Hell is Empty (Without You)
Why, he was barely drunk, just a little tipsy when Angel had his next great suggestion. A drinking game! Truth or dare spin the bottle. How droll! But an excellent way to get embarrassing information out of someone. And if they refused? Well take a drink, doll and dear Alastor will get you on the next round, don't you worry about that.
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Alastor accidentally reveals he had a lover on Earth while drunk and angry at an equally drunk Lucifer who takes his bullying of the deer demon too far. Charlie forces her father to apologize and he gets the whole story of who this woman was, how she died and learns how little he actually knows about Alastor. From sinister Radio Demon to doting Girl Dad, Alastor as always, is more than he seems.
Tags: Female Reader, but reader is not described beyond being mixed latina, i write for the no sabo girlies, reader is not present in hell, this is a reminiscing fic!, Drinking Games, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Reader has abusive husband, Reader's Death is Described, Reader Dies During Domestic Assault, reader has kids, Alastor is a Girl Dad, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer is a dick, but he gets better I promise, Alastor Still Kills People, In Fact He Kills Reader's Husband, this is a bittersweet ending, since reader is dead already, Mild Hurt/Comfort
A/N: I had a dreeeeam, I had a dreeeeeam! And it involved Alastor being drunk and sad lamenting to Lucifer about the love he had and lost due to his own decisions. Fair warning, Reader did not meet a good end and dies at the hand of her husband, fully witnessed by Alastor.
Read on AO3
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Alastor wasn't exactly sure how he got here.
Hmmmm, no, that wasn't quite right.
He knew how he got here: copious amount of drinking after a round with the exorcists that left him feeling shaky and weak to Angel's suggestion that they all get shit-faced drunk. He hadn't meant to let it get this far. He only meant to nurse a glass or three, until the shaking in his limbs stopped and he no longer feared catching the glint of angelic steel in his periphery.
Hey, he wasn't fond of getting hit in the chest and nearly dying again, forced to rely on Lucifer to heal the festering wound and getting mercilessly bullied for it.
At least he had gotten a chance to bite said angel once his chest was deemed healed enough.
What had started out as a third glass of rye had quickly turned into five and then round after round of Beezlejuice as said annoying devil egged him on, ridiculing his drink of choice and insinuating Alastor was less of a man for not partaking in "the good stuff".
God he hated that man.
And yet Alastor stepped up to his challenge, ears tipped dangerously to the left as he met Lucifer shot for shot, determined to show this dead-beat dad what years of drinking moonshine will do for one's alcohol tolerance.
Why, he was barely drunk, just a little tipsy when Angel had his next great suggestion. A drinking game! Truth or dare spin the bottle. How droll! But an excellent way to get embarrassing information out of someone. And if they refused? Well take a drink, doll and dear Alastor will get you on the next round, don't you worry about that.
But alas, he must have used all his good luck in the battle because never once did he land on Lucifer. No, he was forced to ask the lessers. Hey Charlie, what do you really think of the carousel your father put in the garden (Ugggghhhh I hate it dadimsosorryyyyy). Husker, tell us who's got your fwuffy wittle tail wagging like a lovesick pup? (Fuck you.) Nifty! Who's the baddest boy of all? (You sir, heeheehee!) Dear Vagatha (Not my name, culo, and fuck whatever you're gonna ask I'm drinking.)
And on the flip side, he happened to be the singular victim of their one and, if you asked him he would deny it, only beautiful porn star with shockingly good aim.
"Oh-ho-ho! Alright mista tall and creepy. Truth or dare?"
Alastor felt his eyes roll. "Truth but do try not to be crass."
"Nah, not when I got you drunk and willing." Angel winked and Alastor suddenly wondered if he should have chosen dare. No…no, a dangerous option when he was at the mercy of a horny spider. "Are you a virgin?"
Typical. "No."
"I fuckin' knew it! Pay up Whiskers, I told ya' there's no way he didn't get his dick wet at least once!" Angel made grabby hands towards said cat demon, face lit up and eager as a substantial amount of money was placed in his palm. Alastor made a mental note to teach Husker a painful lesson about not gossiping about his owner's private business.
"You're kinky right? Inta some wild shit? C'mon Al you're among pals—"
"Your question is done, Angel." Clipped. Final. Please stop. What he liked in bed was for—no. Now was not the time to think of Her.
Unfortunately, Lucifer couldn't help himself. "Please! Bambi is such a prude there's no way he's—"
"Kindly—," Alastor let his static overtake his voice as he snapped his head towards the worse of the two angels, eyes flickering between radio dials and their usual red as he glared, "—fuck off!"
Then Angel got him again. "What's the kinkiest shit you've ever done?"
"Eaten sinners whole, my turn!" Alastor promptly ignored Angel's whines of "That's not a fair answer!!!!" before he took his turn (daring Nifty to sit in Lucifer's lap, if only to watch the devil squirm uncomfortably.)
And then Angel got him again, Hell preserve him. "If you could fuck one person in this room right now, why would it be me?"
He drank on that one. At least Angel looked a little put out that there was still one person in Hell who didn't want to jump his bones.
And again. "Are ya the silent type or the loud type in bed?"
He drank. It had been so long ago that he honestly couldn't really answer that one. Fuzzy memories of teenagers giggling, clumsy hands and nervous shushing as they tumbled around their old treehouse. They had no choice but to be quiet but had he had a chance to have her in their bed….well, who's to say?
"Do ya like girls or boys?"
"Neither." Entirely true! He has only ever been interested in one person. Not one person had spiked his interest in the 20 years he had after Her death nor in the hundred he had spent in Hell. A disappointing answer for Angel who scoffed and said, "Gimme somethin' to work with here Red."
"Do ya have a tail? Like a cute little bambi tail?"
He drank. He did but no one needed to know that one. He could already see the poorly disguised attempts at someone trying to get under his coat to catch a glimpse of it. Too bad said tail was securely tucked under his waistband.
And all the while Lucifer was making snarky comments beside him, little bitchy things that made Alastor want to strangle him with his bare claws. "Fucking your hand doesn't count as kinky." "Aw, can't fuck anyone because you know no one wants to fuck you?" "Oh, loud and whiny for sure, like a little bitch!" "Neither because no one wants you, ha!" "Awwww, don't want to show us your fwuffy wittle tail?"
Maybe it was time to give the dares a chance if lady luck insisted on fucking him sideways tonight.
"I dare ya to give us your best orgasm moan. Without the radio filter."
Drink. That privilege belonged to one person and one alone.
"I dare ya to give us a little show. Just take off ya tie and jacket in the sluttiest way possible."
He gave Angel that one, giving direct eye contact as he slowly pulled the tie undone with a slow lick of his lips as Lucifer whispered, "Holy shit" beside him. Then he reached for his glass and slammed it back, his other hand lashing out to give Angel the middle finger. He had only ever wanted one person to look at his body and it sure as fuck wasn't anyone in this room. Dear god, he would be mortified to defile himself in front of the ladies present.
"I dare ya to tell us the name of the foxy thang that took your virginity."
"Hey Angel," sweet Charlie, dear Charlie, "Maybe we lay off Alastor a bit?" She was drunk as a skunk and laid up in her girlfriend's lap for the last hour, tapped out as she watched her friends and…father (ugh) tease and rile each other up.
"I concur! What I do or not do in the bedroom is my business alone I fear."
Angel pounced, "So no lady friend? Boy friend? They friend? Just ya hand and whatever vintage shit ya can find, eh?"
"Angel!" Husk this time, probably tired of hearing his would-be love interest so focused on getting his jollies off to Alastor's secrets.
"I'd listen to Husker which is not something I say very often—!"
"Oh puh-lease," fucking Lucifer louder than he needs to be as he waves his hand around, sloshing Beezlejuice on Alastor's thigh. "Of course he's alone! What kind of person would willingly fuck the creepy dude, ya know?"
Alastor felt his eye twitch, distant memories of his favorite smile drifting back to him along the lazy waves of alcohol completely flooding his system. He could admit he was drunk now but years of experiencing prohibition left him quite talented at keeping his inebriation on the down low.
"I mean," Lucifer scoffed and turned to face Alastor, askew hat the only thing revealing how drunk he also was, "They'd have to be just as fucked up right? A terrible judge of character. Like, what kind of idiot—"
She was not an idiot. Never an idiot. She was the smartest person Alastor knew.
