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absolutely-esme · 7 months

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Monster!Tim Coraline AU Idea

This idea would not leave me alone.

It’s a cross between a meta!/magic!Tim au and a Coraline au.

Before I get into it, I feel like I should explain. I was on a bit of an Eldritch!Batfamily and Cryptid!Batfamily kick. Then I found a collection of supernatural Tim aus. Then I stumbled across a Coraline au. There’s probably also some inspiration in there from vampire au fics.

It didn’t really jell until the idea occurred to me of a scene where some frightened villain asks Tim “What kind of monster are you?” and Tim says “The hungry kind.”

...

The idea is that somewhere back along the way, Tim’s family tree includes some kind of supernatural creature which may or may not have been an eldritch entity.

The supernatural heritage allows Tim to acquire abilities from other entities he has defeated, and Gotham is absolutely full of the supernatural if you pay attention.

Of course, Tim’s power isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. It actually comes packaged with some pretty nasty side effects.

One of those side effects is perpetual Hunger. Tim is always Hungry. There is no way to stop it. He eats enough to stay healthy, but he still feels Hunger at all times. Increasing his food intake will not help and will screw up his metabolism and cause him to need more for normal function. If this was allowed to spiral out of control it could eventually reach a point where he was physically unable to eat the amount of food he needed to function and starved to death on a full stomach.

Fixing it is stupid hard because this particular sort of magical inheritance is really fucking inconvenient. And, of course, whatever is up with his biology also makes him insanely susceptible to addiction, so no coffee for him unless he wants caffeine withdrawal symptoms all the time for however long it takes to fix that. The constant Hunger also makes it difficult to get enough sleep. Have you ever tried to go to sleep on an empty stomach? Not easy, was it? Imagine that every night.

The Hunger is fairly central to the nature of the magic. Whatever supernatural entity he’s descended from, it is the Hungry kind. The ritual of defeating another supernatural entity, taking a bit of the defeated entity’s power, and incorporating it into himself serves as a sort of metaphorical devouring, (and metaphors matter more to magic than they do to normal biology). That’s why he’s able to gain power and abilities from defeated foes.

...

Tim’s relationship with his parents is complicated. His supernatural heritage comes from his mother’s side of the family. She did her best to teach him about it and how to cope with it, but a lot of knowledge was lost over the generations due to persecution forcing those like them into hiding more than once. There may have been a few individuals who spiraled out of control and caused small-scale famines before losing their lives. It only takes a few cases for people to decide that a specific category of people is simply not worth the risk of having around. Janet always referred to herself and Tim (as well as anyone else sharing the condition) as “those afflicted with Gluttony.” This is the closest they have to a name for the condition.

One of the important things Janet Drake teaches her son is to pursue his passions. It is incredibly important for individuals like them to have things outside the self that they can draw satisfaction and fulfilment from, things that keep them going in the face of the relentless Hunger. This is what leads Tim to his night-time photography of Gotham, and eventually to his fascination with the Bats.

Janet’s passions are archeology and travel. Unfortunately, traveling from dig site to dig site is not a particularly stable or safe environment to raise a child in. She needs to do these things to remain in good health. Without her external coping mechanisms, she could start spiraling. If she starts spiraling, it might trigger her son to start spiraling too because children in their developmental years are delicate, and this type of hereditary magic is fucking inconvenient (there might be ways of managing things that make it easier to live with, but between the knowledge lost and the risks that come with experimentation, they don’t have much info on how anything works). She comes home as much as she can without the risk of compromising both their health.

She also taught Tim how to calculate appropriate portion sizes based on nutritional data so as not to screw up his metabolism, and how to fix it if he does mess up. She also stayed and managed the process the first time it happened because the process of returning the metabolism of one afflicted with Gluttony to normal after it’s gotten out of hand is difficult and unpleasant and Tim wasn’t old enough to handle it by himself. The nanny that had overfed him hadn’t been malicious or unreasonable, she’d just been operating on the assumption that he had standard human biology. It took months to get Tim healthy again. It took several hefty bribes to keep things under wraps. Janet doesn’t know if there are still people out there hunting their kind, but she’s not willing to risk it.

