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zaebeecee · 5 days

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To Sever a Loveless Bond

•• RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 17/?

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•••

CW: More violence/abuse, torture of Angel Dust, general Vox and Valentino, lots of people yelling at each other

I still firmly believe Blitzø and Alastor would get along really well

Also, to some of the questions about Vox’s methods last chapter: he’s a propagandist who does battle in the arena of public opinion, of course he would run a smear campaign against Alastor

•••

Darkness slowly gave way to deep gray that lightened to a pale and muted red, which split to reveal blinding electric blue and almost endless black as Angel Dust slowly opened his eyes.

“Wha…?” he murmured, cringing from that brightness as his brain desperately tried to catch up to where his body currently was. He didn’t feel anything, but it was a fuzzy and numb sort of nothing, like every part of his body had been wrapped in cotton batting. Angel tried to move, and immediately, sensation returned to him like he had just been bull-rushed by the very concept of pain itself. He couldn’t scream, despite his best efforts; his breath escaped him in a long and hoarse exhale that made barely any sound at all. His side and abdomen were undoubtedly the worst of it, an unimaginable agony filling him every time he so much as breathed.

Calm the fuck down.

His little self-admonition helped, but not by much. Angel gritted his teeth, glancing around himself to determine his surroundings. Immediately, his breath caught, dread flooding him. He knew what those strips of bright blue light meant, and even worse, he could smell the lingering traces of the last person he wanted to see ever again.

He was back at VoxTek.

It looked like one of the filming studios, judging by the size of it, but the entire thing was empty. He was suspended in midair, maybe eight or so feet from the concrete floor, which was splattered with blood; he was face down, bound by his hands (one set over his head and one set behind his back) and his feet, which left him unable to straighten out from the forward arch that was making every inhalation absolutely unbearable. His face hurt, too, and he could tell just from the feeling that something had cut him and blood had dried on his skin and in his fur.

“Fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and trying to find a way to move. But it didn’t just hurt because of his face, or whatever was wrong with his side, or his limbs. He was freezing, just warm enough that he wasn’t fully numb but so cold that the simple act of flexing his fingers made him ache. Fighting through the agony, he tried twisting his wrists, but the material binding him weren’t ropes. They weren’t even zip ties. They felt like cables, the sorts of cables Vox had winding throughout the entire building, and every time he tried to pull his hands free he heard a soft and threatening buzz of electricity.

Angel drew breath, fighting through the pain, and managed (after three false starts) to shout into what felt like the unending void that surrounded him in the empty studio. “Hey! Shitheads!! I’m fuckin’ awake now!!”

His voice echoed back into his ears, and as the sound slowly died into silence, and Angel hung his head, clenching his jaw against the desire to cry or scream or anything from the pain. But he simply hung in suspended silence for what felt like half an hour before he heard the door open on the other side of the studio. He didn’t look up, because it was too hard, and the pain was too great. But he didn’t need to.

“Hola, amorcito.”

Angel gritted his teeth. “Val.”

Valentino took his time crossing the room. He stopped in front of Angel and then reached up to take his chin in hand and wrench his face upwards to look at him. Angel whimpered, pain radiating down his spine at the sudden movement; because of the height he was suspended at, he still had to look up at Valentino, just a little. “You don’t seem very happy to see me,” the overlord complained, his sarcasm blatant.

“Would you be happy to see you?” Angel asked, his voice raw.

Oddly, Valentino smirked at him. “You’ve gotten yourself an injection of courage, haven’t you? Wonder where that came from.”

“What d’you want, Val?” Angel asked in a faint voice, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he could ever remember. He tried to let his head hang once more, but Valentino kept hold of his face, forcing it to remain raised.

Valentino sighed. “Angel, baby… you’re out of time. You know that, don’t you?”

“…yes.”

It wasn’t my fault.

“Then you know what I want,” Valentino said.

Angel saw movement to the moth overlord’s side, and he looked down, his eyes widening. When the fuck did Vox come in?

“We did warn you,” Vox said, his voice almost unbearably smug. “And now you’ve forced our hand. But don’t worry, Angel Dust, I doubt this will take very long.”

Angel bared his teeth, an ineffectual move at best, particularly with how he was currently being held. “The fuck’d you do?”

Vox’s smile grew, his right eye narrowing. “Oh, we simply issued a challenge to my old friend. You and I both know Alastor will ignore many things, but a blow to his reputation? Oh, he can’t abide that. His ego is far too inflated.”

Angel narrowed his own eyes, but he couldn’t argue. One of Alastor’s greatest weaknesses was his desperate need to control how other people saw him; the idea that someone, somewhere, might have formed an opinion about him counter to that would drive the Radio Demon up the wall. And Vox was, after all, a propagandist who had no small part in convincing the entirety of the Pride Ring to stop waiting for their absent ruling family’s return and to start fully relying on the overlords. If he could turn public opinion on Charlie, of all people, he could turn it on Alastor, if he was really determined to.

And as long as he doesn’t lose his shit like last time, I guess.

Angel couldn’t help smirking. “So, what, you’re baiting him to come here?” he asked. “Alastor’d fuck all three of you up.”

Vox’s smile turned significantly nastier. “Oh, you stupid little whore,” he said, pouring all the condescension he could muster into those words. “Don’t you think that, if Alastor could add us to the radio chorus, we’d already be there?”

Angel narrowed his eyes. But it was something he’d wondered before. Alastor took out other overlords. It was his thing. There weren’t a lot of logical reasons for the Vees to still be operating, but… Alastor left them alone.

Why does Vox call him a coward?

Valentino tightened his grip on Angel’s face, forcing his eyes up. “Alastor won’t be dealing with us anyway, baby. We’re going to leave him to you.”

Angel snorted. “You really think that’s happenin’? I ain’t fuckin’ stronger than the Radio Demon, and even if I was, why would I do that shit for you?”

“You don’t have a choice,” Valentino said with a level of certainty that made Angel… nervous. “Don’t forget. In the studio… I own you,” he whispered. “You said so yourself, araña. And you can check your contract if you’d like, but in the studio, you have to do anything that I tell you to do.”

Angel’s eyes widened as he thought back to everything he had done over the course of his career. So many detestable, disgusting things, things he hadn’t wanted to do, things that had made him actually vomit, things that he couldn’t say no to because the contract wouldn’t permit him to. In the studio, he was Valentino’s plaything. “…I’m not stronger than Alastor,” he repeated, his voice weak.

