Chapter Text
Alastor stared at the door that led to the other rooms, unable to bring himself to move or make any sound— especially not when the angel was just out there . He could hear him watching television, he could hear the childish groans and annoyed sounds, and all he could think of was how he would be hurt if he stepped foot out there. Who's to say Adam wasn't upset enough that he'd grab him and try and take him right then and there if he saw him in his line of sight?
He'd be easy prey.
Prey .
It wasn't fucking fair.
He was the Radio Demon, he was one of the most fearsome Overlords in all of Hell! Even with his seven year absence, just the mention of his name was enough to send lowly sinners cowering in the shadows, hoping he wouldn't choose them as his next meal.
And now here he was.
Trembling under a comforter in barely any clothing, so afraid to leave the room he was falling back on his baser instincts, the very same instincts that he swore to himself so long ago that he'd never rely on ever again.
He was pathetic .
He closed his eye and took a deep breath, before he forced himself to slowly, quietly , push the covers off of himself. Silent as a mouse, he gently placed his hooves feet onto the floor, flinching violently when it made a small ‘clack’ against the floor— oh fuck, oh fuck, was he coming ? Was he too loud? He was paralyzed in that position, his eyes trained on the door as he waited with baited breath to see if the angel would barge in with licentious vile dripping from his lips and hands that would take take take and take from him until he had none left .
Maybe God was merciful. Maybe God cared about him, seeing as, even after waiting what felt like ten minutes, the door didn't open and he didn't hear anyone speaking to him with gruff tones that spoke of violence to come. Breathing a gentle sigh of relief, he slowly stood up, swallowing hard when his tail twitched under the t-shirt he wore. He wished it covered more, but as of right now, that was the best he would be able to give himself until his powers came back to him fully.
Would they ever?
That didn't stop him from trying to pull it down further, self-conscious of his visible scarring and practically nude form. All of his body was practically on display, and he hated it. For once in his life, he was grateful for his hair being long. It covered the back of his neck and, when he angled his head in certain directions, fell to hide his face.
Speaking of his hair, he noticed something strange.
Curls.
Why, he hadn't had any curls in his hair for about a century at this point!
With more softness than he ever thought possible when it came to himself, he took a strand between his pointer and thumb and examined the curl. If not for his red and black color, his hair would be an exact replica of his mother's. With no straighteners around, his locks had reverted back to their natural state; which was tangled, bushy, and coily.
‘Uncivilized, hair like that. Just like your fuckin' mother.’
He knew it wasn't fair to think that, but he couldn't help it. He had been told all his life that his natural hair was disgusting and unkempt, especially when his mother couldn't afford to get him haircuts and she was too busy to give him one herself, which often led to his hair reaching past his neck. He still remembered how the other children would point and laugh and call him dirty for it, telling him to cut all that wool off .
He remembered how the teachers never said anything. If anything, they agreed .
He knew they did, or else they would have made them stop.
“C'mon, little lamb, I ain't gonna hurt ya—”
He clenched his jaw, yanking at the coily strand and letting it snap back into place.
He wouldn't think of that.
He would never think of that.
Taking a slow, deep breath, he remembered what his mother taught him: when in danger, be quiet and run .
Slowly, he made his way to the door and, slowly, ever so slowly, cracked it open. He could still hear the television and the obnoxious sounds of a man who wasn't pleased, but no footsteps. No curses. No calls of his name.
His footsteps remained light as a feather as he made his way back into the bed, pulling the sheets up around him like a makeshift cocoon, both for the comforting warmth it gave him and the coverage. He needed to take a moment to think.
There were only two options left at his disposal now: try and run away, or allow himself to be broken.
And it should be obvious to him what option he should pick, it should be a given that one would try and do everything at their disposal to escape unending torture that would lead to the loss of their identity and dignity, it should be as simple a decision as picking what to eat for dinner or deciding if one should wear a bow tie or a regular tie.
Except he was so tired . He didn't want to keep running. He didn't want to keep hurting. He couldn't believe he was saying this, but he wanted this all to be a bad dream he could just wake up from and laugh at with Nifty and Husk, a laughter that would be just as forced as all the others but laughter all the same .
If— if he was good, would Adam get bored of him and let him go free? Would he—
No!
No.
Adam would never let him go, and he shouldn't be placing all his hope on the off chance that he ever would.
