Chapter Text
Vox woke to hushed whispers. It would be nice if they cared to shut up, because god, his head felt like someone smashed it through concrete and flung it down a busy intersection before setting it on fire.
He wanted to go back to sleep. There, it was quiet, save for a gentle, crackled humming of a tune he hadn’t heard in years.
Unfortunately, the voices were getting louder, wiping out all trace of the fragile peace from his dream.
“Ya know, he looks kinda cute like this.”
“Don’t start.”
“And you didn’t put him down? Knew ya were a softy—”
“Angel.”
“What?”
“... Did he threaten you to get here?”
Vox found himself tensing.
“He…”
Suddenly, what was once a lovely bed felt near suffocating, enveloping him in a crushing cocoon.
“If he’s some spy for Valentino, I swear—”
“He’s— he ain’t. If nothin’ else.”
“And you’re okay with him—”
“... Yeah.”
“Alright…”
“You can stop clenchin’ ya fist.”
“Oh, shit.”
Vox heaved in a breath, mechanical lungs gasping for air, and struggled into a sitting position, pushing himself up by his elbows. He winced as pain lanced through where his eye sockets would theoretically be if he had any.
“Welcome to the land of the— well, dead, I guess.” Angel Dust peered down at him, smirking. He held aloft Vox’s shot glass, giving it a little shake.
Yeah, that had maybe… not been the best of ideas.
“Thought you said your liquor was all diluted to hell,” Vox moaned, rubbing the side of his screen.
“Guess your constitution shrank with the rest of you,” Husk said dryly, and, oh, Vox was—
He was lounging across his paw.
Vox leaped to his feet, stumbling over silvery claws and was on a sharp trajectory to falling on his ass—
“Careful, squirt.” Slender fingers steadied him by the strap of his overalls. “Ditched the dress, huh?”
Vox straightened his clothes, flattening the inevitably accumulated wrinkles.
“Alastor…”
“Aw, he dolled ya up, did he?” Angel seemed… relieved? Probably a trick of the light. Vox scowled.
“More literally than you’d think,” he grumbled.
“I found him in Alastor’s dollhouse,” Niffty unhelpfully supplied. In her arms, she held a… was that a pig?
“Ah, thanks, Niff.” Angel lit up, descending upon the unfortunate creature with a squeal, peppering its bristly pink head with kisses. “How is my Fat Nuggets? Adorable as always? Yeah, you are— wait, dollhouse?” Angel blinked, cuddling, presumably his pet, to his chest. “ Alastor has a dollhouse?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Vox bit out, shoulders hunched. “It’s creepy as fuck.”
“Didn’t know Smiles was into that kinda thing.” Angel set his pig down on the bar — unsanitary — and the damn thing was now snuffling him all over, giving little curious grunts. Vox backed up a few steps, only for it to follow, gently nuzzling its snout under his chin. He reluctantly scritched the persistent thing under the chin. Perhaps the attention would appease it.
The creature gave a satisfied snort, and Vox was strangely reminded of his sharks when they were mere pups.
… He gave it a few more scritches.
“He made it years ago,” Niffty said offhandedly. “Wanted a place to put things, to remember them. He lets me play with it sometimes.”
Wh—
What.
“Huh?” Vox said blankly.
Apparently refusing to elaborate, she nudged a small plateful of something vaguely identifiable as food in his general direction. “Anyways, you should—”
“Now, now, there’s no need to go spilling my secrets, dear.”
A chill rippled through the lobby.
Vox shivered, then scampered backwards, tripping over his own feet. He attempted to duck behind the ever-looming bottle of chardonnay but a stray tendril snagged him by the collar, another encircling his waist. He yelled as he was hoisted into the air, forced face-to-face with the bastard he least wanted to see.
“So, this is where you flew off to,” Alastor lifted a brow. “I should’ve known not to have left you unattended.”
“I took him out,” Niffty volunteered, seemingly with no fear of death. “It’s not good for dollies to stay cooped up forever.”
Alastor’s jaw twitched, but his expression eased as he glanced at the maid.
“I assure you, it would have been for the best, in this case.”
“There weren’t even any fucking windows, you sadistic prick.” Vox tugged at the tentacles holding him upright, to no avail. Alastor blinked.
“Is that a requirement? I suppose I could have a few painted in.”
“That’s not the—”
“Um, Smiles,” Angel coughed into his fist, offering an awkward glance, “did Charlie—”
Alastor gave an exasperated sigh.
“Yes, yes, I received the lecture, no need to fret, I was only teasing. Though,” his gaze narrowed, “I find it odd you’d go to such lengths for this lout of all people.”
