Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vaggie always thought hell was having her eye gouged out and wings forcibly stripped away by Lute. She thought hell was when her halo had been shattered and she was left for dead. A single lone angel all alone in hell. She fell, and that was supposed to be the end of that. It shouldn’t have been possible for an ex-angel…an ex-exorcist to fall any lower than this, and yet, much to Vaggie’s immense dismay, she was sadly mistaken.

“Oh, for the last time, could you just put me down!?” Vaggie exclaims.

Alastor, the ever self-important, pompous twat, has the audacity to laugh as he ungraciously carries Vaggie like a sack of potatoes. “But the princess would have my head if I let anything happen to you, my dear.”

“Charlie’s going to be the least of your worries if you don’t—”

All color drains from Vaggie’s face as Alastor looks down and shoots her a Cheshire smile. “You’re such a lovely girl, Vagatha. You really should smile more often!”

“Alastor, I swear you’d better not do what I think you’re about to…fuck,” Vaggie hisses, praying to…well, who the fuck would even listen to her now? Alastor is dead to her. Well, more dead than he already is.

And she has no one to thank for this except herself. Oh, this was all Vaggie’s fault for volunteering to investigate a string of recent disappearances with Al. Willingly. Maybe she lost a few brain cells during that last extermination, because what the actual fuck was she thinking!? But then, Alastor was somewhat agreeable as of late. Only by a small percentage, and considering Sir Pentious is…gone, well, excuse her for feeling a tad bit sentimental.

Despite living underneath the same roof as Sir Pentious for half a year, she hardly new the man. And with Alastor…well, she knows about him. She’s heard of him, but she’s trying to ‘broaden her horizons.’ As in, Charlie’s busy. And while Vaggie would love for nothing more than to follow Charlie to the ends of hell [Literally], Charlie needs her space, and Vaggie’s admittedly been somewhat ‘lost.’

She probably always has been, even up in Heaven.

But despite that, Vaggie would be amiss to say that she particularly enjoys Alastor’s company. To be quite frank, even sharing the same air as him is a fate worse than death. “Alastor, you’d better fucking not—”

Alas, Vaggie is sadly too late, as Alastor throws her off a fucking building, before throwing himself off with glee. And much to her bafflement, the masochistic bastard is fucking laughing like a damn lunatic. Even Adam showed more restraint than this madman, and that’s saying something.

Vaggie tries to manifest her wings, but she’s still getting used to them. And it’s a bit hard to actually concentrate when Mister Tall, Dark, and Creepy fucking threw her off of a five story building, before throwing himself off.

---

“Well, that was fun!” Alastor chirps, practically skipping circles around Vaggie as she tries to find a Wi-Fi connection out here in the middle of literal nowhere. No, it’s literally ‘nowhere.’ That’s the name of the town. Vaggie isn’t going to question the logic of any of this after Alastor fucking threw them both off of a building…and straight into a dumpster.

Vaggie curses underneath her breath, dismayed that there’s no reception. “Easy for you to say,” she huffs, crossing her arms, memories flooding back to that awkward morning she witnessed Alastor eat a rotting dear carcass all by himself.

“You don’t have to get so short with me,” Alastor laughs, resting his elbow over the top of Vaggie’s head.

Mouth pursed into a thin line, Vaggie quips, “A short joke?”

“Don’t worry! There’s no way you can fall even more than this—Oh, that was rude,” Alastor chuckles, unphased in the slightest as Vaggie shoves him to the side.

At this, Vaggie merely flips him off in-retaliation.

“No need for the attitude, sweetheart.”

Slowly, Vaggie turns around and flips him off with both hands. “Does that answer your question?”

“Oh, no need to be so cross with me,” Alastor says without missing a beat. Clearly, the idiot’s unable to go through a full minute without hearing the sound of his own voice. “It’s not my fault that exorcist was following us…though, it is odd,” he offhandedly muses, one hand pressed against his cheek as he shoots Vaggie a questioning look. “That lovely lady seemed to know you quite well, Vagatha.”

“For the last time, that’s not my name…” Vaggie sighs. “But, yeah, I definitely knew her. We weren’t exactly the closest, but she was a rank underneath me. Let’s just say she was kind of my subordinate?”

“Oooh, you don’t say?” Alastor grins, taking a single step forward before draping an arm over Vaggie’s shoulder.

Vaggie shoves him away again. “Mind the personal space, buddy. Keep that up, and I’m gonna sue.”

Alastor’s grin widens ever so slightly [Vaggie will never get over just how fucking creepy this bastard is], but eventually, he retracts his arm. “Very well,” he chirps, all the while making a show of wiping his sleeve with a handkerchief. “At least we lost your feathered friend now.”

