Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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“What?!”

Alastor grunted his teeth, slamming the cup of tea on the pastel pink tablecloth.

“Don’t look so stressed darling! It’ll go great.”

Rosie said smiling. Her foot gently swung under the table to the sound of the song that was playing in her living room.

Alastor, though, looked hushed. 

A lot had happened since the vees’ fall. In the final battle Alastor, after playing the victim for weeks, had to fight against Vox, and it left both of them injured, but only one humiliated. And it wasn’t the radio demon.

After that, the angels decided Vox had to be punished further, taking away the hypnosis ability leaving him reckless. Also, Valentino and Velvette had turned their backs on him, since his suffocating megalomania had not only brought them closer to death: but also pissed them off constantly. That’s why they concluded it was better- and perhaps the only way- to let Vox go his way. Alone. Maybe that way, he’d stop pulling people into his chaos. Or at least, that’s what Velvette posted on her socials.

Alastor, awaiting orders from Rosie, went back to the hotel. And Vox disappeared from the media.

“Honey I know it looks like such an impossible challenge for you, but I’m sure that such a gentleman like you can do it!”

Rosie said, then took a sip of his teacup.

"Redeeming Vox? The cult leader? The demon that started a war with the heavens just because of his pride?” Alastor muttered, speechless.

“Every demon can be redeemed, princess’ words.” The woman finished. “So, what are you up to tonight”?

The radio demon exhaled a long, heavy sigh. There was no simply way or chance that a demon as cruel as Vox ever be persuaded to change his values. Alastor knew he could not drag him to the hotel nor could he offer some kind of help that would make a difference. This hopeless ideas belonged to Charlie, but Alastor found himself wondering if Vox could ever be possibly redeemed by anyone at all. Sure, redemption was proved possible, but Alastor just couldn't wrap his mind around it. To him, souls like Vox were simply beyond repair.

At the same time, he understood why Rosie had chosen him. Nobody had even seen Vox after the war, it felt like he had vanished. Not a single soul dared to approach him, or even search for him. 

For years, Alastor had carried a big fucking hate for him with his whole heart, they were enemies and fought countless times verbally sometimes even ending up in brutal physical confrontations, but in the end that very hatred, had paradoxically made Alastor the closest person to Vox. But after all that happened he hated Alastor for real, making the TV head unwilling to listen to a single word he might have to say.

As if Rosie could sense Alastor’s disapproval, she gave him a cold look. He sighed.

“I guess I’ll go find the broken TV.” 

He added at last, getting up to leave after grabbing his staff tight. The air seemed to be crackling with the anger he carried out of the room as he stiffly walked away.

Rosie watched him go, smirking slightly.

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The walk stretched on endlessly and each step was more unpleasant than the one before. Many would have also called it in vain since, objectively, Alastor didn’t have a clear idea where Vox might be. The certain thing was that he survived despite the deep wound on his chest, since proof of his survival came a week after the terrible final fight, when he got kicked out of the V’s, it was everywhere on the news.

But still, nobody knew where he was hiding now.

Or well, nobody but Alastor. Even if he didn’t hold any actual proof, he had somewhat an idea. 

He’d been to Vox’s old apartment once or twice in the past, that warm and lit place down Sanguine Street, house number 26. Probably. It had been years since his last visit and time had blurred out most of the details. The only thing that lingered in his memory was the comforting lights that were weirdly warm, since they were put there by an ex-cult leader. Beyond that however, most of the house, the conversations and the movies he watched in there had faded.

He stood in front of the door.

Its wood looked rotten, it had become dark brown and Alastor could bet there was some mold too, adding sickness to the whole scene. Still a bit skeptical, he knocked.

No answer.

He had no time to waste playing Vox’s little games though. In the blink of an eye, his foot smashed against the door, pieces of wood fell down and Alastor’s eyes were met with something… quite different than he expected.

There were no comfy lights, no cosy atmosphere, no fluffy sheets on the couch like he remembered. It didn’t upset him, but it still left him slightly surprised. Alastor stepped in, and the air immediately felt so cold and biting, as if the room was already a presence. The only source of light came from the window, lighting up the mess in the kitchen. The counter was buried between empty instant noodles boxes and used glasses that smelled like whisky that were littered all over the surface, each one carrying a smell so strong that could be noted from meters away. And scattered on the counter, five bottles of pills. Just one of those was open.

