Chapter Text
"As long as I wipe that smile off Alastor's fucking face, I don't care what happens!" Vox exclaimed. And he meant it, he really did. He didn't care what happened, not to him, not to anyone, not anymore. Alastor had taken everything from him, his pride, his success, his heart. He couldn't continue like this, with Alastor taunting him with that smug grin, completely unbothered by all of Vox's pain. Why didn't Alastor care? Where had Vox gone wrong? He had thought for so long that they were friends, that Vox had been special to Alastor, and yet here they were, decades later, ruined by each other. At least, Vox felt ruined. And Alastor was somehow still smiling like it didn't matter, like it had never mattered. And maybe it didn't to him, but Vox couldn't live with that, and he couldn't let Alastor live with it either. He would matter, he would make himself matter, even if he could only matter as the reason for his love's demise.
When the final blast from the angelic canon sounded off, Vox could practically feel the force of it ripping his atoms apart. When you spend so long burning for your sins, heat stops feeling like such a problem, but the heat of the blast was the worst agony Vox had experienced, luckily his end came quickly, not leaving him enough time to truly realise the pain he was in. The only thought in his mind as he wiped out the pride ring was, "I wonder what Alastor is thinking right now."
~<>~
Vox didn't often have dreams, so it was no surprise to him when he was met with the same strange out of body feeling every night. It was nice, in a way, feeling detached from it all. Every morning when he woke up he would mourn that quiet, thoughtless place his mind would take him to in his rest. But this time was different, the void of his subconscious felt different, it felt warmer than usual in an odd sort of way, more welcoming, like it was happy to see him this time. He heard humming, a soft maternal voice that reminded him of his mother singing along to the radio in the kitchen as she sliced fruit under the light of the summer sun. It was so calming, he barely thought to question the change. "Vincent," The humming voice spoke. It startled him, not enough to wake him or bring about a rouse in his rest, but enough. "My child, you have been bestowed a second chance, you must make things right. Prove there is good within you, redeem yourself." The voice felt like it was thrumming through his very being, it didn't make any sense. His head hurt. What were they talking about? What did they mean? A second chance..? Where had he gone wrong the first time? Why couldn't he remember what had happened? His head hurt.
Vox stirred, flipping from side to side in his sleep. He could feel his legs getting tangled in his sheets, he hated when that happened. He kicked fruitlessly in an attempt to dislodge the blankets from around him. "Mmm." He hummed in annoyance, rolling over once more and burying his face into his pillows. He breathed in the scent that adorned the pillow under his head, he expected to smell Valentino's perfume, the scent was practically woven into the fibers of Vox's bed at this point, but instead he smelt something much different, something he hadn't smelled in a long time. It smelled like himself, like citrus and over priced cologne. It smelled like Vincent Whittman. "Wha the..?" Vox begrudgingly lifted himself from his place of rest, taking a fist to wipe away the exhaustion from his screen. Oddly, he wasn't met with the usual feeling of his flat screen, had he broken it in his sleep again? "Val?" He spoke in a yawn, trying to blink away his confusion.
When his vision finally cleared he found himself in an uncomfortably familiar location. His old bedroom. From when he was alive. Vox's heart started racing in his chest. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. His breathing picked up. He couldn't believe it, he refused to. He lifted a trembling hand to his face, feeling along each curve and groove, no longer flat, no longer buzzing with electricity. He threw himself out of bed, the blankets that were still clinging to his legs dragging him to the ground, but he recovered quickly, sprinting to the connected bathroom. He gripped the edges of the counter, shaking as he stared down his reflection in the mirror. No. No no no no no no no no no. This isn't real! It couldn't possibly be. It made no sense. How could he be human now? What had happened? This was impossible!
