Chapter Text
Vox woke up in the V tower.
That was a really peculiar thought to have, wasn't it? After all, he built the V tower. It had been his home for decades now. It had witnessed his uprising, his downfall, and his not-exactly-working redemption arc. Unlike sinners, the tower would not betray him. It embraced his glory and madness equally. It's his home.
So, why, when he opened his eyes to the dimly illuminated ceiling of his room, did he feel like referring to the tower as if it were something distant?
Groaning, Vox got up from the bed, a headache pounding at the back of his head. Must have been the one too many drinks he had the night before. He rinsed his mouth (It had been 70 years, and he still didn't know how he had a mouth), took a quick shower, and wiped his screen. The wet shower tiles caught him off guard as he almost slipped. He couldn't recall taking a shower, but hey, he was shit-canned, who could blame him?
After the fiasco he pulled trying to take over heaven (NOT obsessing over a certain stupid deer), he generally teleported to work these days. Val did not want his office, nor did Vel, so he got to keep working there with his baby shark giving him emotional support. He still had control over the mass media of Hell. He just rarely showed his face nowadays. That was how he was trying to win Val and Vel back: by finally shutting the fuck up and supporting them from behind. Of course, he mourned the loss of the spotlight on a daily basis, but this was just a part of the process, wasn't it? They would be back to friends in no time, Hell would forget what he had done (because Hell), and Alastor could go die in some shadowy corner as if Vox cared.
So he dressed, making sure even in the confines of his office, he looked impeccable, and teleported down.
And came face-to-face with himself.
Vox blinked, and Vox blinked back. Did he have someone install a giant mirror the size of his office when drunk? That would be too fuckass unhinged, even for him.
Obviously they were both thinking about what the ever-loving fuck was going on when Vox started to notice something off: the other “Vox” was wearing almost all black, only the inner lining of his long coat and the trim of his lapels were his signature electric blue. The usual Vox flare was gone, compressed into heavy, silent menace. Then, Vox realized he was not looking at his own reflection.
Wires tore through the space between them and pinned him right to the wall.
“Now…” the “Vox” across the room rounded the table and approached curiously. Vox struggled against his restraints, electricity sparking in his effort. “Vox” tilted his head, and with a predatory smile, sent a current straight into him that almost fried his processors. A scream ripped out of his throat.
He could not remember using a shock so strong on anyone. Not even Alastor in their last battle.
Wait, no, he had a faint memory of this strong current, which meant he must have used it on someone at some point, right? Or something, he could not recall. It did not matter. He was the media overlord. He could electrocute anyone he wanted.
It took every last bit of his will not to pass out. Every atom of his existence was screeching in pain, his muscles twitching involuntarily. He ran on electricity, yet the electricity still managed to overload his circuits and burn his biological parts. This was fucking ridiculous. Who the fuck was this guy?
His doppelganger walked over and tipped his screen up with a claw. “Who are you and why are you in my office?”
“This i-i-is my off-f-f-fice,” pushing the words off his tongue was like tearing an organ out. Vox's voice cracked and glitched. He sounded damn weak.
“Vox” snorted. It sent a chill down his spine. “Oh yeah? Then why am I here? Why am I Vox, the CEO of Voxtek?”
“The f-f-f-fuck would I know? I am Vox, the CEO of Voxtek!”
“Alright then, ‘Vox’,” the doppelganger shrugged, “tell me something only a
‘Vox’ would know.”
He had to think fast, because judging from the sparks flying dangerously from the guy’s hands, one wrong answer and he would be gone. And if the guy really was him, for some reason, he would not hesitate to fry him to death.
What was something that Vox would never tell anyone?
“After Alastor r-rejected you, you went back. Once,” he sighed. The other “Vox” visibly froze.
“You cried, you groveled, you got on your knees and begged. He threw you right out without saying a word. It was unlike him to do so, but it was precisely so that it hurt so much. Because I-I knew then he hated me that much that I was not even ‘entertaining’ anymore.”
They stayed silent for a while.
Then, the doppelganger spoke, “how wa-is your Alastor?”
“Oh guy’s having the time of his fucking life,” Vox grumbled. “Thought I had him, and he broke my deal with wordplay. Now he’s shittalking about me cancelling myself every day. Fuck, don’t know who’s obsessed with who now.”
The doppelganger’s screen glitched for a second, and he inclined his head. “The usual, then,” he said, and the wires cautiously loosened their bind on Vox. “So are you, like, another me?”
“Ugh,” Vox tentatively took a step and tripped. The doppelganger—the other Vox—caught him and led him to a chair. “Yeah, probably. You also got your head ripped off by Val?”
“What? Fuck no. How did that happen?” “Vox” grimaced.
“Yeah, well, I tried to take over heaven and failed.”
