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The Contract	By : Turkaholic Category: -Misc Cartoons > Slash - Male/Male Views: 262 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss. I do not make any money from this story

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Trigger Warning for this chapter - Domestic Violence
A few things before you read:
1) We're starting to get into Al's backstory a little here. Obvs I have no idea what Viv has planned for the show, so I've gone out on a limb with this. If it turns out that I'm horrifically wrong then I guess you should consider this AU, but I like it.
2) I would dearly have loved to keep this fic to HH/HB characters only, but due to the nature of the fic I've had to come up with one or two other characters. None of them are self-inserts or personal OCs, they were just necessary.
3) I don't speak Creole. I have tried to get a translator for it, but sadly all the online translators out there are incredibly poor. So for now, I've just used French. If you happen to know any New Orleans Creole and notice anything mistranslated, please correct me, I want to represent it as best I can.
In any case, please enjoy. Next chap should be fairly lighthearted (Hotel Breakfast!), and then we can check in with Vox and the Vees.
If you're purely here for the smut, don't worry - not too long to wait xD
As usual, leave a comment if you're enjoying it. They make my crooked heart do freaky little flips <3

Chapter 8 – The Shit That Comes Before That

The little boy jolted suddenly awake, the inky darkness of his small, musty bedroom enveloping his senses. He raised a hand to his messy brown hair and sat up, looking to the small window for some idea of the time. There were no stars, no moon, just a low orange glow from the gas lamp that stood a few feet further down the muddy road.
Somewhere outside, he heard the loud squelch of hooves through mud, and the gentle rattle of a carriage passing by. He let out a long breath.
He couldn’t place the reason why he’d woken so late in the night. His heart was racing in his chest, as though something dreadful had happened. Had it been a nightmare? Someone making noise in the street? He rubbed his eyes and reached out to the bedside table, feeling in the darkness for his spectacles. The back of his hand brushed past a tin cup, a candle, and finally hit a thin rod of metal. His glasses. They slipped off the table and clattered to the splintered wooden floor.
With a little groan, the boy slipped his legs from under the blanket and swung them round to dangle off the bed. He reached down blindly and began patting the floor, still feeling the fear that had woken him up.
There was a shatter of breaking china from somewhere further in the house. He stopped feeling for his glasses and held his breath, the fear rising from his chest into his throat. His bottom lip began to tremble.
Forgetting the search he stood up silently. Carefully tiptoeing around where he thought his spectacles must be, he crept towards the door, hands out in front of him, feeling for the wall.
There was another smash. A muffled, raised voice.
The boy slowly turned the handle, trying not to let the rusted hinges creak. Flickering yellow light passed through the small gap in the door as he pressed his brown eye to the opening, listening, watching.
“I’m sorry my love… I’m so sorry.” came a woman’s voice, small and tremulous. There was another smash. The woman let out a gasp.
“Sorry doesn’t fill my plate, does it?” Came a male voice, louder; angry. “A man should have his dinner on the table when he comes home. What use is it to have a wife if she doesn't act like one? What use are you?!”
“...I – I didn’t know if you’d be home, tonight. And I was taking care of the boy – he has so many nightmares, you know. He needs someone to sing him to sleep.”
“Sing him to sleep?!” Came the male voice, sneering and spiteful. The boy winced as he continued to listen. “You coddle the boy. What kind of a man will he become if he needs his mama to sing him to sleep at night?”
There was a brief pause before the female voice responded.“...he’s just a little boy, my love.”
“Then it’s time he learned to act like a man!”
The brown haired boy tried to gently ease the door open a little further. He wanted to stick his head through, peer secretly down the corridor into the sitting room at what was happening. Hand shaking, he pulled the handle.
There was a loud, jarring creak.
Mouth dry, the boy stopped what he was doing and listened. All sounds of shouting or movement had ceased. He was sure he had been heard.
Taking a gulp and a long, steadying breath, the boy spoke.
“...maman?”
A wooden chair screeched loudly across a tiled floor. The boy heard the woman gasp again and heard her hurried footsteps. She seemed to mutter something in a soothing tone to the man, and then he heard her call back, voice shaking.