“I don’t think you’ll need to be.” Valentino stroked his fingertips across Angel’s cheek, catching torn skin and making the spider hiss in pain. “I told you. This bond is getting broken, whether you like it or not. And we’ll arm you appropriately, when the time comes.”

Vox was simply watching in silence. Angel glanced down at him, and Vox… he smiled. Angel looked away. “…”

“Good boy,” Valentino purred, finally releasing him. “You can just stay here.”

“What? No, Val, please…!”

“Oh, no no no, amorcito. You won’t be escaping this time,” Valentino said. “Think of this as your punishment. I’ll let you down once you decide to behave.”

Valentino stroked his face once more, then he turned, leaving the studio space. Angel drew a shaken breath when he heard the door shut, the slam echoing through the studio again.

“You know something?”

Angel started and looked up; he hadn’t realized that Vox was still there. But still there, he was, standing with his arms folded in thought as he considered Angel as though he was a mildly interesting art installment. “…what?” Angel asked, once he realized Vox wasn’t going to continue until he got acknowledgment.

“This was Valentino’s idea,” Vox said. “Honestly, at first, I was a little trepidatious. After all, it’s quite the risk. Provoking the Radio Demon is a sure way to cause all kinds of property damage. But… here’s the thing.” Vox placed his hands behind his back, smiling up at him. “Valentino is very taken with you. He has, if you’ll forgive the pun, a blind spot where you’re concerned. He seems to be under the impression that, should you attack him, Alastor won’t fight back.”

Angel twitched a little. He didn’t speak.

“But I don’t think that’s true,” Vox continued. “I think that, once he sees you’re being compelled by your contract, Alastor won’t hesitate to absolutely destroy you.” His smile sharpened. “You know you won’t have a chance against him. He’s going to kill you. How does that feel?”

“Fuck you,” Angel whispered.

Vox shook his head. “Oh, Angel Dust. Crass until the end. Don’t worry,” he said, turning on his heel and heading for the door. “I’ve heard that being made a member of his chorus is one of the most painful and horrific things a soul can endure. And you’re a masochist, right?” He laughed, carrying that sound to the door as he let himself out of the studio and left Angel alone.

Angel let his head hang again, shivering from cold and pain. This should never have happened. He couldn’t help feeling that this was his fault. He pushed Alastor for time together, he was the one who kept testing his boundaries… hell, if he hadn’t insisted on being in the kitchen with him that night, this never would have happened in the first place.

Vox was right about one thing, at least: there was absolutely no way Alastor would let Angel kill him, angelic weaponry or not.

But there was something about which Vox was very, very wrong.

Alastor won’t come after me.

Why would he? He’ll know it’s a trap. He’s smarter than that.

He won’t come.

Please, Alastor. Please. Just leave me here.

•••

The hotel lobby was dead silent. Most everyone was staring at Alastor, waiting for a reaction, while Alastor was staring at Blitzø like he had just spontaneously sprouted a second head.

Blitzø, for his part, didn’t really seem to care all that much if the overlord was mad or not. Millie could hear Moxxie hyperventilating beside her, though, because of course Moxxie cared just… so much. She shushed him gently while trying not to draw too much attention, taking his hand in her own.

“…who the fuck are you?” Alastor asked. Blitzø lowered his hand, studying the sinner in front of him, and Millie did the same, getting past her awe at being this close to the Radio Demon to actually take in just how pissed he looked. Larger antlers than usual. Black sclera. Blood coming from the corner of his lips. Voice coming through a mouth that wasn’t opening.

Damn, you’d think that’d even shut Blitzø up, but of course not.

“Blitzø. The O is silent,” Blitzø said, and predictably, the other hotel people exchanged the looks that clearly communicated ‘blitz doesn’t have an O in it, what the fuck’. “I kidnapped your boyfriend.”

Moxxie’s gasp was so visceral Millie could feel it through her arm, and she tightened her grip on his hand, hissing at Blitzø, “The fuck’re you doin’?”

Alastor tilted his head so quickly that his neck cracked, ignoring the rest of them. “Is. That. So?”

“Yeah. Chill the fuck out,” Blitzø said, holding up one hand. Alastor narrowed his eyes, and Millie could hear radio static that somehow managed to sound puzzled.

Moxxie stepped forward, but didn’t let go of Millie’s hand. “Sir you can’t talk to an overlord like that!”

“Weird, pretty sure I just did—!” Blitzø made a noise that was somewhere between a not-a-word vocalization, a curse, and a gag as Alastor vanished into the floor only to reappear in front of their boss the next second, holding him off the ground by the front of his coat. “Ah, fuck, you didn’t like that didja buddy,” Blitzø managed. “Moxxie don’t throw out my—!!”

Alastor and Blitzø disappeared into the floor, leaving behind the heavy weight of the overlord’s fear aura. Silence descended over the room, before one of the sinners (Millie thought her name was Niffty) asked, “Don’t throw out his what?”

Moxxie groaned and put his face in his hands. “Probably his horse smut,” Loona said from where she still stood, leaning against the wall next to the door. “He’s got it organized.”

“I— I’m sorry,” Princess Charlotte said, taking a couple of steps forward. “Who, exactly, are you? And what do you know about Angel?”

Millie huffed out a breath, blowing her bangs out of her eye. “…dammit, Blitzø,” she muttered under her breath. This was going to be a very long, very awkward conversation.

•

Blitzø was suddenly expelled from a vacuum of sound and darkness and into… more darkness, but of the less oppressive and cloying variety. His shoulder slammed against a cold stone floor, and he tucked himself into a ball, rolling what felt like twenty feet before he smacked against a wall and came to an abrupt stop.

“Motherfucker,” he cursed as he unfolded himself, placing his hands on the floor to shove his weight back onto his feet. Blitzø’s breath came hard and sharp as he looked around slowly, but even with his dark vision it was difficult to see anything. It looked like a basement of some kind. Maybe a dungeon? “Kinky,” he muttered under his breath.

Blitzø slowly walked forward, taking stock of his new situation. It was definitely a dungeon, with the smell of filth and blood and death surrounding him, but he couldn’t find any other bodies.

Well, they do say he’s a cannibal.

“Okay, look, I know you’re pissed off,” Blitzø said into the darkness, trying to put off the lingering dread that his insides were about to be on his outsides and hopeful that Alastor could hear him.

“Oh, no,” a voice that sounded like Alastor’s but much too artificial—radio filter?—answered him from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “You have no idea how angry I am. You are merely very, very fortunate that I did not have to track you down. The fact that you sought me out is enough to stay my hand long enough to ask what, precisely, it is that you think you’re doing here.”

