Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alastor leans back on a ruined wall, watching the redeemed snake broadcast his conversation with his crush to the entire Pentagram City. Or - well, not really watching, because his vision is slightly blurring, and not really listening either, because that requires focus he cannot currently summon, but he is certainly existing in a space where that is the main event happening, and he's quite happy about that, because while that's going on he can... rest a little.

The power of spite from forcing Rosie into a deal got him capable enough to stand for the song, and the strange, shared, cycling power of the song itself got him capable enough to walk off back into shadows with a jaunty gait, twirling his staff, not VISIBLY limping. He just... needs to rest now.

His staff is fixed, and with it, he can get proper control over the part of his power that - that wouldn't be THERE to need taking control of if it weren't for his deal with Rosie in the first place. A deal he only later realized he'd never really needed - his own power as a sinner was enough to get him out of the bottom rung he'd feared ending up in, and nobody cared about the color of his skin when half the people in Hell didn't even have visible skin at all and most of the other half had colors from a different palette altogether.

(Nobody smart, anyway. Nobody capable of adapting to the realities of Hell. Oh, those poor souls. He feels so bad for them, NOT.)

He's not mad at Rosie for it. She didn't trick him - he was the one who made an assumption he didn't even articulate enough for her to even understand the miscommunication happening, and certainly it was not her duty to educate him when he'd been the one to propose the deal, even if she had recognized his error. She'd followed her end of the deal faithfully, and if he'd grown to regret it over time - well, that was his mistake to bear and to fix.

Which he now has.

And, with a significant part of the power Rosie had granted still his, and the staff properly working, he can now properly purge the wound of the remnant angelic influences keeping it from closing. He can feel them clearly now, and has even begun the process - he's just too tired right now. It's been... a day.

(It has been significantly more than a day since he'd last slept normally, for this reason and that, mostly because of the 'tied to an office chair' part. He's a tough demon, he can take that and more, but it's just... been a day, on top of that.)

"Hey, Boss?" a voice interrupts his idling, and Alastor startles, realizing that the broadcast is over and the crowd is dispersing. And Husker is approaching him, with the newish hotel kid - the snake's girlfriend - loitering in the distance, looking... somewhere. Alastor is not currently in the mental state to guess or parse it. Nobody else is nearby, and thank fuck, because he realizes he IS about to fall over.

"Hey, hey, hey," a large, warm, soft paw catches him before he can. "Been a day, huh?"

Husk's low, calm voice sounds exactly like every other evening talking to every customer in his bar, and the phrase aligns so well with what Alastor himself has been thinking, he cannot help but burst into laughter. Briefly, because oh, the stitches on his chest wound are gone again, and his everything hurts, and laughing involves way too much movement.

"You... could say that, yes," Alastor transitions to a conversational voice, with just a bit of a jaunty tilt. He tries to focus, and notices a building with a caved in wall, right behind Husk, that he distinctly remembers kicking off of just a bit too strongly when that stupid fucking sharkdog got too close too fast. "Did... did I break all that, seriously?" He giggles again, which is still painful, but giggling is lighter than laughing, and he's feeling quite giddy.

(His soul is his again. It's a feeling quite unlike any other, one that he had never known existed. It'd make him rethink his life and find God if he wasn't already in Hell and also completely disinclined to do either of those.)

Husk glances over his shoulder, then turns back to Alastor. His face has always been hard to read - not even so much because of the cat features, Alastor has long gotten used to the variety of faces on the denizens of Hell, more because of the stoic affect he always presents. Alastor has no idea if he still is now, because his face is refusing to come into focus. Oh well, not like it's important information he's missing.

"Naw, most of that was Vox with his stupid shit cannon," Husk says, and Alastor laughs - hurts - and raises his eyebrow in a suggestive way, because - well, who had PROVOKED Vox to do that, hmm? Sure, it was quite unintentional, but Alastor prefers to own the consequences of his actions either way.

"Okay, yeah," Husk agrees, "but you did also prevent a war with Heaven or something, so if anything you should be credited with all the buildings that are still standing, huh?"

Oh! Alastor hadn't entirely followed all of that, but he DID pick up on the gist of Vox's stupid plan, and it did indeed get derailed mostly because of him. True!

"Oh yes. I saved everyone. Praise me!"

He tries to raise his staff to victoriously twirl it in the air and fails. Husk catches him from falling over again, and this time guides him over to a fallen piece of rubble that's just the right height to sit on. There's even a bit of rebar sticking out to lean on, which is not exactly comfortable, but certainly better than just. Lying down. At least this way he can look halfway dignified to passerby, and halfway is certainly better than nothing.

(There are no passerby. Strange, because Alastor is pretty sure this rubble is over a major street, and there's loud voices just over there, including that bomb girl's. It'd be too much effort to try to figure it out, though, he's just grateful for small blessings.)

"Good job, Boss," Husk says with all the sarcasm he can muster, which is an impressive amount. "So are you going to just stay here, or?..."

"I was just resting a bit," Alastor assures him and tries to get up. That... that doesn't work. Fuck. Some more rest then.

Husk doesn't say anything more, just sits down next to him. In fact, he leans on his shoulder in a way that - oh, that is significantly more comfortable. Alastor appreciates both the comfy pillow (couch cushion?) and the fact that the pose most definitely looks like Husk is leaning on HIM and not the other way around. Not that there's still much dignity left for him to lose after... today... and also yesterday and this entire plan... but he does enjoy salvaging what little he can at every opportunity. You could call it a hobby.

