Chapter Text
Charlie was stunned silent. She saw exactly what her girlfriend was talking about, she saw Alastor's figure in a state that no figure- let alone Alastor- should ever be in. He looked like he could barely keep himself on his feet, his knees violently shaking. She knew he was saying something, even if she couldn't make out his exact words. She overheard the steady dripping of blood coming from his face, landing onto the armoire.
Part of her wanted to run into the room and check on him, grab him, stop him from doing whatever he was doing. Was he hurting himself? Charlie shook her head, trying to stop thinking like that. There had to be another reason why his face was bleeding, and so were his knuckles, and why he was running his balled fists down the jagged side of the wood. He was hurting himself. There was no denying that.
The deer seemed to be off in a world of his own, repeating his same murmurs. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. The screeches of his radio static kept piercing through his ears with every repetition. He knew better than to start this. He knew better than to let himself begin, because once he began, he couldn't stop. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He wanted to stop.
Alastor couldn’t stop. As much as he wanted to, as much as he needed it to stop, he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, oh, it only got worse. It was becoming unbearable. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He found everything in his brain getting louder. He gently grasped one of the knobs of the armoire, and then another, and then another, making sure that he had held them all.
Feeling all the way around the small knobs, touching every bit of their metal. Every square inch, he couldn’t help but ensure that his fingertips ran over them, being positive that every bit of them had been touched. And then, he did it again. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t even know why he was doing it, except for the fact that he had to.
There was no why for his behavior. He had never had one. A lot of these things used to be for his maman. He would keep her safe. He could keep her safe. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He saw how well that turned out. He didn’t keep her safe. Now, he just had no reason, other than the overwhelming urge to do it. Not many things were out of Alastor’s control. This was out of Alastor’s control.
“Hey, Alastor, what’s going on in here?” the deer could only barely make out the sound of a voice over the static that was filling his room- or maybe it was just filling his head. Either way, when he opened his mouth to answer, to try to promise that everything was fine, he couldn’t. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He couldn’t stop repeating it, as much as he wanted to.
“I don’t know- I mean, wasn’t he always?” He must have missed the original question. He wished that whoever was speaking would just leave him alone. He needed some time. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. Bristle at the cool metal of the knobs underneath his touch. And start again. And again. And again. He walked away from the armoire, sitting on his bed, still counting. He needed to stand up.
So up he stood. That wasn’t right. He sat back down. He could do it right. It didn’t feel right. He needed to get back to that armoire. He couldn’t help the feelings in his fingertips, begging for the metal of the knobs once more. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. It hadn’t been this bad in ages. Usually, he could suppress the feeling, at least somewhat. But now, his feverish brain wasn’t allowing him to.
Adam, it was that battle with Adam. That seemed to have made this all worse, slowly progressing towards its boiling point. And now he couldn't breathe, air wasn't getting in his lungs. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He needed to go, and feel the cool metal of the knobs once more, it would ease the tingling in his hands. But every time he tried to stand, it was wrong. It was like something was weighing him down.
"It's ok Al, it's ok. Deep breaths, in and out. There you go, in and out," Alastor hadn't even noticed that the person was in front of him now, holding her hands out like she was going to touch him- she couldn't touch him. He braced for the impact, knowing the storm that such a thing would set off inside of him. Thankfully, she kept her hands just far enough away. Wait, this person. This was Charlotte. Oh no.
Some of his senses were beginning to return to him, albeit not all the way. He still wanted to stand up, he needed to stand up, and to do it right. But Charlotte. She couldn't find out. That ship may have sailed. He tried to find some words to say to her, but his mouth wasn't moving. It was either say his repetitions, or say nothing at all. It was like a second deal he was bound to, but one he never agreed upon.
"You're alright. We got you, don't worry," that was Charlotte's girlfriend. That was even worse than Charlotte knowing. At least Charlotte would offer some compassion, and she at least seemed to like him. Miss Vagatha didn't like him. She seemed like she was ready to attack him right now. She would probably not take very kindly to him standing up and running back over to the armoire. "We're right here."
All he wanted to do was let go of the feeling. He had probably calmed down enough by now, just a few more touches would probably relieve him of the feeling. He needed the feeling. He needed to stand. Charlotte and Vagatha were saying words to him, words he couldn't make out. His brain was full of commotion, to much to actually know what they were saying, but they were probably expecting an answer.
