Chapter Text
Alastor was not really concerned about the wound that he had received from Adam's guitar. Ok, that wasn't true. He was very concerned about the wound that had received from Adam's guitar. But that did not mean that he would have to show his concern to anyone, at all, no matter the circumstances. He was the Radio Demon, not just some lowly sinner. He could handle a bit of pain.
But... a bit of pain was probably an understatement. At first it didn't hurt that bad. Well, comparatively at least. He died after getting eaten by dogs, after somehow surviving a gunshot wound to the head. So, the wound running diagonally across his chest, despite feeling like it was on fire with the worst fire in all of Hell, wasn't too bad.
Somehow, it got worse. The deer knew that it would be a rough recovery, considering the fact that it wasn't just a wound. It was angelic, and very specifically designed to kill him- permanently. In some ways, it was a wonder that he survived. That's all that he could think about as he entered the Hotel the day after the battle, with everyone's less than grateful expressions that he was still there.
This also wasn't Alastor's first angelic wound. He had been pretty high up on Heaven's kill list for a while. He had taken a few stray blows here and there, but nothing that a little bit of magic and dealing couldn't fix. It always got better, even if it just added another scar to the ever growing collection covering his body. Sure, this one was... much larger. But he could handle it.
Except this one wasn't getting better. It had been three days now. By now, he would usually see at least the very first signs of healing. The glowing would settle, or at least be far more dim. It wouldn't feel like the weapon was still lodged in his body. And it surely wouldn't have golden streaks jutting out from it. That was abnormal. But oh well. Alastor was far too powerful to need help for a silly little wound.
That is what he had to keep telling himself. He laughed at his concerns as he adjusted his bowtie, staring at his reflection in the mirror in his room. This was no different than any of the other times, like when Lute almost killed him, or when Carmilla Carmine almost did. The chills were most definitely not new either, and neither was his sudden lack of appetite.
Despite all of this, Alastor didn't really have the time to be concerned. He had a Hotel to help run, and an image to upkeep. The last thing he needed was for Vox to find out that he wasn't feeling his best- who was he kidding. He was feeling his best. Alastor was always feeling his best. The smile stitched onto his face proved it.
He made his way down the stairs, feeling more sluggish than he usually would, as if he hadn't slept the night before. Even if it was fitful, he had slept his normal amount- no, he had slept more than that. Odd. He was a man of routine, and oversleeping was not like him. At least it wasn't too late, and he still had time to get to the kitchen and make breakfast for the rest of the Hotel crew.
It wasn't like Alastor took too much pleasure in doing everyone a favor by doing their cooking, it was just that cooking was his favorite hobby. It was one of the few activities that he reliably had to give himself some joy, that didn't involve death and murder. Usually it didn't involve those things, at least. That was why he was a bit curious as to why he just didn't feel like it today.
Life was momentarily a sleepy blur, the world around him beginning to blend together as he went from the lobby to the old kitchen. It used to be a lot more run down, before Lucifer- that pompous prick- helped to rebuild the Hotel. Now it was ornately decorated in shades of red and gold, which always made Alastor's head spin, but especially so today.
Maybe it wasn't just the lavish decorating that was getting to his head. He felt like he was floating a little, and his face tingled, especially around the edges of his smile. His head hurt, but that has been hurting for a few days now. He blamed it on his angelic wound. They tend to do whatever they possibly can to make a Sinner suffer. But he wasn't going to let someone as stupid as Adam bring him down.
He stood in front of the stovetop, not entirely sure when or how he got there. He looked at it blankly, trying to remember what the plan was for breakfast this morning. Alastor always had a plan for all of the meals that he cooked, and he didn't like that he couldn't remember it. It wasn't like he used a phone to keep track of things, he just had to trust his memory. Which was failing him.
After a few more moments of staring and processing, desperately trying to get his brain to catch up with the rest of him, and when it didn't, he settled for some simple pancakes instead. What could go wrong with making pancakes. They were among the easier things to cook, especially considering the fact that his hands felt too numb for too much else. That was... also odd. But not concerning.
Carefully, he retrieved the flour from the pantry, doing his best as to not drop and spill it everywhere. He shivered as he set the bag down on the countertop, feeling a chill run up the length of his spine. He wouldn't want the whole Hotel sick, he shouldn't be cooking if he had fallen ill- what nonsense. Alastor was not ill.
The deer mixed his dry ingredients together, and added some milk to the bowl. Next thing he knew, his eggs were also in there. He didn't exactly remember putting them in there, but he figured that the pancake making route had become so rote, that he didn't even notice himself doing it. He went to microwave to melt some butter. Everything was fine, until the smell it him.
