Chapter Text
The award for Outstanding Achievement in Technical Engineering and Development goes to…
The room was dead silent. But one man swore that everyone around him could hear the frantic pulsing of his beating heart. He stared at the envelope in the host’s hand, praying to the god that he only marginally believed in that his company’s name was written on the paper inside.
This award was everything to him. He’d watched the ceremony every single year since the Emmys began, all while tinkering away on his TVs in the basement. He hoped that one day, everyone would be watching the ceremony on one of his television sets. And judging by his recent sales, that was becoming more and more of a possibility.
The host opened the envelope. His colleagues around him all leaned forward in anticipation, some taking massive swigs of their drinks. But he didn’t move. It was like he was the camera, standing still and stiff on its tripod, focused solely on its subject.
She unfolded the paper. His heartbeat grew louder.
“Voxtek enterprises!”
Holy shit.
He did it.
He actually fucking did it.
The room erupted into applause, but the man stayed frozen in shock. It was only when his colleagues shook his shoulders in celebration that he snapped out of it, and he headed up to the stage to accept his award.
Stepping out into the familiar glow of the studio lights, the man felt more at home than he ever had before. This was where he belonged, surrounded by cameras and microphones at the center of a carefully curated set, smiling brightly at a live studio audience.
He looked out at the crowd, then at his colleagues, then at the host holding out the very trophy he’d worked so hard to earn. Their eyes all shone like stars under those blinding lights, all beckoning him.
Take it.
The man’s face split into a grin, tears welling in his eyes that were unbecoming of his masculinity. He couldn’t even be bothered to care, his heart was so full.
He slowly and gingerly reached out to touch the glimmering statuette, and-
The sound of metal creaking. Cables snapping.
He could hear the smashing of the light as it hit his head for the tiniest fraction of a second, and then-
His life cut out, like someone had unplugged the TV.
Everything hurt.
The man was lost in a sea of black, but he could feel gravelly pavement digging into his hands. Electronics started to whir, strangely close to his ears he must add, and suddenly the world around him flickered to life.
Red. So much red. The air stank of rot and weed, and he could hear the overlapping shouts of several different fights happening around him. He went to rub his eyes, only to feel the smooth glass of a screen where his face would be.
“What the fresh fuck,” he muttered to himself, feeling a soul crushing combination of confused and utterly disappointed. One second he was about to receive the award of a lifetime, and the next he was a TV-faced freak sprawled out on the dirty ground of some dilapidated city somewhere. Just his fucking luck.
It was an insanely impossible situation, but at that point he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He just wanted to be under the stage lights again, not stuck under the sickening haze of the red sky. He desperately craved shiny metal set dressings and glimmering trophies, but nothing glimmered or shined here. It was all dank, dismal, and old, like the Great Depression on steroids.
He let out a pathetic, whiny groan and leaned back against the store next to him. He bonked his head against the wall, rattling a hand painted wooden sign advertising old fashioned radios.
His life was truly over.
Suddenly, a tinny voice cut through his misery.
“Excuse me sir, are you alright?”
He looked up towards the sound to see a smiling man offering out a helping hand. But this was unlike any person he’d seen before. The stranger had gray skin, animal ears and little antlers sticking out of his bright red hair. His face was split into an uncannily large grin full of sharp yellow teeth. He was tall and lanky, impossibly so, and an unexplainable static seemed to emanate from his very being. But despite all his oddity, the friendliness in his red eyes seemed undoubtedly human.
The TV man took his offered hand and was shakily pulled to his feet.
“Y-yeah, I’m fine, just confused as all hell. Where exactly am I?”
The antlered man chuckled.
“You just said it yourself!”
The realization hit him like a truck.
“Wait… Hell??!! Does that mean I- fuck. Are you the devil? Are you here to walk me down to the infernal punishment pit or something?!!”
The demon laughed again.
“Oh heavens no! I just saw you fall outside my shop and thought I’d lend a hand. Besides, it’s always a gas to see the look on one’s face when they realize where they are!”
He blinked a couple times and took another look around. Besides the red sky and freaky townspeople, this place just looked like your average dingy city. He probably could’ve been convinced it was New York and he’d just taken a fuck ton of heroin if someone tried.
“So this is really Hell? Might as well have stayed in Los Angeles, doesn’t seem all that different!”