Blitzø nodded, trying and failing to pinpoint the source of the voice. It sounded like it was moving around him. “I’m here to tell you exactly what I know on the condition that you don’t immediately tear me and my employees into tiny pieces.”

“That will greatly depend on what you tell me, little one. If you want to survive this, you had better hope it’s worth my time.”

Fucking fantastic.

“Right. Okay. Fine,” Blitzø said, holding his hands up. “We’re I.M.P. We were hired by Velvette for a job with the Vees, and they offered to pay enough that I didn’t really care it wasn’t an assassination. Initially, Vox wanted us to follow you and Angel Dust around whenever you left the hotel and get pictures of the two of you together.”

Alastor laughed. It was high and mildly deranged, but it also seemed genuinely amused. “And I never noticed you. I’m almost impressed.”

Blitzø bit his tongue to keep a sarcastic response from pouring out of him immediately. “We got the pictures. I’m assuming you’ve seen them. I took them to Vox, and he informed me that he was extending our contract and didn’t give us much of a choice. He wanted us to drug Angel Dust and take him to VoxTek if the two of you… didn’t break your bond.”

There was something oddly contemplative in the silence, but Alastor didn’t answer.

“…so we did. Which I guess you already know. As soon as the contract was complete, we left, and Vox tried to have us killed, which you also saw.”

“And why, exactly, did you come here?”

“I dunno, because I feel like shit about all of this and I planned to come here ever since my employees threw a bitch fit over the contract because they’re a gross married couple and freaked the fuck out over the idea of breaking up a couple? Because I’m not a fucking kidnapper and it pisses me off that the overlord of forced obsolescence threatened my people with functional slavery if we didn’t do it? Because I don’t think Angel Dust deserves to be tortured because he was stupid and fell in love with someone?”

If the last silence was contemplative, this one was heavy. Shocked, maybe? But why would Alastor be— oh.

Blitzø raised an eyebrow at no one, looking around again. “Oh, come on, bro. Even I could tell.”

The ground suddenly dropped out from under him, and Blitzø barely had time to gasp out a ‘fuck’ of protest before it suddenly got a whole lot brighter and he landed on something very soft. Wincing, he raised his arm and shielded his face, slowly opening his eyes to attempt to give them the chance to adjust to the abrupt change. It was very red, was his first determination, and it only took a moment for him to register he was in some kind of… bedroom? Was it a bedroom? There was a broken desk a short distance from him, a bed further away, and…

“That’s a whole ass bayou,” Blitzø muttered.

“That it is.”

Blitzø refocused directly in front of him, and he saw Alastor, sitting in a high-backed armchair a short distance away. It was only then that he realized he was also sitting in a chair that appeared to match, and they were in front of a fireplace that was emitting green light with no fire. Blitzø looked at the chair, patted the arm a couple of times, and then looked back to Alastor. “Neat trick.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes, his smile sharpening. He had, at least, returned to what appeared to be a more calm state (for him), since he no longer looked ready to unhinge his jaw and— Blitzø wasn’t gonna continue that thought. The Radio Demon slowly tilted his head. “Explain.”

“…uh. You mean—?”

“You said you planned to come here ever since an altercation with your employees. Explain.”

Blitzø sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “…look, my line of work is getting paid to blow up asshole humans for sinners who can’t get revenge themselves. I have less than zero interest in whatever interpersonal bullshit you overlords have, and yeah, it pissed me off when I fully realized that the Vees were using us because they have some kind of petty quarrel with the two of you and literally nothing else. Besides, I kinda fucking hate all three of them at this point.”

Alastor sat back. “Anyone who wishes to backstab Vox deserves to be heard, I think. But if you know that I already know where Angel is, why did you come here?”

Blitzø frowned. “…two things. One is a warning, and one is an offer.” Alastor didn’t interrupt, so he continued, “Vox gave us six syringes full of a liquid that looked a lot like the smoke from Valentino’s cigarettes. He was very adamant that we use all six, and that we had to inject them where his arms met his back. I don’t know what was in them, but it prevented him from using his arms before he was knocked out. And… after Vox gave me those and dismissed me, I kind of… hung around a little?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “You spied on the Vees?” By the tone of his voice, Blitzø figured Alastor had decided that he would have liked the imp if it wasn’t for the whole kidnapping thing.

Blitzø shrugged. “…the Vees were kind of non-specific, but from what I got, I think they’re going to use Angel Dust’s contract to compel him to try and kill you.”

Alastor looked away, thinking. “I imagine Vox is hopeful that I will kill Angel instead,” he said.

“He didn’t say as much, but that sounds right.”

“Hm.” Alastor was silent for a long moment. “You said you had an offer,” he said finally. “What, precisely, would that be?”

This was where it was getting complicated… as well as not being anything close to a guarantee. “As long as Angel Dust is under contract, he doesn’t have a choice in obeying Valentino, right?” Blitzø asked. Alastor nodded, the skin at the corners of his eyes tightening. Blitzø recognized that look. “Thought so. …if you can find a way to get me a copy of his contract, I have someone I want to show it to.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow at him. “…oh? Who, and why, exactly?”

Blitzø resisted the urge to close his eyes, unable to believe he was about to suggest this. “Prince Stolas of the Goetia,” he said. “He’s an expert with soul legality and contracts. If anyone could find a way to get your boyfriend out of a contract? It would be him.”

•••

“So… let me see if I have this right. The four of you are from I.M.P. You were hired by the Vees to stalk Alastor and Angel, and then were told to kidnap Angel and take him to VoxTek.”

“Right.”

“And then… they tried to kill you, and now you’re here… why, exactly?”

“We dunno, Blitzø was the one doin’ the drivin’. We were mostly concerned with th’ sinners that jumped onta the van when we tried to run.”

Vaggie frowned, folding her arms and staring at the imps across from her. They had introduced themselves as Millie and Moxxie—the hellhound was apparently Loona, not that she was saying a whole lot—before giving them the basic rundown of their situation. And, since there was no telling how long Alastor would be gone with their boss (hopefully not killing him but who really knew at this point), Charlie had insisted that everyone sit down in the lobby and talk, which was what they were doing.

Well, most of them, anyway. Niffty had moved the incapacitated sinner out of the lobby through the front door, and was currently scrubbing at the bloodstains in the carpet with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. And even though Charlie had declared they should sit, she had spent most of the time pacing and just listening.

Vaggie tore her eyes from her girlfriend to look at the imps again. “Well, it looks like your boss isn’t very bright if he thought his best plan was to break in and just tell Alastor he kidnapped Angel.”

