Chapter Text
Charlie slowly peaks out of the second floor hallway, whipping her head from side to side.
"Hello? Is anyone out there?" She gives any lingering guests a few seconds to respond before cautiously tip-toeing a few feet out onto the mezzanine. "Helllooo?" She cranes her neck to look over the gold balustrade and down into the empty lobby, eyeing every couch, crevice, and corner to ensure that they were completely and utterly alone.
Well, it looks like everyone is gone. Charlie tries not to let the emptiness rip out her heart and smear it across the floor in a vibrant display of her dwindling self-confidence. It’s not like everyone just decided to leave the hotel because fuck her and her life’s ambition. That’s not what’s happening right now. It just means that Vaggi successfully gathered all of the guests together, just like she said she would, and her girlfriend is nothing if not efficient.
"I'll take them to the library to…uh…to do bonding exercises. Or something. I don't know, I'll figure it out when we get there. Angel, can you help me round everyone up?"
"Aw, come on, why me?" Angel Dust had complained, throwing his arms around like a kid that’d been asked to take out the garbage.
"Because you're our oldest guest and you should set a good example for everyone else."
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
"Okay, fine, because you're famous and everyone listens to you."
He finger-gunned at her. "Just keepin' ya honest."
"Cherri, Husk, why don't you two help with the guests too," Charlie had suggested, voice perhaps a pitch too high, as she was still trying to wrap her head around the absolute clusterfuck she had walked in on and there were only so many bombshells she could take in one day before her heart needed resuscitating.
"Aw, come on, you can't expect me to leave just when shits startin' to—" Cherri Bomb had started to object, looking equal parts excited and flabbergasted by the entire situation, when Husk interrupted with an abrupt, "Yeah, we will."
"Hey, whoa, you don't speak for me, dick-head! I’m not—”
"Let's just get the fuck outta here," Husk had growled, eyes darting across the room to Alastor and back. He'd looked a little put-off by the entire situation, which was a rare outlier from his normal roster of indifference, annoyance, soft affection, and overall grumpiness. It was probably why Cherri Bomb had crossed her arms and rolled her eye, but scoffed, "Fine. Whateva. Ugh, I don't ev'n fucking work here."
"I'll grab Niff too," Husk added, already headed to the door. "All those chucklefucks keep askin' her to stab 'em, so I'm sure we can work somethin' out."
"No stabbing!" Charlie had called after him, but she was pretty sure he'd pretended not to hear it as he slipped out of the lounge they’d all been gathered in. She probably should've followed up to make sure Niffty wasn't actually stabbing any of their new guests (or remind them to at least put down some towels first) but she's been so frazzled by the unexpected turn of events her day has taken, she thinks she deserves a pass on this one.
"Okay, and while you guys are all in there, Alastor and I," she'd looked at him, still trying to make sense of what she was seeing, "uh, we're going to go to look for my dad."
She'd managed to sneak them both to the top floor—she, Vaggi, Alastor, and her dad were the only ones who lived up there, anyway—where they'd knocked on her dad's door, but it was quiet on the other end. Too quiet. According to Husk, Angel, and Cherri, he had been in a bit of a tizzy when he'd poofed himself out of the lounge, and "quiet" was the last thing he was when he got worked up. When she was met with an absence of stammering words, falling objects, or overall discombobulation, she'd concluded that he probably wasn't in his room.
If he was still freaking out (which he most likely was) and hadn't hunkered down to ride it out yet, he was likely panic-roaming, which meant he could be anywhere in the hotel. Hopefully. If he hadn’t portaled back home, that is. Which, whoo-hoo, she really fucking hopes not, ha ha, because that would be super fucking inconvenient. Nope, she is going to stay POSITIVE and assume the ONLY reason he’s not picking up his phone is because he left it in his room.
Yep. That’s exactly what’s happening.
Eye twitching, she re-clicks his contact, presses her phone to her ear, and gestures over her shoulder at Alastor. “The coast is clear!”
He follows her out onto the mezzanine with considerable more grace, looking surprisingly put-together, all things considered.
She tries not to stare.
"You're staring," Alastor says as he walks by.
Charlie's eyes snap away. "Sorry, sorry."
They drift back a moment later.