"—like seriously, was this before or after you started killing because how stupid were they—"
She wasn't stupid.
"—Bet they were just as ugly as you, huh? C'mon there's no way Jack Skellington over here—"
How dare he! She was…she was…she was his and that meant she was beautiful and macabre and looked at him like he put the moon in the sky for her.
"—Y'know I bet they don't even exist! There's no WAY Prude-McGee over here ever actually—"
She does exist. He has done his best to not think about her for 113 years. He has tried to forget her birthday, her death day, how the sun shone in her hair and the way her laugh warmed his heart. He tried and failed to forget the way her fingers felt against his cheeks and way she kissed his knuckles, he failed to forget the years spent running through the bayou and streets of New Orleans. He failed to forget the way his heart fluttered when they cuddled in the swing, the warmth of her against his side as she pointed out each constellation.
He failed to forget the moment he realized he loved her, young and foolish they were, wading through the water bare-footed and catching frogs with their hands. All the near misses with the gators and snakes, all the fights with the group of white kids that liked to terrorize their neighborhood, the found bones and the teaching each other of their own native magicks.
He failed to forget all the moments they could have had, the moments were she should have been at his side. She should have been there to marry him instead. She should have been there for their daughter's weddings. She should have been there to congratulate him when he graduated college, when he got his first job at the radio station, when he was able to buy their girls and his momma their house.
And he…he should have said 'yes'.
"—Please, Alastor's not capable of loving or being loved by anyone else. He's made it abundantly clear that—"
"Shut up." Alastor's voice cracks and everyone but Lucifer hears it, heads snapping towards him with wide yes as they fear what their local murderer will do next.
"—"love is a weakness"." Lucifer spills more of his drink as he brings his fingers up in mocking quotations.
"Shut up," louder this time and Lucifer snorts at him.
"What, Bambi? You gonna tell me that the great Radio Demon stooped so low as to actually love someone?" Lucifer scoffed and rose to his knees to be of equal height to Alastor sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I don't buy it for a minute."
Alastor felt his horns elongate and his bones creak as his anger began to mount. "You shut up right now Lucifer. You don't know anything."
"No? Then tell me Al, were is this person you love, huh? Because anyone crazy enough to love your psychotic ass belongs in Hell—"
No. NO. NO! She was too good for him, always too good for him and she would have never come here. No! She was in heaven, he was sure, up in heaven with her daughters and away from the one man she had loved and trusted and was betrayed by. He never deserved her in life and he certainly didn't deserve her in death.
His fist collided solidly with Lucifer's stupid noseless face, his bones cracking as if he had punched marble but he didn't care. "How dare you," his hissed as he pulled his other hand for another punch, radio squealing as he broke that one too."
"How. Dare. You!" He launched himself at the stupid angel, his eyes wide in surprise as Alastor's claws caught in his vest and he slammed the smaller man into the ground. "She was an angel! She was everything!"
Alastor felt himself lift Lucifer up and slam him back down, over and over until the floor cracked and yet the stupid porcelain doll refused to break. "DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK ABOUT HER AGAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME LUCIFER? DON'T YOU EVER!"
Another painful punch to the side of Lucifer's shocked face. "EVER!"
And another despite the hands pulling at his jacket. "TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT AGAIN OR I'LL RUN YOU THROUGH WITH ANGELIC STEEL AND DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES YOU MOTHERFU—"
"ALASTOR!" Charlie's voice, cutting through the static of Alastor's anger as she shoves him away from her father. "Stop! Please."
Four pairs of hands release Alastor but they hover, ready to grab him and hold him back again at the first sign of him launching himself at Lucifer. Charlie dotes on her father. Her completely unharmed, albeit a little dusty from the broken floor, father.
He hates it.
He hates all of them in this instant.
He doesn't understand how he got here. Too much battle. Too many near misses. Too much drinking. Too much Lucifer, always pressing his buttons and bringing out the worst in him which is saying something because Alastor absolutely is a sociopathic, cannibalistic, sadistic, serial killer with a penchant for riling up others for his own entertainment.
'Fuck all of them,' he thinks before sinking into shadow.
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Memories. So many fucking memories he had tried to bury once he decided there was no way She had ever set foot in Hell.
Memories that were buried when he found Her husband and killed him again. Over and over and over until he was able to source a single angelic dagger and deliver a final death to the man he hated above even his own shitty father.
Memories that refused to fade away and always rose to the surface when he drank in excess. When he lost himself upon the river of misery and let himself be carried away to the last times he had ever been considered innocent.
Even now Her face remained in his mind's eye, always haunting him as he vaguely wondered what Hell would have been like with Her at his side. Would She have admonished his indiscriminate killing when he was angry? Would She have liked the little coffee shop on the corner that served raw bacon on a doughnut if you asked nicely? Would She have saved him from selling his soul?
No.
She would have died by an exorcist blade as any other sinner. The two of them powerless as babes if he hadn't sold his soul for power because he was always the one who needed to protect her, to care for her, he should have cared for her why didn't he? Why did he ever think that she would have been better off without him? Why? Why why why why—
"Uh, hey Al?"
Oh for the love of—
"Get out." He was too tired for this. He just wanted to see Her one last time. And maybe…this time he wouldn't be a coward.
"I'd love to, trust me." Lucifer rounded the corner of the chair Alastor was slumped in, looking all the world like he shoved lemons in his stupid cheeks. "But Char-char insisted I…apologize."
Silence as two old men stared at each other. There was no fight in Alastor as he let his gaze drift back to the green fire with eyes unfocused. "Well, go on," he prompted when Lucifer continued to stare at him. "Kneel if you wish, beg my forgiveness and get out."
"The day I kneel before your—ugh no, wait." Lucifer breathed deep, fingers pressed against the nonexistent bridge of his nose in frustration as he pressed his eyes closed. Alastor counted to ten before those eyes opened back up and Lucifer looked down at him, head tilted curiously as his forked tongue poked out just a little to taste the air.
"I really hit a nerve, didn't I?"
"Observant as ever, my king!" More insults sat on Alastor's tongue but he found he did not have the energy to speak them. Blah blah your daughter your missing wife just leave.
Lucifer tasted the air again, mouth drawing into a thin line as he settled, uninvited mind you, into the chair besides Alastor's. They let the silence drag on, Alastor content to let the intruding angel twitch. If he weren't drunk he would have relished making the other man so uncomfortable, he would have pressed his sharp tongue into the wound where his fallen pride leaked out, tearing it open with each pointed quip about his failed marriage, his inability to rule, the years he left his daughter on her own and how he still failed to get Vaggie's name right despite insisting on staying at the hotel for weeks.
"I'm sorry Alastor."
"For…?" Alastor smirked at the sharp intake of breath, ear twitching as he waited for Lucifer to continue.
"…For speaking ill of your…honestly I don't know what they are. Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Don't tell me you were married."
"That doesn't sound like an apology to me~~", Alastor's voice warbles in a mocking sing-song, a sad trumpet sound punctuating the end of his sentence.
"For fuck's sake you make this so hard—"
"She should have been my wife."
"—I'm trying to…oh."
"Yes. Oh."
Lucifer shifted uncomfortably in his chair, eyes darting this way and that for any clue about how to continue this ill-fated conversation. "She died then? Before the wedding?"
Alastor let his eyes droop farther, hands steepled on his stomach as he considered whether or not he wanted to entertain this conversation. He eventually settled on using this uncomfortable topic to teach the brat king to mind his own business. He was capable of easing his sorrows on his own. This was a lesson.
"We were never engaged."
"But you should have been?" Now it was Lucifer's turn to prompt, his elbows on his knees as he rested his chin upon clasped fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?"
No.
Yes.
Fuck him this was not how this night was supposed to go. He was supposed to get shit-faced drunk, sleep and wake up early enough to blast music through everyone's radios as he summoned them all for a hungover buffet. Not spill his life story to this…this…oh damn it all!
"Where do you want me to start?"
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He started at the beginning, as most stories do, when he was a little boy no more than 8 when the new family moved in next door. A white man with close cropped hair and a stance that reminded Alastor of his own father, happily deployed and far away from him. Whatever 'deployed' meant. All little Alastor cared was that the man wasn't around to hit him or his momma and that was just perfect.
