Work Text:
He had failed; he had hinged his whole plan on Vox following his set plan, and it seemed like it had all been working just the way he wanted. He had gotten free of Rosie, but Vox hadn’t touched Charlie like he had been so sure he would. Vox was smarter than he had given him credit for, and now hell was smoldering.
Apparently, there were much stronger beings than Lucifer, and they had taken the second attack badly and unleashed their full power on them. They had killed over 200,000 sinners in minutes. The Vees tower had been half decimated; thankfully, he had been sitting in the half that hadn’t.
This is definitely not what he planned. He had such great plans. The smoke was rising; half the city was on fire. The Vee’s building was on fire, too, and he couldn’t leave. He was a prisoner. Was he doomed to burn to death? The smoke was acrid, but he took another drink. If he was going to burn to death, the least he could do was be drunk first. It was a cheap bottle of liquor he found stashed on a shelf.
The penthouse he was stuck in was hot, so hot, his skin was sweating, and his fur wished it could. It was going to burn down. He was going to be burned alive. The only good news is that he would probably lose consciousness first, and he wouldn’t stay dead. Unlike the other sinners who had been smitten, this was a very natural death. He should come back after a few weeks of intense pain as his body reassembled itself, not something he had to deal with before, but he heard it was a painful process.
Alastor winced at both the taste of the awful liquor and the intense heat growing. He never thought this would be his end, albeit his temporary end.
Footsteps, he heard footsteps in the hall.
Alastor rolled his eyes and turned as soon as Vox walked into the room. If he was going to die, he didn't really want his last moments to be thinking about Vincent. Still, Vox didn’t seem to realize he was there, and he had turned right to a mirror so he still could see him.
His big red heterochromatic eyes were full of something: shock? Disappointment? As he seemed to take in the state of his beloved penthouse room in his beloved tower. Alastor took another drink, wondering if Val and Velvette were more practical and had abandoned the tower rather than running along in the halls like Vox.
Vox didn’t free him; he didn’t expect him to. He would either die here or Vox would force him to come with him to whatever secondary location they had available. He wasn’t sure burning to death wasn’t the better option.
“Do you have something better than this?” He would really rather just about anything than this; that said, he would keep drinking so long as it got him drunker. Vox blinked and suddenly noticed he wasn’t alone. The look in his eyes vanished to a more carefully guarded expression. Alastor didn't really care, though, and he took another drink. There was nothing in their deal that said that he couldn't, and he had been able to use his tentacles to get to it, even if he was still strapped to the chair. Vox didn't immediately whisk the two of them away, so maybe he intended him, or even them, to die.
“Congratulations,” Al said, his words didn't slur, so he wasn't quite as drunk as he would like to be for burning to death. “You got exactly what you wanted.” His words sounded more petty than he wanted, but he didn't care that much if he was going to have to burn to death, even temporarily, he'd say what he wanted.
“I didn’t want this!” The TV head threw up his hands, looking at the smoke. He looked quite angry, as if he had never imagined this possibility. Vox was so smart, but his ego hadn't allowed him to think about how powerful heaven might be. Too stuck in the angels trying to establish peace to remember that they had teeth.
“What did you want then?” He wondered aloud, taking another gulp of the vile liquor. The smoke was getting heavier, and even though they were only about six feet away, there was a haze between the two of them. Vox stepped forward so that he could see him better. He had been the strongest sinner until heaven had retaliated against his attack, then his approval rating had tanked. Maybe he didn't even have the strength to teleport them out of there. He pointed towards the ceiling with a sort of wistfulness but also anger in his voice.
“I wanted to be up there. I wanted to be god.” Val had a very important question, one Vox never actually answered: how did Vox actually intend to get up there? But Vox's expression suddenly changed, and the anger was stronger, along with something else, like pain. Vincent had always been too open with his emotions. He had thought Vox was getting better at that, but maybe the destruction of his tower and power were getting to him.