“Oookay…so there obviously are some differences here. Does that mean you’re from another universe or timeline or…you get what I mean.”
Vox thought for a second. “Seems likely.”
“Well then, we figured out the problem!” “Vox” clapped his hands together. “Now we just need to send you back. With all these inventors under our control, we surely can build something to send you back. Do you know how you got here?”
Vox tried to remember what had happened that could trigger this “universe hop”, yet his memory remained a haze. He really should address this drinking problem. Why was he drinking so much the night before, anyway?
“Um, no idea.”
“Well, that’s no problem. We have time. Now let me get you some repairs,” V pulled up a hologram for making calls.
“Thanks, um…Vox?” said Vox. They both cringed.
“Oof that’s weird. Call me…‘V’.”
V waved a hand at him and went on to make calls. Vox, in the meantime, decided to explore the office a bit. He was starting to notice the difference between his office and this one. The most striking one was definitely Val’s paintings—or the lack thereof. Even after Val decapitated him, he still kept his paintings in his office because, while he was too prideful to admit it, he missed him and wanted to be close. Also gone were Vel’s gadgets she often forgot in his office. They hung out in each other’s office a lot, since Vox needed some level of noise to focus, and Vel was always clinking around with her potion-making and sewing.
If one were to use a word to describe this office, it would be: clean. There were absolutely no traces of other sinners in here, the files and equipment organized into this cleanliness that almost seemed artificial. Vox himself knew that while he liked to be clean, he was not the most organized person. His working style left papers and pens scattered everywhere, and no matter how much he wanted to clean up, there would still be one or two gizmos lying around and papers sticking out of a binder. This space he was in, it was his office, but at the same time not. The uncanny sent a chill down his spine.
Repair came a few minutes later, and she worked on Vox's inner machinery while V sat at the table, an eerily gentle smile on his screen. The repair staff looked like she wanted to get out as soon as possible. Vox could understand. Under the unwavering scrutiny, even the Devil himself would want to flee.
“How about you tell me about your world?” Vox's head snapped towards V as the sinners spoke. V flashed him a dashing smile.
“Um…sure?” Vox answered, unsure what his intentions might be. “But like, don’t you have work? I usually am head-deep in meetings by now.”
V shrugged. “Work can wait,” he said, “I have a guest from another universe, a ‘me’ nonetheless! What can be more important than that?”
“Riiiiight,” Vox chuckled nervously. “Well, I am the CEO of Voxtek, as you know. I have my business partners, Val and Vel. And then there's the hashbrown motel with the princess and her girlfriend. And Alastor. Alastor is…well, Alastor. Who cares about him anyway. Surely not me.”
“So you tried to take over heaven, huh?” V tilted his head.
“Ugh, yeah. Almost succeeded if Alastor didn't…well. Enough about me, how about you? Where are your Val and Vel? Or are you not ‘the Vees’?” Vox asked. He was not going to let this guy interrogate him.
V grinned. “Of course we are. Val and Vel…we're a family. No one ripped anyone's head off.”
Vox chuckled dryly at that. “Well, in this case, do I get to meet your family?”
“You do, but later,” V said, “right now they're busy, and you need rest. Those are some huge ass eye bags for a guy with a TV for a head.”
“Yeah, sure, funny,” drawled Vox. “What about Alastor? Not that I care, but you know, he's kind of a canon event for us Voxes, whether you like it or not.”
V went silent for a long minute. Only the sloshing of the aquarium behind him and the low hum of machines somewhere could be heard. He stared straight into Vox's eyes, an intense sort of look in his eyes, but for some reason also felt empty. Vox did not like it, so he glared back with an eyebrow raised.
Abruptly, V sagged heavily onto the back of his chair, a long sigh escaping his throat. Valid, Vox thought. This was Alastor, the old fuck, the root of all misery in his life they're talking about. He himself would explode on stop, though. Possibly killing whichever fucker who dared to pose such a question.
“He's Alastor. What do you think?” said V, looking up at the ceiling, “I don’t know. I don’t need him anyway.”
“Fuck yeah,” An almost feral grin split open in the middle of Vox's screen, “we don't need him. He's out of date.”
He felt like killing himself. Vox's entire body seized up at that thought, phantom electricity burning through his body. Now where did that come from?
V kept his eyes on the ceiling, not seeing Vox slipping. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right,” he smiled, and looked back at Vox. His smile was like a void. “Who needs him?”
They kept on talking for a while about building their empires and compared and contrasted the differences between company structures and employment. V let him pet Shok.wav, too. The bioelectric shark seemed hesitant to approach at first, even a bit afraid, which Vox did not quite understand. His Shok.wav is always so eager to get pets from daddy. Under his patient beckons, however, the shark finally swam up to him and seemed genuinely to be enjoying his touches.