Janet may not know about the aspect of the family magic that lets them gain powers from defeating other entities. It’s possible that she was holding off on explaining this until he was older and more ready for the responsibility of multiple superpowers. It’s also possible that the knowledge got lost somewhere along the way and Janet didn’t discover it herself because she didn’t spend her childhood running around Gotham at night and was more the sort of person who would stay home and read when she had trouble sleeping.

...

Tim discovers his ability to gain abilities from defeating other supernatural things fairly early on. The type of defeat can vary, but it has to be something of significance. A fight will work for most, but there are other particular challenges that will work for specific cases.

The first things a young Tim is able to beat are these small things, invisible to most, that gain power from learning secrets. What that power is used for, I couldn’t tell you. They don’t seem to do much other than sneak around and learn secrets. Tim doesn’t know if there’s a proper name for these things or not, but he calls them Secret Hunters. They are absolutely everywhere in Gotham.

Secret Hunters are invisible to most, but Tim is able to see them. It might be because of his own supernatural nature, or it might be something else entirely. If it’s hereditary it must have skipped his parents’ generation. Neither of them seem to be able to see them. Tim gains improved stealth and a sense for when something is hidden from catching Secret Hunters until they wise up and start avoiding him. (Catching them works in place of a fight because secret hunters primarily operate on stealth and evasion.)

He can’t just magically know secrets, but he can tell when there is a secret. (He still figured out Batman’s and Robin’s secret identities on his own merit. The most this ability would have done is alert him to the fact that they had secret identities if that hadn’t already been obvious from the fact that they were wearing masks.)

He also gets various other abilities from other things he encounters while scrambling all over Gotham at night. Nearly doesn’t get out of some of the scrapes he gets himself into. He gains the ability to cut with his fingernails as if they were razors from something that nearly killed him. He gains the ability to climb like a goat from a Jersey Devil. Etc.

...

At some point, Tim is targeted by a beldam. He doesn’t get the kind of warnings that Coraline does, but his ability to sense secrets lets him know that the Beldam is hiding something, and any child raised in any part of Gotham knows to be suspicious of things that seem too good to be true. Tim doesn’t have a convenient seeing stone from the neighbor, but he does have the advantage of his own supernatural nature which the Beldam doesn’t know about.

Tim finds a button-eyed doll that looks like him after his parents leave on yet another trip, and thinks it’s a gift they meant to give him before leaving. They do often bring interesting souvenirs. It wouldn’t be at all unusual for them to find an artist who sews dolls to look like people and have one made based on pictures of him. Later on, he discovers the key.

This Beldam is older and more powerful than the one from Coraline. She has more power and more past victims to work with, so she’s able to make a larger, more populated world.

Oh by the way, I head-canon that the Other versions of people in the Other world are actually past victims of the Other Mother, remade and dressed up for whatever role she has them play. The three ghosts were just the three most recent and not fully processed for use yet. That’s why the Others are able to act against her sometimes (Other Wybie saving Coraline from the mirror, Other Father tossing the eye to Coraline) or say things she doesn’t want them too (Other Father says “so sharp you won’t feel a thing” and Other Mother kicks him under the table).

The Other Mother doesn’t know all that Tim knows, so the Other World has inconsistencies like Other Batman and Other Robin sitting across the table from Other Bruce and Other Jason. She doesn’t know they’re the same people. She just knows that they’re all important to Tim. She also tries to tell him to “eat as much as he wants” when his real mother was the one to explain the dangers of attempting to eat to fullness for people with their condition.

There isn’t a cat to warn Tim but he doesn’t need it. He can sense hidden intentions in everything, and he’s fully capable of uncovering the hidden secrets himself.

Tim doesn’t have a cat, but he does have Other Robin, who might have been made from whatever remained of someone close to one of the people mirrored in the Other World made for Tim. He doesn’t remember his life, but somehow he feels incredibly motivated to help a boy who cares dearly for whoever and is willing to let him know that they're living a good life out there in the real world.

