Chapter Text
Eight months after the incident.
He didn’t want to think about how far he had fallen. Once he started, it never stopped. Once he started pulling on that cable, everything unraveled all at once.
His thoughts spiraled back to the words that the King of Hell had so eloquently bestowed on him the last time they had met face to face–-a scene he had rewound endlessly since it happened. You’re a failure in life, and you’re a failure now.
And he acknowledged--it was true. There would be no more lying to himself, no way to dress up the story, no way to seize back the narrative. He was garbage, just a busted-up old television that had been thrown out with the trash, only capable of coughing up static every now and then. The signal was dead. The audience was gone. Yesterday’s news, forgotten and discarded.
The edges of his vision blurred as he dragged himself forwards, feet scraping along the pavement. His reasons for coming here were foggy now, lost in the haze of pain that was dulled by painkillers and alcohol. But as he continued up the hill, the towering figure of the Hazbin Hotel came into view, beautiful and grand and frustratingly alive. So many people had flocked to the hotel after that episode–the one where he had tried to, well, kill everyone. When a foolish snake had proven to the citizens of Hell that redemption was indeed possible.
Fuck this place. His feet were heavy, body aching with an unknown, debilitating illness, he told himself the same thing over and over: At least this can’t get any worse.
He was almost at the door when a sudden crack of electricity flared between his antennae, driving a dull bolt of pain into his head.
“Fuck!” he screamed as he continued to stumble forwards, finally making it onto the threshold of the hotel. “What the fuck have you done to me?” he murmured.
His visual receptors were faltering now. The shapes around him–the stairs, the door, his own shaking hands–were a mass of color and shapeless form, as if he was being spun too fast on a carnival ride that he could not get out of.
It wasn’t enough that he ruined me.
He pushed open the double doors to the hotel, stumbling inside, swallowing a scream as the light from inside engulfed him.
“Welc–” Charlie stopped mid-word as she recognized the familiar figure stumbling into the hotel. Her smile, normally so welcoming and forgiving, instinctively twisted into visceral disgust. “Vox?”
Vox, simply put, looked like a wreck. Instead of the immaculately tailored blue suit he was so fond of, he was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers. None of which looked like they had been washed in months. His facial screen was smudged and dirty, his normally immaculate claws cracked. He stumbled into the hotel, eyes wild, mouth askew; it was hard to believe that this was the same overlord who had once filled up every screen in Hell with his presence, who had built a media empire from nothing, who had the power to cancel anyone or anything that stood in his way.
Charlie might as well have been a worm as far as Vox was concerned. “I’m not here for you,” he growled. “It’s Alastor. I need to see Alastor.” Not this girl again, he thought angrily. Vox had not really rehearsed this part of the confrontation. He only knew that she would be here–Charlie was always here, clinging to this crappy hotel like it was her lifeline.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…what the fuck?” Charlie’s angel girlfriend had appeared next to her, angelic spear already brandished. “Charlie, get back,” she yelled, putting herself between Charlie and Vox, throwing her arm out to stop Charlie from going any further.
“What do you want with Alastor?” Charlie demanded, voice incensed.
“None of your business, bitch.” The pain radiating outwards from his abdomen was beginning to creep up his spine, down his legs, up through his chest. It caused his speech to come out disjointed, confused. “This beef isn’t with…any of you cocksuckers!”
“You think you can just stroll in here and demand that Alastor come down to have a little chat?” Vaggi asked. “You should be dead. In fact,” she said, advancing towards him, “that would probably be an upgrade.”
“Okay, no death right now,” Charlie hushed, pushing Vaggi’s spear down. “Vox,” she said, turning towards the disheveled TV demon. “I’m going to be clear–-you’re not welcome here. I’m going to give you a chance to leave right now.”
“And save yourself the embarrassment of getting your ass whooped,” Vaggi added. Her head whipped around, scanning the lobby for any guests who might need to be evacuated. It was late at night, so thankfully most of the residents were in their rooms. Niffty remained in the lobby now occupied with her latest project: polishing all the vases in the hotel. The last guest in the lobby had been Rooster, and he had already fled upstairs to escape the inevitable drama.