“She’s not my friend.”

Tilting his head, Alastor shoots her a look of mock confusion. “You poor, sad, pitiful dear,” he says, poking her cheek.

“Al, stop it.”

“Make me,” Alastor quips, sticking out his tongue.

“You’re acting like a child,” Vaggie admonishes.

Alastor shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

Vaggie glares up at the taller demon, one hand pressed over her hip, while the other jabs his chest. “Yes you are!!”

“No, I’m not,” Alastor repeats.

“You fucking are!”

“Mind your fucking language, young lady.”

“For all you know, I could be older than you—Oh, fuck.” Vaggie…in all her infinite wisdom, forgot one teeny-tiny problem. And by that, she means an angel that’s got a good 15 centimeters over her, is wielding a rifle, and looks bloody pissed.

Alastor blinks, looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights of a moving van. He looks from the angel, gaze lingering on her rifle, before returning back to Vaggie. “I can see why you two were best friends.”

“We were not—!!”

“Bossom friends.”

“I don’t even know what that fucking means—”

Oh, fuck.

Miss Angel Lady with the rifle [Vaggie will admit that she…kinda sorta forgot her name. It’s been years, okay!? She hardly even remembers what she had for breakfast that morning] nearly shoots Al with the rifle clean-through the head. And while Vaggie wouldn’t mind karma smacking Alastor in the face, after the day she’s had, no one gets to kill this idiot except for her.

“How forward of you~” Alastor sing-songs as Vaggie grabs his wrist and yanks him away from the positively livid exorcist.

The angel doesn’t speak, and…Vaggie gets that. She was an exorcist, afterall, and there was that whole worry about how breathing the air of hell too much could tarnish an angel’s divinity. Vaggie wouldn’t know if that’s true, considering she didn’t fall the organic way. But then again, when was the last time an angel truly fell? Lucifer was the first, but he most definitely was not the last.

“Would it kill you to shut up for five minutes!?” Vaggie angrily hisses as she half-pulls, half-drags Alastor away from the angel.

Without missing a beat, Alastor happily says, “Maybe.”

“You have a death wish. I’m fucking running for my life with an idiotic serial killer with a death wish,” Vaggie murmurs underneath her breath. They’re a good distance away from the hotel. Cannibal Town is nowhere near close, either, and even the Doomsday District is nowhere in sight…wait……

Vaggie stops just short of a manhole. It’s not ideal, but the only thing worse than being stuck in the sewers with Alastor is being found dead…with Alastor. She represses a shudder at the thought of her…and Alastor. Sharing the same death date. That would be too embarrassing. She’d sooner kill Alastor than die alongside him.

For the first time all day, Alastor’s the one to shy away. “We don’t need to go that far, Vagatha.”

Oh, Vaggie is going to enjoy this. With ease, Vaggie pries the metal covering and holds it to the side. Alastor attempts to back away, but spite is a powerful motivator. She reaches forward, widely grinning as she grabs him by the collar and throws him inside. Revenge is fucking sweet. And quickly, Vaggie follows suit. Climbing down the ladder after putting the metal covering back in-place.

---

“I never thought you could fall lower than even this,” Alastor sneers. But with his goofy as fuck ears pulled back against his skull, he’s about as frightening as a chihuahua.

Vaggie callously laughs. Offering Alastor a mock bow as she says, “After you, good sir!”

Alastor crosses his arms, glaring daggers at the much shorter demon. “That wasn’t very funny, darling.”

“Speak for yourself,” Vaggie chuckles.

Much to her relief, a sewer system doesn’t run underneath this section of hell. They’d both been walking for maybe the better part of an hour, and from what Vaggie can tell, they’re in some sort of underground crypt. Catacombs, probably, though Vaggie is going to avoid any attempts at finding dead bodies.

However, as Vaggie was quick to learn, Alastor has no sense of self-preservation.

“Al, stop staring at that eye.”

Alastor startles, seemingly caught off-guard. His smile is strained [Which Vaggie only knows after living in the same hotel with this dumbass for over a year], and his eyes awkwardly flicker to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Vaggie shoots him an unimpressed look. She stands up on the tips of her toes and condescendingly pats his shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of these weird eye flowers back home. You can continue this later,” she says. Offering him another pat on the shoulder, before turning on her heels and walking away.

She allows herself a smile as Alastor protests behind her. He’s still creepy and evil and shady as fuck, but his mysterious ‘Radio Demon’ persona got old real fucking quick.

“Hmm, it really is a fascinating place we’ve found ourselves in,” Alastor eventually says. They’d walked past a small underground stream, only to find themselves standing outside of a crypt with unfamiliar symbols etched all over it. “Wonder what this all says……”

Vaggie quirks a brow. “Ohhh? You don’t know how to read, Al?”

