Chapter Text
Vox couldn't sleep that night. Why did that woman have to show up unannounced and humiliate him? Wasn't it enough that his whole empire had collapsed? Wasn't it enough that Alastor had beaten the shit out of him publicly? What about that he had lost everything dear to him — including his friends, and his precious sharks?
The sharks. Losing them hurt the most. He missed Velvette and Valentino terribly too, but they were probably doing well enough. They had a chance to rebuild their lives, without him. He kicked them out for a reason. They were doing better without him, he was sure of it. But the sharks, they had bonded with him. They had been spoiled with the hugest tank and the finest foods, but now—
Vox winced as he recalled their desperate faces as they were rehomed to the Pentagram City Aquarium. Every day he worried if they had a large enough tank, if they were fed enough nutritious food, and if someone swam with them the same way he had done. They played no role in Vox’s plan to take over Hell, so they deserved none of the consequences. Worst of all, you couldn't explain to a shark why it was suddenly being transported to a new place. Vox would never forgive himself for rehoming them, but he reasoned that it was the best option. He no longer had the wherewithal to provide them the care they needed.
He picked up his phone and glanced at the time. It was 3:42 AM, and the battery was at 19%. Since Vee Tower no longer had power, he personally had to provide juice to any device he wanted to use. Having lost his overlord powers, that wasn’t always easy to do. Using too much power in a short amount of time could leave him exhausted.
He opened a delivery app and placed an order for a cheeseburger and fries. Most delivery drivers knew to just leave the order at the entrance and not to ask any questions. Vox would only fetch the food long after the driver had left. For six months, he had successfully avoided seeing any one else, or being seen by anyone else. That is until that insufferable woman, and her feral little sidekick, had to come along and ruin it.
The cheeseburger was dropped at the doorstep of the tower. Vox powered up a single security camera and watched as the driver rode off. Five minutes later, he went down to fetch his food. Sure, waiting meant the burger wouldn’t be as hot and fresh, but it helped assure that he wouldn’t encounter a single soul. Ever since his humiliating defeat, he found the idea of being looked upon unbearable.
The burger wasn't great. The patty was overcooked, the cheese was rubbery, and the bun was soggy. The fries were salty and oily, which was sufficient for Vox’s unsophisticated palette. After washing down the heavy meal with a couple of shots of whisky, he finally passed out around 7 AM.
***
A cautious but bubbly, “Um…Vox?” startled him from his sleep some hours later.
“What the fuck!?” he yelled as he shot up with such force that he fell out of his recliner and straight to the floor. Gasping for breath, he threw his hand over his heart and blinked rapidly as his eyes focused on the shyly waving hand of Lucifer’s daughter.
“Sorry for startling you! Are you ok? Gosh, I shouldn’t have approached you while you were sleeping, I—”
“Leave,” he grumbled, countering the onslaught of chipper words.
She extended her arm and offered to help him up. He momentarily thought to slap her hand away, but the short-lived satisfaction that would bring, would quickly be supplanted by a deluge of unwanted consequences. Instead, he turned away.
“Look, I'm really sorry. I understand you not wanting to talk with me, or even see me, but I'm having trouble transferring the data from the drone. You don't owe me anything, but this is so important so I have to try,” Charlie pleaded.
He turned his head just enough to get a good look at her. In addition to the drone, she had two large shopping bags, one from the pharmacy and one from the electronics store. “What’s with those bags?” he asked.
She shifted from side to side, not so subtly avoiding eye contact. “They’re for you!” she confessed after a moment.
“So you aren't here for the data then, you’re here to force your delusional, do-gooder nonsense on me. You should have realized from the moment you met me, that I am not someone you can fix.”
Ruffling through the bag, she seemingly ignored everything he said. “Oh, where is it,” she mumbled to herself.
Vox cleared his throat.
“Not this, no, gosh, I bought so much,” she continued.
Vox stood, his head throbbing as his blood pressure rose. “Give me the drone. I'll—” wooziness rushed up his spine and he stumbled back into his seat.
“Vox!” Charlie dropped the bags and placed her hands on his wrists, “you're not well, please let me help! I brought all kinds of bandages and electrical tape. I'm not really sure how you work, but I'm sure we can figure out how to patch that wound right up.”
“I'm just hungover, now for the last time—”
“But doesn’t it hurt, walking around with an injury like that?” She evidently had no intention of letting him be.
He leaned in, giving her a closer look at the jagged glass covered with grime. “Of course it fucking hurts! I have an open wound on my head! Imagine the worst migraine ever, constantly for six whole months!” His raised, strained voice echoed in his pounding head.
Charlie placed a firm, but gentle hand on his chest and pushed him back. Her scrunched nose made it clear that he smelled bad , just like the maid girl had said. He knew he did, but what was there to do about it? He couldn't shower properly with his head cracked open, revealing the demonic circuitry of his brain.
“Let me help. We can clean it and wrap it, and then I'll leave after you help with the drone. That's all, nothing more.” She released her hand and gave a soft, almost reassuring smile.