He stepped further, closing the remains of the moldy door behind him. As he entered the bedroom, Alastor’s eyes posed on the only thing that didn’t change. The picture the two of them had taken years ago, hanging on the wall next to the right side of the bed, sat still in silence. His eyes didn’t lock on it, but they still acknowledged it. They immediately moved to the bedsheet which were sagged and swelled in places, giving the impression of someone crouched inside them.

“Vox?” He whispered, since the silence the house held was already breaking his eardrum.

Nobody answered, so he got closer and gently pulled the sheets off of- 

Pillows. There was nobody in the room.

Alastor frowned. This hard mission was slipping into near impossible in just the first step. With a sharp sigh, he set off down the hallway towards the door, his irritation rising up. His heels echoed in the seeming silence, producing a sound that underlined his anger.the floor.

Then, his soft ears flinched. He heard something, a whimper perhaps, from the bathroom. Which was the only room with a closed door, it made Alastor feel so stupid for not thinking of that earlier. He knocked.

His head popped out from the door frame, his eyes immediately found Vox’s, and he was met with a scream that sounded like a highschool girl.

Right, Vox didn’t know Alastor was in the house. 

But his fear didn’t matter too much to him at this moment, he had to get in to get the mission done.

Alastor opened the door and stepped in. In this way, he could take a better look at what seemed to be a silhouette in the corner of the bathroom, curled up in itself, breathing heavily and mumbling something.

Alastor, without saying a word, got closer.

The figure began to shake trembling in what seemed to be both confusion and fear, but at that point Alastor had drew so close that the distance between them was shrinking, and the muffled sounds finally sharpened into words. He could hear what Vox was whining about.

 
“One, two, three, five.. four. Four… C-Calm down, it's fine there’s nothing. There's nobody here Vox. It’s the meds, just the goddamn meds.” He muttered to himself.

Alastor put a hand on his shoulder.

“Greetings.”

Vox looked up quickly, slapping Alastor’s hand forcing him to take a step back. Then he went back to hold himself tightly like a child who had lost his parents at the park.

“What are YOU…” Vox’s voice cracked as his eyes looked around as if he was scanning first the place, then the demon in front of him. He wet his dry lips nervously, licking them once more, then again, forcing himself to finish the thought. “...what are you doing here? Wasn’t ruining my life enough?”

Alastor, not moved at all by the pitiful display, shrugged.

“Mhh… let me think about it… No! In fact, now I'll fix it too! Isn’t it marvelous? I am offering help.”

Vox’s face twisted in disgust, his jaw tightening as he drew in a long breath. Then, sharp as a blade, he spat:

“Leave.”

“Cmon old pal! I just know that nobody else is going to, so why not just accept that you’re reckless, now?” Alastor said, tilting his head slightly and looking down at the other, mocking him slightly.

“Al. I said leave.” Vox added, with a low and raspy tone. His shoulders dropped as he seemed to relax, but maybe he was just disappointed.

Alastor, pissed off, drew in a large breath and swallowed hard as he tried to keep his composure.

“Listen, we can do this one way or another. Just know I have to get you to the hotel as soon as possible and help you redeem also as soon as possible. So the faster we do this the bett-”

Vox’s eyes widened.

“WHAT?! You, want me, to get redeemed at that gooddamn hotel which just fucking ruined my life?!...”

Vox’s nails clawed in his own skin.

“...And why’s that, too? Do you think I can get to heaven? You believe I can pass through the pearly gates after I tried to do so by declaring a fucking war?”

“The princess says everyone can be redeemed, and who am I to-”

“So you came to me?” In that sentence there was a sudden switch, something unexpected sparkled inside Vox’s eyes, making him almost look amused. He lowered his gaze to the floor, weighing the irony of this, then slowly up at Alastor. A genuine smile began forming slowly across his face. Because, despite everything Al had come to him.

"...So you…somehow…” Vox stared. “... care?”

Alastor smiled.

Then laughed.