Alastor slowly turns around and shoots her a tight-lipped smile. “That should be my question—”

Immediately, Alastor’s words are cut-off as the sounds of footsteps reverberates against the cavernous ground. Both Vaggie and Alastor share a look [One of them seemingly more concerned than the other], before they wordlessly agree to ambush the exorcist. It’s two against one, so how difficult could this be?

The answer is very, as Alastor and Vaggie realize that…yes, fighting against Adam was real fucking stupid. But fighting against an armed exorcist in an underground cavern with no prospects of help? Also just as bad.

“Your bossom friend is quite…troubling.”

“For the last fucking time, what does that even mean?” Vaggie hisses, grabbing onto the back of Al’s head and pushing him behind a boulder. But much to her frustration, hearing Alastor’s stupid voice and even more idiotic words is almost a relief. It almost beats having to deal with this eerily silent exorcist. “Al, I’ve got an idea…”

And it just…it doesn’t go very well. Vaggie curses underneath her breath, regretting that she wasn’t able to tell Charlie where she went off to. And she’s dismayed at the thought of dying alongside Alastor. They’re not friends. They’re not buddies or whatever the fuck a ‘bossom friend’ is supposed to be.

She doesn’t even like the guy.

But she’d be remiss if Alastor were to die her under her watch. It’s sort of her fault that they’re both stuck in this mess—

Vaggie’s too late. The exorcist, her ex-subordinate, she caught sight of Vaggie. She pulls out her gun, removes the safety, and…Vaggie thinks that this is it. That this is how she’ll die, but before she can react, the exorcist shoots at the ceiling.

The foundations here are weak. The ground is shaking, and all Vaggie can think about is how the exorcist also doomed herself to this unceremonious grave.

She’s lost sight of Alastor.

There’s a shadow looming above her. The sound of ‘cracking’ and fissures in the ground, in the walls and ceiling fills the space, sounding more like thunder. But before Vaggie can even process what’s evening happening, she catches sight of Alastor as he practically throws himself at her. Before Vaggie can protest, everything goes black.

---

When Vaggie eventually comes to, she at first doesn’t remember anything. She’s unsure of where she is, of how she even got here. It’s cold. It’s dark. The ground is coarse, and there’s a heavy weight on top of her. Vaggie closes her eye, convinced that this is some sort of stress-induced nightmare. But when she opens her eye again, it’s still dark.

It takes a few moments for the events of the last few hours to come crashing down on her, just like how the ceiling fell on her and…

Wait, that’s right!! Al is…he’s……

He threw himself on-top of her. He protected her from the collapse, though she doesn’t exactly understand why. Alastor is gone now, and she feels stuck, except…she detects a coppery scent. And as she attempts to move, she hears a pained gasp.

“Vagatha, don’t do that…please.”

Vaggie breathes in a sigh of relief, only for her to devolve into a coughing fit. “Glad to see you’re alright,” Vaggie says, despite being unable to see for shit. “Now, get off of me, Al.”

Silence. Followed by a faint, hollow laugh. “How about no?”

Oh, that’s not good. Anxiety starts to claw at Vaggie, but she tries her best to not dwell on the worst case scenario. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

No response.

“Alastor, just hang tight. I’ll get us out of here, just…”

Vaggie’s eye widens in realization as she attempts to pry herself free. Alastor gasps out. An undeniably pained sound as he grits his teeth. Breathing heavily as Vaggie tries again, and her hand presses against his side. She can’t see anything, but…she feels something drip down from Alastor’s side, followed by a piece of stone embedded deep, deep inside. Clean-through, straight through his stomach.

Alastor was impaled.

“You’ll be just fine,” Vaggie shakily says, more to herself than Al.

Alastor doesn’t respond.

He was hurt and it’s all her fault. Vaggie never thought she’d ever care about another sinner, let alone one as reprehensible as Al, but she does.

“I’ll save you,” Vaggie whispers. “Were you hurt anywhere else?”

She hears radio static. Alastor…he’s going through shock. But she can’t comfort him, though she doubts Alastor would ever accept her help. “It’s alright, Al,” she says, a tad bit delirious. “Everything will be fine, but I need you to stay awake.”

Alastor isn’t speaking. She can’t see his face, but she knows Alastor must still be smiling despite all of the pain he’d been put under.

Vaggie tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eye. And she can catch the faintest sliver of light. It could be a trap. For all she knows, that exorcist might be waiting on the other side, but it’s better than waiting here for Alastor to die. He’d eventually come back from this, but from what Vaggie’s heard, regenerating is never a pleasant experience.

