Archive of Our Own

The Radio Demon as a rule was not prone to fits of nostalgia. Where other demons drank to keep the painful memories of the life that lead them here at bay, Husker; or did copious drugs to keep the painful memories at bay, Alastor reveled in the memories that had brought him to Hell. He had rid the world of powerful, awful men and his eternal punishment was far more power than he ever could have conceived of in his days on Earth. What could he possibly want to forget? 

This was not to say that he was totally immune to the pull of nostalgia. Each passing year there were dates on his calendar that Alastor could never forget. His mother’s birthday and death day, his own death day, which was practically a holiday in Cannibal Town.

Perhaps it was because it was coming up on a significant anniversary for him that he was feeling particularly nostalgic as of late. Perhaps it was because it had been fifty years since his own death, and nearly sixty since his mothers’, an event that had haunted him ever since, no matter how much he tried to push that fact away. The nostalgia was deeper now than it had been in quite a while, which was how Alastor found himself on Stolas’ sofa, lamenting the passage of time. “It’s a pity sinners don’t have access to the mortal realm,” he remarked. “I would give anything to see my mother’s grave again.” Stolas was nothing if not a kind demon. Caring and understanding to a fault, especially to his friends, of which Alastor was proud to count himself apart.

“I—suppose I could let you borrow my grimoire for a bit, to pop up to Earth,” he said. “Or rather look the other way,” he added sneakily. “It’s not as if you follow the rules so I could hardly be blamed if your little shadows stole it away whilst I wasn’t looking and located the page on traversing the mortal realm.” Alastor smiled at the owl Goetia. “Especially after you went out of your way to help me with my own problem.” Getting rid of Stolas’ father had been one of the most challenging things Alastor had ever done, but ultimately one of the most fulfilling. Getting rid of bad fathers was a speciality of his and while the King proved stubborn to keep down, Alastor was no ordinary sinner. 

“My offer still stands to take out—” he lowered his voice and cut his eyes to the other room where Stella was barking at a servant. 
Stolas frowned slightly. His wife had always been a sore subject for him, especially after Via was born. The woman was a terrible mother, she had only a few moments of genuine kindness for her daughter that Alastor had ever seen and it infuriated him. She would be far easier to depose of than Paimon had, but Stolas had refused all the same. He didn’t want to put Via through that. 

Alastor continued sipping his tea. By the time he left an hour or so later, his shadow had already snatched Stolas’ grimoire and handed it to the demon as he walked through a portal and into his radio tower. He hummed flipping through the ancient book. He had never considered his own power to be particularly limited, but seeing the full extent of Stolas’ power fascinated him. The Ars Goetia granted Stolas immense abilities. Seeing the future, reading the stars, traversing Earth. He was clever, Alastor would give him that. He flipped the page until he reached the one he was looking for. Written in Latin, naturally. Alastor hummed, removed his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and placed them on the bridge of his nose as he held the book a few inches away from his face reading the words. Latin had been one of the languages Alastor had taken the time to learn in order to aid him in his own spell work ages ago and it was nice to see that it still came in handy. 

Seconds later, a glowing red portal opened up from the book, and Alastor’s eyes widened as he stared through it and into the graveyard where his mother was buried. It had been ages since he had been back to Louisiana. Ages since he’d seen his mother’s final resting place. He stepped through the portal and crossed the grass covered cemetery towards his mother’s grave. Many decades ago, when he’d still been alive, Alastor had brought in a tree to grow beside his mother, at the time it had been quite small, but the warm, wet Louisiana air had made the tree grow big and strong in the six decades since. What was once a little sappling was now a sturdy elm that stood tall and proud. He smiled at the tree, placing his hand softly upon it.

He turned and kneeled down beside his mother’s grave. Mary LaFaon the name read, etched into stone. He was surprised to find that the headstone was clear of debris, in fact it looked as though it had been recently cleaned. He hummed and gently touched the headstone closing his eyes. “I miss you Mamman,” he said softly. “So much.” His eyes burned with unshed tears. The Radio Demon did not cry, or at least he did not allow people to see him  crying. The nature of his hellish smile was such that crying was no easy feat but there were times when he still felt pain, such as now. His mother’s death had always been hard on him. The decade of life after she had passed had been one of the most bloody of his career, but it had made him reckless in a way that embarassed him now. 

