Chapter Text
You look down at your lap. Love. Hell isn’t really a place for love, now is it. Although, if love feels like this, the soul crushing thought that your other half (whether they know it or not) might never wake up again, then maybe love was made for Hell.
You look back at Alastor, laying just as still as he was last week.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well shit.” Vaggi said. “I know you know that I don’t particularly like the guy, but I hope he gets better soon.”
A faint smile graces your lips. “Thanks Vaggi.”
Another few days go by, and you HAVE to get out of that room. You see Husk Angel, Charlie and Vaggi in the lobby and they all stare at you. You literally have not left that room once. They’re probably expecting an update on his condition.
“I- I just need some air. Gonna take a walk. Will someone check on him periodically while I’m out?”
Charlie enthusiastically volunteers everyone in the room. You try not to laugh as you walk out of the hotel.
You’ve been wandering around the pentagram aimlessly for maybe a little over an hour. You’re a few miles from the hotel, far enough away where you can’t actually see the skyscraper. You had planned on exercising your legs a little longer, but for some reason, you chose to head back. About halfway there, you see a cloud of dust rising from the ground in the distance, and moving rapidly toward you. Before you even have time to think about what it could be, Nifty appears in front of you, her one eye blown wide. Panic had you in a vice like grip, when all Nifty said was “Alastor,” grabbed your hand as you half ran, and were half being dragged behind her.
Whatever you thought you were going to walk into, you were completely wrong. Husk and Vaggi were posed to fight while Angel and Charlie were off to the sides yelling about something. You looked up and there he was. Alastor floating above the balcony. Shadows out, green light changing the hue of the room, and antlers at large.
“I’m not a fan of repeating myself, so I’ll ask again.”
The shadows crept towards your friends.
“WHERE. IS. SHE.” The sound of his demonic voice rattled the walls of the hotel.
You thought you might cry.
“Alastor!” You start to run up the curved staircase. “Alastor, I’m right here! I’m okay, I’m okay.”
Alastor still doesn’t have a shirt on, only bandages. As soon as he spots you, the shadows lower him to the balcony, and the Alastor that everyone is used to seeing is left behind. You’re aware of your audience below, but you don’t find it in yourself to care.
Alastor’s wide smile is back.
“Sweeheart-“ and that’s all he has the chance to say before you launch yourself at him. He catches you with his good arm, and an “oof-“ and then you lean forward and kiss him.
Believe it or not, he kisses you back. Right in front of the rest of the staff and residents of the hotel.
You hear whistling from Vaggi, cheering from Nifty and Charlie, a raunchy innuendo from Angel and a muttered “ugh get a room!”, from Husk. It's all background noise to you though. It felt like fireworks were exploding around the two of you, and nothing else really mattered.
Before you can break the kiss, the world goes dark with shadows, and then quickly fade away after they deposit the two of you in Alastor’s room.
“The cat was quite right you know,” Alastor said, as he set you down on his bed. "This is a much better location."
“I can’t believe you’re awake,” you manage to say. You actively fight the urge to touch him, especially since you can see that your little “attack” has caused his chest wound to bleed again.
“I’m embarrassed to say that Adam packed a much harder punch than anticipated. I haven’t been able to heal it," Alastor admits unhappily.
You shake your head. “And Vox made it worse.”
“Haha!” Alastor threw his head back. “Nonsense.”
You rolled your eyes. Even Alastor was not immune to throes of the male ego. You pull him to sit on the bed next to you. There were so many things to say. So many questions to ask. How is he feeling? Can he heal himself now? Does he know how long he’s been out? What does he remember from the fight? More importantly, does he know how scared you were that night?
Alastor's request yanks you from your internal questionnaire
“That being said, it appears as though I’m going to need some assistance,” Alastor concedes. Good news of him being alert an mobile aside, he still isn’t well. “I need to heal my arm posthaste, before I lose its function completely,” he winces as he picks up his left wrist delicately. “That’s going to take an extraordinary amount of my magic, which means I will be unable to heal my chest wound at present.”
You shoot to your feet. “What do you need?”
He summons a needle and thread. “To stitch it closed, once I finish healing my arm.”
You swallow and nod. “Tell me when.”
Alastor adjusts himself so he is lying in his bed, on his back and closes his eyes. He places a hand over the giant gouge in his arm. You can see his eyelids squeezing tight, whether it be from pain or concentration, you aren't sure. Likely a combination of both. Shadows and green light swirl around the wound and you watch in awe as his bone is slowly being hidden by regenerating skin. It's both fascinating, and nauseating.
After several long moments, the magic fades and Alastor opens his eyes. Beads of sweat adorn his forehead, and he looks paler than usual.
"Now is as good a time as ever," he pants. "Come now, and seal this."
You climb on the bed, and hesitantly straddle Alastor's hips. You're not the best seamstress in the world and trying to stitch such a deep wound at an ant;e was bound to cause complications. No, alastor would want this done right the first time. Therefore, you need to be positioned directly in front of the cut. You swear his heart is beating faster as you thread the needle. You won't do this in silence, and you figure Alastor would appreciate a distraction while you work.
“Alastor, I- I thought I was going to lose you,” you start slowly. You stick the needle through his flesh and he tenses. Each time you pull the thread taut, you continue.
“I saw the shark bite down and flee with you and there was nothing I could do to stop it."
Pull.
"I thought the laser had disintegrated you."
Pull.
"And when Vox threatened to kill me to get to you, I thought you had left me to die…”
Pull.
You almost laugh at what is now an obviously ridiculous thought. Alastor had jumped to your defense and wreaked havoc on the modern media megalomaniac. Only a few inches of stitching are left.
You didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, but your eyes trace downward, watching the dribble of blood from his chest roll down the smooth planes of his stomach. You reach down and swipe the rivulet of blood with your thumb, and bring it to your lips. Your tongue darts outward, cleaning the offensive liquid from the pad of your finger. His blood his sweeter than you anticipated. You never want to see it again.
A staticky gasp leaves him, and that is what gives you the strength to look him in the eyes.
"I know this is Hell, Alastor, but thinking of a Hell without you in it, is... well, my own personal Hell."
He hasn’t laughed off your worrying, or your feelings yet, which you take as a good sign. You snip the thread and put the needle down on the bed next to you. Alastor slowly slides up, in more of a seated position. You are very much still straddling him. He looks down at his chest, inspecting your handiwork.
"Good girl," he murmurs. You try not to preen at the term. A deafening silence falls over the two of you, jus along enough for it to be considered awkward.
“My dear,” he begins. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound unsure in your afterlife. “Your… affections are not… unrequited.”
Your heart beats a little bit faster. That’s likely as close to a confessional as you’ll ever get from the Radio Demon, and that’s fine with you. It’s not everyday the most powerful sinner in Hell admits that he has a weakness.