Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Charlie was never that much of an optimist. Afterall, when you’re literally at rock bottom, there’s no where else to go but up, right…? From the moment she was born, she never thought twice over the unusual circumstances surrounding her life. It was an easy, charmed life. She had everything she could ever hope for, and never wanted for anything. Not food, not water. Charlie always thought she lived a blessed existence.
But she never realized just how alone she was. At how her so-called paradise was devoid of life. She’d never lived in a household filled with this many people before.
When her parents were still together, she lived with them. One big, happy family. A kind, caring mother, a doting father, and her—The product of their love. Except…was that really the case? How many nights had she snuck out of bed and wandered into father’s study, only to find him wide awake and tinkering with projects that never amounted to much, in the grand scheme of things.
Mother always said father was just busy, and that he loved them both very, very much.
Charlie doesn’t doubt that, of course. Father does love her. Even well into adulthood, he still provides for her. But he was never around, was he? And she still recalls just how peculiar it was, when he decided to become a permanent resident of the hotel as well.
How many years has it been since they lived under the same roof?
It’s already been eight years since mother disappeared. Had mother always wanted to leave?
Not once had Charlie entertained the idea that mother never wanted to be with them…never wanted to stay with her. It wasn’t until everything that transpired in purgatory that Charlie truly realized that mother never had a ‘childhood’ to begin with. She was created from dust and placed into the garden. Offered to Adam as his wife, without her having any say in the matter. And Eve, from what little Charlie knows about her, had been created from one of Adam’s ribs.
For all of Adam’s many faults, he never asked for any of that either, right? Never asked for the entire course of humanity to be placed on his shoulders? Of course, Charlie knows that guy was a major dick. The absolute worst, but she’s been to earth. She’s been to purgatory. She saw Alastor’s memories with her own two eyes.
She witnessed his slow, agonizing demise.
When Charlie’s awake, when she’s asleep, her mind always wanders back to that moment. It’s like she’s still in purgatory…feels like Alastor had just died yesterday, even though been one year since she witnessed his death…since she learned who Alastor used to be.
And it’s been nearly a century since he died.
Alastor is clearly healing from that wretched ordeal. He went through so much, but he’s getting better. Slowly and surely. Charlie couldn’t be more proud, but she’s starting to suspect that something is wrong with her, if she’s still out of sorts about all of this. She was never hurt. No one ever dared to lay a hand on her. Not in the same way that those men did to Alastor…that Vox and Valentino subjected him to.
Charlie is fine. She’s better than fine—Never been happier, in-fact!
She wanders through the castle, retracing routes that she’d taken thousands of times in her youth. But…Charlie notices something is off. Had these walls always been this tall before? She looks down, realizes she’s wearing a frilly white evening dress. The pretty, fancy kind that went out of style a hundred years ago. And Charlie dully realizes that she is dreaming, afterall.
And so, she walks through the quiet hallways of her family’s old castle. Already knowing just where to go, when…she reaches father’s study.
Charlie knows what to expect. She’s had this dream before.
But old habits die hard, so she knocks on the door, knowing fully well that she’ll never receive a response. Slowly, Charlie opens the door, only to find father hunched over his work desk. He looks…unwell. Bags underneath his eyes, pale complexion taking on a sickly hue. But it’s when he notices her that something shifts. Charlie instinctively takes a step back, withering underneath the intensity of his glare.
He doesn’t speak. Neither does she. His eyes aren’t glowing red. He’s not angry at her in the same way that he’d been at Adam. Charlie had been too young at the time, but now…she knows fully well what she did…why mother left, and why she’d caught father glaring at her one too many times in her tender years. He never beat her, never scolded her. He’d always say how much he loved her, and Charlie knows this.
She ruined his life…ruined mother’s life.
If she wasn’t around, they’d both be happy. They could have salvaged their marriage, somehow. Or even gone their separate ways.
She runs out of the study, not daring to apologize to father. But she finds herself in Heaven again. During those rare times Charlie was granted passage into Heaven on account of Alastor’s angelically inflicted injuries, she could feel a tension in the air.
Heaven was always meant to be the end all, be all of everything. All anyone needed in-order to achieve eternal happiness was to be granted permission to step into Heaven.
