Alastor sat silently up in his Radio Tower at his control panel. His trademark smile was nowhere to be found. Lost in thought, he simply stared down at a small object he held in his hands when Charlie's voice startled him back awake. "Alastor?"

The Radio Demon jarred a little in surprise but in trying to hide that he'd been caught off guard, he tucked the object he'd been staring at quietly back into the inside breast pocket of his coat. "You shouldn't be up here, My Dear," he finally said, forcefully pinning his smile back on and spinning around on the worn office chair near his desk. "The 'On Air' sign is out there for a reason."

"I know," Charlie admitted, crossing her arms against the chilly breeze up in the open doorway as she stepped into the room. "And normally I wouldn't come up here if I knew you were working, but there's been nothing but dead air for the past 10 minutes." Charlie gestured toward the control panel sitting in front of him and Alastor glanced at the turntable to his side. The turntable with its somewhat warped record still spun but the needle had entirely fallen off. He quickly reached over and turned off the phonograph and replaced the needle arm back onto its base. Charlie spoke up again. "Al, is everything okay...?"

Alastor was quiet for a second before he cleared his throat and stood up from his chair. "Yes, of course," he turned back toward Charlie, picking up his microphone. He still smiled at her, but uncharacteristically the smile didn't reach his eyes and felt especially forced. "Just a bit distracted I suppose."

"You sure?" Charlie asked again gently. She took a moment to look around Alastor's radio tower. She'd never actually been up here--it was always understood that this was Alastor's domain. But considering how prim and proper Alastor always presented himself, Charlie found it somewhat surprising to find his tower was a bit of a mess. The broadcast control panel was in some moderate disrepair--still functional, but held together with twine and patches of tape. A few of the buttons were missing or had been replaced with oddball odds and ends. Charlie noted in particular one of the switches was broken in half, but that a small paperclip had been glued to the chipped casing so it could still be used. Boxes sat around on the floor, holding a variety of vinyl recordings for the phonograph, mostly of Big Band music and some Motown jazz. The room itself smelled old. The aged wood seemed to hold in a lot of moisture that, when mixed with the smell of the dust, the cardboard, and the old vinyl reminded Charlie of when she'd first stepped into the building that would become the Hazbin Hotel.

Alastor chuckled and attempted to wave away her concern, "As sure as I have ever been, My Dear!" His voice carried the same upbeat energy that Charlie had grown accustomed to, but it struck her as off, a little TOO upbeat. He headed toward the door behind her. "I was simply finished with my broadcast for the day anyway."

He stepped past Charlie and reached the door, clicking the small lock on the knob as he prepared to close up the studio for the day. Suddenly his knees gave out from under him. He grasped onto the doorframe with one hand to catch himself as his other flew to his chest.

Charlie gasped and rushed over to him. "Alastor?! What's wrong?!"

Al pulled his hand away from his chest, a dark red liquid covering his gloves and dripping from his claws. "Fuck..."

He hurriedly tried to stand back up and hide the blood from Charlie but she was already standing there over his shoulder. "Oh my god, Alastor, you are not fine!" She exclaimed.

"It's nothing, really..."Alastor assured her again. He struggled to pull himself up with his microphone staff. "...It looks far worse than it is..." His legs gave out again and he fell back to his knee.

Charlie was already kneeling next to him as she helped him sit back against the wall. She undid the buttons to his coat and began untying his bowtie. Alastor didn't have the power to resist as she began to unclasp the buttons to his red dress shirt and gently pulled each half aside off his chest. She gasped as her eyes lit on the deep gash crossing from the front of his chest all the way down his abdomen. Some messy black sutures crossed back and forth over it, proving that he had tried in vain to heal the injury already. "Oh, Al..." Charlie whispered.

She gently touched his pale beige skin near the gash but even that light contact made Alastor wince. Charlie pulled away, afraid to cause him any more pain. Alastor still wore his wide smile, though at this point it appeared to Charlie more like a pained grimace. "As I stated, it looks far worse than it is..." He tried to push himself up again to stand, but couldn't seem to get up the strength and fell back against the wall.

"Al, this isn't a small injury," Charlie insisted. "It looks really deep, and it's clearly causing you a lot of pain. How did you even get this anyway?!"

Alastor winced again and turned away from her. "It's really of no consequence," he assured. "Merely a small toll for a battle won."

Charlie covered her mouth with her hand after a moment for Alastor's words to sink in. "This is from the fight with Adam?" she asked, horrified. She felt her heart drop all the way down to the ground floor. "Oh my god... I didn't even realize you had gotten hurt!" Her eyes welled up with tears. "I was so focussed on what had happened to Pentious that...oh my god, I am so sorry...!"

