It was a rough ride back to the hospital, which didn't help Elida's broken bones. Urban upkeep and corpse cleanup wasn't often on the top of Hell's list of priorities. It was usually left to the discretion of whatever overlord seized control of a given area to keep places looking nice. Unfortunately, they were in an unclaimed hotspot, so the ambulance jostled about violently in their rush to get Elida to safety. Angry green symbols surrounded the Radio Demon's head every time they drove over a particularly large bump.
He was going to murder the driver after this. This much shaking could end up moving Elida's ribs around, potentially puncturing her vital organs. Or it could widen the cracks in her skull. Or possibly dislodge a tooth, causing her to choke. Based on the fact the cannibals had no trouble eating the dead angels after the Battle of Hazbin, he guessed that no matter how impenetrable divine skin could be, angelic organs weren't quite as invulnerable.
He fought the urge to tear the paramedics' throats out with his teeth. He needed them… for now. If Elida didn't make it, neither would they. He told them as much, just to make sure they understood who they were dealing with.
Outside the ambulance, streetlights flickered and burst as they drove past, Alastor's anger and fear radiating out in waves of volent magic. It tore open power lines, exploded electrical devices, and more than one unfortunate soul spontaneously burst into hungry green flames. It wasn't enough. Alastor wanted to kill. He wanted to kill the assassin. He wanted to kill everyone. In a perfect world, he and Elida would be the only ones left, standing atop a pile of fresh corpses, the only remnants of their slain enemies being a symphony of delightful screams broadcast on the radio waves. He'd make jambalaya out of their flesh.
Alastor was pulled from his bloody fantasies by a weak squeeze on his fingers. Elida was fighting. Of course she was. Someone like her wouldn't be caught giving up so easily. She'd be alright. She had to be alright. Oh god, please be alright…
He squeezed her fingers back firmly enough to feel, but gently enough not to hurt. He didn't know if she would notice it in her unconscious state, but if she did, she'd know he was there. He wasn't going anywhere.
When they finally got to the hospital, a nurse tried to tell him there were no beds, and that they were shit out of luck. So, he tore out their heart and ate it in front of the other nurses. After that, a room miraculously opened up, just for them. Down the hall, an imp with a limp was shoved out of their bed into the waiting room, blood still oozing from an especially nasty hellhound bite. They passed out from the pain before they had time to ask why they'd been so unceremoniously evicted. Just another shitty day in Hell.
"You, tentacle-face," Alastor addressed a low-level hospital staff member, "Send word to Princess Charlie Morningstar that Heaven's Ambassador is hurt, and that I'm here with her." He didn't bother telling the octopus-demon his name; everyone knew who he was.
As much as Alastor wanted to keep a firm grasp on Elida's hand, he had to let the doctors do their job, so he let go and stepped back, lurking in the corner. He'd be watching their every move. They'd better not mess this up. "If her glow goes out," he told them, shadow looming overhead, pupils taking the shape of turning dials, and static permeating ominously in the air, "She'll be the last light you ever see." The lamps flickered around them threateningly. The doctors all believed him.
While he waited, Alastor snapped his fingers and pulled Snyder away from what must have been a rather intimate moment. His newspaper body fell to the ground, sputtering in confusion. Standing up, he pulled his pants back on to cover his somewhat soggy paper-mâché manhood. "What the fuck? Say, what's the big idea!?" He left an ink blot on the floor where he'd fallen.
"Shut up and pull yourself together," Alastor ordered, hands behind his back and eyes fixed on his beloved friend's operating table. "There's been an attempted assassination. You're to put out a reward in the papers for any verifiable information on the person who attacked the Holy Ambassador. Five thousand for every valid tip, and a price on the soul's head. One million if they're brought to me dead, and ten if they're alive."
"Ten million? Jesus, you must be pissed," Snyder turned to look at the scene in front of him, a mix of emotions running through him at once; Embarrassment and annoyance for being pulled away in the middle of fooling around with the pool boy, satisfaction that the woman who'd led to his soul being enslaved was hurt, and worry that if that same woman died then the exterminations would return with a vengeance. Then there was the fear… fear of what the Radio Demon would do to Snyder's soul if he didn't cooperate. He'd rather be exterminated.
So much for tomorrow's headline.
A distorted transatlantic voice pulled Snyder from his thoughts, "I want every newsie, author, and detective you've got working on this head hunt, is that clear?" Alastor still didn't bother looking at Snyder. Elida's heartbeat beeped erratically through a machine as her medical team snapped bones into place and barked orders at each other. "Put it on every scrap of parchment in Hell."
"Gee whiz, why even bother?" Snyder crept closer to his once-colleague, now-owner, and whispered conspiratorially, "Lookie here, I smell an opportunity. You been cozyin' up to this broad for ages at this point. Surely, it's gettin' old by now? Why not use this as an excuse to keep her locked in a room or some shit. You can say it's for her safety. That way, you keep her alive and under your thumb, and we still got the exterminations off our backs, but you don't gotta take her around everywhere you go no more. We all know it'd be a whole lot easier than playin' chaperone all the time. Anyone who knows a thing or two about you knows you don't actually care about this bitch, it's just an act to get her to do whatever the fuck you're wantin' her to do. This is your shot to get her off your back with no downsides. Use it to your advantage, like you always do."
