Work Text:
Electronics buzzed and whirred as Vox paced around his office, muttering to himself as he looked through emails and texts and other work related nonsense.
It had been several months, coming up to a year since he tried to, well, nuke Pentagram City, along with his forced demotion as a result of it. Despite Valentino being the new face of Voxtek, Vox still had to do a lot of the work behind the scenes since he was the only one smart enough to do it.
He hoped that this workload would bring him a sense of normalcy, that maybe he could pretend that the whole Might of Lilith fiasco never happened, but of course, the internet forgets nothing.
It was utterly mortifying to see those videos of him spread around online. The thought of Hell seeing him so vulnerable, so emotional, it was awful.
Ego death was real, and nobody knew that better than Vox. If someone out there decided to put ego death in the dictionary, all they would have to do for the definition is slap on a picture of Vox and it would explain everything.
He felt like a completely different person. He felt… Smaller. Insignificant. But also calmer, and more relaxed. In a way, his worldwide mental breakdown live on TV was almost… Cathartic. It felt like he was finally taking off the mask, showing his true colors. And now that everyone knew, he didn't have to perform anymore. He could just be without worrying about his image or sales or advertisements.
Not that he really knew what being was. He's been straight business his whole life and afterlife. He didn't know who he was without his company, without his technological empire.
Well. Maybe he did know. But he wasn't sure if he was ready to go down that rabbit hole yet.
Vox sent off an email, then waved the holographic screen away. He sighed heavily as he finally ceased his pacing, plopping down in his chair, looking around at the dozens of monitors before him, showing footage of random sinners around the Entertainment District. He stared for a while, borderline spacing out as he watched these nobodies live their everyday lives.
He leaned back with a groan, the back of his head leaning against the headrest of his chair as he looked away from the monitors to the desk in front of them.
It was a mess currently, covered in trash and stray wires. He made a mental note to clean soon, his eyes scanning over the mess, before a singular slip of paper caught his eye, sticking out like a sore thumb among the rest of the trash.
Vox froze as he stared at the paper. It was just a ripped corner of a piece of paper, folded in half with a note scrawled on the inside in red ink. He had received it at the last Overlord meeting around three weeks ago, something he didn't even want to attend, yet his presence was requested. Vox had been M.I.A since the incident, and even with his rare public appearances, he was quiet, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
At the meeting, Vox merely stood outside of the meeting room, not ready to face a certain someone that was guaranteed to be inside. Not yet, not after everything.
Yet, once the meeting ended and Vox was leaving with the other Vees, he felt something slip into his hand, leaving an item in his palm before pulling away. He only caught a glimpse of a shadow sneaking away, with the note being the only evidence anything had been there at all.
When he arrived back at the V Tower, he almost threw away the note. He wanted to, he really fucking wanted to, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He paced around his office for hours, he hadn't even read the note yet, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to. After everything, everything, this could be his chance to move on. To finally get over this, over him, and focus on himself for a change.
Vox had thought back on everything he ever did and why he did it. Horrifyingly enough, his reasoning for doing pretty much anything always led back to him.
The need to be better, stronger, respected. Vox craved his respect more than anything. But did he still?
Vox paced for another fifteen minutes.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting. He wasn't even sure what he wanted. Perhaps this was just a final goodbye. Perhaps it was just a mockery. Perhaps it was…
He finally stopped, looking at the note in his hands, slightly crumpled from his harsh grip. He looked around, as if making sure no one was watching, then unfolded the paper like a madman, looking at the contents within.
Let's talk, old pal.
You know where to find me.
— Alastor
Vox had frozen. Then he bluescreened, and nearly passed out.
He spent three weeks mulling over the invitation, leaving him where he is now, staring at the note sitting almost tauntingly on his desk.
Talk about what? And why? Why does he– why does Alastor want to talk to him? After everything?
Vox didn't want to talk to him. But, at the same time, Vox wanted nothing more than to sit with Alastor again, sharing drinks, laughing at nothing.
But those days were long gone, and certainly weren't coming back any time soon. No matter how much Vox wished it could be, it simply wasn't in the cards for him.