Vox caught V staring at him with an unreadable look in his eyes several times. When he asked what was wrong, V always smiled and said he was still processing the appearance of his “extinguished guest”. Vox himself was still processing, too. After all, they have moved on from the “there was a parallel universe” thing too quickly. It made it easier to work, but holy shit, parallel universes did exist? It made him wonder if there could be a universe where he did not fuck too much shit up, did take over heaven and had Alastor as his prisoner, or perhaps, by the slightest chance, did not fuck it up with Alastor.
Could he go there?
Ugh, what was he thinking, he did not want to go there. He needed to get back to Val and Vel and his baby shark.
On the side note, V also told him that after Adam’s battle, he invested in the Hazbin Hotel and bought almost all of their shares. In the end, the hotel turned into the single most celebrated resort in Hell. Diverging from the princess’s objective, however, the hotel provided superficial remedies for the sinners’ insecurities as they dug them out one after one through “therapy”, and used them as commercial opportunities. Once the hotel reached its peak popularity, V kicked the Morningstars right out of the door with Alastor’s little gang as the sole shareholder and rebranded the hotel as Voxtek’s “Heaven in Hell”. Vox could only gape as V spoke about his victory. Apparently this version of himself had better business ideas.
“So like, this backstab thing, is that where this…” Vox gestured vaguely at V’s outfit, “came from? Getting rid of the flashy and welcoming the darkness type shit.”
V looked down at himself for a moment. “Could be. Just not feeling so loud anymore. Stealth has its benefits. Also, I was just getting rid of employees unfit for their job; I didn’t ‘backstab’ anyone,” he smirked, and Vox could totally get behind that silent aggressiveness of his.
They chatted about how the Vees operate for another while, and V declared it was time to put Vox to bed because “hey, first day of dimensional traveling. You need rest to keep a clear head and figure out how to get back!” So they called it a day.
Presently, Vox was in a suite seldom used in the V tower. It belonged to a higher level, closer to V’s office, and only opened for the few guests the Vees truly liked. At least, that was how it worked in Vox’s universe. Thinking about their conversations today, Vox realized V did not exactly disclose much information about himself. Looked like his other self liked to keep his secrets. That was no problem. Vox only wanted to get back to his universe, figuring V out was just a side quest. Under how V presented himself, though, Vox could sense something off. An ominous feeling he could not quite pinpoint, something essentially made him and V different. He only hoped that part of V would not hinder his way home. So far, it looked like they were getting along well enough.
Vox stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Only then did he feel the tiredness manifesting in all parts of his body. Only a day had passed, but he was starting to miss his bed and his room. He missed talking to Val and Vel, even when most of the time nowadays they did not really hang out like friends anymore. Heck, he even missed Ethan. Fuck ass Ethan, with his quivering little voice and surprisingly superior efficiency.
He felt so tired. How did he get here?
His reflection squinted back at him. The familiar crease formed between his brows. Velvet always said he needed to stop doing that; he looked old, and he would shoot back that his face is a projection, he would not get wrinkles. Really, how did he get here?
Something must have happened, right? Or everyone would have been universe-travelling all the time.
Vox slid a hand down his face. What was he doing last night?
The last thing he remembered was Val. What they were arguing about escaped his memory, but he remembered it hurt. It hurt, and Val looked shocked for a second, even apologetic, before sprinting out of his room. He could not calm his mind after that. He could never be calm after fighting with Val and Vel without making up. These days, it happened a lot. Possibly why he was drinking himself to alcoholism.
He remembered that to put his mind at ease, he started drinking again. He downed one glass after another, then another, still another. He remembered the burn of whiskey down his throat, and he paid absolutely no mind to how screwed up his voice would be the next day because this was hell, shit regenerated, who would care about their body if that was the case?
And he remembered Alastor.
Not there in his room, but a ghost of lost times. Alastor at the bar, chuckling at his joke with his ears relaxed against his soft hair; Alastor at the piano, playing a song they had just written for themselves; Alastor at his bedside, steady hands helping him change his broken head; Alastor at the doorway of the bar, giving him one last glance before disappearing into the shadows, from the bar and from their friendship.
Alastor on the ground, smiling up at him so hard it looked like it hurt.
Perhaps it hurt. Vox’s surely did.
The rest of his memory was in a limbo. He could faintly recall a full-body pain, so he probably tripped on something and fell. Or the excessive alcohol short-circuited him again. The next thing Vox knew, he was here.
Rest was most likely needed for him to remember the rest of the night before.
Wiping his screen and changing into V’s bathrobe, Vox headed over to the bed. He was so tired.
The worries could wait until tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to black out for ten hours straight.
Vox lay down on the soft mattress, and the emptiness in his core drew him into the pit of sleep. He slept without dreaming.