Archive of Our Own ^beta

It began innocuously, as most disasters do.

Charlie recalled Angel coming back from a shoot, complaining of the hellhound he’d had to film with.

“A real mutt,” Angel had said, combing his fingers through his dishevelled hair. “A total fleabag. Literally.”

Charlie hadn’t put too much stock into this, as Angel venting about his work days was nothing out of the ordinary, and something she told herself was a healthy outlet, that she, as Angel’s friend, ought to support. So, she merely smiled and nodded as Angel stretched his lanky body out across the longue and scratched at his jaw.

And kept scratching.

His scratching continued all through the next day, his fingers digging beneath the hem off his shirt and into the fluff bursting out of his collar. He couldn’t seem to peel his searching nails away from his sides or armpits for a second, even when they were all seated around the kitchen island, having breakfast.

“Um, Angel? Are you okay?” Charlie ventured even as Angel dug all four of his hands into his hair, scratching madly at his scalp.

“Yeah?” Angel grunted, digging his fingers vigorously into his white locks. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Husk and Sir Pentious, sat on either side of him, scooted their chairs away.

“Maybe because it looks like you’re trying to scalp yourself?” Vaggie suggested, making Charlie cringe.

She wouldn’t have put it exactly like that. Though she was starting to worry about Angel’s follicles. Surely, all this pulling and twisting couldn’t be good for them. She’d really hate to wake up the next morning and find Angel sobbing in the parlour at his new bald spots.

“What’s this about scalping?” asked a voice at Charlie’s back and she nearly jumped clean out of her skin as she spun around to see Alastor’s grinning face manifest from the shadows.

First came his glowing red eyes and grinning mouth, followed by his shock of red hair, then his ashen face. He pushed his way between Charlie and Vaggie to lean against the countertop on his elbows, grinning the short distance to Angel’s scowling face. His ire was matched only by Vaggie, who had to lift her omelette out of way, lest it get squashed beneath Alastor’s arm.

“Oh, Alastor,” Charlie said with relief, hand going to her chest. “It’s just you.”

“And what seems to be the problem?” Alastor asked, blinking innocently at Angel.

“It’s nothin’,” Angel snapped, forcing his hands onto his lap. “Probably just a rash or somethin’ from this new shampoo I picked up.”

Alastor looked slightly crestfallen at this news, almost like he was hoping for a more morbid answer. Charlie was considering giving him a comforting pat on the back when Niffty poked her head up from beneath the counter at Angel’s side, earning several yelps of surprise. She observed Angel’s unkempt white fur and twitching fingers, and her sweet button face spilt open with a razor-sharp grin.

“What if you have fleas?” she giggled, her eye flashing with excitement.

Angel just crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back with a scoff. “Please. You gotta keep up with the times, Niff. People don’t get fleas no more.”

But even as he said this, Niffty scaled his long body, scuttling up and around the length of his torso until she settled behind his shoulder. Angel made a noise of protest as Niffty flexed her fingers before rifling through the short fur at the back of his neck. Her search went higher as she pushed his hair aside, making it flop over his face, all the while chittering to herself. After a moment, she straightened up from Angel’s nest of tangled hair with a gleeful smile.

“Yep!” Niffty announced with the same enthusiasm one would use when telling their family they were going to Lu Lu Land. “It’s fleas!”

Pentious slithered away with a curl to his mouth while Husk all but threw himself from his chair, landing in a heap of bristling fur and feathers on the ground. Charlie and the others had to crane their necks to see Husk scuttle back across the floor like a crab before he hit the pantry with a thump.

“Ah, what the fuck?” Husk yelled, while Angel batted Niffty’s hands away.

“Your eye must be playin’ tricks on ya,” he insisted even as a worried line creased his brow. “I aint had fleas since the 50’s!”

Niffty perched herself primly on the edge of the counter, bouncing the curled edge of her bob. “Suit yourself. But I know a flea when I see one.”

Charlie shot an anxious look at Vaggie while Alastor merely chuckled at Angel’s expense, his scarlet eyes dancing with glee.

“I suppose you’ll need to add the occasional pest infestation to your list of occupational hazards,” he snickered and Angel flipped him off with all four hands.

“Fuck off. I don’t have fleas.”

Everyone stared at him. Husk remained glued to the opposite wall, as far away from Angel as he could get. Pentious was scribbling in his notebook, muttering under his breath about insect-sized rayguns. Niffty grinned, her hands inching towards Angel’s fur again, while Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor all watched him silently fret. Angel swung his gaze between the lot of them, his bravado quickly fading and being replaced by something fearful.

“I don’t,” he said again, weaker this time.

Charlie hoped he was right.

He was not, in fact, right.

Not only did Angel’s scratching continue and increase in its vigour until he was nearly raking at his body non-stop (to the point where he’d been sent home from work early on accounts of him being “a raggedy bitch”) but soon others began to feel the itch as well. Charlie was woken up in the middle of the night at the feel of something jostling the bed and glanced down to see Keekee furiously scratching behind her ear. Razzle and Dazzle were no better off, constantly gnawing at each other’s furry legs and scratching the other’s back with their horns. Husk had to stop mixing drinks after he couldn’t hold a bottle straight, thanks to the prickling itches wracking through his body.