And a woman. The most beautiful woman his little eyes had ever seen with her tanned skin, black hair and brown eyes that shown with so much warmth that he felt her kindness even from his second-story hiding place. Her voice was rich, musical as she spoke in what Alastor would soon recognize as Spanish to her husband, gesturing happily to the house and laughing in joy as she ran her fingers over the blooming rose bushes that lined the porch.
Why, little Alastor was in awe. Another family like his! He hoped they had a boy he could play with. He was awfully bored playing on his own since the girls down the street shrieked and ran whenever he tried to show them the frogs he caught. He had just gotten a new BB gun from his father and was desperate to take it out back to shoot cans and it would be so much more fun with a friend!
He remembers running down the stairs, happily calling to his mother as he tried not to stumble down them. Darn his growing feet!
"Momma! Momma! There's a new family! Do you think they have kids? Can we go check? Please please please!"
"Easy darling," Claudette cooed as she smoothed down his hair. "Let them get settled first."
"Awwww, but I wanna play nowwwww!"
His mother's laughter filled their kitchen, warm and soft and by god did he miss it. "Tell you what my little mudskipper, help me bake some étouffée and we'll bring it over for dinner."
"Only if you do the crawfish." He may have only been eight but his hatred for the little creatures was strong. He remembered scrunching his face, sticking his tongue out in disgust as he watched his momma clean the critters. He still despised them, grown up and dead as he was. A shame they tasted so good.
They had gone over later that evening, little Alastor practically skipping the whole way and resisting the urge to knock on the door over and over again until someone answered. He only knocked three times like a good boy and rocked on his heels excitedly as he waited for his momma to catch up.
The door opened and there was the pretty woman he had seen earlier, her long hair pulled up in a high pony tail and the smell of something mouthwatering on the stove wafting from behind her. "Hello ma'am! I'm Alastor! A pleasure to meet you! I'm your neighbor! Do you have any kids?"
"Allie!" His mother's admonishing voice snapped his jaw shut and he scooted away to hide shamefully in her skirts. "Hello dear, I'm Claudette just over next door—"
Alastor didn't remember much of this conversation, barely paying attention enough to learn that the woman was named Sofía and her husband was named Robert and that they did indeed have a little girl around his age he could play with until their supper was ready. That was all he needed to hear, rushing ahead in the direction of a pointed finger and booking it into the backyard he had spent years looking into from his bedroom window.
That was where he had first met her. An odd thing currently coaxing the neighborhood tom cat into taking the food from her hand. He had noticed too late, his boisterous entrance startling the creature and causing it to hiss and growl before darting back over the fence. The girl turned around, face scrunched up in fury and her hands balled at her waist as she glared at him.
"You scared him!"
"I didn't mean to!"
"Well you did! I worked so hard to get him down here and now he won't come back!" She had the same lilting accent her mother had, deepened by her childish anger. "Who are you anyways? What are you doing in my backyard?"
No need to be polite when momma wasn't around, right? "I'm your neighbor. Alastor. And your momma said I could come back here and play with you but only if you be nice!"
The girl looked him up and down, huffing once before she dusted her hands on her skirt and placed them back on her hips. "You're skinny"
"And you're short."
"I like you."
He hadn't known it yet, but the flutter in his chest was the first flutter of love stirring. "I like you too."
"You know, I'm having a real tough time picturing you as a kid." Lucifer's voice interrupted Alastor's storytelling, amusement in his throat as he chuckled. "Like, there's no way you were cute and cuddly. Not when I have 7-foot of murderous cannibal right in front of me."
"Believe it or not sire, it does not change that fact that I was adorable!"
"Uh-huh. So…what was her name?"
"Who?"
An audible eye-roll as Lucifer leaned back comfortably in his chair. "The girl! You gave me everyone else's names but not hers. You remember it, right?"
"Of course I do!" It came out sharper than intended but…
"I haven't…I haven't spoken it out loud since…since she died. It still hurts, even to this day."
"Oh," Lucifer answered lamely, "Continue on I guess?"
"Yes indeed!"
They had grown thick as thieves almost immediately, constantly at one house or another, slipping through the broken fence panel to play pirates or soldiers or princess and her knight. Unfortunately, Alastor was the princess more often than not. Something about his "pretty eyelashes", damn Her. They spent years sitting on each other's porches, helping the other with homework and lamenting how their teacher always had a stick in her butt. They did indeed chase frogs and catch fish and hit each other with exploding cattails until the sun set and it was time to go home to be yelled at for getting mud all over their clothes.
By the end of their first year as neighbors they were inseparable. One could not find Alastor Laveau without finding Her right alongside him. Of course, they were teased about how they were going to be married one day and they reacted appropriately: screaming "EEEEWWWW!" at the tops of their little lungs and retching dramatically as their mothers giggled.
But Alastor felt it, deep down in his heart, that it wouldn't be too bad to marry Her. He would find a good job, get Her a nice house and never ever make Her cry! No sir! He'd be a good husband and treat Her right and never hit Her because She would cook for him and mend his clothes and they could go hunting together instead of just leaving Her home alone all day. And when he caught Her eye in the middle of their faux retching, rolling on the floor and pretending to choke and die because the thought of marrying each other was so awful, he thought She felt the same.
Of course, they had shared darker things as well. Both their mother's practiced magic, closed practices that they shared in hushed tones and only in the comfort of one another. Their husbands content to let their women have their silly beliefs and keep their bones and their herbs and put oils on their children's foreheads so long as they still went to church on Sundays. And that meant that the children also shared, swapping spells and meanings and borrowing from each other as they wove spells of protection around their houses and communed with the spirits that flitted around the bayou.
She took to it better than he. Eyes often wandering as she caught glimpses beyond the veil, fingers weaving sigils and head tilting to better hear the dissonant whispers around them. But he was the better provider, always bringing her the dead animals they found or dispatching what would be necessary for Her to collect the bones, spying rare herbs in the woods and growing the plants needed for the four of them to practice happily. He was content to let Her flourish in the practical, never once envious of Her abilities and only a little proud that he was the better summoner in the end.
His fondest memories would always be the warm summer nights they spend together as She carved and anointed her newest creation. His best friend, for it had been three years of Her near constant company so he felt he could call her that, was a talented jewelry maker. She spend most of her free time creating earrings and necklaces with the animal bones they found, placing spells on them if asked and carefully wrapping each one with shells, feathers, or dyed twine as needed. Her momma had said it was her Calling and happily watched as her daughter sang under her breath, little Alastor beside them cleaning the last of the muck off the newest bones and keeping his mouth shut about how odd he thought it was that Sofía was keeping a blanket on her lap despite the warm weather.
Or that she didn't chase her little hellions around much anymore.
Or that She had to do more of the cooking now because Sofía was too tired sometimes.
Sofía died just shy of their fourth year as Alastor's neighbor. A weakness in her body. Something that poisoned her blood and left the beautiful woman a husk of her former glory. Her boundless black hair turned brittle and dry, her lips and soft cheeks shriveled and wrinkled, her delicate wrists turned bony and Alastor remembered thinking that if he looked at her too hard, he just might break her.
He remembered holding Her as she cried, wracking sobs against his chest as She clung to his thin neck. He never uttered a peep about how Her nails dug into his back, how itchy his shirt was where Her tears had wet it, how Her shallow breaths against his neck caused him agony as he could do nothing but hold her and hum the lullabies his mother used to sing to him as they stood together at the funeral.
"Of course, my mother adored Her so She at least still had that." Alastor resisted the urge to sniff as he recalled the way She had climbed up the trellis and into his bedroom window, soaked from the heavy rain and Her own tears as She struggled to tell him Her mother was dead. He had held Her that night, warm and snug in his own bed and clothes as She sobbed and sobbed and cursed the gods for taking Her momma away.
Twelve years old seemed mighty young for an agony like that.
The rest of that year was not a fun one. For an entire year, Alastor lost his friend as well. Her smile had dimmed and she only half snorted at his jokes. She no longer hummed along with him as they did their homework. She spent more time inside, taking on more womanly duties and losing Herself in the scrubbing of tile when She should have been elbow deep in a deer's guts with him, divining their fortunes for the next month.
She came back to him the next summer, eyes a little less sparkling but there was more mirth in Her smile as She looked up at him.
"You grew?"