Angel quickly averted his gaze, clear discomfort lining his frame.
“Just makin’ sure he weren’t walkin’ into a worse situation than the one he was leavin’.” He shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Vox found himself staring.
Angel certainly didn’t owe him anything. The man had to be a fool, sticking beyond his word like that. Or, he was playing nice, waiting to hold it all over him until later.
The grip coiled around his ribs tightened slightly, squeezing. He jerked, smacking at the damn thing, and it instantly loosened.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Alastor tilted his head, ears flicking, attention fixed on Angel, who proceeded to shrink away, clutching at his pig like a security blanket. Or a shield.
“Nothing, it’s— it’s not mine ta tell.”
Vox stiffened.
Damn right it wasn’t.
“Hey, lay off,” Husk piped up, rounding the bar to plant himself firmly in front of Angel, wings flaring to hide him from view.
“Do move aside, Husker, or would you prefer I—”
“Why the fuck do you even care?” Vox interjected, raising his hands above his head. “Why do you want to know so bad? You want to shove it in my face before you lock me back up in your freaky-ass dollhouse?”
“Don’t make such baseless presumptions, Vox. Though, you were always one to jump to conclusions,” Alastor snipped.
“What the fuck do you want from me, then? Why not just,” he heaved a breath, arms flopping to his sides. “Why not just kill me and get it over with?”
“Kill you?” His pupils flickered briefly to those dreaded radio dials, sclera filling with black. “I’m afraid you must have me mistaken with yourself, old pal. Was it not you who has been clamouring for my death all over the pentagram?”
“Not because I actually want —”
Wait.
No, that wasn’t—
No, no.
Of course he wanted him dead.
… right?
Vox ignored the slight tremble in his hands, the churning twist in his stomach.
Silence reigned heavily in the lobby.
“Perhaps we should take this elsewhere,” Alastor muttered. Before Vox could protest, everything was sucked into that horrible void once again.
When it finally bled away, allowing for the luxuries of light and colour, it was not Alastor’s quarters that greeted them, but what looked to be a ballroom, complete with a chandelier hanging crooked from the ceiling. Bearing the same questionable choice in wallpaper as the rest of the place, it was likely another part of the hotel.
A single, lone piano stood in the corner, a spectator to a dance long since over, and Alastor plonked himself down on the bench before it, crossing one knee over the other.
Vox was deposited on the lid covering the keys, and quickly caught himself before he slid down the smooth curve. He wobbled to his feet, inching along to grasp the lip of the music stand and hauled himself up, ignoring the slight sting in his hands until he could sit along the edge, feet dangling.
“Now, will you finally cease this childishness and explain yourself?” Alastor sounded both louder, voice echoing under the vaulted ceiling, and somehow quieter against the vast emptiness of the room.
“Me? What about you?” Vox jabbed forward an accusatory finger, “What the fuck was up with that dollhouse? Why was my—” He swallowed, shoulders creeping to his screen. “Why is my goddamn head in there?”
Alastor had the audacity to look perplexed.
“Your what?”
“Don’t do that,” Vox growled, teeth bared, “I don’t know if you shrunk my old one down and stuck it inside like some kind of sick museum exhibit, or if you made a new one, or what, but—”
“Must have slipped my mind,” Alastor said breezily, picking away an invisible spot of lint on his sleeve, “but no, that is a mere copy,” he added more softly, and maybe Vox’s audio processors were malfunctioning.
“... Why?”
“I suppose it served as a suitable decoration.”
“It was in the basement.”
“Ah,” Alastor nodded absently, “yes, well, it is a bit of an eyesore. Perhaps more of a spoil of war, then. A trophy, if you will.”
That… made sense. Of course there wasn’t any other reason.
Did he want there to be one?
Vox forcibly shook the thought away.
“Was it of such terrible importance to change that part of yourself?” Alastor murmured abruptly.
“What?” Vox squinted, wondering if he had hallucinated.
“Though I suppose it is in line with that incurable vanity of yours,” Alastor amended.
“Like you’re one to talk.” Vox rolled his eyes. “And that thing was outdated as hell. I can’t afford to stay stuck in the past like you.”
“I suppose not.” A steely edge laced his tone. “Always traipsing along, selling yourself to the latest trend. Are you so certain you’re in control of the masses, or do they control you?”
“You don’t get to judge me,” Vox snapped, spluttering. “You fucking left!”
“And clearly, it was for the best, if your current predicament is any indication of the path you’ve chosen for yourself.”
Vox flinched.
Alastor looked away, something almost like regret flashing in his eyes, but it was gone before Vox could be confident it was even there in the first place.
Another trick of the light.