"Oh, my deer?" an obnoxiously cheerful voice sounds from the opposite side to Husker, and Alastor static-hisses, because it's the last voice he wants to hear right now. Not because of the obnoxiously cheerful part - he's an expert and connaisseur in that and might have patented it if he'd wanted to bother - but because of who it belongs to.

"Why, Alastor," Rosie appears from the shadows and carefully straightens her dress before perching on more rubble a bit away like it's a patio bench, "I hadn't realized you were quite this badly off. You could have simply asked me for assistance instead of all of that spectacle, you know!"

Alastor is too well-mannered, especially with ladies, to flip the bird. Sometimes, like right now, he regrets this.

"I could have," he purrs instead. "I deliberately and specifically chose not to."

I already asked you for help, he doesn't say. You didn't seem too concerned back then, he doesn't say. I did not want to make another deal tilted against me, he doesn't say.

He shows her a full face grin of sharp teeth instead. The main reason why he didn't "just ask" was not any of those. It was the satisfaction of seeing Rosie hesitate, then believe him, then break and submit. He hadn't asked for anything arduous, certainly, but he did make his point, and that, that was worth everything else. Worth this entire day and the entire preceding week. Forcing Rosie to recognize his power, his independence and his leverage - the sweetest part of, oh, quite possibly his entire afterlife.

"I suppose that's fair," she allows after a pause. "Why, I didn't realize those silly games of mine grated on you so much you'd go and do something like that over it! You could have just asked me to stop, you know?"

Her grin matches his. The mouth is not quite as wide, but the teeth are perhaps even sharper. Alastor rolls his eyes. He doesn't know what to do with this woman, sometimes. How old is she? Where is she from? What was her appearance before her monochrome doll-like form? Does she have any idea what she's saying? Is she taunting him on purpose? If so, it's falling flat because he's at least half sure she's simply ignorant and being sincere. Just about half, yes.

"I will make sure to do that next time, what a brilliant piece of advice!" Static cuts out over the last part of the sentence, which is a bad sign actually. Last time he'd spoken with his naked voice was when Adam nearly killed him, and now... well, he supposes he's exhausted. He's not any more injured than he'd been back then, just... tired.

"Mm. Would you like me to find someone to assist you?" Rosie asks, and oh the static is back with half-involuntary hissing.

"I'd ask you to go to Hell, but alas, we're already here," Alastor replies in the most pleasant tone he can muster. "I ask no favors of you, and want no help right now. Go away."

This is quite a bit ruder than he'd normally speak with - well, even with her now, with all the tension between them - but he cannot quite put together the words for the more refined tone. Husk's shoulder is warm and soft, and Alastor is relaxing into it increasingly bonelessly, no longer caring about appearances. There's no-one around aside from Rosie anyway, and he doesn't care what she of all people thinks of him. She knows his true achievement today, after all.

"As you wish," Rosie hops up with the grace of someone who did not fight a shark today and twirls around. "Ah, and of course - thank you for all your help today-y-y!" she calls over her shoulder and saunters away without looking back. Ah, that woman. Even after everything, he cannot help but admire her style.

"Hey, so, like, what's taking so long? Are you fucking dead yet or what?" another voice cuts through the dark, and Alastor frowns, trying to identify it. Shadows across his vision resolve into a blurry silhouette with a distinctive single red eye under a mass of blonde hair - ah. Her.

"I am quite alive, thank you," he replies primly. Or at least, he does his best to. He thinks the static got a bit out of control on the last part of that sentence.

"Yeah right, is that why you have a huge bloodstain on your shirt - oh that is huge, oh shit. Husk, stay with him, I'm getting Charlie!" and the figure disappears further over the increasingly close horizon.

"May I ask what she is doing here?" Alastor asks. He thinks it comes out a bit messier than he'd have liked, like a radio not quite tuned to the right station all the way, but at least he's still got the static. Feels better than when it was gone.

"Asked her to stand lookout," Husk's gruff voice cuts through the increasing static in Alastor's ears, as well. "Figured you wouldn't want folks wandering by and wondering why the fuck I was helping you stand, so ya know. She's one of us anyway. Niffty's lookout on that side," he moves under Alastor's head in a way that Alastor guesses probably corresponds to him pointing a thumb back over the rubble behind them. He wouldn't know, it's out of his field of vision and turning his head is a task currently too arduous to be worth attempting.

"I didn't ask you for help either," Alastor tries. Something tells him that it is not the knock-down argument he wants, but his thoughts feel like scattering mice and he can't catch the right one. At least he can still yap, the one thing he always has going for him.

"No shit, Boss, I noticed that. Ya ain't trying to kill me for helping, though, which I'm taking to mean you basically did, metaphorically like."

"That's not what metaphorically means," Alastor mumbles. He is not sure if the static is in place in his voice or not, because the whole world is dissolving into static in his ears. He's... just going to nap a bit. A nap sounds great, and he can't quite recall what he was trying to argue with Husk about just now anyway.

"OH SHIT!" a voice cuts through his nothing some indeterminate time sooner. "What the fuck is that?!" Hands pull apart his coat and unbutton his shirt, and he'd resist except he currently. Cannot. All he's got is the static hiss, and even that is half-hearted. This touch does not feel... wrong. Whoever this is is not in fact trying to molest him, which is a significant improvement over his situation this morning.

