Alastor paced before a great door of metal. Or maybe it was stone. Either way it had intricate carvings of some celestial importance that escaped him. Around him sprawled a wheat field that rolled gently in the cool breeze. The sun beamed down, blocked only by lazy clouds. The common picture of calm.
Now if he could transplant all of that into himself, he would feel a 10th less anxious.
White-grey dress shoes stopped and swerved toward the door, sitting directly at its center. The former demon made a gesture that his past self would have considered sacrilegious—he had frowned. He could not have lost this much of an edge. Or could he have?
Heaven was not what he expected it to be when he ascended. He had heard rumors and speculation, both on Earth and Hell. Of gold halos, drab white robes, wings, gold gates, miles of clouds, and nothing but boredom. Lots of boredom. To his shock it wasn't anything like that.
It was better.
A kaleidoscope of colors past Peter and the gate was his introduction. Some were familiar from the reds, blacks, oranges, and purples normally seen in hell. Others from his time on Earth. The rest were shades he could never imagine.
Canyons to deserts, rolling plains to snowy mountains, and cities of varying architecture, from rough angles of the past to smooth curves of the future. Even things that belonged in pure fantasy, like levitating islands and eldritch plains.
He had stumbled a bit and readjusted his glasses from the impact of it all. He swore Peter muttered "first timer," wrapped in a lighthearted chuckle, before the gates closed.
Truth be told, despite his confidence when he left Hell, he had no idea what to do with himself. Dressed in a spiffy grey vest, white clothes (more his choice than something mandatory), and, the last vestige of his demon persona, a classy microphone cane, Alastor took his brave first steps.
And then another.
And another.
Soon he was walking past arched eyebrows and polite hellos. What he hoped looked like sauntering bravado was more lost child.
The realm seemed to take pity on his aimlessness and shifted faster than he walked. Before he knew it a door faced him, a door attached to a building that would not look out of place on a 1930s club or bar, with the swing music that fit the brand as well.
The tones, voices, melodies, and oh so familiar static pops. Yes, he recognized it quite clearly.
It ground to a halt after he opened the door. Most of the folks wore era specific attire, like vests, suspenders, or flapper dresses, while others had more modern T-shirts to less discernible clothing. A large crocodile man stood on stage, presumably the one singing. He made a mental note that Heaven accepted more beastly appearances here. They stared quizzically at the newcomer.
He smiled to cover his growing nerves. "Hello, ladies and gents. I couldn't help but be entranced by such a wonderful performance. Although," his move was more automatic, pointing toward the croc, "some of those notes could have been handled far more gracefully."
"Think you can do better?" A playful challenge.
Natural charisma returned to him like it never left. "Oh ho, can I?"
And like that, he melded into it all.
Alastor did not know how much time had passed or if it was even relevant here. New friends were made and past victims were met, which tended to be rather awkward. Most residents here were rather forgiving, made sense. That did not, however, mean that they, said victims, liked him, weren't angry with him, or wanted to be around him, which also made sense.
Finally, there was the moment he would never forget. Reuniting with his beloved mother. He skipped over the memory, too embarrassed by the emotional blubbering that ensued between them. Mostly on his part...
He smoothed his grey vest for the fifth time. Jogging down memory lane was not why he was here. As much as he loved being in Heaven, he just could not shake a small empty feeling welling in him.
And that's why he was standing in this field. In front of this door. That led to the owner and proprietor of this wonderful paradise.
...Screw it. He was going in there before his better judgement caught up with him. Taking a deep breath he pushed at it's decorative surface with all his might. Which proved to be much easier than he thought, stumbling in with the grace of a drunkard. Husk would be proud.
The aura inside was not what he expected, then again so were a lot of things in Heaven. Instead of feeling small, it felt like a warm hug. Light crept in between marble columns and in the center sat a giant… man?
It was strange, he could discern arms, legs, and the torso, yet not the head. Alastor decided it was best not to dwell on it. He straightened and gave his best smile. "Hello! Big G, can I call you that? I-"
"-have been expecting you." His voice was impassive, with an undercurrent of fatherliness.
"Right, of course you have, omnipotence and all. Look, I'm going to keep this simple, I-"
"-want to leave."
Alastor blinked. "Can I finish my own sentences or is this just a thing you do?"
That got a chuckle out of Him, hearty yet full of cheer. "May I ask why?"