They only needed to be redeemed.
But…was Sir Pentious any happier after being redeemed? He’d been separated from his friends. Sir Pentious still isn’t allowed back into hell, but surprisingly, Sera did allow some leniency. They can still video chat with him, but it’s not the same. Charlie often finds herself wondering if she’s doing the right thing.
Perhaps it’s the crueler option, to redeem souls who’re already used to life in hell. To separate them from their friends, from the families they made down here.
And Charlie never conceived of the idea that those redeemed souls wouldn’t be accepted with open arms in Heaven. She never outright experienced any hostility in Heaven, but even she’s not blind enough to not notice the way angels would go out of their way to avoid her. At how she’d catch them glaring at her, or shooting uneasy glances. And even though St. Peter was cordial, all things considered, she still finds herself dwelling on just how uneasy he acted around her.
It’s not her fault…she never asked for any of this. At how outside of hell, she’s something to be feared. Something to be disgusted by, all due to her heritage. But she reaped the benefits of the original sin.
She lived a kind, charmed life. Charlie failed them. Failed her people, failed Alastor. Failed mother and father—
Charlie is their daughter. It’s her responsibility to make them happy.
She should have tried harder. Charlie always knew father was unwell, but she focused on her own problems. She needs to act unselfishly. She needs to be better. All her fault.
All her fault.
If only she tried harder, then maybe, mother would never have left, and father would actually be happy. As their one and only daughter, it’s her job to ensure they’re happy. It’s the least she can do.
And, if it turns out that mother stopped loving her, then it’s Charlie’s duty to earn her love again.
It’s a miracle father doesn’t hate her anymore.
She’ll do better.
Charlie failed them. Maybe she failed Sir Pentious too. But at least Alastor is here. At least he’s not dead. He suffered a terrible death in life, and even in death, he still suffered tremendously. After everything he went through, Charlie refuses to let him down anymore. She’ll help him. She’ll save him.
He died too young. He suffered a cruel death. It’s up to Charlie to protect him.
Dreams like these…they’re never very fun, are they? Charlie doesn’t sleep a lot, persay, but as of late, she’s found it increasingly difficult to wake up. She finds herself lost in her memories…in memories that don’t belong to her.
But just as always, she wakes up. Her ears ringing with agonized screams, with cruel laughter, with the brutal crack of bones and tearing flesh. The scent of blood fills her nostrils, and when she awakens, at first, all she sees is the bayou. Sees Alastor on the ground. Bloodied, brutalized, barely clinging to life. Sees severed limbs piling up, and for a brief moment, Charlie wonders if earth had been hell all along, and if the place she knew her entire life was actually a different place entirely.
She stares up at the ceiling, finding herself incredibly lonely. Vaggie isn’t by her side right now. Seems like she went out for her morning jog. Usually, Charlie tags along with her, but—
Slowly, Charlie turns on her side, only to let out an ear-piercing screech as she locks eyes with Uriel.
“Goooood morning, Char-Char~!!” Uriel happily greets, seemingly unperturbed as he continues to sit on the floor right beside Charlie’s bed.
Bringing a hand up to her chest, Charlie takes a deep breath, trying to calm her beating heart. “How long were you watching me sleep?”
Uriel tilts his head, clearly deep in thought. But after a moment, he shrugs. “You talk a lot in your sleep! It’s a sure good thing we’re not mortal enemies, else I’d know all of your secrets. Oh, but if you want, I can be your therapist? I’ve gotten very good at this uhhh…acting normal, thing?” Uriel does air quotes, not looking very sure of himself. “I’m just like any normal human person you’ll ever meet! Or, normal demon person, in your case. Since you are a demon, afterall!”
“I…alright…?” Charlie dazedly murmurs.
“But anyway, enough about me! We’ve got a commercial to shoot!”
Immediately, Charlie jumps out of bed, a manic-look in her eyes as she exclaims, “Oh, shit, the shoot!!!”
“No need to curse, Char-Char—You’ve got a pretty strong grip there!” Uriel notes, still brightly smiling as Charlie gently pushes him out of her bedroom. “Meet you in ten, Uriel!!”
“Okie-dokie!” the archangel chirps, attempting to bring her in for a hug.
