Chapter 1: aftermath
Chapter Text
Total annihilation sounds like a pleasure compared to the wreckage that lay in its failure's wake.
Since the day of his war's quick and succinct end, Vox has felt small and insignificant. A feeling he had never truly grappled with the definity of; before, it had only been a paranoia. A vast fear to outrun.
Now, it's reality. He drowns in the consequences, cut off from his everything, swallowing down gallons of inky black self-loathing. Belittlement. Literally, not metaphorically, small. Reduced to no more than a screen.
It's tempting. To resent his business partners for assisting in his downfall - but he finds himself thankful to his friends for saving his life. Even at the cost of saving the rest of the city, and all those who reside in it. Even if that meant saving...
Vox won't let himself think about it.
Valentino is hurt. Velvette is pissed.
Yet...
Val sleeps beside him each night. Tends to him with fingers that only brush and caress- even if he seems distant behind those gentle touches.
Vel sits with him, talks with him about the small things. Things that don't matter. Things that pass the time, keep him distracted, keep him company. She works on dressing his broken, decapitated body so that he might possess it again.
Everything he had been taught about Hell and how to survive down here was turning out to be wrong. Damned souls can still be salvaged. Power lies in unity. There are friends to be made.
In fact, the relationships he's made down here are even more valuable than the ones he ever made in life.
More intense. More passionate. More...
Devastating.
Hell builds itself back up around their broken home. Soon thereafter, their tower is built in the wake of babbel. And even their family stitches the jagged pieces into place. Fragmented, but together. Healing.
Feh.
It's almost grotesque. Vox feels even smaller when he considers the power behind it.
But then he thinks, would he still have fallen had he kept his friends closer?
So slowly, carefully, he tries being... Softer. He leans into Val whenever those touches grace him, speaks kinder, praises frequently. He thanks Vel every time she does something for him, engages more with her stories and gossip, asks about her thoughts on even the smallest details.
He thinks they notice. He hopes they do.
Still. Kindness does not come easy to him. Smoothing things over with charisma, charming for the sake of manipulation, sure— but genuine kindness? He's not sure where that comes from.
Sometimes he bites. His jaws are trained for it. He snaps, grumbles, curses. But now, he tries to breathe, tries to step back. Disengage. Ammend. Apologize.
That last one proves the hardest.
Once his screen is back on his body, Vox tries to return the warmth afforded to him in the weeks prior. He kisses Val a little more tenderly, spends time with Vel a little less critically.
Shunned from public eye, VoxTek rebranded to something glimmering and tacky in the name of Val's uprise, Vox really has nothing left to do. It's never a question of him needing to leave though. It's never suggested aloud, but Vox anticipates it silently. It never comes.
So the only question left is- what will he do now?
At first, he's not sure at all.
He helps behind the scenes, works in the shadows. Tries not to be bitter about it. Tries very, very hard not to be a dick.
He slips sometimes.
Eventually, it becomes a bit too much.
"Papi..." Val tilts his head, leaning back against the couch with dramatic emphasis. "I don't think that's a good idea at all."
Vel guffaws. "Ya don't think? It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard him say."
Standing before both of them, Vox feigns ignorance, finger to his bottom lip. "Why?"
"Why?" Vel makes another noise, sharp and derisive. "Because you just tried to blow their fucking faces off two months ago, that's why!"
Val nods, pursing his lips. "Mm, yeah, maybe a really bad idea."
"The Princess believes anyone can be redeemed! That st-... not stupid hotel is the only other place in Hell I might be able to show my face." Vox has started pacing, unsure of what to do with his hands so they gesture limply in front of him. "I think I can be better. In a new way. I've always done things the wrong way, but I don't know what the right way is. If I can just—"
"V. Vox. Babes." Vel's voice is caught somewhere between angry and concerned. "We've never been wrong. You just lost your head—"
"Literally," Val interjects.
The other two shoot him a look.
Vel sighs, sagging sidelong into the couch. Her eyes slide toward the floor, brow and lips pulled down by its orbit. "Why can't you be better here, anyway? Being stuck beneath us really that grating?"
"That's not—" Vox's screen flickers briefly, antennae perking. He blinks. A beat. He droops. "I... just think maybe we could all use a break."
It's Val who makes a noise this time.
Vox despises the ache in his chest.
"This is still my home. You two are still my..."
"Business partners?" Val scoffs, face panned away.
"Family." Vox speaks firmly, matter-of-factly. Quietly.
Silence hangs in the air. Nobody moves, afraid of breaking this moment. Afraid it might melt away and leave rot and bones among the drought.
It doesn't.
"Well..." Vel breaks the silence, like she always does. Always the one to mediate. Her voice is softer now, but tinged with defeat. "As long as you don't ghost our asses, and you're sure the Princess and her little posse won't put your head on a stake..."
Vox smiles in a way he hasn't in a long time. "They might."
Chapter 2: unwarm welcome
Chapter Text
Still small. Still groveling. Reeling. Bile in his throat, acid on his tongue. None of it has gone away. Standing in the shadow of the looming, too-tall hotel nearly swaying in the wind, suddenly Vox feels crushed by all those dripping putrid things.
He considers turning away.
Fingers thrum the lapel of his suit. It's new, not as flashy, not as tailored in the image of someone else's success— formal, but modest.
Shaking claws adjust his tie.
He feels fucking stupid.
"Ugh. This is a bad fucking idea." The words slip out of him strangled and quiet, barely static.
It's fine it's fine it's fine it's fine. Fuck.
Those imposing front doors open with ease. The hotel's entrance yawns wide, offering no resistance even against the heels of last season's villain.
Vox looks around sheepishly. Bustling, but not overcrowded- it seems the initial buzz has faded. In its place is a functioning, honest, living hotel. It's a little impressive, but he can't find it in himself to commend it. Bitter still.