Maybe Alastor does deserve this. Being hurt, getting a taste of his own medicine.

But…it was Vaggie’s fault that he got hurt. And, she’s slaughtered countless demons. Vaggie wouldn’t be surprised if her kill count far exceeds that of Alastor’s, both in his human life and death. If there’s anything that Charlie taught her, it’s that second chances are possible.

Alastor doesn’t deserve her pity. But she’s not just going to wait for him to die.

“This’ll hurt,” Vaggie says, not bothering to sugarcoat her words as she tries to pull herself from underneath Alastor, and from what she imagines to be hundreds of pounds of rocks. Even if she were capable of pitying him, she knows it would hurt Alastor far more than these rocks could. Than even being impaled could.

While Alastor is an idiot. An insufferable idiot with no regard for personal space [Unless it’s his own space being violated], she has no desire to watch him die a slow, agonizing, tortuous death [Even if it’s only temporary].

She tries to gently push Alastor back as gently as possible, only to flinch as Alastor cries out. And it’s…jarring. So foreign and bewildering to hear such a weak sound coming from someone as imposing as the Radio Demon. “You’ll be fine, you’ll be alright,” Vaggie says again and again.

It takes a few tries. More than a few tries. Vaggie tries her best to not dwell on how her entire front had been soaked with Alastor’s blood. She tries to not think about just how much blood Alastor had lost.

He’ll be fine. He can’t die.

Alastor’s too stubborn to die.

She hears something…‘crack,’ right as a blood-curdling scream tears out of Alastor’s throat. But it’s masked by the sound of static, and Vaggie nearly gives up in her attempts to escape. Except, it’s worse for Alastor, to stay trapped beneath this rubble. If he were to regenerate after death, would he just end up in the exact same place he died in?

Alastor may be cruel, and he may be the worst sinner she’s ever had the misfortune to meet, but it would be barbaric to leave him down here to suffer for the rest of eternity.

---

Vaggie’s stomach lurches as she lays Alastor on the ground. Right on his front, as she stares in open horror at his back. His coat and shirt had been torn to shreds. And it’s impossible to tell what’s skin, and what’s cloth when they’d been reduced to bloodied ribbons. Alastor’s breathing is heavy. He’s still conscious. A blessing and a curse, and it’s only by some demonic miracle that Vaggie hadn’t been hurt.

“Why did you save me?” Vaggie sorrowfully asks, gently carding her had through Alastor’s hair, only to stop as the sudden movement elicits a keening whine from the deer demon.

Her eye lingers on the sharp stone impaled in Alastor’s stomach. As much as it pains her [Not nearly as much as it pains Alastor, however], she has no choice but to leave it embedded there. If she were to remove it, Alastor would immediately bleed out.

But…she wishes there was more that she could do for his wounded back.

Nothing’s broken, as far as she’s aware. There was that sickening crack she heard that sounded like bone, but Vaggie…chooses to believe she’d been imagining it. There’s nothing more that she can do for Alastor. She has no antiseptic. No bandages, no spare cloth to stifle the bleeding and protect his wounds from infection. All she has is her hairbow, but it wouldn’t do Alastor any good, considering the sheer extent of his wounds.

Nothing is broken. For her, at least. Surely, that exorcist is dead, right?

If Alastor survived such horrific injuries, there’s no telling what a fully-armed exorcist is capable of.

And considering Vaggie was an exorcist, she very well knows that something like this wouldn’t have been enough to phase her. Let alone injure her. She could…carry Alastor. He’s tall and lanky, but he’s thin to a rather concerning degree.

However, when Vaggie attempts to lift him up, she’s met with a quiet plea. And…she would be cruel. She’d be worst than even the most unforgivable sinners, if she were to force Alastor onto his hooves right now. If she were to not allow him a minute to catch his breath.

There’s nothing more that Vaggie can do for him.

She kneels by Alastor’s side. Clasping his hand in her. She gives it a small squeeze, attempting to reassure Al that she’ll remain by his side. He doesn’t return the gesture, clearly too weak to even remain fully conscious. But considering the head injury he suffered, Vaggie can’t have him falling asleep on her now.

Vaggie was always an exorcist. She never lived as a human. She’s not a mortal soul like Al. She was blessed with immortality from the moment she was conceived, and yet, when it’s dark and scary and cold, her mind always starts wandering. And she finds herself reminded of an old song. A faint melody that she’d heard from long, long ago.

Not even once, does Vaggie let go of Alastor’s hand. She hums a faint melody, an old folksong from eons ago.  “You’ll be just fine.”

---

“Everything will be just fine.”

