Chapter Text
Alastor looked through the shattered windows at the remnants of the hotel. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting at his chair in the radio tower—or what remained of it—but no one had come looking for him yet. That was good. He needed to leave before anyone did. No one could ever see the fearsome Radio Demon in such a pathetic state, bleeding profusely and trembling with eyes full of burning panic. He couldn’t bear to face anyone, but he also couldn’t let himself cower in his little studio while he bled out. He had to choose someone to count on for help while he still had a little bit of magic left in him. Alastor closed his eyes and, with the last of his strength, melted into the shadows.
The knock on Rosie’s door startled her slightly. She was still on high alert, just in case there were any exorcist angels left that might break in and attack her. She walked over to the door, carefully opened it, and gasped at the ghastly sight in front of her. There was a massive gash across Alastor’s chest, stretching from his side up nearly to his shoulder. His blood had soaked through multiple layers of clothing, darkening his coat in swathes. Fresh blood was still dripping from his mouth. He grabbed onto Rosie’s shoulder to steady himself as he staggered inside, his legs nearly giving out from simply taking a few steps.
“Alastor!” the woman cried, “What happened? Were you attacked by the angels?” All he could do was nod as she helped him over to the sofa and sat beside him. Her heart sank further the closer she looked at him, empty eyes meeting his, a look silently pleading her to help him. His ever-present grin looked more like a grimace. He could hardly breathe, let alone speak, and his chest burned worse than hellfire. Rosie raised a hand to brush his matted, red hair out of his face, while Alastor gripped her other hand in his. “It’s going to be okay,” she said evenly. “I’ll get you patched up in no time, but first, I need to take your shirt off and see what I’m working with, alright?”
He began taking off his overcoat and allowed her to help him get his shirt off, wincing as the sticky fabric peeled away from his body. His bloodstained gloves joined the pile of discarded clothing, too. The gash had been hastily wrapped in scraps of fabric, now stained a deep red, in an effort to stem the bleeding. She pulled them off to assess the damage, and her eyes widened. It looked like someone had tried to rip him in two. A sanguine chasm had been carved through his chest and torso, thoroughly soaking the short, fine fur that coated his body. He had several other small scrapes that Rosie quickly determined did not need any attention. She looked up from his chest and said, “I should be able to stitch it. Let me go grab the suturing kit.” Keeping some medical supplies around proved to be useful. Being an Overlord was a dangerous job at times, and Rosie liked to be prepared in the event she or one of her friends got hurt.
She found the suturing kit and some bandages, then went searching for something to clean the wound with. After gathering everything she needed, she brought her supplies into one of the bedrooms, double-checking that she didn’t forget anything before going to retrieve Alastor. She offered a hand and helped him onto his hooves, and he held onto her for support as they made their way to the bedroom. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bed, positioning himself with his back against the headboard.
Rosie opened a bottle of disinfectant and wet a small towel with the solution. She pressed it against his skin with one hand, holding his hand tightly in the other. She tried to focus on cleaning him up and ignore the pain she was causing him. Ignore his crushing grip, ignore the rising hiss of static. Once she moved on to the deepest part of the wound, Alastor covered his mouth as he forced himself not to scream in pain. His eyes burned, and he didn’t register why until he felt tears running down his face. Rosie didn’t dare to take her eyes off her current task, but she still winced at how much he was shaking. Poor deer… Another surge of blinding pain made him bite down on his own hand in a desperate attempt to control himself, though he could not control the shriek of radio feedback that filled the air. The Radio Demon did not cry out in agony like his victims. The Radio Demon wasn’t supposed to cry at all.
He kept his eyes shut until he felt Rosie pull his hand away, blood sticking to his lips. She was holding a needle between her fingers, looking at him apologetically. “I need to hold you still, so there will be quite a bit of touching for a moment. I’m sorry; I know this hurts.” The feeling of the needle piercing his skin was largely drowned out by the burning sensation that singed his lungs with every shallow breath. She held him in place as gently as she could while she sutured the rift torn through his flesh. With the wound closed, the bleeding was drastically reduced, though beads of red still seeped out from the cut. Bandaging it was by far the easiest step; Rosie carefully wrapped the stitched area, then wiped her bloodstained hands off on a spare towel.
She moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside him with a heavy sigh. She couldn’t imagine how exhausted he must have been. “It’s all done. Is there anything else I can do for you, dear?”
Alastor had been dreadfully quiet for a while now; the static filling his mind made it nearly impossible to think. All he knew was that everything hurt, and that every sting of angelic energy beneath his skin reminded him of who caused it. The only thing more painful than Adam’s blade that he’d ever experienced was death itself. A flash of agonizing pain ringing through his skull, then darkness enveloping him as his dying body went numb. The flash of light as Adam struck him reminded him of that moment all too much. When he sank into the shadows to retreat, during that brief moment when everything went black, he was terrified that the numbing nothingness would seize him and never let go.
Tearful eyes focused on Rosie, strained smile quivering as the deer demon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. His ears were pinned back against his head, which was leaning on her shoulder. The crackle of shuddering static and feedback muffled his crying, all the emotion he’d been suppressing spilling out as if it were from a second gushing wound—one that cut deeper than flesh and bone. The facade of the Radio Demon was temporarily drowned out, shoved into the deepest crevice of his being that was now being held together by stitches. The man weakly draped over his friend’s shoulder was just Alastor.
A pale gray hand reached up to stroke his hair, fingers gently running through the tangled mess it had become. She felt tears forming in her own eyes. It was heartbreaking to watch him suffer so much that it completely shattered the mask he always put up. She had seen him cry before, as rare of an event as it was, and had a decent idea of just how miserable he had to feel to be so vulnerable, even in front of her. “You’re gonna be alright, Alastor,” she said, steadying her voice and forcing a smile he could not see.
He shifted a little, burying his head against her neck. “What would I ever do without you?” he choked out between sobs, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
“You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll be here whenever you need me—but don’t take that as an invitation to get yourself into trouble every chance you get,” she said in a lighthearted tone.
Neither made any attempt to move for a while. Alastor’s breathing slowly evened out, no longer shaking his tall, spindly figure. Rosie listened to the static coming from his breath until she was sure he’d fallen asleep. She slid the deer demon off of her and gently kissed the top of his head before laying him down on the bed. She covered him up with the sheet, then left to put away her medical supplies.