Alastor winced again but began buttoning his shirt back up. "It's of no consequence, " He said simply. "What's done is done. This is not the first time I've had someone try to kill me and fail--the wounds will heal."

Charlie was silent as Alastor finished buttoning up his shirt. He buttoned his coat over it but left his bow tie undone. "Well...at least let me help you down to your room," Charlie offered, standing up and reaching a hand down to Alastor. "It's the least I could do, since I feel partially responsible."

Alastor chuckled. "Nonsense. I will hear none of this sort of talk from you." He grasped his microphone and again strained to try to pull himself up. But it was no use as he collapsed back from the pain.

Charlie reached down and took hold of Alastor's arm. "No, no. This time I insist," she said, pulling Alastor to his feet and draping his arm over her shoulder for support. She held onto his hand with the microphone as she led him outside, making sure to shut the door to his studio. "Don't worry, I'll take you through the back way. Everyone else is downstairs--no one will even see you."

Charlie guided Alastor through the roof access and down the utility stairs to the top floor. He limped along with her, leaning on her with almost his full weight with one hand while the other stayed clasped to his midsection, struggling and failing to staunch the flow of blood. Finally they reached his room and Charlie led him in, bringing him over to his bed which had been shoved in the front corner of the room where she sat him down. "Here, I'll help you get cleaned up," she offered as she went about unbuttoning his long red coat again. She helped him pull it off along with his monocle and draped it over a chair sitting nearby. Then she went to work unbuttoning his shirt.

"Really, My Dear, this is all quite unnecessary," Alastor objected. As Charlie started to pull his shirt untucked.

Charlie stopped and looked up at him with worry. "Al...that fight happened a week ago. Even as bad as this injury seems, it shouldn't still be bleeding!" She paused but Alastor didn't reply. "Please, just at least let me look at it and clean it up...!"

Alastor sighed and conceded and Charlie pulled open the front of his blood soaked shirt. The wound wasn't dripping anymore, thankfully, but was still very clearly open. Charlie pursed her lips together in concern and thought. "Hang on, I'll be right back," she said looking up at Alastor as she stood up. She hurried out the door and down the hall out of sight, returning some minutes later with what appeared to be a first aid kit. She graciously paused for just a moment to close the door to Alastor's room before hurrying over. She knelt down in front of the bed and opened up the white metal box, sure enough full of bandages.

She shuffled around in the box for a bit before pulling out a pad of gauze and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She soaked the gauze with the liquid and gently dabbed it to the gash across Alastor's chest. Alastor winced and gritted his teeth against the pain as the blood reacted to the substance on the gauze strip. It burned and fizzed up as Charlie continued to wipe away the remaining blood. Alastor bit the corner of his lip to keep from making any noise. His fangs cut into his flesh and the similar salty metallic taste that Alastor had grown to crave filled his mouth.

"There," Charlie finally said, as she wiped away the last mark of blood across Al's pale skin. She sat back on her heels, looking at the injury in the better light. "I think that looks a lot better cleaned up a bit."

"I appreciate the assistance," Alastor said in an incessant tone, "but I will be quite capable of handling myself from here on out."

"Nope, not gonna happen," Charlie replied. "I at least have to bandage that up, otherwise you're just going to keep tearing it open every time you move."

Alastor sighed in resignation. Charlie took the hydrogen peroxide and cleaned out the wound once more just for good measure, then took two rolls of bandages out from the box and set them to the side of the bed. "There, now we can get this patched up and you'll be nearly good-as-new!" She reached up and began to pull Alastor's shirt off his shoulders. But as she did so, he visibly flinched. Charlie let the cloth drop off his lean boney frame, her eyes widening as she could suddenly see it for the first time. Alastor's body was covered in scars. Some looked a bit more fresh, suggesting that he'd gotten them while in Hell, but most were old--from his living life, old.

"Al," she whispered in awe and empathy, "what happened to you...?!"

"Let's just say that there are some ways in which Hell is a kinder place to be than Earth," Alastor replied flatly. "Now, if you would, kindly either finish what you were doing or take your leave."