Vox thought about the endless possibilities. It could be a trap. Vox did make a lot of enemies with his bombing party, and that Hazbin Hotel was certainly at the top of that list. It was probably the Morningstar's idea, using Alastor to lure him to the hotel so they can get rid of him once and for all.
Or maybe it was a trick. Maybe he'd show up, just for everyone to sit there and laugh at him for thinking that Alastor might want to talk to him. That after everything that happened, he's still hopelessly devoted.
He'd have to think of the easy exits when– no, if, he arrives. That way, he'd be able to make a quick escape if things went south. He could zap out with any nearby electricity, but he's still extraordinarily weak, so he wouldn't be able to get very far. He'll probably just settle for having his assistant sit outside in whatever car he arrives in. He probably won't even make it through the front doors.
He shouldn't go. He shouldn't even be thinking about this. This should be a quick and easy “fuck that!” followed by Vox tossing the crumpled up note in the trash like a basketball.
But part of him still ached. Ached at the thought of just maybe being able to speak with Alastor civilly once again. Without the showboating, without the snarky remarks, just… Casual conversation.
Did Alastor feel the same? Why else would he give this note? Perhaps it really was just a trick.
Vox shouldn't go. He shouldn't.
Vox let out a heavy sigh, looking at the ceiling as he recalled the night everything fell apart. The two of them sitting side by side at the bar, their frequent meet up place, their spot, where Vox– no, Vincent, anxiously waited for the perfect opportunity to tell Alastor his proposal.
He recalled the note he'd sent him a few days before they met up.
Let's meet up earlier this week! I've got something to tell you.
You know where to find me!
— Vincent Vox
Alastor was making fun of him, for sure. Just like he did that night, when he laughed in his face, then rejected and humiliated him.
Looking back, Vox probably deserved it. What an arrogant proposal. Let's be partners and rule over hell! Ugh. Please. Get over yourself.
He really should've known how it was going to end up.
He should know how this is going to end up when– no, if, he goes.
With Alastor laughing in his face once again.
…But maybe things will be different.
Things are different. Vox has changed, he's no longer the naive yet ambitious man he was all those years ago. He fucked around, he found out, and now he's lost it all.
Yet…
He almost did it. He almost got what he wanted, he almost won.
That's got to count for something, right?
Did Alastor finally see? Did he finally respect him as an equal? Things can be different this time. He should stop hiding away like a coward and finally face the root of all of his problems, his ambitions, his everything.
Vox leaned forward, grabbing the note off the desk to read it one more time.
Let's talk, old pal.
Vox glanced up at his monitors. A few of them had Alastor's glitchy silhouette burned into the pixels. One of the monitors shows the distant outline of the Hazbin Hotel sitting at the end of the city.
You know where to find me.
Vox clutched the note and shoved it into his pocket, sending off an internal text message to his assistant to bring a car to the front of Vee Tower as he stormed out of his office.
“Let's try this again.”
The stars in Hell's sky never changed. It was like a still photograph projected onto a dome in the sky, similar to a planetarium. Sinners back then used the stars as a guide back before technology really took off.
Vox never saw the appeal. By the time he arrived in Hell, he was set on bringing technology with him, so he never bothered to memorize the sky.
Yet now, as he sat in the backseat of his car, listening to whatever trashy pop was playing at a low volume on the radio as his assistant drove out of the Entertainment District, he found himself staring at the sky, watching the stars as they made their way to that damned hotel.
Watching the shapes, the patterns, the constellations, if there even were any, taking it all in as he continued to think.
Really, what was he going to do when he got there? Knock on the door like a random visitor? Walk in like he owns the place? What if it really was some sick joke?
He scoffed, looking away from the sky and down at his hands, where the note sat slightly crumpled in his grip.
Old pal.
He's really falling for this. Hook, line, and sinker. God, he's an idiot.
He sighed heavily, leaning his head back to stare at the roof of the car.
What would've happened if Alastor accepted his partnership?
It probably would've been a trap. Some sort of trick, so Vox would still end up fucked in the end.
So then, what if he never asked?
Perhaps they'd still be friends. Not that they ever were, according to Alastor, but Vox chose to believe whatever they had, platonic or more or nothing, it wasn't entirely one sided.
