The Radio Demon's heart sped, his pupils dilating. There was a shift in the air, to one charged with electricity. He stared at her striking face, her expression one of dominance and complete control.

His legs shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, a tension coiling in his stomach. A prong or two sprung on his antlers. He resisted the urge to bite his lip as his breathing became ragged. He very much enjoyed seeing her like this, far, far more than he expected.

Alastor had no choice but to obey.

He began to unbutton his dress shirt, never losing eye-contact with the Princess of Hell. This was exactly what he wanted to see. What she was capable of. A strength that only those born of Hellish royalty had the possibility of wielding.

It thrilled him to no end. His smile grew to the edges of his face. The last time she had tried this on him, it hadn't worked, her commandment to live being far too abstract a concept for him to actually follow. So to see it now, this close, and on him? From her?

Goodness.

Slowly, her demonic form subsided, her demeanor returning to the soft and squishy Charlie that he was used to. She still didn't release his collar however, making it a little difficult for him to continue undressing.

By now though, he was doing it of his own free-will.

"Why do you make me do these things, Al?" she said with a resignation. "I don't like doing that, you know…"

"Forgive me, my darling," he said with only some remorse.

He wanted to see if she could assert her will over him, especially in a situation where he was being resistant. He usually would've hated to relinquish control over himself like that, but… he trusted Charlie, as strange as that notion used to be.

They were running out of time. They had to explore any and all avenues available to them at this crucial juncture. Angelic or demonic power being only one of those. Not to mention he also wanted to break her from her serious and aching rut.

Things were different between them again if that was even possible. There were hardly any secrets left to keep, no invisible boundary keeping them from each other. But he was also content as is, the constantly shifting definition of what they were. It excited him. He's never had such an interesting relationship in his entire being, with such a spectacularly interesting woman. She never ceased to surprise him and he wanted all the time he could get to explore every angle of their connection.

She released him then, her fingers uncurling from his collar so he could finally remove his coat. Charlie wasn't truly upset, thankfully, an acceptance playing over her features. She did get exactly what she wanted after all, she just had to work for it.

Once his chest was fully bare, Charlie stood him up so she could admire him from all angles. Bending at the waist, she circled his figure, examining her previous notes and sketches, looking between the two with a fevered doggishness.

"Take your time," he commented, as she circled again and again, lingering a bit too long on his backside in his opinion.

"I forgive you!" She stood back up, tall and relieved. "It hasn't changed!"

"Tremendous news," Alastor said with sarcasm. "Now I just have to do nothing for the rest of my afterlife!"

Charlie swatted at him, more thankful than mad. "Don't be like that! This is a good sign."

Alastor stood shirtless in the middle of her room, his shirt draped about his waist, and began to scrutinize his own form. The blackened stain pulsed and moved like metallic mercury. He briefly imagined what would happen were the mark to spread to the region below his waist… Would the princess still demand to see it? There were new lines drawn in the sand now, but he had no idea where they lay.

Never using his powers again was out of the question. There were still things he wanted to try, and steps he wanted to take. He couldn't imagine a still existence. If he was supposed to fight for his remaining life, he would fight for a life.

Charlie was thrilled, predictably, but this would never be enough for him. His ego wouldn't allow it. Was he supposed to just sit on the sidelines while the black wound of his heart rotted away his will to live?

"Charlie," he began, serious again.

She paused in her excited ramblings, catching the tone of his voice.

"There is something I'd like to try."

…

Vox was annoyed.

He paced around his screen-filled office, having flicked through any number of cameras around the City of Pride and still making no progress in actually tracking down the former exorcist, Vaggie.

If he was being honest with himself, he hadn't tried all that hard, not understanding how helpful she could be towards his cause of disrupting the inner workings of the hotel if she wasn't even staying there anymore.

It was that damnable Lute and her insane requests. Vox was afraid of her. He wasn't a hellborn and if the exterminations were to return and he had refused her, Vox was sure he would be the first head on the chopping block, followed by all he associated with.

Certainly they could handle themselves against the angels if the residents of the hotel could, but they had two royal powerhouses on their side, not to mention the insufferable Radio Demon.

What did he have? Valentino's porn empire? They'd be fucked if they ever went toe to toe with Heaven.

He just had to obey, for now, and see what her power could lend him.

Vox sat himself back at his desk and flipped nonchalantly through frames from his many eyes on the city. Even his spies hadn't seen her. Where the fuck could she have went?

Not to mention the idiotic Seviathan von Eldritch. The snake royalty had wanted access to the Hazbin Hotel and namely its owner, Charlotte Morningstar, and Vox leapt at the opportunity to assist him. Hellborn royalty was powerful, in ways he didn't fully understand, and if he schmoozed enough, Vox was certain he'd have some sort of trick in his back pocket.

