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Ashes fell from the blood-red sky like snow, dusting Alastor’s hair as he stood frozen amidst the ruin he’d caused. His fingers trembled numbly at his sides as horror clawed at his chest like a howling, caged beast. All he could do was stare, paralyzed with pure terror like a helpless fawn being circled by a predator.
Before him, where the hotel had once stood was nothing but a burning pile of rubble, and the longer he stared, the more Alastor could see. Husk’s wing - bent at odd angles and torn by falling debris - poked out from under a huge chunk of concrete, completely still. Nifty had been impaled by rebar, and an angelic dagger had slipped from her limp fingers. Her large eye stared at nothing, and Alastor felt as though he would be sick. The stitches at the corners of his mouth pulled painfully.
The overlord staggered forwards a few steps when he recognized a familiar dress, and he almost sobbed at the sight of Rosie sprawled across the ash-choked grass of the hotel’s front lawn. Her expression was frozen into one of fear, and her throat was viciously torn out by claws. Angel Dust was no better off, looking as though he’d been mauled by some wild monster - his fur more red than white, and his eyes torn from their sockets to create a violent display of unchecked brutality.
Choking back a stricken cry, Alastor stumbled and landed hard on his back when he tried to stagger away. Something had a painful grip on his ankle, and Alastor kicked at it frantically with a broken cry of terror. When he looked to see what had trapped him, Alastor was met with the pleading eyes of Charlie - what remained of Vaggie’s body sprawled across the princess in a last act of protection. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem as if her sacrifice had done much good - Charlie didn’t look far from sharing Vaggie’s - everyone’s - fate. Her throat was torn and pulsing bright red blood, and her stomach had been sliced open, spilling her innards across the slab of concrete she’d ended up on.
“P-please -” she gurgled, more blood spilling from her throat and bubbling from her lips. Hot tears streamed down Alastor’s cheeks as he stared with wide, frightened eyes.
“Don- don’ do this…we tr’sted you…” she slurred, and Alastor didn’t understand. What was she talking about? He reached out to comfort her, or hold her, or do something, when he stopped. He felt his face pale with realization as he finally gazed upon his own claws. Bright red, fresh blood completely covered Alastor’s hands, and splattered the fur all the way past his elbows. The realization hit him like a train. The claw marks…they weren’t from some wild beast - they were from Alastor.
His breathing picked up until he was hyperventilating, his eyes fixated on the blood. Distressed whimpers slipped from between his lips, and he felt nauseous. What have I done, what have I done, what have I done? The same thought played over and over in his head, drowning out everything else besides the frantic hammering of his heart, and his pathetic whimpers. Charlie didn’t protest as he scrambled away from her, and Alastor fell face-first into a puddle in his haste.
Immediately, he could tell it was blood, but he didn’t dare to look and see who it belonged to. He quickly sat up and caught a glimpse of himself in the scarlet pool, and realized with growing horror that he didn’t look like himself at all.
There were black veins covering his face that converged on his eyes. Those were an inky black, with no sign of his usual radio-dial pupils, and he wept thick, black tears. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and thus realized that the black veins also covered the entirety of his torso. They were the same black veins from when Lucifer healed his angelic injury, but they were everywhere. Stuck in an agony of terror, Alastor opened his mouth to scream only for thick tar-like stitches to appear over his lips, pulling taut. His lips pinned together and he was rendered mute, only frightened whines escaping through his tightly shut lips. More thick tears wet his face as he moved to tear at the stitches, but his wrists and neck became encased in heavy, burning chains that yanked his hands to the ground and threatened to send his face back into the puddle of blood.
Whispering, familiar voices layered in his ears as he stared down at his bedraggled reflection with eyes black as pitch. It was the others - his friends. Their voices whispered and screamed as he tried to fight the chains. They repeated the same words over and over until they were deafening with their conviction.
This is your fate, this is your destiny, you cannot escape your purpose.
As he watched, the veins opened up to reveal hundreds of familiar, glaring eyes across his skin, and agony blazed through his very being. They burned, and he sobbed harder at the feeling despite the stitches. His struggles weakened as the eyes started weeping scarlet tears that left what little fur remained soaked. No, not tears. Blood. They were crying blood, and somehow, Alastor knew it was that of his friends. The need to scream grew and grew until it was unbearable, and the stitches snapped one by one. However, when he opened his mouth to wail, he was greeted not by teeth, but by another red glaring eye. Its hateful gaze met his own eyes and he was suffocating, choking, and –
– Alastor screamed before landing on the ground, his head slamming into the wooden flooring hard as he threw himself bodily from his chair. Loud gasps filled the room as Alastor frantically clawed at his arms, deterred by the feeling of familiar cotton-wool fabric instead of fur and parasitic eyes. As his vision cleared, and his awareness returned to him, Alastor realized that he was still in his clothes from earlier. The novel he’d sat down to read had fallen to the side of the chair - where he’d supposedly dropped it when he’d accidentally dozed off.