It seems the bitterness is mutual. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Ah, the fallen exorcist. Of course she'd be the first obstacle.
"I-" Vox composes himself, puts on a smile, extends a hand. "I come in peace."
Vaggi twists up her face, eyes darting to the offered claws and back up again. "Weird fucking thing to say after everything."
A flicker crossing his screen, Vox's breath hitches. He doesn't notice the shadows recoiling in his peripheral. "Ah- ha-" he stumbles, chokes down profanities. He looks to his empty hand and back up again, then retracts it. Two-toned eyes climb the ceiling momentarily as he searches for the correct words. "Right. Well. I suppose that's deserved. Where's Charlie? I think talking to the manager would—"
"I'm the manager now." Vaggi crosses her arms, cocking her hip. Long, silver hair sways behind her. "So you can talk to me. What do you want?"
Confused, exasperated, Vox tries not to stammer. "You? Oh- well, the Princess..."
"Vox?" The familiar, usually sing-song voice turned frigid catches him off guard. He turns to see the devil's daughter already sauntering over, her expression not at all as sweet as her presence. "Don't tell me you're here to start more trouble... We're done with fighting. We—"
"No fighting. No trouble." Quickly, he finds that useful charm. He tries not to taint it with falsities. One of his hands come up as if to wrap around her shoulder jovially, but he rethinks it quickly, returns his hand to his side. He gives a smile instead, lips sealed to hide razor fangs. "I'm, uh, trying this new thing. Being... Nice and shit."
Charlie and Vaggi both tilt their heads in sync. The angel's eye squints. The Princess' nose crinkles.
"I know it's hard to believe." Vox can't look at them so his gaze wanders the lobby, foot threatening to tap. "I'm not exactly sure how to prove it to you, but..."
"You can prove it by letting Angel come back." Charlie's voice has the command of a Morningstar. For a moment.
Vox snaps his eyes back to her. Then tilts his screen, expression breaking apart into a question. "Huh? He comes and goes as he pleases."
Quiet blooms. Rumination begins churning in Charlie's head, clearly. Her angel lover seems preoccupied by that now, her regard soft and fixed on the blonde to her right.
Vox clears his throat.
"Besides." Sort of irritated, but not at the situation playing out in front of him, Vox plucks at a loose thread on his coat. "I'm not the one in charge anymore. Nothing happening over there is under my authority. The only say I get now is over what we're having for dinner."
"More than you deserve," Vaggi hisses venom, eye glowering back upon him. It seems to shine despite her rage. "I'm surprised they can even stomach you, after what you did."
Admittedly, it's a stab to his heart- and a thorn in his side. His smile thins as he lets out a small, agreeable snort from beneath slitted eyes. "My sentiments. They have..." those eyes soften, wander again. "...surprised me with their extended loyalty. It's part of the reason I'm here, actually."
That seems to bring Charlie back to the present. Her hooved feet inch closer, her voice bolder. "What do you mean?"
For a moment, Vox stares openly at her. Not with detestment or a glare, but thoughtful consideration. After that moment, his smile grows a little more sincere, his laugh a little more earnest. "They think I'm good. I think I want to actually try to be."
Glittering warm eyes turn wet. A sort of gooey, thrilled look overcomes Charlie.
Before she can say anything, Vaggi steps closer, in between, turned from Vox and more toward her partner. "I don't know, Charlie... You know how slimy these guys can be... What if this is just another angle?"
Every part of him wants to retaliate, to butt in and fight tooth and nail. He chokes it back, but can't help the small grimace threading his pixels.
Charlie considers the two before her. That wetness is still there, but after a moment she rubs at it, reconstitutes herself. Shoulders straight, she bows her head over the balled fists at her sides. "I... don't think having you here is a good idea, Vox."
Damn. It actually stings. The hurt curdles quickly into rage, but it subsides with a breath.
He's worked on this. He can do this.
"If I may," Vox starts gently, stepping around Vaggi. He holds out his hand, palm up, waiting instead of demanding touch. Charlie takes it tepidly. "When I asked if you thought I could be redeemed, you looked me in the eye and said you believe anyone can be redeemed." He closes his other hand over hers, gently, like cupping a fluttering butterfly. Careful not to crush its wings, but firm enough to make it feel held.
Vaggi glares at the connection, mouth curled.
"I believed you were naïve, because I was sure I was beyond repentance. But I never doubted your confidence."
Charlie blinks up at him, her lips parting around words that won't form.
"I regret ever trying to smear that confidence, because I think I need it now more than ever."
An attempt at sincerity brings genuine pain to all parts of him, body and soul, but it wins the Princess over with fervor. She bursts into tears, throwing her arms around Vox's shoulders. "Oh! You really mean it! I can't believe it!"
Startled, almost unsettled, Vox forces himself to remain still under her embrace. Affection born this way is foreign to him and it's practically sharp, jagged, unnatural.
It feels wrong.
It feels right.
It hurts.
It throbs.
God.
One arm snakes around her, easy, restrained. She's soft, warm, solid. Taller than he remembers, yet somehow still so fragile and small against him. A citrus, flowery smell wafts around them, and for the first time he notices just how much of a shining light she really is.
Vox's voice is small then. "I really do."
Anti-climatically, the moment is interrupted by the girlfriend prying her off by the shoulders. "Babe, we've talked about this. You've got to stop hugging everyone. Especially psychopathic Overlords."
Vox tries not to take that to heart. An ugliness fills his screen anyway.
"Right, sorry." Charlie rubs at those tears again, smiling unabashedly. Glowing. Once her face is dry, she beams up at their new guest. Vox tries to mirror it, but it feels plastic. "Okay. You can stay."
Vaggi clears her throat dramatically.
"Oh, right!" The Princess gestures to the angel, inclining slightly at the waist. "It's not up to me anymore. Vaggi, what do you say?"
Hand on her titled hip, Vaggi scans Vox head to toe with a chastising look.
