Chapter Text
Every time Vox had considered killing himself it was because of Alastor, and it all started when he said no to being partners. Now, Vox was not upset at Alastor just because he rejected his partnership offer. In fact, it was something he made up on the spot that he himself hadn’t been very interested in, as he had decided literally last-second to chicken out of confessing his feelings to him. He’s very glad he did, as he probably would’ve been upset tenfold if it was his feelings Alastor had laughed at instead of a business proposal.
As he said, the rejection itself didn’t upset him at all, he was a far better man than one who would hold a grudge over a simple refutation. What he was upset about was how Alastor continued to mock, belittle, harass, treat him like shit for years after. He had understood at the very beginning of Alastor’s degrading rejection that he did not see their relationship as anything important, they weren’t friends, whatever, but he hadn’t expected him to throw everything they’ve done away and treat him as an arch-nemesis afterwards. Every time he walked past him, they ended up in a bloody fight to the death. Every time Vox did anything publicly, Alastor made cruel comments about it on his stupid radio show. He’d eventually learnt to ignore it, but in the beginning it caused a lot of pain to him.
So he was beyond relieved when he heard that the man had disappeared, and the next seven years were the best of his life. He could finally just exist without feeling constant dread of whatever Alastor would do in an attempt to hurt him next. He became a much better person, both in how he treated others and eventually how he genuinely thought and felt. He was no longer the violent, selfish overlord that Alastor made him think he had to be, no, he was a empathetic businessman who was more successful than ever due to it. Newly fallen sinners practically begged him to take their souls, hearing of no cruelty to come from him compared to other overlords.
Given all of this, you can probably understand the absolute flood of negative emotions he experienced when Valentino told him that Alastor had returned. It wasn’t at the same intensity as the emotions that Alastor made him feel whenever he mocked him, but it was still the most horrible thing he’d felt in the past seven years. And so, Vox fucked up. He fucked up bad and he looked like a fool and surely everyone would hate him, he looked like a fool to all of Hell. Val kept telling him they were easily manipulated and would forget about it in a day if he just came back to work but he didn’t believe him, he already knew he was a disappointment, and now everyone in Hell knew as well so there was nothing he could do to gain their respect again.
He refused to go to any meeting or film any show since the incident, so they had to settle for re-runs and their interns trying desperately to communicate with some of the strongest sinners, because Vox couldn’t find it in him to do anything except sulk in bed. He only got up to go to the bathroom, and even that he procrastinated until the last minute because he didn’t want to do anything except hurt himself until he rotted away. His arms and legs were covered in cuts that had stained everything on his bed (except his stuffed animals; he’d moved them on to shelves, they didn’t deserve to be miserable just because he was), Valentino had brought him new sheets twice but the same thing happened again. They took away every sharp object in the room but they couldn’t exactly take away his clawed hands, so it didn’t matter. Well, it did matter a little bit, as he couldn’t cut beyond the fat with just his claws, but that didn’t stop him from cutting.
Valentino and Velvette tried so hard to comfort him. They brought him his favorite food and drinks and sat on the edge of his bed while telling him funny stories and saying that everyone missed him but he knew it was all bullshit, he was a useless piece of shit and no one would care if he just died right fucking now. He could slit his throat with an angelic blade in front of everyone in Hell and they’d all point and laugh at him like the fucking loser he was. Nobody would care. Other people could take care of the company, the other Vees would have one less problem (because that’s all he ever was, no matter how much they insist they love taking care of him), the city would find a new celebrity to treat like a god, and Alastor would finally win their battle, or whatever they had going on. Vox didn’t care to label it at this point.
His only comfort was that he mattered to so many people, too bad he was also a emotional, selfish, worthless child who was so desperate for validation that one petty insult caused him to decide to end the life that he was so lucky to have. It’d be better if someone else had his life. Someone that could handle it, someone less emotional, someone that wasn’t at all like him. He was repulsive, incapable of even the simplest tasks, always bothering everyone else with his endless list of needs, a pathetic failure.
He almost thought he’d lost the ability to cry because it had been so long since he last did, but he now had proof he hadn’t. Tears were streaming down his flat face and the negative thoughts just kept coming, piling up, more and more, his spiraling was getting worse, he needed to end this, end everything. Fuck having a plan, fuck telling anyone, he needed to die. He ran up to the nearest window and attempted to break right through it. But of course his body was too weak to break multi-layered windows after days of nothing but rotting in bed, but he did break a small part of one of the layers, and it caused glass shards to embed themselves deep in his left elbow. It hurt, but it made him feel like he was alive, he almost felt like he’d get back into his high until he looked at the red sky outside and was reminded of Alastor as the urge to kill himself overwhelmed any rational thought.
And then, he remembered. He’d bought an angelic bullet for one of Valentino’s guns, it was going to be a birthday gift for him, too bad he was a selfish piece of shit. He grabbed the gun from where he’d hidden it, and held it as he stared at himself in the mirror with nothing but disdain. Before he knew it, he began to involuntarily break out into song as he reminisced upon his afterlife.