He squeezed his eyes shut, a low, almost keening cry building at the tip of his tongue.
He was so tired .
Hands shaking, he dropped the sheets and ran a clawed hand through his hair.
‘Focus. Remember what you're trying to do. You want to live , and you can't if you stay here. He’ll kill you.’
Unsure of his choice, but too afraid to contemplate the other, he tiptoed towards the door and, as gentle as he possibly could, closed it fully. Before he could think to question what he was doing, he twisted the lock and stepped away from the wooden barrier between him and that monster, his heart racing, adrenaline pumping through his blood at the realization that he was really doing this. He has braced himself for it, he thought it through, but the act of actually doing it was entirely different from thinking it.
There was a window across the other side of the room.
He could— God, he could escape through there.
Biting his lip, he trembled like a leaf as he crept towards the window, quietly, carefully , attempting to open the slider. It wouldn't budge, and in his panicked state of mind, he was barely able to think logically enough to deduce he needed to unlock it.
With shaky claws, he unlocked the top and went to try and open it again, only to jump in place when he heard footsteps.
“Hey, bambi, enough sulkin’, get your ass out here. I wanna—”
He tried the door, only for the knob to jiggle.
Everything was silent for a moment, before Adam, more calm than he thought possible from a man such as himself, asked, “Did you lock the door?”
Alastor couldn't answer. He couldn't even move , his eye stuck staring in front of him.
Bang!
“Did you lock the fucking door you stupid whore!? ”
His fight or flight kicked in immediately.
Ignoring the banging, he hyperventilated as he forced the window open, shoving his clawed fingers through the netting and cutting a big enough hole for him to jump out of into it.
He didn't care if he broke a few bones, he didn't care if he died at this point, all he knew was that if he didn't get out now, he never would.
At least, not whole.
“ OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! ”
He couldn't help but start sobbing, tears blurring his vision as he shook uncontrollably. This was a mistake, this was a mistake, he knew it was a mistake but he continued tearing the last of the mesh away as he tried to climb onto the frame so he could jump, uncaring of how high up they were and the fact he could possibly die.
He just knew dying would be better than what Adam will do if he gets his hands on him.
Before he could jump, he heard the door slam against the wall as it was forced open, a shriek ripping out of his throat as he tried to throw himself over the edge on instinct.
And for a moment, he could feel the air running through his hair. For a moment, he could feel the breeze on the bridge of his nose and the sensitive skin of his cheeks. For a moment, he was free falling.
For a moment, he thought it would work.
Until golden tendrils were wrapping around his body, cold and violating and unwanted and yanking him back inside his own little personal hell.
“ No! Please, no, no !”
He could only watch with complete and utter despair as he slammed the window shut, a crack forming in the glass from the force of it, before he turned around to look at him with a fire in his eyes that spoke of suffering .
He sobbed louder, struggling futilely against the magic that restrained him, magic that he'd have once looked down on as inferior to his own, magic he had twice been violated with before.
He couldn't look away as the angel stomped towards him, a snarl on his face as he growled, “What the actual fuck did you think you were doing!? Do you know how fucking difficult it's gonna be to explain what you just did if people heard you!?”
Before he could brace himself, a foot came out at him, kicking him straight in the ribs, a crack splitting through the air as bones and flesh that had already barely been healed were opened once more.
“ Hnnghh! ”
He was winded by the force of the kick, his chest burning as Adam grabbed him by the oversized t-shirt he wore and pulled him to his feet, staring at him with pure rage.
“You like running, huh? I help you, I care for you, and you still wanna run.”
He trembled in his grasp, unable to respond. However, Adam didn't seem to care or notice, seemingly caught up in memories as he continued, “I even tried to be nice to you! I didn't hurt you, I let you lie down on your own without me in the room, and you still tried to run! ”
Letting go of him, he quickly replaced his grip with those golden tendrils again, keeping him suspended against the wall.
“If you like to run so much,” a firm hand trailed down to grab his leg, “I guess I'll just have to make it so you can't .”
His eye widened and he did something that made bile burn on the back of his tongue and a lead weight from in his stomach.
“N– no, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again—! ”
The hand on his leg pulled upwards, and he started screaming.
“ Shut up. ” It was said so gently that he almost wanted to comply, if not for said angel covering his mouth, as he tightened his grip on his lower leg in his hand and twisted it upwards.