As much as he tried to speak actual words to them, sensical things, the weight in his mouth was far too heavy. "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. Un, deux, un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. Un, deux, deux, deux-" the word was stuck in his mouth. He hated when that happened. He needed to say it before he could stiop saying it, but he couldn't say it. Something with it wasn't right.
Vaggie worriedly looked at her girlfriend. His knuckles were still dripping with blood, and so was his mouth. It would help if he would just stop talking for a moment. The constant moving was not letting him heal. "Hey Alastor, I know you're not feeling great," she tried to be as encouraging as possible. She didn't need him fainting from hyperventilation. "Alastor, it's just me, Vaggie. You're alright."
She reached out a hand to him, missing Charlie's reach that was a clear cue not to. She placed it on his shoulder, feeling him squirm away. His back was stiffened at an incline backwards, muscles tense, not appreciating the unwanted touch. She pulled her hand back, realizing her mistake, realizing that touching him was probably not the best course of action. He was panicking. And she had caused it.
Jumping up, Alastor ran back to the armoire, fully pushing Charlotte out of the way. Vagatha seemed less than happy. Charlotte seemed to be trying to calm her. He couldn't care less. He was back at his armoire, ok, he could fix things. He could fix everything. He just had to go through the motions. He just had to say the words. With his left hand, he felt the cool metal knobs. With his right, he felt the splintering into his knuckles.
"Yeah, nope, not happening," Vaggie ran up to his side, almost instinctively reaching for his arm. But she had seen what had happened last time she grabbed him, she had seen the way that he had reacted. That's why he was back here. She had already let him hurt himself once, and she wasn't going to let it happen again. "Alastor, if you don't stop, I will have to touch you," he just kept counting in response, through choking breaths.
"What do we do, Vaggie?" Charlie was crying now, too. She was on Alastor's other side, resisting every urge to try to touch him, to snap him back to reality. The look on her girlfriend's face was also one of uncertainty, not wanting to touch him, but knowing that he couldn't keep hurting himself. His hand left the armoire, making its way back up to his face, and finding one of the only stitches left untouched in his lips.
"No! Alastor! Stop that!" She jerked the arm off of his face. He didn't seem to be reacting, instinctively picking, but now at the air. His fingertips were bloodied from his work on undoing his stitches. At least he wasn't lashing out at her. He seemed to busy frantically counting. "Alastor. I need you to talk to me here. I need you to tell me what is going on. We can help you," he slowly opened a teary eye towards her.
"Vagatha?" He asked. He knew it was her. He was the Radio Demon, why was he being so childish as to ask someone who he definitely knew their name. The word still felt bad on his lips, making him return to his repetition momentarily. "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. What did you say, Vagatha? What's wrong? Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. Nothing is wrong," The urge was beginning to die.
"You don't actually think that we're going to believe that, do you? We have been here for who knows how long now. It is very clear that something is wrong. So spit it out, we can help you," those were the wrong words to say to Alastor. His eyes changed to radio dials, and his antlers grew in size, before he reached up to feel the corner of his face. He returned to normal, looking frightened, forcing a smile onto his face.
"I did that," he said. He was in disbelief. "I- no!" He spun around, facing the mirror, forcing up his smile. He began to break down in tears, all while holding that grin on his face, one that wasn't even being held up. It was deeply unsettling. "Et maintenant, Alastor? Tu as échoué. Le sourire est un outil précieux, mon cher. Sourire! Pour moi, d'accord?" His smile, albeit forced, was getting as big as it could possibly go.
He fiddled for a knob again. Charlie thought that he was breaking down, leading into another ritual. Instead, he gently opened up a drawer, pulling out a spool of thread, and a needle. Charlie's eyes widened, watching what he was doing. Carefully, he threaded the needle, and brought it up towards his face. No. Both she and Vaggie were too stunned to speak, watching him slowly poke into his lips. "Alastor, drop that! Now!"
Alastor couldn't help himself. Everything had calmed around him. All of his noise, all of his static, all of his impulses. He just had to do one thing. He had to fix his smile. He began to laugh, almost manically. "I can't, Charlie. I can't! You have no reason to worry your pretty little head over it! Why don't you go and just do, I don't know, whatever you do as a princess! Your princess activities! Run along now, have fun with your little girlfriend!"
