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Hazbin Trashcan

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The next oneshots or multishots you're about to read are just the thoughts of my own mind; little headcanons and daydreams that I've created. Maybe they're not something you're into, but man, I am. Yeet.

Chapter Text

Initially, he’d found himself relatively calm. There wasn’t much to be bothered about; things would go smoothly. She was in the best of hands.

That was until she started screaming.

He’d been on the other side of the hotel at that time. Even though it was years later, his optimistic mate had kept trying her damnest to redeem whatever souls found themselves at their door. She’d been lucky enough to save a handful; this spurred her on.

The air was heavy; some mix of emotions and stress that he wasn’t too familiar with. He’d been busy fussing with some of the minor details of the room; it had to be up to his standard in order for it to be functional. He was in the process of centering one of the framed photos on the wall when the initial wail broke through the air. His heart stuttered.

Now, Alastor was a man used to hearing screaming. It was a normal sound to him, one that sent his blood racing and a wicked grin spreading across his cheeks. It usually meant he was about to have a good meal, a full stomach; these screams sent ripples of shock down his spine and goosebumps trailing up his arms.

He fled the room, making sure the door was firmly shut before heading across the hotel. Any stray demons that were in the hallway parted for him; if they didn’t, they knew he would mindlessly fling them against whatever surface they hit first. Most of them could hear the screaming and knew the reason why; his mate was still very active in the rehabilitation process even when he’d tried to tell her to remain in their room for her safety. She’d scoffed; he wasn’t in charge of her and he wouldn’t ever be.

When Alastor neared the door that led to the small infirmary that the hotel endorsed, he came to a quick stop. Someone was in the way; someone didn’t move for him to go in and see –

“Hey, hold up, you can’t go in there.”

He stopped, mind clearing. It was just Vaggie, stood in front of the infirmary door with her arms crossed and a glare set on her face. He idly wondered for a second if the glare she wore was her natural setting; he wasn’t sure he really ever saw her have any other emotion when around him.

Before he could answer, she spoke again, “It just hurts, alright? She’ll be fine. It happens.”

Alastor’s grin widened, moving his arms behind his back and holding them there, standing straight up, “I’d like to see Charlie, thank you. You won’t stand in my way.” His eyes darkened, just the faintest glow of his dials appearing.

Vaggie sighed and did her best to ignore the rapidly darkening demon in front of her. When the static grew to be unbearable, she glared at him once more before moving out of the way.

Alastor snapped his head back upright, calming himself quickly and grabbing onto the control he had spent decades exercising. Another scream tore through the air and his eyes widened; this scream was not pleasurable in the slightest. He stepped past Vaggie, who eyed him carefully as he entered the room where his mate was.

She was near the back of the room itself, standing next to one of the cots. There was a doctor nearby; one of the best in all of Pentagram City. Alastor, of course, did not trust him near his mate, though someone had to help her through this. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. There was no one else in the room.

He watched as she rocked her hips, holding tightly onto one of the handles that was on the cot. Her face was contorted into something he couldn’t quite describe; eyes closed and lips parted enough that she could cry out. Alastor was then hit with the strong realization that he had absolutely no idea what to do; he had never believed he’d be put in this situation.

“Charlie,” He spoke, moving his hand so his microphone disappeared and then going to unbutton his jacket, he started to move across the infirmary, “I-“

“Oh! Thank goodness,” She turned to look at him, still rocking ever so slightly. He watched as she attempted to smile at him, though it twisted into something that made his gut churn uncomfortably, “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

Alastor’s smile fell into one that was a little more natural; genuine, “I couldn’t pry myself away from those screams, darling.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. He helped pull her up into a standing position instead of leaning over, the two beginning to walk up and down the small aisle. The demonic doctor, sitting nearby, glanced up from his paperwork to nod before looking back down. He tucked one arm under her own, letting her lean heavily on him as they paced. He was sure that she’d mentioned this to him at least once; those times that she rambled on about the whole process were times he found himself focusing on anything but.

To this moment, this whole idea still set him on edge. He supposed it was his own fault; no protection, no thought on the few times they had done anything together. When she’d come to him in the beginning, laying out the facts, he’d been skeptical.

There could be no way in hell that he would be able to be a decent father.

She was chatting to him quietly now as he thought, his own mouth speaking for him. Alastor couldn’t help but glance down at her belly more than once; half of him was proud that it was his heir, and the other half was unsure on the whole process. After a few more rounds of walking, she guided him toward the cot and he ever so gently helped her up onto it.

Charlie looked over at the doctor, pushing herself up so that her shoulders were propped up with the pillow, “Will you check me now? They’re getting closer.”

Alastor watched as the doctor stood and then came over toward them. His skin prickled and he nearly snarled when the doctor moved Charlie’s dress up. His mate didn’t seem to mind, spreading her legs. Alastor was about to move forward and make sure the doctor never touched his mate like that ever again when she rested a hand on his arm.

“He’s just seeing how ready I am, Al. It’s okay. I told you this, remember?” Her voice was sweet, breaking through the heavy layer of static noise. At the end of her sentence, her voice warped into a sharp hiss of pain and he instantly glared at the doctor, who looked nonplussed.

“Nearly there. You might feel the urge to push soon, I advise working with your body.” The doctor didn’t go to sit this time, instead, he made sure that everything was prepared.

Alastor found himself holding onto Charlie through the rest of process, quickly falling into the role of support for his mate. He became active in the process, asking her questions and slowly, very carefully, becoming excited at the prospect of having his own heir. When the labor picked up and reached a certain point, she was near constantly gritting her teeth around her own cries of pain. His hand felt half squeezed to death, her nails digging tightly into his skin. She’d broken through and he was bleeding, though it didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought it should.

It all seemed to be worth it, when just another hour had passed, and he was sitting in a chair beside her, his arms curled protectively around the small bundle in his arms.

Charlie was eying him with half-lidded eyes, her own exhaustion creeping up over and lulling her into the arms of sleep. His own eyes were locked on the child in his arms, his smile turned into one of awe.

The little creature in his arms slept. His own little daughter. Charlie had instructed him on how to hold the infant; one arm curled under her and the other was resting on top of her little body. One of his fingers touched her soft cheek, marveling in the velvety feel of it. She had the tiniest fawn ears; her cheeks the same shade of pink that Charlie’s were.

“She’s very pretty.” His voice was a whisper, as to not startle her from her slumber.

Charlie laughed, the sound crisp and light, “I guess. I think she looks a little squished right now.”

He shook his head firmly, running his finger ever so gently over her cheek again, “She is perfect, darling.”


As Margret, as they decided to call her (after much heated argument), began to grow, Alastor was unable to help himself in teaching her all he knew. This was his heir; his child. She should know the same things that his own mother taught him, and if Margret were to have children of her own someday, he hoped she’d pass on the ideals. It became apparent, however, as she grew past infancy and into toddlerhood, that she was almost completely like her mother.

Margret derived no interest in the same carnage that Alastor enjoyed. She liked to help around the Hotel with her mother; often, Alastor was able to find his child in the kitchen with Niffty and Mimzy. She adored cooking, from a young age, which was one thing he was able to bond with her through. Margret shared the same charming, optimistic personality that his own mate had, and while he adored his heir, he still itched to have her share his ideals.

When Margret was three, Charlie approached him and told him she was expecting once more. He had been taken aback; the last time they’d lain together, he’d taken almost every precautionary measure. The pregnancy went as smooth as the first; Charlie blossomed during that time and he found himself enjoying the glow she radiated when pregnant with his child. His own predatory habits made themselves known then, too; more so than last time. He rarely let her out of his sight, constantly making sure that she was faring well and that Margret was taken care of. As his little girl grew through those next few months, she turned more and more into the image of Charlie; it seemed his own genetics only shown in the color of her irises and her fawn ears.

Alastor was not able to contain his excitement when their second child was born and she was the spitting image of him. The same red hair, the same irises; she had ears and a tail. When he sat and held her for the first time, Margret on one arm and her in the other, the grin on his face was large and excited. This would be it!

The two sisters got along well in the first two years. Once Beatrice began to show her innate urge for carnage that he had, Margret found it distasteful and began to spend most of her time with Charlie. Beatrice, even when a toddler, listened intently to the stories that Alastor wove for her; there were times that when he went on hunts, he came back to her inconsolable until he’d showered and was able to recount his entire experience. Charlie had attempted, really had, to keep those words away from Beatrice, but the little one always found her way to her father’s side and her mind constantly full of his voice and his stories.

His little ones grew and flourished. Margret was intelligent in her classes that Charlie held for the pair; Beatrice tended to find her mind wandering and her focus not where it needed to be. Given, she was still young, but it was somewhat worrisome.

Alastor began to help her with her homework and she almost immediately grasped the concepts; this stroked his ego in a way that nothing else had ever done. This little child, his own daughter, was apt and intelligent in certain areas; those he was stronger in.

When she reached five, she became adamant that she wanted to be called ‘Bea’. Alastor had denied it for as long as he could; a few hours, before the distance that she had put between them was too much for him to handle. From then on, his little Beatrice became Bea and he found the nickname suited her just fine.

It was around this time that Charlie fell pregnant once more and Alastor swore this would be the last time; he did not need any more children running around their feet. Their minds decided they’d be having another daughter and they prepared as such; it came to a surprise that Charlie bore them a son.

The boy was a spitting image of Charlie; the same blonde hair, the same cheeks. He had fawn ears, though nothing else was that of Alastor’s genetics. Or so he thought. Franklin, as he was named shortly after his birth, was the most in touch with the same demonic energy that Alastor had.

In general, Alastor found himself pleased with the set that he had. Each were vastly different; though they shared many of the same traits that their parents had. Each knew that their father was the Radio Demon; they were untouchable. Bea and Franklin used this to their advantage; Margret didn’t care much for it. Each had their strengths, their weaknesses.

And each grew with the same mentality in mind, though Bea strayed from it whenever she could.

They were never, ever, fully dressed without a smile

Chapter Text

She was a little nervous, to say the least. She kept squeezing her own fingers, staring up at the intimidating door that she’d been warned more than enough times to stay away from. It was a mystery; she’d only been in the room a few times and it had only been because she’d gotten in so much trouble that even her own mother couldn’t decide what to do with her. So she hadn’t really paid much attention to the surroundings.

It was a pretty door, all decorated with reds and swirls of black. It reminded her much of her father, which made sense. Something in her told her to just back off; she could talk to him another time. But, then again . . she hadn’t seen him outside the office all of yesterday.

The girl took a deep, stabilizing breath. If he saw her acting like this, anxious, he’d probably chatzise her. She let a natural grin spread across her face and raised her hand, knocking meekly on the wooden door.

There was silence for a few seconds, and she let her hand drop. He had good hearing, just like she did, so she wouldn’t even doubt it if he already knew she was outside the office door. He was probably getting paperwork together for his next radio show; suddenly, she regretted bothering him. As she began to take a step backward and flee the area, the door creaked open. Her ears pressed flat against the top of her head and the smile she had forced onto her face had fallen, replaced with her teeth biting onto her lower lip.

They locked eyes and she found herself calming down again; this was her daddy, he wasn’t going to do anything bad to her. She was just being silly. His perpetual grin, once wide and unfeeling, shrunk just the tiniest bit and she knew he was smiling at her genuinely.

“Ah, Beatrice! What can I do for you?” His voice was warm and crackled with static; the same as it had been since she could remember, and that was nearly her whole five years of life.

“Well, um.” She bit on her lip again. Her ears hadn’t moved from their position, still advocating for how she really felt about this whole situation. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, though she was afraid nonetheless. What if he hated her? “I wanna talk to you ‘bout something.”

“Want to, Beatrice.” He moved then, opening the door further, “Come inside then, darling.”

She trotted inside, his hand coming to rest on the top of her head and ruffling her hair fondly. Beatrice whined and reached up, pushing his hand away from her. He chuckled, shutting the door behind them and then walking back toward his desk. Beatrice took the time to memorize her surroundings; there was a wall of older televisions that sat around another desk, which had a microphone on it. Different than the one her daddy carried around with him everywhere he went. An executive style desk sat in the middle of the room, with some chairs in front. She steered herself toward the chairs, climbing up into the seat. It was almost difficult, since the chair was so tall. Most demons were at the same towering height as her father; she was still barely up to his waistline. He sat at the desk, leaning forward onto his arms, hands holding up his chin.

“Issa very important thing I’ve got to talk to you about, daddy.” Beatrice crossed her arms, schooling her face to seem like she was discussing business.

Alastor chuckled. His daughter’s antics were always amusing; he was sure that she would ask him for some new toy or something similar. He withheld the urge to correct her ‘issa’, nodding for her to continue, “Go on.”

Beatrice found that all the courage she had previously had somehow disappeared. Her ears, which had started to straighten again, turned back to press flat against her head, “Oh, um.” She fidgeted with her fingers, eyes darting away from his face to her hands. He would be so disappointed. She thought long and hard about how to break the news to him; each time she brought up the confrontation in her head, it usually ended up with him hating her.

“Beatrice, speak up, I can barely hear you when you mumble, darling.” His voice lulled her back into safety; of course he wouldn’t hate her. He was her daddy!

She steeled herself, setting her eyes onto his. They were a likeness; the same tint of red, “I don’t wanna be called Beatrice anymore. I wanna be called Bea.”

There was a silence between the two, Bea watching as a confused smile replaced the one that Alastor had on his face. She found the courage again, holding onto it and letting a smile come to her own face. She had to maintain the cool composure that he had instilled in her, “Beatrice is an old lady name. It’s too big.”

“Beatrice is a perfectly lovely name! I chose it myself!” Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly, “It’s classic and suits you well!”

Bea sniffed and turned away from him slightly, a mirror image of his smile on her own face, “I still wanna be called Bea, and if you don’t wanna call me that, then don’t talk to me.”

The static thickened in the air and Bea realized that she should get out.

“Do not speak to me with that tone.” He tilted his head to the side.

“I’ll do whatever I want!” She jumped off the chair, pointing at him, eyes ablaze, “Bea is a perfectly nice name and that’s what I want you to call me!” Her own eyes morphed and one turned into a perfect little radio dial, “Don’t talk to me till you call me that!”

If Alastor wasn’t so astonished by the lack of respect from his normally respectful daughter, he’d be proud in that moment that her eye could turn into a radio dial. He wasn’t thinking, however, and pointed lazily toward the door, “Out, then.”

That broke her from the haze of anger. He was just casting her out? He wouldn’t even call her it? He did hate her. She felt a ball of shame tighten her throat, tears bunching in the corner of her eyes. Bea stomped toward the door, doing her best to make sure that he wasn’t able to see her crying. Crying was worse than not smiling; he didn’t like either.

“I hate you!” Bea screamed out before opening the big office door, struggling for a second, and then slamming it (not really, she could barely move the damn thing).

Alastor shook his head. Bea was a perfectly fine name; it was more the way she portrayed how she wanted to be called it that irked him. He chuckled lowly. He’d give her a few hours before she came back around and apologized. This settled the air, the static lessening and his attention turning back to the paperwork on his desk.


When those few hours passed and there still was no sign of Beatrice – no, he chided himself, Bea – Alastor was finding himself mildly concerned. No, not even that. Just a little unsettled. She wasn’t normally one to stay away; her energy fed off his. It was nearly dinnertime, either way, and Charlie was not a fan of him missing out.
Well, neither was he, he supposed.

He stood and made sure things were in order before leaving the room. They were currently at his estate; they usually were nowadays. Since Charlie had picked up some stomach bug and wasn’t really in the mood for the constant stress of the hotel. They’d left it in Vaggie’s more than capable hands.

When he reached the kitchen, he found that only Margret and Charlie were setting up the table that they usually ate meals in. He ruffled his eldest daughter’s hair, her grinning up at him and then pulled Charlie into a warm embrace. She laughed, gripping his arms and smiling up at him.

“Get most of your work done?” She asked once he let her go, turning back to the table. She seemed to be feeling better, which was a positive thing for Alastor.

Alastor nodded, surveying the room. It seemed that Charlie had made her and Margret some sort of pasta dish without meat; there was another heaping amount set aside in a different bowl that had large chunks of meat that made his mouth water. It was then that he realized that Bea was not in the room; she would be over the moon for some of that meat. Charlie had been very against the cooking of his favorite meat for the longest time, but eventually, he’d stopped labeling it so she couldn’t tell the difference.

“Where is Beatrice?” He asked as they all sat, noting that there were only three plates out.

“She says she’s not feeling alright, daddy.” Margret’s sweet voice was quiet, her eyebrows furrowed in worry, “She was hiding under her blanket when I went to get her and she yelled at me.”

Alastor’s grin faded just the tiniest bit, looking over at his eldest daughter for a moment. She looked back, her smile mirroring his. He’d raised her with the same belief that a frown made you look weak; even at seven years old, she had to stand her ground whenever venturing past their home or the hotel. It was a shame that Bea didn’t grasp onto the same concept as well as Margret did.

“I’ll have to check on her after dinner!’ His voice crackled slightly.

Charlie gave him a worried glance, “I can –“

“No, no, darling! You should rest! You were not feeling well this morning, perhaps she has picked up the same bug you have.” His hand rested on hers, giving her a warm grin, “Do not fret.”

His mate smiled brightly at him and he squeezed her hand before letting go and reaching out for the large bowl that held the plain pasta. It had a rich, creamy white sauce on it and the smell made his stomach growl loudly, which wasn’t anything new. Margret chirped a ‘thank you’ when he put some of the food on her plate, Charlie giving him a warm smile when he dished her food out as well. He took a majority of the meat pasta for himself, setting aside enough that if Bea were to come down later, she’d be able to feel somewhat full.

Bea had inherited his relentless stomach; he knew that she’d come down to eat at some point. He idly chit-chatted with his mate and daughter, his heir telling him about all of the things she had done throughout the day. Apparently, she’d gone through her closet and found that Bea was ‘borrowing’ some of her clothes; Charlie just giggled and told her that was a normal thing. Alastor chuckled, promising to find the offending articles and have Bea return them.

“Al?” Charlie asked, once they started to finish up their meal and Margret began to take the dirty dishes to the sink for her and Charlie to wash up, “If you can convince Bea to come down to the parlor, you too, in a little while, I’ve got something to tell you!” Her smile was infectious apparently, since Margret let out a little giggle.

Alastor felt out of the loop for a moment, like both his mate and his daughter knew something he didn’t. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before nodding, “Of course, my dear! I’ll head up to her room now!”

He went upstairs then, twisting through a few hallways to reach the wing where his daughters’ bedrooms were. His and Charlie’s bedroom was on the other side of the estate; admittedly, they needed a break from the rambunctious children. Margret’s door had a plain sign that said her name with a few stickers and pictures taped to the wood; he’d originally been against the decorations but Charlie had talked him into letting them have it. Bea’s door had ‘Beatrice’ written in cursive on a sign; one that his daughter had made him write for her since she was still learning. She had a few stickers and pictures of her own, though they were much darker and twisted than the ones on Margret’s door.

“Beatrice!’ He rapped on the door gently. He heard shuffling from inside, “I’m respecting your privacy by knocking! But asserting my authority as your father by coming in anyway!” He did open it then; she had forgotten to lock it. Not that a lock would do much good, anyway.

He gazed around the room once he got in and laughed. She was attempting to hide from him behind her toy chest, but her ears were straight up and revealing her location. Alastor decided to toy with her a bit, starting on the other side of the room.

“Oh, where could she have gone? I swore I heard her just a few seconds ago!” He pulled open her closet, sticking his head inside, “Oh, not in here!” He moved to the bed then, leaning over and peering under it, “Not here, either.” Alastor let his voice turn dejected, the sad static drifting through the air, “Oh, no! What if she is gone forever? I don’t think I could cope!”

There was a quiet giggle from behind the toy box.

He peered over to see her glancing up at him from her position, so he laid a hand on his chest and swooned, falling over onto her bed, “Woe is me! I have lost my beloved Bea!”

The giggling stopped and his daughter peeked out further, as if she didn’t hear him correctly.

“My little lost Bea. What will I do without her? I’ll have to eat the rest of the venison pasta that her mother made, so it doesn’t go to waste!’

“ . . Mama made venison pasta?” Her voice was a whisper.

Alastor sat up on the bed, looking around the room, purposely ignoring her very blatantly obvious hiding spot, “I seem to have heard something! It sounded like my darling little Bea!”

“I’m over here!” She suddenly jumped up, waving her arms, “Daddy, here!”

Alastor continued to ignore her, his voice tilted with amusement, “If I listen hard enough, it’s almost like she’s here with me!”

With a growl, Bea jumped over her toy box and scrambled up onto the bed. If she stood on it, she was face to face with him as he sat up straight; she was able to grab onto his cheeks and pull his face to look at her, “Daddy! You’re blind!”

Alastor laughed, a rich and hearty sound that always made Bea feel nice and warm. One of his arms wrapped around her and pulled her tight to him, her face immediately burying itself in the side of his head, “There you are, darling! I was mighty worried!”

“I wasn’t even hiding that good!” Her smile was wide as she hugged him, “You called me Bea!”

Alastor swept her off her feet and pulled her into his lap, reaching down and ruffling her hair and ears, “Of course, darling, did you think I wouldn’t?”

Her ears pressed against her head and she opted to look away from him, “Maybe.”

“Ah, darling, smile.” He touched her nose, “You look better when you’re smiling.” He felt peaceful, in a way, that she was back to talking to him. Even if she’d only not done so for a few hours; there were times when she’d slip notes under his office door before running away if they hadn’t communicated in awhile.

Bea turned her face up to his and smiled wide, matching his. This was better than she anticipated; of course he wouldn’t hate her. There was no need to hate her! She quickly reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight against her.

It was them versus the world, anyway. Her daddy was her best friend, and nothing could ever change that.

Chapter Text

It started as a playful thing. You’d been giggly that day; things were just making sense and everything felt good. It was unlike your usual mentality, so you were riding the waves of this high as long as you could.

Alastor was highly amused. You’d been chattering to him almost relentlessly, telling him about any happy memories you could remember from your life before. You both had been in his office at his home for most of the day. He was working on taking apart a few older radios while you bounced around.

“What’s that part?” You were watching him fiddle with a few little pieces, a screwdriver nearby.

“The dials, my dear. To read the channels.” He knew you’d died nearly a hundred years after he did and you didn’t know too much about the older technology from his time.

You hummed in acknowledgement, learning over his shoulder and resting your chin on him. He leaned his head on you for a moment, shrugging his shoulder in a moment of affection. You turned your head and kissed his cheek with a loud ‘pop’. Alastor rolled his eyes at your antics, picking up the screwdriver and working with the tiniest screw you’d ever seen. You watched his fingers move, working the little screw into the hole it was meant to be in and then him twisting the driver to hold a few of the pieces in place. You stayed quiet as he worked, another radio on the other side of the room was playing some swing music that Alastor usually listened to when he was working on his projects.

You grew bored after another moment of watching him, snuggling against his face, “Come dance with me.”

“Hold on just a few more minutes, (y/n), dear.” He used one hand to fix his monocle, “I’m nearly done with this section.”

You groaned and moved away from him, trotting toward the radio that was playing. You turned up the volume just at touch more and let a grin come to your face. It was one of the better swing songs that he listened to; his radio tower usually played several different stations of music constantly. You found the beat fairly quickly, your hips swaying to the rhythm. After many decades with the radio demon, you appreciated music more than you had when you were alive. You fell into the beat, side stepping and swaying, eyes closing as you just let yourself dance.

Alastor turned his head and eyed you, stopping his work on the radio. The easy movements, the little upturn to your lips and how you were twirling made the grin on his own face turn more genuine. He set the screwdriver down and made sure to set his little screws inside a dish so they wouldn’t get lost before turning back to watch you more.

You twirled around, hands reaching up and clapping to the beat. With anyone else, you’d be shy if they were nearby while you danced. You knew you were almost bad at it and being around Alastor was something you were used to at this point. He always expressed his interest in you dancing; the two of you were often linking hands and swaying to some tune when nothing else was going on. Alastor enjoyed dancing with you; he also found amusement in the way that you danced. There generally was no rhythm, save for that of the music and you just let the music take you in whatever way happened.

You came to a stop as the song ended and you opened your eyes, face immediately erupting into a blush when you realized that the radio demon was watching you dance. Though you were comfortable with dancing around him, it was generally only when he wasn’t paying attention to you. He was at rapt attention, his fingers steepled and ankles crossed, leaning forward just slightly.

“Why are you watching me?” You asked him, crossing you arms over your chest.

His grin turned into a smirk, “Why not?”

You scowled at him, turning on your heel and starting to walk back over to the radio so you could turn the music down. It was obviously a distraction; you decided you’d head down to the kitchen to get dinner started so you wouldn’t be in his way. Before you could actually set your hand on the knob to turn the volume down, a set of hands grasped your shoulder and pulled you backward.

“Al –“

His mouth came close to your ear, making you shiver, “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He twirled you around and settled one of your hands in his, the other automatically moving to his shoulder. His other hand rested on your hip and he gave you a brilliant grin, your own scowl lessening and turning upright. Your eyes turned toward the ground as the two of you began to move, your lips puckering in concentration.

He never did any complicated dances with you, none that you didn’t know, so the two of you stepped easily around the room. He began to hum at some point and you let the noise wash over you. It was a simple swing song, one where you two were able to dance and twirl; eventually, you trusted yourself enough to look up to his face.

He was watching you with a closed mouth grin, eyelids low. Just the way he was watching was enough to have your face burn again, so you pushed forward enough that your face was buried in his chest. You barely rose up to that; he was just so tall.

“Enjoying yourself, my dear?” He slowed you two down, just swaying side to side.

It was relaxing. Poetic, nearly. Just the two of you dancing in his office, his hands holding you and just moving side to side. It was these moments that you lived for, the ones where he was just there with you and nothing else seemed to matter. His chin came to rest on the top of your head and the humming continued.

As you stood there, swaying together, your hands naturally wrapped around his middle and his came to rest wrapped around your back. After a few more minutes, you felt him tense.


“Nothing, my dear, someone is just knocking on the door.” He let go of you and you crossed your arms again, angry at having your time interrupted. His grin, still just one of those little genuine ones, turned to you. Noticing your attitude at the interruption, his teeth showed and glinted in the light, “I shall make them never interrupt again, dearest! Do not worry.”

“Al, no.” You shook your head, grabbing his arm before he started to walk off, “We have eternity and we can dance and all that! Just go see who it is, I have to start getting dinner together anyway.”

His eyes glanced down at where you were holding his and he then looked at you. You could see the anger in his eyes and watched as the fire slowly lower in his eyes. A smile wormed it’s way onto your face; he was just the cutest damn thing out there.

“There you go, Al.” You rubbed his arm softly. His eyes had turned to radio dials minutely; you couldn’t really believe that having your time alone would drive him to be this upset, “It’s alright! I’m cooking up that guy you killed yesterday.”

“Oh!” One of his ears flicked as another knock rang through the house, “Thank you, my dear.” He moved one finger to move across your cheek softly before turning and walking away. As soon as he turned away from you, you saw the darkened aura surround him again and you let out a tired sigh.

At this point, you knew that people that came to the house were friends of yours or his; no one else dared to come close to the radio demon’s house. You also knew that because of this fact, he wouldn’t dare hurt anyone. Most likely, the intruder was Charlie, since she seemed to be one of Alastor’s good friends.

Either way, you know that the night would end with the two of you toasting a glass of wine over a well cooked dinner; the two of you would have your alone time. But for now –

“Ah, Angel Dust! Good to see you! Kindly, leave!”

“Oh, come on old man, I just want to see (y/n)!”

“Hm, no!” And then the door slammed. You laughed.

At least he didn’t kill the poor spider demon.

Chapter Text

“Got the kid?”

“Any trouble?”

“Not a single bit. It’s like he wanted to be taken.”

There was a faint giggle from the backseat, but the demons in the front chose to ignore it.

“At least boss will be happy.” The driver put the car in gear and began to drive the van away from the center of Pentagram City.

They’d been tasked with just a simple job; snatch the kid that wore blue. Those were their only instructions and they hadn’t been lain out anything else. But they followed the money; there was a high price for this kid. That same kid was tied up in the backseat, giggling up a storm.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll fucking make you.” The passenger demon, which looked like some sort of bird, snapped as he turned toward the kid.

“Make me then!” The kid winked, wiggling so that he was sitting upright, “Bet your boss wants me alive! I’m worth way more to him alive rather than dead!”

The bird demon grumbled and turned back around. Even the little shit knew why his boss wanted him. Crazy.

The boy grinned to himself and giggled a few more times. He knew he could easily slip out of the ropes; they weren’t that tightly tied. Whoever wanted him was really dumb. But – well, he wanted to see where this led to. It’s not like he was going to be lost forever.

His dad was way too powerful to let that happen.

They eventually pulled up to a more rundown side of town. Another thing that made the boy believe his kidnappers were dumb was that his own house was only a short walk from here; his dad’s radio tower was literally on the same street.

“We’ll keep him here till later; the boss’ other men will be coming by to get him.” The bird demon murmured, as if the boy couldn’t hear. And on a normal demon, sure, but with ears like the one he has, he could hear a pin drop from a mile away.

Speaking of a mile away.

“My dad’s gonna be real upset if I don’t get home soon.” The boy spoke once the demon who had driven, who looked like a beetle, opened up the backseat and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, “He’s gonna really be mad.”

“Shut up, boy. Does it look like I care who your dad is?” The beetle growled, slamming the car door shut and throwing the boy over his shoulder.

The kid began to laugh again, looking down the street at the radio tower. What idiots. At least they could’ve done the trade off in a place that was a little more hidden. Eh, maybe they didn’t know about him, it wasn’t like his family went out very often. His mom and oldest sister did, sure, and his dad, but his other sister and he remained inside most of the time.

Mainly due to the fact that he liked to run off. Pentagram City was so mesmerizing, with all the drug deals and murder. It was his dream come true, yessir. The neighborhood his dad’s radio tower was in wasn’t all that great, either, but it was better than the actual downtown area.

They entered the house, the area immediately going dark. It made the boy quiet down; he was trying his best to gain awareness of his surroundings. If his dad or mom didn’t show up within the next three hours, he’d have to escape by himself. And he really didn’t want to do that. Because then he’d be breaking a lot of promises he made to his mom.

They’d walked through a few rooms and then down a flight of stairs. It was dark the whole way through and he could barely see a thing. He was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor when they hit the bottom of the stairs, the rope that was holding his hands together was tightened and then tied to a loop attached to the wall.

“I’m telling you, my dad’s gonna be-“

The demon delivered a swift kick to the boy’s stomach, effectively cutting him off, “Shut the fuck up.”

The kid coughed, doubling over and wheezing. Was this what pain felt like? After he finished his fit, he glared up at the demon.

“Is that all you’ve got?” His voice was slightly warbled; he was scared at this point. His hands couldn’t move any more and he’d never had to actually get himself out of one of these situations. What if his dad never actually did come?

There was a single lightbulb in the basement area they were in and the demon’s grin shone in the light, “You want more, you little fuck?”

“Bring it.” The boy grinned up at the man. He never actually stopped smiling and it was starting to freak the beetle demon out.

Another startlingly painful kick was delivered to his side, and then another to his head. His ears began to ring and yet, he smiled through it all. With another few blows, he was wheezing. The beetle demon stopped, leaning over and spitting on the boy’s head, “Shouldn’t ask for shit you don’t want.”

“Never,” The boy coughed, and he swore he felt a little trickle of something on the corner of his lips, “I wanted it.”

Because it was pain and that was something he could feel. He could feel pain and anger and disgust but never once had he felt true, unbridled joy and he was hoping that his dad coming to rescue him was going to be the event that unlocked the part of his brain that would let him be happy for once.

He began to laugh then. The beetle demon’s eyes widened as the kid roared with laughter, his head lulling backward. He began to back away and then went up the stairs, still hearing the kid laughing.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” The bird demon asked, flipping through channels on the TV and smoking something, the beetle demon couldn’t tell in the terrible light.

“I beat him and he decided it was the funniest thing he’d done in his life. Couldn’t tell ya what just happened.” The demon crashed down onto the couch beside his peer and snatched the cigarette.

The boy continued to giggle to himself, wiggling against the ropes. They were starting to burn his hands with how much he was moving, There was definitely something wrong with his lip; he licked up the blood that was dripping from his face and sighed. His ribs felt funny too, but that was workable.

His dad wouldn’t be to pleased to see the wound, right?


After another two and a half hours had passed, the boy was starting to worry. His fingers had nearly picked through the rope (it was terrible quality) and he was ready to make his escape if he had to, but where was his dad? He became so focused on picking through the rest of the rope that he barely noticed when a pair of footfalls were coming down the stairs.

“Nearly time for you to go, brat.” The bird demon stood by the doorframe, and the boy glanced up.

He was still grinning.

“Oh, that’s fine.” The boy shrugged, “I’m sure I won’t be going very far.”

“What’s the deal with you anyway? The fuckin’ creepy grin and the laughing.” The demon crossed his arms. He looked unamused.

“My dad.” The boy’s grin grew, “You know who my dad is, right?”

“Kid, I don’t give a flying fuck who your dad is –“

“My name is Franklin Magne, my dad is the Radio Demon.” The kid’s grin widened and his eyes turned to radio dials, “My dad’s coming for me, now. Can’t you hear him?”

As the demon was about to reply, a few sharp knocks came from the front door of the house.

“I told you.” Franklin’s giggling began again.

The demon scowled at the kid, turning and yelling up the stairs, “You get it! I’m watching the brat!”

The beetle grunted and pushed himself off the couch, putting his cigarette down into an ashtray. He brushed his jeans off and then made his way to the door, opening it without giving a peer through the peephole.

That would be his first mistake.

“What the fuck do you want –“

His throat constricted and his eyes traveled upward, meeting a pair of bloody red ones.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me.” The radio static crackled and the grin that was on the red eyed demon’s face matched the one that the kid in the basement wore.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, now fuck off –“ He was cut off by a hand, faster than he could catch, gripped his throat and pulled him forward.

The Radio Demon’s eyes flashed, “I said, you have something that belongs to me.”

The beetle demon realized that if he didn’t get the kid to his boss, he’d lose out on a fuck ton of cash. His partner would be pissed. So he decided to do the one thing that came to his mind. He reached forward and rammed a fist into Alastor’s chest.

Second mistake.

Alastor didn’t flinch, the antlers on his head beginning to grow and twist; his pupils formed radio dials. The hand on the beetle demon’s throat constricted and his claws began to cut through skin and muscle. It wasn’t long before the beetle couldn’t scream.

It wasn’t long before his still beating heart was in Alastor’s hands.

The Radio Demon couldn’t very well help himself. He vanished his microphone and let go of the corpse, letting his teeth sink into the organ. His stomach gave a soft grumble of appreciation as he ate, his eyes still burning with anger.

“Get off!”

The monster he was turning into was surfacing once more, startled by the scream. The scream of his kin; something was hurting his child.

Alastor growled and tossed the rest of the heart to the ground. Interrupting his meal. He followed the sound of a scuffle and discovered a staircase, heading down. He had to crouch the entire way down; most demons were not the same height he was and most homes were not built for his height.

When he found himself at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes brightened.

There, in the middle of the room, sat his kin. The boy’s own antlers; still barely nubs when normally formed, were long and twisted. His claws were lengthened and he was covered in the blood from the bird demon, dead on the floor. The boy had carved a hole into the chest of the demon, obviously not used to the clean cut methods that Alastor usually used. The radio demon stood and watched for a moment as his child cut and made his way through the body, learning the different organs until he found his ultimate goal.

Franklin’s heart raced as he yanked the heart from it’s spot in the chest, marveling in how warm everything was. He was so elated; a feeling he hadn’t felt at any point in his short life thus far. Within a few messy bites, the heart was gone and he grinned, satiated, for now.

Alastor had taken the time to calm himself. There was no other movement from the house; it seemed that these two demons were meant to keep his wendigo child under wraps. Were they just . . slow? Even when he had first manifested in hell, there was no way that only two demons would have been able to hold him back. His antlers returned to normal size and his eyes calmed. He was able to control himself easily; he knew Franklin wasn’t the same.

“Come now, Franklin.” Alastor’s voice was low; soothing, “You’ve had your fill.”

The little demon didn’t pay his father any mind, continuing to work his way through his first meal. He was crouched over the corpse, his claws ripping through the skin easily. Alastor gave a sigh; there were only a few more organs that were up to par as the heart, though Franklin wouldn’t know one from the other.

The radio demon came close and the little demon tensed, looking up and growling at Alastor as he came closer. The elder one shook his head, crouching on the other side of the body, “Here.”

He spent the next hour or so helping Franklin dissect the body; what to eat and what was not edible. Throughout the time, the boy’s anger cooled and he slowly began to revert to his normal state. By the time that Franklin’s eyes went back to their normal irises and his antlers returned to their little nubs, the child’s eyes began to droop.

“You look tired. Are you ready to head home?” Alastor stood. They were both coated in both dried and still fresh blood; he sighed internally. His coat would need a few good washes before he could wear it again.

“Mhm.” Franklin hummed, leaning back so he was able to sit, “Can I just take a nap here, real fast, daddy?”

Alastor chuckled softly. Even when this exhausted, Franklin was still smiling and he could feel a sense of pride warm his chest. He leaned over and scooped his half-asleep son into his arms, letting the boy nuzzle into his still-wet coat.

“We’re not far from home. I’ll carry you; you’re still not too big.” Alastor paid no attention to the array of organs and muscle; he continued walking up the stairs and past the other corpse. He knew in a few hours, they’d return, due to Alastor not killing them with any angelic weapons.

It was more fun killing them without it, any way, since he knew he could kill the same demon repeatedly.

Franklin yawned, gripping onto Alastor’s collar, “They didn’t even know who I was. It was kinda funny.”

“I’m disappointed that you did not just leave when you realized you could get out.” Alastor laughed fondly, patting his son’s back, “Your mother is going to be upset when she sees your sweater.”

The blond child opened a sleepy eye. His sleeve was torn up and he was sure that the blue fabric was stained with red, “Mommy will have to deal with it.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but he now felt a little guilty. Well, he thought he felt guilty. He wasn’t sure. Franklin was bad with emotions, either way, and this gut wrenching feeling of being a disappointment was making him feel bad. He’d promised to Mommy years ago that he wouldn’t kill anybody or eat them; not unless Daddy had done the killing himself. She didn’t want him to be like Bea.

Though, that thought made him a little proud. Now he was like Bea. Bea hadn’t killed anyone till she was ten and he was eight, which made him even better.

“Mommy’s gonna be sad.” His voice was sorrowful, “Cause I killed a guy. I couldn’t help it, Daddy. I really couldn’t!”

There was something earnest in the lad’s voice that made Alastor realize that perhaps Franklin really couldn’t control his inner demon. It made the grin on his face fade just a little; he’d have to spend a little more time with his son to teach him how to control the Wendigo.

As Alastor was about to speak once more, he heard a soft snore from the boy on his shoulder. The grin picked back up and he continued to rub the lad’s back as he walked; demons parted and gave them room.

It seemed no one wanted to mess with a father that was coated in blood and carrying his son home.

Chapter Text

He’d never been terribly forgiving. And it’s not like you didn’t know him – no, you probably were the single most person who knew him within the depths of Hell. Sometimes the way he thought was so spastic that it gave you whiplash. You never complained, no, because the only time you ever had asked him about it, he didn’t speak to you for nearly a year.

Petty little bastard.

No, it wasn’t his bipolar-ness that attracted you to him. In all honesty, you really weren’t sure. In life, you hadn’t been one for the overly pompous and dramatic type; you laid low and got people addicted to narcotics. When you’d manifested in hell, you weren’t surprised. You fell back into old habits; you owned no territory and yet you were still popular on the streets.

Life had been easy; as easy as it could get in Pentagram City. Ah, that was, until you’d ‘run’ into him on some street corner. You’d say it sarcastically every time; he had been waiting on that street corner for you. With a single grip to your shoulder and a few muttered words, in a low voice that had you quivering, you were sold.

It had been decades since then; nearly anywhere the Radio Demon was found, you weren’t that far behind. One of his comrades; so to speak. You found him information while dealing – he took care of you. In every way; you didn’t have to worry about any deals gone wrong; most of them did anyway.

You did your best to take care of him in return. He gave you a room in his home; you cooked his dinners. He gave you some cash to cover stolen merchandise; you did his laundry.

When he eventually became entangled with the Hotel, you weren’t surprised. The past few years had been slow in nearly everything; the only worry that the Radio Demon had was Vox; the bastard TV demon who did everything to muck up Alastor’s hard work.

What you hadn’t been expecting was this.

Earlier in the day, you’d been minding your own business – as per usual. You weren’t one to socialize much with anyone outside of Alastor and on occasion, Husk. It was easier that way; you could keep to yourself and no one would have to think twice about you.

It hadn’t been your fault when some rando in the hotel had begun to hit on you. It hadn’t been your fault when he’d grabbed your face; it hadn’t been your fault when suddenly, he was flying off you, head detached.

It definitely wasn’t your fault when you passed out from the sight.


When you woke up, your ears were ringing and there was a warm weight on your stomach. You kept your eyes closed for a while; something about the situation was wrong. Weren’t you just in the foyer of the hotel? Some random demon – oh. Right.
It wasn’t a huge secret to you that Alastor was possessive over the things he labeled as his. His jacket, whenever off, was always supposed to be in one spot. He didn’t like to share; never had, probably never would. You supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise that when he saw someone touch you – well. Here you were.

You let an eye open and took in your surroundings. You’d lived in the Hotel with Alastor for the past few months; he still maintained his estate on the other side of Pentagram City. It had just been easier for the two of you to move in and stay for the renovations and the advertisements. Nearly all of Hell knew that Alastor was the lead sponsor of the Hazbin Hotel.

It was his room; you could tell by the rich reds and the swooping canopy above the bed. Your pupil moved lazily to your stomach and you nearly jumped out of your skin –

Alastor was resting there; his head perched on your stomach. He was holding a newspaper above his head, eyes squinting against the dark room. You supposed it must be comfortable there? Tentatively, you raised a hand and gently ran your fingers through his hair.


He turned slightly to look at you, his ever present grin rounded and almost sinister, “Oh! I see you’ve woken up!”

“Mm.” You hummed an affirmation, twisting a lock of his reddish hair, “I see you’re comfortable.”

“Very!” He tossed the newspaper to the foot of the bed, shifting so that he was on his side and facing you, “You took quite a fall there.”

“You literally ripped his head off in front of me, Al. Not exactly the most entertaining thing out there.” You pinched the tip of one of his ears and he flicked it away, the grin widening just a touch.

“I disagree. It was very entertaining!” He reached up and pushed your hand away from his head, sitting up. He didn’t speak further; just watching you with a type of gaze that you’d only ever seen him use in certain situations.

When he was on the hunt.

You cleared your throat, propping your hands next to you and beginning to sit up. Within a second, his hand was against your chest and pushing you back down onto the mattress.

“You did take quite the fall, my dear. Perhaps you should continue to relax.” It was not a suggestion. His voice was lowered, the static tangible.

Something about the way he was treating you unlocked some part of your mind. Treating you like you were his – something that belonged to him.

“You don’t own me, Alastor.” You gripped onto his hand, attempting to push him off you. He was making your heart race and your mind spin; and if you knew anything about him, he knew exactly what he was doing.

A crackling laugh broke your internal panic. His eyes lit up with amusement and he, in a fluid movement, he was hovering over you, legs on either side of your own. His voice deepened further and you stared at him, eyes wide and mouth opened slightly as he grinned at you.

“You’ll find, darling, that I do indeed, own you.”

You couldn’t move, very much speak. His grin, maniacal at best, softened into something you couldn’t place. He shifted in a way that he was perched on your hips, looming above you in all his grinning glory. You felt your face start to darken and heat up; one of your arms immediately went to your face to cover it from his gaze. He chuckled darkly, using his free hand to grasp onto your wrist and pin it above your head.

“No words?” His voice was filled with mirth, dark and rich and everything that you were not used to. Alarm bells were ringing off in your head and yet – you could not find a single nerve in your body that wanted him to stop, “How very unlike you, darling.”

You tried your best to speak, words sputtering and no bite behind them, “G-get off –“

“No, I don’t think I will.” He was leaning over you at this point, one handing holding yours and the other propping him up, “You see, (y/n), I am so very entertained right now.”

It was then that he leaned closer, running his nose down your cheek. He was warm and very faintly there; his touch made your flaming cheeks sear brighter. Alastor was everything that you were not used to; instead of ravaging and selfish, the demon above you was soft and subtle. It made the turmoil in your stomach calm and you took a deep breath, tilting your head up just the slightest bit.

This was enough permission for him.

You let out a startled gasp when something warm and firm and wet trailed over your jawline. He was unforgiving, now, feeling the warmth and the taste from your throat. His tongue moved and flicked and made your eyes fuse shut.

You realized then that you had a free hand; only one was pinned above you. You used this to your advantage and reached up, lacing your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. He gave a soft, throaty sound of appreciation and then bit down onto your neck; right where your throat met your collarbone.

He chuckled when you let out another gasp, his lips sucking on the spot that he’d broken skin. Your hand on his hair tightened and he lowered himself so that his entire weight was pressing on you. His grip on your wrist loosened just a touch; he seemed focused on the blood that was beading from the little wound he’d inflicted.

“Al – “ Your voice was hushed; you were so afraid to break the moment.

“Mmm?” The static that had slowly been increasing snapped, his head lifting and eyes meeting yours.

You weren’t sure how to vocalize what you wanted, so you just let out a discontented sound. This made him grin at you, leaning forward so that your noses were just brushing one another.

“What is it, darling?” His breath curled around your face and made you feel so much more warmer.

Another sound from you, eyes narrowing. What was his game? Playing with you like this. He didn’t move from his spot. He was a tease. He was dangerous.

You had never been scared of the monsters under the bed.

You used the hand on the back of his head to pull him down, your lips meeting in a hard frenzy. You attempted to be sweet at first; his teeth and tongue were unrelenting and caused you to have to fight back just as much as he was. You knew you’d lose, but, there was so much fun in trying. He was still grinning as his teeth bit and his tongue shoved yours out of the way and there was nothing you could do about it.

You let him ravage you.

The hand that was originally holding yours dropped it and moved. You could feel the tips of his claws dragging down your arms and over your shoulders, the pad of his thumb pressing once against the bite he’d given you.

Alastor pulled away from you then and you stared at him, mind gone. You were sure you looked like a mess; face red, lips parted, eyes wide. He smirked, sitting back on his haunches. It looked like he was considering saying something, but he was distracted. A thoughtful look overcame his face and he let his hands rake down your sides, a stuttered moan escaping your lips.

He chuckled, moving so that he was able to pry your thighs apart and settled in between them. You didn’t give much of a fight; why even bother? The friction between you two was exactly what you needed and you jerked your hips up, letting out another moan when you got exactly what you were looking for.

“Ah, (y/n).” He tutted, resting a hand on your hip, “Be a dear,” He lowered his voice – almost threateningly, “And control yourself.”

You let out a choked whine and drew your hips away from his. He nodded and you felt a rush of pleasure at his acceptance – was something wrong with you? You nearly began to spiral down into a whirlwind of unnecessary thoughts and you sharply resurfaced when his hand began to creep up your shirt.

You never liked wearing the same constricting clothing that he did; on a normal day, you wore a plain pair of jeans and an unrestricting top. This worked to both your advantages now; he was able to press the palm of his hand against the curve of your stomach. You let out another weedy breath; his claws began to trace soft patterns on your skin.

“Alastor,” You began, chewing momentarily on your lip, “What –“

He cut you off by turning his hand over and tearing through your shirt. It ripped like a knife through butter and in the sensible part of your mind, you frowned because – well, that was one of your favorite shirts. The tattered remains were pushed from your shoulders and he pulled you upright so that he could move the ruined shirt down your arms. Your skin rippled with goosebumps against the warm air and he ran a single claw down your arm.

“Darling,” His voice made you look up at him. He was watching you with half lidded eyes, a smirk still resting on his face, “Allow me.”