They lasted half a day like this before Vaggie promptly lost her shit.

“Alright, that’s it!” she thundered, bringing the butt of her spear down on the coffee table in the parlour with a booming crack. Husk and Angel, sat on the sofa and armchair respectively, froze mid-scratch to blink at her. Vaggie bared her teeth and pointed her spear at both of them in turn. “We cannot do anything around here while you guys are itching the place down! You have fleas. Whatever. Let’s just deal with it so I can actually get a good night’s sleep.”

Angel opened his mouth to squeak, “But-“

“No buts!” Vaggie snapped. “Except your butt in the bath!”

Charlie poked her head out from around Vaggie’s enraged figure with an apologetic smile. “What Vaggie’s trying to say is that she’s really concerned about you guys and thinks you’ll be a lot happier once we deal with this little, uh, problem.”

“No,” Vaggie clarified, bringing her spear back to her side and glaring at the two cowering furballs before her. “You guys are just annoying the crap out of me and making it miserable here for everyone else.” Charlie sighed as Vaggie pointed to Niffty, who was stabbing at a scuttling cockroach with her needle. “Niffty, I need you to take care of these fleas.”

Niffty instantly abandoned her pursuit of the roach to straighten up and flash her teeth at Husk and Angel.

“My pleasure,” she said with a maniacal cackle, the point of her needle flashing as she raised it above her shoulder.

Husk and Angel scrambled to hold each other as Niffty took a single step forward before Charlie fell to her knees and caught the knot of Niffty’s neckerchief, halting her.

“Not like that!” Charlie hurried to say.

“With a treatment formula,” Vaggie ordered, fishing some money out of her pocket and passing it to Niffty. “Go down to the store and get some. Quickly.”

Niffty accepted the bills with a pout, tucking her needle back into the folds of her apron. “Hmph. Fine.”

Charlie released her with a sigh of relief as Niffty left the hotel, muttering about how her way would’ve been way more fun.

Niffty returned some time later with a large bottle of something labelled Flea-be-damned!, along with a case of steel combs. Charlie and Vaggie had been prepping while Niffty was out, running baths in several rooms, filling the warm water up to the brim, adding in soapy lotion, suds and bubbles rising to the surface. Charlie tied her hair back, shed her suit in favour of a simple pair of sweats and a t-shirt, as she anticipated the next part of this operation was bound to end in her getting wet.

And not in the fun way, her internal Angel voice said. She hushed him, shoved him away and slipped a pair of rubber gloves over her hands. She exited the bathroom at the same time Vaggie did from the other ensuite down the hall. Vaggie was similarly suited up with her hair tied back, dressed in a pair of worn-out overalls that Charlie hadn’t seen on her since the time they’d tried to fix up the hotel and do some refurbishments on their own. It had ended in Charlie spilling a bucket of mint green paint over Vaggie’s head before falling from a ladder and spraining her wrist. They had retired the paint brushes after that.

Presently, they gave each other a secure nod, faces wrought with seriousness. They marched down the stairs where the flea-ridden residents had been corralled into the old drawing room. Vaggie kicked open the door and Husk froze from where he was rubbing his back against the corner of the mantel piece. Angel had sprouted his extra set of arms to scratch at himself, while Razzle, Dazzle, and Keekee were a group of writhing messes on the floor. They all looked from Charlie, to Vaggie, and down at the rubber gloves pulled up to their elbows as Vaggie twisted her head from side to side, several crunches groaning from her neck.

“Okay, idiots,” Vaggie growled. “We’re doing this. Husk, Angel, you’re coming with me.”

“Guys,” Charlie said to the collected hellbeasts, trying to inject the same level of authority into her voice as Vaggie had. “You’re with me.”

Razzle, Dazzle, and Keekee were easier to wrangle than Angel and Husk, who grumbled the whole way up the stairs and down to the bathroom. Charlie, feeling as though she were about to enter into war, looked across at Vaggie, the length of the hallway their battleground. Vaggie pumped her fist in a show of encouragement and Charlie smiled in return. Vaggie’s smile melted off her face as she turned back to face the miserable forms of Husk and Angel, who, even now, couldn’t stop scratching at themselves.

“Alright, fleabags,” Vaggie said sternly. “You’re gonna go in there and you’re gonna pamper each other like you’ve never been pampered before. I don’t wanna see a single strand of fur left untouched. Understand?”

Angel huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. “I understand you wanna free show.”

Vaggie’s eye narrowed to a slit and Angel instantly dropped his smirk. His shoulders slumped as he followed Vaggie’s pointing finger and slouched into the bathroom, followed by Husk. Vaggie slammed the door shut behind them, her voice still reaching through the wood to Charlie’s ears.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before now strip, bitches. Combs out.”

Charlie smothered a laugh into her shoulder as she ushered her furry crew into the bathroom. She pasted on a cheery smile and tried injecting her voice with joy.

