Chapter Text
It wasn't like all of this was new to Alastor. It wasn't like these thoughts just started, or like he could help himself in the past. This wasn't new. This was his normal, whether he liked it or not. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. He also had to keep telling himself that it wasn't getting worse. That, he was less sure of. But maybe saying it enough times would make it so.
There was no doubt that he was just like this, even when alive. He was pretty confident in saying that it was far worse then. He remembered his maman's encouraging words, and his lack of accepting them. He remembered his papa- yeah, maybe he didn't want to think about that part of the story. But it was all confirmation that things had always been this way.
Rosie knew it, practically from the first day that they met. She encouraged him, like his maman used to. But it still wasn't the same. Only his maman ever could actually help, and even that was rare. But Rosie had her own way with him, too. There was nothing in Hell more comforting than her touch- well, maybe besides for some fresh venison, but that was something that she usually had in stock for him.
She had a name for his little episodes, a name that he had long forgotten. It wasn't important. He was the Radio Demon, such trivial matters should not apply to such a powerful overlord. She had always assured him that it was ok to have flaws, and that she was sure that he had them. He disagreed. The idea of him having to deal with such flaws was quite outlandish. Such feelings would pass.
But since the battle with Adam, the feelings weren't passing. They were supposed to be passing. They never truly were all the way gone, but since that battle, that maudite battle, the one that he almost wished that he hadn't done, the feelings were just sticking around. No matter what he did, they seemed to be nagging. None of his usual tactics were working. But oh well. This too shall pass.
Everything shall pass in its time. It was of no use to rush things. Hell couldn't be conquered in a day. Even if this blasted hotel could, apparently. Alastor didn't like that the King was now involved. So much talk for such a tiny little man. Part of him wondered if the King had these feelings, too- what nonsense. No one of any authority position should have such feelings. So maybe, just maybe, the King did.
That was exactly why Alastor should not be having such feelings. He had toppled overlords like they were measly dominoes by some old men playing out on Bourbon Street. Why was he letting such thoughts get the better of him? He shouldn't be acknowledging them. That would only make everything worse. Why was he even labeling them as thoughts, anyways? They were just silly little things that were passing.
"Uh, Smiles, ya' good there?" Angel Dust was sitting on the couch across from him, his legs bent upwards, his signature leather boots up to his knees. He had an odd look on his face, one that Alastor couldn't quite read- not that he could read many expressions anyways- but it maybe appeared a bit confused, or startled even. The spider was popping kettle corn into his mouth, not letting up with his stare.
"Why yes Angel, I am completely fine! I do not know why you would ask such a thing," Alastor replied. He felt empty without his staff. Like a part of him was missing, and like maybe the last thing holding these things away, these passing things, was now broken in two, and sitting in his room. He could ask for someone to fix it but he didn't need that kind of help. He could figure it out.
Angel seemed unconvinced by Alastor's response. He raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down, even more intently. Admittedly, it made the deer kind of uncomfortable. He didn't trust Angel Dust to not have a wandering eye. He shifted a little, uncomfortably. Could Angel just stop this already? "Smiles, ya' even know what ya' doin' over there?" He asked, a smile beginning to form over his lips.
The deer rolled his eyes. "Yes I do know, my good fellow. I am sitting here, wondering why someone like you would be flashing those looks at me. Have we not been over this?" A bit of disgruntled radio static came from Alastor. He missed his staff. He could actually control his effects with it. Now, it was a free for all, and far too revealing for what the Radio Demon would like.
With a chuckle, Angel stood up, his kettle corn in tow. "Alrighty then. Someone's in a mood- but when are ya' not? I guess ya' don't wanna talk with me. Whatever," the spider tried to act like he didn't care, and like he hadn't noticed a thing wrong with Alastor. No, he had definitely noticed something wrong, and he was definitely going to tell someone. He didn't know who yet, but someone.
A wave of anxiety rolled over Alastor- once again, why was he feeling anxiety? He was better than this. He really hoped that he hadn't started on any of his ridiculous little- oh, what did his maman call them, habitudes- with Angel sitting right there. It was bad enough that Rosie had seen them with her own two eyes, but Angel? He would start the greatest gossip that the prostitutes of the Pride Ring had ever heard.
Slowly, he rose from his spot on the chair. Putain, his knuckles were marked. Maybe he had. An ear piercing static came from him, which even caused him to flinch. Thankfully, no one else was around to hear it. He hopped into his shadows, and teleported into his room, where maybe he could find refuge from these feelings. Maybe there, they would disappear into his bayou, never to be seen again.
They did not. In fact, they did just the opposite. Apparently, not having intrusive eyes staring at him, acting as a buffer between him and the feelings, only made things worse. He knew that already. That's why Rosie insisted on sitting with him when it was bad, or why his maman liked to talk to him when she could tell that something was wrong. But Alastor was the flipping Radio Demon. He didn't need a buffer.
Another thing he didn't need was to be sick. Alastor rarely ever even got sick. He was the Radio Demon, how many times had he been over this? He shouldn't be sick, or anxious, or thinking thoughts, or feeling feelings. He was the Radio Demon. He was feared by the entirety of Hell. Even if a slight fever did happen to come over him, it wouldn't be a bother.
He was burning up. Alastor laid on his bed, wondering how long he had been there at this point. He felt like his brain was clouding, partially with the fever that had apparently decided to start, and partially with these racing thoughts, ones that he was just getting too tired and sick to fight. He felt a shiver in his body- he should not be shivering. What was he? He wasn't acting like the Radio Demon.
It wasn't helping him that, without his staff, he couldn't control his little staticky sounds. The static was growing louder with each passing thought, giving him a headache, and compounding to this whole situation. He wanted to just shut it all off for a moment, but he couldn't. He had more important things to do. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. Maybe that would make it stop.