He didn't react to Snyder's idea. It would have been a good plan, if Snyder hadn't been sorely mistaken regarding one crucial detail. "Not going to happen," Alastor stated plainly.
"Come on, old pal, why bother with this cunt any longer? You got the publicity with her, there's not much else to gain."
"Call her that again and I'll send you headfirst into a paper shredder."
"My god, you… you don't seriously care about her, do ya?" Snyder paused to look more closely at Alastor's stoic grin, scrutinizing the twitch in his eye, the curl of his lip, the pinned back ears, and was completely shocked to see what looked like genuine worry hidden under all those sharp teeth. "Holy shit…" He took a step back, turning to examine the frenzy of doctors surrounding Elida before returning his gaze back to Alastor, "You do, don't you? You fuckin' like her. Well, I'll be damned, this sure is one juicy scoop."
He could practically see the headline in his mind: Radio Demon Gone Goofy: The Infamous Bachelor Finally Falls to Feminine Fancy. A story like that would sell like water in a drought. But he'd never get away with it; not now that he was on a leash. Snyder grit his paper teeth in irritation. He never should have gotten so cozy with Alastor, and now he was paying for it.
"Don't change the subject," Alastor said. "I better see every demon, imp, and stray hellhound up in arms by morning or you'll have worse things to worry about than getting a good story. Now get to work." He snapped his fingers again, sending Snyder back where he'd come from with the sound of rustling pages.
A few feet away, a doctor pulled out a defibrillator.
Several intense hours later, and the hospital room finally calmed down. With Elida's vitals steady and her injuries wrapped, she woke up to the familiar sound of soft music playing quietly from the shadows beside her. With some difficulty, she turned to find her dear sweet Alastor sitting upright in a chair, one hand rested properly on his staff and the other firmly grasping her cold fingers. He had an especially difficult to read smile on his face.
She tried to open her mouth to speak, but her jaw was wrapped up too tight. Alastor saw her trying and hovered a finger over her lips, careful not to accidentally touch them and hurt her. "Shush, love, I'm afraid that silver tongue of yours will have to wait until the healing potions get here."
Elida wasn't so sure they'd work as well on her as they did on the demons; she'd been tweaking the recipe for months to be more responsive to infernal bodies. If the pain in her… well, everywhere… were any indication, then she'd need to take a lot of them to get back to normal, which couldn't happen all at once. Too many at the same time and you could start to have ill effects. Still, they'd help a bit, which was better than nothing.
She looked at him, all stiff and grinning, eye twitching subtly. He was reverting to his usual defense mechanism of polite propriety, even though they were alone. He must've been incredibly stressed. She lifted the hand he wasn't holding and cast a spell, causing glittery white subtitles made of a fine frost to appear in front of her, "Are you okay?"
He narrowed his eyes, "Am I okay?" The shadows danced on the wall behind him. "You took a beating that nearly ended your life, and you're worried about me?" Ugh, that was just like her.
The subtitles changed, "Did anyone else get hurt?"
"No," he responded, "Just you." He didn't mention the nurse he'd killed to get her a room, or the several dead bystanders on their way to the hospital. They didn't count.
"Then yes," the words said, "I'm worried about you. You're clearly upset."
The air darkened and Alastor's eyes glowed brighter, "There are exactly two people in the world I have ever given a d**n about, and one of them was very nearly taken from me right under my very nose. Yes, darling. I'm upset." He continued to smile.
"I knew you'd come for me," the subtitles declared, "you promised you would be there, and you were."
"I was too slow and distracted," he countered.
"Don't you dare."
"What?"
"This is not your fault. Don't blame yourself. I won't allow it."
"I'd like to see you try to stop me, love."
A snowball hit him on the side of the head. "Don't be annoying, or I'll leave," he threatened.
Her thumb brushed his knifelike fingers sweetly. "Liar," The subtitles said.
She was right. He wasn't going anywhere. There wasn't a chance in all the circles of Hell he'd be leaving her alone now, particularly in the state she was in. Once the attacker was caught and questioned, he might relax a bit. Maybe.
"Sit with me?" her subtitles asked.
"I'm sitting right here. How much closer can I possibly get?"
A single tear stained one of the bandages on her face. "I'm scared and hurting. I just need to be held by someone I trust right now."
"Don't be adolescent," he said.
"If it's a no, just say so," the words said back.
He rolled his eyes and sighed, "Very well, then. I'd tell you to scoot over, but that's not really a possibility for you, now is it?"
The snarky sarcasm in his voice made Elida feel a little better. She was glad he was there. He climbed into the hospital bed very carefully, making sure not to jostle her too badly. The hard and overused slab was too small, and incredibly uncomfortable. He'd be taking her back to the hotel as soon as she was safe to move so she could get some proper rest. Elida relaxed, cradled against Alastor's chest. He was as warm as ever.