Tim discovers the nature of the other world and sets out to free the souls trapped there. He fights the Beldam will all the viciousness and desperation of someone who knows they’ve only got one shot. He takes everything he can from this fight as he makes sure she won’t ever hurt anyone again. He doesn’t stop until the beldam is well and truly dead. Then he unravels Other Gotham and spills all of the souls out into the world where they can move on and rest.

This is how Tim learns to Sew. He can’t make entire populated worlds like the beldam, but that’s mostly because he refuses to do what she did. He can control things he’s made (though there’s limits on how much) and even see through buttons he’s sewn (onto cushions and such, he's not the Other Mother). He also gets some minor illusory powers that let him make things look a bit brighter/nicer/cheerier than they are. It takes quite some time before he’s comfortable with using these powers. Trauma is a bitch like that.

Part of the reason this version of Tim was so desperate to do something about Batman losing it out of grief is because he already has Evil Batman trauma from Other Batman, and he doesn’t need that shit happening in real Gotham.

By this point Tim has a collection of powers that allow him to navigate the more dangerous parts of Gotham largely without fear. Now he has to learn how to manage without using any that he isn’t one hundred percent certain he can sneak past Batman, which means he’ll have to divide his attention between learning from the training and not letting himself do things the supernatural way. This is going to suck.

It does, in fact, suck.

Oh, it turns out some of the rogues are a bit supernatural. He gains a bit of an intuitive understanding of the health of plants from Ivy. He gains the ability to taste emotions from Scarecrow. (Also, Johnathan Crane is a freaking weirdo, fear tastes like spoiled milk!) The rogues with supernatural tendencies are freaking terrified of the new Robin because he always seems like he wants to freaking eat them. The non-supernatural types don’t get it.

Eventually, Red hood breaks into Titan’s tower. Tim, by this point, is very good at deciphering how supernatural entities work and is packing an extensive inventory of powers. He realizes quickly that this is some kind of manipulative entity that feeds on rage and pain attached to an unwitting host. When he realizes that the unknowing (and therefore unconsenting) host is Jason Todd, he tells the Lazarus Entity in no uncertain terms to give Jason back or perish.

Jason, who does not realize he has a malicious, mind-warping, supernatural parasite and believes there to be no one other than himself and Tim present, is understandably confused.

Tim decides that the Lazarus entity has had its chance and springs into action.

Jason is treated to the terrifying sight of just what Tim Drake is like when he’s not expending conscious effort on not being something out of a horror movie. Suddenly he’s in the middle of a spider’s web and no matter how hard he tries to fight back everything around him is under the control of his opponent. Furniture flies around on puppet strings. Getting too close puts him in range of the freaking claws this kid apparently has!? Trying to get away just leaves him caught in strings and the more he struggles the more entangled he becomes! The new Robin is skittering and gliding around in a decidedly inhuman way.

Jason honestly thinks he's going to die when he finds himself bound with Tim standing over him. He passes out when Tim rips the Lazarus entity away from him and destroys it.

Tim gains the ability to heal from defeating the Lazarus entity.

Jason is surprised and confused when he wakes up bundled in a handmade quilt with his head in Tim’s lap and a cool compress on his forehead, feeling sore but more well and whole than he has since before he died.

Jason later decides that his memories of the fight at Titans Tower must be some kind of weird fever dream caused by his body purging the last of the Lazarus Water from his system. It goes along with Tim's account of things.

According to Tim, Jason entered the tower, initiated a lock-down, and then collapsed on the floor. Then, Tim moved him closer to a wall where he was less likely to get stepped on than in the middle of the walkway and did his best to take care of him there because Jason was simply too large and heavy for him to carry all the way to the med bay by himself.

This is far more believable and less of a mind screw than what Jason remembers. Obviously this tiny, baby-faced kiddo who played nursemaid for a stranger who broke into the tower and now looks up at him with wide, starry eyes couldn't actually be the terrifying, predatory creature from the nightmare. It was all just a bad dream.

He's honestly glad he collapsed before he had time to do any harm. The poor kid will never have to know what Jason went there to do. Jason knows, though, and he'll do his damned best to make up for it. He may have flubbed first impressions, but he is going to be the best damn big brother that ever big brothered.

...

