Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alastor had grown used to schedules while alive. Radio programs relied on everyone being on time and ready, and one couldn’t get away with so many murders without being good at managing their time. So it didn’t take him much time to develop one once he appeared in hell.

While his radio program still took the majority of his time, he made sure to have time to himself, and for his side projects. One of said side projects was the hotel, of course, but there was one he had started from the beginning and couldn’t let go of.

Once a month, maybe twice if it was a frustrating one, he liked to indulge himself in some sort of therapy. Charlie wouldn’t call it therapy, but he wasn’t a client at the hotel, so she didn’t get to say a thing. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, anyways. Besides, it wasn’t as if his first victim didn’t deserve to die again and again whenever Alastor felt like it. He made sure not to kill him in a way that he wouldn’t come back, and then go forth with the rest of his day. A good maiming always made him feel better about, well, everything.

And Charlie liked to stress the importance of familial relationships, did she not?

Of course, he tried to run and hide away from Alastor, but so far, Alastor had found him every single time. It felt like a very convoluted game of hide and seek, with a little murder on the top. Alastor didn’t even broadcast it. He liked to retain that work-personal life balance.

His father, thank Satan, looked nothing like him. He hadn’t in life, and he didn’t in hell either. He no longer towered over him, and his crooked and broken horns looked quite ridiculous on him. His voice was the same grating noise, but now Alastor was the one making him beg for mercy. And he still insisted on wearing that stupid hunting cap.
All in all, Alastor would be able to pint point him in the middle of a crowded street in less than a second. So it came to a surprise when he entered the hotel, ready for a day of entertainment, and found him in the lobby.

He froze like the deer he was for a slight second, taking in the image in front of him. His father, a room key in his filthy paw, and Charlie smiling brightly as she explained to him the rules of the hotel. 

Alastor approached in big strides, grabbed his father by his shoulder, and threw them away from Charlie. He hit a wall with a satisfying crack.

Alastor narrowed his eyes at the wonderful sight, before Charlie pulled his arm.

“Alastor, what the fuck?!” She shouted at him before he managed to pry his arm away. “That was a client!”

“Exactly!” Alastor said. “Was.” He wasn’t going to be for a while longer, just for the audacity of showing up here.

Charlie looked at him with an expression of utter bewilderment. Cute. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Is there a problem?” Alastor taunted. “He’s not staying.”

His father was picking himself up by now. Alastor would have to rip his throat for this.

“Alastor, I forbid you from killing any of the hotel residents.” Charlie said, putting on her princess voice. “That is a royal order. If you want to continue working with me, then there shall be no murders. Nor cannibalisms. Understood?”

Alastor rolled his eyes. His father was approaching Charlie again, keeping a safe distance between them. Oh, the gall of that man. “Charlie, there are some demons too rotted to take as clients.”

“That is for me to decide, not you.” Charlie insisted. “Understood?”

Alastor considered refusing. He could easily kill his father before she stopped him. But he’d seen what Charlie was capable of–thanks to some fool who’d dared threaten her dear girlfriend–, and while his ego said he could take her in a fight, his common sense told him otherwise.

“Understood.” He said, ignoring his father’s presence.

Charlie deflated. “Good.” She turned to his father. “Would you like me to show you to your room?”

His father nodded. He was staring at Alastor, but his son couldn’t tell if his expression was of satisfaction, or fear.

Alastor watched them go. He was getting ideas already.

His father avoided him for a week. He hadn’t changed all that much, always drinking behind closed doors and cursing out whoever interrupted him. Even Husker was getting tired of him, but Charlie insisted he could be redeemed.

Alastor was of the opinion that redemption was not only impossible, but not even this man’s goals. But of course, Charlie didn’t care for his opinion.

Alastor would follow her rules, for now. He still had options to use, after all.

He had turned on the radio in the kitchen, which was playing some jazz tunes from when he had been alive, and was halfway through leaving lunch ready for later on the day when his father made his way into the kitchen, half-way through drunkenness.

Alastor could smell him before he even entered. What a stink. His taste in alcohol hadn’t changed.

“Oh.” His father said. “Should’ve known you’d be like your mother.”

Alastor’s grip on his cutting knife tightened. “Well, of course! She was thrice the man you ever were!” Which wasn’t hard, considering who his father was.

“Don’t get smart with me.” His father bit back. He started going through the cupboards, staring the farthest away from Alastor as possible. “Fucking smart ass.”

“If you’re looking for booze, you’re at the wrong place.” The only wine in the kitchen was for cooking. Alastor dropped the cut vegetables into the pot and slammed the knife into the cutting board. “Why did you tell the princess your name was ‘Paul’?” It was a stupid name for a stupid man, Alastor supposed, but it wasn’t his father’s name.

“That’s your grandfather’s name, you dickfuck.” His father was still looking through the cupboards. “Not that you’d know that, you’ve always been a pathetic momma’s boy.”

He reached for the cupboard above him, right next to Alastor. Stupid move.

Alastor grabbed the butcher’s knife. His father’s arm fell with a thud on the countertop, splashing blood down to the floorboards. Nifty would have a fun time cleaning it up.

His father screamed, as he tried to stop the bleeding and retreat at the same time. 

“If I’m pathetic,” Alastor started, grabbing the detached arm, “what does that make you?”

“Alastor!” Alastor’s head snapped towards the source of the yell. Oh oh. Vaggie was mad at him. Typical.

“Hello, Vagatha!” He said, using his father’s arm to wave. “Is there a problem?”

Vaggie looked at him from where she’d rushed to help his father stand. “A problem?! Are you insane?!”

Alastor tilted his head. “Slightly, I would say. Who isn’t these days?” He tossed the arm up and caught it. “I didn’t break any of the rules.”

“You cut of a client’s arm!” Vaggie screamed. Dear God, she needed some volume control.

“And I didn’t eat it!” Alastor said. Not that he would, his father tasted rancid and overcooked, even when raw. “And he’s clearly still alive, so, as per the rules established by Charlie herself, I have done nothing wrong.”

Vaggie looked close to punching him. He would like to see her try. Instead, she grabbed his father with perhaps too much strength and started dragging him out of the kitchen. “Charlie!” Oh, so she was going to let someone else deal with him? Coward. “Your stupid business partner is being a sadist again!”

