Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“...prêt-à-manger.”

The sigil lit up.

It worked! Alastor did not actually expect it this time either. It had been many futile attempts, and this newest copy of the summoning guide he managed to acquire after great lengths was damaged. There had been a few diagrams and sentences he had to fill in with some logical guesswork of his own. Now, according to the book, he should start hearing a voice emitting from the radio-- 

Hm. He may have fucked up slightly.

“Fuck, are you that incompetent that you can’t see-- the fuck?”

The first thing Alastor registered was how tall the demon was. The blue and glowing demon, if that was what it was, towered over him with a similarly bewildered look on what Alastor assumes to be his face, his sentence trailing off into shocked silence. The flat, rectangular screen the demon had in place of a head emitted such a bright glow, Alastor had to blink a few times to adjust to the sudden increase in light in his candlelit cabin. Wires protruded out of the demons back and strewed over the bloodstained floor. 

Alastor had to admit, the demon looked nothing like his imagination. It was nice to know that people still wore tailored suits in hell, he supposed. It certainly quelled the small, irrational fear he had in the back of his head that robes were mandatory for whatever reason. 

“...what the fuck? Where is this? Val? Velvette?” The demon swore, looking around cautiously at the dimly lit cabin strewn with decomposing bodies.

Well, he might as well get on with it.

“Welcome, o powerful demon from the afterlife! I have summoned you here--”

“What’s your name.” 

The demon seemed to have finally snapped out of whatever confusion he was in, asking with sudden intensity. His eyes widened in disbelief, head tilted to one side with an expression like a cross between trying to recall something and utter stupefaction.

Alastor debated internally about giving out his name to a demon for a brief moment. Ma used to tell him stories about names having power when he was young, but surely this is beyond that already? He was planning on making a deal, after all.

“Alastor. I wish to make a deal, demon.”

The blue monstrosity’s eyes opened even wider, moving his face closer, eyes roaming across Alastor’s face like he was studying an impossible specimen under a microscope. Alastor fought the urge to take a step back. He had the most peculiar feeling, that the demon recognised him somehow.

After what felt like forever, the demon leaned back, his shocked expression morphing rapidly between an assortment of expressions too fast for Alastor to read, before settling into one of utter… glee? 

“Tell me, Alastor, what year is this?” His name rolled off the demon’s tongue with strange emphasis, at once too familiar and foreign. 

“1933, baby! And what a year it has been, I heard even the prohibition is ending soon!” Alastor exclaimed with faux cheeriness, determined to squash the uneasiness he had been feeling that only increased with every second being in the demon's presence. He was determined to be in control over the whole situation, but the unnerving feeling of the demon being more familiar with him than he was with him had been creeping up his back like a persistent chill.

The demon's grin stretched wider. 

“1933! Good year, good year indeed! Do tell me, this is New Orleans, Louisiana, is it not?”

Alastor fought his urge to break eye contact and swallowed back the uneasiness. He nodded.

An expression of rapturous joy exploded across the demon's face before he schooled it down into a smug, confident smile. 

“Call me Vox.”

.

Vox could not believe his luck.

It had been a typical day in hell. He had been trapped in a mind numbing meeting about whether to go forward with Angelic Security now that the Hazbin Hotel had actually fought off the Exorcist angels, surrounded by incompetent schmucks that were paid more than they were worth. The meeting had been going in circles, until Vox finally had enough and was about to tell everyone off and pick the most annoying employee to send them to Val to be shot for stress relief when he felt a strange pulling sensation, and the world spun on its axis.

Everything went dark for a moment, and the next thing Vox knew, he was standing in some sort of sigil circle in front of a… human?

Or at least, the most human looking sinner he had seen yet. The man stood before him, skin a rich shade of brown and hair curled with nary an animalistic or unnatural feature to be seen. He wore a red waistcoat, tie and small, black-framed, oval-shaped glasses. Vox shifted his focus from the man and to his surroundings. 

Dead bodies littered the floor, each in varying states of decomposition. Strangely familiar looking sigils hung from the ceiling. 

Huh. Maybe he was still in hell after all. Where the fuck had he seen those sigils before?

“...have summoned you here-”

Vox's attention never shifted so fast. Could that- was that- no fucking way?

“What is your name.”

Those rich, dulcet tones. That intonation and enunciation. Even without that radio filter, he would recognise that voice anywhere, everywhere. It haunted more of his waking thoughts and dreams than he would ever admit. Hung on to his every word back then (still do, his mind supplied unhelpfully), when he was still green and oh so naive. Vox re-examined the man with renewed fervour. 

“Alastor. I wish to make a deal.”

And at once, everything fell into place. 

In life and in death, Alastor seemed to have never changed his demeanour. The same trademark Cheshire smile, the same confident poise. Curly brown hair changed to a red bob with black tips, inviting brown eyes changed to pitch-black pupils with red sclera, but the essence of who Alastor was remained the same.

Alastor must have made some sort of deal while alive, allowing him to make that meteoric rise to the top that, to date, still holds the record as the fastest any sinner became an Overlord. Someone, in hell, had control over Alastor like a puppeteer with the strings of a marionette. The high and mighty Radio Demon, not so mysterious any more! Vox would almost be mad at the thought of Alastor being subservient to someone who was not him, but sheer, unbridled glee took over as the most naive version of Alastor stood right before him, offered up on a silver platter.

“1933, baby! And what a year it has been, I heard even the prohibition is ending soon!” 

Once, a long, long time ago, Alastor and Vox got drunk together. They were together at Vox’s apartment, celebrating Vox’s successful launch of what used to be called VoxCorp. Alastor had been unusually cheery, insisting on continuing their celebration from the fancy restaurant they were at on Alastor’s turf at “somewhere more private”, leading them to end up drinking on Vox’s couch. It was the first time Vox saw Alastor absolutely inebriated. Before that night, Vox had thought it was impossible for Alastor to get plastered, it had just seemed so below Alastor.

They ended up talking late into the night, voices slurring and drinks sloshing. It was then Vox had revealed his human past to Alastor, his human name Vincent. Alastor had laughed up a storm, prodding at Vox’s old boxy head and calling him “Vinny”, giggling every time. It was also that night Alastor, for the first time, revealed details from his human past. That he died in the 1930s, that he was from New Orleans, Louisiana. That he used to be the top radio star, the toast to New Orleans. 

“Maybe you even heard my broadcasts when you were alive!” Alastor had laughed. Vox had wished then, not for the first time, that he had met Alastor when he was still alive.

Today, his wish was granted.

.

Vox, as the demon called himself, adjusted his blue pinstriped suit slightly, before crossing his arm behind his back. 

“Let me introduce myself! I am Vox, the all powerful demon, and I am here because of your summonings! You mentioned a deal, I believe?” He ended that sentence with a million-dollar grin, letting sparks dance across his palm.

Alastor hesitated. Before, he had scripted out the basics of what he was going to ask for, but nothing happening right now was going as planned. Instead of a voice, a full, physical demon materialised instead. One that seemed oddly familiar with him. Perhaps, he should approach this with more caution.

“I’m honoured to meet you, Vox!” Alastor exclaimed with a flourish, hands spread out in a welcoming gesture, hoping it would mask his nerves. “Indeed, I wish to make a deal with you! However, before that, I would like to verify just the… exact extent of your capabilities!” Alastor gestured vaguely at Vox’s head. “You know, you don’t look all too…typical! If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is…that?”

Vox’s eyes narrowed for a fleeting moment, before he collected himself. 

“Oh, this? It’s called a television! The future of media entertainment, baby! Just--”

In a crackle of electricity, Vox manifested right behind Alastor. “--a glimpse of what is coming soon in your time! How is that,” Vox waved his arms for extra emphasis, creating holographic displays of various charts around him, “for power!”  

Alastor restrained himself from spinning around immediately. Slowly, he turned around, hoping that his poker face veiled his alarm well. 

A television, huh? He had seen a picture of the picture box in the newspaper a month ago, the article promising it would revolutionise the future of entertainment. It looked like a boxy, clunky appliance, nothing like the sleek, flat screen of the demon’s head. Alastor would deduce that this demon, Vox, came from the future somehow, but he was not feeling the most confident in his logical guesses right now. After all, his “logical guesswork” had been what led him to this state in the first place, feeling like a fish out of water in the presence of an unnatural yet humanoid looking creature that looked to be far too familiar with him and much too pleased in general.

“Well,” Alastor started, “just how all-knowing are you, exactly? I would feel much more reassured if there was some proof provided.” 

“Wh-”

“The deal I want to make is quite big, after all. I just,” Alastor interjected quickly, cutting Vox’s protests off, “don’t know if I can trust you to carry it out! You couldn’t possibly tell me the future, can you? How can you possibly know what will be the winning horse for tomorrow’s horse race?” Alastor let his usual smile slip into an easy smirk.

It was comical, Alastor thought, how Vox opened his mouth and narrowed his eyes in speechless anger, clearly revving himself up to fling insults at Alastor, only to freeze midway. His raised finger fell rigidly, as if forced down with great pain by himself. He turned around and walked a few steps forward, away from Alastor and hunching over what seemed like a glowing rectangle, blocking the view while muttering a rapid string of hushed swears all the while. Alastor could vaguely make out the words “insufferable” and “fucking obnoxious bastard”.

“Risen Star,” Vox made a grand display of the horse in a screen above him as he turned back around, “will be the winning horse for tomorrow’s race.” He spread his arms out, clearly pleased with himself, satisfied smirk in place. “Well, how’s that for power?”

“It’s all very well, and truly, I thank you for it,” Alastor replied without looking up, moving to the left corner of the room.

“But, you understand, I must test this piece of knowledge first! No hard feelings, truly! Just standard procedure! I will,” Alastor lifted up a large pail of flour, “let you know!”

He lifted his head to meet Vox in the eyes, seeing the panic that widened Vox’s eyes as he dropped the flour over the candles surrounding the summoning circle, lifting his head to meet Vox in the eyes as he scrambled forward--

The candles went out.

Vox was gone. 

Alastor dropped the pail and nearly sank to his knees in relief. Laughter started as a chuckle, rapidly erupting into an explosion as Alastor tossed his head back, clutching his sides, laughing so hard tears started to form. Oh, Vox was far too easy! Are all demons this easy to manipulate? Gosh, he might not even need that deal!

But first, he needs to get in touch with Mimzy.

.

“FUCK!”

Vox slammed his fists on the meeting table, panting, back where he was before being summoned. His employees, who seemed to have been arguing amongst themselves over Vox’s sudden disappearance, all quietened instantly, staring at him in terror.

“What are you lot looking at? Get the fuck OUT of the room before I feed you to Shok.wav! Ethan, stay.” He halted Ethan in his steps, who had been trying to discreetly get out of the room along with the rest. Ethan turned around nervously, bracing himself for whatever task his boss may give him while in a bad mood.

“Send that posh pretentious asshole Zestial a request for all his spellbooks and get Velvette to send all her spellbooks to me. Do NOT disturb me.” Vox growled out the command. His assistant yelped his assent and hurried out of the room, shutting the door and leaving Vox alone in the room.

Vox wanted to punt something, anything. He should not have let his guard down like that. Alastor may be at his most naive, but he was and has always been a manipulative demon. The sight of Alastor in his human form had caught him off guard. Those curls, those rich brown eyes, that same assured smile, that waist…

“Next time, huh, Alastor. I’ll look forward to it.” 

.

“So, Alastor, darling, how did you know this Risen Star would win today? She had been on a losing streak too! When did you become a horse betting expert?”

Alastor and Mimzy walked down the street, towards the speakeasy Mimzy performs in. The day after the summoning, Alastor approached Mimzy in the morning and asked her to bet on the horse for that day’s horse race, assuring her that she would hit the jackpot. 

Mimzy had been hesitant, and Alastor had privately shared her reservations, but encouraged her to trust him this time. Lo and behold, the horse had indeed won. Alastor was pleasantly surprised when he read this news aloud on the radio in the afternoon, and later even more so by Mimzy swinging by the station, insistent on treating him to a good night out drinking. 

“Well, my dear, if you must know, a little picture box told me!” Alastor chuckled to himself. 

Mimzy giggled, used to Alastor’s cryptic comments, “Oh you, Alastor. Well, send this ‘picture box’ my thanks, next time you see him! Now, Alastor, we’re not done partying until the sun rises up!” She dragged Alastor into the speakeasy jovially as they reached their destination. Alastor grinned, looking forward to the night, but not before dedicating one more thought to the demon who had made this possible.

“Next time, indeed, Vox. I’ll look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

Alastor was frustrated.

It had been a week after that night. After the high of actually successfully summoning a demon from hell, tricking said demon and getting something for free out of him on top of it all wore off around two days later, frustration started setting in. He was still no closer towards accomplishing his true goal. Vox had been showy and seemed to be electricity themed, but a demon that easily manipulated could not possess the sort of power Alastor was looking for. That said, his knowledge of the future, as well as the possibility that this Vox he summoned was from some sort of future judging by his head, could remain useful.

Of course, any use he could wring out of Vox still remained dependent on whether Alastor can manage to even summon the demon he wished to. Which led to his current predicament, standing in a dingy second-hand bookstore, with an uncooperative bookseller in front of him.

“Please, ma’am, you have to know who sold you this book, just the name, at the very least-”

“Look, kid, I told ya,” the old lady interrupted him, sweeping Alastor’s book away from the center of the counter, “I don’t remember! We don’t exactly keep track of names of the folks who pawned off their wares ‘round here.”

Alastor glanced down at the book again. It had a gold-embossed title, “Summoning and other spells”, that retained its sparkle despite the rest of the faded deep violet hardcover. Its pages were yellowed even before he bought it a month ago while on his search for spell books, and his constant thumbing through of the pages and dog-earing certain sections did not help. There was no clue of who the author was other than a simple initial on the corner of the cover, placed there like an afterthought.

He had found this book by luck, after trying guides and rituals again and again to no avail for half a year straight. Months of different summoning circles, offerings, disposing of failed sacrifices. He was not close to giving up, exactly, but the constant failure had gnawed at him. Passing by the bookshop one day after work, this unassuming book had caught his eye. A causal perusal of the book’s contents showed extensive, detailed instructions for various spells. Alastor had already purchased many expensive yet ineffective books on the same topic at that point from various sources, so figured he might as well try it, especially since it was dirt cheap too.

Now, he finally found a real spell book, yet it was just so conveniently damaged right where he needed most. Power, so much power, was so close yet so far, and it bugged Alastor to no end.

Apparently, Alastor’s frustration was evident despite his ever present smile, because the old lady sighed and explained, “Look, all I remember, and this was a few months ago, it was some tall… person with a large hat.”

Alastor looked up at her, hopeful. This was new information.

She grimaced. “Man or woman, I don’t remember.” She grabbed the book and opened it, flipping to the damaged page. “I didn’t even remember this being damaged, my memory isn’t what it used to be, alright? I’m not getting any younger, kid.”

Alastor kept his smile up, but it was harder this time. He had braced himself for it, but to hear it aloud disappointed him all the same. So close, yet…

“It’s quite alright, Mrs Brooks. And don’t be ridiculous, you don’t look a day over 29 and still pretty as a peach! Mr Brooks is a real lucky fella, truly!” Alastor fixed on his most charming smile, leaning over to take and kiss her hand, retrieving his book at the same time. She laughed, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same.

He was about to say his goodbyes and make his leave when she caught his arm, looking worried. “Look, Alastor, right? Agnes’ kid. Ain’t know why you are so insistent on finding the previous owner, but just as a word of advice from an old lady. If the pages are damaged, you’re better off not knowing the original. It’s fate, ya know? Curiosity killed the cat.”

