Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“---nomenal idea, dear! Yes indeedy!” Alastor smiled his signature smile, one hand clamped tightly on the head of his cane. He pulled the other through the air, like threading an invisible needle. 

An echo of laughs can be heard. It comes from nowhere, yet surrounds them like a warm hug. But it’s slightly fuzzy, like it’s not really there. Like he’s hearing it from behind a wall.

Beside him, Charlie covered her mouth with a hand, laughing softly. “Oh, Al.”

She’d just finished telling him… something. He tried not to let his confusion show as he tried to remember why exactly he was talking to her. Something about the Hotel, probably. It was hard to tell. It all blended together nowadays. He gave his head an imperceptibly small shake, chalking up the strange sensation as exhaustion. Heaven knew it wasn’t the first time he’d skipped out on his beauty sleep.

Alastor blinked, realizing that Charlie had been talking. She was now looking at him, expectantly awaiting an answer. He tightened his smile, resting one hand on her shoulder. They stood in the foyer of the hotel, alone. It was newly rebuilt following the destruction Adam and the exorcists had caused a few weeks earlier. Alastor was finally starting to feel better, able to ignore the wound in his chest: it was now nothing more than a slightly irritating inconvenience. 

“Sorry, my dear. Could you say that all again?”

Charlie smiled up at him, a small crease between her eyebrows. 

“Were you not listening to anything I said?” She asked. 

The laughs start small, no more than a faint chuckle.

“I dunno why you bother, Charlie.” Husk popped up from behind the bar—was he always there? Alastor could have sworn… “Despite what he’d like you to think, Alastor ain’t all that. I dunno why you bother.”

“Husk!” Alastor watched Charlie’s mouth form an ‘o’. “Were you there the whole time?”

Husk shrugged, absentmindedly wiping down the table.

“You’d be surprised how often people ask me that,” he deadpanned.

The chuckles grew into a hearty laugh. It fills the dead air, buzzing in his ears. 

Alastor’s grip involuntarily tightens around his cane. What is that ringing?

“Oh, you!” Charlie anchored her hands on her hips, shaking her head at Husk. Then her eyes widened as he reached for an unopened bottle of something that Alastor could smell from where he stood. “Drinking? Already? Why, it’s not even noon!”

“Really?” Husk popped open the bottle, ignoring Charlie’s concern. “You should be happy, Charlie. That’s a new record for me.”

He raised the bottle to his lips—

—Just as the laughs started again. Alastor heard it this time, resonating all around him. A cacophony of voices, laughing. He darted his eyes around the foyer, even taking a small step away from Charlie. But everything looked normal. He was about to ask Charlie if she, too, heard what he did, but the door opened before he could get a word out. 

In waltzed Angel Dust and Vaggie, accompanied by a thunderous round of applause and cheers that nobody else seemed to notice. 

Alastor kept his smile wide, but only tightened his grip on the head of his cane. He could tell something was very wrong. 

“Whaddup, bitches!” Angel Dust stopped to pose, winking at… Alastor followed his gaze, but saw only the Hotel. “Where’s the red carpet at?”

Alastor took another step back as it happened again—the laughs. Everywhere and nowhere, all at once. Deafening—so much so that his ears involuntarily flattened back—yet distant and muffled. And why was everyone speaking so strangely? Was this some sort of joke? Was he being… What was the word… ‘pranked?’ Yes, that must be it.

He had two options: He could call them out and end this charade here, or he could entertain this new… venture. 

He relaxed his shoulders, determining that maybe something like this could be fun. A bonding exercise is probably what Charlie had decided to call it. So Alastor let his smile grow, watching as the laughs died away and Vaggie had her moment in the spotlight. She walked over to Charlie, wrapped her in a hug, and kissed her. 

A melody of oooooooooo s and awwwwwww s assaulted Alastor’s ears, making him wince again. Maybe he should tell them to turn down whatever was making that incessant racket, just a little bit. 

“Hey, sweetie,” Vaggie said, cutting off the laughter. She then glared at Alastor, eyes narrowing. “ You .”

More laughs. It really was getting annoying, although Alastor wasn’t about to go and admit that to them. He tilted his head at her, like a confused animal. 

“So, what were you and Angel Dust up to?” He asked, playing along. Like this was some sort of radio play. That’s what they were going for, wasn’t it? He was no stranger to the idea of a live audience—the sound effects all gave him the impression that this was what was happening. 