Vox completely ignored everything–-the threats, the spear, the warning. “I’m not leaving until I talk to him. Where is he?” Vox repeated, as Vaggi continued to level her spear at him. “Where…is….he….”
“I’m right here.” A mass of shadows spread down the grand staircase, dancing and flickering until they came together to materialize into the Radio Demon himself. “I heard you from all the way up in my tower. Causing a ruckus so late at night?” He does have a lot of nerve, doesn't he?
“You…” Vox could feel flickers of both fury and relief pulse through him as he pointed an accusatory finger towards Alastor. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kill him. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed above that ever-present smile. “Now are we talking eight months ago, or more recently?”
“Right now, you dipshit!” Vox screamed. “What kind of curse did you put on me?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re going on about,” Alastor replied. So this is what you’ve come to, he thought. He does look awful. Drunk, confused, wearing dirty, stained clothes. If Alastor passed him on the street, he would not recognize him at all. Everything that had once drawn attention and admiration towards the TV demon–-the confident posture, the charismatic voice–-were gone. “If you want to find the one person responsible for your sorry state, all you need to do is look into the mirror.”
Alastor had not laid eyes on Vox since the day of the rally against Heaven nearly eight months ago, and as far as he knew, no one else had. But rumors and gossip traveled fast amongst the overlords and their circles. There had been whispers of what happened to him–-how Valentino and Velvette had shut him out of V Tower, stashed him away in a dirty little apartment in the slums, given him a meager stipend to live on. Alastor had not cared enough to find out if any of these rumors were true.
“Pay him no mind, Charlie,” he said, his smile growing wider. “I’m sure he’s in need of some type of rehabilitation, but it’s a far cry from the kind that we offer here.”
“You…you…” Vox was unable to finish his sentence as he crumpled down to the floor with a loud thud. He was unable to get any more words out as the cramping pain tore through him like an electric current, coursing through his steel-enforced spine, radiating outwards from his abdomen. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep breathing.
“Okay, like seriously…what is he doing here?” Charlie asked, looking up to Alastor. Having Vox hyperventilating on the floor at the entrance to the hotel was not how she had planned to spend her night. “Did you guys have some kind of…?”
“I have not spoken to this narcissist since the last time you did,” Alastor commented dryly. “Here’s just here to spin his wheels.” He came over to where Vox lay on the ground and crouched down. “I must say, old pal, these theatrics are no longer amusing or funny. Not that they ever were.”
“Let’s just kick him out before he starts waking up the other guests,” Vaggi suggested. “Alastor, are you sure there’s nothing you did that caused him to seek you out?”
“Absolutely nothing, my dear,” Alastor replied smoothly. “In fact, I’ve not even thought of him since that whole episode with the Might of Lilith. His fall from grace seems to have scrambled his mind.”
Charlie knelt down next to him, conflicted. She wanted nothing more than to kick him out, to treat him just as he had treated her and her beloved friends. But it really did look like something was wrong. He was sweating, shaking, clutching his stomach as if it was the source of the discomfort. And although Charlie admitted that she was sometimes a poor judge of character, she felt like he wasn’t faking it. “I think something must be really wrong with him. He looks awful.”
Although his vision was beginning to fade, Vox could see Charlie’s figure towering over him as he continued to shake and tremble, humiliated, on the floor. So much for muscling into the hotel and demanding a rematch with Alastor–-or at least an explanation for the mysterious illness that had been plaguing him for months now. An illness that had made him slow and fatigued, unable to keep down food, forgetful and listless.
“Charlie, he’s fine,” Vaggi said sharply. “He’s just drunk. And smelly.” She gently poked Vox’s limp body with the dull end of the spear. “Come on, let’s throw him outside before he starts throwing up.”
Alastor crossed his arms, watching as Vaggi struggled to heft Vox’s deadweight up. “Little help here?” she asked.