“Oh heavens, no! That’s disgusting Vincent! I was sent here because I’m the only one that knows you well enough to do this! Don’t put foolish feelings in th-”

But then his tone dropped. Because Vincent was crying, right in front of him, shameless red warm tears dropped down the screen and fell on the wooden floor, his lids swollen. Sobs were now filling the previous silence, his uneven gasps piercing through it.

His body curled inward. 

Okay, so Vox was hurting because of Alastor’s words. Nothing new. Yeah, nothing new.

“FortheloveofGodAlastorgetthe FUCK out.” He screamed bending together the words, making them just slightly understandable, while tears kept streaming down his screen.

Alastor, was taken back. Was he supposed to comfort him? Kindness is not very radio-demon like. But at the same time there was this big ache in his guts that felt like he had to do something. 

He turned away, leaving Vox in the bathroom. His hoovestep didn’t sound as loud with Vox’s sobs a few meters away, they hitched sometimes, becoming big breaths or whimpers whenever air had failed to come.

His hand tightened around the door handle, but a stone lodged itself in his chest, pressing down on his breath. Charlie’s voice rose in his mind, whispering accusations louder than the judgment of the walls themselves. But Alastor is a mean creature. Alastor didn’t want to help him. 

With a random and sharp turn, Alastor abandoned the door. He reached the counter, and now, without hesitation he reached out, claws curling around the pills’ bottle that sat waiting in what used to be a comfy light.

<Alprazolam>, Said the label.

At first Alastor was surprised they had medications for panic disorders in hell but alprazolam really could be classified as a drug, so it made more sense for it to be found down here.

He walked back to the bathroom, heavy air was still here, but now Vox was now in front of the mirror, his hands clenching on the sink. He sighed at the sight of the red demon.

“What isn’t clear enough about g-getting the fuck out?” Vox muttered trying to look angry, but he just looked helpless.

Alastor laid one of the pill bottles on the hard marble of the sink, his ego faltering. He despised acts of kindness, or being nice in general. Yet Vox didn’t even notice, or perhaps didn’t care, that this was so out of character.  it was nothing more than another motion in the room, so he quickly grabbed the bottle and gulped down one big pill.

“The big Vox suffering from a panic disorder and having to get meds for it, was not something I expected.” Alastor said, words sharp but tone soft. He even walked closer, seemingly somewhat reassuring.

Vox eyed him.

“What? Didn’t you pity me already? It’s not like anything changed at all, did it?” He mumbled through big breaths, it might be just a placebo effect- or Alastor’s softness, even if he won’t admit that- but Vox seemed to be better already.

Alastor didn’t answer, he just put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him through the mirror.

“You’re right. Nothing has changed.”

And with that, a vast black shadow appeared swallowing them and the whole room. In the span of a few seconds, both of them found themselves standing in another space. A simple lamp casted a small glow across the bed, and a massive tv screen in front of it. It looked so full of things and so empty of life. But maybe that was just Vox’s idea of the room.

With the two of them, five bottles of pills appeared on the bedside table.

Vox looked around.

“Am I…”

“Maybe.” Alastor smiled truly, his brows going up.

“I never actually had a possibility of not coming right?” Vox said, sitting down on the bed.

“Nope! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” 

He exclaimed, trying to fake excitement for this impossible mission. He didn’t feel so hopeless anymore at least, one of the big parts was done.

Vox looked around, then back at Alastor.

“You didn’t bring my meds.”

“Yes I did, they’re there idiot.” Alastor pointed his finger at the alprazolam.

“That’s for the anxiety dumbass. I need my antidepressants.” He answered, emotionlessly. Voice flat as if that was normal. And well, it is for a narcissist whose world had just collapsed; to feel so depressed. But Alastor can’t understand that, nor did he try.

“Mhh.. I believe Charlie will handle that, tomorrow. Have a good night!”

With that, Alastor left, hooves steps fading into the corridor. And the room got silent, broken only by Vox low words:

“Goodnight Al.”

He sighed and decided to actually sleep. Hopeless as he was, neither escaping or trying to resist was a good option: sinking in this felt much less draining.

Chapter Text

When Vox woke up, he was surrounded by darkness. The sheets clung to his damp skin as though they feared letting him go, holding him in the echo of whatever dream had shaken him awake. His eyes flew open, startled, and he sat up too quickly, the motion sharp against the stillness. A tremor lingered in his breath, uneven and fragile, as if the night had reached inside him and left its shadow behind. For a moment he stayed there, heart aching in his chest, caught between the silence of the room and the memory of something he could not name.