She can't help it, alright? God, he just looks so…different. She's still having trouble believing her eyes. Hell, she's still not entirely convinced she's not dreaming right now. Everything about this situation is surreal and it’s not outside the realm of possibility that she’d surpassed her caffeine-intake limit and is laying comatose in her room, surrounded by markers and index cards, in the middle of yet another coffee-induced high. ////
That’s a perfectly plausible explanation, because never in a million years did she ever imagine she'd get to see an actual human being this close.
Okay, technically Alastor has always been human. Or, he has a human soul, at least. He was human-esque, radio and deer attributes notwithstanding. But she's never been in the same room as a living, breathing human person. One that isn't already dead. So this is all brand new territory and she’s not entirely sure what to do.
Are all humans so...small?
Alastor hadn't been massively taller than her (only a few inches, give or take) but she's never had to look down at him before. He looks so much smaller without his ears. The deer ones, that is. Not his normal, round human ones—which he does indeed have—that are just as strange to see as the mound of dark, curly brown hair that had replaced his razor-sharp bob-cut.
"Okay, don't panic," Charlie says as she falls into step next to him, although it's more more for her benefit than his, because Alastor, despite having literally undergone a complete physical change from magic Charlie didn’t even KNOW her dad could do until now—seriously, what the FUCK is up with that???—looks as ruffled as a field of flowers on a windless day. "We're going to fix this. Dad couldn't have gotten far. Maybe. He should at least still be in the hotel. Ehhh, hopefully. But! As soon as we figure out where he went, we can—where are you going?"
"The bar," Alastor says, already a few steps down the stairs. “I need a drink.”
He’d relocated his staff from his side to behind his back, which is a staple position for him, but it’s so much bigger in his human hands, Charlie can’t help but think of a child holding a too-large stick. A comparison she knows he’d hate, which is the only reason why she hasn’t said anything about it yet.
"Oh, uh, right. Okay.” She catches up to him easily. “But are you sure you should be drinking right now? You know, like this?"
"I'm human, Charlie, not pregnant."
"I—I know, I know,” she laughs, too loud and awkward, “it's just humans are so…well, not fragile, per se, but like, they're not really meant to be down here. In Hell. Like…" she gestures widely at him with both hands, "this." Alastor stops and turns, looking at her over his shoulder with dark, brown eyes (such a darker color than his normal red) through a pair of round glasses (not just a monocle). The beaded chain hanging from them sways slightly from the movement as he arches a brow in such an Alastor-way it makes Charlie chuckle awkwardly, and she rubs the back of her neck. "Sorry, it’s just…it is so weird seeing you like this, wow. Is this really what you looked like? You know, when you were alive?"
His head tilts to the side. "What did you expect me to look like?"
"I don't know, I guess I've never really thought about it before. You've always just been you, you know?”
"And who am I now?"
"No! No, no, you're still you! That's not what I meant! It's just…strange, is all. I'm not used to your teeth being white."
Alastor barks out a surprised, incredulous laugh. "Oh, is that all?"
"Well, you're a lot smaller than I thought you'd be, and it's weird seeing you without your, you know," she put her hands behind her head to mimic deer ears.
"Anything else?"
"Okay and it's a liiitttlle strange hearing your voice when it's not all," she waves a hand around, searching for the word, "radio-y."
“Mhm,” Alastor hums quietly, eyes narrowing as he examines her face, looking for hidden meanings or insinuations in her awkward smile and fidgeting hands. When he finds nothing, he shrugs and continues down the stairs, "Well, I'll be set to rights as soon as we hunt down your father and force him to change me back."
"Ask him to change you back."
"You use your tactic, I'll use mine."
Just as their feet touch the lobby floor, a loud, sudden knock from the door makes them both freeze in place, and they exchange a frantic look. Well, Charlie’s look is frantic. Alastor’s is an unhappy furrow between his eyebrows and a faint tightening of his smile that conveys that this is the most inconvenient thing that could’ve happened to him out of all the shit that’s already happened and Charlie should take care of it post-haste!
“Don’t worry, I got it!” Charlie dutifully reassures him, and just to make sure he understands that changing him back is her biggest priority (and not at all because she’s overcome a sudden, over-protective anxiety about leaving him alone in all of his small, fragile human-ness) adds, “Just stay here. I’ll be right back. As soon as they’re gone, we’re going to find my dad and I’ll make sure he turns you back, I promise.”
Alastor’s expression doesn’t change in the slightest.
“Good. Awesome. Be right back.”