Alastor threw the arm at the trash, and left the butcher’s knife aside to clean later. He had to finish preparing lunch, after all.

Over the soft jazz music, he could hear Charlie yelling. “He’s our business partner!”

“Not when he pisses me off!” He heard Vaggie reply as he washed his hands.

After a few seconds of Alastor humming and seasoning the stew, Charlie entered the kitchen. She cleared her throat to get Alastor’s attention before speaking.

“Al.” She said. “You can’t maim clients.”

“Is that a new rule?” Alastor asked, “you ought to write them down, in case people forget…” He held a spoonful of stew towards her. “Mind tasting this? I think it needs more salt.”

Charlie sighed, grabbed the spoon and tasted it. “Yeah, just a bit.” She said. Then she put her serious face back on. “But you cannot go around severing people’s limbs! Specially not my clients!”

“Eh, he’ll live. Unfortunately.” Alastor said. He added a bit of salt and put the lid on. “I’m off to work now, I’ll let Nifty know about the mess on my way out.”

“No more maiming clients.” Charlie said. “That’s an order.”

Alastor fought the urge to roll his eyes. “As you wish, Princess.” He threw his apron at her. “I left the stove on low, don’t forget to turn it off after lunch time!”

He left Charlie fighting to get the apron off herself, and went on to ask Nifty to clean the kitchen. Though it looked like Nifty had already started taking care of the blood trail.

His two business partners had no further complaints about him for a week or so, mostly because Alastor’s father learnt to avoid him. Of course, that wouldn’t last, and Alastor would get a new and improved chance to make him regret his existence.

After he regained his arm, Alastor managed to stab him–not maim him, per se–before Charlie ruled against any kind of physical pain. So, Alastor tripped his father down the stairs twice and made a vase shatter on his head before Charlie forbid him against causing any accidents. So Alastor learnt what room was his father’s, and started leaving him gifts. Or, well, leaving Nifty gifts. Until Charlie forbid him from entering a room without permission–though that hadn’t been because of his father, but because he’d accidentally walked in on Charlie and Vaggie and dear lord did he want to errase that from his memory as well–. As if Alastor was a vampire. Please. He had more class than that.

So he decided to get creative.

Nifty had a tight schedule, through no fault but her own. That’s why Alastor had chosen her for the job. Her obsession with cleanliness and her odd hobbies made her the perfect candidate. She also had access to every single room, and permission to do as she so wished. Charlie was 80% sure she was harmless, Vaggie only a 60%, and Alastor and Husker knew fully well what she was capable of. But he was no snitch.

Despite her tight schedule, Alastor could reliably find Nifty at the end of the day, getting a drink from Husk and bothering him for a while. Sometimes, he’d even join her. Today, though, he had a business proposition.

“Nifty, dear” Alastor called, while sitting next to her. He only caught a glance of whatever she had been typing on her phone this time. Something ungodly, for sure. “What would I have to offer you in exchange of a favour?”

“What favour?” Nifty asked, knowing Alastor far too well.

Husk served him a drink, just like he liked it, and leaned over to listen to their conversation.

“Do you know our latest client?” Alastor asked.

Nifty nodded, “he made a mess of the kitchen.” She said. “And he’s very rude, and his aim is horrible. Can’t properly throw a bottle to save his life. Oh, and he stinks worse than Husky.” Husk flipped her off for that. 

Alastor gritted his teeth. Of course his father hadn’t changed habits. “What would it cost for you to torment him for me?” He leaned over the table, tilting his head. “I know you’re particularly competent in torturing poor souls.”

“Why do you keep messing with that guy?” Husk asked. “He’s not even the worst asshole we’ve had around. Remember the chainsaw guy?”

“How could I ever forget that fellow?” Alastor said. Now that was someone who was entertaining. Too bad Vaggie had kicked him out. Oh, well, he had tried to cut Angel Dust in half, after all. “But no, I’m afraid this sinner is one I cannot and will not stand.” 

“I can fill his mattress with dead bugs.” Nifty said. “Ooh! I can also clean with the good stuff! The one that makes people’s skin fall off!” She bounced excitedly on her seat, and Alastor was reminded of why he liked her so much. “Or maybe make the floor so slippery he cracks his skull open against the furniture!”

“You two are weird.” Husk declared.

“Hush, Husker, we’re talking business right now.” Alastor said. Then he turned to Nifty. “So, what would you ask in exchange of such services?”

Nifty seemed to consider it, playing with the little umbrella that Husk had added to her beer glass. “What could I ask you for… Oh! Anything at all?”

“Within reason, of course.” Alastor said. He wasn’t going to release her soul over this, but he was willing to do a lot of other things. Knowing Nifty, they would probably be violent things.

“Could you beta read for me?” She asked, pulling out her phone. “Usually I don’t need betas, but I’m having a lot of trouble getting the characterization right in this fic I’m writing–it’s a post-apocalypse au with slowburn romance, though the main focus is the found family aspect and the ever present threat of death.”

Alastor blinked. “What’s a beta read?”

Husk sighed, as if he knew already what Nifty would say. “You read what she writes and give feedback.” He poured himself a shot. “The stories are cursed to traumatize you, but the worse part is that she’s good at it.”

“Well of course I’m good at it!” Nifty said, she pushed some buttons on her phone screen and put it back to her apron’s pocket. “I sent it to you! It’s only around ten k so far, but it’ll probably get longer because I’m not even halfway through, and there’s so much stuff than needs to happen.”

Alastor sighed. He’d ask someone at the radio station to print the thing for him later. He refused to read on that tiny screen of his phone. He had been perfectly fine without a phone before, he didn’t know why Charlie had insisted so much on him getting one.

“It’s a deal, then?” He asked, offering a hand. It was mostly for show.

Nifty shook his hand with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Alastor paid extra attention to their reunion with his business partners. Usually he didn’t care much for them, they were boring slog to get over and done with. But when Vaggie started complaining over Nifty’s ‘strange conduct’, Alastor couldn’t help his smile from growing. Soon enough, Charlie caught on to what he had done–especially considering how Nifty had been nothing but professional in any other room but his father’s. The ensuing scolding was more than worth it.