Well yes he had! Five whole inches that required a lot of work on his momma's part to adjust his clothes. If only to cinch in the waist.
"Well that's rude," She snorted and reached a finger out to poke him in the belly. "Still skinny though."
And with that, they were back to their old shenanigans: running around for as long as they could without worrying their parents. That summer was the one they had managed to build a tree house in the tree that sat in Her yard, right at the fence line so its boughs shaded both. Her father had always intended to build it for them but after years of waiting…well, teenagers were never the patient sort.
Idle hands are the devil's workshop after all and what else was Alastor supposed to do with the unwanted carpentry skills his father taught him out at their hunting cabin? Ugh. No, those were awful memories but this…this was a favorite. Her mocking laughter as he berated Her for not understanding his instructions again. His threatening to kick her out the tree if She didn't hold the damn wood straight. The way they lay under the stars, huddled in a blanket under the unfinished roof as they talked and talked about what life would be like when they finally finished growing.
They even held a little ribbon cutting ceremony, Robert and Claudette the only others in attendance as they cut through an old sheet. It was rickety. It was small. But it was theirs.
For four years they had done their best to escape their harsh realities. A girl who was forced too young into minding a house that her mother's ghost still haunted. A boy who's father fell further and further into drink and instead of beating his wife, turned to beating his son. She had fixed him up more times than he could count, asking permission to curse his father or just outright poison his food.
Sometimes he took Her up on it.
Just a little pokeweed here and there to give Renée Boudreaux the worst shits of his life. Nothing more than that for Alastor swore that if anything was to kill his father, it would be his own two hands. She simply nodded along and promised to help him bury the body in the swamp and be his alibi: No officer, Alastor was here the entire time, helping poor little ole me with the furnace!
And then they'd laugh and move on until it happened again.
At least until his father drunk himself into a stupor one night and got himself hit by a car.
Now it was his turn to climb into Her window, tears running down his face despite the lightness in his heart. His father was dead! Finally!
But not by his hand. By his own stupidity and another man's bad luck.
It was annoying. Frustrating. He was robbed of an opportunity that was by all rights his!
And still the tears came. But She held him, tucked securely under Her chin as she hummed her own lullabies. He fell asleep that night in the warmth of Her bed, perfectly manicured nails running up and down his back as he clung to her like a child.
She forced him up early the next morning, shoving him out the door and into his mother's arms. "Where you should have been!"
"She was right of course," Alastor sighed and reached into his jacket to pull out a well loved cigarette case. "I should have stayed with momma instead of running off to avoid feelings. He may have been a shit father but he was her first love." He lit a hand-rolled cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the burn of the smoke settle in his lungs before exhaling. "For what little that was worth."
"Huh. Gotta say, I'm surprised at you Alastor." Lucifer chuckled and tilted his head against his fist, "I really expected you to be the 'Killed-his-father' type."
"Not for lack of desire! Trust me," Alastor growled, "Only the fear of what would happen to me for killing a white man stayed my hand." He tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully before adding, "For a while," with a chuckle.
Lucifer hummed thoughtfully and conjured his own cigar: a large bulky thing because of course he did. Alastor bit his tongue to resist the urge to make a 'compensation' joke; low hanging fruit and all HA!
"Sooo….not to be a creep or anything but uh, little sixteen year old Alastor alone in a secluded tree house with a girl…?" Lucifer's eyebrows damn near audibly wiggled as he pulled from his cigar.
Alastor felt his cheeks redden, antlers creaking as they grew to three prongs before he reigned them in with a roll of his eyes. "Why is everyone…Ugh, yes! She and I…"
They had been sixteen, curled up against each other and reading their own books peacefully before Her voice broke their silence. "Timothy tried to kiss me today."
Alastor remembered being confused, "What now? Why?"
She had shrugged, "He asked me to go to the soda shop this weekend. I said yes since he's always been nice to me and then he tried to kiss me."
Oh, he hadn't like that. "I'll stab him! What makes him think that he could—!"
Her laughter interrupted his little outburst, "Hahaha! Al, it's fine! I uh, I actually panicked and slapped him so I don't think we're going to the soda shop anymore."
The sound of her laughter was a soothing balm across the burning in his chest. "Good! You can do better than Timothy."
Her answering hum seemed to say, "Oh? You think so?" but she said nothing, returning to her book for a page or two until her voice broke the silence again. "Have you ever kissed anyone, Al?"
If he were drinking something he would have spat it all over the wall. "Wh-what?! No!" Panic laced his voice as he whirled around to face Her. "Have you?!"
"Nope," she let the 'p' pop and didn't look up from her book, turning her head to try and hide Her reddening cheeks. "I've wondered about it though." Alastor didn't like that thought and he swallowed the ugly feeling in his throat as She continued talking. "Lacey is obsessed with kissing the Drummonds boy and Kelsea keeps talking about how she can't wait to get her First Kiss. I don't get it. Makes one curious, ya know?"
No, he didn't know. He hadn't thought about kissing anyone ever except for his future wife who did not at all resemble the young woman right in front of him. Nope, nuh-uh, please mind your own business before you learn what the business end of a knife feels like.
"No-o?"
"Really?" She pouted and peeked up at him through her lashes, "Never ever?"
Alastor panicked and looked everywhere but Her. "Never!"
"Oh…," She pouted and looked away, mind visibly warring as Alastor's panic continued to grow. "Do you…Can we…? Should we try it?"
And there went Alastor's last bit of sense. "Yes!" Breathy. Desperate. He felt so silly as his skin warmed and itched, his mouth drying out as he struggled to swallow. It was worth it though to see her face light up.
"Really?! Cause I was kind of curious and you're my best friend so I trust you but if you don't want to that's okay because I don't want to make things weird and should I stop talking because I feel like I should stop talking I'm just nervous because I know you don't even like touching people so it's a really big thing I'm asking but there's no one else I—"
He had shut her up with a quick press of his lips against hers, barely a brush that shoved their noses together more than their mouths but it was thrilling all the same and Alastor swore he saw his glasses fogging up as She looked up at him with wide, stunned eyes. It was a very silly expression and the most effective way he had ever gotten to shut her up.
So he kissed her again. Longer this time, enough to feel her shakily exhale against him. And again. And again. Finding the wet plushness of her lips to be more enjoyable than he could have ever imagined. In fact, it was more than enjoyable. It was downright addicting and they soon found themselves wrapped around each other, his hands respectfully on her hips as she settled into his lap, arms around his neck as they kissed until called in for dinner.
It quickly devolved from there, from quick little make-out sessions between chores where Alastor pressed Her against the fence to hours in the bayou where they only stopped when his new growing mustache irritated her skin. Somewhere along the way their hands had wandered, slipping under the hem of a hiked skirt, pressing against a broadening chest, fingers tangling in hair as they took turns pressing the other down into the cushions of the tree house or the soft grass of the forest floor.
It was Alastor who pressed farther, fingers undoing buttons and nosing along newly exposed flesh, teeth teasing tender skin and drawing out breathy moans that quickly became his new favorite sound. He didn't feel like sharing the lurid details with a man he hates but let's just say it didn't take more than a year for the two of them to figure out the horizontal tango. Quick and quiet and only once in the comfort of a bed that was rudely interrupted by Her father coming home a whole two hours early, resulting in Alastor having to sneak out of her bedroom window in just his underwear as She did her best to pretend there was not a half-naked teenager visible from the kitchen window.
"I didn't even need to do that! It's not like Her father was going to go into her room. I had plenty of time to get dressed and sneak out properly. Probably would have avoided the nasty bruise on my ass too."
"And miss out on a quintessential human teenager rite of passage!?," Lucifer laughed and wiped away a small tear.
"The worst part was the lecture I got from momma the next day. Turns out she saw me."
"No!"
"Yes!," Alastor slapped his knee with a chuckle. "Nothing like suffering through the birds and the bees first thing in the morning. I do believe it was the first time I ever wanted to die, ha ha."
Oh yes, it was embarrassing. Mortifying.
Didn't stop them though. Their parents turning a blind eye to the tree house even as Claudette not so subtly delivered a certain bundle of herbs that would ensure the two teens would continue their child-free lifestyle.
"Wait, it sounds to me like you two were definitely an item." Lucifer's voice was questioning, "Did she die before you could propose? Or did you just hit it and quit it?"
