Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Laughter.

Teasing.

Whispered secrets from a life long past.

All the right words, but in the wrong place.

~;~

In hindsight, Alastor should have seen all of this coming. This was Hell after all. You were supposed to suffer here.

Well, he supposed, unless you made a deal with the angel responsible for most of the pain and suffering here, but that was a story for another time, wasn’t it?

In any case, Alastor had never hated Hell. He might even go as far as to say he enjoyed it here! He didn’t even mind his hellish form too much. Sure, he would have preferred not to be a prey animal, no matter how ‘hilarious’ a certain someone thought it was, but that wasn’t too bad. Unlike some, he retained a fairly human shape. The ears, the claws, and dear god, the tail had taken some time to adjust to, but it was far easier for him than many others.

Besides, he had never particularly been attached to his body either. Alastor much preferred to be a voice over the airwaves, striking fear into whichever unfortunate souls happened to be listening at the time. Which, of course, was never less than the entirety of Pentagram City. Although, he supposed having a physical body made murder and like much more enjoyable…. Well, you win some, you lose some!

In any case, Alastor had never really understood how truly miserable many souls in Hell were. Mostly because he didn’t care. Not until Vox, at least.

Oh, sweet, innocent Vox.

Back then, when they had first met, Vox hadn’t had his ridiculous, ‘sleek’, modern face. No, the television he had sported as a head had been boxy, with a wooden casing and two, perfectly straight, antennae. Rabbit ears, Vox had called them. He really was a funny looking sinner. Although not in a bad way, more like… oh, the whale shark! Somewhat silly looking, depending on who you asked, but in an endearing way.

… he’d spent far too much time with Vox. Far, far too much time.

It hadn’t been his strange head, though, that drew Alastor to him, no. It had been the fact that, despite ending up in Hell, Vox had been so, undeniably sweet . He could have rivaled Charlie back then, in all honesty.

He was still a demon, of course, a sinner who had earned his place down here, but he had been kind-hearted. Vox had been, well, a good employer, which was, obviously, rare down here. Alastor could count on his fingers how many others there had been, and on one how many still remained. Vox, unlike so, so many others, Alastor included, hadn’t tortured the souls he owned for the slightest transgression, had let people who wronged him walk free once, although never a second time. He didn’t like hurting people unless necessary, and, more often than not, sinners down on their luck would find themselve approached by the tv demon, a contract in hand that, shockingly, was mutually beneficial, perfectly balanced to give both parties something .

And he was cunning too. So, so clever. Like a fox. The amount of times one of Alastor’s fellow Overlords at the time had come into a meeting irked because they hadn’t been able to catch the annoying new sinner who was messing with the hierarchy of Hell almost as much as Alastor had was too many to count. Ha, he could still remember the annoyed look on Carmilla’s face when the third meeting in a row devolved into yet another argument about how to get rid of the picture box.

Honestly, it was no surprise that it had taken less than a year for Vox to become a well-known name, for his fame to spread too far, too fast. He was probably the second quickest person to rise to Overlord status, after Alastor himself of course. The fact that Vox had been the one to bring electricity to the Pride Ring, somehow, probably had something to do with that as well.

Alastor had thought the freshly fallen sinner seemed like an easy way to gain power. After all, he was far, far too trusting for Hell. Alastor could simply befriend Vox and then, when he least expected, stab him in the back and claim his power for his own, or, better yet, trick him into selling his soul.

Of course, as things often did with Vox, Alastor’s plan hadn’t quite gone as intended.

Vox had just been too kind, too sweet, too willing to talk with him, spend time with him, even, as Alastor found out later in their friendship, though he knew exactly what Alastor’s plan was from the beginning. Really, he was so keen and observant. And the fact that he didn’t run, that had been what hooked Alastor.

After all, being the infamous Radio Demon didn’t exactly lead to a bustling social life. Sure, he had Nifty and Rosie. Husker and Mimzy… didn’t quite count, although they were… there, he supposed. It really was a shame his friendship with Mimzy had fallen apart soon after their deaths. The more… transactional part of their relationship had quickly overshadowed the rest of their friendship. Alastor still enjoyed their nights at the club, drinking and dancing, but… it wasn’t really the same.

