Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The hotel was set to reopen in only a few days, and Charlie recommended the idea of using some of that time to relax and recuperate after the battle. Alastor couldn’t help but be grateful for her suggestion, still healing as he was, and was relieved when the others went along with it, as well. 

However, he wasn’t as relieved when the princess revealed that it would be an opportunity for more bonding, just with less physical activity involved. Everyone else seemed delighted to spend a night with the rest of their makeshift family after such a stressful event. 

Except for Alastor. He wouldn’t voice it, of course, as ruining Charlie’s mood always managed to put him into a sour one of his own. That didn’t stop him from thinking of ways to avoid whatever activity she had planned, though. Anything but socializing while he’s as weak as he is. He’d be willing to lurk in the shadows for an entire night if it meant getting out of this ridiculous idea of her’s. 

“I was thinking we could all settle down for a nice sleepover tonight! We can curl up next to the fire and just chat- or…read a book, maybe watch a movie or something! How does that sound?” 

Speaking of Charlie’s ridiculous ideas…

Everyone else nods and begins to pick places to lay, seemingly quite excited for this mundane gathering. Chairs are moved away from the fireplace in exchange for blankets, pillows, and some stuffed animals Charlie dug out of her closet. Once the floor is covered with softer materials, everyone begins to disperse to their rooms to gather a few personal things, making the space they occupy on the ground more comfortable and familiar. 

Alastor stays put, watching quietly, smile pulled into a thin line of distaste. 

“Al? Aren’t you going to get your stuff, too?” Charlie asks from the top of the stairs, seemingly about to get a few things of her own, Vaggie at her side. The former exterminator narrows her eye in Alastor’s general direction, displeased with his lack of enthusiasm. 

Arguing seems just plain rude at this point, and Alastor doesn’t have the energy to assure both of them that he ‘would if he could’ when everyone knows he has nothing planned to prevent him from attending. So, instead, he straightens himself out, grin stretching wider across his face. 

“Of course, my dear! I was just thinking about what items may be best to accompany me on this… adventure .” 

With that, he dips his head and melds into the shadows, only coming out once he has reached his room, safely hidden behind a locked door. Shadow-walking takes very little energy, as that is more of a natural ability for him rather than the powers bound to his staff, which…is still in two pieces. Just looking at it makes him sick, so he turns his back and instead begins to pick a few things off his bed for the night to come. He grabs his pillow, of course, and his comforter, of which he drapes over one arm while the pillow remains in his hand, dangling from his fingers limply. 

What else does he need? His eyes dart over to the pieces of his microphone, neatly placed on his nightstand, right where he left them. The gash along his chest burns, reminding him of the weakness that tugs at his limbs and exhausts his body with every movement he makes. He doesn’t need to be reminded, he’s been thinking about it since the moment it happened, playing on repeat in his head. 

Should he check on the bandages? Change them? Does he have time for that? 

Carefully, he sets the blanket and pillow back onto the bed. He hastily sits down on the edge of the bed beside them, then, with cautious claws, he begins to unbutton his overcoat. Whenever a finger manages to brush up against his chest, his smile tightens, drawn back into a grimace as his ears threaten to pin back against his head. 

Once he has managed to escape from his jacket, he begins to take off his vest, as well. Then, once that is done, he pries it off and sets it atop his discarded jacket. The dress shirt beneath it all has accumulated a dark stain that covers almost half his chest, and he wonders, vaguely, if it soaked through onto the inside of his vest. 

That’ll be a pain to get out. 

He slips the buttons open easily enough, pulling the fabric of his shirt back to get a good look at his wound. 

Blood. It’s so much easier to look at when it’s not his own. The stitches seem to have come loose at some point, because the bandage is soaked. He uses one claw to carefully slip beneath the gauze, wincing as he feels the pressure of his hand against the wound. Without giving himself time to chicken out, he slices the bandages off, letting out a soft gasp as the fabric falls away, letting the cool air of his room touch the irritated skin and bleeding gash beneath. 

It burns. He assumes that has something to do with who the wound is from, but he doesn’t mull over it. He doesn’t have time to, really, because the blood is gushing down his chest and each breath feels like another bout of fire is being brought into his lungs. 

He leans towards his nightstand, pulling open the first drawer with shaking hands. The bottle of alcohol is quickly snatched, along with some gauze, more bandages, and some sutures that he knows will be just as painful as the first time he did them. 

He sits up as straight as his body will allow, using some of the gauze as a sponge to hold the alcohol. He stares down at it blankly, watching the substance pool in the gauze, almost tauntingly. 

Then he moves his hand up, wiping the alcohol across his already burning wound. He barely suppresses a scream, instead hissing out a low bout of static as the pain crackles beneath his skin like a volcano threatening to explode. Agony sears through him, making his vision unsteady and his head spin. The world tilts around him, colors blending, then vanishing altogether into grays, blacks, and whites all around his room. 

He jerks the alcohol-soaked gauze away from him, dropping it onto the floor as if it had burned him. In some sense, it had. His unfocused eyes stare blankly at it for a few moments, deep, ragged breaths leaving his mouth as he struggles for some semblance of composure. 