Tim might or might not go full on feral cryptid when Bruce is lost in the Timestream. I haven't decided. He will probably pick a fight with the Lazarus Pit much to the confusion and alarm of everyone around.

That’s all I’ve got so far.

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zensations35 · 1 month

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Where Do We Stand? (Radio/static)

Yeah, I went whole ass horny with this one. One-sided fet!Vox pining after a drunk Alastor shows up hurt and sick at his doorstep. Lots of angsty shitass banter and a sprinkle of sexiness. cw for a Val cameo and whump with blood mentions. Enjoy!

Vox’s security monitor keeps fucking glitching. His own screen flickers and Vox’s left eye squints, mouth forming a tilted line of annoyance. He lifts a teal claw to tap the screen but it fuzzes anew and in tune with a squalling sound.

What the fuck? This screen is brand fucking new!

He fills his lungs to call out for a fledgeling demon when another sound stops him. From the front of the building.

What the electric fuck?? It’s 2AM. Who the--

ــــ٨ــ

The sounds twin with the glitching on the screens he was in the middle of editing with.

Rgh. I’m being stupid. Glitching electronics happen.

Still…

He rises from his personal study and follows the sound, finger scraping along the base of his screen like he used to do to his living chin before a big meeting.

The halls, unlike those in Vox’s security room, were dim, low light. The glow of his screen is enough to guide the way toward the double doors leading him in the direction the strange static leads him. Each speaker he passes grows louder, less crisp.

٨ــılııl٨ــ

It can’t be that. I saw him get fucked up. He wouldn’t come here. Why the f--

He wrenches the front door open to a pathetic, bloody, giggling--

“Alastor??”

“Why hellooo Vox~ Kfh-HK٨ــEHaha!!”

His smirk is cradled in flushed cheeks and beaded by dots of thick ichor. Holy shit. The fucking Radio Demon is crumpled on Vox’s front porch, folded into a disheveled pretzel, ears asymmetrical, eyes half black and glossy.

“Jesus fuck,” Vox reactively kneels, hands jutting toward his injured rival, but stopping just short, wrenching back as if Alastor’s body were laced with fire. His screen dims, brows knitting. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Visiting, obviously,” Alastor’s head lolls to the side, his wrist lazily rotating as if they were conversing over dinner, “was it not on your bucket list to see me at my worst, old pal?” His palm hovers over his face and his head cocks back, “EifSZk٨ــK!”

“God fucking dammit!” Vox laces his arms under Alastor’s, heaving him to wobbly legs with a slew of curses. “You came to me? Not your--ngh!” he drags him through the doorway, Alastor stumbling drunkenly, “Not your new friends?”

A keening laugh breaks through Al’s static, “Oh~ new friends. HaĦȺ. Well. They don’t trust me--”

“I don’t trust you,” Vox growls as he uses the toe of his shoe to wipe a smear of blood from the shiny tile. He shifts the Radio Demon so he can use his back to carry him the rest of the way to his room.

Well, this floor was clean. Vox will have to get someone to scrub the fuck out of the hall and immediately wipe their memory. That’ll be another all-nighter. Fuck.

Alastor props his pointed chin on Vox’s shoulder and flicks the antennae on his hat playfully. “Ahhh, but I know where you stand. I know what to expect from…hhh-ik!” he smushes his nose into Vox’s neck and shudders. “Nnnhـ٨ــhh…we were friends once…and I know you wouldn't let me die, not until you got me under the sheets.”

“Fucking hell--are you drunk?!”

Another cackle, “But of course! Ɐμɑ! How else was I to have the utter lunacy to come to your doorstep?”’

“Ugh…”

Finally in his bedroom, Vox uses his foot to slam the door shut, thanking Tesla he wasn’t sharing it with anyone tonight. He heaves Alastor onto the brand fucking new couch and groans, massaging his lower back with a few spicy curses.

Alastor slumps full out, dizzy and whirring, resting his cheek against the cool leather as he allows his eyes to flutter shut for a few seconds.

When they pop open, the ink of his power fades and the crescent of his smile thickens as he dances his gaze around the room.

“You’ve redecorated.” His throat rasps. “I don’t like it.”