But, honestly, were three good friends too much to ask for?

Vox had seemed to fit perfectly. He didn’t bat an eye at Alastor’s gorier pastimes, and he was quick and witty, playfully insulting Alastor back without missing a beat. Despite their differences in opinion when it came to technology, they became good friends quickly. In fact, that only seemed to strengthen their friendship! They had the most entertaining debates about their respective mediums that could last for hours. Not to mention, the way Vox would go off on tangents about sharks every time they were even remotely mentioned in a conversation, or how he would ramble on about his newest project forever, it was incredibly endearing. It had been so easy to open up to Vox, to trust him, despite Vox being a man. And Vox had trusted him right back!

…well, with some things.

Honestly, he really, really should have seen it coming sooner. Vox’s light-hearted attitude, the too-bright smiles, the way he would brush off any concerns about himself in order to ask about Alastor or Rosie or whoever he happened to be talking with, the self-inflicted scratches on his arms and neck…

They had been drinking in Vox’s studio, once, as had been their weekly routine for nearly two decades straight. They would meet up in one of their workplaces, or Mimzy’s speakeasy, and simply spend the night talking, or playing games, or even just sitting there in silence, whatever they felt like. It was towards the end of their friendship, Alastor believed.

Alastor had… possibly had a glass or two too many, and had ended up practically in the other’s lap. Not in a particularly romantic or, ugh, sexual manner. No, it had been in a futile attempt to try to ‘see into his soul’, or some nonsense like that.

Come to think of it, Alastor may have also been a little high that night.

But, in any case, Alastor vividly remembered asking Vox how he had ended up in Hell. He may have also called Vox an angel a few too many times for his liking, but, in his defense, he knew quite a few personally, and Vox was so, so similar.

—

Vox chuckled nervously, lightly pushing Alastor off of him, glancing to the side for a moment. “I, uh… may have killed a few people, it’s… it’s nothing big.”

—

Alastor had laughed then, an almost manic glee filling his chest. Of course his best friend was a killer like him, it made sense.

In hindsight, he should have asked why then, instead of years later. Who he had killed. What had driven him to murder. It certainly would have saved him the heartache, would have saved him the pain.

Instead, he’d lightly tugged on one of Vox’s antennae, switching the conversation to something else without a second thought about the matter.

And a week or two later, Valentino entered the picture, and the chance disappeared.

Chapter Text

Hugs.

Blows.

Harsh words and gentle promises.

The entirety of his trust, placed in the wrong person.

~;~

Valentino had been bad news from the very beginning, with the way Vox would leave halfway through one of their meetings because the moth came and dragged him off, or how Vox started to wince when touched, yet still let the pimp do anything he wanted.

Alastor had never liked him, and, honestly, he doubted he ever would.

Vox, however, had been obsessed with the moth. Alastor would be lying if the way Vox’s attention, once fixed solely on him, had shifted completely to Valentino didn’t make him… feel things. Things he didn’t particularly enjoy. Before, Vox had rambled about sharks and his projects, but it seemed to only be about ‘Val’ after they met. All ‘Val says’ this and ‘Did I tell you what Val did today?’ that. Positive and negative, every other sentence out of Vox’s mouth had seemed to include him .

Fuck, it had been so annoying.

…Alastor would do anything to hear it again.

On the rare occasion Alastor managed to get the conversation away from Valen-fucking-tino, always when they were drunk, the conversation shifted to Vox. That was when Alastor first caught a glimpse of the pain beneath the carefree exterior.

Dear god, he should have paid more attention then.

—

Vox played with his cup, not looking up to meet Alastor’s eyes. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the drink, some light blue beverage that was rather pretty to look at. “...do you think I’m pretty?” Alastor raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his own drink, before putting down the cup as he leaned on the table.

“Whatever brought this on, my dear?” Vox shrugged, spinning his cup some more.

“I don’t know. Just…” The cup fell on its side, the blue liquid spilling all over the table and dripping onto the floor of the bar. It spread slowly, a stark contrast to the weathered wood. “I guess I’m just curious.”