Dreaming. I was just dreaming, Alastor realized, and relief flooded his trembling limbs. However, the relief was almost immediately quelled by a wave of sharp, burning shame. There were still tears on his face from where he’d cried in his sleep, and the overlord roughly wiped them away. He wasn’t a child - this was ridiculous.
He truly needed to stop being such a coward - it was just a dream. He just needed to man up and get on with his day - after all, it was his own fault for falling asleep in the first place. He would have to skip breakfast to regain some of the control he’d let slip through his fingers. Honestly, he thought with a growl as he stood up and gently rubbed the new tender spot on the back of his head. You’d think I was five with the way I’m acting.
It wasn't as if he were new to night-terrors either; he'd been having them since he was little. Even the eyes in his skin hadn't been new. Throughout his childhood, Alastor would sometimes have bad nights where his dreams were filled with glaring eyes and fiery pain. Sometimes, if his mother was feeling gracious and his father wasn't home, Alastor would crawl into bed with his maman, and she would keep the nightmares at bay and allow him to dry his tears on her shoulder.
"But those days are over," Alastor growled with a huff, quickly unbuttoning his many layers of wrinkled outerwear. He tossed his old clothes in the hamper in his bathroom, and grabbed a new set from his wardrobe. If he was up, he might as well get on with the day - it was only an hour or so before he would have started getting ready anyways.
As Alastor put on his clothes, something felt off, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He adjusted his shirt a few times, and inspected the buttons, wondering if he’d perhaps missed one. They were all perfectly aligned, which left the overlord baffled. There was definitely something wrong with his clothes, and the longer the truth eluded him, the more frustrated Alastor became. It was when he shrugged on his coat that realization finally dawned - everything felt two sizes too big. He’d tightened his belt loop more than normal, so the tail end was sitting in a different spot, which he’d subconsciously noticed as it barely bumped his arm in a new spot.
Logically, he’d understood that he would most likely lose a bit of weight since he’d started missing meals, but Alastor hadn’t realized just how much he had been losing. He hoped no one else had noticed in his ignorance - he’d definitely need to visit Rosie as soon as he could to ask if she could resize his clothes. His coat looked baggy and unprofessional, and it angered him to think of the others seeing him in such a state thanks to his own negligence.
He forced himself to take a breath and smoothed down his lapels with a long sigh. It would be fine. Alastor wasn’t doing anything wrong, he just needed to resize his clothes. It wasn’t a big deal, he’d just grab his everyday wear, ask Rosie to fix them up, and do a few favors for her in return, as they always did. She knew that his income was…irregular at best, so they’d long since developed a system of favors - he’d ask her to fix some of his clothes, then he’d make her dinner. Rosie would ask him to be a model for some new designs she was perfecting for her boutique, and she’d treat him with coffee and a few new books. It was a bit odd compared to other overlords and sinners, but Alastor had always been perfectly alright with being different.
In the meantime, he would just have to do his broadcast and make breakfast while hoping no one would notice the difference in his appearance. Odds were slim that they’d notice now after not seeming to before, but a spike of anxiety made Alastor’s heart rate jump anyways. The blasted thing always picked the most inconsequential reasons to hammer against his ribs, and if Alastor could tear the useless organ from his chest, he gladly would. It certainly didn’t help that the muscle was already beating stronger than usual after his nightmare - the anxiety of the dream still lingered heavily despite his attempts at self-distraction.
His heart continued to flutter anxiously all through his broadcast, and much to Alastor’s humiliation, he actually stuttered on air. It was just a brief slip - he’d felt a bit breathless as his pulse roared in his ears - but to the overlord it was painfully obvious.
How pathetic, a venomous voice hissed in his ears, and his knee bounced uncontrollably under the console as he made his final segway into the end of the broadcast. He hadn’t been able to relax for even a moment, ears stiff and muscles drawn like coiled springs. A little nightmare and you need to run to mommy? Tuck your tail between your legs and cower? Maybe lay down in your bayou and let yourself waste away again?
