Chapter Text
“Gooood morning Pentagram City! It's been days since our least favorite TV husband almost blew us all sky high, and there has still yet to be a single word from him or the elusive “Vees” regarding the matter. Someone call the IT guy, because it looks like a computer needs fixing. Hah, that was a good one. But seriously, he must be dead at this point, right? Who am I kidding, we have no fucking idea! Catch more at 8:00 on 666 News.”
Vox’s body hadn't been difficult to find.
A dismissive “Go find where I dropped that prick’s lower half” directed at a nameless assistant later, and Valentino was reattaching Vox’s screen to his neck, noticeably with more force than necessary. Neither of them dared to speak— they both held their silence to the point it was near impossible to fully break through. An invisible wall made out of two different types of anger, separating them on different sides. And Vox had no one to blame for that wall than himself.
Maybe he had gotten a little carried away the previous week. Who cared? He'd had outbursts before, those of which usually ended with the city's entire power grid blacking out. Both Valentino and Velvette had been around long enough to experience several firsthand. So why was this one any different? Why were they treating him as if he was something fragile they had to look after? As if he was just some broken little thing that needed to be watched. It was pathetic.
What was even more pathetic was how Vox had been left with no other choice than to quite literally beg for his body back ever since the day of his failed takeover. The Vees, annoying pricks they were, had simply tossed his screen absently onto the couch and walked out the room. If Vox still had his hands in that moment, he surely would've strangled them. He couldn't stand them— couldn't stand the small looks they threw him from time to time like he was nothing more than something fundamentally damaged. Vox wasn't even sure why they even bothered sticking around. It was so easy for them to just give up on him, so why hadn't they?
Why had they stopped him from winning that day?
Why did they ca—
The sensation of his head reconnecting painfully with the rest of his body yanked him out of his thoughts. Suddenly he became a real, physical person again, complete with arms, legs, everything. Vox glanced down, finding that he was wearing the same outfit he’d been wearing the day he’d lost it all— of course he was, it was what he’d had on at the time of his prompt decapitation. A decapitation he still didn't understand, no matter how many times he ran it through his mind.
His outfit was still ripped at the shoulders, his navy blue arms exposed and black fabric torn. Anger rose a second later, lingering uselessly before dissolving into nothingness.
A small part of him chose to mourn. Mourn all the power held, and all the power lost.
Had the Vees not stopped him, Vox would have detonated his weapon without a second thought, dying right next to it as he watched that fucking smile on Alastor’s face finally drop for the first time in 70 years. And he wouldn't have had it any other way. That was his destiny, after all. Always had been, always would be. The empty shell of a businessman fading into oblivion, taking the radio demon right along with him as they both became … nothing.
Vox looked up, wordlessly staring into Valentino's glowing red eyes. He caught a hint of grief hiding behind those heart shaped glasses before it hardened into anger.
“Val,” Vox began, voice distorted around the edges. “I—”
“You’re a fucking idiot,” the moth deadpanned.
Vox didn't protest. He simply sat there, swallowing his emotions down as he waited for Valentino to elaborate. But he didn't. That was all Val had to say to him, and it was more than Vox probably deserved.
I am. Vox couldn't bring himself to speak the words aloud.
Val just looked him up and down for a long moment, both his and Vox's undamaged antenna hanging down low. For a second, the look Valentino gave him, the one that screamed you're broken beyond repair, felt nothing if not deserved. He shoved the feeling down, burying it among the countless boards and circuits he was made out of. Instead, he clung to the delusion that none of what happened had mattered. It was easier than acknowledging his crushing failure.
A blink later, and Valentino was walking out the door— Vox felt his brain lag for a second before springing up too late, almost falling to the ground due to how unstable his newly reattached legs felt. He ran after Val, screen colliding harshly with the door the second it slammed shut. He rocketed backwards, a loud “OW” cutting through the air before being enveloped in silence.
Vox blinked his eyes into focus, hand brushing against the new cracks running across his screen. He stood there silently for a long minute, staring blankly into the darkness as a layer of static covered his face before making a grab for the doorknob. Locked. Of fucking course.
“Val, come on,” Vox called, trying to force the nervousness out of his voice. “Let's talk about this. You're being ridiculous.”
No answer.