Bones cracked and broke, tendons tearing apart and muscles ripping as his leg was forced into an unnatural angle. Muffled screams tore from his throat as the angel above him, coldly calculating, went on to do the same to his other leg. Blood spilt from his ripped flesh, dripping down onto the carpet below him as Adam continued to mindlessly berate him, his eyes not exactly seeing him so much as looking through him.
He didn't care, though. All he could focus on was the pain as he screamed and sobbed from behind the hand covering his mouth.
“—You made me do this, you would have left me if I didn't and I refuse to let you leave me, not again —”
He let go of the t-shirt, allowing him to fall down into a heap at his feet, an agonized sob ripping from his throat as his mutilated legs hit the ground. The bigger man simply stared at him, waiting for him to quiet down. His stance said he was ready to make him if need be, and Alastor wasn't sure his way wouldn't include more of his bones being brutally split in half.
So, with an extreme amount of willpower he didn't believe he possessed any longer, he shoved a hand over his mouth and looked up at the angel with a pained, teary eye.
Adam looked entirely unsympathetic.
“Now get on the bed.”
Alastor knew exactly what those words implied towards Adam's own intent, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. When Adam didn't do anything to help him up, he realized he wanted him to do it entirely on his own.
Biting back a sob, he braced himself and attempted to get to his knees, only to fall down into a heap on the floor as soon as he put any pressure on the shattered bones, a choked wail escaping his mouth from the searing, throbbing pain.
Staring down at the pathetic heap on the floor, Adam scowled and nudged him with his foot, unable to find any pleasure in the way the deer demon flinched and cried with more urgency. It was nauseatingly similar to the way babies cried when they were first born, too simple, too small , to understand what was happening or what would happen. Pathetic . Crouching down to grab him by the hair, he pulled his head up and scoffed at the sight that met his eyes.
Tears dripped down his eye, which were full of terror as he fell limp against his grasp, almost like he subconsciously understood that submission would garner less of his particularly cruel discipline. Shaking him a little, he repeated, “Get on the bed. Now . Before I take your other eye .”
With that, he dropped him and took a step back, waiting to see if he would have to follow through with his threat.
Alastor continued to tremble as a heap on the floor, tears and snot trailing down his face and blurring his vision as he tried to force himself to scoot towards the bed, but he simply couldn't do it.
The pain was excruciating, so much so that he felt lightheaded and nauseous all at the same time. If he hadn't been in such a compromising position— no, if it had been him in Adam's position, he'd have made a comment on not throwing up (although, he later realize that Adam, the fucked up man he was, would probably like that).
He groaned when he was kicked once more, before his cries began anew.
“N— no, no, please, d– don't— don't hurt me, ‘m sorry— ‘m so sorry!”
Adam stared down at him with a coldness that unsettled him more than his lecherous looks did, before scoffing at him and muttering something about ‘mutts’ and ‘ungrateful little sinners,’ before he picked him up by the hair and tossed him onto the bed.
He choked back another cry of pain as his bones, which he realized were protruding from his flesh, bumped against the soft comforters and stained them a dark crimson— not black. Oh Satan, his blood wasn't a black tinted red anymore .
What did they do to him?
“Stay right there. If you try to run again, I will kill you. ”
With that, he swept out of the room and left him alone.
He couldn't stop his sobs as he buried his face against the blankets, his legs twitching as his instincts warred inside of him— one half saying to stay out, the other saying to escape.
Even if he wanted to escape, though, which he did, he couldn't. Not with his legs mangled to such a degree.
Without even realizing it, he began to pass out, his head full of cotton and his vision blurring as his injuries overtook him and he was left vulnerable and defenseless.
Adam leaned against the wall, his heart beating violently in his chest as he tried to comprehend— no, tried to just fucking understand why he had done what he had just done.
He broke both of Bambi's fucking legs.
And he thought of Lilith, his lovely-stupid-bitch ex-wife while he did it.
God, why did she fucking leave him? She was just like Alastor, exactly fucking like him.
She was as intelligent, as cocky, as charismatic, as beautiful (if not more ), and as pretty when she cried as he was. She was made for him from his own rib, she was his to keep, his to love, his to own , and she still left him.
He tried to be nice to her. He tried to woo her and treat her like a queen, and when that didn't work, he tried to control his temper. He tried so fucking hard to make her love him, and she still left him for some prick angel with ideas so naive it made him gag.