Vox tries very, very hard to appear harmless.
His smile flashes rows of shark teeth. He wrings his wrist at the small of his back. He knows he looks nothing but harmful.
Vaggi blows a hot breath into her bangs. "Fine. We are trying to have faith in everyone, so I guess that means you too." Before Vox can react, she jabs a finger into his chest, standing on her toes to peer up into his screen. "Just don't try anything funny. I will kill you if I need to."
"Vaggi."
Stepping back, folding her arms over her chest, Vaggi forces her expression to smooth out. "Fine. I won't kill you, but I will not hesitate to throw you out on your ass."
This time, it doesn't sting. He understands. So Vox smiles and nods, tipping his hat like a gentleman upon a deep bow. "I will try not to disappoint."
Charlie bursts into tears again.
Chapter Text
Apparently, the path to redemption is paved in fruitless endeavors of goodness, long talks about feelings, and miscellaneous lessons on a varying number of surprisingly unimportant things.
It's hard to take any of it seriously.
Vox tries.
His first week in the hotel is a learning curve. He familiarizes himself with the layout of a seemingly endless series of stairs and floors and doors, all full of a shifting, assorted sea of faces. Some he recognizes. Some he doesn't.
Surprisingly, he sees little of the Princess or her little manager, if not only in passing. They seem busy with a multitude of things, one of which apparently tight-knit and reveled under hushed tones.
Vox catches glimpses of long, flowing buttery hair and a lingering, soft melody that always seems to follow. Charlie seems to be drowning in family drama. Vaggi works to cover all the gaps left behind.
It doesn't take Vox long to put it together, but he never actually sees her.
He avoids Lucifer. Thankfully, his mind is so overflowing that the King doesn't even seem to notice the failed despot floating around his daughter's hotel. Or remember him at all.
He must remember, right?
Vox doesn't want to take the risk and find out.
On the contrary, any attempts to find Alastor go completely unmet - not that he wants to find him obviously totally duh - it's like the Radio Demon has vacated entirely. Vox knows that can't be true considering his little gremlins remain occupying the establishment. Husk idles behind the bar, tends to that little pig Val's pornstar pet had once loved, seems a little more depressed than usual. That little roach freak with one eye (what was her name again?) scatters through the halls with an oversized sewing needle, spearing insects and rodents with wanton glee. Vox has to hide his disgust with that one specifically every time she runs between his legs, apparently unfazed by his being here too.
In fact, almost everyone is unfazed, save for a few sidelong glares and the occasional snickering or gossiping just out of earshot.
When it bothers him, he reminds himself that, even just for a moment, he was the strongest sinner in Hell.
Even if just for a moment.
Power is one thing. Sincerity is another. Healing...
Feh.
Still. He sits here in the group circle, ankle crossed over knee, hands folded in his lap. He wears a blasé visage, dissociating slightly, but he's here.
Why the hell is the bartender playing therapist though?
"...-your head out of your ass, and face the reality, man. You killed your wife for what? It's fuckin' Hell down here. Literally! What good did you think would come from killing her twice?"
The oversized guest being berated breaks down into silent sobs.
An effective therapist, he supposes.
"And you."
Kitty points a claw at the television. It takes him a moment to register it before he straightens, planting both feet on the floor.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. You've been here two weeks now and haven't said shit in group. You just fuckin' around, or just come to pick a fight with Al-?"
Vox chimes in quickly before he can recoil from that fucking name. "I'm not." Too curt, too cold. He abates his tone, sinks in his chair without letting his shoulders slack. "I lost everything. I have nothing left but people who care about me."
Husk blinks at him, but his mask of bitter disbelief doesn't break.
"I'm... Just trying to figure out what to do with that."
Suddenly, he realizes everyone is looking at him.
He focuses on the floor.
Husk rumbles, almost gentle. "Go on."
Vox perks slightly, eyes bouncing up and down again. "Oh- uh—" He clears his throat, sits up again in his folding chair. "I don't know what else to say. I'm not good at this..." He rolls a hand on its wrist, a twisted mock corrupting his screen. "Feelings crap."
Inclining his head, the bartender's ears flicker on either side of his hat. His voice is a grumble, but not unkind. "Yeah. I get that. Just say whatever you're thinkin'."
Dragging himself through the awkwardness that follows, Vox steels himself. Keeps his eyes on the floor. Small again. Yuck yuck yuck yuck. "I've tried not to think. Since everything. Since..." He glances around the circle briefly, finds a few scowls. Gaze returned to the floor, he continues raspily. "Since my, uh, manic... breakdown..."
"Y'mean when ya almost murderized all us?" A twanging voice pulls from the circle.
Vox glares in that direction, but corrects himself with a slight noise. "Uh. Yeah. That."
Silence beckons him to continue. He only does because the silence is more awkward than rambling.
"I thought I was doing it for the right reasons at the time, but in the end it was all just to prove myself to-..." He growls, skews his eyes shut. "It doesn't matter. I just finally realized how fucked up I'd been for a long time. Maybe since before I died."
"Well, yeah." Husk's voice is deep, cutting, guttural. But still, not unkind. "You musta been real fucked up to begin with, seeing as you landed your ass down here in the first place."
Grimacing, Vox looks up to find Husk regarding him with a benignity he had not expected.
The demon cat smiles weerily.
"We were all fucked up. Still are, mostly. Gotta start somewhere."
Vox blinks. He looks back to the floor, but something shifts in his chest. Something he doesn't want to turn over or examine. "...yeah."
Everything feels heavy after that. The air is syrup, slipping in and out of his lungs too thick, suffocating. Vox feels like he's choking.
So he mends his throat with booze.
It burns good. He hisses after each shot until they don't burn anymore.
And if sitting at the bar with Husk on the other side brings him some semblance of comfort, who would know?
He makes a point of not making conversation with him - but Husk tends to his empty glass without a word, and makes no inclination toward his overstayed welcome once midnight has swam by.