Turning away from the archangel, Charlie doesn’t notice the crestfallen look on his face as she slams the door shut on him.
“…Rude,” Uriel pouts, crossing his arms.
---
“Wow…you are actually good at this, old man,” his royal travesty, the vertically challenged king, the absolute bane of Alastor’s existence smugly says. “Didn’t know there was anything in that head of yours aside from radios and creepy cannibalism shit.”
Not justifying Lucifer’s jabs with a response, Alastor merely flips him off.
“No, but really, it’s nice seeing you out and about, even with that shitty bob cut of yours.”
Oh, now Lucifer is going too far.
Shooting him a bright smile, Alastor shoves the camera into his arms. “Since you clearly have nothing better to do than to harass your hotelier, why don’t you take the camera? Look, you see that switch? To make it work, you need to turn it on. It’s very simple, I’m sure even you could do it…unless, I’m giving you too much credit? Is the tiny, angry snake afraid the camera might steal his soul?”
“Hotelier or not, I’m gonna kick your ass—”
“And preying on civilians now, are you? My, my, how the mighty have fallen,” Alastor laughs, bringing a hand up to his smiling face. “You’re quite the formidable king, my dear.”
Crossing his arms, Lucifer curtly retorts. “Yeah, yeah, laugh away. Not like I have feelings or anything…hey, why don’t we include you in the commercial? Seems pretty unfair that everyone’s doing all of the hard acting work while you get to relax backstage.”
Alastor feels all but breathless as Lucifer turns the camera equipment towards him. He freezes, eyes latched onto the blinking red light as Lucifer shoots him a playful grin.
It’s safe here. Lucifer is a prick, but he never gave Alastor a reason to distrust him, or suspect Lucifer has ever considered taking advantage of him.
All of the men in this hotel are safe. Everyone is safe. No one ever made a move to hurt him, not even Husker. Alastor’s no longer an overlord. Husk could hurt him if he wanted to…could even take revenge against him, but he’s been nothing but ‘nice.’ It’s pity. It’s disgusting. They shouldn’t pity him.
Vox had cradled him in his arms, carrying him out into the hallway, not bothering to preserve his modesty—Not even providing Alastor with a shred of dignity before he threw him onto a bed. Before he climbed on top of him, had pressed his hand over Alastor’s bare thigh, fully intending to defile him like those men had.
“Great, just like that. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Hold that pose for a bit…”
Alastor begged Vox to kill him.
Vox recorded that whole ordeal, had caught his humiliation on camera.
All he saw was the blinking red light of Vox’s camera phone, positioned squarely on him.
“Kill me…please, kill me……” Alastor’s legs give away as he collapses onto the ground. Burying his face in his hands, desperately trying to not wretch, to not scream or cry as all he can recall is the feeling of Vox’s hands all over him, at the feeling of Valentino inside of him. At how they took him, at how Alastor begged for more. And somehow, they feel just like those men had from one-hundred years ago.
Vox…he misses Vox. Needs him here. This isn’t what he needs.
After all of this time, he’s still fucked up, broken. Alastor thought he was getting better, that he put all of this behind him.
“Oh shit, Alastor, I am so sorry,” Lucifer apologizes, both aggrieved and ashamed as he anxiously tries to wrap Alastor up in a hug—
“Don’t touch me!!” Alastor exclaims as he slaps Lucifer’s hand away, before wrapping his arms around his midsection. Looking so very much like a cornered animal. Ears pinned back to his skull as he desperately tries to shield himself from Lucifer’s gaze…from everyone in the hotel.
Charlie’s staring directly at him.
No, no, no, Alastor can’t deal with her right now! He can’t stand this.
He tries to get up, only for a sudden ache in his legs to remind him of the injuries he sustained from Vox. Alastor’s still riddled in scars from that week long ordeal. And sometimes, he locks himself in the restroom. Unravels the bandages wrapped around his throat as he stares at the markings Vox etched into his skin. And it hurt. It really fucking hurt, but sometimes, Alastor finds himself sorely missing those times.
Time heals all wounds, but somehow, the way Vox had seared into his flesh…had cut him open, it all felt…nice. Like the gentle caress of a lover’s touch, and after all of this time, Alastor still misses him.