Alastor gently removed her hand and chuckled, “Don’t worry, Mrs Brooks. I was simply intrigued, that’s all! Nothing serious! I’ll have to make my leave now, give my regards to Mr Brooks!”

He walked out of the store, leaving Mrs Brooks’ still concerned gaze in his wake.

Well, if he could not reach the ideal demon, he had to make do with what he did have…

.

Vox was frustrated.

It had been a week since that fateful night. Oh, he had a blast with the knowledge that Alastor was a dirty, hypocritical fraud who cheated his way to the top! Even Vox could honestly say that despite the many kills and underhanded methods he adopted in hell to climb to the title of overlord, he came by his power organically. To know Alastor just cheated? Took a shortcut? And he called Vox pathetic!

The sheer euphoria that knowledge brought him could only be topped by his new knowledge of Alastor’s human form. Such great, luscious curly hair got turned into a fuckass bob in hell? That very night, Vox spent a good hour pestering Velvette to replace her models with one that sported human Alastor’s exact hairstyle until she gave in and ran a new string of shampoo commercials on his channels for her new haircare line the next day.

Yet, amidst all this, Alastor was still annoyingly missing in action. Vox hoped he saw the ads plastered everywhere on billboards all over hell. He had made sure to get a zeppelin with the ad to circle around the hotel. He had to barely hold himself back on the smear campaign he itched so badly to air on Alastor’s cheating. Vox did not go a day without kicking himself for letting his guard down so much that night and not even remembering to take a picture during the whole thing. Without solid evidence and Alastor there to react to all of it, it just did not feel right. The chance for him to reclaim the face he lost during an earlier duet was right there, yet just out of reach.

That, ultimately, was what led to his frustration now. It had been a week, and Zestial had very clearly decided to simply ghost Vox’s very reasonable and polite demand to access his collection of spellbooks. Velvette had, with great reluctance and a lot of bribery, allowed Vox to borrow her collection to study. Unfortunately, that had not turned up anything useful on summoning either. Neither was he getting anywhere with figuring which overlord or demon owned Alastor’s soul. Which demon did Alastor even associate with that was clearly more powerful than him? Frankly, Vox was about 90% sure the old fucker already killed whoever they were during his initial overlord purge.

“Vox. Vox! VOX!”

Vox blinked, startled out of his brooding stupor.

Velvette’s annoyed face greeted him. Ah, right. The Vees had been having a meeting in Vel’s office, something about the new line of Love Potions. She had walked right up to Vox’s face from her seat at the front near the projector at some point during the meeting, finger outstretched like she was about to start prodding at his face. Off to Vox’s side was Val, taking a languid drag of his pipe, rolling his eyes.

“Have you even been listening? What the fuck’s been wrong with you lately? First that weird ad campaign, then suddenly being interested in magic out of nowhere,” Velvette narrowed her eyes, “And you have never been interested in magic!”

Vox’s right eye twitched. He knew that the other two Vees would get on his ass sooner or later, but it still irked him. Luckily, Vox had been prepared with a suitable answer.

“Well, my dear Velvette,” he made his way to the front of the room, “and Valentino, I had been spending this past week brainstorming for a new business endeavour! Behold, VoxTex on earth! Expanding our business to the human realm! Imagine our profits if we can also begin influencing trends on Earth! Not to mention securing employees before they pass, with zero competition from other overlords in hell!”

The other two stared up at him blankly. Vox realised at some point during his pitch, he had made his way atop the table and actually gotten more worked up about it than he intended to.

A beat of silence followed, before Vel cocked her head, unimpressed.

“...why.”

Vox was about to shoot back a snappy reply, only to be beaten to the chase by Val speaking up for the first time this meeting.

“Babydoll, it’s obvious! Voxy here,” he waved his pipe in Vox’s general direction, fanning the sickly pink smoke in Vox’s face, “has clearly gone loco! Honestly, are we sure this isn’t somehow tied to that radio demon you’re obsessed with, mmm?”

“He did make that one zeppelin constantly circle around that tacky motel… In fact, isn’t it still there? Seriously, what was with that ad? You never bothered with how I market my products before!”

“Doll, like I said, loco! He’s been cooped up in his little stalker cave this whole week too, awww~”

Ridiculous. Have one minor, insignificant altercation on live television in the past seven years and suddenly, Vox was the obsessed one. What about all those meltdowns Val had about Angel Dust! Utterly ridiculous!

The Vees were truly so lucky Vox can be the bigger person.

“This,” Vox cleared his throat, “is not related to Alastor, the old-timey fuckwit, in any way whatsoever. This is all about for the good of the Vees! Just picture it! Our people, our company up there on earth, securing our position as the most influential company of all hell!”

It was not even completely a lie. Once he figured out how to time travel to the past and get evidence of Alastor’s fraudulence, there is actual merit for establishing VoxTex up there. Just, of course, first he had to find how Alastor summoned him and reverse engineer that.

Vox, still atop the table, walked to where Velvette had sat down, exclaiming and pointing at her, “And that was why I went to you! For the spellbooks! We need to find out how, exactly, we can get ourselves up there first, and who to consult the best witch in all of hell!”

Not that it helped, but whatever.

Velvette pursed her lips, unmoved. “Right. And I would have told you, before you went to all this trouble, that my entire collection was on potion making! Not…summoning or portaling or whatever. Have you tried Zestial? That ancient coot has the largest collection of spellbooks amongst overlords.”

Vox huffed, crossing his arms, “That fucker didn’t even bother with a reply.”

Was that a smirk he caught on Velvette? The audacity?!

“Which would NOT have been a problem, by the way, if somebody was an actual witch…”

“EXCUSE YOU??”

“Look, babes, settle down,” Valentino spoke up from where he was lounging, leaning forward in between Vox and Velvette, dissipating some of the tension along with the smoke. Velvette huffed and sat down. “There’s a very simple answer to all your troubles, amorcito!

Vox turned to face Valentino properly, in disbelief.

“Those portal crystals succubi bitches use to go on earth!”
Ah. Asmodean crystals. Valentino was indeed right, if the goal had been to simply establish themselves up on earth. However, with his hidden goal of transporting himself up and back to human Alastor like last week, it became largely useless. Those crystals were among the first things to pop up when he researched ways to get up there. Asmodean crystals, given out by the Sin of Lust, only granted permission for hellborn to go up there, and acted as a mere portal with no additional time-travelling abilities.

Obviously, Vox could not tell the other two all that. He patted himself on the back for being such a well-prepared person, ready for this exact scenario.

“You made a great point, Val! However, those crystals only allow hellborns to pass through, and who knows what they would do to our brand image? Those creatures don’t have a soul for us to bind them absolutely, it is an incalculable risk to put our brand in the hands of hellborns who don’t understand the workings of human society!”

“What about the Goetia?”

Velvette had spoken up this time, arms still crossed but her anger mostly faded.

“We are NOT working with those tasteless, feathered freaks!” Valentino shot up from his chair. “Those beak mouthed fucks have sticks so far up their asses they can probably feel it in their throat. Malnacido, I swear to god, Vox, if you dare-” he continued, muttering a long string of spanish.

Vox grimaced. Just a little over a month ago, Valentino had gotten into a long, heated argument with a member of the Goetia royal family on social media, which devolved into him mostly posting coke rants on Vitter and humiliating himself publicly. It was a combination of luck that the very next day, said Goetia humiliated himself on live TV and was stripped of his powers, and Velvette’s PR skills that they managed to spin it around to a win for Valentino. Ever since that day, however, Valentino carried a grudge for any and all Goetia.

Vox could not really blame him. In his past experience, Goetia were all pompous, arrogant assholes stuck in the old ways and obstinately clung on to tradition. It had been a pain and a half dealing with Paimon, the high duke, to promote VoxTex. They do probably have an extensive collection of spell books and grimoires, but just thinking about dealing with them again was enough to give Vox a headache.

“Don’t worry, Val, we won’t if I have anything to say about it either.” Vox composed himself, facing the both of them once again. “Look, I think we can all agree this is a potentially, highly lucrative venue for us to explore. For now, I want both of you to see if you can find any and all spellbooks and grimoires related to summoning. I will try pestering Zestial again. Vel, go ahead with your plan for the new line of Love Potions.”

The other two Vees looked at each other and rolled their eyes in unison, but made no move to dissent. Vox, satisfied, hopped off the table and made to leave, while Velvette grumbled under her breath about how the meeting was hers at first.

Vox zapped away back to his surveillance office and leaned back on his chair, relaxing. That went well! He did not have to bust out the piano this time, either! Now, with him one step closer to exposing Alastor, it just remained as to where Alastor was. He leaned forward, towards his many display screens, clicking through the cameras one by one.

He felt a sudden pull.

The next thing he knew, human Alastor stood right in front of him.

Chapter Text

The demon is truly absurdly tall, Alastor mused.

Once again, the cabin was awash with an unnatural blue glow. The demon appeared before the radio, dressed in the same navy pinstriped tuxedo and striped waistcoat he did a week before. And just like last week, he glanced around frantically, eyes widened and dazed. Alastor got up from where he knelt, assuming a friendly grin, hands clasped behind his back. He took a deep breath.

“Hello! Delighted to make your acquaintance once again, Vox!”

He had kept everything the same as last week, unsure which part of his ritual exactly summoned Vox. The radio, the french (which now made him much more self-conscious when deliberately repeated), the shape of the summoning circle. Alastor tried to even keep the lighting in the room the exact same, candles placed exactly where they were the last time. He could not risk summoning another random demon; he considered himself lucky to have ended up with the relatively harmless Vox instead of whatever other possible insane demon.

Ah. Maybe not so harmless. 

Vox’s face changed rapidly from shock to joy before settling on anger, screen flickering with static. His wires lunged towards him, faster than Alastor could register--

And bounced right off him.

Alastor just barely kept himself from flinching, eyes never breaking contact with Vox as his hands tightened behind his back, posture upright. He kept his Cheshire smile, forcibly pushing down his relieved laughter as it threatened to bubble to the surface. It worked, it worked! 

It had been a gamble, crafting a protection talisman according to instructions in the spell book. It failed him once, it could fail him again. However, with his options limited to the demon who he likely pissed off with his trick the last time, it was this or nothing. The talisman rested snugly under his dress shirt now, concealed from view. The book had stated that it should be good for “preventing any and all malicious actions by demon-kind against a human”. So far, so good.

“What the FUCK--” Vox tried again and failed, cables and electricity visibly bouncing off Alastor before it even made contact, as if there was an invisible force field around him. Alastor wrinkled his nose as he noticed how uncomfortably close Vox had gotten to him, left eye enlarged and starting to swirl with patterns, an indignant fury flooding his face. 

Alastor’s neck was starting to ache with having to raise it to maintain constant eye contact. This demon really is too tall. 

“That’s a little rude, isn’t it? No way to return a polite greeting!” Alastor swatted away a cable still hovering near. “I told you the last time, I’ll see you again!”

“How- What--” 

“This line of flour.” Alastor took a few steps back, dusting himself off. He pointed at the floor, where a barrier of flour separated himself from Vox. It remained, he was glad to note, undisturbed by Vox’s movements just now. Alastor had debated internally whether it was necessary to create a red herring for even a protection talisman. Looking at Vox’s outraged expression right now, it was probably for the best. “It is enchanted and serves as protection. Do not attempt to cross this line, Vox.”

“Now, let’s talk about a deal, shall we?”

.

Vox could not believe Alastor. 

Actually, no. He absolutely could. Vox wanted to tear his hair-- his antennas out.

Of course he behaved the exact same in life and in death. Cautiously reckless, always plunging headfirst into a fight yet never unprepared. His modus operandi, even. The same pleased tilt of his head, same smug grin watching his opponent’s terror when realising that Alastor had the upper hand. Vox was thrown back to a time when he was by Alastor’s side, watching Alastor initiate fights with other overlords on the spur of the moment. 

Stop, Vox chastised himself. This Alastor was still human, completely ignorant of the way things worked in hell. So what if he took precaution and created some sort of shield? So what if he tricked Vox the last time? He was here again before Vox, weak and prime for influencing, naive enough to make a deal with a demon. Cheating his way to the top of the food chain in Hell. He quickly took a couple of pictures of Alastor with his eyes, just in case he forgot later.

“What do you want.” Vox snarled. The more he thought about their last meeting and how it ended, the more pissed he became.

“Please, don’t be so hostile! I wanted to thank you, truly. You were right! Risen Star did win the race!” 

Of course it did. Vox’s eyes narrowed, but gestured for Alastor to continue.

“It became clear to me, you have a wealth of knowledge over the past, present and future, don’t you?”

What was Alastor implying here? 

“Therefore, I would like to make a deal with you. Find me information on the author and the full, undamaged copy of this spell book I possess.” Alastor finished, raising his book up for Vox to see.

Huh?

Vox leaned forward and snatched the book out of Alastor’s grip. The book looked perfectly ordinary, a purple cover and yellowed pages. He examined the title. Was this the book that Alastor used to summon him?

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. What are your terms?”

Vox let Alastor grab the book back from him, stupefied. Alastor doesn’t want power?

Or does Alastor not think Vox was powerful enough? What the fuck?

Alastor’s chuckle broke him out of his momentary trance, and with increasing mortification, Vox realised he had said that out loud. 

“No, certainly not! You are a demon, yes? I’m sure you are powerful beyond what my mortal mind can only imagine! This book and its origins are simply something that has been bugging me for forever! So I thought, what better way to find out once and for all than seeking help from you, Vox, the all-knowing? Please, name your price.” Alastor answered pleasantly. 

Vox studied Alastor, still dazed. He turned the words over and round in his head. Hearing the words “powerful” about him from Alastor gave Vox a rush like no other, but even he could still tell Alastor was laying it on thick. Was this what Alastor did originally? A book? Or did something change?

He focused on the book in Alastor’s hands. Summoning and other spells. If he played this right, he could be killing two birds with one stone here…

“My price? Your soul.” Vox adjusted his suit, shifting his stance into his standard business-dealing one, attempting to reestablish himself. This atmosphere, this whole conversation had been far too dominated by Alastor. It was far too familiar.

Vox hated it.

“No.” Alastor did not miss a beat, smile unchanged like he had expected this. “I don’t really think just some simple information-gathering for you is worth my soul.”

It was worth a try, Vox supposed, rolling his eyes. Once a smug bastard, always a smug bastard.

What else could he get out of a human Alastor? Helping Alastor find this author and the full spell book benefitted Vox as well, given that was what Vox just held a meeting on. He had no idea how and why this whole summoning even worked. Is this human Alastor the same as the Alastor he knew? Was this an alternate timeline? There were far too many uncertain variables in this whole situation for Vox’s liking, for Vox to even ask this Alastor to do anything in hell for him. Not to mention, Vox already had all the material for slandering Alastor he needed--

Wait.

Vox turned around, frantically checking through his internal storage. Where was the picture he just took? Where the fuck did it go? No, no, no--

.

Vox is a truly peculiar demon, thought Alastor as he watched Vox frantically alternate between squinting at him really hard then turning around, cursing all the while. For a seemingly powerful demon, he really wore his heart on his sleeve, far too easy to be made to lose composure. He tried peeking over the rectangle-headed demon’s shoulders. What could have possibly set Vox off now? He had gone from contemplative to frantic in the matter of seconds, moods changing so fast the radio host was almost impressed.

“What did you DO.”

Alastor nearly stumbled backward at Vox’s sudden movement, face shoved so close to Alastor’s he could hear the static vibrating off the demon. The swirling patterns were back, Vox’s left eye twitching with anger. 

