Chapter Text
“Took you long enough. Done being pissed at me?”
Alastor looks up from his book, lounging on a counter stool while the oven preheats. He’s the only one of them that actually uses the kitchen, spice racks lining every surface and a gas stove older than he is. It’s a favourite fight of theirs- Vox offering to buy a smart stove, Alastor replying that if ever needs wi-fi to boil water, he’s feeding them both to the hogs.
The smile on his face is genuine. “What makes you think I’m upset with you?”
“Why else would you disappear?” Vox stares long enough for it to be creepy, but it’s been three days of not knowing where the fuck his partner is, so sue him. Even under night vision, Alastor glows.
He’s always been like this; leaving for days to weeks to months on end for god knows what. Vox could barely bat an eye when he went AWOL for seven years.
Still, he has to worry. Has to obsess, if you’re holding a gun to his head. He’s not thinking about Al unless he’s on the verge of something.
“You were never this paranoid before,” Alastor teases, snapping the book shut as Vox approaches. It’s a good day for touch, he can tell- and thank fucking god for that.
“I’ve always been this paranoid,” he scoffs, grabbing that slutty red waist he’s been missing. “C’mere, you asshole.”
Alastor cackles and does that obnoxious thing where he kisses Vox’s screen and not his mouth. Slender, sharpened claws toy with his antennae, and he feel the sparks trickle down his spine. He pins the man to the counter and really fucking wants to push his luck tonight, but his mind has other plans.
“You could’ve been dead.”
“And by what means, exactly?” Alastor raises an eyebrow, strongest sinner in Hell and all that bullshit.
“Some assassin that got lucky. Acid rain. Freak exorcist incident,” Vox begins and doesn’t stop. “You ate someone that got poisoned. Stopped by a turf war on your morning walk-”
He gets pushed off for that. “You watch too much news.”
“I own the station.”
“That’s not what Valentino says.”
“Yeah, well, humoring Val hasn’t killed anyone important yet.” Vox dismisses, readjusting his clothes. “Promise me you’ll won’t be long, next time you leave.”
“Hmm. We both know I can’t swear on that, pal,” Alastor says bluntly. “But while we’re making empty promises, could rack that head of yours for a more interesting way for me to go out?”
“The fuck are you doing?” Velvette switches on the light, and it nearly gives him a migraine. “It’s four in the morning.”
She once swore she’d kill herself before she played nanny for a grown-ass man, back when she first joined them.
“Getting a snack. Didn’t know that was a crime,” he says. The fridge has been swung wide open, he’s just noticed. Eggs yolks form a runny puddle on the floor. “Why are you here?”
“Didn’t see you in your room,” she shoots.
“So you’re watching me now?” Vox thought he had gotten rid of all the cameras before they could be used. Alastor helped him double-check.
“Look in the mirror, V. Don’t even try to act holier-than-thou about this, christ alive.” Velvette rubs her temples, swearing to herself under her breath. “Just go back to bed or fuck Val or something.”
And so, she leaves after giving him a stern talking-to. Alastor has left, too- when, Vox isn’t sure.
The oven beeps.
It’s nearly been a year since his takeover blew up in his face.
“It’s too many cooks in the kitchen.”
“It’s a business merger.”
‘You were staring at our business merger’s cleavage all meeting,” Alastor says, and the chauffeur does a good job pretending he can’t hear them argue. The pentagram passes them by, leading to their ever-expanding penthouse. Al leaves the renovating to Vox, happy with anything as long as they keep sleeping in the same bed.
He’s right about Val in his own way, as he is about everything. The moth got too important to Vox too fast, too long after he swore it was just them against Hell. He always wants more, even when he doesn’t.
“Come on, it’s not like that. You know you can trust me,” Vox insists. It’s not a lie, because he couldn’t lie to him if he tried; what he has with Val is different. Not better or worse, just different.
“I couldn’t care less if it’s like that,” Alastor sneers. “You’re the one always going on and on about a new era. Fool around with whoever you want, it’ll save us both the frustration.”
He waits for the other shoe to drop, and it doesn’t. “…then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that you’re too sentimental for your own good. He’ll abuse that if he’s smart.”
