Chapter Text
A dull, persistent ache dragged Alastor from unconsciousness, throbbing between his brow. His eyes refused to open despite his efforts.
He went to reach up to rub his face; however something stopped him from moving.
Something was holding him.
His eyes snapped open, breath cutting short as a dark blue arm draped around him, muscular, warm, and invasive. His pulse quickened, chest tightening as his eyes darted around the foreign room looking for something grounding.
Where...
The arm twitched, Alastor tensed, twisting his head just enough to see a flat screen powered off, pressed into a pillow.
Vox!
His heart thundered in his chest as he glanced between the monitor and the arm. Cautiously, he contorted his way from Vox’s grip, slipping off the bed.
Taking a step back, he took in the room.
Everything was still fairly dark, only illuminated by the aquarium lights behind the bed, which gave off enough to make out some furniture.
Monitors lined the wall, a deer skull mounted between them. Below them in the corner was his wrought iron table with two chairs; his table that should’ve been in the hotel.
Why is my...
Next to it was a wooden bookshelf lined with some radios from different decades. Books. Photographs.
Stepping closer, his hand flexed seeing the old photograph of him and Vox.
Him. CRT Vox. Smiling next to each other.
Vox groaned from behind.
Alastor pressed himself against the wall, breath hitched, gaze snapping up to the headboard lined with microphones and cameras.
Wait, that’s my--What the fuck is going on?
“Al?”
Vox’s voice crackled as the monitor flickered on, casting a harsh light across the room. Alastor kept still in the shadows, observing Vox search the room. The light flashed at Alastor, he flickered his lids to adjust to the brightness.
“Babe?!”
Alastor bristled at the word as the television demon slipped off the bed, lumbering towards him.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he purred, shuffling closer, reaching a hand out towards the radio demon. Every muscle in Alastor’s body tensed, so Vox pulled his hand back, tilting his head, “bad dream?”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Vox’s brows knit as he studied Alastor’s face, confusion giving way to something gentler. His fingers brushed Alastor’s cheek carefully. Familiar.
Alastor went rigid. Teeth clenched. Fists balled.
Vox pulled Alastor’s head into his chest, holding him tightly, resting his monitor on Alastor’s head. Alastor dug his claws into Vox’s side.
“Fuck!” Vox shoved Alastor back, holding his sides. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
“Baby, I don’t know what…”
“Don’t fucking call me that!”
Vox’s face fell, eyes searching Alastor’s for some sort of answer.
The radio demon skirted around the corner of the room and threw himself into the first open door, slamming it shut, flipping the lock with a click. He took in a deep breath.
This has to be some fucked up nightmare.
“H-hey, I’m not sure what’s going on, babe,” Vox said at the door, “I can call up a doctor if you need one.”
Alastor didn’t reply. He felt around the wall until his fingers grazed a switch, illuminating the large bathroom. He rolled his eyes, giving a sharp exhale.
Fucking great; I’m trapped.
His eyes caught his reflection from a mirror lined wall. It felt foreign, as if he was looking out from someone who was wearing his skin. His fingers stroked his face, collarbone, everything where it should be. He glanced at his clothing, black underwear with a similarly colored tank top that sported a small Voxtek logo in the corner.
No, this wasn’t Voxtek.
The logo had an inverted red V on top of the blue V, almost as if it was an A. This was not something he would wear. What was it? Where was the rest of his clothing? Why was he practically naked in Vox’s bed? Why were some of his belongings in the room?
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to recall anything that could’ve led him to here.
Nothing surfaced.
Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.
He had spent the last few days in the hotel. Read a book. Slept in his bed. Why the fuck was he here?!
The wall cracked as his fist made contact. His chest heaving.
“Alastor, are you okay?”
Why was Vox so friendly? What sort of nightmare had he awoken into?
“Al…”
Alastor swung the door open, his smile forced into place, ears pinned back, as his narrow eyes fell on a concerned Vox standing at the door. Thin streaks of blood dripped from his sides. Alastor didn’t address him, he pushed past into the, now, bright room. He took long, quick strides towards the door, Vox following behind.