He settled you back on the pillows, all grace and charm. He was a Southern boy – down at the deepest recesses of whatever heart he had. You wore nothing under the shirt you usually wore; there was no need. You preferred comfort over restrictions. His fingers were deft and soft as they kneaded your skin; starting from your stomach and slowly moving upward.

You watched his hands as he touched your body; he was gentle in all the right places and took time to rub certain spots that made you breathe out in soft wisps. As they slowly came to reach to your breasts, his fingers came to a stop and he purposefully darted around your nipples. Rubbing every inch of you, pinching and prodding until you let out a quiet grumble.

Alastor laughed merrily, leaning over you and pressing a soft, closed mouth kiss to your left nipple. You arched your back ever so slightly, hoping that he wouldn’t stop just because you moved more into him like he did with your hips. He seemed to like it, however, trailing a line of kisses from one peak to the other.

He didn’t do anything further, however. He continued to avoid the tips of your breasts, resuming the worship to the curve of each of them. His elbows were keeping him propped above you, his hands gripping your biceps and keeping them against the bed. His eyes caught yours and you couldn’t move from his gaze, panting softly.

Alastor began to use his tongue, licking his own lips once before tracing circles around your nipples and down the valley between each of them. Mindlessly, your own tongue began to follow his movements in time. When he continued to avoid where you so badly wanted him to, you gave another whine.

“What is it?” His voice was teasing, filled with mirth, “I cannot imagine why you’d be whining at a moment like this.”

“Alastor,” You felt your cheeks brighten, “Please.”

“Ah, my dear,” His eyes locked on yours as he descended, “That’s all you had to say!”

When his mouth met your nipple, you let out a gasp. It was like his tongue on your throat but so much better. Heat swelled and sent tingles throughout your body, tightening in your core. You couldn’t help but push your hips upward, searching for friction and he didn’t seem to mind this time. His tongue was at work on one; an occasional nip brought out more moans. He used the pads of his fingers to work the other one into the same hardness as the one in his mouth; flicking over one with his tongue at the same time that he flicked the other.

You couldn’t think, much less control the unholy sounds coming from your lips. There was an occasional whisper of his name, coupled by unending gasps and whines as he switched between each nipple repeatedly. Your tongue lolled out and followed his movements; this action seemed to catch his eye.

The hand that had been toying with you drifted upward and you watched as he brought it to your mouth. Without thinking, you wrapped your lips around his index finger and bit on it, your moans now muffled by it. He let out a sound of appreciation and leaned back for a moment to watch you.

You stared at him as you suckled on his finger, eyelids hanging low. You felt like you were in a daze, the heat between your legs was building and you pushed up against him once more to fight it. He leaned forward, gentle with you, and began to run his own tongue down his own finger until the two of yours met and intertwined.

Unlike the last kiss, he was sweet with you this time. He moved his finger to cup your cheek, letting your tongue press against his and learning the shape of your mouth. You broke apart a few times to gather a few lungfuls of air but your tongues always seemed to reconnect. One of your hands came to rest on the back of his head and the other on his shoulder; your nails dug into his coat.

He broke apart from you and watched you with a different look to his eyes. You smiled shyly and he pressed his nose to yours once before reintroducing you to his finger. You accepted it gratefully, letting go of his head and holding onto his wrist.

Alastor moved down your body, taking his sweet time. His tongue met each inch that he could find, swirling and leaving a few more of his bites on your skin. You gasped around his finger with each one, bucking up into him. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he pressed down harder against you so that you could find some semblance of relief.

When he reached your jeans, he pulled his finger from your mouth and sat back, unbuttoning them. You watched him with hooded eyes, moving as he dictated with his hands. It was a few fast movements and suddenly you were bare before him and he was nearly eating you alive with his gaze.

Alastor moved back against you, your legs spreading to accept his hips between yours. Everything felt ten times more delicious and warm; his mouth met yours in a flurry of soft and wet kisses. You threaded your fingers in his and he squeezed them, making your heart flutter.

He pulled away from you again and you whined at the loss of heat. He chuckled and moved downward, pulling your legs over his shoulders and then laying down, face inches from your core. Your eyes widened and you attempted to pull back from him; Alastor gripped your hips and held you firmly in place.

Due to the position, his forearms were keeping your legs apart, as well, so there was no escape from him. Being this vulnerable, seeing his eyes watching you with such hunger – it made you feel that much hotter. His breath fanned over you and you felt your entire face burn, the heat traveling down your neck.

What –

Oh –

His tongue curled up against you, the solid warmth sending little shockwaves up your spine. You let out a lengthy, guttural moan and your legs curled up closer to him, keeping him in place. He didn’t seem to want to move, tightening his grip on your hips and nuzzling his nose against you as his tongue worked.

He used long, languid strokes in the beginning, breathing deeply against you. You could feel each breath out and each press of his lips; his tongue. Your mind went numb and one hand reached down to grip his hair. He let out a soft groan as you tugged on it, his tongue picking up speed and pressure. It was sensitive; you both wanted to reel backward and push forward onto him.

He didn’t let you do either, regardless, one hand still holding you in place. The other reached up and cupped one of your breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers. Your hips shuddered and you locked your ankles around his back.

Alastor took his time with you, testing the waters. You could tell he was enjoying himself; the soft movements of his own hips gave him away. Your one hand still pulled at his hair and at one point, you pulled a little too hard on his ear and he gave a long groan.

It wasn’t long before you felt like you were crashing toward something that wasn’t describable. There weren’t words. Your mouth hung open and you gasped out his name in several, broken up whispers. Just as you were about to reach that peak and fall over –

He pulled away from you.

You growled and looked down, eyes snapping open and meeting his. He had a smirk on his face, eyes watching you with a burning fire.

“Something amiss?”

You threw your head backward on the pillow and whined. You’d moved your hands from his hair at some point and had begun to grip the sheets. You let go of them, crying internally at the loss of that warmth. The cocky, cheesy, talkshow shitlord –

His mouth met you again and you let out a strangled moan, tightening your grip on the blankets. Your legs spasmed - within seconds you were already on that precipice.

And then he pulled away from you again.

You glared at him, panting, unable to speak. He grinned that shit-eating grin and gave you one long lick. You shivered.

“How many is that?”


Your quizzical expression made him chuckle against you and you realized right then that his lips were glistening, “How many have you almost had?”

“Oh.” You murmured, “Two.”

“Keep count, darling.”

Alastor brought you to the edge and away another seven times and by that time, you were nearly crying out in need. He took his time, coaxing you back up the hill and kept you on the edge as long as he could. Just as he was about to pull away for the ninth time, you cried out.

“Please, Alastor, please!”

“That’s all you had to say.” His voice sent ripples up your spine and he attacked you then, unrelenting in his licking and biting.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and the heat expanded; and then exploded. The room went black and the only thing you could hear were your own ears ringing. He didn’t stop; he kept you riding on the waves for as long as he possibly could before you snapped back into reality and pushed him away. It was so sensitive now; almost painful.

He watched you carefully as you gasped, your body shaking from the aftermath. Occasionally, you’d twitch, letting out a shaking breath. Alastor gave you one last lick, you jerking backward from the sensitivity and he sat up, wiping his mouth against his sleeve. The hand on your hip remained and he pulled you upright; enveloping you in his arms.

You gave a soft sigh and wrapped yours around his middle, squeezing into him. It was starting to feel cold and he seemed to realize, pulling a throw blanket from the end of the bed over you and tucking you closer. He shifted you both, allowing you to sit on his lap as he rubbed your back over the blanket.

His chuckle broke the silence and you felt your face heat up at the sound.

“I suppose you do belong to me now.”

Chapter Text

Bare feet shuffled quietly against the ground. It was cold, where she was, though she wasn’t quite sure where it was. Her mind was gone and her eyes were distant; nothing seemed to matter at the moment. Whispers of breeze tickled her cheek and made the liquid dry and she felt like her chest was full of molten iron.

Her mind whispered nonsensical words. Begging, pleading, screaming, though her face was impassive. A thud came from behind her and she jumped, eyes widening in some semblance of emotion as her feet sped up. She wouldn’t be caught - no, not again.

That was, until a hand came down on her shoulder and she was tossed up into the air.
Unable to control herself, she twisted midair and her eyes went white, her irises disappearing. She’d already had one - she didn’t need another -

Her teeth clamped down on the demon’s throat and she tore it out in a frantic motion, the monster inside of her letting out a guttural sound of relief. The demon’s face contorted and tried his best to shove her off but she was so much stronger; her teeth tore easily through blood and muscle and she tried her best to pay no attention. Her fingers ached as she ripped through the chest and pried ribs apart, mind focused on one goal in particular. The wendigo shoved her hand inside and twisted the organ so it snapped away from its home. Her mouth watered and drool met blood as the girl began to feast upon the heart.

When the second was completed, her stomach gave a ravenous growl. The beast was in control and there was nothing that could stop it; try as she might, it continued to prowl down the hallway in search for more. Her mind was frantic, pleading with the monster to stop - she didn’t want to hurt anyone!

A third was brutally feasted upon and devoured; the beast took it’s time. It pried every last drop of blood and every last ounce of meat; it even took it’s time to suck marrow from the bones. A fourth, a fifth, a sixth. Each body was sliced through like butter and everything that was remotely edible was gorged down her throat.

“More.” Her voice was twisted and angry, her senses telling the beast that there were no more demons in the area, “More.”

No, no, no -

Margret violently shoved that beast inside of her away, a game of sick tug o’ war. The wendigo gave a mighty snap to the air, but the horns started to twist away and her teeth began to shorten. With a few more minutes of internal struggle and a sharp pain when she returned back to her regular body, Margret let out a heartbroken wail.

She’d broken the one promise she’d made to her mother.

A droplet of blood fell from her hands and mixed with the tears pooled below her and she couldn’t even say whose blood it was. She had mindlessly murdered six demons and stripped them of everything that they once were - the pile of bones nearby spoke for it. She couldn’t even tell that there were six dead. They all were just a mess of white and red.

Her steps were shaky as she made her way up the stairs. Something was off. Something was missing. As she escaped the basement and made her way out onto the street, she came to realize.

Margret wasn’t hungry. This caused another sob to escape her.


Hours later, whispers on the streets were picked up through the broadcasts. A demon child wandering through Pentagram City - covered in blood. A quick count of his household, the confusion of realizing that it was his eldest that was gone made him leave in a whirlwind. A few threats here and there and he found himself quickly approaching the small being that was his child.

“Margret, darling?”

The shuffling figure stopped and turned. Blood was caked to her jaw, her cheeks, her neck - blood was everywhere. He could see the pain and confusion in her eyes.

He was able to coax her into his arms and allow him to carry her. She collapsed on him then, exhausted from whatever had caused her to look like this. In the deep recesses of his mind, he knew that something had snapped within her, but he wasn’t able to place a finger on it.

Charlie had nearly snapped when he brought home their eldest daughter, his mate carefully taking the child and whisking her upstairs. They didn’t speak, though Alastor felt like he had a million words to say.


When Margret hadn’t spoken in a few days after the incident, Charlie had cornered him in his office. He couldn’t deny that he was worried, no, he had just come to the belief that she would get over it.

“Please, talk to her, Al. You’re the only one who can!” His mate’s voice was incessant, her hand on his shoulder, ‘Please! I’ve tried and she won’t even look at me. She won’t let me help her with bedtime, or help me cook. She’s just - off, and she won’t tell me!”

Alastor adjusted his monocle, raising an eyebrow toward her, “What makes you think she would speak to me?”

“You get what happened.” Charlie’s voice lowered, “I know it’s something to do with the Wendigo. She hasn’t eaten - that’s unlike any of our children and the only explanation is that she’s full.” Her hand squeezed his shoulder.

Alastor was quiet for a moment, mulling over the thought. She hadn’t shown up for any meals since he had found her; Charlie had brought a few plates to her door but they had remained untouched. When someone knocked on her door, they were met with a fierce growl and that was it. In a different life, he may be irritated with her, but right now, he decided he was concerned.

“Alright, my dear.” he pushed away from the desk, standing in a flourish of his coat, “Leave it to me.”

Charlie gave him a shy grin and he touched the tip of her nose faintly before heading to the other side of the house. He hummed to himself as he walked, figuring that it wouldn’t be too difficult to get Margret to come out of her room and talk.

At the very worst, he could break into her room.

When Alastor reached her door, he knocked politely, “Margret? Come, now.”

A growl.

“Oh, come now, darling.”


Alastor felt the edges of his smile start to fade. It had been days. Even if she had fully gorged herself on meat, she would be starting to feel the pangs of hunger by now. Especially since it had been her first meal of her life.

“Margret, I insist you open the door!” He knocked again, vanishing his microphone. He would go in if she didn’t answer, he decided.

After a few more momentary seconds of silence, he put his hand on the doorknob and was pleasantly surprised to realize that it was unlocked. He turned it slowly to the left and then pushed it open and was nearly taken aback by the sight inside.

Her room was a mess. Unlike his normally OCD child, where everything must be in it’s exact place or she’d panic, there were things everywhere. Clothes were shredded, toys smashed. His barely-there heart raced and he reached over to his right to turn on the light. When it flooded the room, he heard a hiss come from the mass of blankets and shredded sheets that were on the bed.

“Margret.” His voice was no longer coaxing, instead, he was near threatening, “Come out, now.”

The lump moved but she didn’t speak.

Alastor sighed and unbuttoned his coat, peeling it from his shoulders and laying it on the tattered remains of the plush chair that stood in her room. He rolled up his sleeves and then climbed up onto the bed, his voice becoming just a touch more chipper.

“I suppose it’s the ‘Find Margret’ game! I know Bea enjoys this game, but I never thought you were!” The radio static, always present, crackled as Alastor began to unravel the mound of fabric, “Ah, yes! There is a lock of hair.” He tugged on it and she whined in the blankets, “Oh! A foot!” Alastor ran his claws down the heel of her foot and she let out a squeal, the foot digging itself back into the fabric.

“S-stoooop-!” Margret’s voice was low and scratchy.

“Ah! Was that my dear Margret? I cannot tell!” He ruffled around a little more, twisting and then roughly pulling on a piece of her favorite comforter, now ruined. She let out another squeal as the girl finally tumbled out of the blankets, falling on to the mattress.

Alastor had to put it simply; she looked terrible. His daughter, barely twelve, had bags under her eyes and tears forever etched onto her cheeks. Her skin was littered with little cuts and he knew it was from her own nails. She tried her best to grab for the blankets but he gracefully tossed them off the bed and she let out a little sound of anger.

“Now,” He reached over for her and she tried to squirm away, though his hands gripped her tighter, “Come here.”

Alastor pulled Margret into his lap and she collapsed there, the tears restarting and the sobs echoing through her chest. His hand came to rub her back as she bawled into his shirt and Alastor couldn’t find the heart to be irked that she was making it wet. His fingers began to card through her hair and he felt her shudder, the sobs slowly coming to an end.

“Do you want to talk about it, darling?” His voice dropped the radio crackle and he felt her tense in surprise at the fact he spoke without it. Alastor’s voice was soothing, low, “Daddy’s here for you.”

Her fingers gripped his shirt tighter. It was a few moments before she spoke, and when she did, it was a faint whisper, “I hurt them, Daddy.”

“I suppose you did, sweetheart. What happened?” He twisted a lock of her strawberry blonde hair.

Her voice was shaky as she spoke, muffled by his chest, “The monster got me. Made me so mad; made me e-e- . . .” She stopped, sniffling, “Eat them.”

He hummed, leaning backward. One hand snaked around and cupped her chin, pulling her head to look up at him. She did, though her eyes darted to the side so they wouldn’t make eye contact, “You protected yourself, yes?”

“Well, I -”

“You don’t know what could have happened, my dear. What if you were taken so far that neither I or your mother would have been able to find you?” He brushed his thumb over her cheek and she dared look at him in the eyes, “Then we would have been without you. You are a great help, darling, your mother is worried sick about you.”

“The monster, daddy, the monster -”

“Margret.” His grin faded into a more genuine smile, “That monster you have tucked up inside of you is a part of you! You keep it under wraps very well. Better than I do, even!”

She looked at him then, squinting, “Really?”

“Really! You have kept it all squared away for twelve years. That is admirable, darling. I can rarely go a month without indulging myself. Bea usually cannot make it a week without needed to feed; Franklin can barely make it two days. You truly are a wonder, my dear.” His grin started to grow as her own started to tug on the corners of her lips, “You have done well.”

“I’m really scared of the monster, Daddy.” Her voice was shaky, but less so, “It didn’t let me think or move.”

“Ah, that’s what they do. It finally snatched your vulnerability, dear. You’ll know how to keep it quiet from now on.”

“No, no, I don’t know.” She shivered. Her stomach growled loud enough for the both of them to hear and her ears pressed against her skull, “Mommy is gonna hate me when she finds out.”

“Your mother already knows,” Alastor rubbed her cheek once more, “She knows what you had to do, darling. She isn’t upset in the slightest.”

“But I promised I wouldn’t - “

“And your actions are admirable! You did it to save yourself. Imagine how your mother would feel if you were still gone from her life.”

There was silence for a moment, the child thinking over what had been said. She supposed he was right; if she hadn’t done something about it, who knows where in Hell she’d be. Alastor noticed the change in her from that moment, her eyes regained their soft sparkle and the smile that he had instilled in her started to grow once more.

“I’m real hungry, Daddy.”

“I’d bet! Let’s go find you something to eat. We can have lunch together.” He didn’t put her down as he climbed off the bed, her clinging to his front and wrapping her legs around his torso, “Promise me something, darling.”

“Okay, Daddy.” if she’d broken her promise to Mommy, the least she could do was make a new one for him.

“Protect yourself. You never know when someone is bound to attack! You just remind them who your father is.” His grin was infectious and she giggled faintly.

“No more hurting people.” She murmured, resting her head on his shoulder, “It’s not right.”

He was silent then. He wouldn't rip away that faint piece of hope that she carried in her chest. Margret was the only one out of his three children to carry that trait of Charlie’s; the innate ability to see the best in people and ignore the worst. Alastor wouldn’t find it so dynamic if her thinking morphed to be that of her siblings’.

As he stepped downstairs, he noticed Charlie in a doorframe that led to the parlor. She grinned at him happily and he nodded toward her, copying her grin. They would work through this, especially since his mate was so optimistic.

It was draining at times, but he couldn’t deny, it made life all that much more interesting.

Chapter Text

    Alastor was never one to mind when his mate sent him on errands. It usually meant she was much too concerned with other duties to be able to run to the grocery store; her pleading eyes and pouty lips swayed him more than he cared to admit. 

    What he did mind, however, was when she oh-so kindly asked him to take the children with him.

    "I need a break, even just for a half hour," She had said to him. Alastor was weary then and now? Now he was sure he was going to snap.

    A carefully painted smile stretching across his lips faltered as Bea toppled over another display. He could hear Charlie in his mind, placating him - she was only six, after all! What else do six year olds do besides cause havoc?

    Especially his own child. He couldn't be that mad.

    Except that this was literally the fourth display she had knocked over, and the knowing glint in her eyes made Alastor want to snap her neck in that moment. What else was he supposed to do? They hadn't gotten everything on the list yet.

    "Bea! Daddy said stop!" Margret's voice was a blessing to him at that moment, because he was certain he wouldn't be able to hide his minute rage, "You pick it up!"

    "I dunno how." Bea blinked up at Margret and Alastor knew she was being coy.

    Margret's fingers twitched and the eight year old girl flew into the pile of tipped bags, sorting them quickly and placing them back on the shelves that they belonged in. Beatrice watched, a little grin on her face.

    "Beatrice," Alastor's voice was schooled, "You're getting in the cart."

    "No! You said I could walk!" Bea's grin fell and she turned to Alastor, speaking as if he had just betrayed her in the worst way possible, "You promised!"

    "I did no such thing, darling. Up you go." Alastor swept downward and in a fluid motion, she was in the basket part of the cart with the rest of their groceries, "I would seat you up front, love, but your brother is there."

    Franklin made an angry noise and kicked backward, gripping the handle of the cart. He had wanted to walk around but Alastor was firm in the fact he did not want to watch his two year old son toddle around at such a slow pace.

    "He hates me, daddy." Bea whined, leaning backward against a bag of rice, "You hate me, too!"

    Alastor hummed, pushing the cart forward. Margret fell into step beside him, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, dear."

    Beatrice pouted the entire time, but not enough that she didn't ask for several things to be added into the cart. Alastor didn't mind one or two things; when she began to ask for more and more junk, did he put his foot down.

    "I'm gonna go die when we get home because you won't buy me pringles." Bea's arms were crossed, her glare just as deadly as Alastor's could be.

    "Alright." Alastor was browsing through the different types of vegetables; Charlie had given him a list, but he always liked to see if others were available.

    "Can I get a pomegranate, daddy?" Margret asked sweetly, holding up the red fruit. She hadn't asked for anything yet, so he gave her a nod, "Thank you!"

    As she reached into the cart to put it among the other food, Bea snatched it and then threw it as far as she possibly could. It hit a stack of tomatoes, which then caused the rest of the vegetables to fall to the floor. Bea's face paled.

    "Beatrice." Alastor didn't look away from the sweet potatoes he was choosing from, "I suggest you climb out of the cart and go clean up your mess," He paused, glancing at her, "Without your sister's help."

    Bea swallowed her fear and clambered out, flinging her leg over the rim and falling to the ground outside of the cart. Brushing herself off, the girl trotted over to the fallen tomatoes and began to stack them as quick as she could; the warning in Alastor's voice told her to have it done before he was done looking.

    It took a few minutes for her to get them looking right, but she got it done. Holding the pomegranate in her hands, she kept her gaze to the ground as she threw it in the cart and then attempted to climb back in.

    Hands grabbed her underarms and lifted her up, settling her among the boxes and bags of food. Alastor's voice was lower, pleased, "Thank you, darling."

    Bea grinned to herself and began to pick at the bag of rice; not enough that she would break the plastic, but enough to give her something to do. Franklin was busy playing with a sweet potato that Alastor had given him and Margret was helping Alastor pick out a pound or so of regular potatoes.

    It was probably the first time since entering the store that all of his children were quiet; even Franklin had ceased his relentless shrieking. The boy was too occupied to really pay attention to anything else around him and he was certain that after her last mistake, Bea would act a lot smarter around him. Alastor was quiet as he pushed the cart to the checkout, chit chatted mindlessly with the cashier (who nearly pissed himself seeing the Radio Demon just buying groceries) and then was able to make his daughters carry a few bags each as he carried Franklin and another few bags back to their home on the other side of Pentagram City.

    There were occasions where they had to stop since Bea would begin to whine about her arms hurting or Margret would begin to roll her shoulders; never once complaining, but Alastor knew his children well enough. 

    Charlie's relieved face when she saw that all three of her children and her mate were alive was enough to make Alastor cackle and begin to recount their adventure. Bea was promptly sent to her room after unloading the groceries and Margret was given help in cutting open her snack; Franklin was set aside in the parlor with his over abundance of toys.

    Alastor was one to allow his mate to dictate what he did; his patience with his children was relentless. 

    After all! They were /his/ children

Chapter Text

She grinned to herself and set her crayon down. Finally; after a few days, her work was complete. She'd taken her time with this and made sure that each letter was written smoothly and with purpose. She had to use some references for a few of the letters, since Mommy had only taught her the first few letters of the alphabet.

Razzle and Dazzle were going to help her make some snacks for the next day and she'd already told them to hang up the streamers in the parlor; hopefully Mommy and Daddy wouldn't be upset with her decorating the room without their permission. But, she needed to do this in secret.

It was really, really important to her, hopefully they'd be okay with it.

Her ears flicked, hearing someone walking down the hall toward her room. Instinctively, she knew it was her Daddy, so she flew up in a rapid pace, throwing the papers into their spot in a drawer and her crayons in the box. She hadn't even started getting ready for bed.

She could hear crying from the other side of the house. Beatrice must be missing Daddy.

Too bad. He was hers first.

A soft knocking interrupted her thoughts and she raced across the room. Usually, Mommy put her to bed because Bea was fussy when Daddy wasn’t nearby. It was a rare treat to have Daddy help her pick her jammies and tuck her in. He had such a nice voice for stories, even though he didn’t like most of her storybooks.

“Margret? Are you-?” She opened the door, grinning up at Alastor. His smile was closed mouthed; she knew he was being genuine, “Oh! There you are, darling.”

“Sorry, daddy. Had some very im’po’tent work.” She moved over so that he could come in.

“Im-por-tant, dear.” He ruffled her hair and she leaned into his touch, “It’s nearly bedtime.”

“Import-ant.” She murmured, pursing her lips, “Uhuh, I know. See! I cleaned up!”

Alastor glanced around the room. Everything was in its place, neatly organized. Better than expected from a four year old, “Excellent! Let’s get you ready.”

Daddy didn’t know the steps to putting Margret to bed as well a Mommy, so she calmly reminded him. She always needed to have things done in a certain order and could barely stand for it to be different.

“First, we brush my hair.” She climbed up in the bed, sitting cross legged, “And braid it. You did it that one time, you ‘member?”
Alastor chortled. His daughter was a funny little thing, “Of course. How could I forget something so important?”

She smiled brightly up at him before setting her head straight, Alastor grabbing her brush from the dresser. Margret’s eyes closed in bliss when he began to brush it out. She had long, curly blonde hair, with just a touch of red to it. Alastor was careful around her ears, running the brush against the back of them and making her giggle. He ran his fingers through the top of her head and paused, touching a tender spot on her head.

“Ow, daddy, that hurts.” Margret whined, trying to tuck her head away from his prodding touch.

“You’re growing your antlers, my dear.” Alastor’s voice was warm with pride, his fingers gentle against her head, “See?”

Her hand came to meet his and he took her fingers in his, showing her where the little nubs were. She gasped in surprise, grinning, “Oh, wow!”

“Oh, wow, indeed.” He murmured, setting the brush down next to her and began to twist her hair into a set of french braids, “What next?”

Margret shook her head out and climbed off the bed, stretching as she walked over to her dresser. She had grabbed her brush before moving too far and put it back in its designated spot. She then opened her dresser and ruffled through her sets of pajamas. Alastor’s grin faded just slightly when she pulled out what she wanted to wear, his nose crinkled at the monstrosity in her arms. and purple and fluffy - with a hood and a tail? Where did she even get that from?

“Uncle Angel got me this. Do you like it?” She smiled at him and he found himself unable to tell her the utmost truth.
He hesitated, “It’s definitely more suited for you, my dear! How about we wear something else tonight? it’s meant to be quite warm!”

Margret rolled her eyes, starting to unzip the onesie, “Daddy, it’s always warm. We live in Hell,” She looked unamused, her grin still present in a near copy of his, “You’re silly.”

Alastor forced a laugh and took the fluffy monstrosity from his eldest daughter, unzipping it. He tried his best to hide his disgust; Margret seemed to barely notice.

“Fanks, Daddy.” She pulled the hood up on it and Alastor had to admit - she did look rather cute in it.

“Of course, my little one.” He leaned over and scooped his daughter up, “TIme to brush those razor sharp fangs!”

Margret pretended to gnash her teeth, chomping the air, “Gotta make them big and strong!”

The rest of the bedtime routine went smoothly. Margret noted that the only thing he didn’t do right was that he tried to have her use mouthwash before flossing, but she was able to remind him on how it was supposed to go. Alastor ended up liking her pajamas by the end of the evening and even read her favorite story; the one about bunnies and rainbows. Margret was able to fall asleep rather quickly; tomorrow was going to be a very big day!


When Margret woke up, she felt like a big ball of nerves. Today was the day! She climbed out of bed and stretched, making sure to tuck in her sheets before she walked away from the bed. Margret touched the pillow three times before heading to her closet and picking her outfit out. One of her prettier dresses; she laid it out on the bed, fixing it so it wouldn’t crease. The girl smoothed down her hair and slid on her slippers, touching the doorknob twice on her way downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Morning, sweetheart!” Her mother was chipper every morning, standing before the stove and flipping pancakes. Margret’s mouth watered, “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” The child whispered, snuggling into her mother’s side and hugging her, “Pancakes?”

Charlie hummed an affirmation, her free hand coming down to ruffle Margret’s hair, “Go sit down! I have your stack done.”

The girl grinned wide and hugged Charlie once more before trotting over to the table. They had a little one in the kitchen for breakfast time; the bigger table in the dining room was something they usually only used for dinner. Though, most days, they ate in the kitchen since Bea was so messy. It made her nose crinkle up, thinking about her little sister.

Speaking of.

Bea was in a high chair by the table, furiously shoving pieces of pancake into her mouth. There was syrup all over the toddler’s cheeks and Margret winced at the feeling; it was really sticky looking. Bea cooed happily when seeing Margret, throwing a piece of her breakfast toward the four year-old. Margret quickly dodged it, watching it splatter to the floor.

“Bea! Don’t throw your food!” Margret huffed, fishing a napkin from the holder on the table and cleaning up the mess, “Eat it!”

“Eat it!” Bea copied, cramming another handful of pancake into her mouth.

Margret grimaced, making sure that there was no more mess before climbing into her seat. Charlie placed a stack of pancakes in front of her and she gasped, “All for me?”

“All for you! You did say you’re always hungry. Let’s see if we can fill that little tummy up.” Charlie tickled Margret’s belly and the girl let out a shriek of laughter before picking up her fork.

“You cut it?” The child look at Charlie with wide eyes.

“Of course -”

“I’ll get it!” Alastor called from the doorframe as he walked in, his smile soft, “You can finish up, darling, I’ll help her cut her breakfast.”

Charlie grinned and made her way back to the stove, Margret holding out a butter knife and a fork, “Thanks, daddy.”

“Absolutely, sweetheart. How big do you want your bites?” Alastor pulled her plate toward him, twirling the knife in his fingers.

“Medium, please.’

“Dada!” Bea then realized that her father was in the room, tossing a large glob of syrupy pancakes at him, “Dada!”

Alastor winced as the mess hit his arm and then slid to the ground, his insides squirming at the feeling of being sticky, “Bea, settle down. I’ll come say hello in a minute, darling. Let me cut your sister’s breakfast.”

The toddler pouted, placating herself with another mouthful of the sticky bread.

Charlie was at his side then as Alastor began to cut the pancakes, carefully wiping his arm as best she could, “Syrup and you don’t mix, huh?”

“No, not really.” Alastor peered at her from the corner of his eyes, his grin genuine, “I do not admire the feeling of being sticky!”

“Icky, sticky.” Bea began to chant, smearing her fingers along her cheeks, “Yuck.”

Charlie sighed, folding the paper towel and tossing it into the trash, “Your pancakes are done, Al, I’m gonna go give Bea a bath.” Her voice turned sour, muttering, “The second one in two days.”

Alastor chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of Charlie’s head, standing up and pushing the now-cut pancakes toward Margret, “I’ll do it, darling. You eat. I can wait.”

“Are you sure?” The blonde watched Margret carefully spear a bite of her food and feed herself, “I can -”

“Darling,” Alastor grinned wide, “Eat.” He quickly unbuckled Bea from her seat and held her at arms length, wincing as he felt syrup touch his hands. He walked off to the bathroom across the house, Bea babbling to him the entire way.

Margret’s eyebrows scrunched as she ate, making sure to not make any messes. If any syrup fell onto the table, she was quick to wipe it clean. After plowing through most of her breakfast, she glanced up at her mother.

Charlie was peering over a newspaper, mindlessly eating at her own pancakes. When she noticed that her oldest daughter was watching her, she set the newspaper down, “Any plans for today, honey?”

“Yeah!” Margret’s eyes lit up, “Oh! I nearly forgot! Stay here!” She scoot her chair back after ramming one final bite into her mouth and sprinted upstairs, not even minding that Charlie called to her to slow down.

She got to her bedroom and grabbed the stack of papers from the desk, along with a roll of tape. Margret grinned to herself, nodding as she made her way through the house, taping several of the papers up on every corner, hallway and doorway that she knew her parents used often. By the time she got to the kitchen again, there were only two left, which was exactly what she had planned for. By then, Alastor was at the table and eating his breakfast of pancakes and sausage (the latter made her nose crinkle), Bea seated at his feet playing with a stuffed animal.

“I have an an’oucement!” Margret clutched the papers to her chest, nerves wracking her belly.

Alastor looked at her, amused, while Charlie smiled at her softly.

“Today, I’ll be having a talent show!” She trotted closer to her parents, mindful to not step on Bea, “And you’re invited!” The girl set down the papers on the table, each adorned with little drawings and the child’s sloppy handwriting, “It’s at one o’clock, af’er lunch! Don’t be late!”

She twirled on her heel and nearly raced toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “It’s in the parlor!”

As the girl disappeared back out into the hallway, Alastor picked up one of the papers. It was well done, considering her age, and he knew that she had to have asked for help from someone for the lettering. His grin heightened and he turned to his mate.

“This is going to be very entertaining!”


Razzle and Dazzle helped her put up some streamers and lights in the parlor, which had been blocked to prepare for the talent show. Whenever Charlie or Alastor got too close, one of the goat demons would peak their head out of the doorway and /hiss/ to keep them away. When lunchtime rolled around, Razzle had ducked in to grab Margret a few sandwiches before taking them to the parlor so that the trio could keep working. She had changed into her dress only a few minutes before one o’clock rolled around; both Razzle and Dazzle had helped her tie up the bows in the back.

“I’m so nervous.” Margret whispered, fingering one of her curls. The braids from the night before had made her hair more curly than usual and she was really pleased about it, “What if I don’t do so well?”

Razzle patted her shoulder and Dazzle hugged her side and she almost immediately felt better; of course it would be okay. She was the daughter of the Radio Demon! Of course she was good. Margret took a calming breath.

Even though they had just had lunch, there were some snacks out as well as a few cups of juice - apple juice. She had been very careful when pouring them and had even made a sippy cup for Bea. Razzle was seated by the piano and Dazzle was by the door, waiting for her go-ahead to let her mother and father in.

She had a few things planned and some improv stuff she had worked on - hopefully it all turned out as perfect as she hoped! Margret nodded toward Dazzle, who pulled open the parlor door.

Both Charlie and Alastor were standing, waiting for her. Margret’s eyes widened - they were both dressed up in their nicest clothes and even Bea was wearing a pretty little dress! Charlie’s hair was swept up in a bun and she had makeup on, Alastor was in his good coat and she felt her heart pound a little harder - did she look good enough?

Dazzle let them in and showed them the juice and the chairs that had been arranged perfectly to allow Margret to have the center of the room. She was currently hiding behind a curtain that had been put up with some sort of magic from the goat demons; she’d learned a long time ago to not ask questions.

Razzle began to play something on the piano and Margret pulled up her best announcer voice - the one she had worked on for the past few weeks. Although it didn’t have the same grunge tone, there was a definite crackle to her words as she spoke them.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Introducing the Magnificent Margret!”

The girl ducked out from behind the curtain and twirled her way to the center of the room, arms outstretched and a grin on her face that put Alastor’s to shame. She opened a single eye to catch a glimpse of her parents and was pleasantly surprised to see Alastor watching her with something that looked like surprise - he must’ve liked her radio announcer voice!

The melody on the piano changed and she found herself swaying to the music, her eyes closing once more. Even Bea was quiet, which she was happy about.

“Here comes the sun ~ doo doo doo ~
Here comes the sun, and I say ~
It’s all right ~”

Her voice was crisp in all the places it should be, hauntingly slow and nostalgic in a way. Charlie found herself swaying to the sound of her daughter singing and Alastor’s eyes were wide as he watched. Bea was more entertained by her sippy cup than the sound of her sister singing, though the notes did help soothe her.

“Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces ~
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here ~”

Margret did a little twirl, opening her eyes and singing with a soft smile on her face,

“Here comes the sun ~ doo doo doo ~
Here comes the sun ~
It’s all right ~
It’s all right ~”

She bowed then and Charlie immediately fell into applause, Alastor following suit.

“Brilliant, darling!” Alastor’s voice, for once, was free of the grunge overlay and was just his soft tones, “You did brilliant!”

“Thanks, daddy. I’m not done! I have more!” Margret shuffled a little, Razzle beginning to play a fun and familar tune.
She moved her arms to resemble a teapot, singing out, “I’m a little tea pot - short and stout ~!” She wiggled her one arm that was resting on her hip, “Here is my handle,” And then moved her other arm, “Here is my spout!” She began to tip to the left, giggling behind her singing, “When I get all steamed up, here me shout! Tip me over,” She fell over to the left, landing on the ground, “And pour me out!”

Applause from her parents and a few giggly claps from Bea spurred her on through her next few acts. She sang another few nursery rhymes and then acted out a small puppet skit, a grin on her face the entire time. Alastor and Charlie remained at focus and attention at what she was doing, even going so far as to pouring some of their juice into Bea’s cup so she’d be quiet.

After about an hour had passed and her throat started to hurt, Margret did a twirl and focused on her grunge tone, “Thank you for coming! The Magnificent Margret shall stick around for autographs! That is all!”

Within moments, she was immediately swept up into a hug from her father. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“What a performance! Wonderful!” His voice was bright and cheery, making her laugh, “Why, I haven’t been that entertained since your mother sang her song on the news!”

“Al-” Charlie started, but Alastor cut her off.

“You did magnificent!” Alastor pulled back just a bit so that he could look Margret in the eyes, “Amazing job!”

Margret grinned wide and hugged him to her again. If her Daddy said it was good - well, it must be great.

She’d just have to plan another one to outdo herself!

Chapter Text

It had never been the most comforting sight. The view never changed; the same red sky, the same boring pavement. This sector of Pentagram City hadn’t been touched for as long as she could remember and she was almost certain that it was due to the fact that she resided here.

Charlie let out a sigh and rubbed her cheek. She couldn’t remember a time in her life where she felt this unsettled. She’d been uncomfortable, sure, plenty of times. But now, she felt like something was just barely off and she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Hey, what’s with the moping?” A hand came to rest on her shoulder and she peeked over.

Vaggie looked concerned, which she appreciated. Charlie hadn’t really spoken much throughout the day - usually she was a chatterbox at best. She felt like her tongue was in too many knots and her stomach felt like heaving.

“Just thinking.” Charlie’s voice was quiet, just a touch above a whisper.

“Yeah? About what?” Vaggie nudged Charlie just the slightest and the blonde demon scoot over on the window seat so her best friend could sit next to her.

Charlie hummed, shrugging, “A lot of things, I guess.” She paused a second, watching a car move by outside, “Say, do you feel like anything is kind of, well, I don’t know, off?”

Vaggie rolled her eyes and leaned against the window, “The static is gone for once.”

It made sense in Charlie’s head then, why she felt so unbalanced. Alastor had been chased from the hotel earlier that day and was forbidden from returning until the next day - some human tradition that Vaggie and Angel had been very adamant on fulfilling.

“Oh, you’re right.” The normal sound of static that drifted through the halls of the hotel was gone and she suddenly felt ten times more lonely.

The pair sat in silence for another few minutes, watching the lights outside slowly dim and the people on the streets begin to fade. Nighttime in Pentagram City was either bustling or silent and there was no in-between.

Charlie began to gnaw on her lower lip, eyes darting back and forth. Was this even right? Some weight pressed on her chest and she took a deep breath, doing her best to push past it. She knew she was nervous for no reason; it wasn’t like anything would change.

Well, except for the fact -

“Hey! Why are you guys locked up in here! There’s shit to do!” The door flung open and Angel stood in the frame, a pair of hands on his hips, “At least Vags needs to come help!”

“I’ve been helping all day, I deserve a damn break.” Vaggie closed her eyes and groaned, rubbing her forehead, “Isn’t everything set up?”


“It’s nine at night! We should all be getting ready for bed, anyway!”

“Too much to do, party pooper. Let’s go!” Angel took a few steps to cross the room, looming over the pair of demons, “Miss Sunshine, too! We need your opinion on a few things.”

“Oh, alright, Angel.” Charlie let a smile come to her face - spending enough time with Alastor would have anyone smiling naturally.


When she woke up the next morning, it was because Niffty and Mimzy were prodding her awake with a steaming tray of breakfast foods. Angel, who had at some point taken control of all the planning, had ordered them up to wake her up and get her fed so she would be ready for the rest of the day.

“Thank you.” Charlie murmured as she picked up a fork, rubbing her eyes with the other hand.

“You’re welcome!” Niffty smiled wide at her, nodding.

“See you later,” Mimzy nodded and the two left the room, chatting quietly to each other.

The blonde focused on trying to eat, she really did. The nerves that were twisting her stomach up were forcing her to feel like she was going to dry heave; a bit of toast was all she was able to get down her throat.

She was really missing the usual sound of static that surrounded her.

Charlie pushed the tray away, mindful to move a few things around to make it look like she at least tried to eat and then pushed the covers down and crawled out of bed. A few carefully placed stretches helped to make her feel a little more relaxed.
Her phone buzzed on the table by the bed and she leaned over to pick it up, her heart fluttering just slightly. Charlie slid her thumb across the screen to open the phone call and pushed it against her ear.

“Good morning, darling!”

“Hi, Al.” The tension that was building in her lower stomach eased and she lowered herself onto the bed.

His voice sounded extra filtered over the phone and she knew he was using the old landline that was at the radio tower, “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, fine.” Her voice was clipped, short. She wanted to hear his voice more than anything, “Did you get any sleep?”

“Plenty! I have to be ready for today. Are you sure you slept well?” He sounded like he was shuffling around and Charlie could hear another voice in the background, “Ah, Husker is trying to swipe the phone away from me, my dear. I’m not quite sure why!”

Charlie laughed, “He’s probably been told by Angel to keep you away from me.”

“How foolish.” There was a scuffle for a moment and she heard Alastor in his ever-calming voice, tell Husk to back away or he’d eat him before his voice became clearer again, “I admit I’m not used to not seeing you every morning, so when I woke, I figured I’d somehow work this device to ring you!”

“Ever a gentleman, Al.” Charlie grinned softly.

She could feel him preen at her words, “I do strive to be so!”

She hummed a sound of contentment, twirling a lock of her curls, “Did you eat this morning?”

“I did!” His voice turned even more chipper and she rolled her eyes, “I won’t go into specifics, but I am feeling rather energetic!”

“Well, I’m glad about that. I’m, uh -” She cleared her throat, “I’m sorta nervous!”

“Darling,” His voice lowered and she felt like he got closer to the receiver, “It will all be well soon.”

She felt any remaining anxiety start to melt away as he continued to speak.

“All the buildup, the theatrics! Of course it’s nerve wracking. I wouldn’t suspect anything else. You’ll find it’s easier than you suspect.”

“You sound like an expert.” She teased him, her heart fluttering.

He laughed, “No, not in the slightest! I suppose I just know you, darling.”

She didn’t respond, just letting out a shaky breath. He didn’t seem offended by her not speaking back; Alastor continued to ramble about the radio tower and how he’d found it in slight disarray when he’d gotten there yesterday. Over time, she found herself moving back up to the pillows and tugging one of the blankets over her. His voice was soothing in the best way, the white noise in the background lulling her eyelids closed.

Just as Charlie was sure she was about to fall asleep, a resounding knock hit her door and she gasped, sitting up.

“Charlie?” His voice had an edge to concern and she shook her head to wake herself back up.

“Someone’s just knocking on my door. I was about to fall back asleep.”

He chuckled and she got up to open the door. Angel was staring at her, both sets of arms crossed and an unamused expression on his face.

“Who's that you’re talking to?”

“Uh - Al, I should probably go.”

“You’re talking to him! You swore you wouldn’t!”

“I'll see you soon, darling!”

“Bye, Alastor!” Charlie pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the end call button, swallowing the lump that started to form in her throat once more, “For the record, I told you I wouldn’t call him.”

Angel snorted, “You expect me to believe that he called you?”

“He did! Look!” She turned the phone screen over to him so that he could see that the most recent call had been received and not sent out, “I wouldn’t lie, you know me better than that Angel.”

He huffed and snatched the phone from her hand, shoving it into a pocket in his jacket, “You’ll get this back later, Blondie.”

“Angel!” She tried to swipe it back but he dodged her and he let out a snicker, “C’mon!”

“No! We have so much to do. Didja even eat any of that breakfast?”

She went quiet.

Angel sighed. It was going to be a very long day.


Charlie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The lace that was so delicately lain on her skin; the soft feel of silk helped calm her down and ground her to where she was right now. Thought it was a smaller affair, she could still feel the tension in the air.

Perhaps that was just her tension.

It was due to start any minute now - Angel would be opening a door for her to walk through soon. He had dictated what she should be doing and how to do it, even running through it the whole time. She had told him that he would be a marvellous planner for other events for the hotel and he had scoffed at her, telling her that doing this had been enough for him for the next century.

Was she even doing the correct thing? One foot took a half step back. What would come about with this? Would it hit her reputation in some disastrous way?

The hotel was doing great; she’d been able to redeem a handful of souls throughout the years since the startup. It kept her going on - would doing this make demons want to keep away from the hotel? She still owed an enormous debt to her citizens. Charlie could save them; it was the only thing she had ever dreamed of doing.

Never once had something like this occurred to her. Taking the time to just do something for herself was causing a war to stir in her mind and Charlie wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

Just as her wobbly knees were going to give out, the door opened and Angel slipped through, a playful grin on his face.
“C’mon then, princess.” He extended a hand, “Time to go.”

He must have not noticed the look on her face or he opted to ignore her, but she felt obliged to reach out and grab onto the offered hand. He pulled her close and then reached with another set of hands to fix the flower crown that rested across her head.

“Hey,” Angel murmured, softer than Charlie had ever seen him, “Break a leg.”

“Thanks.” Her voice was a whisper and he squeezed her hand once before slipping back through the door.

There was only a handful of people through that door and the thought calmed her down. Just her friends - not that anyone else in Hell would have wanted to come. She’d sent a few invitations out to some others, but no one had replied and she hadn’t expected them to.
Just as Charlie was about to reach out to open the door, a hand pressed against her elbow and she felt her throat tighten. Her head snapped over to the left and all reservations seemed to drop in that moment.

“ . . .Dad?”

Lucifer stood there, eyes firmly locked on hers. He seemed to have some sort of anger burning in the back of his eyes and she couldn’t blame him - there would be no universe that he would be pleased with her decision. He was dressed in the same outfit he usually wore and something about him being there calmed her down; he wasn’t there to berate her. She could tell.

“What are you doing here?” She could hear the faint tones of a piano playing inside of the room.

He cleared his throat, rearranging their arms so that hers was linked with his, “I suppose I shouldn’t miss my own daughter’s wedding.”

Charlie let out a choked laugh and tried her best to not let the tears fall. Angel would kill her if her makeup was ruined; he’d spent hours on it earlier. Lucifer looked at her once and squeezed her arm in an affectionate way before reaching out and opening the door for them.

The music swirled around them and Charlie found herself looking around. There were a few chairs that were arranged down a makeshift aisle - they were in one of the prettier parlours in the hotel. Angel had really gone all out for the room and had spent ages looking for faux flowers that he’d spun around the room and there were candles lit to bring a nice ambiance. Her friends were stood, turned toward her and she could see the surprise on all of their faces to see Lucifer standing right next to her.

Charlie’s breath caught when she realized her own mother was standing by one of the seats in the front - she had a cool smile on her face and Charlie could see the pride shimmering in her eyes. Regardless of who she was choosing to marry, Lillith was proud of her daughter.

Once she had taken in the environment as they slowly inched their way up the aisle, her eyes suddenly came to meet with Alastor and her breath was stolen once more. Instead of the usual red that he wore, he was dressed in a simple black tux - something she wasn’t even certain he would wear unless it was an occasion as this. She had to admit, it looked amazing on him and she liked the fact that he didn’t change his bowtie. The grin on his face was reserved, eyes hooded as he watched her approach.

Charlie felt her foot pace increase and when there was a light pressure on her arm, she remembered to slow down. Lucifer gave her another squeeze and nodded just barely so she knew she was still doing alright.

Once they reached the end of the aisle, where an arch decorated in a variety of faux flowers rose above them, Lucifer took hold of Charlie’s hand and then turned to Alastor.

“If I find out you’ve hurt her in any way, Radio Demon -”

“She is safe with me.” Alastor’s voice was less filtered; genuine, “I would never hurt such a bright ray of sunshine.”