She rushes to the door. She supposes she should've taken into account new guests showing up, which wow, isn't that the wildest fucking thing? New guests. Actual people showing up who want to check into the hotel. Willingly! Ah! She still can’t believe it!
She pauses in front of it long enough to smooth her hair back, before opening it a crack, already forming an apology to whoever is outside that the hotel is, uh, closed for the time being. Or on pause, at least. Just while they fix a few minor bugs. But her apology drops the instant she meets a pair of vibrant red eyes through a glossy blue screen.
Oh.
Fuck.
Oh shit, fuck, no, goddammit how could she have forgotten—
"Pleasure to finally meet you, Princess!" A broad, cyan smile greets her with a wide flourish of arms as the man outside steps into the doorway, forcing the door open a little wider. "Oh," he smacks the side of his long, rectangular TV head, "and where are my manners?" He takes her hand in both of his and gives it a quick, solid shake. "The name’s Vox, CEO of Voxtek Entertainment!" He lets go of her to flick his wrist and Charlie recoils back as several glowing holographic projections pop into the air, displaying a variety of headlines, articles, and pictures of himself.
“And this here," he steps to the side, gesturing to a woman dressed in a fancy black, fur lined dress, "is my lovely associate, Velvette,"
Velvette looks up from her phone, gives Charlie an unimpressed once-over, and holds out her hand, lips a curl away from a sneer. "Charmed."
Charlie shakes it with a tight, awkward laugh, "Hi, hello, nice to meet you. Um, you know, it's not actually a good time right now. Some, some stuff came up, really important stuff, so maybe we can—"
"Oh, well, you said you had the big, biggest story for Voxtek and to send our best, and I just couldn't pass up this opportunity!" Vox barrels on, unperturbed. "We're all about professionalism, you see, and who would we be if we left royalty on read? Gotta strike while the irons hot, ammirite?” He elbows Charlie with a good-natured laugh. “Haha, of course I am." In one fluid motion, he spins her around, grabs her by the shoulders, and uses her to steer them the rest of the way inside. "So, let's get started!"
"That is so nice of you, really, and normally I'd really appreciate the, uh, professionalism, but we've kinda got a situation going on here, so if we can just reschedule that'd be really—"
"Uh-huh, uh-huh, so where's Alastor? I'd love to meet the hotelier of this…fine establishment."
Behind them Velvette scoffs, "Real subtle, Vee."
"Hm? What do you mean? I don't know what you mean."
"OH!" Charlie slams her heels into the carpet, forcing them to a dead stop, and whirls around, arms spreading wide. "Oh, Alastor's actually suuuppppeeeerrrr busy right now doing, you know, important hotel…things. He hates being interrupted, so we probably shouldn't disturb him. How about instead we go over here, this way, out of the lobby."
From across the room, Alastor would be impressed with her determination to block the view of the entire lounge with her body if he wasn’t already too busy freaking the fuck out, because what the hell is VOX doing here!?
Of all the people to walk into the hotel.
Of all the times to show up.
Of course. Why not? Leave it to Vox to make an already horrible situation even worse.
Alastor has done a spectacular job keeping his composure so far, if he does say so himself, but apart from waking up this morning with his stitches torn (again), having to put up with Lucifer’s presence way too early in the day, and being magic-snapped into a body he hasn’t been in for nearing a century now, he’s been pushed beyond the limits of his patience and is now entering hysteric territory.
He looks down at himself—smaller, human, without an ounce of his demonic power, and severely lacking claws and fangs—and snaps his head from side to side, searching for an escape. There's no way in literal Hell he's letting Vox see him like this. Absolutely not. No. Not happening.
But where is there to go? Has the lobby always been this big? Jesus Christ, it's like a football stadium
A football stadium with absolutely nothing to hide behind, fuck!
Vox will no doubt see it if he makes a mad dash back up the stairs and the room is too large to make a run for one of the hallways.
The bar isn't too far, if he can just tip-toe his way over there…
Across the room, Charlie is a fast-talking mess of words and flapping hands. She'd planted herself in front of Vox and was rambling off an impressive myriad of excuses, from busted pipes to bad Wi-Fi, while he stared at her, hands on his hips, with the utmost expression of forced patience. His black, digital brows were set in a line as straight as the glower at the bottom of his screen. He does a single, slow blink, finger tapping against his hip as he debates on how much money he can reasonably make on a Charlie Morningstar-inspired white-noise machine (and whether the guaranteed customer complaints will be worth the cheap buck) when a movement over her shoulder draws his eyes.