He caught himself, moving himself backwards while gesturing at the line drawn on the floor.

Vox growled, but leaned back. The demon crossed his arms, clearly angered. Alastor was at a loss as to why, however, which disquieted him more than he could say.

A pregnant pause settled.

“I want a picture of you. In this shack, in front of this summoning circle.” Vox finally snapped, breaking the silence. Alastor raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Alastor.” Vox regained his businessman demeanour, the corners of his mouth turning up from a scowl into a smile. “Just one, simple, picture!” 

He held out his hand, the perfect picture of confidence. No trace of his outburst, just minutes ago, remained.

There was some ulterior motive there, Alastor could see it a mile away. What troubled him was how he could make out neither its shape nor shadow. How could a picture harm him? The likelihood this arrogant demon knew magic was slim, given his ignorance of even mere protective charms. He dug his nails into his palm, running through every possible scenario through his head.

“Tik, tok, Alastor! Do you want your book?”

“Why, Vox, I believe I need some assurance that you will fulfill my request within a reasonable time! You get me the complete, undamaged book and the author’s identity before I allow you to take my picture, how about that?” One picture could not hurt, Alastor decided. Besides, once he got in contact with the actual demon he was after, he could simply ask for protection from whatever nefarious plot Vox was cooking up. 

“It is a deal!” Vox gestured at his outstretched palm, grinning. 

Alastor took Vox’s hand.

Immediately, a bright cyan light engulfed the cabin, electricity crackling all around Alastor. An energy so intense and radiant, Alastor had to shield his eyes from the glare. The numb, tingling feeling induced by static electricity crawled up from his toes to his scalp, his hair standing up. Bolts of lighting danced around them, the room getting brighter, brighter, brighter and--

As sudden as it began, it ended, with a deafening crack of thunder. 

Alastor’s ears ringed, and he slowly removed his hand from his eyes, blinking away the moisture and the burn from the lightning. Squinting, he glanced around the cabin. Sigils he hung around the cabin for the ritual were askew. The remnants of the bodies that still lay strewn around the room now had a distinct charred smell. His hair was frizzy, he realised as he raised his left hand up to feel it. Instinctively, he raised both his hands up--

Vox had not let go of his hand, gaze so focused it could burn a hole and grip like a vice. Alastor tried gently tugging his hand. 

No reaction. 

Alastor was getting increasingly self-aware of how Vox’s hand looked compared to his, claws almost swallowing Alastor’s sleek hand whole. He tugged again, harder this time. 

Still nothing.

He coughed. Loudly.  

The reaction was instantaneous. Vox snatched his hand away like it was on fire, a brief look of panic flashing across his face, eyes widened and screen suddenly two-toned. A rapid series of coughs ensued from him, while Alastor tried to discreetly relax his hand, sore from Vox’s grip and tried not to stare.

An awkward silence fell between them like a blanket. Vox’s feet shuffled about the floor while Alastor was still trying to blink the dryness in his eyes away. 

“Well, I suppose that was it--”

“Where’s my book?”

They spoke at the same time. Alastor cleared his throat and looked up at Vox expectantly. 

Vox sputtered. “Look, you have to give me some time. Hand that book over.”

“No! Didn’t you claim you were all-powerful? All-knowledgeable?” 

“Wha- I- Ok, you asked me for help, we’re doing this my way! Pass me the book so I can better examine it for clues!”

“What do you need the whole book for? Take a picture of the cover or something! Don’t you know the future?”

“Just hand it over, you petty asshole-- FUCK! Fine!”

.

Vox retreated, claws burning. Right. Protection barrier or some other bullshit.

He rolled his eyes as he gestured for Alastor to raise the cover up and took a picture. Annoyingly, Alastor blocked his whole face while doing so. He checked in his internal storage and sure enough, it was present. Huh. So what stopped him from taking a picture of Alastor earlier--

“--guarantee. Hello?” 

Vox blinked. Alastor waved his snapping fingers in front of him, trying to get his attention.

“Fine, you need time to search up the information. How long will you take? How will you get back to me?” 

Now Alastor was impatient? This was supposed to be a deal with a demon for him! Where was the intimidation? The look of terror? 

“Hey, you summoned me, you figure it out!”

Alastor’s mouth moved, but no words formed. Ha! About time he made the high and mighty Radio Demon speechless.

“Ok. Alright. How about this, I will summon you every few days to check in on your progress.” Alastor huffed, irate. That damn smile, however, never slipped.

“Fine!” Vox scoffed. “Try not to bother me incessantly!”

Alastor just glared at him, expression flat as he doused the candle flames. It was the last thing Vox saw before darkness swallowed him whole once more-- 

And spat him out right back in his surveillance room. 

Vox did not miss a beat. Instantly, half the monitors abandoned displaying footage of his surveillance drones and started running programmes, searching for names with the initials of the author. VoxTek possessed the private data of just about every soul in hell, from deathdays down to the first names of their second cousins once-removed. If there was one thing that arrogant, human version of Alastor had been right in, it was seeking help from Vox.

Vox burst out laughing. 

Alastor, seeking help from Vox! Alastor, in a deal with Vox! He never thought he would see the day. Even back when they were on friendlier terms, he had always been brushing aside Vox’s attempts to help, always looking at Vox pityingly, like Vox had grossly overestimated himself. How the tables turn! Now, all he was missing was the photo, the crucial piece of evidence he needed to prove to all of hell of Vox’s superior strength and Alastor’s fraudulence!

He waved his hands, displaying a projection of the book up before him. Royal purple, gold-embossed title. The cover was nothing special, with the most important detail, the author’s identity, almost blending into the background in ordinary black.

L.M.

Oh, the game was on.

Chapter Text

“Explain.”

Ethan took a deep breath and tried to stop the shaking.

It did not work. Ah, he knew it was futile anyway, to not wither and tremble under the full force of the Media Overlord’s cold, furious glare.

He is irreplaceable, Ethan attempted to reassure himself. Employee of the month for 10 months straight (could have been 11 if it was not for that pervert Travis, damn it), personal assistant to the Mr Vox, one of the first few batch of employees hired back when VoxTek even used to be VoxCorp, one of the few employees the Media Overlord knew by name-- point was, he would not be demoted to the mail room or be fed to the shark.

Maybe.

“S-sir, we had collated a list of all the users in the VoxTek database, filtering out lower hellborns, with the initial L.M., taking into account middle names. So far-”

“This includes both past and present VoxTek users?”

“Y-yes. Approximately 92% of Hell's Sinner population and 80% of the Goetia population all the way from when VoxCorp was first established. We, um, we have collated a list, but uhm-”

Fuck, why did he have to be the bearer of bad news? That asshole Travis is going to be employee of the month again, isn’t he?

“..t-there’s no one that fits the initials and has attained overlord equivalent power. The closest is a man named L.L.--”

“What the FUCK do you mean NO ONE fits the criteria-”

He is absolutely fish food, thought Ethan despairingly as he glanced at the aquarium past Vox, at the company horror story swimming happily in the tank. There goes his winning streak as the Vox employee who had not yet been fed to Shok.wav and his bragging rights that came along with it. At least, according to Clapman, the excruciating pain from the shark only lasts for a minute before you lose consciousness. The true pain comes when you regenerate, molecule by molecule, post shark digestion, which would happen approximately 5 hours later and could be literally anywhere in the Pride Ring, depending on your luck.

He turned his attention back to Vox, who was still going on his tirade.

“-I gave you TWO whole days! Is your entire department filled with fucking imbeciles with-”

He should have known, truly, that this task was trouble from the moment Vox gave it to him. He had gotten the task through a video call from Vox two days ago out of the blue, and from his boss’ background, he could make out the unfortunately familiar red of the Radio Demon on all the screens behind Vox.

Ever since the Radio Demon was back in town, everyone had been on their toes around Vox. Alastor had always been a banned word, but it almost got better during the 7 year absence. You could slip up and utter the word “Alastor” and not be instantly vaporised during the past 2 years, even. Now that he’s back? Even mouthing the word “radio” could get you sent to the Mail Room instantly, and now that was a fate almost worse than death

Vox seemed to have stopped to catch his breath. Ethan cringed, bracing himself for the inevitable punishment.

“You-”

Ethan blinked.

Vox… disappeared?

Did he teleport out? Ethan’s eyes darted around the office frantically, looking for any sign of Vox’s presence. As far as he could tell, there was no sign of the signature crackle of electricity that was present when Vox uses his teleportation powers, but now there was also no sign of his presence.

In fact, it felt almost the same as what happened during that meeting a week ago.

No point in wondering too much about it, Ethan decided, and hightailed it out of the office.

.

This time, when Vox felt the familiar pull, he no longer panicked.

Well, alright. That was a lie. He still panicked a little, especially because he had yet to actually find the book nor the author, but he did believe that he managed to look confident and mysterious instead of dazed when he appeared once more in that run-down shack.

As per the past two times, Alastor stood before him arms crossed behind his back, confident smile in place. Unlike the past two times, however, Alastor looked dishevelled, hair messy and red waistcoat nowhere in sight, leaving him in a white dress shirt stained with blood with the collar undone.

Vox drank in the sight. Alastor’s human form was truly the gift that kept on giving, providing him with a view of Alastor he never could have before. His Alastor had always looked so composed, so dignified. Even while fighting and crazed he had never looked as dishevelled as he did now, as a human.

“Hello! Have you got my book yet?” Alastor’s voice cut through Vox’s thoughts, straight to the chase.

Fuck.

“...No, not yet, but I have made--”

“What do you mean, no?”

Alastor stared up at him disbelievingly, his smile just a touch strained.

“It had been two whole days, Vox! Surely a demon of your caliber,” he looked Vox up and down, “could find simple information in two days! You could give me the accurate results for a horse race you had no prior knowledge about, what made this so different?”

Vox bristled at Alastor’s judgement, hackles rising.

“Well, Alastor, I have duties and responsibilities down in hell that you, a mere mortal,” and here he put emphasis on the word mortal, delighted to have the chance to lord his higher position over Alastor for once, “could not possibly imagine! Do you know how vague the information you provided was? Do you know how many souls of humans and demons there are that fit the criteria that you gave?”

Alastor did not look impressed. In fact, if it was possible, he looked even more unimpressed than before.

“You did not specify any deadline in our deal, so I shall take as long as I want, human.” Vox gritted out, attempting to regain a foothold in this conversation that he felt like he was losing.

Now it was Alastor’s turn to look attacked. He inhaled sharply, but made no move to reply. Vox watched as he shifted towards his pail of flour to douse the candles, suddenly panicked.

“Was that the corpse you used to summon me?” Vox pointed at the body laid out on the side of the room. This was a rare opportunity to learn more about Alastor, Vox had realised minutes ago, human and with fewer guards up in life than in death. He would never get another chance quite like these summonings by this Alastor to learn more about him, to get blackmail material. To do that, he needed to delay his return as much as possible.

Alastor raised an eyebrow at Vox’s obvious attempt to change the subject.

“You really went all out, huh! Gosh, do you need to kill someone every time you need to summon me? Oh- uh, wow, fuck, is this summoning circle I’m in made with human blood--”

Vox blathered on.

.

Alastor looked towards the corner of the room, remembering with great displeasure and the reason why he was so dishevelled today.

Vox was wrong about Alastor needing to sacrifice a fresh corpse every summoning, but he was not far off. The book had called for the use of blood to draw the summoning circles, which necessitated replenishing his supply of human blood every few tries. The man he had killed today was some media executive sent from Virginia, a pompous and odious man who sneered at him as he was given a tour of the local radio station. He had refused to shake his hand when Alastor was introduced by his producers, and on his lunch break Alastor caught the man loudly complaining about “people of Alastor’s kind” working in the media industry.

So really, he had it coming.

Unfortunately for Alastor, the man was somewhat trained and both bulkier and taller than Alastor. Even when armed with a knife, Alastor had a harder time than he would rather like taking him down. He triumphed, of course, but the fight and the dragging of the man’s heavy body from the car to the cabin had exhausted him.

And now this demon he made a deal with is also demonstrating how not only is he easily manipulated, but also clearly incompetent. What a day.

Hm. Or maybe Vox can be of some use.

“...you know what, if you cannot help me get that book right now, make yourself useful and help me dispose of this corpse.”

Vox’s rectangular head whipped back to Alastor, incensed.

“You little- motherfucker, you do NOT get to order me around! I am only, ONLY obligated to help you find the damn book, bastard!”

Alastor just shrugged.

“Well, alright then, I suppose this is goodbye for today.”

He moved towards the pail.

“Wait, wait, hold on. I didn’t say I won’t help, did I?” Vox moved forward hurriedly, lifting up the body with cables shot out of his back.

Bingo.

Alastor subtly wiped away the line of flour between them with his shoe and turned towards the door, trying to keep his satisfied smirk hidden. He knew the demon would have fallen for his bait, hook and line and sinker the moment he noticed Vox changed the subject. For whatever reason, the demon wished to stay a while longer, and if Alastor cannot get his book, he will take advantage of this opportunity as well.

They exited the cabin, into the lush forestry and swamps of the Louisiana bayou. Alastor took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air.

“Wow, where the fuck are we?”

“Welcome to the bayous of Louisiana, my good demon!” Alastor spun around, hands spread out wide as Vox looked around.

“...fucking creepy.”

“Says the demon!” Alastor shot back and began forward, using the glow from Vox’s head as a torch.

They walked in silence for a while, just the sound of their feet crushing the grass and soil beneath them and the sounds of wildlife around them. Alastor, leading the way at the front, glanced back a few times. Each time, Vox looked contemplative as he walked on, almost like he was recalling something.

“...I’m surprised you’re burying the body, actually.”

Vox’s voice broke the peaceful silence, and Alastor glanced back at Vox.

“What else would I possibly need from a dead body? I already drained his blood.”

“I don’t know, eat it?”

“...”

Alastor stopped walking and stared at Vox, who looked completely serious-

-and doubled over, laughing so hard his stomach nearly hurt.

“What! Are you not a cannibal?” Vox sputtered, watching as Alastor threw his head back in laughter.

“Well, sweetheart, you see, I’m not gonna curse myself by eating a sacrifice, am I?” Alastor finally replied, catching his breath and turning back round, continuing down the path forward.

Now that he finally registered Vox’s words, however, he hoped his laughter hid his alarm. How the fuck did Vox know about his cannibalism? He turned around, hoping to garner some clues from Vox’s emotive face.

Vox had stopped walking, rooted in place with his eyes wide and face two-toned again, bright cyan contrasting against the greyish-blue of his screen.

Alastor stared.

A moment passed, before Vox noticed Alastor had stopped walking as well and scrambled to catch up to him.

“Is eating human meat common down there?” Alastor asked, trying to break the awkward silence as they carried on forward. Was that why Vox assumed Alastor ate people?

“Eh, not really. There’s a cannibal town with some weird old fashioned Victorian theming that do but that’s about it.” Vox replied, eager to latch on to something to distract himself from the awkwardness.

“A whole town? Does that mean there is a mayor for that town?”

“Well, yea. Most of hell is ruled by overlords-- holy shit, is that a bull shark??” Vox exclaimed.

They finally reached their destination, the edge of the bayou Alastor wished to dump the body in. Vox rushed over the water and might as well had squealed, pointing enthusiastically at a shark swimming in the water.

“Fuck, it really is a bull shark! Did you know they are considered near threatened? Fucking idiots trying to capture these beauties. Honestly, for fuck’s sake, if these precious babies eat humans then so be it, it’s the human’s fault for being so fucking weak anyway--”

Alastor watched as Vox launched into a tirade on bull sharks, eyes wide and mouth in a genuine, happy smile. The whiplash of watching the demon go from trying to be intimidating to being so enthusiastic and joyous about sharks of all things shocked Alastor, so he simply watched Vox in silence as he continued his raving.