Lucifer pursed his lips, contemplating, before settling Charlie’s hand in Alastor’s outstretched one. He squeezed all of their hands together for a moment before letting go. Charlie felt almost the rest of her anxiety melt away when Alastor squeezed her fingers and the normal sound of white noise returned to her.

Her father moved to their other side - another reason he had decided to come was to be able to officiate the wedding. He was one of the few in Hell with the power; most demons did not marry for the very reason that they were here to not have bonds. Lucifer didn’t care to have anyone else head it.

The words spoken were soft and filled Charlie’s head but didn’t seem to make too much sense. She copied the promises that fell from her father’s mouth and felt her head fog. All she could focus on was that Alastor was here and his eyes were like windows to whatever soul he had left; he was so genuine and articulate with every word he spoke during the ceremony.

When Alastor took hold of her left hand and slid on the ring, she was unable to actually see what it looked like since her eyes were so clouded with tears. Her own fingers shook when she took hold of his hand and slid on the plain gold band; it contrasted against his skin in the best of ways.

When his hand cupped her cheek and he kissed her and stole her breath, Charlie was unable to help herself from tossing her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He didn’t seem to mind; wrapping one arm around her waist and drawing her against him. The sound of applause drifted through her head.

When Alastor withdrew, she nearly followed him to keep him connected but he was able to move fast enough back that they parted. She blinked her eyes, dazed, tightening her hold on his neck.

Alastor’s voice was soft as it crackled against her ear and he spoke the words that had her heart racing and made everything feel as if it was all worth it.

“My wife.”

Chapter Text

Normally, Margret wasn’t one to find it difficult to fall asleep. When Charlie settled her down for bed, she was able to pretty quickly grasp onto sleep and be down for the rest of the night. One of the many qualities that made her such an easy child. Even at seven, when she really wanted to be up and about, as soon as she was in bed she was out for the night.

Tonight, however, she was having a difficult time getting her eyelids to cooperate with her. Maybe it was the fact that she took such a lengthy nap during the day or it was the heavy rain that was going on outside, she wasn’t really able to discern. Something just made her feel unsettled and the only thing she could think of doing was getting out of bed.

Pushing the covers down and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, the child stretched and made sure to tuck the covers back under the pillows before sliding her feet into her slippers. As she made her way to the door, perhaps to just go to the bathroom and then return, the sound of another door opening made her step back.

If Daddy caught her up - well, she wasn’t sure what he’d do.

As Margret hurried back to bed, a soft knock came to her door and she paused. After the knock hit again, she padded back to the door and then pulled it open just enough to see who it was.

Bea stood there, blanket in one hand and her stuffed reindeer in the other. She looked tired, but unsettled. Margret immediately opened the door and tilted her head, her voice quiet.

“What do you want?”
Bea yawned, shrugging a shoulder, “Can’t sleep.”

Margret crossed her arms, “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

The redheaded child grinned impishly, “Wanna go cuddle in with mommy and daddy? We can get Frankie from his crib and take him too. I know he’s awake, he’s been fussing since mommy put us to bed.”

Worry quickly prickled at her stomach, “Frankie’s been fussy?”

Bea nodded, yawning, “I can hear him through the wall. He won’t stop snifflin’.”

The seven year old thought for a moment, biting her lip. Crawling in with Mommy and Daddy wasn’t something she had done since she was maybe two; would they even be okay with it? The pleading look in Bea’s eyes, despite the mischievous grin on her sister’s face, won over her thoughts.

“Well, alright.” Margret ducked back into the room to grab her own soft blanket from the end of her bed and then the sisters made their way back down the hall to their baby brother’s room.

Margret opened the door as quiet as she could and as soon as the pair made their way inside, the fussing stopped. Frankie was standing with his hands gripping the top bar of his crib; he had tears streaming down his cheeks and Margret felt terrible in that moment.

“Okay, Frankie, c’mon.” She rushed across the room and dropped her blanket on the floor next to the crib, reaching up, “Bea, come help me get him out.”

“Otay.” Bea put her reindeer and blanket down by the door and walked to the crib, kneeling and gripping onto Frankie’s feet, “Ready?”

“Yep! Push!”

With a few tries and Franklin’s squirming to try and help, he was safely being held by Margret. His tears stopped around then, burying his face in his sister’s shoulder and holding onto her tightly.

“Grab his blankie and mine and drape them over my shoulders or carry them. I don’t wanna snatch all of Mommy and Daddy’s blankets.” Margret ordered quietly, rubbing Franklin’s back soothingly. He gave a soft coo of contentment, murmuring something in his baby language.

Bea hummed an affirmation and grabbed the rest of the blankets, draping Frankie’s across his back while carrying Margret’s. The trio shuffled their way across the house, having to go up a flight of stairs to reach their parent’s bedroom was difficult for Margret carrying the baby.

“He’s heavy.” She whined at one point, shifting him enough that he got irritated and gripped onto her hair tightly.

“Maybe you’re jus’ weak.” Bea mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She felt exhausted, though she had tried to go to sleep for hours before bugging Margret.

Margret growled lowly and rolled her eyes, “Oh, shut up.”

“You talked first.” Bea reached up to open the door to their parent’s room, pulling the handle down and she tried her best to push it open.

The bed was massive in the room, so Margret didn’t have a problem with the three of them climbing up. Bea obviously had no reservations, trotting over to the bed and pulling herself up onto it. Margret watched her climb up to the head and plop herself in between Alastor and Charlie.

“Wha - “ Margret heard the soft voice of her mother, muffled by sleep, drift through the air, “Bea?”

“Can’t sleep mommy, Maggie and Frankie can’t either.” Bea pulled her blanket up to her shoulders.

Margret stood at the edge of the bed after closing the door. Franklin had started to doze on her but had woken up when she placed him up on the bed and climbed up after him, “He was really fussy, mommy. Crying and stuff.”

“Oh,” Charlie yawned and rubbed her eyes, sitting up to reach over and take Franklin from Margret, “So you all trekked to sleep in here?”

“Uhuh.” Margret crawled up to lay down in between Bea and Charlie.

Charlie lay back down on her back with Frankie on her chest; he gripped onto her shirt and gave a soft noise of contentment. Margret blinked sleepily and lay Frankin’s blanket across his back and then pulled her own over her shoulders.

The soft sound of white noise sharpened for a moment and all of them knew that Alastor had woken up to the noise; the soft glow from his eyes was also a tell.

“Hiya, daddy.” Bea chirped, wiggling closer to him. Alastor raised an eyebrow and she giggled, pulling her reindeer closer, “We couldn’t sleep so we came to sleep with you! Isn’t that nice?”

Alastor let out a chortle and wrapped an arm around her, his hand reaching out to take hold of Margret’s fingers. She squeezed them three times and he squeezed back four; it made her smile brightly at him, “I suppose, darlings.”

“Frankie was even crying ‘cause he was so lonely.” Bea murmured, her drowsy eyelids starting to droop once more, “And Margret was out of bed anyway.”

“I was just going to the bathroom!” Margret scowled over at her sister, squeezing Alastor’s hand once more. Charlie nudged Maggie’s head with her elbow and the child moved her head up, allowing her mother to put her arm under her. She snuggled in close to Charlie and closed her eyes, making sure to keep a tight grip on Alastor’s hand.

Franklin, still half awake, reached down and placed a chubby hand on her cheek and she smiled at him, kissing a finger. He let out a sleepy giggle and she did it again before letting her eyes close.

Bea gripped tightly onto Alastor’s shirt and her reindeer, thoroughly enjoying the fact that she was sleeping next to her favorite person in the world. Al pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and she smiled lazily, giving him one back on the chin.

On a normal night, they’d all be able to sleep just fine on their own. On this night, they just needed a little extra warmth.

Chapter Text

When the music started, it took them a moment to gain their composure and move in time with the beat. It was a gentle tune, something both of them had put their time into discussing what should be played. One of the few things they had complete say in - Angel was a ferocious party planner at the best of times.

His fingers squeezed hers and Charlie found the worry that was nibbling at her stomach fade. The several sets of eyes that were watching them seemed to disappear into the background and the only thing that she could focus on was her partner.
Alastor was watching her with hooded eyelids, emotion that she couldn’t quite put a finger on swirling in his irises. The hand that was resting on her hip squeeze her and she smiled up at him, the grin coming to her naturally. Their feet seemed to know exactly what to do, swirling and moving around the room in a way that had both of them at peace.

Charlie felt a tear slide down her cheek and she couldn’t help but giggle at herself. Alastor’s eyes flashed concern for a moment, but when he noticed the grin on her face still there, he chuckled alongside her.

“I thought you didn’t want to ruin your makeup?” His voice was low, quieter than the music playing. The static that usually came alongside his voice was dimmed and she felt her insides melt at the sound.

“To hell with the makeup, I guess.” Charlie shrugged a shoulder, pulling him closer with the hand on his shoulder. He didn’t protest, moving so that the two of them were pressed together and his chin was resting on the top of her head.

She could hear him start to hum the song that was playing, the vibrations radiating from his chest and into her own head. The feeling washed over her and made it easier to focus on the movement - at this point, she just wanted to stand still and hold herself close to him. This was a once in a lifetime moment.

Their wedding ceremony had been quick and she wasn’t sure how long the reception was supposed to last. Charlie could already feel the prickles of exhaustion creeping up on her; the poor sleep the night before coupled with the face that she knew she was going to be dancing solidly for at least the next hour made her eyelids droop. As the song melted into a second one, Alastor stopped them and pulled away from her just enough that she could look up at him in confusion.

“I believe someone else has the right to dance with you.” His voice turned sour toward the end and she turned slightly to see Lucifer just a few steps away.

Charlie laughed, touching his jaw with her fingertips, “I’ll be back soon.”

He let go of her then and she felt rather empty in the few moments it took for him to stride off and Lucifer to pick up her hands. Another soft melody began to play and the lump that was in Charlie’s throat tightened.

Lucifer was gentle with her - their fingers locked and his arm wrapped around her back as she rest her head on his shoulder. He felt mournful and Charlie wasn’t able to tell why she could tell that he was feeling that way. Their movements weren’t as melodic as hers and Alastor’s; the two mainly stood in place and swayed back and forth.

It wasn’t until halfway through the song that he actually spoke to her.


She hummed, picking her head up from his shoulder and meeting his eyes, “Yeah, dad?”

He shifted, turning his head away from her just a touch, “I’m proud of you.”

The demoness’ throat constricted and tears fell freely then. She pulled her fingers from his and wrapped her arm around his middle and hugged him tighter than she had done since she was a child. Charlie was sure her makeup was running off onto his white jacket and she couldn’t find it in herself to care - the tears wouldn’t stop and she couldn’t help but let a soft sob escape her. Lucifer rubbed soft circles onto the middle of her back and hugged her just as tight, his chin on the top of her head.

“Congratulations.” His voice murmured to her as she tried her best to compose herself.

It took the rest of the song for her to be able to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks and to get the lump in her throat to settle. When the music faded, Lucifer let go of her and cupped her jaw in a hand.

He studied her a moment and she nearly shrunk away from him. He then nodded and grinned brilliantly at her, taking one of her hands and leading her over to her mother.

Lillith had a miniscule frown on her face, swatting Lucifer’s hand away from Charlie once the pair reached her, “You had to make her cry then?”

The blond demon laughed and patted the top of Charlie’s hair, “It’s not quite my fault that she started crying!”

Charlie giggled, wiping a stray tear away from her cheek, “Yeah it is.”

Lillith rolled her eyes and pulled Charlie in for a hug, wrapping her arms around her daughter, “See? She wouldn’t tell a lie about it.”

The two began to banter back and forth and Charlie found herself settling down; the image of Alastor dancing with Niffty also sort of helped her. It was comical; Niffty was more on his toes than not and he was doubled over. The two were smiling and laughing however, so she found herself grinning alongside them.

“I’m gonna go dance with Al -” Charlie pulled back from her mother after another song went by, feeling ten times better.

Lillth gave her daughter a soft smile, running the back of her finger over Charlie’s pinkened cheeks, “Congratulations, lovely.”

“Thanks mama.” Charlie threw her arms around her mother once more and squeezed tight before nearly trotting over to where Alastor was finishing up his dance with Niffty, “Can I cut in?”

“Sure!” Niffty grinned and let go of Alastor, spinning off to go pick at the snack table.

Alastor noticed how she still had some tear tracks and reached to her face, running the pad of his thumb over her skin, “You were crying?”

“My dad said some stuff to me,” Alastor’s eyes flashed and Charlie grabbed his free hand, pulling him toward her, “Good things! Don’t worry. Just unexpected.”

A brighter tune started to play and the two of them automatically began to step in unison, Charlie giggling when she spun. The Charleston was one of their favorite dances and whoever was in charge of the music must have been told to play the song at least once.

When the song ended, Alastor twirled her into his arms once more and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. She laughed and pulled his face down, connecting their lips with a smile that both of them shared.

At long last, the two of them were bonded; paired with the other and they couldn’t dream of anything else

Chapter Text


Character Information -

True Name: Margret Grace Magne
Nicknames: Maggie / Sunshine (by Alastor) / Sweetpea (by Charlie) / Miss Goody Two Shoes (by Beatrice, Franklin and Angel Dust)
Likes: Redemption / Baking / Positivity / Smiling / Pomegranates / Dancing / Protecting Her Siblings
Dislikes: Negativity / Her Wendigo / Meat / Unnecessary Tension / Being Cold / Bell Peppers

Biological Information -

Species: Deer Demon
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Abilities: Wendigo Transformation / Spatial Warping / Swing Dancing / Singing

Professional Status -

Occupation: Princess of Hell / Staff Member of Hazbin Hotel

Relationships -

Family: Alastor (Father) / Charlie (Mother) / Beatrice (Sister) / Franklin (Brother) / Lucifer (Grandfather) / Lillith (Grandmother)

Friends: Angel Dust / Razzle and Dazzle / Vaggie / Husk / Niffty

Romantic Interests: N/A

Enemies: Valentino

Margret Magne is a hell born demon birthed to Alastor and Charlie and by line of succession, a princess of Hell. She follows much of the same mentality as her mother, believing that redemption is possible for most and hopes it will help end the overpopulation issue.

Appearance -

Margret is a few inches taller than Charlie, about 6’4” with curly strawberry blonde hair with highlights. She has the same ears* and antlers that Alastor does as well as his nose and eye color. She has pale pink cheeks that associate her with a happy and positive personality. She usually wears a blush colored cropped sweater, a scalloped black skort, fishnet stockings and black boots with heels.

When in full Wendigo form, her antlers grow and she grows about another foot in height. Her nails extend and the irises in her eyes disappear with just the yellow sclera visible. She dislikes this form and has only gone into it once a year since the age of 12; only enough to satisfy the inner Wendigo.

Personality -

Margret is extremely compassionate and gentle toward demons. She knows her way around Hell and fully believes most demons can be redeemed - only most since she knows Hell born demons cannot be redeemed. She’s generally persuasive and likes to keep her hands busy. Margret adopted Alastor’s belief that frowning makes her look weak, and so she tends to be always smiling.

She believes she owes a large life debt to the demons that surround her because of her upbringing and her sibling’s worrisome ways, she does her best to atone for Bea and Franklin’s sins, as well as her own. She’s prone to self doubt and always tends to overthink everything before she actually puts any plans into action.

She has OCD and her compulsions drive her mad. Before entering any closed door, she has to twist the doorknob three times before entering and due to this, most doors in the house are left open.

Background -

Margret was born in hell to Charlie and Alastor, the Princess of Hell and the Radio Demon. She grew up seeing two extremes and drifted toward Charlie’s viewpoint of Hell. She has two siblings and loves them dearly, though they don’t share too much in common.

Relationships -

Charlie: Charlie is Margret’s mother.
Margret adores her mother and makes sure Charlie knows it. She’s often seen by/near Charlie and is active in the Hotel. She believes that Charlie is strong, funny and she thinks Charlie’s optimism is admirable and strives to be just like her.

Alastor: Alastor is Margret’s father.
Margret trusts Alastor with her life. She knows he would do anything and everything necessary to keep his family safe - even if she doesn’t quite agree with the process of it. She enjoys his jokes and loves listening to him sing - one of their main activities together is cooking, though they differ on tastes.

Beatrice: Beatrice is Margret’s sister.
Beatrice is two years younger than Margret. When Bea was a toddler, the sisters got along well. When Bea began showing more interest in pulling pranks and leaving messes, the two’s relationship felt strained. throughout childhood, they’d bicker near constantly and the relationship didn’t get mended until Bea turned twenty one.

Franklin: Franklin is Margret’s brother.
Franklin is seven years younger than Margret. Admittedly, she tends to keep her distance from him. Most of the time, though, they do have a good relationship. Margret is protective of him, even though he knows he doesn't need it, he lets her do as she wishes.

Angel Dust:
Margret thinks Angel Dust is funny and admires his confidence. She does think he can be a little too much for her to handle so she can only take him in small doses.

Margret and Vaggie spend a lot of time together due to the fact that they both spend most of their time around Charlie. Vaggie thinks Margret is sweet and can be a touch narcissistic - a trait that Margret inherited from Alastor. when Margret was younger, she adamantly wanted to be called ‘Maggie’ in order to be more like Vaggie.

Due to the fact that both of them are total neat freaks and love to cook, the two tend to spend the most time together out of everyone. Margret really enjoys being around Niffty and the one-eyed demon thinks that Margret is a good cook. The two are often together making something or cleaning some forgotten corner of the Hotel.

Razzle and Dazzle:
Razzle and Dazzle are Margret’s taste testers - she likes to experiment with baked goods and they like to eat her creations.

Lucifer: Lucifer is Margret’s grandfather.
Margret doesn’t find herself wanting to spend much time with him. Though the relationship between Charlie and he has been mended by the time she is an adult, Margret doesn’t get a good feeling from behind around him. She will happily have a conversation with him, though the relationship he has with Franklin is the best out of the three.

Lillith: Lillith is Margret’s grandmother.
Margret admires Lillith’s strength and femininity; they have the strongest relationship out of Charlie’s three children. The two of them do book swaps with what they can and can usually be found discussing in depth some sort of philosophy.

Margret isn’t fond of Vox in the slightest. She believes that the relationship he has with Beatrice isn’t healthy and she tries her best to warn Bea away, though her younger sister never listens.

Margret sees Husk as an alcoholic uncle - he tells good war stories and usually smells like the cheap booze he drinks like water.


-Jakarva originally came up with the name ‘Margret’ during a conversation about characters. She also came up with the name ‘Beatrice’ and ‘Franklin’.
-Margret means ‘pearl’.
-Margret hates meat; to the point where she will not eat dinner if there is nothing that is completely meat free.
-She is perpetually hungry, which is a Wendigo trait.
-Margret was able to contain her Wendigo side up until the age of 12 when she snapped and consumed six demons in rapid succession. Each year since the age of 12, she has to let her Wendigo go free for around a day in order to keep herself sane; after the day she allows this, she disappears for about a week to recover herself mentally.
-Margret plays the piano, though she doesn’t do so in front of anyone since she doesn’t think it’s any good.

*We know that Alastor’s ‘ears’ are actually just hair tufts, but for the sake of our sanity, they are ears and you cannot change our minds.



Character Information -

True Name: Beatrice Ruth Magne
Nicknames: Bea / My Star (by Charlie) / Beanie (by Franklin) / Honeybee (by Alastor)
Likes: Animals / Meat / Pranks / Her Stuffed Reindeer / Make-up / 1920-1930s Music / Carnage / Antique Radios / Swearing / Metal Work
Dislikes: Pastel Colors / Shrimp / Being Touched / High Pitched Noises / Post 1990s Music / Tomatoes

Biological Information -

Species: Deer Demon / Wendigo
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Abilities: Wendigo Transformation / Shadow Manipulation / Magnetic Manipulation / Line Dancing

Professional Status -

Occupation: Princess of Hell

Relationships -

Family: Alastor (Father) / Charlie (Mother) / Margret (Sister) / Franklin (Brother) / Lucifer (Grandfather) / Lillith (Grandmother)

Friends: Vox / Niffty / Vaggie / Angel Dust / Husk/ Razzle and Dazzle

Romantic Interests: Vox

Enemies: Valentino / Katie Killjoy

Beatrice Magne is a hell born demon birthed to Alastor and Charlie and by line of succession, a princess of Hell. She idolizes Alastor’s ability for carnage and tends to prefer to kill over talking things out.

Appearance -

Beatrice is a tall demon, standing at 7’5”. She has the same color toned hair as Alastor, though her hair fades from a brighter red on top to a darker, mahogany red on the bottom. The only traits physically she shares with Charlie is her nose, her blackened lips, and horns. Everything else is a near replica of Alastor. When she was younger, she used to wear a coat and tie similar to Alastor, though once she reached about fifteen, she branched off into her own style. As an adult, she usually wears a two piece dress - a black off the shoulder crop top and a floor length black skirt with a slit that goes to the top of her thigh. She has a wide variety of piercings on her ear and her lip.

When in full Wendigo form, she grows in height by another foot and her horns grow triple their size. Her claws lengthen and her teeth become sharper. Similar to Alastor, one of her eyes turns into a radio dial while the other whitens out, similar to Margret’s eyes. She enjoys going into this form and even though she doesn’t need to use it while hunting, it’s generally how she does it anyway.

Personality -

Bea is overly sarcastic and full of quick one-liners. She knows how to work her way through Hell and is extremely good at persuasion. Her mouth and her uncanny ability to act before she thinks tends to get her in a lot of trouble with her parents and the people that surround her. She’s overly dramatic and theatrical; a trait she picks up from both of her parents.

Bea tends to be cross and immature at the best of times; whining is something she is good at. She does believe that there are people in Hell that deserve redemption, but since there isn’t a way for her to be redeemed, she has no interest in the Hotel whatsoever.

She can be quite sadistic and masochistic. Dealing out pain and receiving pain are what motivates her in life. She demands to be in control of her life at all times and does not like to be walked on. She does not accept the same smiling mentality that Alastor does, thinking that constantly smiling is exhausting, though she does know a toothy grin can help her convince Alastor to do or give her something.

Background -

Beatrice was born in hell to Charlie and Alastor, the Princess of Hell and the Radio Demon. She grew up with instinctual desire for carnage and violence, tending to enjoy the harsher parts of Hell. She has two siblings that she cares deeply for, even if she and Margret tend to not get along all of the time.

Relationships -

Alastor: Alastor is Beatrice’s father.
Beatrice idolizes Alastor. She believes that he is the strongest demon in Hell and no amount of evidence can persuade her from that mentality. The two of them have similar mannerisms and speaking habits and if she’s not in a particularly good mood or is extremely tired, her voice starts to pick up a slight grunge tone. Alator thinks the world of her and always tries his best to maintain patience when she does things he doesn't particularly agree with - like her relationship with Vox.

Charlie: Charlie is Beatrice’s mother.
Beatrice thinks that her mother’s optimism and driven personality is admirable, but not for her. She does enjoy having an occasional relaxing moment with Charlie and the two share a connection through dancing. When Bea first started to learn how to line dance, Charlie was willing to learn alongside her.

Margret: Margret is Beatrice’s sister.
Margret is two years older than Beatrice. She thinks Margret is a little too snooty for her taste; the constant need to have things orderly was a reason the two drifted apart. Bea seems to understand that there’s a reason for Margret’s need for cleanliness and order, though she tends to forget it exists. The two were civil toward each other in childhood (with occasional sisterly spats) and eventually reconciled when Bea turned twenty one.

Franklin: Franklin is Beatrice’s brother.
Franklin is five years younger than Bea. She and Franklin are best friends. They both share the same love for pulling pranks and causing chaos. Bea thinks Franklin is the most awesome little brother ever and would possibly do anything to protect him.

Their relationship is complicated yet it makes sense to her. Bea thinks the world of Vox, though she doesn’t allow him to really know how she feels. They are together, though the disapproval she gets from Alastor seems to keep her weary on the worst of days. Vox thinks she’s sweet and the way she lives for violence is something that he admires most about her.

Angel Dust:
If Bea had to choose someone outside her family as her best friend, she would probably list off Angel. The two bond the most over their shared love for beauty and fashion; Angel’s sarcasm and uppity demeanor are some of her favorite qualities about him.

Bea doesn’t care too much for Husk. The way he constantly brushes Angel off irks her, and so the two of them tend to not be around Husk, even though Angel will go into explicit detail with her about how badly he wants to rail the other demon.

Niffty and Bea don’t get along for the fact that Bea tends to leave a mess wherever she goes. She leaves her things around the Hotel constantly and occasionally, Niffty will throw things away in spite. It’s caused a few little cat fights between the two, but they don’t necessarily say that they hate each other.

Bea appreciates Vaggie’s dry sense of humor and her ability to speak Spanish. At one point during her childhood, she asked Vaggie to teach her how to say a few swear words in Spanish and since learning, will occasionally mutter a few if she gets too angry.

Razzle and Dazzle:
The goat demons tend to stay with Charlie and Margret, though she does know them as a familiar face and can call on them if she really does need them.

Lucifer: Lucifer is Beatrice’s grandfather.
The two have a stable and happy relationship, though not as good as Lucifer and Franklin’s relationship. When she was a child, she constantly wanted to be with Lucifer and looked up to him greatly and she still does.

Lillith: Lillith is Beatrice’s grandmother.
Lillith was weary about the child when she was born; and still is. Lillith thinks Bea is a powerful individual who tends to act rashly and doesn’t consider consequences. This has led to Lillith doing her best to try and intervene and attempt to teach Beatrice to think before she acts, though Bea is too hard headed to lean into the teachings.

Trivia -

-Jakarava originally came up with the name Beatrice, as well as the names Margret and Franklin.
-Beatrice means ‘happy one’, which she hates.
-Bea has stated that if she were ever to be human, she would probably occupy her time with the same things her father did when he was alive; murder.
-She’s essentially always stuck in an emo phase and is content with who she is.
-There was a time where Valentino and Vox wanted to recruit her into the Porn Studios; Vox ended up not wanting her to do so and it led to a lot of animosity between Valentino, Vox and Bea.
-Bea is, as of right now, the most developed character and has more to her than the others.
-Shi-Lisa on Tumblr actually has a few comics of an infant Bea and Real tends to draw Bea before she draws any of the others, though she’s been trying to learn Margret and Franklin a little better.
-Bea’s main outfit of the crop top and skirt is actually a Sims 4 CC file that Real found while making the trio in Sims.
-Bea will go on that she’s not a huge fan of sweets, like Alastor, though she has an extremely soft spot for Popsies.
-Bea likes to poke jokes at her father about how it must be 'laundry day' when she catches him in any casual apparel.
-Bea cannot, for the life of her, stand Alastor’s dad jokes. She thinks he’s embarrassing and he knows exactly how she feels - so he will whip out the occasional joke in public in order to have her turn red and whine about it.



Character Information -

True Name: Franklin Thomas Magne
Nicknames: Frankie / Frank / The Moon (by Charlie) / Shitstain (by Bea)
Likes: Pranks / Carnage / Murder / Meat / Video Games / Streaming / Smiling / Sarcasm / Peanut Butter
Dislikes: Nativity / Religion / Redemption / Emotions / Humans / Pickles / Low Frame Rates / Yellow

Biological Information -

Species: Deer Demon / Wendigo
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Gay
Abilities: Wendigo Transformation / Light Manipulation / Playing the Saxophone / Tap Dancing

Professional Status -

Occupation: Prince of Hell

Relationships -

Family: Alastor (Father) / Charlie (Mother) / Margret (Sister) / Beatrice (Sister) / Lucifer (Grandfather) / Lillith (Grandmother)

Friends: Valentino / Sir Pentious / Angel Dust / Husk / Razzle and Dazzle / Niffty

Frenemies: Vox / Vaggie

Romantic Interests: N/A

Enemies: ...just a lot of demons

Franklin Magne is a hell born demon birthed to Alastor and Charlie and by line of succession, the prince of Hell. He has very little empathy or sympathy for the demons in Hell and mainly does whatever suits his fancy, not caring much for those around him.

Appearance -

Franklin, as an adult, is 7’8”, the same height as Alastor. He is nearly identical to Charlie, only sharing the same ears and antlers of his father. He has the same eyes, nose and blackened lips, as well as the same dark red cheeks that Charlie has. There have been times that people have confused him for Lucifer because of the likness and there have been times that he has used this to his advantage.

He usually wears a blue sweater and black jeans. The reason why he wears blue is because when Franklin was a child, he had an uncanny ability to just wander off and seeing a blue-clad child was the easiest way to find him among the red landscape of Pentagram City.

When in full Wendigo form, his antlers grow and branch and he also grows a few inches in height. His claws and teeth extend. He has double radio dials, much like Alastor, though instead of red, they are shades of grey. His hair grows longer and rougher to the touch and he is impossibly strong - though he has never once been able to defeat Alastor in a fight. He enjoys the terror that his Wendigo form beings and will occasionally allow himself to fall into it just to remind those around him to be scared of him.

Personality -

Franklin has very little to no empathy. He’s a sociopath and he knows it; when he was younger, he did try his best to latch onto some sort of emotional connection but he was met with failure with each attempt. Because of this, he grew up to be snarky, sarcastic and cruel with a lot of the things he says and does. He does not believe in his mother and Margret’s ideology of redemption, believing that demons who go to Hell are meant to be there; they should suffer for the sins they committed.

He does have a soft spot for smaller things, however. Egg Bois in particular are demons he’s fond of and he enjoys carrying them around and talking to them. He’s an avid streamer of whatever video games he can get his hands on and has garnered quite a following in Hell for his streams.

Franklin likes to inflict pain and doesn’t feel pain himself; the only times he can remember some sort of negative emotion is when he feels guilty for breaking promises that he made to Charlie when he was younger. He also enjoys protecting his sisters from any wrongdoing, though there have been times that he’s actually became friends with the people who have hurt his sisters.

Background -

Franklin was born in Hell to Charlie and Alastor, the Princess of Hell and the Radio Demon. Instinctively, he doesn’t care much for the process that goes on around him, though he does have a strong tendency for violence. He has two sisters and he cares for them, though he isn’t quite sure he’s as attached to them as they are to him.

Relationships -

Alastor: Alastor is Franklin’s father.
Franklin inherited much of Alastor’s personality and mannerisms, though the distance from empathy is something he had on his own. The two butt heads occasionally, due to Franklin wanting to believe that he is stronger than his father (he gets put back into place rather quickly). Franklin convinced Alastor to come onto one of his streams once and it’s an annual thing now; they’ll get together once a year and play video games on stream for a few hours.

Charlie: Charlie is Franklin’s mother.
Growing up and still currently, Franklin is a mama’s boy. He respects the decisions she makes in life, though he doesn't believe in her ideologies. She is pretty much the only person he feels he is connected to emotionally and he relies pretty heavily on her optimism in order to feel down to earth. They tend to spend a lot of time reading together or dancing, since they both can tap dance pretty well.

Margret: Margret is Franklin’s sister.
Franklin doesn’t have a large opinion on his oldest sister; she’s neat and organized, which he can respect. Their age difference, her being seven years older, kept them at a distance that neither knew how to work with. Because of his difficulty feeling emotions, Margret keeps her distance because she’s not able to really handle his manic moods.

Beatrice: Beatrice is Franklin’s sister.
Bea is five years older than Franklin and she is his best friend. They enjoy pulling pranks and telling jokes together, though he finds much more entertainment out of Alastor’s dad jokes than Bea does. The two were nearly inseparable growing up and he has a much stronger fondness for her than he does for Margret; they share a lot more in common and the age difference doesn’t seem to be that big of an issue.

Like Beatrice with Angel Dust, Franklin and Valentino are also best friends. Though there was a lot of drama that happened between Val and Bea, Franklin thought the whole ordeal was hilarious and found himself hanging out around Valentino a lot more. At first, the pimp was against Franklin and tried to deter the demon from latching on, but the two eventually found a mutual interest and then their friendship formed.

Sir Pentious:
Franklin thinks Sir Pentious as a means for comical relief. The cliche snake demon makes Franklin laugh and he also enjoys being around the Egg Bois; he uses Pentious as a way to be around the little demons.

Angel Dust:
Angel Dust and he have a good relationship. When Franklin casually mentioned that he was gay, Angel almost immediately swept him up and the two bonded.

Franklin adores the stories that Husk tells. He thinks the detailed descriptions about how humans fight wars are interesting and fun to listen to. If he’s forced to be at the Hotel, since he tends to avoid it as best he can, he’s usually found at the bar with Husk.

Razzle and Dazzle:
Frankie doesn’t have much to say on the two goat demons; they spend most of their time with Margret and Charlie at the hotel and he doesn’t have too many fond memories of them. He just knows they’ve always been there and aren’t going away any time soon.

Franklin thinks Niffty is adorable and he has tried in the past to talk to her to become her friend, though she seems to want to not be. He isn’t sure why and continues to pester her, since he thinks that most demons should either be scared of him or love him and there should be no in between and he doesn’t want her to be scared of him.

Because of the relationship that Bea has with Vox and the entire process of Franklin becoming Valentino’s friend, the two are passive of each other. Franklin knows that Vox is stronger and way more powerful than he is and chooses not to test that boundary.

Franklin isn’t sure why, but he knows that Vaggie doesn’t have the greatest opinion of him. He supposes it’s because of his urge for violence and death, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He doesn't ever remember a time where the two of them had any good memories together.

Trivia -

-Jakarva came up with the name Franklin, as well as the names for Margret and Beatrice.
-Franklin means ‘landowner of free’ or ‘free man’.
-Franklin constantly pushes Alastor’s temper. There have been times during Franklin’s childhood where Alastor has threatened to eat him, to the point where he has nibbled a finger or two of Franklin’s to get him back in line.
-Charlie has absolutely forbidden Alastor from actually eating Franklin, though the younger demon doesn’t know that.
-Frankie consistently eats the family cat. When the cat reappears, since it wasn’t killed by an angelic weapon, he lets the cat live for a few months before he gets bored of it and eats it again. Both Bea and Margret hate when he does it and they do their best to keep the cat away from him.
-Franklin doesn’t see himself getting into a relationship anytime soon; he sees most demons as inferior to the point where he would be uncomfortable with being with one.
-He is frequently touchy and continuously forces himself into everyone’s personal space, though he would snap if anyone where to enter his without permission.
-He plays the saxophone quite well and Margret hates it because he continuously will only play songs that are memes.
-Franklin is a total memelord.
-Keeping with memelord status, he can play the mash up of Sandstorm and Never Gonna Give You Up on the sax.
-He swears that he taught Alastor how to floss, whip, etc, but if we're honest, he really didn't.
-Franklin is probably the funniest character to write, and by god, even if he can’t feel a wide range of emotion, he’s still hilarious (and he knows it).

Chapter Text

Her jaw snapped and the sound that emitted from her throat sent shockwaves through the nearby area. Beatrice growled again and grabbed a fleeing demon by the throat, ripping out the vocal chords with one fell swoop.

A low, guttural sound came from her left side and she turned and peered upward. Alastor, fully formed in his Wendigo, stood next to her with his hand held out expectantly. Bea’s nostrils flared and she clutched the demon closer, fully intent on running off with it.

Whenever they went hunting together, it was common practice for any of Alastor’s children to give up their first kill to him. It was a value he had instilled in them from the first hunt; it was about time that she challenged him.

Beatrice took a step back at the same time that Alastor took a step forward. She snarled at him, her singular radio dial flickering brightly as she brought the demon to her mouth and tore off an arm in one movement.

Alastor let out a growl and swiped forward, knocking her off her feet. All eight feet of her fell to the ground and for a moment, her Wendigo side slipped and she began to fade back into her normal demon form. She grasped onto her rage and went back into her hunting state, tossing the body at Alastor’s feet and getting up, trotting away from him to hunt for another.

The Radio Demon sighed, picking up the mangled corpse and tearing through the chest to get to the heart. It had started to cool in the time that she decided to challenge him and it wasn’t as good. He stored this challenge in the back of his mind as Franklin came up on his other side and handed him a fresh body.

His son gave him a once over and then shook his head, running off to chase after Bea and begin the chaotic mess that they always did create when the two of them began to hunt together.


Bea nudged Franklin as they approached the estate, blood dripping down her jaw, “That was fun.”

“Dad’s a little pissed with you,” Franklin rubbed his eyes. He felt exahusted; the three of them had stayed out hunting a little bit late into the afternoon. Normally, they’d start at about eleven and be home by three; it was six.

They’d just been extra hungry that day.

“Sucks to suck.” Bea shrugged, licking her lips, “I wanted my first kill. He doesn’t need to be such a bitch about it.”

“What was that?”

Bea paled, glancing over her shoulder. Damn his spatial warping; she was almost a hundred percent sure that he could hear her where ever she was, “Nothing.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his grin unamused, “After you take a shower, come to my office, darling.”

Franklin and Bea moved apart so that Alastor could walk between them, peering at Bea through the corner of his eyes as he walked past. She stared back, feeling a small amount of anger burning in her throat. Alastor was still as clean as he had been the moment they’d left for the hunt; he wasn’t a fan of getting covered in blood or any sort of body fluids. Franklin and Bea enjoyed it; they thought being painted with the red made them look scarier.

“Ha! You’re in trouble!” Franklin teased, grinning at her widely, “Sucks to be you! Maybe you shouldn’t be so greedy!”

“Quit acting like a child, Frankie.” Bea huffed, crossing her arms.

Franklin rolled his eyes. At sixteen, he still held on to a few of his childish tendencies, “You’re the one who got in trouble. Not me.”

Bea glared at him once and then stormed off into the house, mindful to peel off her boots and leave them by the door so that she wouldn’t track blood through the house. Franklin came in shortly after her as she struggled with her shoelaces. He snorted at her as he toed off his sneakers, nudged her out of his way and then headed upstairs to his room so he could shower.

She felt her face redden as Margret happened to walk by the entryway. Her older sister crinkled her nose at the sight, “Are you -”

“Yes, mother! I’m going to shower! Fuck off.” Bea finally got the laces undone and made her way past Margret, glaring at her sister.

The blonde looked nonplussed, “Make sure you wash under your nails.”

Bea grumbled the entire way to her bathroom, making sure the water was as cold as she could handle before jumping in. Cold water made it easier to wash off the blood; she usually would slowly start to heat up the water through the entire shower. After scrubbing herself clean (and getting under her nails), Bea dressed herself in a pair of sweatpants and a cropped tank top, putting her hair into a braid down behind her ears and then heading to Alastor’s office.

Her stomach turned with uneasiness as she padded her way down the hall. Her thoughts turned sour, berating her for feeling like a kicked puppy. She was twenty one, for fuck’s sake, she shouldn’t be feeling like a disappointment because of one mistake.

Well, she assumed it was just the one mistake.

Bea stood outside the door that led to the office for two minutes, her hand frozen in place. She was about to knock, but chose to just lay her knuckles on the wood. When she was younger, she used to enjoy sitting in front of the door and writing Alastor notes and drawing him pictures; she’d slide them under the door and listen to him as he walked across the room to pick them up and loved the way he’d chuckle at the jokes she’d write for him.

She couldn’t remmber the last time she wrote him a note and slid it under the door.

Bracing herself, she pulled her hand away from the door and then rapped on the wood softly. There was a shuffle from inside and then the voice she normally thought was comforting spoke.

“Come in, darling, the door is unlocked.” Alastor’s voice was crackled with static, though not enough to make Bea think that he was too mad at her.

She gripped the handle and pushed it downward, opening the door. She kept her eyes downward as she entered the office. Bea knew exactly where the desk was and where the chairs were, so she steered herself toward the chair that was on the left side of the desk.

Soft music played from one of the anitque radios that was on one of he shelves behind the desk. Bea peered up for a moment and realized that it was coming from her favorite radio, a smaller one that she had helped him rebuild when she was a child. She lowered herself onto the chair and crossed her ankles, letting her fingers tangle together.

The two sat in silence for a moment, listening to the music that played. As soon as Bea started to feel settled, the static snapped and she found herself looking up at Alastor.

“So,” His grin was tight lipped. His elbows were up on the desk and he was leaning forward, “Care to explain, darling?”

Bea let go of her own fingers and crossed her arms, turning herr head away from him, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Alastor began to tap his fingers on the desk, looking unamused, “Beatrice.”

She shrunk under his words, hating the tone he used when he spoke her full name. Bea couldn’t remember a time that he called her by her full name; ever since she had asked him when she was five to drop the formal name and only call her Bea, he’d respected that save for a few times.

“You seem to be acting differently, dear. I’m not sure why! What has changed that you’re not telling me?”

The way he was speaking made shivers race up her spine. There was no way that he knew - he couldn’t know. She had been so careful about it, “I don’t -”

“I only want to help! Is there anything that I can help you with? Perhaps talking about it will relieve the stress on your shoulders and you will,” His voice crackled and lowered, eyelids lowering, “remember your place.”

Bea felt shame crawl up her neck and ignite her cheeks just as red as Charlie’s, “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’m sure! That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done. You blantantly disrespected me, sweetheart. I don’t appreciate this new development.” Alastor leaned back in his chair, his grin loosening from the angry one to a more genuine smile.

Bea shifted in the chair and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She knew it was going to come out eventually. Alastor was never one that she was able to keep secrets from and every time that she did try, she ended up snapping at him and he was able to tell that something was wrong.

“I’msortofdatingVoxrightnow.” She rushed the words out, gnawing down on her lip as soon as she finished speaking.

“I’m sorry?” His eyes flashed and for a moment, Bea realized that was /not/ the reason he thought she was being more snappish toward him.

“Nothing! Nevermind, great talk, see you, I’ll control myself,” She scrambled up, turning toward the door and taking a few steps away.

“Beatrice, please sit down.” Ever so polite and poised, even in the face of his daughter dropping such a bombshell on him. She shrunk down into herself and sat back on the chair, tucking her legs up under her, “Thank you, darling.”

“Yeah.” Bea’s voice stuttered and she wasn’t able to help the grunge tone from taking over her voice. Her ears were pressed flat against her head, “Sorry.”

“Now, please repeat yourself. Slower.” Alastor’s voice was calm; collected.

“I, uh.” She cleared her throat, trying to remove the grunge effect from her vocals, “I’m sort of seeing Vox right now.”

There was silence, save for the crack of static that burst through the air. There was a moment where Alastor’s eyes flickered into radio dials and Bea /feared for her life/.

“Not like, together together! We’re just talking, I just - we’re just talking.” Bea waved her hands in front of her, eyes widening, “It’s nothing complicated or anything.”

Alastor didn’t respond. His grin widened and he bore his teeth to her, his fingers tapping on the desk, “Vox?”

Bea nodded shakily, “Yeah.”

The two of them sat in silence again and the radio that was playing skipped a few notes. Bea knew he was livid; she couldn’t really blame him. How else did she expect him to react? He hated Vox; more than anything.

She’d betrayed him.

“I’ll stop talking to him.” She felt like her heart was being crushed within her chest; almost like one of her victims, “We’re only friends - I can just delete his number and - “ Bea felt tears begin to blur in her eyes. She was torn; Vox was so important and yet, Alastor’s acceptance was ten times more important, “I’ll do it right now, see?”

She rummaged around in her sweatpants pocket and pulled out her phone, her shaky hands causing her to drop it on the floor, “Oh, oh- “


“I’m sorry -”


She stopped, blinking up at him through the tears. She had just grabbed onto her phone and was still bent over.

Alastor sighed, rubbing his jaw. He had never seen Bea so passionate about losing something before; the mere thought of causing his daughter so much pain about losing something hurt him in ways he wasn’t sure how to deal with, “You don’t have to delete his number, sweetheart. Just - be careful!”

Her heart slowed down and she felt the anxiety fade. That was acceptance, right? She let the phone drop to the floor again and ran around his desk, Alastor barely having time to turn toward her when she lauched herself at him in a hug.

Alastor chuckled quietly as she burrowed into him, his fingers twirling her braid. She was so much taller than she was the last time she cuddled with him - she was fully grown now, over twenty one. His heart ached quietly, thinking about how she was grown and how she would be leaving the nest at some point.

This caused him to wrap his arms around her and hug his daughter back just as tightly.

And in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them against the world, which is how it always had been.

Chapter Text

As Alastor buzzed about the hotel helping (and causing mischief where he could) he couldn't help but notice the absence of his mate. ____ had been fairly scarce the last week, but she had been MIA all day long and the wendigo couldn't help but be concerned.

A door down the hall that she had been in swang closed and one of Al's ears snapped to the sound, listening for who it was. Charlie watched the younger demon with a small fond smile on her lips.

"Why don't you go check on her?" The blonde offered to him, causing the deer to startle. Alastor snapped to stare at her with full attention for a few moments before relaxing slightly.

"And leave you to the masses? I could never!" He forced his smile wider. The princess rolled her eyes.

"I'll be fine, if I really need help I have Vaggie, go on." She made a shooing motion at him, he was almost offended until Charlie started pushing him down the hall. Alastor rolled his eyes and pushed away from the blonde to find ___'s door, sighing at the thumbs up she sent.

Al took a few long strides only stopping when her room stood before him. He raised his hand and gently rapped his knuckles against the solid door, frowning at the displeased groan from the other side.
"____, deerest?" He was once again met with silence and decided to slowly open the door (lockpicking was absolutely in his skill set.) There she lay across the bed, hair frazzled and face buried in the pillows while she fidgeted trying to get comfortable.

"Hi, Al." She sighed, muffled by the bedclothes. Alastor's smile srank at the pain in her voice. He took about three smooth steps to be by her side, ___ turned her head to look up at him and that's when he saw the tear tracks down her cheeks.

"You've been crying." The ever present filter slipped slightly from his voice as he placed a gentle hand on her back, almost recoiling at her whine.


He sat down on the bed and moved to card his fingers through her hair, a genuine smile replacing his usual grin at the soft sound of approval that pulled from her throat. "What's wrong, darling?" He murmured gently.

"It just hurts, Al…" she mumbled in a scratchy tone. A sad look crossed the elder's face when she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. "It all hurts," she whimpered "my hips, and back, and knees…" her voice warbled as a few more tears welled in her eyes. Alastor's heart ached at her broken tone.

"Has it been all week?" He inquired, his nose scrunching when ____ nodded. "Oh, Doll…" he murmured gently and shifted on the bed and hovered his hands over her back.

"It's okay, Twizz." She breathed to let him know it was fine to touch her. Long slender fingers pressed into the knotted muscles up around ____'s shoulders.

"I know dear," he reassured when she whined in discomfort at first "relax, I'm trying to help…" ___ tried to loosen her muscles as instructed while Alastor worked his way down her back, little by little.

Her whole body was stiff and achy from disuse. The pain brought on just by leaving her bed was hardly worth much more than the shower she took the night before.

It all felt like a music box wound too tight.

Gradually she began to regain the actual tactile feeling to her fingers, the fuzzy static that seemed to overtake her nerves lessening while her mate continued to untie the knots in her body.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, my darling?" Alastor paused his movements to look at her. The smaller just sniffled for a moment "_____?"

"Being broken, I guess." She shrugged with a sigh when he continued, wincing when he touched her hip.

"You're not 'broken', it's just a condition that's got the best of you at the moment," he kneaded the flesh around the sore joint trying to not pull back at her discomfort. "It happens to the best of us."

"Not you."

"Oh, contraire." He shook his head with a chuckle "the Wendigo is much like your condition."

"How so?" ____ questioned and gently rolled onto her back, letting him straighten out her spine a bit.

"It's always there," deft fingers worked on the other hip "it never goes away, it only fades in and out" he ran soft hands over her stomach "and some days, it just breaks free." He laced his fingers with her own and have a light squeeze, one which ___ returned, her hands cracking in protest.

E/c eyes looked over his face in careful consideration.

"What do you do about it?" She inquired through a whisper and pulled his hand over so she could kiss the back of it.

"Exist." He breathed, brushing her hair from her face. "It can be hard, but embrace it" he smiled lackadaisically at the crinkle of her nose. "It's part of you, Darling, and that won't ever change…" she frowned and it pained him "but you can live with the beast."

A watery smile crossed ____'s features and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into her relaxed body. Al froze for a moment before he carefully wrapped his arms around the smaller demon, one hand going to play with her hair while the other traced soft patterns on her skin.