Alastor grimaced, shaking the thought away as the “On Air” light shut off. The day had barely started, and the overlord was already painfully aware of how his night would go. The raw, healing skin of his thighs chafed slightly against the rough fabric of his dress pants as he stood from the spinning chair perched before the console. He hitched his pants up slightly and melted into his shadows to reappear in the kitchen and get started on breakfast. Maybe he could make something simple so that he could get back to his room and start going through which clothes needed to be resized.
There was a faint tremor in his fingers as he reached towards the fridge to look at ingredients, and Alastor froze. A slight snarl curled Alastor's upper lip as slim digits clenched into a tight fist, and his claws almost sliced into his palm. Right, Alastor decided. Something distracting, rather than simple.
In the end, he decided to make beignets - which he'd already planned on making -individualized omelets, and steak strips. Complicated enough that it should be thoroughly distracting, but simple enough that Alastor could still exist in the comfortable headspace of cooking something he was familiar with. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to ask everyone how they wanted their steak and omelets cooked - he was already familiar with the other tenants’ preferences.
He started with prepping the dough for the beignets first, since the pastry would take the longest. He’d made the dough the night before, so for a while, the simple task of shaping the dough worked wonders for his racing thoughts. His hands slowly stopped shaking as they moved through the familiar motions, and the tightness in his chest eased as his mind moved to happier memories.
It wasn’t his mother who had taught him to make beignets - they were a rare treat in his house since money was always so tight. Alastor had learned a lot of different dishes from one of his first jobs in a well-loved local diner. He’d started as a busboy but ended up working in the kitchen, and the other cooks were kind enough to show him how to make everything from scratch. They’d even politely look the other way when he snuck the extra food home for him and his father - his maman had been dead for a few years by the time he’d gotten the job.
Alastor’s brows furrowed slightly as his hands slowed. No matter how badly he was bruised or bleeding from his father’s hands, he’d always make sure to bring the man food from the diner - even after what he’d done to Alastor’s maman. Sometimes he’d be angrily dismissed, but other times, they’d sit at the table and eat in peaceful silence. That was perhaps what hurt the most. That even after everything, Alastor still cherished those brief moments of closeness with the man who had brought him nothing but suffering and misery and pain-
Alastor shook the memories from his head. The kitchen was no place for such thoughts, and he refused to start up another anxiety spiral after barely managing to avoid the last one. He bit his tongue hard to distract himself with the pain instead. He ignored the fact that it didn’t fix the way his mood had dampened, or stop the old scar across his shoulders from stinging with a long-familiar phantom pain.
His heart ached, and Alastor rubbed absently at his chest as the beignets were dropped into the oil he’d heated.
With a sigh, Alastor reached for his coffee and took a long, slow sip. The warm taste of cinnamon, nutmeg, and just a dollop of honey helped ease the fluttering of his heart once more, and the deer allowed himself to lean against the counter for a moment while the beignets fried. He’d normally take his coffee black, but he’d recently discovered that this particular blend of spices did wonders to ease his anxieties, though he wasn’t sure why. Alastor had no memory of anyone in particular drinking their coffee like this, but maybe it was just one of those things he wasn’t supposed to question.
Either way, it was good for when his breath caught in his throat hours before he would be able to return to his room and reach his blade, and much less conspicuous then just leaving whenever the urge hit. It didn’t always work, but if he caught himself early enough, then it was fairly effective and certainly better than nothing.
Better than losing his composure in front of the others again. Anything was better than that. Anything was better than being that burden, that coward-
Nope, Alastor thought. I just stopped thinking about that, we’re not starting again. Think about something else.
Of course, that was an easy task in theory, but in practice, Alastor had a nasty habit of being unable to stop thinking about things that distressed him until they inevitably came to a boiling point. He could practically feel the bad memories busting open the box he’d shoved them in like a professional breech team, violently clearing his mind of anything that could serve as an appropriate distraction. He took another sip of his spiced coffee, and sighed with frustration when that didn’t work either.
He supposed that was his sign to start making the steaks, and he grabbed a couple ribeye steaks from the fridge and cut them into strips. He only paused to flip the beignets and replace each batch with more while he placed the finished ones in the warming drawer. The steak strips were mixed in a bowl with spices and sauces until Alastor was satisfied that everything was coated, then he added them to a preheating skillet along with a few more spices, garlic, and butter. Soon, his thoughts were drowned out by sizzling meat and dough, and Alastor was suddenly faced with a different problem.
