𝐇𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 - Hazbin Hotel

Of Sinners and fallen Saints

Summary:

It's never been heard of for a sinner to bounce back from a direct hit from an angelic weapon, let alone one infused with holy energy. But with absolutely impeccable luck and a sort of blood transfusion from the King of Hell himself, Alastor makes a near full recovery. That is to say, not everything goes according to plan.

The near death experience did what one might call a factory reset on Alastor, breaking his deals and reverting him back to the time he'd first entered Hell; both in power and appearance. Still with the ability to control radio-waves and sound, Alastor and the rest of the Hotel gang need to prepare for what's to come next; not just from Heaven, but those in Hell as well. With his powers out of commission while he was recovering, and his deals now all broken, there are plenty in Hell with a vendetta against the Radio Demon.

An AU where the fight between Alastor and Adam ended differently and Lucifer came to his rescue. Now Alastor's ego is hurt but he'll get over himself (eventually).

It only takes one moment of distraction for things to go horribly wrong. Just one thing to take someone off their guard, and suddenly the bitter taste of blood coats their pallet as they struggle to right themselves.

Try as he might, Alastor couldn't push aside the pain of ripping flesh across his chest, and burning holy light that permeated the tissue like parasites burrowing down as far as they could. There was a steady, static-like ringing in his ears that came with a feeling of lightheadedness and sharp pain in his skull; a focal point the size of a Winchester bullet between his eyes.

I can't die I can't die I can't die—not like this—

Alastor's eyes snapped open and he shot up out of bed, breath unsteady and ragged as he took in his new and unfamiliar surroundings. He winced harshly at the movement when a sharp pain ripped through his chest, bringing with it a familiar metallic taste on his tongue. The room looked like one of the guest rooms in the hotel, except different in ways his brain couldn't pick apart all at once in his disoriented state.

"Oh dear," He heard spoken by a familiar female voice, warm and hushed with the lilt of a Brooklyn accent, "You're finally awake." The Radio Demon fixed his attention on his good friend Rosie, who was seated in a plush red and white striped armchair in the corner of the room with an old harlequin novel in her hands.

She had thin half rimmed reading glasses perched elegantly on her nose. Her clothing choice was more comfortable and casual compared to her usual dolled up dress and wide brimmed sun hat; forgoing that for a gray and maroon gown with a soft floral and lace like pattern. Its wide collar was lined with lacey black ruffles that draped across her chest, accompanied by a black knit shawl that wrapped over her slender shoulders. It was, perhaps, the closest thing to night-wear he'd ever seen her in.

"Where am I? What's—" Alastor's brow furrowed as he looked from Rosie to a mirror on the wall just off to the right of her. Something wasn't right, something felt off—wrong even—as his brain registered the sight of someone who absolutely could not be himself speaking and moving exactly when he did, "Who is that ?"

"It's going to be alright, but there's a lot that needs to be explained." Rosie said in a placating manner as she bookmarked and shut her novel, placing it on the table right underneath the mirror and standing up. Her voice was far too calm, and her actions far too comfortable for the current situation.

Alastor made a move to get out of bed and inspect the offending piece of wall decor further because that wasn't right, it couldn't be—but the second his feet touched the carpet and he stood up, he felt his legs give out and he ungracefully collapsed to the ground with a loud thump; dragging down with him half the beds comforter.