“You never do.” Vox grumbles. His eyes roam over Al’s ravaged body, charred and seamed, coat in unholy tatters.

The Radio Demon wiggles a finger and even that small action looks like it exhausts him.

“Enjoying the view?”

Vox folds his arms, cocking his screen, “Just admiring Adam’s work.” He dips his teal finger under Al’s ripped vest and Alastor hisses. Vox pauses, throat tightening.

“Go on,” Al waves, “ignore my…noises.”

Vox mutters but continues peeling away some of the sticky fabric. “Al, Jesus this…this looks,” his eyes surge, “What the hell did you do?”

“Hfـ٨ـZX!”

Vox pauses, his system blipping. He sweeps a thumb across the base of the wound, making Alastor twitch in pain.

“It hurts that bad?”

“Not at all.”

“Fucking liar.”

“As ever.”

“I’m going to have to undo your vest.”

“Are you asking to undress me?”

Vox presses fingers to his screen, pixels beading in a prism where the pressure hits. “Al, Jesus, you know I wouldn’t--”

“I knew. Seven years ago. Things have changed.”

“Not that. Never that.”

Alastor scoffs. “Well, the company you keep.”

“You have no room to judge me or them, you fucking--”

“You’re right.”

Vox pauses, mid-breath. He flicks his gaze back up to Alastor, suddenly severe.

“I don’t.” Alastor says coolly.

Vox grinds his teeth assertively, “Those two helped me when I had no one. When I was at my fucking lowest. When I…”

“Mmm…I see.”

“Do you? Mr. I need no one?”

Al scoffs, a derisive snort. “What the hell do you think is happening right at this very moment?” he gestures down the length of his beaten corpse.

Vox’s vibrant eyes roam down the mangled form, his mouth shrinking into a tight crescent frown.

The glower slips from Alastor’s face as his lips contort into a twist, his fist winging up to catch a half-stifled, “GSZ’TF-Vـ٨ـvV!”

With his hands still on Alastor’s body, the jerking motion sets off a buzz of Vox's sensors, flushing his screen with a purple and pink glow.

Alastor wipes the side of his mouth and chuckles. “Ah~ Some things don’t change.”

“Fuck off.”

Al slips the top portion of his vest off and snorts at the look on his rival's face. “It’s embarrassing how badly you want to fuck me, Vox.”

“Will you stop analyzing me long enough for me to actually help you? Because I’m losing my patience here.”

“Fine.”

Vox grinds his mouth a severed frown at the corner of his screen as he dips closer to inspect Al’s chest. “What the hell did you do to it?!” The split skin is sewn together with some sort of green string--sloppily so, as if Al had done it half asleep and shivering. Which… actually tracks.

Alastor slaps his hand away with a grunt. “I’m no pharmacist, Vox. What do you expect from me? My expertise is pulling bodies apart, not piecing them together.”

“And you think I can do a better job?”

“Can you? Or are you more jealous you didn’t get to do it yourself?”

Vox mutters something and turns to rummage in a medicine cabinet.

A clattering knock has both men jutting ramrod stiff, Alastor wincing and scrunching his claw over his tattered wound.

“Vox~?” Valentino’s amorous voice floats through the closed door.

“Shit!” Vox glances at Alastor and his screen freezes, a line of pixels popping out in a shock of contrast.

Alastor’s smile stretches, his bleak eyes set in a wan but capricious leer. “Oh dear~”

“Shut-up!” Vox pings to Alastor’s side, his hand splaying over his mouth as Val’s voice floats through the door.

“Vox, darling? What’s the commotion in there?”

“Nothing!” Vox struggles to keep his voice neutral, even as Alastor’s lips move under his fingers, hot and damp. The breeze of his breaths flutter through his parted claws as he begins to pant, his grip on the wound growing firmer with a small shiver.

“Ff٨ــvv”

Oh Tesla, fuck no--

“Vox, can I come in, amorcito? I have…”

Vox misses Val’s next words, his screen blipping as Al’s face crinkles inward from the center, nose scrunching with a staccato of hitching breaths under the pressure of Vox’s palm.

“Hz͎̰͒c̩̍͋͐̚͠h̃́F!”