He’d not thought about just how fragrant steak could be while cooking, and the smell was positively mouthwatering. His stomach ached with hunger, the effects of his curse of gluttony only made worse by his decision to skip meals. Normally he’d make everyone eggs, grits, or oatmeal - none of which had a particularly strong smell, so it wasn’t as bad. But now, as the scent of sizzling fat and spices filled the kitchen, Alastor felt sick with hunger.
He busied himself with adding the next batch of beignets and taking a long drink of his coffee, hoping that the caffeine would upset his stomach enough that he didn’t feel hungry, but the overlord had no such luck.
“Surely, just a piece or two wouldn’t hurt?” the deer murmured, voice uncharacteristically small as he tried to convince himself. His stomach twisted sharply with hunger, and Alastor almost pulled a piece out of the skillet right then. A sharp voice in his head stopped him before he could, and Alastor’s ears pinned back in shame at his lack of self control. He thought about the way he’d fallen out of his chair that morning, face wet with tears after a silly nightmare. He thought of the way he’d stuttered on air, chest tight with anxiety.
No, he thought grimly, pulling his hand back and making a tight fist. I need this. I need to get better, to have better discipline. I have more control than that. Determined to remain firm, Alastor flipped over the cooking beignets, used a spatula to move the steak strips around the skillet, then prepared and heated a large pan for the omelets. The food wasn’t for him. It was for the residents. Alastor just had to remember that whenever he had lapses.
It wasn't long before Vaggie had made her way into the kitchen, and she paused at the fragrant scent of cooking meat.
"What are you making? Smells great in here," she complimented, peaking around Alastor's elbow to look in the sizzling pan. To her delight, she noticed that he was frying beignets as well, and she took another whiff at the air as he gently batted her away from his personal bubble.
"Steak strips, beignets, and omelets - do me a favor and grab the eggs and milk if you're going to be in the kitchen," Alastor scolded lightly. Vaggie complied after a few obligatory complaints about Alastor's bossiness, and Alastor let himself try to relax once more in the familiar domesticity.
For a while, the kitchen was filled with gentle chatter as the pair bantered, and Alastor allowed the former exorcist to distract him from the sharp hunger stabbing at his belly. Eventually, his ears swiveled to catch the growing noise coming from the dining room, and Alexandre started getting out plates and silverware.
"Would you be a dear and set the table?" Alastor asked, gesturing for the shadow to hand the dishes over to Vaggie. They did so with a mildly offended glower, displeased with the fact that their usual job kept being stolen.
"Oh, sure," Vaggie agreed before moving to the dining room. As soon as she was out of sight, Alastor braced both hands on the counter with a soft keen as he hunched inwards. Satan, his stomach hurt. It twisted and roiled around nothing, and the emptiness made him nauseous, vaguely dizzy, and a bit sweaty beneath his clothes.
His body flashed frustratingly between hot and cold as if he had a fever, though Alastor knew he had no such affliction. The smell of the food wasn't helping - his stomach clenched and cramped with its empty state at the reminder that food was so near and yet so impossibly out of reach. Alastor closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to take a few grounding breaths through his mouth.
The faster I get this food out, the faster I don't have to think about it anymore, Alastor tried to reassure himself. He wiped at his clammy brow with a sleeve, and forced himself to straighten. He found himself glad for once that the smile wasn't a choice - he wasn't certain he'd be able to keep it up on his own with how it strained painfully against invisible threads.
Alexandre was looking at him with a concerned frown, their shadowy outline pitifully small against the wall. Alastor dismissed the shade with a sharp wave - he simply didn't have time to worry about whether they were sneaking around and communicating with the others behind his back.
Alastor quickly loaded everything onto the food cart, and rolled it out into the dining room where Vaggie was taking her seat. He tried not to grimace when he realized that Alexandre had grabbed enough plates for everyone, meaning there was one at Alastor's usual seat. As he helped set out the food and passed everyone their separately plated and still warm omelets, Alastor discreetly took his own plate and used it to hold a few unseasoned uncooked steak strips and a couple raw eggs for Keekee and Fat Nuggets.
As everyone else chatted, Keekee looked at Alastor strangely for a moment. Then, she grabbed one of the raw steak strips and deposited it at his feet and rubbed up against his legs insistently.