“Awww, eat it up, baby~” Vox cooed at the shark as he dropped the body into the water, Alastor watching him with his mouth open while standing at the side.

“Did you know that bull sharks are diadromous? Meaning they can swim between salt and fresh water with ease, which is why we even got to see one here in that swamp! The only other known type of shark that is also diadromous is the Pondicherry, a relative of the Great White!”

“The bite force of a bull shark is incredible! With bite strength estimated to be around 1,300 pounds per square inch, they have one of the most powerful bites of any fish out there! They beat out even the Great White and Hammerheads!”

Vox continued his enthusiastic raving of the bull shark the whole walk back from the bayou to the cabin, Alastor listening in silence. Even as Alastor dismissed him and was dousing the candle flames, Vox squeezed in one last fact on sharks.

Finally, silence filled the cabin again, or at least until Alastor finally burst into laughter once more when he was certain Vox was gone.

Sharks! The demon had talked non-stop about sharks almost fifteen minutes straight, when just a while before that he had been attempting to intimidate Alastor in this very cabin! Oh, but he may actually have to thank Vox for this; the demon may not have been able to make good on the deal yet but certainly cheered Alastor up from the shitty day he had. It was almost cute, as much as a TV-headed demon with red eyes and sharp teeth could be, when Vox went on and on about his love for sharks.

This whole summoning had not been a total waste either, Alastor reflected as he glanced down at the traces of flour still on the floor. Alastor had been ready with an excuse when they left the cabin and the “barrier”, but Vox did not even so much as even try to attack him.

Not only that, but from their conversation Alastor had gleaned some insight into the workings and social structures of hell. Overlords, cannibals, towns… Alastor would be ashamed to admit he never even considered that there were different tiers and types of demons in hell. Given how important wording is in making deals, not knowing the difference between certain terms could very well entrap him in one unfavourable to him. Prying more information out about Hell from Vox is highly beneficial for him, even if Vox is taking longer than Alastor would like

.

Vox laid back in his office seat, satisfied.

A real, life bull shark! Despite Vox’s love for sharks, he had never seen one up close in life, always too busy and chasing the next promotion. There were no normal, earth animals down here in hell either, all the native animals some sort of rabid mockery of the real one up on earth. The only reason he managed to even get Shok.wav, Vox thought as he spun around to face the wall-to-floor aquarium he had installed behind him, was through the efforts of a genius bio-engineer and a stroke of luck.

And Alastor! He had looked almost positively delighted with Vox near the end, and listened to all the shark facts Vox told him. Was Alastor impressed, perhaps, with his encyclopedic knowledge on sharks?

Where is Alastor, actually? Vox zapped himself back to his surveillance room, scouring the cameras surrounding the hotel. He had remained missing in action, since the battle with Adam till even now, nearly two weeks later. The hotel was still only half reconstructed, and Alastor remained missing.

Lucifer was present, however, Vox noted with displeasure. The pathetic, wet-blanket excuse of a king walked across from a camera, talking with his vapid daughter. Most of hell never had any respect for the Royal Family anyway, with any and all loyalty devoted to Lilith, the one who was actually active in politics back when she was still around. Lucifer, in particular, had ticked him off even more ever since Angel Dust reported on how he and Alastor had a musical battle.

Now the king was playing a rubber duck. Why did Alastor bother with him anyway? The Morningstars are such an embarrassment of a royal family--

Wait a minute.

Vox shot up, ramrod straight in his seat. Lucifer Morningstar.

L.M.

Chapter Text

Vox stared at his monitor, groaning.

This should not be this difficult. He is the media overlord! He runs a communications empire!

So why the fuck, two days later, he still had yet to establish contact with the King of Hell?

Oh, he had tried. Many emails were sent, under his own personal address, the company address, completely random email address. They were all met with the same automated response:

Hi there!

Thank you for your message.

I am currently not responding to any and all emails. I will be returning to the office on [DATE]. I will be not checking my emails at all, please do not expect any response! 🦆

Attach any and all legal enquiries to my legal team at [email protected]

Best,

Lucifer Morningstar

First of his name, King of Hell, Ringmaster of the Seven Deadly Sins

Yea, fuck the Morningstars. All incompetent, lazy and entitled bums, Vox cursed under his breath as he scrolled through his inbox again. No wonder Lilith left him, anyone sane would.

He shifted his attention to another monitor, this one showing the insides of the hotel through a hidden body camera he got Angel Dust to wear last night. If contact was not achievable through traditional means, then he had to use his spy at the hotel.

It was not the most ideal plan. He intended to use the spider as simply a passive, sleeper spy. To have him actively seek out information by directly asking Lucifer was a risk, especially if anyone competent at that hotel catches on. His one spy on the inside could be exposed, his one leverage against the hotel, against Alastor, ruined.

That said, Vox really wants that picture.

Through the screen, the dark inside of Lucifer's penthouse finally came into view. He had to wait over a day for Lucifer to finally emerge from the room, and even that Vox had to get Angel Dust to ask Lucifer to join the princess’ insipid “sharing circles”. There was a bit of fumbling, and then the room finally lit up.

Vox stared at the monitor, flabbergasted. The room was big, with a staircase that led up to a second floor, and yet still somehow filled from top to bottom with a variety of unopened and half-opened cardboard boxes, haphazardly stacked atop each other like some sort of Jenga tower. A duck-themed bed was placed right in the middle of the mess, and behind it--

Bingo. A bookshelf, on which a few unopened cartons lay.

Angel Dust moved closer, as instructed. The spider reached and moved the boxes of books down, opening the box and adjusting his camera so Vox got a better view of its contents.

Vox leaned forward, eager--

An Absolute Beginner’s Guide to Raising Backyard Ducks

The Circus of the Earth and the Air

Battle for the Big Top: P.T. Barnum, James Bailey, John Ringling, and the Death-Defying Saga of the American Circus

Trumpet of the Swan

…and so on. Vox threw himself back to his seat again, hands pulled over his face in frustration.

“Hey, hey, hey...spider guy! Charlie was asking for you, and ya know, being the excellent father I am, I’m helping her! By getting you! To the common room to do the uh…circle! Thing! …what are you doing here?”

Fuck. Lucifer was standing in the doorway, gesticulating wildly until he trailed off, finally registering Angel Dust’s incredibly suspicious actions.

Shit. Vox had instructed Angel Dust to lie and cover for himself using whatever way possible if he ever got caught. Vox’s claws tightened their grip on the chair, subconsciously causing slight indents on the armrests. Please, please, please--

“Oh, uh, hi there, your majesty! I was, uh,” Angel looked down at the box, “looking for books on ducks! Yes! You know, they’re so cute, I’ve been thinking of getting one for Fat Nuggets as a friend, and you clearly know your stuff--”

Vox sighed despairingly, head in his hands. There was no way Lucifer would buy this, Vox could not even see the useless spider’s face and he just knew that the porn star was acting terribly. This was still the king of hell after all, the prince of lies--

“Oh! Oh wow, why didn’t you just ask! Gosh, come here, kid, I assure you, I have memorised every single piece of information about ducks there is-- take this! Here’s a rubber duck!”

Never mind.

He clearly overestimated the capabilities of the supposed “king of hell”, Vox thought with a disbelieving laugh while staring at the screen. Lucifer’s face bobbed into view front and center, the devil’s face filled with an innocent joy as he walked Angel Dust to the common room, face at the spider’s chest level as Lucifer constantly turned around to face him, rambling on about duck facts. For Angel’s part, he just remained in a bit of a daze, the commands from Vox’s hypnosis still in effect but confused by the sudden change in plans.

“...congregate in groups called paddlings-- Char-char! We’re back!”

The common room finally bobbed into view. Sitting in the “circle” were the princess of hell, her little angel girlfriend, that one crazy maid and the bomb girl. Alastor’s little pet was not in sight, but Vox could make out his voice drifting in from somewhere off-screen, so presumably he was drowning himself in alcohol somewhere. Alastor, the damn radio hack himself, was noticeably absent.

“Dad! Angel! Today, since Cherri is here as well, I thought we should get to know each other better!” She looked around at the lack of volunteers, and turned to Angel Dust. “Angel! Why don’t you get the ball rolling? Ask anyone here one thing you are curious about them, and the other person will share the answer with the room!”

Oh, this was fantastic! Vox had instructed Angel Dust to also ask Lucifer about spell books at the first unsuspicious moment possible, so he waited with bated breath for the spider to speak. Angel had just fully recovered from his earlier hypnotisation, only for his eyes to glaze over once more as he turned to Lucifer.

“Hey, short king, do you write spell books?”

Lucifer looked surprised, likely expecting him to ask him something about ducks. “Well- hm, most creation magic does come naturally to me, cause, haha, the devil!” He waved his hands, continuing, “But, I guess, sometimes--”

A loud rendition of “Entry of the Gladiators” interrupted Lucifer. He pulled his phone out his suit jacket, frowned, then shut it off.

“Not gonna pick up?” Cherri leaned forward, interested.

“Oh, psh, it’s probably some scammer! I don’t pick up the call unless the profile shows my darling Charlie, of course,” Lucifer turned to the princess, who laughed awkwardly, “if it’s anyone else, it’s probably some dirty sinner trying to rip me off! There’s this one time I lost $50,000 to some random sinner cause they told me my extended warranty was up! I mean, not like it was a huge deal, but--”

Cherri started choking violently on her drink, and Vaggie leaned over to give her a hard pat on the back. Everyone stared.

“N-nothing! Right, Angie baby?” She laughed, panicked, and nudged said “Angie” violently.

“Huh? Oh, um, yea, Cherri.” He blinked, finally out of the hypnotic daze.

From behind the screen, Vox just groaned as he laid back down on his chair. So that explained why the King just ignored all his calls, but it still led him nowhere. All he could confirm was that Lucifer supposedly had written down some spells, with no clue where the book could be. Ugh.

He felt the familiar pull again.

Fuck.

.

The demon’s reaction time improved with each summoning, Alastor noted, amused.

Once again, Vox stood before him in his cabin, much too tall and still somewhat dazed looking.

“How’s progress?” It had been two days, after all.

“Good! Great, actually!” Vox grinned, all teeth.

“So…you got the author? Or the book?” Alastor raised his eyebrow, and Vox’s eye visibly twitched.

“...well--”

Oh, this demon was useless! He might as well just use Vox as a repository for information on hell, Alastor thought with an eye roll and a sarcastic smile. That plan B is beginning to overtake his plan A, for god’s sake.

“I have a lead! A very substantial and legitimate lead, Alastor. And no, I am unable to share it with you, because I am a very responsible deal-maker and respects my deals!” Vox snapped, injecting venom into the radio host’s name in particular, leaning down so they meet each other’s glare at eye-level.

A beat passed, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Alastor broke it first, huffing as he leaned back and Vox followed suit.

“Alright, alright. So, do you want to--” Alastor made a vague gesture towards the candles, and smirked as he noticed Vox’s eyes widen briefly.

“You, uh,” Vox glanced around the room, “don’t got bodies to clean up today?”

“Mmmm, no, I have enough blood to last for a while.”

“Ah. Who was that man anyway? Why kill him?”

“Oh, no one important, just some smarmy prejudiced bastard who was a waste of space and air. Somehow, from the grave, he is still causing trouble for me.” Alastor grumbled, smile growing more irate just at the mere thought.

This morning, he was greeted by two fresh faces down at the station. Virginia’s radio and upcoming television station was truly persistent, even with one of their representative dead they still insisted on sending more; something about licenses or the other. What worried him was how the senior representative, Allen Smith, was clearly a buddy of the man he murdered, sniffing around the station for potential clues.

Alastor was confident in his own clean up skills, but if the older white man with higher social standing chose to suspect and cast doubt upon him, Alastor’s own fragile social status could be easily shaken. He was the star of the station and the main backbone, drawing the majority of the listeners in, of course, but he was not white and would never be. Not to mention he knew that one of the higher-ups recently began to resent him because of how enamoured his wife was with Alastor. Unlikely, due to his current popularity, for Alastor to go to jail, but there was now a very real risk of him losing his job.

Alastor clearly did not do a good job at keeping his poker face, because Vox just looked more interested. “What’s going on? Being suspected?”

Alastor hesitated. Should he tell Vox? Oh, but this whole situation was really so terribly frustrating, and he could not even vent to Mimzy or the other girls at the speakeasy due to his busy schedule this week. He could not even attempt to kill Smith with the junior representative constantly at his side, and any other murders to blow off steam would just increase suspicion.

And really, what could Vox do with this information? He needed Alastor free so Alastor could even summon him to begin with, so Vox could not blackmail or attempt to report Alastor to any authorities. They already had a deal as well, so Vox clearly had some goal in mind that was already fulfilled with said deal.

“The dead man’s friends are down here now, sniffing around. Barely been two days and they showed up already like some sort of vultures, give me a break! Another man who thinks they know everything…”

.

Vox watched as Alastor vented, amazed by this side of Alastor he had never seen before. Alastor, frustrated and upset! Which was weird, because--

“Why not just…kill him?”

Alastor paused, staring at Vox in disbelief. He looked Vox up and down, slowly, deliberately, with such a look of pointed disgust and incredulity that Vox suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious.

What? Alastor was hardly afraid to use murder as a solution. This was clearly the easiest way for him to regain control over the situation, and Vox knew there was nothing Alastor hated more than not having control over any situation, ever.

A moment of silence passed, Alastor finally inhaling and exhaling deeply and loudly, before widening his smile to the most offensively patronising one Vox had seen from human Alastor yet.

“Pray tell, Vox, how would I be summoning you in jail?” Alastor gritted the sentence out through teeth locked in that sardonic grin.

“Are you that much of an amateur to get caught?”

“Oh, as if murdering someone right as people are actively suspecting you is an extremely easy thing to do! Mind you, I have been moonlighting as the Louisiana butcher for half a decade now and have not been caught! Which is because I take the necessary precautions and know when to lay low!”

Vox gaped. Had he ever seen Alastor this offended and riled up, ever? Amusement slowly and nearly turned to laughter, which he had to shove down with a forced cough.

“...He has this junior assistant or something constantly stuck to him, anyway. Some spring chicken who can’t look me in the eyes without stuttering. He was supposedly slated to start as weatherman on their television channel starting soon? Not sure how this shy, soft kid is supposed to handle being a public face.” Alastor trailed off.

.

Why was he defending himself to this moron of a demon? Alastor knew he was good, he took morbid pride in his clean, untraceable kills, how he made himself a beloved personality in his community so he would have never even been suspected usually.

This situation had to be wrapped up soon, Alastor decided. Already it made him act out of character, in front of a still unlikely-but-potentially dangerous demon at that.

“He sounds like a wimp.” Vox offered, shrugging.

“The assistant did have such unique eyes, though. Never had I seen someone with one blue, one green pupil…” Alastor mused, the thought suddenly striking him--

--and before he could react, Vox leaned in uncomfortably close, eyes wide and suddenly intensely piercing. Alastor was, for a moment, taken back to that very first night once more.

“What’s his name.”

The same urgent, demanding tone. Alastor tried to not let his discomfort show.

“V…something or the other, I believe. Victor? Vincent?”

Vox stared at him for a beat longer, before turning around and hunching over, covering his mouth. A sound like a cross between a laugh and a gasp came out, muffled. What was he doing…?

