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Vox is traveling halfway across the country to go see his bitch of a mother. She's apparently dying, for the third time this year.
Sure. Great family bonding time.
This is his second time down this shitty road. Fucking up his new tires, because of course the main road is still under construction. That's fine. Vox will just deal with it. Like Vox deals with everything. Because everyone makes everything his problem to deal with.
The loud pop and jerk of the steering wheel sent him engine first into a creek. Only a few yards down a slope and away from the road. Not bad enough for airbags, but bad enough to bounce his head off the wheel.
It all felt like it happened in an instant. On second driving, murky flashes of brown and white, and then the lights seemed to go out for a second.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK THIS.” He slams his hands on the steering wheel, grip tight and shaking with adrenaline. He clambers out of the car and ends up tumbling face first into muddy ice water. Groaning, he struggles up and out of the frigid mess.
Great. Now he's cold and wet.
He hobbles to the road grunting out expletives, expecting no one to be coming down this road so late, because that would be too helpful at a time like this. He feels his head spinning with frustration. He's nearly sick from it.
Ok. This is what he does. He will deal with the situation. Car, stuck. Need to call it in. Phone. Phone? Fuck, phones in the water. No problem, no problem. Just - just gotta go back in, snag it, and -
“Well, this is an awful situation to find yourself in, hmm?” Vox pauses on his way back up when he hears a voice calling down to him.
“Hi, I had a bit of an accident, as you can fucking see.” He is normally much more friendly when seeing a new face. Always looking to make in nice with people in case they have something to offer, but he didn't bother hiding the frustration from his voice. All things considered, he felt this was fair. His tone shifted, however, when he looked up to finally notice the man crouching on the embankment.
Oh. Oh no. Oh, no, no, he's hot. He's hot-hot. Ok, Vox can be cool. He can be cool and deal with… all of this.
He took the slippery trek up the shallow slope. Only managing to look slightly unhinged, instead of completely deranged.
He finally looked up towards the man and, oh God, he was wrong. He's not just hot. The guy is insanely beautiful. This level of attractiveness shouldn't be kept in the dark like this. Vox has to reach out and touch him, but that wouldn't be cool. There are steps leading to that part.
His hand was hovering in front of his chest, like it was ready to close the gap and feel the stranger’s soft skin under his fingers, but that isn't how he does things. There's an order. First he has to… has to what?
Wait, what's happening again?
“Looks like you may need a doctor,” the beautiful stranger said. Squinting his eyes with an easy smile. Pretty.
His eyes were so green. Brown? Is that red? Vox could look into those eyes forever. He considers doing exactly that as he feels his head throb. Each thump behind his eyes makes his vision swirl around in front of him like ghosts.
Vox can deal with that, too. He just needs to focus on those eyes.
“Right, I take it that your little cell phone isn't working?” He gestured towards the dripping piece of junk in Vox's hand.
“Hu’yea. Uh huh.”
Vox thinks his hands look soft. He definitely plays piano. If he doesn't, he should. He would look amazing in a tux. He's already dressed in the right direction, with that button up vest, those super well fitted slacks, and those weird sexy little, are those loafers? Boots?
“Hmm,” the stranger leaned back. Back and out of Vox's space. Vox wanted to step forward but he couldn't find it in him to do so. He was in the middle of something. He looked down and saw he was soaking wet and covered in slushy mud. How did that happen?
“I-I think I. I d-dont’t know what happened. Who are you?” He managed to finally take a step towards the stranger.
Unbothered by his apparent confusion, the stranger spoke calmly. “Why, I'm Alastor. And it looks like I may also be the one who is going to help you with your…” he leaned forward to reach for Vox's face and gently pushed his hair back with his fingers, then back down to trail his thumb above Vox's lips, “with your, ah, situation.”
Vox, completely enthralled, watched the stranger, Alastor, pull his thumb away and into his grinning mouth. The loud pop of his thumb exiting his mouth snapped some sense into him.
There was blood on his thumb. Which means? Vox felt around his own face to assess the damage. Nothing hurt, but fuck that's a lot of blood.
“Head wounds always bleed like that,” Alastor said as he gently grabbed Vox by his wrist and pulled him out of his stupor. “Please, allow me to help.” Leaving no room to refute, Alastor ushered him to another vehicle that was running idle nearby.
“I, uh, I was just in an accident,” he said, trying to be helpful. Or trying to make sense of what just happened. It seemed like all he could think about was the way Alastor's hands were sitting so perfectly on his back and arm, like he could fall over at any second. Vox felt fine. Just hazy.
Alastor opened the passenger side door and gently guided Vox into the passenger seat before he pulled away for a moment. Long enough for Vox to realize that, yes, he can indeed still move his hands. He must not be that bad off.
When Alastor gets back, he kneels in front of Vox and begins reaching out towards his face again. Vox sighed, closed his eyes, and said, “You're really pretty.”
A brief pause, followed by a chuckle was his only reply.
Vox was enjoying the weird petting, occasionally opening his eyes to peer down at this beautiful man at his feet. Oh, if he wasn't about to vomit everywhere, he would have made a move. How did he get here again? With a view like this, he doesn't really care.
It feels as though they stay in this little bubble of petting, not petting for a short while. Vox would like it to continue, but Alastor finally breaks form as he hands Vox a small pill and a- does he just have fresh water bottles in his car? What a dork. He swallows the pill dry and chugs as much water as he can. Damn, how is he so thirsty?