“Not touching that,” he said swiftly. Dragging the body of a man who had essentially stalked him for seventy years was not something he was going to subject himself to.
Niffty had quietly put down her polishing cloth, and was now peering out from behind Alastor’s legs. In the next instant she dashed out to Vox’s prone body. She grabbed one of his hands, held it for half a second, then squeaked and dropped it immediately. “Hmmm,” she whispered. She looked from Vox back to Alastor, and then to Vox again.
“Everything okay, Niffty?” Charlie asked mildly.
“No,” Niffty said, her tone serious. “You’re in trouble, sir,” she said as she looked up to Alastor. “But not you. It’s the little piece of you that’s inside the big TV guy over there.”
Oh, this is interesting. “I beg your pardon?” Alastor asked.
“The baby,” Niffty said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “The one inside him.”
Alastor’s eyes opened wider, even though his trademark smile did not waver. “Oh, what a silly thought,” he said, leaning down to pat Niffty on the head. “You know it’s impossible for Sinners to be pregnant, dear.”
“Well, why did he?” Niffty continued, crossing her arms over her chest. “And why is it with a piece of you?”
Vaggi was completely ignoring the bizarre conversation between Alastor and Niffty, but Charlie had been listening. Looking down at Vox, she realized that she could now see a defined shape moving underneath his hoodie, near his stomach. Without thinking, she reached out and put a hand against him. The swell surged into her hand briefly before shrinking away.
Startled, she scooted back as if it had been electrified. “Holy shit!” she whispered. “There’s something moving in there. Like something is swimming around.”
Vox had regained his senses just long enough to register Charlie’s hand on his stomach. “Get your hands off me, perv!” he whispered weakly. “There’s nothin’ in there…that’s not what’s wrong…”
Alastor had to admit–-he was now intrigued. Vox could have been ill with any number of things, but this was something altogether unexpected.
Vaggi came close enough to see the swelling that was moving the folds of Vox’s hoodie around. “Okay, this is getting fucking weird. Charlie, whatever is wrong with him, it’s not our concern, okay? He can deal with his own fuck-ups.”
Undaunted, Charlie knelt down in front of Vox. “Hey, I’m going to ask you something," she began. "And I know this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to be honest. Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
“Are you an idiot, Princess?!” Vox yelled back. “How the fuck would I be able to–-”
In the next instant, his body suddenly wrenched itself apart. He felt a tear rip through his lower body with so much violence that he was sure the wires inside were uncoiling, the circuit boards overheating. His eyes widened in pain as he doubled over. “Oh fuck…fuck…” he could only whisper.
What a drama queen, Alastor thought. “Not exactly an Oscar-worthy performance, old sport.”
“FUCK YOU!” Vox shouted. “I…something is…” He was unable to complete, falling backwards in a full faint as consciousness left him entirely.
“Alright, he’s finally going to be quiet for a bit,” Vaggi said. “Now can we throw him out, please?”
Charlie took a deep breath. “You know what, I’m probably going to regret this,” she whispered to herself. “Alastor, please help us get Vox upstairs to an empty room.”
“Charlie, you can’t be serious about believing he’s pregnant, of all things?” Vaggi asked, her face growing angry.
“But he is!” Niffty squeaked, jumping up and down. She looked up to appeal to Alastor once again. “And the baby is in trouble!”
But the Radio Demon had had enough of Vox’s antics for an entire lifetime. “You know, ladies…I’ve had a lot of fun tonight. But it really is time for me to start preparing for my late night broadcast.” Alastor tilted his head and flashed an amused smile. “You kids run along and enjoy yourselves! ” In a few seconds he had dissipated back into the shadows, running up the stairs and vanishing from sight.
“Okay…now what?” Vaggi asked after a beat.
“Do we have a wheelchair? Or a stretcher? Something that can carry him?” Charlie asked, looking around the room. Quietly, she was seething. Vox had come here because of Alastor; the least he could have done was help them get him out of the lobby.
“So he’s staying?” Vaggi asked, in exasperation.