Or maybe they'd have a falling out over something else later on. Maybe they were always doomed to hate each other.
Or maybe they could somehow be friends. An unspoken partnership, even. No contracts, no deals, just something real between them. A silent promise.
Vox felt stupid for even thinking about it. Like a schoolgirl with a crush.
This is so fucking stupid.
Yet, he couldn't help but feel a little… Hopeful.
Vox tensed as the car pulled into the lot. He hadn't even noticed that they were getting closer until they were there. Now, the ugly building stood big and tall right in front of Vox, almost mocking him.
“Uh–” His assistant spoke shakily, looking at Vox through the rear view mirror. “W–We're here, sir…”
“I see that.” Vox grumbled, holding back a much harsher response. He didn't feel like yelling at anyone today.
Still, he sat still, staring out the window at the building. He's really going to do this, isn't he?
Better now than never. His mother may have raised a murderer, but she most definitely didn't raise a pussy.
“Do you want me to wait here?” His assistant asked as Vox grabbed the handle of the door.
“Huh?” Vox looked up, and he repeated himself.
Did he?
It's an easy exit, he told himself. He'd probably need it. It would be a bad idea to get rid of his only means of escape.
Yet…
Vox glanced down at the note shriveled up in his hand.
Old pal.
“...No. Head back to V Tower. I'll call you when I need you.”
“O–Oh? Are you su–”
“Just do what I fucking tell you, alright?” Vox grunted as he opened the door, stepping out of the car onto the pavement.
He didn't hear the response as he slammed the door shut. The car sat behind him for a few seconds, before driving off, leaving Vox alone at the hotel.
He glanced down at the note one more time, before he tossed it away and began walking towards the door, not paying attention to the slip of paper anymore as it got caught in the wind, floating away.
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his hands curled tightly into fists. He grit his teeth and his brows furrowed as he stood in front of the large double doors. He could hear laughter inside, and could vaguely see some silhouettes on the other side. Some sort of gathering, clearly. Vox could hear the voice of the Princess, and her little angel girlfriend, plus a few others.
He froze at the sound of Alastor's voice.
It was short, so he must've only said a single word or two. A response of some sorts, probably. If Vox really focused, he could even feel Alastor's presence through the door.
He took in a shaky breath, then raised his fist to knock. It was sharp, professional. Three simple taps, his knuckles almost clinking against the thick glass of the door.
The conversation got quieter and Vox could see a couple silhouettes go still. He saw one raise up, the Princess's voice chirping up.
“I'll get it!”
She didn't get very far before another silhouette stood. Vox swallowed thickly.
“Nonsense, Charlie! Continue your story, I'll answer the door!”
Alastor.
Vox took an uneven step backwards as he watched Alastor's silhouette get closer to the door. He almost looked behind him for an escape that wasn't there, an escape he told himself he wouldn't need.
Suddenly, there was laughter coming from inside. Something funny must've happened in the Princess's story. He could hear Alastor chuckling as the handle of the door clicked, and suddenly the door swung open, warm light pouring from inside, shining around Alastor's form almost like an angelic glow as the radio demon turned his head, looking towards Vox with a soft smile on his face.
Vox stared at Alastor with wide eyes, his hand that he used to knock still lingering halfway in the air, clenched tight so it wouldn't shake. His mouth felt dry as his lips parted, his mouth slightly agape as he attempted to speak. Nothing came out.
Alastor's expression shifted to one of surprise, his eyes wide and brows raised while his smile widened, showing his deathly sharp teeth. He blinked once, then twice, as if trying to confirm that yes, Vox was actually standing there in front of him.
There was silence between them for a while as they stood there staring at each other while the conversation inside went on. Alastor eventually spoke first.
“...You came.” He muttered in a tone Vox couldn't decipher.
Vox nodded, looking away as he quickly jerked back his hand, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ye– Yeah. Yeah, I–... I did.”
“...For a while, I didn't think you would.”
“...I didn't think I would either.” Vox admitted, glancing at Alastor, before looking back down. “I–I just… I dunno what I was thinking, I guess I just… I was curious? I wanted to know… Why, I mean… Why send that note? I don't–”
“Isn't it simple?” Alastor interrupted him with a shrug. “I wanted to talk.”