Vox grabs a beer from the mini-fridge and scoffs. “If you think I’m bad, you really aren’t ready for Val.”
“So that’s the real issue at play?” Alastor teases. “I’m just not ready?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve dragged your feet about change.”
“It’s my best asset.”
“I can think of a few others,” Vox smirks.
“You’re a child,” Alastor laughs fondly. “Fine, I’ll try to sleep on it. It would be quite nice to have another colored man to speak to.”
“Why do you have to bring race into everything?”
“You’re lucky I like you, dear.”
Vox is an idea guy, always has been. He’s the one responsible for all of VoxTek’s- VeeTek, it’s all just branding at the end of the day- biggest moneymakers. Yeah I Fucked Your Sister So What, spying drones, micro-transactions for their game development division.
Sure, he’s taken some slight inspiration for what’s working on Earth, but imitation is the sincerest form flattery, and anyway, he makes them better.
He’s better.
So, so much better. Val, Velvette, hell, even Al would be nothing without him running it all behind the scenes. It’s the real reason he was demoted, to step away from the press conferences and headlines so he could focus on what mattered. Val had the second-highest approval rating out of them, it only made sense for him to take the role.
He knows how to work the cameras, and Vox knows how to work him. “You got the scripts for It’s Always Sunny In Los Satanio finalized?”
“Check your inbox,” Vox quips, spinning in his swivel chair. It’s been too long since he’s got a good look at Val, disabling the many screens dividing him from his partner. “Oh, and I’m opening applications for new screenwriters; the last ones kept talking about unionizing, so I made a little example out of them. You’re welcome.”
He’s also gone over their earnings for the past quarter, opened a new artificial intelligence department, and deep-cleaned Shok.wav’s tank all before noon. Thoughts run through his mind at a hundred miles per hour, and he wills them to a halt for the sake of the conversation.
“You’re the best, Voxxy,” Val purrs, leaning over the desk.
“I know,” he replies. “Say, how about we grab something to eat after this, for old’s time sake? Your pick.”
“There’s a new fusion place that opened downtown, Vel wants to check it out. We should go.” it’s all said noncommittally. They might actually go out tonight, might not; Val doesn’t seem to care either way.
He just… watches Vox, like he’s curious about what he might do next.
“I’ve missed this,” he says. Val always misses this. “So the dose is working this time?”
Vox sighs. “It’s fine. Kind of tired these days, but can’t sleep. Not really hungry anymore, either.”
“Mm, really? Maybe I should get a prescription-”
“Val.”
“Joking, joking!” Val raises all four hands in defeat. “…I’ll schedule another appointment, kay, babe?”
“Got it,” he and opens his email. “Send me the date when you get it. Don’t want it to interfere with anything.”
As if they wouldn’t move hell or high water to get him into a hospital.
If Val senses any bitterness beneath his words, he doesn’t start a fight over it as he leaves the office. Alastor enters seconds after, giving the moth an all-too-chipper greeting as they briefly cross paths. Val ignores him, as always. “The media overlord and his dearest lover in the same room, I thought I’d never see it again! What was the occasion? What did I miss?”
“What do you think?”
“Another miracle cure, it is, then.” Alastor says- and in all his disregard for personal space, promptly sits in Vox’s lap. He’s not complaining. “One of these days, I just might spill the beans.”
“You wouldn’t,” he warns. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
It’s routine at this point. Pharmacist offices in the most ethical clinics Hell can provide. Forcing whatever he’s prescribed down until Val and Velvette stop watching him like they’re scared he’ll choke. Getting rid of the rest and moving on with his afterlife without feeling numb and null and hollow because he doesn’t fucking need them.
Vox isn’t crazy.
“As if there’s any shame in it?” Alastor scolds. “Open the drawer, will you, pal? Bottom left.”
He does. It’s filled with empty pill bottles, different sizes, different shades of translucent lavender and blue. All imported from Sloth, like they don’t sell stronger shit in vending machines around here. A few loose tablets collect dust and cobwebs in the edges of the drawer.
“You’re gonna get me caught,” he says.