“Al, it’ll be alright. You don’t have to be in the commercial. Hell, if I need to, I’ll ban all cell phones in the hotel!”
“Don’t you think you’re going a bit too far there, Charlie?”
“Not at all—If anything, I’m not doing enough!!!”
“You all should really give him some space…” Uriel floats into the scene, shooting Lucifer a reproachful look before he kneels by Alastor’s side. “Seriously, a camera? Really?”
Still looking abashed and self-conscious, Lucifer attempts to soften his voice as Alastor starts to tear up. “He was shooting the commercial. I thought he was fine with cameras now, that he was alright with just joking around. Thought that Al was getting better…”
“You…really don’t know how human-born souls think,” Uriel sighs. “Can’t even get mad at you for this. It’s like talking to Sera.” But then, Uriel clasps Alastor’s hands in his, gently attempting to calm him down. “Want me to take you away for a little vacation, Alastor?”
Alastor doesn’t respond as he numbly stares back at Uriel.
“It doesn’t have to be Heaven…especially since Peter is still mad over that thing I…I mean, Emily did. I had nothing to do with it, promise. Which wasn’t important, anyway. His hair isn’t going to stay pink forever,” Uriel says, murmuring that last part to himself. “And I know you’re not ready to go to earth yet…hmm, how about purgatory?”
The first few times Alastor had been in purgatory, he got repeatedly maimed. But anywhere is better than here. He’s already pathetic. Alastor knows this. Knows that secretly, everyone here must think less of him. Afterall, they already saw him at his worst.
And he just can’t stand Charlie’s incessant coddling. He needs space. Needs time away from all of this. Needs room to breathe.
“Please…” Alastor says with all of the desperation of a dead man. “Take me away from here.”
Charlie visibly stills at this. Horror-stricken, clearly in grief.
Alastor ignores the sharp stab of guilt, at how ungrateful he’s acting. He’s Charlotte’s charity case. It would do him good to treat her more kindly, but he can’t stay here. Not now. Not after all of that progress was sent straight down the drain.
No, that’s not right. He’s not guilty.
He looks up, unsure of what to feel as tears threaten to spill from Charlie’s eyes.
“I’m…” Alastor’s voice tapers off. He’s not sorry. Words do nothing. He can’t say sorry, can’t admit that he’s wrong. Uriel helps Alastor up to his hooves, pleasantly smiling as he whisks them both away from hell. The journey from hell to purgatory is gentle, almost like being wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket. When Alastor opens his eyes, he finds himself standing directly in the center of a living room.
It’s clearly well-lived in. Ink bottles and parchment are scattered all over the floor, along with all sorts of weapons. Alastor kneels down to pick up a gun with a peculiar symbol, wincing as the carpeted floor presses uncomfortably against his still injured legs.
“Make yourself at home, Alastor!” Uriel exclaims. “I know you don’t like moving picture shows, but luckily for you, I bought some new boardgames! Oh, and your sister says hi.”
“…I’m an only child—”
But wait, is he really? Considering his father’s disgusting propensity for forcing himself onto young girls, Alastor knows he has siblings out there. Not that it matters. The only family he’s ever had is maman.
A three-eyed hamster waddles over to him. Emitting a high-pitched squeak as she stares up at him.
Alastor reaches down to Mallow the hamster, unable to suppress a smile as she scurries up his arm before nuzzling his cheek. With a sigh, Alastor slowly gets up. Slightly wincing as he takes a seat on the sofa…only for Uriel to rematerialize out of nowhere. Brightly smiling as he shoves a mug of coffee into Alastor’s hands.
“Bought that mug especially for you, son!”
“Once again, I am not your son,” Alastor sighs as he nurses the mug of steaming hot coffee in his hands. An image of a cartoon deer with googly eyes stares at him from the mug.
“Eh, as far as I’m concerned, every soul in purgatory is mine,” Uriel chirps, still brightly smiling as he pets Mallow’s head. “It’s pretty nice here, don’t you think? Very quiet. Of course, I like earth just as much as everyone, but even I need some alone time every now and then.”