“I'll take you someplace where you can freshen up a bit. Perhaps call a tow truck, or some family?” It sounded like a question, but not really. He's sitting and looking at Vox like he wants something. Well, Vox certainly wants something from this guy. If he leans just right, they will be in the perfect position to- wait, is that blood? He runs his fingers over his slacks and brings his hands close to his face. It's a bit hazy, but he's pretty sure that's blood. Who's bleeding?
“Hus bredny…” that wasn't normal. Vox looks down to the street, only to notice that he's looking down into his lap, instead. Feet planted firmly in the seat well. He glances around and sees a seat belt, safely pulled around him.
“Ah, welcome back Vox! I was beginning to think you might be a bit worse for wear over there. Hah. I'd hate to see that pretty little mind of yours get all twisted up before we've had some fun with it.” He pauses to laugh like he told a joke. Ignoring Vox's confused look, he continued, “Though, I really am beginning to suspect you may have done quite a number on yourself with that little fall,” he laughs again, loudly enough to cause Vox's ears to ring.
Vox's thoughts completely scatter. Why is he here? Where's his car? Who is this guy? Why does he know Vox's name? He was going to throw up. He leaned forward, palms over his temples. He didn't have it in him to startle when a soft hand began to gently rub one side of his back.
“There, there now. The medicine you took should be taking effect soon. Why don't you lean back,” he places his palm Vox's chest and pushes him back “just relax, and I'll take care of that mess back there.”
His voice was so nice.
“You must be in quite the state to have missed so many big clues.”
Vox took a moment to peek at him. Still smiling, like he knew something Vox wishes he knew. Vox did want to know.
“They say the Radio Killer haunts this place. Is that why you're here, Vox? Getting some first hand sources for your little show?” He casually turns on his radio, instantly on some weird scratchy blues station. Something local to the area. Like the case he was reporting on… Like. Just like the music playing at all those crime… crime scenes.
He doesn't understand why, but suddenly Vox needs to get out of the car. “Uh, actually, I feel fine now.” Vox nervously begins to feel around for the door lock. He's too confused to do anything other than pull the handle and fumble, hoping there's just a trick to it.
“Ah, ah, ah, Voxy. Eyes on the road. Wouldn't want you to get any more sick.” The engine gets louder as the car speeds up. “Now, I knew you were doing some more hands-on work recently, but this? I was impressed before, but I'm simply enamored with this kind of dedication to journalism.” Again, he laughs like he just told the world's best fucking joke.
Vox is pretty sure the car is getting faster, still, and he can't even open his mouth without losing himself. His body is aching, he has no idea what's happening, and everything is getting so fucking woozy.
It hits him suddenly that he might die. Why would he think that? Why does it feel so true. He can feel his eyes slip shut. When did he stop trying to open the door? It's too quiet suddenly. He has to open his eyes.
He regrets the sliver of vision he lets in, instantly. The car is off. Did they pull over? In the middle of nowhere, again? He looks around, feeling dizzy. His eyes land on Alastor. His body turned fully towards Vox, sitting with one leg tucked under him. He's simply watching Vox with a massive grin on his face.
“Oh, don't mind me. Just watching the lights go on and off. Hah. Do you even know what's happening right now?”
Vox groans in response, his energy leaving him again.
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun for us, Vox. But let's get you settled in, hmm?”
The last thing Vox thinks about before finally passing out is the Radio Killer's victims. Odd.
*Thump*
“Whoops, sorry about that. You're so much more gangly than I expected,” Alastor said to his unconscious companion.
He squats to take a closer look at his current victim. Tilting his head as he continues his one sided conversation. “So, you're really the one that's been making all that nasty little noise? Had to kill my tailor after you called him, you know. Unfortunate, that.” He grabs a handful of jet black hair and lifts to take a look for damage.
Just dirt! The rest of the blood was already there. Not his fault.
He releases the head with a smaller thump. “If you'll excuse me, I must prepare the lodgings for our stay,” he takes a half-hearted bow and giggles. “No, no, you stay there and rest up! The trip must have been rough. Especially after your unexpected little accident.” He leaves the man, face planted in dirt, exactly how he landed when Alastor opened the car door.
Alastor spends the next half hour unpacking and setting up last second necessities when he hears muffled grunting. Perfect timing!
“Good morning, Vernon! Sleep well?” He leaves no room for reply and quickly scoops his prize up by the arms. “Oh, you took quite the tumble my dear. Allow me to help.”
He drags Vox into the lonely little cabin by the elbows, kicking the door shut behind them. “Watch your step,” he says as he carelessly drags a very confused Vox down a set of steps into a suspiciously clean cellar. He roughly sits the man down into a chair and seamlessly latches a set of manacles onto him. “Comfortable?”
His “guest” just looks at his shackled hands bleary eyed and manages a single, “Huwuh..?”
“Wonderful! I'll be down in a bit to check on you. You make yourself right at home.” He pats the journalist’s head and breezes out of the room.
After locking the door completely, he leans against it and closes his eyes. He's never been this involved before and it's a bit intimidating, but more importantly, it's exhilarating.
He's downright giddy when he hears a quiet “Fuck,” from the other room.