Irritation spiked through Alastor, "Rude. Have some patience and I'll get there. The next part is…shameful."
Of course the two of them were an item by now, confirmation whispered against swollen lips about two weeks after their first kiss. It was an expected thing, something seen as inevitable by literally everyone around them. How embarrassing to have been so transparent from nine years old.
But then they turned eighteen and Alastor turned his eyes towards the future. His future. He was going to be a radio host after he finished college. A northern college where a man like him had a better chance of success. It was going to take everything he had, every single dollar he had saved with his summer jobs, every bit of his father's pension and every bit of his stubborn pride.
He had been called over to Her house to speak to her father. Just her father. He was alone in the kitchen, Robert offering him a glass of fine scotch as the grandfather clock in the hallway tick-tick-tocked every silent second.
"Alastor," Robert's voice was tired as he fiddled with his own glass, "I like ya boy. Like the son I never had."
Alastor's heart had fluttered. He was pleased. Scared.
Robert finished his drink in one go, awkward as he ran his hand through his short cropped hair. "I'm dyin' son. Gonna meet my dear Sofia and the Lord, maybe not this year but maybe the year after. Something about my liver." He punctuated this by filling his glass again, "Not surprising, eh?"
No. Military men tended to be drawn towards the drink and the cirrhosis that followed. Alastor just nodded along and sipped at his own, eyes squinting from the burn as he struggled to figure out where this conversation was going.
"I need to know that my little girl is gonna be taken care of. She needs a man to take care of her. You understand me?"
"Y-you want me to marry her, sir?" Alastor had planned on it. Later. Way later. When he could actually provide for her. Not now, not when he was ready to move and be poorer than dirt with no clear future.
"I'd like it son, I really would but I know you got plans to move up north and I don't want to get in the way of that. You got a real good future ahead of you." Robert fiddled with thumbs, eyes downcast as he sighed, "And if you can't, don't worry about it. I got a guy lined up. A real good guy. A long time friend only ten years older than her. He just got promoted too s-so I know he'll be able to provide, he can give my girl everything she needs right now. He's a good fella, ready to settle down."
Alastor had felt his world spinning, shrinking down to the taste of good scotch. "Of course sir. She deserves the world."
"Glad we agree."
"I can't…I can't promise that right now." Alastor's throat burned. "C-can't it wait? Until after I graduate?"
"Four years is a long time to wait and I won't last that long. Is there a reason you won't marry her now?"
He had plenty of reason. He was going to be too poor, flying by the seat of his pants as he exhausted everything he had to move across the country with no job lined up. Much less a place to live. He was going to be forced to leave her alone, working as much as he could while going to school full time. She would be neglected. Lonely. Forced to live off his meager wages in some poor neighborhood, wondering if she would have enough food to last the week.
All that with no guarantee he would land the job of his dreams. He didn't want that for her. He wanted to show up as her knight in shining armor, knocking on her door as a radio host on prime time, keys to their new house in hand and the car ready and loaded for a quick courthouse wedding and honeymoon in the mountains. That would take him years. Years he no longer had, it seemed.
He told Robert as such mechanically, eyes distant as he realized what was going to happen when he was gone. Fuck.
"It's alright son. Maybe you'll still get your shot, we military men don't tend to live long."
Yeah.
"She thinks she's going with you, you know."
Alastor had startled out of his stupor at that. "W-what? But we haven't even discussed…I just got accepted how can she—"
"You know her, probably just assumed you'd ask."
Alastor's heart sank. They had discussed it, in a way, Alastor fumbling through his plans for college as she encouraged him. Daydreaming with him about what life was like up in the Union states. He thought they were just shooting the shit. He hadn't even proposed! Why it would have been completely improper for the two of them to live together unmarried!
"I-I hadn't planned on it."
"I know son, I'm really throwing a wrench in your plans." Robert slapped Alastor on the back apologetically, "You really won't marry her?"
"I can't…I have nothing to offer her except a life of hardship."
Robert nodded sagely, "It's alright son. It's the right decision. It's okay. She'll be taken care of."
"Of course," Alastor finished his cigarette with a heavy sigh, "She was angry. At me. At Robert. Despite women her age being married off all the time. It was her father's right to do so, to guarantee she would be well off. He couldn't put all his bets on the scrawny kid next door with only enough money to his name to take the train up north and a week's worth at a boarding house.
"Robert's only certainty was that he was going to die soon and that his daughter would be hounded with us both gone, leeches desperate to wife her for her house, her money. She'd be alone and undefended and that simply would not do. She didn't care though. She was so angry at the two of us. So much so she actually stopped talking to me after that. Four months of radio silence, the stubborn girl.
"The last time we talked was at the train station." Alastor remembered it like it was yesterday, the tug of her hand around his wrist. She had spoken so softly, a suitcase in her other hand as she whispered, "Tell me you still love me, Al."
"Of course I do." He swore his heart was physically breaking.
"Then ask me to go with you. Please Alastor, don't leave me here. I won't love him like I do you. I don't care if I have to sell myself on the damn streets please just ask me too—"
"I will not," he had to steel himself. This was the correct thing to do. "Did you come here to berate me or are you going to say goodbye after throwing a fit for months?"
He had hurt Her, beyond repair as She let him go, eyes brimming with tears as she backed away. He told himself she would be fine, she would get over it, she would come to love her new betrothed and live a happy life where she would never need to wonder where her next meal came from.
"Damn, that sucks man."
"Eloquent as always, Lucifer."
Robert had died just as he predicted, one and half years later on Sofia's birthday. Alastor remembered grieving, silent tears spilt on his mother's letter. 'At least he was able to walk his daughter down the aisle. I'm sorry you couldn't come dear, it was a beautiful ceremony and she was the most beautiful bride.'
He would get updates like that. Monthly letters from his mother that told him the going ons of the neighborhood and what the new hot gossip was. He learned She had moved to the good part of town in a beautiful home with a large private yard, he learned that She was expecting barely a month after the wedding and that Claudette had been asked to be Her child's godmother. He had learned that Claudette didn't like Her husband, something about the way he looked at Her that reminded her of Alastor's late father, god rest his soul.
He had learned that She was growing quiet, demure. She had stopped practicing her magic, unable to keep bones out in the sun to dry in their fancy new neighborhood. He had learned that her first child was a daughter, little Alexandra who was the spitting image of her mother. He had learned that She was quickly with child again and was an excellent mother, always putting the needs of Her daughter even above her own. She was growing thin even as her belly blossomed and Alastor forced himself to stop wishing it was him at Her side.
Claudette began mentioning Her less and less as she herself was invited to the house less. She was always on his mother's mind though and she lamented that she felt she was losing both children and that it was about time Alastor came home to visit. Her second daughter was born, Irene who was once again the spitting image of her mother. Claudette was to be her godmother too and was invited to the birth to be Her support despite The Husband's insistence that it was not necessary.
Guess he learned too little to late that Claudette was a force to be reckoned with when she needed to be and dammit, her little girl had asked for her and by the gods above and below she was going to be at her side.
And just like that, four years passed. Four hard years in which Alastor worked himself to the bone, neglecting himself in the ways of love and sleep but always hungry for music, dance and food. Life had had it's ups and downs and now finally he had gotten the job he always wanted. He was headed back home to a small radio gig on the off hours with a chance to work prime time when the other host called out. It wasn't as grand as he wanted, but it was enough.
He had done it!
And in a few more years the prime time spot would be his! Life was perfect.
Almost.
The sorrow he felt upon returning home and seeing Her old house, a new family in it that he did not recognize, hit him like a sack of bricks. He had known she was gone for five years now, he had known she was married and with kids and he had said that awful thing to her at the train station and yet…he didn't really accept it until now. Some part of him was still expecting Her to be there, leaning against the porch railing with the sun in her hair and a soft smile upon her lips as she welcomed him home.
It made him sick.
She had four years to write him. Four years in which she knew where he was because Claudette had told him that she had passed along every new address he had. Five years in which he had held on to Her's, writing letters he would not send, like a coward.
It was fine. Claudette had visited recently to spent time with Alexandra and Irene, adamantly refusing to mention anything about Her beyond that she was worried for her health. That She was looking thinner than ever and that Claudette wondered if maybe they could hire some help with the babies.
Alastor never wanted to know more than that. The fact that she was alive would be all he needed.
