm’s eye. “And this one would’ve been erased as well for being such a troublesome little thing. Trying to make me feel things I would never truly feel.”

Weeks ago— years ago, he would’ve believed that. The mere thought of feeling something such as guilt of all things would’ve made him laugh and ask the person if they were alright in the head.

Now?

Now he’s not sure.

Is that what the strange feeling in his chest was?

Is this what guilt felt like?

He’s not sure, but he does know it’s strange and foreign and the fact the word hasn’t come to him yet is oh so irksome.

He raises a brow at the echoing giggle in the back of his mind. Little Grimm meanwhile looks very unapologetic for how they’ve treated him, the little cur. His human really has been a horrible influence on his shadows.

But alas, Alastor still allows them to slither out of his hand and rest on his human’s chest once more. He continues to say, “But I didn’t. It’s not as if I hadn’t done such a thing before. I’ve no use for minions questioning me, denying me.” His eyes wander back to his human. “And yet I find myself hesitating with this one… something I have never done before. I’m sure you know that already.”

His knuckles brush his human’s cheek again. “I could have—I should have erased their meager existence for acting the way they have, yet I didn’t. I should have erased that troublesome little shadow as well, yet I didn’t.”

Alastor isn’t exactly sure why he’s saying all of this. He’s never been one for admitting these things. Especially not out loud, and especially not to others. Yet aside from old Husker, dearest Rosie has seen the sides of himself he’s never allowed anyone else to see. He supposes she deserves to know, after all she’s done for him already. He never will be able to truly repay her for everything she’s done for him, but after everything they’ve been through, she deserves to know this much at least.

Rosie doesn’t say a word during his little rant, instead standing aside and allowing Alastor to continue speaking, “I find it difficult to remove them from my thoughts. Even during their punishment they were always on the back of my mind. No thanks to a certain someone…” He stares at little Grimm, then looks back at his human.

“And I find myself asking the very same questions you have, my dear.” He finally looks at her now, his smile small and close-mouthed, eyes half-lidded. “And my answer, darling? I truly do not know.”

Her pupil-less eyes roam his face and look over his expression. She holds out a hand to him, hovering by his face, a silent offering. He meets her the rest of the way, tilting his head to rest his face in her hand, allowing her to run her thumb along his cheek. 

“Would you like me to tell you, love?” Her smile is soft and small and true, not like the smiles she usually wears. It’s one of the smiles she reserves for a very small select few, and Alastor has the honor of seeing it every once in a while.

“Mmm… you could tell me.” He lifts a hand to grasp hers, his smile strengthening. “But where would the fun in that be? I know the word to this feeling will come to me in time.”

Rosie’s own smile grows. “Yes, you’d prefer to find out yourself,” she chuckles. “You’ve always preferred it that way, hmm? Is that why you refuse to tell your darling human everything?”

“Guilty as charged, sweetheart.” He turns away from Rosie, gazing at his human. “It’s always so adorable when they struggle to figure something out when the answer is right there in front of them. Even more so when they finally find the answer.”

Alastor will never see Rosie staring at him with a rather incredulous look and a raised brow. Nor will he notice how soft his features had become when looking at his human, fondly thinking back to the look on their face when the answer to a question finally came to them. All he notices is the tightness in his chest growing stronger.

“What do you plan to do after they recover?” Rosie asks, stepping closer to his side. “Will they still be punished?”

“Mmm…” Alastor reaches out to his human. “I suppose not. I believe it’s safe to say they’ve learned their lesson.” He cups their cheek and they stir, inhaling deeply and tilting their head to lean further into his hand. The action causes him to pull back, as if he were snapped at by a dog. He blinks, slowly sitting in the armchair and reaching out once more, holding their cheek in his hand. Again, they lean into his touch, mumbling nonsense, their voice hoarse and unintelligible.

The tightness in his chest loosens and tightens all at once. He tilts his head, watching them still once more. “Though there will need to be a little… chat about that particular debacle that caused all of this.”

“When they’ve come to and are well enough to talk about it… I would like to be present,” Rosie says, causing Alastor to pull his hand away from his human and look at her. “I mean no offense when I say this love, but the two of you would never truly listen to each other were you to try and talk this out by yourselves. I’m sure it’s safe to assume that that’s how that little debacle you two had started in the first place.”

“So quick to assume, my dear.” Alastor chuckles, turning back towards his human again. “Though if you insist, I see no issues with it.”

Rosie holds a hand out to him, to which he takes and she squeezes. “I unfortunately must take my leave now, love. My little ones will wilt with worry if I am away for too long.”

“Of course, my dear.” He brings her hand to his lips and kisses the top of it, ever the gentleman. “I’ll be sure to send word the moment they’re coherent.”

“If they’re in too much pain, be sure to use the sedatives I left for you.” She brings her hand to his face, gently pinching his cheek. “Until we meet again, love.”