He leans to the side, eyebrow quirking. "What's that?" Then promptly chokes on a surprised noise and shoves Charlie aside. "Holy shit, is that a person? Like, a real, living, breathing human person?"
"Ho~ly shit, Vee, I think it is!” Velvette exclaims next to him.
"Ohhhh my god!" Vox laughs, side-stepping Charlie again when she leaps in front of him, arms spinning wildly in an attempt to block his view.
"No! No, it's not! He's just, it's, it's just a—a fake! He's not real! So, no need to go over there! Just stay here and, oh! How about we do that interview now? Outside. Only outside. It's such a nice, beautiful day, right? Perfect weather for—"
"Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, you can't expect us to pass up on something like this!" Vox says, turning as he strides towards the man so he’s still facing her as he talks. “How the hell did you get a human down here?” He stops in front of the man, smacks the side of his head with another loud, disbelieving laugh and gestures wildly at him, "I mean, who the fuck even is this guy?"
Charlie takes a step forward, but he doesn't wait for her to answer. With a low, dark chuckle, he looms over the man, lips curling back to show off his rows of glowing shark teeth as lines of red drip from the corners of his mouth, left eye sparking and enlarging with black spiral as electricity pops and sparks around him. His voice is thick with layered distortion, so heavy it thrums in the air between them.
"Who are you HUMAN?"
Instead of screaming, falling, begging for his life, or doing anything an otherwise normal person would do when confronted by a literal demon in Hell, the man stares back at him, unafraid. Vox's smile drops and he purses his lips, electricity and distortion fading as he squints suspiciously. "Hold on a sec…"
He’s not quite sure what it is, but there’s something familiar about the taunting glint of those dark, brown eyes.. The sway of the beaded chain hanging from his glasses. The lazy curl of his smile. The indifferent fall of his slim shoulders. The weirdly strong sex appeal he radiates that Vox can’t put his finger on, but he swears he’s felt it somewhere before.
It's only when he notices the microphone staff the man is holding does it finally sink in.
His eyes widen and his jaw drops. Alastor chuckles as he steps forward, lips curving into an aggravatingly charming smile, and confirms, "Long time no see, old pal."
The transatlantic-accent is there, and while his voice sounds oddly naked without its radio overlay, the tenor of his voice, the roll of the words on his tongue, is all too recognizable.
Vox stares down at Alastor wide-eyed.
Alastor smiles back.
Vox continues to stare.
Alastor's smile tightens.
Vox doesn't stop staring.
Alastor's eyebrows crinkle in confusion.
Vox lunges.
"Velvette!" He calls, never sounding more excited as he gathers a startled Alastor in his arms. "Call the limo!"
"Already did, Vee!" Velvette shouts back, just as excited and already waiting outside, standing next to their long, black limo with the door wide open.
"Let go of me you moronic, son of a—oof!" Vox hucks Alastor higher up in his arms, cutting him off, but his squirming intensifies. He manages to wriggle up and plant a foot on Vox's chest, pushing against his arms with all his strength, but Vox’s grip doesn’t so much as budge.
"Hey! Stop it! Put him down!" Charlie demands, seizing Vox’s sleeve and yanking him back when he takes a step toward the door.
Vox’s screen snaps towards her and he blinks, looking at her like he's just remembering she's still there. A faint thud from atop the stairs has his eyes jumping over her shoulder, where they promptly widen into saucers. Alarm flashes across his face and he lets go of Alastor with one hand to jab a finger up at the mezzanine. "HOLY SHIT, PRINCESS, WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Heart spiking, Charlie whirls around. "What? What is it? Dad?" All she finds is Vaggi, who freezes mid-step on the stairs. "Vaggi? What are you—"
"Charlie!" Vaggi cries, panicked as she points to the front of the room. Charlie turns around just in time to watch Vox diving into the back seat of the limo with a struggling, cursing Alastor still in his arms.
Charlie squawks and sprints after him.
"Lovely meeting you darling! Our people will call your people. Kisses!" Velvette says, waving at them with half of her body leaning out of the limo before she slams the door shut. With a violent lurch and the screech of tires, the limo peels out of the hotel's porte cochere.
"No, no, no, no, no, Alastor!" Charlie cries, but by the time she's out the front door, it had already barreled past the iron-wrought gate far below and is well into the roads beyond, speeding past other cars and running over several pedestrians before disappearing around a bend.