His feet halted at two desks aimed at the window, both cluttered with papers, one with four monitors stacked, the other with a singular screen, but also a radio.
“That’s my radio…” Alastor reached down, picking it up. There was no doubt in his mind, it was his, it had a small chip in the base, which was how he was able to afford it from the consignment shop, when he first appeared in Hell.
His eyes jumped around the desk: papers with his handwriting, his signature, another photo. He picked it up, examining the picture of him and Vox holding each other with some party in the background. This one was in color, and they looked very much happy and very much in love.
A warm hand touched his shoulder. His heart leapt from his chest as he spun around, practically tripping over the desk. He dropped the photo, but kept the radio clutched to his chest.
“What the fuck is going on, Vox?” His voice laced with accusation.
“Going on?” Vox said, puzzled, “Are you still asleep?” Vox picked up the photo, placing it back on the desk. “Come back to bed, clearly you are distressed. I’ll make you a gin and tonic.” Vox reached for the radio, and with some force, pulled it from Alastor’s grip, setting it back on the desk.
“I’m not asleep, and I’m not going back into your bed! What did you do to me? Why am I at V-tower?”
“V...tower?” Vox took a step closer reaching for Alastor’s hand but he jerked back.
“Don’t touch me, you creep!”
Vox stopped, standing straight, folding his arms across his chest. His mouth pressed into a thin line, “I don’t know what has come over you, and I’m trying to be patient, love, but you need to calm the fuck down.”
“Stop with the pet names,” Alastor shivered, taking a few more steps back, “This is some trick, or...or…”
Alastor frantically searched for a plausible explanation, scanning the room for any answers when he caught sight of the city out the window. Pentagram city. Or was it? He inched closer to the window, trying to keep Vox in his peripheral, who had not moved.
The city was dotted with glowing lights, neon signs flickering, very much his home for nearly the last century, but something was off. Where were the war torn territory disputes? Why did everything feel more sanitized? ...and where was the hotel? It wasn’t on the hill where it used to be. Where was his radio tower?
“Where the fuck am I?” It escaped his lips as he surveyed the area.
“VoxAl Tower.”
“Vox...Al…?” Alastor turned, eyes wide, smile faltering.
“Our home, babe,” Vox stepped closer to Alastor, “our castle. Our beacon.”
“No. No…” Alastor buzzed and clicked, searching his mind. “Where are the other Vees?”
“Vees? Who…?”
“The moth one and the little doll.”
“Moth...Valentino? He’s probably at home. The doll, I assume you mean Velvette, probably also at home? Did you want to talk to them? I can call a meeting in the…”
“No! They are your little fuck buddies. Especially the moth one.” Alastor bit his nail, still searching for some sort of answer. “Where is the hotel?”
“Fuck buddies? Do you think I cheated on you? I would never, my deer,” Vox reached for Alastor who pulled away again. “I swear, I’ve never touched him. We never hooked up in any hotel. Is that what this is about? I assure you, that was all a bad dream.”
“Not a hook up...the Hazbin Hotel, with my radio tower. Did you destroy it?”
“I…” Vox searched Alastor’s face, “I don’t know of the Hazbin Hotel, but your radio tower wasn’t destroyed. It should still be here.”
“Here? Like in your tower?”
“Y...yes? Our tower. Always has been. Come, I’ll show you if it will calm you down,” Vox carefully walked past Alastor to button on the wall where an elevator opened. “We will go to the radio station.”
Alastor hesitated, Vox just held the door open for him, waiting patiently. His chest pounded, head throbbed, but he wanted answers.
Agonizingly slow, he marched forward to the elevator, putting as much distance between the two of them as Vox pressed a button on the panel.
Soft jazz played as the elevator moved down a few floors. A definite improvement from the last time Alastor was at V-tower. It was almost soothing.
The doors opened to a warmly decorated floor with red and black wallpaper, lined with various framed posters and awards. Vox stepped off and waited for Alastor, who was frozen, staring at a poster of himself sitting on the edge of a desk with a microphone in hand, smiling at the camera, antlers extended. Glancing down the hallway was another portrait of Alastor, reclined in a chair, feet up, cigarette in one hand, whiskey in the other, a microphone dangling in front of his face. It was an ad for some alcohol.
