Chapter Text
The loud crack of knuckles against cheekbones and oohs of a juvenile crowd are all Alastor hears as he walks the halls of Hazbin High that Monday. Whispers, or attempts at whispering , rather, follow him as he walks. The video of his fight seems to be all he sees as he catches glimpses of his peers’ phones, and the audio leaks through everyone’s cheap earbuds or low-quality phone speakers.
Alastor grumbles quietly, slinking his messenger bag off his shoulder as he arrives at his locker. Slim hands come up to spin the ring of numbers to input his combination, and he firmly tugs the lock open once he’s done. Typically, Alastor carries little more than his lunch and a couple of books in his bag, so the task is over and done with fairly quickly.
But now, he desperately wishes he brought more with him. Maybe even switched to a full-size backpack and filled it to the brim, so that he could stall and avoid having to converse with Charlie, who is not-so-secretly waiting on the other side of his locker door.
Unfortunately, he did not, in fact, bring much else with him, and he’d prefer not to needlessly stand and stare emptily at the contents of his locker, so he begrudgingly slams it closed and pulls the lock up—securing it and giving the dial a few good spins.
(Just to be safe. Vox exists, after all, and he’d rather not give that man the slightest clue toward his locker combination, should he catch a glimpse of Alastor’s lock.)
Alastor, with a deep sigh, turns to his right to come face-to-face with Charlie. Charlie, whom he was not ready to interact with again after having hung out with her and their friend group the weekend prior (despite him having left within an hour). Charlie, whose energy and social battery replenish far too quickly for his liking and understanding.
Charlie, who stares at him, arms crossed, eyes displaying both concern and disappointment.
Before she can start speaking, Alastor starts, “Charlotte Morningstar, do both you and me a favor and remove yourself. I am not in the mood.” He intones, drier than his usual expressionate, way of speaking.
“Dude,” Vaggie speaks up, indignantly.
She gets ignored.
“But Al! ” Alastor groans internally, looking to the skies for help, here she goes. Don’t get him wrong, Charlie’s a lovely lady. A true charmer, really, but she tends to be… A lot, at times. “You got in a fight ! With Adam !” She worries, telling him as if he wasn’t there himself. “What were you thinking ?!” The blonde goes into a tizzy, “This’ll go on your record! This could get you kicked off the student council! This could—“
“ Babe,” Vaggie, now directly behind Charlie, puts a firm yet gentle hand on her shoulder, “chill out.”
“But—“
"But nothing ,” Alastor starts with a raised voice, slowly lowering his voice back to its usual volume. “Nothing of the sort has happened yet, now has it? You needn't concern yourself with my business, Morningstar.” Alastor brings a hand up to pat her head, somewhat condescendingly. “So please be on your way.” Alastor turns, spinning his lock’s dial one more time for good measure, before moving to make his way to the cafeteria—where he and Rosie usually meet up—when he’s stopped by a slender, manicured hand in his face.
“You stop right there, smiles.” Angel Dust . Alastor was just about ready to lose his mind. He lets his posture fall into a rare slouch and prepares to listen to the, excuse his crassness, bullshit Angel was about to spew. “What the hell is this? You fought Adam ? And didn’t tell me?!” He exclaims, shoving his phone too close to Alastor’s face for him to see anything and cocking his hip. “I coulda been there! I coulda seen this shit live!” His long, pink, and white acrylic nail taps incessantly at the screen.
As Alastor racks his mind for literally any response to Angel’s odd desire for chaos and out-of-whack priorities, another person joins their impromptu confrontation.
Husk, looking as tired and mangy as ever, walks in their direction holding two paper, Hazbin High Cafe branded cups in his hand.
“Ey. Angel.” His deep voice calls out in warning before tossing a cup. Angel, blessedly, gets the bright phone out of Alastor’s face and catches the cup with a free hand, taking a quick sip. A smile blooms on his face, “Thank you, baby!”