Vox scoffed. “Fuck off. It's never just talking with you…” He grumbled.
Alastor tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“Don't play dumb. You hate me. I hate you. I tried to kill you for years, I tried to blow up Hell because of you, I don't think we've ever just… Talked. Not since…” He trailed off, thinking about the bar.
Alastor stayed silent, urging him to keep going.
“...That night at the bar. Where I fucked everything up.” Vox glared at the ground, his face glitching as he just started pouring everything out. “After that, after everything, it's never just talking. It's arguing, fighting, tearing each other down, ripping each other to pieces… It's been like this for years. I know I fucked up back then… I didn't know it then, but I do now. I was a fucking idiot. An arrogant idiot. Is that what you wanted to talk about? How… How stupid I am? This was a trick, I knew it, you're just going to laugh at me again! I–I don't know why I came here, I–”
As Vox began spiraling, his expression glitching as he tried to take another step back, Alastor's hand shot out, gripping onto his jacket before pulling him in close, arms wrapped around him tight to prevent him from going anywhere.
Vox froze, his arms stretched out awkwardly as his voice died mid sentence. Alastor's head rested on his shoulder, causing Vox to tilt his obnoxiously large head.
Alastor was… hugging him.
Alastor was hugging him.
Alastor was hugging him.
“...Whaaat the fuuuck?” Vox whispered, sounding strained as he looked around for hidden cameras. He found none.
Alastor chuckled quietly, and the noise went straight through Vox's speakers. “How elegant.” He mumbled.
“You… W–What are you–”
“I don't hate you, Vox. I never hated you. I was only disappointed. And hurt. And… Betrayed, oddly enough. Even though you never promised me anything. I suppose it's my fault for assuming, getting my own hopes up…” Alastor spoke softly, his hold on Vox slowly relaxing.
Panicked, Vox pulled away, stepping back. Alastor stepped back as well, almost looking embarrassed as he clutched his microphone.
“What… What are you talking about?” Vox said shakily, his heart racing.
Alastor sighed heavily. “It's complicated. I don't… Exactly know… How to explain it all.” He grumbled.
Slowly, Vox relaxed as he took in the sight of Alastor. He was tense, brows furrowed. Vox stared at his face, before slowly looking up at his ears. Folded back, one flicking nervously.
He was being… Genuine?
Vox sighed, stepping forward, back towards Alastor. Alastor looked back over at him and he shrugged, managing a small smirk on his face. “Well… You said you wanted to talk… I've got time.”
Alastor blinked, before his shoulders relaxed. “Is that so?”
“I wouldn't come here if my schedule wasn't free.”
Alastor scoffed. “Don't lie now, Vox.”
Vox's brows furrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Alastor smirked. “Please, Vox, we both know you drop everything when I call.”
Vox tensed, his face heating up. “That's not–”
He was cut off by a voice from inside. “Alastor? Who's at the door?” The Princess.
Alastor turned his head while Vox leaned to the side to look inside. Vox and Charlie made eye contact, and she froze, before looking at Alastor.
Vox expected something a little more hostile than what he got.
Instead of anger or fear or shock, she… Smiled. Smiled wide. She nearly squealed as she clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling as she looked between the two of them.
Alastor seemed to flinch as he stepped forward, shutting the door quickly with a scowl.
Vox chuckled awkwardly. “...What was that about?”
Alastor huffed. “...Charlie was the one who convinced me to send the note.”
“Really? I thought she hated me.”
Alastor sighed. “Oh, well, you know how she is with redemption.”
Vox frowned. “Don't tell me she actually thinks…?”
They both simply stared at each other for a moment, before they laughed, the sound surrounding the both of them like a warm blanket.
Alastor recovered first, sighing while Vox was still giggling. “Now, you came here to talk, yes? Why don't we go somewhere more suited for conversation?”
Vox, still giddy from laughing, smirked at Alastor as he tilted his head. “Inviting me to your room already? How scandalous…”
Alastor gave him a harsh glare. “Don't ruin it before we start, picture box.”
Vox just smiled.
“Wouldn't dream of it, smiles.”