"What?"
"Why do you wish to leave."
Alastor tugged at his shirt collar. "Don't you already know the answer to that?"
"Humor Me."
"Well I don't necessarily want to leave," he said slowly, trying to find the words he planned to say, smile tensing, "I love it, all of it, everything is… perfect, in a way. Things I enjoy yet diversity to choose from, everything you could want yet challenging enough to keep it from being boring, stagnant. It's all so very… nice," Alastor began to tail off, losing steam, "I- It's just..."
"You miss them," it was stated as more fact than question.
The former demon's smile turned to relief, he wiggled a pointed finger in God's direction, "Yes that and I- I want to help them. Not just the current residents in the hotel, but others in Hell."
"Why do you presume to need My permission?"
"Ah, I figured I'd need a divine passport or something to, well, leave. I don't remember seeing any of Heaven's other tenants venturing down there," he said, trying to play off his growing embarrassment.
"If you wish to return to see and help save others, I will always endorse such a decision. As for others, some have braved Hell's depths in hopes of coxing a fallen friend or family member to return with them. None stayed for long in fear of falling as well."
Well, that was certainly a weight off Alastor's chest, but there was another nagging question he had had since walking through Heaven's gate. "If I may be so bold, why do You care?"
"Hm?"
"About me? About them? We've done things, awful things. Unspeakable things. Why?"
Beyond the whistle soothing wind there was silence in the grand hall. Now God's turn to choose his words. "I have not forgotten what you have done to others, Alastor. You were a murderer, a serial killer, a cannibal. Those will forever be a role you played and a black mark on your history that cannot be undone."
Alastor winced, gripping his cane tighter.
"But the past does not have to define you."
"Huh?" He shouldn't have been surprised by that, considering where he is and having met His technical granddaughter, but he was. How can someone be that accepting?
"Alastor, like a parent to their child, I have loved you since the day you were conceived. I was saddened when you were hurt. I was angered when you hurt others. I was disappointed when you fell and I rejoiced when you chose redemption. As I did, have, and will feel toward all my children. If I did not love any one of you there would have been no way to leave eternal torment. Eternity lasts so long as those fallen souls reject repentance, forgiveness, and instead cling to hatred."
"You sure about that last one?" The ascended demon eyed the great door behind him. "Some here seem to hate me a fair bit, not that I blame them."
"You mistake anger for hate. They are far less similar than you may realize. Your victims here have every right to be angry at the injustice you have done to them, but if they truly hated you, they would be at your throat or arguing for you to be cast back to Hell.
"Forgiveness is not to allow others to abuse you. It is not to forget what they have done or to accept the offense as okay, for there are times when it is not. All it means is to let go of resentment, revenge, grudges. To accept what has happened is an act that cannot be undone or, at times, fixed. It does not begin with the offender's remorse, but a choice made on how to move forward. One can forgive and stand up for themselves or others and defend them, but to deliberately commit a terrible act without a shred of remorse is to be no better than the offender themselves. Hate, resentment, apathy, and remorselessness to each other have no place here."
Silence reigned in the temple. An aura of annoyance and frustration had overtaken the original calm, though he felt none of it directed at him. Harsh wind blew through the marble columns, carrying with it the negativity.
"I apologize for the ramble. I…" the Deity Himself trailed off, searching for words, "I'm a little tired of others viewing compassion or forgiveness as tolerance of or enabling abuse."
Alastor clapped his hands together, cane held carefully under his arm. "Well, this has been a very nice, if surprisingly philosophical, chat. I'll be out of Your… ethereal hair now and back to Hell. Something I never thought I'd hear myself say…"
"Dressed in that?"
The former demon crashed to a halt, looking back at the Deity incredulously. His hearing must be shot because it sounded like God had teased him.
"If You're referring to the white duds, I chose them because I figured it'd be symbolic. That I'd fit in better here. You know, washed myself of impurity, that sort of thing."
"How you look on the outside does not reflect what is on the inside. Not in My kingdom at least." The sense of a smile radiated from the Deity.
Alastor figured that that was the go ahead to 'dress however you like.' The all-white ensemble was getting a little old. A blinding flash momentarily filled the room.
"How do I look?" His white dress pants had become black. A familiar red pinstripe coat draped itself across his shoulders, while underneath the grey vest and white dress shirt remained. His teeth yellowed, growing more prominent fangs, and his hair became a darker shade of red.