A car rumbled on the path not far away and Alastor’s ear perked up. He didn’t want to leave, but he knew he could not allow himself to be seen. His deer instincts kicked in and Alastor got to his feet and hid behind the large elm tree. Long before he could see anything, he heard the rumble of tires on the old road that was coming this way. Heard the sound of a car coming to a stop, and someone getting out. He was on high alert, like a deer listening for a hunter. He held his breath, not that he needed to breathe, and pressed close to the tree. Footsteps echoed in the grass, swishing as they went, coming ever closer. Heels, or rather espadrilles to be more specific, crunching in the leaves and dirt. Alastor peaked around the corner at the human walking through the grass, as predicted they were wearing espadrilles, and jean capri pants, and a white halter top that exposed the long expanse of their creamy collar and neck. They were also wearing sunglasses, that looked slightly too large for their angular face. It was almost comical, and a white sunhat with daisies in it. “Hey ma,” came a distinctly less than feminine voice. “It’s ya boy—again,” Alastor watched in rapt fascination as the young blonde haired man kneeled down beside the grave directly next to his mothers. “An’ Miss Mary,” he said patting Alastor’s mother’s grave. It was only then that Alastor noticed that the young man was holding a picnic basket. He pulled out a soft chenille blanket from his basket and placed it down on the spot in front of his mother’s grave and sat down on it, placing the picnic basket down as he sat. “Sorry I didn’t bring Mols or Nicky wit me, they say they ain’t ready still,” he sighed shaking his head. “It ain’t so bad. I keep tryin’ ta tell them, but they don’t wanna listen to me,” he said taking out sandwiches from his picnic basket. There was something so soft about the scene. The way that the young man, this… angel really, though he was kinder than any literal angel Alastor had ever met, sat and ate with his mother. The way he took care to place flowers in front of both of their mother’s graves. Had he known his mother somehow? Alastor wondered. 

“Still wish I knew who ya family was, Miss Mary,” he heard the young man say. “I know I ain’t gotta tell ya, ya grave was very ovagrown when I first started comin’ here. Weeds an’ frogs, an’ roots comin’ out all ova the place,” he chuckled. “But we got ya straightened up real pretty. That way ya family, whoever they are will see ya lookin good huh? I hope ya two are playin’ nice on whatever cloud ya on.” 

Alastor couldn’t help but smile softly, there was something so innocent about this angel, he thought to himself. So pure in his belief, or so it seemed.

Time slipped away from him, Stolas had never given him a limit on time, but the book warned of a window before the wraiths began to arrive. That would cause more problems, so instead Alastor slipped away, smiling to himself as he thought of the young man who was watching over his mother’s grave. 

Back in Hell, Alastor found that his life had mostly returned to normal. No one had noticed his little trip to Earth, nor had Stolas gotten into any trouble, when the book was returned, and yet—Alastor's life was not normal. He couldn’t stop thinking about that angel. The way he spoke, his gentle demeanor, the way he took care of their mother’s graves. Something about the man stuck in his brain and whenever he thought about him he couldn’t help but smile. 

This little quirk did not go unnoticed by either his friends or his colleagues. “You seem in good spirits,” Asmodeus remarked. It had only been a week since his trip, the pair were having dinner together in the King’s home as they somtimes did.

“Hm? Oh... It’s nothing.” 

“I know that look Alastor. Spill.” 

“What look?” 

“That lovesick look. You’re beaming from ear to ear.” 

“I’m always smiling,” Alastor reminded him. 

“Smiling is not the same as beaming, this reaches your eyes, your smiles don't always, I know the difference, now come on...” 

“I suppose… it’s silly.” 

“Baby you’re talking to the King of Lust, it’s never silly. I just can’t believe the famous Radio Demon has a crush,” he chuckled. 

“I—”Alastor blushed. 