“Not quite the barren pit of hellfire they warned us about, isn’t it? I’ve found life down here rather enjoyable.”
An explosion and a chorus of screams sounded from somewhere in the distance, causing him to raise a digital eyebrow.
“Really?”
“You get used to it.”
The demon waved it off as if it was just a common nuisance. The TV man was absolutely entranced by him. Here this guy was, an actual hellbeast, smiling and chuckling like a good-natured fellow from his childhood. His voice reminded him of the radio hosts he used to listen to after a long day of school. It immediately comforted him.
“So, uh… if you’re not the devil, then who are you?”
The man’s grin widened at the question, and he eagerly thrusted his hand out to shake.
“Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure! And what would your name be, my good sir?”
He blinked a couple times, still dazed. The deer man, Alastor, laughed.
“If you can’t remember your living name, as is common with certain means of death, many down here go by something entirely new.”
The TV demon blinked a couple times. He supposed the idea that love could never be forgotten, even after death, was true. Because the only word floating around in his frazzled brain was the only thing he had ever truly loved.
“V-Voxtek- I-I mean, Vox.”
“Vox, hm?” Alastor’s smile shifted into something amused but fond. “Like audio?”
“W-well I sort of meant it like video and aux, cause you know, audio and video are the two components that make up television, because I worked in um… television. It was the name of my television company.”
Something about this man made Vox anxious and stuttery. For some reason he didn’t think it was related to the fact that he was an actual real live DEMON.
“Telly-vision? I must say, I’ve never heard of that.”
Those words felt like getting shot.
“Mother FUCKER- Is there seriously no television here??!! Shit, I guess it really is Hell.” Vox rubbed his chin, or what was now the bottom of his tv head, and tried to think of the best way to explain it. Then he realized the answer was LITERALLY right in his face.
“It’s my head.”
“A talking light up box?”
“No … I… uh… fuck. You know what a movie is?”
“Yes, I’ve seen quite a few films in my time. But I must say, I prefer the raw reality and immersion that is theater.”
Great. So he’s a pretentious douche. Whatever, I can work with that.
Vox’s face split into a salesman’s wide grin, and he eagerly dove into his usual spiel.
“Well nothing screams immersion like television! It’s like a cinema without a projector, a self contained personal unit that can pick up on all sorts of broadcasts. You can watch anything you want! The news, sports games, dramas, sitcoms… it’s film’s natural evolution.”
Alastor’s ears visibly perked up at the mention of broadcasts. The motion made something more recognizable stir in Vox’s chest, something that made his fans whir a little louder and his brain scream (wildly against his will) CUTE.
“I must say I’m still lost on everything else, but I do know a thing or two about broadcasts!”
“You do?!!” Vox realized after the words had left his mouth that he sounded embarrassingly giddy.
“You’re new here so I don’t blame you for not recognizing me, but I just happen to be Hell’s most prolific radio host, I have complete control and understanding of that domain.”
“Really?!! That’s PERFECT! If I’m going to bring television to Hell, radio waves are the first thing I’m gonna need!”
Alastor chuckled.
“Not even an hour since you’ve fallen and you’re already planning a technological revolution?”
Vox shrugged, grinning that oh-so-charming TV star smile of his.
“What can I say? There’s a gap in the market, and a good businessman always knows when to swoop in.”
Alastor’s wide grin softened into something more genuine.
“I certainly cannot blame you for that. Your passion intrigues me, what would you say to a dinner at my place? Not to toot my own horn, but I’ve been told I’m a wonderful cook.”
Vox couldn’t say no to that, especially considering he’d never made himself a meal in his life.
“I’d say that sounds like a blast!”
Alastor’s house was weird.
It stood on stilts in the middle of a bayou that didn’t seem to fit in with any of the surrounding hellscape, infested with fireflies and algae and the distinctive smell of rotting leaves. The house itself was more of a shack, and it looked on the verge of collapse due to termites or water damage or whatever the fuck was wrong with it. But when they went inside, it was gorgeous. The place was homey yet elegant, decked out in ornate red wallpaper and dark mahogany furniture. Hunting trophies like antlers and skeletons adorned the walls and shelves, which were also stuffed with books and radios, so many radios. Alastor must collect them. He also had quite the large collection of framed pictures, mostly paintings and charcoal drawings. They all had a certain quality that united them together, making Vox wonder if Alastor was the artist.