“It wasn’t purposeful after all, then,” Alastor said eventually. He huffed a staticky laugh. “I assumed you wouldn’t debase yourself so completely in your pathetic attempts at espionage, but one can never be too certain.”
Vox bristled, fingers curling.
“You— you think I wanted anyone seeing me like this?” Vox crossed his arms, glaring daggers.
“There was a possibility you were attempting to capitalize on pity. You struck quite the wretched figure.”
“Hey —”
“What was it, then?” Alastor raised a brow. “Or rather, who?”
Vox swallowed, looking away. “Why do you want to know so bad?”
“If whoever it was could do this to an Overlord of your stature, they are no simple opponent,” Alastor said evenly, “It would be prudent to ascertain the culprit should they deign to strike again.”
Vox sharply ignored the ugly wrenching in his gut.
“Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about that,” Vox mumbled. “It wasn’t supposed to happen, anyway.”
“Oh?” Alastor leaned slightly forward on the edge of his seat, the wooden legs squealing against worn tile.
“Fucking… Val,” the words pried themselves from his throat like pliers to a rotted tooth, “he— they were just testing some shit out, it’s not—” Vox groaned, sliding a hand down his screen. “It was supposed to have a different effect.”
“And what, pray tell, would that be?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Vox said curtly. “Besides, after this shit, I’m scrapping the whole thing, profits be damned.” Val would no doubt pitch a fit and Velvette would need a copious amount of convincing, but he’d figure something out.
Alastor said nothing for a bit. The silence stretched and Vox fidgeted in place, running his fingers along scuffed denim.
“I didn’t take you as one to try anything without knowing exactly what it would do beforehand,” Alastor mused, “has your foolishness only grown in the last few years?”
Vox gripped his thighs.
“It’s not like I kn—” He bit hard on his tongue.
Alastor’s gaze narrowed.
“You didn’t know?” he said slowly, “Does the man make a habit of feeding you random concoctions?”
“I— you don’t know anything about it,” Vox snarled, small sparks sprinkling from his antennas.
“Then please, do enlighten me.”
“Why should I?” Vox pushed himself to his feet, standing precariously along the music desk. “What’s it to you? Either kill me and be done with it, or leave me the fuck alone.”
“Because it’s pathetic, Vox.” Alastor’s ears flicked back. “It’s infuriating, watching you throw yourself away like this, after everything I taught you.” Alastor rose to his feet, scraping the piano bench across the floor. He stepped a few paces forward, eyes a glittering black. “You’ve let that sickly parasite of a moth infect you, and mark my words, one day, it will not even be him who does you in, but yourself and your own folly.”
Vox stared, numb. His arms hung limply at his sides as a burning, blinding rage bubbled in his stomach, crackling up his veins.
“What do you even want from me? ” Vox screamed, “What, you’re disappointed you wasted your time all those years ago? Wish you invested in a better pet project? Was that—” Ice stuck in his throat. He choked around it. “Was that all it was, to you? Were we not even fr—” He forced the dreaded word back. Maybe the alcohol was still in his system, making him spill what was better left unsaid, buried, forgotten.
Like everything else.
“No.”
Vox blinked.
“No?” It pierced sharper, more deadly than any blade, carving through wires and sinew, down to brittle, gunmetal bone. But it was the confirmation he needed; the awful, lurking truth he’d been too cowardly to face.
No, they weren’t friends back then.
They were not even that much.
It had all meant absolutely nothing.
“No,” Alastor muttered, “against my better wishes, you were not a mere… project. That is why it… pains me, to watch you allow yourself to be used so brazenly.”
“Huh?” Vox slumped, knees weak. His head spun, unable to keep up.
Alastor only shook his head, turning away, grip visibly tightening over the stem of his cane.
“This is my doing.”
What.
What.
“You were greedy, but I suppose so was I,” Alastor said, a line of tension running clear through his shoulders. “Your business proposal was laughable at best. I have no need for a partner or support of any kind. It bordered on insulting that you thought otherwise, or rather, it should’ve been. In the end…” He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder, and if it wasn't an illusion, the furrow in his brow seemed almost self-recriminatory in nature. “… I was not entirely opposed…” he said quietly.
He—
He wasn’t—
Before Vox could allow for that particular revelation to entirely drown him, Alastor’s expression darkened.
“... If it were not for the company,” he added, sneering over the word, “you were coveting, or,” his ears fully flattened against his skull as a hand lightly grazed his collarbone, “my own prior engagements.”
Vox felt himself slide down, legs caught in a tangled heap, back scraping along peeling varnish.
His head spun, round and round, an endless carousel he couldn’t figure out how to dismount.