“Earth’s overrated,” Alastor says, bringing the mug up to his lips. His tongue is flooded with the refined, bitter taste of freshly brewed coffee, along with…something rich and coppery? Alastor takes another slow sip from the beverage, relishing the taste, only for him to come to a pleasant realization. “You put blood in this?”
Uriel’s smile brightens even more, which Alastor must admit to being rather impressed by. “Only pork blood, but I’m glad you noticed!” But then Uriel scowls as he huffs, “No one would let me take ‘human blood.’ I also tried taking blood from Peter and Abel, but that’s also off-limits. Apparently I can’t use my blood either…”
Averting his eyes, Alastor murmurs, “Thank you.”
“Anytime, my son.”
“…Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“Because your real father was terrible? And I’d be a better fit for the job,” Uriel responds without missing a beat. “Anyway, enough about him. He’s dead, but I’m not! So, I’d say I’m doing a terrific job! What’re the youngins’ into these days?”
“You are a very strange little angel,” Alastor says, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“I’m actually the tallest angel around. Even taller than Sera,” Uriel says with all of the importance of an angel barely reaching five feet tall. “You may think she’s tall, but it’s all just smoke and mirrors.”
“A conspiracy, my dear?” Alastor laughs, while Mallow seemingly squeaks in agreement.
Uriel nods at this. “Now you get it! This is all a conspiracy to get everyone to believe Sera’s this oh-so cool and mysterious seraphim, when in-actuality, she’s…wait, I forgot what the point of this all was….oh, right!” Uriel exclaims, clasping his hands together. “Lucy’s a big dummy.”
Alastor chuckles. “Now that, I completely agree with.”
“No wonder why Michael could never stand him,” Uriel says. “She always kept going on and on about how she was far more beautiful than him, which was a downright riot since they look exactly the same. And you should have seen their arguments when Lucy was still in Heaven, not that I was around to see them yet, either…”
Mallow jumps off of Alastor’s shoulder and scurries away.
“From what Lucifer’s said, I thought Michael was male?” Alastor offhandedly asks.
“Sometimes, yeah. But last I saw Michael, she was a girl,” Uriel explains. “Don’t know how she won the award for most ‘charismatic and beloved angel’ for five-hundred-and-seventy-four years, but who’s counting? Certainly not me!”
But immediately, Uriel sombers up. “They’re all gone…not like I miss them……”
Alastor averts his gaze, instead opting to look out of the window. Unlike hell, unlike Heaven, purgatory is rather empty. Every so often, he sees disembodied shadows flittering about in the endless landscapes of purgatory—Dreary, gray skies, vast empty fields of grass and wildflowers…it’s all pretty and scenic, but far too isolated for Alastor’s personal tastes.
He thinks back to his own days spent back on earth. At how lively those few short years he’d spent with Mimzy and her girls had been. At how they all died so easily…at how most of the women from that speakeasy were slaughtered on the streets of New Orleans.
No matter how much he may wish otherwise, there’s no going back to what ‘could have been.’
It’s only due to a slim miracle that maman managed to live for as long as she did.
There’s no way in hell Alastor misses his old life. Aside from the obvious…aside from maman, he doesn’t miss anyone there. He doesn’t miss those women, doesn’t miss his old friendship with Mimzy [They’re slowly rekindling their friendship, but it’ll never be what it once was back when they were alive. Before the Great Depression hit, before Mimzy got saddled with her own problems, before…when they were both still happy].
Alastor doesn’t miss being alive.
“I don’t miss anyone as well…” Alastor murmurs.
“Oh, there really is nothing to miss about the other archangels,” Uriel quietly says. “They were all quite…errr, they were something. Azrael always did have the tendency of catching on fire. He was kind of a crybaby too. Michael was mean. But she was so nice in how she went about everything that it was hard to hate her. Gabriel…well, she absolutely adored books. So much so that I had to pull her out of the Library of Alexandria right before it was burned to the ground……”
Try as Uriel might to conceal it, Alastor can hear the slight crack in his voice. “I don’t miss them.”
Alastor closes his eyes, leaning his head against the sofa. “And I don’t miss anyone, either.”