Moxxie frowned at her. “Just because you don’t get it doesn’t mean it’s a bad plan.”

“Oh, I get it,” Vaggie said. “…look, why don’t the three of you just hang out for a bit? Alastor has to come out eventually, either with your boss or not.” She got to her feet as the two imps started muttering together, but she ignored them, instead crossing to Charlie. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

Charlie bit her lip, glancing away.

The moment Vaggie saw that look, she took Charlie by the hand. “Okay. Come here.” She pulled the other woman to the other side of the room, where she could still keep her eye on their ‘guests’ but not risk being overheard too easily. “Come on. Talk to me.”

Charlie wrapped her arms around herself. “…I fucked up again.”

Vaggie frowned. “What?”

“I fucked up again,” Charlie repeated, her smile achingly sad. “I— dammit, I should have talked to you first, but I…” She drew a deep breath. “…I talked to Vox about Alastor and Angel. I asked him for lenience where Angel was concerned. And I… I think it’s my fault that this happened.”

“Whoa,” Vaggie said quickly. “Whoa, hold on, no. No, it’s not your fault— what could you possibly have said to make this your fault?”

“I told Vox that they didn’t want to break their bond.” Charlie winced when Vaggie slowly raised one hand to her temple. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have done that, but I thought— I thought it was all Valentino! Vox always seemed so… so reasonable! I mean, yeah, Al hated him, but Al hates everybody.”

Vaggie could sense her face expressing all of the sympathy she was currently feeling for Charlie. On the one hand… Vox was an overlord, and trusting overlords was universally a bad idea. But, on the other, one of the reasons she loved Charlie was her willingness to give others the benefit of the doubt. Besides, Vaggie understood what it was like to fall for the charisma of a blatantly terrible person.

After all, she had once willingly followed Adam.

“Okay… babe, first off, this isn’t your fault,” Vaggie said, taking hold of Charlie’s shoulders and forcing eye contact. “Yes. It was dumb. But whatever Vox and the other Vees did after you talked to him is their fault, not yours.”

Charlie nodded slowly. “…I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Even— even if it’s not my fault, I still feel responsible, y’know?”

“I know.” Vaggie rubbed Charlie’s upper arms. “We’ll come up with something.”

She was just about to suggest that they head back and Charlie try to talk to the others when Vaggie sensed something… off. She barely had time to grab Charlie and dive towards the middle of the room before the same wall that had been blown up and repaired at least six times (counting the old hotel) blew up again, sending a rain of debris and rock across the lobby carpet.

“My carpet!” Niffty yelled over Moxxie’s scream and the sounds of both him and Millie scrambling for cover.

Vaggie coughed, waving her hand in front of her face to dispel the dust. This was getting absolutely ridiculous, and she was about to say so, when she heard footsteps crunching loudly through the debris.

“Where the fuck is he?!”

Oh, shit. Cherri.

Vaggie got to her feet and pulled Charlie up as Cherri Bomb stomped into the lobby through the hole she made, looking like she was mere seconds away from blowing up herself. Charlie spoke the moment she could without inhaling dust. “Angel? He’s at—!”

“No,” Cherri snapped. “Alastor. Where the fuck is Alastor?!”

“He didn’t do it.”

Cherri turned with a soft growl as Husk approached, stopping a good ten feet away from her; smart, Vaggie thought, even if it probably wouldn’t help in the long run. Cherri glared at him, clenching her hands into fists slowly.

Husk didn’t move, and his face was set into its usual tired sort of apathy. “Alastor didn’t hurt Angel,” he said. “You know that.”

“Do you think I give a shit that he wasn’t the one who ripped him up personally? Like with his own hands?” Cherri asked, one hand on her hip as she leaned forward at Husk. “This is his fuckin’ fault, and I want to know where the bitch is.”

Husk released a long sigh, reaching up to adjust his hat. He then walked past Cherri, heading for the bar.

She turned to him, raising her eyebrow. “…are you daydrinking?”

“Not at the moment. You’re daydrinking.” She didn’t move, and he reached down beneath the bar, withdrawing something and throwing it at her. “He’ll be out soon and you can scream at him then, he’s bound to have heard you. Will you just sit down?”

Cherri caught the object—a whole lime, apparently—and tossed it up and down like she was contemplating flinging it back at him like a grenade. Finally, she gritted her teeth, stomping over to the bar and hopping onto a bar stool. She didn’t say anything when Husk slid her a drink, busy peeling the lime and biting into the fruit like she wished she was doing it to Alastor’s still-beating heart.

Vaggie looked at Charlie. “You good?”

Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Vaggie helped Niffty clean up the debris—both Millie and Moxxie helped as well, probably because they were clearly still feeling guilty and for want of anything else to do—but Husk was right in his prediction. Alastor returned less than ten minutes later, treating everyone to the unusual sight of him actually walking into a room. And, not only did he look much calmer, Blitzø was walking with him and, somehow, appeared to be in one piece.

“So very sorry for that interruption,” Alastor said, waving his hand in that careless way that signaled he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “This delightful fellow and I merely had a few details to iron out.”

Vaggie squinted at him. “Delightful— we thought you were going to kill him.”

“I was!” Alastor said. “But I didn’t, and for that, you are quite welcome,” he added, directing the words not to Blitzø, but to the rest of I.M.P.

Cherri downed her drink and slammed it onto the bar. “Oi, strawberry pimp,” she called across the room. Alastor made that weird static noise, turning his head to squint at her. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow those pearly yellows out of that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

Alastor laughed. “Why, my dear, I would think your inevitable demise would be incentive enough.”

“Oh, bitch, you are asking for it.”

Charlie ran between them and held her hands out. “Please not in the hotel!!”

Alastor shrugged. “As Miss Charlie says. To the matter at hand, Blitzø and I have come to an agreement.”

Charlie blinked. “You have?”

“Sir, what did you do??”

“Benzos, Moxx, for fuck’s sake,” Blitzø said, waving the other imp down. “I have something of a plan, but we need someone with infiltration skills. Not the three of you,” he said immediately, pointing at his employees, “because the three of you are as stealthy as panicked ferrets on an ice rink. And not any of you,” he added to Vaggie and the other hotel members, “because I’ve been watching you and… I really shouldn’t have to say more than that.”

Vaggie glared at him. “Why?”

Blitzø sighed, placing his hands palm together and looking at her like she was slow. “We need someone to break into VoxTek, and it can’t be anybody they’re anticipating. They’ll be looking for all of you, and they’re going to know we’re not dead soon enough.”