“Trust me, I know… tell me about them.” 

“It’s the strangest thing,” Alastor admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about him. Ever since I saw him a week ago...” 

“Ooh,” Asmodeus was fascinated, he listened intently. Alastor knew, of course, there was no risk to discussing going to Earth, the King would hardly punish him or rat him out to someone like Lucifer or even Satan, but that didn’t mean he wanted to get Stolas into trouble. “Remember how I commented a while ago that it was coming upon the anniversary of my mother’s death?” Asmodeus nodded, the demon being born first in Heaven then falling with Lucifer had never had a mother, or parents at all really, but he had lived long enough and befriended enough sinners and hellborne alike to understand the complexity of such relationships.

Alastor continued to explain everything that had happened. 

“A human huh? I can’t say I blame you. I have been there.” 

“Have you?” 

“I’m the King of Lust, you really think I never found my way to Earth over the millennia?” He laughed. “We all get bored.” 

“Did you ever tell them?” 

“That I was a king of Hell?” Asmodeus asked. “Once. She didn’t take it well. Actually she thought I was crazy…” he sighed. “You learn to be careful who you tell.” 

“So you think I should pursue it?” 

“Why not… love is love, and I’m all for that.” 

“You’ll help me then?” Alastor asked. 

“With what?” 

“Getting to the mortal realm again?” If the King of Lust was surprised by Alastor’s request he didn’t show it, he just smirked. 

* * *

The Asmodean crystal meant it could become a more regular thing. Alastor could visit the mortal realm whenever he pleased now, without a spell and without bothering Stolas. Asmodeus had only made him promise one thing. “Just be careful.” 

“I won’t break it.” 

“I meant with your heart,” he said. “Humans can be fickle. Relationships built on half truths are like a house of cards… you may be a demon but they aren’t.” Alastor nodded. 

He hadn’t meant to fall in love. 

Nor had he meant to indulge in his little fascination of watching the young man from a distance as often as he did now, but it was impossible not to. This angel was like an habbit he couldn’t seem to shake. Every time he told himself he would not return to the mortal realm again, he would snap. Sneak away from his usual duties and come up to Earth follow him. It was becoming something of a problem for the demon. He had learned a bit about him in his pursuits. For one thing he had learned that his family was in the mob and his angel was an excellent shot. For another he had learned he had a penchant for a drug that made him pliable for others. Alastor did not like that fact one bit. 

Even when he wasn’t sneaking away to the mortal realm he was dreaming about his angel. Thinking about him, day dreaming. Every breeze seemed to call his name. The fact that they had not even talked yet Alastor had been following him for months was almost torturous, but there had been no time to introduce himself, and besides, Alastor had no human disguise like other demons. There was no hiding what he looked like. 

He hadn’t intended to get caught by the human, after months of observing him, following him, Alastor had gotten a tad sloppy in his efforts to keep himself hidden. Especially at night. The young man seemed to be out at night quite frequently and so when he followed him down a dark alley, Alastor didn’t even think to hide, he wouldn’t see much. He didn’t even consider how close he was getting before the man whipped around suddenly and pulled a knife out. “The fuck is your problem?” He demanded. 

Alastor blinked. “Problem?” 

“You’ve been stalking me for weeks! Who the fuck are you anyway?” He walked forward, knife out and Alastor found himself pushed backwards further and further until he was stood beneath a glowing yellow lamp post that illuminated the whole of him. The blonde froze, taking him in from head to toe. “You some kind of a furry?” He asked. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I mean hey it ain’t fa me but ta each their own.” 

“What are you talking about?” Alastor asked. 

“Ya got fox ears.” 

"They’re deer ears,” Alastor corrected. 

“Okay, deer ears. I guess ya do got little horns ya wearin’. Ya got a tail too?” 

Alastor blushed. “I… that’s…” 

“Look buddy, ya been followin’ me around, either make me an offer I can’t refuse or scram. Ya scarin’ away actual business.” 

Alastor blinked again. “What?” 