He feels a slight weight by his side, followed by Uriel pulling him in for a hug. Alastor allows this, allows the angel to embrace him in a manner similar to Niffty. Much to his surprise, he doesn’t exactly hate this. It’s a far cry from what he’d felt in Vox’s arms. If anything, it’s nice, comforting, safe. But in a far different way from the hotel…from Charlotte’s constant insistence on following him everywhere.
It’s more than apparent to Alastor that Uriel wants to say something.
I’m sorry.
Uriel doesn’t say those words out-loud, but he doesn’t need to. It’s exactly what Alastor wanted to say to Charlie not too long ago.
Purgatory is nice. Quiet, peaceful.
Lonely.
“I really don’t miss them,” Uriel murmurs.
Alastor finds himself returning Uriel’s embrace. “I don’t miss anyone, either.”
“It’s really not fair, is it?” Uriel barks out a humorless laugh.
“I suppose not.”
Uriel falls silent. “That knife…it really wasn’t meant to be for you. I lost it in 1948. Don’t remember how. All I know is that I was supposed to meet up with Lucy and Lillith, but then…I don’t miss her……”
Her…? Alastor is well aware that he barely knows anything about this archangel. He’s dead certain Uriel and everyone in Heaven will forever be enigmas to him.
“Not everyone in Heaven is good,” Uriel says. “Just like how not everyone in hell is bad…”
Alastor opens his mouth, only to close it again. There’s nothing more to be said here.
He knows full well that he isn’t a good person. Alastor knows what a good person is. Maman was the best person he ever knew. And if Charlotte wasn’t Lucifer’s daughter, she’d have been canonized into sainthood, for sure. She’s so inherently good that it’s downright sickening.
“I’m not saying that you’re good, Alastor. But you’re not bad, either.”
“No, I’m quite sure I’m as terrible as they come,” Alastor retorts.
Uriel shoots him a knowing look. “We both know what real monsters are like. As hard as it is for you to believe, you’re not one of them. Though, that goes for me as well. I’m not delusional enough to believe that I’m good…that something as difficult to define as ‘morality’ can't be quantified. But I never asked for this, just like you never asked for those heavy decisions to be placed on you…”
Alastor quietly whispers, “I didn’t have to kill them.”
“But did you want to kill them?”
Silence. “Yes.”
Uriel faintly smiles at this. “We’re both the same, you and I. If I were in your shoes, I’d have done the same thing.”
“Still doesn’t change the fact that I enjoyed killing,” Alastor points out.
“Be that as it may, you undeniably saved a lot of people,” Uriel gently says. “I’ve encountered more winners that knew you in life…many of them said you saved them. And quite a few actually did know you were a killer in life……”
Alastor can’t accept this…he won’t allow this angel to pity him. To sugarcoat his words, even though Alastor knows he’s never been anything more than a monster.
From the moment he was born, he was destined to bring ruin to those he was meant to protect. He hurt maman. If only he was never around, then she could have been happy. He was never able to atone for his sins. Instead, he was viciously beaten black and blue. He’d been drugged, abducted, tortured, defiled, raped. Dismembered, murdered. Thrown away like garbage.
All his fault.
Logically, Alastor knows he wasn’t to blame for the circumstances surrounding his death. He just had rotten luck. He was too unlucky. Too pretty.
If he didn’t possess such a ‘pretty’ face, then those men would have merely been content to murder him. If only that’s all that they did.
He still recalls their touch. Can remember just how good it felt as they held onto him—
And even after all of this time, he still misses Vox.
Alastor knows Vox loved him, and that he loved Vox. But Alastor betrayed Vox. He’s filthy, disgusting. He let himself get touched by other men. Deluded Vox into believing that he was pure, that he was still a virgin. He doesn’t deserve Vox’s love. Doesn’t deserve his adoration and affection.
It wasn’t love.
But Alastor needs to believe that Vox loved him. He needs to hold onto this belief, because if not, if Vox never loved him, then all of that pain and suffering would have been for nothing.
“Broken…unwanted, disgusting……”
“You still love him, don’t you?” Uriel quietly asks.
Alastor closes his eyes, tears threatening to spill out. “So, so much. More than he could ever know.”
“There’s different kinds of love, Alastor.”
