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Val woke up with a sharp gasp, covered in sweat.
He needed a weapon. Anything. It didn’t matter what it was. The people who were after him didn’t play nice, didn’t listen to any language other than violence. He would know. He’d tried to play nice far too many times. Fine, then. He could be violent.
Where had he left his gun? It was supposed to be on his nightstand but as he wildly reached for it, he didn’t feel it.
Nightstand?
Val looked around, eyes adjusting to the darkness. His heart was still beating a million miles a minute, but he began to piece together what the hell was happening. He was in his room. Vox, that traitor, was laying naked next him in bed, sleeping. Right. Val had caved and slept with Vox last night. Again.
He was in Vee Tower. He had just been dreaming, no matter how damn real it all felt. There was nothing to be afraid of. No one was coming after him, even if the dreams still clung to the edges of his mind. Memories, real and imagined, of pain, of suffering, he thought he had finally managed to bury so deep inside they wouldn’t be able to come back. But they did, no matter how much Val pushed them down. It was like they had taken root. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. The people in his dreams couldn’t hurt him anymore. Val had made sure of it, personally.
It didn’t take long for Val to make a name for himself after he first manifested in Hell. He was charming and knew just how to tell people what they wanted to hear. It had been a skill he spent years cultivating. And then he met Vox and things got even easier. With Vox by his side, anything that happened in the Pentagram was Val’s to know about. Information was power or whatever Vox was always saying. It was why when certain names came up, certain familiar voices on Vox’s cameras, Val knew he had to do something. Val may have been unrecognizable from who he was in life, but those scum weren't. Val couldn’t let them live. They didn’t deserve the chance to come looking for him.
Someone had once told Val that the only way he could get out of their little arrangement was death. Val had resented it at the time, but it made sense now. They had been right.
So, Val took care of it.
Vox had provided the angelic bullets with the expected amount of complaints. He had been untrusting of Val not to cause a headache, but something about Val must have given the severity of the situation away, because in less than a week from him asking, a small armory of angelic steel was delivered to Val’s office. Vox included some chocolate too, like it was a fucking Valentine’s day present. If only Vox were that damn romantic on command.
That very same night, Val had done what he needed to. It was messy and painful (mostly for them) and by the end, covered in blood and gore, Val hardly knew if it had been worth all the heartache. Wasn’t closure supposed to feel good? Aligned his energies or some other therapy speak bullshit? He didn’t know, but what he did know is that he was safe. No one would ever hurt him again. No one could.
When Val had come home that night, dripping blood on the carpet and ready to collapse onto the nearest horizontal surface, Vox regarded him carefully.
“Is that yours?” Vox had asked, looking him up and down and doing an admirable job of not looking concerned.
Val shook his head.
“I see. And you’re finished now?”
“Yup.”
With that, Vox gave a curt nod, and made space for Val on the couch next to him. Neither of them ever brought it up again.
So, that was that. Val was an Overlord, a fearless hottie, and anyone who could say otherwise was long gone. Velvette once told him he was “more than that” and “should value himself outside of his strength and appearance.” As if. His Babydoll was sweet, but Val knew what he was good for, and he was fine with that. He had power. It didn’t matter what it came from.
And if anyone was stupid enough to try to take a swing at Val? Well, he had Vox for that.
Then why was Val still so damn scared? Why were his eyes darting around his room, looking for a sudden movement? A silhouette? Damnit, he needed his glasses. Where had he left them? He could handle the dark, but everything was so damn fuzzy. If someone were there, would he even notice?
It wasn’t fair. Why him? Val had worked his way up from nothing, gotten his fair share of kicks to the chin, some his fault, and still never broke. He had paid his dues. Now, he was in charge. There. End scene. Cycle complete. Val wasn’t supposed to be weak and sniveling like this anymore. He wasn’t supposed to be tormented by memories that belonged to someone he could barely recognize.
Maybe Val was getting stupider with age because he had almost come to believe that shit Vox spewed about abandoning your past self to climb higher.
But unlike Vox, Val knew when to quit. Val didn’t try to throw everything away just because he was having an extended ego trip. No, only Vox did that. Then again, Val made the mistake of actually caring about Vox. Maybe that was the difference between the two of them.
Jesus Christ, why did that thought make him so sad? Val tried to blink back tears, but it was too late. He was sniffling in the dark of the room like a baby.