The story Nifty sent him was also worth it, though Alastor found it bizarre. The first thing he noticed is that all the characters were people Nifty knew–him included, and wasn’t that odd?–. The second thing he noticed was that Nifty killed herself in the most gruesome way in the first chapter. He wrote a few comments, a bit of praise, and sent it back. The character that was supposed to be him was written well enough, though not enough cannibalistic tendencies in Alastor’s humble opinion. However, Husker would not say half the things Nifty made him say. Alastor made sure to underline that part of his feedback, alongside the petition of more cannibalism.

It was in the monthly ‘hang out session’ (Charlie didn’t want to call it a party because in her opinion, it sounded childish. ‘It was just a get together’ she claimed. Alastor thought that the alternative names were more childish, but he was not going to propose more. He had already been lucky to keep the name of the hotel.), when Alastor saw his father out in the open again. He was sitting in a corner, while the other sinners residing in the hotel at least attempted to socialize under the constant vigilance of Charlie.

Alastor slid towards Husk, who was playing darts with Angel Dust. It was odd, how close those two had gotten over the weeks, but who was Alastor to judge? Angel Dust was clearly losing, but that might’ve been because he was too focused on trying to flirt to properly compete.

“Husker, my dear friend.” Alastor started, standing next to the dart board. “Could I ask a favour from you?”

Husk groaned, and threw another dart. It almost hit right in the center. “What do you want?”

“Well, I’ve seen you two are having an awful–” he dogged the dart Angel threw, and it impaled itself on the wall behind him. “–an awful good time with darts.”

Angel Dust looked slightly remorseful. “I don’t understand how my aim is so bad. I’m great with guns!”

“Different skills.” Husker explained, shooting another dart. “Al, cut to the chase.”

“I’ll pay you to throw those darts to, what’s his name? Paul?” Alastor said.

Husker looked over to where Alastor’s father was sitting. He picked the darts up. “Twenty bucks and I’ll do it.”

“Deal!” Alastor said, pulling a fifty dollar note–He knew to tip well. “Here you go, I hope your aim is as good with moving targets.”

Alastor moved away from the pair before Husk completed his part of the deal. He wanted a better view of the incident. Husk waited for when his father started drinking again before throwing the dart. It hit him straight in the throat, making him choke, drop his glass, and fall off his stool. As soon as he struggled to get to his feet, Husk threw another, hitting him tight in the hand he was using to lean against the table.

Alastor’s laughter was what gave away his involvement. Vaggie yelled at him from the other side of the room, as Charlie marched over to scold Husker. His father ripped out the darts, searching for him.

“You son of a whore!” He said once he found him. “You oughta never been born!” His arm grabbed the glass he’d been drinking from him and flung it at him.

It shattered behind Alastor–his father’s aim was worse than Angel Dust’s–, and some of the glass bits got into Alastor’s hair. He cursed himself for tensing up. 

Before the man could grab another glass, Vaggie kicked it away from him. “Enough!” She said. “No fighting!” She had her spear point at Alastor’s father until he nodded in agreement.Then, she turned to chastise Alastor.

But he had already left.

Angel Dust found him in the gardens a few moments later. Alastor was sitting in a wooden bench, observing the rose bushes–observing, because he couldn’t touch them even if he wanted to.

“Oh, there you are, Smiles.” Angel said, waltzing over with a cigarette on hand. “You would not believe Husk, he tried to pin it all on me! And I didn’t even get paid by it!”

Alastor passed a hand through his face. “Angel Dust, do me a favour and shut up.”

“Eh, no, not my style.” Angel said, sitting by his side. Alastor wiggled to be further away. “You’re the one who got into this mess, anyways. Why do you hate that dude so much? He’s just another douche down here with the rest of us.”

“That is none of your business.” Alastor said.

Angel leaned back against the bench. “Well, it might not be.” He acceded. After a few seconds he added, “did ya know he thought I was a girl?”

“Excuse me?” Alastor turned to look at Angel Dust, who shrugged.

“Yeah, he propositioned me, but then he realized I was a guy when I told him I was off the clock, and he got so weird about it.” He took another drag from the cigarette and made a few smoke circles. “Talk about internalized homophobia, huh?”

“Angel Dust, I don’t want to know this.” Alastor said, almost pleading.

“Oh, come on, it’s not like he did anything more than most people do.” Angel continued. “Though I wouldn’t have minded shagging him if I had been working at the moment.”

“Angel Dust, shut up about almost sleeping with my father, please.” Alastor begged.

Angel blinked, mouth so open in amazement that he dropped the cigarette. Alastor realized his mistake and stood up to leave, and Angel scrambled to hold his wrist.

“Wait, wait, hold on!” He said, yanking him back towards the bench. “That’s your father?!”

“Keep it down!” Alastor hissed, pushing him away. “Do you want the whole hotel to know!?”

Angel continued to not be quiet about it. “You look nothing alike! How is he ev–!”

Alastor covered his mouth, leaning too close to be comfortable. “Be. Quiet.” He said, purposely letting his voice crackle with more radio static than normal.

Angel Dust raised his eyebrows, before biting down Alastor’s hand. Alastor jerked it away. The damn spider had fangs.

“I have questions.” Angel declared.

Alastor cleaned his hand on a patch of grass. “I am not going to entertain you with answers, Angel.”

Angel crossed one pair of his arms and held up another. “Only one question, then.”

“And then you’ll leave me alone?” 

Angel flashed a smile. “Maybe.” Little shit.

Alastor sighed. He wondered if Angel Dust still counted as a client, and if he could skin him alive for being such a bother. “Ask.”

“Do you hate him because he’s your father?” Angel asked. “Like, did he do anything to ya? Cause my dad’s kinda shitty too, and he definitely fucked me up, but I ain’t going to bother making his eternity in hell even worse. Too much effort, you know?” 

“Those are more than a question.” Alastor said. “But yes, the hatred is because of the fact that he’s my father. Happy now?”

“I’m never happy, babe, you should know that.” Angel said. “That explains the whole load of rules Charlie’s been making lately.”

“It does.” Alastor said.

Angel pulled out another cigarette, since his last one had been so rudely discarded. “Fire, Smiles?”

