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It had started innocently at first. Small things like wanting to know when Alastor would be here and being a bit too excited to see when he would arrive, so he would ask a few of his goons to keep watch and inform him. A few of his people, ones that he would have to change each time, or new hires, just to make sure that Alastor never caught on. Now, it wasn’t like it was something bad. Tons of Overlords had people who watched over certain areas when they stayed in one area. It was like having lookouts. So really it shouldn’t have been considered strange, and it wasn’t like Alastor would question it, but for some reason, he didn’t want Alastor to feel like there were lookouts. It just felt like calling them Lookouts at the time made their meetings a little bit cheaper. A little more business-like and less like between friends. So he didn’t tell Alastor about it. Tried to keep it as organic as he could.
Knowing when Alastor would arrive before Alastor himself had even announced it was addicting. It scratched an itch he didn’t know he had before. One who craved to know where Alastor was. But getting that one taste, well, he realized soon that it only made that itch even more insatiable. Like a mosquito bite, scratching it once awakened something in him. At first, it was easy enough to ignore, but all it took was Alastor cancelling one time to start worrying if Alastor would cancel again and never meet him again. That he would finally get sick of Vincent for some reason, even though fuck off, he was amazing, but still, it was possible. Possible that one day Alastor would wake up and leave. So it evolved into wanting to know Alastor’s schedule.
Vincent checked the times at which he started and when he ended his radio shows, but they didn’t really follow any set interval. He had been a fan for a short while, enough to want to tune in, but he never regularly caught all of Alastor’s shows until that day. There wasn’t any pattern in particular, at least when it came to the times, only a common denominator among all the victims. For one, they were all scumbags, which wasn’t surprising for Hell, but they did tend to be some of the more heinous people Hell had to offer. Serial Killers, Rapists, Pedophiles, some abusers- he had half a mind to call it righteous if he didn’t hear how much Alastor genuinely enjoyed himself hurting people. Occasionally, some didn’t fit the bill, but Alastor tended to explain to the ones he did kill who didn’t have that history why he was killing them. Usually for some buttfuck reason like, “You didn’t redo my order when I asked you” or whatever, but most followed that specific profile. Most of them were the worst of the worst or there for some petty personal reason.
His times of killing varied a lot. Which just proved to him that Alastor did not have a set schedule and instead just brought people to his radio show whenever he felt like it. For the rest of his free time, it was hard to track him down exactly. Very hard. Even when you did find him, his shadow travel made it harder to track where he would go. Though Vincent was never a quitter, even if it took a while, he studied Alastor’s travel method. When his shadow travel was about to be activated, by going back in his installed camera over and over to see just when Alastor would shift.
But knowing when he would slink into the shadows was only half of the story. From there, he had to work to identify where his shadow would move when he moved and how it would move. There were times when it was so seamless that it was easy to lose track of Alastor completely.
To even get himself acquainted enough with it, though, he needed footage and not just hours of footage. Hundreds of hours. No, thousands of hours. Vincent visited the pub he visited all the time, his hand on his hip. He came in alone, quiet, and didn’t say anything to give away that he would threaten the man if he didn’t comply.
“Hey, you happen to have footage saved from that old camera over there?” he said, gesturing with his head, with a jerk to the camera that was partially not even functional in the corner of the bar. He had noticed it the second night he had drunk here, and he was sure that Alastor had noticed it too, but he doubted that he cared enough to avoid it. The man didn’t seem to know much about technology in general. He still called TVs picture boxes for crying out loud. Alastor wouldn’t possibly be as careful as he should be around cameras. Which worked out great for Vincent.
The old Goat demon lifted a brow as he cleaned a glass with a rag: “Maybe, depends who you’re looking for.”
There were many things he could have said here, but there was only one that led to the least amount of problems, and that was the answer of, “Was here the other day-” which he had been true, but something that Vincent had done deliberately to come up with an excuse as to why he had to look through the cameras.
“And got something of mine stolen from this joint. Need to look over the footage to see if I can find who’s the culprit.” He added a laugh, “I know, embarrassing, but I got so used to the safety of this place. I kind of forgot that the shitty people of hell still exist in this place.”
Tie it up with a compliment about his place. The bartender shook his head, “Sorry to hear that. You’re free to check the footage, but I doubt you'll find much that can help. It’s pretty blurry as far as camera footage goes. Outdated as all hell. No pun intended.” His hand gestured to the room behind him.
“Should be on your right, pass this door. Be careful with touching anything else, though. I know when people try to steal anything from me,” he warned, playfully. Though Vincent knew enough to read between the lines. If there was anything out of place, he would be able to tell. As much as he debated killing the guy for disrespecting him, he went against it. It was too messy. Would just result in Vox having to cover up more and more lies down the line. He had done it before when he was alive, and while murder could solve a lot, it usually wasn’t always the right choice. At least, not yet.