“And wouldn’t that be fun to watch?” the man grins and rests his head on Vox’s chest- on his voobs, as he’s repeatedly told Val to stop calling them that. “Just imagine the hysterics. Put it all in front of a camera and our ratings would skyrocket!”
He can’t stay mad at Alastor- and Alastor knew that better than anyone else.
“You know, my mom was a junkie,” he begins, unsure where he’s going with this. “Miltown, Valium, Benzedrine. Hid it well enough, I guess; loved playing tennis and throwing dinner parties and all that shit. Would’ve made it to my high school graduation if she didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.”
He remembers, dimly, beating the shit out of the his debate partner sometime after learning neither of his parents were in attendance. The guy had it coming, even if Vox can’t remember what exactly he did to set him off.
“She sounds lovely,” Alastor murmurs, half-listening. “You found her body in bed, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Think I was, like, seventeen? The funeral was a fucking godsend for networking. Got my first internship thanks to that.”
V Tower is still in one piece, because of course it is. The angels are strong, but they’re still pussies at the end of the day. They’re the good guys- weren’t they supposed to play fair or whatever the fuck?
It’s not Vox’s fault.
“Could you just tell them I-”
“I’m not playing the middleman for you, dear,’ Alastor says, patching up yet another crack growing across his screen. It’d be easier for both of them if he just replaced his head but fuck it, he wants this, and he hasn’t gotten anything he wanted so far.
“They won’t listen to me,” he huffs, the debris in his vents rattling with his breaths. The sting grounds him, watching his partner on the bed.
“I wonder why,” the deer says, applying adhesive to where glass meets plastic casing. His machinery itself is scrambled, it feels like; mind glitching, rearranging itself into something that can give all of this an explanation.
Not an excuse, because Vox doesn’t make excuses. It’s just that whenever he fails, it’s always someone else’s fault. “Don’t tell me you’re on their side.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” He is- at peace and unscathed from the battle, as he always is.
“You get it,” Vox says. It’s to himself more than anything.
“I’m not surprised, if that’s what you’re saying,” Alastor hums. “Always the Icarus, flying too close to the sun. It’s poetic, really.”
“Wow. Thanks.” he rolls his eyes. “I can always try again, you know. Do it bigger. Better. It’s marketing problem, really- the princess managed to find an angle with all that magic of friendship bullshit.”
“A stopped clock is right twice a day, I suppose.” Alastor taps his screen twice- once to test for any further damage, the other just to be a little shit. “Looks like damage control is in order. Will you be working with her in the future?”
Vox gags. “Let’s make it a contingency plan.”
He opens up a panel, ignores his sinking approval rating, and gets to work.
It’s not until the elevator opens does Vox realize how much he’s fucking missed the Carmine building.
Missed the pale, lifeless halls adorned with the weapons the bitch acts like she’s better than. Missed knowing he was better than all the other demons in the room. Missed walking into the boardroom with all his partners in hand, ready to prove something.
Getting Val and Velvette to let him attend was like pulling teeth. Alastor refused to help because of course he didn’t, leaving Vox to wait out their tempers before he could ask without raising suspicion.
He’s up to something, of course, but that’s besides the point. A red-tipped claw holds his hand underneath the table.
Good luck, Alastor transmits over their frequency.
Carmilla mutters something under her breath at the sight of all four of them, and he stops Velvette’s retort before she can open her mouth.
“Save it for the limo, Vel. Elder abuse isn’t a good look,” he says. “Carmilla, long time no see! What, no smile?”
“Good afternoon, Vox,” the woman says bluntly, and changes the subject as planned. Something about zoning laws and up-and-coming overlords and whatever it is that’s boring him to the verge of tears.
In the mundanity, he feels the eyes around the table gawking at him. None of them can fucking stand him. He’s well aware of that, and forces his attention back to whatever it is Carmilla is droning on about.
“Regarding territory, word from the Hazbin Hotel is that the new Heaven Embassy will built in Downtown. Construction will be underway in the following moths-”
“About the hotel,” he cuts, taking the bait he’s been looking for and catching the attention in the room. “They’ve alleged that Heaven isn’t seeking violence anymore, but can we really trust them to be an objective source on this?”