“I wanted you to respect me, but that is never going to happen, is it?” He respected him; he respected that he was stronger and smarter than he had given him credit for, even if he had underestimated heaven's might. After all, if someone up there could restrict Lucifer’s power, that meant that they must have the power to do so. But still, even as it made him sour and pissed that he had been wrong, he still respected him.
Still, if they were going to burn to death, he wasn't going to tell him. But maybe if Vox wasn't set on dying, he could still use this situation to his advantage? He put down the bottle; maybe he should have drunk slightly less, then maybe he would have an easier time thinking and convincing.
“Do you intend for us to die?” He said, gesturing to the smoke that was getting heavier by the second. Vox blinked, seeming to notice the smoke again for the first time since entering the room. He was either blushing or the heat was affecting him; it could be either, he wasn't sure exactly how that function worked. “Because it looks like we're about to. A little murder-suicide?” Alastor raised an eyebrow, and his voice was more taunting than he meant it, but he didn't really care. It was getting hard to breathe, so they should skip right to the chase.
“You let me free, and I save your life,” he offered. His shadows could take the two of them safely away from here in just minutes. Fire wouldn't hurt them. Vox barked a harsh laugh, probably not eager to let his prized hostage go so easily.
“I'm not letting you go that easy!” Ah, just like he expected, murder-suicide. He had wondered sometimes if this was how they would end up. Sometimes it almost seemed inevitable. Vox's obsession with him had only grown over the years. If he had known it would end this way, would he still have chosen the same words in the bar that he had chosen? His smile grew wider. Yes.
He was free from Rosie. When they returned, he would find a way to get free from Vox. It just might take longer than he expected.
Still, if he intended for them to die, Alastor would take the opportunity to make it hurt Vox more than him out of spite, even if it made Vox more pissed off when they came back.
“You're broken from the start.” He brought up again, he coughed, and the smoke was getting thicker. “You were never enough. “ Cough, “Not then, not now.” Not the reason he had rejected him. No, he had rejected him because he had used that word, that thing he didn't do, that thing he could not be. Not to mention trying to use him like everyone else. But if the talking picture box was going to force them to die, he wanted to drive in the thumbscrews. “You will never be enough.” Despite the acrid smoke in the air, he smiled menacingly, though he could barely see Vox's pissed-off expression, he felt a little better about his impending death. He could hear Vox cough too, apparently he wasn't too machine to be unaffected, though he probably had a harder time with the heat. A thought just occurred to him as he coughed a few times.
“Where are your little friends?”His smile was so wide it nearly hurt. Val and Velvette's offices and living quarters were in the sections of the building that had been destroyed, and while he liked Velvette and Valentino more than Vox, he would taunt Vox with whatever he could get his hands on, especially since he probably didn't have enough power to electrocute him anymore.
Vox stepped forward so that he was right in front of him, and Alastor could see in his eyes that this was the real reason for the murder-suicide. Oh, he would miss them, but really, despite his brilliant strategy, his plan had been a little short-sighted. “It was my plan!” There was a black tear coming down from his left eye that he could only see due to his superior night vision. The tear was probably not just from the smoke.
Vox coughed and then sank to his knees. It was probably all the heat damaging his inorganic systems. Such fantasies Alastor had about tearing into it once freed, but he would get to that sooner or later.
“They weren't supposed to-” more coughing. Alastor too. He was starting to feel really tired, and his throat hurt; it felt like he had swallowed a pufferfish sinner, again. They were dying, and yet seeing Vox blubbering about his friends' deaths gave him at least some satisfaction; it would have to tide him over as he painfully regenerated.
This was one of the many reasons he didn't do friends, being so attached to someone that they destroyed all your good sense and made you determined to murder-suicide, or being so entrenched with someone you would follow them into this battle and end up getting killed, not worth the potential upsides.
He coughed several times, and he was fading fast, but he had to get one more thing out before they both died, and before Vox lost consciousness, since Vox had dropped to the floor and it would probably be soon.
“So that's,” cough, "what having a,” cough,” partnership with you,” cough,” means then?” With the barb firmly in place, he let himself fall asleep and readied himself for the pain of regeneration.