Just as he anticipated, his words were accompanied by even more ooooooooo s and awwwwwww s. Vaggie rolled her eyes, exchanging a glance with Angel Dust, who sent Alastor a sultry grin.

“Why, sugartits?” Angel Dust paused, allowing for those irritating laughs to swallow the silence. When they lulled, he finished his sentence. “Ya jealous?”

Alastor barked out a laugh of his own, overtop of the ‘audience’s’ reaction. It was grating, more than he’d thought was possible. It was like sandpaper was being dragged over his ears. It made him want to peel his skin off. He tried very hard not to show his discomfort, but found it surprisingly difficult. 

“Charlie,” he turned away from Angel Dust, deciding that if they were insisting upon pulling a stunt like this, he might as well also get some work done. Charlie looked up at him with doe eyes. “What’s the plan for today?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Charlie chirped, giving her hands a little clap. Alastor tried his best to ignore the low hum of a chuckle that filled the air, but he had simply had enough. He held his palm up to her, a silent plea to stop, before she could finish her sentence.

“What is this?” He asked genuinely, not with anger or annoyance. Charlie just stared at him. 

“What’s what?” She cocked her head, laughing awkwardly. “You feeling okay, Al? You look kinda red.”

There came the laughs again—he held up a finger, pointing upwards. 

“That. Right then. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear it, dear,” Alastor said. “The laughing. Because you said I’m red.”

She just stared at him. Dumbly, hollowly. Then a smile bloomed across her face, and she brought a hand to his wrist---something she knew he wouldn't enjoy---tugging him forward towards the lounge. 

“Niffty wanted to talk to you about the bug situation in the basement. Apparently,” Charlie kept pulling him forward, and Alastor found himself too confused to do anything but follow. “The renovation didn’t do squat!” He snapped back to reality, wriggling his hand from her grasp. She stopped and turned to look at him. “You feeling okay, Al?”

“I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this is getting very irritating very quickly, my dear.”

“You look—” Charlie said without hesitation, like he hadn’t spoken at all— “kinda red.”

The laughs came back—this time, Alastor couldn’t hide how badly he winced. His ears completely flattened back, and he had to stop himself from covering them with his hands. 

Alastor took a few steps away from her, succumbing to the confusion. He darted his eyes around the now very silent room—from Husk to Vaggie to Angel Dust and finally back to Charlie. For the first time, he noticed the television set in the lounge. Across from the couches, set up right in the middle. 

He felt his hands curl into fists as he started to put the dots together. The others would never bring a disgraceful, shameful, juvenile contraption like that into this building. And where these infernal machines were, a certain mediocre wanna-be entertainer was close behind. 

Alastor did not move.

“What is this?” He asked again, but not to Charlie this time. She didn’t respond, just kept staring at him blankly. They all did. 

And just as he expected, the large flat-screen Television flickered to life. There was laughing again—but this time, it didn’t come from a group of hidden people. It came from a single man who appeared on the TV, laughing so hard that he had to wipe invisible tears from his eyes. Alastor felt his face harden, but he only smiled wider. Leaning forward over his cane, he sighed wearily at Vox.

“Is this some sort of practical joke?” Alastor asked tiredly. Shenanigans like these, always initiated by Vox, were just another Tuesday in Hell. 

Vox barked out one final laugh, face filling the screen. 

“Hah! You should see the look on your face, loser! I can’t fucking believe it, this is amazing!”

Alastor was not amused, and he didn’t pretend to be. 

“It’s obvious what you’ve done.”

“Oh yeah?” Vox drew the words out mockingly. “And what does the great fucking radio bullshitter think is so obvious that I’ve done?”

Alastor looked away from Vox, instead focusing on his nails. They were so much more interesting. He’d seen it all before: convoluted plots to make Alastor either sell his soul or apologize or join Vox on a private dinner. They all ended the same way: Vox, on his knees, frozen by shock at how much of an idiot he’d ended up making himself look like. 

“You’ve gone and stuck me in a radio play,” Alastor remarked, only to be cut off by another hearty laugh from Vox. He looked up from his nails, at Vox’s gleefully joyous face. 