“Mm.” Husker makes a noncommittal noise in response as he comes to stand next to his partner. “This an intervention, or what?” Husk raises a thick eyebrow, looking at the other four over the top of his cup as he takes a sip.
“Might as well be! Smiles fought Adam on Friday and told nobody! ” Angel shoots a hand out to point at Alastor, paying no mind to the splash of caffeinated, sugary, and no doubt expensive coffee that had spilled out. Alastor sidesteps to avoid it staining his shirt.
“No shit?” Husk raises his eyebrows, tipping his head down slightly in question.
“No shit. C’mere,” he says as he pulls Husk closer, scrolling Sinstagram until he finds the hazbinhappenings page and taps through the story, eventually landing on the video. Its familiar audio plays through his speakers, and honestly? Alastor has had it. He can feel a migraine forming already.
Nobody’s paying any real attention to the couple anymore, and Vaggie speaks up.
“Look, it’s whatever, you fought Adam. Who cares?” she asks, rhetorically. Thank you, Vagatha. Alastor begins to think to himself, before she continues her spiel. “What matters is that you fought anyone at all.”
Alastor rescinds his thank you.
“You can’t just go around assaulting people, that’s not what we’re about.” Vaggie’s hands are on her hips now, and she’s come to stand right next to Charlie. “What the hell were you fighting over, anyway?”
“That, my dear, is none of your business!” He says, condescendingly, and gives her a patronizing tap on the nose. Ignoring the growling and angry Spanish curses that follow, Alastor maneuvers around Angel to make his way to his original destination, the cafeteria. He turns his head and looks over his shoulder, throwing a hand up and wiggling his fingers in a wave before walking away. “Good day, chums!”
He hears Charlie sigh heavily as he leaves.
When he finally makes it to the cafeteria, Alastor brings down his glasses—which smell ever so slightly of caffeine. Damn you, Angel Dust —and wipes off the small drop of now dry coffee with a handkerchief. He readjusts them onto his face and scans the cafeteria for Rosie. It’s still early morning, so the tables are fairly empty and it’s easy to spot the elaborately dressed lady.
They make eye contact over the sparse crowd, and Alastor’s grin grows. As he steps closer, though, his smile dims when Rosie’s phone comes into his line of sight, a pale and bony hand waving it around in the air next to her face.
Of course Rosie would’ve seen the video too. What was he thinking? The girl is a delight, really, she is! Though, her fatal flaw is being an absolute stickler for drama. She seeks out every last drop of information on any and every scandal, like a heat-seeking missile.
She especially has a penchant for his drama.
Alastor decides to delay the inevitable, taking deliberately slower steps in her direction, pausing to glance at every little thing, and even kneeling to retie an already secure shoelace.
He finally makes it to the table Rosie is seated at, and meets her unimpressed gaze. “Rosie.”
“Alastor, sit your bony ass down.” He sighs and moves to take his place across from Rosie, dusting stray crumbs off of the cafeteria table. Rosie, still staring at him, takes a bite of her bagel.
Alastor and Rosie had been friends since elementary. Both drifting towards each other, a friendship formed through solidarity of being considered strange by other kids. Off-putting and unsettling children. The two confided in and supported one another through their elementary and middle school days. As they grew older, though, they grew into themselves and their charms, finding themselves well-liked and admired by their peers by freshman year.
Despite this, they remained each other’s closest person, a bond too ancient and sturdy to split. Friends, classmates, and gossip partners. To Alastor’s continued irritation, that included gossip about his own affairs.
Don’t get him wrong, Alastor lives for the entertaining sight of teenage relationships snapping over ultimately insignificant matters.
He just hates to be involved.
(Unless he’s orchestrating said drama, that is.)
Rosie finishes chewing and finally looks away, and her large black eyes focus back down on her phone. “ So? Details, Al! What’s this about? You never go out and about to fight folks!” Rosie sets her elbows on the table, weaving her fingers together to support her chin. Alastor takes a deep breath, “Well, Rosie, if you must know—“
“Hold that thought,” she says, raising a sharp-nailed index finger as she rummages through her bag, eventually bringing out a thick notebook labeled, School Records, with skull and flower stickers scattered on the cover. She clicks her skull-patterned pen and flips through the notebook, which is somehow already halfway full of everyone’s business. She stares intently at him as she hovers the pen over an empty page. “Okay, go!”