Vox wouldn’t cry over some bad dreams. Vox didn't cry over anything or anyone. The only times that Val had ever seen Vox shed a tear in decades of working together (outside of sex, because Val was damn good at what he did) were over…him.
Hell, how many times had Val stayed up all night, desperately wishing to inspire that much emotion in Vox? He tried so fucking hard, did so fucking much for that flat faced bastard, and did Vox ever acknowledge it? No. But the Radio Demon could have Vox’s full attention with little more than a call of his name. Alastor turned his strong, proud Vox into an eager dog, salivating for attention from someone who couldn’t care less about him. Val hated Vox for it. Hated that he couldn’t hate him, not really. Even Val wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.
But then, what did he care if he was a hypocrite? That would be the least of his sins. Val wasn’t a good person. People had said as much to him his whole life. His mother would look at him with eyes so empty, and tell him he could be so much more than the sorry disappointment he chose to be. Other people weren’t as kind. The trend had continued right down to Hell. He couldn’t count how many shitheads had approached him, ranting and raving about him breaking their sister or cousin or mother's best friend’s hair stylist. Oh the horror. Please. It was Hell. None of them were good people. He wasn’t going to get offended by some uggo saying he was a meanie. But he couldn’t deny it annoyed him sometimes. Val was so much kinder than people gave him credit for. Not enough people appreciated that.
Like, Val was a damn good boss, no matter what his sluts said behind his back. He found out some of them had started a support group once. He put a stop to that shit real quick. They wanted to complain just because they got smacked around sometimes? Because he could get a little rough? Because sometimes they had to do things they didn’t want to do? Big fucking deal. Val had earned that right to exert his power a little. Compared to what Val had dealt with, his whores had it good. Great, even! Their “suffering” was nothing.
They were all so spoiled. They were treated like prized jewels in his private collection and yet they always seemed to get mouthier with time until he finally broke them. Val treated them better than they deserved anyway. It was Val’s fault, all things considered. He was always too loving for his own good.
His employees didn’t have to go through what Val did. They way people would—
Val bit down on his cheek until it drew blood. Fuck. Bad thoughts again. Bad, bad thoughts.
He was going to be sick.
But Val didn’t get the chance to go run to the bathroom and puke his guts out because Vox stirred beside him, stupid screen flickering on. “Val? Everything alright?”
Of course now Vox decided to wake up. He always had to make things difficult. How come Vox didn’t wake up, like, when Valentino was having a super awesome wet dream? Selfish bastard.
Val willed his voice to come out steadily and mostly succeeded. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”
Vox cast him a sideways glance, and Val readied himself for this to become a whole thing. Everyone thought he was the dramatic one, but Vox was the one who would turn what shouldn't have mattered at all into a production. “You don’t look fine. You’re crying. Are the dreams back?”
“…Yes,” Val said reluctantly after a moment.
The dreams. It was almost funny how they both danced around the topic. They never called them nightmares because they weren’t anything that serious. They were just remnants of an idle mind. Vestiges of a life Val was far removed from. And yet the word “dreams” always managed to make Val furious. Because how could anything so trivial make Val feel so bad?
Damnit. This was why he hated thinking. He had seen Vox suffer enough from his own screwed up brain to know it was universal. If only Velvette’s love potions worked on him too. If only he could be that gone. Everyone else was so damn lucky.
Maybe it was an extra bit of divine punishment that they didn’t work on Vox either.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Vox asked, tone even.
Fucking bastard. He always asked that, even as Val’s answer never changed. No, he didn’t want to talk about it because there was nothing to talk about. Talking about it meant dwelling, and Val never dwelled on anything that wasn’t pleasurable.
If Vox were one of his whores, Val would have thrown him across the room for asking something so stupid. Maybe shot him depending on how he felt after.
But he wasn’t one of his whores. He was Vox. Jesus. He should’ve gotten Angel instead last night. Angel would’ve just held him. Maybe offered some of the coke he always seemed to have handy, even if the smart thing to do would be to ignore Val’s suffering like his other bitches. But his darling Angel was just too compassionate to leave well enough alone. It was what made him Angel. It was what made him worth having. And then, if the drugs didn’t work, Val could have kicked his teeth in and everything would have been fine.
