Chapter Text
When Vox reboots himself only seconds later, wide-eyed and blushing animated face flashing back on screen, he knows he fucked up.
Alastor lurches backwards in his arms, eyes blinking blurrily with his nose and closed-lip smile scrunched in a drowsy expression. It takes a few beats before the cloudy haze of sleep leaves his irises and is replaced by the sharp look of recognition.
The TV demon is paralyzed in horror as he watches the other sinner’s eyelids narrow and his grin become hooked and knife-like.
“Vox,” he growls out, voice rough with disuse.
The other blinks dumbly, “...Uhhhh……. Hi.”
Neither of them move, stuck in a stalemate. Alastor has been caught in the act of sleeping next to Vox’s corpse. And Vox has been caught still lying next to him when he clearly could’ve taken his body and left by now. It’s mortifying on both sides.
Vox is immediately thrumming with anxious adrenaline and, unfortunately, he can never keep his mouth shut when he gets nervous, “I, uh, shit– this isn’t what it looks like! I-I was just– I c-came here to get my body back, and then you– I was going to– I’m not a creep!” he continues to stutter out a rush of jumbled words and half sentences.
His face flushes light blue and nearly bounces across his screen as he flies through a hundred expressions and tries to look anywhere but at the sinner across from him while he rants.
Beneath the obvious anger, Alastor looks nervous too, but his reaction is different. Instead of acting animated with cortisol, he lies paralyzed like a literal deer in headlights. Ears standing stock straight, face a startled scowl, palm pressed flat to Vox’s chest trying to force some distance between them.
For once the quick tongued radio demon seems to be at a loss for words.
Finally, he seems to snap out of his abashed stupor and interrupts Vox’s rambling with a firm bark, “Vox! Shut up!”
The blue demon’s shark-like mouth snaps shut.
Alastor’s voice lowers and he begins to talk slowly, pointedly, “Listen to me. You are going to leave. Right now. And neither of us will speak of this moment ever again. Am I clear?”
Vox swallows.
“Am I clear?” Alastor repeats more forcefully.
The TV demon’s instinct is to nod submissively and run tail, zap himself out of this bizarre uncomfortable situation.
But he hesitates, all of the unanswered questions he’s been doubting this whole time flash in his mind again. Seemingly forgetting his own self preservation, the questions tumble from his lips, “Wait. What is this? Why– Uh, Why d-do you have my body, Alastor? Why am I in these clothes? What’s with the TV? Wh-Why am I in your bed?!”
Vox watches as the unnerved expression evaporates from Alastor’s face. In its place, the radio demon expertly schools his features into his signature casual, self-assured look.
“Well, you know me, old pal! I never let good meat go to waste. It turns out your hunk of junk body is mostly metal, not very good for eating. So I decided to challenge myself with a new kind of taxidermy art project. It certainly looked better than the real living thing, if I do say so myself,” he trills in his transatlantic accent, radio static humming thickly over every word, hiding the waver in his voice.
Vox has known the demon long enough not to buy the act. Even in the dim light of the room he can tell it’s all plastic, fake.
“Bullshit. That excuse doesn’t even answer all my questions,” he shoots back, his own attitude shifting quickly from terrified to frustrated, “Why is the fucking radio demon cuddling me like a kid with an oversized teddy bear?”
Alastor tsks mockingly, “Why, it was a little cold tonight, my dear. Don’t flatter yourself, I would never touch the real you willingly. I’m simply reusing your hideous foul-tasting cadaver as a portable heater. No parts wasted and all that.”
Now that was a more believable excuse… Maybe Alastor hadn’t been touching Vox’s body to psychologically torture him like he had originally thought. And the tenderness, the affection, maybe Vox was just projecting emotions that weren’t really there… Maybe the apathy on Alastor’s face wasn’t an act.
“So, what? I’m just a piece of furniture to you?” he snarls.
“Hm. More like an appliance,” a condescending chuckle, “But don’t look so upset, chum! Being my space heater has been the most useful your sorry excuse for a body has ever been!”
The hand on Alastor’s shoulder tightens aggressively, claws piercing through his bedshirt and pricking the skin underneath.