Godfuckingdamnshitb̷̧̝́į̵̇t̷̤͑͛c̴̻͊̂ḫ̷̨͘ç̵̉ơ̵̡̥c̶̰͒k̶͉̿̆ ̸̟̓

Another force presses against Al’s thigh, Vox’s erection growing reluctantly and brimming with flux. Alastor’s brows form a twisted V, a knowing look passing between them.

Vox feels his screen fuzz, as if he were experiencing a small surge. Then, a ping mildly akin to connecting to bluetooth.

((What--??))

((get--hh٨ــget rid of him)) Alastor’s thick staticky tone coat’s Vox’s inner speakers.

((You invaded my wifi??))

((Don’t be stu٨ــvphhii-)) the warm breath sweeps across Vox’s fingers and his screen crackles with energy, pixels oscillating with errors. But the voice isn't coming from Alastor's mouth. Only itchy breath.

((Control yourself, prick!)) Vox seethes through the wireless connection. He feels his rival’s breaths pulsing under his palm. Vox’s heartbeat speeds, matching the rhythm of threadbare hitches.

Alastor’s body wracks with a shudder. ((“Hvvv٨ــvXSH٨ــ!!”))

Vox feels the sneeze both vibrating his hand and within the walls of his mind. His own shiver is not one of fever but lust.

((Jesus fuck, Al.))

Alastor's smug grin stretches as he wraps his hand around Vox’s wrist and pries his teal claws from his face. ((You’d have a firmer chance of fucking him than me.))

RGH! Alastor’s head cracks to the side as Vox’s palm strikes his cheek, leaving a bold imprint on the side of his face. Dark blood paints a tiny ribbon on his lip as it curls into a soft smirk.

((Oh, I bet that felt good, enjoy it while you can get your filthy hands on me, you virtual fuck.))

Vox’s fangs vanish in an angry glitch for a brief nanosecond. ((I’m going to enjoy disinfecting your goddamn wounds and watching you writhe in antibacterial soap, shitass))

((Oddly, you’re not the first person to call me th--))

“Vox! Are you ignoring me??” Val’s voice swings from sugar to salt as it takes on a whiny tone.

With a pained grunt, Alastor shoves Vox away and snarls. ((You’d better go. Now))

((But you--))

((I’ll ħⱥꞥđłē it. Go))

Vox grunts pissily, but he knows Val is on the knife’s edge of impatiently storming in. The TV demon electrically ports to the door, his hand on the knob in seconds.

Before the moth can slip inside, Vox squeezes out of the room and clips it shut. Val glowers, cigarette holder snaked between the fingers of his upper hand.

“What the fuuuuck babe?” he whines. “What are you doing in there?” his lower arm trills toward Vox’s tighter than normal pants. “Your boner is bigger than the building, Luminosa.” His crooked grin ticks, pink essence beading at the corner, “Am I interrupting~ something?”

Vox’s fans sigh with a buzz. “Val, I’m just wor̴̗͠٨̵̠̔̓ “

A power surge overtakes him, making him groan, dropping his glitching screen into his palms. “H-k! Fv̵̨͛٨̴͈̀v̷͒͜٨̷̺̈!”

Valentino’s lower arms wind around Vox’s shoulders, his eyes drifting into concern. “What? What’s wrong?” His slim body bends at the waist to meet Vox’s, alarm spreading his wings to half mast.

“N-gh-nuh,” Vox hears Alastor’s voice mirrored in his internal speakers like an upload.

That fucker…

“Hih٨ــ! Their hitches twin across the connection, Vox’s body reacting to Alastor’s. “Heh-’̸̱͘SchË̴͇W̴̯̒H̸͓̕!̶̰͒!̷̮̐”̴̖͗ ̷͕̚ His screen flares brilliant blue, the jumbled onomatopoeia scrolling across the screen. “Gehh…snf!”

Val’s hands grip him tight, rooting him in reality. “Darling!” his tone peaks with coyness, “Are you unwell? Or are you playing~?” Pink venom inches down his fangs as his smile caresses his cheeks, his fingers gliding toward Vox’s groin salaciously.