But, once again, he would never do that to Vox.
Why couldn’t he just hurt Vox the way Vox had hurt him? The way Vox would no doubt continue to hurt him, because no matter what Val tried to tell himself, nothing ever really changed, not in any meaningful capacity. Why did he still want Vox so badly? He pulled his knees to his chest. He felt too exposed. Vox was the only one in the room, and yet he was feeling so watched. He liked when Vox saw him at his best. Not like this. It was why he could never afford to break. Vox was always lingering.
“Val,” Vox repeated, voice firm and calm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He was being pitying. Cloying. Val knew he wasn’t all that smart. He didn’t have to be. That’s what Vox was for. If anything, it was better to be a bit of an airhead. Easier. He had been trying to teach Angelcakes that lesson for years. But Val wasn’t so dumb that he couldn’t recognize when Vox was working him.
Fortunately for Vox, Val didn’t fucking care.
Val shook his head, hugging his knees even closer. Maybe if he kept it up, he could disappear.
He didn’t say anything because he knew he wouldn’t have to. Vox would fix this. Vox always fixed these things. Vox always knew what would make him feel better. He could trust Vox with that, if nothing else.
Vox sat up properly, letting out a long sigh. “Okay then. I’ll go get you a drink.”
Vox shifted his weight, readying himself to get out of bed, and Val felt a familiar, sharp panic shoot through him. Vox couldn’t leave because if Vox left, then he would be alone. Val didn’t want to be alone anymore. Vox had promised him he would never be alone again.
“No,” Val hissed, using all four hands to grab Vox’s arm roughly, “Stay right there. You stay right fucking there.”
Vox blinked, confusion showing plainly on his stupid flat face.
“You want a drink, don’t you?” Vox asked, slowly like Val wouldn’t be able to understand it otherwise. Val was too damn panicked to even care. It wasn’t like it was out of the ordinary. If he got upset every time Vox condescended to him, they would never stop arguing. Besides, it was Vox. Vox talked down to everyone. Val wasn’t special, no matter how much he wished he was.
“Yes,” Val forced out.
“Then you need to let go, Val.”
Fuck. That logic made sense. But, like, also, fuck logic. Val wanted Vox way more than he wanted a drink anyway. He wanted Vox more than he wanted anything. Nothing else mattered. “I’ll just call Kitty. You aren’t allowed to leave me.”
Vox had to stay close to him. He didn’t have a choice. Val wouldn’t give him one.
Vox’s smile was a smug thing. Even when he was being comforting, he couldn’t hide his absolute delight at being needed. Val should have resented it. “Now, you know I’d never do that, baby.”
Val tensed, vision blurring not with sadness but with rage. That filthy fucking liar. Usually, Val would’ve eaten up Vox’s bullshit eagerly, let the pretty mistruths soothe his raw nerves, but he knew better now. He had proof Vox was nowhere as loyal as he liked to pretend to be. But of course he wasn’t. Vox was never his. There was never any loyalty to be had. Not that it made much of a difference. Vox was still in his bed, even after everything. Val’s power didn’t guarantee self respect, apparently.
“Yes you would,” Val spat.
“Huh?” Vox faltered, clearly unprepared for the deviation in the script. Good.
God, he was so oblivious. Did he even understand what he did wrong? Val dug his nails into Vox’s arm. He hoped it hurt. “You fucking tried to leave. You would have if I let you.”
“Just to get you a drink. I would have been right back,” Vox said, having the nerve to sound annoyed. “Val, I understand you’re in a bad way right now, okay? But you’re being hysterical.”
Hysterical? God, because that’s what Val was to Vox. His feelings were just little tantrums that had to be managed. But if Vox were upset because Alastor blinked, they had to shut the whole fucking building down to deal with it.
“I’m not talking about right now, dumbass. I’m talking about at the party. With…you were going to kill us all.”
Vox blinked, and Val could almost see the way he forced his face to smooth into a placating smile. “Val, that wasn’t the same. Look, I’m not trying to fight with you. Let’s not talk about such upsetting things, hm?”
Val couldn’t even be mad at his audacity. After all, Vox wasn’t saying anything that hadn’t worked on Val before. Vox had such a way with words, didn’t he? He had never been honest a day in his life. Why did Val think it would be anything different with him? What, did he think he was special? The idea was so laughable that it made Val cry harder.