Val looks just about ready to ask Vox what the hell he thinks he’s doing, and he goes on. “It’s run by the Lucifer’s daughter, after all. She’s the one that was preaching the value of understanding while they were perfectly happy to slaughter us in droves?”
“What exactly are you suggesting here, Vox?” Carmilla is unimpressed; he can handle that.
“I’m so glad you asked. The royal family cannot be trusted to be impartial, not when they have an agenda. We need a neutral body negotiating things, for all of Hell’s sake. Alastor and I have been brainstorming, and-”
“You’re working with Alastor?”
“He is my business partner.” he takes a pause for effect. “And I’ll have you know that he has a little deal going on with the princess. Right, Al?”
Alastor nods.
Carmilla looks past both of them. “You said you had this under control, Valentino.”
“It was,” Val says, face tense.
Glares are exchanged and now they’re speaking that island language together- yeah, yeah, not the most PC thing to call it, but Vox has bigger things to worry about at the moment. He looks over to Velvette for some clarity on what the fuck is happening, and she stays glued to her phone.
He connects to it. Another clinic.
The table still gawks at him. For once, he doesn’t want to look at Alastor.
Of course, the man has never been good at letting him do what he wanted. “Well, that’s just rude! Vox, be a dear and get this back on track, won’t you?”
“Shut the fuck up, Al,” he spits out. “I can’t- can’t fucking-”
He can’t, end of sentence.
There’s no one in the chair. Alastor is in the chair. Alastor can’t be anywhere, and yet, here he is. In everything and everywhere and in Vox’s head.
God, he hates this part.
For the best of their reputations, the Vees do what they can to not fight in public. Their brand is perfection, and a part of that is being #SquadGoals. It’s easy to achieve, for the most part.
Or at least it used to be.
“The fuck was that all about?” is the first thing Velvette barks at him once they step into the penthouse, jabbing Vox in the chest.
“Guess,” he bites back.
“The meds were working,” Val mutters to himself, and then to him. “You said they were working, Vox. What happened?”
“We’ve got the happiest septic tank in the pentagram.”
“You fucking- por el amor de dios- for fuck’s sake, Vox,” Val isn’t even baffled enough to yell at him, which pisses him off even further. “Vel, schedule another appointment-”
“Don’t,” he threatens. “Seriously? You two are still mad enough to keep all these little experiments up? It’s getting old.”
“You know that’s not what this is,” Velvette says.
“No, I don’t,” Vox replies. “Enlighten me, really, what the fuck is this?”
“He’s not here,” Val hisses, grabbing him by the shoulders. “And even if he was, he wouldn’t give a shit about you. We do.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourselves that.” he tears himself away, barely keeping up with his own breath as he crumbles to the ground. They’re always like this when they’ve reached their worsts; Velvette is blunt and Val is dramatic, but Vox is mean. “At least he actually listens to me.”
“Isn’t leeching off my success and then bitching about something I never asked him to do. Isn’t on my case about every goddamn thing I’ve ever done wrong. He’s not still waiting for a fucking apology because I ignored him- oh, the horror. I know he’s not fucking here. I’m the one that can see him! I’m the one who fucking-”
“The one who what, pal?” Alastor asks. He’s so fucking close now- fucking hypocrite, calling him a creep.
The words get lodged in Vox’s throat and turn to dust.
“Don’t fail me now, Vincent. The one who what?”
He can’t talk.
“I’m simply dying to know- or is that too soon? too late? I just can’t keep track of things lately!”
He has a fucking point to make, why can’t he fucking talk-
“Can you?”
Val and Velvette are talking. He hears them distantly, going on about who knows what; every phrase comes out easily, like they’re rubbing it in his fucking face.
“-Voxxy, baby, please-” Val reaches for him, calm and coddling like he’s speaking to a child. Vox flinches.
“Fuck off,” he chokes on his own voice . “I don’t fucking need you two. Don’t need anyone. You’re lucky I even keep you around.”
They stay anyway, huddled on the cold tile floor until he can’t keep up with himself anymore.