“Okay, guys!” she said, clapping her hands together and rubbing her palms. “Who’s ready for a day of fun and relaxation?”

Razzle and Dazzle flicked tired eyes at each other while Keekee hissed and chewed at her own tail. Charlie, unperturbed, flicked the CD player she’d placed on the vanity beforehand on, soothing, royalty-free music playing through the cavernous room. She grabbed the metal comb from her anti-flea kit and nodded to the bubbling tub.

“Okay! Who’s first?”

Charlie emerged from the bathroom an hour later, dragging her feet and nursing the knock on her head she’d suffered after trying to grasp a fleeing Dazzle, slipping on a stray moist towelette and falling, face-first into the lip of the tub. She rubbed at her injured skin, bruises already spawning on the pale expanse of her forearms. She winced at the cuts littered across her body, curtesy of Keekee (someone wasn’t getting wet treats that night). Her heavy footsteps treaded onto the carpet, and she turned her head at the sound of a door slipping shut.

Charlie glanced over to see Vaggie step out at the same time as her, looking exactly as she had when she’d first entered. She was even smiling to herself, hands on her hips in a confident stance. Charlie watched her through the sheen of sweat dripping down her brow.

Vaggie looked over at the sound of Charlie’s zombie walk, eye widening as she took in the state of her.

“Holy shit,” Vaggie cursed, racing over to Charlie to grab her hands and squeeze. “What happened to you? You look like you were jumped by a pack of hellhounds.”

“Not a hellhound,” Charlie wheezed, wincing as her eye throbbed. “Just a couple of squeamish goats and one aquaphobic cat. But it’s fine! We got the job done and everyone’s feeling great, right guys?”

Charlie forced a smile onto her mouth as she looked over her shoulder at the three creatures clustered in the doorway. Razzle and Dazzle had matching fluffy white towels wrapped around their heads while Keekee, still drenched and dripping bathwater onto the carpet, let out a low mewl in response. Charlie turned her tired grin back on Vaggie, who looked mildly horrified.

“See? All fine.” She glanced past Vaggie at the door to the other bathroom. “How’d it go with Angel and Husk?”

“Good,” Vaggie replied, following Charlie’s gaze down the hall. “Once they got over themselves and into the tub it seemed to go fine.”

They walked down to the door that was open ajar. Vaggie toed it open, revealing the tranquil sight of Angel and Husk seated up to their chests in soapy water. Husk’s back was to Angel as Angel ran the comb down his spine, between his wings. Husk let out the occasional purr, his eyes closed in bliss as he soaked up the pampering Angel was dishing out on him. Angel, no longer scratching at his poor body, let out a light chuckle, his eyes fond and his hair pasted to the back of his head.

Vaggie quietly shut the door and faced Charlie with a triumphant smile. “There. Once they’re done it’ll be problem solved. No more fleas.”

Charlie responded with a high five, her spirits lifted despite the scratch marks covering her. “Great job! Now, we just need to spray down the furniture and everything will be flea free.”

They paced down the stairs together, coming to a halt when the sound of radio static reached them. Charlie frowned, turning to follow the sound into the parlour. The music trying to play through the speaker on the cathedral radio perched on the coffee table jumped and dipped, screeches of feedback riddling the music.

She came to a stop once she saw Alastor sat in his favoured armchair by the fireplace. He was gripping his cane, scratching between his antlers with the pointy tip of it, his teeth clenched in a grimace. He didn’t notice them until Vaggie loudly cleared her throat, jumping at the noise and scrambling to lower his cane to the floor, grinning across at the two of them innocently.

“Charlie! Vaggie!” he said by way of greeting. “How goes the flea war?”

“Fine,” Vaggie answered, narrowing her eye. “Why’re you scratching yourself?”

Alastor tipped his head to the side with an enquiring noise before his eyes flashed to his cane and he let out a short, clipped laugh. “Oh! That. Just getting close to shedding season for myself, dear. Antlers get awfully itchy during that time, you know.”

Charlie cast him a worried look while Vaggie stared at him, her face set and appearing unconvinced.

“Alastor. Is there something you want to share with us?” she asked.

Alastor’s gaze instantly took on a cagey look, his ears dipping slightly. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“I mean,” Vaggie bit out, “it looks an awful lot like you have fleas too.”

Charlie wracked her brain while Alastor’s smile grew even more strained. She tried sorting through her memories, seeing if she could find a time where she’d ever noticed whether or not Alastor had any fur, but he kept himself buttoned up to the throat at all hours. The most she’d ever seen of his body was when he’d shed his coat during a game night and pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, revealing dark velvety fuzz coating his forearms. How far did that fuzz extend? Did it extend into thicker, fuller fur? She had no idea. She didn’t spend an awful lot of time picturing what her facility manager looked like beneath his clothes.

Vaggie took a purposeful step towards Alastor and he immediately assumed a defensive position, tucking his legs up onto the chair and gripping the armrests. His claws dug straight through the thin fabric, stuffing spewing from the slashes as he growled, low and animalistic.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he hissed. “And don’t you come a step closer with that blasted thing!”