“I know you can hear me. Just— open the door.”
Nothing.
Vox’s already strained smile dimmed, the TV leaning against the wall in an attempt to ease his unbalanced legs. He folded his arms, glaring at the door. “The silent treatment, huh? The fuck do you want, me to beg on my knees for your forgiveness?” He lowered his voice in mock-sincerity. “Oh, Valentino, I'm so sorry for trying to take over Heaven with my massive death ray. I'll do better next time.”
More silence followed. Vox gritted his teeth, pressing himself against the door. “You can’t just lock me inside this little room, Val. You need me. Velvette needs me. My company needs me. Let me the fuck out.”
The quietness stretched on almost painfully, Vox feeling a strange sort of anxiety rise. They wouldn't just leave him in here, right? No, he was the face of a citywide conglomerate; Hell needed him— needed him to survive. This place was fucking nothing without his influence, and that was fact. He couldn't just be contained inside a room like he was an object that needed to be hidden away, he couldn't—
“Valentino. Velvette. Open the door,” he demanded. His voice glitched.
Heavy, oppressive silence.
Vox couldn't help but laugh, not believing for a second what was happening. The CEO of VoxTek, trapped in a tiny fucking room by his … business associates. That familiar feeling of anger rose again, leaving him no choice but to direct it at anything and everything around him. The same anger he'd felt the moment Valentino had grabbed him just before ripping his head off. A pathetic loss of the control he so desperately craved. Because if he didn't have that, he was fundamentally … nothing.
He rattled the doorknob, somewhat frantically. “I know someone out there can hear me. Open the fucking door and I'll— I'll talk about whatever you want.” He dragged a hand down his screen. “Anything. Just— open it.”
Vox was yet again met with stillness. He threw his hands up in outrage, backing away too quickly— something caught his foot and he fell backwards onto the floor. He heard his screen crack on impact.
“Fuck—”
His vision went dark for a second, screen flickering back on a second later. The ceiling stared down at him plainly.
He laughed up at it, a hollow sound. The darkness of the room felt like it was swallowing him up minute by minute. And he did nothing but welcome it.
A brief memory flashed before his eyes: him standing on top of his superweapon while screaming complete hysterics, the perfect example of reckless abandon.
He should have died that day.
He was supposed to.
Another memory surfaced. Valentino yelling something at him that Vox couldn't even process through the pure mania crashing down onto him in waves. He hadn't cared. Hadn’t cared about the lives of a single breathing person in the vicinity, not even himself. There was only one thought continuously looping through his head in the moment— make Alastor suffer. Make him fucking suffer. Fucking kill him.
Vox had reached such a point in self destruction that his own life had just— stopped mattering. He could hardly remember anything from the events leading up to being decapitated, other than the feeling of a useless, suicidal rage drowning out everything else. A feeling that in the end, had done nothing but break him.
And now here he was. Laughing hysterically while trapped in a dark room as Hell moved on without him. The most powerful man in Hell, reduced to a husk. Back to being powerless. Back to being weak.
Just like Alastor had said.
The next hour passed by in a blur of hazy memories and emotions that had nowhere to go. He didn't even realize he was crying until the room’s door creaked open, spilling light into the space and thrusting him out of his thoughts. The Vees stared blankly at him, Vox throwing them a lopsided smile as he shoved back his feelings for the hundredth time in two days.
“Look who finally remembered I'm in here,” Vox bit out hoarsely. He sat up, turning away from them to brush at the tears lingering pathetically in his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? Do you just lock people in rooms for fun?”
“We wanted to give you some time to reflect on all the shit you pulled a few days ago.” Velvette leaned against the doorway, expression carefully blank. After a second, she added unhelpfully, “You dumb fuck.”
Vox laughed bitterly, eyes trained on the floor. “Well, you got me. The fuck else do you want me to say, huh? Let's just move on with our afterlives.” He didn't know whether his voice was full of tiredness or defeat. Probably both.