After a brief silence, Cherri spoke up. “…I might know someone. What d’you need an infiltrator for?”

“A copy of Angel Dust’s contract,” Blitzø said. “The only ones in existence should be with Valentino’s shit, and I need it.”

Millie and Moxxie exchanged looks. “…okay,” Millie said. “But… why?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Blitzø looked at Cherri. “Can you hook me up?”

“Gimme a second,” Cherri muttered, pulling out her phone and calling someone. Other people turned to each other, but Vaggie focused on Cherri, watching her as she slumped onto the bar.

Vaggie couldn’t help noticing that Husk was watching her, too, as he poured a glass of water for her.

“…it’s Cherri. Hey. …Yeah, you heard? …No. He’s here. …Uh-huh. No, I know that. Why the fuck d’you think I’m calling you? …Not exactly. We’re looking for someone to break into VoxTek and steal something. …Yeah. It is. …His contract. …I thought you would. …No, bitch, I won’t tell him. But— what?” Cherri snorted, then laughed a little. “Yeah. Okay. …This evening? Sure, I doubt he’ll complain if he knows what’s good for his old-timey ass. …I know where it is, yeah. I’ll tell him. …Thanks.”

Cherri hung up and then slid off the bar stool, walking up to Alastor and Blitzø. Blitzø raised his eyebrow at her. “So?”

“Oh, I have someone who’s willing enough,” Cherri said with a shrug, staring right at Alastor. “He just has one condition.”

Alastor squinted. “…and that would be?” The next moment, he leaned backwards and went cross-eyed as Cherri thrust her finger into his face.

When he didn’t retaliate, her smirk widened. “He wants you to ask him.”

•••

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zaebeecee · 12 days

Text

To Sever a Loveless Bond

•• RadioDust Soulmate AU ••

Part 15/?

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

•••

Can y’all believe this started as a one-shot that I legitimately was never gonna touch again? And now we’re here. Writing is wild.

CW: abrupt emotional withdrawal, kidnapping, needles

•••

“You were magnificent, my dear.”

Angel was still humming as he slowly twirled across the carpet, listening to Alastor shut his bedroom door and cross the room. Alastor took hold of one of Angel’s hands mid-rotation, and he lifted their arms together, spinning the spider in slightly quicker circles as though they had been dancing this whole time. Angel started giggling as dizziness overtook him, and he stumbled; Alastor caught him with that damned smile still on his face, and Angel leaned against his chest while the room spun around him.

Performances—real performances, not the bullshit he put on for Valentino—had always given Angel a better and more satisfying high than any drug he had ever shot or tasted. It had been so long since he had just gotten to sing. His clothes were still on, he didn’t have to dance for anyone, he didn’t have to suck anyone’s dick or worry about collecting tips, he just… sang.

When Alastor first asked if Angel would be on his program, Angel hadn’t taken him very seriously. He’d been flattered, yes, and he’d meant it when he said he wanted to, but he hadn’t expected it. So, when Alastor had tracked him down late morning and asked if he wanted to be on his program that same night, Angel had been astounded.

But, of course, he had said yes.

Angel was pretty sure it was something he would remember for the rest of his existence: the way Alastor looked as he delivered his improvised monologue, his voice when he read out his much-adored hate mail and when he dramatized one of the darkest horror short stories Angel had ever heard, the sheer power that surrounded him when he grew passionate and the radio chorus became so loud Angel could barely hear anything else…

It was beautiful. It might have been the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed, and he would probably never see anything to match it ever again.

And Alastor had let him sing. He had given Angel his microphone, he’d told him to pick whatever he wanted, and as Angel sang… the way Alastor had watched him as he listened made Angel wonder what sort of warm nostalgia the Radio Demon was feeling. It was like he was performing for Alastor and Alastor alone, and somehow, that was more satisfying than any other audience Angel could have.

Angel wasn’t even sure why he had come to Alastor’s room. When they left the tower, Angel felt giddy, and he’d barely realized what his destination even was by the time Alastor’s shadow opened the door and let him in first. And Alastor… he had simply allowed it.

Sometimes it feels like he wants me to be here.

And now, he was leaning on Alastor’s chest and unable to stop giggling, and Alastor was still just allowing it. He hadn’t even flinched when Angel touched him this time, simply placing his hands on Angel’s shoulders to keep him upright.

“In a good mood, sha?” Alastor asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“It was fun,” Angel said honestly, managing to straighten himself up again.

Alastor’s smile looked like he wanted it to be there. “That’s always the idea.” His hands trailed down Angel’s arms to his wrists, and he encircled them with his fingers, pulling him gently across the room. Alastor backed up to his favorite chair, then sat, tugging Angel until he was sitting sideways in his lap, legs kicked over one arm.

Angel blinked, but didn’t complain, winding his higher set of arms around Alastor’s shoulders and leaning the side of his own head against the high back of the chair. Alastor’s own arms came around the small of Angel’s back to touch the curve of his waist and across his lap to hold his outer thigh. Angel smiled when Alastor then, perhaps sneakily (in his own mind), pressed his head into Angel’s chest fluff.

“I always loved radio shows when I was a kid,” Angel said.

“Is that so?”

“Mmm,” Angel agreed, as Alastor trailed his fingers from Angel’s hip to his knee and back up. “Mystery House, Empire Builders, House of Myths, The Capitol Theatre Family Show…”

“Uncle Don?” Alastor guessed.

“Nah, I was too old for it. Or I said I was,” Angel amended with a soft laugh. “I did pretend I had any clue what The Goldbergs was about, though.”

“Ah, Gertrude Berg,” Alastor said fondly. “Quite the woman. From your neck of the woods, as they say.”

“Yeah, y’don’t say,” Angel said sarcastically. “The Jewish actress with the Harlem accent, from New York? Never heard’a such a thing.”

Alastor chuckled. “Well, I don’t hold her being from New York against her. She was a fine performer anyway.” He laughed harder when Angel smacked the back of his head, but that laugh turned into a murmuring grumble when Angel began petting his hair. When the spider pressed his fingers down through to his scalp, rubbing little circles and giving him tiny scritches, Alastor felt like he was actually melting against him.

“Yeah, ain’t so tough now, are you?” Angel smirked.

Alastor muttered something completely unintelligible into his fluff; Angel picked out the words ‘kill’, ‘intestines’, and ‘sauté’, and figured he had the gist of the threat.

“Yeah, I know you will, Smiles.”