Alastor hummed, grabbing a napkin and cleaning up the mess without a second thought. Honestly, it seemed like he was always cleaning up after somebody else. His father, Mimzy, and now Vox. Not that he particularly minded. “Tsk, so clumsy.” Vox winced slightly, grabbing a napkin to help.

“Sorry. I just… I don’t know. Something Val said- It’s been nagging me.” Ugh, the damn moth. Really, if Alastor could just- oh well, no use fantasizing about things Vox would hate him for.

Oh, who was he kidding, there was plenty of use.

“Well,” Alastor started carefully, not wanting it to be taken the wrong way, “I’ve never been particularly interested in looks and what not, but I suppose you are aesthetically pleasing. Why, I might even go as far as to say you are the most physically appealing sinner I’ve met so far!” Vox looked up at that, digital eyes wide in disbelief. For a few moments, they scanned Alastor’s face, as though looking for any hint of dishonesty. Not that Alastor was lying, he really did enjoy Vox’s form. It was just so… interesting . Every time he thought he’d found every secret out, Vox revealed another trait that had been squirreled away. After a few minutes of searching, the disbelief melted away, replaced by joy.

“Really, Al? You mean it?” His voice held such a child-like enthusiasm, Alastor couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course, ma sha. Although I can’t help but fear I just stroked your ego. It’s already large enough as it is,” he teased, taking another sip of his drink. Vox laughed, whatever that had been weighing him down earlier gone as he got up from the table to get a drink to replace the one he had spilled.

“Not as big as yours.”

“Why you-”

—

More often than not, it had been Vox asking if he was attractive. Occasionally, it shifted to what Alastor thought of him being ‘trans’ as he had put it, or the fact that he was ‘bisexual’. Honestly, Alastor hadn’t cared, even after Vox had explained what exactly those terms meant to him. It was all the same to him. Vox was Vox. No matter what he wanted to be called or referred to, it didn’t change the fact that he was Alastor’s friend. His closest friend too, at that. Although the fact that Vox had once been a woman maybe did help explain why he was so easy for Alastor to trust, even though he no longer was.

And then, one day, Vox had come running– not walking, running– into the bar that they regularly met up in, eyes bright and that familiar grin– not the sharklike one he used while selling things and was on old posters everywhere you looked now, the real genuine one he sported so often back then– on his screen, practically jumping on Alastor and saying that he and Valentino were dating.

And, well, things had all gone downhill from there, hadn’t they?

Vox hadn’t been able to meet up as often from then on, and the times he had varied wildly. Somedays, Alastor would walk into their favorite bar to be greeted by an excited, loud Vox, who was all too eager to tell Alastor all about what he had been up to, and more than willing to go out somewhere with him. Others, Vox wouldn’t want to leave his chair, a shiny new screen hidden slightly by his arm as he nodded along to whatever Alastor said. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Vox’s begging him to not kill Valentino, the moth would have died the first time Alastor found out Vox had had to replace a screen because of him .

…Alastor should have killed him anyway, and kept Vox close to him. Kept him safe. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything, maybe it would have changed everything.

Maybe he wouldn't have lost his picture box.

Still, for better or for worse, he hadn’t killed the moth. Just let Vox continue to make bad choices, to fall deeper and deeper into his addiction with the drug that was Valentino.

Had he failed him? Let him be hurt? Had Alastor aided in his suffering, by turning away, ignoring the desperate need for help?

W̷̘͠â̵̺s̵̲̍ ̶̮̌i̷͉͊t̶͖͛ ̶̈́ͅh̴̳͂i̴̬͗s̶̻̈́ ̷͘͜f̸̫͐a̸̛̼u̵̝͛l̵͇̿t̴̪̕?̴̘̾

The smile hadn’t faded at first, that bright blue grin still ever present. He’d still laugh, he’d still nudge Alastor and show up and chuckle. It had felt as though Vox would never fade, that Valentino would just be a passing fad. Like that time Vox had been obsessed with manta ray sinners! It would be nothing more than a blip, a year or two out of eternity.

It seemed Alastor misunderstood which one of them was the ‘passing fad’.