When he got behind, he finally was able to check the cameras, where he confirmed exactly what he thought: Alastor would melt into the shadows and often go to larger shadows to get away. It was a matter of tracking where. He took as much footage as he could from the camera. Luckily, it had stored at least footage for the last month, and with his own powers, he was able to copy most of it to files of his own in an instant before leaving and giving the man a knowing smirk as he left.
“You find what you were looking for?”
Vincent’s smirk split into a grin. “Definitely, he won’t ever get away again.”
When he got home later that night, he spent hours analyzing the footage for any particular irregularities. He could enhance some of the footage, but not by much, so for the most part, it was hard to decipher when his shadow moved. Actually, a lot of the footage he found was completely useless for training himself to better track Alastor’s shadow. Though for some reason, he still found himself watching every piece of footage that was available to him when it concerned him and Alastor, or just Alastor himself.
Fuck, he realized just how much time they spent together when he watched through the footage. Vincent tried to keep himself from smiling in a way that he knew made him look dopey, according to Alastor, when he saw Alastor chuckle at a joke that Vincent made. The man in the footage looked so desperate for his approval, it was almost pathetic; he tried to ignore it. No, this was meant to be professional, and his smile fell off his face. Vincent had befriended Alastor intentionally to work with him and get stronger, then eventually get ahead of him. Ultimately, that still had to be his goal even if his feelings towards Alastor were changing into something he couldn’t recognize.
Keeping tabs on Alastor like this was just another way to ultimately plan to get him out of the way. Just like he had done with everyone in his life. Still, he supposed it couldn’t hurt to indulge a bit. To indulge in scratching that itch by rewatching every bit of footage of them together and of Alastor alone.
The ones where he was alone felt especially empowering. Knowing that Alastor would never know that Vincent knew what he was up to. Or the fact that Alastor would never know that he was watching was enlightening. Vincent watched as Alastor drank himself into a stupor alone on the footage before leaving another patron bathed in their own guts, only to leave, whistling a tune as he swung around his staff.
Now that was particularly embarrassing for him; he bet. Alastor was the type of guy to say that he regretted killing drunk because it was harder for him to remember the kills themselves. That was probably what he liked about him. Even in Hell, he managed to stay his same, unbreakable, stubborn self. It was admirable in a way. He watched him carefully for hours, watching every little expression shift. Every time Alastor’s smile would shift or lessen. It made him feel beyond amazing to see him, too feel him almost nearby when he wasn’t here. Eventually, when he was done reviewing his favorite pieces, he stopped himself from indulging any further. Almost ashamed at just how much time he had wasted doing nothing actually useful. Vincent flushed for a second before giving himself a sleep against the cheek. Right. Right, he was supposed to be focusing on something else. Something way more important. Alastor’s shadow travel. Finally, he got to what he was supposed to be doing, absorbing and learning how to watch where Alastor popped up from and to try to track the mass. It almost made him better at doing it because of the way he did it, even with the shittiest fucking footage known to man. Seriously, it was more blurry than those phony Bigfoot sighting photos he had seen when he was alive.
When he met Alastor next time, he would be ready. Completely ready in case Alastor wanted to leave to know where he went. As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait to meet Alastor again to finally get a lead on him; all he needed was one ill-timed Alastor wreaking havoc on multiple sinners episode to know where he was. The guy was visible from the sky, and he sent a sinner with a camera attached to them, one that later proved useless anyway and a waste of resources when Alastor ate him despite how far he was from the incident.
In fact, he noticed in the coming months that Alastor would always attack the bystanders. Including the ones that he sent. No matter what. It was almost as if I knew. Or at least suspected something. Was he onto him? Vincent felt sick to his stomach imagining that he was. That he was planning to break up their friendship because he had discovered that Vincent had been trying to keep tabs on him, which was it really his fault if he wanted to watch over an acquaintance in hell? Except that excuse would probably work on anyone, but Alastor. If anything, if he tried to tell Alastor that he was trying to keep him safe, that would make him even more suspicious. He really had no reason to be watching him unless it was for ulterior motives.
Unless he didn’t know it was him? Alastor didn’t say anything the next time they met. The following day, however, he asked Vincent one simple question.
“Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary lately?”
He lied through his teeth.
“Like out of the ordinary, how? I mean, if you’re talking about you actually being late for once, then yeah.” Alastor’s ear flicked in irritation.
“If that is your question, then I must take it you haven’t…” Alastor said, picking up his drink and swirling it in his glass a few times, almost evaluating it.
“Wait, you’re serious now? What’s been going on?”
“Nothing that you should be concerned about. Just a pest problem as of late. One that I intend to handle”
Vincent had taken the hint. Alastor intended to get rid of any spies that he had sent. Sending any was sending them to their death. He sent them anyway. Why? He didn’t know. It was completely illogical, but there was insatiable curiosity about knowing what Alastor would do. How Alastor would react to knowing that someone out there was watching him. Waiting for him. Preparing for him.
He didn’t call back in his men, but he did use their soul contracts to answer one thing if they were asked anything about their owner.
“He’s a curious man interested in you.”