Alastor snapped his fingers and offered him a small green flame.

“You know,” Angel said, as he lighted it, “I could torment him for you. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my hands dirty.”

“I fear that our dear Princess has already ruled against me making deals in order to hurt him.” Alastor said. He played with the fire in his palm for a few seconds before extinguishing it. “And if she hasn’t ruled out bribing, she will do so soon.”

Angel checked his phone. “Eh… Bribing is ruled out, you’re right.” He held his phone for Alastor to see. “It says so in the group chat. The one you refuse to look at.”

“Those inventions are bellow me.” Alastor said. “If you have something to tell me, you can do just fine with a phone call.”

“Eh, touché.” Angel said. He scrolled a bit on his phone before putting it away. “You know, it doesn’t say anything on me acting on my own accord.” 

Alastor tilted his head. “Pardon me?”

Angel blew another smoke ring. “Let’s make a deal, you tell me all about this father of yours, and I don’t let anyone else know.” He said. “If I end up hating him, and decide to make his life hell, well. That’s certainly not your fault, right?”

Alastor considered it. He had told people about his father in passing, before. Rosie and Mimzy knew, of course, and he’d mentioned his stress relief activities to a few of his underlings in the radio tower. And there was that one time when he killed his father in the cannibal’s colony and invited everyone to take a bite, only to discover he tasted horrible.

But Angel Dust? Knowing about details of his life he hadn’t even told those closer to him?

The deal would mean no one else would learn about it, but still. The fact that he knew Alastor’s father was here was bad enough.

On the other hand, Angel would probably come with splendid ways to make his father suffer. And he had expertise in areas Alastor didn’t dare touch…

“Alright.” Alastor said. He offered his hand, green flames making sure Angel wouldn’t dare go back on his word. “You tell no one, and I tell you all there is to know.”

Angel Dust smiled, and shook his hand with two of his. Once the flashing green light was over and done with, he leaned back on the bench and got comfortable. “Alright, then. Tell me everything.”

Alastor made himself comfortable as well. It was going to be a long night. “I killed my father when I was around… thirteen years old? I believe I might’ve been slightly older, but around that age. He was my first human victim.”

“Did ya eat him?” Angel asked, completely unbothered by the murder confession.

“No, I didn’t start eating people until my twenties.” Alastor said. “I wanted to shoot him, first. He taught me how to hunt, after all.” Probably the only good thing he taught him. That, and how to identify people’s moods by their footsteps. “But he always kept the guns locked away, so I stabbed him to death with a kitchen knife instead.”

“I’m picturing a weeny little fawn trying to hide a body all by his own.” Said Angel. “It’s morbidly cute.”

Alastor chuckled. “No, my mother took care of that.” It was thanks to her that Alastor knew who to go to to get rid of human remains. Pigs and alligators alike had voracious appetites. “She filled a missing report for the police three days later, and he was never found.”

“Alright, but that’s like. The end of the story.” Angel said. “I feel like there’s a lot of the story you’ve skipped.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “I was an only child.” He said, because it was as good a starting point as any. “We lived in Louisiana, during the Great Depression. Money was tight sometimes, and my father loved to spend it on alcohol, and hated whenever either of us tried to get something nice for ourselves.” Alastor still remembered how he’d yelled at him for wasting money on new toys–disregarding the fact that Alastor had been seven, and hadn’t known any better. 

“Oh, I remember the Depression.” Angel said. “Sucked major ass.”

Alastor rose an eyebrow. He often forgot they had been alive in more or less the same years. Angel had preferred to keep up with the times.

“Oh, but it was so entertaining.” Alastor said. “Don’t get me wrong, now. My father didn’t make me into a killer. I made me into a killer.” He wouldn’t have anyone even imply that. Alastor’s accomplishments would have happened with or without his father.

“Never said that, Smiles.” Angel Dust said.

“Good.” Alastor said. He doubted over how to continue. “There’s not much more to it, if you ask me.” He gestured vaguely. “He was as many men were in that time. He drank, he shouted, he hit. Nothing excepcional.”

“My dad only hit me once.” Angel Dust shared. “Then he cut me off from the family and I overdosed.”

Alastor didn’t know how to respond to that. So he didn’t.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Angel said, after a few beats of second. “He threw stuff at ya too?”

“How do you–?”

“You flinched, Al.” Angel cut him off. “When he threw the glass? I’ve never seen you flinch before.”

“I did not flinch.” Alastor said. It was useless, but he’d rather die than admit weakness.

Angel shrugged. “Whatever you say, Smiles.” He pulled another cigarette. “Do you want some? It’s normal shit, Vaggie told me she wouldn’t give me shit for smoking as long as it wasn’t drugs.”

“Nicotine’s a drug.” Alastor pointed out. But he grabbed the cig and lit it up. He didn’t smoke much, but he also didn’t speak of when he was alive much.

“Lesser of two evils.” Angel said. “Sorry about the shitty dad, by the way.”

Alastor hummed. “I could say the same thing to you.”

Angel made a vague noise. “Nah, my dad’s not that bad once he got over the homosexuality part.” 

“I could… kill him for you?” Alastor offered. “I have killed my father more times than I can count.”

“And now he’s at the hotel.” Angel said. That wasn’t a no on the offer. “Damn. He ain’t got no idea what it’s coming.”

Alastor’s smile widened. “Do try surprise me, Angel.”

“Would you mind if I enroll a friend to help?” He asked. “I won’t tell her a thing, she’ll just go along with it, she’s that kind of gal.”

Alastor stood, up, taking one last drag of the cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stomping it with his hoof. “You may do as you like. I’ve not asked you to do anything.”

Angel laughed. “Alright, then. See ya, Al.”

He waved him goodbye as Alastor made his way back into the hotel.

Charlie’s scolding words fell to deaf ears as Alastor announced he was leaving for the night.

Angel Dust delivered on his word. For the next few weeks, Alastor’s father was plagued by ‘accidents’ (Angel was a sneaky demon when he wished to be, and there were so many stairs to trip over), and ‘gifts’ (Fat Nuggets needed a place to defecate, after all). Angel’s friend also made a few appearances, though her contributions were not as great as when Angel Dust managed to poison his food. Alastor should’ve thought of that one, he was actually impressed.