It’s cold. It’s dark. Alastor feels like he’s burning, like he was doused in hot oil and set aflame. Every part of him hurts. It hurts to open his eyes, and…he doesn’t think he’s long for this earth. He’s dead. He’s dying. He hears them, calling out to him. Those men, jeering at him as he cried. As he begged them not to—

He hears a voice singing. It’s a familiar song.

His side hurts. Alastor attempts to move, tries to get up, when white hot pain stabs into his lower half. And it feels like he’s dying, like he’s taking his final breath. Alastor faintly cries out. He feels someone holding onto his hand. It’s a soft, gentle touch. And for the first time since he’d left home…since he last saw a friendly face. Since he last felt like himself—

“Maman……

Chapter Text

It takes a while for Vaggie to overcome her own misgivings on the matter, and she has to get Alastor out of  here, no matter how exhausted and pained the injured demon is. She’s kneeled by his side for the better part of fifteen minutes, though it feels more like an eon has passed. Everything’s silent here, save for Alastor’s faint breathing and water droplets falling from overhanging stalagmites.

And that’s quite odd, right? Hell has always been rather lacking for water, but it’s quite abundant beneath the city. Vaggie wonders if this could have been used as some sort of torture chamber back in the day, or if Lucifer did, in-fact, keep hell divided up into levels—

All separating the damned into different levels based on the sins they committed in life. Perhaps Lucifer had, before apathy settled in, and his bloodlust was replaced by self-loating. Vaggie supposes she can relate to that. She’d be lying if she said she absolutely hated everything about her time as an exorcist. It gave her a purpose, a reason for living.

Though, she sure as hell wouldn’t want to go back to that time, now that she has Charlie in her life…now that she has a true purpose for living, and someone worth fighting for.

Charlie is worth this literal hell.

But as for Alastor? She could very well leave him here to die. No one could blame her. Afterall, Alastor betrayed Charlie’s trust. Tricked her into making a deal with him at her most vulnerable, but as much as Vaggie is loathe to admit this, he more than pulled his weight when it came to running the hotel. He certainly tried to defend it too, for reasons that Vaggie is dead certain was more than just Alastor wishing to ‘stave off his boredom.’

Alastor’s a downright unforgivable bastard, but she can’t imagine a hotel without him. But she still doesn’t understand why Alastor saved her. He could have left her to die. And sure, Vaggie would regenerate eventually, but she just…she doesn’t understand.

Her heart clenches at the sight of Alastor laying on the ground. Bloodied, bruised, cut, clearly in pain because of her.

Alastor deserves this. No one deserves this.

“Hey, Al…?” Vaggie asks, voice barely above a whisper as she gently places a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. Immediately, Alastor flinches. But it’s hardly noticeable, and that, alone, causes Vaggie much worry. “We need to leave,” she days, unable and unwilling to ask Alastor why he saved her.

Alastor doesn’t respond. Vaggie can’t see his face from this angle, but she supposes he’s still sporting that creepy as fuck smile. A part of her wishes he could just drop the act. She’s not going to hurt.

Or, well, hurt Alastor more than he already is.

There’s no way Alastor can walk like this. He’s all tall and gangly and sharp edges. The man’s over a foot taller than her, but he’s light. Surely, Vaggie could just carry him? She knows that she’ll never hear the end of this if [when] Alastor’s all healed up, but him bitching about his wounded pride is the least of her worries.

She kneels by his side, hands hovering just above his back. Vaggie hesitates for a brief moment, unsure of where to place her hands when every part of him is bleeding. But eventually, she settles for his waist, figuring that it’s the least injured part of him, from what she can tell.

“Sorry, Al,” Vaggie says, surprised that the apology easily slips from her tongue. “I’m not gonna lie. This will really hurt,” she warns, deciding to not give Alastor time to process her words as she attempts to scoop him up into her arms bridal-style.

Except…she doesn’t get that far, as a pained gasp is torn out of Alastor’s throat. Vaggie immediately lets go of Alastor, staring at him in shock as slowly, he attempts to get up to his knees. Wrapping his arms around himself, eyes wide in panic as he’s shaking from head to toe. Looking so very much like a frightened fawn…looking as if he truly believes Vaggie’s going to hurt him.

He’s still smiling. A manic look that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Though, none of his smiles ever did feel genuine. His ears are pinned back against his skull, and seeing him like this. Small, weak, defenseless, she’s disturbingly reminded of that cannibal child she spared on a whim all of those years ago.

“Al…?” Vaggie asks, hestitantly reaching out for him.

Alastor’s grin widens every so slightly. His breathing is ragged, chest heaving as he looks on the verge of passing out. Blood sluggishly drips down from his forehead, from his arms. And as Vaggie’s gaze flickers downward, she’s dismayed to see that he’s clearly favoring one leg over the other.