To his utter shock and dismay, deft shadows slither behind the bar and rise into the tall, unmistakable form of a deer-faced demon.
Vox's chest squeezes, aches. Something drops in his stomach, pinpricks climbing his throat. He catches himself staring.
Alastor doesn't spare him acknowledgement, nor so much as a glance.
Vox doesn't hear what their conversation is. He keeps his eyes down. Tries not to shake.
Shadows slip away, taking the Radio Demon along with them. Vox isn't able to relax. His glass trembles against his screen.
He throws back three more before Husk says anything.
It's all a blur by then.
"You can't avoid him forever, y'know."
Vox seethes an obnoxious laugh. It dies into something pitiful. "Don't have to. He does that part for me."
"Hm." Vox doesn't need to look up to see the look on the feline's face. "You want my advice, TV head?"
Corner of his screen resting on his knuckles, Vox manages a shrug and some squelch of a noise in response.
"Move on, man."
It burns.
He chases it with another drink.
Notes:
husk is only being nice to Vox here because he doesn't know what he did to angel teehee :3c
Chapter 4: progress
Chapter Text
Deplorably, like a coward, a dog with its tail between its legs- Vox hides in his room for the next few days.
Alastor's silhouette lingers behind his screen. He feels like dirt, smeared and kicked, because the motherfucker couldn't even bother to look at him.
His presence that night also confirmed his continued occupancy. He's here, filling the same space, but remains purposefully absent from any glimpse Vox can catch. He'd almost started to believe he had truly fled.
But he's here. The hotel is stained red and blue.
Vox feels sick, lonely, piteous.
Vox trembles white-hot, rage raking through his every inch.
It's a whirring blender of panging emotions he does not want to feel. Each flash of something new rolls a pearl through his brain, and he actively disregards each one. It's easier to lay in bed and chainsmoke, drink, and ignore the world.
Val and Vel's texts go unanswered. Therapy goes ignored. Food is forgone. Each knock on the door is denied.
Today, a new knock raps the frame. It's gentle if not urgent.
It rouses Vox from his light sleep. He groans, tosses an arm over his screen. Of course there are hangovers in Hell.
"Do not disturb..." Vox's voice is broken, hard to project.
"Vox?" Chiming through the door, Charlie's voice is urging, but patient. "It's me. I heard you haven't come out all week..."
A drawling moment ticks by. Vox blinks, sits up slowly. Stares at the door, waiting. Waiting for what- he's not sure, only knows how frozen his every part proves to be.
Pissed. Depressed. Something.
"I just wanted to check on you."
Fuck.
He has the decency to pull on a shirt and pants. Slacks wrinkled, long-sleeve shirt hanging off his collar, Vox cracks the door with what he hopes isn't an obviously annoyed expression.
Charlie is smiling tenderly, wiry. She bows her head a bit. "Hi." As if speaking to a spooked animal, her voice is low, cheery. "No trouble, right?"
Vox snorts. "No trouble," he assuages, stepping aside to widen the entryway, gesturing a vague invitation inward.
The Princess steps in with her hands clasped toward the floor, scanning the disheveled room. Her eyes fall on full ashtrays and scattered, empty liquor bottles.
"Refusing the maid?"
"She..." Vox closes the door, leans heavily against it. The top corner of his screen touches the pane with a weight. "...kind of freaks me out."
Charlie lilts, her giggle sincere behind her long fingers. "Yeah, we get that a lot."
Vox manages to smile briefly. It falls with his gaze.
"So..." She pulls out the vowel, rocking from her heels to her toes, hands behind her back and eyes rolling across the ceiling. "How are you liking it here?"
"Fine..." Realizing quickly that's a nothing answer, Vox adjusts, assumes his TV persona. He stands tall. A fake smile replaces that pathetic sag, his hands flexing confidently. "It's nice. Good food, good booze. Bed is comfy. It's homey."
Silence buzzes between them. Charlie tilts her head, blond hair falling over her shoulder. Her smile is weak and disbelieving. Pitying.
Vox sighs, head tipping too heavy into his hand as he slinks across the room to plop onto the edge of the bed. "This was a bad idea."
The bed dips next to him. Surprised, he turns to look at the Princess adorning his flank. "No, no! I think it's great that you're here!" She balls her hands into her knees, shoulders raised around her ears. Her smile fills with a little more life. "I get that it's probably a lot and all for you. I think it's a lot for some people here, but—"
Vox makes a noise, something like a scoff or a grunt, as he looks away.
"But," Charlie emphasizes. "I really see that you're trying. We all do."
Vox smirks, gape sliding back toward her. "Keeping an eye on me?"
An awkward wince flashes over her front. "Well— Yes." Quickly, she steers sideways. "But the point is, I'm thankful you're here. I really do believe there's a rainbow in all of us, but it's not often I get the chance to chase it in everyone." Brightening, her smile stretches. Vox nearly shies from its ray. "We both have an amazing opportunity here."
Admittedly, that's not really what Vox wants to hear. His screen dims, cranes away, his voice flat. "Is that it? I'm just an opportunity to prove yourself?"
Charlie rattles, stammering, hands moving wildly between them. "No-! No. I just mean we should work together. I want to see you shine."
A hand lays over his shoulder. It shoots an ache through the webbing of his insides, cold and warm all at once. He blinks at the touch, then at Charlie.
"If it's too hard to leave your room," she croons, "I can make time to have personal visits with you for a while. Until you feel better."
Unable to speak, wide-eyed, Vox only nods ever so slightly.
Sparingly, Charlie does not push for answers or pry under Vox's soured mood. She makes no jabs, no assumptions. She smiles and leaves, and returns the next day, and the next, and doesn't stop.
Vox knows she has a lot going on. He's not sure how to feel about that in conjunction with the special one-on-one treatment he receives.