Charlie obliged, shutting her mouth and silently pulling Alastor's shirt off the rest of the way. She laid it against the back of the chair next to his coat to be dealt with later, then went about unrolling the bandages and wrapping them around his waist and chest. Alastor bit his tongue to keep from groaning in pain with every slight bit of contact near the gash. Charlie tried her best but was unable to keep from occasionally brushing contact with him. Where ordinarily his skin felt cool and slightly tense to the touch, like the flesh of a corpse, now it actually seemed to be giving off some heat. She pinned the bandages in place and pressed her hand to the broad part of his chest and shoulder that wasn't covered by the wrappings. "Al," she said with a tone of concern she was trying to hide. "You feel awfully warm..."

"Ah, is that so," Alastor chuckled, trying to keep up his good humor and not worry Charlie any more. He laid the back of his wrist to his own forehead. "Well I have felt a bit off most of the day. I suppose I could be a bit feverish."

"Oh no, this is all my fault...!" Charlie whimpered. "If I'd just been able to convince Heaven then we never would have gone to war and--"

"My dear, I already said that I would hear none of this," Alastor stopped her as he pressed the tip of his claw to her lips. "What happened was inevitable; a change would only dictate if it happened sooner or later." He dropped his claw and leaned forward onto his knees. "This is nothing that rest and time won't fix."

Charlie pursed her lips together, still uncomfortable with the idea. "Well...at the very least could you let me just keep it clean and keep an eye on it? For my own sake?"

Alastor nonchalantly brushed her off. "If it will end this conversation."

Charlie nodded. "Ok. That does make me feel a bit better. Because I know you, and you would rather die than ask one of us for help, even if you really needed it."

Alastor chuckled, "That does sound like my modus operandum."

Charlie huffed a little. "Good. Glad we have an understanding. In the meantime though I guess I'll let you get some rest. And don't worry, I'll keep the others' curiosity at bay and they won't even know you're hurt."

Alastor felt an odd combination of both deep appreciation and deep annoyance. But he attempted to block both from his face. "Rest would indeed be most advised," He replied tensely, willing Charlie to leave the room faster.

"Yup, okay, I'm heading out, but I'll swing by to check in again in a couple hours. But you know, don't be afraid to call me if you need something," Charlie sputtered as she continued stepping toward the door.

"Good day, My Dear," Alastor pressured again, using one of his shadowy tentacles to usher her out the doorway then close the door behind her before she could say anything more.

Alastor sighed as he laid back onto his bed. It groaned loudly under his shifting weight. He hardly used this thing. Didn't have much need. It was a rickety mess. The cheap metal frame was dented with patches of rust. The mattress lay suspended on a net of springs which would squeak horribly under even the slightest movement. The mattress itself was faded, worn, and thin, and despite the old hunting blanket he'd laid over top of it as a sort of barrier between it and himself, the springs would occasionally still poke through. By now the other residents had had the opportunity to change out or improve their beds for something a little more sturdy and comfortable, but Alastor had never seen much point. The thought occurred that he probably could instantly conjure up a better bed for himself, but right now he was feeling particularly weak and the thought of performing any magic--even something as easy as pyrokinesis--sent his head reeling.

As he lay back on this small rickety bed, he gently ran his fingers over the bandaging across his chest. Every time his fingers so much as neared the wound the burning throb would start up again throughout his whole body. It hurt more than anything Alastor had felt in a long time, and despite the pain and some primitive instinct lost in his current brain fog telling him to stop, this fact somewhat fascinated him.

His mind suddenly shifted to the forest swamp on the opposite side of the room. The frogs had started chirping--a sound that had lulled him to sleep many a-time on the cool breezy spring nights as a young lad. He cracked his eyes open and stared out at the forest scene in front of him. Lightning bugs sparkled from around the tall grasses and behind the draping swamp moss. Their glowing lights reflected against the small puddles and slick muddy ground, doubling or even tripling their apparent numbers. Along with the frogs now his ears could pick up a couple crickets further up the bank chirping and hopping through the greenery. A gentle breeze blew through, rusting the long grass and draping branches. The tail end of the breeze reached him and caressed the bare skin of his torso like a tender kiss, while the subtle scent of wet earth and humid chlorophyll was nearly enough at this point to bring him to tears. A tight lump formed in the back of his throat. He could hardly remember the last time he'd gotten homesick like this but it never seemed to get easier.

Alastor rolled onto his side, ignoring the pain from his injury that screamed at him to please stop moving. He stared out at the tree line, the voodoo magic that allowed him to have this tiny piece of home to begin with glowing an unnatural neon green, breaking the immersion as a constant cruel reminder that this was all just a facade. Alastor tried to ignore this and closed his eyes, choosing to focus instead on the sounds and familiar smells and let himself take some momentary reprieve in a fantasy.