The man looked annoyed. “Fuckin’ hell, this ya first day on planet Earth? Lemme spell it out for ya. Ya wanna party, ya gotta slip me a hundred, then ya can take me whereva ya want.” 

“I’m sorry are you propositioning me?” 

“Jesus, what are ya a cop?” 

Alastor sighed, this was not at all going the way he’d hoped. “No I’m… angel…” 

“Angel?” 

“Sorry. I don’t actually know your name.” 

“Who’s askin’?” 

“I do believe we’ve gotten off on the entirely wrong foot. I am Alastor,” he said bowing to Angel. “Better known as the Radio Demon.” 

“Radio huh?” Angel said blowing a bubble with his gum. “Can’t say I eva heard a youse.” 

“No you wouldn’t have. My show plays in Pride.” 

“Oh so ya are gay.”

 “What?” 

“Ya said ya play your shows at Pride. S’little early, it’s not even May, but hey every day is Pride somewhere.” 

“No the Pride ring.”

“San Francisco?” 

Alastor groaned. “In Hell.” 

“So not San Francisco.” 

“No. Literal, Hell. Eternal damnation. Perdition, the outer darkness. Dante’s inferno.” 

“Uh-huh. An’ lemme guess ya here ta what? Get me to change my wicked ways to spare me such a horrible fate?” 

“No no no no, you miss understand me,” Alastor said after a moment. “Hell is fantastic. I’ve been watching you for some time Angel. You’ve been taking care of my mother’s grave.” 

“Wait, ya mother? Ya mean ya related to Mary LaFaon?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where the fuck ya been?” 

“Dead,” Alastor replied. “Since 1933. I was shot in the head by a hunter who mistook me for a deer,” he said, at this he let the marking on his head glow green.

“Shit,” Angel said. If he was scared to learn that literal demons were real he didn’t move to get away from Alastor, that had to be a good sign, he thought. 

“It’s not exactly allowed for me to visit humans like this but—the way you treated my mother’s grave like it was something special to be looked after. I just… it meant a lot. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that.” 

“So ya been stalkin’ me?” 

“When you put it like that.” 

“Why didn’t you just come up to me?” 

“And say what, oh by the way I’m a demon I died fifty odd years ago hello?” 

“Fair point,” Angel said. “I still ain’t sure I ain’t trippin’ off some bad fuckin shit my dealer sold me.” 

“I’m very real.” 

“That’s what all the hallucinations say.” 

“Touche.” 

“‘Cept none of them as proper as you.” 

“Thank you, I think,” Alastor said. 

Angel sighed. “So lemme get this straight. Ya started followin’ me after seein’ me be nice ta ya ma’s grave—what was ya plan here?” 

“To simply watch you for the rest of your life until you grew old and died.” At this Angel burst out laughing. ‘What’s funny.” 

“Old? Fuck, I’ll be lucky if I make it ta 30.” 

“How old are you now?” 

“Twenty-three,” Angel replied. 

“You look healthy enough.” 

“Looks can be deceivin’ mistah Radio Demon. I have a penchant fa drugs they probably ain’t even invented back when ya died.” 

“Cocaine?” he had seen the baggie of powder before.

“No.” 

“I’m not all that familiar with drugs these days I’m afraid.” 

“Ain’t important, the point is—for all ya know I’ll be down there wit ya in Hell in the next few weeks.” 

Alastor swallowed. “I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

“Would I remember you?” 

“I think so,” Alastor admitted. “Every human soul is different. Whether you’d like me is a different story.” 

“I like you now,” he said

“You don’t know me,” Alastor said. “In Hell I’m feared more than I’m beloved.” 

“That sounds lonely, Angel admitted softly. 

“It can be,” Alastor replied. He wasn’t usually this honest with anyone but he couldn’t help but remember Ozzie’s words, dishonesty was a bad way to start any relationship. Was that what this was? Was it what it could be? It was difficult to tell. He didn’t want to not say what he was feeling now. “I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never...” he trailed off

“And what way is that?” Angel asked smiling. 

Alastor blushed as he looked at him. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he said. “You are kind in a way that I never imagined, and I find myself thinking about you constantly.” 