"You don't even like your food on the floor," Alastor grumbled good-naturedly, picking up the strip of meat and setting it back on the plate for her. She looked at him incredulously for a moment before slowly moving to eat with Fat Nuggets, who was snorting contentedly. He pet the duo for a moment, allowing his heart - which had been racing since his little fit in the kitchen - to slow down as he focused on the texture of fur and slightly rough pig skin. After a moment, he sighed quietly and stood. He definitely needed to start sorting through his clothes if he was going to make it to Rosie's before he needed to worry about her wanting lunch.
"Aren't you gonna eat with us, Al?" Alastor froze like a deer in headlights as Angel's confused and slightly worried voice spoke up from the table, silencing all the other chatter. Much to Alastor's frustration, he could feel his heart once again pounding in the back of his throat as Angel's concern reached his ears and morphed into accusation.
"Oh, no, I already ate before my broadcast this morning," Alastor made up an excuse on the fly as he turned to face the others, hand clasped tightly around his wrist behind his back. "I wanted to get an early breakfast since I'll be having lunch with Rosie later." He felt his ear twitch ever so slightly, and he stiffened as Husk's skeptical gaze shot to the movement. Time to wrap this up, Alastor thought.
"Please, enjoy the food though, and I'll hopefully be back in time for dinner." He turned to Charlie specifically. "I'll be gone most of the day, so if I'm not back by five, just assume I won't be in time to make dinner."
"Alright, we'll think of something if you're out late," Charlie agreed, successfully drawing the attention to herself. Now, she was the only one with eyes on Alastor, and Charlie was probably the least-attentive person in the whole hotel, so Alastor wasn't too worried about her noticing anything amiss.
"Splendid! Then I'll see you chums some time tonight!" Alastor chimed back in with a deliberately cheerful tone, feeling Alexandre's grip creeping up his legs. As soon as Charlie wished him a 'fantastically fun' day, Alastor allowed Alexandre to take him back up to his room. The deer practically collapsed into his chair, face hidden in his hands as he sighed shakily.
"That was too close," Alastor grumbled, sitting back to look at the ceiling for a moment as he tried to get his heart back under control. The blasted thing was racing at the drop of a hat these days, it seemed. Alastor allowed himself to sit for a moment longer before hauling himself to his feet. Best to get started on sorting through which clothes still fit appropriately and which ones didn't.
"Alastor! How have you been dear, it's been far too long!"
Alastor bleated happily as Rosie squeezed him in a tight hug. He'd stopped trying to stifle the noise decades ago - his hellish form's instincts were not to be subdued, as he'd learned the hard way. Alastor smiled warmly at his friend as she pulled away to look him up and down.
"I've been well, darling, but Charlie does know how to keep a man busy!" Alastor chuckled slightly. It wasn't the truth, but he really didn't want to tell Rosie how he'd struggled recently. In part, it was because he didn't want to be coddled, but deep down Alastor was afraid. Afraid and bitter. After all, it was only a little bit too easy to remember that she hadn't looked for him in the aftermath of the extermination either - and she seemed to have moved on pretty quickly during his seven-year absence as well. No, it was better to keep his personal matters to himself. He didn't want to burden her.
If Rosie noticed his odd mood, she didn't say anything about it, simply ushering him inside with a broad smile. "Well don't be a stranger! What can I do for ya - you want a snack? Some coffee? Oh, who am I kidding - of course you do!" Rosie rambled, moving to rifle through her pantry after guiding Alastor to sit on one of her couches. Alastor grimaced as she turned away.
"Oh, actually darling, I'm quite alright. Maybe some water, but I just ate breakfast at the hotel, so I'm fine," Alastor insisted as politely as he could manage, only barely able to force the words out. He was so hungry, but he knew this was for the best. He needed this. That didn't stop his heart from lurching as Rosie froze for a moment, and he hastily bent down to pretend to tie his shoe. If he met her eyes, Alastor knew the other overlord would see right through him, and the thought terrified him.
"If you're sure…" Rosie agreed hesitantly, eyeing her friend for a moment, but the deer was too preoccupied to meet her gaze. She furrowed her brows and grabbed him a glass of water before moving to join him, bringing a lovely blood and rose tea for herself. Alastor wasn't usually one to turn down food - she'd always known him to have a black hole for a stomach, so the fact he had denied her offer was rather concerning. However, Rosie was well versed in Alastor's moods, so she knew it would be best to play it cool.
"So what can I do for you hun?" Rosie asked, and Alastor's smile softened a little at the endearment.