It wasn’t only Angel Dust doing all the work. Alastor had started delving into more subtle ways of making one suffer. He’d read on the wonders of sleep deprivation, and had made a point to blast music–not even the good music he enjoyed–at ungodly hours of the night, on the room right next to his father’s. He sent his shadows to stalk him, make him fear every tiny sound and creak.

And though Charlie and Vaggie eventually ordered Angel to stop after the poison incident, it lasted enough for Alastor to be satisfied.

Besides, with the anniversary of the opening of the hotel coming up, Alastor already had ideas on how to make things better. 

Alastor had lunch with Mimzy and Rosie twice a month, and lunch with each alone once a month. It was one of his favourite moments of the month, away from work and other such bothers. And the restaurants they chose were fantastic.

This time, dining on a small terrace of the cannibal’s colony with Rosie, he didn’t wait for the polite chit chat.

“The anniversary of the Hotel is coming up.” He said, as they waited for the food to arrive. 

“Your little side project?” Rosie asked, twirling the cup of wine on her hand. “How’s that going for you?”

“Oh, fine and dandy as ever.” He said. “The Princess wants to throw a small party to celebrate. I’m allowed one plus one.”

Rosie’s response was immediate. “No.” She said. “I understand you having your fun in seeing the miserable fail to succeed, but I have better things to do with my time. Invite me to the movies, if you wish. That ought to be better.”

“My father’s at the hotel.” Alastor said, like one mentioned the weather.

Rosie blinked. She smiled. “Now, why didn’t you lead up with that?” She said. “For how long?”

“A few months already.” Alastor said. “The Princess has had to make several new rules to keep me from hurting him.”

Rosie hummed. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Excuse me?” Alastor tilted his head.

“You’ve been in an awful mood lately.” Rosie pointed out.

“I have not.” Alastor said. And before she could refute him, he asked. “So would the promise of inflicting pain upon him convince you to come?”

“Why, of course.” Rosie said. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything in this hellscape.”

The food arrived, and they moved to cheerier topics.

Charlie wanted to go all out on the party. Even though her parents wouldn’t be attending–which had been her own choice, since she wanted to keep things relaxed and informal–, she still treated it with the same importance that she had given to that time Lucifer had come for visit. Maybe even more.

There would be food, and drinks (mostly non alcoholic ones), and board games and even karaoke. Alastor was looking forward to ignoring most if not all of that, and spending his time with Rosie.

Rosie arrived right on time. She didn’t believe in any of that ‘fashionably late’ talk. Alastor strode over to greet her, and introduce her to Vaggie and Charlie. Rosie seemed to like them, if Al was reading correctly. It was hard to be sure, when it came to his friend.

He pointed her to Husk and Nifty, and decided to mention Angel Dust as well. He had collaborated, after all. Then, she leaned over to him to ask. “And your father?”

“The horned one over the stairs.” Alastor said, not looking in that direction. “I hope you’ve got ideas already.”

Rosie glared at him. “Don’t dare imply otherwise.” She fixed her gloves. “Leave introductions to me. Best not to be too obvious.”

Alastor watched her leave, sitting at one of the bar stools. He glanced outside for a second, to check that it was still snowing. The snow was ashen, as usual, but it showed no signs of stopping. He categorized that as odd, and his attention went back to Rosie. She was talking to his father, and it seemed amiable so far. Then, she offered him a small decorated box, patted him in the shoulder and went to speak to a different hotel guest. Alastor watched as she offered what he assumed were sweets to everyone, including the Princess of Hell.

Finally she made her way back to Alastor.

“Did you save any for us?” He asked, pouring her a drink.

Rosie’s response came in the form of a slightly bigger box for him. “I expect you to share.” She said.

Alastor took one of the chocolate pieces and tasted it. It was as delicious as they looked. “You spiked them?”

“Only his.” Rosie said, picking a differently shaped one. “He won’t notice for a while, though. And it’s far from my only trick.”

“It’s a solid start.” Alastor said. “More subtle than I expected.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a blizzard outside, dear.” Rosie picked another sweet. “I’d rather not get kicked out.” 

Alastor tipped his glass towards her. “Fair enough.” He conceded.

Rosie scoffed. “I’m always fair.” Alastor disagreed, but he wouldn’t bring it up.

Instead, they toasted over chocolate sweets.

Over the course of the evening, Alastor got to see Rosie’s increasingly creative ideas. She started a game of cards with a few demons, his father included, and Alastor only looked away for a second before they were beating each other up with accusations of cheating. After Vaggie had defused that–Angel had been cheering for the fight, and so was his friend who’d he’d brought as plus one–, she’d done something to the karaoke machine, because the moment Alastor’s father walked by it, electricity crackled and hit him. He almost died again. Such a pity it didn’t happen.

Vaggie stared at Alastor as if she knew he was behind it, and Alastor shrugged with one shoulder. He’d been sitting by the bar the whole night. How could he possibly be responsible?

Rosie also ‘accidentally’ stepped on his foot, while wearing razor sharp heels. Alastor had to hold back laughter for that one. Specially when Angel Dust tripped a few moments later, splashing his ungodly beverage on top of him. And Alastor hadn’t even asked him to do that, and there was a small chance it had been a proper accident, but Angel didn’t look even half way drunk.

Overall, it was a perfect party. The karaoke was suspended, which was a relief. But Alastor even participated in a round of Jenga–and was accused of cheating by Sir Pentius, even though he wasn’t.

At the end of the night, Rosie whispered a question into his ear, and Alastor gave her his father’s room number. He didn’t have to ask what she was going to do, he preferred to be surprised later.

It all came to a halt when it came the time for everyone to leave. Alastor and Rosie bid their goodbyes, and after opening the door to leave, Alastor got buried by a wave of ashen snow. Rosie managed to dodge it, only getting some on her shoes.

Some sinners laughed at his misfortune, including his own damned microphone. Vaggie grabbed him by the arms and yanked him out, before pushing the door close again. Alastor shook his head like a dog would, sending snow in al directions. Rosie and Vaggie sent him similar glares.

“So!” Said Charlie, brushing away the snow that had fallen on her. “It seems the weather wants you to stay,” she gave an awkward laugh, before straightening up. “I’ll get everyone some rooms, and hopefully by the morning the snow has calmed down and everyone can go back home.”