“Please, Alastor, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He smiles at her. Bright, serene, dissonant, empty. “Liar,” Alastor hisses, grip tightening around his coat. Staring straight at Vaggie, regarding her like one would a ravenous wolf.

There’s no time for this. “I know it hurts,” Vaggie says again. “But you’re strong, Al. That exorcist might still be somewhere here, looking for us. You’ll just have to endure and bear with the pain…”

Vaggie’s words are abruptly cut-off as Alastor doubles over. Wrapping his arms around his midsection, grinning madly as he laughs. Looking to be on the verge of tears, unable to stop, scarcely able to breathe or catch his breath as he hysterically laughs, “That’s what those men said, when they……”

Alastor’s voice tapers off. He offers Vaggie a watery smile. Looking docile and meek and all sorts of things that one wouldn’t associate with the Radio Demon. “What do you want from me?”

“I…” Vaggie clenches her fists, nails casting half-crescents into her palms. She should just grab Alastor and go. Knock him out and carry him out of here, but seeing him like this…as if he’s a fawn about to be devoured, she can’t. It would be a breach of trust, and seeing Alastor shaking on the ground. Wrapping his arms around his midsection, seemingly almost protective of his coat, of his clothes, as if he thinks Vaggie would…as if someone had—

No, impossible. She dares not dwell on the implications, on Alastor’s words and actions. He’s merely delirious from blood loss and pain.

Nothing happened to him. He’s the fucking Radio Demon.

Vaggie startles as a metallic ‘clang’ suddenly resonates with the cavernous space. Sounding so very much like chains, and…she detects the scent of blood and rot, masked by a sickeningly sweet scent like rose petals. Shadows flicker in the corner of her peripheral vision, but Alastor pays none of this any mind.

His gaze is focused squarely on her.

“We’ll get through this,” Vaggie says. “No matter what, I’ll protect you……”

Alastor slowly blinks. “Pardon?”

“You heard me, Al.” Vaggie wastes no time in approaching Alastor, offering another quick apology as she scoops him up into her arms—Only to nearly drop Alastor as a blood-curdling scream tears out of his throat. Vaggie immediately panics, clamping her hand over Alastor’s mouth, all the while quickly looking behind her shoulder.

The scent of blood and rot is pervasive. Vaggie is dead certain it’s not Alastor. And it reminds her of a corpse left rotting out in the sun.

She feels Alastor weakly attempting to free him from her grasp. Vaggie tightens her grip on him, ignoring any pangs of guilt as she quickly follows a stream of dark, muddled water. Staring at the still currents every so often. Scarcely able to see anything, hearing nothing save for Alastor’s ragged breathing, water dripping onto the ground [That surprisingly doesn’t burn like acid rain], and…she hears footsteps.

Alastor weakly attempts to push, to get her to drop him, but his attempts are more pitiful than anything.

He isn’t crying, though Vaggie wishes he would. She doesn’t understand what he’s thinking, but she knows he must be in agony. It’s surely excruciating. His open wounds being pressed against her. Unable to afford a moment’s respite as she forcibly carries him through this endless labyrinth…through these catacombs and—

There it is. Yet again, she hears those footsteps. Something is pressed against the nape of her neck. Sharp talon claws, and she hears a voice whispering in her ear.

Alastor isn’t speaking. He stares up at Vaggie with startled eyes. He doesn’t see anything except her. “Please, let me go…please,” Alastor begs. “Maman, I…I promised her I would……”

Vaggie sharply exhales. “Al, it’s me. Vaggie, your…” She hesitates on calling themselves ‘friends.’ “We’re coworkers.”

At this, Alastor smiles at her. But it’s more frantic, more harried and vulnerable and weak and…it’s almost demure and pretty. Vaggie’s at a complete loss, but they need to get out of her. “Everything will be fine…everything will be fine,” Vaggie repeats again and again. More to herself than Alastor.

“Go…Let. Me. Go,” Alastor outright pleads. Reduced to clinging onto Vaggie. Arms wrapped around her shoulders as he stares at her with large, doe eyes.

His words, his actions…everything about this doesn’t sit right with Vaggie.

Alastor’s blood, on her arms. She’s entirely soaked in blood, and none of it is even hers. Alastor will die at this rate. Some of his wounds had scabbed over, but he should have started the healing process by now. There’s nowhere else to go. It still feels like they’re being followed…like they’re being watched.

She needs to take a break. They both do.

Vaggie eventually finds a small clearing, and it doesn’t feel right. Staying where they’re exposed, but if she can’t bandage up Alastor’s wounds, the least she can do is clean them up somewhat.