"Is that from fucking ADAM?!" the voice rises in pitch, and Alastor finally connects who this is. Miss no-longer-Vagina-probably herself, Charlie's darling exorcist angel girlfriend. Also, he's so busted.

"Are you - what - what the fuck! You piece of shit idiot!" the monologue continues, as cool hands touch his wound. He expects more pain, but instead it ebbs. The burning from the angelic infection subsides, pushed back down. Huh. This isn't quite healing, but she has enough resonance with whatever's wrong with him that it's getting pushed back, allowing his natural regeneration to at least staunch the blood flow. Maybe if he'd asked for her help earlier this situation could have been resolved much more easily. You know, if. Ha ha ha. Like that had a snowball's chance in hell (extra ha ha ha) of happening.

"What's - Vaggie! What's going on!" a new voice joins in, and this one he has no trouble recognizing instantly. It's the voice that's always fucking singing something, grating on his nerves every time he doesn't find it hilarious and adorable instead. "Is that - Alastor! Are you hurt? Is he hurt? Husk?"

Alastor winces, as little as his facial muscles want to move right now (the grin frozen on his face like always, a comfortable default he doesn't need to be conscious to maintain). Vaggie was, as best he could tell, more whisper-yelling than anything, and Charlie isn't that much louder, but with her here it's now clearly a commotion. Curious onlookers are going to start appearing aaany time now, and he wants that now even less than when he was peacefully bleeding out on Husker's shoulder, thanks.

"I don't fucking know, okay!" Husk's voice. "Do I look like a fucking doctor to you?! All I know is he can't walk, and he said he would rest, so I was sitting here with him. That's all I got!"

Actually, "annoyed Husker voice" might in fact guarantee them privacy. It has that undertone to it, of "chairs might start flying at any minute, and there won't be much aiming". If Alastor had heard someone talking in that tone in a bar, he'd have taken a seat near the opposite wall to have the best position for observation with the least chance of being clipped by stray furniture. Which for the general public would mostly translate into getting out of there real fast, especially if specifically Husker - still remembered for his overlord powers in many corners of the city - is involved. He does explosions, after all.

"It's an angelic wound," not-Vagina's voice. "I don't think it's new, I think he's a fucking idiot."

Wow. Thanks for the great review. Alastor cannot even argue with the insinuation, given his current position, but he can still be outraged. Silently. Because making noises is pain, and he's got quite enough of that going on right now, thanks.

(It had faded while he napped, but now that potentially-no-longer-Vaggie is helping, the sensations are coming back. He's aware that this is a good sign, in abstract, but has a hard time being happy about it in the moment.)

"You mean from - oh no! Oh no no no I should have insisted! On a medical checkup! On everyone!" Charlie exclaims and oooh boy he can hear the guilt spiral winding up. It would be pathetic if it weren't so funny, in context.

"Princess," he gets it together enough to rasp. "Do you seriously think I'd have let you?"

"I'm going to document that as admission of guilt," Vaggie's voice again. Both of her hands are on his chest now, probably, judging from the tactile sensations. His eyes are not giving much useful input at the moment.

"As charged," he mumbles. Maybe at another time he'd be more defensive or annoyed or sarcastic, but right now the happy giggle time from his soul being back isn't over yet. He'd never FELT it like this before. Before he'd sold his soul, it just felt normal, nothing to distinguish it from any other state of being, and without it - it was, in retrospect, like the memory of it, the ability to perceive what he lost, was gone alongside it. He was hollow, but it felt like - like he'd always been just that. It's strange, remembering recalling memories differently than he can now. The difference is obvious in retrospect.

There's another hollow one right next to him. And oh, it just so happens that this one's in HIS power. He mentally thumbs through his collection of souls, until the right chain is in his tendrils, and then it goes SNAP - a mildly unpleasant sensation, like a, ugh, no he's not going to compare it to electric shock, that was significantly different and also worse. Like plunging into cold water. And a small fraction of his power is gone with it, and oh whoops that might not have been quite as well thought through as it should have been ha ha ha - he's fading from consciousness again, and this time it is a lot less like a peaceful nap.

"BOSS, ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!" Husk's voice bellows directly into his poor, sensitive ears. There are unintelligible panicked noises from the girls. Alastor grins. He will be fucking stupid all he wants, thanks. That's the point of being free, that's the point of owning himself - Rosie has made plenty of smart decisions for him, and he wasn't any happier for it. Doing stupid shit is how he can prove to the world he exists. Not the first decision he's made with this motivation, won't be the last.

"D'nt need to call me that an'more," he slurs, uncomfortably aware that if his voice is going, that means things are kind of really bad. A golden power like music, recently achingly familiar, is pouring into him and trying to reinforce his own, but Charlie is dogshit at this and he is in no shape to help, so most of it's just sliding off. She's improving as she goes, but if it'll be in time to save his life is anyone's bet. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes; he doesn't mind that. (He's trying to help, he really is. He's not... just passively awaiting death. It just doesn't feel like his earnest efforts are having any effect at all, and focusing better is not something his brain appears to be currently capable of)

"DO YOU THINK I DIDNT FUCKING NOTICE THAT?" Wow, he didn't know Husker's voice could rise to that pitch. Yet another victory for today. Woot. "You fucking -" okay now Husk is just sounding like a pathetic lost kitten and that won't do. Too bad Alastor is in no shape to think of anything funny to say. The only move he appears to be currently physically capable of is turning his head a little, with the entirely unexpected effect of burrowing even deeper into Husker's thick fluff. Whoops. Nice, though. Even though Husker's still muttering something, he's not moving out from under Alastor, and that is. Good. Yes.

