Hazbin Trashcan

His Children

Alastor was never one to mind when his mate sent him on errands. It usually meant she was much too concerned with other duties to be able to run to the grocery store; her pleading eyes and pouty lips swayed him more than he cared to admit. 

    What he did mind, however, was when she oh-so kindly asked him to take the children with him.

    "I need a break, even just for a half hour," She had said to him. Alastor was weary then and now? Now he was sure he was going to snap.

    A carefully painted smile stretching across his lips faltered as Bea toppled over another display. He could hear Charlie in his mind, placating him - she was only six, after all! What else do six year olds do besides cause havoc?

    Especially his own child. He couldn't be that mad.

    Except that this was literally the fourth display she had knocked over, and the knowing glint in her eyes made Alastor want to snap her neck in that moment. What else was he supposed to do? They hadn't gotten everything on the list yet.

    "Bea! Daddy said stop!" Margret's voice was a blessing to him at that moment, because he was certain he wouldn't be able to hide his minute rage, "You pick it up!"

    "I dunno how." Bea blinked up at Margret and Alastor knew she was being coy.

    Margret's fingers twitched and the eight year old girl flew into the pile of tipped bags, sorting them quickly and placing them back on the shelves that they belonged in. Beatrice watched, a little grin on her face.

    "Beatrice," Alastor's voice was schooled, "You're getting in the cart."

    "No! You said I could walk!" Bea's grin fell and she turned to Alastor, speaking as if he had just betrayed her in the worst way possible, "You promised!"

    "I did no such thing, darling. Up you go." Alastor swept downward and in a fluid motion, she was in the basket part of the cart with the rest of their groceries, "I would seat you up front, love, but your brother is there."

    Franklin made an angry noise and kicked backward, gripping the handle of the cart. He had wanted to walk around but Alastor was firm in the fact he did not want to watch his two year old son toddle around at such a slow pace.

    "He hates me, daddy." Bea whined, leaning backward against a bag of rice, "You hate me, too!"

    Alastor hummed, pushing the cart forward. Margret fell into step beside him, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, dear."

    Beatrice pouted the entire time, but not enough that she didn't ask for several things to be added into the cart. Alastor didn't mind one or two things; when she began to ask for more and more junk, did he put his foot down.

    "I'm gonna go die when we get home because you won't buy me pringles." Bea's arms were crossed, her glare just as deadly as Alastor's could be.

    "Alright." Alastor was browsing through the different types of vegetables; Charlie had given him a list, but he always liked to see if others were available.

    "Can I get a pomegranate, daddy?" Margret asked sweetly, holding up the red fruit. She hadn't asked for anything yet, so he gave her a nod, "Thank you!"

    As she reached into the cart to put it among the other food, Bea snatched it and then threw it as far as she possibly could. It hit a stack of tomatoes, which then caused the rest of the vegetables to fall to the floor. Bea's face paled.

    "Beatrice." Alastor didn't look away from the sweet potatoes he was choosing from, "I suggest you climb out of the cart and go clean up your mess," He paused, glancing at her, "Without your sister's help."

    Bea swallowed her fear and clambered out, flinging her leg over the rim and falling to the ground outside of the cart. Brushing herself off, the girl trotted over to the fallen tomatoes and began to stack them as quick as she could; the warning in Alastor's voice told her to have it done before he was done looking.

    It took a few minutes for her to get them looking right, but she got it done. Holding the pomegranate in her hands, she kept her gaze to the ground as she threw it in the cart and then attempted to climb back in.

    Hands grabbed her underarms and lifted her up, settling her among the boxes and bags of food. Alastor's voice was lower, pleased, "Thank you, darling."

    Bea grinned to herself and began to pick at the bag of rice; not enough that she would break the plastic, but enough to give her something to do. Franklin was busy playing with a sweet potato that Alastor had given him and Margret was helping Alastor pick out a pound or so of regular potatoes.

    It was probably the first time since entering the store that all of his children were quiet; even Franklin had ceased his relentless shrieking. The boy was too occupied to really pay attention to anything else around him and he was certain that after her last mistake, Bea would act a lot smarter around him. Alastor was quiet as he pushed the cart to the checkout, chit chatted mindlessly with the cashier (who nearly pissed himself seeing the Radio Demon just buying groceries) and then was able to make his daughters carry a few bags each as he carried Franklin and another few bags back to their home on the other side of Pentagram City.

    There were occasions where they had to stop since Bea would begin to whine about her arms hurting or Margret would begin to roll her shoulders; never once complaining, but Alastor knew his children well enough. 

    Charlie's relieved face when she saw that all three of her children and her mate were alive was enough to make Alastor cackle and begin to recount their adventure. Bea was promptly sent to her room after unloading the groceries and Margret was given help in cutting open her snack; Franklin was set aside in the parlor with his over abundance of toys.

    Alastor was one to allow his mate to dictate what he did; his patience with his children was relentless. 

    After all! They were /his/ children.