Minutes passed, and even once Angel stilled his hand and Alastor returned to his senses, neither of them spoke for a long time. Angel wasn’t sure that he wanted to, because everything felt so untouchable but so fragile, he was positive the smallest breath would shatter it forever.

But he needed to. Because this wasn’t permanent. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t allowed to be.

“Tomorrow.”

That was all Angel said, but it was all he needed to say. Alastor’s body tensed for the briefest moment, but he didn’t move away, simply turned his head to speak without his face buried in Angel’s fluff. “I received a message from Rosie,” he said. “She found the ritual and is ready to perform it at our earliest convenience.”

Something about how he said that seemed a little odd, but Angel didn’t feel like asking. “She got good timin’, don’t she?”

“That she does.”

Angel kept his head against the tall chair back, watching the shadows change in the gentle flickering of that strange green light always coming from Alastor’s fireplace. “D’you think it hurts?”

Alastor thought for a moment. “I would imagine it does,” he said finally. “Hell seems particularly determined to ensure that everything here is as inconvenient as possible.”

Angel nodded, taking a few strands of Alastor’s hair between his thumb and forefinger, twirling it back and forth. “…you’re a lot softer than you look.” Almost immediately, Alastor snapped his jaw in the air, catching nothing but filling the air with the sharp click of his teeth. Angel rolled his eyes as Alastor snickered maniacally. “I ain’t sayin’ you ain’t all pointy, too. And don’t worry, nobody’s gonna know your secret.”

“You’re softer than you look as well, sha.”

Angel blinked. “I thought I do look soft.”

“Oh, yes. You do.”

After taking a second to process, Angel’s face heated up. “Cheesy fucker,” he grumbled.

Despite the threat of teeth, Alastor didn’t make him stop, and Angel couldn’t imagine what that might mean. Despite himself, he couldn’t stop thinking back to Husk’s words, the previous night.

“If he’s decided that you belong to him, he’ll keep it that way, no matter what it might do to you… He isn’t going to care if it brings you pain, or worse, just that he gets what he wants.”

“I don’t believe you.”

But that was the problem: he did believe Husk. He didn’t want to believe him, but he did, and the reason he didn’t want to believe him was because if it was true, Alastor didn’t want to keep him.

He wasn’t… invested, as Husk had said.

If it wasn’t true, Angel could believe there was no scenario where Alastor wouldn’t sever their bond. But if it was true, if there was a way that Alastor would say fuck everything and keep him no matter what Vox or Valentino or Charlie or destiny said about it, that meant Angel had theoretically had the chance to be kept… and hadn’t gotten it.

Angel wasn’t sure what he could have done differently. Maybe there wasn’t anything.

“You seem to be worrying, sha,” Alastor said into the silence.

“…I dunno,” Angel answered at length.

“You don’t know?”

Instead of addressing the question, Angel changed the subject. “What does that mean?”

Alastor hesitated, the abrupt shift probably forcing him to revisit the last few sentences in order to determine what Angel was talking about. “What does what mean?”

“That thing you always call me. Don’t never hear you use it on anyone else.”

“Oh… sha?” Angel nodded. “A form of Creole slang, I suppose. Short for the French mon cher.” Alastor made a thoughtful noise. “…not sure I ever have called anyone else that.”

There were so many ways he could take that. “…it’s pretty,” Angel said after a moment. “I like it.”

Alastor seemed surprised. “…I’m glad to hear that.”

It was late. Angel knew that. Alastor’s program went as long as he wanted it to, and it had been the middle of the night when they had first descended from the radio tower. He didn’t want to be tired, and Angel almost hurt his throat in an effort to suppress a yawn.

Alastor chuckled. “Sleepy, Stardust?”

“No,” Angel protested through a second yawn.

“Mmhm. I see.”

Alastor shifted his arms around Angel’s body and then stood, lifting the spider bridal style. Angel squeaked, tightening his arms around Alastor’s shoulders. “Hey hey hey whatcha doin’?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, nothing, my dear,” Alastor said innocently, carrying Angel around the chair and over towards the more bedroom-like section of his suite. He stopped next to his bed and leaned over, laying Angel on top of the bedspread. “Get comfortable and stay here.” It was said gently and a little flippantly, but Angel knew an order when he heard one.

“Okay,” Angel said, the agreement out of his mouth before he even registered the thought that he should probably be protesting the idea of being ordered around by someone who didn’t even have his contract. Alastor nodded in approval and went to his desk; Angel took a moment to wonder at what ‘get comfortable’ could mean, then shrugged to himself and started stripping off most of his clothes. Once he was in nothing but his little shorts and his long socks, he pulled the blankets up over himself and sank down until he was just barely peeking over the top of the comforter.

Alastor was standing at his desk, his back to Angel, bent over and writing something. He folded it, sealed it with an actual wax seal, and picked it up to hold it out towards the wall. His shadow flitted over with that wide grin, and then a tentacle made of shadow shot out from the shadow’s chest, wrapped around the letter, and then shot back, the letter vanishing into the darkness. With a giggle, Alastor’s shadow shivered and then vanished upwards into the ceiling.

“There,” Alastor said to himself as he watched the last bit of shadow disappear. He then came to the other side of the bed, stripping off his coat, then kicking off his shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed. He turned his head enough to look at Angel over his shoulder, and Angel blinked at him, not emerging from his little blanket cave. Alastor’s smile did that thing where it went a little lopsided, and almost immediately, he looked away.

“Y’want me to stay here tonight?” Angel guessed.

“…if you would like to.”

“You gonna sit like that all night or you gonna lie down?”

Alastor huffed quietly, like a laugh that didn’t come to fruition, before he pulled back the blankets on the other side and slipped underneath them like he had never been in a bed in his life. He, very slowly, sank against his pillows, looking up at the ceiling.

Angel snickered. “You do know how to relax, like… at all, doncha?”

Alastor’s ears flicked back. “No.” He didn’t move.

“Oh, fine,” Angel laughed. “…you feelin’ no-touchy?”

Alastor did seem to relax a bit. “…no.”

Angel nodded, then reached out, pulling Alastor into a more comfortable position on his back. He then pulled himself in close, tucking up underneath Alastor’s arm and resting his head on the Radio Demon’s chest.

“Ah.” Alastor’s hand hovered for a moment, then he lowered it, allowing it to rest on Angel’s shoulder. When Angel let his contentment be known with a soft whirr, Alastor relaxed further. “I still find sleep to be an utter waste of time.”

“No wonder you’re nuts. Sleepin’ is good for you, Smiles.”

“Do not speak to me about health.”