Alastor whimpers as Vaggie places him onto the ground. Flat on his back, wincing at the sight of his cuts and bruises…at the sharp stone embedded deep, deep into his side.

Gently, Vaggie pats Alastor’s head, before she turns her sights towards a puddle. She experiments first. Putting one finger into the puddle, and once she’s satisfied that it won’t scald Alastor, she scoops up the water into her hands [Worried that it’s unclean, but…Alastor won’t die from this, as long as she gets him help in time], and—

She doesn’t give Alastor any warning as she pours the water onto his back, eliciting yet another pained scream from the injured demon.

Alastor fervently claws at the ground. Soft, weak gasps tearing out of his throat as Vaggie once again pours more water onto his back. Blood drips down from him, intermingled with water as it sinks back into the ground.

“Ahhh…” Alastor hisses. Clenching his eyes shut, unable to fight back. Unable to do anything as he lays on the ground.

Vaggie can’t see his expression from this angle. She assumes he’s still smiling.

He’s taking this remarkably well. Though, it’s not like Alastor has a choice in the matter. And she’s well past the point of attempting to comfort him with cheap words. Vaggie is doing all of this for him.

Once Vaggie’s thoroughly satisfied that Alastor’s wounds had been cleansed to the best of her ability, she rolls him onto his back, eliciting another pained gasp from the injured demon. Alastor’s eyes are shut. Tears threatening to spill as he’s…still holding onto his smile. Vaggie’s worry increases tenfold as Alastor’s hand shoots up to his chest. He grits his teeth. Practically shaking as Vaggie easily overpowers him.

She prods at his chest, dismayed to discover blood clinging to her hand. Alastor throws his head back against the ground. Crying, screaming out as again, Vaggie feels around the area.

It’s a bit difficult to feel, but…she detects a faint angelic presence. And in a way, she’s remind about Heaven, but nothing about Alastor is Holy.

Anxiety claws at her as once again, she’s unable to fully ignore just how off Alastor feels. And this goes beyond his wounds. Or, well, his physical wounds, at least. Alastor is practically out of this, and Vaggie sure as fuck hopes Alastor won’t remember any of this.

Taking a deep breath, Vaggie reaches for the hem of his tattered shirt and pulls it up, only to stop as Alastor suddenly wraps his hand around her wrist.

And his grip is weak, barely present.

Alastor cracks his eyes open. Staring up at her pleadingly. Gaze shining with tears as he half-whispers, half-begs, “Don’t…”

Vaggie ignores Alastor’s pleas. She lifts his shirt up, ignoring Alastor’s cries and whimpers. Ignoring how he’s gazing up at her with a look befitting prey. At how he’s shivering from her touch, looking as if he’s fearing Vaggie is going to…that he’ll be slaughtered, brutalized.

A gasp tears out of Vaggie’s throat as she stares in horror at a large, painful looking stab wound on Alastor’s chest. It looks to be a few months old, but judging from the green stitches that had been pulled apart, and blood sluggishly dripping from the cut, only Alastor had been tending to his wounds [And poorly, at that].

Realization sparks in Vaggie’s mind. “You got this from Adam,” Vaggie asks, though it sounds more like a statement in her eyes.

All of this time, Alastor had been acting like nothing had happened. It must have been terrifying for a demon to acquire an angelic wound. It must have been painful. And yet, Alastor had somehow managed to conceal his agony. He saved Vaggie while he was grievously injured. This entire time, he was under excruciating agony.

Vaggie’s eye is burning. Her vision is blurry, and she feels something wet drip down her face. But it’s not right. She doesn’t have the right to cry, when Alastor is the one in agony.

No…Alastor brought this on himself.

He’s a cannibal. He’s a serial killer. He fucking deserves this.

It’s hard to imagine him as a cold-blooded killer when she sees him like this. Weak, injured, bloodied, traumatized. Surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Two lost, damned souls underneath hell.

That exorcist must still be out there. Vaggie fears something worse than her ex-subordinate is after them.

Alastor is no longer able to stifle his own tears. They freely fall from his face, but he immediately drapes his arm over his eyes upon noticing Vaggie’s gaze.

Vaggie reaches for his arm and pulls it back down. She leans in closer, studying his features. Appalled and intrigued and guilt-ridden at the sight she sees before her. Alastor silently stares back at her. Still smiling, unable to stop. Looking ashamed. Ears pulled back against his skull, and he looks resigned, humiliated, but as Vaggie tries to etch this scene into her memories [Knowing fully well that she might be the first person in hell to see Alastor like this], she…wonders, what Alastor might have been like in life.

She knows he was a serial killer. She knows she hurt countless people. Innocent people, none of which deserved to die in such a horrific way.

This is karma. Alastor is getting exactly what he deserves.