A strong wave of nausea hit the demon, the melting butter bringing it on. He nearly wretched, and immediately went to the tap for some cool water. The smell of things cooking, especially something as lovely as butter, never bothered him. Once the nausea had passed, he mixed the butter in with his other ingredients, beginning to whisk the batter.
While he was thinking about all of the stupid problems which plagued him right now, he had to give some thought to that stupid wound again. The nausea was actually nice for a change, something other than the searing pain on the forefront of his mind. It was like it was eating up his chest cavity, and like it was beginning to eat up his entire body.
Even if he would never dare to admit such a thing, not even to himself, the wound was progressively getting worse. It seemed to be spreading, and it seemed to be dragging him down. Alastor was exhausted and, quite frankly weary, as he poured the batter into a pan, and turned the flame on underneath it. His eyes were heavy and burned.
"Alastor! What is goin' on down here? I thought I was gonna come down ta see the entire kitchen on fire!" Alastor's head popped up, trying to locate that voice, and who exactly it was coming from. Ah yes, Angel. He stood behind him in his pink nightgown, hair disheveled, sleeping mask resting on his forehead.
"And what do you mean by that? Do you really think that the Radio Demon, of all people, would accidentally set something ablaze?" Alastor forced his smile wider, staring at the... black, charred mess in the pan in front of him. How did this happen.
"Wouldn't think so, yet here we are!" Angel groaned, relaxing on the wall behind him. He must have noticed the demon's expression of confusion written clearly on his face. "Smiles, ya burned the pancakes. I think those were pancakes. It's hard ta tell when they're that color."
With a smirk, Alastor tsked at Angel. He turned the flame off, and began to scrape the pan, wondering to himself exactly how that happened. His eyes still felt heavy and full of sleep- oh. He fell asleep while cooking. That may have been the first time, in his life or his afterlife, that he had pulled off such a feat. He wasn't even sure that it was possible, before today. He had never even considered it.
He had managed to forget about Angel's presence in the kitchen- or maybe it was the thick fog that had settled on his mind that made him forget. Either way, he washed the pan out, his hands beginning to feel heavy now, too, as if he had slept on them wrong. He felt like something was off, and growing increasingly more off with every passing moment. Oh well. He had pancakes to make.
Turning his attention back to his ingredients, he added them back into the bowl which the batter had come from. It was a cardinal sin in his cooking, one that he often would yell at the other Hotel residents about committing. Angel noticed this, but didn't speak up. He knew better than to get involved in the Radio Demon's business, especially when he was cooking.
Alastor cracked a few eggs into the bowl, now shivering a few times per minute. It felt like the world was beginning to move in slow motion. He stirred the batter once more, but this time mechanically. Finally, his eyes drifted down to his mixture, some of the eggshells still in it. What. He shook his head rapidly to bring himself out of whatever stupor he had slipped into.
Dizzy. That was all that Alastor felt suddenly. An all encompassing wave of dizziness was overtaking him, sending him off balance. Black, clouded spots appeared in his vision, and, even if only for a brief moment, Alastor wondered if he was about to faint. No, he couldn't faint. Not where others would find him.
"Smiles! Ya alright there? What is goin' on with ya, toots?" Angel. Alastor forgot that the spider demon was there, and was now standing right next to him, holding a set of arms out in case the demon went to the ground. "Ya just fell right into the counter there, bud. That ain't like ya. Are ya sick? I worry that ya look a little sickly."
"Enough clamoring over me, my dear," Alastor replied. He held onto the counter with a death grip, worried that, if he let go, he would end up tripping again. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to make these pancakes happen, especially with Angel watching him- and apparently very carefully. "I promise you, I am fine. I am not sickly at all, I can assure you of that."
"Right," Angel drew out the word for a while, stepping back as Alastor finally managed to step away from the counter. The spider noticed the slick of sweat holding the deer demon's hair to his forehead. He was definitely sick. Great, there went Angel's appetite. There was no way that he could manage to stomach something made by someone ill. He couldn't afford to catch it.
Still, he turned back to his cooking. At least he was feeling a bit better now. Well, that wasn't true. He still felt like the world was ending, and like his entire ribcage was about to fall out, and like his heart was beating out of his chest, even if his heartbeat felt so much slower than normal. At least the dizziness had subsided. Slightly. Very, very slightly.
It wasn't long before everyone else filed into the dining room, Alastor absentmindedly putting pancakes on peoples plates. He didn't even notice that Angel put his own pancakes on his plate, until he tried handing the spider demon some. He thought it was odd how he managed to sneak some past him, but he felt too double dead to care.