“It… it’s alright mon Ange. You’re ok… everything’s ok. Go back to sleep.”
“Mon Ange? MON ANGE?” Roared the male voice. The boy recoiled from the door, hands shaking. “You treat him like a pampered pet! I will not have it in my house! Let me show you how to make a strong man. BOY!”
“Stop… he’s just a child, my love, please!”
The boy backed away from the door. He heard the crunch of breaking glass as his spectacles snapped beneath his bare feet.
“Boy, get in here!”
“Please don’t…”
“ALASTOR!”

__________________
The Radio Demon’s eyes snapped open, ears flattened back against the pillow. His hands were curled into the bedsheet tightly. His jaw ached: he’d clearly been grinding his teeth in his sleep.
He lay there for a few moments, listening to the sound of the still playing wireless drifting in gently through the open door. Beyond the window a ruby red dawn was rising across the Pride Ring, signalling the beginning of another day in Hell.
Alastor swallowed forcefully and took in the patterns on the ceiling for a moment His head hurt a little after indulging in whiskey, he was sore, his legs ached, and he could still smell Vox’s presence clinging his skin. If it hadn’t been for those undeniable signs, he might have been able to push that particular memory out of his mind. And then, there had been the dream… he tightened his grip on the sheet in frustration. It had been quite some time since a memory had ambushed him like that. Clearly having too much rye before bed had lowered his defences. He snarled at the ceiling and slid a hand through his hair, clearing his mind.
He tilted his head on the pillow, looking out of the window at the red-orange sky. The neon lights far below in Downtown began to splutter out like snuffed candles as the day began to lighten. The bright blue V in the distance caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes at it, then slipped off the edge of the bed, making his way to the wardrobe with a slightly predatory gait. He threw the doors open and retrieved a fresh suit.
After the mishap with Sir Pentious, he’d taken the precaution of getting a few tailored, and it had finally proved useful – Vox’s blood had been agitatingly impossible to wash out. He slid into the clean clothes, smoothing the lines of the suit to cover his tail, and fixed the bowtie primly in his dawn-touched reflection. The only indication that anything was bothering him was the occasional twitch of an eyebrow and the slightly bared teeth.
Vox was an issue that had no solution except to try to forget what had happened. He couldn’t even fight the idiot now to get it out of his system, not without an all-out Overlord intervention. He stretched out his neck, an ear twitching. There was the tiniest tug at the back of his mind telling him that seeing Vox would be a comfort right now, but he flatly refused to listen. He hadn’t listened to that particular thought in a decade. Besides, he was no longer a child. He didn't need comforting.
That memory, on the other hand… that was an issue that had a potential solution. He hadn’t thought about it since before he’d left, but perhaps this time he’d have better luck.
He picked up the cane from his bedside table, affixed his monocle and stepped out into the sitting room, turning the wireless up a little as he passed. He strode out onto the balcony, feeling the almost cool air before the hellish heat of the day arrived, and sat himself down on the art nouveau style patio chair, crossing his legs and folding his arms tightly, thinking.
A few moments passed before he relaxed and raised a hand into thin air. A glowing green chain shimmered into being between his fingers. Slowly, he wrapped the links of it around his hand like a long, poisonous snake. He halted for a moment, contemplating the chain, as though wondering whether to follow through on his train of thought, and then pulled it.
For the first time since he’d left Vox’s office, an honestly amused smile spread across Alastor’s face. He unfolded his arms and placed an elbow on his knee, resting his chin on his open palm as he stared down at the still sleeping cat demon emerging from the shadows.
Husk was curled up in a ball, his wings wrapped around himself and one paw covering his nose. Alastor could hear soft, purr-like snores emanating from his chest. He sat watching for a moment, and then the smile widened into a wicked grin and he leaned down close to the pointed ear.
“Good morning, my fine fellow!” he said cheerily, and far more loudly than was necessary.
Husk’s eyes snapped open, fur standing on end. “Agh what the fuck?!”
Alastor continued to smile, amused as Husker pushed himself back away from the noise, claws scrabbling and pupils dilated in shock.
“Rise and shine, Husker!” he sang, “It’s the beginning of another glorious day!”