Without making a big deal about it, she brings him gifts, food, fluids that aren't just alcohol. She watches him eat, makes sure he drinks water. Talks with him, but doesn't claw at those weeping wounds. She lets him lead the conversations, gently guides him into spiels about his feelings.
Vox keeps it light. He talks about his mortal life, which she shows interest in. Sometimes he forgets she's never seen Earth; doesn't know humans, only the wicked.
He leaves out the murder, the manipulation, the cult.
But he divulges some latent fears, psychoanalytic rambles about what he thinks went wrong through it all. What drives him; what has driven him.
In a little over a week, those frequent friendly meetings become progress. Progress he had never quite anticipated.
Yet it only scratches the surface. He hides the heartbreak, and the twisted violence, and the rage that still keeps him up at night, even now.
Charlie insists that any progress is good. Vox worries it means nothing.
It becomes a routine- he looks forward to it, even. He finds himself sitting up in his room, dressed well, waiting patiently for that gentle knock.
Tonight it comes in quick, almost frantic succession. When he opens the door, Charlie breezes through with a bounce in her step and a manic energy buzzing around her temples like a glimmering halo.
They settle onto his bed, a couple of girls at a sleepover, a tray of dinner placed between them. Vox sits against the pillows with his legs hanging over the side. Charlie sits with her legs folded across from him.
Barely halfway through the session or the food, Vox can't stop himself. He grins a little, trying not to laugh. "Okay. What gives. Why are you fluttering like that?"
"Me? Fluttering?" Charlie giggles strangely, wavering to and fro. She hasn't touched the food, her hands gripping her knees close. "I'm totally normal!"
Vox only levels a knowing look.
The Princess cracks. "Oh, okay, fine. I didn't want to make it all about me, but-!" As if she can't help the excitement rocketing through her, she jolts onto her knees. "We're having a party next week! We're celebrating everything and everyone, and there's going to be a huge reveal that I literally cannot wait for! I want to spill so bad but I can't, so you'll just have to come and see!"
It's hard not to suffer the infection of her enthusiasm. Vox manages a small chuckle, but he leans away, almost overwhelmed. "A party?"
"Yes! And I want you to come!"
"I don't know..."
Charlie surges over the tray to take up his hands in hers, holding them loose but warm. "You have to! Well- you don't have to, but you've made so much progress! I think having everyone there would be so, so amazing. Everyone can see what we're doing here!"
Unable to look away from her intense glow, Vox tries to remain poised. But...
"Everyone?"
"Yes! Emily is going to be there, and I even sent an invitation to the Vees-" She clocks the moue briefly filling his screen. "Well, your other two- and I'm so hoping Angel will come along too!"
Everyone.
The angel.
His victim.
Lucifer.
Alastor.
"Mm, yeah, I..." Vox slinks backward, his hands falling away. He can't bear to see the look on her face as he rejects the invitation. "I don't know if I should..."
Somehow, her mood is not ruined. She leans back on her heels, smiling delicately. "I think you should. I really do."
Throat burning, Vox doesn't respond. Doesn't look up.
"Think about it, okay?"
An eternity passes in the span of a moment before he nods.
Chapter 5: her
Chapter Text
Uncertainty rings through him, deafening and sharp. Anxiety is something rather new to Vox, and he mistakes it at first for hurt, anger, hatred.
Eventually, he decides he will not be attending the party on the first floor.
Until Val and Vel both convince him over text that he should join, because if he doesn't show his ugly maw, they won't be showing theirs.
Disgustingly, it is the fear of letting Charlie down with their absence that decides his presence.
Who the fuck has he become?
He tells himself he does not care about that royal brat or her endeavors or her ridiculous hopes and dreams.
The mirror mocks him with the knowledge of contrary. So he doesn't look into it until the night of the affair, checking himself absently. Just to make sure he's presentable.
An old, familiar smile wrecks his screen. Something charming and menacing. A feigned mask of kindness over toothy malice.
It breaks. He twists his mouth into a sneer; not at what this is becoming, but at that God he never got to be.
All the bravado has been exhausted, leaving in its place the dead man who had first landed in Hell. A murderer, manipulator, leader; all paled in comparison to the true horrors who lie down here. Back at the bottom-most rung, staring up at the top of the ladder.
He's not sure he has it within to climb again.
No matter.
The clock strikes party time. With one last glance to the mirror, Vox collects himself, and steps out of his room for the first time in nearly two weeks.
Chatter stills momentarily as eyes turn to his entrance, despite how quietly he tries to pass from hallway to lobby.
A new man, he reminds himself.
He bows his head easily, smiles as gently as he can, and joins the mingling. Voices resume, eyes fall away, leaving him to slink through the commotion unleaded. For a while, he meanders without pause. He realizes quickly he has no one to call his own here, and frankly, he doesn't want to face the embarrassment of trying to fit in where he doesn't belong.
The foyer has been tweaked, no doubt by Lucifer's magic. It's glowing with a mature ambiance, a live band playing by the bar. Where the front desk used to be stands a stage, decorated with vines adorned by black and red roses.
Everyone is dressed down in their best. Some people hide their identities behind masquerade masks, which would feel out of place if not for the ornate splash of likewise decor.
To Vox's surprise, he spots a few Overlords.
He avoids them.
Guests are still filtering in, and there are even imps and Ars Goetia scattered throughout the crowds.
Still no sign of his cohorts. Charlie is busy, her angel at her heel. Vox doesn't bother trying to fraternize.
He takes to the bar instead.
"Surprised you made it." Husk's tone is not unfriendly. Not friendly, either.
Vox manages a half-honest laugh as he takes the whiskey poured for him. "Well, it is a short walk."
The feline makes a noise like he's measuring the demon. Vox tries not to look at him, focused on downing his drink as casually as he can instead. "You know, I wasn't too thrilled when Charlie told us you were our newest patron."
Afraid of saying the wrong thing, Vox only slides his eyes up to the forgotten Overlord as he sets down his dregs.