For Vaggie had pulled a spray bottle filled with the treatment from the pocket of her overalls. She held it up in Alastor’s direction and he bared his teeth at her, hissing like a cat.

“Just come with us, Alastor,” she said calmly. “It’s for your own good.”

“Never!” Alastor declared and promptly melted into a shadow.

Charlie yelped and hopped out of the way as Alastor slithered past them along the ground, not wanting to step on him even if he was a shadow. Vaggie whirled around, aiming the nozzle of the bottle his way and spraying a few squirts in quick succession. Alastor deftly swerved out of the way, slinking up the walls and between a crack in the chipped plaster, disappearing from view and earning a growl of frustration from Vaggie. She tossed the spray bottle down and turned to Charlie, hands on hips.

“This is going to be harder than we thought,” she said and Charlie wilted, feeling the truth of that statement in her weary bones.

“Okay, team,” Vaggie barked, slapping her ruler against the whiteboard Charlie had fetched from storage and pushed into the parlour. “We need a plan of attack to secure Alastor and make sure we can rid the hotel of these fleas once and for all. Any suggestions?”

Charlie, who was stood by Vaggie’s side, surveyed the assembled crew. Everyone was there except for Keekee, Razzle, and Dazzle. They were being kept sequestered in Charlie and Vaggie’s room until Alastor could be treated, lest they accidentally contract fleas again. Pentious and Niffty hummed while Vaggie drummed her fingers against her bicep, waiting expectantly. They’d already gone through a series of ideas that had all been deemed a bust.

Charlie had tried knocking on Alastor’s door, attempting to coax him out with reassuring words, but his only reply had been a slip of paper pushed under the door that read ‘Go away :D’. Vaggie had tried threatening him when he didn’t respond to Charlie’s attempt at kindness and understanding, telling him she’d leave booby traps of angelic steel outside his door unless he came willingly. A second piece of paper had been slid under the door that simply read ‘Ha ha :D’. Alastor’s door was guarded both with a heavy lock and magic, so breaking in wasn’t feasible either. And even if they did, Charlie doubted they could simply waltz in and beat Alastor into submission.

That seemed like a death wish. And also, it was really mean. So, that had also been struck from the ideas list.

Presently, Angel raised an arm, accompanied by a squeak from his rubbery hazmat suit. Both he and Husk wore the bright yellow suits, complete with helmet, boots and gloves—Niffty had gone through a fair amount of trouble to sew the wing pockets on the back of Husk’s suit—keeping them safe from the invading force of more fleas.

“Can’t we just wait this out?” Angel asked. “If Alastor’s feelin’ even half a’ what I was feelin’, he’ll be itchin’ outta his skin. Give him a day and he’ll want that comb as much as we want him to take it too.”

“I don’t knooow,” Niffty sang, kicking her feet back and forth on the edge of the sofa. “Alastor’s really touchy about his hair. Like, he doesn’t like people touching it. Hates it! He won’t ever let me style it for him.”

She sounded particularly put out by this, crossing her arms and pouting, but Vaggie just heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Well, we can’t just wait around for him to suddenly decide to not be a stubborn asshole,” she groused.

“Yeah,” Angel piped up, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know how much longer I can walk ‘round in this thing. It’s ridin’ up in places rubber has no place ridin’ up.”

“Tell me about it,” Husk grumbled. “I can’t even scratch this stupid fuckin’ itch.”

“Ya hear that!” Angel proclaimed with a dramatic hand flying to his chest. “He’s repressed!”

Husk shoved him over and Angel collapsed onto his side in a fit of giggles. Charlie and Vaggie shared a look, Charlie’s worries increasing. The more they talked about it, the more she couldn’t stop imagining Alastor cooped up in his room, madly scratching at an itch that wouldn’t go away. He was all alone, suffering, simply because he couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else touching his hair.

She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and fiddled with the tips of her blonde hair, her mind flashing back to memories of her childhood, her mother approaching her and brandishing a hairbrush like a knife. Her dad would have to hold her, petting her and whispering soothing words as Lilith brushed out the knots in her long locks, just to keep her still, but she’d still wail the whole time. Tender-headed Lilith always used to call her, so Charlie felt she could sympathise with Alastor’s plight.

“Might I suggest a plan?” Pentious asked, poising a finger high in the air.

Vaggie looked dubious but nodded to him anyway. “I mean, I guess. We’re pretty desperate at this point. What’d you have in mind?”

Pentious stood on his tail, preening under all the gazes suddenly turned his way. “You’ll see! It’s completely foolproof.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Vaggie said bluntly. “There’s no way this is gonna work.”

Charlie winced at her harsh tone but had to agree. They were all stood off to the side in the lobby, watching on as Pentious made the finishing touches to his trap. His trap, which consisted of a broken radio placed over a giant red X painted onto the floor. Overhead, a net connected to a pully system dangled by the chandelier. Pentious slithered back to them, gripping the release lever he’d installed into the wall.

“Au contraire, my dear!” Pentious said with a confident grin at Vaggie’s deep frown. “I used this clever strategy numerous times throughout my career as Alastor’s arch rival! In the same way a mouse cannot resist the siren’s call of a block of aged cheese, a Radio Demon cannot resist the tool of his trade.”