Angel squinted up at him, and Alastor just smiled as always, one eyebrow raising. “Uh-huh.” Angel moved to rest his head again, but was stopped when Alastor caught his chin with his other hand, pulling Angel’s gaze back upwards. “…Alastor?”

Alastor didn’t answer, just looking at him for a long moment. In the end, he didn’t speak at all, simply pulling Angel up enough to kiss him. Angel jumped a little, but relaxed into it almost immediately, one hand curling on Alastor’s sternum and one arm draping across his waist.

It was a briefer kiss than Angel would have liked, normally, but this one felt somehow… heavier. When they parted, Alastor let his head fall back onto the pillow, so Angel allowed his own head to rest on Alastor’s shoulder again.

What aren’t you sayin’ to me?

Angel still didn’t want to sleep. All he wanted to do was lie in Alastor’s bed forever, listening to the odd and comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. Angel began to count them—five, ten, fifteen—and before he even noticed his eyes were closed, it was morning.

•••

Alastor was… very much his former usual self the next day, and Angel wasn’t really sure how to interpret it. He was up and dressed before Angel was awake, and without words, Angel could feel that Alastor had reconstructed that bubble of personal space around himself that would not be infringed upon. Before, Angel would have pushed that boundary, but now… he couldn’t. It finally felt dangerous to do so.

Alastor confessed he didn’t know how long the ritual would take, advising that they should probably leave as soon as possible so they didn’t take up all of Rosie’s day. Angel hated the idea, but he didn’t have a reason to protest, and Alastor informed him that he would wait in the lobby and didn’t look at Angel as he left.

It was over, then. Angel had known this was coming, and really, he couldn’t understand why he felt so upset. It had only been a month, after all, and Alastor was the absolute last word in unattainability. With the mark gone, Alastor would return to how things had always been, and he was clearly simply starting the process of separation now instead of prolonging the inevitable. Angel should have been grateful for that, because once the mark was gone, he would go back to normal, too. He wouldn’t care. He’d be free.

Up in his room, Angel quickly applied coverup to the areas around his eyes, the red rings around them already threatening to tell anyone who looked at him that he was about to cry. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t going to cry.

“You’re not going to cry,” Angel sternly told his reflection. His vision blurred, a single tear welling up in his left eye, and he punched the center of his mirror so hard that cracks spread across the entire surface.

He cleaned his hand, bandaged it haphazardly, and added fingerless gloves to his outfit.

When Angel finally descended into the lobby, Alastor was… pacing. From the stairs, Angel could see Husk watching the Radio Demon like he was afraid the guy was about to pounce on the next person he saw, but Alastor wasn’t even paying attention to him. Angel approached carefully, raising an eyebrow. “Feelin’ caged, there, Smiles?”

Alastor turned his head with a dramatic neck crack, the rest of his body following at length. “Not at all, my good man!” he said, much too loudly to be casual, and Angel forced himself to not react to the return to one of Alastor’s more detached forms of address. “Are you ready to go?”

Angel shrugged. “Yep.”

He wasn’t sure if he had expected to travel through the shadows the same as they had when Angel first visited Cannibal Town, but that didn’t happen. Instead, they walked, and Angel wondered if it was because Alastor actually wanted to take the time, or if they were only walking because traveling by shadows would necessitate Angel touching him. He didn’t ask, and they didn’t say much of anything at all as they headed through the streets towards the Gluttony District.

Cannibal Town was just as lovely as it had seemed the first time. Angel followed Alastor into Rosie’s shop, and Angel was surprised to see the place was empty.

Did she close for this?

“Rosie, dear!” Alastor called.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Rosie called from another room. When she emerged, she was hatless, clothed in a much more simple dress than usual and clearly in the middle of prepping the ritual. “Hi, Alastor. Hello, Angie, darling,” she said, taking two of Angel’s hands in both of hers and kissing his cheek.

Despite himself, Angel giggled a little. “Hi, Rosie.”

“You two ready?” she asked, looking between both of them.

Angel didn’t know what to say, but naturally, Alastor answered for both of them. “Of course.”

Rosie just nodded, releasing just one of Angel’s hands and leading him into the back. Angel heard Alastor follow at something of a delay, but he didn’t look back, instead keeping his eyes on where they were going.

You gotta fuckin’ let go, dummy. It’s done, and you knew it would be.

This shit ain’t for you and you know it.

The room Rosie took him to was dark, no windows inside and the only light coming from some candles and the fireplace at the back of the room. A wide, thin table was set with a blue-gray cloth and a collection of items Angel couldn’t identify from just a quick glance.

“Here, darling, you stand right here,” Rosie said gently, settling Angel in front of the table. “Alastor, you there, and face each other,” she added, pointing beside him as she went to the other side of the display.

Angel turned just as Alastor settled and did as well, both of them standing in silence as Rosie prepared. He was glad he didn’t have to think of something to say. Alastor wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Now, Alastor, I’m gonna have to touch you, and you’re gonna have to live with that,” Rosie said.

“Hm,” Alastor said. “Fine.”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re being magnanimous,” Rosie mumbled, looking over a scroll she had carefully opened on the table. She carried over a small stone bowl and a little vial with some red liquid in it. “Alright, now…”

Rosie tapped two fingers into the bowl, and withdrew them, fingertips now coated in a black powder. She reached up and drew something on Angel’s brow, and then placed a single drop of the red liquid up by where his hairline technically was. It felt odd as it trickled down the center of his forehead, coming to a stop where his third eye rested.

Rosie turned and, presumably, did the same to Alastor. When she pulled away, however, Angel saw the black markings on his brow vanish and the drop of liquid dry clear. Rosie didn’t comment, so he assumed this was what was supposed to happen.

“Clasp hands, please. Right to right and left to left, left on top. Your top set of hands, Angel.”

Angel took a moment to process those instructions, but before he could finish, Alastor reached out and took his left hand in his own, then reached beneath their joined hands with his right hand to take Angel’s own. Angel looked down at the ‘x’ made by their arms and waited.

Rosie returned with a thin, long thread, as fine as gossamer and bright red. She began winding it around their hands, following a very particular sort of pattern that Angel couldn’t understand but knew had to be a seal of some sort. She applied a couple of drops of that liquid to the center of the thread, then she stepped away to the other side of the table.

Angel thought he felt Alastor’s grip tighten on his hands.

“This thread represents the nexus of two sinners, a simulacrum of soul to soul, now no mere effigy but a covenant made manifest,” Rosie read aloud. “Into this thread we place connection that lies between the spirit of Alastor, the Radio Demon, and…” She hesitated.