☆
He thinks back to his early relationship with Alastor, how he was so convinced the man thought positively of him. He had just been defeated in a fight and was hiding inside a broken wall as he heard Alastor’s voice call for him to come out. He, very hesitantly, did. As the man saw him, he extended a hand and led him to his home, feeding him, letting him take a bath, and patching up his wounds. From that day onward, they had a close friendship, or at least he thought so.
Spring bloomed in the kitchen again
So I crawled out on the wall and, squinting,
Saw hope on the stove top
Just like I'd always imagined it.
More than I could eat,
My dreams were finally reality,
My struggles had a happy ending,
They must want to be friends!
He thinks back to that night at the bar. How he was so excited to confess his feelings but just knew that he shouldn’t and so made up a dumb business idea. How his ‘friend’ laughed in his face while telling him he never cared for him.
My stomach starts to turn
With thirst, why does it hurt?
My just dessert is served, dig in
He thinks about Velvette and Valentino. How much they’ve done for him, how kind they’ve been, but he knows it’s all an act, just like with Alastor. They’ll leave him the second he isn’t useful and he won’t let that happen. Killing himself is the best solution to all of his problems. He’s locked the door and placed some heavy furniture in front of it, so even if they broke in after hearing the gunshot, he’d be long gone. Tears threaten to spill as he remembers that he told them he was going to bed early because of a headache, and they told him they loved him and hoped he’d feel better tomorrow. It’s all an act, he has to remind himself, they don’t truly care. They couldn’t possibly.
So I stumble back to bed,
Something's not quite right,
Guess I'll just go rest my head.
Now, as I lay me down to sleep,
I expect no dreams,
And no sweet goodbye to me!
He thinks about how much he’s done. How hard he’s fought to get here. Since he died, there hasn’t been a second of his time that wasn’t spent making sure his life as a demon would be perfect, and now he’s throwing it all away.
Flat-line in the morning light.
I held on so tight
For so long, it's just not right!
Let a sigh out as I close my eyes.
He stares at himself in the mirror once again, seeing the pathetic creature he’s become through his self-loathing. How could they still love him despite seeing him like this so many times? Why have they comforted him, reassured him, tried to help him? Is it truly all an act? It feels like they’re going a little too far with it, but… Surely it is? There are no friends in Hell, right?
Was that all there was to this?
What's for the best?
He lets out a sob, interrupting his labored singing, and he immediately feels disgust with himself. God, he truly loves his friends. There’s no way they’d ever feel like this for him, he knows it, but he adores them. They mean everything to him and the only thing that truly upsets him about his incoming death is that he’ll never see them again.
What's the moon made of?
Meet me there after I'm gone.
His mind unfortunately drifts back to Alastor. This whole breakdown wouldn’t have happened if the man had just kept to himself and let Vox have his manic hate breakdown. He’d probably have stopped shortly after the insults he was throwing while he was interrupted, if only he had not been.
Mind me not, and I’ll mind my own, and my mind
Held the same light as the one in your eyes.
He forces his eyes away from the mirror, and slams open his balcony door as he steps out, determined to continue his musical farewell in a dramatic way instead of a pathetic way. This isn’t befitting to who he is, or at least not to the reputation he’s built up.
Do I belong in right and wrong?
One dies alone, and why? Don't know.
Goodbye, so long.
He presses the trigger, and the last sound he hears is the sound of the gun shooting his screen before everything goes black, and he is immediately filled with relief.
☆
Relieved. Calm. Relaxed. Comforted. Refreshed. At ease. All those words very accurately describe how Vox felt after he commit suicide. Well, for about thirty seconds, before he opened his eyes and was flashed by a bright blue sky. He rubs the part of his screen where his eyes are meant to be as he stands up, noticing the ground feels impossibly soft. Looking down, he sees he’s standing on a cloud, and his shoes and pants were now a mix of white and a calming yet slightly-dark blue, and that his shoes more likened heels while his pants were now awfully tight, though they somehow didn’t feel uncomfortable.
He spent a few minutes getting used to the light before turning around to make sure he wasn’t just on a stray cloud, and behind him he saw a pair of light-blue glass stairs leading up to somewhere he couldn’t quite see- No fucking way. This is a dream. There is absolutely no way he is not dreaming right now. But it feels so real…
Seeing no other choice, he begins walking. He usually dislikes stairs and feels tired after walking them but now he feels more and more relaxed with each step. The light feels less annoying and more comforting as well, as he slowly ascends upwards, his heels clicking against the glass to create a pleasant form of white noise. He remembers Velvette complaining about how hard it is to walk in heels, but this is extremely easy. Then again, Velvette complains about everything.
He realizes he’s reached the top as he’s faced with a skinny blonde man standing at a golden podium next to a pair of golden gates, with a light-colored city behind them. There’s absolutely no way, could he really be in-
“Oh, hello ma’am!” He hears the blonde man say as he turns his head towards him. Ma’am? What? The man seems to understand his confusion as he continues, “My name is Saint Peter. What’s yours?” Isn’t that some religious guy? He’d never been christian, so he doesn’t really know. Still, does this mean… Could he really be-
“Welcome to Heaven!”
But he was supposed to permanently die! He was supposed to be free from everything, he was supposed to… He was supposed to put the bullet in the gun before he killed himself. But he’d been so frantic he hadn’t remembered that he stored them separately.
Fuck.