Angel and Husk, still dressed in their hazmat suits, shot each other a look.

“Fifty bucks says this thing’s a total bust,” Angel offered.

Husk shrugged. “I like those odds.”

They shook on it while Vaggie dragged a hand down her face. Bags were already starting to form under her eyes and Charlie reached out to squeeze her shoulders.

“Look, Vaggie, why don’t we just give Pentious’s idea a shot? It can’t hurt, right?”

Vaggie still looked unsure, the X over her eye seeming to emanate hesitancy, but she smiled when Charlie tipped her head to the side in askance. She sighed and Charlie was already internally cheering when she turned to face Pentious.

“Okay, fine,” Vaggie grumbled. “We’ll try it.”

Pentious beamed and the others all got in position, Charlie having to corral Niffty towards the door and away from the bait. Pentious gave the nod and they all hid in their preassigned places, Husk and Angel hiding behind the curtain, Vaggie crouching down behind the sofa, Niffty scaling the wall to perch atop the chandelier and Pentious shuffling behind the antique coat rack, piled with garments that he’d brought down just for this occasion. Charlie opened the front door and called out over her shoulder, louder than would’ve ever been necessary.

“Okay, guys! Let’s all go out together! I guess we’ll just have to leave this busted radio here, all alone, until we get back!” She stepped out onto the porch and began to close the door but poked her head back in to add, “Which won’t be for a while.”

Charlie pulled the door nearly shut, peaking through the crack at the seemingly deserted lobby. It was a minute of tense silence, the ticking of the grandfather clock and her pounding heart the only sounds in her ears, before she spied a slinking shadow slip down the wall and onto the lobby floor. A moment later, that shadow straightened up and materialised into Alastor.

The few hours that had passed since she’d seen him had clearly done a number on him. He’d shed his coat, leaving himself in only his pants and shirt, though several of the buttons were looped through the wrong holes, leaving bits of the fur covering his chest poking through the gaps, confirming that he was, indeed, some degree of fluffy beneath his stiff layers. His hair was in complete disarray, frizzy and sticking out in random tufts around his ears. His antlers were no longer the pair of petite thorns he typically wore them in, one having grown a few extra spikes, leaving his head lopsided. His smile was also fraying at the seams, his teeth clenched tightly together and his lips twitching as he cautiously approached the radio.

Even as he walked, he couldn’t stop scratching at the back of his head, stooping down to peer at the radio Pentious had deliberately left in pieces, nuts and bolts scattered around the base of it. Alastor slowly got down on his hands and knees as he crawled closer, sniffing at the radio like an animal with a piece of meat.

“Oh, look at you,” he crooned. “Poor thing…”

As soon as he crossed over onto the X, Pentious ripped the curtain back and pulled down the lever.

“Attack!” he ordered.

The net fell from the roof, Alastor’s head snapping up with a screech of feedback before it collapsed over him. In the same breath, they all sprang out from their hiding places and dove for Alastor, now thrashing under the net. Charlie ripped the door open and launched herself at Alastor’s scrabbling feet with a yell that matched Vaggie’s war cry as she vaulted over the sofa. They all fell on Alastor, pinning him to the ground. Niffty dropped onto his head, gripping his antlers in both hands and holding on for dear life as he bucked and thrashed like a bull at a rodeo.

“Don’t let him escape, minions!” Pentious yelled, sliding his tail around Alastor’s waist.

“Don’t call us your minions,” Vaggie snapped, shouting as Angel accidentally knocked her over with his butt.

“Sorry,” Pentious said, chagrined. “Force of habit.”

His apology was cut off as Alastor wildly lashed out with his foot, kicking Pentious’s hat clean off his head. It sailed up into the air, then landed over Niffty, burying her to the waist. She screamed and thrashed about inside the concerned-looking hat, but it wouldn’t come loose from her tiny body.

It was all a blur to Charlie as she fought to get a hold of Alastor beneath the net. The ropes were threaded with angelic thread, preventing Alastor from using his powers while under it. It was a good thing too, as he doubtless would’ve turned into a shadow and slipped away by then. This did raise the concerning question of how many times Pentious had pulled this same trick with Alastor over the years and, more pressingly, how many times Alastor had fallen for it.

“I’ve got him!” Angel yelled, his elbow smooshed up against Charlie’s cheek.

Charlie spat out a lock of Vaggie’s hair and pushed her heels against Pentious’s tail as she called out, “I’ve got his arms!”

For she had finally caught a hold of Alastor’s wrists, pinning him to the ground as the others scrambled around her, trying to secure the rest of him. Alastor, now flat on his back, stared up at Charlie with wide, crazed eyes, his pupils shrunk to pinpoints, a drop of ink in a sea of red. His frazzled ears were pinned back against his skull, his grin a tight grimace. She felt bad laying her hands on him like this, but as Vaggie had assured her, it had to be done.

“Charlie,” Alastor whimpered, his eyes turning pleading. “You’re hurting me.”