Not long after they were settled, a frenzy of worried demon-princess crashed through the door, flanked by an ex-exorcist, and a gaggle of tittering Hazbins, all asking loud and overlapping questions; "What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Did they fuck you? I'm going to fuck them harder!" "Who did this?" "What is going on?"
No one commented on the fact that Alastor of all people was cuddling an angel. They'd long since stopped trying to figure out what was happening with those two; they were both too chaotic. Instead, the Hazbins were more concerned with the patches of golden blood staining Elida's clothes.
Vaggie pointed a spear straight at Alastor's smiling face, "How could you let this happen? Do you have any idea how fucked we would be if she died? Look at her, she looks worse than a drunk on extermination day!"
"Vaggie, stop it," Charlie pushed the spear away, "I'm sure Alastor did everything he could." She pulled a few vials from her suit pocket and unstoppered one of them, "Here, I brought all the healing potions I could find in your shop, you were a little low on stock, but we can get more later."
"You know she has stores all through the city now that you could have gone to," Alastor pointed out, "or have you not been paying attention to her business ventures with that Shakespie fellow?"
"We wanted to make sure we weren't… you know… too late," Charlie said awkwardly as Alastor snatched the potion from her unsuspecting fingers.
He carefully unwrapped the bandages from her jaw just enough to allow her to open her mouth and swallow the potions, one at a time. She wouldn't let them give her more than three. "We need to wait a few hours before I can take more," she said, this time without subtitles, but voice weak and strained. Still, the pain subsided a bit.
The parts of herself that she could reach, such as her arms and legs, she kissed, allowing her own healing magic to patch those parts of her body up more effectively. Alastor helped move her limbs up to her lips like a puppeteer moving a rather fragile doll, as she had a lot of difficulty moving them on her own.
But alas, she couldn't bend unnaturally in half like Alastor could, and therefore she wasn't able to kiss her own ribs. Forget her face and head, those were stuck being treated the normal way: With time, potions, and way too much ibuprofen. Ironically, she couldn't kiss her own lips either, so they stayed swollen and bruised.
A bashful and surprising part of her wished that Alastor had the same kind of healing spell she did. For… health reasons. Yes. Health reasons.
A picture popped unbidden into her mind of Alastor softly kissing her injuries away, bit by bit, starting with her lips and then moving lower, and lower, and lower, and... oh. Oh no. This was new. She battled with her own body to keep from wriggling her hips too much at the less than holy thought. She couldn't manage to force herself not to press her hand to his chest, but luckily, she could just blame the small hospital bed for that if anyone gave her odd looks. God bless good excuses!
That naughty little image, now firmly implanted in her head and refusing to go away, made Elida uncomfortably aware of Alastor's intimate proximity. He lay grinning next to her, shadow watching from overhead, and warm fingers absentmindedly moving up and down her now healed arm. Another idea of other places he could put his fingers came into her head. This was horrible timing for her demi-ace little ass to decide she was into him; her pulse was actively being monitored for the entire room to hear.
"What is it, love?" Alastor asked, noticing her heart rate increasing, "Perhaps we ought to call the nurse back in. You there," he pointed at Jono, whose name Alastor hadn't bothered remembering, "go fetch a doctor and inform them that our Elida is in need of assistance."
"Mmmm, yes, Radio Daddy," Jono flirted annoyingly, "We all love a man who can take charge." Jono licked his pierced, sloth lips. Alastor ignored it. Porn demons were best handled by not responding.
"No, it's okay," Elida said, "I'm fine, just stressed and confused." Her stomach came to the rescue, deciding that that was the perfect moment to grumble loudly. "And hungry," she added, wanting to change the subject and distract them from the beeping monitor. Maybe if she was lucky, the others wouldn't notice it beeped faster the closer Alastor's face got to hers.
"I can order GluttonDash," Charlie offered, pulling out her phone, "what are you hungry for?"
"Honestly, I don't want to bother making any decisions right now," Elida said, pressing a weary hand to her throbbing forehead.
"Something soft," Alastor answered for her, "Perhaps some gumbo, or a nice broth." He couldn't have her jaw dislocating again before it was properly healed; It could ruin her smile. She had the loveliest smile.
"Gumbo sounds perfect," she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder. Now that the pain had lessened, she felt very tired and very cold. She just wanted to sleep and maybe cry a bit; then she'd feel better and be able to get back to work. If she was lucky, she'd also be able to stifle her sudden and highly inconvenient libido. She shivered involuntarily.
"Hm. None of that," Alastor demanded, poking her in the arm rather than the nose like he usually did.
"It's cold in here."
"Are you fucking joking?" Rocky asked, "We're in literal Hell. There's nowhere hotter."
"If I'm not actively on fire, then I'm too cold."
So, Alastor set her bed on fire. Controlled green and black flames rose from the tattered sheets and caressed her skin, helping her relax.
Part of her wondered what Alastor would do if her clothes burned off while he was still holding her.
