Chapter Text
Great Alastor, altruist, died for his friends.
Alastor coughed, hacking up gold-stained blood. He sat in the rubble of his broadcasting tower, desperately, hopelessly trying to hold the jagged flesh of his chest together. Blood seeped between his fingers, thick, dark and tainted, and smelling heavily of iron and rot. He was going to bleed out here. He would die. The great, terrifying Radio Demon; dead from some cocky angel.
He could practically hear Vox’s electronic laughter in his ears, mocking everything he had ever done.
Died for his friends.
Distantly, he heard the call to retreat; looking up, Alastor could see the angels fleeing towards their portal, driven away by Charlie and her little friends. Good for them. They deserved the win, they’d come so far. But he hadn’t meant to die for them, hadn’t meant to end up sitting here, failing to hold his own blood in. They didn’t care if he died out here.
So why had he cared enough to die anyway? Fighting Adam, agreeing to keep him busy until Lucifer could show up – all for a group of demons that didn’t give a damn about him. Niffty and Rosie might mourn him. But at the same time, one would be free and the other would have territory to claim after his passing.
No, no...
No would care. Not really.
His chronic, ever present smile threatened to rip the corners of his mouth. The deer laughed, harsh and grating, a sharp cough silencing him. He could taste his own blood, and the burn of angelic energy that poisoned the wound on his chest. Alastor let his head fall back, staring up into the endlessly stormy sky.
His eyes slipped shut.
Mother, I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it...
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Alastor woke with a jolt, pain lancing through him so sharply he made a sound that shattered the lights of the room he was in. Someone stood over him, holding what looked like threads of heavy gold. They were talking, but everything felt so faded, so muffled. His head was foggy.
“Where...” His throat felt awful, and he was dimly aware of the lack of static. No, no – there was static. Soft, and incoherent, but there. It was a small comfort.
The figure above him said something else, bringing gold and red claws down to wipe blood from his still grinning mouth. Alastor stared at the golden eyes, and blearily muttered something about them being like the sun.
He passed out again, unaware of the confused demon staring down at him.
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When he woke up again, he was on an actual bed. And this time, the Radio Demon wasn’t so bleary eyed and foggy. The pain in his chest was only a dull ache. The shirt on him was way too big, the sleeves drowning his thin arms, but it comfortable. Soft. Clutching the purple and grey fabric, he sniffed it – it didn’t smell like anyone he knew. Smoke, peppermint, a hint of fire and a woodsy, wet-dirt-and-rotting-flowers kind of smell.
Letting the shirt go, Alastor looked around for the first time.
The room was small. The walls were thin, fragile wood, each plank threatening to cave in with the smallest tap, and the floor was nothing but soft dirt. He supposed that’s where the dirt smell came from. Someone had tossed a ratty rug over the dirt, and there was a smoldering fire in the small fireplace.
Throwing the blanket off himself, Alastor promptly gasped and shivered, gathering it back up to wrap around himself. The fire did nothing to warm the small space.
“Oh, is it too cold in here?”
The voice was startling, scarily familiar, and Alastor found himself standing suddenly, sickly green magic surging at his fingertips. The shadows bent inwards, and static roared in his throat. Standing in the crooked doorway, a tall, broad demon with skin the color and shimmer of obsidian, eyes a burning gold, ringed in bloody red. His horns curved backwards, big, thick and heavily ridged with dark red metal points on the ends. His hair was a dark grey-purple, with streaks of red. He wore a white, baggy shirt and black pants.
If it weren’t for the guitar axe hanging from his back, Alastor would not recognize him.
“Adam!” He snarled, blindly grabbing for his cane – his cane, which was still snapped into two pieces. His conduit, useless. At the same time he realized this, pain surged in his chest, and his magic flickered.
His knees buckled, but he never hit the floor.
Adam’s hands – no, claws – had caught him, dragging him back towards the bed. Alastor breathed in the scent of smoke and fire and that dirt-and-rot, finally making the connection between the oversize shirt he wore and the angel-turned-demon that was sitting him back down and wrapped another blanket around his shaking, weak body.