"Now what's going on here?" a new voice joins, and oh wow, that is the most annoying one today. Not for the first time Alastor wonders if Lucifer is deliberately pitching it to be as grating on everyone's ears as possible, or if that's just a happy side effect of being the king of evil or whatever. Wait, what's Lucifer doing here? Last time Alastor saw him, he was - oh yeah, stumbling out from that underground hole, looking significantly worse for the wear. Not that Alastor could tell from his voice right now.

"Alastor is hurt!" oooooh that's Niffty's voice. Right. That explains everything. Darling Niffty, he can never stay mad at her, even if she's yet AGAIN doing something he would much, much, much rather she didn't.

"Oh - oh. Move aside girls, the expert is here!" why why HOW is he sounding so cheerful. Alastor knows exactly what was happening to him... some number of minutes ago, time is hard and not real. Admittedly he would have sounded cheerful in his place himself, but he'd never noticed the King of Hell having the slightest ability or inclination for that. Is he actually fine now? Is it angel bullshit? Alastor hates angel bullshit more right now than ever before. A living aspect of the infinite, his ass.

V-girl's hands are pushed away from his chest by larger, more confident ones, and ohhhhh that is better. That is WAY better. Even if Alastor would rather this fucker DIDNT FUCKING TOUCH HIM, he cannot deny that the powers involved aren't anywhere near the same weight class. It's like... a firefly versus the fucking sun, or something. The astronomical sun that's a ball of gas many times the size of planet Earth, not the nice warm circle in the sky. And the sun is also helping Charlie pour HER power in, with mutters Alastor can barely make out about "that's not how you do this, look". Fantastic, he's a learning experience now. Always dreamed of being useful to fucking medical students, yippee.

That he's actually feeling much better after a minute is very little consolation, because he can finally process the situation. EVERYONE from the hotel, even the fucking tiny fish guy off to the side, is crowded around him, except Angel Dust, Angel Dust is missing. At least the scientist dude is fiddling with some piece of tech in his hands and appears to not be paying attention at all. Alastor does so love to work with the types that dont give a single shit about anything they aren't specifically focused on at the moment, it's always so much less trouble.

Niffty is perched on Charlie's shoulders and leaning forward concernedly. Husker is - literally holding him up, oh god. Charlie and maybe-Vaggie are crowding in front of him, with Charlie still channeling her power into him while Vaggie appears to just... be holding onto her. Their usual arrangement, really. Cherri Bomb is slightly off to the side, pretending to be busy with her phone but throwing worried glances at him from time to time. Oh his reputation is fucking RUINED. And this isn't even the worst part!

The worst part is the man leaning over him, face illuminated by his golden power, visibly focused and the least idiotic looking Alastor's ever seen him. Why NOW, why fucking NOW of all times, why SPECIFICALLY AFTER ALASTOR WATCHED HIM GET CAUGHT AND COULDNT DO ANYTHING BUT SNARK ABOUT IT BECAUSE OF THE STUPID FUCKING DEAL - ahem. Well. Alastor still does not regret his actions, per se. He would just prefer to not be INDEBTED TO THE CLOWN FUCK, okay. The quiet understanding that this man is Charlie's father and would be no more inclined to view this as a debt than she would IS NOT HELPING. The fucking father of all evil should not be this - this - this horrid combination of pathetic and caring way too much. Alastor much prefers the version of him telling him to use the coaster. Yes, that is significantly better. Alastor vividly misses the stupid horrible mug that pisses him off every time, far too successfully for a novelty mug. He wants the mug back.

And EVERYONE is looking at him with joy and fucking hope in their stupid faces as he finally detaches himself from Husker - mostly, because OF COURSE after his recent perfomance Husk isn't letting go of him entirely just yet - and straightens out.

"Well, ahem," he's trying to find his voice again and thankfully that is never too far away when he isn't LITERALLY CURRENTLY DYING. "That was embarrassing! Ah, hands off please?" He tries to pry the stupid clown gloves away from his shirt, but the man (does this eldritch fucking being even count as a man?) is deceptively strong, and all he gets for his effort is a mutter about not being done yet. Which, granted, Alastor can tell, but - he's no longer DYING, which is all that was really required, he can handle the rest for himself. He really can.

Unfortunately, he is very aware that he would have insisted on the same thing just as vehemently the... ah... however many minutes ago, and has thus probably lost some credibility with the audience. The best he's got for this situation is slumping back and rolling his eyes so hard, they might just pop out of their sockets, communicating disagreement with the current situation with the entirety of his available body language. Which is... still not ALL of his body language. Like, he's still not sure he could stand up, which is an IMPORTANT body language element. He is not in fact an actual fucking deer and his legs were made for dancing, not fucking skyscraper side chases against FUCKING SHARKS. (That one was not his fault, no-one could have seen it coming, and yes he knew Vox had a pet cybernetic shark but NOT THE FUCKING DOG PART and also not the fucking teleporting part and whatever the fuck else that thing was doing. Not. His. Fault.)

The humiliation lasts another FUCKING ETERNITY (several minutes, probably), before Lucifer finally unbends from him and stretches out like a guy who DIDNT JUST FUCKING GET TORTURED FOR LIKE HALF AN HOUR IN A ROW OR SO. Alastor is not sure if he's mad or jealous or - honestly, just kind of happy Charlie's beloved father isn't in too bad a way, she would have been so upset. Ah fuck, she looks upset now. Are those tears? Those are tears. Fuck.