But that moronic fish demon only had eyes for Charlie and often completely ignored the TV Demon. He was almost as annoying as Alastor was…

No, Vox shook his head, no one was as annoying as the Radio Demon.

A call came through his intercom and he answered with a sharp tongue, already pissed. "What!?" he yelled.

"There's someone here to see you, sir," said the crackling voice on the other side.

"Well, tell them to go away! I'm busy!"

"She says you'll want to see her, she has information."

"She? Who the fuck is it?"

"It's what?" came the assistant's voice in the distance, questioning the guest, before returning at full volume. "Her name is Vaggee?"

Vox's screen flickered in disbelief. "Why didn't you fuckin' say so! I'm coming down there! Don't let her leave."

Now things were getting somewhere! Vox couldn't stay in his tower, the risk of Lute appearing too great, and he knew the second the insane Exorcist caught wind of Vaggie's presence, it was curtains for any of his own machinations.

He wondered at Vaggie's insider knowledge and the reasons for her visit. If she was truly here…

Vox disappeared in a beam of static, a manic smile spread across his pixelated face.

…

"You want me to do what?" questioned Charlie.

"Use your angelic powers on me," repeated Alastor from his new position on her bed. He folded gloved hands behind his head. His chest still bare under his coat and wriggling with the Mark. "Specifically on my wound. If your powers could mend my cane, why not try it on the rest?"

"But I don't know what could happen. I wouldn't even know where to start!" she protested. "A person is different from an inanimate object… I could hurt you," her voice soft with fear.

Alastor watched her silently, a curious look on his face. He sat up and marched towards her.

He propped her drooping face up with a gentle finger and looked straight into her eyes. "Darling, I trust no one's hands but your own."

A smile sprung on her face against her will. To be trusted, especially by him, well, it was something to behold. And she cradled it in her heart. But the potential dangers still frightened her from acting. "What if I make it worse and it grows instead?"

"Then we'll try something else!"

"Alastor…" she pleaded, still unsure.

"Charlie," he continued, sincere, "If we do nothing, I may perish anyway. At least this way we can know we tried everything."

"Don't say that!" she yelled. "You're not going anywhere! You said that, remember?"

He closed his eyes in thought. "I know what I said, but the Mark continues to grow and act of its own will. And those wretched poems have done nothing to reassure me of my fate." His eyes reopened, an unsureness swimming behind his mask of confidence.

A fear not many have seen before flickered over his eyes. And whether he meant her to or not, Charlie saw it.

Astonished, she pressed a hand to his coat, right over his heart. She felt the dull hammering there, speeding up the longer she lingered.

He eyed her in question but her focus remained on the feeling of his rising and falling chest. She gathered up some courage, and took a deep and shaky breath.

"Okay," Charlie relented, "… Let's try."

…

Positioned back on the bed, Alastor lay on his back. Charlie kneels next to him for full access to his chest, the most dominant area of his mark.

She settled into the cushions, her arms and palms spread wide over him, hovering, shaking. She wouldn't touch the spiraling blackness, still wary of its effect on her being, but would channel her angelic light from a distance. She adjusted her knees, moved back and forth, and then repositioned her legs trying to find the right spot. Mumbling and sighing as she went.

They both knew she was just postponing the inevitable.

"Comfortable?" Alastor asked, his brow raised.

"No!" she replied, her forehead beading with sweat.

"Ready when you are," he said, lightly patting her thigh, leaving his hand there.

She didn't have it in her to notice. Charlie nodded and closed her eyes, focusing on tapping into the celestial energy that flowed within her. Her fingers trembled at first, and then suddenly there sprouted a surge of golden power, raw and untamed, flowing towards the wound on Alastor's chest.

It sparkled like sunlight and the deer demon nearly averted his gaze, blinded by its glory. Instead, he lay still, transfixed by the angelic miracle before him.

Accustomed to his black magicks, he had never played witness to exactly what angelic royalty was capable of. Besides Lucifer and his dirty tricks, there was something infinitely more beautiful to what Charlie was able to conjure.

Charlie's face scrunched in concentration, her horns and fangs growing with the effort of her exertion. As she worked, she felt a strange connection with Alastor; An internal one. She felt his breath and his subtle movements, even without touching him directly. She felt his pulse, blood pumping through his veins. She felt his heart, hammering harder than ever before. And there was more, a feeling not quite physical, but something immaterial.

He felt alive beneath her fingertips and the feeling tugged a smile at her lips.

The Mark looked the same, though its form was shaky, as if it sensed an intruder. It shivered and twitched, and Alastor's face matched, the uncomfortable sensations making him squirm. Neither of them spoke. The only sound being the blazing hum of her magic.

Suddenly, something changed.

The Mark churned against his skin, wavering like a frightened animal.

And then a black spot appeared at the tip of Charlie's finger.