He had a bad dream, something he couldn’t remember though… thankfully. 

His claws clenched on the sheets, the realization that he was actually at the Hazbin hotel to get redeemed hit slowly, tickling a fear in his body and mind. And it was Alastor's fault.

That was the hardest part to wrap his head around, why would Al want to help him?The thought carried no comfort, just suspicion, kindness itself wasn’t known by the radio demon. Maybe someone had forced him, or maybe all of this was just to put Vox in hell again, since he knew how much he hated this place. The idea of genuine care made him feel like shit, so he clung to this harsh answer, even if it left him hollow.

Vox looked at the TV in front of him that had been left on since yesterday, a blue screen glowing in front of him signing at 6:56. If he managed to sleep this long, maybe the night wasn’t too shitty. He doesn’t remember waking up any other time than this, which looks like an improvement from the past constant nightmares.

He pulled his sheets over his head and let out a loud sigh.

There was something about being here that felt wrong, though the wrongness hardly mattered anymore. Vox had stopped caring about his own life; it was as if the thread that bound him to afterlife existence had already been broken beyond repair. The thought of taking one of Carmilla’s weapons and ending it right now, did not frighten him.

The image almost seemed merciful. What reason was there to keep moving forward when everything he had clung to had already slipped away? The emptiness pressed against him and being dragged here didn’t make it any better. It would’ve been easier, so much easier, to let go and surrender. He didn’t have anything anymore, why not just disappear?

Vox's expression twisted at those thoughts.

He needs his antidepressants as soon as possible.

Slowly, his feet touched the cold floor before being put in some fluffy slippers he found in the wardrobe. He didn’t bother to put on the whole suit, so he just added the red gilet on top of the blouse and was ready to leave the room.

He closed the door behind him and found himself and found himself in a long hallway. . The silence was thick, everyone must be sleeping.  Everyone must have been sleeping. His footsteps, though muffled by the carpet, seemed to echo back at him, creepy. He followed the corridor until it opened into what looked like a dining room, its shadows stretching wide across the floor.

Then came the sound. Dull, sudden, and out of place, like something shifting beneath the counter. Vox froze, his breath catching, the silence around him collapsing into that single noise. He moved closer, each step slower than the last. And then, a little girl jumped straight on his face.

“Who are you big boy?” She said, with an enthusiastic tone of voice. Her only big eye was widening on her face giving a hit of maniac to her look.

Vox held her up and moved her away from his screen, she just smiled and stayed still as his face twisted from fear to confusion.

“Do you… perhaps… know where Al is?” Vox asked.

“Oh! He is asleep! I can’t find his coffee cup though. I can’t make his coffee without his coffee cup!” She exclaimed, slipping away from his hands like butter and quickly going back to searching for, apparently, Alastor’s coffee cup.

“Listen, I really need to talk to him. I- I really fucking need to talk to him. I can’t function without him helping about th-” Vox desperately told the little girl, who was messing around with all the items in the kitchen meanwhile, but then another voice interrupted him.

“Nifty! Good Morning!" A radiophonic undistinguishable tone said from their backs. 

“Alastor!” Vox’s and Nifty’s voices echoed, as they turned around and ran towards him.

“What do I owe such a warm welcome for, exactly?” 

Both Nifty and Vox started mumbling stuff at the same time, their voices mixing with one another.The sounds tangled together, indistinguishable, like two broken radios playing on the same frequency. Alastor, however, seemed unfazed. His smile never faltered as he tilted his head, trying to listen with uncanny precision. 

Alastor, though, had somehow caught what Nifty was marbling about,  and with a strange gentleness he placed a hand on her shoulder, and pointed at the dishwasher. Then his gaze slid, and he turned an eyebrow up to Vox.

He drew in a long, uneven breath, which carried all the heavy words that just a month ago he would’ve never guessed to spit out.

“Al, I need my antidepressants. Like, right now. I had… thoughts, this morning. Also I’m tired, and I don’t think I can even fake redemption activities like this. So now you’re getting the fuck out of this hotel, and go grab my goddamn pills.” Vox said, gesturing a lot, indicating he was stressed. Alastor also noticed he had bit his lips, something Vox did when he was really nervous in general.