“Goddamn, you were ready to go after me a second time! You got balls, Bambi.”
“Alastor.” He croaked, unaware of how his claws were tangled in Adam’s shirt. The first man ever didn’t seem to mind, patiently and gently removing them. “My name is Alastor.”
“Yeah yeah, Alastor, Alfred, Bambi, it’s all the same to me. Sit your ass down, and stay there.” Adam moved away, finally free of Alastor’s claws.
The deer didn’t know what to do. He was weak, cold, hungry, and completely defenseless if Adam decided to finish their earlier fight. His cane was gone. He was alone. The thought came suddenly, as he stared at Adam’s back. Obviously, no one had cared enough to go looking for him. If they had, he wouldn’t be here right now.
He made a soft, pitifully staticky noise and pulled the blankets up to hide himself under. His smile never fell. But he sure didn’t feel it. The people he had died for had left him for dead.
“....yo, Bambi?” Gold and red claws lifted the blankets, and those sun-like, glowing eyes peered into the darkness of his flimsy shield.
“Go away.” He didn’t sound like himself. Stupid and weak. “I never asked for your help.”
“Well you got it anyway, asshole. Now, we both know you have no chance fighting me off, especially not like this, so do us both a favor and play along, ok? Don’t be a bitch.” Adam came closer, pulling at the blankets to uncover the deer demon.
Alastor snapped as those hands came too close to him, but Adam didn’t even flinch, letting those yellowed teeth sink into his arm.
He simply used the contact to pull Alastor around, undoing the oversized shirt with one hand to look at the bandages on the demon’s chest. He ignored the garbled static and the pain as his arm was let go – the sudden, sharp hoof to the groin couldn’t be ignored, however.
Adam went down, swearing in every language humankind has ever invented. When he looked up, Alastor wasn’t even on the bed anymore. He was in the furthest corner, breathing so heavily that every breathe was gasping, crackling static. It sounded painful. Splotches of red were seeping through the off white of the bandages, and judging by the shaking hands, the idiot had ripped the stitches.
“Bitch.” He snarled, slowly standing despite the new ache between his legs. “I’m trying to help you here, sweetheart.”
“Why?” Alastor looked so...small, and delicate, still in the oversized shirt and clutching at the open front, desperately trying to hide as much of himself as possible. Adam took a breath, and slowly lowered himself to look less like a big, looming threat. It was something he’d had to do before, for Emily.
Back when he used to live up in Heaven.
“Why are you helping me?” Alastor asked again, not daring to move but shaking a little less.
“’Cause I fucking died in that stupid battle over your hotel, and now I’m stuck down here. As one of you fuckers. I don’t belong here.”
“And...and how do you think I’m going to help? You said it yourself, I can’t fight you off – let alone get you back into Heaven. Nor do I want to help you with that.”
“You don’t have to. Your friends at that damn Hazbin hotel will. That’s what they’re all about, right? Redeeming sinners so they move on up in the world! They can do that with me and send me right back home without you having to lift a single delicate little finger.”
Red tufted ears pinned back, and air rushed out of the deer with a hiss. “Delicate -”
“You look about as breakable as like, fine china or some shit, so yeah. Delicate. Like a baby fawn, Bambi .”
“ Fuck you .” Alastor wished he had something sharp in his hands right now. Anything to make Adam rethink approaching him. But he had nothing, and could only press into the cold, damp wall behind him. Pulling at his magic did nothing but make his hands glow a sickly green before it puttered right out, the pain in his chest increasing.
His breath caught in his throat, and his legs felt far less stable than he needed them to be. Why was this wound taking so much out of him? Why did it hurt so damn much? What had Adam done to him!?
Alastor growled, low and full of harsh static, as Adam came within arm's reach. He couldn’t see a way out. The former angel had him cornered, trapped, wounded and out of escape plans. All he could do was bare his teeth and wait. To be struck down, to be beaten until his skin was nothing but a painting of black and purple bruises. To be dragged, kicking and screaming, to whatever fate Adam saw fit to gift his rotting, putrid soul that wasn't even his own anymore.