Cautiously, Alastor walked the hall, glancing at awards for a radio show. Another for a podcast, which he wasn’t sure what that was. Vox waited for him at the end of the hall next to a door he held opened for him. Above the door, a dimmed On Air sign stood.
“What is this?”
“Your studio.” Vox said as Alastor stepped into the office, feet sliding across the mossy green carpet. Cat tail and pampas in large vases were placed around the room. Walls lined with posters and signatures from most of the Deadly Sins with notes to Alastor. A large alligator skeleton clung to the wall behind a desk for, what he assumed, a receptionist sat.
Past that desk was an office with big glass windows with a label on the door: Control Room. To his left was the recording studio. Not any recording studio, his. His fingers brushed the name plate in which “Alastor” was engraved.
He opened the door, the walls with a mix of sound proofing panels and glass windows high above the city. His desk, but newer. A computer connected to his control panel. A modern microphone hung on a boom arm over a red leather chair. On the desk sat a small microphone, reminiscent of the one on his staff.
My microphone…?
Curiously, he summoned his own staff. It was not the one he had always known, it was slightly more modernized. The eye stared at him, and instead of it being a solid red windscreen, there was a blue wave form around the base. His hand twitched, causing the staff to clatter to the floor. His knees wobbled, hands trembled as he stared up at Vox.
Vox hurried to his side. He coaxed him to the chair, kneeling in front of him, “Are you okay?”
“Something is wrong...very wrong.”
Vox looked down at the staff—picking it up—and back at Alastor, “What’s wrong?”
Alastor pressed his palms into his eyes, sharply inhaling, “This is not my Hell.”
“What?”
“I don’t know where I am, or how the fuck I got here, but this is not my Hell!”
“I...I’m going to call the doctor,” Vox pulled up a phone number on his screen, but before he could call it Alastor grabbed his monitor.
“Stop being nice to me! We are enemies, Vox! We fucking hate each other!” Alastor huffed, “Well, you hate me more than I you; you are just an annoying thorn in my side.”
Vox grabbed his hands, pulling them from his face, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you…”
“This is not my Hell, are you listening? We are not...lovers or whatever...this is V-tower, where you and your friends run some television shows. We haven’t been on good terms for almost 70 years. That Hell out there is not mine!”
“70 years?” Vox puzzled, “That’s about how long we’ve been together.” Vox touched Alastor’s lap, which caused him to jerk out of the chair.
“Stop touching me!” Alastor huffed. “Been together? What do you mean?”
“Well, I suppose, I consider it when we first got together, I know you say it was a few decades after, but it’s when you accepted my deal.”
“Your...deal…” Alastor stared at him, “I never accepted your deal. It was pathetic.”
“What...no, you did. For us to be partners. That deal. We built up VoxAl together. Overthrew the other overlords, took our place at the top. We sort of dated, but I’m not sure when we were more open about it. I know there were the articles, but we made short work of them.” Vox searched his memories, “Fifty years ago, we were officially public about our relationship, to no one's surprise,” he chuckled.
Alastor grumbled at his fond recollection.
“That’s not how it happened for me. I turned down your offer. You got pissed, declared me an enemy. You found other overlords to partner with and you built Voxtek where you polluted the city with shitty tv shows and porn. I was the most powerful overlord, and that pissed you off. You were so obsessed with me.”
“Well,” Vox smiled softly, sending a shiver through Alastor, “two of those are true, you are the most powerful overlord and I’m still very much obsessed with you.”
Alastor’s lips twisted, his smile faltering.
“Let’s go back upstairs, I’ll call the doctor, just to make sure everything is okay. I’m sure in the morning all of this will be a bad dream.” Vox stood, pulling Alastor to his feet.
He allowed Vox to escort him from the studio as his mind raced. How did he get here? Where was here? He had to escape, but to where?
When Vox stepped off the elevator, Alastor stayed behind. “Al?” Vox reached for him but Alastor had thrust his staff forward to keep him as far away as possible, but nothing happened. Alastor raised a hand to nothing being summoned. He shut his eyes, frustration and determination to shift into his demonic form—still nothing. Suddenly it became hard to breathe. He tried to gasp and claw at his neck, but nothing was there.
