Chapter Text
Everything was so blindingly white when he first opened his eyes, the lack of red and the unsettling silence making him wonder just where he had gone. He took a step forward, glancing down to see that he was definitely not in Pentagram City anymore.
These were clouds that he was standing on, not concrete or asphalt or even gravel. There wasn’t a single eye on anything he could see, meaning no souls scattered and stuck to the buildings and the like. Not that he could see any buildings at the moment, seeing as how he was outside of a set of gates that would lead him into Heaven properly.
Heaven. He had reached Heaven, he had reached redemption.
But why?
Alastor tapped his microphone against the ground (surprisingly solid for clouds, but he supposed he was on a path hidden by them, as if the clouds were a rolling fog), staring ahead at the no longer fabled ‘pearly gates’ as so many would call them.
Heaven.
Had he truly done enough to be redeemed? He hadn’t even been asking for redemption, he had plenty of reason to stay down in Hell. There was the carnage, the fact that he could continue his killing spree from his time alive without any consequences (it didn’t mean that he didn’t try to hide the bodies at first, of course; old habits do die hard), the respect and power he could garner for himself, there was also-
He paused, moving towards the gates proper now, fully intending to enter Heaven. Perhaps he could still have all of that power here, even if he had to go about it differently.
He certainly wouldn't be able to broadcast souls screaming over the radio to strike fear into anyone's heart up here. He was now a winner, as Charlie had called it once.
Charlie.
Would she be proud to have seen him go from sinner to winner, he wondered? Would she be excited to know that he was up here in the holiest of holy places?
He stepped past the gates to enter the Kingdom of Heaven proper, the grin on his face becoming strained as he found himself dropping to his knees, eyes wide at the onslaught of memories that crashed into him.
***
Heaven had chosen to attack, the exterminations starting up again, even with the souls that Charlie had finally begun to redeem over the years. They had their time of peace, but perhaps Heaven had gotten the wrong idea.
After all, they were suddenly getting new souls who weren't recently dead; they were getting souls that had climbed their way up the ranks and gone from sinner to winner.
He had been ripping apart the wings of exorcists with his tentacles, his shadow even partaking and attacking the shadows of his prey.
He preferred their suffering over their deaths at the moment, reveling in the bloodshed and slaughter.
And then he heard her scream.
Charlie.
Alastor didn't even think before acting, dropping the angels he had been gleefully tearing into mere moments ago like they were nothing more than toys he had grown bored with.
Charlie needed him.
Charlie, his Charlie, was surrounded by exorcists, running from them and their attempts to kill her.
He moved quickly, rushing forward to gather Charlie into his arms before turning quickly, his smile becoming pained as spears of holy light pierced his form. He refused to let them kill Charlie, however.
“Alastor!”
Her voice was like music to his ears, even as it sounded faded, like a dying radio signal.
Alastor brought a hand up, weakly holding her face. She felt so warm when she pressed her hand to his, tears rolling down those porcelain cheeks of hers, trailing through the blood that had stained them. Was it her blood? He couldn't tell.
His vision was getting foggy.
“My charming demon belle,” he said, tasting copper on his tongue. “Smile for me? You're never fully dressed without-”
***
“-a smile,” he gasped out, one hand gripping his microphone tightly, the other grasping at his chest.
He died to save Charlie, and had done so without a second thought. He moved his hand from his chest to run his fingers through his hair, laughing.
He died to save Charlie! And somehow that had gotten him into Heaven!
Redemption was a joke. If that was all that was needed, then why put in all the effort? Why did they begin that hotel at all?
Would Charlie be alright without him?
Alastor shook his head, forcing himself back up to his feet before someone saw him and asked if he was okay.
Heaven was new territory for him, a new hunting ground if he decided to view it as such. He needed to get a feel for the surroundings, a feel for the souls who called this place home.
The former demon began to walk forward, moving with his head held high and an air of superiority. Hardly anyone looked his way, and those that did merely went back to their previous activities.
No one here was afraid of him, which was an odd feeling. Even after his absence in Hell, enough demons still feared crossing him.
It was so odd, being treated like he wasn't a despicable monster.