Vox can feel the rage building a charge within his circuits, causing his antennae to spark and his voice to garble with static, “You smarmy fucking asshole!”
The red demon’s answering grin is wicked and self satisfied. An expression Vox is all too used to seeing on his stupid face. No matter what, Alastor is always trying to rile him up. To drag out his insecurities, his fears of inadequacy and weakness. Some of those fears that Alastor instilled in him to begin with.
The TV demon forces himself to shut his eyes and breathe in a deep, frustrated breath.
No, he was done falling for his bait. Alastor was the one here who was caught doing something vulnerable, not Vox. He still had the upper hand, he wouldn’t let the other talk his way out of it this time.
Vox opens his eyes again and tries to sound confident and unaffected, “Well if my body really is just was a fucking toaster to you, then why the fuck did you dress me up like one of Velette’s creepy manikins? Explain that, shithead.”
One of the radio demon’s eyes twitches, betraying his annoyance at the further questioning, “What? And you expected me to just let your torso hang around my home naked? I’d rather cauterize my eyes with a hot firepoker than have to look at your revolting nude form. Plus, your old clothes were disgusting, I’m not getting dried blood in my sheets.”
Vox rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I get all that. I’m not stupid. I’m asking why these clothes specifically. They look like they’re straight out of my old sixties wardrobe.”
“They’re what I found that fit. It’s just a coincidence that they remind you of that old stuff, I can’t say that I even noticed the resemblance,” Al shrugs indifferently.
Vox grits his teeth. That has to be a bold face lie… Right?
He continues to interrogate, “Oh yeah? Well then how do you explain the CRT, huh? I know that wasn’t just laying around. You had to get that customized!”
Alastor’s jovial facade is starting to show cracks of aggravation, “So what? I was getting tired of looking at your ugly neck stump. And I wasn’t about to let one of your flat rectangular spy boxes into my room.” he defends.
“Seriously?!” Vox sits up slightly until he can see the CRT monitor left sitting on the floor across the room, “Just look at it! You can’t tell me that it doesn’t look exactly like–”
The TV demon cuts himself off abruptly and has to do a double take. He hadn’t even noticed a detail earlier. Sitting on top of the cubed monitor is a worn black hat. He knows that hat. That exact hat.
A long time ago, it had been tailored specifically to fit his weird shaped head and TV antennae. It had been a gift to Vox, congratulating him on his first successful television broadcast in Hell.
A gift given to him by Alastor… One that he had treasured and worn literally every day. Until the accessory had mysteriously gone missing shortly after their fallout.
“Is that my fucking hat?!” Vox nearly squeaks.
Alarm flashes over Alastor’s facial features and he clearly struggles to hide it, “NO. It’s a hat. That I just happened to find. A generic, mass produced thing, you see. It’s not yours.”
“No– You liar! I would recognize that thing anywhere! I wore it for years, Al. Then it just fucking vanished. You took my hat!”
Alastor’s ears flatten against his skull and his lips roll back revealing gums and sharp teeth. He hisses back defensively, “Well it was my gift to give. You didn’t deserve it anymore.”
Vox’s pupils widen to orbs and his sclera grow till his eyes almost take up the entirety of his screen, “But you kept it? All this time?”
“N-no, I–” Alastor realizes his slip up too late, “I didn’t keep it, I just… forgot to get rid of it.”
The TV demon’s eyes remain wide, “The clothes, the box TV, the fucking hat– Al, what the fuck. You realize what this looks like, right?”
The red demon only looks increasingly more uncomfortable, his well crafted composure quickly falling apart. He pushes with both hands against Vox’s chest and tries to back away and escape the exchange, but Vox’s grip on his shoulder holds him still.
“It doesn’t look like anything!”
“Alastor–”
“You’re reading into things like you always do–”
“Al, do you–”
“Don’t finish that sentence–”
“Do you miss me?” Vox finally asks.
There’s a stretching moment of silence as the two demons just stare at each other. One of them flustered and evasive, the other dumbstruck and disbelieving.