“But I see now, my parting only pushed you further into—”
“Shut up.”
Alastor’s head spun before the rest of his body, neck releasing a horrific snapping sound.
“Excuse me?”
“Shut up— shut the fuck up. You think, what, that this,” Vox gestured to himself, “is your fault, now? I make my own damn choices, Alastor.”
“And clearly, they have only worsened in judgement.”
“Are you… are you saying you actually…” Cared? Was it even possible?
Did he even deserve it?
Vox swallowed, knees unconsciously tucking to his chest. “I— I ruined everything asking for that, didn’t I?”
Alastor didn’t reply. Vox listlessly followed the path of his shoes as he padded towards the bench, delicately placing it closer to the piano before settling back down.
“I was not in complete ignorance of your… feelings.” Alastor’s brow furrowed imperceptibly, “I feared your offer would end in demanding more than I could give.”
Vox blinked.
“My what now?”
Alastor stared blankly at him.
“Did I not speak plainly enough? Your feelings, Vox. Of the romantically inclined.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “For me.”
“What? I don’t have—”
Oh.
Oh no.
No no no no.
“That— What? No, that can’t be—”
“Vox,” Alastor’s gaze bore into his own, and Vox felt pinned helplessly beneath it. “Were you somehow unaware of your—?”
“No! I don’t have— that’s not— gah! ” Vox buried his screen in his arms, the glass hot against his skin. His fans churned desperately, unable to fully keep up.
It was all a misunderstanding, it had to be.
Alastor was wrong.
Of course he was.
… wasn’t he?
Oh god.
“I… see,” Alastor said slowly. “This is... unfortunate.”
“I—” Vox gaped, mouth flapping uselessly, only able to form the barest silhouette of a syllable.
Alastor appeared to take pity on him, tapping a finger under Vox’s chin until his teeth clicked together.
“Careful, you’ll catch flies,” Alastor chided. “Though really, I’m more afraid you’ll burst into flames. Are you quite alright?”
Vox dumbly shook his head, fingers digging into the edges of his screen.
“Perhaps it’s best not to think too hard on it,” Alastor said gently, then looked away. His smile did something funny then, as if for a moment, it struggled to frown. “Regardless, there was no telling how it would have truly gone. There is a chance I… miscalculated, and it was unfair to assume you would have expected more, regardless of your feelings. At any rate…” Alastor adjusted his lapels, near toying with his cuffs. He fixed Vox with an unwavering gaze that was all at once intense, yet almost hesitant.
“... I apologize.”
Wh—
“What?” Vox wondered if he’d fallen and hit his head beyond repair and this entire conversation was an elaborate delusion; the product of his circuits misfiring in the midst of their pitiful death throes.
“This in particular wasn’t my doing, but neither was it yours,” Alastor said softly, the tip of his claw lightly nudging Vox’s cheek. “It was... abhorrent of me to insinuate otherwise.” Then, his eyes flashed darkly for a moment, grin stretching grotesquely. A thin trail of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, staining his lips. “Though, that moth of yours best take great care to watch his wingèd back before I tear the wretched things from his spine.”
A curling warmth slipped between his ribs, filling a hollowness that had long since been left to wither.
"I'll be sure to tell him that," Vox said slowly. It wasn't as if Val had done anything Vox shouldn't have already foreseen and stopped himself, but he appreciated the sentiment. "I can handle him, though."
Alastor opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it, a crease forming along his brow.
"Well, you can call upon my assistance should you find yourself in need of it," he said, tongue flicking across his teeth. "I wouldn't say no to a meal, even if moth is not quite to my usual tastes."
Vox snorted, shaking his head. Yeah, no, he would have to make sure they never shared a room.
Even if it was tempting...
Alastor released a small chuckle, and Vox felt a squeezing thrum beneath his sternum.
“I'm," Vox swallowed thickly, "I was such a... I shouldn't have brought Val in. I was so focused on profit and expansion, and when you said no I was..." He winced. "I was a jerk and a half."
"It's quite alright," Alastor said, his touch light and feathery, but strangely steadying. Vox found himself leaning into it. "I believe I've behaved quite poorly, especially in regards to your present circumstances." His brow furrowed, and he slowly withdrew. Vox already felt a chill at the loss.
"What is this, Alastor?” He asked weakly, voice thin and wavering. “Is—” He exhaled a shaky breath. “Is there anything left? Do you still want—” Vox cut himself off. He was being stupid, of course he wouldn’t—
Alastor’s ears perked, twitching slightly.
“I suppose… I would not be entirely opposed to suffering your presence a bit longer.” Alastor’s tone belied his words, melting them like butter over a stove. “If you would have me, that is.”