"ALASTOR I WAS SO WORRIEEEDDDDD" aaand HE IS BEING HUGGED. Strongly. He is a supernaturally strong eldritch being himself, and Charlie still feels like a fucking building falling on him (what a fresh recent comparison from his fresh recent memory). She's also on her fucking knees before him now which means he can see over her head at everyone else's reaction and he is absolutely not going to do that, he just looks down at her idiot little blonde head and just kind of... pats her. Because that's the best he's got. He has some experience with comforting crying girls, but this entire situation is sooo far out of his comfort zone. He yearns for being able to just... turn to shadow and slink away, but is well aware that this would only delay the exact same situation, not defuse it, and it will only be MORE embarrassing later when they find him again. Also, Charlie would definitely keep crying longer if he did that. Also, most importantly, he's not sure he CAN, right now.

"My apologies, princess. I did not mean to make you worry," he finally manages after far, far too long a pause. The hug gets somehow even tighter. Good thing his wound is now ACTUALLY HEALED and Charlie isn't going to actually kill him like this. And that sinners can't really die of asphyxiation, at least not permanently. Yes, that is definitely a good thing, he's convincing himself. It would be worse otherwise, definitely.

If Angel Dust were here, this would be roughly the moment where he'd say something sarcastic and/or inappropriate and distract everyone enough for Alastor to regain his dignity. Unfortunately, for whatever reason he isn't - Alastor could swear he saw him in the singing crowd, but now he's doubting his recall, because why WOULDN'T he be here then? Not the best question to ask right now, probably, but he sure wishes for the rescue.

The rescue comes from the angel girl, who gently pries Charlie off of him while muttering her coupley stuff in her ear. Charlie is still WEEPING, but lets her. Her huge eyes full of tears staring right at him with an indescribable expression somehow make him more uncomfortable than Lucifer's healing, which is a remarkable achievement. Truly, the Morningstar family is talented at making his life a living hell. (This is where you laugh at the funny joke. Living? Hell? Get it?)

Husker helps him stand up, which is STILL humiliating, but at least less so than if it were anybody else. (He cuts off the train of thought about whether Rosie is watching. He does not care if she does. She can go and - count her finger collection for all he cares.) He limps towards the hotel with the most dignity he can muster, surrounded by everyone else. Other sinners seem to be giving their group a respectful distance, which is at least SOME relief. Alastor's in the center so at least he is not THE MOST visible, although he doesn't doubt gossip will begin circulating tomorrow. (There will most definitely be a number of murders in his near future to reestablish some temporarily suspended facts about hierarchy in this city.) (He is only too aware that Vox had most definitely broadcast ALL of that to literally everyone. The fucking shark.)

"Seriously, boss," he hears Husker mumble in his ear after they're already inside and everyone is dispersing (Lucifer is still showing no sign of injury, which is infuriating). "Are you alright?"

With a sigh, Alastor allows himself to be deposited on a bar stool. Normally this is the point where he'd twirl on it, but - nope, for more than one reason. At least there's no chair back. Oh, sure, he would have had a much easier time holding himself up with one, but. Well. You know. Fucking no.

"I am so incredibly peachy," he assures Husker, slumped bonelessly over the bar. (Better than over Husk himself, so, you know, progress.) "I didn't even fucking die today, what's there to complain about?"

"Uh huh", Husker hums, and there's a sound of clinking and pouring. "There's your whiskey. And this one," more sounds, "is for me. Do you think sinners can double die of heart attacks in hell?"

Alastor sympathizes with the question, but unfortunately knows the answer all too well. He's experimented. (On other people, of course.)

"Alas, no, nor from liver failure. You're doomed to an immortal existence, my friend," the word sounds strange on his tongue. It's not WRONG, but it's just - different. Everything feels different than it did yesterday, he's never letting anyone own him while calling him his friend again, and oh hey he just fixed that issue with Husker. Nice. (Everyone else he still owns can go fuck themselves. He's not bothering them and they're not bothering him, everything's peachy.)

"Yeah, okay, say, why the fuck did you do that for?" Husker's voice rises again, and oh, what wonderful undertones. Uncertainty, fear-turned-into-lashing-out, insecure-gratitude, mmm. Music to his ears. Was definitely worth it just for the reaction.

"Well," Alastor unplasters himself from the bar surface enough to actually pick up his glass, "you were essentially on a permanent loan to Charlie already anyway, so in essence, nothing's changing and I am losing nothing. Neither are you, in case you didn't notice, how's that?"

Keeping his deal-granted power after breaking the deal itself was certainly one of the more delightful discoveries of the day. It opened a lot of possibilities for having people in his debt in a more intangible sense than literally owning their souls, and isn't that more fun anyway? Also, well, personal power was nice, he couldn't deny that. Nothing quite like being a mostly-unkillable abomination to let off steam.

"Amazing," Husker grumbles, some disbelief in his voice as he summons his cards to his hands, then apparently reflexively does a trick with them before dismissing them again. "Losing nothing except you nearly fucking died, are you fucking stupid or were you doing that on fucking purpose?"

Ouch.

"It just seemed funny at the time," Alastor is not sure if he's confirming or denying both possibilities, but hey, it's the truth. "I admit I was not in the most sound state of mind at the time, so... perhaps you are attributing more intentionality to the action that truly existed?"