“Hah!” Vox pointed, jamming a finger against his side of the TV screen. “Loser! Loser! Loser! Idiot! You ugly fucker! You’re so fucking wrong! I didn’t trap you in a stupid radio play! You’re trapped in a sitcom!”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “A what now?”

Vox’s smile fell, and he stared at Alastor dumbly. “A wh—what—you don't—you what? A what now? What? You’re not fucking serious. You’re fucking with me. You’re pulling my leg. You’ve never heard of a sitcom?”

“Mmmmm.” Alastor thought about it. “Is it a Hörspiel?”

Vox just blinked. “A Hörspiel? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know. A Hörspiel.”

“No. No, I really don’t. But I want to.”

“It’s the German term for a radio drama,” Alastor explained. Vox stared at him, expecting more, but when nothing else came, his face contorted into one of complete and utter confusion. 

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything going on right now?” He asked genuinely. Alastor didn’t blink, just shot both eyebrows up.

“Now that you mention it, I suppose it doesn’t.”

Vox sighed, pinching the space between his eyes. He muttered something to himself that Alastor couldn’t quite hear. Once his composure was regained, a smile bloomed over his face again. 

“A sitcom is like… It’s an unfunny TV series—”

“Ew,” Alastor interrupted, curling his lip. Vox just rolled his eyes and continued. 

“That producers put laughs over to trick you into laughing alongside. Like Seinfeld, Friends, Arrested Development, The Office, It’s Always S—”

“I understand that you’re saying words right now,” Alastor admitted, narrowing his eyes at Vox, “But not much else.”

Vox’s mouth became a thin, hard line. All the joy he had at the beginning of this interaction had completely evaporated. 

“You’re trapped in a TV show I have complete control over—”

“Oh!” Alastor perked up, “So you can just let me out, then?”

“—and you’re trapped here until I get what I want. You’ll find your magic doesn’t work here. It’s just you and me and a live studio audience!” Vox said, his dull expression a stark contrast to the expression in his voice.

“Hm.” Alastor nodded, starting to understand. “Okay. Thank you for this little…” He waved his cane in the air vaguely in the TV’s direction. “Weird introduction thingy. I’m going to throw away this tacky cube now, and then I am going to go about my day as if this never happened. Because that is how much I care. Understood?” Alastor smiled smugly, arching a single brow. 

Vox scoffed. “Uh, what? Did you hear a single fucking— Wait, hey—no, don’t… what the fuck are you—”

Alastor calmly walked behind the Television and ripped its plug from the wall. A loud echoing of laughter at his action surrounded him, but he did his best to ignore it. He wiped his hands on his suit and shuddered. 

God, he hated the Television.

Chapter Text

Alastor gave it to Vox: He really wasn’t letting this one go. Usually, ignoring him worked. He was truly like a child in that way—ignore him and that took all the fun out of it. 

But this time was different, Alastor realized. Because he was in a television show. The longer this dragged out, the better. But Alastor wouldn’t crack so easily, even if that gave Vox just what he wanted. So he stuck out his chin, held his head high, and refused to succumb to Vox’s idiocy. 

See this as a vacation, Alastor told himself. A few days away from the Hotel, here. No responsibility, no looming threats. Just you and—

Vaggie said a sly and witty jab, sparking another ear-bleeding roar of laughter. He leant forward, pulling his ears down flat against his head. He would do anything to make it quiet, just for a second. For there to be no laughing, no reactions, no playful piano theme whenever anyone did anything. He did have to give it to Vox. He would never tell this to the man’s face—it would only boost an already dangerously large ego—but he had found Alastor’s Achilles heel. 

Sitcoms. 

Of course, Alastor had recognized the word when Vox said it, he was only being a jerk on purpose. Vox got some sick pleasure out of being spoken down to by him—everyone knew, it was obvious! Alastor even found radio plays which used constant sound effects like these grating to the ears. 

Partner that with the idea that he was surrounded by cameras, being watched by Vox?

Alastor was in his own personal Hell.

He danced his fingertips along the rim of his glass, watching Charlie and Angel Dust from the corner of his eye. They all sat at the bar, drinking to celebrate the hijinks they’d gotten into. It would be Alastor’s second night here. Second night of torture. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night—someone had the smart idea of playing a rambunctiously repetitive tune from dusk till dawn. When Alastor opened the window to get some fresh air, the sky had been pitch black instead of dark red. White words scrolled down, following the sun’s path: horizon line to horizon line. The credits. 