Vox grunts, his palm smushed against the core of his screen as he attempts to sever the connection between himself and Alastor. “I’m٨ــhgk! I--”

Val’s hand grips his cock and he’s so hard and hot it could be the powerhouse to heat the flames of Hell itself.

“F-ffuuuhh--” he feels an encore of hitches from within his sensors. As Val fondles him, Al’s static strokes his modules. Vox’s claw crimps the fur on Valentino’s robe. His legs feel like gel and his free hand massaging the plasma of his screen is doing nothing to stave off the encroaching--

“IYZ’ETD̷̢͝C̶̗͕̙͇̟͒͌͠Ḩ̶͇̱͉͍͆Ž̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘”

“Baby~” Val’s voice slinks along his skin, making him tingle with need. “Come to bed. I’ll take care of you...”

Suddenly, like the snap of a frayed cord, the connection to Alastor severs. Vox’s eye flares red and his heart stills for a full beat. Two.

What happened? He reaches out, opening pairing mode. Nothing.

He swallows and drops his hand, abandoning his lover’s touch.

“I--I’m fine, Val, I…I have to get this work done, I--” he backpedals, trying to swallow his heart back into his chest. “I just need a reboot and--”

Valentino visibly wilts, confusion washing his face as his antennae droop, “You…what??” his lips curl bitterly.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Vox is already threading through the doorway, “Night.” He slams it knowing he’ll pay for snubbing Val tomorrow. Physically and mentally. He spins to see Alastor flagging over the side of the couch, his wounds freshly split and gushing.

“Fuck!” Vox races to his side, snagging a towel and bracing it against his chest. “Why the fuck did you do that?? You had me going fucking crazy out there!”

Alastor grunts, face painted with cold agony, pushing himself up against Vox. “Nfg,” You’re wـﮩ٨ــwelcome,” he spits, ears flattening as he glares at Vox, “Would you rather he hear me?”

“Maybe!” Vox snarls, pressing the towel harder onto the wound to watch the Radio Demon wince, “Maybe I should have let him find you just to throw you to the curb. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you--”

“Hـﮩ٨ـSZV!” The burst of noise makes Vox startle, his hands bunching in the fabric of Alastor’s suit as he pins himself to the sputtering Radio Demon.

Alastor gasps, his chest inflating against Vox’s. His fingers climb against his face, clamoring to cover his nose and mouth even as his shoulders shake with the effort of restraining himself just long enough to get them there.

Small grains of lightning leap around the edges of Vox’s screen. Each of Alastor’s panting inhales make his breaths buffer and lag. He dares not risk looking at the Radio Demon--one more bracing inhale would suck the air straight from his lungs. “HFZḨ̶͇̱͉͍͆٨ــŽ̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘𝚇༽༼Ɀ!!”

Alastor jerks forward into Vox’s arms, painting the TV demon’s hands dark and wet. Vox does his best to tamp down a fresh burst of desire and rage as he leans Alastor back against the couch.

Alastor sucks in fresh beats of air before peering up at him, a smug curl of his lips, “That was grossly and pathetically inappropriate.” He rasps a small hacking laugh, lifting a finger to graze the thin edge of Vox’s screen, leaving behind a garden of friction. “I hope you enjoyed it while you can.”

Vox shunts his gaze, neck twisting to hide the flush of his glow. “Goddamn you.”

“Already happened.”

Vox stands and grabs the previously deserted box of bleedstop.

Alastor’s brow lifts as he scrubs his nose. “Are you still consuming the poison?”

Vox scoffs, dumping out two packs of the supply.

Interesting they have such a large stock…

“I do what I do for my own reasons.”

“M~ and do those ‘reasons’ have anything in relation to myself?”

“Tch,” he sprinkles the crystals into his palm, “not just you.”

“Good. I almost felt bad for a moment there. Hgk-!”

Vox slams the palm of powder onto Alastor’s chest, causing the Radio Demon to wince and wither, noise blaring from his core. “Hff-Fuck! Couldn’t have done that any--eighhh!”

Vox grinds the heel of his palm into the wound, crushing the powder into a paste and buttering it over the gash.