Husker stares at him - ah, no, glares at him, that's definitely a glare.

"You cannot break a fucking soul contract by fucking accident, boss. Who do you think I am to buy that, fucking Charlie?"

Again, ouch. But fair.

"Amend that to 'intentionality of consequences of my actions', in that case," Alastor shrugs with all the nonchalance he can muster when his entire body is still sore even after angelic healing. "You have to admit it wasn't the worst thought through thing I did today, you really have to."

That's a fucking lie, Alastor thought through his every single other action and its potential consequences before committing. However, sometimes being impulsive is truly the best excuse. It's carried him through the rest of his afterlife's career without particularly many people figuring out particularly much about him. Few things out there that you can't attribute to impulsiveness, with proper advance planning.

"'Today' is fucking rich for that, boss," Husk mumbles after downing his glass. Alastor twitches, and not because of the well-landed, fully deserved burn.

"You really, truly can stop calling me that~"

"Sure I can, but you know what you cannot? Fucking tell me what to call you anymore, so fucking choke on that," Husker grumbles, and awwww Alastor is ready to shed a tear. What loyal minions he has. Well, no longer minions. Whatever the fuck. Seriously, "boss" sounds wrong. He's never led an organization in his entire life and doesn't plan on starting any time soon or, like, ever. Not for him. Niffty's "bad boy" suits him a lot better.

"Charmed," he decides to reply in a sing-song voice and DOES a rotation on the barstool after all. This rewards him with nearly falling off it, a VERY unpleasant bit of vertigo, and undoubtedly very many aura points (he's picked that one up from Vel while at the tower). "Say, I didn't quite keep track. Where's Angel Dust?"

Aaand there the mood goes. Husker freezes up with his back to him as he's reaching for another bottle. But Alastor could swear he specifically saw the lanky spider form next to Husker singing his heart out, so?...

"Went back to Val," Husker finally says, his back still to Alastor. "He said... do YOU know what they did? He wasn't specific but... some shit, yeah? What'd you know?"

Aaaah shit. Alastor's mood plummets even further. This one... this one is definitely on him. He didn't even underestimate Vox, exactly (if anything, all of the last week proves he'd far overestimated him). He just... forgot about that aspect of his powers. It'd never worked on him - not even in the "too powerful to be affected" sense, something about their powers simply interacted in such a way as to allow him to cancel Vox's out without even noticing. He'd KNOWN about this aspect of them, it'd just... fled his mind. Vox didn't make a big supervillain show out of them, unlike the entire rest of his career, so... Alastor. Fucking. Forgot.

His forehead meets the bar surface. Loudly.

"Made him spy on the hotel without him realizing. Would you believe if I said I fucking forgot Vox could do that?"

"Easily," Husker grumbles. "Dick ain't important enough to remember shit about him, and you know it." There's more sounds, these ones Alastor cannot identify and isn't trying to. This is the stupidest failure as the host of this hotel he has had, oh, EVER. He'd been a bit too caught up in the, ah, other things happening at the time, to truly think about this earlier, but ohhh fuck. This isn't even about him worrying about Husker's friend or anything mushy like that, this is pure bruised pride. Fucking Vox of all people! He cannot even describe it as "getting around him" because that would sound like an achievement being attributed to Vox. But no, Vox gets no credit for this one. This is pure 100% homegrown radio demon stupidity. "Not important enough to remember shit about" his ass, he was supposed to guard the hotel against ALL threats, and Vox should have been the EASIEST one, not the one for him to fucking miss!

"Hey there, easy, Boss," Husker mutters and gives him a fucking... pat on the head of all things. Alastor cannot even muster a reaction beyond twitching an ear. "Nobody else figured it out either, you know?"

"It wasn't anyone else's JOB to figure this out!" Alastor snaps, and from Husker's momentary face expression realizes two things: (1) his powers are working better again, and (2) he should keep better fucking control of them. This is just embarrassing. Forcibly, he settles his shadow down and his form back into his more humanoid visage. "My apologies," he mumbles. Not the sentence he is most used to saying sincerely, but it would truly be less dignified to NOT apologize after that.

"Uuuuh is this a... bad... time?" sounds from behind his back and he can just hear the bent finger held in the air near Charlie's nervous face. He turns around - fucking rotating stool, he needs to find something else to sit on - and yep, there she is.

"Never better, my dear," he assures her, schooling his face from a grimace of frustration into a PROPER smile. "How is your father?"

Lucifer might act all high and mightly, but Alastor fucking knows. And does not buy for one second that he's just... okay. Even if there are no physical injuries, this sort of thing sticks. The King of Hell is not the sort of person to easily shrug off anything whatsoever, Alastor has determined that about him quite well.

"Eeeeh I think he was better when he had something to do," Charlie admits, aaand there it is. Well, at least Alastor contributed to bettering this idiot's fucking mood. By nearly dying. Yippee. The clown is fucking welcome. "He's, like... he won't actually tell me what... what happened. Do you - know?"

The sound of vulnerable uncertainty in her voice scrapes at Alastor's ears unpleasantly. He is already exhausted enough, if no longer literally dying, and he's had quite enough of this... chair.

"Let's walk and talk," he suggests, and in a VERY smooth move, slides off the chair right onto Charlie's arm. It would be very embarrassing in this moment if Charlie didn't hold him and and he just fell to the floor, but the princess is a wonderful and very understanding person who also worries about others way too much and lets them take advantage of her all the time. So he stays on his feet, and the maneuver is executed perfectly.