Husk’s eyes darted around the balcony for a moment, trying to work out where he was and why. Alastor merely continued to sit, palm under his chin, watching him. Their eyes connected. Husker’s face turned sour.
“I ever mention how much I fuckin’ hate it when you do this?”
Alastor let out a hum of amusement. “Quite often.”
“Son of a…”
Husk trailed off into a series of dark mutters under his breath and brought himself awkwardly to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his wings out, then narrowed his eyes over the railings at the sky.
“The hell? You crawl in gone midnight, then drag my sorry ass outta bed at the crack of dawn? You tryin' to drive me nuts?”
“Oh come now, I merely thought you’d appreciate the view!” Said the Radio Demon innocently, spreading a hand wide to indicate the vista below. He placed his legs on the table in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “Isn't it breathtaking at this time in the morning? Why, you can even hear the explosions from the Doomsday District quite clearly.”
“...right.” Husk grunted tiredly, too startled and groggy to retaliate. He stared at Alastor’s grinning face and through the drowsiness tried to judge the expression behind it. He seemed perfectly cheerful, even if there was still something a little off around the eyes, but after the outburst last night Husk had no intention of trying to enquire again. The asshole could keep his secrets to himself. “...and?”
Alastor hesitated. He looked away into the distance and lowered his hand, tapping his fingers on his knee instead. “...and I have a little… favour I’d like you to do for me today.” He said. His voice was still light, but the tone had changed almost imperceptibly, a slight edge to it. Husk sighed resignedly and walked up to the railing, hanging his tired head over it as he waited for the other demon to continue.
“I want you to find me…” The static in his voice peaked. He curled his fingers inwards in a fist. “Corah.”
Husker frowned at the name and turned to look searchingly into Alastor’s face, all tiredness wiped away. “...Corah?” He paused and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What the hell d'you want a bounty hunter for?”
Alastor chuckled and tapped Husk’s nose with his cane, tilting his head impossibly far in a show of sinister playfulness. Husk recoiled and swiped the cane away. “Oh I think you’re forgetting who owns whom, my furry little feline.”
“Ugh. It’s too early for your fuckin’ bullshit.”
“Might I suggest a good old fashioned cup of coffee before you leave then? You have quite the busy day ahead of you, after all. Chop chop."
Husk growled his displeasure and began to skulk away, leaving the Radio Demon rocking on his chair, humming along to the tune on the wireless. He halted at the balcony door and inclined his head.
“Ya know… even if I find her, it ain’t like I can just bring her back to the damn Hotel. Little Miss Sunshine down there is gonna have a lot of stupid questions.”
Alastor swung his legs down from the table and placed all four feet of the chair back on the floor. “You worry too much, my dear. There's no problem there.” He stood up promptly and followed Husker to the door, tapping his cane with each step. “You can simply tell her to meet me at Dempsey’s.”
“Wait a second – Dempsey’s? The restaurant?!” Husker looked up in confusion and concern. “...ain’t that Vees territory?”
Alastor chuckled darkly and patted him patronisingly on the head. The antlers grew just a fraction as he spoke, static distorting his voice as it deepened. “...Not. Any. More.”
Husker continued to stare at him in, clearly bewildered. Alastor's smile widened at the look of confusion and he extended a hand invitingly towards the suite door, nudging Husk in the back with his cane.
"Off you pop then. Ta ta. Cheerio."
The Radio Demon watched Husker leave, feeling back to normal. Annoying Husk was one of his favourite mood-boosters. Yes, he could still smell Vox, and flashes of what had happened kept slipping unbidden into his mind, accompanied with a peculiar jolt in his stomach, but he could easily dismiss that, and the other memory was beginning to fade away. He had other things on his mind now. More important things.
A band of Overlords had swarmed into the hotel yesterday and annoyingly escorted him out in full view of everyone, including Charlie and (his eye twitched as he thought the name) Lucifer. There would be… uncomfortable questions, and the longer he left it, the more questions would arise. He’d have to go down, make an appearance before he left for his new territory.
With a long, static-filled sigh, he twirled the cane lightly between his fingers. He straightened his lapels one last time and exited into the slowly waking hotel.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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The Contract