Finally, Vox turned back around to face Alastor, this time his typical grin plastered on. “Go talk to that Vincent, Alastor. Trust me, you would not regret it. Call this a gift, something to make up for the delay in me getting you the book.”

This was getting more and more eerily similar to that first night, Alastor decided.

“And how would you know that? You could not even get me said book.”

“Call it… a hunch. I am the media overlord after all, I may not know where your book is located yet, but I know people.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed.

“No strings attached, really! I don’t get anything out of you dying, I still want that picture of yours, remember? In fact, as a show of my sincerity, I’ll tell you about this Vincent! He is an upcoming weatherman, yes, but very ambitious and respectful! His full name is Vincent Whittman, he loves radio, he listens to jazz often--”

Alastor held up a hand, interrupting him. “Fine, fine, I understand.”

He would be more suspicious, but Vox really did look uncharacteristically eager and excited. Almost like the last time they met, when Vox just kept rambling on about sharks, bright-eyed with a cute earnestness…

“What did you mean by media overlord?” Time to put plan B into motion.

“Oh, just the head of the biggest media empire down in hell. A highly successful business, even if I do say so myself!” Vox gloated.

“Are there other types of overlords then?”

“Well, there is that bitch Carmilla, weapons dealer, that hag Rosie-- why do you want to know, anyway?” Vox stopped midway, narrowing his eyes at Alastor.

Too obvious, Alastor berated himself. Well, he got enough for now, time to scale back.

“Oh no, just curious what you mean exactly when you say you know people! That’s really quite impressive, Vox!”

“It really is, isn’t it!” Vox preened, and just kept grinning even as Alastor finally moved to douse the candles and banish him back to hell.

Finally, silence reigned once more in the cabin, as Alastor stood alone, staring at where Vox had stood, contemplating on this encounter. So hell seems to be largely ran by overlords in various positions, controlling different industries. All too similar to Earth, but they always did say that hell is other people…

And this strange insistence for Alastor to approach Vincent… did Vox know this Vincent, somehow?

.

Vox rematerialised back in his surveillance room.

To think that a human Alastor summoning Vox would lead to his human self coming into contact with Alastor! Oh, this whole turn of events was so perfect, something nearly straight out a fantasy! How many times had Vox wondered about how things could have been had they met in life? Especially after he had learned that they were alive around the same time, even more so when he saw how close Alastor was with that leech Mimzy--

A sudden pang of a sharp, stabbing pain in his head interrupted that train of thought. It was gone as quickly as it had happened, leaving Vox cursing as the monitor in front of him now seemed too bright.

The screen was still showing the princess’ little sharing circle, which had turned into some kind of board game night. Lucifer was losing in Monopoly, he noted with some satisfaction. Vox hopes he goes bankrupt.

Lucifer. There was likely one way to make sure he finally gets an audience with the king, he knew. The hotel was right there, and while there was the risk of raising Alastor’s suspicions, it was not completely unmanageable, should Vox truly decide to visit it.

But the constant meetings with human Alastor had all been so interesting and entertaining, even if he had to suffer the injustice of seeing Alastor sneering at him every time Vox had to admit the deal was yet to be fulfilled.

Decisions, decisions…

Chapter Text

“And now, my dear listeners, I’m a dreamer, Aren’t we all? by the lovely Annette Hanshaw.”

Alastor muted his mic, finally stepping out the booth and turning around to face the nervous intern waiting, whose fingers clutched tightly at the memo of emergency news broadcast the station clearly wanted Alastor to make. Something big happened earlier, when he noticed his producer had rushed off thirty minutes ago after his assistant whispered something hurriedly. The station in general seemed to be in a state of frenzy since. He could make out people rushing back and forth in the corridor from the window, leaving him alone in his booth.

He finally took the memo from the intern’s sweaty hands and glanced at the contents, expecting something fairly mundane--

Only to do a double take, and reread the sentence over again.

“This happened just earlier today?” Alastor raised his eyebrow, waving the memo.

“Y-yes, just a little over two hours ago. Uhm--” The intern fidgeted, not sure what to do with himself.

Alastor waved the nervy intern off, returning to his booth. The song just entered its last verse, and Alastor read through the memo again, preparing his words. He unmuted the mic, just barely keeping down the smirk that tugged at his usual smile for radio.

“Now, an emergency news broadcast with some unfortunate news. We here at WWL radio mourn the loss of our senior executive producer Mr John Walters who tragically passed away in a traffic accident just earlier today, as well as his colleague Mr Allen Smith from WRVA radio. The police are now seeking witnesses of the car accident that occurred approximately two hours ago…”

He was a consummate radio host, and of course kept an appropriately solemn tone for the broadcast, but he would be lying if keeping his massive grin full of schadenfreude delight from seeping into his words was not difficult.

Vincent, Vincent, Vincent, Alastor mused as he put on the next song. Just this morning, Alastor had decided to heed Vox’s advice and approach the junior accompanying Smith. The two had turned up at the station once again, so Alastor approached Vincent at the water cooler. The man perked up almost immediately when he noticed Alastor approaching him, shaking off the sleepiness almost immediately.

Mr Harfelt, Vincent had exclaimed excitedly, hands reaching out immediately for a handshake. Alastor entertained it, and had to forcibly extricate his hand from Vincent’s when the man started to laden Alastor with heaps of praise, grip only tightening as he went on. The thought of how this Vincent was amusingly similar to Vox flashed briefly through his mind, before he noticed Vincent suddenly looking guilty as he talked about why he was here, eyes flitting over to Smith on the other side of the room.

Hm. He could use this.

Alastor had replied with profuse condolences for Vincent’s deceased boss, following it up with fake niceties about how excited he was to work with a station from another state looking to expand their media offerings-- “This new television technology is so fascinating! Radio will reign as usual, no surprise, but it would be nice to see graphics, especially in regards to things like weather!” --all, of course, to play into Vincent’s apparent admiration of him.

Frankly, he was doubtful with the effectiveness of this ploy, given how Vincent clearly was just a junior and barely had any power. More likely than not, this pushes Vincent to try to convince and redirect suspicion away from Alastor to his boss, and if this was some nefarious plot by Vox, Alastor made sure to be vague and appear harmless enough.

And, by the heavens and hells, did Vincent try! Overachieved and exceeded all expectations, even Alastor must admit.

A hit-and-run outside a restaurant where Vincent knew his boss and the producer would be meeting right that afternoon, just hours after Alastor spoke to Vincent? A navy ford ran them over, apparently, and what Alastor would give to be able to witness it in person! Alastor’s inability to watch, however, was what made this all much more perfect, for Vincent had now provided Alastor with an air-tight alibi; he was live on air the entire time.

In one fell swoop, both Alastor’s biggest threats were eliminated. With just one, vague, conversation, he had moved Vincent to attack for him. Alastor was no fool-- Vincent likely benefitted from the death of his boss as well, placing himself now as the sole and key link between the stations and important to whatever deal they were negotiating.

Yet despite himself, Alastor was still impressed. There had been a number of ways Vincent could have done this, could have just eliminated Smith, but he chose to also take out Alastor’s senior producer who he likely knew was unfavourable to Alastor. And the method! Brazenly mowing them down in a car in broad daylight, surrounded by the public? Vincent could not have much time to plan any of this, but still remained unidentified and walking free.

What else could he motivate Vincent to do for him?

.

The speakeasy overflowed with smooth jazz and cheap liquor, the sound of laughter and dancing filling the air. The warm yellow lights hit the sequins and pearls of the flappers in all the right ways, elevating the joy and the bustling atmosphere of the bar. Alastor knocked back another sazerac and slid the shot glass back across the polished wooden grains of the counter to the bartender.

The deaths of the two pains in his neck called for a celebration and so Alastor found himself at his favourite speakeasy again, enjoying himself. He turned and leaned back against the counter, admiring the dancing. He had been dancing up till just a while ago, opting to take a break for a short while, downing another shot in the meantime. A good thing he was a decent heavyweight, Alastor only found himself feeling slightly fuzzy.

“So, Alastor, honey, what’s the occasion? What are ya so happy about?”

A gaggle of the flapper girls he was friendly with had begun to congregate around him and the counter, drunkenly giggling and backing the first girl, Betty, up with various echoes of “Yea!” and “Tell us, Alastor!”.

“Just something at work, really! Nothing too special, my dears!”

“Awww, Alastor! Why so mysterious! Ya know you can trust us, right, girls?” The girls shouted their assents back, as Betty jabbed at Alastor’s arm playfully. “Tell us!”

“Well, I suppose I got myself a new… pet!” Alastor chuckled, sipping on his new glass of whiskey. The way Vincent had looked at him, how he immediately moved to attack those Alastor pointed him to… almost reminiscent of a--

“Alastor! How could you- why are you still here, this late! Your poor dog- cat- pet is at home waiting!” Another girl suddenly burst forth, grabbing and shaking Alastor by the sleeve, bursting into tears. Her glittery mascara began to run, tears pooled in her eyes and cheeks flushed from the alcohol as she glared at Alastor with sudden anger and intensity.

Alastor blinked, genuinely caught off guard for a moment.

“Shh, shh, Victoria, it’s ok, don’t cry.” Betty gently pried the girl off Alastor’s arm, rubbing circles on her back. “Her childhood dog died today, poor dear is absolutely devastated, ya know? Teary drunk, too.” She whispered to Alastor as she handed Victoria off to the other girls, who were comforting her.

“No, of course. Victoria dear, my deepest condolences.” Alastor leaned over to pat her on the back. “You’re right, darling,” Alastor reassured the still hiccuping Victoria, “I shouldn’t stay out too late with a new pet waiting back home.”

He moved from the bar counter and made to leave, but not before handing Betty a few bills of cash, whispering, “Treat poor Victoria to some good booze tonight.”

Alastor took a deep breath in as he stepped out of the speakeasy into the much quieter streets of New Orleans at midnight, only slightly tipsy. The city never truly sleeps, but on a Friday night when most were either home or still partying in the bars, midnight was a relatively much quieter time of the day.

Vincent. A shame Alastor could not manage to contact him after his show ended, with the whirlwind of paperwork he was probably surrounded with the moment the news of Smith’s death broke. The pathetic looking guy in the square-rimmed glasses was much more of a violent yet pleasant surprise than he had expected, and he had just one person to thank for all this.

That’s right, he should really call Vox up, shouldn’t he? The demon had finally done something helpful and useful, even if it was not related to their contract. Perhaps Alastor would not have even discovered this new and exciting way to remove his problems, if not for Vox!

Alastor made it home, and before he even really registered it, grabbed a bottle of whiskey he had at random. Some vintage he was saving for a special occasion, Alastor squinted at the label under the dim moonlight streaming into his kitchen. Ah, who cares! This calls for a celebration! Fumbling around some more in his kitchen cabinets, Alastor found two shot glasses, then stared at them.

So many items! The car it was, then, Alastor decided. He grabbed his keys and made a last minute grab at his protection charm, stuffing both into his pockets.

.

“Vox! Hello! How have you been!”

Vox stared suspiciously at Alastor.

He felt the familiar pull while taking a breather from mingling and networking during the VoxTek annual party. A nagging headache had been bothering him all day, so he had been resting and almost spilled the bullshit fancy cocktail he had been sipping on before managing to set it down just as he was teleported to Alastor. They have been meeting around every two days, so another summon just after last night surprised him.

Alastor looked far too happy, giddy even. He looked up at Vox with an expression of unmatched delight and-- oh, were his cheeks flushed? Was Alastor… drunk? The bottle in his hand, the glasses on the bookshelf next to him. He had not started with his usual demanding for his stupid book either--

The sloshing of alcohol in a glass held in Alastor’s outstretched hand pulled Vox out of his pondering. He accepted the glass gingerly, still bewildered.

“What’s the special occasion?”

“I just want to thank you! Have you got my book yet?” Ah. There it was. Vox shook his head, about to defend himself, only to get cut off by a dismissive wave of Alastor’s hand.

“It’s alright, I didn’t expect you to have either! Still pathetic how long you are taking,” Vox bristled, but Alastor barreled on, “but you’re not all useless, surprisingly!”

Oh, no way. So fast? Could it be?

“Vincent! What a delight he was! I admit, I was skeptical, but you, shockingly, can do me a solid sometimes!” Alastor threw his head back and laughed, and Vox stared, mesmerised by the way Alastor’s curls bounced and the way his laughter ringed, clear and melodic as the loveliest bells.

A delight, Alastor called Vincent. Fuck, Vox loves his human self.

“Well of course, you could trust me! Why, what did he do?”

Alastor placed the bottle of whiskey down on the shelf, freeing his hand to gesticulate while the other sloshed the amber liquid in the glass wildly.

“Oh, where do I begin! Just this morning, I talked to the guy, and he acted almost immediately! I only barely nudged him in the right direction!” Alastor took another swig.

“He, ha- He ran them over with his car! My pain-in-the-neck producer and his boss who was sniffing around like a dog! This afternoon!” Alastor dissolved into giggles, clutching his stomach with one hand as he tried to compose himself and failed, while drops of liquor in his other splashed onto the floor.

“Ha- I- wow, okay. Okay! Wow!” Vox let out a brief bark of laughter, trying to wrap his head around Alastor’s words.

A hit-and-run! This was 1933, so at this point Vox, or Vincent, had still been a small fish working in broadcasting and trying to secure a more prominent position. This would be his what, third? Fourth kill? He never used that before when alive, usually opting for more personal methods like strangulation and giving his rivals a good ole bludgeoning to the death. He had reflected briefly, once, how he never checked that method off his bucket list of methods.

Now he has, in this new reality he created and moulded himself. A genuine grin found its way onto his face as he watched Alastor trying to catch his breath. A reality where Alastor and his human self met and get on good terms, where Alastor respects and--

A sudden, sharp pain sliced through his head once more, his headache that had nearly all but faded into the background amidst the adrenaline back with a vengeance. Vox knocked back his drink, attempting to banish the headache. He reached out for the bottle to refill his glass, listening to Alastor continue.

“Oh, even if the method was much too crude for me, I can’t deny, I was impressed by how brazen the fella was! In bright daylight, he got away somehow too! The audacity!” Alastor leaned in all of a sudden, peering at Vox. “Really, Vox, how did you know?”

Vox could feel his face flushing, his fans speeding up as the wind was knocked out of him by Alastor’s sudden proximity to him.

“I- uh- you know, demon!” He stammered out, trying to calm his heartbeat.

Alastor leaned back, chuckling. He settled into a couch facing Vox, sipping on the whiskey again.

“I must say, I only wish I could be there to witness it. To watch the life drain out of their faces squished beyond recognition, how the blood splattered as the car collided into them. Oh, the bluntness of the act is not my style, but still! A beauty in its own right~” He hummed, eyes closed like he was tasting and reliving the kills himself.

In hell, a long, long time ago, Vox had been at Alastor’s side watching him take down some of hell’s most powerful overlords. Alastor had always been for the dramatics, cornering the overlords into a dead end slowly and savouring the panic that set in on their faces as they realised their doom. Toying with his food, Vox had complained to Alastor then, wondering why he did not just defeat them immediately instead of drawing it out. Vox understood theatrics, but why not save them till after Alastor won?

Alastor had turned up his nose then, scoffing at Vox’s remarks. What was the fun in that, he had replied, if you do not find joy in the process?

Vox did not understand it then, nor did he now. Killing was an efficient, fast, no frills method of rising higher up in the ranks both in life and death. Surely, the beauty lies in the aftermath of the kill, when the thrill of the act ends and you can bask in the afterglow of the success you forcibly created for yourself.