His arms are wrapped tightly around his midsection. And Alastor looks defenseless like this. Weak and pitiful and…it’s tragic and appalling and…Vaggie shouldn’t be pitying Alastor.

This isn’t right. Alastor deserves this. Everything that’s happened today? It’s merely karma.

Vaggie opens her mouth, wanting so very much to tell Alastor that this is what he gets for indulging in sin. For being corrupted, evil, for being incapable of love. He’s everything that Vaggie hates about hell.

Alastor killed countless souls. Vaggie killed even more sinners.

If Alastor dies here, then this labyrinth will be his crypt.

He deserves this.

Alastor’s trembling on the ground. Vaggie ignores her own discomfort, her own guilt and shame and anxiety. Ignores the warning bells ringing in her head, screaming at her that everything about this is wrong, wrong, wrong. She ignores just how familiar this scene is…ignores how she’s witnessed countless mortal souls in Heaven exhibit similar behavior.

She ignores just how helpless she was at helping those mortals. Ignores that small dream of hers from an entire lifetime ago…that small wish that she could have been anything else but an exorcist.

And she ignores that part of her that once wanted to do good. That didn’t want to shed blood, no matter how tarnished and black and vile that blood had been.

Vaggie was never anyone’s savior. She only saved that cannibal child on a whim.

In another lifetime, perhaps she could have been a guardian angel.

But there’s no point in thinking about hypotheticals. There’s no use in wondering about ‘what could have beens.’

Alastor screams out. Arching his back as Vaggie roughly pulls him up into her arms. Alastor clenches his eyes shut, desperately trying to not cry. Vaggie grabs onto his face, forcing him to look at her. “I’ll get you out of here,” Vaggie says. “I fucking promise I will, but Al, please…shut up.”

He’s still bleeding out. Still in the process of dying, despite already being dead.

Much to Vaggie’s shame and relief, Alastor complies.

Alastor will hate him for this. He always hated her.

She’s doing this for him. If Charlie knew what she was doing…if she learned about the torture she was forcing Alastor through, she’d never be forgiven.

No, that’s a lie. Charlie forgave her for lying.

Charlie forgave her...a loathsome, unredeemable fallen angel like her.

Vaggie committed a grievous sin. One that was far more abhorrent, more cruel and sadistic than slaughtering those sinners had been. She betrayed the only person in her life…the only person who she well and truly loved…the only person who ever cared for her.

She could have died at that exact moment, when Adam and Lute had revealed her shame to Charlie. When they forced that truth that Vaggie desperately tried to bury.

And yet, Charlie was far more compassionate than even the most righteous angel.

Despite Vaggie’s countless sins, Charlie forgave her.

Vaggie would willingly lay her life on the line for Charlie. She would die for Charlie, and…that’s what separates her from Alastor. She knows what it’s like to experience love. To be capable of love.

The bleeding man in  her arms is nothing more than a monster.

He deserves this.

Alastor saved her, and it’s killing her…the uncertainty of it all.

Weakly, Alastor presses his hand against her shoulder. Vaggie looks back at him, tries to ignore her guilt for forcing him to endure so much pain. He should have let her to die.

“Vagatha, please, let me down…”

She should ignore Alastor’s pleas.

The words of a serial killer mean nothing to her.

But…gazing at him like this. Seeing him look so painfully cognizant……

Hearing his voice. Weak, despondent, tired, pitiful, it’s…excruciating, to know that he was the cause of his agony. She never wanted to be an executioner, but then again, she sure as hell was complicit in it.

Vaggie is every bit as guilty as Alastor is, even though her reasons for murder were far different than his.

She collapses to her knees, pulling Alastor down with her. Alastor lets out a pained cry, but Vaggie, ever the selfish creature, pays him no heed. She throws her arms over his shoulder, pulling him into a desperate embrace. Pouring her eye out, crying, unable to stop. Unsure of why she’s acting like this now. It’s embarrassing, showing weakness in-front of a demon as cruel and heartless and unforgivable as Alastor.

Vaggie doesn’t know if she’s crying for her old life. For the angel she used to be, or for a million other regrets.

Alastor is ireedeamble, but so is she. They both fucking hate each other, but they’re in this hell together.

And she doesn’t know why she’s doing this. She craves absolution.

She needs to be pardoned of her sins…and maybe a part of Alastor feels the same way. Vaggie silently weeps, refusing to let Alastor go. He doesn’t return her embrace. Vaggie doesn’t want him to.

Absolution is what she always wanted, but to think, she’d be desperate enough to beg forgiveness from a serial killer.

This is hell, Vaggie thinks to herself.

She’s in hell, but at least she’s not alone anymore.