Husk smiles, a fang poking over his bottom lip. "Who knew I'd end up not hating you."
Vox grins a little. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Shared laughter between them then feels wrong.
It feels good, too.
Despite their moment together, Vox's voice trails off moments later as Husk's attention stills on the entrance. Blinking, Vox turns on his stool to follow the gaze.
In all their glory, the other two Vees make their entrance. Velvette is wearing her hair in long, tight coils, her dress short and fur coat huge. While her eyes are trained on the phone in her hand, Valentino guides her with one of his many arms wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her close. His hat is tall, antenna flickering alert, robes crimson and showy. A trail of pink smoke curls in his wake.
On his other side, another of his arms holds Angel Dust close. Protectively. Possessively.
The spider is dressed up in pinks and whites, scanty and tight.
Vox watches as Angel's eyes dart immediately toward the bar. First on Husk, where a somber, gentle expression flickers over his face— then those eyes land on Vox and sharpen.
Angel turns away. Val smiles. Vel waves.
Two worlds collide. Vox feels sick.
Regardless, he's on his feet in less than a moment, and by their side even sooner.
"Velvette! Valentino!" His voice is booming, arms splayed out as he approaches. He pretends not to notice how Angel twists away from him, a gloved hand to his shoulder.
"Amorcito!" Valentino uses his two free hands to pull Vox into a hug, an obvious display of ownership. Or is it affection? Vox doesn't know, but he lets it play across him, and secretly doesn't hate a moment of his face buried in Val's fur.
"Dickhead," Vel says playfully, taking her turn with an arm around Vox's waist. "Can't believe you're actually still in this shithole."
Awkwardly, Vox laughs a little too obnoxiously. His eyes dart around, making sure nobody important is within earshot. "Aha! I know, right? They're really just letting me stay here! Pretty- uh-" His voice wavers. He picks it back up quickly. "Pretty stupid of them, amirite?"
"Very," Val coos, tilting his head. His eyes narrow as he takes a long drag from his laced cigarette. It billows around his crown as he speaks. "I'm almost starting to believe you're growing a soft spot for the Princess, eh, guapo?"
Vox tries not to wince like he's just been called a slur. He should really figure out what those words mean.
"Mm, yeah, not a chance." Liar. Filth. Betrayer. "I tolerate, at best."
Angel chances a hot glare. Vox falters, returns the look with a grimace, before he has to look pointedly back to the other Vees instead.
"Then..." Vel tucks away her phone long enough to jab a finger into her old boss' gill. "When are you comin' home?"
Heart spasming, throat squeezing, Vox's mouth opens and closes. A noise threatens to choke him, lies and excuses boiling in his gut.
Before he can speak, feedback from a microphone, then subsequent echoed tapping, fills the room.
Thank God.
Everyone turns to face the princess as she speaks, her father and her lover standing at the back of the stage. The Morningstars in particular seem to be buzzing.
"Ahem- um-! Hello, everyone! Angels, royalty, sinners, and everyone in between! I am so happy to see everyone gathered here today!
"Not only is this a celebration for the sinners here working tirelessly toward redemption, or even for the fact redemption is actually, really possible- but for Heaven and Hell's newfound treaty of peace and cohabitation!"
A short wave of applause interrupts her. Charlie wipes at her face, clearly overcome.
Vox finds himself smiling. When he realizes Val and Angel both have caught him beaming, he fixes his face into something flat.
"Sera has agreed to work with us! Not only are Heaven's gates permanently open to any and all sinners who find redemption, the angels have agreed to conduct their own research on the correlation between sin and virtue! Hopefully this will mean we can figure out exactly how to repent individually!"
Behind her, Vaggi bows her head and wipes at her eye, too.
Vox has to force his expression still.
Charlie, clearly overexcited, lets out a small squeal. She forces her hands behind her back, smiling ear to ear. "And last, but not least, we have an incredible surprise for everyone! Through all of this, there has been one person who has inspired me to continue, despite any and all setbacks. And tonight, I'm happy to reintroduce-"
Vox's screen blurs, glitches. Is she going to call on him...?
"My mom!"
Worse.
Charlie gestures to the left of the stage as she bows away from the microphone.
In her place comes a glimmering gold portal, sparking and swirling into the shape of a tall, lustrous woman with flowing sunshine hair and hooded, dark eyes. Her smile is sultry, small, painted. Her horns curl over the back of her skull. Her ebony dress glitters likes stars against the darkest night.
Vox thinks he's going to have a heart attack.
"Hello again." Her lips touch the mic, but her voice is forevermore low, beckoning. Like a siren's song luring prey to the edge of an abyss. "It's been some time, hasn't it?"
Around him, the crowd explodes into a song of adoration.
Even the Vees are speechless beside him, eyes wide.
Vox tries to steady his breath.
When quiet resumes, Lilith continues with a smile. "I apologize for my absence. I have heard that in my wake, false prophets used my name in an image of their-...."
Vox can't hear the rest. His chest pulses with the quickening of his breath. Pixel eyes dart around the room.
She's talking about me.
Deplorable. Coward. Tail between his legs.
Vox disappears into the crowd, into the hall, vision blurring as he beelines for the elevator.
Shadows knock him to the ground.
Chapter 6: misspoken
Notes:
⚠️ smut warning after the cut halfway through this chapter ! ♡
Chapter Text
"Well now."
Tendrils of ink cinch Vox's limbs, too-tight around wrists and ankles. His screen glitches, blues, whites, returns involuntarily with a guttural noise.
Alastor's voice is as sweet as a twisting knife beneath his skin. It peels back his flesh, reveals glistening red-pink rot beneath. The Radio Demon's form slithers into obscurity, looming overhead unnaturally.
"Leaving the party so soon? And here I was told you were making so much progress."
Finally, the shadows give way. Alastor's smile is a cheshire crescent beneath a hooded, lackadaisical gaze.