To hear this Alastor now, praising Vincent for something Vox knew Alastor held dear. The sheer rush of euphoria just hearing, the glee of knowing how Alastor truly thought!

.

Alastor watched with amusement as Vox launched into his own enthusiastic defence for blunt and direct killing.

It was nice, he thought through the drunk haze, to have someone also as interested and invested in the act of killing as he did. Sure, he usually vented to Mimzy, but she was generally uninterested and got easily disgusted whenever Alastor even slightly waxed poetic about it. Oh, he loved the gal, but she never cared much about Alastor’s little side hustle aside from how he can help her get rid of another rival or debt collector.

This Vox, however. Tries so hard to appear intimidating and demon-like, but gets so eager with an almost innocent sense of wonder when he rambles on about topics he was invested in. Sharks, now killing. So easy to bait, so easy to rile, so… easy to be around. Dangerous, no doubt, yet so simple to wrap around his pinky at the same time!

He made the abrupt decision to stand up from the couch and set his glass down on the shelf. Vox looked at him in surprise, pausing in the middle of his spiel as Alastor walked closer to him. It would not do, Alastor decided, for him to retire early from his night out dancing at the speakeasy.

“Can you dance, demon?”

“Y-yes. Yes! Of course, I have class!” Vox sputtered out, caught off guard by Alastor’s request.

Alastor took Vox’s hands in his and the demon went very still for a fleeting moment, bright sparks of static dancing around his head. He recovered quickly, though, and suddenly the smooth beats of jazz filled up the silence. Alastor looked up in wonder at Vox’s screen, surprised at how the music flowed from Vox’s speakers. He knew that televisions could emit sound, obviously, but somehow did not expect it right out of Vox’s head.

The velvet tones of Louis Armstrong filled the room as they fell in with the beat, Vox leading Alastor through familiar motions of the charleston. A welcome surprise that even a demon knew the good ole’ charleston, and Vox seemed to be no amateur either. The kicking of their shoes against the wooden floor matching the beat of the song, as Vox swung Alastor out then pulled him back in again.

Say mama, I'm gonna bet you that I'm gonna get you
I'm gonna get you some sweet day
And don't you think you can get me the air

Vox spun Alastor around again and dipped him, his claw gentle against the small of Alastor’s back. He had to hunch over slightly with the height difference between him and Alastor.

I'm gonna race you, I'm gonna chase you
I'm gonna follow you everywhere
Don't you believe you can give me the air

They went back to the kicking of the feet, synchronised to the rhythm and hands swinging out. The looking up due to the height difference between them made it feel a little foreign, but otherwise they were so in sync it almost felt as if they had danced the same steps a lifetime ago.

You can take a liner and go to China
But when you arrive
You can't steal sweet papa with the same old jive

The tempo sped up, and as Vox swung him into another dip, he felt as though Vox was looking through him at something-- someone else.

I'm gonna feel you, I'm gonna steal you
I must have you mama, some sweet day
Don’t do it baby, you just can't get away

They were both upright again, shoes back to click-clacking against the hardwood. Vox was back to looking at Alastor with such an intensity he could only describe making him feel heady and haughty, so he waved that irrelevant thought aside.

The music ended at last, and Alastor stood and watched, amused as Vox tried to catch his breath.

“Too difficult for you to catch up, oh classy demon?”

“Just shut up and dance.” Vox snapped back at Alastor’s playful taunt with a roll of his eyes, grabbing Alastor’s hands as the next song started.

.

Five more songs later, they were both collapsed and panting, Alastor on his couch and Vox on the floor by the couch. Drunk and giddy, their moves finally faltered with the last song and they tripped over each other.

Alastor finally recovered and looked over at Vox, who had seemingly been gazing at him with something Alastor could almost describe as utter devotion. Vox whipped his head around a beat after they made eye contact, face turning two toned again.

Heh.

Before he had known it, Alastor leaned over from his chair to be on top of Vox, giggling as he noticed Vox’s eyes widened and his face turned nearly entirely a bright cyan.

“You know, Vincent kinda reminded me of you.” Alastor slurred, laughing when Vox started to sputter underneath him.

“Is he you while you were alive?” Vox seemed to have gone utterly still, frozen, so Alastor prodded at his screen with a finger, the other head holding on to the side of Vox’s head.

“Mmm, is that why you asked me to approach him, Vinny?”

An abrupt flash of bright cobalt blue and sparks of electricity around Vox’s head startled Alastor and he let go of the screen, leaving Vox to crash down on the floor head first. His rectangular flat screen twitched a few more times, then went still.

Alastor blinked. Shit, did he kill the demon?

Probably not. He leaned over, now entirely on the floor as he shifted himself next to Vox’s head on the floor. Something dropped on the floor, but Alastor’s attention was caught by the words in white spanning the screen. Alastor began to read them out loud, slurring his words with alcohol.

“A problem has been detected and Vox has been shut down to prevent damage to his systems.” He squinted at the next line and adjusted his glasses.

“The problem seems to be caused by the following file: Alastor.exe. Vox.exe_crash_error_fuck_Alastor.” What’s an “exe”? He moved down.

“Check to make sure all [[Fucking 1920s looking cute ass]] hardware and software… Ask Vox for any VoxTek updates… If problem continues, [[Why the fuck he gotta be so beautiful for]]--” Alastor paused, looking up at the still unresponsive Vox. This is even better than he thought! Did this demon have a crush on him?

“If you need to use ‘Unsafe Mode’ reset your VoxTek device,” Alastor prodded at the screen again to no avail, “press F5 and start…”

Ah, his eyes feel so heavy all of a sudden. Vox’s arm was surprisingly comfortable as a pillow, Alastor thought through the haze of alcohol. The bright light of Vox’s screen was really too much though, so he swiped a random cloth and covered it, dimming most of the blue light. He laid down on Vox’s arm, making himself comfortable.

Just a quick shut eye…

.

Vox woke up.

For a moment, he thought he did not. Pitch dark black greeted his vision even after he opened his eyes, until he realised there was something covering his screen. He tried lifting his right hand to remove it.

Why was his right arm so heavy?

He used his left instead, and the wooden ceiling of the also pitch dark cabin greeted him, only illuminated by the blue glow of his own monitor. He turned down the brightness, turning around to his right--

Holy shit.

Vox pinched his side.

Pinched it again.

Nope, awake. He very nearly went into blue-screen mode again, just watching the sight.

On his arm laid Alastor, the dark curls framing his warm brown skin. His glasses were thrown haphazardly to the side, and Vox could appreciate the long, lustrous eyelashes usually hidden behind the lenses. His chest rose and fell steadily, away in dreamland. Vox watched his lips.

Annoying bastard. Even in sleep, he had a slight smile on his face.

He had never seen Alastor sleeping in hell, Vox realised. Not once, ever, in the seventy something years they knew each other. Always awake, no matter what hour of the night it was. His human form was clearly much more fragile, needing adequate sleep like all humans do.

Vox continued watching him, mesmerised. The rise and fall of Alastor’s chest was near hypnotic, Vox could stay here all night if he could. He checked his internal systems for the time, and cursed.

Fuck, it was 4am already. The gala must have long ended without him, and the other two Vees must be looking for him. He gazed longingly back at Alastor’s sleeping form, still reluctant to even move his arm from under his head.

Better to leave now then later, perhaps. Vox knew Alastor, and knew how likely he was to go ballistic if he woke up and saw Vox here too. He gently shifted his arm under Alastor’s head, moving his other hand under his legs and set him carefully, gingerly onto the couch.

One small step back, then another. Alastor shifted, but did not wake. Vox heaved a sigh of relief.

Fuck, what were they even doing to get to this point? Last Vox remembered, they were drinking and dancing and--

Oh, Alastor had gotten close, too close. The whole night, every other moment, Vox felt like he was looking at his Alastor. Drinking, dancing, laughing-- it felt like he was teleported back to that moment in time once again, when his head was still an old CRT model and Alastor’s smiles towards him were genuine. Fuck, and this Alastor had figured it out too, that he was Vincent. Calling him the same stupid nickname his Alastor gave him while prodding at his face--

Just, fuck, how pathetic was he? This whole time, doing the same song and dance. Even if this Alastor liked him, he was not him. That bridge was long burnt to ashes, with only bitterness left.

God, what was he doing? He never felt more sober all of a sudden, and an aching pain hit his head once more. Vox took a step back, only to stop on something small and round. He bent down to pick it up, pausing to examine it.

It was a small pendant, some symbol carved in the middle of the wood attached to a long loop of string. Some sort of necklace, maybe. The symbol looked oddly familiar, however, and Vox racked his brain. Where had he seen it before?

He looked up, suddenly struck. From the rafters hung dozens of sigils, some with the exact pattern on the pendant. He looked down again, and suddenly the white of the flour scattered messily all over the floor stood out like a sore thumb. Finally, he looked back at the man, still sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

This fucking son of a bitch. The pendant was some sort of protective charm that fell off Alastor earlier, and the whole “barrier” nonsense was something he had made up to throw Vox off. No wonder he couldn’t take a picture of Alastor, Vox knew that barriers should not have stopped him! The whole night, Vox was constantly in contact with Alastor, dancing and even having him sleep on his arm. It must have had some sort of protective qualities to stop Vox from harming Alastor in any way.

Which meant, he could take the picture of Alastor, right here, right now. No protection charm bullshit stopping him, Alastor unaware. It was the perfect moment.

Vox stilled.

He watched Alastor breathe for a few more moments. In, out, in, out.

Then turned, left the charm on the shelf, doused the candle flames and left.

.

He materialised back where he was before, beside now empty space in the ballroom of V Tower. They had long cleared the area, leaving it now pristine and empty. He felt notifications immediately flooding his inbox, from his assistant and Valentino and most of all, from Velvette. Vox paid them no mind, opting to zap himself back to his surveillance room instead, moving almost completely on autopilot.

It was only once he settled into his seat back in the comfort of his room when the realisation of what he did crashed down on him, and he immediately gripped the sides of his head.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the fuck was he DOING? What was he thinking? He had Alastor literally right where he wanted him, at his most vulnerable, and still did not press the advantage? Pathetic! Weak! Stupid!

He glanced up at the monitors and was met with one of footage live from outside the Hazbin Hotel, and wanted to die again. Instead, he just let out a pitiful, desperate cry.

He could be here and plotting his revenge and slander campaign against Alastor right now, and instead he was back where he was before. Seven hells, why did he just leave? Some miserable flashback to the past and suddenly he was soft?

No more excuses, Vox resolved. He was getting down there and getting that damn book from Lucifer, all else be damned.

.

Somewhere in hell, not far from the hotel and holed up in a nondescript apartment, was Alastor.

He clutched at his head again, his usual cheshire smile hanging on by a thread now in the privacy of his room. The headaches had been a constant thorn in his side since around two weeks ago, only getting worse as time went on.

He had thought it was some side effect from the angelic scar Adam had left at first, but that scar had stopped constant aching for a while now, as long as he did not put pressure on it. It faded into a more muted form of pain, while the headache only got worse. None of the books he collected on the topic mentioned anything about a headache either.

What was worse, he had been having flashes of visions of a world where he did not die from a bullet that fateful day. Stranger still, a demon with a rectangular, almost TV-like head was in them. Most of them had been foggy and unclear, leaving him to constantly ruminate on it for the past weeks. It could not possibly be that--

The tugging of his sleeve by his shadow imp broke his thoughts, and he looked at the little thing as it started yammering on in its special language. Alastor raised his eyebrow, processing the imp’s words.

Then immediately vanished into the shadows, rematerialising some distance away from the front door of the new hotel. Hidden behind the wreckage, he watched with narrowing eyes as Vox stood at the front door, speaking to someone.

Well. The possibility had popped up, but he had dismissed it as nothing but impossible. Now, with Vox at the front door, it all felt a little too coincidental.

About time he paid his old pal a visit.

Chapter Text

“No.”

Why do short people all have so much anger and bitterness? Was it their way of rebelling against their naturally shorter stature? Or was it simply a mathematical issue, the distribution of anger and energy and bitterness all much more concentrated with a smaller body mass in comparison?

Vox tried again. “Look, miss, this is a one in an after-lifetime opportunity! Just allow me to ask our King one thing, and I, the CEO and Founder of VoxTek Enterprises will personally ensure your hotel receives incredible and substantial coverage!”

The exorcist angel stared up at him, unamused. She and Velvette would probably get along if they ever met, Vox thought. Both short women, who always has a bone to pick with somebody. The thing was, Vox knew what buttons to push to calm and placate Velvette. This… Vaggie, he squinted at her name tag, was a foreign factor. Too many unknown variables.

Name also starting with V! Vox filed that away under further similarities as he grinned, trying to make himself seem trustworthy and dependable.

After another moment of silence, she broke the glare. Grip shifting on her angelic spear, she scoffed, “And how are we to trust you? You are literally our hotelier’s biggest arch-rival. Your business partner has it out for one of our residents in particular.”

“Your little “hotelier” isn’t here, is he? Where has he been, anyway?” Vox hissed, bending low to meet her at eye-level.

“Alastor comes and goes as he pleases. The Hazbin Hotel is happy to discuss partnership with VoxTek once you can provide a contract properly vetted by third parties detailing your services. Until then, please leave.” Vaggie remained unfazed. 

“May I please speak with the Princess herself? I believe she’s the actual manager of this hotel, isn't she? This is about her father too, after all.” 

“I am currently in charge. The Princess of Hell is indisposed.”

“And what if the Hazbin Hotel’s reputation suddenly goes down the drain tomorrow? You have a lot of goodwill amassed right now because of your performance against the Exorcists, you know.” Vox paused and smirked. “A few clicks and the whole of Hell will know how hypocritical your little hotel is, being run by one of those who slaughtered thousands of Hell’s denizens. Oh, won’t poor little Charlie be so sad? Her little dream, crushed!”

At the mention of the princess’ name, Vaggie finally showed a visible reaction. Her teeth gritted and the singular eye narrowed, grip on the spear tightening. 

“Que te folle un pez… look, I told you. You can come back, with a proper contract, and we will be more than happy,” she forced out an impressively fake customer service grin, “to talk about this in greater detail. Until then, this hotel is under the protection of the King of Hell. We can arrange a more violent meeting right here, right now, if you would like.”

Fucking bitch. Unfortunately, Lucifer, for as much he was a ruler of Hell as a wet tissue was, he still had plenty of power. The devil ran circles around Adam, Vox saw that live on TV pretty clearly. Alastor was frankly insane for even daring to start a song battle. 

Hm. Maybe he should engage in one too? If Alastor could…

“Are you seriously- Go. Now. It’s five in the morning! Frankly, it’s a miracle I’m even awake right now!” Vaggie looked him up and down incredulously, attempting and failing to stifle a yawn. 

“I will remember this, Miss… Vaggie.” Vox drawled, and with a final contemptuous glare at the angel and the hotel, returned to his limousine. Her frown did not let up, and he watched from the rear view mirror as the hotel faded into a pinprick into the distance.

Fuck. 

Vox placed a hand on his head, leaning back into the leather passenger seat, soothing the headache that he could feel returning. The moment he realised the folly of his actions when he returned, he instantly summoned the chauffeur to drive him to the Hazbin hotel and more or less banged the doors until the former angel finally opened the doors begrudgingly. Now that he dealt with the angel, however, he wished that perhaps he should have waited till the morning for this. 

Oh, but fuck, should he actually attempt to work with the hotel to get in contact with Lucifer? He truly needed to get the book as soon as possible, lest he get soft and sidetracked again. But it would take so long! He swore under his breath, frustrated by the whole situation, while checking through the company email inbox. 