His first instinct was to say no. The words were already forming up in his throat, with a sharp indifference that would’ve cut deep. Why should he help? He didn’t care, mostly not about Vox and whatever mess he was in mentally. In fact, part of him thought that it might even be somehow amusing to watch Vox hide in sheets and sleep through the whole day, lifeless.

But then he scanned the man in front of him. He was a wreck. Still in his blouse, the fabric was clearly dirty and clung to his sweat-soaked skin. He smelled like shit too. Vox managed to have an exhausted look on his face despite his head being a screen. He drew in a long breath, as if air resisted his lungs. 

Because Alastor didn’t feel bad at all.

“Fine. I’ll get you the pills.”

Yeah, not even a single bit.

“Good... thank you.” Vox added, then walked over the counter to sit next to Nifty, which was finally preparing Al’s usual black coffee.

As he went, Alastor started walking towards Angel’s room, he had overheard once some interesting stuff, and was sure that if he could find something similar to antidepressants, that was the right place.

As he walked, he thought back about these conversations with Vox. He was different. He was so different from any Vincent he had ever seen since the first time they met- or, well, since the rejection. His eyes didn’t scream megalomania anymore, he almost didn’t care about himself. Fuck the almost, Vox did not give a shit about himself anymore.

Every step he took made him look reckless, every word he said made him look pitiful. He was a broken record. And that didn’t bother Alastor much, but it did feel slightly weird.

What did bother him was the weird indifference Vox has been showing to Alastor lately. Not a single insult or provocation since yesterday. And it can't really be called an “insult” if Alastor had been edging his panic attack unmercifully for almost half an hour. There was only one single conclusion: Vox didn’t hate him anymore. He didn’t hold any loath in front of him.

Alastor stepped into Angel’s room while keeping as quiet as possible, he knew what he was looking for, and he didn’t know how much the spider demon was going to be out. His eyes went straight to the pillows, a place where he hid the stuff nobody else apart from himself could see. 

Beneath the fabric lay exactly what he was looking for: psychotropics, random pills, bottles of what was probably drugs. Alastor’s fingers moved with ease, brushing through all the different labels, until one finally caught his attention. The word sertraline was looking at him, he slipped it into his pocket without hesitation. 

Alastor was about to leave when something stopped him. On the bed, lay a note. Its edges were a bit crumpled, but it was readable and clearly decorated with glitters. He took it in his hands, with a pink pen was written:

“Hey Huskie<3 I’m out with Charlie and Vags for a few days, love you xx”

That was both good, and bad news.

 It meant Alastor had time to take care of Vox and set him into the right mind before introducing him to the little Princess of Friendship without scaring the shit out of her, and he could also make up a better explanation of why was his worst enemy here on his own.

But at the same time it meant that he was alone with him for who knows how long. The realization was heavy and frustrating. It meant that there wasn’t much here to keep anyone entertained, no distractions, no escape, just him, Nifty and Husk. And… Vox, of course.

Vox had always been restless, incapable of sitting still and breathe. Always been a workaholic. If there was nothing else to do, then he had to make sure to fill the void itself. Vox would bother him, tease him rentlessly the whole time, because that was what he did best. Turning everything into noise.

The thought was exhausting before it even began. To be trapped in this place alone with him, knowing that every moment would be decorated by his voice, his habits and his refusals to let things rest. It was unbearable, but there was no choice. 

He closed Angel’s door and started walking towards the kitchen back again, his mind complaining about Vox’s future whinings, when he saw his old pal running out of the kitchen while Nifty was following him holding a pan in a pretty malicious way. 

“PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE!” 

Vox screamed, at which the little girl just laughed. Then Vox’s eye caught the red silhouette standing in the middle of the stairs and ran up to him, hiding behind Alastor’s small figure. Vox held his shoulders tight, his head slightly popping up to check if Nifty was still following him or if she had left.

“My dear, Nifty. What are you doing to my poor old friend?” Alastor chuckled, watching her catch her own breath while still holding that pan like a psychopath.