Directed by VOX

Produced b: VOX

Written by VOX

Funded by VOXTECH

Starring: Charlie Morningstar | Vaggie Lesbiangirl | Angel Dust Valwhore | Husk  | Alastugly.

All names are INTENTIALLY resembling ASSHOLES from the REAL WORLD.

FUCK YOU ALASTOR FUCK YOU ALASTOR FUCK YOU ALASTOR FUCK YOU ALASTOR…

Alastor had seen no need to read anymore, yanking his curtains shut and returning to his bed. He had slept with the pillow over his head, but it didn’t quiet the music. 

Another string of laughter jolted him back to reality, and he stifled a yawn. 

“Oh, Angel, you so cray-cray!” Charlie said, batting a limp wrist at the spider in question, who sat at the bar. They stood weirdly, not facing one another. Like they were blocking with an audience in mind. 

“You know me, bitch!” Angel Dust raised a glass, toasting to himself. “They call me ‘Angel’ for a reason.”

He slung back the drink, chugging it back. The audience guffawed like he’d just made comedic history. Alastor groaned, dropping his head into his hands. 

If this kept up, he might skin himself. 

He’d tried—subtly so that Vox wouldn’t be able to see just how badly he wanted out—his magic. Just like Vox had said, none of it worked. How Vox had even managed to trap Alastor here confounded him. 

Was he caught off guard when he was sleeping, placed under a trance or spell, but physically in his bedroom?

Was he physically trapped in a television?

Or—the most likely option, since it had nothing to do with Vox overpowering him—he’d finally lost his mind. Or he was dead, and this was Hell after Hell. True Hell. It’s not like he didn't deserve it.

A round of applause and cheers—whistles and excited clapping—signalled a new arrival. Alastor didn’t look up. 

“I’m Hooo-ooome!” As if it couldn’t get any worse. Alastor groaned, leaning forward and resting his head on the bar.

Lucifer hung a suit jacket and hat—not the royal white ones he was wearing, but 1950s-esq business wear—on a coat hanger. He set down a briefcase and held open his arms to Charlie, who ran up and melted into his arms. They hugged. 

Awwwwwwwwwwww. Everywhere. Nowhere. All around him. That small hour of sleep he’d managed last night had been haunted by those voices. Awwing and Ooing and Ahhing and clapping and laughing and Jesus Christ Alastor had had enough. He dug his nails into his head, further pulling down his ears, and closed his eyes. 

If he couldn’t hear or see anything, then Vox would quickly lose interest. If Alastor just sat, then the ‘ratings’ would drop. His smile twitched at the thought of Vox angrily watching Alastor then, imagining the look on his face as his joy fizzled away. He’d probably do something to—

He felt a hand tugging on his sleeve. Charlie. Talking to him. Asking him something stupid. 

Don’t react: He’s doing it to goat you. Keep your eyes closed and your hands on your ears. That’s what he did until more hands joined hers. 

They all knew he hated being touched. It wasn’t any better now, even though he knew they weren’t real. If anything, knowing that Vox was controlling their movements only made their touch burn more. 

But if he was one thing, it was stubborn. He wasn’t going to move, and so nothing would make him. He would stay still until television became old technology if he had to. Even just thinking about not moving made it easier to ignore all the… wait. They weren’t touching him anymore. 

In fact, he didn’t hear anything, either. Had it worked? 

He hesitantly pried an eye open, shoulders relaxing just a little bit. He was still sitting at the bar, but everyone else was gone. He was alone in the Hotel foyer. He took his hands off his ears, basking in the silence, knowing that Vox was probably going to pop up with his stupid face any second now and—

He heard a crackle of static and stood up from the bar. He turned in place, doing a 360 until he saw it. There was a small, boxy television sitting on one of the tables in the corner. Its screen was nothing but static, filling the Hotel with a low hum. Alastor sighed, weighing his options. He could ignore it and try to relax a little, but who was he kidding?