“Just until we figure out what’s wrong with him,” Charlie assured her. “Niffty seems to think there’s something in there…and it did feel like there was.”
“I know the best place to take him,” Niffty whispered secretively, a huge smile on her face. “My room!”
“I mean…it is right over there,” Vaggi said, eyeing one of the red curtains behind the front desk. “This way we can lock him in once he pukes out whatever is wrong with him.” And we won’t be putting him in an actual hotel room, she thought.
“Okay,” Charlie said determinedly. “Let’s get him in there.”
The broom closet was, well, the broom closet–and also Niffty’s room. Specifically, the one where she kept all of her supplies. Brooms, mops, buckets, feather dusters, cleaning solutions–all stacked neatly in the dingy, narrow room. Both Charlie and Vaggi avoided looking at Niffty’s formidable taxidermied roach collection, displayed proudly along every open space on the wall inside the narrow room. She usually slept in a small cot in the corner. For now, it would have to function as a place to keep Vox until they figured out what (if?) anything was wrong with him.
For the most part, Vox was no longer aware of what was happening. He only knew that he was torn, somehow, that his body had split in half somewhere. “Ugh…fuck…” he moaned as his head hit the pillow with a loud thud.
“Okay!” Charlie said triumphantly. “He’s, um…not in the lobby anymore, at least.”
“Well, now what?” Vaggi asked skeptically. “You think some aspirin will do the trick?”
Niffty put her hands on her hips and jumped up to the cot, looking Vox with all the scrutiny of an owl rushing in for its favorite mouse-flavored snack. “First…shoes!” she said, quickly unlacing the sneakers he was wearing.
Vaggi stole a look at Charlie with a You’ve officially lost your mind look as Niffty tossed the shoes to the side.
“Okay, bad boy!” Niffty continued cheerfully. “Time to strip!”
“Uh…wait a second,” Charlie began, “I don’t think we need to do that…”
“This is an emergency!” Niffty had already yanked down the loose sweatpants and was now peeling them off Vox’s bare feet.
“Wow, uh…” Charlie murmured. “This escalated quickly.”
Vaggi glanced around, grabbed one of the cleaning rags off the wall and laid it over Vox’s mid-section as if he was a patient they were about to operate on. “Niffty, you can’t just tear people’s pants off!”
“But!” Niffty ran to the foot of the cot, folding the rag up to Vox’s thighs. “How else are we going to get the baby? Look!” she said, pointing towards him.
Charlie and Vaggi gave each other a look. “I really do not want to see this, but…” Charlie said as she and Vaggi edged closer to Niffty to gaze down at whatever was going on between Vox’s thighs.
They fell silent for a few seconds. “Is it…supposed to be that wide?” Vaggi ventured.
“Um, I don’t know,” Charlie whispered. “It does kind of look like…something is coming out of there, though…” She was beginning to feel a full-on panic attack start to set in. “So, just in case this is a baby…or something kind of like a baby… do you know anything about delivering babies, Vaggi?”
Vaggi shook her head helplessly. “There was no birth in Heaven–-everyone was dead or an angel. What about you?”
“Babies aren’t really a hell thing either,” Charlie said, scratching her head. Besides the occasional birth amongst noble families like the Ars Goetia, the only Hellborn babies she knew of were born to Imps and Hellhounds–not exactly the kind of company she had been allowed to keep growing up.
“Amateurs!” Niffty cried. “Leave it to me.” She scrambled over to her pile of cleaning supplies and started scrounging around.
“Have you ever done this before, Niffty?” Vaggi asked.
“No, but I’ve watched plenty of videos on Yowltube!” Niffty said cheerfully.
“Maybe we can pull one up,” Charlie whispered, pulling her phone out. She clicked on the Yowltube app and started typing in the search bar: how to deliver a baby in hell.
“Hnnngh.” Vox woke up briefly, his screen flickering in and out. “Could someone please…adjust my settings…?”
“Teehee.” Niffty cackled as she snapped on a pair of thick latex gloves. “Oh, this is going to be so messy! I can’t wait!”