Charlie resisted the urge to immediately snatch her hands back and apologise. She had to recite her affirmations that this was for Alastor’s own good to herself over and over in an effort to quash the rising sense of guilt and self-doubt welling up inside her.

So, she sucked in a deep breath, even as Husk accidentally kicked her in the ribs as he tried to get a good grip on Alastor’s leg, though the hazmat suit was making things slippery.

“Alastor, I’m sorry,” Charlie said, mentally shoving aside the Sympathetic Friend Charlie and replacing her with cold, Tough Love Charlie. “But you need this.”

Alastor’s beseeching look instantly melted away, his eyebrows digging into an angry glare and his grin shaping into a snarl. “Fine. Then you leave me no choice.”

Before Charlie could question him, he unhinged his jaw and let out an ear-piercing scream. It was less of a human (or demon, for that matter) yell, and something far more animalistic. It was a sound like ten-foot nails on a chalkboard, like steel grinding against steel, like a fire alarm on crack. The sound shot straight through Charlie’s brain, rattling around in her skull and instantly making her release Alastor to clap her hands over her ears. The others did likewise, shouting in startlement and pain as they squeezed their eyes shut and gritted their teeth. Charlie was thrown back as Alastor scrambled out from under them, clawing his way free of the net. When the sound finally ceased, she lifted her head up, blinking her vision back into focus against the ringing in her ears and squinted at where Alastor stood a few feet away, hunched over and gripping the disassembled radio like it was precious cargo.

“What the fuck?” Angel ground out, sitting up and rubbing his head through the suit.

Vaggie, sprawled out on her stomach, pushed herself up onto her elbows. “I thought he couldn’t use his powers?”

Pentious shrugged helplessly while Alastor let out a low chuckle, his head twitching jerkily.

“That was merely the power of my incredible vocal range,” Alastor said grandly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his ear flicking against the side of his head like the tail of a horse swatting away flies.

“Alastor-“ Vaggie growled, planting a knee on the ground, but Alastor just bared his teeth at her and dropped to the floor in his shadow form, slipping away and taking the radio with him.

Charlie sat hunched over on the sofa, her head hung between her shoulders while the others nursed the various bumps and bruises they’d acquired during their group scuffle with Alastor. Pentious’s arm was in a make-shift sling and Niffty had a bag of frozen peas settled over her face, icing her black eye. Husk and Angel were both sprawled out on the floor, various band-aids pasted over spots on their hazmat suits. Charlie felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Vaggie, whose hair was still standing on end thanks to Alastor’s shriek, staring at her grimly.

“Charlie,” she began and Charlie already didn’t like the sound of this, “I know you don’t want to, but I think we need to bring in the big guns.”

Charlie’s spine straightened up and she was instantly shaking her head. “My dad? No way! If Alastor won’t let any of us near him, he definitely won’t do it for him. I know this is all for his own good, but I don’t want to traumatise him.”

Vaggie let out a weary sigh and flopped back onto the sofa beside her. Her head dropped onto Charlie’s shoulder, her body slumping against her.

“Then what do we do?” she lamented. “There’s no one else strong enough to wrangle him.”

Charlie tipped her head against Vaggie’s, letting out a matching sigh. Vaggie’s glumness was contagious and she almost slipped into that tempting pit of despair, but like a life-saving tree branch snagging her and breaking her fall, an idea sprang to mind.

Or, more specifically, a person.

“It’s not about who’s strong enough,” Charlie said slowly, rising to her feet. “It’s just about taking the right approach.”

“Huh?” Vaggie said and Charlie spun around on her with a wide smile, her hope rekindled once more.

“I think I know who can help,” Charlie said, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

She opened her contacts, scrolling down until she reached the number that had been given to her on insistence that she call if she ever needed anything. She’d never thought she’d need it, but she’d also never anticipated half the hotel residents catching fleas. Her thumb hovered over the name for a moment as she hesitated, but the thought of having to spend even another day with this crazed version of Alastor had her pressing down and holding her phone to her ear.

“Hi!” Charlie chirped when she heard the voice on the other side answer. “Um, I’m sorry for calling out of nowhere, but we really need some help and you’re the only person I can think to ask. It’s about Alastor…”

It was an anxious hour of waiting before the doorbell rang and Charlie shot to her feet off the sofa. She staggered to the door, nearly tripping on the carpet in her haste, and wrenched the door open to find her salvation stood there in a ruffled dress and feathered hat.

“Charlie, dear!” Rosie exclaimed, grabbing Charlie’s hands and pulling her close to press a kiss to both her cheeks. She then gripped Charlie by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length, flicking a critical look up and down the length of her. “My, my, you certainly look like you’ve been put through the ringer.”

Charlie let out a weak laugh and rubbed at her scratched-up arm. “Hah, yeah. You could say it’s been a long day.”

“And it’s not even 3 o’clock!” Rosie declared, releasing Charlie to bustle inside. She removed her large, feathered hat and hung it up on the coat rack they hadn’t bothered to do away with yet. Rosie planted her hands on her hips as she took in the sad group that were the core members of Charlie’s hotel, all laying in lumps in the parlour, beside the shredded patch of carpet that had been their battleground. Rosie clicked her tongue. “Goodness me, this is quite the sight.”

