Priceless (Alastor X Reader)

No Rest For the Wicked

Falling was a strange thing.

If one does so for long enough, at just the right speed, it can begin to feel like they're simply floating in mid air.

The only indication that Alastor had to hint at his descent, as he slowly came into lucidity, was his hair whipping around his face.

Had it been seconds? Years, maybe? How long was he in the dark for?

Where was the dark that he just came from, and, why was he starting to forget more and more of what happened there?

A place of judgement; a place with no warmth, but also nothing unjust. A parallel to absolute nothingness... Soon becoming just a long forgotten memory as he fell down, down, down.

Behind his tightly closed eyes, pitch black vision slowly turned to the red of the back of his eyelids; signaling to him that wherever he was now, there was light. Opening them, he found himself floating in a vast sea of red. Purple bordered the perimeter of his vision, almost like a gradient frame around the sky above. He blinked tiredly and took in the constant smell of sulfur when he finally sucked in a breath.

He must have been facing up, because the longer he descended the more he was able to make out a strikingly bright pentagram carved into the sky; becoming smaller as he got further from it.

'I guess the shadow's weren't joking,' he thought to himself. Although he couldn't see what awaited below him, he simply closed his eyes again and waited for the inevitable impact. It was hard to feel panicked when he figured he was already dead.

He recalled the moments prior to this that he was capable of remembering. Coming to rescue you, killing Dante. Finding you, and then... losing you... Vic's smug face after breaking his heart, taking away the one person left that he cared about.

Alastor's body felt warm. Not from the warm temperature, but his blood simmering in every vein and artery.

Two questions came to him at that very moment and damn near consumed his entire train of thought.

How was he going to find you?

And who was going to look after his pets now that he's gone?

Slowly as the wheels in his tired mind began to turn, he began to feel... Well, everything.

All at once.

His anger, his grief, guilt... even humiliation.

He felt betrayed that he had been stabbed in the back by people he was supposed to be able to depend on. Feeling like he should have known better. He felt remorse that he was responsible for being the reason why you were here, somewhere. You should still be alive, living your life. Not down here...

Enraged, immensely, that he couldn't save you. He'd never forgive himself for losing you like that. Even when he does find you, he'd still kick himself for the rest of his days. That's assuming he ever did find you...

But the absolute kicker, the last straw, the salt rubbed right into the open wound; someone he loathed saw him at his most vulnerable.

He collapsed, he sobbed; he broke the mask. Of course, he didn't regret mourning you, that wasn't the case at all. He'd grieve every single day until you were finally back in his arms.

He just hated that Victor got the satisfaction of seeing him distraught, especially at the hand of his own efforts to upset him.

He just felt anguish, embarrassed and a little defeated.

No more.

No one was going to get that satisfaction from him, ever again.

Despite how desperately he wanted to shed tears on your behalf, and scream until his vocal chords were positively fucked; he knew there was one sure fire way to help keep himself relatively safe. Guarding hisself and letting others know he would not go down easily, he forced a wide, toothy grin to stretch across his features.