He tried to recall what had happened before he passed out, but everything was blurry, he remembered a voice, Alastor's smile, Valentino and Velvette calling out.. Heaven! He had been trying to conquer heaven, he had been trying to prove himself to Alastor. It all came back in a flurry, the party, the canon, Lucifer, Alastor's stupid shitty garbage loophole, the fight, his meltdown.. He had killed himself. He had fired that canon knowing what would happen. "Al.." Why couldn't he just admit that Vox was worth something?! Why must he always mock him, tear him down, reject him. This was all that stupid deer's fault! It wasn't fair! Vox had worked so hard. But.. Vox had.. was Alastor dead? Somehow Vox wasn't. At least he didn't think he was. Was this double hell?
First, Vox needed to figure out what was happening. Somehow he was human again, on earth presumably. It didn't make sense, but neither had waking up as a demon with a tv head. Vox took a closer look at himself in the mirror, he looked so young. This couldn't have been the version of his body he had died in, and this bedroom? No, it didn't add up. This was his home, before he became a star, before he ever started his career in tv, before..
Vox rushed out of the bathroom, storming down the hall, taking two steps at a time when he reached the stairs, the old floorboards of his family home creaking under his harsh foot work. He maneuvered the house like he had never forgotten it, every picture frame and ugly rug coming back to him as he made his way through his old home. He found what he was looking for in the kitchen, just as he knew he would. He froze in the doorway, apprehensively taking in the sight of something he had long forgotten during his time in hell. The sun came in through the large window above the sink, bathing the room in golden light, if he didn't know better he would have said it looked heavenly. A woman much shorter than him stood at one of the counters, stirring something he was sure would not turn out the way the woman wanted. Her brown hair threaded with greys, wrinkles adorning her face but taking nothing away from her youthful smile. Her apron was covered in whatever she was cooking, she looked so happy. "Mom?"
The woman turned, looking at him with a softness he was certain he no longer deserved. "Vincent, good morning." Her smile was infectious, Vox couldn't help smiling back. It had been almost a century since he had seen his mom. "I was going to wake you up earlier but you looked so peaceful."
He couldn't believe it. This was impossible. But.. he really wanted this to be real. "Mom, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, honey." Her voice was so sweet, so unburdened. He remembered how miserable she used to be, how it took so little to set her off. At least he knew whenever he was meant to be, it had to be after his father had.. passed.
"How old am I?" His body felt so foreign to him like this. Human, young, joints that didn't ache when he moved.
His mother laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners with the motions. "You're twenty two, honey." She approached him without caution, as if he wasn't a monster, a demon, an all powerful overlord who could extinguish her very soul. "Your birthday was only last week and you've already forgotten? And where are your glasses, did you forget those too?" His mom reached for his face, stretching her arm up to meet his cheek. When had he gotten so tall?
"Oh," Vox blinked a few times, suddenly recognising the reason everything was so disorienting to look at might not just be because he just woke up in a human body in a different time, but because he had failed to grab the glasses he kept on his nightstand. "Right, I wear glasses."
"Oh, Vinny, you would lose your head if it wasn't attached." His mother joked. Oh if only she knew, maybe then she wouldn't be cradling his face like he was still her innocent baby.
Vox pulled away, unable to tolerate the sickeningly sweet behavour of his mother. There was surely a reason he had never run into her in hell. He was born destined to become a demon, but his mom had never deserved such a fate. She deserved a better son. Even he could recognise that. "Mom, I'm," He could feel his words catch in his throat. He could feel his heart trying to beat its way through his chest. "I'm sorry I didn't do more." He should have been there. But he had been too busy with work at the studio, and he missed his chance to say goodbye.
His mother's smile took on a saddened edge. "Vinny," She sighed. Mrs. Whittman didn't like talking about her late husband, and her son knew that. She brushed away the itching feeling creeping in, plastering on a fresh smile. "Why don't you sit down? I found a new recipe I've been wanting to try out." She gestured to the table in the connected dining room, not waiting for her son to accept her suggestion before she returned to her bowl of clumpy batter.