The demon below growls, tests the restraints- they squeeze, drag him flush against the carpet.
Alastor clicks his tongue. Smiles. He taps his staff on the floor slotted neatly between Vox's legs. "You hear a few well-chosen words and immediately run for the hills. Touchy conscience?" His smile splits, gold teeth flashing. "How terribly anticlimatic."
"Fuck you." It comes out too easy. He spits, "This was a fucking mistake. I don't belong here. I fucking get it, I'll-"
A laugh. Short, almost offended. Alastor cranes hellward, peering down into the glitching screen, two-toned hair falling around his cracked visage. "Oh, do stop wallowing. If you intend on this frivolous jab at redemption, at least spare us the melodramatic retreat. Do you think repentance is earned by running?"
Breath taut like a shiver, Vox twists up his expression. Wants to look away. Wants to. Wants to.
Alastor's eyes darken. Dials turn behind his irises. "By collapsing the moment someone points at your sins?"
"The fuck do you care?"
"I don't." He laughs again, humorless. Dry. Mocking.
Ropes of shadow jerk Vox to his feet. Standing again, but not free.
Tilting the screen up with the end of his staff under Vox's chin, Alastor forces proximity and eye contact. Vox glares, trembles, aches, burns.
Burns.
"Lilith was not talking about you alone. Don't flatter yourself."
Pride flares in Vox's chest, fizzles into something pathetic and ugly. Everything crashes into him all at once; lovesick hatred, yearning, repulsion, desire, desire, desire.
For blood? Sweat? Saliva? More.
He realizes suddenly this is the closest they've been since-
Fuck it.
His circuitry hums like an overclocked engine. Shame and rage and everything in between- it all scorches through him, sour and electric, overloading him with adrenaline.
It's addicting. It's relapsing.
It comes out raw, cracked, too loud, blue-white and arching around them. The shadows holding him shimmer with his voltage, flashes of electricity stuttering through the lowlight. The bulbs in the hall buzz and crackle, responding, singing.
All in but a moment, Vox is twisting, surging, searching for the reclamation of dominance he lost months ago.
Untangled. Fist of static and anger centered to Alastor's chest-
Laughter tears across the moment.
A sputter. A beat.
Easily, flawlessly, Alastor concludes the display with a flourish of shadow and green.
Like the last licks of fireworks, Vox is doused to sparks. Cornered. Against the wall.
"Mm..." Alastor hums. His smile widens. Not pleasantly. "There you are."
Mindlessly, throaty and loud, Vox lunges again. Claws for purchase, to grab or shove, for space, for closeness. Anything. Anything to make him feel larger than this gutted version of himself—
Shadows snap tight around his wrists, wrenching his arms upwards.
Hands pinned over his head, he bares his teeth, screen flaring snowstatic.
Alastor steps into him, into his space, into his breath. The staff presses him into the wall, directly under the sternum. In one efficient shove, the air is stolen from the demon.
"Still trying to posture," Alastor sighs, almost disappointed. His breath fans over Vox's screen. He can smell through ozone static the bitter and decay. Those eyes simmer a deep, infernal red. "Still breaking yourself to feel big."
Hollow breaths wrack through Vox, his chest caught in a pronounced rising and falling that catches Alastor's eye.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Humiliated, angry, Vox braces, grimaces- Alastor's gaze lands between them, as if he hadn't noticed the way his hip pins Vox against the wall—
Hadn't noticed the penitent erection trapped between them.
It's like a record scratch. Volatile tension breaks into something awkward and strangled- not that Alastor would ever drop the lacquered veneer.
Their eyes slide up, meet in tandem. Palpable silence. Alastor's smile twitches at the razor-edges.
"Alastor?"
Ears flicker. A screen glitches. Two heads snap toward the far end of the hall, where Charlie stands alone, her glittering dress and beautifully made-up face a stark contrast to the devastated look she's wearing.
Alastor's pink-red irises slide to the far corner of his eyes to regard Vox, plain and unreadable, before his form dissipates into cascading shadows. Gone in a second.
"Vox?"
He can't look at her. Can't breathe.
Coward.
He escapes to the opposite direction. Charlie's voice disappears behind him.
Blue claws scream numb, throb with a pounding heart, as they tear through wallpaper. They rake four parallel streaks in the wake of each swipe, frenzied and haphazard.
Ragged breaths fog his screen, blurring his vision. Or are those tears? There's wet dripping from his chin, dappling his suit, his arms- is it blood? Is he crying?
Electricity cracks through his veins.
Paintings are torn off the walls, cracked in half. He shreds pretty pictures into confetti, lets it litter the ground alongside scraps and rags of bedding, clothing, curtains.
None of it soothes. All of it burns. Burns.
Hell had never been a fire before now.
Somehow.
It's not enough.
Light fixtures shatter delicately beneath his claws. Warm wet weeps, smears red now across the furniture he breaks. Wood splinters from every drawer and surface in his way.
Last is his reflection.
A spiderweb fragments the glass. Dozens of him stare back.
Weak. Panting. Crying. Bleeding.
A knock at the door.
"Fuck off-!"
Vox spins around, and freezes.
Valentino blinks at him.
Everything drains from the demon in an instance.
"Da—amn, papi!" Val's voice is drawn out and boisterous as he pans his eyes slowly across the wreckage, but somehow not at all sardonic. "You just finish redecorating?"
"Wh-what— What are you..." Vox catches his breath, swallows the whine, the sobs. He wipes pointlessly at his screen, only smears tears and blood over the flat surface. "...doing here?"
Val makes a soft noise as he picks carefully across the mess, slow but not at all scared. "Believe it or not, the Princess requested I pay you a visit."
"The Princess?" His voice is a rasp.
"Mhm." The taller demon is warm in voice and body. Vox can feel it as one of those many hands brushes something from his shoulder thoughtfully. "That niña tonta is worried about you. Isn't that ridiculous?"