“Ffــ٨ــuck! Vox, is this really necessary?!”

“Oh, so very necessary,” Vox snarls.

Alastor mirrors it but his lips are peeled in a grimace. He did invite this with his baiting remarks after all. Deserved. As always.

Once the salve is administered, Vox leans back and rips open a large roll of gauze.

“Lean up so I can get the back.”

Al does, but the movement makes him shiver. When Vox reaches for him, Alastor recoils, sealing his eyes shut with a moan.

“Don't be a fucking baby, Al. This won’t take long.”

But Al is shuddering so hard his teeth are clicking.

“Al?”

“Hfvv…Cــ٨ــcold-d…”

Vox touches his skin and it feels hot--feverish. “Fuck.”

Al wobbles and sags against the couch, still shaking, his arms now wrapped around his bare shoulders. His knees wind up and his ears disappear behind his head. “V-Vox̵̡̰̾̍͘x̴̢̫̜̊̎͛͌…”

“Al, stay awake.” Vox exhales, fans spinning anxiously. “Stay awake!”

Goddammitgodd̶̻̫̪͛ǎ̷͚̬͌̍͝m̵̫̮͝i̷̼͔̤̻͕͐͒͐͝t̶̰̙̲̜̦͊̑͗̒͘G̶̹͚̽́͐Ő̸̖̀D̸̢̙̩̍̆̍̒͊F̵̼̝̣̦̪̈́̾̈́U̶̹͚͕̒͑̂̍͝Ċ̸̙͖K̶̺̎͂̒̚̕I̵͇͝N̷͕͈̐̇̕G̶͕̀͜D̷̡͓̻̘̼̑̿A̵̠̠̋͝Ḿ̸̯̭̝̥M̶̟̅̀̊̒̓Į̵͝T̶̼̮̮͂́̄!̴̺̤̫̺̓!̵͉̘̽̋͂̕

Alastor slips, descending further into the seams of the couch, his left eye fully black now.

“Al, fuck,” Vox grabs a blanket from his bed (brand new fucking blanket too goddam--) and wraps Alastor with it. It seems to warm him a bit, the Radio Demon letting out a chittering sigh. He looks up at Vox, deliriously muttering with a newly wedged smirk.

“It seems you are b-better at this.”

“Fuck you.” Vox grumbles as he tucks another blanket around him. “Some of us have to be around here…” He waits for another snipe about Valentino, but it doesn’t come. “I still need to wrap your wound.”

“Of course,” Al says, but he makes no move to allow this. Vox rolls his eyes and props his screen on his fist, watching the asshole drift lazily.

Hours later, after finally having gotten the stupid ass gauze wrapped around his stupid ass not sexy body, Alastor seems asleep, but you never know with that guy. And Vox does not plan to sleep, even if he didn’t have to clean floors and mesmerize assistants.

When he returns from cleanup, Alastor is awake--or at least rested enough to stand on his own. His ears are alert and his eyes have cleared back to their normal magenta.

He’s doing his best to button up the three remaining buttons on his mangled vest. He seems sober now and perfectly posh and asinine as ever.

Normal. Except for.

“Where’s your cane--”

“Microphone.”

Vox rolls his head to the side, “Fine, call it whatever in this afterlife. Where is it?”

“Gone. Disposed of.”

“Why?”

“It matters not. I don’t need it. I’m not--”

“I know, Al.” Vox dribbles a sigh. "Are you going to be--"

"Thanks for having me over, chum," Alastor interrupts him, strolling to the door and flicking a coin to Vox. “For the service.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

Al shrugs. “Keep it. I do not wish to owe you.” He tugs his coat straight and adjusts his bowtie.

“Oh, and Vox,” Alastor pauses, claws ticking along the grooves of the bedroom wall. “Never say never.”

Vox lifts a neon brow. “You mean…”

“Once you find the exception, it becomes easier and easier to justify each consecutive time. And then you become that which you abhor.”

Mist curls around the Radio Demon’s body, and he vanishes as if he’d never been present.

God damn him. Vox slams the door, even though he didn’t actually leave through it.

That’s why he hates Alastor so much. Because he’s right. He’s so often goddamn right.

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