"Well, I'm afraid I need to have my clothes adjusted - they don't seem to be fitting quite right anymore, haha!" Alastor chuckled, hoping that some levity would stop her from asking too many questions. She already worried about his weight enough, Alastor didn't want her thinking too long about why he would need his clothes resized.
"Oh, well if that's all, I should have the time this week!" Rosie stated cheerfully, either not concerned or hiding it well. "I'll just need to take your measurements - you know the drill." Alastor nodded, taking another sip of his water before he started to unbutton his coat. They'd done this song and dance enough times in the past that Alastor no longer had issue with her seeing him in his undershirt and a borrowed pair of shorts, which he moved to the bathroom to don. They were technically his, but he never wore them unless Rosie was taking his measurements, so Alastor usually just defaulted to calling them borrowed. Thankfully, they were long enough to keep his thighs - and more importantly the red lines covering the tops of them - hidden from view.
They were a little bit loose now too. A tiny part of him was almost proud of that.
When Alastor emerged from the bathroom sans his usual layers, Rosie had already gotten her tape measure, and gestured for him to move closer. He dutifully raised his arms out of the way when asked, and Rosie want about taking her measurements. Alastor, who was staring off into the distance lost in thought, didn't notice the worried frown that momentarily creased Rosie's features as she mentally compared Alastor's old numbers to the new ones.
"You going on a diet, hun?" Rosie joked halfheartedly. Even through the black tank top Alastor used as an undershirt, Rosie could tell that his ribs were more prominent than she had ever seen them. Alastor hummed softly.
"Something like that," he murmured quietly. "I suppose I've just been busy lately," the deer added, almost as an afterthought. Rosie noticed the way Alastor's ear twitched ever so slightly. Alastor didn't.
"Well make sure you're making some space in your busy schedule to eat something - you're no use to anyone if you become too weak to stand," Rosie scolded gently. They both knew that she wasn't buying Alastor's excuse, but neither commented on it. Neither commented on the way that Alastor's pulse jumped until Rosie could see it pounding out a beat in the soft part of his throat either. In an attempt to give him some peace during his moment of anxiety, Rosie made her way around until she was at his back.
Her observations continued as she took the rest of her measurements, and she wasn't happy with what she found. Just like his ribs, Alastor's spine was more prominent than it had ever been, and she gently thumbed over the little freckle on the back of his neck. Unlike the fawn spots, this was a normal freckle - just a little dark spot under the space where his shaven hair tapered off into a little point. Alastor shuddered and leaned slightly into the touch, so Rosie set her tape measure aside and gently scratched at the back of his head.
Alastor sighed quietly and pushed back into her gentle touches, the fur on his shoulders visibly bristling as he shivered again. Rosie's hands drifted downwards until her fingers could gently ghost over the scars on his upper back that the tawny and red fur failed to conceal. Alastor had told her the story of this scar once after his friendship with Vox had broken off, and they'd both had a little too much to drink.
It was one of the few times she had ever seen Alastor cry. When he'd finished the story, Rosie had wanted to cry too.
"You know that's not true, don't you? You didn't deserve this," Rosie had choked, pressing a shaking hand to the scars as Alastor's ears pinned back. He hadn't answered, and Rosie had been too drunk to put his head on straight. In the morning, breakfast and a thank you note were on Rosie's table and Alastor was gone - along with any chance of bringing the scars back up. She knew Alastor. The deer would have bolted if she ever tried, but sometimes Rosie could only think about how quiet he was when she'd tried to reassure him.
"I've been having… dreams," Alastor murmured, his voice pulling Rosie from her thoughts. Her brows furrowed at the slight tremble in his voice, but she knew better than to push.
"You wanna talk about it?" Rosie offered gently, rubbing at the fur on his shoulder as his ears pinned back slightly. She fought back a sigh when Alastor merely shook his head. She was disappointed, but not terribly surprised. He'd told her about some of his dreams, but for the most part, Alastor wouldn't even mention them at all unless they's greatly unsettled him, or he'd been having them multiple nights in a row.
"I can send you home with some melatonin or something if you think that'll help," Rosie offered, feeling the way his shoulders became rigid under her fingers.
"The hotel is not my home. It's just…temporary lodging. For the princess' passion project." Rosie couldn't help but notice the way Alastor's tail flagged as he spoke, the fluffy limb trembling for a moment as it bristled to twice it's normal size. Rosie felt more concerned than ever at the anxious display that Alastor tried to conceal beneath a suffocating layer of false brevity.