Despite everything Alastor has done to him, despite them being enemies longer than they were anything else to each other, Vox does miss Al. He never admits it outloud, as that would be seen as weakness—though he’s not so good at hiding it, either. But privately, whenever he thinks of what they once had, he does yearn for it.
Alastor, however, has never expressed any regret for how things turned out. Never even hinted at the fact that he might long for Vox’s company, even after all this time. But what other explanation was there for this bizarre, morbid scene?
“...I don’t miss you,” Alastor finally denies, but his voice wavers and the radio static that normally blankets his voice is nearly inaudible.
Vox searches his face, and when he speaks his own voice is surprisingly calm, “Then what is this, really?”
The deer demon looks away, “I… I just miss…” he trails off.
The other sinner waits patiently for Alastor to find his words. It’s a soberingly rare occurrence, for the radio demon to be at a loss for what to say.
When Alastor does speak again, a light pinkish color has risen to his grey face. He looks Vox in the eye and talks so softly it’s almost a whisper, “Why’d you have to change?”
Time seems to slow or disappear entirely. Vox feels as if the whole world has faded away, that the only thing real is the two of them lying in this bed. He’s never, ever seen Alastor look so vulnerable before.
“I– I don’t know… I–” the TV demon starts, but is unsure how to answer a question like that. He’s not sure he even has an answer.
Alastor doesn’t wait for him to figure it out. Like a dam has broken, he begins to spill a flood of repressed thoughts finally given voice.
“Everything was fine, good even. You and I, sharing drinks and conversation. You were always trying to impress me with some bottle of scotch or other you spent way too much on. You would get so jealous of Mimzy stepping with me on the dance floor, so you taught yourself a bunch of moves just to prove you could keep up with me just as well.
You were stupid and naive, but your charisma and your reckless confidence took you farther than it should have. You know I was going to kill you when we first met? I thought, ‘how dare this little nobody try to talk to me when I am already in such a putrid mood.’
But then you told me jokes. Fucking terrible jokes. Like a twelve year old lad’s impression of a stand up routine. And right before your big punch line, you were so excited your flailing arm knocked over your glass. Right into your lap, looking like you pissed yourself.
Oh, the yelping sound you made! Like someone stomped on a lap dog’s tail. And your ridiculous face! I thought you might just start bawling like a baby! Why, I’m not sure I’d ever laughed that hard. Certainly not that I could remember.”
Alastor chuckles, eyes looking far away as he recalls the memory. Vox can’t help it, he knows the story is at his expense, but he laughs too.
He remembers that day as well. He was very fresh in Hell, still trying to make friends and connections. Barely any money to his name.
Vox had seen someone sitting alone at the same bar he was. He hadn’t recognized the radio demon, but had been impressed by the sinner’s dapper outfit, pretty face, and taste of spirits so he decided to pull up a stool next to the other and attempted conversation.
Talking had always been Vox’s strongest skill, he had the energy and enthusiasm to get most people hanging on to his every word.
But he quickly found this deer-like demon to be more challenging than most. He was clearly in a bad mood. And to add to that he was also obviously smart and quick witted. Every attempt at small talk or flattery from Vox was immediately met with an articulate sharp tongue. With a fair number of clever dagger-like insults that would’ve sent most demons fleeing from the encounter with their tail between their legs.
Vox was not most demons.
Even though Alastor’s every response was dripping with sarcasm and dismissal, Vox had found himself thrilled with finding someone who could match him, maybe even beat him, in a game of charm and wordplay.
Eventually the TV headed sinner found himself losing the game, unable to keep up with Alastor’s impressive elocution. So he decided to pull out some jokes he recalled from his time on earth. One of them he remembered had brought his old studio crew to tears they had laughed so hard.
But as he neared the best part of the comedic story, the hilarious payoff, his expressive nature betrayed him. He had swung out his arm in a gesture too wide and the next thing he knew his crotch was soaked in ice and ice cold liquor.
The moment was incredibly, mortifyingly embarrassing, especially when Vox had been pulling all the stops trying to impress the other demon. But then, Alastor cackled and whooped so loudly, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes, Vox couldn’t help but to beam and laugh along with him.