Sometimes Vox cursed his pride. His head needed repair, there was no question about that, but accepting help from this spoiled, idealistic woman, would be yet another blow to his pride that he wasn't sure he could take. But what did that even mean? What pride was he even mulling over? He glanced around the darkened room, decorated with heaps of greasy pizza boxes, crumpled wrappers, and busted screens. Then he glanced down at himself— sweat stained shirt, torn pants with the button popped. He was the one who was delusional if he thought pride were a word that applied to him anymore.
He hadn’t been able to fix his head without supplies or power, or a second set of hands. He would be a fool not to accept her offer, and yet, he still found it excruciatingly unpalatable to just say yes. As her smile grew while awaiting his answer, he could only force himself to acquiesce by realizing that she would not leave him the fuck alone, if he didn't let her help. So, he finally agreed, and the tiniest part of him felt relieved that he did so.
“Fine. Make it quick, and then get out.”
“Yes, sir!” She said cheerfully before launching into the shopping bags.
The first items she pulled out were wipes of two varieties: one for soft biological skin, and one for electronics. “Which one is best for your screen?”
He pointed to the electronics wipes, so she put the others away. “I'll leave these ones here too, you can use them for the rest of your body.”
He already knew he was sweaty, and covered in oil and grime, did she really have to point it out? He must have grimaced at the thought, because Charlie suddenly recoiled.
“Oh did I hurt you?” she gasped.
“Does being annoyed count as being hurt?” he scoffed.
She ignored his ungrateful comment, and instead said, “Well, just let me know if I do. I've never treated a wound on a TV demon before, so I'm not sure how much pressure I can apply, or really what I can do.”
Her touch was tender and relieving as she wiped the uninjured part of his face. It was his turn to let out a small gasp as he realized how much he had longed for a caring caress. He stared into her large, heavily lashed eyes as she scrubbed his face clean. She was an undeniably beautiful woman. He had always recognized her beauty — you'd have to be blind not to— but presently, he was sharing an unexpected intimate moment with her. An intimate moment while he was at his lowest — a filthy, broken slob.
The thought was almost enough to make him pull away in shame. A sharp pain to the corner of his screen ripped him from his spiral of self-pity.
“Ow!” he exclaimed.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” she blurted, “this part is the most broken, I'm just trying to clean around the edges. Try not to move too much.”
“Yeah…I'll stay still,” he promised.
“I can't believe you've been living with this untreated for so long. You should really be kinder to yourself, Vox.”
Part of him wanted to thank her, to lean into her compassion and let her magically fix him, and not just his cracked screen, but fix all of whatever was wrong with him. That is what she did, right? Adopted the scumbags and losers of Hell and beat them into a new and improved version of themselves, right? But not Vox. He was an immutable wreck, twisted into a wretch beyond repair, but it was nice to entertain the thought that he too could be rectified.
After she finished cleaning the wound—which took quite some time due to months of adhered oil and dust—she reached into the shopping bag again. “Which color?” she asked while dangling blue, black, red, and white electrical tape.
He frowned. She even thought about colors. How frivolous…and annoying…and thoughtful . “It doesn’t really matter—” he began, but an image of Velvette and Valentino flashed in his mind. They would never have considered the choice of color inconsequential. “Blue, I guess. Like my screen.”
“Great choice!” she grinned, “that’s what I was thinking too!”
He gazed up as she delicately wrapped the injury. He had never felt smaller than he did at that moment. After all the horrible things he had said and done to her and her friends, she still was willing to lend him a hand. Worse still, there was seemingly no pretense behind it. Vox struggled to imagine that anyone was completely void of self-serving motives, but for the moment, he could let himself pretend that she was.
“All done! Now, if you'll just help me with the drone, I'll be out of your hair.” She froze and blinked vacantly, “er, out of your…antennea?”
OK, that was almost funny, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of laughing. She had clearly already gotten enough satisfaction from playing savior. See, he knew there was a self-serving motive! This woman was the walking personification of a savior complex! “Give me the drone,” he demanded, making it abundantly clear, he wasn’t giving into her vile do-gooder plans.
As she handed it to him, he got a glimpse inside one of the bags she had brought for him. There seemed to be some clothes and some food.
“What else is in the bags?” He asked as he started rummaging through a drawer.
“Oh lots of stuff!” she sang out, “fresh clean clothes, a healthy home cooked meal, toiletries, painkillers, my phone number, just in case y—”
The enormity of her kindness was unendurable. His throat tightened as tears flooded his digital display. His claws snapped around a hard drive, and without looking, he flung it forcefully in her direction.
“Hey, watch it! That hurt!” she whimpered.
“The port will unlock the drone, then you can transfer the data to the drive.” He kept his back to her. His voice was thin and shaken, but fortunately he did not glitch. That was one of the few benefits of being powerless— glitches were far less common.
“Um…thanks?” There was more than a hint of hurt in her tone.
“Just go.” He silently prayed to a god that most certainly wasn’t listening, that Charlie didn't hear the restrained sob in his voice.
“Vox?” she asked cautiously. She had most definitely heard it.
“Go! Just fucking leave already!” He waited until the sound of the door slamming before melting to the floor in a heap of sobs.