"How are you feeling, Doll?"

"Better, now." She sighed out, it was true, sure she was still sore but this was the best she'd felt all week. Al turned over and tugged her gently with him so she was lying against his chest, both letting out a content sigh.


A few hours had passed since Charlie had sent Alastor away and she was getting a little worried. The hotel had quieted down quite a bit by now and she found herself padding down the hallway and standing before the door she knew he had come to. She gently knocked, worrying her lip between her teeth when there was no answer. The blonde used her skeleton key and quietly entered the room, purely to check on her friends, and smiled softly at the sight.

There Alastor lay, his mate with her face buried in his neck and his arms around her protectively with a lazy smile on his face.

Chapter Text

It was deafening.

It was echoing.

It was silent.

The near constant current of static hadn’t been there in almost a week and no other sound had been able to replace it. The haunted sound of sobbing filled the halls and none of them were able to quite wrap their minds about anything that was happening. It was all too much and it was far too little, all at the same time.

Bea kept her eyes down as she got up for the first time in several days. She was sure she looked like garbage; her hair felt like it was matted down with the amount of sheer grease that was in it. The makeup she had worn a week ago was probably dried to her cheeks and eyes and maybe that was the reason she was having such a difficult time trying to keep her eyes open. The body that had been next to her moved and she felt her haunches rise.

It was just Franklin. He peered at her from the blankets and she felt her heart crack; he had never looked so miserable.
Nothing upset Franklin. It wasn’t in his reputation or even in his ability; he had such a hard time grasping onto emotions that seeing how terrible this made him /look/ was enough fuel for her to know that it wasn’t just her - it wasn’t just a bad dream.

Her voice crackled with the filter when she spoke and it made tears rise sharply to her eyes, “Should . . we should get up.”

Franklin eyed her for a moment more before tossing the blanket back over his head. She didn’t really expect anything else from him. He had to do what he had to do - the sounds of crying were really starting to get to her. Beatrice slid her feet into some slippers near the door and stood in front of it for a solid few minutes, her mind wandering and her eyes unfocusing.

Her heart ached and her head swirled when she finally reached over and pulled open the door. She felt an ear flicker and she knew she, subconsciously, was searching for the sound of static and coming to find that it was obsolete. Her lips tugged downward and the ball in her throat tightened but she swore to herself that she wasn’t going to cry.

Bea stepped out into the hallway for the first time in a week and felt her insides crumble. Margret’s door was opened and there was no sign of life coming from the room; she assumed that Maggie was across the house with Charlie.

They usually gravitated toward each other during times of crisis.

She shuffled down the hallway, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her pajama pants. Bea’s stomach growled angrily, yet she couldn’t find it within her to go down to the kitchen and rummage around for food. Her mind was set on one goal.

It took her a few minutes to reach the other side of the house and the sound of crying got louder with every step. She was sure Franklin could hear it on the other side of the house, though it would probably be muffled through the walls and blankets that he was buried under. She didn’t hesitate to open the door; her heart was crying out with the sound of her own mother coming undone.

Margret was sitting up in the bed, Charlie laying across her legs and Margret’s hand running through Charlie’s hair. Bea’s older sister had a faraway look to her eyes, mindlessly patting down the curls that were so mussed up. Charlie’s sobs sent arrows deep into Bea’s chest and her heart twisted, the tears that she had done her best to try and hold back blurred her vision and began to slide down her cheeks.

“Mom.” Her voice was filtered and she shuddered at the sound, “Mom, mom.”

Charlie stiffened and peered up from where she was laying across Margret’s lap. It took a few seconds for Charlie to recognize who was at the door frame, but after those moments of clearing her vision, she weakly lifted an arm for Bea to slide in.

The redhead sped forward and fell onto the bed, crawling up the mattress and burrowing herself into Charlie’s front. Her arms wrapped around Charlie’s neck and she hid herself in her mother. The tears wouldn’t stop - no matter what she did to try and stop them. She could feel Charlie’s tears begin and start to wet her hair down; her ears flickered against the feeling.

Margret felt her insides crumble as she watched her normally pretty stoic sister fall apart in the arms of their mother. She felt her ears press to the back of her head and she nudged Charlie off her legs; her mother moved and the two continued to cling to each other. Margret got up and looked at the two, steeling her resolve.

It had been a week since Alastor had been redeemed. Unbeknownst to them, over the course of the past few years, his good deeds had far outweighed the bad and Margret almost felt /responsible/ for their father being gone. He’d disappeared in a heavenly glow of bright white light and then he was gone, taking his static and his brilliantly glowing smile with him.

Margret hadn’t seen anyone in the household smile since then. Not even Franklin, who usually kept his own grin just as painted on as Alastor’s. She wasn’t even sure if she’d seen Franklin since then; the man had almost immediately sprinted up to Bea’s room and hadn’t moved since then. Charlie had been inconsolable since the event and Margret just wasn’t sure what to do anymore.

All she knew right now, was that she was starving and she was sure the rest of her family were, as well. It wouldn’t do for the four of them to rot; Dad wouldn’t want that.

With a shaky sigh, Margret pulled a blanket from the end of the bed up over Charlie and Bea. She pressed kisses to each of their heads, murmured she’d be back soon and left the room. There was so much to do; things that normally were done by this time. Just because Alastor was gone shouldn’t mean that tasks should be gone.

Margret rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t slept since the week prior.

She supposed this was punishment for them. For being hell-born, for being alive. Having their father ripped away from them. Each demon had some sort of punishment that lasted them forever and she guessed that this was theirs. It was a shame she couldn’t atone for her sins; the fact that she was soulless didn’t help.

She made her way down to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Her eyes didn’t register what was inside for a few seconds, her eyes drifting and mind wandering from the task at hand. It wasn’t until her stomach growled again that she snapped out of it and began to pull out random ingredients from the fridge.

A few of the bowls were filled with old leftovers and she put those on the counter so that she could wash them out later. All that was really remaining was some sandwich meat and she felt her mouth turn sour at the thought of eating it, since she never was sure what kind of meat it was, but as soon as she opened the container, Margret wasn’t able to stop her hand from shoveling a few slices into her mouth. Her stomach gave a rumble of satisfaction, her mouth watering as she continued to make a plateful of sandwiches.

She wasn’t able to help herself from shoveling a few into her mouth. After all, she did have her father’s appetite.

Margret balanced the tray in two arms as she made her way up to Bea’s room first. She knew that Franklin was still there; Bea was a source of comfort for him. One of the very few that Margret knew of. Franklin didn’t like to look weak.

She nudged the door open with her hip and walked into the room, eyeing it. It was tidy, considering. She had half expected the pair to violently have shredded all of Bea’s belongings.

The lump on the bed shifted and a pair of dark eyes, faintly glowing, peered out at her from the blankets. As soon as her reddened irises met them, the blanket was moved back over the face and her brother immediately stopped moving.

“Frankie.” Her voice was thick, crackling, “I brought you something to eat.”

“No, thanks.” He snarled. After he spoke, his stomach gave a violent grumble and she knew he had smelled the meat on the sandwiches.

“C’mon, please? Just one.” She walked closer, sitting down on the bed next to him, the tray on her lap, “Just one. Please, for me.”

He didn’t speak for the longest few seconds of Margret’s life. Slowly, a hand crept out from the blankets and reached for the tray. Maggie placed a sandwich into his hand and it disappeared under the blanket. She listened to him eat and as soon as he had nearly inhaled it, the hand came out from the blankets again.

Margret felt her lips tug up in a sad smile and placed another into his hand. It went that way until the hand no longer reached out and she could hear him breathing deeply, evenly. Margret placed the tray on the end of the bed and pulled the blankets up from around Franklin. Her brother didn’t move and she rearranged the covers so he wouldn’t be completely burrito’d in them.
“I’m sorry,” She whispered, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He moved slightly, still asleep, and she felt content that he had eaten and was sleeping. He probably hadn’t slept right in over a week.

The tray had significantly decreased and she knew that Charlie wouldn’t eat too much and Bea would probably eat just as much, if not more, than Franklin. Her footsteps shuffled across the wooden floor as she walked, her mind swirling with ideas and problems that arose due to the fact that Alastor was gone.

Her heart squeezed. Her father, gone. Forever, most likely. In Heaven. It made her snort to herself softly, her murderous, cannibalistic father, in Heaven. What had he even done to be redeemed? It wasn’t like he was actively trying.

It was ridiculous. A joke. Pathetic.

Her mouth twisted into an angry frown as she entered her mother’s bedroom. The crying had stopped and was replaced by the soft sounds of breathing. Margret hated to wake them up but she hadn’t seen anyone in the household eat for the past week and she was afraid something bad would happen if they didn’t eat.

“Mama.” Margret nudged Charlie first, knowing she was a lighter sleeper, “Mama.”

There was a moment where the blonde didn’t respond, but with another nudge and another whispered ‘mama’, Margret met eyes with Charlie.

“Oh.” Charlie reached up and rubbed her eyes; it was the first time Margret hadn’t seen tears bunched in them in a week, “Are you okay?”

Maggie gave her mother a pained smile and picked a sandwich off the tray, “Eat.”

Charlie looked as if eating was the last thing she wanted to do, however, she took the sandwich from her eldest daughter and started eating. Maggie had specifically made her a few peanut butter sandwiches; Charlie wasn’t a huge fan of meat.

Bea’s nose twitched and her eyes opened, blinking blearily. She saw the tray of sandwiches and her hand automatically reached out and grabbed onto one, shoveling it into her mouth. Margret’s nose crinkled; her sister had always been a messy eater.

As the three sat on the bed and ate in silence, there was something that Margret could feel was wrong and she wasn’t able to put her finger on it. Save for the fact that her father was gone; a fate worse than nonexistence, in her opinion. Because he still existed somewhere. But, just not here.

Her heart began to ache and she set down a half eaten sandwich. She had only had the one half, and her setting it down had Charlie look at her funny.

“Did you eat downstairs?” Her mother’s voice was thick, but less so after eating some.

“Yeah.” Margret lied and the regret twisted in her stomach and stabbed her in the gut, “I had a few when I was making them.”

“Frankie.” Bea muttered, rubbing her lips with the back of her hand.

Maggie reached over and ruffled Bea’s hair softly, “I already got him food and he’s asleep now.”

Bea hummed, subconsciously pushing her head up into her sister’s hand, “He hasn’t slept since -” Her throat closed up and she clamped her eyes shut, trying her best to stop the tears from restarting.

Charlie’s mouth went dry and she swallowed thickly, setting the rest of the sandwich down. She had gotten a whole other one down before she couldn’t anymore; her arms reached out and she pulled Bea up into her.

Margret shivered as the feeling of loss hit her again. She picked up the tray and got up, leaving her mother and sister to grieve.

She had so much to do.

As the days trickled by, it seemed like it was getting a little easier. Frankie had started to grin at one point again; Bea and he went on a few rampages and came back more relaxed and able to focus. Charlie spent most of her time at the Hotel, slaving over everyone else and barely paying any attention to herself. Margret was the one to remind her to eat several times a day; to get her to shower, to get her to drink water.

Margret felt herself break a little more each day. She hadn’t had any time to grieve; there were too many things going on that called for her help. Before Charlie was able to work back at the Hotel, she had made all the arrangements and gone there daily to make sure things were running well. She kept Franklin and Beatrice from going too wild; gave them strict curfews and they actually listened to her.

It all came to a head one day when she woke up in a blinding rage. Something was gnawing heavily at her insides and she felt like she was going to throw up. Margret leaned over in bed that morning, coughing so heavily that she felt her ears start to ring.

Her vision went blurry and she glanced down at her hands; anger boiling in her stomach. Her nails were extending and she knew in that moment that she had approximately ten minutes before her Wendigo would capture her and she would be unable to stop it.

But for God’s sake - she was so /angry/.

Margret flipped the covers away from her and didn’t bother to tuck them in, sprinting her way downstairs. Her mind started to warp, thinking of only how she was going to tear every living being apart and nothing would be able to stop her.

It wasn’t long before she had transformed and her entire focus was on the growing amount of demons surrounding her. When Margret transformed, she was taller than Alastor even was - her Wendigo was savagely strong and in some back of her mind, she knew that she would easily have been able to take Alastor in a fight.

It made her heart crumble more, thinking about him, and her Wendigo gave a savage cry of desperation, ripping apart another demon and feasting upon the remains.

Tears dripped down her monster’s face; meeting the pools of blood and carcasses that surrounded her. She lost count of how many she had murdered and eaten after she had hit twenty; the emotional turmoil had really done a number on her.

As the sky darkened, her Wendigo showed no signs of stopping. There were less demons roaming the streets now; they knew she was out and looking for blood. The demons she’d killed would reappear within twenty-four hours, so she wasn’t too worried about them right now.

A low growl came from behind her once the large clock in the middle of Pentagram City rang out that it was approaching eight in the evening. She had woken up at nine in the morning; eleven hours of ravaging the streets.

She whipped around and was met with the furious glares of two other Wendigos - both she and her monster recognized them as her siblings. Margret snapped the reigns away from her Wendigo but she was savagely pushed back; her monster leapt forward and attacked her brother.

Franklin violently shoved her away from him and Bea gripped her arms, Margret’s mouth snapping at the air. It took a few more moments of violent struggles before the three of them went to the ground, Margret quickly slipping into her regular form.
She sobbed, her arms pulling her legs to her chest. Coated in blood - the only thing she still really had left of him.

Beatrice pulled Margret up into her arms and Franklin sat down next to them, sinking his fingers into the pools of blood and swirling it around. They just sat and listened to Maggie cry; something neither had seen her do since Alastor had been redeemed well over three months ago.

The three of them waited until the streets really darkened before Bea heaved Margret up, still not speaking, while her elder sister sobbed. Frankie wrapped an arm around Maggie’s other side, the two of them supporting Margret as they walked.
It was the least they could do.

Stick together.

As Margret continued shuffling along, she felt her throat tighten and she swallowed thickly. She fought with herself for a moment and in a moment of strength -

She let a large grin spread across her cheeks.

Because she was never fully dressed without a smile.

Chapter Text

His cheeks puffed out as he carefully considered the process in front of him.

Alastor grimaced when he saw himself in the mirror for the eighth time that day; it seemed that Heaven was adorned in mirrors. Instead of the prim red he was accustomed to wearing, his outfit had been changed out for a white suit. His nose crinkled; it just didn’t suit him.

His ashen skin hadn’t changed; most angels either had the crisp white skin and very few had ashen colored skin. He had been told at one point that it was due to him being redeemed. Not many angels had actually been redeemed during their demonhood and it caused very few to actually be in Heaven. He’d initially thought he’d gravitate toward the ones that had been redeemed, but they tended to be such a stickler for rules.

Alastor had spent many days sitting idly by, wondering how he had gained this reputation. During his human years, he’d spent his entire short life slaving over the idea of death and murder. In Hell, he hadn’t been much better. His mind had slowly come to the conclusion that over the past several years, since the birth of his eldest, he had slowly been garnering ‘good’ deeds over the ‘bad’ ones.

What even was ‘good’ and what was ‘bad’? He was certain that murdering another demon couldn’t compare to cleaning a wound from one of his children, though he couldn’t be sure. It’s not like anyone could answer his questions.


He was seated beside a fountain near the house he had been given. It was more like an apartment; everything was built so that it would encourage partnership and accommodating. It sickened him.

He couldn’t fathom why he was staying. Alastor had lost track of time by this point because there was no day / night cycle in Heaven. It was always daytime, shimmering sun and angels slept when they felt they needed to. It really messed with his inner need to have everything strictly organized; the one thing he had passed onto Margret.

His grin twitched. Still consistently smiling was his trademark; there were occasions that he had been told his grin was creepy and he should knock it off.

All the more reason to keep it on.

Alastor’s eyelids fell as he stared into the water. The sun glittered across the surface and he reached out, placing a finger into the water and swirling his finger around. The little waves that emerged from his movements caused his grin to fade just the slightest bit.

A butterfly effect.

One little thing he could do here could lead to him going home.

His eyes shifted from the water up to the clouds and sun that rest above him. His cheeks flushed at the warmth; so unlike the overbearing heat that surrounded each demon in Hell. Here, the heat was crisp and a soft breeze fluttered by. There was birdsong and the soft, hushed sound of angels speaking to each other.

No screaming, no drug deals, no thievery.

Alastor was finding this /boring/.

“Al, sweetheart?”

A voice interrupted his quickly souring thoughts. He turned slightly, pulling his finger from the water and shaking the droplets off. Behind him stood a sight he had still not gotten himself used to; his mind reeled even though he had seen her everyday for however long he had been here.

His mother, in all her smiling glory, sat down on the fountain beside him. She wore a simple white dress, her cheeks rosy and pink. For a moment, his chest twanged; her cheeks were the same color as Margret’s.

There were so many similarities between his mother and his children. He wasn’t sure he had ever even sat down and told her about them; he hadn’t spoken too much since he was sent to Heaven. Alastor found quickly that the things he wanted to speak about weren’t generally allowed and there wasn’t much he was able to do about that except keep his grin sealed.

“You doing alright today?” Her voice was melodic; like most angel’s voices were.

He hummed and nodded, reaching over and taking her hand in his. She looked startled by the contact; he was never one to initiate anything. Alastor’s eyes dropped back to the water, where there were still some ripples moving softly across the surface.

“You remind me of Margret.” His voice was soft, the grin faded to a close lipped one.

“Margret?” Her head tilted to the side and he felt his insides fall just the slightest bit. She would never meet his children; had he even mentioned them at all?

He hummed, clearing his throat. After so long of disuse, his filter was a little bit more rough around the edges, “My daughter.”

Alastor’s mother’s eyes widened and she leaned forward toward him, gripping his hand just a little bit tighter, “A daughter?”

He nodded, squeezing her hand and letting his other one reach down into the water, “My eldest. I have two daughters and a son, down in Hell.” Alastor moved his finger along the surface, just enough that he could feel his finger getting wet but not enough to cause too many ripples to surface, “My middle child is my daughter, Beatrice. The youngest is a boy, named Franklin.”

“You’ve never spoken of them before.”

“I suppose it’s because it hurt a little too much.” He allowed his finger to create ripples, “I left them down there.”

“They can’t come up here?” Her voice was soft, hushed. He supposed it was for the best that their conversation remained among them; Angels were such chatty creatures.

Alastor shook his head slowly, peering over at her. She looked starstruck; not only did she just gain a grandchild, she gained three, “They’re Hellborn! Stuck down there forever.” The filter over his voice crackled with static and he felt a rush of energy, “The poor dears can never be redeemed. No matter how sweet,” His hand tightened on hers, “No matter how much Margret does or works for, she will never reach this end.” There stirred a fire in his chest; something he hadn’t felt since he was in Hell, “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

“What do you mean -”

“Maggie’s a sweet little thing. You’d like her, mama. Always doing her best to be strong for everyone. She’s been part of the redeeming process since she was able to walk.” Alastor’s grin twisted; this was the first time he’d actually spoken about his children since being sent to this cursed place, “Bea’s a mischief maker. Always curious, however. A smart one, but only when she’s interested. Franklin is something else - something even I’m not sure. The opposite of an empath - sociopath, I believe is the term. He’s always smiling, though. He finds joy in the oddest of things.” Alastor shrugged a shoulder, “There’s another demon, Sir Pentious, I believe is his name. Franklin is obsessed with the little Egg demons that Pentious keeps around him.”
His mother stayed quiet, listening to him as he spoke.

“And Charlie.” His throat tightened, “The mother of my children, my mate.” Alastor chuckled dryly, “The poor doll. I do hope she’s okay. I suppose I’ll know soon enough.”

Alastor dropped his mother’s hand and stood in a flourish of his white suit. He gazed around the area and felt a weight settle in his chest. She stood beside him and for a moment, she knew exactly what Alastor was planning.

“When?” She was quiet; a bare whisper above the heavenly breeze that drifted around them.


It was a warning, if she’d ever heard one. Without a moment’s hesitation, his mother wrapped her arms around him and he reciprocated; squeezing her as if his life depended on it. And at that moment, it did.

“I love you, mama.” His voice, deep with the Southern accent he’d acquired as a boy. Without static, without filter. Just the pure, small boy he had been once upon a time with his mother at his side.

“I love you more, Alastor.” She pulled back from him and grabbed his cheeks, “You tell those babies of yours that their grandma loves them very much.”

He grinned widely then, a spark igniting in his eye. They parted and she turned, leaving him beside the fountain.
The fun was about to begin.

There was a gathering a few streets over. The pavement itself glittered as he walked; indented with gold. His eyes shimmered against the light of the gold and the sun and he found himself feeling so much more energy than he had in weeks.

For the past several days, he had been avoiding eating. He knew that he was going to need a rather large appetite and as the days sped on and he didn’t consume the food that was at the food halls at the end of every street, the stronger he became. Alastor wondered idly if there was something tainting the food; something suppressing the inner demon of every angel in Heaven.

There was music playing from harps and flutes and if Alastor truly enjoyed being in Heaven as much as he’d thought, he might take a moment to listen. However, he was not interested in the music playing and opted to go straight for one of the musicians.

The angels around weren’t strong ones. He hadn’t been placed in a housing complex with incredibly strong angels; for that he was grateful. The ones he was housed with had died primarily old and sick and had brought on some of that weakness with them into the afterlife. They wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Alastor heard a rush through his ear drums the moment he grabbed onto the first angel. There were hesitant noises that quickly turned into screams of terror when he violently ripped and snapped the angels neck clean in half; removing the head from the body. A few angels began to speed away but with a body in his hands and a heart in his mouth, Alastor was stronger than he had been in a very long time.

Blood caked his hands - still red, like humans and demons - as he continued to grab onto another angel that had tried to bolt. He furiously ripped through the chest cavity and ripped the angel’s heart out, feasting upon it. His head swirled and he felt high; this was the life he had left behind so long ago and he wasn’t sure why he had denied this part of him for so long.
Something hidden in him snapped and he felt his hands start to morph; his head began to ache. His legs lengthened and he felt so utterly strong - nothing could stop him. He furiously snapped at the air and grabbed onto another angel; his now lengthened claws made it easier to shred through skin and bone and find the heart.

Blood coated his mouth and Alastor let out a static-filled growl, his antlers returning full force to the top of his head. In Heaven, his role as Deer Demon had been revoked and he had reverted much to his normal human self; save for his ashen skin. Brown hair quickly reverted to red, brown eyes to red. His teeth elongated and sharpened and power surged through his entire being.

There was a Demon ravaging the streets of Heaven.

Wherever he went, corpses of dead angels and rivers of blood lie. There were tracks in the blood, left to look nothing like the feet of the once-angel. His maw was coated in drool and red and he was still starving. Another angel’s heart joined the rest in his stomach and the body was discarded - he wasn’t intending on getting full based on just a few. He wanted to capture the hearts of many.

It didn’t take long for him to be cornered, like prey, by an assortment of the most upper level angels. He had torn through any guardians they had sent after him before; their blood was lighter and so much more refreshing. His eyes glared around wildly and he snapped at the air, blood still feeling his nostrils and driving his inner Wendigo mad.

There were a few hushed whispers from the Guardians that surrounded him. He could hear each whisper, about how they had let him go unnoticed, how he couldn’t remain in Heaven any longer.

One angel in particular strode through the commotion, his own feet dyed red in the color of his brethren’s blood. His arm raised and with a few words spoken in Latin, Alastor was falling.

His grin returned as he fell.


Chapter Text

As the energy snapped and shaped around him and suddenly he was enveloped in a landscape of red, everything seemed to make sense. The anger that had pooled in his stomach had calmed and he idly wondered if consuming the heart of an angel had given him a sense of strength that he would be unable to match at any point. Alastor did feel like he would be able to even take on Lucifer at this point; only there was one problem.

His mind and heart were focused on one goal, and on goal only. No matter how desperate he was for power, there was always something greater.

Alastor had fallen where most demons did when they first fell. It was a plain field and it was surrounded by shacks of lesser demons. He stood and brushed his jacket off, finding pleasure in the fact that he had his trademark red and black on. Hands reached for his hair and another wave of pleasure soared through him when he realized it was red and his ears and antlers were returned. A smile, larger than the one he had before, erupted on his face and Alastor swore he could just - well, murder an entire population.

He’d already done that, so it was back to the issue at hand.

Alastor waved his hand and his microphone appeared in his hand, a warmth spreading from his fingers up to his chest. The microphone gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“You were gone for a while!” It spoke to him and Alastor began walking.

“How long has it been?” Alastor asked. He wasn’t sure; his body and mind still felt somewhat disoriented from Heaven. He couldn’t have been up there for more than a month or so.

“Three years!”

Alastor’s heart stopped and he paused in his walking. Three years?

“Oh dear.” He decided that walking across Pentagram City to his estate would take too long; it would also spread the news that he had returned and he didn’t want everyone else knowing, “Do you happen to know where Charlie is?”

“The Hotel. She barely leaves!” The microphone sounded chipper and Alastor couldn’t blame it; the poor thing had been abandoned for three years and was now useful once again.

Alastor kept a tight grip on his microphone as he bent shadows and traveled through them. His eyes kept a close look on the area around him; nothing had changed. There were more demons on the street and he found himself glancing at the Clocktower; the extermination was due in a week.

Perfect timing.

When he appeared in front of the Hotel, some sort of worry bubbled in his stomach. What if his mate had discovered someone new? Had moved on, because she was certain he would never return? It had been three years. Though, to him, three years didn’t feel too long, but he wasn’t sure how it would have affected her.

And his children.

His throat tightened as he thought about them. They were fully grown when he had ascended into Heaven and they must have not changed too much. His fears were that they had moved out of the estate and were living their own lives and wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Alastor pushed the uncomfortable worry away and tucked it into a safe corner of his mind, striding forward and opening the door in a grand flourish.

There was no one in the foyer, which he was expecting. Though, hunched over at the desk, lay a compatriot of his. Alastor walked forward, noting how the entryway hadn’t changed too much since his departure. The same framed photos rested on the walls, save for a few new ones of his adult children.

He paused to look at the new ones. His three, all holding onto each other, grinning at the camera. They were dressed up; Franklin was in a tie and his girls were both in nice dresses. Alastor assumed that they had some sort of charity ball during the past three years, which would make sense. The only thing he couldn’t shake off him from the photo was how empty Margret’s eyes looked. It caused a soft shiver to run up his spine and he reached out, picking the photo off the wall.

The rims of his eldest’s eyes were red and her smile looked painfully stretched. That unsettling feeling of worry nagged at his mind and Alastor let his microphone disappear, reaching up and touching the image of his eldest.

“My darling.” His voice was thick and in that moment, the static that usually followed him around snapped and started to buzz; a familiar sound to him that hadn’t respawned with him. Al sighed and set the picture back onto the peg in the wall, stepping back and looking at a few of the other new photos. All of them seemed to hold a common pattern; a distant, faraway look in his eldest’s eyes and a forced grin on Beatrice’s face.

A door opened down the hall and he turned, his heart stuttering to a stop as he recognized the hair and the stance of the person that had just exited one of the offices of the hotel.

She shuffled down the hall, eyes locked on the floor and for a moment, she seemed so dejected that Alastor wanted to just step forward and sweep her up. It wasn’t until the static seemed to register in her mind that her head snapped up and she realized who was standing in front of her. Her eyes widened and she stumbled forward, her mouth opening and closing as if she meant to peak but she didn’t know what words to say.

“Charlie.” His voice was a breathless whisper, hidden halfway behind his static. He couldn’t believe she was there - he was here and he was never going to leave again.

For a moment, she stopped before she met him, her dark eyes closing and opening rapidly. One hand came up to her left eye and she rubbed it violently, as if trying to see if he was a dream or not. It wasn’t until he reached out and pulled her against him that she seemed to realize what was going on.

Charlie’s fingers gripped his lapels and she buried her face in his chest, feeling her throat tighten. He smelled of cinnamon and the faint whiff of strawberries and he was everything she remembered. Solid and warm; arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her impossibly closer. Relief coursed through her like a waterfall; tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t help but bawl like a child into his jacket.

“My dear, it’s alright.” His voice was warm, rumbling against her ear and she pushed herself closer so that she could feel him talk at the same time that he did speak, “I’m here now.”

She wasn’t able to find words that could express the variety of emotions she was feeling right now. There was happiness and there was a relief from the constant anxiety that he seemed to be the key to unlocking. Alastor let one of his hands card through her hair, feeling the silken locks against his skin made his heart race and feel more at peace than he ever had in Heaven.

“How?” Her throat finally squeezed out, sounding breathless and tears choking her words, “How?”

He laughed, head tilting back, “I did what I had to do.”

Charlie felt her eyebrows furrow and she pulled back from him, looking up at him as she continued to hold onto his jacket tightly, “What?”

Alastor peered down at his mate, his eyes glittering happily, “I did what I do best, darling! I ate. And ate, until I was full.”

For a moment, Charlie couldn’t decide if he was going to be disgusted with the news or if she should be proud of him. For making that choice to forever ruin his ability to return to Heaven. She felt her nose crinkle, lips puckering, “You killed angels?”

“Very many, yes.” His grin widened, teeth glinting ever so lightly in the light that was shining from the chandelier in the room, “I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t suited for a life of gold and white. It wasn’t for me! Now this,” He motioned around, keeping one arm tightly secured around her, “This is for me! At least here, I’m not bored out of my mind!”

Charlie’s cheeks puffed out and Alastor thought for a moment that she would yell at him for murdering countless angels. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead and all thought of possibly doing so left her mind, leaning into him. Her cheeks flushed a darker red and she sighed, leaning her head back onto his chest.

She supposed she couldn’t even be mad - not when she felt as relieved as she did in that moment.


They held onto each other tightly as they made their way back to the estate. She chattered the entire way there, telling him about the Hotel and how she had redeemed another handful of sinners while he was in Heaven. She told him about Bea and Vox - the pair were still very much together and it made his nose scrunch up thinking about it.

All three of his children still lived at home and for that, he felt relieved. Bea had been talking to Charlie occasionally about her and Franklin moving out together and getting an apartment, but it seemed that it was only a faint dream that the siblings shared since they made no move to do so. Margret lived and breathed the Hotel, but Charlie had given her the day off to do things around the house that needed to get done.

“I’m home!” Charlie called out when they got inside the home, still holding onto Alastor’s hand tightly.

There was a soft movement of footsteps that came from the upstairs and Alastor felt his heart squeeze when the image of his middle child came into view at the top of the steps.

Bea stopped at the top of the stairs, her eyes widening. She was wearing that unseemly dress that Alastor hated; in that moment, his child looked like the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. Even more stunning than the angels; his little girl was perfect in his eyes.

“Dad?” Her voice was quiet and she squinted, blinking furiously. Alastor chuckled at her antics - so like her mother.

“Hello, Bea!” His voice was chipper and the filter crackled delightedly.

Bea let out a sound that Alastor was unable to describe, the girl tripping over her own skirt as she made her way down the stairs. She tumbled down a few steps without falling, sort of just sliding down them. Charlie let go of Alastor in that moment because she knew what was coming next.

Bea launched herself at Alastor and he barely had a moment to ready himself when she flew into his arms. His daughter gave a sound somewhat like a sob and wrapped her arms around his neck; was she always this tall?

Alastor held his child close to him, her uneven breathing causing his own throat to tighten uncomfortably. Her fingers gripped and let go of the back of his coat several times, as if she was actually making sure that he was there in front of her. He made sure to have his arms tightly around her and holding her close as she began to cry.

“Now, now, darling,” Alastor murmured to her, feeling his heart squeeze at the sound of her tears, “No need for tears. I’m here.”

“Thank fuck.” She stammered out, pulling away so that she could look at him. She was only a few inches shorter than him and Alastor swore that she had never been this tall nor did she ever look this adult, “Took you long enough.”

He chuckled, reaching up and wiping a stray tear from her cheeks, “Time seems to escape me while up there. There is no nighttime, no clocks. I fear I thought I was only there for a few months.”

Bea snorted, pulling him close to her again. She had a grin on her face, one that shone in comparison to Alastor’s.

“Hey, ma-” Franklin had his eyes locked on his phone as he walked into the foyer. When Charlie nudged him, he broke the contact from his device and looked up.

Alastor watched a few emotions flood across his son’s face. For a moment, his son looked confused, then an overwhelming sense of relief flooded him. Bea moved to Alastor’s one side and Franklin walked forward, reaching out and gripping Alastor’s hand.

“Hey! Welcome back! You were gone for way too long, in my opinion.” Franklin smiled wide, his cheeks were slightly more red than they usually were. Though his son didn’t show it, he could see how elated Franklin was at seeing Alastor, “At least Mama, Maggie and Bea will be happy now! They’re always so sad.”

“I would suppose so.” Alastor shook his head slightly, pulling his hand away from Franklin’s and reaching out, placing it on his son’s shoulder, “You look healthy, at least!”

“Oh, I am! Streaming everyday, nearly. Bea and I go out hunting once a week. We just went last week. The extermination is next week so we’re real excited about that.” Franklin paused, looking as if a brilliant idea had come to mind, “Hey! Now that you’re back, you can come with us! That’d be cool.”

Alastor laughed, squeezing his son’s shoulder as Franklin smiled brightly at his father. Just as Franklin opened his mouth to speak again, there was a soft noise from the top of the steps.

Alastor’s eyes snapped up to the steps and his chest felt relaxed as he looked upon the sight of his eldest. His heir; his little girl. The reason he was a father. Margret had a hand on the railing, frozen in place as she looked upon her siblings and parents.
“Margret!” Alastor spoke warmly, his eyes showing just how relieved he was.

His daughter let out another sound and then turned, fleeing back up the second flight of stairs that led to the children’s wing of the house. Alastor’s grin faded just slightly, watching as she ran away from him.

Confused, Alastor turned to look at Charlie. It appeared like she didn’t have words for him, either.

Chapter Text

Her Denial (Part 4 of ‘His Silence’)


    Her heart raced as she ducked around the corner, her ears pressed flat against her head. Margret tried her best to take a calming breath; her fingers were shaking and she was sure that the entire universe was coming to rest on her shoulders.

    The room she had gotten into was just another guest room; there were countless in the estate. Immediately, she began to rummage around and make sure everything was tidy and in its place  and making hurred mental notes on the fact that the sheets needed to be changed -

    The door swung open and she felt everything in her come to a stop.

    “Margret?” The soft, static filled voice cleared her thoughts and for a split second, she let it relax all the anxiety that was building in her stomach.

    Her skin prickled when she heard him take a few steps inside and then close the door behind him, her eyes widening like saucers. She was trapped; there was no adjoining bathroom to this guest room like she’d previously thought.

    Alastor had been returned from Heaven for about four days at this point and Margret had done her best to keep away from him. She’d opted to take her dinners before the rest of the family did, claiming she had some paperwork to work on for the Hotel. Charlie didn’t complain, though there had been a bit of a confused glance when she’d skipped out the night previous.

    ‘Are you sure?’ Charlie had asked her, holding Margret’s plate in her hands, ‘Your father really wants - ‘

    ‘Sorry, mama. Busy.’ Margret had taken the plate and went to her room, where she’d set the meal down and ignored it. That had been the fate of the past few nights as well.

    She was starving at this point, but she knew she probably deserved it.

    “Margret?” Alastor’s voice snapped her back into reality and she turned, holding tightly onto one of the pillows that was on the bed. She’d picked it up to fluff it out, “Do I have your attention, darling?”

    The eldest of the Magne children did the only thing she could really think of doing in that moment and bolted. Alastor moved out of the way as she plowed past him, dropping the pillow on the floor near his feet. He could hear her uneven breathing and the soft sound of white noise follow her as she left and he knew that something was unsettling her emotions enough that she was tapping into her radio energy.

    Alastor sighed. He’d have to try again later. 

    He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that she didn’t want to be around him. Even before he had been redeemed and sent to Heaven, Margret hadn’t been terrified at the sight of him. Even if she did prefer Charlie - she was still his little girl. His heir! It didn’t make sense to him.

    He’d discussed with Charlie the night before about her behavior. Charlie had just told him to give her more time - she had not been okay when he was gone and Charlie was sure that Maggie would tell him in her own time.

    Well, he was getting antsy. Alastor didn’t like being ignored.

    He turned on his heel and watched as she fled, her eyes wide and he could hear her heart pounding. Did he really frighten her so?

    He had to find out. He was tired of this.

    Alastor followed her to the other end of the house, where she stumbled into a room and swiftly tried to close it before he could enter. His hand stopped her however, his arm pushing the door open with minimal resistance.

    “Margret.” His voice was still collected; calm, “It’s time to talk about this. It’s been far too long.”

    The demoness’ face paled and she stepped backward into the room. It was her own bedroom this time, a place that she usually felt safe. Right now, she felt anything but. In that moment, she was terrified of what he would do to her.

    Alastor shook his head at her fears and stepped further into the room, her scrambling backward and tripping over a shoe she had accidentally left out. Her heart raced and she closed her eyes tightly.

    A hand came and rested on her shoulder, a second going to her elbow and guiding her upward until she was standing upright. She felt her throat tighten and she recoiled from the touch, though the hand that was on her shoulder moved and she felt fingers brush some strands of hair away from her face.

    Maggie opened a single eye just enough to look at Alastor and she felt her heart crumble just the slightest. Her father was eyeing her with as much concern as she knew he could garner - his knuckles brushed over the skin of her cheek just slightly and she felt the terror start to wean away.   

    “Maggie.” He was soft, nearly a whisper, “What is going on? I must admit, I’m confused. Your sister and brother have been nothing but welcoming, your mother is elated I am back. I don’t get why you have been avoiding me.”

    Margret felt something different shimmer in her chest and she heaved out a breath, her lips twisting downward in a frown that she hadn’t worn in months - years, even, “I hate you.”

    His hand fell and the confusion in his eyes heightened.

    Once she started, she couldn’t stop, the anger that was consuming her causing her to violently rip herself away from him, “You left! You just left us here, like we were nothing. And you know what made it worse?” One of her hands balled up and she couldn’t help herself from swinging forward and hitting his chest. He didn’t react, watching her with widened eyes, “You didn’t come back! Not for three years. You didn’t immediately try to come back. You stayed there.” Margret felt the anger consume her and she could feel her mind twisting, her height growing and she couldn’t grab a hold on it, “You left us here to rot!”

    Her voice warped and Alastor watched her as her irises disappeared, his own heart starting to race. He hadn’t seen his eldest in her Wendigo form once; not in the several hundred years that she had been alive at this point. She did her best to hide it carefully from everyone.

    She skyrocketed taller, twisting and her teeth lengthening. Her hand, once pounding on his chest, pulled away and he could see the /fear/ in her eyes. 

    He knew Margret was angry. He didn’t know she was this angry.

    Mindful of her bedroom, Alastor fled. He knew that once she regained control of herself and her bedroom was ruined, she would be inconsolable. He ducked past the doorframe and heard the creature following him; it was stuck by the smaller frame for a moment before it turned in just the right way to get out.

    Alastor kept a quick pace as he made his way to the entryway. Charlie was standing in the parlor, her face brightening in a smile when she saw him.

    He stretched a finger out toward the Wendigo that was chasing him down the stairs, his voice light, “I’ll be just a moment, darling. I must take care of some things first.”

    Charlie frowned, her eyebrows furrowing, “Um.”

    Alastor chuckled and opened the door, swinging it wide enough that Margret wouldn’t tear it off the hinges, “I’ll send a shadow to alert you if things get too rough! Send Bea and Franklin out if I do - they’ll be able to help me.”

    Margret growled angrily as she stalked Alastor out of the estate, her focus completely on him. The anger that was boiling in her stomach was something that she hadn’t felt since the last breakdown she’d had - three months after he’d left. 

    Her anger had been sitting at the edge of a breaking point for so long; it was about time that she exploded.

    Alastor made it halfway down the drive before she came up behind him and he let out a sigh of discontentment. Within a moment, he felt his form shift and change until he was in his own form.

    And she was taller than he was.

    For a moment, Alastor panicked. The taller the Wendigo usually led to more powerful - Franklin was just a touch shorter than he and Bea was a good few inches. Margret was taller by at least a foot or two, her maw dripping with saliva.

    At least Wendigos didn’t taste good. He knew that she wasn’t there to feast on him.

    Her left arm swung forward and swiped him off his feet, gripping him by the waist and holding him up in the air. With a few tactful growls and a sideswipe to her ribcage with his foot, Maggie dropped him and he watched the anger in her eyes grow brighter.

    She let out a snarl and Alastor scrambled backward, something odd fighting in the front of his throat. 

    Was he scared of his own kin?

    Margret’s maw dribbled and she let out something akin to a scream, launching herself forward at him. His eyes widened and he held his hands up above his face, doing his best to shove her off him. He wasn’t angry - because of that, his power wasn’t as strong and there was nothing he could do within himself to trigger the anger that he needed.

    Maggie snapped her teeth a few inches away from his face and that’s when Alastor let forward a few shadows, the inky blots fleeing into the house and gathering his other two children. He did his best to wrestle with the monster above him, her teeth continuously trying their best to latch onto his face and rip him apart.

    They fought at a stalemate for a moment, her anger burning so bright that it was causing her to not fight as well as she could. Alastor knew she wasn’t trained, either; she did what she felt was best instinctually and that wasn’t always what would work out. He got his leg locked around her waist and flipped them over, using his antlers to lock with hers and keep her face a few feet from his.

    There was a rushing sound from his left and a demented laugh that came from his right. He didn’t move; he knew that it was Beatrice and Franklin. For a moment, the two didn’t do anything for him. 

    They knew that he had to at least try. He had to put the larger Wendigo back into her place.

    With a vicious snarl from his daughter below him, her knee came up and crashed into his pelvis and he let out a high pitched whine, letting go of her arms and collapsing over to the right. Her claws sunk into his shoulder and she stared down at him as he glared up at her and in that moment, something changed.

    A few tears dripped from the female Wendigo’s face and onto his own, her eyes closing and a sigh breaking through her maw. Alastor braced himself for the worst and was surprised when she let go of his shoulders, stepping back a few feet and then collapsing to the ground.

    She’d retreated. He’d won the fight.

    It didn’t matter to him either way as he watched his oldest come apart on the soil that was now bloodied from both of them. Alastor easily grasped control of his Wendigo and returned to his normal form at the same time she did, her face littered with tears and her sobs breaking through the air.

    “Go back indoors.” His voice was stern, turning to the two that he had called forth, “I apologize for calling for you when I did not need you.”

    Franklin gave a whine of disappointment and turned on his heel. Bea gave an uneasy grunt and the pair ran off, not toward the house but toward Pentagram City itself. Alastor sighed, standing upright and walking over to where his daughter was.

    Maggie felt her insides coil when he stood above her and she wondered if he was going to yell at her - call her a disappointment and how /dare/ she attack him.

    “I understand now.” Alastor reached down and grabbed her by her elbows, bringing her up into his arms and squeezing her against him, “I gather you were left in charge of everything while I was gone.”

    Her head shakily nodded against his chest.

    “How long did it take you before you broke, darling?”

    Her lips trembled when she spoke, “Three months.”

    “How many times has it happened?”

    Margret swallowed the lump in her throat, ‘J-just that once.”

    Alastor sighed and rubbed the spot between her shoulder blades, resting his chin against the top of her head. She was shorter than him in this form - only a few inches taller than Charlie, “Are you still angry?’

    For a moment, Margret tried to tap into anger she had left and found that she was just so /tired/. Her shoulders slumped forward and Alastor caught her as she nearly fell onto him, her fingers gripping at his sleeves, “I’m so tired, daddy.”

    He turned them in a way that he could scoop her up; she weighed next to nothing. Another Wendigo trait, he was sure, “I saw the plates in your room, dear. When did you eat last?”

    A dry laugh broke from her and she looked up at him, swinging her feet, “Five days ago. You’re carrying me like a baby.”

    “I suppose that sometimes, you need to be treated like one! Darling, not eating for days is severely impactful on your health and I must insist that we have lunch together.” He peered down at her, his monocle nearly slipping off his face.

    Margret reached up and fixed it for him. Her ears twitched and for the first time in a very long time, they moved forward so that they were resting upright. She had been near constantly anxious since his return and her ears had shown that anxiety, “Mm, okay. But I’m having a salad.”

    His nose crinkled just enough to show his dissatisfaction with her answer, “No wonder you’re so small, my dear. You need something hearty! Your mother made soup last night; you should have a bowl or two of that.”

    “Or seven bowls.” Her stomach growled fiercely, “Maybe ten.”

    Alastor chuckled lowly, setting her upright in the foyer when they got back into the house. She brushed off her shirt, picking a few stray bits of soil off the pink fabric as he did the same to his own jacket.

    “I already heated some up.” Charlie spoke from the stairs, sitting on the third step. She looked relieved to see the both of them in decent condition, “Do me a favor next time you two decide to fight.”

    “There won’t be a next time, mama-”

    “Please, just don’t do it on the front lawn. Those sounds aren’t something I want to hear.” Charlie’s normally very reddened cheeks were a bit paler and she seemed to be uncomfortable with where she was sitting.

    “Sorry, mama.” Margret looked to the ground, toying with her own fingers, “It won’t happen again.”

    Alastor laughed, a warm sound that made Maggie feel ten times better. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and he pulled her to his side, nodding toward Charlie, “All is well! Join us for lunch, darling.”

    “Where did Bea and Franklin run off to?” Charlie stood, the three of them making their way into the kitchen.

    Margret’s nose scrunched up, “To get their own lunch.”

    “A wonderful idea, I may add. Gives us some time to ourselves.” Alastor grinned widely at his mate and heir, his eyes sparkling, “Let us eat!”

Chapter Text

Franklin was never one to feel nervous about anything. His mouth seemed to not have a filter and on more than one occasion, that had gotten him into more trouble than he cared to admit. It didn’t really affect him, either way, remorse was not an emotion he knew and honestly, Franklin liked to keep it that way. Whenever Bea did anything that she felt bad about, he wasn’t sure how to help (not that he really wanted to) and it sometimes unsettled him in a way.

Sort of like getting a mosquito bite on the finger.

Though, there had been occasions that he had felt some sort of uncomfortable ball in the front of his throat before he admitted something to his mother. When he had been a child, there had been a time where he had been forcibly taken and he’d slaughtered a demon for the first time and when he’d realized what he did, the weight of disappointment from Charlie was enough to make his lips turn downward into a frown. Which had been unsettling in and of itself; smiling came naturally to him and he never felt the need to change that about him.

Franklin felt that unnatural ball in his throat as he stood next to Charlie. His mother was humming a tune that was familiar and it helped soothe him in a way that he wasn’t able to put his finger on. His hands were coated in the sticky batter of bread dough; she’d asked him politely that morning if he’d be able to help her make bread.

They had been scarfing down the bread she’d made just the other day. Frankie really liked her homemade bread.

There was also a radio playing something soft. Franklin could hear his father humming along to the song on the radio as he sat at the table on the other side of the kitchen, sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. Frankie turned a little and peered over at his dad, pursing his lips as he gave a particularly rough shove to the dough on the counter.

“Are you trying to maim it? Jeez, Frankie.” Charlie laughed, nudging him with her shoulder.

Franklin turned to her and smiled wide, winking, “Maybe.”

Charlie scoffed playfully and turned back to her dough, shaping it properly and then picking it up, setting it into a pan, “Gotta let it rise for a little while longer and then we’ll put them in the oven.”

“Alright, mama.” Frankie picked up his own ball of dough and set it into the pan she scooted toward him, mimicking how she put a towel over it and then walking to to the sink to wash his hands of the flour.

Charlie stood beside him and once he finished, she stuck her hands in the water. Franklin side-stepped, biting his lip.

“Hey, mama.” He felt the smile on his face start to slip. He couldn’t really explain why.

“Hey, Franklin.” Charlie smiled over at him. The soft glow in her eyes when she looked at him soothed him.

Franklin had always been slightly in tune with his mother’s emotions. He couldn’t feel them, but he was usually able to tell how she was feeling. Charlie was one of the very few people in Hell that he actually loved and would pretty much do anything for - he was a total mama’s boy and he wasn’t even that upset about it.

Anyone who called him weak for loving his mother would die a painful death.