That had been the start of their not-friendship, and the following years together were some of the best Vox had ever had.
In the present time, he smiles fondly at Alastor, “Haha, yes I remember that, too. I was definitely trying too hard back then. But hey, I got the radio demon to laugh so hard he nearly cried, and not a lot of sinners can say that can they!”
“No, I suppose they cannot,” the other’s expression has also become fond and nostalgic, “Don’t you miss the good old days, Picturebox?”
The old nickname tugs at Vox’s heart, sweet yet sad, “Of course I do, Bambi…”
“If you had just stayed the same– Stopped trying to upgrade and change, stopped trying to make us something more– We could’ve stayed golden like that forever! It would still be the good days.” Alastor’s claws curl and grip Vox’s sweater. A lilt of desperation has infected his tone.
Vox sighs, the yearning is back, and it pulses in his chest stronger than ever.
“You know that’s not true, Al, don’t you? Look, I would’ve loved if we never became enemies, if I never had to hate you. But we can’t just live in the past. Like it or not, things change. Life moves on, everything gets different eventually.
And if I never changed, I would’ve stayed stuck in your shadow. You were always better, stronger, smarter than me. I couldn’t live like that. And you would’ve gotten bored with it, too. I needed to prove to everyone, to myself, to you even! That I could be something important.
I wanted to be that with you! Not standing behind you but right beside you! As your equal. But you didn’t want that. You could never share the spotlight. So I decided if I can’t stand beside you, I would try to stand in front of you.
What we had could’ve never lasted like that, Al, it wasn’t sustainable. We had to grow, to adapt. Or else we couldn’t be together at all. Not for long, anyway.
So, yeah, I fucking miss it. But I’m not sorry that I changed.”
When Vox finishes his monologue, he feels just as exposed as Alastor’s expression looks. The dear demon’s face reveals a war of unprocessed emotions, betrayal, regret, pride, melancholy, and more that Vox can’t begin to decipher.
It’s a bit unnerving to see, considering how closed and collected Alastor always appears.
The sinner seems to realize how vulnerably transparent he must look, because he tips his head forward, ears flat, until he rests his forehead against the television demon’s sternum.
The point of contact is small compared to how much of each other they were touching earlier, but it feels strangely intimate to Vox in a way he can’t place.
After a beat of hesitation, Vox slowly slides his hand from the other’s shoulder to the nape of his neck. Gently, he cards his fingers in with the short locks of hair there. Petting soothingly, even scratching a little at the base of his fluffy ears with the ends of his claws.
He feels and hears as Alastor releases a heavy, shaky breath. Body crumpling inward slightly, hands winding tighter into the fabric of Vox’s sweater.
After minutes of thick, but not uncomfortable, quiet, Alastor mutters bitterly into the other’s shirt, “It doesn’t matter if it’s earth or Hell, the world is always so determined to move on without me. That’s why I can’t change. To change is to give up the fight, I will never be that weak.”
Vox hums lowly as he ponders the best way to respond, “There’s strength in that, sure. It’s not easy to be an unmovable boulder as a river pushes against you. But letting yourself go with the current from time to time isn't a weakness, it’s being resourceful. I know you make fun of me for it all the time, but it’s not shameful to take advantage of progress.”
“I think it is,” Alastor grumbles back.
Vox laughs unexpectedly, “Hell, you’re so fucking stubborn. How about this, I’ll stop asking you to keep up with the times if you stop telling me I’m stupid for doing it. Deal?”
“But you are stupid for it.”
“Alastor.”
“Hmmm. If I agree to that, we’ll always be different, you realize that? It’ll never be like old times again.”
Vox sighs again, “Is that really such a bad thing?”
Alastor pulls his head back far enough to look the TV screen in the eyes again. His face is unreadable and his tone is flat when he responds, “Is that what you want?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Vox’s clawed thumb reaches to brush the other’s red fringe out of his eyes, “I meant that it’s okay that we’re different, I think. Opposites attract, or whatever people say. We can’t keep living in the past. It’s never going to be like old times, that’s true, but maybe–if you want–we can make the new times even better…”
Vox’s screen blushes a light blue, he hadn’t expected to make such a sappy proposition.