She went to the reception area and waited as the extra guests made a line to her. Alastor and Rosie cut it, of course.

“Hey, Al.” Charlie said. “I thought you had a room already…” Her hands hovered over the keys, unsure. “Are you two, eh, together? Or do you want separate beds? Separate rooms?”

Alastor and Rosie exchanged a look of utter bewilderment. Them? A couple? What in the nine circles gave her that idea?

“Separate rooms, please.” Rosie said, in the end, because Alastor was still busy trying to figure out what had made Charlie think they were a couple.

Charlie gave them two keys, with consecutive numbers. “There you go. Have a nice night!”

“You too, Princess.” Alastor said, before walking away.

Once they started walking up the stairs, Alastor turned to Rosie. “Who in their sane judgement would think of us as a couple?” He wondered.

“Oh, I have no idea.” Rosie said. “I have better taste in men.”

Alastor scoffed. “Allow me to doubt that.” He’d met her ex-partner, before she disposed of him. Good riddance.

“Look on the bright side, Al.” Rosie said. “I have a whole night to do as I please.”

Alastor’s smile widened. Oh, how he loved this woman.

They parted ways after a bit more of chatter, and Alastor snapped himself into a pair of pajamas before dropping on the bed. He lied underneath the blankets and waited for sleep to come.

He tossed and turned, waiting. Sleep didn’t come.

He was hungry, he realized. He often was, ever since he died. Usually he was able to ignore it, but this night it was worse. So he slipped out of bed, into something a bit warmer, and made his way to the kitchen. No one would mind him getting a snack. He noticed Rosie’s door was opened, and the room empty, on his way down. Good for her.

He put the lowest setting on the kitchen radio as he worked. It’d be crass to wake the others. Looking through his options, he chose a simple meal. It was just for himself, anyways.

He started humming alongside the radio as he got the ingredients ready. He always followed the same steps to cooking, just like his mamma had taught him. Though she would’ve disapproved of this recipe, far too much demon meat in it.

It wasn’t until he grabbed one of the kitchen knives that he realized he was shaking. It wasn’t cold. Why was he–? No, surely his father couldn’t affect him that much. He had killed him thousands of times already, he was over all of it.

This was the first night he was spending bellow the same roof as him. And wasn’t the kitchen the same place where he’d gotten rid of him the first time? He still remembered how hard it had been to get rid of the bloodstains. Mamma had had to burn the carpet and his clothes. It had taught Alastor a few life lessons.

He gripped the knife tighter and tried to think of something else. What did mamma always say? That cooking while upset made it taste worse? Something along those lines. Alastor couldn’t remember. But he’d heard stories of sinners who had forgotten the faces and voices of loved ones, so he was glad he could still remember his mother as if it had been yesterday the last time they spoke.

He forced the tightness in his shoulders to go away, turning the stove on and looking for a pan. He was reminded of that picture show Charlie had tried to watch with him–the one with a girl trapped in a tower. Alastor had endured it for the sake of peace. Every time that blondie wielded the pan as a weapon, he remembered how a pan hitting skin actually sounded like. And felt like. Alastor would rather not mix cooking utensils and weapons. Even knives were not suited to kill. Too much margin of error, there existed shotguns for a reason. Or his bare hands and teeth, now that he was able to.

The meat sizzled as soon as it touched the pan. Alastor reached for some salt and spices–only a few, he wanted the taste of meat to shine through. He needed it this night.

The radio didn’t cover the sound of footsteps approaching. Alastor knew those footsteps by heart, even after all these years without them. He’d need to get rid of his father for good, if that meant getting rid of the footsteps. Charlie would be upset, but this truly couldn’t go on.

“Fancy yourself a snack, father?” He called out, not turning back to face him.

There was silence for a few seconds, before his father spoke. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

“Well most sinners don’t get to be overlords without some wit, so. Yes. I think myself clever.” He grabbed a plate, he’d go eat in his own room if that meant not having to deal with this. “So sorry we can’t say the same about you.”

“Won’t you look at me when I’m speaking?” His father demanded, slamming his foot–not a hoof, despite the horns–down. Alastor forced himself not to tense. “Have some respect.”

He served his steaks onto the plate and set it aside. “I would’ve thought that by now you’d figured out I have no respect for you.” He said, as he left the pan at the sink and gave it a rinse. His mother had always insisted on keeping the kitchen clean. “Given how many times I have made you beg for your life.”

His father took a step forward. “You insolent little boy–!”

“I am not little anymore.” Alastor snarled, looking back at him. He towered over the table separating them, arching down to stare at the fear in his father’s eyes. Good. He shrank back to normal size. He ought to be afraid of him. “You best not forget that.”

He grabbed his plate with trembling hands, ready to make his leave.

“Your mother would be disgusted by you.” His father’s voice stopped him. Before Alastor could retort, he continued. “She thought you were so pure. So good. And yet look at you now. You’re worse than me.”

Alastor sighed. He left the plate on the countertop and turned to his father.

“I’m afraid–” Alastor started, letting the radio static hide the slight tremble in his voice, “–that Charlie will have to forgive me later. But some rules were made to be broken.”

He lunged at his father, ready to rip him apart with only his hands. And teeth, maybe. They’d had this song and dance so many times before, Alastor could do this with his eyes closed. He slammed his father against the sink, hands around his throat, waiting for that crack from the neck that would shut him up for good.

His father struggled for a few seconds, before reaching to grab something. Alastor felt a pang of pain in his abdomen. Oh, he’d been stabbed. Rude.

His father head butted him, and threw him away with a strong kick. The knife stayed in his hand. Damn it, Alastor, why were you just siting there. Stop pressing your hand against your wound, you’re fine, now stand up and end him.

Alastor looked up at his father, knife–bottle, pan, knife, it all hurt the same– in hand, and froze like a deer in the headlights.

“You killed me with one of these.” His father said, and Alastor was back to being ten years old staring up at his father. “I think it’s my turn to kill you back.”

Alastor crawled backwards. Last time he’d frozen like this, so long ago it was barely a memory, the dogs had mauled him almost to death. He was distantly aware of the sound of radio static increasing with his alarm, but his heartbeat was the only thing he could properly hear.