Expenses, accounts, proposals…Vox flicked away the unread emails projected on a hologram before him impatiently. He moved a newsletter from a particularly persistent and brave site to spam, then paused. 70+ emails in spam? He usually left looking through emails to his sucker of an assistant, only checking in recently to see if Lucifer would reply. Has there always been this much spam email? Most of hell’s advertisers go through VoxTek, after all, so as a general rule aside from the most persistent and brave websites, no one dared spam VoxTek. One or two was normal, but seventy?

Interest piqued, Vox opened the spam folder. Nearly all were about the same subject.

DucKing

RE: DuckLegend season 3 episode 1!!!!

Vox,

The new season is ridiculous! Why on earth is…

 

DucKing

RE: DuckLegend s3e2

Vox,

Why in the ever-loving name of duck…

 

DucKing

RE: DuckLegend s3e3

Vox,

Love triangle is ridiculous! I would be…

 

DucKing

RE: DuckLegend and the abysmal state of season 3

Utter imbecile running the show,

I truly don’t understand the decisions the team have been…

And so on. Vox stared at the emails. It kept going on and on, and when Vox clicked onto the second page, emails complaining or praising scenes from Duck Legend seasons 1 and 2 were also present, all from the same “DucKing”. It took a while for Vox to remember what exactly was even this show, “Duck Legend”, an old animated show he greenlit because of Shok.wav’s then temporary obsession with ducks. There was a period of time when only through showing Shok.wav the show would he calm down. 

That was so long ago, though. Did Vox misremember and did not cancel it when Shok.wav eventually grew out of that phase? He dialled up Ethan.

“S-sir, we were supposed to cancel the show two years ago, yes, but then this anonymous viewer kept messaging and harassing us about it. We were going to ignore it, but this viewer has some really powerful connections or something because Mammon started threatening to cut off trade deals with us--”

“Mammon?? The Sin of Greed?” Vox interrupted, incredulous. “Why was I not informed of this?”

“Asmoudeus too, sir. Miss Velvette told us to continue the show, Asmoudeus was threatening to cut off the fashion trade between VoxTek and Lust. I-I just assumed she told you…” Ethan trailed off weakly, trembling at the increasing anger on his boss’ face through the screen. 

Vox ended the call, still indignant with anger. How could Velvette have just omitted this news from him? No matter, he would settle it later. For now, he had to pull up the IP address of this anonymous reviewer. He had a sneaking suspicion about the identity of this person…

.

Lucifer settled into his bed, tub of ice cream in hand. 

It was nearly 8pm and time for his nightly routine. Ah, and made all the better by the great day he had with his daughter! Sure, he did not leave his room until 2 in the afternoon, but well, he spent time in the common room watching them do the therapy circle thing again! Charlie still seemed really beat down about the snake sinner who passed though, but Lucifer hardly knew how to comfort her. A good thing she has that real capable girlfriend of hers, of course. 

The point was, another day spent at the little hotel with his daughter! And now, to complete the great day! He turned on the television, switching channels until he found it. What would he do without the amazing Duck Legend show! To think it was once nearly cancelled, unbelievable! The theme song of the show started as Lucifer snuggled more deeply into the blankets, getting more comfortable--

“Greetings, your majesty!”

Lucifer very nearly jumped out of his bed, tub of ice cream already rolling down the blankets from his hand. Why the fuck was a ugly blue screen with eyes and mouth on his TV instead of Sir Quackington?? He felt around for the remote he tossed aside just a second prior, trying to switch channels.

“I am Vox, CEO of VoxTek! You might have heard of us? We produce this little show you’re such a fan of.”

Oh, so this was the bastard that had been ignoring his emails and forced him to have to go to the Sins so the show could go on! Lucifer now sat up straight fully, incensed. He was about to finally give the damned sinner a piece of his mind about the current love triangle plot the show had introduced when the TV started talking first instead.

“I’ll cut to the chase, your royal highness! I need you to find me a specific spellbook you own, or your little show would die off.” A picture of said book popped up on the screen, purple with a gold-embossed title, and a simple “L.M.” at the corner.

“Look, I don’t write down any spells I use, alright? Not that you simple sinners would know, but angelic power is very intuitive. At most I scribble something down on a loose piece of paper and stuff it somewhere-- what do you mean, cancel Duck Legends???” Lucifer’s mind finally registered the second half of Vox’s words, alarmed.

“Exactly what I said, Lucifer!” 

Lucifer never thought TVs could look this annoyingly smug. He was nearly off the bed now, closer to the large 70’’ inch TV in his room. Shit, what did he do the last time two years ago when VoxTek studios announced the cancellation?

“Well- You would do well to listen to your king, sinner! Your little company, I wonder how it would do losing business in the other Rings, hmm?” Lucifer tried. Seven hells, he really did not want to have to ring up the other Sins again to threaten VoxTek for him! It was awkward enough two years ago, he hardly wanted a repeat of every Sin begging him to come back to court again.

“Please, VoxTek would hardly be affected, other Rings make up less than 5% of our business anyway! We can take it. The question is, can you? Can you take Lady Quakinda rejecting Sir Quackingson once and for all? Or perhaps, shall we make it that Sir Quackingson decides to throw his life away for no reason at all to do a murder suicide with his mysterious father, leaving Lady Quakinda and everyone around him miserable? All that, while the quality of the animation consistently decreases and for the show to end abruptly with no proper conclusion?” 

Lucifer froze, horrified as his blood ran colder and colder with every word Vox said. The worst nightmare of any dedicated fan of an ongoing show, used so easily as a threat by the unfeeling CEO who only cared about metrics and revenue! Sinners are truly the most vile and horrid creatures, fuck. He focused on the book on the screen again. Purple, purple, where had he seen the book again damn his swiss cheese memory--

“Lilith! The L.M. stands for Lilith Morningstar, my wife used to jot down spells and rituals she experimented with in a notebook just like this one! Please don’t kill Mr Quackingson, please please--” Lucifer blurted out, panicked.

Vox’s face came back on the screen, face more shocked than before but just as nasty and impatient as he shouted, “Well, where is it?? Hand it over, little king, or Mr Quackington gets it!”

Lucifer sprang into action, frantically checking through the books he brought along. No sign of the spell book. Fuck, could it be back at home? He opened up a portal in his bedroom to the mansion, body half in the portal running the books in his collection and Lilith’s library through a sorting spell… Nothing. Shit, shit, shit, Mr Quackington! He stepped back fully into the room, nervously meeting Vox’s eyes. 

“Uhh… I think my wife took it with her…? Please don’t kill off Sir Quackington please please please it would destroy his character! You want money? I could give you money instead?”

Vox just looked at him disbelievingly, muttering a string of foul swears before he finally left the TV. 

Fuck. Not for the first time, Lucifer cursed himself for giving humanity the damn apple. Now Mr Quackington was going to die in the next 5 episodes, wasn't he?

.

Vox returned to his bedroom. He turned the chair around, gazing aimlessly out at his sprawling Entertainment district.

Fuck the seven hells, of course the damn book would be with the singular competent member of the Royal Family. Of course! The one woman who also happened to be missing in action! Alastor truly never makes anything easy for him, huh! 

Which, now that he thought about it, what does it mean that Alastor's spell book was by Lilith? Did she own his soul? Did he get his powers from her? What the fuck, the one guy who always liked to seem so above it all and self made was actually in cahoots with the fucking royal family? 

No wonder he’s at the stupid little hotel then! The queen must have assigned Alastor there to look after the princess who has her head in the clouds, or something.

The thought cheered Vox up, if only slightly. Fucking headache had returned, once the adrenaline of threatening the king wore off. At least the fucking deer was consistent, he supposed. Not like he was particularly singled out and rejected or anything--

“Hello, old pal.”

“FUCK! What- How-” 

Vox swivelled around in shock, nearly injuring himself with the sheer speed he shot up from the chair.

Out of the inky shadow stepped Alastor. He looked the same as always, even without having seen him in a month. Red suit neatly pressed and tattered at the ends (or as he once told Vox, “artfully distressed”), red monocle secured at his right eye and cane--

The cane had green stitching on in the middle. So Adam did leave a permanent mark after all. Vox squinted at Alastor’s chest, trying to make out if the gash he saw Adam give Alastor live on TV was still there. Hmm--

“Are you quite done gawking at me, you pathetic, noisy picture box? You wanted to get my attention, you have it!”

Alastor’s words interrupted Vox’s train of thought, shocking him back into reality. Yea, what the fuck was he just staring at Alastor for! He had gotten so used to just talking with the human version of Alastor, he very nearly forgot that this Alastor was a threat, was an enemy. There was no dancing, no drinking to be had with this Alastor.

Vox shot out a cable in attack, only for Alastor to bat aside with his shadow tentacles, the most irritating, blood-pressure raising smile still etched onto his face. He was about to continue, only for Alastor to say something that stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh please, are you still so pathetic? You can’t hit me when I’m alive, you will hardly be able to do it even now! Honestly, how you fell for the flour trick still astounds me!”

Huh?

Vox stared at him in befuddlement. 

“How- Why-” he sputtered, unable to make sense of Alastor’s sentence.

How could Alastor have known about what happened up there? 

A beat passed, Vox just staring at Alastor in speechless shock, when a sharp pain like drill digging into his brain struck him and the headache returned, more brutal than ever. The pain knocked him off balance, his hands grasping wildly at the table and at his face. Fuck, fuck, not now, not when facing Alastor--

Shadowy tendrils suddenly shot out from across the room, grabbing hold of Vox’s arms and pinning him to the glass window. His back pinned solidly against the glass, the red glow from the neon lights of the Entertainment district bathing Alastor’s profile in more shades of the fiery colour as the radio demon inched closer. His face was twisted in a frustrated and cruel smirk, yet all Vox could think of for a fleeting instant was how he had not been this physically close to his Alastor in nearly a decade.

“Yes. That,” Alastor moved in, a hair’s breadth away from the pinned Vox, hitting his cane on Vox’s flat screen, “was what I would like to ask you about too! Tell me, you utter fool of a demon, what in the name of all three realms did you do. Why do I now see visions of a certain TV-shaped ridiculous, bumbling ignoramus in my human memories?”

He leaned in even closer, hands still clasped tightly behind his back even as Vox could feel his warm breath on his flat screen, fogging up from his words as Alastor hissed, “If you were vying for my attention, with your little ridiculous flying advertisement and whatever little stunt this was, you got it. What are you doing?”

Vox glitched.

Alastor huffed and turned away as he dropped the limp Vox onto the floor. Sparks zapped erratically around Vox’s TV head as his screen glitched through a random cycle of colours, yellow and green and blue and purple and pink.

“Wait- how- I didn’t think it could affect--” his voice sputtered, flitting frantically with an even worse static effect than Alastor’s own. 

“Yes, you don’t think. That's not news.” He moved over to the wall, glancing at the self-portraits Vox had on display.

“Oh, fuck you! How much do you know?” Vox finally regained his composure, standing up and adjusting his suit, attempting to look unbothered. 

“Enough. What did you do.”

“I- Uh- oh, fuck you. I don’t owe you shit, old man. You simply caught me off guard just now, want a real fight now, you decrepit fucker?”

Alastor stilled, body still facing away from Vox as he paused at Vox’s words. 

“Got fucked harder than you thought with Adam? Pussy.”

Alastor finally turned back around, head doing a full 360° turn first. 

“What did you want from Lucifer?”

Vox blinked. God, he hated feeling like he was on the backfoot with Alastor. He held all the cards! This should not be happening!

“Oh, please. The silly little king was yelling the hotel down just right now about how some ‘TV man’ was ruining good animation, I could hear it even from where I was. What did you try to extort from him?” Alastor remarked dryly with an eye roll.

“What’s it to you? Oh, suddenly you are the king’s guard dog? Was being on Lilith’s leash not enough, hmmm? Mr Make-A-Deal-For-Power-With-The-Queen?” Vox sneered.

Alastor just stood there, expression as unreadable as ever, staring at Vox in silence with a mocking smile. Did Vox get it wrong then? Was he not in a deal with Lilith? Although, there was an opportunity here…

“A spell book.” 

Alastor raised an eyebrow. His eyes flitted to the side, seemingly contemplating something.

“Fine.”

Vox’s eyes widened. Could his gamble have worked?

“You tell me what exactly happened and why my memories are being messed with, I will help you get whatever spell book you are looking for.”

Vox grinned eagerly, reaching his hand out. 

Alastor rolled his eyes, taking Vox’s hand.

“Deal.”

Their voices said it in unison, green and blue magic intertwining for a nanosecond before the room faded back to normal. Alastor stepped back, looking towards Vox expectantly.

“Your past human self summoned me instead of whoever you were supposed to summon in the normal timeline, I’d wager. Some error or destroyed pages or something in the book, so your human self made a deal with me. I need to get the full and complete spell book that you were looking for.”

Alastor froze.

Vox has never seen Alastor so still with fury before, so silent in his rage. His eyes turned to pinpricks, radio dials turning in tune to the screeching of feedback as it became louder, antlers growing and growing as his shadow grew more solid by the second--

And vanished, pooling back into the same inky darkness he arrived in.

Vox slumped against the desk, letting out a breath he did not even notice he was holding in. 

What the fuck was that? He had expected Alastor to be pissed, to be ticked off at perhaps Vox getting to see into his past, but not whatever that was. Not the sheer rage he felt, which was almost crushing. Fuck, he had just upgraded his room too. Thank goodness it was not destroyed because of whatever mood swing Alastor was caught in--

Hold on.

Fuck.

He never specified a date for Alastor to get him the spell book by, did he?

“ALASTOR!”

Chapter Text

Alastor manifested back in his hideout, head in his hands as he collapsed on to his knees. 

The blasted migraine was back in full force again, adrenaline from his encounter with Vox wearing off. A severe, pulsating pressure that felt like a ring was tightening around his brain, while thousands of tiny pinpricks of needles were stabbing into his forehead at the same time. Not just the headache too, Alastor felt his stitched-up wound across his chest also flare up in some sort of twisted coordination with his headache. Likely from the exertion dealing with Vox just now.

Vox. That infuriating, irritating noise pollutant of an idiot box! Messing with timelines without the slightest thought or worry about the consequences, just simply assuming everything would work out with the similar level of blinding arrogance he applied to his other ventures. Oh, it was endearing occasionally, whenever he got that hilariously dumbstruck look on his screen when Alastor outwitted him as usual during their fights, but honestly! Did all his rational thinking go nose-diving out the window whenever he thought he could trap Alastor in some sort of a vulnerable position?

But no, Alastor growled as he shifted his position and reached out blindly for his flask of whiskey and took a swig, trying to numb the mounting pain. He could not even just simply blame Vox for his current predicament. It would be so easy to do so too: Vox’s inability to be independent caused their fallout, Vox’s insecurity made him so sweetly vulnerable to Alastor’s tricks, Vox’s ignorance led him to blindly mess with the timeline.  

Alas, Alastor could see most of the blame laid with himself.

He was truly too clever for his own good, wasn’t he? First, he tried to be smart and get ahead, only to end up tricked by a technicality and trapped in a deal with an impossible task. Now he’s here, sitting on the old wooden floorboards of an abandoned apartment in hell, still dealing with the aftermath of his near fatal angelic wound and now a migraine. And of course, when he tried to deliberately sabotage himself, he still somehow overcame it.

For it was him, Alastor, who came up with the brilliant idea in a drunken haze just three days after the battle, still reeling from the wound, to use a spell he found from the old spell book to travel back to his time on Earth. Rosie had the decency to lend him a few potions and spell books from her collection for him to heal the first day after the battle. None of them were of much use whatsoever, and he could not help but feel that she was mocking him by including a copy of the spell book he used back then to summon her to begin with. 