Val felt Vox tense tender his grip. He raised a hand but clearly thought better of it as Val flinched, letting Vox go.
“Wasn’t it? You were gonna fuckin’ blow us all up for him.” Val said angrily.
“I thought you and Velvette would be okay,” Vox lied.
“No the fuck you didn’t. We all heard what that Carmine bitch said. It was gonna blow.” Val rubbed his eyes until they began to feel raw. Vox said that pain was evidence of improvement, a grounding force. Val couldn’t disagree more. He hated pain, always had. Indulgence was better by half. But now, any amount of discomfort was preferable to focusing on this conversation and the bitter truth emerging. Vox hadn’t changed. Vox would never change. No one really did. Not even Val. “And so what if we lived? You would've been…fuck! You would’ve left me and Velvette behind.”
“Val…”
“So don’t act like I’m being stupid. Not about this.”
Vox’s voice was slow and measured. “I didn’t say you were being stupid, Val. What I did back then, and it’s been so long, hasn’t it, was a mistake. Ill-advised.”
“And yet you haven’t apologized.”
Vox went quiet. It would’ve been so easy if Vox just apologized. Val would’ve taken it as Gospel, even if he knew it was a lie. But Vox wouldn’t. He was too damn proud. Val knew that because Val knew Vox. Not that it had helped him any. He loved that pride. He loved Vox’s worst traits as much as his best ones.
“Val, that doesn’t matter right now,” Vox said, laying down and pulling Val beside him. Val couldn’t fight it. He was so tired. “What matters is you and how you’re feeling. You’re still shaking. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Was he shaking? Val couldn’t tell. He barely felt like he was in his own body.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Val snapped, turning onto his side. He couldn’t stand to look at Vox, so he wrapped his wings around himself, blocking his vision. “Goodnight.”
“Val?”
“Goodnight, Vox. You’re lucky I’m not kicking you out.”
There was silence for a few moments. Part of Val was relieved. He couldn’t handle any more excuses. Another part of him was pissed off. Was Vox not even going to try? Was he content to just let Val wallow? Then, Vox spoke again.
“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it. Fine. Then let’s talk about nothing,” Vox said.
“What?”
“Do you ever miss the blue sky, Val?” Vox asked, clawed fingertips along his wing. Val allowed him to gently lower it. “I don’t, but I do get sick of the constant red everywhere. That is, except for you. Your eyes may be the only things in Hell that aren’t a complete eyesore.”
Despite himself, Val felt his face get hot. How did Vox still find ways to get him right in the heart after all this time? “Vox?”
Vox continued on like Val hadn’t said anything. What else was new? “Hell isn’t all that awful, though, is it, babe? There’s some things to love about it. I certainly don’t miss my back pain. Then there’s Shok.wav. And food delivery apps. God, I love to eat.”
Val turned back over slowly. Vox was looking at him, a stupidly soft expression on his face, and Val felt his chest squeeze.
And I love you. Val could almost choke it out. God, he wanted to say it. He had wanted to say it for decades. But why make a bad night even worse? Why take the broken pieces of their relationship and set them on fire? Maybe someday, when Val had nothing left to lose, but not today. It was too early in the morning for that. Or maybe too late at night? Who cared?
Fine. Val could play along. He would play along. Anything to hear Vox talk more. His voice was so damn calming when he wasn’t being a bastard. “I love how you flinch whenever you hear scream rain.”
Vox huffed an annoyed laugh. “It’s loud and sudden. It’s not my fault.”
Naturally. Nothing ever was his fault, was it? “So? They report the weather on your news channels. You should know when it’s coming.”
Vox scoffed. “You know I don’t watch that crap unless I’m on it.”
“Narcissist,” Val hummed.
“Attention whore,” Vox shot back.
“Bitch.”
“Asshole.”
“Gringo.”
Vox laughed. “But your gringo, no?”
Val wiped at his face where his tears were drying. When had he stopped crying? “Unfortunately.”
Ugh, he was feeling better. Even after Vox had tried to throw him and Velvette away, after he had shown how little he cared, Val was still relying on Vox to soothe him. He had become so dependent. Vox was truly worse than any drug.