He forgot that pipe dream and reluctantly walked over to the little television, drumming his fingers on the table. He took a slow, deep breath. Not because he needed to, but because he knew that Vox was waiting. Then, he yawned, cracked his neck, and stretched. Doing anything and everything to make Vox irritated. Alastor stared at the screen, cracking each individual knuckle. Finally, when he couldn’t think of anything else to stretch this out, he slowly brought up his hand and started to fiddle with the dials, until a foggy image appeared. A few more sluggish turns, and the image refined. Vox, tapped his foot, very much not amused. 

Alastor just grinned innocently at him.

“Are you done?” Vox asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“Mmmmmmmmmm.” Alastor thought about it, tapping his chin. “Yes, I think so.”

“Okay. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Vox got real close to the screen, glaring daggers at Alastor. “Play along, fucko, or—” Alastor knelt, leaning over one of his shoes. “What. Hey? Alastor? What the fuck are you doing!” Vox protested from on top of the table, angling to get a view of why exactly Alastor was on the floor. 

Alastor started to hum a song, carefully undoing the knot. Then he switched shoes, undoing the other. Finally, after a solid two minutes, he straightened up. 

“Apologies!” He said with exaggerated empathy. “I had some business to attend to.”

If Vox wasn’t dumbstruck before, he certainly was now. 

“I…” He fought to find the right words. “I actually physically can’t believe you. I don’t know why I even bother. You’re a child. You’re actually a fucking idiot, Alastor.”

“I think you’re lost, Vox,” Alastor said, creasing his eyebrows together. “This isn’t a mirror maze.”

“Okay. Okay.” Vox took a deep breath, pinching the space between his shut eyes. “You’re clearly not going to come to me, so I’m coming to you. It’s really funny to watch you trot around like a lost kitten, but I should probably tell you what it’ll take t—” Alastor raised a finger, which Vox stared at stupidly. “What? What the fuck does—”

Without another word, Alastor knelt again, focusing on one of his shoes. He double-tied it, taking care not to move too quickly. He swapped feet and repeated the motion, then stood back up again. He pointed down at his feet, grinning wider at Vox, who looked like he was about to explode. 

“My shoes were untied,” he explained, pulling his cane from the air and leaning over it, peering at Vox like he was a zoo animal.

“Because you untied them, you brainless—” Alastor tapped the screen, narrowing his eyes at Vox, whose face contorted into an expression of anger. “What the fuck are you doing now? ”

“Is it as bad as they make it out to be? Tapping on the glass?” Alastor tilted his head like a confused deer, and grinned like the Cheshire cat, “Or are fish all melodramatic drama queens?”

“I swear to Satan himself, you’re worse than Valentino.” Vox flung out his hands, at a loss for words. “How have I not killed you already?”

“I’m too devilishly charming, too strikingly handsome,” Alastor said, as if reciting something as commonly known as the alphabet. “You’re physically incapable of killing someone who you know to be better than you.”

“Ugh!” Vox clenched his fists, voice distorting to a static bark. The screen went wild, and Alastor brought a hand to the TV’s dials. He started fiddling with them, further distorting Vox’s image. “W— Wha… D–D—Don’t Touch—Touch—ToU— THAT, YOU f—f—f—ckER!”

A laugh escaped Alastor, watching Vox come in and out of focus. Then he yanked his hand away from the small television as the dials became white-hot.

Vox got right up to the screen, face filling it. “Touch me again and I will kill you.”

“Boo hoo,” Alastor leaned in, glaring at Vox with sudden irritation: He was bored now. The fun had only lasted up until the point he got hurt. “Did you miss the newest episode of your favourite telenovela? How tragic.”

“That’s fucking enough!” Vox yelled, anger cutting through the still air. Alastor closed his mouth, but the smugness didn’t leave his smile. “I trapped you here for a reason. I want an apology. From you,” Vox crossed his arms, posing like a toddler. “For refusing my offer of partnership as rudely as you did. One simple apology and all this goes away. Maybe you kiss my shoes, too—or my hand, or maybe even my—”

Alastor shrugged and gave a little staticy chirp.

“Okay. I’m sorry, Vox.”

Vox’s jaw fell open, and it closed and opened again a few more times. Like a fish. 

“You—what? I must be going insane. You seriously didn’t just—”

“I’m sorry that you’re so obsessed with me,” Alastor finished, flattening his ears and holding a disgusted hand to his chest. “You’re more pathetic than a limbless baby.”

Vox was dumbstruck, then turned to anger. “Fuck you, asshole.”