Frankie wiped his hands on a towel and then handed it to her, chewing on the inside of his lip, “I’ve got something to tell you and Dad.”

Alastor looked up from the newspaper, setting his coffee mug down. He had nearly drained the entire mug in just a few minutes - he’d woken up a little later that day. It was nearly noon and he’d only been up for about an hour, the night previous he’d spent a little too long out on the streets braodcasting, “Hm?”

Franklin turned to Al, his grin tight lipped, “Something to tell you guys.”

“Go ahead,” Charlie pressed her hand against Frankin’s back, spurring him toward the kitchen table, “I’ll start lunch for everyone.”

“No, mama, I need you to be with us.” Franklin’s mouth spoke for him, his mind reeling at the language. He never liked to admit that he needed anyone for anything; ‘need’ was a word that he didn’t like to use, “I mean -”

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” Charlie smiled at him, retracting her hand and the two of them settling down at the table, “I get it.”

Alastor folded the paper and set it in front of him, raising an eyebrow. Franklin glanced at him and then his mind soured.
He wasn’t one to give up in the face of anything. That was proven countless times when he pushed Alastor’s buttons the wrong ways and faced the consequences for it. Frankie had his fair share of fingers bitten off when he was younger and didn’t know his boundaries - hell, he still didn’t. But right now? He just wanted to get up and head upstairs and start playing some video games to get his mind off this.

“Oh, nevermind.” He pushed himself away from the table, “It’s nothing! No worries.”

“Franklin, sit down.” Alastor’s voice was firm and Frankie found himself pushing his chair back in toward the table.

His cheeks darkened more red than they usually were, his eyes darting toward the table. He began to trace the wood grains with a finger, feeling his stomach burning with something uncomfortable and something he absolutely hated, “I just want to say something.”

“We’re listening.” Charlie spoke then, reaching over and laying her hand on his. The boiling feeling in him cooled and he flipped his hand over, grasping her fingers in his.

Yes, his mother always knew how to calm him down when the anger felt like it would consume him.

“I,” He started, swallowing the nervousness. He thought he’d be calm and cool in this situation; he’d been practicing for as long as he could. Why did he feel so nervous? Nothing would change. He’d always been like this, “Well.” Charlie’s eyebrow raised and Alastor’s grin twitched to widen a little. Franklin crossed his arms, “Well, I’m gay.”

There was a pause in the room for a moment before Charlie moved out of her chair and wrapped her arms around him. The heartbeat that had picked up and was pounding in his ears calmed and he reached up, hugging her tightly.

“I already knew, you goof.” Her voice was warm against his ear and Franklin could feel her smiling against him, “Mama knows best!”

Frankie felt a laugh bubble up and he pulled away from her just the slightest bit, letting her cup his cheeks in her hands, “Really?”

Alastor spoke up then, his grin close-lipped and genuine, “She’s known since you were a toddler. I can’t say that I denied her allegations!”

Franklin felt warm. It wasn’t joy, per say, but he felt something that wasn’t anger. He pulled his mother down for another hug, burying his face into her shoulder like he did when he was a child.

He heard the chair that Alastor was sitting in scrape on the floor and suddenly, his other side was enveloped in a hug from his father. His grin widened and he felt as though his heart would burst. It was an unsettling emotion, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

Relief. That’s what the emotion was.

He was so relieved.

Chapter Text

The air shifted and Charlie felt her eyes open immediately, a sigh breaking through her lips. Her eyes itched with the want for sleep and she reached up to rub them with one hand while the other hand went to push the blankets off her body. As her hand moved the covers, another hand came to rest on hers.

“I’ll get her.” Alastor’s voice, gruff with sleep and crackling with static broke the air and interrupted the crying coming from the cot on the other side of the room.

Charlie yawned, letting her head collapse back against the pillow. Her hand moved to the blanket and she pulled it back over her shoulders, sleepily rubbing her eyes once more. The blankets rustled and she felt her husband leave the bed and take his warmth with him; it caused her mind to snap the rest of her awake and she turned to watch him.

Alastor was dressed in his nightshirt and a pair of silk pajama pants - he always liked the way that silk felt against the peach fuzz that seemed to cover his entire body. He paused in front of the cot where their infant daughter lay, her cheeks pink and wet from crying and her legs shifting around. He watched her for a few seconds, listening to her crying for a moment more before reaching down and picking her up.

They’d learned that even though they’d spent forever making sure that the nursery was up to par, that it was just easier for them to have her cot in the same room as them. It made it easier to get up in the middle of the night when Margret cried; less walking to the other side of the house.

Alastor was gentle with her head as he scooped her up into his arms. Curling her against his chest, Alastor crossed the room once more and settled himself in the pillows, propping Margret on his shoulder. His hand rubbed and patted her back softly as she continued to cry, his voice humming gentle tunes.

The infant seemed restless enough that Charlie pushed herself into a sitting position and held her arms out, “Want me to try?”

Alastor looked over at his mate. Her hair was sticking up at all ends, halfway up in a scrunchie and most of it falling out. She looked so terribly tired that he felt bad about giving over the child to her, though at this point, their daughter was most likely hungry. With another movement, he shifted Margret into Charlie’s waiting arms.

Charlie yawned again as she scoot backward, resting her back against the headboard and arranging a pillow on her lap so that Margret was laying close to her. She lifted her t-shirt and watched as the infant nearly immediately latched onto her. Margret’s little fist came up to knead at her breast and Charlie felt her lips tug upward in a tired smile.

Alastor watched, his eyes alight with interest. It was still a new scene to him - Margret was only a week old. One hand reached out and he brushed his fingers against the dewy soft ears that were on Margret’s head, the feeling of her hair felt like the silk that was on his legs. His daughter’s eyes were open and watching as she suckled, blinking slowly against the dim light from the nightlight that was near the bed.

“She does look a lot like you, darling.” Alastor’s voice was still rough from sleep, “Look at the way she looks around.”

Charlie felt the smile grow on her face and her gaze softened, “I think she has your need to never be bored.”

“How can she be bored? She was born a week ago!” Alastor chuckled, his fingers tracing down Margret’s cheek and then nudging his finger into hers. She quickly grasped onto him and held him against her, her own little fingers squeezing his.

Charlie shook her head and leaned over enough that Alastor realized she was trying to rest on him. He moved a few of the pillows over with his free hand and settled next to her, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her and the three of them sat there for the next few minutes, the only sound being the soft noise of static and the sound of Margret suckling.

Alastor could feel Charlie slowly starting to droop against him, her head falling from his shoulder to just a few inches lower. He smiled softly, nudging her just enough that she jolted upright, “Get some sleep, darling.”

“Is she done?” Charlie’s words were slightly slurred.

“I believe so.” Alastor peered down at Margret. The infant’s eyes were closed and her cheeks were rosy, her finger still gripping his, “I’ll put her back in the cot.”

“M’kay.” She murmured, shifting her arms so that Alastor was able to reach over and take the infant.

Margret gave a soft noise of contentment when Alastor brought her to his shoulder. He gave her back a few taps, doing just what Charlie had told him to do the first time she’d fed the baby. His fingers tapped her softly until she gave a quiet burp, his grin softening at the sound. For a moment, he sat there and allowed the baby to fall asleep on him.

Alastor moved to lay down, resting Margret on his chest. Her fingers gripped at his nightshirt and she gave a yawn. Alastor’s hand rested on her back, the other nudging Charlie’s head so that she was resting in the crook of his arm and chest. Charlie murmured something quietly, laying her arm across his waist.

He knew that he should get up to go put the infant back in her cot but in that moment, he felt so warm and his eyes closed of their own accord. Within minutes, all three of them were asleep and remained so until the morning.

When Alastor woke up, he blinked blearily against the sight of the light coming in from the window. He had a weight on his chest that he wasn’t used to having, so he turned his head enough that he could look and see what it was.

Margret was still sleeping peacefully against him, curled into a little ball with her fist in her mouth. There was a spot of drool on his nightshirt that he could feel sticking to him but he couldn’t find himself upset with the situation. Charlie was still dead to the world, having moved away from him at one point and was sprawled out, taking up the majority of the bed (and blanket).

Al yawned and tightened his legs and arms to stretch them, wrapping an arm around the infant on his chest and swiveling himself so that he was able to sit up. Margret’s eyelids opened and he found himself watching her wake up. It was a soft process, full of heavy blinking and a few yawns, though she did lock eyes with him more than once.

Her reddened irises were the same color as his and he smiled, holding her up to his face and pressing his nose lightly to hers, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

The baby gurgled and kicked, hitting him in the jaw. Alastor rolled his eyes and tucked her into the crook of his elbow, standing and finding his slippers so that his feet didn’t have to touch the cold floorboards. In that moment, everything was perfect.

And then Margret’s face scrunched up and Alastor felt his heart hit the floor, her once-peaceful face now littered with tears and screams breaking from her lips.

“She definitely did not get this flip-flopping personality from me.” He muttered to himself at the moment that Charlie woke up.

She gave a half-asleep laugh, “I think she did.”

Chapter Text

Franklin was never one to go outside his comfort zone. He liked the fact that he had a structured day - may it be chaotic structure or not, he planned his days out every morning after discussing any plans with his mother. He put his streaming sessions in specific time blocks, his vlogging was spent for another time and he always made sure to make enough time for editing his videos each night.

Franklin wore the same comfort style everyday; usually pajamas or onesies that had hoods that had ear holes for his ears. They were comfortable; especially when he spent most of his time tucked up into his computer chair, streaming for his followers.

Which was a fair amount of demons.

When he’d spoken to his mother a few weeks back, she had warned him of the charity ball they would be hosting. He’d crinkled his nose when she’d asked him to ‘please wear something nice’, because the last time they’d had a ball, he’d shown up in a t-shirt and jeans with a beanie on. Alastor had nearly bitten a finger off for that; he’d been sent to his room without further explanation and he’d spent the entire night tucked into his chair, playing video games.

She’d warned him everyday since and had told him that no matter what he showed up in, he wouldn’t be sent off to go goof for the rest of the night. He’d whined plenty and she hadn’t budged.

Franklin supposed that if he was going to have to dress up, he might as well make it a showstopper.

His fingers threaded the tie around his neck and he tied it off into a bow, adjusting it properly in the mirror. His grin was comfortably close-lipped as he glanced over his outfit.

It was a simple black tuxedo; instead of a white shirt under, he wore blue. It was a soft blue, one that matched the handkerchief in his pocket. Charlie had handmade the suit at one point; he was a tall demon and most things didn’t fit him on a daily basis. Most of his onesies and pajama sets were made by Charlie because of his height.

He flicked his fingers down the jackets to remove any fuzzies that had attached to him while he got dressed, a few of his own lengthy blond hairs being brushed onto the ground. Franklin picked his phone off the table nearby and slid it into the pocket inside of his jacket, feeling a little more comfortable with the slight weight of the device against him.

Franklin had told Charlie that he would dress up, but he hadn’t told her exactly what he was wearing. The ball was already in full swing, the sound of the music drifted through the halls and hit his ears. They were at the Hotel; he and his sisters had their own permanent rooms in the Hotel since they’d spent a fair share of their lives there. He and Beatrice tended to avoid it, though there had been times when the rooms were helpful.

With another sigh, Franklin made sure his grin was carefully painted on his face before leaving the room. He took his time to make sure the door was shut and locked tightly; he didn’t want anyone wandering through the halls and coming across his bedroom. Though it was a room he didn’t use often, there were still some expensive and high-end video cameras and consoles in there that he wouldn’t be happy about if they were to go missing.

His footsteps made soft clicking noises against the floorboards as he walked, his eyes wandering and taking in the entirety of the surroundings. The music got louder as he came closer to the ballroom, the grin quickly becoming more natural. It was the swing music that his father liked; Franklin was also a fan of the tunes.

He pushed open one of the side doors, one that was generally used for workers, shutting it behind him before delving into the crowd of people. There were a lot of them and he found himself recoiling each time someone accidentally brushed against him; it took a lot of willpower for Franklin to not snap his neck when the same person bumped into him two times.

After a few pivots on his heel, he spotted his father on the other end of the room. Most demons moved out of his way when he walked; the grin on his face and the soft sound of white noise that followed him generally intimidated those that were around him. There were a few demons that he had to stare at for a moment before they moved, though it didn’t take them very long to catch the hint.

Alastor looked up when he noticed his son coming close, nodding in approval at the suit he was wearing, “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks.” Franklin shrugged a shoulder, sidling up to Alastor and standing close enough that people would know they were having a private conversation, “Thought mom would appreciate it.”

“I’m sure.” Alastor felt his eyes soften when he looked over his son. Instead of the horrendous onesies he usually wore, Alastor was taken aback that his son had actually taken the time to find the suit Charlie had made him at one point and to clean it, “I do believe she’s not the only one who appreciates it!”

Franklin looked around and his nose crinkled when he realized just how many people were staring at his father and him, “That’s gross.”

Alastor laughed and the two started to walk toward the drink table, Franklin eyeing the demons that kept watching them. A few looked away in shame at being caught, though a few others would continue to stare until Frankie flashed his Wendigo eyes at them. It caused the rest of the staring demons to duck their heads and made his grin spread wider.


Frankie was caught off guard when a pair of arms threw themselves around his back and he stiffened for a moment before realizing that it was just his mother. He laughed and moved her arms so that he was able to turn around, holding her forearms in his hands.

“Hi, mama. Like my suit?” His voice was warm and the amount of emotion in his voice was enough to make Alastor’s grin widen.

“I do! I’m so glad you’re wearing it.” Charlie’s face was bright as she looked up at her son, “You’ll come dance with me, now.”

“Oh -” Franklin’s grin faded just the slightest bit when Charlie gripped his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, “Dad!”

Alastor chuckled, tilting his head, “Listen to your mother.”

Frankie sighed and fitted himself with his mother, holding her hand and her waist. She was more than a foot shorter than him, though she seemed comfortable with his height since Alastor and he were the same.

“Are Bea and Maggie here?” He asked once they’d twisted around the room once, the music lively.

“Mhm! They have on the prettiest dresses.” Charlie’s face shone with how elated she was, “We’ll have to look for them.”

They stood still for a moment, swaying as they caught their breath. A hand came to rest on Franklin’s shoulder and he turned slightly to see his father standing there.

“My turn!” Alastor slid Charlie’s hand out of Franklin’s, quickly leaving Franklin to stare at the pair as they turned and spun off.

Frankie shook his head and made his way over to where the snacks were. His stomach was grumbling hungrily and he knew that he hadn’t had anything to eat besides a pretty light breakfast that morning.

The little sandwich bites looked absolutely delectable right now.

As soon as he was about to grab a plate to pile on the sandwiches, someone cleared their throat near him and he nearly snapped his neck to look up and see who it was.

Bea’s ears flicked with irritation when their eyes met and he found himself snickering slightly. She was dressed in a soft pink colored dress, with sequins decorating the bodice. It was a mermaid dress and Franklin did think she looked rather pretty in it.

“You look fancy.” Franklin continued to pile as many sandwiches on the plate that he could manage, “Pink suits you.”

“Die.” Beatrice crossed her arms, fidgeting with the corsage on her left arm, “I like the tux.”

“Mm, thanks.” He lifted a sandwich and crammed it into his mouth, his incisors tearing it apart easily and he swallowed with a flourish, “Where’s Mags?”

“Beats me.” Bea snatched a sandwich from his plate and ate it in a few bites, ignoring his glare, “Vox is really grating my nerves and I really want to just sock him in the screen.”

“What is he doing?” Franklin didn’t really care about what Vox was doing, but he thought it would be polite if he asked.

Bea sighed and took another sandwich, cramming it into her mouth and chewing roughly. She swallowed, “He’s just being too clingy? I don’t fuckin’ know. He won’t let me dance with anyone else.”

Franklin’s mind immediately brightened, “Dance with me then.”


“Vox can’t be mad if you dance with your brother! And if he does, then you can punch him in the screen!” Franklin shoveled a few more sandwiches into his mouth in rapid succession, Bea helping him finish the plate before the two of them linked arms and walked toward the dance floor.

She was an easier partner to dance with than Charlie due to their height difference. Bea was only a few inches shorter than Franklin, so holding onto her waist wasn’t as much of a struggle. It took the pair a few seconds to catch onto the dance that the majority of demons were doing before getting into the swing of things, Bea laughing when she stepped on his toes more than once.

“I can’t help it! It’s these shoes!”

“You’re insufferable.” Franklin snorted, shaking his head.

“Excuse me.” A soft voice interrupted the siblings warm banter.

Franklin stopped them and turned to the smaller demon that was standing nearby, his grin stretching uncomfortably, “What?” His voice was snapped and crackling with energy. Frankie was getting sick of all the interruptions.

“Can I dance with you?” the demon’s voice was quiet and Franklin let out a snort.

“Dance with you? No. I’m busy, as you can see.” He turned to Bea, winking, “Dancing with the prettiest lady in the room.”

The demoness’ face brightened with a shameful blush and Bea gave a scornful snicker, “Oh.”

“Probably shouldn’t be making googly eyes at him anyway.” Bea patted his chest, her lips turning upward into an identical grin of his, “My brother is way out of your league.”

Franklin snickered as the other demon turned and hurried off, his eyes bright with merriment, “Nice!”

“Gotta break some hearts sometimes.” Bea let go of him, “Thanks for the dance. I think I’ll try to give Vox a piece of my mind.”

Frankie hummed his approval and let her go before doing his best to try and find his oldest sister. Most demons were around her height so she was a little more difficult to spot, but once he did, he hurried over to where she was dancing with a rather rugged looking demon.

“Allow me to cut in.” Frankie nudged the other demon out of the way and the other demon scowled.


“You heard me.” Frankie winked, holding Margret’s hands in his own, “I had my claim first!”

“Oh, bugger off, Frankie.” Margret didn’t attempt to pull her hands from his, a soft smile on her face, “You look dashing.”

“Thanks! Now leave!” He pulled Mags closer and the two began to dance, twisting away from the other demon who looked as though he wanted to shove his fist straight through Franklin’s head.

“You could’ve tried being a little nicer.” Margret murmured as they danced. Franklin shrugged, noting how nicely she looked in the pale green dress that she was wearing.

“Nicer? Me? C’mon, Maggie.” Franklin snickered, “You know me.”

Margret sighed and nodded, “I suppose. Have you danced with everyone else?”

“Yep! Except dad. That would be a little weird.” He twisted Maggie under his arm and her dress flared out prettily.

“Only if you make it weird.” Margret giggled when he twirled her, the glitter that was embedded in her skirt shining against the light, “I didn’t think you’d come dance with me.”

Franklin scoffed playfully, “You’re my sister.”

“I guess I didn’t think you liked me that much.” Margret’s ever-present smile twitched downward.

Franklin was presented with a situation that he didn’t really know how to fix and so he did it in the way he could, “I don’t like myself much!”

Margret squinted at him for a moment and he felt the tips of his ears grow warm before she snickered and let go of him, “I’m going to go find my other dance partner. Thanks, Frankie.”

“Yep!” He bowed his head toward her and made his way off the dance floor to go stand off in a corner. A demon wearing a suit and carrying a tray full of champagne flutes passed and Franklin took one, sipping at the liquid carefully.

His eyes roamed the room, taking in the few images that he could see. Charlie and Alastor were still dancing, her head against his chest and his grin softened. Bea was off to a corner, arguing with Vox. The TV demon did not look amused and Franklin snickered when Bea finally punched him square in the screen. Not enough to inflict actual damage, but enough that Bea had to cradle her own hand after dishing it out. Franklin looked around again, seeing Maggie dancing sweetly with that same gruff looking demon that she had been before.

Franklin took another sip and then looked down at his tux, remembering the warm feeling he’d gotten from each of his family members when they realized that he was wearing something nice.

Time to ruin it.

He set the flute down on a nearby table and ducked behind a pilar, unbuttoning the shirt. Underneath was a t-shirt with a rather lewd image on it; his pants came off next and he was wearing a pair of fluffy pajama pants.

He ruffled his hair up and tucked the suit in a safe corner that he had planned previously before making his way back out. He’d toed off his shoes, just in socks, so his footsteps weren’t immediately detectable.

When Alastor first laid eyes on his son’s shirt, his eyes had widened and it didn’t take long for Charlie to realize. The immediate rage on her face was enough to have Franklin doubling over in laughter.

All in a day’s work, he supposed.

Chapter Text


    His fingers creased the edge of the letter as he reread it for the twentieth time. There was a slight quake to his fingers as he set the paper down, only to reach and grab for it again. His eyes moved across and read the words that decorated the parchment before he dropped it once more, eyes empty.

    Lucifer murmured something to himself before standing, leaving the letter on the table. He had some things that he had to prepare. A few quick missives sent out and his stomach broiling with the uncertainty of the near future caused his hands to shake more. 

    When his guest arrived, he did his best to hide the quaking. He wasn’t able to do much; there was a slight tremble to his voice as he explained what would be occurring in the next few hours.

Alastor's eyes twitched as he bored holes into the smaller demon. His ears flicked softly as he seemed to take in the information that had been given to him, "It sounds like it's already been lost."

"I do what I have to do for order." Lucifer's voice was slow; tired, "You caused a major wreck up in Heaven."

"You say that as if it's my fault."


/ "Mama!" He screamed, struggling violently against the hold that was gripping his elbows, "Mama!" /


"I've told you what needs to be done." 

Alastor felt his fingers grip his microphone tighter, an unsettled feeling boiling under his skin as Lucifer spoke to him, "Go. Or worse things will happen to them."


/ She wasn't able to get words out. Cloth bunched in her mouth and her hair whipped against her eyes, blinding her momentarily. In the few seconds that the locks of red covered her vision, she was pulled and thrown violently in every direction except backwards. /


Alastor's shoulders straightened and his gaze turned toward the window that was behind Lucifer's desk. It seemed as though the city was at peace in that moment; things seemed to be moving in the way they usually did. He had to fight to keep his grin carefully stretched across his face, "What would happen to me, them, if I don't go?"

Lucifer's fingers tapped on the desk, the edge of his pinky touching the letter that was the source of it all, "Do I need to explain to you? You know what would happen."

"They wouldn't let it happen." Alastor's voice had an edge of poison, "You think them weak?"

"No." Lucifer shook his head, "Quite the opposite."


/ Her insides crumbled and she collapsed, letting it happen. The anger raged and turned in her stomach but nothing could fight the overwhelming sense of desperation. She couldn’t cry; she couldn’t move. All she felt was the grips and violent shoves and the tightening of hands in her hair and wrists. /


“You’re going to what? Rip your daughter’s children away, for what? An example?” Alastor huffed and recomposed himself, straightening his spine and his fingers gripping the microphone tighter, claws cutting into his palm, “If you must make an example of my family, use me.”

“It can’t be just you. I’ve been given specific instructions. It’s all of you.” Lucifer shook his head just enough that it was visible, “There’s nothing that you can do.”

“Pardon my French, please, but this is connerie.” Alastor’s mouth twisted around the curse.

“You did this.” Lucifer snarled, a white hot rage blistering his eyes, “I did not do this. You did this. Surely, you must have realized there would be consequences to what you did? You slaughtered an entire sector of Heaven to return to Hell.”

“Yes! And?”

“It caused them to look at us. If a demon so badly wanted to return to Hell from literal Heaven, what good is the punishment down here?” Lucifer, in a moment of his composure slipping, pounded his hand on the desk, “You ruined it all! You caused them to look toward us and now I have to do what I have to keep Hell orderly.”

Alastor felt his throat tightening.

“They’re already separated.” Lucifer turned to the window behind his desk, “They’re already torn apart. I kept you here so that you wouldn’t have to witness it.”

“And you let Charlie see?”

“Charlie is with Lillith. She won’t know until I go down to tell her.” Lucifer’s voice softened, his eyes half lidded, ‘You have to go. I’ve told you where. It’s not that far; you aren’t to leave.”

    Alastor was quiet for a few moments, his throat tightening, “What about them?”

    Lucifer sighed, rubbing his temple, “I can’t tell you where they’ll be going. You need to leave.”

    The door opened and Alastor turned to the two demons that walked in. He felt his shoulder slump, “What if I defy you?”

    “You know what will happen, Alastor. I suggest you do what you know is best.” Lucifer stood, eyes flickering toward the letter once more, “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”



    Charlie fell through the door; ripped off its hinges. The tears had already been fueled by the conversation from earlier and she prayed that it was not true. The moment she realized that there were claw marks on the wood and trails of dried blood throughout her and Alastor’s estate caused a rage to consume her.

    “No, no, no,” Repeated whispers bubbled out from her throat and she fell to the ground near the stairs, gripping the carpet that was lain on the floorboards, “Not them.”

    Whispers of hope trickled through her mind and in a moment, she thought that maybe one of them would be left. They were all so strong - how could anything have taken them? Charlie raced through the house and ripped open each and every door, tearing apart rooms and calling out for her children.

    Once she reached the hallway with their bedrooms, splatters of blood and the claw marks increased in frequency. Her throat tightened when she opened Margret’s bedroom door. Instead of the normally very orderly room, there were shreds of carpet and Maggie’s comforter strewn around. The snowglobes that rested on shelves were scattered across the floor, the glitter that had been embedded into them was now stuck to the floor and some voice in the back of Charlie’s mind whispered that Alastor wouldn’t be happy about the glitter. 

    The wardrobe was flung open and it seemed as if Margret had been hiding in there; clothes were violently thrown away from the back corner and she could see streaks of blood coming from the inside. A sob etched in her throat as she left the room to go to Bea’s room right next door.

    It was worse in there; more of Bea’s things were thrown around. Charlie could tell that her middle daughter fell into her Wendigo form based on the heavy claw marks on the walls and the shredding of the mattress. Her vision went black for a moment and she collapsed to the ground, the panic and anger balling in her throat and causing her eyes to go red.

    As her horns lengthened, Charlie stood up and made her way to Franklin’s room. If Margret and Bea had been taken - she had no hope for Franklin. His room was immaculate and she wondered if the reason for such damage in Bea’s room was due to the both of them being in her room at the same time that the snatchers came.

    Charlie fell onto Franklin’s bed and pulled his pillow to her chest, burying her face into it as she sobbed. Lucifer had told her that she would see them again; though it wouldn’t be for a while. He’d warned her, advised her against looking for them because if she did - well, she didn’t want to know the details on what would happen to her children if she went looking for them.

    She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that they had been snatched away from her. Alastor was gone, too; apparently, he had gone quietly and was in a place far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to find him any time soon. 

    She had just gotten used to having him back; their family had been healed and whole for months. The ambient static that she had grown used to and loved to feel around her was gone again; even Franklin’s small amount of white noise was gone and she had /never/ been without it. Her arms curled tighter around the pillow, letting a scream break from her lips as she sobbed heavily.

    It would remain like this for months. The months would bleed into years and Charlie wasn’t able to focus on much of anything. The Hotel slowed down to the point where she had previously been redeeming a demon every few weeks and now she was barely scraping by one a year. Her heart just wasn’t in it - the fact that she was so disinterested showed in her work. She just couldn’t force herself to want to redeem anyone from their punishments when she was so tightly locked in her own.




    It was so dark. She felt the tears, previously dried against her reddened cheeks, start up again. There was no concept of time; she had no idea how long she’d been there. All she knew was that in one corner of her small room lay a cot, and in the other corner lay a door that had a slot that food was pushed through at random times throughout the day. She’d thought that perhaps it would come in orderly times and she’d attempted to keep count of the seconds, but there were times that only a few thousand seconds passed before another plate was passed through and then there were times when tens of thousands of seconds passed before then.

    Margret was so hungry.

    Her stomach growled savagely. There had been hundreds of feedings by this point; she couldn’t keep count. Her Wendigo was starving and she just needed meat. Whoever was keeping her captive had been kind enough thus far to only feed her non-meat dishes but -

    She was starving.

    When the slot opened for the millionth time, she was waiting. Her face was against the slit and she felt her throat constrict as she spoke for the first time in what she felt like forever.

    “Please, I’m so hungry, please.” Maggie whispered as the tray was shoved through the slot, the food not even looking remotely interesting. 

    The demon who had fed her gave a noncommittal grunt and closed the slot again, walking away. She felt her stomach growl angrily and the Wendigo started to crawl under her skin; it knew there were demons nearby and she could hear their hearts beating and their muscles moving.

    Margret was 





    Beatrice growled and crossed her arms, staring out the window. Though she had a very open looking bedroom with bright, sunny windows and a decent view of the countryside of Hell, she felt anxious. It had been years since she’d been home; she’d kept track of the days on the endless amounts of paper that appeared in her bedroom each morning. There were journals and paper tied together with twine. There wasn’t so much to do while here; she idly wondered what her siblings were doing in the rooms that they had. 

    Beatrice knew they weren’t in the same area. In the times that she had transformed into her Wendigo and had attempted to break down the windows or walls (they were unreasonably strong), she’d been unable to hear or smell them nearby. There was a large amount of demons that were in the same house as her, none that she had recognized from the life before, though she had learned a few of their names and had even been able to talk to a few of them.

    Her heart ached as she looked out the window at the sun setting, reaching for a pen. She wrote so often that her hand seemed permanently stained with ink. Writing was something she didn’t even realize she liked to do before this; though she honestly could’ve lived her entire life knowing she didn’t like to write if it meant being with her family.

    She wondered what her mother was doing. Bea did her best to keep Alastor from her mind; the thought of being away from him for so long hurt her more than being away from her siblings or mother. She wondered, just for a second, if Alastor was being kept away from Charlie.

    After a long while of careful consideration, Bea knew that the moment she either escaped or was let go of this prison, she was going to hug her father for hours. There was also a pressing issue of Vox.

    Though she was kept isolated, there had been letters delivered to her. Secretly, pushed through the food slot with her dinner. Hidden under the plate and the envelope was the same grey color as the tray. She hadn’t been able to really wrap her head around the fact that one of the demons that had given her dinner was hiding letters and giving them to her; she wondered why, even in captivity, she was being treated so well.

    The letters were only ever from Vox and in the past hundred years since she had been kept away, there had only been about five. She lived for them; the only contact she had with the outside world was him. She’d never been able to send a letter back, but the spiky cursive that he used to write was familiar and warm to her.

    This punishment, though, was sometimes too much.



    Franklin blinked wearily as he shifted back into his regular form. He nearly constantly lived in his Wendigo form at this point; he was constantly bombarded with demons that were fighting him. Trapped in an arena for as long as he could remember, the only times he was relieved from the constant battle was when the cage surrounded him and he was able to lay down and get a few hours of sleep on the ground.

    He was always fighting. There was a trough of water on the other side of the arena that he was able to occasionally gulp a few sips down before another round of demons would come out and attack him. He was constantly fed; the bodies of demons and their hearts were the only things that actually kept him fueled enough to continue on each day.

    The dirt stained his skin and Franklin itched for a shower. He was so tired from this and he knew that once he fell asleep, he’d only be able to sleep for a few hours before the cage rose and he would be forced back into fighting.

    It didn’t take him long to fall asleep and the creaking from the cage opening was the reason for him to wake up the next morning. Frankie sighed and rubbed his eyes, sitting up and staring around at the arena that surrounded him. There were so many seats; they were perpetually empty.

    Except today.

    There, directly in front of him, sat the image of his grandfather. Franklin scrambled up and growled, baring his teeth at Lucifer. The two stared at each other for a few moments and Lucifer then stood, dropping his staff and unbuttoning his jacket.

    His voice drifted toward Franklin in the wind and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

    “Survive me, and you will free your entire family.”

Chapter Text

His breathing increased as he stared at his grandfather, an odd ball of some emotion building in his throat. Lucifer reached up and pulled the hat from his head, setting it down on the seat that he had placed his jacket.

    On his head lay two horns, similar to Charlie’s in her ultimate form, as well as a very faint halo that was only visible when Franklin squinted. His hair was slicked back past the horns and Lucifer looked somewhat uncomfortable with the predicament that they were in.

    “What do you mean?” Frankie asked, feeling his hands start to shake. He felt anxious. His heart was pounding in his head and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to protect himself from Lucifer; he wasn’t the strongest of his siblings.

    “You face me,’ Lucifer began, his eyes trailing to the entranceway that blocked where Franklin knew an onslaught of demons usually came from, “After you face him. You survive us both; pin us both to the ground for ten seconds and you win. Killing isn’t necessary. You win, your family is freed.”

    “Him?” Franklin turned on his heel and he felt the blood begin to rush through his head faster and in that moment, he felt dizzy.

    On the other side of the bars that led out of the arena, he stood. Franklin took a step toward the bars, his vision going fuzzy as he stared. For so long, he had been without any sort of friendly face; every demon he had slaughtered in the past several years had been an angry face, one of horror and Franklin felt the utmost rage when he looked at them.

    Franklin felt something he’d never really felt before.

    He felt . . . sad.

    His emotions reflected in the eyes of the demon on the other side of the gate.   

    Lucifer moved his hand and the gate rose, Franklin’s opponent stepping out from the darkness. Frankie blinked, trying to clear his eyesight once more before he knew it would be coated in red.

    Alastor stood feet away from him, his eyes redder than normal. Franklin felt every single ounce of energy in him drain and he just wanted to run forward and /hug/ his father. He was sure he looked as terrible as he felt; Alastor’s eyes gazed over him and he could see the grin on his father’s face fade just the slightest bit.

    “Go.” Lucifer’s voice was unwelcome to their reunion, “Start.”     Franklin realized that Lucifer sounded like he was in pain.

    In that moment, the father and son pair twisted and transformed into their Wendigo forms; matching heights and matching sorrow. Franklin had grown and he knew he was stronger from the constant fighting he had been going through for the past how many years; instead of an inch or two shorter, he may as well be an inch or two taller.

    Perhaps his father had shrunk. He couldn’t be certain.

    “I will know if you fake it,” Lucifer’s voice struck a chord in Franklin’s chest and the Wendigo turned toward the ruler of Hell, “I am not a fool.”

    Franklin growled lowly and turned back to his father, his nostrils flaring. He could smell the anger and the resentment coming off in waves from Alastor, though the Wendigo in front of him continued to grin in a gruesome way. He hunched himself over, the pair starting to circle each other as they searched for obvious weak points.

    A rustle came from Franklin’s left side and he dodged out of the way of a tentacle that had appeared, swiping at his foot. He could see the blood starting to drip from his father’s hand and knew that he was using the voodoo magic he knew so well to try and take Franklin down.

    Two could play at that game.

    Franklin took a startling deep breath and his Wendigo snarled angrily after, eyes flashing as he darted forward. The length of his legs helped his advantage to swing out of the way of a few more tentacles that attempted to snatch at his feet and he managed to grab onto one, slicing it open with his claws. Alastor gave a sharp intake of breath when Franklin did so and the younger Wendigo immediately knew what he had to do.

    The lingering smell of days old blood and new blood fueled Franklin as he leapt forward, crashing down on top of Alastor. There was an array of snarls and hands gripping each other; the two sounded like a pair of wild dogs attacking each other. The dirt scattered around them as Franklin wrapped a hand around Alastor’s throat, squeezing it tightly and attempting to keep his father pinned to the ground for as long as he could.

    Alastor’s grin grew and Franklin, in a second of indecision, loosened his hold. The elder Wendigo’s arm flew up and his fist met Franklin’s jaw, the younger letting out a yelp as he went flying backward. The pain radiated from his jaw and echoed through his head, igniting a headache that pounded through the rest of his body.

    Franklin scrambled up and the two ran at each other, their antlers interlocking and both pushing at each other. Franklin fell forward onto his hands and used the whole of his body to push forward, tossing his head in an attempt to fell Alastor.

    Alastor copied his son’s stance, the pair’s eyes so close. He could see the hurt and anxiety drifting through his son’s eyes and everything in him wanted to stop right there and let his boy beat him within an inch of his life.

    He had to prove that it wouldn’t be faked, however.

    After several minutes of them pushing against each other and the both trying to toss the other to the ground, Franklin felt a white hot rage consume him. He had spent so long not wanting to hurt his father - but he was one of the roadblocks preventing him from seeing his mother. With a snarl, Frankie grabbed forward and gripped Alastor by the jaw, feeling the bone crushing beneath his grasp as he squeezed tightly.

    Alastor let out a whine and tossed his head to try and remove Franklin’s grip, but the younger Wendigo used this to his advantage and tossed his father to the side, climbing on top of him and holding the now-broken jaw within his hands. The anger in Franklin’s eyes burned as he squeezed tighter, his free hand coming to wrap around Alastor’s throat and pinning him to the ground.

    Franklin’s focus drifted as he growled at the Wendigo below him, his maw dripping saliva and falling onto Alastor’s face. The grin was now gone; something that Franklin wouldn’t remember.

    “-Kin! Franklin! Killing is not necessary!” A voice interrupted his thoughts, his wild eyes flying up and meeting those of Lucifer, who was standing on the other side of the arena.

    Franklin’s eyes widened and he looked down at Alastor, who’s eyes had started to droop. He let go of his father’s throat and jaw, standing up and blinking. He made a choice then; one that he wasn’t sure he’d regret, even if he could feel remorse.

    He leaned over and slid his arms under Alastor, picking him up and cradling his father to his chest. He was light; like most Wendigos. The younger one walked to the other side of the arena and lifted Alastor up and placed him into a row of seats that he was able to reach from his height. Alastor whined once more as Franklin jostled his jaw; the blond Wendigo feeling his ears press to his head in sorrow.

    When he whipped around, Lucifer felt his own heart give a few unsteady beats. The anger and desperation were gone from Franklin’s eyes; all that was left was the bright calm that Alastor had mastered years ago. Franklin’s grin grew and he let out a sound that sent spirals of slight fear into Lucifer.

    Franklin laughed; racing forward as he laughed and laughed.

    Lucifer was swept off his feet before he had the chance to change completely into his own form. Franklin continued to laugh, a demented sound that crackled with live electricity that sent ripples of shocks through the ruler of Hell. He was tossed to the other end of the arena with such force that he bounced off the dirt and barely had a few more seconds to recompose himself before Franklin was back at his side.

    In those few seconds, Lucifer allowed himself to change. His horns lengthened and his stature grew; he was now just a few inches taller than Franklin himself. The king bared his teeth toward his grandson and Franklin let out something akin to a giggle, twisting away from Lucifer when he tried to reach out and grab him. Franklin kept up the dodging charade for a few minutes, flitting out of the way just as Lucifer was going to enclose his hand around some part of the boy’s body.

    Franklin’s grin dripped with drool as he eventually grew bored of the game he had initiated, crouching low and then springing forward, gripping tightly onto Lucifer’s horns with his own claws. The claws ripped through the top of his head and Lucifer bucked wildly, tossing the Wendigo away from him and onto the ground.

    Lucifer glared down at the younger Wendigo, the boy still laughing occasionally through his panting. He could clearly see that there were several dripping wounds coming from the boy and he decided to aim for those, launching himself forward and stabbing his fingers through an open wound on Franklin’s side. The boy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he let out a loud wail, one hand reaching down and struggling to rip Lucifer away from him.

    Lucifer saw Alastor move over on the seats and he turned to growl at the other Wendigo, warning him to stay away. This was his fight; not Alastor’s. The redhead snarled and gripped his jaw, seeming to be holding it in place so that it would heal properly.

    Franklin took this moment of distraction and buried his claws into the exposed part of Lucifer’s neck. The king wheezed and his hands flew up to the claws in his throat, trying his best to pull the now-bloodied hands away from him.

    The laughter started at full force, blood smeared across Franklin’s face as he squeezed tighter, feeling the warm liquid dribble down his fingers. He pushed the king to the ground, his free hand grabbing hold of Lucifer’s hand and his eyes widening; wild.

    “Please -” Lucifer wheezed out around Franklin’s fingers, “Let - go -”

    Franklin cackled, squeezing tighter. As soon as Lucifer’s eyes rolled to the back of his head due to the pain and the lack of oxygen, something rippled through the air. Franklin let go of his grandfather, looking up in surprise.

    A hand, spindly and familiar, rested on his shoulder and he blinked, his mind clearing. Alastor stood, in his regular form, his hand still cupping his own jaw as he held onto the shoulder of his son.

    “Let go.” The static and filter were gone, all that was left was a southern drawl that Franklin had never heard, “You’ve won. Learn to step back.”

    The Wendigo growled but Franklin blinked, peering down at Lucifer. The king’s face was matted with his own blood and the boy released him, the wound almost immediately stitching itself back together. The perks of being the ruler.

    Franklin let himself collapse onto the ground, his form changing and soft pants of exhaustion escaping him. Alastor kneeled next to him, his hand remaining steadfast on the boy’s shoulder. Frankie reached up and gripped his father’s hand, a knot tying itself in his throat.

    Lucifer stood, wiping blood away from his mouth and checking the wound on his neck. It was already nearly healed and he was grateful that Franklin hadn’t sliced open his jugular; he had never had the misfortune of dying and didn’t want to assume what would happen to him if he had bled out any faster. He felt distant; far away from the scene in front of him.

    “You’ve won.” Lucifer spoke next, his voice a near whisper, a soft tremble barely distinguishable, “You’ve beaten me.”

    Frankie looked up, his eyes warmed over with tears that he hadn’t even realized were there, “We can go home?”

    Lucifer struggled with himself for a moment before nodding sharply, “You can go home. They all can go home.”

Chapter Text

Alastor had been busy non-stop all day, whether it was with the hotel, radios, Dials, or dealing with low-level demons; he hadn't had a chance to stop. He toed off his shoes at the door, his hooves making a gentle clicking sound against the wood floors as he neared the steps.

He was exhausted.

As much as he just wanted to crawl into bed beside his wife he just couldn't bring himself to, his velvet felt crushed and matted, sticky even. The demon stripped off his overcoat and gingerly hung it up, glancing over at the dozing blonde. His grin softened at how peaceful she looked, shaking his head he grabbed his robe off of its place on the back of the door and slipped into the bathroom.

The room smelled of apples and sugar, Charlie must have had a bath before bed. Alastor reached into the shower to heat up the water while he flitted about gathering a change of clothes and a towel. Soft music filled the ambient static that surrounded him and he gently hummed along.

Al put his clothes from the day in the wicker hamper and stepped into the shower, a groan almost leaving his lips at the soothing heat. He just stood for a moment, soaking it in before he began the usual routine.

His claws scraped along his scalp as he worked shampoo through his hair, the smell of cinnamon cleaning away the scent of iron. His ears twitched away from the spray of water and he huffed as the suds ran down his face. Al hummed along to the happy tune that weaved through the air while he combed conditioner through the red strands.

Alastor grasped the scrub brush, happily working the bristles through his velvet, relishing in the feeling of fluffing it back up. He reached over for the bottle of body wash and chuckled lightly, Charlie was so excited when she brought it home, she felt the light berry scent suited him. Al squeezed some of the soap onto the scrubber and continued on.


Alastor flinched away from the water when it seemed to go cold much faster than usual, his nose crinkling up. Maybe one of the kids used up most of the hot water? He stepped out of the shower flicking out his tail and shaking out his hair before grasping his towel. He tossed the fabric around his shoulders, head cocking when it slipped right off his skin. A draft blew past him and his whole body shuddered.
Oh no.

He quickly ran his hands over his arms and shoulders, only feeling his scars.

Oh that’s not right.

Why was his skin so smooth? Alastor scrambled to grab the body wash bottle, tearing it open and smelling the contents. Why hadn’t he picked up the smell of chemicals and cocoa? An underlying acrid smell hung in the air under the apple, cinnamon, and berries.

It smelled like burning hair.

He already knew the culprit.

Oohhh he had it coming.

The buck slipped into his silk pajamas, his previous exhaustion forgotten as he stalked to the other wing of the estate, bottle in hand. He was surely scratching up the floors with the angry screeching that came from his hooves against the polished surface.

“Franklin Thomas!” he slammed open the door, it rebounding off the wall. Frankie’s dark eyes left his screen, he’d been streaming late tonight.

“Hold on guys,” he paused his game and winked to the camera. “Sup, dad?” his eyes landed on the bottle, his grin growing “Have a nice shower?” He chuckled when Alastor’s eye twitched, the shoulder of his shirt slipping down slightly when he shivered.

The chat went wild when they caught a glimpse of Al

[Demoness69: Is that Daddy Deerest?]
[Petrock_xX: what did you do Frankie]
[Daddyfan03: let us seeeeeee]

It flew by, but those were a few that caught his eye

“Of all the low-down rotten things to pull.” Al’s voice crackled, the electric energy he gave of causing Frank’s equipment to go fuzzy for a moment

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about dad,”

“YOu know EXACTLY what I’m on about!”

“Ah, don’t throw an /ing-bing/.” Franklin teased, immediately falling back out of his chair when the bottle -that he had tainted with hair removal cream- cracked against his face at a high speed. “What the actual fuck, dad?”

“Don’t throw an ing-bing, Frankie.” The elder wendigo seethed, satisfied for now, his tiredness from the day creeping back in on him. Alastor pivoted and walked out of the room, the gentle clicking of his steps fading down the hall while Franklin hauled himself up and readjusted his glasses with a pout as the chat laughed at him.

Al gently closed the door to the room he and Charlie shared and slowly climbed into bed beside her, tugging the blanket close as he shivered again. Throughout the night his violent shuddering had awoken the elder demon causing her to turn over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Alastor, sweetheart? Are you alright?” she slurred quietly, concern evident in her voice.

“Yes d-dear, just fre-e-zing.”

She scrunched her nose, he was never cold. Charlie slid her hands under the hem of his shirt and up his back, almost flinching away from the alien feeling of smooth skin that met her fingers. She frowned when he shuddered again and wrapped her arms around him, splaying her fingers over his chest. “What happened?

“Your son.”

Chapter Text

Reconcile - Part 3 of Separation


    She felt it drip from her fingers and her eyes snapped up, sniffing the air and getting a feel of her surroundings. Her maw dribbled saliva and she sliced through the body at her feet. The heart, now not beating, was soon in her hands and then lifted to her mouth.

    Margret had been unable to withhold her Wendigo any longer; she had been starving and the fact that there were demons nearby that she could shred apart. It hadn’t been easy; when one demon came to feed her, her lengthened arm broke through the slot in the door and gripped the demon’s foot, pulling him to her and violently ripping his foot away from his body.

    He’d screamed and she had reveled in the sound, arm digging through the slot and twisting him around so that she could grab at his face. Maggie had clawed it off as the delicious sounds of pain washed over her, her fingers easily tearing through the demon’s chest and yanking the still beating heart from its resting place.

    The strength that coursed through her gave her enough willpower to beat at the iron door enough to dent the hinges and she pried it away from the wall, tossing the metal onto the ground behind her. The light drifted in from the hallway and blinded her for a moment and Maggie turned around to look at the place she had been imprisoned in for so long. 

    A bucket and a mattress on the floor were all she had; excess claw marks and stains littered the walls and floors. No stimulation. No entertainment.

    She was so b o r e d.

    Margret growled as she found herself in the midst of a fight with two other demons. She was able to easily take them down; her mouth filled quickly with the meat from the bodies. She felt energized and when she heard a movement coming from the end of the hallway, Maggie snapped up to look at who it was.

    Her heart stopped and she let go of the body, squinting. The Wendigo anger cooled and she reached up, rubbing her eyes. She smeared blood across her face at that moment and perhaps she didn’t quite help her eyesight. Her tongue, having a mind of its own, peeked out between her lips and licked off whatever blood it could reach, swallowing the liquid in greedy gulps.

    “I’m sure you’re very hungry, darling.” His voice interrupted her thoughts and she felt her fingers begin to shake, “Come now, we’ll get you something to eat.”

    There were two blonds that appeared behind Alastor and she felt her throat tighten uncomfortably. Franklin peered around Alastor’s shoulder at her and she felt her antlers start to shrink back down to their normal size.

    “Maggie,” Franklin’s voice was soft, a whisper. It reminded her of when he was a child. She felt the monster in her start to dull as it grasped onto whatever humanity she had left.

    She collapsed to the ground among the puddles of blood and felt it seep between her fingers, her tears falling to cause ripples in the liquid, “Daddy.” her voice was breathless as she felt a sob rise and fall, her mind furiously trying to latch onto her sanity. She felt so far gone that it was so difficult; it felt like an uphill battle.