But Alastor seems stuck on a different sentence. “I’m not attracted to you.” he asserts, nose scrunching kind of adorably.
“Uh huh, sure you aren’t, Bambi. Then why have you been sleeping with me for weeks?”
The blue demon chuckles and waggles his eyebrows. He wasn’t really insinuating anything other than platonic chemistry when he had said that, but he’s happy to turn it into innuendo. Sexual jokes are much more comfortable territory than mushy emotional confessions.
“I told you it’s because you’re warm. Nothing else, you insatiable pervert.”
“Right. And that’s why you’ve been snuggling and spooning me? And now that
I remember it, I think I felt you kiss my neck last night.”
It’s Alastor's turn to blush again, cheeks filling with red hue, “WAIT. You knew?!”
“Oh absolutely, baby, I could feel it all,” Vox purrs salaciously.
The deer demon buries his face in both hands and whines in mortification. “You will not tell a soul about any of this! Understand?” he commands.
Vox grins smugly, all teeth, “I don’t know… What do I get for keeping quiet?”
“You get to live.”
“Hmm. That’s predictable. You have to offer better than that,” he snarks back teasingly.
Alastor shifts his fingers to peak out between them, “I’m not going to fuck you,” he says deadpanned and dead serious.
Vox barks out a choked laugh, “Oh my Satan– Ha! Haha, don’t worry, we’ll save that for next time,” he jokes. Well, he’s only half joking. But those thoughts are better saved for another time…
The deer demon removes the palms from over his face to shoot Vox the most unimpressed look.
The TV demon winks and smiles all genuine and lopsided, “Okay, how about this. It’s after three in the morning right now, I’m fucking tired. If you shut up and go the fuck to sleep then I won’t tell anyone about your weird body-napping antics.”
Alastor seems a little surprised at the benign request, but he smiles back and acquiesces, “I suppose that’s a fair deal.”
“Good. Now go back to sleep, loser.”
With that, Vox pulls Alastor closer to him again, curling his arm around him and resuming the full-contact cuddling pose they were in before Al had woken up. The blue demon relaxes immediately into the warmth and presence of the other.
He feels light, having gotten so much off his chest. And he’s hopeful, it felt like for the first time in a long time, he and Alastor weren’t enemies anymore. Well, maybe he was jumping the gun a bit. But at the very least it felt like they had made progress towards something better.
Having permission to touch the other so freely without worrying about his limbs being bitten off, that’s just the icing on the cake.
Alastor, however, lets out a startled squeak as he is pressed into the other’s body so abruptly.
“Wait– You’re not going home?”
Vox blinks, “Uh. No. I just said it’s late. I don’t want to trek all the way there.”
“You can teleport!”
“Technically, I can travel through the electrical currents. That still requires traveling.”
“Wh-What? You can’t possibly think we’re going to actually fucking cuddle like a pair of teenagers!”
“Why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem with it the last, I don’t know, three dozen nights.”
“That was different! That wasn’t you–”
“It was my body.”
“It’s not the same!”
Vox rolls his eyes, amused, “Yeah, but I felt all of it, so it’s basically the same.”
“But– I— You–!” Alastor gapes, flabbergasted and out of excuses.
His rival scritches placatingly at the back of his head, “Relax, Al. We’re just sleeping, nothing else. Plus, I’m not going to tell anybody, remember? Just enjoy it for once.”
A few seconds of deliberation pass before Alastor sighs and lets the tension leave his body, relaxing into the warmth beside him.
“Fine. But after we wake up, we are never speaking of this again.”
“Sure, whatever you want, deer.”
Vox presses his screen to the top of Alastor’s head, reveling in the peacefulness of these secret few hours they have been sharing together. No one else needed to know. No one else would get to see the radio demon this vulnerable and content, feel him this comfortable and soft. This version of him was just for Vox.
Sleepily, quietly he murmurs, “Goodnight, Alastor.”
“Goodnight… Vincent. Sleep well…... friend.”