With not much better to do than rest and heal for the time being, he had perused the spellbook in greater detail and found a few interesting spells, one that allowed time travel and another, earth travel. Some experimentation and he managed to merge the two into one and travelled back onto earth, sticking to the shadows and damaging the very same book he used, Summoning and Other Spells, as a human. Oh, he did not do much-- a few tears here, a bit of water damage there-- just enough to make the page on summoning the cannibal demon unreadable.

There were risks, of course. Lilith had penned down her warnings, about how a timeline could only take so much interference from outsiders. One action by an outsider was the absolute maximum, else the other timeline will start bleeding over to the first, resulting in pain for those whose fates were inexplicably changed. 

Alastor, who had been tipsy at his most sober during that first week when he was reading the book, had thought he found a genius idea to spare himself this pain, this indignity of being chained to another and made to be subservient and work at a hotel run by imbeciles. Or, well, not him right now, but him in the past! If he could, with one little act, make it such that he never made one of the largest regrets of his afterlife? A version of Alastor out there, able to truly take his fate into his own hands by keeping all control of his soul? 

He knew now how hell worked, after all, and was completely confident that even without Rosie, he could still rise to the top in no time. It would take him a little longer, sure, but some short-term suffering would be better than being under someone else’s control for the rest of his days down here. It would not free him from under Rosie’s thumb now, but just knowing that there was a world out there where he is free felt fantastic, a way to be able to stick it to her face.

Unfortunately, he clearly underestimated his own stubbornness. Alastor drained the last drops from the flask and threw it aside, watching bitterly as it smashed against the wall and turned into a thousand tiny pieces. Probably some sort of metaphor about actions taken while inebriated, Alastor mused, but he really could not be bothered to parse it. 

Frankly, he should have anticipated this outcome, because of course his human self would have kept trying, would have attempted to fill in the blanks and decipher the damaged page of the spell book. He had been near obsessive then, Alastor remembered now, hunting down every spellbook that even hinted at the slightest sign of legitimacy. Death was the great equaliser, but just because all men must die did not mean Alastor had to suffer in hell a tortured soul. 

But summoning Vox, of all demons? Vox? Could he have not summoned himself, would that not have been fun? Any other overlord at all would have been a net loss, actually, because he was still the most powerful overlord, but Vox in particular vexed and annoyed Alastor more than he could pin point. Knowing there was a version of him out there whose first meeting with Vox was with the modern, flat-headed version of him, not the eager, almost cute (not that he would ever admit it out loud) box-headed version of Vox? It just felt… wrong, like a puzzle piece from a picture filling the same space in another. A past, his past, being shaped by Vox?

Perhaps not all hope was lost, Alastor reflected, headache fading into the background. Clearly he, even as a human, had Vox wrapped around his pinky already, or at least discerned that Vox was full of hot air and could not actually give him power. He had not signed his soul away to Vox yet, clearly, still looking for the actual book. Maybe--

A blinding flash of pain attacked Alastor’s head violently, suddenly. He could feel the air leaving his lungs, leaving him gasping, grasping, for something, anything at all to stabilise him. Bright, disorientating flashes of black and white and--

dancing--

giggling, pointing at a glowing screen--

shoes hitting the floorboard in time to the music, and looking up at a surprisingly amusing demon with a rectangular head--

--and Alastor gasped and heaved, never more grateful for the familiar, metallic, smoky smell of the air in hell. Another flask of whiskey appeared in his hands, and he took a generous swig.

Fuck. Maybe not so in control after all, if he was for whatever reason dancing with Vox. God, it had been ages since he did that with Vox, what was his human self trying to do? What was Vox trying to do? Pitifully trying to recreate whatever amiable relationship they had once shared with another version of him? Pathetic, utterly pathetic. 

The damned migraine problem. How many times had it derailed his thoughts? How many times had he been left vulnerable because of it now? So far the attacks had all happened when he was alone in his hideout, but he could not stay holed up forever. Rosie had already taken back her books, and anticipated him back in the hotel soon. 

Wait. Rosie’s books.

Was there not a spell about timelines and splitting them in Lilith’s spell book? The headaches were caused by “timelines bleeding into each other”, so assumedly by splitting these timelines and ensuring both are on individual paths, these accursed migraines would finally abate. Convenient, too, how it allowed for Alastor to fulfill his deal with Vox too, not that he had any intention to fulfill it in the first place. There was a reason he left in the little loophole on the lack of a deadline, after all. 

Lucky for Vox, he supposed. He could also potentially kill two birds with one stone with this little manuver…

Alastor took another swig of whiskey and lit a cigarette. If he was going to see Rosie, he needed it.

.

“Knock-knock, Rosie my dear! How are you?”

Rosie’s door swung open with the tinkling of a bell, Alastor stepping into the room in a fresh new suit, bouquet of flowers and gift in hand. 

“Alastor! Darling, how have you been! I see you’re doing better, hm?” Rosie stood up from her seat, surprised.

“Oh, as much as I can be! Thanks to you, really, the books and the snacks helped!” Alastor placed the flowers and the gift down, settling into his chair across from Rosie. 

“That’s wonderful, Alastor. See, I know you’ll be just fine! I really hope to see you back at the hotel, alright. And your radio broadcasts! Haven’t heard those in a while too, you know, nothing can really quite replace it!”

Rosie took a sip from her tea, cheery. Alastor felt a sudden rush of disappreciation for the colour pink. Really, wearing pink does nothing for one’s complexion.

“Oh, you know me! Always bouncing from one task to another, at your beck and call. Missing out on seven years of activity and broadcasting in hell, not something I can quite control, hmm?” He threw his hands up in a fake display of lighthearted exasperation. “With the work at the hotel now, too, gosh! Who knew being the host of a hotel was so much work?”

Rosie peered at him over her cup, still smiling. She let a beat pass, admiring Alastor’s frustrated smile, before putting it down and opening the gift box to pluck out a finger.

“Aww, my poor deer. Here, have a snack!”

Alastor stared down at her outstretched hand and the finger in it. See, this was why he even made the decision, albeit while drunk, to travel back in time and damage that spell book in the first place. This thrice-damned patronising, this indignity of being treated like an amusing pet--

Rosie’s hand was still there, waving the snack in his face. He entertained the idea of chomping down on her hand instead for a joyful, all too fleeting moment, then accepted the finger. 

Alastor swallowed, then started. “Look, I’m at the stupid hotel, running--”

“Ah ah ah!” Rosie interrupted, waving her own finger in front of him this time like a patient teacher correcting a particularly naughty student. “Darling, you’re not even at the hotel right now! You’re at a little apartment, and I generously allowed you to take some time off to heal up, hmm? Watch your words, honey.”

Alastor choked on air, words devolving into a mixture of indiscernible noises as he attempted to reign in the immediate outrage and indignation, settling into a groan that sounded like an unholy cross between a tractor engine and radio feedback.

Maybe he should have taken a bite out of her hand when he could just now.

“Rosie, my dearest, look,” Alastor tried again, trying to keep the resentment from dripping into his words, “I will be returning soon! I just need one, simple, favour--”

Another sharp pang hit him again, leaving just as sudden as it arrived. Alastor lurched forward slightly in his seat, desperately trying to hide it as he tightened his grip on the antique chair but a hiss of pain escaped all the same.

Rosie leaned forward, interested. “Mmm? Sweetie, what were you going to say?”

Alastor collected himself. “You have a copy of Lilith’s old spell book journal, don’t you? The purple and gold one, the one you lent me for a while just two weeks ago?”

“Why, yes, of course! Oh, funny story about that book, actually! She left a copy with me, of course, and another up on Earth! Really, this was fate!” She pointed at him, then her. “She always told me how she decided to just leave it to chance for a human to find it and use it. Natural selection or something, that gal has always had great intuition, huh? And here you are!”

Alastor took a deep breath. 

“That’s fantastic! Actually, I would like to just borrow the book for a while more.”

Rosie tilted her head, putting the teacup that was at her mouth down onto the table.

“Whatever for? Was that one week not sufficient for you to find any relevant healing spells to use?”

“Yes, well, there’s just a few things here and there, you know--”

“Alastor, pumpkin. Tell me, what do you want the book for now?” She rested her chin on her folded hands propped up on the table. “You know you can just tell me! I’m not an unreasonable woman, after all!”

“Well, if you must know, there was a spell in there that I did not manage to note down before you retrieved it! Nothing special, really!”

“Mhm.” Rosie hummed knowingly. “Nothing to do with that little headache just now?”

“Ah, you caught me!” Alastor chuckled, hoping it would fool her. What he did was his own private business, and he hardly wanted to make it known he was trying to escape her grasp in some way.

“Alas! The book had no spells on curing any sort of headaches! I should know, I read through it many times!” She finally grinned, baring her teeth.

Shit.

“Look, Alastor, honey,” she continued after Alastor did not respond, “you can keep your secrets! As long as it doesn’t interfere with our plans, I don’t really care that much! But you are trying to get a favour out of me, after my so generous help with your mishap too! I don’t really have any obligation to lend it to you now, you know? I own your soul!”

Fuck. This was the exact situation he was trying to avoid. 

“I’ll… quit! The hotel, I mean. We aren’t getting any closer to--”

“Sweet, that isn’t something you can decide! I own your soul!”

“Fix my staff, then! The deal was to make me the strongest sinner in hell, and yet here I am, with a wound and a busted up staff--” He’s standing up now, the bottled up agitation finally ready to overflow.

Rosie tsked.

“Oh, darling! I think it’s time for a little reminder, yes?” She stood up, patting down her dress.

“Don’t you forget~”

.

Alastor really, really wanted to kill.

Someone, anyone. He almost wished he had one of those pretentious galas to attend tonight, rub elbows with snooty, rich old men. Or women, even! If it was not for the fact all eyes are still on the station right now with three deaths now, he may just risk it. Oh, Vincent did wonderfully, and no one was looking in his particular direction anymore, but still. It would be highly risky, even if he truly needed to blow off steam.

And, of course, he had a legitimate reason too! He ran out of blood for the summonings.

Fuck. Just thinking of Vox had him gritting his teeth as he stared at the water pooling into his mug from the cooler. 

Drip, drip, drip.

He brought a whiskey with a slightly higher alcohol content than he had intended to. Just somewhat higher. Enough to knacker him when he was already feeling buzzy from the drinks at the speakeasy. 

Enough to leave him waking up at the crack of dawn, reeling from a hangover and very, very much alone. On the couch in his cabin in the bayou. Tucked in, even, with a spare cloak he had stuffed on his shelf a while back. 

What was he doing? What did he do, actually, because his memories for last night were fuzzy and patchy. Oh, he remembered the drinking, chatting, and dancing, but what happened after? There was some really bright blue involved, but how did he end up tucked in and sleeping on a sofa? He distinctly remembered collapsing onto the damn floor.

The water was starting to overflow. He removed his mug and knocked the water back like some piss poor imitation of downing a good, strong spirit.

Fuck, the floor. There was flour scattered all round the floor, not to mention the damn dancing. God, even Vox was not that stupid. He found the charm too, somehow out of his pocket and placed it on the shelf. It clearly fell out at some point during the night, and Vox picked it up and just… left it there, for some reason. 

Did he suspect? Did he think it was just some trinket? Was Vox perhaps drunk and idiotic enough to be fooled? Or did he leave it there to play some sort of 5th dimensional mind games with Alastor, and had already gotten his picture while Alastor was asleep and had no protection charm on him?

He pinched his nose. Usually, at this point when he starts panicking, and he never panics, he would be able to rationalise everything. Slow down, make a plan, take action. That’s what got him to where he was today. How he got away with all his murders, how he clawed his way up and demanded respect to get his radio show during a prime time slot with his own merit.

And so that was what he did, when he woke up. He calmed down immediately and he got to work using what was left of his supply to draw a summoning circle, just to make sure of where he stood with Vox. Worst case scenario, Vox already got his end of the deal, and no matter. Alastor was confident enough that he could finagle the gullible demon into another deal.

Well. Turns out Ma’s favourite saying was true. When it rains, it pours. 

He made sure all the candles were in the right places, the correct sigils hanging from the rafters, the circle had all the smudges in the right places, even the french and the licking of blood that made him feel highly self aware now that it was daytime.

Yet, nothing. No shark-obsessed TV-headed demon appearing right before him, no haughty smile trying to act natural, no sound of a demon trying to appear more threatening than he actually was.

Alastor stared at his empty mug. What he craved was some true, hard brandy, but day-drinking was unprofessional and he still had an image to uphold. 

Oh, and the Prohibition, of course. 

Ah, but maybe drinking was the problem all along. He certainly would have made very much different choices had he been sober, of course. Perhaps caffeine was what he needed now, no more of alcohol that could cloud his judgement when he had to deal with demons from literal Hell.

Drip, drip, drip.

What was Vox up to? Why did the ritual not work? Did the blood expire? Was Vox busy with some other human client? Did Vox have other humans who summoned him? Was that what Vox meant by being “busy”? What did other humans summon Vox for? 

Alastor furrowed his brows. No, it cannot be. Surely no one else was also saddled with Vox. He needed Vox to find that spell book as soon as possible, damn it.

“Alastor? Alastor!”

He blinked, jolted out of the trance. 

Ah, Vincent. Eager, full-of-surprises Vincent. It seemed like he was off the hook with the police then, if he was back at the station already. Alastor had not expected to see him back this early, especially not when most had left the office for lunch.

“Vincent! I’m so sorry for your loss, how are you?”

“Oh, thank you. Mr Smith was a great man, a great mentor to me. The accident was truly a tragedy. Sorry about your boss too.” Vox replied, with such sincerity Alastor nearly believed him.

Hm. Perhaps this kid did have a future on the screen after all.

“I don’t suppose you will be here for much longer then? How did the investigation go?” Alastor asked out of polite curiosity, removing his mug from the coffee machine. Should he add sugar?

“They couldn’t find the driver, it was the strangest thing! Gosh, I really hope they catch the despicable criminal.” Vincent said, now leaning against the pantry counter.

Alastor forced himself to keep the corner of his mouth down from turning his neutral smile into a knowing smirk. Vincent was better at this than he had imagined, and oh, this game of “I know, you know” was funnier than he pictured.

“Indeed, I’m sure they would both rest in peace better knowing their killer will be hung when caught, may god bless them. So you’re not leaving, then?”

“The investigation looks like it would be dragged out longer, unfortunately. And, well, the station back home couldn’t really afford to send another person down here, what with our track record, ha! They’ve moved me to be in charge of the collaboration talks, at least for now.”

“Well, I can see why they may find it cursed. I hope it’s not too improper for me to congratulate you on your promotion? New Orleans is normally not quite this scary, I assure you.”

Alastor reached for a stirrer. A pause in the conversation started to linger, so he finally looked over and met Vincent’s startlingly mismatched and intense gaze.

“I- I don’t think it’s cursed.”

Vincent kept staring. The gaze was burning into him, unsettlingly familiar, but Alastor could not quite place it. Who was it--

“And, uh, you’ll get to see me around more often, ha ha! Wow! Can’t wait to properly tour the city, gosh--” Vincent finally broke his gaze, laughing awkwardly. His gaze shifted left, right, up and down, now seemingly determined to look anywhere but at Alastor. 

There he was, Alastor thought, amused. The easily flustered spring chicken. 

Who has a surprising propensity for murder and had clearly quite taken to Alastor.

Alastor watched as Vincent rambled on about something unimportant, considering. He had already used him once as a tool, could he do it again? 

"Say, Vincent..."