“We’re not moving on,” Valentino snapped. His tone made Vox want to punch him. “We’re going to talk about what happened. All of it.” He leaned down next to Vox, two pairs of red eyes meeting. “And what you’re not going to do, Voxxie, is pretend like everything’s fine, because it’s fucking not.” Val’s voice shook with something akin to anger, and Vox resisted the urge to recoil at the emotion. “I’m fucking sick of the indifference, just tell me some part of you actually gives a damn about that— that fucking stunt you—”
“Point is, you were going to blow us all up with that massive fuckin’ laser of yours without a second thought,” Velvette cut in, decidedly cutting to the chase. “Including yourself. What the fuck were you thinking, V? We would have died. Me, Val, you, your weird fuckin’ shark—”
Vox stiffened at the last part. Shok.wav.
He hadn't even given him a thought ever since the day of his crushing failure. What was wrong with him? In a moment of pure selfishness, he had almost killed his own fucking—
Static tugged at the corners of his vision.
His hands clenched.
A strained laugh ripped out of him, hanging in the air for a second that stretched on longer than it should've. The Vees’ voices faded into background noise, replaced by a suffocating white noise.
Seconds became as long as hours. Valentino snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Vox.”
He didn't respond.
Velvette’s voice gradually faded back in, blunt. “That whole thing was a suicide attempt, you fuckin’ idiot. You're lucky we were even there in the first place, or your ass would be dead dead right now. What the Hell is wrong with you, huh? We’re both dying to know.”
Fuck.
Everything crashed down him at once, and all of a sudden he just knew: he couldn't do this. He couldn't be here. He couldn't have this fucking conversation with them.
Vox stood quickly, plastering a fake smile on his screen tightly. The Vees stared back at him, eyes full of undeserved concern. They were concerned about him. It was hilarious. He didn't need any of that— he didn't need anything from anyone. Why would they waste their time being worried about him?? What the fuck was wrong with them?? He didn't fucking need th—
“That was a nice little talk we just had,” he said loudly. “Unfortunately, I have a business get back to running, so—”
Valentino grabbed his arm firmly, the moth’s eyes burning with an emotion Vox had never seen from him before. Heartbreak. Like Vox was something worth mattering to him.
“Tell me why you did it.” Val's voice was the definition of calm before a storm.
Vox didn't answer. He couldn't. There was too much to say, and too little words sufficient enough to communicate it all.
Val’s grip on him tightened. “Tell me why you tried to kill yourself.”
Painful silence.
"It was that deer, wasn't it?” Valentino said quietly. “You were going to kill yourself— kill everyone in the city, all for that fucking—”
Vox ripped Valentino’s grip on him away, causing him to stumble backwards. His mind was quickly going into overdrive. Deny. Deny deny deny. “What the fuck are you talking about, Val? I got a little carried away a few days ago, and that’s it. There’s nothing else to it. Save the fucking drama, alright?”
“Don't 'Val' me, Vox,” Valentino shot back. The venom in his voice caught Vox off guard. “I—I don't understand how you can just stand there and pretend like your little suicide attempt didn't mean shit. I had to save you, you fuck.”
“Save me from what?” Vox stepped closer to the point they were inches apart, two pairs of wide eyes locking in on each other.
“Go on. Tell me what the fuck I had to be saved from, Valentino.”
“From yourself.”
The two words hit him like a bullet.
The air stilled.
The room was silent.
For the first time since Valentino had walked in, Vox noticed the tears lingering in the man’s eyes. Grief barely disguised as anger.
Because Val cared. Genuinely cared. About him.
Why—?
Something tightened in his chest; something fell in on itself.
Out of a pure, instinct fear, Vox suddenly zapped his way to the next room over—his office—, overshooting his destination in panic and crashing harshly into his desk. His mind spun, emotions blurring together into a worthless soup.
He distantly heard Velvette yell his name from somewhere— he didn't react.
Vox simply tipped his screen upwards and screamed, a noise of complete and utter defeat. The sound echoed off the walls, reverberating back at him almost cruelly.
The lights of the tower flickered faintly.
Behind him, Shok.wav nudged the tank of his aquarium in Vox's direction.
Vox stared up at his shark hopelessly, something burning in his eyes. His hands dug into the surface of his desk. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn't even know who his apology was directed at: the Vees, Shok.wav, or himself. The same anger that stayed trapped inside him day in and out rose up again, and Vox was left with no other choice but to direct all of it at himself.
Vox sank down in front of Shok.wav’s tank, screen hidden in his knees.
His apology still hung in the air hours later.