“Well,” Alastor clears his throat, “Adam was making some, how do I put it?” Alastor waves his hand around, gesturing vaguely, “Rather unsavory comments towards a lady simply going about her business. He threatened me, and so there was a scuffle. Nothing serious. ” Alastor finishes, wiping down his glasses again.
“Uh-huh.” Rosie clicks her pen off, looking up from her paper as she finishes off a sentence, only to click it on again and squint at him. “And did you win?”
“Sorry?” Alastor looks up at her.
“You heard me. Didja win? The video didn’t play the full fight.”
Alastor blinks.
Rosie blinks.
One, two, three beats of silence.
Alastor turns away.
“No! ” Rosie shouts, slamming her hands on the table.
“He was burlier than I expected!” He defends, shoulders tensing.
“Alastor! You’re embarrassing me, oh my god.” Rosie brings her hands up to cover her mouth and nose.
Alastor watches as she shakes her head solemnly, grin straining and eye twitching. “You’d know plenty about embarrassment, wouldn’t you?”
Rosie lets out an affronted mix of a gasp and a scoff, “You swore to never speak of that again!” She slams a hand on the table again and points at him as she stands, her face flushing red.
“Did I?” Alastor looks upwards, as if pondering, “Or was that delusion, just as you deluded yourself into thinking you’d retain your couth in the presence of Lilith Eden?” He asks, moving to stand up from the bench and smirking at his deflection.
Rosie splutters, shoulders raising to her cheeks as she throws her notebook back into her bag. The two continue to bicker as they make their way out of the cafeteria, Rosie tossing her tray into the trash on her way out and Alastor putting his glasses back on.
Lilith Eden had also gone to school with them since elementary, even having lived in the district since preschool. The girl was blonde, tall, and had been rather infamous for her, in Alastor’s humble opinion, exceedingly dramatic breakup with Lucifer in freshman year.
She was also the subject of Rosie’s affection. It was slightly pitiful, and oh-so amusing considering the sheer difference in their social circles.
Alastor’s teasing was in reference to the week prior, when Rosie oh-so-elegantly stumbled through her words, to roundaboutly ask Lilith to step aside so that Rosie may access her locker.
Frankly, it was embarrassing how red Rosie’s face had gotten, and how her usually extensive vocabulary floated away, leaving her spluttering in a series of “um”s and “like”s.
Alastor chuckles to himself at the memory, as the two arrive at the door to the main office. Alastor holds it open for Rosie, her low heels clicking against the floor as she steps inside.
The office is warmly yet brightly lit, and the faint aroma of peaches remains ever-present as the scented candles burn.
“Oh! Hi, Alastor!” A cheery voice greets, belonging to none other than Head Counselor Emily. Her long platinum hair trails behind her as she shifts paths and bounds toward the long brown counter that separates the visitor and staff sides of the office. She’s holding a small, familiar stack of papers that she taps on the counter to realign. “I thought you were out today! You’re a bit late, I was almost ready to do the announcements myself!” Emily laughs to herself as she hands him the papers over the barrier.
“Do excuse me for that, I faced a few…” He looks pointedly to Rosie, “…obstacles.”
“Don’t sweat it, you’re here now!” Emily smiles, waving her hand as if swatting his worries away, and turns to Rosie, who pulls a stapled packet of papers out of her backpack. “Are those the forms for home ec?” Emily questions, “That they are! But couldja make sure to check…”
Alastor tunes them out, reading over the day’s important notices that he was to announce over the intercom that morning.
Minutes pass quickly, and the constant buzz of voices and footsteps grows exponentially louder when the tardiness cutoff hits—teenagers and a few stray teachers scramble to make it to their destinations.