Alongside the artwork, Alastor had only three old fashioned photographs. One was him standing next to a female demon with hollow eyes and a large feathered hat, another was him swing dancing with a much shorter demon in 1920s party attire, and the last was with an even shorter demon wearing more modern clothing. In all the photos the subjects were smiling brightly, and in all the photos the friend posing with Alastor was a woman. It was strange, but judging from what he’d seen from the deer demon so far it made sense that he would prefer female company.
“I don’t personally enjoy being photographed, but it’s important to cherish the memory of those close to you,” Alastor explained, startling Vox a little. “Once you come down here and lose everyone you knew in life, it puts into perspective just how quickly you can lose your new connections as well.”
Vox nodded, suddenly met with the reality that he wouldn’t see most of the people he'd known ever again. What gutted him about that wasn’t how much he missed them, but how little he missed them. He had his friends, his family, his coworkers, even his wife, but he was never particularly close with any of them. He was always so busy with his business, and his shows, and his tech… the only thing he really missed was that. All his work, down the drain.
He hadn’t even gotten to touch the fruit of his labor before his life was cut tragically short.
“Vox, are you alright?”
A red-clawed hand gently rested on his shoulder.
“Y-yeah, I’m… I’m fine. It’s just… I was supposed to win an Emmy, you know. The most prestigious award in television. I was just about to accept it, then...”
Alastor hummed in sympathy.
“My deepest apologies.”
“I had a wife, and parents, a whole company of people working under me… and still, every time I think about my past life, the only thing I find myself wanting back is that stupid fucking Emmy! Isn’t that fucked up?”
Vox wiped his tears with the heel of his hand, surprised to learn that despite the screen face he could still cry.
“It’s hardly your fault what you mourn, it’s not something you can change,” Alastor said. “You can’t control who you love and how.”
Vox sighed.
“My wife… my poor wife. I barely spent any time with her, but she loved me with her whole heart. But I just didn’t… love her as much as she loved me. I sort of got married because I knew I was supposed to.”
Alastor's face lit up with a sort of... recognition.
“Ah yes, I know that feeling very well.”
Wait a minute. Is Alastor-
Vox supposed it made sense. They always said that homosexuals were forever condemned to Hell. He himself certainly helped prove that theory, even if his list of sins was far longer than just that.
“W-well… it’s nice to have someone who understands. I really won the Hell lottery, huh?”
Alastor chuckled and patted his back.
“Indeed you did. Come now, I’ll cook us dinner. A big bowl of jambalaya always lifts my spirits!”
Vox found himself desperate for Alastor’s touch again the second he walked away.
Alastor was right, he was an amazing cook. The spice of the jambalaya caught Vox off guard at first, but it didn’t take long before he was shoveling it down ravenously. Even better was the conversation. The two instantly bonded over their love of entertainment, excitedly discussing the similarities and differences of their mediums.
“So tell me, Vox. What exactly did you do in this television business?”
Vox grinned, this was his favorite topic to talk about.
“Anything I could get my hands on, really! I started out as a salesman, discovered the units I was selling were hot garbage, then started tinkering with them in my free time. After that I started my own company, then finally landed my own variety show.”
“Oh! I hosted a variety show as well! Glad to know the format is still beloved in this new age.”
Vox nodded eagerly.
“I grew up listening to them on the radio, it was a huge inspiration for me. I actually wanted to be a radio host for most of my childhood, but then I saw my first TV in a shop window, and I was hooked!”
Alastor hummed thoughtfully.
“Where did you grow up?”
“New York.”
“Ah, what a shame. My show never made it out of the south, I’m afraid. I spent my whole life in Louisiana.”
“Yeah I figured, considering the jambalaya and the gator skulls and the swamp and everything.”
Alastor laughed.
“I know, I’ve been told it’s a bit much. But what can I say? It’s nice to have a little piece of home.”
“Luckily I’ve spent my whole life in shithole cities, so I’m not going to have to worry about that.”