“I’m not asking you to do anything special. I'll bring you back to the hotel, and using the fact that I helped you to get in, I'll convince little miss royalty to help me get back to my rightful God-given spot in Heaven, and then we never speak of any of this ever again.” Adam had knelt, putting himself just below Alastor’s own not-very-meager height. It helped take away some tension, but only a little. The former angel held out his hands, moving those claws as if to coax the deer into taking them.
He just glared, keeping his own hands against his chest. Against his sluggishly bleeding, aching chest. He was aware that he was sweating, skin cold and clammy and limbs so weak he was surprised he had yet to tip over.
“Bambi - Alastor.”
“Make a deal.”
“Uh, what?”
“I cannot trust you. Not after you nearly killed me, attacked my – attacked my hotel and turned it into a pile of rubble that nearly flattened me and everyone else. Certainly not after everything else that you’ve done before all of that. I've been around since the thirties; I've seen some of the nonsense your angels have pulled.” This idea was stupid. So, so stupid. It was Vee level stupid, almost trust-everyone-no-matter-what-Charlie level stupid, but Alastor was grasping at straws right now, desperate for a way to twist this into his favor. A deal would do that. Give him an ace up his sleeve, if you will.
“I mean, I don’t trust you dirty sinners, either -”
“But you’re still asking for my help. Aren’t you? Isn't that why you dragged me out of the rubble and kept me from bleeding out, why you haven't struck me down yet? If you want me to agree to be a part of your silly little redemption plan, I simply must insist on having some kind of safety net. I shan't have you betraying me if I agree to this."
It was Adam’s turn to growl, leaning away from Alastor.
There was a long moment of neither of them speaking, and then finally, finally the former angel sighed and relented. Much to Alastor’s delight and relief (he was starting to get tired and woozy pressed into that corner).
“Fine! Fine. I’ll make a deal with you. But I know how this shit works, and you are not getting my soul, Bambi.”
“I don’t want your soul. Not right now, anyway. There are always other deals to be made, after all.” Alastor waved his hand dismissively, barely registering how it was now covered with his blood. He wobbled a little on his feet, but if Adam noticed, the first man said nothing, just spreading his arms wider as if to catch the deer if – when – he fell. “What I want is far simpler than that, if you are still as powerful as a demon as you were an angel, that is.”
“...what do you want?”
“In exchange for letting you use me to get into the hotel and into Charlie’s good graces,” Alastor wobbled again, this time letting his legs buckle, sliding down the wall and into Adam’s waiting claws. He didn’t fight them this time, simply fought the fog of his mind and stared up into burning, sun-yellow eyes. “You will act as a...as...”
“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Bambi.” Adam muttered, carefully lifting the deer and bringing him back to the bed. “Is the deal that I have to protect you and make sure you heal or whatever or some shit like that? I gotta take care of your skinny ass?”
“Protect...” He was losing it, fading back into the darkness and fast, eyes struggling to stay opened.
He felt Adam’s hands clasp around his own, a whisper of a growling voice directly in his ear; “Then we have a deal.”
A flash of sickly green and the noise of static and deer screeching, and the infamous Radio Demon was out cold once again, knocked out by his own magic kicking in. Leaving Adam, first man, first human soul turned just another demon, holding his limp, torn apart body. Just as he had done earlier, he fell back on memory and instinct, removing the bloody bandages, cleaning the wound, and redoing his damn near perfect stitches that Alastor had popped open bouncing around like he had.
He wasn’t sure if this deal was worth it. Acting as a bodyguard to a demon like this? He’d fallen so far from what he used to be, and a part of him hated it, hated this stupid deer for being his meal ticket, hated – none of that would get him back to Heaven.
He needed to get back to them. Who knew what Sera would do to his army, to his girls, if he wasn’t there to defend and shield them from her ire?