Another year would pass and once again, his life would turn upside down because he saw her. He saw her! And his stomach fell through the floor. Claudette hadn't seen Her in that year, always given an excuse as to how She didn't feel good or that the house was a mess or the girls were sick. But Alastor now knew why his mother had been denied her godbabies.
She was thin. Painfully thin with a healing bruise around her eye covered in heavy makeup. Her hair was lifeless and She walked with a limp that had nothing to do with the toddler on her hip or the one walking unsteadily beside her. Alastor didn't recognize Her at first, only hearing Her voice and turning his head this way and that to find Her, heart in his throat as he struggled with what he was going to do when he saw Her.
He had only known it was Her by the scar upon her forehead. A thin line that ran from above her mid-right brow and ended in Her hairline from a tumble out of a tree when they were fourteen. Alastor remembered that day clearly, they had been racing and it was one of the rare times that he had won, leaning around the tree to mock Her before the branch She was stepping on snapped and down She went.
He had stared at that bright red slash across Her forehead with guilt, turning into a blubbering mess when he tried to explain to Her father what had happened. He could never forget that scar.
So he stared. And stared. At the woman he had once loved, at her two daughters that should have been his. Her eyes, while saddened now, still held the same sparkle in them that was always directed at him though now She only had eyes for the little ones clinging to her. She didn't ever see him, so focused on Her shopping and making sure the older one, Alexandra, didn't wander away.
Naturally, he followed them home. He blended in now, his clothes new, freshly pressed and neatly tailored so that he barely stuck out in their fancy neighborhood. He still kept his distance, using his height to his advantage as he let the masses get between them.
He followed them to a beautiful two story house, white with blue accents and a wrought iron fence. He passed it by, doing his best not to seem like a lookie-loo as he entered the little wooded area right next to the property. It had good trees. Perfect for perching. Which he absolutely would not do.
Not today anyways.
No, he would come back later in the week. In the night and dressed more casually.
He had just been checking in. Just making sure she was okay.
He just wanted to know if her deteriorated state was from the stress of raising two children so close in age or…
He watched. Silent as an owl as he shimmied up a good tree that had a branch that faced Her dining room and bedroom windows.
He watched as She limped after giggling toddlers and sang and dance with them despite the obvious pain She was in.
He watched as She flinched at the loud noises curious toddlers made when they dropped things down the stairs.
He watched as Her eyes went blank when her husband came home, pushing her dinner around aimlessly and never taking a bite, nodding appropriately when needed.
He watched as She undressed, not because he was a voyeur but because he caught an eyeful of the bruises that littered her body. The large one on her thigh that was causing her limp, the bruise around her eye free from makeup, the small ones that littered her ribs and concave stomach and the faded, barely there ring of them around her throat.
He watched as Her husband stormed into the bedroom after the girls were put to sleep, his wallet held in a fist as he shook it at her, never yelling but speaking so harshly that She flinched, arms across her body as if to stay the blows that had not yet come. The wallet was smacked across Her face, Her shoulders, Her back when She turned away.
He watched as She tried to reason with him, eyes wide and begging as she fell to her knees, pleading.
He watched as She dodged the first backhand, scrambling on all fours and making a mad scramble towards the door.
He watched as Her ankle was grabbed, Her husband finally making a small yell of rage that was still contained so as not to wake the children.
He watched as She kicked out, catching him in the ribs and knocking him against the bed and rising fast enough to reach the door.
He watched as she was slammed against it, a fist connecting with the back of her head and slamming her nose first into solid wood. The crimson smear of her blood on the white door was so startling, so haunting that Alastor almost couldn't understand what he was looking at until he heard the blows.
One after another given in blind rage, at the audacity of Her resisting her god-given husband, until her blood began to coat the floor.
He felt his limbs stirring as hands wrapped around Her throat, fingers pathetically clawing at an iron grip.
He moved recklessly, using the tree to launch himself over the wrought iron fence. The grunt of pain Alastor let out was nothing compared to what was happening above. The sounds of her choking so loud to him in the silent winter night that he wondered why the neighbors were not all out scrambling to see what the ruckus was.
He found the back door to be unlocked. He didn't even try to be subtle as he stalked in, body on autopilot as he walked through the kitchen he had been watching all evening. He passed the fireplace and grabbed the fire poker, never altering his stride as he ran up the stairs two at a time.
He did not hesitate when he pushed open the bedroom door, catching Her husband in the face as he turned at the commotion. He pulled back and brought the poker down with both hands now, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until it broke in the red and white mush that had once been Her husband's face.
Lucifer was distraught, hands over his mouth as he leaned into them with his elbows on his knees. His eyebrows were pulled up, eyes full of concern and pain as he listened to Alastor describe his first kills. And yes, kills. Plural. For he was just as responsible for the husband's death as he was Her's.
"No…no Al…you weren't responsible. It wasn't your fault—"
"WASN'T IT?," Alastor didn't care that he yelled. This was a painful memory dammit and he deserved to be listened to. "If I had only moved earlier, from the first swat instead of waiting for there to be blood she would have lived! But I was a coward! I panicked! And I let her die!"
He had checked Her the moment he came to, cradling Her broken face with a sob, fingers on the pulse that would no longer move. He tried CPR, hands pressing her chest up and down and whimpering 'Nonononono' under his breath when her head lolled lifelessly to the side, the sickening crick in it telling him that her neck was broken.
He tried to set it. Futile he knew, but he couldn't just leave her like that. Some mad part of him hoped that by snapping Her neck back into place She could somehow still be revived. As if somehow instead of a disturbing grind of bone he would hear a snap! and Her eyes would flutter and look up at him instead of over his shoulder.
He had stayed there for hours, tears refusing to fall even as he whimpered between great heaving breaths as he struggled to understand what he had done. Eventually he rose and went to the bathroom to wash the blood of his hands. His face. There was nothing to be done about his clothes but he would borrow the nice full length coat the husband had worn home and dispose of them all when he got the chance.
And then he called the police. His voice was not is own, hollow and dead as he told the operator the address and that there were two dead people in the master bedroom. It wouldn't do to let the little one's walk in on that scene.
And then he walked out the front door.
He didn't remember making it home. He just remembered waking up in the shower, the fuzzy memories of what happened the previous hour already fading. He tossed the soiled clothes in a bag and shoved them under his bed. Into the hidey hole they had made from the loose floorboards.
She had always promised to be his alibi. Here's Her chance, he supposed.
He climbed into bed. Exhausted mentally and physically, mind foggy and reeling, limbs filled with static as he lay there in the dark, listening to the ringing in his ears as he watched the sun slowly rise.
His mother burst into the room when the sun was fully risen, eyes red and tears spilling as she cried. In between the sobs he heard her, "She's…dead! She's…oh my god…Alastor….She's…dead!"
For whatever reason, it was his mother's acknowledgment that the terrible night was real that finally had his tears flowing, his throat tearing as he sobbed with the guilt of what he had done. They held each other, wailing and cursing whatever entities had let Her go so violently.
"We need-", Claudette sniffed and shook her head, "I-I need to go get the girls. I'm their godmo-other and they n-need me."
Alastor nodded along, "Of course…I'll get the car. Just…tell me how to get there…"
The house was just as he had left it, peaceful and serene despite the mass of cops trampling the lawn. Claudette had sobbed when she caught sight of the two little girls, weaving between outstretched white hands demanding to know who she was and what she was doing at a crime scene.
Alastor smoothed it all over, his radio persona slipping on as he schmoozed and calmed the officers, doing his best to explain that yes this black woman had every right to see these white children. Here are their papers from the church up the street, confirmation that Claudette was their godmother in the eyes of the Lord. As if two little girls screaming, "Abuelita!!!" wasn't proof enough.
They were precious things with their big doe eyes and matching set of hair, their soft curls disheveled from sleep and their cherubic cheeks irritated from crying. Alexandra asked for their mama over and over again, her little two-year old lexicon limited to "Mamá? Mamá? Where mamá??"
"She's…Mamá is in heaven dearest. It's okay, shush now. Let's bring you home with me, cher. It's finally time we had that sleepover. Here, Alastor, take her will you?"
"What—? Momma I don't—okay." He stood there, arms outstretched as he held the two year old under her armpits, briefly panicking as he realized he had never once held a kid. But Alexandra looked at him with big eyes, searching his face before she smiled and made grabby hands at him, squealing as she said, "Tío! Tío!"