Vox didn’t say anything but grabbed his elbow, guiding him out of the elevator, settling him at the chair in front of Vox’s desk. He rubbed his back until Alastor gasped air.
His powers were gone. Where did they go? Why?
Alastor looked up; Vox was leaning on the edge of the desk, tapping on his phone. Alastor’s eyes cast across the desk, modern, sleek, covered in paperwork and tech. He froze on a photo next to the monitor. Another of him and Vox. A genuine smile was on that Alastor’s face as he glanced at Vox, who was looking lovingly at that Alastor. Vox in a white suit with a red rose on the lapel, Alastor in black with a blue rose. A candid photo of them dancing, Vox having Alastor in a partial dip.
An emotion struck Alastor, something he couldn’t define, it was an uncomfortable tightness in his stomach.
“Do you remember the song that played?” Vox asked, nostalgia etched on his face.
“No.”
“Don’t Mean a Thing by The Mills Brothers,” Vox said. Alastor clicked his tongue. He knew the song, and the band back when he was still alive.
“Probably the most unromantic wedding song one could choose.” Vox hummed the tune a bit, “I used to hate that damn song, I bet that is why you picked it. But it’s grown on me since that day.”
“Why did I accept your deal? Did I ever tell you?” Alastor asked.
“Not really, why?”
“I don’t know, to me, I didn’t. I’m trying to understand what would possess this Hell’s me to accept it.”
Vox tensed, letting out a little groan.
“You don’t believe me when I say I’m not your Alastor? That this isn’t my hell?”
“You seem pretty convinced.” Vox said.
Silence hung heavy between them.
“I don’t know why you agreed, honestly, I was worried you wouldn’t. Even accepting it, you refused to do a handshake deal until we ironed out every, little, fucking, agonizing, detail. It must’ve taken nearly a whole year to figure that out, and even then it was a paired down version of the original plan. It worked out for the best in the end. Deal changed after a few years, then a few more. Shortly after opening the tower, I proposed. It cemented our current deal and relationship.” Vox’s hand gingerly touched Alastor’s shoulder, keeping it there even as he tensed up.
“I just can’t see myself doing any of this…” Alastor trailed off as the elevator dinged and a small goat man waddled off struggling with his over-sized bag.
“Thank you for coming,” Vox said. Alastor shot him a look while jumping up from his chair, knocking it over. “He could use a check-up, he isn’t feeling well.”
“Alriiiight, pleeeeease have a seeeeeeat.” The doctor planted his bag by the desk, digging through it for a stethoscope.
“Al, please,” Vox picked up the chair, but Alastor was pressed against the glass, eyeing the short demon suspiciously.
“Aaaaaaaaahhhh’m juuust goooooooing to listeeeeeeen to yourrrrrrr cheeeeeest.” He gestured to the chair waving the stethoscope.
“I don’t know who you are, I still don’t trust you,” He glared at Vox. Vox stepped forward with his hands up but Alastor pushed further away.
“I’m sorry, babe,” Vox sighed as wires shot from his back towards Alastor, capturing him immediately. He was planted in the chair, as the wires held firm.
Alastor struggled with his might, but the wires didn’t budge. He couldn’t understand how his reflexes had dulled so much that he wasn’t able to evade Vox like he had done countless times in the past.
The doctor approached but Alastor shoved a foot into his gut, sending him toppling to the floor. “Alastor, please,” Vox grabbed his shoulders but was met with a struggle. Vox captured his ankles with wires, pinning him to the chair.
The doctor groaned, rolling over and crawling to his bag, fishing out a leather kit with a needle.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” Alastor growled, struggling uselessly against his bonds.
“What is that?” Vox asked.
“Aaaaa siiiiiiimple seeeeeedaaaaative.” He jabbed the needle into a wiggling Alastor; he gritted his teeth as the speakers popped. Vox gently stroked Alastor’s hair as a flurry of swears and threats spilled from his mouth.
The words became incoherent as the world began to twist and lurch; Alastor took one last glance at a worried Vox before everything faded.