"I know dear - just a slip of the tongue," Rosie soothed, thankful when Alastor's tail slowly lowered and his fur smoothed back down. For some reason, that had clearly rattled him, but as much as she wanted to, Rosie knew that she would get nowhere by interrogating him.
"Oh, by the way - you remember Larry?" Rosie asked suddenly, grateful for a topic that could take Alastor's mind off his unease. It seemed to work as his ears pricked slightly in interest as she went back to taking a few more measurements.
"The butcher at the shop on Andes Point?" Alastor asked, a fledgling curiosity in his voice that Rosie was relieved to hear.
"The former butcher you mean!" she laughed, having Alastor summon a pair of his pants and slip them on over the shorts so she could mark and pin them appropriately. "You should have been there, you would have loved watching his wife - Laura, you remember her - tear into him after she found out he'd been sleeping with three other women!" Rosie grinned as Alastor barked out a surprised laugh at that, his hand automatically flying to his mouth in shock.
"Three?" the deer asked incredulously, barely paying attention as they steadily worked through all of his pants and moved on to his shirts and jackets. He listened with a delight he hadn't felt in a long time as Rosie explained everything in great detail. As she spoke, Alastor realized that he'd… really needed this. Rosie's touch was comforting instead of overwhelming, and her chatter was a great distraction from the constant anxiety that seemed perpetually embedded in his chest, striking at every opportunity. Here, he didn't have to think about his dreams, or about how weak the others thought he was, or how close he'd gotten to people he wanted to keep at arm's length. He didn't have to think about Her, or his deal, or even the last seven years.
It was nice in a way Alastor wasn't sure he deserved, but to pull away would be to upset Rosie, and she deserved that even less than he deserved this comfort. So he stayed. He stayed and listened, and laughed more genuinely then he had since he'd been made to leave almost a decade ago. And he ignored the hateful little voice in the back of his mind spitting venom, even if only for one afternoon.
Eventually, Rosie helped Alastor shrug off the last coat - playfully pinching his side while his arms were trapped in the sleeves. That prompted a flinch and a surprised yelp of a laugh, followed by a flustered glare that Rosie shrugged off with a grin. Alastor found that despite his best efforts, he couldn't find it within himself to be annoyed at her antics, too grateful for her ability to somehow lift the dark mood he'd been in for weeks to really be irritated.
It was nice. Alastor didn't know how long it would last, so he tried to cherish it.
"You're set, you can go get dressed if you want while I make us some lunch," Rosie chuckled, but Alastor immediately sobered. It had been hours - he knew better than to claim a lack of appetite now, Rosie would see right through him.
As Alastor went to get changed - into a soft jacket and sweatpants since he wouldn't be leaving until she'd fixed up at least one of his regular outfits - he tried to reason with his spiraling thoughts.
Surely I can just have lunch since I'm planning to skip dinner anyways? he reasoned uncertainly. Would that undermine what he was trying to accomplish in the first place? But he had to eat at some point, right? After all, Rosie had a point earlier - he would be of no use to anyone if he was too weak to function. That was the only reason he was allowed at the hotel anyways; he was their primary defense. If he stopped being able to do that, would they kick him out? Surely they would, he would be dead weight!
Alastor tried his best not to acknowledge how much the thought of being kicked out of the hotel made his heart ache.
He had to be smart about this. Self discipline would only help as long as Alastor could remain useful - he should probably set a minimum amount of food he needs to consume in a single day, then skip meals after that point when he needed to. It was fine, he could figure this out on his own. For now, he just had to choke down whatever Rosie put in front of him even though his stomach was churning angrily at the thought of food.
"Alastor?" Rosie's voice jolted the deer out of his thoughts and he whipped his head around to face her. Rosie's hands were raised carefully, and she had a calculating look on her face that Alastor dreaded.
"Yes dear?" Alastor managed around the sudden lump in his throat. He wasn't sure when that had happened, but he did know that he needed to get it under control before Rosie noticed his slight breathlessness.
"Are… are you alright? You seem a little jumpy right now," Rosie gently prodded, moving back to sit next to him. After a tense moment, Alastor leaned into her side, grateful for the warmth.
"I'm fine. Just tired, I suppose. Nothing to concern yourself with, really." Alastor felt both ashamed and thankful as Rosie's arm wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him closer to her. He shouldn't need this - he didn't need this. A harsh flick to his ear startled him out of his spiraling thoughts with a yelp. His hands reached up to cradle the sensitive limb as he glared balefully at the other overlord, who had quite the stern look on her face.