Vox couldn’t help but smile. As much as he complained, he really did love the hustle and bustle of the city. He didn’t understand the appeal of the new suburban lifestyle everyone else had been drawn to, and even less so the country. It felt so… barren. But looking out Alastor’s window, watching the night sky ripple in over the bayou, hearing the sound of the frogs and the crickets… it was starting to make him reconsider.
“Speaking of your life,” Alastor began, “what was it like? You told me plenty about your career, but surely there must’ve been more to it if you ended up in a place like this.”
Vox shrugged, surprisingly unbothered by the question.
“Well, you don’t become a millionaire without stepping on a few toes. And every star has their moments where they lose their cool on set, and every man has a few not so innocent thoughts about people who aren’t his wife… might have rigged a few quiz shows too. So yeah, could be any number of things. How about you, old timer? You seem waaay too good mannered to be down here.”
Alastor swallowed and put down his fork, tapping his chin trying to remember.
“Hmmm, I think it was about thirteen… no, can’t forget that charlatan Mr. Claymore… Fourteen people! I killed fourteen people!”
Vox choked and spit out his food, earning a judgmental look from Alastor. He was too shocked to even notice.
“You. Killed somebody.”
“Multiple somebodies!”
“You’re joking.”
“Oh, you’d know if I was joking!”
“But you’re so…”
“So what?”
Vox hesitated for a moment, suddenly burdened with the fear of potentially offending this guy.
“I dunno, I guess I assumed it wouldn’t be the serial killers helping new sinners off the street.”
“Just because I have some unsavory interests, that doesn’t mean I’m not a complicated man. Evil comes in many shapes and forms, my dear, that is the most important thing to remember if you want to survive down here.”
Vox nodded nervously, quickly cleaning up the food he spat out on the table.
“Right. I, uh… I should probably leave, huh? Don’t wanna, you know… die a second time.”
Alastor burst into hearty laughter. He laughed for so long that Vox was starting to get scared. Just as he was about to take his chance to run, Alastor caught his breath and leaned over with a satisfied sigh.
“I have no interest in harming you, Mr. Vox. In fact, I quite like you. You’re a showman, an entertainer, you take pride in your work even if it’s… newfangled and strange. I’d be delighted to assist you in your tee-vee development, if you’d allow me.”
Vox’s screen brightened.
“Really?”
“Of course! It seems like quite the interesting project.”
“I don’t even know what to say… thank you!”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Alastor flashed his trademark grin, then got up to start cleaning up the kitchen.
“Could you help me with the dishes?”
“Um… sure.”
Vox was suddenly met with the embarrassing realization that he had never washed a single dish in his life. That was women’s work, but Alastor seemed to be strangely comfortable with all that stuff. He didn’t want to be rude or worse, embarrass himself, so he awkwardly scrambled to his feet and brought his dishes to the sink. He placed them down on the counter and watched Alastor, trying to pick up on the steps.
Eventually Alastor’s gaze drifted from the sink to Vox. He had a sardonic smile on his face.
“You’ve never washed a dish before, have you?”
Vox forced a chuckle.
“Well… I got married rather young-“
“Of course, men are just as helpless as they were when I was alive. Here, I’ll teach you.” He handed Vox a sponge and poured some soap on the dish. “It’s not hard, but sometimes you have to work at it a little.”
Alastor placed his hand over Vox’s to demonstrate, gently but forcefully scrubbing at some of the leftover food on the plate.
Vox had known he was at least somewhat gay for years, but now?
Oh sweet baby Jesus.
He prayed Alastor couldn’t hear his fans whirring to cool down his overheating face.
After the dishes were clean Alastor didn’t ask Vox to leave, and Vox didn’t want to. So the two ended up relaxing in Alastor’s gorgeous living room, chatting and listening to the jazz music Alastor always kept playing on his radio.
“So, where’d you get so good at cooking?” Vox asked, sipping the bourbon Alastor had offered. “You start a restaurant with that radio show money?”
“Ah, no! My cooking skills came from my mama. She taught me everything I know.”
“Huh, that’s interesting. I was usually out back chopping wood with my dad instead of helping my mom in the kitchen.”
At that, Alastor's permanent smile tightened into more of a grimace.
“My father was a worthless excuse of a man. The only good thing he ever taught me was how to shoot a gun.”
Vox cleared his throat nervously, deciding now was as good a time to ask as any.
“Speaking of that, how did you…”
“End up a serial killer? I’m glad you asked!”