    Wet footsteps came toward her and the monster in her snapped; protective.

    “Shush, darling, it’s only me.” Alastor’s static was warm as it prickled on her skin, bringing her back to reality again, “Come now.”

    “Daddy.” She reached up for him, her fingers littered with red, dripping down the pale, ashen skin of her arm, “You’re real?”

    “As real as I can be.” His grin was familiar and she furrowed her eyebrows, puzzled.

    What if he was some sick imagination of her sanity-deprived mind?

    When his hand reached out and cupped her jaw, she melted into him. If he was able to touch her and she could feel the heat of his hand against her skin, then he had to be real. She tilted her face into his hand and nuzzled against him, her hand reaching up and holding onto the sleeve of his jacket. 

    She broke then, whimpering as she pulled on his sleeve so he collapsed next to her. Alastor wrapped an arm around his eldest and pulled her to him, her fingers gripping and moving along his arms and his face; feeling contact for the first time a century. Her mind was a senseless daze, mouth blubbering things that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

    A flash of blond moved on her other side and she snapped her gaze to look over, her teeth bared. Franklin stared down at her as he lowered himself to crouch next to her, his hand frozen in midair. When she realized that it was just him, the fear disappeared from her eyes and he let his hand rest on the space between her shoulder blades, comforting her.

    Alastor’s hand reached for her hair and he began to toy with the oily strands, twirling them around his finger as she found purchase on his jacket and held him close to her. Margret felt Franklin’s hand start to rub circles onto her skin. Her shirt had become worn and torn at some point during the past century and there was barely anything holding it together. Threads were the only thing she could occupy her time with; she picked apart the clothing that she had worn the moment she had been locked into captivity.

    “I’m sorry.” Another voice drifted through the hallway and she opened her eyes a crack so she could see who it was. Lucifer stood there, his fingers gripping his staff so tightly that his knuckles were white. His mouth, usually set in some kind of grin, had softened into a small frown and he repeated himself, “I’m sorry.”

    Maggie felt her lips part and she shook her head minutely, “You’re not.” She rasped, squeezing Alastor closer to her so that she could drink in the familiar smell of him, “You’re not.”

    Lucifer couldn’t find the words to say as he watched his eldest grandchild, a Princess of Hell, collapse into her father’s arms. Her eyes shut as she soaked in the physical contact that she had been so deprived of for years. It painted a sick picture; all three of them, smeared in blood. Two children and their father, reuniting after a century apart. Some unknown emotion twisted in his stomach and Lucifer had to turn away, for fear of becoming sick at the sight.

    Margret’s head drooped on Alastor’s shoulder as he moved his arms so that he was able to cradle his child. He stood, keeping her close as Franklin moved his hand down to intertwine their hands together. Franklin felt a sense of relief at seeing his oldest sister that he was sure he would have never felt before; a newfound appreciation for her that he didn’t hold before this whole ordeal. 

    Her breathing, slowly but surely, evened out until she was asleep against him and Alastor peered down at his daughter, grin soft. His chest warmed as Lucifer explained to them that they would be going to the house that Beatrice was locked in; Al could even see the spring in his son’s step at the idea of seeing Beatrice.

    When they arrived, it was short work for Lucifer to tell the other demons to back off and allow them to go to the bedroom that Alastor’s middle child was in. Franklin peered around the house, nose slightly crinkled at the sight.

    His eldest sister had been locked away from humanity inside a small cage, he had been forced to fight for his life every single day - Bea was given a room in a nice house? Where was her punishment? His fingers unknowingly squeezed Margret’s and he felt her hand tighten around his.

    Bea tapped the pen on the journal as she stared out the window. She hadn’t been fed again; this was a common occurrence as of late. Her stomach roared angrily and she reached down, patting it lightly as she let her fingers swirl the pen into a shape on the paper. When she heard the door open, her ears flickered and she turned around in the chair, her pen dropping from her fingers.

    Anger surged in her and she ran forward, leaping at the blond man that had opened the door. He held up his arm and shoved her away from him before she could reach him, her claws just scraping his white jacket.

    “You did this!” She focused on him; there was no thought in her mind that any other member of her family was nearby, “You -” Beatrice crouched and leapt forward again, her horns starting to grow and a single radio dial formed in one eye. Her voice was hysterical, “You monster!”   

    Her claws ripped through his arm like butter and Lucifer hissed at the sharp pain, staring at his granddaughter as she gripped him tightly.

    “Let go of me.”

    “No!” Bea snarled, shaking him, “What is wrong with -”


    She stopped, her fingers relaxing on the hold she had on Lucifer, who stood there and watched as her face contorted into something that was akin to relief. The redheaded girl turned and her mouth flew open as she realized that her father and her siblings were there - Alastor still had a tight grip on a half-asleep Margret.

    “Daddy.” She breathed, letting go of her grandfather completely as she stepped toward them, “Frankie - Maggie -”

    Franklin’s grin widened as he raised a single hand in a wave, “Hiya, Beanie.” Beatrice’s face spread into a large grin and she felt her horns diminish, stepping forward and grabbing onto Franklin’s shoulders. She looked up at him, squinting at his face. He looked quizzical, “What?”

    “You have a scar here.” She ran her thumb from his eye socket down to his jawline, “And here,” She moved over to where there was a scar on his temple, “And here.” Bea’s mind grew frantic as she pushed him away from her a few inches so she could look him over. He had no shirt on; he’d removed it at one point during his century of punishment when it had gotten so torn that it was useless. Scars littered his entire body and she felt the anger start to burn in her again, “Who did this?”

    “Who didn’t?” He grinned down at her, reaching up and touching her nose with his finger, “At least you look healthy.”

    “I haven’t eaten in a few days, but I’m doing alright.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, Franklin reciprocating, “Take Maggie from Daddy, please, I need to -”

    He chuckled against her and she reveled in the feel of her brother there with her. He let go of her and moved to Alastor, slowly taking his oldest sister from him. Margret’s eyes snapped open and she peered up at Franklin, realizing that it was just him and she relaxed, leaning her head onto his chest.

    Beatrice grinned widely as Alastor opened his arms for her and she burrowed into him, laughing when the static that surrounded him enveloped her.

    “There you are, darling.” Alastor’s voice bathed over her, “My honeybee.”

    Her grin widened as she felt tears start to prickle at her eyes and she sniffled, looking up at him, “You’re here!”

    “I’m here.” He was elated, his filter covered with flecks of crackling.

    Bea felt the tears swim down her face as her chest expanded with relief. Her ears were pressed to the back of her head and she leaned forward, rubbing her cheek against his jacket to try and wipe her own tears away.

    “Still messy, even after all these years.” He joked, eyes shining as he looked at her.

    “You betcha. Gotta wipe them off somewhere.” She winked at him, letting go of his jacket and reaching for his hand, holding it tightly, “Can we go see mama? Are we free?”

    Lucifer wiped the blood from his fingers and flicked it to the ground. He knew he deserved what he got, “Yes.”

    Bea turned to him and felt her lips curl up in a snarl, “I don’t recall asking you.”

    His eyes flashed, “I did you a favor by putting you here. Do not speak to me like that.”

    “A favor?” Bea’s voice tilted to a slightly hysterical tone, “A favor by locking me away for years with nothing more than a pen and some paper?”

    “I let Vox be in charge of your punishment! I did you a favor by letting him do so!” Lucifer felt his hackles rise, his horns twisting just slightly under his hat, “Be grateful!”

    “. . . What about me?”  Margret spoke softly from where she was in Franklin’s arms. Her fingers were tightly gripped onto his arm as she sought physical contact, “Why did you do her a favor?”

    Lucifer blinked harshly, “I gave Valentino the responsibility of yours. I told him to be easy on you.”

    “Valentino?” Margret’s face twisted up, “He hates me. Why would you do that to me? He’s hated me for centuries. Did you not know that?”
    Lucifer’s face paled just the slightest bit.

    “Why was I condemned to fight for my life everyday? Who did you order to affix my punishment?” Franklin’s voice was low, his eyes squinting.

    “I carried your punishment out.” Lucifer’s voice was quiet, turning his gaze to the ground, “I knew you would have to fight to gain your freedom. I was protecting you. I strengthened you.”   

    “Strengthened me?” Franklin laughed, mirth visible, “You ruined me. Do you not see my skin? I’m scarred for life.” He peered down at the array of scars; some of them matched those he knew his father had, “I suppose I do look kind of good covered in scars. That’ll get all the guys lookin’ at me.”

    Bea’s bewildered gaze flew back and forth from Lucifer and her siblings. She shook her head frantically, “I was coddled! Look at her! Look at him!”

    “I was kept in complete isolation for a century,” Margret spat out, her voice filled with defeat, “No lights, barely any food, no stimulation. And what? She was given the world? He was given food, light and had to fight for his life?”

    “I was in a similar situation to the three of you.” Alastor spoke and his three children turned to him, all going silent, “There were days where I was forcefully launched into a field of violent demons. There were days where I was stripped of my senses. There were days where I was able to just sit in a library and read. There were days I was tortured.” Alastor’s eyes glowed just a bit brighter and Bea could see the beginnings of radio dials in his eyes. She squeezed his hand to bring him back to reality and he blinked harshly, his free hand coming up to adjust his monocle, “There were many days that I thought of the three of you and was unable to do anything about it. There were days I thought of your mother,” Alastor felt his throat squeeze uncomfortably, “And wondered why, in all of Heaven, they decided to take a sinner who was in no means wanting to be redeemed.”

    Bea looked thoughtful for a moment, “There had to be some issue on that side, too. There can’t have just been a miscommunication within Hell. What sort of angel takes a sinner that is still actively murdering and enjoys doing so? What sort of angel pulls this sort of stunt?”   

    Lucifer looked as if something struck a chord within him and he rubbed his forehead, “I don’t know.”

    Alastor shook his head lightly and turned to Franklin. The father and son had mirrored smiles, both tainted with the knowledge of things that they wished they did not have, “Let’s go home.”

    Franklin’s grin morphed into something softer, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “Yeah!”

Chapter Text


    They’re never coming back.






    Shaky breaths rippled through her mouth as she stared at her hands in front of her. They hadn’t moved in a while; her barely-there mind not quite grasping the reality she was living in. Charlie knew that at one point, she had been chopping some vegetables for dinner. Those same vegetables lay in front of her, forgotten, the knife pressed tightly in her hand as she stared blankly at the red tiles that spanned the wall of her kitchen.

    The moment her stomach gave a nudge toward her hunger, she focused hard on the movement of slicing. The potatoes were slightly pink from being exposed to the air for so long and her hands shuddered as she scooped them up and dropped them into the bowl of water that she had prepared. 

    Charlie then forgot what she was doing again, her mind twisting and whispering things that she couldn’t quite grasp. She felt a million miles away as her chest caved in and she felt as though the room was pressing down onto her. Rapid thoughts swirled around her and she ducked her arms over her head, squeezing down as her breathing increased in pace. Her heart pounded in her head as the tears squeezed out of her eyes and she let out a shaking sob.

    Her legs gave out and she slid down to the floor, leaning back against the counter. Charlie’s head tipped back and she rocked her head back against the cabinet, a soft ‘thud’ occurring each time she made contact with the wood. 

    She felt heat envelope her and replace the bitter cold she had been surrounded with up until that moment. Charlie heaved a breath, her lungs tightening. Her fingers clumsily pulled at her jacket and she tossed it to the floor, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin as she met the cool air of the kitchen.

    Her millionth anxiety attack - she wasn’t really able to keep count at this point. At first, she’d tried her best to keep track of them all but soon, one bled into another so rapidly that she was unsure if it was just one or several in a row. Her throat tightened and Charlie let out a sputter, her hands curling into her hair and pulling on the strands tightly to bring some semblance of grounding. She couldn’t feel her arms at that point and her legs had a prickling feeling; like she had been sitting on them for too long and they’d fallen asleep.

    A cross between a scream and a sob echoed from her throat and in that moment, Charlie felt so /alone/. There was no one there to help her, no one there to soothe her and pull her away from the pain and suffering. Her anxiety seemed to last for hours - it was only a few minutes.

    “I’m not d-dying,” She began to whisper to herself, rocking herself back and forth as she continued to gently tug at her own hair to bring her back from her own mind, “I’m not d-ying, I'm not, I'm not."

    The silence of the house pressed on her and her breathing sharply increased in pace once more, a ringing igniting in her ears. There was no escape as the thoughts of her being alone /forever/ swirled around in her head and stamped themselves into her beliefs. For a moment, Charlie felt as though she was looking at herself from the outside and in that moment, there was nothing that could save her. It left her ruined on the kitchen floor, tears staining her reddened cheeks and the echo of breath rapidly escaping her lungs.







    "One,” She whispered, exhaling as she counted to four in her mind before holding her breath for four seconds. Her body shook as she pulled in another breath, counting back from four until she reached zero, to which she let go of the breath again. Just as she felt she was drifting back toward Hell, her throat constricted once more and she began to hyperventilate. Charlie coughed, vision spotting with black as her lungs were unable to grab onto the air she needed. 

             Again and again, she fought with herself to lessen the pain. Each time she would snap back into reality and just manage to grasp onto some semblance of control, she spiralled down into the darkness once more. 

             After a while, the shaking slowly came to a stop and she felt the squeezing of her lungs and heart lessen. The pain that came with her anxiety started to diminish and she opened her eyes, the tears making it difficult to pry them open. 

    The light from the kitchen made her pupils constrict and she shut her eyelids again, continuously murmuring to herself that she wasn't dying; she'd be okay. Silence pressed in on her and her body gave one mighty shudder before she let go of her hair and put her hands on the ground. Charlie pushed herself upward and gripped the counter as her mind focused on the task at hand once more.

    Charlie’s hands shook as she picked up the knife again and she blinked back tears as she continued to cut the potatoes. She had to eat. At least to keep herself fueled for the day that they might return. 

    The frying oil was hot when it splashed onto her skin from when she dropped the potatoes in, though she didn’t feel the little blisters form. Charlie’s eyes glazed over as she stared down at the bubbing yellow liquid, her hand still just a few inches away from it. There occasional splatters that rose up and hit her and at one point, she finally flinched and drew her hand away. 

    A soft chime came from the hallway and she turned slowly, wondering for a moment what it was. It chimed again and she realized it was the doorbell, so Charlie turned the heat down on the stove and left the kitchen, making her way to the front door.

    Everything in her cried out that she didn’t want visitors; she wanted to be left alone in her own home to do whatever she pleased. She had been consistently having people knocking on her door for the past few days and she had just ignored it; remaining locked in her bedroom and curled up within the blankets.

    She assumed that whoever was at the door had seen the lights on in the kitchen and seen her moving around; there was no hiding from that at that point. Charlie’s hand shook as she reached out and turned the deadbolt and then the lock that was on the handle itself, mind racing with crushing thoughts. 

    Standing outside the door stood Vaggie, a soft frown on her face. Charlie felt her heart stutter as she looked at her best friend, blinking away the tears that she knew had started to form.

    “So you’re alive, huh?” Vaggie asked, not moving from where she was standing.

    “Barely.” Charlie whispered, feeling her lips crackle a little bit, “Barely.”

    “It’s been a century, Charlie.” Vaggie shrugged a shoulder, “Can we at least talk about it?”

    Charlie struggled to speak, her throat constricting, “I don’t think so.”

    Vaggie took a step closer and Charlie took a step backward, arm crossing across her body to protect herself. Vaggie looked almost insulted for a moment, shaking her head, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

    Charlie’s eyes widened, “Yeah. I know.” 

    “Do you?”

    Charlie took another step backward and felt her fist tighten, nails digging into her palm, “I know.”

    Vaggie sighed and turned her head over her shoulder, looking at the car that she had driven over, “Angel’s in the car. Niffty, too. We want to help.”

    Charlie’s mind whirled and she felt her insides turn cold at the thought of so many people near her. She knew they were her friends, she consciously was aware that they weren’t going to do anything to her, though her mind still fought against the idea.

    “Okay.” She mouthed before she realized what she was doing and immediately regretted it when Vaggie nodded toward the car. Her jaw clenched when she saw Angel and Niffty step out of the car, the two of them chatting amicably.

    How could they be acting so casually when the entire world was crashing down upon her? 

    Charlie felt her other arm wrap tightly around her stomach and she felt her heart stutter as Angel and Niffty came closer to the house. Vaggie reached out and placed a tentative hand on Charlie’s shoulder; the blonde twitched at the feeling.

    “We just want to help clean up the house.” Vaggie said softly, her eyebrows knitted together, “Well, Niffty does. Angel just wants to be around.”

    Angel’s face was bright as he noticed Charlie, though he very quickly calmed down when he noticed the wide eyes and the tear stains on the blonde’s face, “Heya, dollface.” He stepped into the foyer with Niffty, peering down at her, “Dont’cha look worse for wear.”

    “Thanks.” Charlie found herself saying, blinking furiously to try and focus her vision on the three of her friends. Were they still her friends? Her mind couldn’t think of the last time she talked to them, “Um, how are you guys?”

    “Great!” Niffty grinned from where she was standing by Angel.

    Angel shrugged. He could feel the heaviness in the air; it made his insides recoil just a little, “Alright. We came on over to help you out! After all you’ve done for us!”

    Charlie sniffed, rubbing her cheeks, “I haven’t done much in a long time.”

    “You helped us out for centuries, Charlie.” Vaggie squeezed her shoulder, still holding onto her best friend, “I think it’s our turn to return the favor.”


    Charlie felt like she was watching from above herself as her friends and she cleaned up the house. It was still in disarray from the attack so long ago; Charlie couldn’t find it in her to clean anything since the event since it was the last major thing that she had left of them.

    They started in the kitchen. Angel helped her finish up the potatoes that she had been frying and they made enough for everyone to eat before they got down to business. Angel didn’t really help clean too much; he claimed that getting chemicals into his fur just wasn’t something he was too into. He did pick up some of the heavier items and lifted Niffty up to the higher shelves once they came to it so that the cyclops demon would be able to dust them. 

    There were occasions when Charlie had to duck into a bathroom and wheeze to herself for a while before she was able to recompose herself and head back out into the midst.

    Once they reached the children’s wing, her footsteps froze on the stairs and her hand that was gripping the railing turned white.

    “No, I can’t.” She managed out, her heart racing in her ears, “No, don’t, don’t.”
    “We just want to - “ Vaggie started, reaching over toward Charlie.

    The blonde flinched and ducked away from the touch, stepping backward, “No, please don’t touch those rooms. That’s all I have left.” She wheezed out, eyes shutting tightly as she felt the room start to warp around her.

    She had cleaned the blood out of the carpet before it could stain the material; she’d spent weeks scrubbing it so that the carpet in each of the bedrooms were clean. The floorboards in the hallway were a hint more cherry colored than they had been before, but no amount of scrubbing on her part had fixed that. Her daughter’s bedrooms were still torn apart and there wasn’t anything in her that was able to go inside.

    Franklin’s room was where she had spent most of her time. She knew that his computer parts would go bad if they were left alone for too long, so there had been times that she’d forced herself to sit at his desk and make sure everything was running well.

    When it finally broke, after a few years, she didn’t know how to fix it. Alastor and Franklin were the technology focused ones and she couldn’t even tell one cable from another. Charlie had left it since then, knowing that if she tried to bother with it, she’d probably break it more.

    “Please, Charlie. What if they come back? Wouldn’t you want their rooms to be clean?” Vaggie crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

    Charlie felt her chest contract and her mind buzzed over at the thought. What if they did come back? She would be terrible for leaving the mess the way it was. 

    “C’mon then!” Angel was standing behind Charlie and he put a hand on her shoulder, “It’ll be a quick thing. We toss out the bad stuff, get some new stuff. Simple.”

    “Simple.” Charlie repeated, shaking her head slightly to try and clear her head, “Okay.”

    Niffty bobbed past the three of them and opened the first door in the hallway. Charlie felt her breath be stolen at the sight. It was Margret’s room.

    With a sudden surge of energy that she hadn’t felt in half a century, Charlie sped forward and threw herself into cleaning her eldest’s room. Maggie wouldn’t want the room to be a mess. Everything was supposed to be in a certain spot and Charlie knew where it was supposed to go.

    “No, the shirts go on the left,” She spoke up once Angel had started hanging clothes back up, “The long sleeves against the wall, then short sleeves, then skirts, then dresses. Pants go in the dresser.”

    Angel grinned at her, nodding, “Thanks.”

    Charlie felt her lips tug upward slightly and she nodded back. Her heart was thudding along in a relaxed manner and she worked to the sound of it, hearing her friends chatting to each other as they cleaned the room and set it up to Margret’s standards.   

As she stepped back and overlooked how the room looked, she had to say she was somewhat pleased. It looked warm and inviting; Angel had lit one of Maggie’s candles while they worked so that the room smelled of a hint of something fresh. For the first time in a century, she felt more like herself.

It was with vigor that she tackled Bea’s room. Since she had the feeling this was where both of her youngest two were taken, it was hard on her heart. She focused on the fact of if they were to return, Bea would be elated to have her room in order. Angel helped her organize the clothes and he commented on a lot of them.

“She certainly doesn’t dress like you or him.” Angel held up one of Bea’s skimpier dresses and Charlie rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know where she gets it.” Her tone was playful and it surprised her, “Maggie and Frankie dress normally.”

“I bet Smiles isn’t a huge fan.” Angel grinned and hung up the dress, making sure it was in the order that Charlie had dictated.

Charlie shook her head, wiping her brow, “He isn’t.”

Though her responses were short, the blonde felt like her heart was mending just a little more. Her stomach was full and her spirit was up, even if it was just for the moment.

Later that night, when she’d lay in bed, the shivers and nausea would return at full force and she’d wish for more moments like the day she had.






Chapter Text

    Charlie hummed quietly to herself as she walked through the estate. She was carrying a stack of books that she had found abandoned in a corner of one of the parlors; she knew it needed to go back into the library. She’d spent the past week or so cleaning it out and dusting each book - there was a lot. Alastor was an avid collector of many kinds of novels. 

    As she was making her way up the stairs that would lead up to the library, the doorbell rang off. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but Vaggie and Angel had a habit through the past week to just show up whenever they wanted to and Charlie wasn’t complaining. It was refreshing to be around other demons again; the isolation hadn’t been good for her and she had slowly come to realize that.

    Charlie set the books down on a step and made her way to the front door, rubbing her eyes once before gripping the handle and then turning it. 

    “Sorry it took me a minute, I was carrying books -” Charlie blinked her eyes clear and then stopped, her heart racing up through her throat.


    Charlie slammed the door shut, blinking madly and reaching up to rub her eyes again before opening it once more.

    “-lo! My, wasn’t that familiar?”

    Alastor stood there, an easy grin on his face as he peered down at Charlie. She felt her chest collapse and within a second, she reached forward and gripped his shoulders, pulling him to her. He didn’t fight it; Alastor stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face into his chest. He smelled faintly of cinnamon and cloves; a smell she had forgotten and loved. 

    Alastor rubbed his cheek along the top of her head and reveled in the feel of her. Her solid warmth against him and her fingers mindlessly gripping and letting go of his jacket. 

    Another set of arms wrapped around her from the side and Charlie turned her head to come face to face with Beatrice. Charlie’s middle child had a small smile on her face and her eyes shone with tears. The blonde let go of Alastor with one arm and wrapped it around Bea, her daughter snuggling her face into Charlie’s shoulder. After another second, another two sets of arms wrapped around them and Charlie was enclosed in the arms of her family.

    “Hi mama.” Franklin’s voice was near her ear and she could /feel/ the joy radiating off him. 

    Charlie let go of Alastor, pulling away enough that she was able to turn around to hold her son. Within a second of actually seeing him up close, she felt some sort of feeling curl in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

    “Franklin.” She was breathless, cupping his cheeks in her hands as she looked over his marred skin, “What happened to you?”

    Frankie shrugged, reaching up and pressing his hands to hers, “Don’t worry about it, mama.”

    “Granddad had him in an arena.” Margret said quietly, her hand holding tightly onto Bea’s, “He fought everyday for the past century.”

    Charlie’s eyes flashed red for a moment and she turned to look at her eldest, “What?”

    Margret cleared her throat. She still wasn’t completely used to speaking quite yet, “He fought demons everyday. He had to fight Dad and Granddad, too, just yesterday.”

    Charlie felt bubbling anger coil in her as she traced a rather long scar on the side of her son’s face, “My father did this?”

    “Don’t worry about it, mama.” Franklin shook his head, squeezing her fingers.

    Charlie turned then and realized that Lucifer was standing at the end of the pathway that led up to the estate. She dropped her hands from Franklin’s face and turned away from him, her eyes turning a violent shade of red.   

    “You did this to my son?” Charlie’s eyes wildly turned to Margret. Maggie stared back, shaking slightly. While Charlie knew that her children were going to be perpetually lanky and thin, her eldest was unhealthily pale and almost emaciated looking, “What did you do to her?”

    Lucifer shifted, his eyes showing his discomfort. He refused to speak.

    “I was in a cell.” Maggie murmured, squeezing Bea. Bea leaned over closer so that her sister could lean on her, “I was starved.”

    Charlie’s reaction was immediate and it was so quick that Alastor was unable to reach out and grab onto her. She flew forward, her horns erupting from her head as she ran toward her father.

    “How dare you!” Charlie’s voice shook as she grabbed onto Lucifer’s shoulders. He let her, “How dare you take them from me! How dare you starve them! Look at the state of Franklin!”

    “There was a reason, Charlotte. Let go of me.” Lucifer seethed, glaring down at his daughter. 

    She snarled at him, baring her teeth as she pushed him backward, “Get off my property! Go away! Don’t ever come back!”

    Lucifer stepped forward, pushing her backward just the slightest bit, “You don’t understand it.”

    “I don’t care! I don’t want to hear it.” Charlie had tears streaming down her cheeks and she couldn’t tell if they were due to her rage or due to how upset she was, “I swear if you don’t leave now, I’ll -”

    “You’ll what? Fight me?” Lucifer laughed coldly, shaking his head, “Give me matching scars like your son did?” He tipped his head back, showing the blotted red scars from where Franklin had dug his fingers into his throat, “I’ve realized what I did!”

    Charlie looked at the scarring and then quickly glanced back at Franklin. Her son looked murderous; glaring at Lucifer. The grin on his face matched the one that Alastor usually wore whenever Charlie saw him done with a rampage. She turned back to her father and hesitated just a second before bracing herself, shoving him backward as hard as she could. He stumbled back a bit and she clenched her fists, her claws digging into her skin.

    “Get. Away. From. Me.” Charlie shook as she spoke, eyes wide, “I want to be with my family.”

    The words struck a chord in Lucifer, “So that’s it?”

    “Yes.” Charlie’s words were firm, “Doesn’t it suck to be thrown away? I wonder what that feels like.” She turned on her heel then, her horns shrinking and her eyes reverting back to their regular yellowed color, “I want you to leave.”

     Lucifer watched her walk back up the path to her family, her fingers easily slipping in between Alastor’s and Franklin’s. The five of them walked into the home and Charlie turned to close the door, locking eyes with Lucifer as she slammed it.

    “Mama.” Margret said quietly once they were in the foyer.

    Charlie felt her insides crumble and she moved toward her eldest, wrapping her arms around Maggie. The taller of the two let out a soft sob, burying her face into her mother’s shoulder and making sure that there was as much contact between the two as she could get. She was still so touch-starved; she couldn’t bear being away from anyone.

    Alastor came up behind Margret and pet her hair down and she shuddered at the contact, leaning up into it. He raised his other hand to hold Charlie’s hand, the two of them looking at each other as Margret bawled into Charlie’s shoulder.

    Bea nudged Franklin, the two’s shoulder’s touching, “I’ve never seen her so mad.”

    “He deserved it.” Franklin said cooly, raising an eyebrow, “He’s an asshole. If he ever thought that mama and him could have a relationship, that’s gone now.”

    “That might be the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Bea teased, looking over at him.

    Frankie rolled his eyes, “Shut up.”

    “Explain to me what happened.” Charlie spoke after a few minutes, holding tightly onto Margret’s hands, “Please.”

    “Can we sit down?” Maggie asked, holding back a yawn. She wasn’t used to so much walking or moving in general after laying on a floor for so long, “I’m not used to this.”

    “Of course, darling.” Alastor spoke, his grin soft as he looked at his oldest, “Would you like to eat?”

    Margret’s eyes flashed, licking her lips subconsciously, “Yes.”

    “I’ll get it.” Bea stepped forward.

    “Okay.” Charlie took a deep breath, looking over her family, “Take the next hour or so and clean up. Not to be rude, but you all look terrible.”

    “Hey!” Franklin puffed out his chest, pursing his lips, “I look great!”

    “No, you do not.” Alastor shook his head, “Go upstairs and clean up.”

    Frankie rolled his eyes again and walked over to Charlie, wrapping his arms around her once more before letting go, giving her a massive grin and making his way upstairs. Bea followed, smiling at Charlie.

    Charlie took a moment to realize that the static that perpetually followed her husband was pricking her skin and she sighed in contentment, the sound of Franklin’s soft white noise filling her head in a way that she had come to realize she needed around her to help keep her calm. 

    “Can you help me, mama?” Margret forced out, closing her eyes, “Clean up, I mean.” Her face was red in shame, teeth biting at her lip.

    “Of course, sweetheart.” Charlie threaded an arm around Maggie’s waist, helping to keep her upright.

    Alastor watched as his mate helped their daughter up the stairs and turned to a mirror that had always been in the foyer. He looked over himself, realizing just how much he needed a shower. He wasn’t sure when the last one he had even was. He toed off his shoes and propped them on a mat that Charlie had instructed was for shoes so long ago, noting how none of his children even had shoes to put on the mat. He felt the anger bubble in him and Alastor tightened his grin, heading upstairs to wash up before what was sure to be a very stressful evening.


    It felt like hours later before the entire of Alastor’s family were safely tucked in the living room. Margret was curled up against Charlie, dressed in a warm sweater and a pair of sweatpants. Alastor was on Charlie’s other side, in a loose dress shirt and a pair of slacks while the three of them shared a blanket. Beatrice and Franklin sat on the floor, Franklin leaning back on Charlie while Bea leaned on Alastor.

    Charlie had a hand card through Franklin’s hair, smoothing the ruffled up hair around his ears, “Okay.”

    “Okay.” He looked up at her, grinning wide, “Hi, mama.”

    “Hey, Frankie.” Charlie moved her hand from his hair to brush against one of his scars, “Talk to me.”

    He hummed, moving his head away from her so that she wouldn’t touch him further. Though he was generally okay with her touching him, he still wasn’t quite used to a kind touch, “Dad knows it better.”

    Charlie turned to Alastor, who was gently carding his fingers through the ends of her hair, “Al?”

    “When I had been redeemed,” He started, curling one of her locks around his finger, “And then subsequently made my way back here, the fact that Heaven had collected a sinner that was in no way ready to be redeemed seemed to have caused an issue.” 

    “Granddad had to punish him,” Bea spoke up from her position, shifting so that she was looking up at Charlie a little easier, “And not just him, but the reason why he wanted to return to Hell.”

    “My choice to slaughter angels seemed to have, ah,’ Alastor’s grin widened, “To have caused a rift. Lucifer didn’t have much of a choice, in his eyes.”

    Charlie felt her lips turn downward, “He obviously had a choice.”

    “It was either he had done this,” Margret murmured, half asleep with her feet tucked up under her, “Or worse would’ve happened.”

    “What exactly happened to you all, then?” Charlie shifted so that she could wrap an arm around Margret and lean a little more into Alastor.

    “Lucifer gave each of our punishments to another overlord.” Alastor leaned forward, resting his chin on the top of Charlie’s head, “Except for mine and Franklin’s. I was subjected to a variety of tortures.”

    Charlie felt her insides crumble slightly at the thought of Alastor being subjected to anything, “Like what?”

    His grin tightened and he turned his gaze from her, “I do wish we wouldn’t go into it.”

    She nodded slightly, leaning onto him, “Okay, yeah.’

    “I had to fight a fuck ton of demons every day.” Franklin offered, shrugging a shoulder, “Then a cage in a corner would drop down every night so I could sleep and then wake up to do it again the next day. Granddad made the punishment for me.”


    “He said that I had to be ready to fight him when the time came. I did. I won.” He preened, his grin wide and excited, “I beat him and dad.”

    “He crushed my jaw.” Alastor smirked, shaking his head, “He stabbed Lucifer straight through the throat.”

    “It worked!” Franklin shifted so that he was turned around completely, eyes sparkling, “I did so many different things when I was fighting, like -”

    “Frankie! No!” Margret reached out and shoved her hand in front of his mouth, ‘I don’t want to hear it!’

    He licked her hand so that she would move and she shrieked, wiping his spit on the blanket, “Alright, fine! But it wasn’t all bad.”

    “I was just made to stay in a room.” Bea felt her insides squirm; she knew her punishment was nowhere near fair, “Just like, solitary confinement. Vox carried out my punishment. Granddad knew that it wouldn’t be so bad.”

    “I was locked in a cell.” Margret’s voice was small and Charlie had to strain to hear her, “No windows, a cot to sleep in, a bucket to pee in. I got fed once in a while, just so that I’d survive.”

    Charlie could barely understand what she was hearing, “There can’t have just been a misunderstanding here, right? Heaven messed up. They took a sinner who wasn’t even somewhat redeemed.”

    “I have theory” Alastor said, “Though it may be unfounded.”

    “Go on.” 

    He shifted slightly so that his tail was no longer lodged between the couch cushions, enjoying the feel of being surrounded by his family, “There hasn’t quite been as much overpopulation during the century before we were separated.”

    “Yeah!” Margret sat up, her eyes faintly sparkling with pride, “Mama and I had been redeeming sinners really well! It was working. Overpopulation was down.”

    “Absolutely!” Alastor grinned at her and she glowed softly under his praise, “And so therefore, Angels weren’t given the task of such lengthy exterminations.”

    “They were real short leading up to us being taken.” Franklin pouted, “I remember when they were longer, but since Mama and Maggie were working toward it, there weren’t enough demons to kill.”

    “Angels didn’t have any demons left! You two were working so well that they had to do something about it.” As Alastor spoke it out loud, it all seemed to make more sense to him, “Angels enjoy killing demons. It’s the one time of the year that they can take out any frustrations they may have with Heaven.”

    “And without the extermination,” Bea’s eyes widened, “They had to hit the Hotel. What better way to hit the Hotel then to take away the people that run it?”

    “You’re saying they planned this?” Charlie couldn’t quite believe it; no matter how much it seemed to make sense.

    “I don’t know for sure, darling. I said that I wasn’t sure.” Al reached forward and rubbed his fingers through Bea’s hair. She leaned up onto his hand and he felt his grin soften, “They could continue to remove the scum from Hell if they weren’t being redeemed!”

    Charlie fell silent, mulling it over. After a few seconds of her thoughts rapidly swirling and her mood slowly plummeting, she reached out and wrapped her free arm around Alastor, “Whatever the reason, you guys are back here.”

    “We are.” Margret murmured, fingers gripping Charlie’s shirt, “We’re home.”

    Alastor peered over at his family. He wasn’t sure that they would be remotely healed anytime soon; Margret concerned him the most. Franklin would easily move past; it would probably take him a week to settle himself back in the gaming and streaming, but he’d be fine. Bea would probably struggle for a moment with the realization that her punishment was dished out by Vox; the simplicity of her punishment would bite at her consciousness in ways that he wouldn’t be able to understand. 

    He took a breath, reaching over and putting his hand on top of Maggie’s head, “How about we all cook some jambalaya! I’m starved, and I bet the rest of you are!”

    Margret’s head snapped up and in that moment, he witnessed her irises disappear before they returned just as quickly as they came. It unsettled him; he knew her mental state was unhinged.

    “Please.” Her throat tightened and she began to salivate at the thought of food, “Yes.”

    Alastor stood, helping Bea off the floor and twirling her around in his arms, “Let’s go then!”

    Charlie laughed and helped Margret up, Franklin on his sister’s other side and helping her to the kitchen. For the first time in a while, Charlie felt calmed; the panic had subsided as she watched her family interact.

    All was well.

    At least for now.

Chapter Text

    Her fingers worked unsteadily on the belt on the dress, the soft cotton moving subtlety against her fingers. Charlie’s cheeks were flooded just a touch darker as she looked at herself in the mirror, sucking a deep breath through her nose and then letting it go out from her mouth.

    “Why are you so nervous? It’s not like you’ve never met him before,” Vaggie said from where she was seated on Charlie’s bed, watching her best friend finish dressing herself.

    “I don’t know.” Charlie shrugged, feeling her lips curl upward slightly, “I’m glad I’ve never met him, though! That would be kind of awkward.”

    “I’d say.” Vaggie pushed herself off the bed and walked across the room, reaching out and adjusting the belt so that it wasn’t off center, “Where did you say you two were going?”

    Charlie hummed and peered down, watching as Vaggie unbuttoned a few buttons of the dress that she’d messed up, “He said we’re just going to have dinner at his estate. I don’t really expect anything else.”

    Vaggie’s eyes flashed with something akin to worry when Charlie said that she’d be essentially alone, isolated, with Alastor, for an indistinguishable amount of time, “Are you sure that’s like, good?”

    “It’s not like he’ll eat me,” Charlie said before she even realized what she was saying, and then she giggled awkwardly, “I mean, he wouldn’t!”

    “You don’t really know that, though.”

    Charlie shrugged and glanced over herself in the mirror once more. She wore a cotton pink dress with a black belt and a pair of sandals that she had hidden in her closet. It was nice, she had to admit, something she hadn’t worn in so long that she didn’t even realize she still had it, “I guess I should get going. I told him I’d be there around two.”

    Vaggie glanced at the clock; it read nearly one thirty, “It only takes ten minutes to drive to his house.”

    Charlie’s cheeks darkened, “Well, I want to be early!” She crossed her arms, making her way to the bed and swinging a little bag over her shoulder, “Thanks for helping me get ready, Vags.”

    “Yeah,” The shorter demon watched as her friend left the room and she felt her stomach turn in uncertainty, “Good luck.”


    Charlie felt her stomach quiver uncomfortably as she made her way up the path that led to Alastor’s estate. It was an impressive home; twin spiral staircases led up to the front door where massive grey columns rose from the foundation to support the second floor. She marveled at the marbled texture of the patio below her feet before coming face to face with the grand black door.

    She stood in front of the door and raised her hand before dropping it back to her side. Nerves bit at her and for a moment, Charlie thought of fleeing back down the path and getting back into the limo that was parked on the street. Before she was able to take a step backward, however, the door opened and she was met with the ever grinning face of Alastor.

    “Hello, my dear!” Alastor pulled open the door further, his grin reaching his eyes, “Come in!”

    “Thanks, Al.” Charlie smiled up at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She stepped in through the doorframe and watched as Alastor shut it behind her.

    The worries that Vaggie had been pressing upon her raged forward in her mind and for a split second, Charlie felt panic wash through her. What if he was going to eat her? The pleasant grin on his face spoke otherwise and he motioned her forward.

    “The dining room is through here,” His voice was crackling; alive. It felt as though Charlie could touch his tone, “Follow me, darling.”

    She did so, eyeing the rest of the estate as they made their way through an archway that was off to the left of the entranceway. It led to a short hallway, where her nose was suddenly surrounded by the most delicious smell that she had ever encountered. Her mouth watered slightly and she peered up at Alastor, wondering if he really was the reason for the aroma.

    Music met her ears as they entered the dining room and she came to a stop at the doorway, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. The lights were dimmed just enough that the candles that were lain around made for a subtle glow; there was an antique radio playing in the corner. The room was decorated a tad older than her taste, but it seemed to make sense considering whose home it was. On the dining table itself lay an array of platters, covered with silver tops and a few wine glasses sat in front of the seats near the end of the table.

    “I thought you could sit next to me!” Alastor’s grin was wide as he looked down at her, his eyes glittering with something that Charlie wasn’t too familiar with, “What do you think?”

    For a moment, Charlie knew that Alastor was looking for acceptance for the room. He had obviously gone all out and she loved it; the whole ambiance calmed her of any previous anxieties, “It looks really good, Al!”

    His grin softened and she found hers growing, the two staring at each other for just a few seconds. Charlie’s thoughts were nonsensical, though they were filled with warmth as she looked up into the glowing eyes of Alastor. After a moment, he blinked and she shook her head, as though she was startled, before Alastor turned on his heel and made his way toward the chairs that had placemats in front of them.

    “Here you are, darling.” He pulled her chair out for her and Charlie slid into the chair, feeling her cheeks warm as he helped her guide it forward.

    Instead of sitting at the head of the table, where she expected him to, Alastor sat down in the chair beside hers, on the other side of the end. She peered over at him in surprise, his grin easy.

    “How was the journey here? I imagine it wasn’t so difficult to find.” His voice was chipper and warm and Charlie found her smile grow wider at the sound.

    “It was pretty easy. Kind of hard to miss!” Her eyes swept over the table, the delicious smelling food hidden under silver covers, “What did you make?”

    “Ah!” Alastor reached forward, pulling the covers away from the trays and setting them further down on the table, “I made a roast! Potatoes, carrots, celery.” Charlie wasn’t the biggest fan of meat and did her best to abstain from it most of the time; she turned to him with a questioning look before she opened her mouth to speak - he cut her off before she could, “I made you a meatless lasagna. I do hope it’s to your liking!”

    Her face relaxed when he uncovered a tray of lasagna. It looked delicious; she could see how gooey the cheese was from where she was sitting, “Thanks, Al.”

    “Absolutely, darling. Would you like some?” He picked up a serving knife, motioning toward the lasagna.

    “Please.” Charlie held out her plate to him and he took it from her, their fingers touching just briefly before he pulled it from her hands. Her cheeks, which had just started to cool down, ignited red at the touch and she watched as he easily sliced through the pasta sheets and then served her a relatively normal sized portion. 

    He set it down in front of her before serving himself some of the roast. It did look delicious; she wondered how long he had taken to make two different meals. Charlie knew that Alastor was an avid fan of meat - whatever kind it might be.

    “Thank you.” She murmured, eyes catching his once more. He grinned down at her and she smiled up at him.

    “Of course.” His voice was softer, less filtered. It took her by surprise for a moment before she realized that it was nice, listening to him without the filter. If she listened hard enough to what he was saying, there almost seemed to be a Southern twang to his vocals.

    “How long did it take you to make this?” Her eyes swept over the other bowls of food. She could see a basket of bread and she automatically reached out for it, his hand beating her there. He picked up a few of the rolls and set one in her outstretched hand, placing two on his own plate.

    Alastor picked up his fork and knife, slicing himself a bite and then holding it in midair, “Most of the day, I suppose. I got halfway through the roast before I remembered you don’t like meat!”

    Charlie snickered to herself, cutting off a bite of the lasagna and placing it into her mouth. It melted there, the pasta noodles were perfectly cooked and the vegetables that he had used as filling were seasoned so well. She chewed, wide eyed, her gaze moving to look at him.

    “I take it that you like it!” He smiled wide at her, holding his own fork in midair.

    They chatted about everything that came to mind; the food to the Hotel. Charlie found herself able to talk to him a little easier as time wore on; he was still the same demon that she worked with everyday. She had to admit, however, that it was really nice to just be alone with him.

    From the subtle touches to her hand when she grabbed for another roll to the blatant moves of affection when he stroked the skin of her arm. Whenever Alastor did move to touch her in such ways, it made her skin break out in goosebumps and her cheeks ignite red. At one point, her hand reached out and mindlessly gripped his when he’d made her laugh.

    “Oh!” She felt her blush travel down her neck, “I’m sorry.”

    Alastor’s grin widened and he flipped his hand over, intertwining his fingers with hers. She stared down at their hands for a moment, a soft feeling of comfort rolling through her body.

    “That’s quite alright, Charlie.” He nodded toward her, not quite letting go of her fingers for the rest of the meal.

    When Charlie had finished, she leaned back in the chair that had somehow gotten closer to Alastor’s and watched him finish up the portion that he had dished himself. It was a lot; she was curious as to how a man as rail thin as he could eat so much.

    “You can eat all that?” She asked before she could stop herself, her mind reeling once the words escaped.

    Alastor chuckled, setting his fork down and turning himself so that he was facing her a little more, “I could possibly eat everything at this table and feel no relief.”

    “How? If you don’t mind me asking.” Charlie was genuinely curious - she had been since the first formal dinner the Hotel staff had when Alastor had nearly eaten the entirety of the food put out.

    His smile turned somewhat strained and the static crackled uncomfortably around them, “It’s due to the nature of my punishment. I’m a Wendigo, Charlie. Constant hunger is part of my daily life!”

    She took a moment to mull it over. Alastor could see the gears working in her head and he remained quiet so that she could put the pieces together in a way that made sense to her; he was certain that she was the only one he was willing to do this for.

    “I guess that makes sense.” She peered over at the table, subconsciously squeezing his fingers in hers. She had met far nastier monsters and demons throughout her lifetime; she was a few millenia older than Alastor and still remembered a time when demons far more villainous roamed the streets of Pentagram City, “Do you still want to eat? There’s lots more. I don’t mind sitting here with you.”

    His eyes lit up with something that looked like excitement and he reached toward the roast, cutting himself another rather sizeable chunk and then placing it onto his place. Charlie toyed with her dress, both hands now free and idly missed the feeling of his hand against hers. 

    Not expecting his hand to reach for hers again, when it did, she blinked at the cool feeling of his hand against hers. His palm was soft; the feel of his claws gently pressing into her skin was something that was comfortable. He ate with his left hand, something that he seemed to do rather easily.

    “Are you left-handed?” She asked, squeezing his fingers gently with her own.

    “No, though I can use both rather well.” Alastor looked over at her, his grin close lipped.

    The soft smile on his face filled her with a gentle joy, causing her stomach to give a little flip. She knew that she liked him; he had to have liked her back in order for him to invite her to his home, to hold her hand as he ate. They talked while he finished up the rest of the roast; one slice became another and Charlie didn’t find herself appalled at the amount of food that he was eating.

    As he finished up the rest of the vegetables, Charlie had propped her legs up on the chair with her and was still holding his hand tightly in hers. Her fingers deftly stroked his, running down his claws and then to the pads of his fingers, swirling designs on the skin.

    Alastor watched as she eyed his hand, tracing the patterns on his palm. For a moment, he allowed her this simple pleasantry. It wasn’t something that felt bad, necessarily, so he allowed it. 

    All at once, a thought came to him and he sat up, eyes bright, “I forgot about the dessert! Stay here, darling, I’ll be right back.”

    Charlie watched as he left, feeling oddly cold without his hand in hers. Her shoulders slumped and she pinched herself softly, making sure that she was settled in reality. Even if it wasn’t reality - well.

    It was a certain slice of Heaven to her.

Chapter Text

    Alison’s grin strained as she stared at herself in the mirror, hands flat at her sides. The bedroom was dark; the only way she was actually able to see herself was due to the soft glow that emitted from her eyes. Her ears were pressed flat against her head and she let out an irritated sigh, shifting on one foot.

    “Are you gonna come to bed?” Her mate’s voice asked from the bed, still low and somewhat groggy with sleep.

    “Maybe.” Ally blinked and turned away from the mirror, one hand moving to her back and pressing against it to relieve some of the ache that was there.

    Charlie seemed to notice, his form shifting in the bed so that he was sitting up, “Want me to rub your back?”

    Alison’s tone was bitter, “It’s not like I can lie on my stomach.”

    His smile shone in the darkness and she found herself moving toward the bed and sitting on the edge, “I’ll just sit behind you then.”

    She exhaled sharply in response, the hand that was originally on her back splayed on the bed while her otherwise free hand moved to her front and rested on the curve of her stomach. Her grin was close lipped; barely there since she found absolutely nothing that was worth smiling about at that moment. Now nearly seven months along, she was finding that her mood was much more sour than usual.

    Charlie moved and sat himself behind his wife, his inner thighs pressing against her outer ones and his chest a few inches away from her back. His hands made quick work on her back, rolling away any knots that he found. Alison’s ears slowly made their way back into an upright position, her grin gradually turning just a slight bit more upright.

    “Any better?” His voice had taken on the normal chipper tone, no longer lulled with sleep.