As 7:40 hits, Alastor bids Rosie farewell and makes his way to the principal’s office, where the paging base station is located. As he walks, in his periphery, he spots students loitering through the door’s window.
He decides he’ll call for a hall sweep too, while he’s on the intercom.
The doorknob clicks as Alastor pushes his way into an unusually empty office. He briefly looks around for Sera, and the principal is nowhere to be found.
Never mind that, Alastor prides himself on his punctuality, so he takes it upon himself to start the morning’s bulletin on his own.
He goes about the announcements, sports teams’ congratulations, bake sales, field trip reminders and the like—and a hall sweep for good measure—when he makes the impromptu decision to set himself up for a more peaceful rest of his day.
“A wonderful performance, it was! So a sincere congratulations to the girls’ Varsity football team is in order!” He scans over the papers, making sure there’s nothing mandatory he’d missed, “In other news, here’s your gentle reminder to mind both your business and your manners! Though you shouldn’t make a spectacle of the lives of others,” he says, hypocritically, “you can certainly make a spectacle of the Theater Club !” Alastor cleanly segues in and out of his scolding, turning it into an advertisement for Charlie’s new club, which is desperately in need of promotion.
Two birds with one stone. He can get the mind of the masses off of his own, somewhat embarrassing, loss, and onto the theater club. And in that vein, it saves him a stern and ineffective talking-to from Charlie, after having done her the favor of free advertisement.
He prides himself on his efficiency.
Alastor closes off the bulletin, stretching in the office chair as he picks his messenger bag back up and heads to class.
•••
It's the fifth period and, as expected, Charlie fumbles between scolding and thanking him. Alastor blissfully ignores her, focusing in on the smell of wood that wafts through the air of the woodworking classroom.
Carving away at his wooden, vintage-style radio, Alastor thinks over which wood stain he’ll use.
In his ignorance, Charlie had stopped her rambling and continued her work on a statue that was, almost certainly, a gift for her partner.
They’re a somewhat endearing pair to witness.
It’s also extremely sickening.
Humming thoughtfully, Alastor turns to ask Charlie for her opinion, holding up two 3-ounce buckets of wood stain when a voice crackles to life above them.
“Alastor Broussard, please report to the main office. I repeat, Alastor Broussard to the main office.” Sera’s stern voice speaks through the intercom, and whispers and snickers fill the classroom alongside an immature, “Oooh, you’re in trouble!”
Oh, dear. Well if it isn’t the consequences of his actions.
Alastor pushes his stool backward, the metal unpleasantly screeching against the floor as he does so. Quietly, with his arms crossed behind his back, he marches out the door.
Humming down the hallway, he finds himself nearing the office. His stride pauses though, when Alastor spots a distinct head of hot pink hair hurriedly turning a corner, paired with a British voice saying, “I swear to god if that bitch gets me killed by that maniac, I will…”
Alastor watches Velvette leave, squinting, with a slight suspicion as to who the bitch in question may be.
With a roll of his eyes, Alastor crosses the threshold to the office for the second time that day.
“Alastor.” Sera’s voice says in greeting.
“Principal Seraphim! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Alastor replies, falsely cheerful.
Sera makes a come hither motion with her hand, her platinum locs bobbing as she walks into her office. Alastor follows her silently, his expression unchanging.
The two take a seat on opposite ends of the desk, and Sera wastes no time in getting to her questioning, “Might I ask what, exactly, made you see it fit to say whatever you’d like over the intercom?” She crosses one leg over the other, “You and I both know that you are given guidelines that also serve as limits to what is announced on there.”
Alastor moves to answer when he’s interrupted, “Furthermore. A peer of yours has brought it to my attention that you were involved in a violent encounter with another student recently.”
Alastor waits a beat before answering.
“Well, Principal Sera, I had thought it appropriate to call for a hall sweep, considering the number of students out and about during homeroom.” He leans back in the chair and crosses one leg over the other, “Moreover, the theater club was in dire need of some advertising, I was simply doing it a favor.”
Sera sighs at this, likely in acceptance, before she pointedly stares at him, “Go on.”