"We want to help you, Alastor," Vaggie noticed how Alastor bristled at that word. Help. He must not like help. Well, that was too bad, because he was getting it. She wasn't going to let this continue. "No, we need to help you, Alastor. You can't just sit here and hurt yourself and expect us to leave you be. I don't know what you are thinking right now, but it will be ok. Alastor, listen to me. We are here to help you."
"Oh, don't be silly, Vagatha!" He waved her off, pushing aside her concerns. His ability to pretend to be ok was very unnerving. Vaggie had wondered just how much he had done this in life, and in Hell. Had he always been dealing with this? "I'm just fixing my smile, you know that you're never fully dressed without one! Say, why don't you decorate your own face with one! It would look very good on you, if I must say so myself."
"It wasn't your- oh, wow," Vaggie shut herself up before she said anything more. After the battle with Adam, Husk had informed Charlie. Alastor had a deal. One he needed out of. Charlie had repeated that to Vaggie, under the condition that no one else found out. She wasn't sure how Husk knew. All she figured was that the stitched on smile that Charlie had spoken about, that it was a part of this deal. Maybe it wasn't.
"Do you think that maybe you could sit down? Don’t want the Radio Demon being too weak as to accept help, you know?” He grumbled at her. She was playing to his ego. She saw a lot of herself in him. She reached up to his face, gently pulling the hand with the needle away. “Alastor! You’re burning up!” She hissed, not liking how that felt. He was delirious. That might explain all of this. Some of this, anyways.
”Should we get him to bed?” Charlie asked. Looking at him closer, he did seem a bit delirious. There was no way that his fever was high enough to make him do all of this, without some underlying cause. She knew that there had to have been something under the surface. Alastor was fighting something. And Charlie felt awful. She hadn’t noticed a thing. Upon touching his hand, she felt it too. He was on fire.
When he didn’t fight going to bed, that startled Charlie even more. This was Alastor. He would fight things, just for the sake of fighting them. He took enjoyment in it. For him to resign himself at her suggestion, limping over to the bed, and falling into it- something was very wrong. “Thank you girls for your help, but I am in fine shape. Just run off, let me rest. Thank you!” He was still bleeding.
His walk to the bed was uncoordinated. Vaggie could see that. The way he laid down was uncharacteristic. He seemed too feverish to even function. “Hey babe,” she asked. “Could you watch Alastor for a minute? Maybe you could bandage up his hand? I’m going to go get him some fever reducers,” she summoned a roll of gauze for Charlie. She would have to go downstairs to get the medicine herself.
The deer scoffed at her suggestion. “I have no need for gauze, my dears. If you must help, stitch up my face. But I was fine all these years in Hell without little maids!” Charlie laughed at the implications. Vaggie didn’t. She had the same thoughts as her girlfriend, as per usual. But something dawned on her. Was Niffty- no, probably not. She enjoyed being forced. She probably found some perverted pleasure in it.
Vaggie gave her girlfriend a kiss on the lips, before spinning on her heels to head out. As she closed the door behind her, she watched Charlie stare at Alastor. She heard a gentle snore coming from him. Was he already asleep somehow? It sure seemed like it. Between the fever and the panic attack, he was probably beyond exhausted. At least he wouldn’t lash out at Charlie this way, or so she hoped. “I love you babe!”
Charlie smiled back at her, sitting in the plush chair next to Alastor’s bed. “Alright Al. I’m not gonna stitch up your face, but I will bandage your hand,” she held it as gently as she could, trying not to wake him. To her surprise, he didn’t even budge. She scraped him with her nails a few times, and he didn’t even react. It was weird. From what Charlie understood, he was usually a pretty light sleeper. “Hey Al, are you good?”
She felt like she shouldn’t have asked. He was sleeping so peacefully. He moaned a little, not waking up. Charlie, more out of fear than anything, lifted one of his eyelids with a light finger. His red irises were darting back and forth, occasionally shaking a little. Oh, he was out. It was sweet, even if it was odd, and scary, and even if she was realizing that shivers were racking his body. “Alright, just, rest up.”
Wait. Alastor was smiling. He was sound asleep, and his body was limp. His smile was no longer held by stitches. And yet, he was smiling. He groaned again, almost whimpering. His smile stayed. He was counting again. He was asleep. He sounded like he was crying. Charlie panicked, tugging on his hand. His whimpering grew louder. In her panic, she squeezed his hand as hard as she could. “Al, wake up!”