He wasn’t serious, was he?
There was no way.
And yet, Alastor remained steadfast, waiting patiently for an answer. A second later, a rhythmic patter cut through the silence. Vox frowned, looking down and— oh.
Alastor was tapping his foot. Perhaps Vox wasn’t the only one feeling nervous. Something eased in his chest and, like a turtle peeking towards the sun, he lifted his head.
Its rays were absurdly bright, or maybe that was just how Alastor’s smile could be, when it wasn’t twisted and vicious. He hadn’t thought he would ever have the fortune to see this version of it again, much less have it directed at him. Vox tilted his head.
“You still stuck me in a dollhouse.”
“A very charming one at that,” Alastor chuckled, a teasing lilt to his Cheshire grin. “Though, I suppose it could do with some natural lighting.”
“You think?”
Alastor laughed, and Vox found himself relaxing at the sound, something deep inside him finally uncoiling.
“Now, I suppose for old time’s sake.” Alastor popped the lid over the keys, elegantly placing his hands along teeth of ivory. “Any requests, my dear?”
Vox shook his head. Anything Alastor played would be enough.
Alastor shrugged at his silence and launched into a haunting melody, fingers gliding along the keys as he swayed with the rhythm, gently humming to himself.
Vox recognized it in a way that made his chest ache. Satie’s Gnossienne No. 1. It was the last piece Alastor played for him before everything went to hell. It held a bittersweet feeling, one that in equal parts cut into the delicate flesh of his heart and mended it together, stitches rough, and clumsy, but still.
They were there.
Vox allowed the notes to wash over him as he slumped down across the music stand, legs crossed, hands laced over his stomach. Nothing was sorted, really, or perfect. There was no telling what the future would hold, if he would be stuck like this forever, or if everything was bound to fall apart again, but.
At least he had this moment. And, as Alastor met his gaze, eyes lidded in something nearly tender, Vox felt at peace, no longer left to dangle over a yawning abyss. The layers upon layers of ice frosted protectively over the frail workings of his heart had slowly begun to thaw.
It was like coming home.
In the end, the effects of the potion lasted a week.
By that point, Vox had more or less begun to accept that this was his new life, as horribly inconvenient as it was. But, at least it had its own advantages.
He didn’t want to think about what kind of disrepair his company and subsequent image had fallen into in the wake of his absence, but at the very least, he’d managed to gain access to a laptop sometime in the midst of his sojourn and, despite how cumbersome it was to use, was able to do some amount of damage control. This included, and was not limited to, deleting the video footage of Angel leaving Val’s quarters in a rush that fateful day.
And, typically, just as he’d finally settled into a sort of rhythm, it was all thrown unceremoniously out the window.
It happened in the middle of the night.
Vox fell asleep on the corner of Alastor’s pillow, which had miraculously become, at some point, his regular place of rest. Alastor didn’t seem to mind, as long as Vox didn’t wake him with an inadvertent kick to the face.
Unfortunately, this time he woke from hands shoving him off, his head smacking into the carpet.
Vox flailed, knee catching on a nearby dresser, and fucking hell, that hurt—
He froze.
He was on the floor and, incidentally, not a bag of broken, mangled limbs.
Alastor loomed over him from the edge of the bed, pupils shrinking to normal.
“Apologies,” he said, “I was not prepared to wake with your usual, oafish self lounging on top of me.”
Vox couldn’t help the hysteric giggle rushing up his throat.
He was—
He was normal again.
But, did that mean…
Ice water shot down his veins.
… Was it all over?
“Do get off the floor, my dear, or is it the plan to waste the day away like that?” Alastor’s hands patted absently at errant red tufts sticking up haphazardly from his head. Vox blinked.
“Right,” Vox mumbled, shuffling awkwardly to his knees, thoroughly in a daze. He waited for Alastor to toss him out of the room or to curl his lip in disgust.
Neither happened.
“Now, what would you like for breakfast?” Alastor said as he hauled himself to his feet, immediately snapping on a fresh suit.
“Uh,” Vox said, tongue racing to catch up, “you’re not— it’s fine that I’m—”
Alastor raised a brow. “I hardly think your size should have much to do with culinary preferences.”
“Oh.” Tension leaked out of him, leaving him limp. “Then,” a smile curved at his lips, hopeful and small, “surprise me?”
Alastor gave him a wide, toothy grin. “That I can do, my dear.” He leaned forward, offering Vox a hand.
Foolish as it probably was, he took it.
And maybe the entire miserable ordeal had been worth it, in the end, if he didn’t have to let go any time soon.
Well.
He could’ve still done without the jar.