Chapter Text
Alastor hadn’t been having a great day so far. He ran a hand through his curly brown hair, tugging at the strands slightly. The job interview hadn't gone as well as he’d hoped and at this point there were practically no jobs left in his pathetic excuse for a town. Alastor exited the cafe, pushing up his moon-rimmed glasses against his tanned nose and breathing a sigh of relief at the car waiting on the pavement's edge. He righted himself as he walked towards it, his cane tapping softly against the pavement. His Maman had come to pick him up, pulling up outside the parking lot of the little roadside cafe. She had greeted him with that same soft smile that always made things just slightly better.
She had taken one look at the downtrodden look on Alastor's face and promptly clicked her fingers, practically forcing him into the passenger's seat with her determined look alone.
“Come on,” She said as Alastor shut the car door and pulled his seatbelt over himself, “let's go home and you can help me make gumbo, maybe we can even bake some beignets for pudding– I think we've got enough flour– and afterwards I found a new movie at the charity shop earlier, seems interesting enough for tonight if you’d like to join your ol’ Maman.”
Alastor smiled, his Maman always always knew what he needed. She had often told him that it was a secret motherly instinct, ‘you share my DNA, it practically gives me mind reading abilities.’ Alastor leant his head against the headrest, letting the soft Jazz filtering though the radio wrap around him. Allowing his Maman’s nonsenseless chatting cloud his head with cotton, whispering of short forgotten days where the only worry he truly had was what adventure he was going to go on that day.
Alastor hummed softly at her words, the jostling of the car making his tight muscles loosen ever so slightly and for the first time that day, he felt his hands unclench.
The dark roads that cut through the bayou always gave him a sort of comfort that he was sure was misplaced. The last thing that other people did was look into the dark, twisting landscape of the bayou and immediately think of comfort, but Alastor had spent his childhood wrapped up in the thick moss that hung from the trees. Clambering up branches and avoiding the gators when they were particularly hungry. To him, the bayou was home, and he was certain that he wasn't ever going to leave. Heaving a heavy sigh, Alastor closed his eyes once again, letting his lips quirk as he felt his Maman’s calloused hand patting his thigh softly.
It was sudden that a bright light cut through the darkness of the road and Alastor squinted open his eyes as his Maman complained about the other driver.
“Ugh, turn your brights off, good grief,” Alastor saw how she flicked her brights at the other driver, trying to tell him to turn them off. After all, on a dark backroad like this, it was quite detrimental to the other driver’s vision.
“What is he doin’?”
There really was no warning for the way that the other car swerved closer to their side of the road. There was no warning for the way that Alastor’s body had seized up in fear at the way his Maman swerved to get away from the approaching vehicle– to no avail. There was no warning for the way that his body was thrown forwards, lungs straining for air against his tightened seatbelt. There was no warning for the way his Maman screamed his name, throwing her arm over Alastor’s chest, an instinctive protection that years of her son being an adult just couldn’t curve, as the two cars collided.
There was really no warning for the pain that overcame his body, for the cracking and elongating of limbs, from the speed that his heart thundered against his chest– out of fear or anger he couldn't exactly tell. His head split against a raging headache as his face elongated. There was no warning as he crawled out of the wreckage of the two cars on all fours, hooves cracking broken pieces of glass underneath them as he snorted into the warm Louisianan air. The scent of blood was overwhelming and he didn't know if it was coming from him or from–
His eyes caught the sight of his mother’s body, thrown half against the dashboard and half falling onto the seats. His mouth opened in an agonised scream that bellowed from deep in his chest and reverberated against his throat. Something that sounded too indistinguishable from both a human scream and a deer’s bugle to be one or the other. The kind of scream that campers would tell horror stories about and the kind of scream that had locals closing their blinds in belief of old superstitions.
A groan cut through the settling scene and Alastor dark eyes focused on a figure crawling out from the other car. A broken bottle of hard liquor in his hand and a gash across his forehead, bleeding steadily onto his shirt.
Alastor didn’t know what happened, how the ranging anger had taken over, hooves thundering against broken glass. Shards reflecting the broken light of the headlights like hundreds of tiny fireflies as Alastor rammed his antlers straight through the man's chest. Feeling the body shudder and drop to the floor in a broken, bloody heap. Bearing his fangs in a snarl, he didn’t see the van coming until it hit him.
He didn’t see the way that the man had dragged his unconscious body– with a lot of effort– to the side of the road. He didn't see when the man called the police, didn't see them when they arrived– and they didn't see him.
He didn’t see the way his body changed back. But he certainly felt it. He didn’t see the way a purple portal shimmered near or the way a faceless figure stepped through it. The figure was broad and tall with long blonde hair, wearing a shimmering jumpsuit with the word G.H.O.U.L painted across the back. The figure wore no face, only a blank sheet of skin. He didn’t see the way the figure picked him up and took him through the portal.