“Even-so, I know I loved him…”
Uriel offers a noncommittal hum. “Sera loves her people. Most exorcists probably think they’re killing demons to save their loved ones. You live under the same roof as an ex-exorcist. By all definitions of the word, she’s a mass murderer. You’re one too. You killed in the hopes of protecting your loved ones.”
“What? You’re saying that what I did was justified?”
“No, you misunderstand,” Uriel shakes his head. “I was merely making an observation. I also made that knife to punish sinners. And for countless millennia, I’ve hurt far too many people.” He looks down at his hands. “I’ve stained myself with blood.”
Good, evil, none of that even matters to Alastor anymore.
Afterall, he was never meant to be in this afterlife.
He failed maman. He didn’t worship the Loa enough. Alastor was never able to do right by her, even at the very end……
“Vaggie found happiness.” Uriel averts his eyes. “I found happiness, and I think it’s about time that you let yourself be happy, too. It’s been too long. Your death was horrific. You died tragically young. You made mistakes, but we all do. It’s a normal part of existing, Al.”
“I’ve made far too many mistakes,” Alastor whispers. “It’s impossible for someone like me to just…to be happy.”
“You forget who you’re talking to, Al,” Uriel grimly smiles. “I may not have directly involved myself with the exterminations, but I’m still an archangel. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just as complicit to mass murder as any other exorcist out there.”
“That’s not the same thing…”
“Why? Because I’m an angel? Because I’m ‘good,’ and you were a demon?” Uriel tilts his head. “Or is it because you were a serial killer? Look, I’ve been torturing and destroying souls thousands of years before you were even born. I committed so many sins that it’s a wonder as to why I’m still an angel. I’m not saying you’re ‘good,’ but you have so many people who care for you, Al. It’s about time you forgive yourself. It’s not too late. You can’t fix the mistakes you’ve made, but you can learn and improve and strive to carve out a better, happier future for yourself.”
Alastor doesn’t cry. He’s incapable of doing such a thing. He’s not happy or sad or…anything.
“I can’t,” Alastor confesses. Tears slip down his cheeks. His vision is blurry, and his heart feels heavy, as if it’s being weighed down by lead. “Vox…I miss him. I need him, I just…I can’t go on. Not without him by my side. I know we can’t be together anymore, but…”
Burying his face in his hands, Alastor chokes back a sob. “Even after enduring all of that pain and suffering he put me through, I still love him. He’ll never accept me…no one will accept something as broken as me…”
Uriel gently pats Alastor’s shoulder. “There, there, you’re not broken. You’re not a doll, Alastor.”
“That’s not what those men said……”
“You’re not a doll, but I am,” Uriel murmurs, an indescribable emotion interspersed in his voice, almost sounding like bitterness. “It’s hard now. I won’t promise that you’ll ever get over him, but it’ll be better. You have a lot of people who care for you. I care about you.”
“Wish I could be better,” Alastor continues to weep, shoulders trembling as he covers his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“In regards to this, you have nothing to apologize for,” Uriel quietly consoles. “It’ll be fine. You’ll get past this.”
Alastor wishes he could, but he doesn’t see how.
His feelings towards his death, towards abandoning maman. He did manage to speak one last time with maman. She assured him there was nothing to feel guilty or ashamed about. Logically, Alastor knows the circumstances of his demise were completely out of his control. Even if he never became a serial killer, his death still would have likely happened.
He wasn’t murdered because he was a killer.
Not his fault…not his fault……
Alastor never felt this way before. He never understood what it meant to feel ‘love’ in the romantic sense, but he’s starting to realize in the worst way possible as to what it means to ‘love’ and ‘be loved.’ He had a good thing with Vox, but he threw it all away. And thus, he’s left to pick up the pieces of his broken ‘self.’
What he feels…it’s heartbreak.
It feels like Alastor is dying all over again. He needs to get past this. Not for his sake, but for maman, for Charlotte, for Uriel and everyone else at the hotel. They did so much for him. It’s only fair and just that he repays their kindness.
Alastor needs to get better. He needs to allow himself to be happy, to learn how to forgive himself. But try as he might, he doesn’t know how.
Grief, anger, sorrow, they’re all parts of him.
If he were to let go of it all, if he were to allow himself to move on from his death, then who would he become at the end? He’d be letting go of everything that made him, ‘him.’