Angel blushed. “Is this even real?” he said softly. 

Alastor sighed. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” 

“Anything,” Angel practically whispered. Alastor wasn’t sure if he had stepped closer to Angel or if Angel had moved closer to him but the two were mere inches away now. Angel’s warm breath ghosted over his lips. He was so alive in a way that Alastor could not even begin to understand. 

“May I…” 

“Please,” Angel practically whined. Alastor leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man, cupping his face in his hands. It was all at once the most tender thing that Alastor had experienced in a very long time and the most magical. Angel’s skin was soft beneath his own, warm and real and intoxicatingly alive. Perhaps that was what spurned him on, he thought to himself later when he recalled the memory. Perhaps that was what had led him to push Angel against the wall of the building behind them, to slide his knee between his thighs and kiss down his throat, marking him up as his own. Angel whined, gripping his overcoat, his fingernails leaving marks in the delicate, ancient fabric. Part of Alastor wanted him to tear through it. Wanted to feel those nails rake down his back and leave a mark that both of them would remember for days to come. He was not usually this impulsive, nor this reckless, even in his slayings on his show he was more controlled than this, but the taste of Angel’s tongue in his mouth made Alastor's head spin. “Fuck if this is real I don’t think I wanna spend another minute on this earth without cha,” Angel whispered against his lips when the pair had finally come up for air. 

Alastor frowned a little at that, as much as he could with a smile that could not break. “Angel I don’t want you to shorten your life just for me.” 

“It ain’t like my life is so hot up here,” he said. “My pops hates me, my ma is dead an' it’s only made my pops’ worse. Even Molly an’ Nicky been usin’ more heavily since ma died. It’s only a matter of time until we all—” he didn’t finish the sentence. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you could just take me down with ya?” 

Alastor hummed. He didn’t really know the rules. Could a demon really kill a human and bring their soul to Hell? There was no precedent for that that he was aware of. Then again, when had Alastor ever followed the rules? He smiled softly. “I want you to take some time to really think about what you’re asking for,” he said. “Really consider the consequences of this. I can’t guarantee that if your family does die as you say that you’ll see them again. My mother isn’t in Hell with me and that can be very difficult.” 

“I know what I’m askin’ for,” Angel said. “As far as it is now my ma ain't wit me as it is, what difference does it make where I am? I know it’s crazy, I mean I don’t even know ya, I don’t even know if this ain’t some bad trip I’m havin’ but…” he shook his head. “I feel like I know ya. Like somewhere in some other universe our paths have crossed and like ya mean a lot ta me Al,” he said. 

Alastor felt the same, the moment Angel had said it he felt it deep down inside, it didn’t make sense and yet nothing of this had made sense to him thus far, why start now? He smiled. “I know how you feel. But I do want you to take a few days to think about it. Maybe say goodbye to some people—most of us don’t get that chance. I don’t want you to have any regrets.” 

Angel seemed poised to reject this outright, but to Alastor’s great surprise he nodded. “Okay,” he said. Alastor smiled, cupping his face and kissed him again. It was just as heated as the first time, but with a promise of something greater. Angel would take a few days to think about it, and in the meantime, Alastor would return to Hell. He could tell no one about what was to unfold. “We’ll meet at this address,” pulling a slip of paper out of the air with the address of his old home on it, Alastor handed it to him, “At midnight.” Angel took it and slipped it into his pocket with a smile, watching as Alastor disappeared into a portal back to Hell. It was all he could do not to run after him.

