Work Text:
Alastor is a secretive demon, everyone knows it. I mean he’s one of the more powerful Overlords and no one cares to die trying to figure out little details about him.
Except Angel, who just so happens to find out random things about him by accident.
Like one night, when he knocked on Alastor’s door.
“Hey, Smiles?” He calls through the wood. “I needa ask you somethin’.”
There are a few moments of silence before Alastor’s voice echoes through the room. “Come in, Angel. I’ll be right out.”
Angel opens the door and immediately sits on Alastor’s bed, scrolling through his phone while he waits. Alastor appears out of a different door than the one Angel had come through. He’s drying his hands on a red towel.
“Yes, Angel? What do you need?” Alastor asks. Angel takes a minute to watch him and as he does he notices that the towel isn’t completely red, it’s stained red. And where Alastor is drying his hands it’s getting redder.
“Al?” Angel asks, throat suddenly dry. “What happened?”
“Hm?” Alastor tosses the towel into a hamper on the other side of the room. “Whatever do you mean my dear?”
“Who did you kill?”
“Kill?” Alastor looks genuinely confused. “What in the heavens are you talking about?”
“The blood on the towel! And your hands!”
Alastor looks down at his hands and then the towel, realization dawning on him. He stands still, staring at a space near the end of the bed.
“Al?” Angel asks quietly when he doesn’t move for a few moments.
“Hold on, I’m debating on whether or not I want to lie to you.”
“What!?”
Alastor lets out a defeated sigh, sitting down next to Angel and staring pointedly at the floor. “It’s… hair dye.”
“Hair dye? Why wou-“ Angel gasps lightly. “YOU DYE YOUR HAIR?!”
Alastor runs a hand through his hair, which Angel just now notices is wet. “Yes.”
There’s a few minutes of silence where Alastor wonders if Angel is going to make fun of him and Angel debates on whether or not he should say what he wants to say.
“Can I dye it?” Angel asks finally.
“What?” Alastor asks, looking up.
“Can I dye your hair?” Angel asks again, his eyes lightening up eagerly.
Alastor’s defense crumbles with one look at Angel’s eyes. “Yes.” He sighs finally.
And sure enough, three months later when Alastor’s hair starts to fade, he lets Angel dye it. But what Angel doesn’t tell him is that he’s dying it blue, not red.
Angel is found shoved aggressively in a trash can the next morning while Alastor refuses to come out of his room.
And Angel regrets nothing.