    Alison rolled her shoulders, pleased with the lessened ache on her spine. The static around her crackled easily and she nodded, peering over her shoulder, “Thank you, darling.”

    “Anytime.” Charlie winked at her and slid his hand up into her hair, twirling the red locks in his fingers, “What were you doing up?”

    Her eyes closed of their own accord, head turning slightly to give him better access to her scalp. She wouldn’t deny something that felt good; not when everything felt so terribly bad, “Everything aches. It’s terrible! There’s no fun in this at all.”

    Charlie moved the pads of his fingers across the base of her ears and his smile widened at the soft sound of pleasure that came from her throat, “Did you think this would be fun?”

    “No!” Her head twisted away from his hand and her neck nearly snapped as she looked back at him with her eyebrows knitted, “I’m not made to bear offspring, Charles. You did this to me.”

    He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a more apologetic grin spreading across his face, “It takes two to tango, Ally.”

    Alison’s eyes flashed a brighter red and her grin spread, her teeth bearing, “What did you say, dear?”

    “Nothing! Don’t worry about it.” He scoot backward, crawling back up to the top of the bed, “Are you tired at all?”

    “Exhausted.” Her grin lessened and she sighed, pushing herself further onto the bed and then up to where he was, “It’s been active today.”

    “The baby’s not an ‘it’, Ally.” Charlie’s smile transformed instantly into a small frown, reaching out and laying a hand on her stomach.

    She swatted him away, scooting further away so that he realized she was not in the mood for touch, “It is an it until it’s born.” Her eyes then widened, the glow burning brighter, “Born. I have to push this thing out of me.”

    “That you do.” He plopped onto the pillows, yanking the blanket back up over his shoulders and then tossing a corner over her. Alison’s hand reached out and pulled the cover over herself, before she kicked it back off, “Hot?”

    “Always.” The ambient static crackled as if it were alive, showing off her discomfort with the situation.

    “I can go get you water.”

    “You can also go to sleep.” Alison turned away from him. Lying on her side was uncomfortable at this point in her pregnancy but it was the only way that she was actually able to fall asleep. Lying on her back put too much strain on her spine.

    Being as thin as she was did not help when her center of balance was off due to the couple pounds of weight on her middle. Walking was almost becoming too difficult as she felt that she would topple over at any moment; not that she’d actually speak her discomforts out loud. She shifted around for a moment, reaching behind her and pulling a pillow from the stack that they had piled at the top.

    She tucked it against her chest, using it as a balance for her stomach so she wasn’t leaning so heavily on it. Alison took a deep breath, one hand lazily stroking circles on her belly while the other was tucked up under the pillow she’d placed against her. Slowly but surely, Alison found herself drifting off.


    It had always been uncomfortable. From the moment she’d discovered she was carrying up until the moment she delivered; there was no ounce of entertainment that came from carrying her offspring. Her mood had soured deeply over the course of the few months that she was pregnant and by the end, she felt as though she could seriously cause havoc to most of Pentagram City within a few seconds. Her Wendigo form wasn’t something that she willingly transformed into; Charlie had been concerned with her changing as they both didn’t quite know what would happen. 

    The infant was active within her, a daily reminder that there was a living thing inside of her. It made her nose crinkle up on a daily basis; moments where she just wanted to sit at her desk and work on a radio or broadcast some music were ruined because she either had to use the restroom every five minutes or the tidal waves of emotion would just tear her up from the inside out. 

    Alison found she was more hungry than anything. Her stomach constantly rumbled with hunger; more so than usual. While she was not - burdened, so to say, she’d been able to go out hunting weekly to satisfy whatever edge that she was able to. Now limited to whatever Charlie could pick up from the grocery, their pantry diminished near daily. 

    “Hey, Ally, have you seen the box of pasta -” Charlie peeked into the living room, holding a can of pasta sauce that he had made the day before so that he could make dinner for the two of them, “Oh.”

    Alison sat on the sofa, feet tucked up next to her with a massive bowl of the pasta on her stomach. Her fork was halfway to her mouth, the swirled noodles creating a bite that Charlie felt as though it wouldn’t even fit in her mouth. Her eyes flashed, hands tightening on her bowl, “I suggest you turn back around and leave.”

    He laughed, shaking the bottle of sauce, “Do you want sauce for your pasta? I made it yesterday. I can make something else for myself.”

    She seemed to consider it, setting the fork back down into the bowl, “Alright.”

    He came into the room, plopping down onto the couch beside her. The noodles were dry and his nose crinkled just slightly, “You ate them dry?”

    “I couldn’t find the sauce.” She murmured, watching as he poured the reddened liquid into her bowl. She stirred it in, swirling another large bite and eating it, “Oh! It’s delicious, darling!”

    His cheeks reddened a slight bit more and he shrugged a shoulder, setting the half empty bottle on the table beside the couch, “I try.”

    They sat in silence for a moment, Alison nearly shoveling the food into her mouth. She’d eaten most of the food that day; morning grocery trips were becoming normal for Charlie and he didn’t complain. She didn’t really put on too much weight, though many of her sharper edges had softened just a little with the pregnancy.

    Her hair was tied back into a low ponytail, eyes focused on the bowl in front of her. Charlie stretched backward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and smiling just a touch when she leaned into his chest. 

    “I heard you had some trouble with Angela today.” Charlie offered, tilting his head toward her.

    Ally huffed slightly, looking over at Charlie, “She had said some despicable things, Charlie.”

    He snorted, “She just said that you looked tired.”

    “Well, even if I do,” She swirled another bite, eating and chewing roughly, “She didn’t need to comment on it.”

    He just laughed again, his claws running across her shoulders. Her static crackled and he continued the movement, “I think hanging her upside down with your tentacles seems a little excessive.”

    She grinned wide, relishing in the memory, “No, I don’t think so!” The pasta was gone within a few more bites and she set it down onto the cushion beside her, licking the fork off and then setting it aside. Charlie raised an eyebrow at her and her grin widened, “Oh, it seems I cannot get up.”

    “Drama queen.” Charlie stood and took the bowl from her, touching the top of her curved stomach with a soft smile, “Still hungry?”

    She peered down at his hand. The contrast of his pale skin against the dark red of her cotton shirt was a nice sight and for a moment, she hoped he wouldn’t move. That moment faded quickly and she nudged his hand away from her, “Yes.”

    “I’ll fix you up something.” He swiped up the bottle of sauce before exiting the room, leaving her to pick up a book she had started to read at some point.

    The infant in her stomach rolled and she placed a hand against her stomach, feeling the soft pressings of limbs against the palm of her hand. Her mind reeled for a moment; there really was something alive in her. Alison forgot about the book in lieu of pressing both hands to her belly, feeling the infant moving around until it stopped and she seemed to recognize that it settled.

    One hand reached back out for her book and she flipped the pages, finding where she had last left off. The words seemed to swirl and she let out an irritated sigh, setting it back down.

    She never did seem to have a break from it.


    When she neared the end of it, the discomfort in her body increased by a tenfold. Most of the time, she just stayed tucked up in bed; the ache in her feet and the misguided center of balance weren’t a good mix and if she did have to get up, she used Charlie to help her. It wasn’t a comfortable mix; asking for help was not something in her forte and when she’d asked the first time, Charlie had been knowledgeable enough to keep his mouth shut.

    Allison had been asleep when the pressure in her snapped and she jolted awake, pain bubbling through her insides. It was cold and hot at the same time, she shifted slightly and it was wet and sticky. Her velvet already felt matted and she grit her teeth, flipping the covers off.

    The pain ebbed and she took a deep breath, shifting herself off the bed and summoning a shadow, “Find Charlie.”

    It nodded toward her before ducking amongst the shadows that adorned the room, slipping out of the room as she attempted to pull the sheets from the bed. They were wet; she knew her water had broken. As Ally pulled the sheet off the bed and tossed it onto the ground, she was knocked forward with the increased pain of another contraction, her breathing increasing sharply. Once it passed, Ally wiped her brow and picked up the sheets, tossing them into the hamper and continuing to pace around the bedroom.

    She kept count of the minutes with a small portion of her mind as she hobbled around the room, head bowed forward and her teeth gritted. The smile on her face was low, barely there, though there was a slight upward curve to her lips. 

    Charlie burst through the door and she looked up at him, a hand on her stomach and her eyes wild, “Why did you do this to me.”

    He shook his head and rushed forward, slipping an arm around her back and gripping her free hand in his, “We did it together.”

    “Never again,” She wheezed, squeezing his hand as another contraction rippled through her lower body.   

    Minutes melted into hours and it felt as though her entire body were on fire. The pain was worse than anything she had ever felt in her entire demonhood; even during her human years she had never come across anything this painful. By the time she was atop the bed, her muscles rippling with effort as she attempted to push their child from her body, Alison just felt done.   

    “I can’t - do this,” She panted, fingers gripping the mattress. Her claws had already shredded through the material and there was no doubt in her mind that she was going to have to get a new mattress, “I can’t believe you.”

    Charlie was sitting in front of her, a frown etched on his face, “You’ve been doing good so far, though! You can do it.”

    Her teeth bared as she moved her hips, pushing downward in another attempt to rid herself of the child. One hand gently stroked the skin of her thigh, his words lost to her as she focused on just the movement of pushing. 

    “I can go get the doctor - “ He asked once she had stopped for a moment, her lungs gasping for air.

    “Absolutely not. Doctors in Hell are a joke, Charles.” She shifted slightly, her voice crackling and the filter slipping completely, “It hurts, it really hurts.”

    He felt the tips of his ears turn red at the shame of what was happening; she was in so much pain in order to actually be vocalizing it. She took a deep breath, lips breaking open in a cry as she bore down as much as she possibly could. 

    “I can see the head,” Charlie’s voice was a whisper, his hands, covered with a towel, moved forward. 

    With another strangled cry, Charlie watched as Alison bore him a son. 

    He was quick with his movements, doing exactly as he had read about. Charlie had talked to his own father about his own birth and he had been given detailed instructions on what to do - there were so many steps. He kept a level head and ticked off the checkmarks in his head.

    His son let out piercing wails as he cleaned him off; his hands became blotched with the blood from his mate. Alison’s eyes were wild as she looked down at the two, Charlie’s eyes meeting hers.

    “It’s a boy.” He spoke, his face bright with a smile, “A son.”

    Alison tossed her head back onto the pillow and sighed, relieved that at least this portion was done. Her body soon wracked with the afterbirth; it didn’t quite hurt as much as pushing out their son did. Charlie wrapped the boy in a blanket, cleaning up whatever he could with one hand.

    He stood and moved to the head of the bed, using a corner of a soft towel to wipe some excess off his son’s head. The infant had stopped crying and was peering around with hazy eyes; eyes with a yellowed sclera and reddened irises.

    Alison’s arms immediately curled into a position that Charlie could safely place the infant into. She wiggled her shoulders a bit so she could sit up just a touch more, her fingers shakily touching the skin of the boy’s cheek.

    “Mason.” Ally murmured, relief echoing in her chest.

    “I like it.” Charlie sat down next to her, his smile splitting his face.

    “I’m still never doing this again.” She looked up at him, her smile brightening at the look on his face.

    He laughed, reaching out and touching Mason’s cheek, “I’d bet.”


    Two years later - she ate her words. 

    Mason was an easy toddler; he cried and fussed less and less as he grew older. He was infatuated with Charlie, however, and she enjoyed the fact she was able to just give the toddler over to Charlie and then have a day to herself.

    When the same aches and pains returned to her, she turned savage. She rampaged through Pentagram in her Wendigo form, not caring much for the fact that she didn’t know what would happen to the fetus. If it disappeared - well, she steeled herself against that thought. It wouldn’t matter.

    The pregnancy with her second child was worse than the first. She grew tired easier than the last time and if Charlie had thought she ate too much before, he was always in shock at the amount she ate this time. She spent more time hunting in her true form to fill her stomach and even then it barely helped satisfy her hunger. The labor was almost too much; she felt her body rip apart in the worst of ways and she swore that she would never do it again.

    When Beaux was born, she couldn’t help but have a soft spot for him. He was a little replica of her; the same reddened hair, the same bloody irises. He was a fussy child; nearly constantly needing to be held or whatnot. As he grew into a toddler, she swore to herself that she was going to /eat/ him if he threw another toy at her. He grew quickly, however, enough that it made her almost uncomfortable when he was able to do some of the things on his own that he had previously needed her help in doing. 

    Alison hadn’t meant to fall pregnant again - of course she hadn’t. When she did, the anger that burned inside of her caused her to go out hunting more often than she had when pregnant with Beaux. Charlie was more concerned and did his best to keep both Mason and Beaux occupied when she did go out.

    The little boy was not pleased whenever Alison did leave; he would cry and wail for hours until she returned. She’d usually come back a mess and would try to head straight for the shower; he’d latch so tightly onto her leg that she would have to at least hold him for a moment, no matter how much blood smeared onto his clothing.

    The labor was simple. It was quick and easy, something that she was pleased with. It seemed her body was just used to the process, even though it had been five years since the last time. Beaux had heard her wails during it and was beside himself; a seven year old Mason did his best to keep his younger brother occupied while Charlie helped aid in the birth of their third; the only girl.

    Francine was a terror from the beginning. While Mason had been placated by Charlie and Beaux had been calmed by Alison, it seemed there was no relief for their daughter. She fussed about everything that she possibly could, from being a touch too cold to just being set down in a slightly uncomfortable position. 

    “I’m going to eat her.” Alison said at one point, her grin ravenous and her eyes bright; wild.

    “Please don’t.” Charlie outstretched his arms, motioning for Ally to place the infant in his arms, “She’s the only girl.”

    Ally lay the child in Charlie’s arms and she immediately stopped her qualms, staring up at Charlie as if he was the best thing she’d ever seen. Alison groaned and leaned back onto the sofa, digging her face into a pillow as she turned onto her stomach.

    “Now I can sleep.” Her voice was muffled, “I haven’t slept in forty eight hours, Charles.”

    Charlie laughed and tapped the nose of his daughter, “What a stinker! Keeping her mama up like this.”

    Francine swiped forward for Charlie’s finger, shoving it into her mouth. By this point, she already had small sets of barely-there teeth, so the prickling sensation wasn’t something that Charlie was too fond of, but he knew if he tried to pull away, the girl would start to scream once more.

    Footsteps came racing around the corner and Beaux appeared in the doorway, eyes set straight on Alison.

    “Mommy!” He ran forward, leaping straight onto her back and gripping the back of her shirt, “Come play! Or I might just die!”

    “Die then.” She growled, refusing to move.

    Beaux gasped and swung his leg over her, straddling her back and beginning to play with the ends of her hair, “That’s mean.”

    She let out a non-committed noise, shifting a bit so that his knee wasn’t digging into her elbow. Beaux frowned at the sight of his mother half asleep on the sofa, beginning to braid a few of the strands together.

    Mason stepped into the room quietly after a few minutes, carrying a blanket. When Charlie noticed him, the seven year old’s cheeks went just a slight more pink.

    “I saw mommy taking a nap.” He held up the blanket. Charlie knew that it was one of Mason’s favorites; one that he never liked to part with, “Maybe she’s cold.”

    “Oh! Good ‘dea, Mase!” Beaux stood, balancing on the edge of the couch as he helped attempt to cover all of Alison’s near eight foot body with the blanket that was definitely not the right size.

    Charlie grinned, watching his sons tug the blanket every which way, arguing in hushed voices. The soft static barely prickled his skin and he knew that his wife was asleep; the noise of the children barely seemed to bother her anymore. 

    Francine sighed around his fingers and he looked down at her, warmth curling in his chest. Though it had been so difficult, he couldn’t help but be proud of his family; his sons and daughter were everything he had ever dreamed of. 

    Beaux unceremoniously plopped back onto Alison’s covered back, fingers going straight for her hair. Mason lifted one of his mother’s legs and crawled in, laying it back on his lap as he smiled wide. 

    The redheaded boy let out a giggle, peering back at his brother, “See! Everything is perfect.”

Chapter Text

    “You will manage?”

    “I will.”

    “Make sure you stick to your promises. I do not like being disappointed.”


    She hummed to herself as she plopped down on a barstool, adjusting her skirt that the slit wasn’t quite so revealing. Beatrice had her tights on, as per request, though she wasn’t a huge fan of them. The bartender glanced at her once and she smirked toward the demon, tipping her head.

    “I’ll get to ya in a moment, Bea.” He said to her, ducking under the counter, “Got a fuck ton of newbies for some reason.”

    “Gotcha,” Bea shrugged, tapping her nails on the bar counter, “Take your time. I’ve got all night.”

    Her eyes turned to the array of television screens that decorated the walls of the bar. Most of the volumes were set to low, subtitles covering the bottom. Sports games, news, drama shows. The bar showed it all; made for more customers if they catered to a wider variety. Bea turned the barstool slightly so that she could catch a better view at one of the screens across the room that was playing some drama that she had seen once before.

    A demon sat down on the stool beside her and she flicked her eyes over to see who it was. Surprise trickled down her spine as she met eyes with her new seatmate.

    His grin spread delightedly across his screen and Bea felt her heart flutter slightly at the sight, “Hello.”

    Beatrice blinked and looked behind her, turning back to the demon in front of her, “Who, me?”

    He laughed, a sound that was slightly filtered. She liked the sound; in a way, it reminded her of her father’s filter, “Yes, you. Can I buy you a drink?”

    “I guess.’ She shrugged nonchalantly, tilting her head and a small smile spreading across her cheeks, “Anything I want?”

    “Anything,” Vox nodded his head, motioning toward the bar, “I don’t really lack funds.”

    Her sweet smile turned impish as she swiveled the barstool, her voice bright, “Hey, you ready?”

    The bartender nodded, holding up a glass, “Your usual?”

    “Nah,” Bea’s eyes flickered over to Vox, “Get me a blue motherfucker.”

    The bartender grinned at her and she winked back, watching him mix the drink. Once the glass was placed in front of her, she took a long sip, relishing in the flavor.

    “What brings you here, buying me drinks?” She turned to Vox, setting the glass on the bartop.   

    “Couldn’t just leave a pretty girl sitting by herself.” His voice was playful, a grin on his screen, “Thought I would come say hello.”

    “Oh, don’t play dumb with me,” Her eyes brightened, a soft red glow coming from them as she took another sip of her drink, “You wouldn’t just come up to the Radio Demon’s daughter without a proposition. What do you want?”

    He laughed easily, leaning onto the counter slightly, “Do I really need a reason for some conversation?”

    Bea thought it over for a moment before shrugging, taking another drink, “I guess not.”

    They sat in silence for a moment, Bea not a hundred percent sure on how to carry on conversation. She didn’t have the widest variety of social experience; her friends were mainly just her siblings. She turned back to the television that was across the room, idly sipping her drink as she watched some commercial for a murdering professionals business. The tune was catchy; she found her fingers tapping along to the beat.

    Once she finished her drink, she set the glass on the bartop and sighed, feeling the warmth curl in her stomach. Vox chuckled at her pleased face and she turned to him, a small smile on hers.

    “Do you want another drink?” 

    “Yeah, okay.”

    Halfway through her next drink, Bea abruptly turned to Vox and grinned impishly at him, “What’s your favorite way to waste time? Because it sure seems like sitting here not talking is something you’re good at.”

    Vox’s eyes glitched in a way that made it seem like he was rolling them and Bea snickered, “There’s plenty going on around us. I’m not wasting time.”

    “Oh?” She peered around, eyebrows furrowing, “What do you mean?”

    “See in the corner,” He nodded toward a pair of demons that were huddled close to each other in a booth, “Those two are fucking right now.”

    Bea squinted and she laughed when she realized that one of the demons was indeed, on top of the other, “Damn!”

    “And over there,” He nodded toward a trio of demons that were near the door, “A drug deal gone bad. The drugs are laced. They’re going out to brawl.”

    “Why not just fight in here,” Bea murmured, tapping her nails against her glass, “That would be much more fun.”

    “The bartender warned them that if they fought again in here, they’d be banned.” Vox’s grin was infectious and she copied it, her ears flicking.

    “Oh, neat.” She tried her best to tune into all of the different conversations around her, though a lot of words seemed to blend together and she sighed in irritation, taking a long drink, “How do you manage to keep it all separate?”

    “Lots of practice.” He shrugged, “Years of being able to separate the voices.”

    “Yeah, ‘cause you’re really old.” Bea laughed, eyes bright, “Way older than me. That’s just weird. You tryna cradle rob, huh?”

    His screen turned slightly pink and he turned away from her. Bea began to laugh harder, setting her drink down and wrapping her arm around her waist.


    “Yanno, Vox,” Bea slid off the stool, brushing her fingers down her skirt and adjusting the slit once more, “You’re not so bad. I’ve gotta get home, I promised my brother I’d help him with a stream.” She winked at him, making sure her purse was tightly adjusted around her shoulders before turning and then looking at him over her shoulder, “Give me a call, yeah?”

    Before he could reply, the Radio Demon’s daughter left the bar, dodging under a few demons that tried to swipe her bag from her shoulder. Her grin was still spread on her face and Vox couldn’t find it in him to call out for her.

    She hadn’t even given him her number.


    “Where is she?”

    “It’s taking longer than I expected.”

    “Get it done, Vox.”

    “I will. I always do.”


    Bea turned her cart down the aisle that had the boxes of pasta and the like, browsing through the selection. Even in Hell, there was a good business with growing crops and the like, so there were a lot of the same foods that Alastor told her were on Earth in Hell. She reached out for a bottle of alfredo sauce, turning the jar so that she could look over the ingredient list.

    She knew that it was better to make those types of things homemade anyway, and Charlie liked to cook - she just was looking for shortcuts so she could eat whenever she wanted. 


    She turned, still holding the jar. Immediately, her normal frown turned upward into a little smirk, eyes brightening, “Hi there, Vox.”

    The TV demon’s smile was stretched across his entire screen, his hands on his hips, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

    “Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, setting the jar into her cart and then turning back to the boxes of pasta to pick one out, “Why?”

    “You never actually gave me your phone number.”

    Her cheeks flushed a brilliant red and she dipped her head forward so that her hair would cover the stain on her cheeks, “Ah, shit.”

    “So I’ve been trying to find it. But it’s nowhere.” He shrugged, the grin turning slightly into a smirk.

    “Sorry ‘bout that.” She took a deep breath, reaching out and grabbing a box of fettuccine, dropping it into the cart and then gripping the handles, “It’s a little weird that you’ve been trying to find it.”

    He shrugged, following her as she started to make her way down the aisle, “You told me to call you.”

    “Yeah, well,” She peered up at him, her blush still staining her cheeks, “I didn’t really expect you to.”

    Vox seemed pleased with the blush on her cheeks and Bea felt her heart flutter slightly at the look on his screen. His tone was playful when he spoke, “Can I have it now?”


    “Your phone number. Can I have it?”

    Bea cleared her throat and nodded quickly, eyes widening, “Yeah! Give me your phone. I’ll plug it in.”

    Vox rifled through a pocket in his jacket, pulling the device from it. His claws gently raked over her skin when he handed her the phone and she yanked her hand back, startled at the contact. She opened up his contacts and opened up a new file, titling herself as ‘Bea’ with a little fire emoji. She typed in her phone number and then saved it, handing him back his phone.

    “There ya go, all saved up.” She grinned up at him before heading down toward the dairy aisle, lugging a few gallons of milk into the cart and then sighing, her nose wrinkling, “I don’t think my mom thought very deep into how I was going to get these home. I let the car go home and said I would walk.”

    “I could help you carry them home.” He offered, “How far do you live?”

    “Just a few blocks.” She murmured, setting one of the gallons back onto the shelf so she only had two, moving down to where the cheese was, “I can call the car to come back, but that would take a while. Raz and Daz are probably already comfy in the kitchen with mama. She’s making donuts today.”

    Vox nodded, watching her browse through the cheeses before she picked a few out, “It looks like you’re planning to make something?”

    “Yeah,” Bea turned to him and smiled, pointing to the pasta, “I’m gonna attempt to make some meat pasta. It’s my dad and I’s favorite; mama doesn’t really like making it since it means she has to shred meat and she doesn’t like to touch it.”

    Vox motioned toward the creamer that was on a shelf nearby, “If you add that to the cheese and stuff, it’ll make it creamier, rather than using milk.”

    Her eyes brightened with an excited glow and she took it off the shelf, setting it in the cart, “Maybe I’ll try to make some of my own sauce. I guess I don’t need the whole jar anymore.”

    “I can run it back for you.” He picked up from the cart and she nodded toward him.

    “I’m gonna go look at veggies.” She pointed down the aisle toward the produce section, “If you want to keep walking with me.”

    His grin split his screen as he walked back to the aisle with the pasta sauce. Setting it down, his phone buzzed in his pocket and Vox pulled it out, opening the text message.

    ‘You’ve been gone for a while.’

    He sighed, irritated as he typed back, ‘I’ll be back later. Something came up.’

    He set the phone back into his pocket and ignored it when it buzzed again, knowing exactly who it was and not wanting to bother with it. Vox headed back through the aisles, shifting out of the way of two demons who were arguing loudly after the last loaf of bread. 

    Bea stood in front of the mushrooms, weighing two different boxes in her hands. They were different; one was white mushrooms and the other was portahella. Vox watched her expressions change as she considered the two before she unceremoniously tossed both cartons into the cart and then pushed it forward to where the fresh herbs were. 

    His smile softened as he watched her pick a few out. He kept his distance and watched, head tilted just slightly. She took a strong inhale of one of the herbs and her nose scrunched up, Bea tossing the offending item back onto the shelf. Vox made sure to grab a can of chicken broth before walking back over to her.

    “Here,” He held the can up, “You simmer this with the cream and the cheese and it’ll make a sauce.”

    “Oh, thanks.” She grinned at him, picking up a bag of spinach and pursing her lips, “You think this would go good in it?”

    “With mushrooms and cheese? I don’t see why not.” Vox knew how to cook; not that he could eat what he made, per say, but he enjoyed the aspect of it.

    Bea hummed in approval and threw it in, looking over the cart, “I know we have meat at home and mama just asked for the milk, so I think I’m good.”

    Vox and her chatted more about how she should put the sauce together as she checked out. The demon ringing her up gazed at the two of them; the fact that the TV demon was chatting so amicably with the Radio Demon’s daughter was odd to him. 

    Bea picked up the bags while Vox grabbed the gallons of milk, the two of them walking out into the streets of Pentagram City. Many demons parted as they walked, whispers drifting into Bea’s ears. She couldn’t really find it in her to care - he was really entertaining to talk to.

    As they grew closer to the estate, some sort of unease settled in her stomach. Her teeth worried at her lip and she stopped them a few hundred yards from where the gate was.

    “I’ll take it from here,” She shifted the bags so that they were settled on her arm, reaching for the gallons of milk, “I don’t think my dad would be happy if you came onto the property.”

    Some whisper of the deal he made tugged at the back of his mind and he forcibly shoved it away, handing her the containers, “That’s quite alright.”

    Her smile widened, “Call me.”

    “Well, now that I’ve got your number, it’ll be a lot easier!”

    Bea laughed, turning, “Asshole. See ya around.”


    Over the course of the next few weeks, Bea was near constantly on her phone. Alastor wasn’t used to seeing his daughter so attached to the device; she normally didn’t use it as often as she was now. She also used to always keep it on vibration, but now, every few minutes, her ringtone would go off and it was slowly starting to grate at his nerves.

    “Beatrice, darling,” He looked up from the book he was reading in the living room. Bea sat on the couch beside him, her gaze locked on the phone screen, “If your phone is going to ring incessantly, please, turn it on lower.”

    “Oh, sorry, dad.” She murmured, fingers going to the volume keys and pressing it lower until it vibrated once. 

    “What has captured your attention?” He peered over her shoulder and she immediately closed the screen, shoving it into the pocket of her sweatshirt.

    “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

    His grin tightened. She never was one to hide things from him; she always did such a poor job at keeping secrets and this seemed to be no difference, “You are a terrible liar, my fawn.”

    Bea rolled her eyes, pulling her legs up to her chest and looking over at him, “I would never lie. I’m way too pure for that.”

    Alastor chuckled, setting the book down on the table next to the sofa, “You must be misguided.”

    “Eh, I guess you’re right.” Her lips curled upward in a smile and her phone vibrated. Immediately, she pulled it from the pocket and opened it, typing so quickly that Alastor was unable to see who exactly she was messaging before the screen turned off once more, “Oh! That reminds me. Did you like that pasta dish I made the other day?”
    The buck’s grin became more genuine and he nodded, “I did! Where did you find the recipe?”

    “Oh, a friend gave it to me. I was thinking of making something like that again. Maybe a lasagna or something.” Her tone was bright as she looked up at her father.

    “I made your mother a lasagna for our first date,” Alastor began, the sound of his voice crackling with fondness, “A vegetable lasagna.”

    “Ew, what?” Bea’s nose wrinkled up and she shivered, “How do you have lasagna without meat?”

    Alastor laughed, “She did enjoy it! Perhaps the both of us could make one for us and Franklin and then one for your sister and mother.”

    “Oh-” Her phone went off again and she pulled it out, quickly typing another message, “Sure, I’m cool with that.”

    He watched as she continued to message, her fingers moving along the keys in a way that he was uncertain how. Her messages were short and sent in rapid succession - the name at the top of the screen read ‘TV’ and that was it. Worry ebbed in his stomach - what was she hiding to the point that she was unable to even tell him what was going on?


    “It’s been two weeks.”

    “I know.”


    “. . . I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

    The room suddenly felt ten times colder.

    “What did you just say to me?”

Chapter Text

"You never specified which you wanted."

There was a lull of silence before the door crept open.

"Come in."


Her ears flicked softly as she peered over at the phone that was in his hands. Bea's eyes moved to Vox's screen, a small smile on her face when she saw how excited he looked. Since the two of them had started to be around each other more often, she’d slowly been able to pick up on his different emotions. He had a variety of smiles; this one was a massive grin that spread across the entire screen; it made her stomach do a little flip.

A soft beep came from somewhere on him and his smile slipped just the slightest bit as he handed the phone over to her, “Here, keep watching this, I need my charging cable. I’ll be right back.”

Bea tucked her legs up under her as he got up to head to his bedroom. She continued to watch the video that he had been showing her; some compilation of funny moments from some streamers he liked. Franklin was in a few clips; it made her smile widen.
As another Franklin clip came up, a text appeared at the top of the screen. The smile that was previously there fell and she glanced up, making sure Vox wasn’t on his way back as she dragged down the notifications bar and then tapped on the message.
Within moments, she felt sick. Her ears were pressed flat against her head and her cheeks were a darker pink; red even through the blush she wore. Her fingers shook as she reopened the video and she set the phone down on the table, pulling her own phone out. As Vox came back, she had to do her best to make sure that her voice was steady, though everything else on her expression showed how distraught she was.

“My mama texted me, I have to go.” She stood in a rush, watching his screen flicker from the smile to confusion, “Sorry.”

Bea barely waited for him to reply, hearing a soft ‘see ya’ come from the TV demon before she was out of his apartment. He lived on the top floor of the studios he worked in; there were two penthouses there. She stepped out into the hallway, making sure the door was closed behind her as she made her way down to where the elevator was.

Her heart raced into her ears as she came face to face with Valentino. A grin spread across his face as he nodded toward her, moving out of the way so that she could slip onto the elevator. She barely acknowledged him, having to turn slightly so that she wouldn’t brush against him.

“Is Vox still in?” His voice sent rivers of fear down her spine and she nodded sharply, hitting the ground floor button, “Excellent. See you later, Beatrice.”

Bea looked up at him and their eyes locked for the few seconds that it took the elevator doors to close. Her face paled as his grin stretched wider, disappearing and being replaced with the warm wooden doors that were the elevator.


For days, it seemed like the world was at a standstill. She spent most of her time in her room, though she did go out and have meals with her family to seem as if she was functioning correctly. It wasn’t a good show; Alastor knew his middle child like the back of his own hand.

“Something is bothering you, my dear. Do you want to talk about it?” He’d asked her at one point, only to be met with empty eyes and a sharp shake of the head before she’d gone back up to her room. She hadn’t been eating as much as she normally did, either, spending the days she usually hunted with Franklin tucked up in her bed.

After a week of her younger sister acting so off, Margret decided that it was her or nothing. Alastor had attempted to talk to her, so had Charlie and Frankie. Her younger brother had just tried to coax her out with the promises of being able to have bigger demons when they went out; not even that was enough to pry her sister away from where she was.

As she stood in front of Bea’s bedroom door, her lips pursed. There hadn’t been a moment where her sister had been so shut down; usually, Beatrice was an open book. She wore her heart on her sleeve, no matter how much she hated it. Margret didn’t bother to knock, she twisted the doorknob and pushed it inward.

The room was a mess. That was the first thing that set Maggie on edge. While Bea was generally somewhat messy, she usually kept her things in good order. Makeup palettes were tossed on the ground, the powdered eyeshadow and blush scraped from the wells and staining the carpet. This was the second thing that concerned her - Bea was obsessive over having her makeup in perfect order and if one palette was scraped, she’d be a terror until she fixed it.


A growl came from the bed, eyes peering out from under the blanket, “Get out of my room.”

“C’mon, Beanie.” Margret stepped further into the room, around the piles of clothing and the ruined palettes, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing you can help with. With your stupid redeeming shit. You can’t fix this.” Bea’s voice was haggard and Margret couldn’t believe that her normally composed sister was this torn up over something.

Margret sat down on the bed, scooting upward so that she was right next to Bea, “You could still talk to me about it. Maybe I can’t fix it, but you could work through the kinks with me.”

“There is no kinks to it,” Bea snorted, pushing the blanket away from her head. For a moment, she looked conflicted, but after that moment, her arm flew out and wrapped around Margret’s thighs, pressing her face against her sister’s leg, “Have you ever had your heart broken?”

Margret’s fingers threaded into her sister’s oily hair and she began to toy with it, rubbing the pads of her fingers against Bea’s scalp, “I don’t think so. What does it feel like?”

Bea was quiet, leaning her head upward just slightly against the feeling, “At first, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like it’s all a joke and then you’ll hear a big ol’ ‘surprise’! And when that doesn’t come, it’s like -” She hiccuped, tears starting to build in her eyes, “A bucket of cold water is tossed over you and there’s no towel or no sun. Like your heart is ripped out and chewed up before being put back into your chest.”

“You seem like you know what that feels like.”

Bea snorted, reaching to her face and rubbing away some tears, “Yeah. I never thought I would.”

Maggie sighed, leaning over so that she was able to look her younger sister in the face, “What happened?”


Her ears pressed to the back of her head as she pushed open the door, making sure that no one was around. Her fingers shook as she made her way to the other side of the room, pulling a book from the shelf and watching the shelf itself peel away from the wall to show another room behind the office. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be back here; throughout her entire life, she’d always been told to stay away from Alastor’s office. Especially the back office - this room was for his eyes only.

She knew it was where he kept some of his smaller pleasures, like embroidery, but it was also where he kept the more dangerous books that weren’t safe for the library itself. The bookshelf along the back wall had the assortment and she picked a few off, making sure that they were the right ones by flicking open to the table of contents. Taking another few moments to rearrange the books that were left to make it seem like none were actually taken, she fled the room.

Margret had tied her hair back, reciting through the different sigils that she was going to have to use in order to tie the entire deal together. The books were more than helpful; voodoo had always been something that she was no good at. Alastor had kept the magic away from all three of his children as best as he could - Franklin had been naturally inept at it and able to perform small acts of magic since childhood. Bea showed no interest in it, and now that Margret knew how it worked, she thought that it made a lot of things easier.

Now she was a dealmaker.

She had taken the time to write a few of the more important sigils on the palm of her hand so that she would be able to remember them better; the few times that she had sliced open her own hand to have them appear had left the few out since she’d forgotten them. But now - now she had perfected the deal and knew exactly what she wanted and if the other party denied her now, two weeks of heavy research would be for nothing.

She walked. She didn’t want her family to know where she was going and if she had Raz or Daz take her in the car, the little goat demons would tell her mama where she was. Margret kept her hair tied back behind her ears; braided on the sides so that it was all kept tightly away from her face. Her stomach churned as she walked, mind rapidly going through the sigils that she needed.

Margret couldn’t believe she was doing this. Some part of her was disgusted - how dare she? This was Bea’s battle, not hers, and there was no need for her to intertwine herself in her little sister’s business. The heartbroken expression and the despair that came from her sister was enough to force her up and do what she thought was right - even if it was going to end badly for everyone.

Over halfway there, her footsteps stopped. She could just turn around, go home. Leave it to Bea. She knew that her little sister would figure something out - she always did. Or she would continue to wallow in her misery and not actually do anything about it like she had for the past month.

No. She steeled herself against it, no, she had to do this.

Her mind whirled as she continued to walk. It was hotter that day; it usually did the closer it got to extermination day. It was only two weeks away and something in her had wanted to resolve this whole issue before then so that Franklin wouldn’t be disappointed when Bea didn’t want to hunt with him on that day - Maggie could barely deal with one sibling that was upset. When Franklin got upset - it just wasn’t fun for the entire family.

The doors slid open for her when she got there and her voice shook when she spoke to the receptionist. She tried her best to seem strong - she had to be.

“I’m here to see Valentino.”

The receptionist rolled her eyes, “Yeah, so are a lot of people. What makes you so special?”

Margret stood taller; not that she could, really, with how short she was, and her eyes flashed, “Do you not know who I am? Tell him that the Radio Demon’s daughter is here to see him.”

There was a lull of silence before the receptionist picked up the phone in front of her and dialed a few numbers, pushing the receiver against her own ear, “Some whore is here for you. Says she’s the radio demon’s daughter.” A pause, “No, blonde. Why? Alright.” She hung up and looked up at Maggie, who’s back had started to crawl with discomfort, “He’ll be down in a sec. Have a seat.”

Her body met with one of the plush couches that was in the waiting area, her eyes avoiding all of the provocative images of demonesses and demons that were on the walls. Porn Studios itself was the epitome of everything she hated and was against. From the lewd images to the drugs she knew that most of the actors used, her mother would throw a fit if she knew that Margret was there.

The elevator gave a soft ding and her gaze snapped up. Valentino stepped out of it, an easy grin on his face, “Ah, Margret.”

Not even bothering to ask how he knew her name, the blonde deer demon stood, “I think we have something to discuss.”

“Of course. Come.” He motioned toward the elevator, “We’ll go to my office.”

She had to force her ears to remain upright as she made her way to the elevator. It felt like she was walking straight into a hellhound’s den while she was coated in blood. Maggie’s heart raced as she felt him run his hand up her spine and she shuddered, stepping closer to the wall and turning to face him as he pressed the button that would lead them to his penthouse.

“Why did you come here?”

“You said you wanted the Radio Demon’s daughter,” She swallowed, trying to loosen the lump in her throat, “You never specified which one.”

His grin brightened, “Are you offering?”

“I have a deal for you.”

Valentino’s eyes glittered with amusement as they stepped out of the elevator and to his door. At the moment before she walked in, the door down the hall opened and her eyes met the eyes of Vox. She ducked her head and hurried inside, her face burning with shame.

Vox looked terrified.

Valentino motioned toward a sofa that was in the middle of the room and she took a seat, opening her palm so that she could read over some of the sigils. He sat down on a chair opposite her and for a split second, she was thankful that he was not next to her.

“Tell me the outline of your deal.” He purred, leaning back in the chair.

She sat upright, foot tapping lightly against the floor, “I take the place of what you wanted my sister to do. From what I’ve gathered, you didn’t specifically say that you wanted Bea, per say, you just wanted the Radio Demon’s daughter,” She paused, blinking away the prickling feeling in her eyes, “I’m the firstborn; the eldest. I’m more appealing in that sense.”

He hummed slightly, nodding, “I suppose.”

“And, um,” She fiddled with a thread that was loose on her top, “We do that, and my consolation is that it is never shared. For your own personal entertainment, I guess. Sure, you can tell people, I can’t stop you from that, but you can’t share it.”

The grin on his face lightened slightly and he furrowed his eyebrows, “Now, what would be the point?”

“You did it.” Her smile, which had previously been small with worry, grew maniacally, “You can say you did it. You can watch it over and over again. You can then leave my sister alone.”

“Ah, a gallant hero.” Valentino snickered, “Throwing yourself into shark infested waters so that you can protect the life of your sister.”

“Yes.” She nodded, grin remaining wide, “Do we have a deal?”

The air crackled and the lights dimmed, a pale green light emitting from her. She stood, reaching her hand out to him. Sigils danced around her, her eyes wide and irises gone; her whole eye was the pale yellow of her sclera. Valentino stood, his height so much more than hers, and dipped his hand into hers.

“We have a deal.”


Margret blinked away tears as she made her way up to Bea’s room. Everything in her wanted to just go to her bathroom, shower away any remnants and then sleep for a century, but she knew that she had to finish what she started. Her hands shook on the doorknob and she pushed the door open, her eyes meeting that of her little sister as she walked in.

Bea was seated on the floor, going through her palettes. Some of them were ruined and she was a little mad at herself for it - most she knew she could repair and set them to the side, “Hey, Mags.”

Margret swallowed and forced a smile onto her face, “I did it for you. I really hope Vox is worth it.” She stepped backward to leave the room, her breath leaving in funny little gasps.

“Wait, what?” Bea’s voice rose sharply, scrambling up, “You did what?”

Margret’s smile flickered, “I slept with Valentino.”

Bea’s face paled and her face twisted, “What in fuckin’ hell is wrong with you? Why did you do that?”

“I had to! I had to do it so you wouldn’t!” Margret’s voice started to rise hysterically, “I protected myself - I made a deal, I used the sigils and I studied them and it won’t fall apart; trust me, I know what I’m doing!”

“What the fuck, Margret!” Bea raced across the room and reached out for her sister’s shoulders

Margret flinched away, her ears resting back against her head.

“Oh.” Bea dropped her hands, shaking her head, “I can’t believe you.”

Maggie shrugged, a weak smile on her face, “I’m going to go to bed.”

Bea watched her sister turn around and high tail it to the room just a door away, her stomach churning with unease. Footsteps came from the other side of the hallway and her head snapped over to the left, eyes wide.
Alastor stood there, his smile close lipped and his eyes faintly glowing with radio dials. She swallowed thickly.

“How about we talk about this now, darling?”

Chapter Text

    She felt cornered and ducked back into her room, trying her best to shut the door behind her. A familiar tentacle shot forward and grabbed onto the door, nearly pulling it off its hinges. Bea let out a squeak as Alastor came into the room, her climbing up onto her bed and put a pillow in front of her.

    “Beatrice,” His voice was light and airy and yet she could still feel the static in the air, “What is going on?”

    “Nothin,’ daddy, just some stuff between me and Mags. You don’t have to worry about it!” Her eyes widened and she tried her best to smile at him, “We can figure it out.” His smile twisted brighter and his head tilted and she knew she was in for the long haul if she didn’t just fess up right then and there. Bea held her hands out, motioning toward the mattress, “Alright! Damn! Sit down, I’ll explain it.”

    “Wise decision, honeybee.” Alastor sat on the edge of the bed in a flourish of sigils that disappeared as soon as the radio dials did.

    Bea sighed, running her hands through her hair and leaning back against the headboard, “Okay, so a few weeks ago, Vox and I were just watching some videos on his phone. He got up to grab his charger since he was running low -”

    “A charger for his phone?” Alastor interrupted.

    “No, a charger for him. Vox doesn’t eat, he has to charge,” Bea waved her hand to change the subject, “Nevermind on that. But he got up to go get it and then he got a text from Valentino asking where ‘the girl’ was. I was nosy,” Bea shrugged sheepishly, “And read the rest of the messages. He was demanding the radio demon’s daughter - they’d apparently made some sort of deal and Vox’s whole plan was to entrap me so that I would well -” She shifted uncomfortably, “Fuck either him or Valentino.”

    Alastor’s face remained composed, even though she could see the burning fury starting to build in his eyes. The pupils began to take on faint dial shape and she crawled down the bed, placing a hand on his forearm.

    “So I left him. I didn’t want to do that - be involved in that and it really hurt me, so I ended up telling Mags.” Bea shrugged then, her face twisting into something that was akin to the look in his eyes, “And so she did it. To complete the deal for my sake, I guess. I didn’t want her to! I didn’t ask her to!”

    They both heard a faint noise come from the hallway and both of their ears flicked toward the sound. 

    “Margret Grace Magne!”

    Bea’s face paled, “Ah, shit.”

    Charlie’s face was about as red as her cheeks as she burst through her eldest daughter’s bedroom door. She flipped on the light and zeroed in on Maggie, who was just freshly showered and now huddled under her blankets. Her phone was in her hand and from where Charlie was, it looked like she was scrolling through a book.

    “How can you be so calm right now?” Charlie’s voice was sharp as she walked closer to the bed, a touch of magic swirling around her head and forming the horns that she so very much tried her best to hide.

    “I’m not,” Margret gave a weak smile, setting her phone down, “I’m really not. I’m just a really good actress.”


/She was just faking it - she had to be faking it - he couldn’t possibly feel good -/


    Charlie’s eyes burned red and Margret pushed her blanket down her body, shivering slightly at the feeling of not being encased in her own safety. Her mother morphed in front of her - no longer was she shorter than Maggie - she was taller and her horns were fully stretched, eyes a bloody red.

    “He will pay for this -”

    “Mama! I made the choice - not him.” She scrambled off the bed and stood in front of Charlie, eyes wide, “Please don’t!”

    Charlie stared down at her daughter, gritting her teeth, “He shouldn’t have decided to mess with my children in the first place.”

    Margret couldn’t move out of the way fast enough and was nearly tossed to the side by her own mother as Charlie made her way through the estate. Alastor and Bea witnessed her storming out and Al nearly made the attempt to follow her; Bea gripped onto his arm before he could.

    “This is her battle. Let mama do it.” He looked down at Bea; his daughter’s one eye was faintly glowing with a dial and the other was halfway gone into its sclera, “She knows what she has to do.”

    Margret followed Charlie through the estate and down to the entryway. Franklin was just leaving the kitchen, a bag of chips in hand as he watched his fully formed demoness mother race from the house with Maggie hot on her heels. His eyes glowed brightly for a second and he tossed the chips down, sending a shadow to his room to grab his camera - this was going to need to be broadcasted.

    Charlie was focused on one place in particular - the studio. She knew that Valentino would still be there. Where else would be be, after fucking her daughter? The thought settled more burning rage into her mind as she ripped open the door that led into the studio.

    The receptionist barely had a moment to speak before Charlie whirled on her heel, turning to her daughter, “Where is he?”

    “Penthouse.” Margret murmured, pointing toward the elevator that was off on the right, “The right one.”

    Charlie didn’t pay the receptionist any mind as she turned and marched toward the elevator, waiting until it came to the bottom before pressing the button that would lead to the top. It dinged that she needed a passcode - her eyes snapped up to the demoness at the desk.

    “Passcode,” Charlie growled, feeling Margret shift to get onto the elevator with her.

    The demoness squeaked out a series of four numbers and Charlie typed them in, the elevator closing and the pair being shot upward to the penthouse. 

    “Mama, please, don’t.” Margret tugged on her mother’s shirt, eyes wide, “Don’t do this.”

    “I will protect my children. No one will mess with you. Any of you.” Charlie turned to look at Maggie, her hand reaching up and smoothing back her daughter’s ears, “You’re my daughter, Maggie. As your mom, I’ve gotta do what’s right.”

    “Mama, I don’t want you to hurt him, it goes against everything -”

    The elevator dinged.

    “So be it, sweetheart.” Charlie smiled weakly, the bloody red to her sclera diminishing into a soft yellow for a moment, “He hurt you, then I’ll hurt him.”

    Margret frantically reached out, “No, he didn’t hurt me! He was gentle and it wasn’t -” She shuddered, face paling, “It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t bad and I hate that. But he didn’t hurt me. We made a deal and it’s airtight.”

    “Tell me about the deal,” Charlie and Maggie stepped out into the hallway so that the elevator could head back down to the ground floor - it wasn’t like the demoness at the desk could call any sort of police to remove Charlie and Margret.