“Mmm.” Alastor brought his attention back to his nails: again, so much more entertaining than watching Vox make an idiot of himself. “I think you’ll find it’s pronounced Alastor. ”

Vox let out a guttural, animalistic cry of frustration. His screen short-circuited for a moment, displaying an error message. 

For that brief second, Alastor felt weightless. The room distorted, becoming foggy and distant. It was all too close and too far away and hidden behind a static-like veil… Alastor squinted and—yes! There it was! His bedroom in the hotel. 

And then he was back in the foyer, staring at a very angry Vox, who acted like nothing had happened. He raved about how awful Alastor was.

Alastor just smirked, shining his yellow teeth at Vox. “Since you hate me so much, then just propose already. Nothing would be more painful than being married to you .”

A static, glitchy shriek from the TV again, not as powerful as before. Just like last time, the foggy static came back. A split second of distortion. Then everything was normal again. 

An idea came to Alastor. An idiotic, stupid, embarrassing (for Vox), simplistically brilliant idea. His smug grin only deepened. 

Vox, once again, proved to be stupider than he looked.

Chapter Text

“Face reality, old man,” Vox barked, face filling the screen again. “You’re not getting out of this without giving me a genuine, heartfelt apology. Preferably on your knees. And then I’m going to take a clip of it and broadcast it all over this shithole! You’ll be ruined before you can say: ‘Video killed the radio star!’”

“Well, well, well,” Alastor rested his chin on the palm of his hand, staring at Vox’s small TV like a schoolgirl. “I must admit, Voxxie dear, you’ve placed me in quite a sticky situation. Because I am never going to do that. But, I suppose,” Alastor pretended to think deeply about something. “I could get used to being the star of one of these things.”

“Hah!” Vox barked out a laugh, “You’re kidding yourself. I get why you do radio: you’re too ugly to make it in my industry.”

“I’m confused. Am I ugly, or do you have a soul-shattering infatuation with me?”

“Huh!?” Vox straightened up, eyes widening. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“You, sweetheart,” Alastor tapped the screen, right in between Vox’s eyes. “Are embarrassingly obsessed with me. And you always have been. And it’s humiliating.”

“ WHAT!?” Vox glitched out again, that same weightlessness returning to Alastor. As the space around him distorted—becoming a buffering mess of glitching colours and static—he narrowed his eyes, once again seeing his hotel room. Then it passed and, once again, Vox continued like nothing had happened. If Alastor knew one thing, it was how to short-circuit Vox. That knowledge might finally be useful. 

“Oh, honey,” Alastor leaned closer to the screen. “Admit it already.”

“Wh–Huh?? No??” Vox laughed, but his eyes screamed: holy fuck I didn’t know it was this obvious. “I hate you. Fucking older than my grandfather, ugly ass— crimson wannabe— angsty fucking— fuck!”

Alastor stared at him boredly. He hit the top of the small TV a few times with his cane, momentarily glitching Vox’s image.

“H—h—hey!” He buffered, video lagging. “Fuc—Stop!” Smack. “Keep this up and—” Smack. “ And—” Smack. “ And—” Smack. “ and I’ll—” Smack. “ I’ll abandon you here.” Smack. “Forever.” Smack. “You don’t want that, do you,” Smack. “Grandpa?”

“Hmmmm.” Alastor paused, then gave the TV a final hit. He waited until Vox started to speak to cut him off. “Something seems to be malfunctioning. You’re not funny. Maybe bring the laugh tracks back so I know when you’re telling a joke. On second thought, don’t. They wouldn’t stop laughing at you. Do you get it?” Alastor gave the TV another hit, making Vox glitch again. On the screen, Vox was barely holding it together. He was absolutely fuming, hands clenched. “Because you’re the joke.”

Vox let out another distorted glitch of rage. This time, when everything changed, Alastor heard something new—

“Calm down, Amorcito . You’ll give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Fuck you, Val! Are you hearing this loser? He thinks I like him! Like I like- like him. I don’t like-like him. I fucking don’t.”

“Valentino is right. Alastor is fucking with you.”

“Ohhhhhh here comes Velvette, speaking the God-given truth. I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“You’re being a dick.”

“A dick? HE’S THE FUCKING—”

Alastor blinked, and everything went back to normal. Vox was fuming, and Alastor thought his screen might crack. 