Vox watched as his mother continued cooking as if nothing was wrong. He couldn't imagine anything in her world was, she didn't know what Vox was dealing with. He took a seat at the table, deciding it wasn't like he had anything better to do. He needed answers, he needed to know what was going on. Brief memories of a voice in his sleep mentioning something about a "second chance" were nagging at the back of his mind. Whatever this was, a dream, a second after life, a hell coma. He wasn't going to mess it up. It all felt too real. What if this really was a second chance? What if god had taken pity on him, and sent him back to earth for some divine trial? Whatever was going on, he vowed he wouldn't make the same mistakes as before. He'd show them, he'd show them all.
~<>~
By the time Vox had finished breakfast with his mother he had reached a decision. He had enough time during breakfast to really think things over. If he was here, on earth again, in the 1920s, then that meant Alastor might be here too. If Vox remembered correctly, and he always remembered everything about Alastor, than Alastor had died in the 1930s, meaning it wasn't too late. Vox could still find him. Vincent didn't have anything else he could think to do. He could try to continue the course of his life how it went the first time, but what would be the point? He had already done that, it would be boring to simply go through the motions again. No, he needed to do something different, he needed a reason to keep going. He had a plan to best Alastor in this life, Vox wouldn't let himself ruin another opportunity to best Alastor. He might finally get the deal he deserved, no shitty loopholes included. His mind was made, he would find Alastor and strike a deal.
After breakfast he immediately returned to his room, retrieving his glasses and beginning his packing. He would need to look beyond presentable, he needed to look striking and intimidating but also charming. As an entertainer, especially one who's whole career relied on a device referred to as a "Picture box" Vox had some understanding of how much weight was put on appearances, but he didn't used to fully grasp the importance until he met Velvette- Velvette.. Val.. would he ever see them again? Vox froze in his hasty attempt to fill a suitcase. Alastor was one thing, they lived in relatively near time periods, but Valentino and Velvette? He had died decades before either of their times. Even if he did live long enough in this life to see them one day, they wouldn't be the same. They would never be his vees...
He shook away the thoughts. He couldn't dwell on that right now. He had a plan. And he would find a way to get back to hell, to get his friends, his family, back. He filled his suitcase with plenty of clothing options, hoping at least some of them would live up to Velvette's standards. Next he grabbed his essentials, anything he thought would make reaching his goals easier. Without thinking he went into his father's office, he knew he would need to retrieve cash from the safe for his journey. He stared up at the family portrait hung above his father's desk. His father always looked so serious, so unforgiving. His mother looked barely aware, maybe she wasn't, maybe she still isn't. His own, even younger face, stared down at him, as if pleading to know if things ever change. They would. Vox would assure it. He gripped the thick, ugly frame of the portrait, ripping it from the wall and tossing it aside. He input the code and let the small door slide open. "Vinny?" Vox turned to see his mother standing nervously in the doorway. "Why are you in here?" Vox knew how much his mother hated this room, when he returned here after his mother's passing, he had found that she had even gone as far as boarding up the door, poorly so but the effort had been made.
Vincent's eyes softened as he took in his mother's apprehensive appearance. "I need to go out of town for a while." He answered simply. He grabbed a few stacks of cash, stuffing them into the smaller duffle bag he planned to bring. He grabbed one more stack of bills before closing the safe. He hefted the duffle bag with his essentials onto his shoulder as he left the room, closing the door of his father's office and silently hoping he would never have to return to it. He lifted his mother's hand and placed the cash in her palm. "I need you to take care of yourself for a while, okay?"
His mother looked up at him with glossy eyes, trepidation blazing through her gaze. "But why? Where are you going?" Her voice wavered with nerves.
"I need to find someone," He couldn't exactly explain to his mother that he was searching for a man he had met in hell and now may or may not be on the same plane of existence as him. "They're-" Important? Everything? Insufferable? all of the above? Damn it, Vox, get it together. "I just need to find them." He settled. Alastor was always one step ahead, as much as he loathed to admit it. If anyone had an idea of what was going on, it was probably him. He wondered If this world's version of Alastor had also retained memories of their time in hell. Once he found Alastor, everything would make sense, one way or another.