They relocate to a couch, which is significantly preferable. Alastor sprawls, his legs in Charlie's lap - not a liberty he'd normally allow himself, but he's feeling more than a little unhinged right now, and it's not like anyone's present to misinterpret this. (Husker can see them, but the rest of the hotel lobby is fully dark. The front door's locked, Alastor made sure of that. And everyone's in their rooms. He JUST made sure of that for the sake of this conversation, instead of the talking part as they briefly walked.)

"I do, in fact, know what happened to him," Alastor finally speaks up after situating himself as comfortably as demonly possible. "As a matter of fact I was present for his initial capture - did he tell you about that?"

"No," Charlie says after a pause. Ah, she was probably shaking her head and he didn't notice because he's looking at the ceiling. Well too bad for her, his poor neck has suffered enough abuse for now, comfortable armrest is prescribed until things get better.

"Essentially," Alastor pauses, framing things as efficiently as possible, while trying to also cut down on mocking commentary. This is a very difficult task because he was literally there and still cannot quite believe that happened. "Vox lured him in by imitating your voice on the phone - evidently he doesn't know what Caller ID is, I know that and I died before it was invented - and he, ah... rather voluntarily walked into a rather obvious trap," undestatement of the millenium, "because somehow he sincerely believed it might be you, ah... adopting a serial killer aesthetic? And he just wanted you to follow your dreams?"

This is the BARE MINIMUM of mocking remarks. Alastor is doing his best to be respectful of Charlie's worry. But, truly, there is NO way to retell this story without either making Lucifer sound stupid or completely lying. And Alastor isn't - okay he is definitely a liar. But this story is too fucking incredible to lie about.

"Seriously?" Charlie asks, her voice sounding a mixture of choked up and amused. Yeees, this girl knows who her father is. Alastor should remember that.

"He was talking out loud the whole time, presumably believing you were around and listening. It took him until Vox literally revealing himself to figure out it was a trap. And, ah," Alastor grimaces. This is the unpleasant part. "I'm afraid the terms of my deal with Vox did not allow me to intervene either. It just... happened."

"Right," Charlie says, not sounding like she cares much about his failure to protect the hotel crew. Blasphemy. "So... what - what's the "it" that happened?"

Ah. No. THIS is the unpleasant part that Alastor doesn't want to talk about. After some thought, he conjures a sheet of paper and a pencil - his powers still smart a little but this is definitely better than using his words - and uses his tendrils to quickly sketch a stick figure of Lucifer... ah... restrained in that ... device. The paper gracefully floats to Charlie, whom Alastor can feel take it even as he's still staring at the ceiling. He bets she won't even take it the right way.

"That... uh, that looks..." Charlie begins, and oh, from her stutters Alastor thinks she might just in fact understand what he's looking at. "What - why?"

"Well, this is the device for extracting power out of him forcibly," Alastor explains, still looking at the ceiling. Mm. Nice architecture. "Via electric shock delivered through those... restraints."

For a very long and uncomfortable moment there is silence.

"I assure you I also wish I had not been present for that," Alastor finally says. This is an understatement so vast, all of Hell could fit within it. The discomfort of being the target of Vox's... sexual humiliations... was bearable, because ultimately it was only up to Alastor himself to bear it and it was not anybody else's problem. Being present specifically to watch the fucker do it to someone else, especially someone nominally on Alastor's side that Alastor could not protect because of his own fucking stupid scheme? Alastor wishes he could regret that decision, but, nope. His own soul still comes above all else, and he'd do it all over again the same way. Somehow, with Charlie in the room, that feels worse than regretting it.

"Right..." Charlie mumbles, and oh her voice is much higher than Alastor is used to, and oh unlike Husker's version this is not in fact amusing him at all. "I guess, uh, now I know why he didn't want to talk about it!"

Alastor gives it three seconds. He counts down mentally. Three, two, one...

"AND IT'S ALL MY FAAAAULT!!!!"

Aaand there it is. Extremely, upsettingly predictable. And of course the girlfriend is nowhere to be seen, and with Husker having already excused himself as well, neither is anyone else. Which Alastor specifically ensured before having this conversation. Brilliant, truly amazing strategic decision making, fitting right in with the rest of today.

Fortunately, with his powers mostly back, Alastor can use shadow tendrils instead of his own aching muscles to reposition to an upright position and pull Charlie into a half-hug. Yep, there it is. She's latched on to him like a limpet and getting his entire outfit wet. (His entire outfit which, to be fair, is still deeply encrusted with his blood. Charlie cannot do anything worse to it than it's already been through.) Still better than just listening to her wail with only herself for company, if only marginally. Does she have a handkerchief? Oh well, she does now, as Alastor conjures one. Oh, that was a bit too much strain in a row... ugh. At least he's probably out of things he NEEDS his power for, for the night. Hopefully. He really hopes he didn't just jinx it, as he settles to more comfortably ride out the hysterics.

"It is definitely less your fault than it is mine," he finally says when there's a moment of silence longer than a second in between sobs.

"Thaaat doesn't even make sense," Charlie mumbles. "You did not know that Vox was planning to do that and I will not believe you if you tell me you did so don't you even try."

Oh, that sounds like Charlie's classic brand of self delusion to Alastor. Unfortunately, she also happens to be correct. He did not know Vox's plans and did not predict roughly ANY of the chain of events that his capture set off. That he managed to also derail said chain is cold comfort when that was ALSO an accident.