The rest is done on autopilot, he supposes, because he doesn’t remember it aside from a few flashes of the needle and the wrapping of the bandages around a carefully secured gauze pad. By the time he truly begins to come back to himself, he has already pulled his vest over a new, clean dress shirt. He finishes putting that on, then pulls his jacket over his shoulders before pausing. 

He’s just changed the bandages. The vest hides the wound fairly well, and his dress shirt is already covering everything else, so…

He puts the medical supplies back into the drawer beside his bed, then hangs his overcoat on a rack near the door. He hesitates for a few moments, unsure if he should take this step while still injured, knowing the chances he’s taking. His hand comes out to grab the jacket again, but he pulls it back and turns away before he can convince himself he needs the garment.

All that’s left is grabbing his comforter and pillow again to take downstairs. He does just that, the shadows welcoming him into their embrace before he steps free from them in front of the fireplace. 

As soon as he is in view, all eyes are on him. It must be an odd sight, he supposes, as he has never gone without his overcoat for any notable amount of time. At least, not in front of them. He momentarily wonders if he should go back for it, but he dismisses the thought once again in favor of claiming a spot on the floor for…a night’s rest, albeit probably not very good rest. 

He tosses his pillow down nearest the wall, still close enough to feel the heat from the fire, but far enough to avoid the presence of others. 

…or, at least, he tried , because Charlie has thrown her pillow down at his side before he can utter a complaint or insist she lay with her father or girlfriend. Instead, of course , Vaggie waddles over and plops down on Charlie’s other side, only adding to Alastor’s unwanted company. 

Lucifer watches from his place at the base of the stairs, a rubber duck blanket and very squishy looking pillow clamped in his arms- along with a few actual rubber ducks that he must’ve carefully chosen from his armada. Charlie beams at him, patting the space in front of her.

Oh, great . Just what he wanted. The King of Hell, of whom he would rather throw than converse with, sitting practically right in front of him.

Lucifer lights up, quickly scurrying over, pointedly ignoring Alastor’s presence. Once Lucifer has gotten settled, Alastor glaring at him all the while, Alastor pulls his comforter over his shoulders and carefully lowers himself to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce with his hands in his lap, ears drooping slightly. Charlie flops down onto her chest, propped up by her elbows, eyes filled with love as she gazes around at her friends.

Alastor would gag if it didn’t make him look bad.

He startles as Charlie suddenly claps her hands together, catching the attention of both Angel and Husk from the other side of the fireplace. Niffty pokes her head out from her small fort of pillows and blankets in the middle.

“So! Let's vote to decide what to do!” Charlie exclaims, a wide grin spread across her face. “The options are: watching a movie, reading a book together, or just doing our own things while being in good company. I’d like to watch a movie! Who’s with me?”

Vaggie, Lucifer, Angel, and Niffty raise their hands. Charlie glances apologetically at Alastor and Husk. Without a word, Alastor waves her off, and Husk shrugs. Charlie and the others begin to pick out a few movies to watch while Alastor messes with his vest, seemingly not paying attention to the chat at hand. His ears are perked, however, he feels no need to comment as all the movies the others name are completely new to him. Once they have come to an agreement on three movies everyone is satisfied with, Charlie goes to grab them. In her absence, everyone begins to quietly murmur amongst one another, Husk and Angel laughing at jokes while Lucifer tries at a tentative conversation with Vaggie. Alastor keeps to himself, beginning to play with his comforter.

By the time that Charlie returns with the movies, Alastor has memorized the seams and begun to count the stitching.

She sets down three movies in front of her, and he peers over, feigning interest as he reads the names. 

‘Willy Wonka’  

‘The Wizard of Oz’

‘The Lion King’

He tilts his head towards the second one. He remembers that name. Faintly, perhaps, but…

It was a silent film, but it was revolutionary compared to its live action adaptations. He remembers going to some of the first plays with his mother, how excited she was to get out of the house and spend time with him. She would tell him all the slight changes the play had from the book it was based on, and promised to read it to him some day. 

She never got the chance to. 

“Alastor?” Charlie’s tentative call brings him back to reality, leaning away stiffly from the selection. He nods towards ‘The Wizard of Oz.’   

“May we watch that one first, perhaps?” He asks innocently, gaze shifting over to meet Charlie’s own confused one. She nods after a few moment’s hesitation. Much to the chagrin of his wound, he shuffles out from under his comforter and stands to help Charlie set up a projector, which he appreciates in place of that blasted television. Alastor does most of the setting up, as this was a more common practice for him than it is for Charlie. Once that is done, he allows Charlie to start the movie as he retreats back to his spot, settling down as carefully as he can. He pulls his comforter over himself, snapping his fingers and pointing to the windows. The shadows shift around him, crawling up the wall until they are covering the brightest parts of the room, darkening it until the image cast by the projector is visible.