He could have gotten over it if she had come back, if she had begged him on her knees to accept her back because he was the only one who could ever love her and care for her as much as she deserved because she was made from him and she was his , if she had just returned to him, but no.
No, she had to go and fucking fall for Lucifer , metaphorically and literally.
He could still remember her face as she jumped off the she of paradise with him. He could still remember the look of utter relief in her eyes as she looked down at Lucifer and hugged him before they both dropped together.
He could still remember her refusing to meet his gaze and ignoring him .
He could still remember everything like it was yesterday.
How could she do this to him?
Did their nights of passion mean nothing? Was their days of holding each other close as he taught her everything he knew simply a game to her where she would always be the winner and him the loser? Was allowing him to love her with his entire being because she was his like training wheels for her so that she'd know how to love another when the time came? So that she'd know how to please another in the most carnal of ways?
If he had just beaten her bloody and convinced her not to fly away like he was doing to Alastor, he would still have his other half.
He'd still have her.
He clenched his fists.
He wouldn't lose another one. Even if it was the last thing he did, he'd keep this one.
Pushing himself off the wall, he steeled himself and grabbed a small med kit— God, why did he even have one? He doesn't know where he got from, he's fairly certain none of his kickass angels gave it to him, and he knows for a fact that he didn't get it as a gift. Maybe it came with the apartment, but if that was the case, that stupid medicine and Neosporin shit was gonna be at least three decades expired.
Not that he particularly gave a shit.
Maybe sub-adequate care would teach that whore-son to appreciate it when he was being given a good life and a sweet deal, to appreciate when he was being taken care of and treated like a possession of the first man should be.
Just thinking of how that bastard tried to run made him want to rip him open and do unspeakable things, the kind of things that made him nauseous when he calmed down, the kind of things he had to drink to forget he did or thought, the kind of things no son of God would ever voice or think, let alone ever do.
But they were the kind of things that got him hard.
The kind of things that made his mouth water so bad he didn't know if it was the nausea or the hunger, the kind of things that made his heart flutter in his chest like a school girl seeing her crush, the kind of things that made him want to fuck a hundred whores and still have more left to give.
“Fu ck.”
He was hard as a goddamn rock. And luckily for him, he had a more than ‘willing’ outlet laid out on that bed, just waiting for him to defile him and—
He shook his head and opened the door, tossing the small medical kit onto the bed beside the mop of red and black curls.
“Huh.. real pretty hair. Maybe I should force him to keep it.”
Ignoring the blood soaking his sheets (he could always beat the bitch bloody for it later, after all), he took a few coils between his fingers and smirked at the softness. Truly, he did have nice hair. It accentuated all the daintiest parts of his face and made him appear all the more sweet, sweeter than he really was.
And he was still so hard.
He had always thought himself the type to cross any and every line, but he felt he was breaking some sort of record at this point; and he knew it was wrong, he knew it was one of those things that would make him feel nauseous later, one of those things that would fill him with an unexplainable guilt , one of those things that would make him doubt his position as one of God's sons, but he didn't care.
His hands were rough as he grabbed the knobby legs of the deer beneath him, a shiver going down his spine as the slick, blood soaked bones that juttered out of his skin touched his own, but he didn't stop. Even when it forced a cry out of the unconscious demon, even when something small and desperate in the back of his mind whispered ‘this isn't right,’ even when he felt revulsion at his own actions, he didn't stop.
Parting his legs, he zeroed in on the slit between the deer's legs, his mouth watering at the sight of his flesh colored folds, at the sight of his entrance, still so tight and small, practically begging to be defiled. He can still remember how his cunt gripped around him, how his walls spasmed and tightened with every shift of his weight, how it practically tore and did tear when he bottomed out. Biting his lip, he freed himself from his cassock, his cock already throbbing from the imagery in his mind alone.
Placing a hand on the top of the sinner's chest— on top of Alastor 's chest, right where he has nearly split him in two — he began to push the tip of his dick inside, a low groan escaping him at the all too familiar pleasure that he had experienced for the first time almost three weeks ago.