His father sneered down at him. Alastor’s shadows abandoned him. And his mother was no longer there to fix his messes for him.

He covered his head with one arm, just in time for his father to strike. The knife slashed through his forearm, almost getting stuck there. If Alastor could only get his bearings, if he could stop being a coward, he could end this man in seconds. He could bite his throat out without problem.

If only.

The knife came back down again, though this time Alastor flinched out of the way, only to be rewarded by a hand griping his suit lapels in an effort to keep him still.

A spear wedged itself in between them two.

I’m sorry, what?

Vaggie stood at the entrance of the kitchen, dressed in only a nightgown, another spear on hand and ready to throw. Alastor’s father dropped him, and he thudded against the floor. As Vaggie yelled something–Alastor wasn’t listening, Alastor was trying to get his shit together–, Alastor sat up, against one of the drawers. He struggled to his feet, and got his father’s attention back at him. He threw the pan from before at him, and Alastor dodged. Thank God for his awful aim, it would be horribly humiliating to get hit by a pan in front of Vagatha, out of anyone.

“Oye!” Vaggie got in between them, spear pointed up to Alastor’s father’s throat. “I told you to quit it, cabrón.”

“Do try–” Alastor tried to keep his voice normal. “–to listen to her. She’s the manager.” His smile was strained, but it was there.

“Alastor, shut up.” Vaggie snapped, throwing him a glare. Alastor flinched–stupid stupid reflexes–and her gaze softened slightly. Only slightly, because she was still the Vaggie he knew.

“What’s going on here?” The Princess of Hell appeared at the door, wearing a pink dressing gown and carrying a black one, probably for Vaggie. “Al? Vaggie?”

Alastor tried to reply, but his mouth felt awfully dry. Unlike his arm, which was by now coated in his own blood.

“This asshole was trying to kill Alastor.” Vaggie said, still not dropping her guard.

“That’s none of your concern, whore.” Alastor’s father said. Charming. But he dropped the knife in the sink and stepped away, so Alastor considered it a win.

Alastor chuckled. “For once in our lifes, we agree on something.” He remarked. Pressing down on his stomach wound made it easier to focus on what was going on, lest he be carried away into another awful memory. “It’s nothing important.”

“Bullshit.” Charlie said. She draped the dressing gown over Vaggie’s shoulders before continuing. “I don’t know what it is with you two hating each other, so unless someone gives me a valid explanation of what’s going on, no one leaves this room.”

Alastor sighed. He was leaning on his arm far too much, and it wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t hold back his shaking. He really ought to make up some lie soon.

“He’s killed me more times I can count.” His father said. Right, of course he would try to start with that.

Alastor rolled his eyes. “He deserves that and more.”

Charlie only looked more confused. She shook her head, looking for words, but only managed a “why??”

“I killed him when I was sixteen.” Alastor said. The age was wrong, but it made for a better story. “He hasn’t gotten over it yet.”

“Alastor.” Vaggie called, though for once it didn’t sound like a reprimand. “Is this your dad?”

Alastor kept quiet.

“You were eleven.” Alastor’s father corrected. “A month before your birthday. Your whore of a mother wanted to celebrate it.”

Alastor pushed himself towards him. “Don’t you dare call her–”

“Alastor!” Vaggie shoved him back again. Some of his blood got into her clothes. “Enough fighting.”

“Get out of my hotel.” Charlie said.

Alastor’s ears lowered. Was she–? No, she wasn’t looking at him.

“You can’t kick me out!” His father complained. Alastor grinned. 

Charlie’s eyes were starting to burn with hellfire. “I am the Princess of Hell and owner of this hotel.” She said. “I can do as I please.”

His father looked close to arguing. He opened his mouth to do so, but closed it again when Vaggie shoved her spear up his face again. With a clenched jaw and paws, he left.
It was only through sheer willpower that Alastor didn’t drop to the kitchen’s floor. Vaggie relaxed, putting away her spears. Alastor would usually complain–the kitchen was no place for weapons–, but he had no energy to do so.

Charlie sighed, sitting against the main table. She pinched the bridge of her nose and Vaggie came to her side, though her eyes didn’t leave Alastor.

“Well that was–” ‘eventful’ he wanted to say, but a gunshot interrupted him. It came from outside.

All three of them turned to the threshold. After a few seconds, Angel Dust entered the kitchen, gun in hand. “Hey, Smiles, I shot your d…” His joyful expression turned the moment he saw the ladies. He tried to hide the gun to no avail. “Hey, girls, what’s up?” He lied against the threshold, ready to run away if needed.

Vaggie gave out the most tired of sighs. “Angel, we told you no weapons in the hotel.”

“What weapon? I don’t have any weapons.” Angel said.

Alastor couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. The others stared at him, doubled over a countertop, still bleeding, and dying with laughter. Once he calmed down, he wiped the tears and blood off his face. “Oh, Angel, please tell me you hit him where it hurts.”

“Damn right, baby!” Angel said. “I shot him straight through the dick.”

“Well there goes the prospect of siblings…” Charlie muttered. She shook her head, clearly exhausted. “Alright. Angel, hand over the gun.” She extended her hand towards him until he did so. “Alastor, we’ll have a chat tomorrow morning. Do you need help with…?”

Alastor dismissed her with a gesture. “Oh, this is nothing but a scratch!” He said, even though he was struggling to walk without limping. “I shall take care of it on my own.”

He pushed by Angel Dust, away from the kitchen and the girls and the everything. He needed to lay down in bed for a few decades before even thinking of facing anyone. 

He was halfway through the stairs when he felt someone hoist him up.

“Come on, Smiles.” Angel Dust said, carrying him with two of his arms while a third held up the plate of food Alastor had cooked and forgotten about. “Let’s hurry a bit, I need my beauty sleep.”

“I can walk just fine.” Alastor complained, wondering wether poking a spider in his eyes would be a good idea. He had eight of them, after all, wouldn’t miss a few of them. “Your help is uncalled for and unneeded.”

“Oh, shut up, twink.” Alastor didn’t know what that meant. “With that attitude of yours, I don’t know why I bother being nice.”