“Thanks so much for coming on such short notice, Rosie,” Charlie said, clasping her hands together. “We’ve tried everything but Alastor just won’t listen to us.”

Rosie tipped her head back and laughed against the back of her hand. “Oh, dearie, it’s no wonder! Why, I remember the last time he got a case a’ hellfleas. It was 1972 and went on for three days before we were able to rid him of the little devils. He went on a rampage and just about trampled half a’ the Doomsday District. Even ate a stop sign! Quite a tantrum, indeed!”

“Oh, fuck…” Charlie murmured, clutching the ends of her hair and tugging. “So, you’re saying we only have two days before he eats the hotel? It’ll take me longer than that just to move all my crafting stuff outside!”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Rosie crooned, squeezing Charlie’s shoulders. She sauntered over to the base of the staircase and patted the bag dangling from one elbow. “I helped him before and I’ll help him again, whether he likes it or not. Now, where’s your bathroom with the biggest tub?”

Rosie took her time unpacking her bag, setting up all the little bottles and jars along the vanity. She placed a liver and intestines scented candle on the thick rim of the bubbling bathtub, humming to herself the whole while. She was a few minutes into her routine before she cleared her throat and spoke into the large, cavernous bathroom.

“Alastor. Where are your manners? Not gonna greet your old friend?”

There was the sound of rushing air, then Alastor’s voice echoing back to her. “Rosie, dear. What a pleasant surprise!”

“I’m sure it is,” Rosie laughed into the back of her hand. She sat down on the little stool situated over the bathmat and cast her eyes about the room. Alastor’s voice didn’t seem to be coming from any one spot, pesky ventriloquist that he was. “Why the shy act? Lemme get a look at that handsome face a’ yours, hun.”

There was a long pause before Alastor spoke again. “Oh, well, you see, I’m afraid I’m not quite presentable at the moment. Didn’t quite get all my beauty sleep! Haven’t ironed my shirt! You know how it is.”

Rosie certainly did and she also knew both a lame excuse and forced cheer when she heard it. Though she couldn’t see him, she could sense the cracks in Alastor’s façade from a mile away.

“Oh, come now,” she tutted. “You saw me after my first husband tragically passed and the state I was in. I’m sure I can take a wrinkled shirt.”

Another pause. Then-

“It is more than a wrinkled shirt I fear.”

Rosie turned and had suppress a wince. Alastor slunk out from the shadows, hunched over and hugging his arms. His antlers hung from his head at mismatched lengths, one eye black and the other red, his claws digging into the thin sleeves of his shirt, tearing through the fabric. His head couldn’t stop twitching, bobbling on his neck in quick, jerky movements. He looked like an addict going through withdrawals, barely keeping himself together against the obvious urge to scratch. A far cry from her friend’s usual dapper appearance.

Rosie clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she rose to her feet. “Oh, Alastor. Look at the state you’ve gotten yourself into! Poor thing. Come here.”

She opened her arms and Alastor took a cautious, shuffling step towards her, then stopped, eyes flicking from her to the bathtub. Rosie took the initiative and closed the remaining gap between them, wrapping Alastor up in her embrace and drawing his head down to her chest. He tensed up, tight as a bowstring, before he quickly melted against her, resting his cheek atop the swell of her breasts, hugging her back as she stroked a hand through his messy hair.

“There we go,” Rosie cooed, rocking him slightly as they stood there. “Isn’t that better?”

“Oh, Rosie, it’s been dreadful,” Alastor whimpered, and Rosie nodded her head sympathetically.

Or, at least, she meant for it to come across as sympathetic. Alastor couldn’t see the sharp grin stretching across her face.

“I know,” Rosie sighed, stroking one hand down Alastor’s back and settling it on his waist. “But that’s why I’m here. To help make it all better!”

She gripped his hip and Alastor flinched, whipping his head up to stare, wide-eyed, at her.

“Rosie, what-?”

His question was cut off with a shriek as Rosie hoisted him up and threw him over her shoulder. He thrashed in her grip, his knees knocking into her chest, but she took it and gladly dumped him into the bathtub, his yelp briefly snuffed out as he was submerged under the soapy water. He landed with a splash and Rosie had to lift up her skirt to keep it from getting drenched. She dusted off her hands as Alastor slowly breached the water’s surface, dripping wet and glaring over the lip of the tub at her. Most other sinners would quake in fear at having the Radio Demon’s black-eyed glare directed their way but Rosie just rolled her eyes with a smile.

“You’re welcome,” she said snidely, rolling up her sleeves and seating herself on the stool so they were mostly at eye level with one another. “Now, you can stop being a big baby and get yourself cleaned up. Behavin’ like a feral tomcat—honestly, Alastor!”

Alastor narrowed his eyes at her and sunk down to his nose in the water, bubbles popping up around his face as he sulked. Rosie left him to cool off as she burrowed through her bag, emerging with the pair of rubber gloves she’d packed. She pulled them on and turned back to Alastor, snapping the rubber against her wrist.