* * * 

The seventy-two hours that followed were the longest of his life. He didn’t have to think all that hard to know what he wanted. Real or not, and on this front he still was not certain considering that he’d heard nothing further from Alastor after that night, save for the paper with writing that was not his own and the address he had given him. There was no question that Angel wanted to see where this could go. It was far too painful to keep going as he was here. He had tried to stay sober over the last several days but the pain of waking up knowing that his mother was gone and the stillness that it brought to his family home made it next to impossible. Despite the evidence of the paper in his hands, there was still doubt. Voices screaming that he was crazy. That he’d imagined the tall, handsome deer demon. How could it possibly be real? Sure he’d been raised Catholic but he’d never seen an angel, why the Hell would he meet a demon? It was so ridiculous and he was sure that he was going mad and so he did what he always did in times like these. He turned to his angel dust in an effort to quiet those wretched thoughts. Not enough to actually end things, he didn’t want to break his promise to Alastor, but enough to quiet his mind for a bit. Such as it was. Nothing seemed to quiet the screaming for long, and even when it did, what it was replaced with was somehow worse. Numbness, an all encompassing silence that felt like complete and total apathy. It made his job easier of course. Killing people for his father and fucking johns on the side was easier when he didn’t have to think about what he was doing—but it didn’t make him feel any better when it came down to it. He couldn’t help but feel guilty now too. Hadn’t he promised to say goodbye to his loved ones? His life? Hadn’t he promised to stay sober? 

Time seemed to drag on into infinity, the days were blurring and it was only thanks to the calendar in his room, in which he had circled in a red pen the evening he was meant to meet Alastor, that he even knew what day it was at all. Or that he still had the rest of the day to get through. He had wanted to rot in bed all day. To lay here and not move until either the bed simply devoured him whole like some sort of monster, or he fused into the bed itself. Either way, he didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to walk out of bedroom down the hall to his sister’s room. He didn’t want to try to say goodbye when he knew that what was left of her was what was left of himself. A shell. He and Molly were twins, and both of them had taken their mother’s sudden and unexpected death in terrible ways. Both of them had taken to their drug of choice, hers MDMA, his angel dust. Either way, neither was quite in the right headspace to have any sort of conversation. He knocked on her door, gently, so as not to wake her if she was asleep. 

“Yeah?” came the exhausted voice of his sister. 

“You awake?” 

“Course,” she said. Angel opened the door. Her room looked not dissimilar to his own, both in layout and the way that clothes were strewn about like a tornado had hit the place. Angel looked around, there was part of him that wanted to sit beside her, to hug her and say goodbye properly, but he knew that would sound odd. He knew that if he told her that he was getting out of here she would take it wrong. She would assume the worst. Maybe she would even try to have him committed, worried that he was a danger to himself. He nearly laughed. Wasn’t he? Weren’t they all? They had all fallen into their worst self destructive behaviors as of late, and that wasn’t improving any time soon. 

“How are you doing?” he asked. He felt stupid the moment the words left his lips. Small talk on his own twin, worse it was a stupid question. None of them were okay. 

She shrugged. “As well as any of us can be right now.” 

Angel sighed and nodded. There were no words that were needed. No words that could possibly even begin to make anything that had happened okay. He crossed the threshold into his sister’s room and sat down beside her on the bed. Both of them stayed in quiet contemplation, neither one speaking aloud and yet a whole conversation was had in their silence. In the silence Angel could say everything that he could not say out loud. He could express his pain, his frustration, his anger about the unfairness of it all. He could express his deepest fears, his desire to get away from it all. And in the silence she could agree. She could admit that she felt it too, that she knew where he was coming from. Neither one dared say aloud what they both felt, and yet the message was clear all the same. 

“I love you Mols,” he said. 

“I love you too, Ton,” she replied. 

What else was there to say besides that? He thought to himself. 

He could not have a similar conversation with his brother. Nicky was never in the house these days, always sticking to the shipyard or anywhere else that he could be that didn’t remind him so much of their mother. He worked incessantly as if that might keep the horrors away. Angel supposed he understood it. He’d been the one to find their mother’s body after all. 

Nor did Angel bother to stop in to say goodbye to his father. There was no point. Henry was too strung out to even see straight most evenings, and between that and his drinking, having any conversation with him at all almost always ended in screaming. Molly was the only one he cared enough to really say goodbye to, he thought to himself. Molly and his dealer. 

Not really a goodbye, more like one last score for the road. The truth was, whether Alastor had been real or not, Angel had come to a decision. This was the end of the road. The pain was too great, and he no longer had the wherewithal to care. If Alastor didn’t take him away, dust would. He only hoped that he might see him again wherever he ended up, he told himself. 