Normally Alastor would offer to walk her back, stroll arm in arm and talk about the good old days, perhaps break out into song. Now, however? He can’t seem to bring himself to stand and walk too far from his human. So all he says is, “Do have a lovely walk, darling.”

Sparing one final smile, she places a kiss on his forehead, and then she was out the door.

Alastor turns his attention back to his human, watching their chest rise and fall, their lips slightly parted. They were so much paler than when he last saw them, dark circles plaguing the under-section of their eyes. Barely breathing, barely alive. 

He hears little Grimm’s voice whispering in his mind, hesitant, not not angry? not not not angry anymore not anymore? not not angry anymore at them not not anymore?

No, little one, he thinks back. Not anymore.

They purr in response, scooting closer to his human and nestling themselves right by their head, nuzzling their cheek and curling into a tight ball. He sits in the arm chair and watches them sleep.

For the next few weeks his human does nothing more than sleep and shiver. He coaxes water down their throat, applying the ointments to their burns and watching them. While his human sleeps a lot, he rarely does. They don’t wake often, and when they do they’re groaning and crying.

Sometimes they wake screaming, the pain they feel—a ghost of what it was or otherwise—flaring, reminding them of what they endured. He’s always quick to move to inject the sedatives into their wrist, thumbing their cheek and telling them to quiet down now, don’t want to disturb the neighbors, do we?

They seem to calm almost instantly when they hear his voice, eyes searching, staring at him, registering, saying with broken words, “A—Ah—Al… Ala—Alas—stor…”

“Yes, my dear, come now.” He pats their cheek. Pat pat pat. “Do quiet down, won’t you? Can’t have our dear neighbors filing a complaint, hmm?” Pat pat pat. “Hush now.”

Their lips pull up, a pathetic attempt at a smile but they’re smiling nonetheless. They say his name again, the words falling apart at the tip of their tongue. It makes his chest tighten further, his stomach do a full backflip for some reason or another, and he has to shush them and thumb their eyes closed, telling them to go back to sleep. It takes much coaxing and shushing, but they soon quiet and fall back into their deep slumber.

The shadows refuse to leave their side, especially the troublesome one—little Grimm. They remain by their bed, nestled against their waist or in the crook of their arms or legs. Little Grimm rests right on their chest, watching, waiting, their claws tap tap tapping anxiously.

He hears them. All the shadows around his human’s bed, whispering, whimpering and

wake up wake up please please wake up

shh shh no screaming no crying it’s okay it’s okay

safe safe you’re safe shh shh shh

wake wake wake up please wake up soon wake up soon please please please

practicing impatience.

When darling Niffty visits—which is so much more often while his human sleeps—she’s always on top of everything. She tells Alastor not to worry, she’ll handle it, to let him go and sit and watch his human. Sometimes when his human wakes crying from the pain and he’s not fast enough, sweet darling Niffty is right there, already injecting the syringe into their arm and shushing them. She’ll pet their hair and talk and talk and talk until his human quiets back down.

Alastor doesn’t get tired often. He doesn’t need to sleep much. But when he does, when these strange feelings in the pit of his chest make him so tired he must sit back against the armchair or the couch or even stand in the corner of the room, Niffty is there to take over for him. He really should get something nice for her once all of this is said and done. She’s been a tiny blessing, she has, darting about the flat to ensure everything is spick and span while he sits by his human’s bed.

Old Husker visits often too, looking no worse for wear. He doesn’t do much, if anything, to really help out—which was no surprise to Alastor, truthfully—aside from watching his human and checking their injuries. “To make sure you didn’t fuck anything up,” he’d say to Alastor when questioned.

“Really Husk, you wound me with such words! My medical skills are impeccable!” Alastor says right back, chest puffing up and holding his head high. To which Husk would only scoff as a response and proceed to ignore any and all rants Alastor would go on to have.

After the first week, their cries quiet to whimpers, most of their lesser injuries are healed while the worse are getting there. They don’t wake from the pain as often as they did before, but Alastor still sedates them. Just in case. When they do wake, however, they register more and more. They’re still delirious, still mumbling and speaking nonsense, but compared to their previous state? They might as well be hosting speeches.

One particular night, nearing the third week of their recovery, they wake as Alastor finishes applying the ointment and necessary sedation for their pain. He’s… well, half-sure what he’s using is enough. Sedatives were something he was never one for back in the day. He loved hearing his victims scream, he didn’t need them all numb while he cut them up.

However, this was a different case altogether.

Once the syringe is empty, he pulls it out and rubs his thumb over the tiny red dot on their wrist, examining the small wound left behind. He watches his human rest for a moment longer, reaching out and gently brushing his knuckles along their cheek. The contact makes them stir, inhaling deeply before their eyes flutter open. They blink lazily, searching, searching, before honing in on Alastor.

Their mouth works, “A… Al…?” Their voice is much better compared to the hoarse mess it used to be, “Al… A—Alastor…?”