He didn’t give Vox a chance to catch his breath before opening his mouth, pushing away his chair and getting to his knees. “Stop—do you hear that?” He asked. 

For a split second, Vox looked like he was going to murder Alastor. 

“What the fuck is it n—”

“ Shhhh!” Alastor ushered for Vox to shut the fuck up. Vox didn’t know why, but he did. “Yes, I do believe I hear… oh my, what’s this!?” Alastor pretended to see something beneath the table and ducked down, out of Vox’s sight. 

“If you don’t stop whatever the fuck you’re doing in ten seconds I am going to kill everyone you love.”

Alastor poked his head out. “Look what I found.” He held up his hand, fingers pressed over his thumb, like the shape your hand made inside a sock puppet. “It’s you.”

“Uh. What the fuck? That’s your hand.”

“No, I don’t think so!” Alastor looked at the puppet, making his voice as annoying as possible. “ Hi, my lovely Alastor. I’m Vox— My, my, Vox. Are you getting this?”

“You’re fucking insane. ” Vox actually laughed in disbelief, stepping further away from the screen. “How have I not killed you yet?”

“ Because I’m too physically attracted to my arch-nemesis to do any substantial damage to him. I desire to engage in passionate and physically taxing intercourse of a sexual nature with his body using my body.” Alastor acted like his hand was a mouth, opening and closing it in time with his words.

Vox stormed up to the screen again, and snarled: “I don’t!”

“ I’m a liar. I am enraptured by how much better Alastor is than me because I am deeply insecure,” Alastor shot up his eyebrows and pointed at his hand with his other one. “Oh my, what delicious tea. Do say more.”

“No!” Vox panicked, hands curling around the corner of the screen like he was shaking whatever device was on his side of things. “Don’t say more. Don’t! You’re a—”

“ Hating Alastor is the only thing that can distract me from my crippling self-worth issues,” Alastor made his hand say. Then he pretended to look empathetic: “Oh, Vox, really? That’s just tragic.”

“YOU’RE TALKING TO YOUR FUCKING HAND!”
Alastor leaned against the table, still on his knees, and rested his chin on the edge, looking at Vox sadly.

“If you ever need to talk about your feelings, then don’t. I won’t listen.”

“FUCK Y—Y—Y—”

It happened again, but this time it was intense. Alastor was violently overwhelmed by loud, distorted laughter. A deafening crackle of static, Vox’s faint and distorted voice arguing with Velvette and Valentino. 

But things didn't go back to normal quickly, so Alastor kept talking. He held up his hand, continuing with the bit. It had worked so far.
“ I’m Vox, and I’m filled with self-loathing because, despite all the awful things I’ve done to get where I am, it still wasn’t enough!” Alastor mocked. “ I’m still only in second place.”

“Why the—the—the fuck are you still talk—talking!?” Vox’s voice radiated around Alastor, deafening. Almost as annoying as the laughs.

“ I put so much value in our ‘relationship’ and became codependent. I thought, for a brief moment, that maybe someone saw me as a person. When he rejected me, I realized that I was wrong. Nobody saw me as anything apart from a narcissistic monster,” Alastor pretended to gasp as if some great truth had just been revealed. “Are you getting this?”

“SHUT THE F— F— F—”

Alastor narrowed his eyes: his bedroom, getting clearer and clearer from behind the static and the laughing and the noise and Vox’s buffering and the other Vees’ distant chatter. 

Just one more push.
“ But no matter what I did or what I told myself,” Alastor’s hand said, blurring in and out of focus. “ I could never get myself to stop loving the memory of those brief years when I was a person. Because I haven’t felt—” It all suddenly got so heavy, so loud. Vox was trying to shut him up, from somewhere beyond the overstimulating mess around him. He forced the words out, dropping the silly, annoying voice. “I—I haven’t felt that—” He was fighting an uphill battle, unable to hear his own words at this point. “That happy since— since before I died. And you’ll— you’ll— you’ll do anything to feel it again. You won’t.” Alastor, somehow, managed to bark out a defiant laugh, shutting his eyes as the colours and shapes became too much. “You never will, Vox. And—and I’m never going to feel anything less than—than disgust when I look at you. Because you’re not a person—” It got painful, the pressure on his chest. He yanked his hands over his ears, yanking them down. Forcing out the words like his life depended on it. “—and you never were.”