Angel arrived at the old house on the bayou several hours before midnight, the house itself was condemned, no one lived there anymore and hadn’t for many years if Angel had to guess, so it wasn’t like he was trespassing on anyone’s property. The grass had grown high enough that if he laid down in it on the edge of the bayou he could completely disappear. 

He wondered how long it would be before anyone even noticed his body out here. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest. He had far too long before midnight. 

When he finally awoke, several hours later things felt much better. It was dark out now, and the stars that hung in the sky were beautiful from this vantage point in the grass. When was the last time he’d been stargazing, he wondered. When was the last time he’d even bothered to stop and try to look at the stars? They were so beautiful. He hummed to himself. He wondered vaguely if there were stars in Hell. 

At last, after what had felt like an eternity Angel heard a sound in the grass and sat up fast just as the same demon walked out of the portal. “Al,” he said happily. Alastor turned towards him, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Oh my darling Angel,” he said. “I’ve missed you terribly."

Angel blushed at that. “I was beginning ta worry I’d imagined ya.” 

Alastor frowned. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” 

“S’alright,” Angel said. “Yer here now, that’s what matters.” 

“Indeed,” Alastor walked towards him and held out his hand for him. Angel took it and sighed contentedly. 

“Ya ever just look up at the stars?” he asked. 

“Not in a very long time,” Alastor replied. 

“No stars in Hell?” 

“No,” Alastor admitted quietly as he looked up at the stars with Angel. 

“I didn’t think so.” 

“Lucifer knows I would drag all of them down with me for you Angel,” he said. 

Angel blushed at that. “Al.” 

“Have you decided?” 

“There was never any question fa me,” Angel said. “Crazy as it is—I’ve made peace wit’ things.” 

“Very well,” Alastor said. “I’ve consulted with a grimoire or two from members of the Ars Goetia and I understand there are two ways to do this. Neither one pleasant.” 

“I’m ready for whatever.” 

“The first is that I can kill you, at which point your soul will be sent automatically to hell, and I will ensure that I find you. Or, you can use your own method.” 

Angel patted the dust in his pocket. “I mean I brought it along just in case.” 

Alastor smiled softly. “It’s not ideal.” Angel shrugged. “I will stay with you until the end, either way,” he promised. 

Angel smiled and kissed him again. Nothing had ever felt this real, nothing had ever felt this true, he thought to himself. 
Alastor stayed true to his word, holding onto Angel’s hand until the very end. 

* * * 

Few demons in Hell questioned the Radio Demon on any decision he made. Surprised though many were by the beautiful doe demon on Alastor’s arm these days, no one dared question it aloud. There were those in the know, such as Asmodeus who gave him a knowing smirk but otherwise said nothing when he met Angel for the first time at the Overlord’s ball some three months later. Alastor was a mysterious demon, few understood and even fewer were close enough to even attempt to try. They were happy, blissfully so and that was all that mattered as far as the King of Lust was concerned. 

For their six month anniversary, Alastor had decided to gift Angel something special. “Apologies for the delay, this took far longer than I anticipated,” he admitted covering Angel’s eyes. Angel giggled. 

“Al,” he said letting his boyfriend lead the way, “where are we even going?” 

“Somewhere special,” he promised. 

“It’s always somewhere special with you,” Angel said. Alastor kissed his cheek as he lead him into his newly created shadow bayou. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” Alastor removed his hands and Angel blinked trying to adjust to the scene before him. He gasped, there in the middle of hell, just off of their bedroom was a little piece of paradise, their very own slice of the bayou that Angel had fallen in love with, and above them the night sky filled with the same stars that Angel had seen that fateful night. “Oh Al, it’s beautiful,” he said as he turned to hug his beloved. 

Alastor smiled softly as he held Angel close, “No star is as beautiful as you my sweet,” he told him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Angel smiled happily. Life in hell was by no means perfect, it was an adjustment to be sure, but he was happier than he had been in a long while yet, and that, for Angel was everything.