Alastor let her grab him, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck as she clung to him like a leech while supported comfortably in the crook of his arm. "Uncle?", he had asked stupidly.
"Do you think I never showed my best girls a picture of their uncle? Nonsense boy. I got a whole album I used to bring by filled with all the pictures I took of you two growing up. She always…," Claudette's eyes watered again as she remembered days of fond reminiscing over the past. "Well, lets just get these darlings home and go on from there."
"Holy shit, you had kids?!"
Would Alastor's hackles ever get a rest this night? "Is that so surprising!?"
"YES! Dude you suck so much ass and are a literal soul dealer what part of you screams 'father figure'? You sure you didn't just give those poor things daddy issues?"
Alastor scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I'll have you know that I was a very good dad."
"No shit?"
"None whatsoever. Why, what's the phrasing….I was a certified Girl Dad!"
Lucifer pondered a moment, looking the deer demon up and down before nodding his head. "Yeah, I can see it actually. There's something about you the makes women flock to you despite the creepiness."
Alastor smiled and preened under the praise.
He had in fact, fallen head over heels for those two little girls from the moment he brought them home and saw them waddling down the very same hall he and their mother had chased each other, screaming and laughing as they avoided hitting one another with sticks. Why, he barely let his mother lift a finger when he was home, taking over parenting duties from the moment he stepped over the threshold.
He adored watching Irene as she drank from her bottles. He loved watching Alexandra smear spaghetti sauce over her face and barely flinched when those messy hands grabbed his shirt. He cried just a little when Irene started calling him Papá and actually sobbed when Alexandra first told him, "Good night daddy, love you!"
"I knew they weren't mine, obviously but in some way I felt as if they were the children We were meant to have. It didn't matter who their sperm donor was because I still saw myself in their little faces and wicked grins. They were mine."
They even carried his last name, a gift given to him for his 36th birthday. Two small courthouse documents, dated the day Irene had turned sixteen that proudly declared his daughters to be Laveaus. He hadn't been able to adopt them, not legally but this was close enough. They had loved him so much that they had gotten their names changed, proud to carry the last name that should have always been theirs.
He had raised them right and proper.
Alex, for she preferred the shortened version now, was like a son. Her hair kept short and always running around in Alastor's old coveralls, grease and oil covering her nose and fingers as she fiddled in the garage with her engines. She was crazy for them, breaking old ones down and repairing them for the love of it instead of the steady income it became. She took over the manly duties of the house when Alastor moved to prime time fully, his days now shorter as he focused on writing his plays and recording his advertisements and sorting through fanmail. He always caught her with a hammer in a pocket, nails in her mouth or a cigarette behind her ear, cursing like a sailor when she caught a splinter.
But she was still his little girl, rolling her eyes and scoffing when he bandaged her up but always smiling when he placed a kiss on the wound. He watched her grow close with the girl down the street, a pretty young thing that looked at his Alex like she put the moon in the sky, always eager to show off her newest dress and blushing prettily when Alex stumbled her words and awkwardly told her, "You're so pretty—Uh, I mean the dress! The dress is so pretty!!"
"I approve you know," he had said one night while they shared an evening cigarette on the porch.
"Approve of what, dad?"
"Missy. She's a sweet girl. She makes you happy."
Alex choked on the smoke, doubling over as Alastor smoothly took the cigarette from her fingers to place it in his own mouth. He let her suffer, enjoying the sublime feeling of a father teasing the shit out of their kid. "D-dad!," she gasped, "I-I don't know what you—"
"Uh huh. Please. She looks at you like….like the way I used to look at your mother." They hardly ever spoke of the girls' mother around Alastor. He had made it very clear it was a touchy subject and all they needed to know was that despite it all, he had loved her and done her incredibly wrong. And now it was his duty to show her girls all the love he should have given Her, so mentioning Her in this way was some serious shit.
"Is that so?" Alex's voice trembled a bit as she glanced at the house down the street where the faintest shadow of her love interest could be seen moving in her bedroom, curtains drawn tight. "It's not right though…"
"Fuck what's right," Alastor sighed and passed off the cigarette. "Doing what was right got your mother…," fuck he hadn't wanted to mention Her murder. All his girls knew was that someone broke into the house and killed both their parents. They would never know it was Her husband that had killed their mother. He pulled in a shaky sigh as he continued, "If I had done "the wrong" thing, I would have married your mother and brought her up north with me but I didn't so here we are."
Alex remained quiet a moment before putting the cigarette out on the railing, much to Alastor's chagrin. "Yeah, but then you wouldn't have us."
"Hah, or maybe I would but your coloring would be a bit darker. Not that it matters, what's done is done."
"Hmmm," Alex hummed thoughtfully, "I suppose not. I got you as my daddy either way." They bumped shoulders, pressing against each other and enjoying the closeness in the fall wind. "Thank you daddy. For your blessing."
Alastor would never be able to see the two girls married, society was too backwards for that, but he was able to see them get a small apartment together. Why, he even was able to gift them a hefty sum towards a new house with a garage for Alex to work in before he died. He never got to see it but he remembered the women, for they were in their early 20s now, chat happily about the little townhome they had found that would be perfect for Alex's repair business.
And then there was Irene.
Oh, she was the bell of the ball, the apple of his eye, the crown jewel. She was graceful, she was sweet, she was the kindest creature he had ever met and to this day he was still amazed that he had raised the newest Saint. She was the complete opposite of her sister, fair and feminine and oh so pleasing to listen to as she sang her hymns and let her graceful fingers dance across the piano as if she was blessed by the angels themselves.
She had everyone falling head over heels for her. Men desperately calling the house to ask for her hand in marriage, women asking where she got her hair done, where she got her clothes and if she would be so kind as to teach them to sew so well.
But beneath all her demureness there was a fierceness to her, a ruthlessness in which she pursued her good morals. She was constantly searching for the poor and needy, feeding them from the picnic basket at her hip filled to the brim with food she cooked herself. She wrestled doctors into helping her, begging and pleading and somehow getting them to follow her into seedy back alleys to medicate and heal what hurts she had found. She called for donations and used the money to buy what clothes she could not mend herself, handing them out and refusing any form of payment beyond the promise to give unto others what goodwill she had shown them.
Irene was 22 when she opened her first shelter, welcoming women and children with open arms. She would provide food, shelter and medical care for all and help them get on their feet. She would bring in women to teach them to sew, to craft, or to cook; anything which could help them get jobs to feed their bellies. She worked with local churches for donations of cash and labor and local doctors to volunteer their weekends to help whoever needed it.
Alastor didn't live to see her open the second one. A smaller one for men where they could learn good and honest skills while they worked themselves out of the streets. She was determined to clean New Orleans, to make sure that there would never be another soul left out on the streets to die.
He was able to walk her down the aisle though. She had met a good man, a kind man as she worked the streets. Raphael was a man even Alastor was begrudged to like, though maybe not the smartest tool in the shed. Raphael had seen Irene walking boldly into seedy alleys with nothing to protect her but the little pistol hidden in her clothes and he couldn't stand by that. He had offered to protect her, following along at a distance so as not to interrupt her work but always close enough that he could intervene when she came across the very few who would think to take advantage of the pretty young thing that wandered too close.
Raphael was Irene's staunchest supporter, uplifting her and praising her and eagerly rallying people to her cause. He swayed those who were on the fence about supporting an enterprising young woman and he pressed stubborn old fools in ways only a good natured man could. It was no surprise when Raphael politely stood at the base of Alastor's porch, ready to get on his knees as he begged for permission to marry his daughter.
"I'll treat her right, Mr. Laveau. Let her pursue her dreams and just be there to catch her when she stumbles. She's a good woman doing the Lord's work and I want nothing more than to bask in her light."
Alastor had sighed, tilting his head back just enough to see Irene peeking between the curtains. He hadn't been ready to see his last girl leave the house but at 21 he had supposed it was time. He had not given his blessing more than one second before Irene came busting out the door in her night gown and threw herself into Raphael's arms.
True to his word, he caught her.