“He’s the one that you said to stab if seen! Big tv head! If Alastor says stab… I stab. I will rip his insides out and make him struggle to die as I torture him and tie him by the eyelids on the roof! Oh he has no escape.” She laughed. 

Alastor remembers telling her about Vox. It was right after he had told everyone about that time he said no to being part of his team, and he was really fucking pissed off. And Vox was pissed off at him too, and he liked that. It made him feel good to know that he could hate him so much, while he was hating him too. At the same time, Alastor knew he was so much more powerful than the TV-head. So, while being a little too enthusiastic about hating Vox, he told Nifty to stab him at sight and make him suffer if she ever found him in the streets or whatever. Alastor laughed at the memory of him and the little maniac talking about his enemy.

Without noticing though, his laugh had started to harmonise with Nifty’s, blending together and making it slightly uncanny. To anyone listening, it might have looked like now they were both conspiring, plotting to torture Vox to death. Alastor thought it was funny, and was going to keep laughing.

But Vox’s claws stopped touching his shoulders, and he heard blue heels take a step back, getting away from the red figure and breathing heavily. 

And suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Not by now, Nifty. He’s good now. He’s been a good boy, you don't have to stab him, or anything.” Alastor said, patting the little girl’s head gently and waving to her as she went away, and chuckling slightly as she ran to put the pan back.

Alastor turned around quickly to take a look at Vox, and he would’ve swore he saw some blush fading on his screen.
“...Thank you Al.” 

He didn’t answer, instead, handed him the meds with a slight rush. At the sight of those, Vox let out a brief sigh, relief filling him up. He lifted the cup of the bottle in one single motion. One pill slid into his palm, smaller than his usual pills, but the weight it carried was the same. His fingers curved hesitant, the thing still pressing down on his skin.  His eyes were steady on it, like they had to scan it before taking it.

“If you didn’t want it you could’ve told me. You would’ve saved me so much tim-”

Alastor stopped midway, because Vox had thrown the bottle, putting two more pills in his sweaty hand, and just then, without even taking a look at it he proceeded to swallow all three of them rapidly, as if it could save his afterlife forever. A satisfied look made its way to the screen, eyebrows relaxing and eyelids closing.

“Thank you, Al.” A few words left his mouth.

Alastor didn’t know many things about Vox anymore. He had only a few fragments, habits, his egocentric personality, and stuff that in general stuck with him, but not a full… anymore. Yet… this. Was he an addict? It sat uncomfortably. It fit, almost too neatly, along with all his other terrible habits, reckless choices and destructive patters that defined him and his megalomania.

Still, it didn’t feel right. There was no satisfaction in this discovery, no win in having found another new flaw. Instead, it felt sour. It didn’t feel like a bad habit, it felt like some fragility that was too easy to expose. It didn’t damage him subtly, it did it clearly. Vox was showing everyone how small he was. Or maybe he wasn’t an addict, and Alastor was just overreacting.

What was he thinking? The radio demon doesn’t care at all. Stupid stupid Alastor.

“I’m not doing this because I care.” Alastor suddenly slapped. The air felt thinner as he Vox’s attention slid from the pills to the radio demon.

“It has to be fucking clear that I don’t give a single shit about you. I don’t care, never will. Got it?” The staff in his hand rose with a shadow of violence, the microphone part pressing against Vox’s throat. 

He stepped back. 

Alastor’s nerves thrilled under the thought of fighting with Vox. He braced himself for the insult and the venom he was gonna get spat at, he was ready to lock in and strike back with a stronger voice. His grin got so much wider and his hands clenched on his staff ready to-

“I know. It’s fine.” Vox’s voice came low. No bite, just indifference. He shrugged, and turned away. His footsteps dragged up the stairs and then back to the corridor, probably back to his room. The staff, still raised, went back down. 

Alastor stayed there. Staring at the empty spot in front of him. His chest throbbing like someone had just shot him right in the heart. There was silence in the hall, an exhausting sound of nothing breaking into his head and smashing his confidence into pieces.

He never had a shotgun shot to the heart. Mostly not his own shotgun. And to his own heart.

Mh.

Well! Fuck that goddamn TV. Who cares if Vox didn’t hate him anymore? Alastor sure did hate him still and that was all he needed. So yeah, it was fine.

Perfectly fine.

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