Which was completely true. Though he couldn’t tell why. It just felt good to watch Alastor. To know where he was at all times through spies. But if Alastor had already figured that out, then he would up the ante and figure out another method.
The other method was one that only relied on him. Practically the only reliable person. He travelled carefully via Electric signals. Something he had learned how to do by studying Alastor’s own shadow travel. Now, some people would say he copied, but in his opinion, he just honed it for himself. Fine-tuned it. Which deserved some credit. He really did have to wonder how Alastor had found out on his own. It was a surprisingly complicated technique. One that wouldn’t be easy to discover on your own, but well, Alastor had been here a long time; maybe he had just experimented a shit ton.
His travel method was his new way to stop the itch in his bones that developed when he wasn’t watching Alastor. Vincent told himself that he would only look a few times a day. Would restrain himself. But each second that passed in his day, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Alastor was up to.
What he was doing at that moment.
Where he was.
Not knowing was almost driving him crazy, and he didn’t know why. Why couldn't he just get over it? Was this hatred? What was this weird obsession where he felt like he would die if he didn’t know where Alastor was? If he left Alastor alone, then Alastor would move on from him. He hated it. Despised the feeling, but he couldn’t just ignore it. Not indulge because he felt actively worse not knowing.
So he waited, and he watched carefully as Alastor moved about Hell. His first stop was a Cannibal shop, because of course it was. One where he stopped by and got a fresh cut of Venison, which he immediately scarfed down. His ears flicked down for only a second as he opened his mouth, and it was such an intimate moment that Vincent couldn’t describe the feeling. The idea that no one else had probably seen Alastor enjoy and savor a meal like that to the point where he genuinely seemed almost at peace and content, fuck did it make it so it was hard not to want to continue.
His own mouth salivated as he watched the bloody slab of meat fall into his mouth. It was almost like he could taste it himself. The sheer imaginary taste of blood on his tongue almost made him nauseous, but god, he could imagine how bright Alastor’s eyes would look when he ate his favorite meal with him.
After going out for a meal, Alastor visited Rosie, having a somewhat passive-aggressive chat that suspiciously seemed to actually be because of Rosie for whatever the hell reason. Though the real weird part of the conversation was not the somewhat tense vibe, it was the fact that Rosie seemed to have no problem handling Alastor and kept handling him in a way that made him almost angry. She would grab and navigate him every which way, and he would take it. The dynamic felt wrong; he hated it. Why didn’t Alastor fight back? Was she really that powerful? Were they that close? It left him with more questions than answers. Vincent’s hand went to his arm, scratching at the new developing scab on his bicep. It only seemed to get bigger and bigger each time he went to it. Though scratching at it did nothing, not as much as finding out more about Alastor. Watching more.
The rest of Alastor’s time was spent free and without care or schedule. He followed his own whims. Listening to the radio, dancing, killing, occasionally talking to some other higher-up sinners. It was impressive just how simple and free Alastor’s life was. Almost cute in the way that Alastor was so carefree. It fascinated him. Though it angered him as well to know that Alastor had to do barely anything to maintain his position, unlike the rest of the Overlords. His own reputation was enough.
For a week, he lived his life, attached to Alastor's side, and for a week, he started to feel almost
at peace despite the way his akin waa all acraped oft, leaving a big gaping wound where the
previous itchiness had originated from, Still, it was better than nothing, Better than living without
Watching Alastor, He didn't want Alastor; he knew that, but for some reason he had to followhìm. Had to know where he was, glad to understand him, it wasn't optional, so he kept watching and watching. Favorite foods, Favorite places to walk to, Favorite songs to hum, The way he would prepare for the day.
The list of things he had to know kept expanding. His arm was so itchy now, so bloody as he picked at the scab. Vincent scratched at the wet wound as he watched some footage of Alastor taken from the pub. When he wasn't able to immediately check on Alastor, he felt like he was losing his mind. Sure, he knew most of his habits, but he couldn't watch him constantly. Couldn't check every second, and that was what bothered him. He knew that it would
hurt him every time he went to check and someone got a bit too close to Alastor. Vincent knew it would eat him alive if he found out Alastor was up to something he didn't want him to be, but not checking was worse. It was worse to go about his day, just wondering what Alastor was doing instead of just checking himself. When he saw someone get too close, he
When he saw someone talk a certain way that sounded like they could potentially attach
themselves to him, he got rid of them, It was simple as that.
Over time, he realized that Alastor seemed to know that he was getting rid of people who approached him. At least to some degree. How Alastor had found out, he wasn't sure, but he was almost positive that he had, based on the way that Alastor seemed to get flirtier with strangers. More fickle and playful with both them and Vincent. But he didn't stop Vincent for some reason. Did he do this on purpose? Make Vincent dependent on him on purpose just because he found it funny? He had no idea, but he told himself no.
Whatever, he had to focus on Alastor. That was all he had to do. That and treating his arm, which was currently looking infected with some sick-looking pus leaking from the opened up, sticky and wet scab. It wasn't love, though, no matter what anyone said. It wasn't.