And so, he did it again, and again, and again. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He felt his fingers curl with each number counted off, this dumb little ritual being the only thing that made the feelings bearable until they passed. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He focused on the even numbers, annunciating them carefully. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. Just until they stopped.
The static, that stupid static, was only growing louder with each passing repetition. Shouldn't it be calming down, as the static was calming him? Was the static calming him? Or was he just repeating the words mindlessly? He stopped, hoping that everything would settle down. He couldn't stop. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He needed it to stop.
Alastor stood up, finding his legs to be a bit wobbly. His chest burned, like there was still a holy fire going off inside of it. He hobbled over to his armoire, and looked in the mirror, observing himself more carefully. He remembered his maman's words to him, when this kind of thing would happen. Tu as besoin de respirer, bébé. He couldn't breathe. His chest hurt too much. He was too warm.
Warmth. Stickiness. Two very uncomfortable feelings, especially for a man like him. He looked in the mirror, making sure he was still smiling. Of course he was still smiling? Who would he be without his smile? He just had to keep it on, keep it smiling right back at him. Je te promets, maman, que je n'arrêterai jamais de sourire. He couldn't stop now, even if the stitches that held it up were burning, just like his chest.
This burning was different than his chest. It was burning inside, like a strong itch that was begging to be scratched. He was better than this. If he needed to do this, he could just do it on his hands, where no one would see, and no stitches would be harmed, and was often gloved anyways. He couldn't help it. He needed to. Everything was just too much, all at once, all swirling around his hazy, burning mind.
What if he dropped his smile- that was a horrifying thought, one he couldn't get out of his head. Smile. That word was weird. His static glitched as he thought it through, not liking its feel. He needed to break these thoughts. The counting was only making it worse, wasn't it. With a loud, piercing radio shriek, he slammed his fist down on his armoire, one final move before he resorted to worse means of relief.
A loud banging sound startled both Charlie and Vaggie. The moth was reclining on a couch, her laptop in front of her, playing a game of Snake. She had nothing better to do. Charlie, on the other hand, did. She was flitting from phone call to phone call. Many of these could be emails. But this was Hell after all, that's what happens here. Emails get turned into phone calls. What else was new.
With a roll of her eyes, Vaggie told Charlie all that she needed to know. She would go upstairs and check on that bang for her, because the Radio Demon was apparently nowhere to be found. Charlie had reminded her girlfriend to go easy on him, as he was probably still recovering after that fight with Adam- that fight that any demon with two braincells would know not to pick. And yet, he picked it anyways.
Part of her didn't find this particularly necessary. She was worried what kind of activities that she might stumble across. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Angel or Husk in a bit- oh no. She felt nauseous at the thought, shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of it. She just had to pray that whatever she was going into wouldn't be that. It probably couldn't be any worse than that, actually.
Going door to door, Vaggie knocked, pressing an ear against the entryway to each room. Angel's was empty, Niffty's was empty, she might as well just skip Alastor's- wait. She took a step back, hearing a weird sound coming from his room. It seemed to just be his normal radio static, except that it was far from normal. It sounded distressed. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that she had heard him crying.
The more she listened, the more she noticed, and the more she wanted to just knock on the door. There was a muffled voice, almost sounding like that of Alastor, rhythmically repeating something, like he was counting. On second thought, she was pretty sure that he was counting. But he couldn't have been Alastor. Along with the counting was crying. Alastor wouldn't cry. She knocked on the door anyways. Just in case.
Silence greeted her. Well, nothing new, anyways. Just the same counting, rhythmic and frantic, sounds of wheezing, crying, breath hitching. She knocked again, inquiring about who was inside. "Alastor?" Still nothing. Vaggie was screwed, and she knew it. She wanted to get in there, but that would probably just about guarantee her second death. "If whoever you are doesn't open up, I am unlocking this door and coming inside."
Still nothing. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, saying her final goodbyes to her afterlife. It was a good afterlife. She found love, she started this hotel, there was so much good about it. Alastor was probably just tricking her, luring her bleeding heart to come inside. She unlocked the door, and gently pushed it open. "I swear Alastor, if this is just some cruel joke you're playing on me, you hijo de puta, you will pay for it."
"What the Heaven," Vaggie muttered, seeing the inside of his room. She saw Alastor, the great Radio Demon, the biggest pendejo that she had ever met, hunched over his armoire. His ears were pinned back flat against his head, his legs wobbling, and, between shaky breaths, murmuring something- that counting. It was probably French. He didn't even seem to notice that she had entered the room. "What is going on in here?"
"Charlie!" The moth screamed, after her eyes had drifted down, seeing something that she felt like she shouldn't have seen. She had seen the Radio Demon, his knuckles scraped and bleeding, tufts of his hair missing, forehead glistening with sweat, face shining with tears. There was blood around his mouth, his mouth that wouldn't stop repeating, despite the cacophony of radio sounds around him. "Charlie! I need you up here! Now!"
"I'm on the phone- what's going on?" Charlie asked, her voice far too careless. She must have picked up on something suddenly, a sudden gasp coming from her. "I'm so sorry Azazel, I have to go, it's an emergency, bye!" Footsteps started racing towards the stairs, and then up them. "Vaggie, hon, what's wrong? Vaggie? Seriously, I'm kinda freaking out!" She stopped at the doorway, looking at her girlfriend's horrified, pale expression.
"It's Alastor," Vaggie whispered, not wanting to say anything too loudly, not wanting to startle anyone more than they had already been startled. With her head, she pointed towards the demon, who had still made no signal that he had even noticed her presence. She clutched onto the doorframe for extra support, feeling a little bit weak herself. She felt even more weak upon seeing Charlie. She looked like she was about ready to cry.