Chapter Text
Alastor gave a patient, but strained smile as his mother followed him into the spare room of her quaint little townhouse. He hadn't expected her to be happy when he told her that Emily had gotten him a meeting in Hell, but he hadn't expected her to start ranting at him in Creole , something she only did when she was emotional and forgot herself.
(1) Anglé, s'il te plaît, maman.” (english please, mother) He reminded her. Wanting to fully understand what she was saying, and to get her to slow down and talk rationally with him. Creole might have been her first language, but it was Alastors second, and he wasn't fluent enough to translate when she spoke so quickly. “It's not a big deal.”
“Like heck it's not a big deal!” She snapped, crossing her arms with a stern look. “You're going to Hell chère.”
“It's just a meeting.” Alastor tutted, kneeling down to pull out a box from under the bed. He used to stay with his mother often, and still had some of his things stored here, which made this a little easier to do covertly. “I'm just going to have a little chat with Princess Morningstar, and find out what Adam was hiding.”
“Uh huh, and that's why you wanted to come and get some personal things from here?” Doe was not buying this, he was taking this far too seriously for this to just be a one off meeting. “ Child , you can fool that sweet little Angel, but you should know better than to take your mother for a fool.”
With a sigh, Alastor started to unpack and set up one of his old radios on the desk. “I'm just taking precautions in case I do get a chance to see this hotel for myself. It may not even happen.” He hoped the little explanation would help her calm down, and not get so worked up about it. “But if it does , then I want to make sure I am prepared for it.”
“Prepare as if you aren't coming back, you mean?” Doe frowned, watching him carefully as he tuned the old device and made sure everything was still working. The dusty old equipment had all but been forgotten, not used since he set up his fancy studio in the Radio tower. She was surprised he even remembered it was there.
“Prepared as in I don't know if my radio waves can transcend between realms, but if it can, then I want you to still be able to contact me.” Alastor explained, resisting the urge to roll his eyes like a moody teenager. “As I have said repeatedly, nothing is guaranteed. But if I have the opportunity, then my mind is made up to take it.”
“And just why would you want to spend more time in hell?” Doe was a patient woman, she was, and she loved her son so much. But she could not for the life of her, work out why he would want to leave heaven for more than a simple meeting, which might even have a Seraphim watching over him to keep him safe. They lived in a paradise , what did Hell have to offer that could possibly appeal to Alastor?
“ I have my reasons . Trust me, I have thought this through, and this is my choice.” He assured her, connecting the microphone and testing the machinery, mentally tuning himself into the old nostalgic feel of the radio waves radiating from it, as distinct to him as a fingerprint. “I simply have questions that cannot be answered from up here.”
Carefully he wrote down a specific frequency that only he had access to. Hoping that it would still reach him in Hell. Maybe he could ask Emily about it if things panned out at the meeting tomorrow?
His mother watched him in silence, a sad understanding coming over her features as she tried to read between the lines. What answers could lie in hell for Alastor? Unless… “Is this about your father?”
Her soft voice had an edge of accusation, but her face was one of pure concern. Her husband was undoubtedly in Hell, he certainly wasn't up here in heaven or she'd have found him by now. He was a subject they didn't bring up often, mostly because Alastor wasn't comfortable talking about his father, especially not with her.
“It's about me , ma. Maybe I can finally understand something that has troubled me for some time. And while doing so, help out souls less fortunate than us.” Alastor turned back around, having the radio set up and ready for her to use if she wanted to, he was confident she knew enough to at least follow his page of notes. “Isn't that an admirable thing for a citizen of heaven to do?” He asked, tilting his head curiously with a smile that said he firmly believed what he was saying should be what she wanted to hear.
“Sweetheart. Even if you find the person who killed him, would that really bring you closure?” She sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the ring she still wore on her finger, a thing she often did when she thought of her troubled husband.
“I don't need to find who did him in.” Alastor huffed, avoiding his mother's eye, making it clear that she had put two and two together and come up with five. “I promise, I will not even search for them.” He said honesty, hand on heart as if to swear on it.
She would despise or fear him if she found out that he already knew full well who killed his father, and even their reasons for doing so. He truly felt nothing for the man's life ending, only confusion that the person who ended his life in cold blood had made it to heaven, and no one knew that but him.
The faint glow of his own heavenly halo stared back at him every day from his reflection, like a brand that only he could see. His sin was either overlooked, or not taken into account when his judgment came, and he needed to find out why .
It's what made him so determined to find out if redemption was achievable. If it was possible for someone who did something evil to make it to heaven, then maybe he wasn't a mistake. Maybe there were others in the reverse position. If someone who had earned damnation could make it to heaven, then he would know that he did indeed belong up here. He could finally stop feeling like an outsider, an invisible shadow lurking underneath heaven's light like a blemish on perfection.
Maybe he should have been burning in hell all this time, and St Peter had made a mistake in letting him through the gates all of those years ago. Either way, he needed to find out once and for all. And this Hotel could possibly give him that answer.
“The fact you're going to be down there . And that he's also there. Suffering… I don't like the idea of you seeing him like that.” Despite their relationship being far from perfect, Doe still had some love for her husband. A lot of hate and resentment too, but those feelings weren't mutually exclusive.
Alastor had no idea how she could feel anything for that brute. The way he used to treat her and others around him. How he would speak to her of an evening, with brandy on his breath and blood under his nails made him feel sick just from the memory of it.
“The meeting will be at a heaven embassy. I won't see anyone other than the Princess during that time.” He sat next to his mother, taking her hand and giving her a gentle reassuring look. “Despite what you may think, I am not a masochist, mother. If she doesn't seem genuine, or I feel like I am putting myself in harm's way, then I will not pursue this endeavor any further. My curiosity might get me in trouble, but I am a grown man who knows when to call it quits.” He assured, not sure if he fully believed his own words, but he felt no guilt for easing her worries with little white lies.
Doe hummed, as if she was debating if she believed it or not, before relenting. “You're going to leave me no choice but to trust you, are you?” One look at his face told her the answer. With a sigh, she reached up and unclipped the amulet she wore around her neck. “At least take this with you? I'll be praying for you to stay safe.”
“That won't be necessary.” Alastor laughed, but allowed her to put the protection amulet around his neck, reaching up to run a thumb over the veve for Papa Legba engraved onto the pendent. It was something that she alway wore, a symbol of the iwa that she had asked to keep them safe. “I will keep it safe until I return.” He promised, knowing how important it was to her.
(2) “Retoune lakay san danje, timo.” (retun home safe, child) She mumbled, pulling Alastor in for one armed hug, resting her head against the top of his hair.
(3) “Mo va fès manman.” (I will, mother) He promised, not knowing if it was a promise he could realistically keep.