Vox can barely muster half a laugh. He won't lift his eyes. "Ridiculous," he parrots softly.
Tender hands brush down the sides of Vox's screen before gently cupping the bottom corners, angling up his gaze. Even with his face pointed to Val's, Vox refuses to meet his eyes.
Val tilts his head, hums a little. "Talk to me, Voxxy."
Vox stiffens under Val's gentle hands. Every instinct screams at him to shrug away, to glitch out of sight, but his body refuses. His voice is clipped, barely a whisper- an electric whine, "There's nothing to talk about."
Long thumbs glide slow, steady across the corners of his screen. Momentarily, he's reminded of being torn from his throat.
Instead, what comes is syrup. Grounding.
"Bebé," Val murmurs, his voice dripping. "You're standing in the remnants of a battlefield. That's something."
If Vox had a jaw, it would be screwed shut. Tight. He doesn't look up.
"I said drop it."
"Eh, Voxxy." Val keeps his tone feather-light, thick with his accent. No edge. No bite.
It's infuriating.
The moth lets his deft hands slide down, skimming over shoulders tightened like steel cables. They do not slack under his touch.
"I'm not asking for a confession." A little hum. "Just a direction."
Screen buzzing, momentary static, Vox shakes his head hard, once. "No."
Val doesn't push.
Doesn't even sigh.
"Okay."
That one word threatens to buckle Vox's knees, spill him to the floor, a puddle of blood and tears and misery at those heeled boots. Pathetic. Something.
Val's voice lowers, rich and smooth, curling around the broken edges of Vox's breathing. "Then don't talk."
To Vox's chagrin, he shudders as static ripples through him. Val leans in close- not trapping, but present, offering and warm. Warm. Warm. "Let me take care of it in a different way, mm?" That sick-sweet voice caresses his heavy screen, velvet soft and wicked all at once.
Vox exhales hard.
"You always short-circuit when you try to handle things alone."
He hates how much he needs this- needs someone- but his claws are twitching and his chest hurts, and whatever is dripping from his screen keeps falling and falling.
Pathetic.
"Come here, cariño." A whisper. An anchor.
Lips. Teeth. Tongue.
Four hands touch him in all the right places. Gentle but hungry.
It keeps dripping.
The bed is a mess, the mattress violated and torn, but it's firm beneath them. Throes embrace their bodies as they paw and kiss, streaks of red drying between.
Vox assumes routine, moving to mount his tall partner, but Val tuts and eases them in reverse. He presses the blue-skinned demon into the bed, smiling as he kisses him down. Two hands cradle his screen, two others soothe flat across his chest, down his abdomen.
"I got you, papi."
Vox's breath stutters as Val pulls apart his ruined suit one button at a time, kisses trailing behind leisurely. Propped up on his elbows, he watches with a bright screen as the Overlord works him open, pulls his cock free. Pupilless eyes watch back, playful and smug. As he draws his lips past Vox's naval, there's a clear pleasure taken in at the way his blue-black abdomen twitches.
Smirking, Vox almost forgets the before and after.
He's here. Right here, with someone who cares about him.
Figure out what to do with that.
Pixel eyelids flutter as an obscene, long tongue coils around the length of his endowment.
Vox can't help the way he groans, or the hand that snakes over the back of Val's head. "Fuck, babe—"
Pleased, Val hums something but it goes muffled by the dick he introduces to the back of his throat.
A string of praise and curses drop from Vox's lips as his screen falls back between his shoulders.
Maybe he needed this.
He forgot how good Val is with his mouth when he's not running it.
A master of his craft, it doesn't take the Lust Demon long to bring Vox closer and closer to the edge. He moves his head up and down in a steady motion, one hand working Vox's long shaft, and two other hands roaming over solid muscles.
Unsteady, broken apart, panting, Vox focuses on breathing, on keeping quiet enough to stay discreet but loud enough to encourage his moth.
He picks up his screen. Swallows. The dripping has stopped, replaced by ragged breaths. His mind swims, his screen flickering, fuzzing slightly.
The world is spinning and frozen all at once, collapsed in on the moment. The universe breathes in his chest, his lungs full of syrup air, thick with the scent of sweat and smut and iron.
His vision swims.
Blue claws fan out over a smooth cranium.
Between antlers.
Ears.
Red hair curled in his fist.
The universe stutters. Skews.
He lets out a harsh breath, so close-
"Ah- Fuck- Al-"
Everything stops.
Something slams against the universe.
It takes him a moment to catch up.
Val sits back. Vox knows there's something disgusted on the other's tongue before it flashes across his face.
"What did you say." It's not a question.
Vox shoots into course correction, jolting upward. "Val-" He reaches out, onto his knees, chases him as Val recoils. "I said Val."
He freezes.
There's no rage. Rage would be easier- manageable.
This is resignation.
Something.
Something that had been gnawing at him all along, finally given shape. Proof.
"You think I don't know?" Val's voice is calm. Soft.
"I didn't- It wasn't—" Vox stammers, stumbles over his breath. "It was just a slip, that's all it was."
"I know." Val's face turns away, only slightly, but enough to pack a punch. "That's the problem."
The bed feels wrong beneath him. Tilted. Like he's going to slide away.
Vox is dizzy.
He reaches out again, searching for solid ground.
Val moves away. Not sharp, not mean- a boundary placed, a line not to be crossed. He exhales through his nose. Slow. Heavy. Like something in him folds, and Vox is forced to watch it in real time.
Rage would be easier.
Manageable.
Instead, Val stands to replace his hat and adjust his coat with the practiced ease of a man turning away from something he won't be burdened by anymore.
Vox waits for their eyes to meet.
They never do.
"Come visit sometime, eh, Voxxy?"
Val disappears through the threshold. The door clicks shut quietly behind his leave.
Silence echoes through the broken room.