He wobbled a bit again as he sat down, realizing how much worse he had gotten within an hour. It was impossible to get this bad this quickly- he must have been in his head. But his head was pounding too hard to be in it, and he was so cold. He didn't even know that he could be this cold, while in Hell. He looked around at the faces around him, trying to name them all. His vision blurred.
This was all getting to the point that even Alastor couldn't deny that something was wrong. The pain in his chest cavity was dulling, however now it was aching, like a deep cramp. He coughed, albeit not noticing it- only noticing the blood that was now in his mouth. Where did that come from. With every passing shiver, the cramping grew worse and worse, like he couldn't breathe.
That was the problem. He couldn't breathe. His lungs weren't taking in air, were they. That's why he felt so dizzy and shaky. However, a sudden voice shook him out of his thoughts. "Alastor!" It was the Princess- her name again. Charlie. That was it. "Al, are you... alright? You aren't looking great."
"My stars, why do you people keep saying that. I feel fine, I look fine, and nothing hurts at all!" He noticed that he was rambling. He was probably rambling too much, but yet, he didn't stop. "I promise, I am quite fine, yes, for sure. Fine," despite knowing just how unlike himself he sounded, he didn't fix it. Everything was too warbled to care.
"Ya ain't fine. In what world would a fine Alastor be talkin' like that. Ya fell asleep cookin' and now ya look like ya about ta vomit or pass out or both at the table. Ya don't have ta be all sneaky and secretive, creepy face. Look at ya, ya ain't even eatin'!" Angel said. Alastor just shrugged his shoulders, noticing everyone's concern.
Even Husker looked concerned. He noticed the cat leaning over and whispering something to Vaggie when Angel mentioned that he fell asleep while cooking. He was exhausted. He had nightmare after nightmare last night, and we woke up every bit panting. Of course he was wiped out. Getting the words from his brain to his mouth felt hard. "Angel, I assure you. I am fi-"
He was cut off before he could finish, a horrible sounding cough racking his body. He spun away from the table, desperately trying to apologize as he caught his breath. But there seemed to be no breath to catch, each inhale making the next one harder. Once it finally stopped, he was too dizzy to even move, and blood was dribbling down his chin.
Angel was standing behind him, patting him on the back as he coughed the last bit of blood out. Looking up to meet the spider's eyes sent more dizziness through his body, but he still tried, attempting to thank Angel for his help. Next, he handed him a napkin to wipe his face with. Oh. He must have coughed up more blood than he thought. That stupid angelic wound.
"Thank you," he finally managed. A few stray coughs followed his thanks, but then he was done. He hoped. He swore that he could feel the blood coursing through his veins, very slowly, like a sticky syrup. His eyes were heavy with sleep again, like he was desperate for a nap. His body felt weak, like he was about to collapse. He needed to get up to his room.
As he was just about ready to enter into his shadows, he heard a voice calling out to him- once that he couldn't ignore. Niffty. "Mr. Alastor! Are you ok? That cough didn't sound good at all," he wanted to make some sarcastic comment about how coughing up blood was generally not good, but decided against it. No one else seemed to notice the bleeding.
Quickly, he wiped his chin, hoping to avoid everyone else noticing. He must have been bleeding internally. Oh well. That would also explain why he was so lethargic, and why he could barely keep his eyes open. Once he got up to his room, he could refresh his bandages, and place enough magic in his body to keep himself alive.
"I said, I am fine!" He didn't mean to snap so hard, to the point where Vaggie was definitely giving him a look, one that was clearly a warning to not speak like that in front of her girlfriend again. "I. I'm sorry about that. Now please, let me head off to my room. I believe that I need my rest. If you all are so truly concerned, you would agree with me."
Before anyone else could protest, Alastor hopped into his shadows, only reappearing again once he was in his room. It took so much out of him, more than he could have ever expected. With a shaky hand, he locked the door behind him. The bandages. He had to replace the bandages. But he was so, so exhausted. More exhausted than he had ever felt before.
He collapsed onto his bed, every muscle in his body aching, every last inch of his skin tingling. He felt feverish, and so cold, and so hot. He was dripping in sweat and he now noticed that he was coughing again. He pulled the blankets onto his body, and immediately ripped them off again. He had no clue if he was hot or cold, or what was worse.
After a few more chokes, blood coming up in each one, he finally felt as if he had the strength to sew himself back together. And by himself, he meant his insides, with shadows. It was far from the most effective treatment, but it was about all that he had. The second he was finished, exhaustion overtook him, and he immediately fell asleep.