Angel cleared his throat, somehow knowing all too well what the hesitation was for. “Anthony,” he murmured.

“…Anthony, Angel Dust. Through this union of hands and the blood of the soil of Gluttony, their connection becomes physical, and by severing the thread, so too shall the soul bond be severed.”

Rosie came back around, holding a pair of silver shears in her hand.

“Anthony,” she said gently. Angel twitched a little. “Do you relinquish your bond with Alastor, and in so doing, reject the soul mark that exists between the two of you?”

“I…” Angel let his head hang slightly, staring at their joined hands. Alastor felt warm. His own hands were always so cold. His vision blurred, and he bit back the feeling through sheer force of will. “…I do.”

“Alastor,” Rosie said. “Do you relinquish your bond with Anthony, and in so doing, reject the soul mark that exists between the two of you—?” She cut her own words off with a soft noise.

Alastor didn’t answer. Angel realized that, since taking his hands, Alastor hadn’t moved at all. Alastor made a soft noise that sounded like the beginning of a word, but wasn’t, and Angel finally raised his eyes to look at him.

Alastor looked so much the same as he had that day in the kitchen, when their bond had stirred, just without the utter shock he had worn that night. His ears were flat, his smile was shaken, and he looked… confused. Angel almost asked what was wrong, but before he could, Alastor spoke.

“No.”

Before that single word could even sink in as an actual word, Angel’s hands were empty, the thread hanging loosely around them before slipping to the floor. Alastor was gone.

“…oh,” Rosie said into the silence. “…shit.”

Angel stared at the space where Alastor had been. “…what the fuck?”

“You got me,” Rosie said. “But if I had to guess… I’d say it looks like he changed his mind.”

Angel snapped his head to look at her. “So he just left?!”

Rosie shrugged at him. “Sweetheart, you just spent, what, a straight month with him? You know better than most anyone that he’d rather eat his own organs straight out of his torso than face up to a human emotion.”

Angel shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. “But he… he said… he didn’t want…” Angel couldn’t even find words to make an actual sentence. “…what the fuck?!”

“Why d’you think I never had a moment I wanted to marry him?” Rosie asked, crossing back to the table and beginning to pack everything up. “I’m astounded you haven’t tried to kill him yet.”

Angel raised his hands, then let them fall again, smacking his own thighs. He glanced down, where he could see the mark still resting untouched on his knee. “What do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” Rosie said honestly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “That’s up to the two of you. I doubt Alastor’s given this any thought, either. But I bet you’ve gotten pretty good at making him open up.”

“I…” Angel wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t know. I guess. …this was the last day I had before the Vees said they’d get involved.”

“Then I’d suggest cornering him somewhere and making him talk tonight,” Rosie said. “…I’ll keep everything, just in case, but I don’t know if you’ll ever end up using it now.”

Angel groaned. “He is a pain in the ass who could have pulled this shit days ago.”

Rosie’s smile was almost too fond. “Yeah,” she said. “I absolutely know what he sees in you.” As Angel blushed and floundered for a response, Rosie came over and touched his cheek. “It’s gonna be okay, darling. Why don’t you take a walk back to the hotel? He probably went back there, and he can’t avoid you forever. He won’t let himself.”

Angel nodded slowly. “…okay,” he said. “I ain’t got no idea what I’m gonna say to him, though.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Angel said goodbye to Rosie as he left the shop, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the midday sun after being in that dark ritual room for so long. He began walking, his mind immediately wandering back to Alastor and what the fuck he was thinking.

Maybe he wasn’t thinking. This didn’t seem to be in line with Alastor’s logic or desires, even after the past weeks they had spent together. Alastor had insisted, over and over, that it was only the bond doing this to him, so… why?

If it was just the bond… why would Alastor choose to let it rule him?

Or was it what Husk said? Had Alastor decided Angel belonged to him? Was that why he had left? Husk said he didn’t care what happened to those he kept, so long as he kept them, so… maybe Alastor just didn’t care what the Vees did.

But that was stupid. Alastor hated the Vees. Refusing to break the bond wasn’t sticking anything to Vox and his cronies, because they were prepared for that. Now, getting Angel out of his contract with Val? That would piss them off, but also, why would Alastor wanna go through that level of bullshit?

Angel’s mind was spinning in circles when he heard a sharp noise nearby. He looked up and realized that the street he was on looked… abandoned. The sound registered fully the next moment—someone had just whistled sharply—and he turned his head slowly to look.

But it wasn’t Valentino. It wasn’t even a lower-tier member of VoxTek. It was just an imp, leaning up against a brick wall, looking at him with an impassive expression. He was tall, and half of his face was scarred, which kind of made him… prettier.

“Uh…” Angel raised an eyebrow. “Whaddya want, buddy?”

The imp frowned at him. “Nothing.”

That didn’t sound right. Angel turned to face him, hands on his hips. “Look, I ain’t in the mood for this. You wanna fuck or somethin’, look somewhere else. You wanna fight, that I can do.”

Weirdly, the imp smirked at that. “Uh-huh.” He tilted his head to the side a bit, not even disguising that he was looking at the soul mark on Angel’s leg. “…god dammit, you two are so fucking stupid.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “What did y—!!” His vision went black as a bag went over his head, a sensation he’d felt too many times in his existence, and almost instantly he felt a horrific stabbing pain in the back of his shoulder that made him scream. He was abruptly aware of other people as he was grabbed and they dragged him to the ground, despite his struggles.

“Ow!! Fuck, he kicks…!” a woman with a thick accent said.

“All six, we have to use all six, don’t let go of him!” That was the tall imp.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry,” another man was muttering neurotically as Angel felt himself get stabbed again.

“Stop fucking apologizing and tie him up!”

“Don’t yell at me, sir, it isn’t helping!!”

Everything was growing weirdly fuzzy. Angel felt four more stabs, each one at the join where one of his shoulders met his body, and he couldn’t move his arms anymore. He couldn’t feel his arms, and he was barely able to figure out that his hands were being tied behind his back.

Someone much taller than an imp hauled him off the ground, but Angel couldn’t move. He could barely even think. He was pretty sure he was put in the back of a truck or a van or something, and those (three? Four?) strangers kept yelling at each other, but Angel couldn’t process it.

He couldn’t think about anything, really, except the new echo of the word ‘no’ deep in his mind as he fell into unconsciousness.

•••

welp

#my writing #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #radiodust #alastor x angel dust #hazbin rosie #hazbin husk #helluva blitzo #helluva millie #helluva moxxie #helluva loona #radiodust fanfic #hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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