Everything stopped. It was still, silent, and dark. 

Velvette gave Vox’s screen one last shake before the ERROR message disappeared. Vox’s face spread over the screen, and he blinked a few times at her confusedly. Then he stared at the blank TV screen behind her and it all came back. He was sitting in their lounge, back against the coffee table. On one of the couches behind him was Valentino, and Velvette was kneeling in front of him. She raised an eyebrow at him when she saw he was okay.

“Told you he was fucking with you,” she said, patting his arm. “Do yourself a favour and listen to me next time I try to help.”

Vox frowned, running a hand down his screen. He had a painful headache and scrunched his eyes shut.

“Duly noted.” He stayed still, holding his head, trying to catch his breath and not think about what had just happened. How horrifically he had just failed. He thought that maybe his friends would let it go, not dwelling on something as embarrassing as this. If only he had kinder friends.

“That was funny,” said Valentino from behind him. Vox sighed, pulling his hand away from his face. 

“Yeah? You bust a fucking nut? You a big enough grown-up to clean up after yourself or do I have to—”

“Up until he got mean,” Valentino continued, completely ignoring Vox’s retort. “Then it was just sad. You know, because it was true.”

Vox sighed, shaking his head and staring at the dark screen. Everything had been going so well. Until Alastor had opened his stupid ugly fucking mouth. 

“Fuck my life,” he said. Then he grimaced, the reality of what exactly Velvette and Valentino had heard hitting him. He cleared his throat, straightening up and glancing between them. “What he said—that was bullshit, you know. Totally untrue.”

“Uhuh. Yeah.” Velvette rolled her eyes, patting his shoulder as she stood up. Valentino just scoffed, giving out a chirpy laugh.

Vox dropped his head into his hands. He had such good friends.

Alastor jolted up. He shot frantic eyes around the room, relief flooding through him as he realized that he was in his room at the Hotel. He let his shoulders slouch, dropping the confident facade just for a minute. Then he sat upright, a sudden thought coming into his head. 

He said the first joke that came to his mind: “What do pigs do in the shower?” he said. No response. “Hogwash.”

He waited for a beat. Then another. And another. 

No laughter came, except for his own breathy chuckle. 

Vox must have shorted out and shut off, ending whatever strange magic he’d imposed on Alastor. He’d need to redo the warding spell on his room to ensure something like this didn’t happen again. 

Alastor got out of bed, of which the covers were tangled and damp. He felt like he’d just woken up from an awful nightmare. He drew back the curtains to reveal nothing but darkness. He checked the time: late, but not unreasonably so. Charlie and the others would still be awake, and—

The date was different. Those two days he’d spent in Hell had been real-time. They’d be wondering where he’d been. Plus, Alastor wanted to be sure that he wasn’t still trapped, like a dream within a dream. 

So he emerged from his room, walking the halls in silence. No whistling, no humming. Giving his ears a much-needed break. 

He trotted down the steps of the grand staircase, hearing distant chatter. A warm glow radiated from the bar, and as he reached the base of the stairs, he heard a cacophony of voices. 

“Alastor!” Charlie exclaimed, the first to see him. He couldn’t help but wince. Everyone looked in his direction, following Charlie’s gaze. Husk, Angel, Niffty, Vaggie, Lucifer, Charlie. No cheesy grins, no unfunny quips. Genuine happiness. Charlie got up, walking towards him with a relieved expression. “Where have you been? It’s been days.”

Alastor shrugged, waving a dismissive hand at her. “Oh, nowhere. Do me a favour, Husker, and pour me a drink!”

He gave Charlie’s shoulder a small pat, finding himself tensing in anticipation for another deafening laugh track. Nothing came, and he felt a genuine smile seep across his face. He accepted the drink Husk handed him and drank. Charlie just eyed him with concern, but it was Vaggie who spoke. 

“Are you sure nothing happened? You look exhausted.”

Alastor sighed deeply, holding up the golden liquid to the light. Sloshing it around, staring into his reflection. He imagined what Vox would be doing now. Probably taking his anger out on his employees, or those silly companions of his. Denying, denying, denying. 

But Alastor knew the truth, and Vox knew the truth. That was enough.

“Oh, trust me, dear. Nothing important,” Alastor said. “Just fooling around with an old friend.”