Alastor took a chance to look at himself in the window of one of the buildings he was passing by. What, if anything, about his appearance would be different?
To his disgust, he was still very much a deer like he had been in Hell, his ears folding back and his smile becoming a tight line. His clothes were in perfect condition, however, no holes or tears in sight, almost as if they had never been worn until today.
His entire color scheme had even changed, he saw. Red was now blue and black was now white, colors that fit Heaven more than Hell.
He hated it.
With a twirl of his microphone, he continued along his walk, humming to himself as he looked around.
Heaven was certainly the polar opposite of Hell. It unsettled him, if he was being honest. Everything was perfect, shining as if newly polished, not a single blemish in sight.
No screams, no murders in broad daylight, everyone was being far too nice.
He saw familiar faces as he walked, former residents of the Hazbin Hotel, all of whom seemed to be as surprised as he had been that he was now considered a winner in the eyes of Heaven.
Alastor felt off whenever he thought about that, like something was missing. He would catch himself looking to his side, as if he was about to hold a conversation with someone.
But there was no one there on his arm. No one to talk with or tease, just him standing there, alone.
He was wrapped up in his thoughts, thinking of this missing figure, when a voice pulled him out of his head and sent him centuries back.
“Alastor?”
He turned his head, eyes widening as his smile turned into one of surprise. He knew that voice, knew the face it belonged to.
A face he hadn't seen in ages, a face that he never thought he would be able to see again. How could he not even realize that this encounter would be a possibility upon becoming a winner?
“Mother.”
His mother looked like she was about to cry, surging forward to wrap her arms around Alastor. He stiffened for just a moment before wrapping his arms around her in return, embracing her tightly.
At least being a winner had one upside.
***
“How long have you been up here?”
Alastor was sitting at the kitchen table in his mother's home, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He had offered her help when she practically demanded that he join her for lunch but she refused to let him lift a finger.
“Hmm? Oh, I'm not sure,” he said, buffing his claws against his jacket. “Perhaps an hour at most?” It certainly didn’t feel like he had been in Heaven for an hour already, but it was the best time he could come up with.
“And? How different is it to where you came from?” his mother asked, placing a bowl of jambalaya in front of him. He smiled, his ears tilting a bit as he thought of the last time he had a bowl of jambalaya.
It had been with-
Alastor paused his thoughts, realizing what his mother had just asked him. He looked at her, his smile one of mild shock.
“Where I came from?” Alastor repeated. “What do you mean-”
“Don't. I know that ya somehow got here after bein’ down in Hell,” his mother said, crossing her arms. “I figured somethin’ was up when the years began to drag on and my baby boy didn't ankle on through those pearly gates to greet me.”
Alastor blinked, too stunned to speak. He noticed the hurt and sheer disappointment in his mother's eyes. It was the one thing he never wanted to see again, especially not in his afterlife.
“Ma-”
“Where did I go wrong with you? I don't know what ya did, I just know you had done somethin’ that got you down there.” She let out a shaky breath.
“. . . I killed people, Ma,” Alastor confessed, his smile sad. “After what happened to you, I. . . I killed anyone who hurt others. I never harmed a woman or a child though. I wanted them safe.”
He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he felt a rush after a kill, how it was more akin to hunting deer than killing another human.
He certainly couldn't tell her how such a thing expanded into cannibalism once he was in Hell, how he would eat his victims now.
“I never wanted ANY of that for you!” his mother said, shaking her head. “I wanted ya to be happy! I wanted. . . Wanted to one day hear of some girl that ya met and shared a life with.”
Alastor stood, his smile twitching a bit. His vision began to blur somewhat, like something was filling his eyes slowly.
“Ma.” His voice cracked slightly, drawing his mother's attention back to him.
“Ma, I. . . I met a girl.” He let out a shaky breath of his own, feeling something hot and wet trail down his cheeks. “I met a girl, cute as a button and sings as beautifully as a canary.”
He felt his heart squeeze in his chest, his lungs feeling void of air.
“And I never told her that I love her.”
That was when, for the first time in over a century, Alastor's smile fell.