"Alastor, we've known each other for almost ninety years at this point - you can't honestly think that I won't know when you're lying to me." Almost immediately, Alastor dropped his glare, instead directing it towards his lap. His hands moved to tightly grip each other over his thighs, and his ears lowered in shame. Of course she'd noticed - Alastor can't seem to do anything right, even something as simple as not bothering the people he loved with his problems.
After a few moments of tense silence, Rosie sighed quietly. Alastor was certain he heard disappointment there, and his heart clenched with another wave of self-loathing. Rosie carefully squeezed his shoulder and pressed a firm kiss to his temple, her brows still furrowed.
"Here - how about I bring out lunch, then we'll talk." It may have been framed as an offer, but Alastor knew a command when he heard one - he was so used to receiving them after all. He didn't respond, but Alastor dutifully remained in his place when Rosie retreated to the kitchen despite his instincts screaming at him to flee. He didn't want to talk about it - he couldn't talk about most of it. What little he could talk about would most certainly make her disgusted with him - Alastor was certainly disgusted with himself anyways.
Seemingly between blinks, Rosie returned with two plates of rich-smelling food - thigh-meat and stir fried vegetables, and her favorite blood tea from the look of it. It smelled and looked delicious, and he was sure it would taste just as good.
Alastor wanted to throw up.
"So," started Rosie, taking her first bite as Alastor shoved a mushroom around his plate with his fork. "What's been going on with you? I know it's not just dreams, though I'm sure that's part of it. You haven't come to see me in weeks, and when you finally do, you're jumpier than a rabbit. And you're obviously not eating - if you were you'd already be halfway done with your plate and ready for seconds!" Alastor's ears pinned tightly against his hair as he hunched in on himself with every accusation. Her words felt like needles in his skin, kindling for the angry voices in his brain that had roared from a flicker into a blaze of self loathing. Was he really that obvious? That weak?
"I've just been feeling ill lately. For a while, really," Alastor murmured, hoping he might be able to get away with a small glimmer of the truth wrapped in little white lies like a gift. The gift of ignorance - one he hoped Rosie would take for her own sake. Even if he could have done so, Alastor loved her too much to burden her with the truth.
"What do you mean, 'ill'?" Rosie asked, setting her silverware aside.
"Just… wrong, I suppose. No fever, but I have no appetite. Bad sleep, but I always manage to dream. Worried about everything and nothing at all. I just didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you - you had enough on your plate after the extermination," Alastor sighed and leaned back in his chair, finally managing to meet Rosie's gaze.
"I suppose I just… didn't want to add to your burden."
Rosie moved her chair until the pair sat side by side, and she turned so she could take his hands in her own. "Alastor," she started very seriously, "please look at me."
For the first time in a long time, Alastor made the conscious decision to obey without the fear of retribution. Rosie allowed a tiny but genuine smile as he did, and for a moment, the raging inferno of accusations in his head quieted.
"You are my best friend in the entire world. You will never be a burden to me. I'd move all of Hell and Heaven itself if I thought it would help you, and I'd be happy to do it. Knowing that you believed you couldn't come to me hurts, but that is in no way your fault. Do you understand?"
Alastor's throat was tight, and his eyes burned viciously. He opened his mouth, but found that the lump in his throat was too large to speak around, so he nodded instead as he once again moved to avoid eye contact. He was touched, yes, but more than anything, Rosie's words terrified him. He didn't deserve her devotion, and he was terrified that his friend's eternal loyalty would get her killed. Alastor didn't have a single doubt in his mind that She would harm Rosie to get to him, and Alastor just knew that She had seen and heard everything.
Rosie was going to die and it would be his fault. Because despite everything, Alastor wanted her to support him. He wanted - no, needed - to lean on Rosie, and his selfishness would be her doom.
"You don't have to do that," he tried feebly. "I'm grown. I can take care of myself. You know just how dangerous connections are down here. Please, don't put yourself at risk for me." Rosie sighed fondly and shook her head before pulling Alastor into a comforting embrace with his head tucked under her chin - a move so practiced that she didn't even have to worry about avoiding his antlers.
"Whatever we face, we'll face it together," she murmured into his hair before huffing a soft laugh. "And you know that there is very little that we can't face together, dear."
Alastor did know. And as he stared blankly at the floor from her embrace, he knew that that was exactly what terrified him so much.