"Well, maybe I wish I did so it could at least be on purpose," Alastor says out loud, and oh Charlie is shaking in a whole new way. Did he upset her worse? No, this looks like silent laughter through still present tears. Well, good to know he's still got it.

"I think you're off the hook for that one, really. Or... any of it. Get it? Hook? Oh this joke is worse than I thought please pretend I didn't say that," oooh he should not have underestimated Charlie. Just because she acts like an innocent flower does not, he reminds himself, mean she did not grow up in Hell. Any ignorance she shows is fully willful and deliberate, except for the times when the joke is just bad. Vox doesn't need hooks when he's got wires - eugh. Alastor wants brain bleach so bad, in retrospect. He didn't even think he needed it that much when it was actually happening. Sometimes, enduring things in the moment is easier than remembering them later, especially when Charlie is also there for contrast. Ew, ew and ew. Also, still definitely his fault from start to end. From a far earlier start, in fact.

(He'd known that letting a handsy, entitled white guy with a crush get close to him was a bad idea literally as he was doing it. He'd ALSO known that harshly rejecting a homophobic idiot with a crush would be a bad idea for the entire everyone said idiot would ever interact with ever again, including himself in the future, also literally as he was doing it. No good decisions were made at any point of this entire chain of events, at all, starting from his deal. At least that's over and done with, aaand Alastor's back to not even being able to regret his decisions. "Sometimes, things just happen" is great comfort except when you deliberately and consciously caused those things to happen, on purpose.)

"If it's any comfort, your jokes are better than Vox's," he offers, and now he's not sure if Charlie's shaking from tears, laughter or both at once now. When did he sign up to be a stuffed animal for her to blow her nose into? Oh, right, a couple minutes ago. Again with the 'no good decisions made at any point'.

"Low bar," she finally mumbles, and okay at least she's trying to joke. A significant improvement.

"My dear, you have no idea," ah, perhaps he has put a bit too much vehemence into this one, because Charlie is now looking up. No no no, she's had more than enough to deal with today already, he's pretty sure it's been a worse day for her than for him and that's saying something. (He definitely contributed to this, quite personally and literally. At least she doesn't owe him a favor anymore, he hopes she can be happy about that.)

"Vox's jokes have been terrible for longer than you've been alive," he has absolutely no idea how old Charlie is. Rosie had only taken an interest in Morningstars after Lilith's rebellion failed, and that's quite the recent event compared to, well, Vox's and his lifetime, and Charlie wasn't a child anymore already. Still, the quip seems to help, she settles down again.

"Thanks," she says quietly after a bit. "For... being here for me."

Ugh.

"I have literally specifically not been that," Alastor rebukes perhaps a bit more harshly than he should. "Me not being there has literally been the cause of every single problem you've had since Adam's attack."

This might be an exaggeration, given he has not kept track of every single problem she's had. Also, some of that was on purpose because it was funny. Most of it, however, was because he was moping. And yet, still, no regrets. He came up on top in this one. Charlie technically also did, but there's a level of "technically" here that Alastor doesn't care for.

"Yeah, you're," Charlie takes a deep breath and/or a hiccup. "You're not actually obligated to be there for my problems. You're just here to have fun, I... I remember that. You've just... done a lot more than that. Including right now. So, thank you."

Ah, the best points of being an utter bastard - having people thank you for not being even worse. Vox probably enjoys this, Alastor doesn't think he does, much. He prefers being thanked for things he actually did, on purpose, for the other person's sake, not for just not completely neglecting his promises. Of course, Charlie doesn't even know about Rosie's favor. He has no idea what his actions looked like from the side without that crucial piece of knowledge, maybe he really did come across as, ugh, a friend or something.

This would be a great time for a quip, but Alastor is falling asleep where he sits. So he just stays there in silence, Charlie tucked into his lap, until the both of them drift off.

***

Vaggi - she has decided - is curled up in her and Charlie's bed, wondering if she should tell Charlie what she's seen. She does not like the memory any better than Alastor does.

Angel Dust is awake, working off his contract as always, trying not to think about anything that's happened. He's not nearly high enough for this, and he's regretting his decision already, not that he's going to go back on it. Living with regrets is his default state of being anyway.

Husker is cuddling up with Fat Nuggets in his own bed. At least the pig is definitely safer in the hotel than in the Vees' tower. Also, it counts as a hostage to get Angel to come back eventually, hopefully, maybe.

Cherri Bomb is sitting in the window in her room, watching the winged sphere of Heaven up above. She's still not sure if she even actually wants to go there, but... that idiot dork is there. This, she does know, and thus, it's worth looking at.

Lucifer is building a rubber duck tower, trying to distract himself from anything and everything else in his head. It's not working very well. Maybe he should switch to wood carving ducks soon.

Baxter is not quite sure how exactly he ended up in his bed with Nifty - fully clothed - curled up snoring in his arms, but he's not too inclined to complain. Today is the day he got to press Vox's mute button, and he's still riding that high. Everyone else's problems are not his problems.

Shok.wav is dozing peacefully in her tank. Today, she has protected her dad and been a very good shark. He told her so, thus, it must be true. The nuances of bipeds and the number of limbs they should have elude her.

The rest of Pentagram City? Well, Pentagram City never sleeps. Tomorrow, another day will dawn, and some more stupid shit will happen. But this one, at least, is over. Many are grateful for this.