But people were addicted to drugs for a reason, right? They felt good. So why stop Vox from fixing him? Val had tried going cold turkey, and it had fucking sucked. He'd rather overdose on Vox than be without him a day more. It was better than existing so damn miserably.
“The dreams. They’re scary, I guess. Sometimes,” Val admitted. It was juvenile but it was true. It was also the most he had ever shared about the dreams with anyone.
Except Angel, maybe. But Angel was an extension of him and only slightly more pathetic . Vox was, well, everything. Admitting weakness to Vox was handing him your heart. It would be fine at first. He’d keep it in a glass case, treasure it. And then, when you upset him, or he upset himself, he’d pull it out and crush it beneath his heel.
Vox just ran a hand through the fur around Val’s neck. He looked unsurprised, like he knew he would get Val to talk sooner or later. It was a predictable routine.“I know, Val. But no one is here but me. And if anything were to happen, which it won’t, I’d protect you. There’s nothing to be scared of with me around.”
Val angrily pushed at Vox. As if it were that easy. If it was, Val wouldn’t be having the dreams in the first place. When Vox moved away, Val grabbed those stupid sexy shoulders and dragged him closer. “I’m not an idiot! I know that. It doesn’t make me feel any less shitty.”
“I know Val.” Vox said patiently. “Let’s pretend then.”
Val grimaced. Vox was really reaching new lows. Velvette was right about him. His taste was awful. Vox had ruined him. “Pretend? You really think roleplay is going to fix this? Let me guess, you want to act like newlyweds again. No thanks. Not really ready for a wild 30 seconds right now, half-minute man.”
Vox’s screen glowed a brilliant blue. “We said we wouldn’t talk about that!”
“No, you asked me not to,” Val corrected, a smile finding its way onto his face despite it all. “I never agreed.”
“I bought you that dress you had been wanting after,” Vox hissed, still so pleasantly embarrassed. “That was obviously a bribe.”
“The dress you tore to shreds?”
“Please, that’s just as much of a reward for you and you know it.” Vox groaned. “Look, let’s get back to the task at hand. If you can snark, you can listen. You do know what that word means, don’t you, Val? I don’t have to pull out a dictionary, do I?”
Ugh, He sounded so damn businesslike. “Whatever.”
“Val.”
“Fine, fine. Listening.”
“Good.” Vox took a deep breath, speaking as if the words were physically painful. “I want you to be okay.”
So? Vox wanted a lot of things. Val couldn’t give him half of them, no matter how he tried.
“It’s not your choice,” Val said finally. As much as he wanted it to be, couldn’t control how he felt. He didn’t pick Vox. His stupid heart did.
“I know it’s not. Even if it should be. I know, sometimes, even I can’t do anything about it,” Vox said the words through gritted teeth, like it was killing him to admit he couldn’t single handedly control Val’s brain. “So let’s just pretend things are fine until they are. Let’s just live like us until the unpleasantness is gone. Ignore everything else. Fuck everything else. It’s just us now. No one else matters. It’s you, me, and Velvette until the end.”
“But it’s not.” Vox had ruined that illusion for them both.
“So? Why dwell on it? Why deal with that misery? Just act like it’s the truth. Can you do that, Val?”
Val just stared. Vox was being serious about this, wasn’t he? Just us. A pretty lie. The kind of lie Val had always wanted to hear from Vox. Maybe he was still dreaming?
“I said, can you do that for me, Val?” Vox repeated, voice raw. “Please.”
Vox didn’t beg. At least, he never begged this directly. His ego was too big and too fragile for that. Hell, he got a complex about saying please the last time he asked Velvette to pass the salt. But there he was, before Val, begging for Val’s sake.
It was as close to a confession of love as Vox was capable of and it was more than enough.
Val had followed far less loving orders. He could follow this one. “I…I can.”
“Good,” Vox said, voice right by his ear. “Everything is perfect, Val. I’m here. And that means nothing can go wrong.”
Against his better judgment, Val believed it. But he always believed handsome men who didn’t have his best interests at heart. Whatever. Val wasn’t going to complain about it. That sounded like work that would leave him depressed and sobbing into a pillow. Everything was fine, perfect. Vox said as much. Val wanted it to be true, and so it was, even if he had to pretend.
Pretending. Yes. Val was so very good at that. He could pretend endlessly. Dumb and pretty and the best actor in all of Hell. That was him.