Unfortunately, Alastor didn't wake up. A shame, for he had really wanted to make the whore cry and beg for mercy, for him to stop, for him to go slower— he rocked his hips, a sick, twisted feeling rising within him at the sweet sounds his mind conjured up. One of his hands still around the other’s broken leg, his grip so tight that he could feel the bone shift beneath his palm— and he could feel the blood, thick and warm and running down his wrist and oh God the blood was so warm, so warm, so so so warm he just needed—
And then he was surging forward and biting his neck, his sharp teeth sinking deep into his flesh and filling his mouth in sweet, sweet rivulets of that comforting crimson warmth and he was in heaven, he truly was in heaven as the body beneath him began to return to the land of the living, thrashing beneath him and struggling and he didn't care.
He bottomed out without any further ado, sucking up the sinner's blood like it was ichor, sucking up his vital fluids like it was the goddamn fountain of eternal youth itself, sucking it up like he was a man dying of thirst, and he knew he shouldn't, he knew he should stop, he knew he had to stop, but he couldn't because the pleasure he derived from this was too great.
“— please, please, please, Adam!”
Terror filled the air, his voice full of tears and desperation as potent as his own, small, weak sobs that pentrated through the fog in his brain.
He groaned, squeezing his mangled leg tighter in order to elicit that beautifully pitched wail once more.
“God, you're perfect, you're perfect. I'm never letting you go, I swear to you by God, you'll never leave my side—”
Every word was punctuated with a harsh thrust that only served to bring him closer and closer to ripping through freshly bonded internal muscles and organs once more, and it was only because he didn't think he'd be able to save his life in time that he didn't go deeper. But God, he wanted to. He wanted to so, so bad.
And so he removed his hand from his chest and instead began to roughly stroke at his ears, knowing and relishing in the sensitivity of the appendages that he also knew couldn't have been comfortable to be touched so carelessly. And his sweet little bambi cried, and he cried, and he loved it, finally pulling his teeth away from the savage marks on his neck so he could lap the salty drops up. They tasted of agony, of fear, of hatred, and he was so close to coming undone .
“God, I hate you, I hate you so much it feels so good, you feel so good— fuck! Never wanna let you forget this, never, I want this to fucking haunt you for the rest of your miserable life. ”
It was with his final demeaning, hateful remark that he finally came, his sperm shooting deep inside the wretched little things newly broken body. He had no fear of impregnating the deer, no, as is their just desserts for their misdeeds, no babe would ever grow in such a vile womb (fuck, just like the tomb that was Lilith's own)— but he couldn't stop himself from wondering, from imagining how his face would twist up so prettily in childbirth, how his body would tear itself apart to force the rape spawn out of him, how he'd scream and scream and scream and find no relief from the pain until his womb was empty and his babe was in Adam's own arms; how he'd sob at the realization that his spawn was in the care of his victimizer, of his captor, knowing he'd never get ro raise the kid to know how he'd been destroyed by the very thing meant to protect.
Maybe he'd keep the baby. He had children once, he had sons once, and God knew that he would love to have another.
Or maybe he'd force the slut to keep the baby and raise it. Maybe he'd force him to care for it and treat it like his own and force him to love it and then he could kill it and make him eat it, the cannibal piece of shit probably would like that—
He shuddered, hunching over the quivering form of his captive. That would never happen, and he knew it it, so he needed to stop .
He was going too far. He needed to stop. He needed to stop.
He needed to stop before he did something so heinous he fell .
(Wasn't he already? No angel would ever do this, no good man would do this, no son of God would do what he's done to this poor fucking demon—)
Fuck, he's gonna fall.
He's gonna fall.
He's gonna fall.
A pitiful, pained groan forced its way up his throat, his eyes squinting back open as he stared the deer down, his instincts warring within him. Part of him wanted to help him, to fall to his knees and apologize, to beg for forgiveness like a good Christian, like a proper angel , and the other half wanted to fucking kill him and destroy ever trace of him so that he'd never have to face what he'd done ever again.
He just wanted to caress his neck and squeeze at the same time, to kiss his jugular and rip it out , to smile down at him before he attacked like an animal starved —
He began to hyperventilate, his mind muddled and his brain full of cotton as he tried to make a rational decision.
His hands snaked up towards his throat, his once gentle, his once kind hands wrapping around the thin stalk before they began to tighten, almost as if he was in a trance as he thought of all the ways he could both love and hurt him, as he thought of all the ways he could be good and all the ways he could be damned.
God, he was damned, he was damned, he was damned and it didn't matter if he killed him anymore.
He squeezed.
He met no resistance.
(Maybe this was for the better).