Irene had been the most beautiful bride. A doppelganger for her late mother, according to Claudette, and Alastor had to stop himself from crying as he walked her down the aisle. It was a large affair of course. Alastor and Claudette had spared no expense and Irene was so beloved herself that half the damn city donated to the church they held it at with all the extra money going towards the shelter they would open within the month.
"I don't believe it," Lucifer interrupted. "You actually raised two decent people."
"Is it really that hard to believe?"
Lucifer guffawed. "You are a literal serial killer! You eat people!!!"
"To be fair, the eating started after I landed in Hell."
"Okay but you were still killing people. When did you even have time to do that in between a full-time job and raising two kids?"
"Oh, I was living off of coffee and cocaine."
"I….yeah okay."
Alastor snorted and continued, "I won't go into the gory details but I still very much killed people when I got the chance." And oh did he get plenty of chances. He still spent time wandering the streets of New Orleans, visiting dance clubs and sneaking into speakeasies once Prohibition began. He was still young and full of life and needed a little break here and there from the kids.
His next kill had come three years later. A quick and bloodless thing. Just the snapping of the neck of a man who had first gotten on Alastor's radar when he used a few choice slurs towards the darker man but solidified his opportunity when he had slapped the face of the young woman he was trying to bed. Alastor only remembered telling the girl to run away and catching the drunk idiot's fist before slamming him into the wall and using the opportunity to grab his head.
"I kept my ears to the ground after that. Listening for stories about men hurting women, rumors about who forced who. I don't actually remember what a single one looked like. They all had His face." The face of the man who had taken Her. He would not let another tragedy like that happen again.
"Soooo, you killed people for what, 20 years?"
"17, actually. I died in 33' when I was 43."
Lucifer whistled and slumped back into his chair. "That's actually…really impressive. How many?"
Alastor shrugged, "Dozens I'm sure. Lots of vile men out there."
"And no one knew?"
"Oh, I'm sure my momma had an inkling but it's very easy to turn a blind eye when I raised such wonderful kids. How could I possibly spend my nights gutting trash and sacrificing souls when I was also teaching Irene to play piano or giving Alex piggy back rides around the yard? I was the paragon of a Perfect Father."
"Huh," there was a mild undercurrent of jealousy in Lucifers tone that Alastor very much enjoyed. That's right Luce, the cannibal serial killer was a better dad than you, eat shit!
"And then you died." Ugh, rude.
"Indeed! Shot between the eyes while burying a body." Feelings of shame bubbled up in Alastor's chest as he sighed and turned in his chair, letting his head dangle grossly over the back of the armrest to look at Lucifer as he kicked his feet like a schoolboy over the other armrest. "I've always wondered what happened after that. They must have found out that I was the one leaving the bodies out there. That I was the very Butcher I reported on. I only hoped that the virtues of my daughters was enough to save them from my sins."
Lucifer considered the demon before him, teeth pulling at his lip as Alastor let his eyes drift close, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally beginning to tire him out. He had just begun to drift away when Lucifer's voice broke through his thoughts.
"I can check for you."
Alastor opened one eye and gave him a quizzical look, "Check what?"
"If they ever made it to Hell."
Fully awake now, Alastor flipped again in his chair to rest on his belly. "You can do that?"
"Well of course? I am the devil and technically I own every soul here," he waved off-handedly towards the window where a sleepy pride city was softly glowing. "I can take a quick search. See if Irene or Alex ever made it. If not, then we know they did well and made it to heaven."
It was too good to be true! Of course Alastor had always kept an ear to the ground, listening for the names of the four women dearest to his heart. Hoping against everything that he would never hear them again. "What do you want in return?"
Lucifer shook his head, "Nothing. Consider this my true and heartfelt apology for the way I spoke to you tonight."
Fuck. Alastor licked his lips, resisting every urge of his demonic nature to haggle a deal out of the fucking Devil himself. "Okay. Alexandra Dominique Laveau and Irene Rose Laveau." He also rattled off their birth dates after a little prompting from Lucifer.
It took longer than Alastor would have liked but he supposed it would take a moment to sift through literally every single human who had ever passed through the Devil's domain. But eventually Lucifer opened his eyes, the flame between his horns dying down as he smiled and shook his head, "I can't find them. The only ones I found weren't the right race. They were only a quarter, right? Yeah, they were never here."
Alastor breathed a sigh of relief, letting his head drop against the armrest as he felt the first sting of unshed tears. "And Claudette Angèle Laveau, nèe Fontaine? Born…", Alastor knew deep down his mother wasn't here either. Or he hoped. She had birthed and raised a serial killer after all.
Lucifer closed his eyes again, fingers twitching as if searching through invisible files as the flames between his horns flared again. He soon opened his eyes and smiled, "No. She's not one of mine."
Oh thank fuck. Seems the sins of the children did not affect the parent.
But now…the last name stuck in his throat. The name of the woman who Alastor had grown up with. The name of the woman he had loved. The woman who should have been his wife. Who should have brought forth his daughters with his own seed. Who he should have seen at the end of that aisle dressed in white, her smile the last thing he saw every night the the first thing he saw when he woke up. The woman who's death began his descent into violence and sadism and cursed him to rot away in Hell.
He spoke it. For the first time in 113 years he finally spoke Her name. Her birthdate. Her death date.
Lucifer nodded gravely, hand over his heart as he took the trusted information and buried it away where it would never leave again. Alastor waited with baited breath, body tense and burning as his muscles screamed at him to relax, to please please please just settle into the chair instead of letting his limbs elongate and crack as his nervous energy did whatever it could to escape.
His antlers made it to five prongs before Lucifer's eyes opened again, a single tear falling down his cheek as he whispered his findings.
"She was never here."
Alastor was upon Lucifer immediately, clutching the smaller man around the neck as he forced back the sobs of relief. It was one thing to show his relief and appreciation for what Lucifer had done for him, it was another to cry in front of the man.
Lucifer patted his back awkwardly, mumbling "there there" like Alastor was some child to be coddled.
The audacity.
So Alastor shoved him back into the chair, smiling smugly as the littler man squawked at the sudden movement. "Fabulous. Now if you don't mind sir, it has been one hell of a night and I would like to catch some sleep. Off you go."
"Wait, hold on—whoa, c'mon dude don't just—hey! Hey hey hey!" Lucifer struggled to get his feet under him as Alastor grabbed him by the lapels, hauling the other man up and twirling him around to shove at his back, hooved feet slipping and sliding until he pressed unceremoniously against the bedroom door.
"Unholy hell," he finally pushed back and glare up at the sinister grin above his head. "You got some nerve manhandling—"
"Thank you, Lucifer."
Alastor's soft apology stopped Lucifer in his tracks, his ire at being pushed around deflating as he let himself be shoved out the now open door.
"If you ever mention anything that happened in this room, I'll find a way to kill you myself," Alastor finished before slamming the door in Lucifer's face.
Okay, maybe it was too early to be making friendship bracelets.
A sense of calm washed over Alastor, pure peace for the first time in decades as he sighed and chuckled happily, leaning against the door for just a moment as he relished the feeling. They had all made it to heaven despite the odds.
That was good. Wonderful, even. It was where they deserved to be, up there with the pearly gates and far away from him.
With another sigh, Alastor looked away from heaven, drawing the curtains and magicking himself into his pajamas. He didn't bother to get under the covers. He just let himself fall face first into the soft pillows, sagging into the comfy mattress as he let sleep take him.
He awoke at the crack of dawn just as he planned, still tired and more than a little hungover but determined to be a menace. He found solace in cooking, humming joyfully to himself as he cooked sausage and bacon, tap dancing around as he spread powdered sugar on the beignets and pancakes, and singing loudly as he finished scrambling the last of the eggs.
With the final 'ding!' of the coffee pot his cooking was finished. A veritable hangover feast complete with potatoes, toast and an ungodly amount of spreads.
He grinned wickedly as the sounds of trumpets blasted through every radio in the hotel, the screams of fear and anger music to his ears. He laughed as his voice followed the trumpets, calling everyone down to eat and threatening to leave all the dishes for whoever made it down last.
And when he met Lucifer's eyes over his steaming mug of coffee, he didn't feel the usual spike of disdain for the ineffectual ruler of Hell. In fact, he offered the king his own steaming mug of pale coffee, filled to the brim with milk and sugar just the way the he liked it without a single threat, insult, nor even a disproving shake of the head. Just a drink offered in tenuous friendship.