Vox’s shoulders slumped in relief.
“Oh thank god, I was starting to think that was a weird thing to ask someone.”
“Well, as I told you, my father was a real… piece of work. He never treated me or my mama right and one day I'd had enough, so I bumped him off.”
“Oh.”
“I liked it a bit more than I probably should have, so that became my new solution for dealing with wet blankets. Caught beating your wife in broad daylight? Screaming racial slurs? Selling out my favorite illicit juice joint? Then you got the axe.”
“Oh, so you just killed assholes?”
“That’s your word, not mine. But yes.”
Alastor casually sipped his drink, just as comfortable with this topic as any other. He certainly had some... worrying qualities, Vox assumed, but it wasn't like he was a saint either.
“I guess I can see where you’re coming from. I mean, I beat up a good few shitty cameramen in my time. That boom operator was really asking for it…”
Alastor nodded.
“I certainly don't blame you! It’s always a pain when others don’t see your creative vision. The head of the radio station I worked at in life was always micromanaging my shows, he was my final victim before I was stopped for good.”
Vox grinned at that.
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have killed my producer before I died…”
Alastor laughed and clinked his glass against Vox’s.
“Cheers to that.”
“Would you like to spend the night, Vox?”
The question immediately caught Vox off guard, and he hated how his immediate reaction was to imagine himself and Alastor sleeping in the same bed.
“U-um- excuse me?”
“One’s first night in Hell is always difficult, especially when he has no place to stay. I’ve spent up your whole day with dinner and conversation, it would only be proper of me to provide you shelter.”
“I suppose you’re right, um…”
Eating dinner with a serial killer was one thing, and working on a project with him was another. But sleeping in his house? Vox was practically begging for some crazy horror movie shit to happen. But it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, and he trusted Alastor more than the strangers on the street. Besides, like Alastor said, evil came in many shapes and forms. There was surely much worse out there than the cheery deer man who hummed and tapped his feet as he cooked dinner like a housewife.
“Sure, why not?”
Alastor’s guest room had the same exact vibe as the rest of his house, with a massive mahogany four poster bed with red striped linens. The gold art deco light fixture was dusty but elegant, and a painting of a bayou full of alligators hung only slightly crooked on the wall. Like all of the artwork in his house, the markmaking was scratchy and chaotic yet still came together to form a very clear picture.
“I’m assuming this will be alright?” Alastor asked, his smile widening as he noticed Vox admiring the painting. Yeah, he definitely made that.
“Absolutely. Thank you so much.”
“I’ll go get you some pajamas, don’t want you sleeping in those uncomfortable clothes after such an overwhelming day.”
Looking down at his stiff blue wool suit and slacks, Vox quickly agreed. He was shocked and thoroughly charmed by the overwhelming hospitality. His brain told him that Alastor could very well be fetching an axe, but his heart knew that what the deer demon had said before was true.
Christ, when did I become such a fuckin’ sap??!!
Alastor quickly returned with a pair of red striped pajamas, and Vox couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I see you have a theme going on,” he joked, gesturing to the wallpaper and Alastor’s own red pinstriped suit. Alastor took a moment to process the joke before laughing awkwardly, a slight blush on his gray face. Cute.
“I suppose you’re right! I never noticed that.”
“Seriously??!!”
“I like what I like.”
“Fair enough.”
After Alastor wished him a goodnight and left, Vox took the pajamas and headed into the attached bathroom to change. His face overheated at the very thought of wearing Alastor’s clothes. Even more so when he realized the pajamas had a tail hole.
Alastor has a fucking tail. Like a cute little fluffy deer tail??! Oh my god. Why is that hot?!! Why do I find this so hot?!!
He quickly put on the pajamas, in absolute awe of how comfortable they were. They seemed very old, but the fabric had clearly gotten softer over time.
They kinda smell like him too. Like rotting meat and swamp, but in a sexy way-
Vox blushed wildly and scrambled out of the bathroom, diving under the covers as if he could hide from himself.
The hell are you thinking about, you fuckin’ freak!
The mattress was squeaky but unbelievably soft. Vox had no trouble at all drifting off to sleep, still staring at Alastor’s painting.
The way the painted light sparkled on the water almost reminded Vox of his final, happiest moments.