Instantaneously, she was no longer in her bedroom. Her mind was lost. She was somewhere new, somewhere dark, but blazoned with energy. The oppressive air of this shadowy place weighed on her. Pressed into her some cheerless sensation of uncanny dread and wonder.

Charlie felt instinctively, with nothing else to back up this notion besides pure sense, that this must be within Alastor's soul. She felt his body, his organs, his spirit, his lifeblood, all surrounding this place. This was what was left inside to see.

Images flashed before her eyes.

A woman with brunette hair and brown skin, kind and gentle, smiling so serenely.

And then she was screaming, a look of horror in her eyes, a look of hate. "You're a monster," a voice spoke, before it was silenced forever.

A new image appeared. One of a shadowy figure, pointed and gray. It offered a twisted hand towards a faceless man, a bloody fist clasping it. "I am yours," said the shadow, its blackened maw a horrific impression of a mouth. It bent into a familiar smile.

More images rushed through her, some too quick to fully grasp. Though she could not see them, she felt them in waves. Pain wracked her form, fear, acceptance, hatred. Her body bent and twisted with each new memory, each new flash. Her blood curdled and she heard screams before realizing they were coming from her mouth. She clutched at her head, the constant stream of information driving her to some hellish brink. Her eyes flooded with tears that weren't her own. She pulled at her hair, her throat, her jaw, her teeth. "I'm sorry!" said a voice, and then several more, all layering together in an amalgamation of woeful sound.

"Forgive me!" "Die like a dog." "You are irredeemable." "How could you?" "Please." "You're evil." "Why me?" "Traitor!" "I hate you." "Fancy another dance?" "Rot in Hell." "… … …"

She laughed, maniacally, and then collapsed to the ground.

Another image, slower this time. She saw dirt, clumped with a red liquid. She heard the crunching of bones, the sound of gnawing and biting. Skin ripping. A voice pleading for salvation, a savior. An apology. Barks and growls and whines. So much blood.

And then, sweet darkness.

…

Charlie awoke in her bedroom, the familiar ceiling greeting her. Her eyes adjusted, returning to normalcy after the visions of Alastor's soul. The memory of what she saw was already fading away into some dark corner of her subconscious. But she couldn't forget the feelings she felt, and an icy cold shivered down her spine.

She looked to her side then, and saw Alastor himself, crouched over her, an uncharacteristic look of distress painted over his features. His hands hovered, clawed and shaken, before they came to touch upon her forehead, feeling her clammy skin. He moved his hands over her own and clutched at them, fierce.

"Charlie?" he asked, his voice hoarse, as if he'd just been screaming it raw.

"Al?" she said, voice dry. She coughed and cleared her throat. "What happened?"

"You collapsed," he said, a trembling to his words. "And then you were crying out. I was unable to wake you."

Charlie pushed herself up into a sitting position, her head still spinning from the onslaught of visions. Alastor helped her, his arm moving to wrap around her back. She could hardly keep upright.

"I- I apologize, my darling," Alastor stammered. "I never should have made you do such a thing."

"No, no, we had to try," Charlie forced out, immensely disliking the regret in his voice. She was tired of all the pain, she'd heard so much of it in his heart. "Did it work?" she asked with a faint hope, recalling their original goal in the back of her mind.

Alastor gravely shook his head. "Nothing has changed that I noticed. But it didn't get worse at the very least."

Charlie nodded, saddened and yet not surprised. She clutched at her head, feeling utterly worn from the exertion of their attempt. Her eyelids were like lead weights and she fought to keep them open. She had just lived a lifetime in her head.

"Dearest," Alastor continued, his clawed fingers grasping at her arms. He seemed desperate, like she had disappeared and returned, but was unsure of her realness. "Are you alright?"

"I saw… I felt…" Charlie started, straining to summon what she had witnessed back to the forefront. "I saw memories? Your memories… I think."

The deer demon froze at that, his form stiffening into ice. Panic flashed across his eyes, widened in alarm.

"What did you see?" he asked, blankly.

"A woman… a ghost…So much blood… so much suffering. I heard all these noises and cruel voices…" Charlie trailed off, lost in the dream, her eyes unfocused and distant.

The red demon stared ahead.

"Oh, Alastor," she suddenly cried. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know what was happening, but I could feel inside your soul and it ached. I didn't mean for that to happen, I swear. Your pain, it was so unbearable, I can't believe you've ever felt this way, and all by yourself," she rambled on, remembering more and more of the blackened place in his heart.

Tears sprung in her eyes and Alastor was shaken from his frozen dread. There was a crying woman in front of him, the last thing he wanted. Moreso than his desire to contain his secret past behind a chained and bloodied wall. Had she seen it all? The things he fought to hide most ardently from everyone and her especially? Had she seen it, and yet still cried for his sake?

She was unbelievable.