“Probably because you believe in our dear Charlotte’s delusional ideas about redemption?” Alastor offered.

Angel laughed at the mere idea. “Oh, no, no, hell no.” He opened the door to Alastor’s temporary room, and dropped him in the bed. “I don’t think helping a sadist gives a lot of redemption points.”

Alastor bit back a groan as he sat up. “I don’t think it does, no.” His arm wasn’t bleeding as much, but his stomach wound didn’t relent.

“Here, your meal.” Angel left the dish on the bed next to him. Alastor grabbed a steak with his bare hands–Angel hadn’t brought any cutlery. “Don’t wanna know where that meat comes from.”

Before Alastor could inform of the demon he’d hunted down for it, someone knocked. Rosie, by the sounds of it–and the fact that no one else in this hotel had manners. Alastor included, though it was a personal choice to be an annoyance, not a problem of being raised like a heathen.

“There you are.” Rosie said, not batting an eye at the sight before her; a wounded radio demon eating with his bare hands and a slightly bloodied spiders in pajamas. “This hotel is a labyrinth.”

“Blame him.” Angel said, pointing at Alastor. “He remodeled.”

“Of course you did.” Rosie said. She sat next to Alastor, putting a small box that he recognized as a first-aid kit. It wasn’t the first time she’d patched him up, and it would probably not be the last. “Even your shadows got lost.”

“Did they, now?” Alastor asked. He could see his shadow sheepishly peaking from behind Rosie, as if ashamed of abandoning him earlier. 

“Oh, yeah, didn’t you send them?” Angel asked, too comfortable for a sinner in the presence of two overlords. “They woke me and the girls up.”

Huh. So that’s where they went.

Rosie used scissors to cut the sleeve off his suit. When Alastor pouted, Rosie shook her head. “I’ll make you a new suit, don’t you make a fuss about it.”

A radio flickered to life in the corner of the room, replacing the awkward silence that followed with a soft tune that Alastor couldn’t place. It was the only thing heard in the room for a while, apart from the needle mending Alastor’s arm, and his own chewing.

“Well this has been a hell of a night.” Angel commented.

Rosie nodded in agreement, though her eyes were still focusing on Alastor. “Do tell me your father isn’t coming back, at the very least.”

“The Princess kicked him out.” Alastor said. He knew she hadn’t meant it in that way. He was getting tired, though. Whether that was because of the blood loss or because of his father, he didn’t know. “He’s not stupid enough to set foot on here.”

“And if he does, I can shoot him again.” Angel said, perhaps with a bit too much excitement. “You won’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve managed to shoot anyone. Vaggie and Charlie are such buzzkills.”

“Well, then.” Rosie said, pulling out the bandages for Alastor’s stomach. “Do warn your staff against going into his room unprepared.” She allowed Alastor the dignity of unbuttoning his own coat. “I left a bit of a surprise.”

“Rosie, right now, you’re my best friend.” Alastor declared. Rosie gave the final tug to his bandages and tied them off.

“I’ll tell Mimzy you said that.” She threatened.

Alastor plopped down the bed. “She’s also my best friend. You’re tied on the spot.”

“What about me?” Angel said, in what Alastor assumed was a seductive tone. It didn’t have any effect on him.

Alastor pretended to consider, as he struggled to take his shoes off. “Hmmm… I think ‘friendly acquaintance’ would be a fitting label. You did shoot my father, after all.”

“Aw, come on, not even friends?” Angel complained. “You’re mean.”

“I’m the Radio Demon.” Alastor said, still fighting against his shoes. “Of course I’m mean.”

Rosie packed the first aid kit and stood from bed. “Well I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, Alastor.”

“Good night!” Alastor said. His shoe finally came off. “Aren’t you leaving as well?”

Angel Dust shrugged. “Eh, sure.” He smiled. “Unless you’d rather I stay to warm your bed.”

Alastor threw his shoe at him. “Out.”

Angel laughed. “Alright, alright, message heard loud and clear.” The shoe had almost hit it. If Alastor managed to take the other off, he might hit him with that one. “Have a nice night, Al.”

He closed the door just as the shoe flew in his direction. Damn it. Oh, well, better aim than his father at least.

Alastor laid in bed looking at the ceiling for a long while before finally slipping bellow his sheets and sleeping.

The kitchen was clean of any incident by the morning. Charlie had made pancakes for everyone, and Alastor helped himself to a few. He could barely feel the wounds from the night before. Demon biology was fascinating, in his opinion. Much better than when he used to get hurt while alive.

He was halfway through his breakfast when Charlie sat next to him. She stared at him with those big eyes of hers, waiting for him to direct his attention towards her. When it became clear he was going to ignore her, if only for the pleasure of annoying her, she spoke.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alastor finished chewing before looking at her. It was bad manners talking and chewing at the same time, after all. “Tell you what?”

“Al.” Charlie said, trying to be serious. Her concern amused him. “If I had known he was your father, I might have…”

“Kicked him out?” Alastor asked. “For the mere crime of hurting me almost a century ago?”

“Well, yes.” Charlie said.

Alastor scoffed. “I thought you said every demon deserved a chance at redemption.”

“And they do!” Charlie said, getting a bit riled up. “But not at the cost of someone else suffering.”

“Oh, please.” Alastor laughed. “Do you know how many times I’ve killed him? Don’t answer that, I’ve lost count myself. He cannot hurt me, not anymore.” He lied. “Besides, don’t believe I was all too innocent, I’ve enjoyed finding increasingly creative ways to torture him.”

Charlie made a thinking face. “Alright, so you were a horrible person too.” She said. “But you’re helping me, and back then, when you were young, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I was a deeply annoying child.” Alastor said, because it was the truth. All children were annoying. Cute, sometimes, like Charlie, but annoying, like Charlie too. “And I stabbed him to death–I believe he told you that already?”

“Well maybe you both suck!” Charlie said, throwing her arms up. “And you’re both dicks! And assholes and will probably never change! But guess what? You’re my friend. And between assholes, I will choose those whom I’ve befriended.” 

Alastor blinked at her. “Well that was a lovely speech, Charlie.” He said. “May I finish my breakfast now?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” She said, before leaving.

Alastor couldn’t believe it either.