"Like you could go through Hell."
"I'll take that as a compliment." With that, Alastor sprinted out of the temple, wheat brushing against his coat tail.
A voice whispered in his ear despite the distance, "A word of advice. You are descending into a den among wolves. Therefore, be as shrewd as a snake and as innocent as a dove."
"Always was fairly good at being shrewd, innocence is gonna be a bit harder."
"And tell Charlie, I'm so very proud of her and everyone who helped."
Once more, the realm shifted and the golden gate was in his sights. They awaited him, open and expecting. Without looking up from his podium, Peter mumbled a "good luck" as Alastor passed.
The redeemed demon took a leap into the abyss beyond heaven, unafraid as light enveloped him.
Hell's weather was the same as it usually was, deep red clouds rolled by in a sunless red sky. All illuminated by the ever present, eternally burning Star symbol, also red, and the light polluted city.
Directly underneath it was Hell's vast vice city, stretching miles in all directions not taken by barren wastelands. Denizens carried on their monotonous days, cars zoomed by in the streets nearly side-swiping others on sidewalks, and high-level demons plotted power-plays in their unending struggle for territory. No one flinched at terror-filled screams and ringing gunfire. No one batted an eye at muggings in alleys. No one helped the demon that was ran over, others just laughed.
As long as it wasn't them.
A column of light pierced the burning sky, impaling the street below. The Heavenly light dissipated, leaving small shimmers surrounding the figure it carried. Demons in the immediate area not drenched in apathy stared curiously, or just gawked. Until one spoke up, breaking the trance, noticing who was standing there.
"Oh SATAN! He's back!"
A fair amount of Hell's denizens fled in fear, screaming, while others continued their day like it didn't matter that one of the former, most fearsome Demon Lords returned. Alastor smiled, it was nice to know he could still make an entrance.
He turned his gaze to the hotel before him, falling into a natural, confident stride. The towering building still resembled something an eccentric artist with a flair for the gothic would create as a model for an art piece rather than anything a sane architect would approve of, the giant ocean liner vertically sticking out of it being the best indicator. There were improvements, the front door's overhead cover was no longer tattered, said liner was scrubbed free of rust and its dents repaired, more supports that were not rotting wood had been added haphazardly, and, if he was not mistaken, a lovely wind-chime hung overhead.
All in all, it gave off a better illusion of not collapsing from the gentlest of winds.
Yep, just the way he left it.
Deja vu washed over him, face-to-face with the maroon-ish purple door. When he first set foot at this very spot so long ago, he didn't believe anyone in this wretched hellscape could ever leave, it was "wacky nonsense" that would amuse him for the next century or so. How wrong he had been.
Alastor gave a gentle knock to the tune of "Shave and a Haircut", for nostalgia's sake.
"I'll get it!" A muffled, yet distinctly bubbly voice resonated from behind the entryway. It never occurred to him how much he missed it. Despite the smile plastered on his face, he had no idea what to say.
The door swung open. "Hello! And welcome to the Happy-" A sharp gasp interrupted whatever was to follow. A blonde blur rammed into Alastor making him stumble as arms wrapped around him.
"Alastor, it's so great-" her smile faltered, the second half of the epiphany dawning on her. "Oh God Alastor! What are you doing back here?! Did you relapse? Did nobody accept you? Did they kick you out?!"
Hell's princess frantically searched Alastor's person, looking for any clue as to why he had returned. His tolerance to being touched by others not initiated by himself had grown considerably, but he still had his limits. Charlie, however, was an exception.
He couldn't help but laugh, "Charlie, my dear," she looked up at him, distracted from her inspection. The words came to him, clicking into place.
"I'm here because I want to help." And this time, he said it with the most unmistakable amount of sincerity.
Alastor watched in amusement as Charlie went from a worried state to confusion until settling on a grin that threatened to overtake her face. He found himself in a bone-crushing hug. This time he returned it.
"It hasn't really been the same without you."
"I'd hope not, I leave quite the impression."
Arm around Charlie, Alastor began talking animatedly as they headed into the hotel. "Together we'll paint Hell red, metaphorically of course. Or perhaps some lovelier shade, like sky blue. That'll get 'em thinking! I'm already filled to the brim with ideas."
"Right, before I forget, your Grandparent is proud of you."
"What?!"