Charlie flops down at his side as the movie starts, excitement dancing in her eyes. Her father comments mildly that this is the movie he would’ve chosen, and Alastor flashes him a sinister grin in retaliation despite no obvious challenge being present in the King’s words. Lucifer rolls his eyes, focusing on his daughter as she swings her arms around his neck, squealing that he finally has something in common with Alastor. The Radio Demon is not pleased.

Then the movie starts, and his ears perk, instantly grabbing his attention. He curls up, laying his head onto his pillow, relaxing into the warmth. A weight leaning into him startles him out of his stupor before it can even fully settle in, and he jerks his head up off his pillow with a sharp crackle of static.

His eyes meet Charlie’s own timid ones, a nervous smile coming onto her face. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, Al.”

Surprising even himself, Alastor chuffs, fondly allowing a soft laugh track to play. “Scare me, my dear? How comical!” 

Then, The Radio Demon- one of the most feared overlords in hell- pulls his arm out from under his blanket and reaches out to ruffle Charlie’s hair, earning a laugh from the princess of hell.

“Al! Stooooppp, you’re gonna mess it up!” She whines, and Alastor pulls back just in time to have arms thrown around his own neck, stiffening as Charlie hugs him. Lucifer growls like a mad dog in the background, but, for once, Alastor isn’t in the mood to gloat or dangle it over his head. Instead, he stays frozen in her hold, smile becoming strained. It burns. Both his chest and…his eyes? That makes no sense. His eyes are fine. Only his chest should be hurting.

He blinks, subconsciously lowering his arms until they rest around Charlie, returning the hug, of all things. Unbelievable. Then his head comes down to rest on her own, holding her like she’s suddenly become precious to him, like he’s afraid she will become grievously injured by some unseen force, just like him. Lucifer looks like he’s going to rip him in half. Alastor wonders if he’ll actually do it. Some part of him wishes he would, if just to get rid of all these troublesome emotions. He’s never been good at these sorts of things. He’s good at smiling. It’s what he knows, what he has known all his life, and afterlife. The thought of something else brings a torrent of distasteful emotions- they leave a sour taste on his tongue, and he pulls out of the hug, nudging Charlie away before he drowns in all these messy, messy feelings. Her smile falls into a concerned frown once she catches sight of his face.

“Al? Are you…okay? You’re crying.”

He’s what?

Lucifer’s snarl drops so fast that it was as if it was never there, replaced by a shocked expression. Husk and Angel glance over, leaning closer as if trying to catch more of the drama without actually getting involved. Niffty is too engrossed in the movie to care. Vaggie and Lucifer share a glance.

“Haha…you must be mistaken, dear. I’m…” Alastor reaches a hand up, wiping cautiously at his face. He pauses when he feels… wet. Tears.

Horror crosses his expression.

“Hey, hey, that’s okay! T-There’s nothing wrong with crying!” Charlie is quick to jump in with reassurances, but Alastor doesn’t seem to hear her. He brushes his fingers against each other, spreading the warmth over his claws. Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable .

Charlie reaches out to lay a hand on his arm, a soft smile set on her face. He considers retreating. Considers leaving and never showing his face again. But that’s a coward's way out, and, if anything, he is not a coward.          

And she was so happy to see you. Could you really do that to her? Leave her like that? 

Crimson eyes slowly lift, meeting Charlie’s own worried ones. He holds her gaze for a few moments before letting out a shaky sigh, lowering his hands until they come to rest in his lap once more.

“I suppose I’ll be alright. Truth be told, these tears snuck up on me.” He jests lightly, grin softening into something more genuine as he lays one hand atop Charlie’s, which still remains on his arm. 

“Are you sure? Do you need some time to yourself?” 

His instincts scream “yes!”

But his body tells him no. He’s tired, and in pain, with too much on his mind and not enough time to decipher it all, no matter where he is or if he has company or not. Right now, however, he was told to relax. That’s what all this was for in the first place, right? 

So, he ushers Charlie towards her other family members and curls back into his comforter, trying to ignore their prying eyes as he focuses back onto the movie. 

It only takes a few moments for Charlie to cuddle up at his side, obviously still trying to comfort him despite his obvious attempts at dropping the subject. She says nothing, however, simply remaining a grounding presence at his side. 

He allows her to do so. He doesn’t have the energy to argue. He doesn’t even register when his head hits the pillow again, ears drooping with his amounting exhaustion. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Al?” Charlie’s voice is hesitant, but it sounds distant and fuzzy to Alastor. His eyelids droop, and her insistent tone fades off into nothing as the world cuts to black. 

Charlie reaches out a hand to lay onto his shoulder, shaking him gently. 

Was he really just that tired? She’d think that the embarrassment he was displaying only a few seconds ago would keep him awake to some extent. 

She could be wrong, she concedes, so, instead of worrying, she pulls her hand away and settles it on Vaggie’s back, beginning to quietly converse with her as the movie plays on in the background. 

Lucifer narrows his eyes in Alastor’s direction, looking the morbidly still deer up and down with a critical eye. 

He would’ve been convinced that he was just tired if it weren’t for the slight spike of static that follows each breath Alastor takes. 

He would’ve been convinced if that ever-lasting smile didn’t fall into a grimace. 

Hm. Interesting .