“Well, come on! We haven’t got all day. I’m a very busy woman, as you well know.”

Alastor managed one final glare before she watched the fight drain out of him, his soggy ears flopping down against his head. He sat up and snapped his fingers, his soaked clothes vanishing from his body in a wink. His modesty was protected by the mountains of bubbles covering the surface of the tub, the water reaching his ribs, poking harshly against the fluffy skin of his torso. He settled back against the porcelain rim, his back to her and Rosie let out a pleased hum.

“There we go,” she fussed, squirting some shampoo into her hand and lathing into Alastor’s hair. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

“I’m a fleabag, Rosie,” Alastor muttered, though she didn’t miss the way he leaned back into her hands. “Not an invalid. You don’t have to speak to me like you’re my nurse.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t act so darn batty!” she shot back, flicking one of his ears. He let out a grunt of protest and Rosie sighed fondly, shaking her head. “Such a handful you are. You’re lucky you’re so sweet.”

“Hm. Sweet,” Alastor said wryly, shaking some of the water from his eyes.

Rosie chuckled as she scooped up some water with the pitcher she’d brought and poured it gently over Alastor’s head, washing away the suds of shampoo. “That’s right. Sweet as a pie filled with needles. Now, sit still and let me comb you down.” She ducked down to whisper into his ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

He flicked some water at her with a scoff and she pushed back, cackling at the ceiling.

Charlie and the others waited anxiously outside the bathroom for Rosie and Alastor to reappear. It had been nearly an hour since Rosie had swept inside with her bag of tricks and Charlie was beginning to genuinely worry about her. She was Alastor’s close friend, and surely, he wouldn’t want to hurt her, but in his current flea-induced, rabid state, who knew what he was capable of?

She gnawed at her thumbnail as she paced back and forth along the same three-feet-long stretch of carpet, Vaggie’s eye ping-ponging to watch her.

“They’ve been in there too long,” Charlie stated, pulling up to a stop. Then kept going, her feet carrying her along her well-worn track. “Should we do something? But what can we do? I don’t know what-“

She was saved from having to pontificate further on her non-existent plan by the bathroom door swinging open and Rosie and Alastor emerging through a cloud of steam. Charlie coughed, waving the steam away until she got a good look at the two overlords and stopped.

Alastor looked like a new man. He was once again dressed primly in his coat, his clothes no longer hanging off of him like vines. His antlers had returned to their typical matching, petite forms and his smile wasn’t crinkled in the corners, instead stretching across his face in a smooth, relaxed curl. His hair, previously mussed up and unruly, was sleek and glossy, his ears standing neatly above the red sweep of his locks. And most notably of all, he wasn’t scratching himself.

“Alastor!” Charlie gasped, rushing forward to throw her arms around him. He smelled of mint and pine, clean down to his bones. She squeezed him tight, her arms looping easily around his thin frame, before releasing him and stepping back. She gripped his shoulders, scanning him from head to toe, on the look out for any rogue fleas looking to make there way back between his buttons, but he was spotless. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“I am now,” he conceded, nodding his head at Rosie. “Thanks to Rosie, dear.”

Rosie waved her hand modestly. “Oh, please! Not the first time I’ve had wrestle you into a bathtub and it won’t be the last.”

Angel interrupted the (sweet?) moment by ripping open his hazmat suit with a yell. “Ugh! Fuckin’ finally! I felt like I was suffocatin’ in that thing.”

He pulled his helmet off, combing his fingers through his flattened hair as Husk took his own suit off, though minus the dramatics.

“So, a regular Tuesday for you then,” he remarked and Angel rounded on him, finger poised and pointing at his chest, before he paused for a moment, seeming to consider Husk’s words.

“Hmm,” he huffed, lowering his finger. “Touche.”

“Okay, great,” Vaggie deadpanned. She turned to Niffty, who was gripping the treatment spray in one hand and a wet sponge in the other, bouncing with unchecked excitement on the points of her feet. “Niffty, you can clean the furniture now-“

“YAY!” Niffty shrieked, then darted off down the hall.

The others followed suit, trudging along and talking amongst themselves until it was only Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, and Rosie left behind. Vaggie squinted at Alastor, who just smiled sweetly back at her, still glowing from his bath.

“Alastor, what the hell?” she demanded. “You put the entire hotel through shit today, all because you’re sensitive about your hair?”

Alastor sighed and placed a sombre hand over his heart. “It is my one flaw, I will admit.”

Vaggie stared at him while Rosie laughed, leaning closer to Alastor’s innocent face.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Rosie said, squeezing his shoulders and ducking down the squish their cheeks together. “You always know who to call when you need the right touch.”

“Aw,” Charlie cooed, clasping her hands together and smiling at the cute display. It warmed her heart like nothing else to see Alastor being so open and affectionate with another person.

Vaggie, however, appeared untouched by the display. “Yeah, okay, great. Let’s never do this again.”

Despite her fondness for Alastor and Rosie’s friendship, Charlie had to agree. Fuck fleas.