“As for the… scuffle. Adam was being indecent and crude, I saw it necessary to stick up for someone who couldn’t stand up for themself.” A slight flicker of hope rises in Alastor’s chest. Maybe, with a few choice words, he can get off scot-free.
That hope dies as quickly as it came, “And I see it necessary to issue you a three-day suspension, and you will be laid off from your student council duties next week. Effective tomorrow.”
Ah. His mother will not be pleased.
Nor would Charlie. And surprisingly enough, she was right in her assumption that he’d face consequences related to the student council—though less extreme than she’d imagined.
He’s dismissed from the office, and the bell for the next period rings as he steps out. Four more periods, two of which he shares with Mimzy, and the other two he avoids interacting with anyone in.
The rest of the day goes by quickly, and he and the four people he’d spoken to that morning—with the addition of Niffty—regroup at Alastor’s car.
“Guys! Hey!” Charlie calls out, running towards the student parking lot, hand in hand with Vaggie and waving. Her bright sneakers thump against the asphalt as she gets to the car, and she speaks up despite being in the middle of catching her breath, “Alastor! What happened at the office?”
“Oh right, you did get called down, didn’t ya?” Angel remarks, shifting his focus from his phone to Alastor.
Alastor is quiet for a moment before sighing, “I received a suspension. For fighting.” He looks at everything but their faces, waiting for them to reply.
…
‘Pfft’
“HAH!” Angel barks out a laugh, and Husk chuckles a bit to his side.
Charlie looks downright distraught, and Vaggie groans, “Seriously? She told you. She told you this would happen!” Vaggie says, pointing a finger at him.
Alastor pushes her finger down, “Oh calm down, it’s no big deal.” he responds as Niffty hops out from where she was snacking in the passenger seat.
“You won’t be gone long, will you?” Her high-pitched voice asks, big eyes staring at him. “I’ll be back by Friday, it’ll be as if I was never even gone!” Alastor reassures, patting Niffty on her head.
A flash of light on his face has Alastor turning to see Angel taking a photo of him. The man starts tapping rapidly, likely posting the photo. Alastor tenses, staring at him widely before lunging for the pink and black encased phone.
Angel startles, lifting his phone above his head and shouting, “Jesus!”
Unfortunately for himself, Alastor is a good half-foot shorter than Angel and struggles to reach the phone.
Fortunately for himself, Alastor wears hard, sturdy, and formal shoes that, as he gets closer to Angel to reach for the phone, get pressed roughly onto Angel’s foot as he steps on it—with the addition of all of Alastor’s body weight.
“Ow, fuck!” Angel hisses, phone clattering to the ground as he steps back to balance on his good foot, taking his other one in his hands. Alastor hums, picking up the now cracked phone and deleting the drafted post before navigating to Angel’s camera roll.
And he immediately regrets it, as he’s the unfortunate witness to a camera that is nothing but Husk, pictures of homework answers, and all things phallic. Alastor quickly deletes the most recent photo and tosses the device over to Husk, who’s helping Angel balance.
Alastor hears a tired, “Oh dear.” from Charlie as he turns back to his car.
“Niffty!” he calls out for her, opening the passenger door. She comes running back from wherever she was and hops in. Alastor bids the rest of the group farewell for the next few days, and makes the drive to Niffty’s house, dropping her off before he drives to his own.
•••
When he gets home, he’s met with a less-than-happy mother and a weak thwack on the back with a wooden spoon. His dinner that night comes with a slip of lined paper and an order to issue an apology to both Sera and Adam.
He doesn’t write an apology to the latter, and his mother gives up on convincing him to do so.
•••
Angel Dust recovers the photo from his recently deleted album and, with an ice-pack cooled foot propped up on his bed, he posts it to Sinstagram with the caption, ‘guess who got their ass suspended??💀💀’
Alastor sneezes in the middle of his perfectly warm hallway, figures it is somehow Angel’s fault, and soon decides he’ll simply throttle him on Friday.