    “I’d do it with him once and he could record it but he’s not allowed to broadcast or show it to anyone. He can only have the one original copy and that’s it - it’s on an SD card that I watched him upload it to.” Maggie’s breath shook funnily, “It’s a solid deal and nothing will happen.”

    For a moment, Charlie wanted to believe her eldest. To just take her and leave; head home. Make dinner and pretend like everything was normal. After that moment, however, she shook her head, the red replacing yellow in a rapid fire as she pulled away from Margret and stormed down the hall to the doorway that was on the right. 

    She thought it polite to knock so she did the opposite and tore the door off its hinges. Charlie stepped inside, growling slightly at the form of Valentino, who was previously just resting on his sofa, now shot up and staring at the Princess of Hell.

    Her face widened in a grin, “You hurt my daughter.”

    Valentino’s face matched hers, his grin much more easygoing, “You can’t hurt me.”

    “Says who?” Charlie’s grin grew wider, “I could tear you limb from limb.”

    “The deal that she and I made protects me from -”

    “It doesn’t protect you from anything.” Margret spoke up from the doorframe, gripping tightly onto her sleeves, “I told you I had protective sigils but I forgot about them when making the actual deal. I wrote them on my hand but I still forgot. You’re not protected from anything.”

    His gaze narrowed and the grin diminished, turning into a sneer, “You bitch -”

    He lunged forward at the same time as Charlie. The blonde quickly gathered the upper hand - she was still eons older than Valentino and so much stronger than him. Margret watched with saddened eyes as Charlie and Valentino fought on the ground, her mother’s claws digging into Valentino’s flesh and her teeth mere inches away from his throat.

    “Mama, don’t kill him!” Margret watched in horror as Charlie got closer to ripping his jugular out, “Don’t!”

    “She can’t kill me - she’s no angel,” Valentino growled, trying his best to push his hand out of her grip so that he could try to fight her off him.

    “My father was an angel,” Charlie’s face twisted, her eyes bright as she wrapped her one hand around his throat, “Did you forget about that?”

    Margret watched as horror fled across Valentino’s face - and then watched her mother rip her way through his chest and violently pull his heart out.

    “I think this will teach you to stay away from my daughters,” Charlie hissed, squeezing the heart. Valentino gave a pathetic whine, “Do I make myself clear?”

    Before he could respond, Charlie sharply pulled the heart away from his chest and Margret closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to watch. She heard some shuffling and then she peered her eyes open, doing her best to avoid the mess of a still gargling Valentino on the now stained carpet.

    “Where did he put the SD card?” Charlie asked Margret, hands on her hips. She no longer wore her horns and Margret felt shame worrying its way into her stomach.

    “In the drawer,” She pointed to the nightstand by the couch, “I can’t destroy it. In the deal -”

    “Maybe you can’t,” Charlie pulled open the drawer and rifled around, pulling out a small SD card, “But I sure can.”

    Margret watched as Charlie shredded the small piece of computer storage in her fingers and then tossed the remnants onto Valentino. The healing process would not be fun for him - Margret knew that growing a new heart wouldn’t be fun.

    Charlie stepped over him on her way out, not even bothering him a second glance. She took a deep breath and looked up at Margret, now returned to her normal height.

    “It’s going to be okay. Nothing else should come of this - he should have learned now! Don’t worry.” Charlie reached out for Margret and the taller blonde flinched away from the sight of her mother covered in blood.

    “Yeah. It’s going to be okay.” Margret murmured, giving Valentino one last look before the pair headed back toward the elevator. 

    Franklin peered out from behind a potted plant in the hallway, grinning. The camera had recorded it all - he turned it off and set it in his pocket before entering the apartment. 

    He leered over Valentino, the severely wounded demon glaring pathetically up at the maniacally grinning blond. Frankie held his hand out and crouched, tightly gripping Valentino’s hand and shaking it forcefully.

    “You just got dunked on!” Frankie cackled and then dropped his hand, leaving a bruising kick to Valentino’s side before making his way out of the apartment, the feet of his unicorn onesie now stained with blood.

Chapter Text

    Her tongue hung out of her mouth just faintly as she peeled a sticker off the sheet and then pressed it to the card. Charlie brushed a few strands of hair away from her eyes and glowed as she looked over the little stack of handmade cards she’d made; each personalized for each of her friends. She’d spent the past week on them - it wasn’t like she had too much else to do.

    Tucked away in her little office, she started to put away the art supplies. Charlie was generally orderly - enough that everything had a spot and she liked to keep it that way. Any writing utensil went in a certain drawer, paper in another. She carefully tucked away the stickers, since she had to hand make those at one point. Hell didn’t really offer a wide variety of stickers and it was really to shame; making stickers took a while.

    Charlie flicked through each of the cards with a smile on her face, making sure that Alastor’s was on the top. She’d debated on telling him in private but decided against it - she really wanted it to be over the top and nice for everyone.

    Carefully, Charlie placed each card into an envelope and then into a black trash bag that she stored under her desk. It was really the only place she could think of keeping them safe and not in a drawer since the drawers were full any way. If she took the cards home, she knew her nosy husband would probably find a way to open them all and then reseal them without her even finding out about it.

    She pushed herself away from the desk and made sure that everything was in order before glancing up at the clock that was on the wall. A small smile came to her face when she realized that it was about time for her to head back to the estate - it was Alastor’s turn to cook and she always loved to see what he could come up with. He liked to remain mindful whenever he cooked for her, since she didn’t really care for meat.

    Especially now - even the smell of it made her gag.

    She didn’t bother to lock it, the only person who went into her office was Niffty to tidy up anything that she might have left around. She was really grateful for the cyclops demon, she was extraordinarily helpful when it came to cleaning and remodeling the hotel. 

    As she made sure that she had her bag and her shoes were tied, she waved goodbye to Husk, who was manning the front desk. The feline demon gave her a nod in return and she grinned widely, heading toward the door.

    “Charlie, wait!”  She turned around, eyes coming to meet that of her best friend. Vaggie had a small smile on her face, coming to a stop right in front of the taller blonde, “We’re planning for the meeting to be on Friday. Does that work for you? And -” Vaggie’s nose crinkled just slightly, “Alastor?”

    “Should be!” Charlie chirped, fiddling with the button on her sleeve, “We usually do it Saturdays, don’t we?”

    “Yeah, but Angel has something and I have a date with Molly.” Vaggie shrugged, the tops of her cheeks turning a very light pink.

    Charlie cooed, reaching out and wrapping her arms around her best friend. After a moment, Vaggie sighed and hugged Charlie back, shaking her head lightly.

    “I’m so proud of you, Vags!” Charlie nearly bounced on her heels, squeezing Vaggie one more time before letting her go, “We’ll be here! I’m going to head home, I feel really hungry and I know that Al is cooking tonight. You guys want us to bring some food for the meeting?”

    “Nah, Niffty and Angel got it. I think they roped Husk into helping, but you can’t ask me how.” Vaggie gave another smile before waving, “See you then!”

    Charlie beamed and waved once more with a happy, ‘See ya!’ before she headed out the door. Razzle and Dazzle already had her car pulled up and she climbed in, setting her bag on the seat beside her and stretching out. She lay a hand on her stomach and stroked it softly, the smile on her face dipping to one that was slightly smaller; more content. With a soft hum, her eyes moved to the window and she nodded, “It’s going to be perfect.”


    After a lot of consideration with herself, she decided that perhaps telling Alastor alone would probably suit everyone involved. She didn’t quite know how he would react. Instead of risking it in front of everyone, Charlie took the time on Thursday night to paint a stark white mug that she had picked up at the store at some point during the day. She made sure to keep it pretty simple, swirling just plain black lettering with some red accents. She actually wanted him to be able to use it - not just have it as a decoration.

    She made sure to wake up extra early on Friday morning so that she would be able to get his coffee for him and perhaps bring him a little breakfast in bed. When Charlie initially left the bed, Alastor had woken up for a moment but she’d crooned him back to sleep with a scratch to his ear and a soft kiss to his cheek.

    Charlie made sure to get the mug down from her office at the estate carefully and held it tightly in two hands. She made him up a quick breakfast of some sausages and eggs, toast and his regular coffee. Into the mug went a pretty strong brew and a spoonful of sugar, stirring it carefully to make sure it was evenly distributed. 

    Alastor wasn’t too finnicky on food; the Wendigo in him kept that under wraps. He did, however, like his coffee a certain way and a certain strength that Charlie had only just recently gotten down. She was careful about placing the food on the tray, making sure the mug was very carefully placed before making her way up to the bedroom. Charlie tried to keep her footing right on the stairs.

    And then she tripped upward, sending the whole tray clattering against the hardwood of the stairs.

    She had let go of the tray to catch herself and Charlie watched as the mug hit hard against the stair and shattered to pieces, her heart crumbling alongside it. After making sure that she wasn’t hurt in any way, Charlie shuffled to the kitchen to grab the broom to clean up the mess and start another round of coffee and food for Alastor.

    Her lips tugged downward as she cleaned up the spilled coffee with a rag and she carefully picked up the pieces of the mug. Tears prickled at her eyes and Charlie did her best to swallow the lump that was in her throat as she tossed the remnants of the white mug onto the tray and then carried it to the kitchen.

    After quickly making another round of breakfast and pouring his coffee, with just the right amount of sugar into another mug that he had, Charlie was hyper weary of the stairs on her way up. She made it without a hitch and that caused her breath to pick up just slightly. 

    Why couldn’t she have just done it right the first time?

    She swallowed hard before making her way into the bedroom, nudging the door open with her hip since she’d left it open just enough for her to do so. She flipped on the lightswitch with her elbow and set the tray down on the bed, crawling up to sit next to Alastor. She leaned over and grabbed onto it, a small smile coming to her face at the peaceful look of Al asleep. 

    “Hey,” She set the tray down next to her and reached for his face, cupping his cheek in her hands. He woke up, eyes widened, as he wasn’t too used to waking up to her touching him. Alastor usually woke up before she did - this was unusual for him to sleep in so much, “Morning, sleepyhead.”

    His voice was rough with sleep and it sent a soft shiver down her spine, “Good morning, darling.”

    She sat up after giving him a soft kiss to the forehead, her eyes slowly brightening with excitement, “I made you breakfast!” She turned slightly to reach over and grab the tray, settling it on her lap, “Sausage and eggs and some toast.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows and then into a seated position, reaching for the tray. She swatted his hand away, grinning up at him, “I want to feed you, Al.”

    His grin spread across his face and he chuckled softly, leaning back against the headboard, “If you wish, dearest.”

    She scooped up a bite of eggs and held it out to him, Alastor bowing his head forward just slightly so he could reach her offering. After a thoughtful chew, he nodded and opened his mouth once more once she offered him a link of sausage.

    “The meeting is tonight, remember,” She spoke after she’d fed him a few more bites, knowing they had a while to relax before they had to get ready. There was a mountain of food, anyway, she’d made a dozen eggs for him, “I told you that, right?”

    “You did,” He grinned at her, reaching up to rub a bit of sleep from his eyes, “Thank you, darling. This is wonderful!”

    Her cheeks a small bit darker and she pushed hair away from her eyes, reaching over for the mug. Her smile lessened when she remembered what happened to the first mug, but she held it out to him nonetheless, “Just like you like it, Al.”

    Alastor took the mug from her and took a sip, smiling at her with a soft glow to his eyes, “It’s just perfect.”


    Charlie had made a cake. It was a pretty cake - it really was. She’d blocked off the kitchen for a few hours before Niffty, Angel and Husk started to cook for their monthly little potluck they had. It was a crossover between a meeting and just a big hang out for all of them; sometimes, Charlie just wanted to sit back, relax and laugh with her favorite demons in Hell.

    She’d made sure to put the cake in a box and stow it away in the fridge in the kitchen; it was well hidden.    

    Or so she thought.

    Halfway through their dinner, Charlie had gotten up with the premise of having to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t exactly a lie - she’d had to go many times throughout the day. So after she’d gone, she’d snuck into the kitchen and rifled around in the fridge.

    Only to find that her cake was gone. 

    Her hands clapped against her cheeks and she let out a long sigh, rifling through more. Perhaps someone had just moved it. It wasn’t there, though, no matter how many takeaway boxes she moved out of the way and tossed into the trash if they smelled a little too foul.     She made her way back into the dining room and sat down, silent, staring at her plate. Charlie’s once ravenous appetite had diminished and she let out a soft hiccup that she didn’t even know she had to let go of.

    A hand came to rest on hers and she peered up to her left, her eyes watery as she met the gaze of Alastor. His once cheery smile vanished into a thin lipped, concerned one as he looked at her teary eyes, “Darling? What’s upsetting you?”

    Charlie reached up to rub her eyes and caught the attention of Vaggie, who was seated across from her. The white-haired demon raised an eyebrow, “What’s wrong, Charlie?”

    The rest of the dinner table went silent, looking at the Princess of Hell. She felt the tears start to work themselves into a frenzy and she shrunk her head into her shoulders, locking her eyes on the floor. 

    “Blondie?” Angel asked from her right, an elbow on the table as he held his head in a hand, “What’s so blue?”

    The blonde’s lip quivered and she looked up and around, fixing her gaze on Alastor, “I had this whole thing set up! First I was going to make cards, but then they disappeared, and I don’t know where they went! I took forever to make them - it really sucked when I found out that they were gone from the bag under my desk!”

    Niffty piped up, “The garbage bag? Oh, no. I thought it was trash -”

    “I know, I should’ve put them somewhere better, I’m not mad, I’m just . . so frustrated!” Charlie glanced at Niffty for a moment before looking back at her husband, “And then I had made you a mug! A really good one, I hand painted it and then this morning when I made you breakfast, I tripped up the stairs and it smashed.”

    “That’s what that sound was,” He murmured, “I thought it had occurred in my dreams.”

    Charlie let out a wet laugh, grabbing a napkin from the table and wiping her eyes, “And then I spent this morning making a cake that I was going to deliver to you, and I knew you wouldn’t eat it because you don’t like sweets but I wrote the message on it and I really worked hard on it -”

    She would’ve kept babbling if it wasn’t for the chuckle that came from Alastor, “Darling, just say it.”

    She felt her blush start to travel down her neck and she glanced around at everyone for a moment before stretching her arms out, “I’m pregnant!”

    There was silence for a moment, Alastor’s eyes widening and traveling down her form to her stomach. He held his gaze there and she dropped her arms, beaming.

    “Hey! That’s great!” Angel spoke from beside her and she turned enough to smile at him, “A little baby, huh? That’s crazy.”

    Charlie nodded, resting a hand on her stomach, “Very crazy. You better not be a bad influence, Angel.”

    “Nah! The little dude will be the coolest demon in Hell. I mean, c’mon! Princess of Hell and Radio Demon as parents? You won’t have to worry about me!” Angel winked, a grin splitting his face.

    “Congrats, Charlie,” Vaggie spoke from the other side of the table, a small smile on her face, “You know you’ll be a good mom.”

    “I hope so,” Charlie beamed.

    “Can I touch your belly?” Niffty bolted up, racing to the other side of the table, arms outstretched. Charlie moved her hands so that the little cyclops demon could touch the soft roundness that was settled between her hips, “Wow!”

    “Great job,” Husk gave a thumbs up toward Alastor, “Your life is going to suck from now on.”

    Alastor’s grin relaxed and he leaned back in the chair, “I already knew.”

    Charlie’s face dropped and she looked at him, Niffty even moving away for a moment so that Charlie could completely turn to look at him, “What?”

    He seemed to shift uncomfortably and Charlie tilted her head as he spoke, “Ah, I found the mug pieces. I put them back together. And you, well,” He chuckled, “Smell different.”

    She crossed her arms and huffed, shaking her head, “Of course you did! I can’t surprise you with anything!”

    He laughed outright then, reaching out and in a fleeting moment of affection, ran his finger down her cheek, “I’m afraid not, my darling.”

Chapter Text


    “There you go, pretty girl.” Charlie fluffed up the ruffles on the dress, Margret watching her with brightened eyes.

    “Fanks.” The girl peered down at her shoes, wiggling her feet around as the sparkles caught the light, “Look!”

    “I know! Aren’t they cool?” Charlie laughed and scooped the three year old up, settling her on her hip and adjusting both of their dresses so they sat right, “Let’s go see how well Daddy is doing getting Beatrice dressed.”

    “Oh! Bean!” Maggie reached up and clamped her fingers around a stray curl from Charlie’s updo, tugging on it, “Daddy?”

    “Yes ma’am.” The blonde reached to her daughter’s fingers and pried them away, swatting the chubby fingers, “Don’t you pull Mommy’s hair.”

    Margret huffed and began to play with her own curls, tugging at them before realizing she had a bow on the top of her head, right next to her ear and then reaching up for that. Charlie swatted her fingers away from the sparkling pink bow, narrowing her eyes at the toddler.

    “Keep the bow on.”

    “No!” Margret tried to move her hand away from Charlie’s desperately trying to grab onto the bow. A piercing shriek came from the room down the hall and Margret’s hand fell, her eyes going wide, “Bean!”

    Charlie struggled to adjust the bow properly for a second before leaving Margret’s room, closing the door behind her and making her way to Beatrice’s room. Alastor was standing near the changing table, his back to her and Charlie could see Beatrice’s flailing legs.

    “Need help?” Charlie’s voice was lilted with amusement.

    Alastor turned to her, his grin passive, “No! I have it. She’s being difficult. As usual.”

    “No, no, no!” Beatrice shrieked, reaching up and tugging at the bow in her hair, “No!”

    Charlie set Maggie down on the floor and stood beside Alastor, an eyebrow raised, “How did you -”

    “Perhaps I do require some assistance.” Alastor admitted sheepishly, looking down at the wailing toddler, “She just doesn’t stop squirming, doesn’t she?”

    “Nope, never.” Charlie nudged Alastor out of the way and slid Beatrice out of the dress that Alastor had somehow put on backwards and fixed it, “Hold her legs so I can put her shoes on.”

    Alastor gripped Beatrice’s legs and held them still while Charlie strapped on some shoes. Bea stopped her wiggling once they were on and her eyes moved to her feet and both of her parents could see the gears turning in her little head.

    “Alright! Now that we’re all dressed, we can go.” Charlie turned on her heel and her smile faded when she saw that Margret had ripped off her bow and was stomping on it, “Maggie!”

    “No bow, Mommy.” Margret shook her head at the offending material, “No.”

    “Please, just for one day.” Charlie walked over and swiped the bow from the ground, fixing the fabric, “For Mommy.”

    Margret seemed to mull it over for a moment before shaking her head, “No!”

    Alastor laughed, scooping Beatrice onto his hip and walking over to Margret, crouching so that she could scramble up onto his other arm and he could lift her onto his hip, “That’s quite alright, darling. You don’t need a bow to be pretty.”

    Margret stuck a tongue out at Charlie and gripped onto Alastor’s jacket, her knee nudging Beatrice’s. The redheaded girl looked over at Margret, eyes widened as she realized that her older sister was there for the first time.

    “Ma!” Beatrice kicked Margret, her voice high with excitement, “Hi!”

    Margret huffed and kicked back, “No kicking.”

    Charlie put a hand on each of their legs, “Don’t kick each other! I don’t want you ruining your dresses. Please.”

    Bea blinked, not quite understanding, but kept her legs to herself as she began to bounce on Alastor’s hip, “Car?”

    “Yes, sweetheart. We’re headed to the car. Are you excited to go on a trip?” Alastor began to leave the room, Charlie following him after she grabbed a bag with the necessities for the girls.

    “Yes!” Margret nodded happily.

    Bea copied her sister, nodding madly, “Yeah! Yeah!”

    Charlie twisted her fingers in her palms and watched as Alastor continued to talk to his daughters, Margret chattering about whatever she could with her vocabulary and Beatrice copying words that she thought were interesting. Alastor kept their conversation going and Charlie felt a small smile come to her face as they walked down the drive to the car, where Razzle and Dazzle waved to the family from their spot in the front seats.

    Charlie ducked in front of Alastor and opened the door for him, grinning widely, “Milady!”

    Al rolled his eyes and handed Margret over to Charlie’s outstretched arms, “Why, thank you.”

    “You are very welcome.” Charlie winked and Alastor slid into the limousine, shifting himself over to one of the seats near the front and settling Beatrice into the carrier that was designed for her. She whined against the buckles and tried to pry them off her, but Alastor pushed her fingers away.

    “Now then, Beatrice.” Alastor’s voice crackled with energy and the girl stopped, staring wide eyed at her father as she felt the area shift, “Leave your straps alone.”

    Beatrice dropped her hands and opted to play with the dangling toy that hung from the car seat itself, “Da’da.”

    Charlie propped Margret into her booster seat beside Beatrice’s car seat, the girl quickly reaching over and starting to bat the dangling toy for Beatrice. The girls squabbled quietly, though it was lighthearted and both Alastor and Charlie knew that they would be fine.

    Charlie fidgeted slightly as she sat back in her own seat, Alastor sat next to her. The car began moving and she let out a shaky sigh, her fingers tapping along her thigh.

    “You know, I’m really nervous.” Charlie chittered, turning to look up at her husband, who had his eyebrow raised at her, “This is the first time we’ve seen them since the wedding. The first time they’ve actually been interested in seeing the girls.”

    “It is quite a marvel.” Alastor’s eyes drifted over to his daughters, the eldest of which had left her little sister alone and was just watching the buildings pass outside, “I wonder why, now, all of a sudden. They could have been interested when dear Margret was born, I suppose.”

    It didn’t help Charlie’s anxiety at all and she swallowed a lump in her throat, twisting her fingers tighter, “I wonder what they want.”

    Alastor sat back and shrugged, giving her one of his stellar smiles, which calmed her slightly, “All is well, darling!”

    “If you say so.” Charlie felt a smile come to her face at his and she leaned back onto him, resting her head on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind terribly; Alastor shifted slightly so that she would be able to lean on him better.

    The ride there was mainly quiet. The radio did turn on at one point and Charlie peered up at Alastor and saw him staring at the speakers; she knew he was fiddling with it, broadcasting the exact music he wanted to play. Music the girls liked; she watched Margret wiggle in her own little moves when Alastor put on her favorite song and she heard Beatrice squeal once Al played a song that the little redhead enjoyed. It seemed it was short lived, however, as the car came to a slow stop in front of the house that Charlie grew up in.

    She felt a small knot start to form in her throat as she moved forward to unbuckle the girls, passing Beatrice off to Alastor and then helping Margret out of the car. The toddler was insistent that she walk and Charlie wasn’t one to argue; she kept a tight grip on her child’s fingers as they walked up the massive path that led to the mansion.

    Alastor’s fingers brushed the small of her back and she turned slightly to look at him, his grin softened on the edges, “We can leave whenever you like, darling.”

    “Thanks, Al.” She murmured, continuing to walk slowly with Margret.

    “Mommy,” Margret looked up at the impressive house in front of them, as if suddenly realizing how large it was compared to her own, “Up.”

    Charlie had to stifle a giggle as she scooped up the child, the girl immediately burying her face into her mother’s throat and hiding herself there, ears pressed flat against her head. Beatrice looked unimpressed, playing with the toy that Alastor had dug out of her bag and given to her to stay entertained.

    They walked up to the door and it opened upon their arrival, Charlie seeming nonplussed, “It opens by itself for members of the household. I never really figured out why. I guess the magic still considers me a member.”

    “I would hope it did! You are a Magne, after all. As are the girls.” Alastor followed her inside, his ears flicking slightly as he zeroed in on where most of the noise was coming from.

    Charlie shrugged, automatically turning to the right and heading down a hallway, “I guess. You’re a Magne by marriage, sorta.”

    Alastor laughed outright, shaking his head, “I don’t think that’s how it works, dearest.”

    She laughed and Margret tightened her grip on Charlie’s dress shirt collar, still hiding her face. Beatrice was still completely focused on her toy, idly kicking her feet as she prodded at the stuffed reindeer. Charlie pushed open a door and then stood still for a moment, gathering her wits.

    Lillith was seated, elegant as ever, on one of the loveseats, Lucifer beside her. They had been in the middle of a conversation when Charlie walked in; both of their gazes snapped to the doorframe and the ever-present grin on Lucifer’s face spread.

    “Welcome, welcome!” He stood, spreading his arms, “Charlotte, I’m so glad to have you here.”

    “Glad to be here, dad.” Charlie offered a small smile, shifting Margret in her arms, “How are you?”

    “Fine, just fine.” There was a flash of disdain in his eyes when he noticed Alastor standing behind Charlie, though it faded when he saw the set of toddlers the two were carrying, “Oh! You’ve brought your children!”

    “Yeah, we can’t just leave them home.” Charlie shrugged, trying to prop Margret’s head up, “Margret’s only three and Beatrice just turned one.”

    Lillith stood, brushing past Lucifer, who had maintained a distance from the little group. She quickly enveloped Charlie and Margret in a hug, Charlie’s free arm wrapping around her mother’s middle and a more genuine smile coming to her face.

    “I’m so glad you’ve brought them.” Lillith murmured to Charlie before pulling away, smiling down at the little strawberry blonde, “Who do we have here?”

    “Mags, say hello,” Charlie whispered to Margret, who carefully pulled her head up and peeked up at Lillith.

    “Hi.” Her ears were still pressed to the back of her head, fingers gripping her mother’s shirt, “Maggie.”

    “What a pleasure,” Lillith reached out and wiggled her finger in between Margret’s, shaking it, “I’m so glad to meet you, finally. You can call me grandma.”

    Margret’s eyebrows furrowed and she took her hand back, “Gama.”

    Lilith’s smile glowed as she nodded, “That’s perfect.”

    Alastor watched the interaction with hooded eyes, keeping a close gaze on Lillith as she touched his daughter. There was a movement behind Lillith and his gaze snapped up to look at Lucifer, who was peering over behind the taller blonde at the little girl.

    “And who’s your sister?” Lillith asked, nodding toward the redhead that was settled in Alastor’s arms.

    “Bean!” Margret whipped her head around, pointing to the girl, “Beanie!”

    At the sound of her name, Beatrice looked up from her stuffed animal and realized just how many strangers were looking at her. She gave a shriek and tossed her reindeer at Lillith, twisting in Alastor’s arms to try and climb up his front.

    Alastor bit back a smirk as he adjusted his daughter, patting her back as she shoved her face into his collarbone, “I apologize. She isn’t very good with strangers.”

    “Well -”

    Lillith cut Lucifer off, reaching down for the stuffed animal and walking closer to Alastor, “That’s alright. Can I give this back to her?”

    Alastor took a moment to realize that she was asking if she could come closer to him and he nodded sharply, his grin lazily stretched across his face. Lillith stepped closer, tilting her head so that she was able to catch eyes with Beatrice.

    “Here you are, Bean.” Lillith held out the reindeer, waving it slightly to catch Beatrice’s eye.

    The girl looked weary for a moment, but she then stretched out a hand and grasped onto the reindeer, tugging it from Lillith’s grasp and then tucking it under her chin. Beatrice buried her face in the stuffed animal and let out a babble of something, fingers loosening their grip on Alastor’s shirt.   

    “Thank you,” Alastor said with a delighted grin, “That’s what she said.”

    “Absolutely.” Lillith took a step back out of Alastor’s personal space and both he and Bea let out a soft crackle of static at having their space to themselves once more. 

    “Come sit down, Charlotte! We made tea and cookies. I’m sure the girls would enjoy them.” Lucifer spoke up, motioning toward the set that was sitting on the coffee table in front of the couches.

    “Sure,” Charlie nodded and took a step back, reaching out and grasping for Alastor’s hand.

    Though she had grown up here and she still felt like she knew the mansion like the back of her hand, the presence of her father weighed down on her chest uncomfortably; Alastor was an anchor of peace to her. His fingers slid into hers easily and she felt his static shift at her touching him and knew that it was okay. The two stayed connected as they walked to a sofa, sitting side by side as Charlie shifted Margret to sit on her thigh.

    The girl looked around the room, her tight ringlets of curls bouncing with each movement. It was a grand parlor, much fancier than the one at home, though the one at home had lots of her toys in it and it was a lot more comfortable. Maggie wiggled until Charlie got the hint and set her down on the ground, the girl toddling off to take a look at everything. Alastor watched her step away and summoned a shadow to attach to her to keep her fingers away from any breakables.

    “She’s curious,” Lillith looked at Margret with bright eyes, “Isn’t she?”

    “She is.” Charlie relaxed at the conversation, discussing a little bit more with Lillith about the growth of her daughters. Charlie didn’t seem to realize how the static shifted as Lucifer and Alastor locked eyes, the two just staring at each other.

    After a while of the mother and daughter chatting and sipping their tea, Lucifer tossing in a few comments while Alastor remained mostly quiet, Beatrice began to fuss. It started with a sniffle and quickly unravelled into tears, shoving her face into her reindeer for comfort.    Alastor reached for the bag by Charlie’s legs, standing, “Is there anywhere I can go to settle her? I believe she needs a change.”

    Charlie watched as Lucifer stood, motioning toward the door, “Come. I’ll bring you to the restroom.”

    “I can do it, dad!” Charlie nearly fell when she stood up so quickly, not wanting her father to be alone with Alastor and Beatrice. She still didn’t quite trust him enough.

    “Shush, darling. It’ll be alright.” Alastor gave her a smile and smoothed Beatrice’s hair down, the girl sniffling, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

    Alastor’s back straightened and he towered over Lucifer as they walked, Bea still wailing into her stuffed animal. The two didn’t speak until they reached the restroom, which was straight down the hall from the parlor. As Alastor reached for the handle, Lucifer spoke.

    “I will say,” Lucifer’s eyes sparkled maniacally, “That my daughter seems very comfortable with you.”

    “I would hope so!” Alastor turned to look at the king, his grin spread wide, “We have been married for several centuries! I’m so very glad that you have decided to reach out, only after our second child had just turned one. It was very kind of you. Now, I must take care of my daughter. Because as you can see, I am an excellent father.”

    Lucifer’s grin fell slightly as Alastor shut the door behind him, flipping the little lock and then peering down at his squalling daughter.

    “What to do with you,” Alastor shook his head, chuckling, “Thank you for the escape, little one.”

    Bea let out a scream, kicking her legs furiously. 

    Alastor held her up for a moment and then pressed a kiss to her forehead before getting to work on changing her. Once she was fresh and clean, the wails ebbed and she was once again playing happily with her reindeer.

    He took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom, heading straight back into the lion’s den.

Chapter Text

    It hadn’t been that difficult to get Alastor to the bar. Beatrice had slipped him the flier weeks prior with a date circled, as well as a note scrawled on the back in her lazy cursive. He’d been intrigued - Bea never tried to branch out and invite him to any of the social gatherings she usually went to and if she was inviting him, it was because she was planning on doing something a little special.

    After all, Bea still did ride on her father’s approval.

    She was centuries old by now; no longer the dependent little girl she had been once. Bea was rarely home nowadays, most of her time spent with Vox or on hunts with Franklin. 

    Alastor’s presence allowed him to get his own table at the bar. Charlie had insisted on going with him, as well as Margret and Franklin, and he’d allowed them. There was no reason for them to not; they were all adults and Charlie was very capable of going where-ever she wished. The smoke was heavy and the tables were all facing the small stage that sat in the corner of the bar.

    Alastor’s fingers tapped along the stained wood of the table, watching more patrons shuffle into the already crowded bar. Most seemed eager to get a glimpse of the stage.

    “Does Beatrice do this often?” Alastor murmured to Charlie, leaning over just a touch so she would be able to hear him.

    Charlie nodded, her curls bouncing, “She sings every week. She’s got a little following! Isn’t that cool?”

    Franklin peered up from his phone, lips curled upward in a lazy grin, “She’s got a special guest tonight.”

    The buck glanced over at his son, who wiggled his eyebrows before looking back down at his phone. Alastor sighed softly, the static crackling unpleasantly around him. He didn’t care for crowded bars; now that there were more demons shuffling in, he could feel the presence of them all around him. Charlie moved on his left and his eyes snapped over to her. She gave him a soft grin and moved to stand behind him, laying her hands on his shoulder and leaning over to his ear.

    “I’ll protect you, Al!” Her voice was warm, her soft breath causing a few goosebumps to rise.

    “Thank you, dearest.” He knew better than to argue with her; she’d get her way just like always.

    There was movement from the curtain behind the stage and Alastor watched as a demon pushed out a smaller piano. He raised an eyebrow, watching the demon duck back behind the curtain and the bar fell quiet.

    Beatrice broke out, a subtle smile on her lips as she picked up the microphone that was on the edge of the stage. She looked around for a moment before catching eyes with Alastor, her grin turning impish, “Hey, everyone.”

    There was a loud round of ‘hey’ and the like that caused Margret’s ears to flicker downward; it was rather loud.

    “Like some of you know, I’m not going to be singing tonight,” She paused to let the chorus of ‘boo’s erupt, her eyes sparkling, “I’m going to be backup singing, though! I’ll be on the piano.”

    She paused again, grin widening into one similar to Alastor’s own.

    “My boyfriend, Vox, will be singing tonight.”

    Alastor felt himself freeze as he watched Vox come out onto the stage, a grin on his screen. He took the microphone from Bea with a soft ‘thank you’ as the red headed deer demon took a graceful seat at the piano.

    The undeniable tones began as her fingers swept over the keys and Alastor felt a cold trickle of irritation spider down his spine. Her eyes brightened with mischief as she turned, her head bobbing slightly to the beat she set. Charlie snickered softly and Franklin scrambled to pull up his camera, holding it up as he recorded his sister and Vox.

    Vox scanned the crowd and grinned at Alastor, pulling the microphone closer to him, “I heard you on the wireless back in fifty two.”

    Alastor let out a soft noise of disbelief. Beatrice had invited him out for this?

    “Lying awake intent on tuning on in you - if i was young it didn’t stop you coming through.”

    Beatrice let out the distinct, “Oh, a, oh,” as Alastor moved to get up, though Charlie’s grip on his shoulders tightened and he could feel her shaking with laughter.

    “They took the credit for your second symphony - rewritten by machine on new technology - and now I understand the problems you can see.”

    The worst part was that Vox actually sounded good singing the wretched song. Beatrice’s background vocals fit in perfectly and he knew that they had been practicing this for quite a while; he figured that she had invited him to this specific night because they finally had the kinks worked out.

    “Oh, a, oh,”

    “I met your children -”

    “Oh, a, oh,”

    “What did you tell them?”

    Franklin couldn’t stop the wheezing laughter that shook him, his eyes glowing brightly against the darkness of the bar. His phone shook slightly in his hands and he scrambled to steady it, making sure to swing it back and film Alastor’s tight grin and slightly rounded eyes.

    “Video killed the radio star - video killed the radio star,” Beatrice sang, her eyes bright. If Alastor wasn’t so focused on the fact that his daughter was singing one of the worst songs to exist, he would notice that her eyes were glowing just like his and Franklin’s, something she didn’t normally have the capacity for.

    “Pictures came and broke your heart -” Vox grinned widely and turned to Bea, moving to lean against the piano and look down at her with a soft gleam.

    “Oh, a, a, a, oh,” Beatrice grinned up at him, her fingers moving like water against the keys of the piano.

    Charlie rest her chin on the top of Alastor’s head, the chair that he was sitting him allowing her to be just at the right height, “She sounds really good, doesn’t she, Al?”

    He let out a non-committed sound, “Of course she does.”

    “And now we meet in an abandoned studio - We hear the playback and it seems so long ago - And you remember the jingles used to go -”

    “Ahh,” Beatrice’s background vocals were quivering and Franklin knew that she could feel the tension from Alastor and that she wanted to laugh just as much as he was.

    “You were the first one -”

    “Oh, a, oh,”

    “You were the last one -”

    “Oh, a, oh,” Bea took a shaking breath and calmed herself down, grinning back out at the crowd, namely at Alastor, “Video killed the radio star - video killed the radio star -”

    “In my mind and in my car - we can’t rewind we’ve gone too far - pictures came and broke your heart - put the blame on VCR -”  Vox reached out and put a hand on Bea’s head and she turned her grin to the TV demon, the soft red glow still emitting from her eyes.

    “You are a radio star - video killed the radio star.” They sang together before Bea pulled her hands away from the piano and stood, gripping Vox’s hand in hers and taking the microphone away from him.

    The bar erupted into applause and Franklin turned off his phone so he could double over in laughter. Margret was with him, the both of them leaning on each other as they wheezed. Charlie was still holding back her laughter, though her shoulders were quaking just slightly with the effort.

    “Thanks for listening! That’s all tonight!” Bea and Vox bowed once more and set the microphone back on the stand before she jumped off the stage, Vox following her.

    She ducked through the crowd, the TV demon making sure that stray hands stayed away from her as she met with her family. Franklin was still slightly incoherent, his cheeks even redder than usual.

    “You - dad, aha!” He was clutching his stomach, shaking his head, “Nice!”

    Bea glowed, “Thanks, Frankie!”   

    “You did excellent, Beanie!” Charlie let go of Alastor and moved around to her, wrapping her arms around her daughter’s torso, “You sounded so good!”

    “Thanks, mama,” Bea’s smile softened as she hugged her mother back before turning to look at Alastor, who had risen from the seat he was in.

    For a moment, the father and daughter just looked at each other. Bea’s smile, for a moment, started to slip before it began to rise and she pulled away from Charlie, trotting over to her father.


    Alastor chuckled lowly, shaking his head, “Very well done.”

    “You think?”

    “Save for the song. And the man whom you sung it with! It was very well done.” Alastor bowed his head toward her lightly, “I highly recommend you never invite me to one of these nights again if you plan on doing this!”

    Bea laughed, "I knew you'd like it."

Chapter Text

Something felt off.

Beatrice wasn’t really able to place a finger on it. Everything felt the way it was supposed to feel, though there was an edge to her stomach that made her think that there was something wrong. The feeling hit her suddenly as she was eating lunch with Alastor; the two were splitting a large rack of ribs that they’d gotten the day before. Franklin had said he was going to be there to eat, though he didn’t show. She didn’t think that was the reason she was unsettled; he was one to skip meals occasionally if he was too busy streaming.

The feeling hit her at the same time that it hit Alastor. She glanced up at him, setting one of the ribs down and licking her lips clean of the sauce they’d slathered the rack with. He was as neat as he was before eating; she could never understand how he always kept so clean in the face of such a mess.

His questioning gleam in his eyes met hers and she reached over to grab a napkin. Once her mouth was wiped enough, she pushed away from the table, “I think something is up.”
He nodded, looking slightly mournful as the two of them abandoned their lunch. Beatrice made her way to the sink and washed her hands up, picking any leftover remains from under her nails and then grabbing a paper towel, wetting it and wiping her lips, “Let me go change.”

Bea’s shirt was covered in sauce and Alastor’s nose crinkled slightly at the sight. Where she had gained such messy eating habits was beyond him and he washed his own fingers of anything as she left the room to go to hers to change.

Alastor always had the habit of feeling when something was off. It was a soft, nudging feeling that usually occurred when a power shift happened in Pentagram. Whether it be a power growing or a demon being slayed that was excessively powerful, he wanted to know. Beatrice was the only child of his that had gained the sense of his that helped her recognize power.

He waited by the entryway stairs for her. Once he heard her footsteps coming down the hall and saw her at the top of the stairs, he sighed. She was wearing that unseemly dress that showed off most of her body and he couldn’t help but shake his head at her.

“Oh, bugger off.” She shook her head back at him, pointing to the tights she was wearing, “At least I have tights on.”

"I suppose I'm thankful for that." His voice showed his disappointment in her choice of clothing.

"Thought you would be." Bea fixed her skirt before the pair headed out of the house.

The static that was built up around Alastor seemed to be reaching to the far corners of the city, shadows stretching from his fingers and dancing through the alleyways. Bea watched him interestedly before she turned and decided to follow one of the shadow beings. Alastor turned to one going the opposite direction, knowing the two would cover more ground if they went separate.

Bea kept her eyes out and her fingers available. There were several demons that she knew would jump at the chance to attack her if she let her guard down for even a second. A knife pressed tightly against her exposed thigh and the glint was visible to anyone’s eyes that strayed a little too south.

Her ears flickered as a beat of energy hit her and she found her feet steering her toward the site of the movement. It felt like it was just a few hundred feet away and so her body helped her figure out what was wrong. It came to a surprise to her when Alastor was not in the alleyway where the disruption occurred; his senses were usually a lot stronger than hers.

There wasn't much in the alley. Bea crept down inside and her throat suddenly enclosed around itself when she saw the crumpled mass in the middle of the stained concrete.


He was whimpering, body tensed. She felt her heart thud in her throat as she collapsed next to him, gripping his shoulder and rolling him over. His face was scrunched up and she felt her stomach roll at the sight of him.

A single bullet wound, straight in between the eyes. Franklin wasn’t coherent; the steady stream of tears and the sharp breathing let Beatrice know that the healing process had already begun and that he would be in severe pain for the next several days. Her mind wasn’t quite able to wrap around the fact that her baby brother had been shot in the head - right between the eyes.

“Bea -” The crackling of familiar static drifted over her skin and she barely turned her head to look at Alastor as she collapsed next to her shivering brother, her hands clumsily trying to smooth the hair away from his face.

Death wasn’t possible from something like this - he would be down and out for the next week or so due to the healing process. For most demons, a wound like this would only take a day or two to heal, but since they were hellborn, it took longer. ‘If at all’, Bea thought as she felt tears start to drip down her cheeks, ‘No one’s ever been hurt like this before.’

“Let me take him,” Alastor was behind her in a moment, Bea’s fingers cupping Franklin’s cheeks as she attempted to look more into the damage. Her brother was shot - anger curled in her stomach.

She stood, shuffling him upward enough that Alastor was able to cradle all seven foot eight inches of her brother. If it wasn’t due to the reason, for a moment, Bea thought it would be funny to see her father carrying her brother. They were the same height - it made for a somewhat awkward sight.

Frankie let out a soft sob as he was jostled around, his head lolling onto Alastor’s jacket. The steady stream of blood that dripped from the wound met the red coloring of his father’s jacket and it didn’t seem to matter - the colors matched so well. Bea arranged Franklin’s arms so that they weren’t just dangling and noticed all of the new fresh cuts and bruises on his pale grey skin.

Bea’s eye ignited in a radio dial and her lips curled upward in a maniacal smile. She didn’t wait for Alastor to give her the go ahead, the demoness immediately turned on her heel, took a shuddering inhale and sprinted off, her body ripping the clothing she wore as it twisted upward and her Wendigo took control.

Alastor shook his head lightly at his daughter before looking down at his son. Franklin was babbling something incoherently and Al felt whatever shrivels of his heart squeeze uncomfortably. He stepped into the shadows, ducking back into his home with the quivering mass of his son crying all the while.

Franklin never cried. Alastor knew this - he had been a tearful infant and once the boy had reached the more reasonable stage of two years, he hadn’t shed a tear since. No matter the pain he went though - Al assumed that the lad had the same pain index that he had, which was pretty high.

For a moment, the radio demon just stared down at Franklin. Right between his eyes - and in that second, he knew. Alastor knew it was a personal attack on him; using his only son to convey that someone wanted Alastor gone and dead. It wasn’t anything new, really, but the fact that some demon out there had been able to overpower his own son worried him.

“Al - “ Charlie looked up as he walked into the parlor, her eyes immediately widening as she caught sight of Franklin in his arms, “What happened?” She flew up, dropping her notebook onto the floor and rushing over to the pair, “Upstairs, quick, explain in a second, I’ll get the kit,” Charlie babbled, shooing Alastor up the stairs as she ducked into the kitchen to get the medical kit that she and Margret had put together at one point for reasons just like this.

Alastor passed his eldest daughter on the way upstairs, his smile low and almost nonexistent, “Go help your mother gather things. She’s in the kitchen.”

Before she could reply, or even process that Franklin was bleeding, she stumbled down the stairs to help Charlie gather the medkit and get some rags to help staunch the bleeding.

Alastor set Franklin down on his own bed, his smile dipping into a frown for a split second as he watched his only son writhe on the bed. The room felt too dark, so Alastor reached for the lamp beside Franklin’s bed and flipped it on before unbuttoning his jacket and setting it on the ground, rolling his sleeves up.

Charlie bustled in, her eyebrows knitted together and her teeth worrying her lower lip. Her sclera was a bit reddened; Alastor knew she had probably shed a few tears as they had gathered the medical items. Margret followed closely behind, immediately rolling up the sleeves to her sweater and climbing up onto the bed, lifting Franklin’s head up and turning it to the side.

“Bullet went straight through,” She murmured, setting his head back straight and using a wet rag that she had to start wiping the blood from his forehead, “So we don’t have to do much.”

“Thank goodness,” Charlie ducked in front of Alastor, reaching for Franklin’s face. Margret paused her cleaning as Charlie looked into the wound, her stomach roiling at the sight, “It’s a clean wound. Where else is he hurt? What happened?”

Alastor moved to the zipper on Franklin’s onesie and pulled it down, Margret and Charlie both carefully helping to pull Franklin’s limbs from out of the sleeves and legs, leaving the demon bare and only in his shorts, “Beatrice and I were having lunch, waiting for him. He didn’t show and we felt a shift in the power. He wasn’t too difficult to find,” Alastor’s grin still hadn’t returned and both his daughter and wife decided not to mention it.

“I wonder why he was in Pentagram,” Charlie murmured as she began to disinfect the other superficial wounds that were littered around his body. Franklin hissed with pain at each one, the tears still steadily streaming down his face, “I know baby, I know, we’re almost done.”

“Where’s Bea?” Maggie asked, unrolling some gauze and wrapping it around a rather nasty stab wound on Franklin’s arm.

Alastor’s grin reappeared as he looked out the window, his eyes glowing softly, “I assume to find the demons responsible. She seemed very sure of the scent of his attackers.”

“Good,” Charlie snarled, taking both Al and Maggie by surprise, “I hope she finds them and tears them apart.”

“Mama,” Maggie murmured, but was cut off.

“No! He most likely wasn’t even doing anything!” Charlie’s eyes flashed red, “He was probably on his way home. You know he gets lost sometimes. He was probably on his phone and just walking - it's the only way someone could have gotten him down, if he was distracted!” Her movements of the washcloth grew rough for a moment and Frankie let out a whine. Charlie was startled from the sound and she took a deep breath, trying to calm down, “Was his phone nearby?”
“I didn’t think to check,” Alastor admitted, “Though it’s possible. Or it was stolen.”

Charlie let out a sigh and brushed a few strands of Franklin’s hair away from his face, frowning. His eyes were fused shut from the tears at this point and she could already see that his skin was slowly starting to stitch itself back together. A door slammed from downstairs and both Alastor and Margret’s ear flickered as they listened to Beatrice race up the stairs. Her face appeared in the doorway after a few more seconds, littered with blood and a satiated grin on her lips.

“Some dumbass freaks trying to think they could take over an overlord. Just because he was distracted - I put them in their place.” She tossed an object in the room and it landed on the carpet with a soft ‘thud’, “They stole his phone, wallet and keys. I got them back. And then I ate them. Safe to say, they won’t be addressing him any time soon. How is he?”

“Healing,” Charlie murmured, peering down at Franklin, “Go wash up, Bea.”

“Yes, ma’am,” The redhead saluted, turning and heading down the hall.


She paused before she took off too far, “Yeah, mama?”

“Thank you,” Charlie gave her a nod, before turning to Margret and then Al, “You both go clean up. Al, your coat needs to go in the wash.”

The blonde demon crawled off the bed, squeezing Franklin’s ankle once before gathering all of the bloody rags and the medkit, ducking out of the room to go clean them up. Alastor blinked and shook his head, sitting down on the bed beside Franklin’s hip and reaching for his son’s hand.

“I think I’ll stay here a moment,” He said, his own fingers running along Franklin’s unmarred palm.

Charlie felt her shoulders droop with relief and she bent over to pick up her husband's jacket, holding it away from her body, “I’ll go put it in. You’ll stay here with him?”

“I will,” Alastor nodded, his eyes turning upward to Charlie, “No need to worry. He will heal. You know how he would think you’re being silly right now.”

“I know,” Charlie shrugged, stepping toward the door, “I can’t help it. Please don’t leave him.”

The fingers Al was holding gave him a rough squeeze and Alastor squeezed Franklin back, nodding, “I’m not going to leave him.”