He brought up his handkerchief and brushed it softly against her tears with one hand, the other gripping tightly around her waist. Alastor looked at her, his eyes aglow with unabashed affection, and even some twisted awe. Always a delight, always a surprise.

He mopped up her tears, his handkerchief coming to a stop over her lips to cease her fretting. He wanted to do more to quiet her panicked breath. He wanted to silence her stress. He wanted to…

"I'm sorry, darling. Shush now, it's over…Whatever you saw is in the past now. None of it is real. I don't feel that way anymore," he finally said, conjuring up some words, truthful or not. Just anything to say out loud while his mind was busy reeling with all he wanted to do for the demoness in his arms.

"You don't?" she said with a heartbreaking voice. So soft and earnest. So fragile and caring. All directed at him. "I'm so glad," Charlie sighed, her strength diminishing.

She fell into the crook of his neck, baring a tender, tired smile. Her arms wrapped around his torso and she squeezed with all the force she had left in her limbs.

"'Love you, Al," she said mindlessly, already half-asleep. She ran cold lips over his throat in some semblance of a goodnight kiss, and was out like a light.

…

What the Hell just happened.

What the Fuck just happened?

One second Charlie was hovering over him, exhibiting a glorious display of her white magic and the next she was a writhing pile of screams. She yelled at some unseen vision, her eyes wide and wretched. She squirmed in his grasp, twitching. And all Alastor could do was hold her, a fear unlike he'd ever known coursing through his blood.

He never should have made her do this, he had no right. He had no idea what he was doing, what he was dealing with. And now, his beloved demon belle was…

"Stop!" she yelled suddenly at some invisible ghost. "Leave her alone!" Charlie resumed her incoherence and Alastor held her down, tighter, and panicked.

"Dammit! Charlie, wake up!"

Before long, she had settled, still as a corpse. He laid her down slowly against a pillow as a part of Alastor wondered if she'd ever wake again. The thought ripped through him with icy claws.

He was a fool for this. A damnable fool. And once again he was paying for his mistakes, his misdeeds. He belonged in Hell, he knew, but not Charlie. His punishment was his alone. Even this was too cruel, too unfair.

"Come on, Charlie… sweetheart, please," he begged in a voice he couldn't recognize. He bowed his head low, penitent.

After what felt like an eternity, she awoke. Claiming that she'd witnessed the spectres of his soul, the nightmare of his past. Whatever disjointed pieces she saw, she could puzzle something together. Some horrid amalgamation of what made him who he was. And yet she cried, finally knowing his life.

He was a very private person by nature and whatever was exposed into the ether would continue to haunt him, wondering forever the details that were spilled. Hopefully she would forget it all, the easiest outcome.

The thought shook him to the core, never before having his soul quite literally laid bare. Alastor figured he should be more upset, more demonically feverish with rage and the need to enact some death and destruction. But instead he felt a coolness, a warmth, a contradictory exorcism through his essence. A freedom.

Charlie was okay. And she was looking at him, after her ordeal, not with disgust, but with love.

He wanted to laugh, his mouth forming into the most incredulous smile.

Charlie was fast asleep, as if nothing had just happened and she had just popped by for a nap.

Her mouth twitched and she snuggled closer, burying her head into his chest.

Though grateful that she seemed relatively unphased from his unfortunate miscalculation, Alastor was still frozen in place, unable to move, unable to process the evening's events. Unwilling to accept the words that came out from her exhausted lips, and unable to accept the truth of what she might've seen.

Charlie was not of sound mind, her brain still sorting through the dream of another life…. It made the most sense, of course. She was babbling nonsense right before her final admission. She couldn't possibly understand what it meant, what even she had meant by her reaction to it. A shock to the system it surely was, the Mark being some all-powerful entity that neither understood. Could it conjure memories? Create them?

It was wrecking him, and would continue to wreck havoc on his claim to power, to secrecy, to his solitary lifestyle.

But all of that would have to wait until morning. Calming his pounding heart and staticky nerves, he laid himself down, bone-tired from the overexertion of his emotions and the handling of hers. His soul had been burrowed into and extracted from. A piece of it, no doubt, imbedding itself in his companion. While her own, together and intact, was open for the taking.

He should leave, he thought. He should slip away back to his bedroom and pretend this infernal incident never happened. But something stopped him. Whether it was the iron grip she had on him, or her soft sighs of comfort, he wasn't sure. But he wasn't sure of much of anything at the moment anyway.

With the princess nestled between his arms, Alastor scooted in and attempted to sleep, wanting to both forgo the memory of this night, and yet capture it forever in a dream.

...

AN: :') A bit of a deeper dive into Alastor. Most to be inferred. I like his mystery and I'm actually not looking forward to learning more about him in Season 2 lol. A lot of this fic has been a little leeway with who he is. Hope you've enjoyed it. And enjoy this chapter!