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Thicker Than Water

Summary:

Alastor is an absent father. He is cold and distant, and Vincent grows up both resenting him for showing such little interest in his family and craving his attention, love and approval.

Then one day, when Vincent is sixteen, Alastor catches him trying to hide a dead body.

And that changes everything between them.

Notes:

1. THIS WAS WRITTEN AS A THREAD FIC, BUT ENDED UP TOO LONG TO COMFORTABLY POST (OR READ) ON TWITTER.
Please don't expect proper fleshed out writing quality, guys: this is rambly at times, there are abrupt POV changes, lots of fastforwarding, lots of telling not showing. It's the condensed version of a 30k fic.

2. How it came to be:

Friend: I remember all the people going crazy over how alastor and vox could possibly be brothers and im like. Ok that won't stop me Lol
Me: I see you and I raise you: ALASTOR IS VOX'S FATHER 😈

So two friends and I have been going OFF about this in DMs all day yesterday and I wrote this all in one sitting. My friends wish to remain anonymous, but huge shoutout to them: this was a collaborative brainrot and they provided much inspiration for certain scenes🄰
Also to be noted, I got the "Al is Vox's dad" hc from yet another friend months ago.

3. Final warning: this dove is as dead as it can get. Read all the tags and proceed understanding what you're getting into.

(See the end of the work for more notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Work Text:

Alastor is 20 when Vincent is born. He’s an absent father: he never wanted to get married, let alone have kids, but their families pressed for this particular coupling and he decided to go along with it to get them off his back. He figured he can put a checkmark on societal expectations this way and then ignore his wife and kid as much as possible.

And ignore them, he does! Oh he’s present, physically—he has a cordial relationship with his wife (he knows she’s seeing other men, and he doesn’t care one bit) and he makes sure they always have food on the table. From the outside, they look like a perfectly average family. But he's never there emotionally. He is cold and distant, so little Vincent grows up chasing his attention and love.

The only thing that gets Alastor to pay any attention to his son is when the boy shows interest in his work. Even as a kiddo, Vincent would beg to be allowed to sit in his father’s studio and listen to his radio broadcasts. He was always babbling—a terrible chatterbox, that boy—but whenever Alastor was on air, he was quiet as a mouse. And when Alastor was not broadcasting, Vincent would walk all over the place and touch every panel reverently with fat little fingers, ask what every button and switch does and then listen, entranced, as his father explained. He would sing along to the music Alastor has put on. He’d pretend he was hosting his own shows with the toy microphone he got for a birthday. Even as young child, his attempts were rather endearing. He seemed to have a natural knack for entertainment.

Clearly, that ran in the family!

As he gets older, Vincent grows resentful of Alastor for showing such little care for him and his mom… but at the same time, he really looks up to him. Alastor exudes so much power and grace, and the rare moments when he TRULY pays attention to Vincent have the boy’s chest squeezing with the need to make sure that attention lasts. Their relationship is neutral at best, and yet Vincent can’t help but crave his father’s approval. And with every morsel he gets, he wants more.

These cravings deepen into troubling intensity when he hits puberty. One evening he has to sit down with Alastor who looks thoroughly annoyed behind his usual smile and he receives a very clipped and rather awkward ā€œbirds and beesā€ talk. (Alastor did NOT want to have this conversation with Vincent. He tried to shoo it onto Therese, but she went, ā€œYou are men! This is a discussion for you to have with him, Alastor!ā€ and he wasn’t given a choice.)

It isn’t all news to Vincent. He’s heard a lot from other boys at school. But having this talk with Alastor makes him think about stuff regardless. And not all of it is entirely… appropriate.

One time when they pose for a family photo, Alastor stands right behind him and grips his shoulder. He’s looking straight ahead at the camera, and it should be nothing, really… but his touches are SO rare the sudden physical contact startles Vincent. He’s been trying to mimic his father’s confident pose, back straight and arms folded behind his back, but now he can feel himself tremble.

The grip on his shoulder is firm and assertive. He can feel Alastor’s body heat, and he’s starting to feel a bit warm himself.

ā€œSmile, Vincent,ā€ Alastor says without ever breaking his own smile, not looking at him. Vincent swallows and refocuses on the camera, flashing the best smile he can.

When he grows enough to receive some of his dad’s hand-me-down clothes, he’s over the moon. Sure, they’re second-hand, but Alastor always keeps his outfits in pristine condition! And he has an amazing style, always looking elegant and pristine. Vincent looks up to him. He wants to be like him. So he’s eager for the chance to make that happen. (And maybe his dad would approve, if Vincent dressed like him? He’d like him more if he resembled him more, right?)

But then Vincent is sitting on his bed, freshly dressed in a deep burgundy suit Alastor has just given him. He can still feel his father’s fingers brushing his throat as he tied the bowtie for him. The touch startled him then, and now that he’s alone, the memory of it makes Vincent feel all hot and twitchy.

He pulls up his legs and hugs himself, breathing in deep to calm down… except it doesn’t help at all because every inhale just draws Alastor’s scent deeper into his lungs.

Vincent is growing up, and with it, his complicated feelings about Alastor grow more intense.

They continue like this—distant, except for fleeting moments of attention that feel so intense and bright they burn Vincent—until something very significant happens.

He is 16, and he’s just murdered someone. A classmate. In blind range, hitting them with a shovel until he was no longer moving, all because he’d said disgusting, VILE things about his father… and Vincent himself. The boy heaves. And then panics. And then tries to hide the body.

And then he’s caught by Alastor.

Vincent is frozen, but his father doesn’t seem shocked or panicked. If anything, he seems intrigued. He presses Vincent about what happened—calmly, how is he SO calm?!—and Vincent can’t bring himself to reveal the real reason, to repeat those words back to his dad. So he… kind of blames it on the other boy insulting him.

He knows that’s not an acceptable reason, either. It’s not an excuse. He’s just murdered someone.

But his dad…. seems to light up?

Yes—THIS is what makes Alastor proud of his boy. The kid wanting to be greater than the rest of his peers, to the point of being a callous killer? Getting his hands bloody at an even younger age than Alastor has? Frankly, he thought the boy was a wet wipe—but oh, he was wrong. Vincent IS his son, and Alastor couldn’t be more proud.

He helps Vincent get rid of his body. He criticizes the boy’s technique, but his voice has never been warmer. He reveals things about himself Vincent never saw coming. (Has he never, really? Maybe he had an inkling. Alastor’s eyes were always so cold, his smile sharp enough to cut. He spent so many nights away, only to come back smelling of dirt.)

(Maybe he had an inkling.)

This day changes EVERYTHING. For the first time in Vincent’s life, Alastor shows true interest in him. He is free with his attention and his regard and his touches, and Vincent blooms under his attention like a flower under the springtime sun. It’s not a conscious choice on his part to make sure he can keep it, he just DOES it. Whatever it takes for his dad to keep liking him.

They finally have something to connect through with and open up to each other more. Vincent has addressed Alastor as ā€œFatherā€ all his life, but now he dares to switch to ā€œDadā€, and Alastor just smiles at him. (The sight of it makes Vincent’s belly flutter.) Alastor takes Vincent under his wings, a parent and mentor figure at last, and Vincent soaks up all the attention like a sponge. He wants to make his dad proud.

So he pays intense attention when Alastor teaches him how to lure in victims. How to get rid of evidence. How to dissect a body. Oh, does he pay attention when Alastor dissects bodies! He can’t take his eyes off him as the man carefully, professionally, DELICATELY cuts up the corpses. He watches Alastor make neat cuts, handle organs with the utmost care and grace, eyes lidded and almost hungry as he looks down at the glossy mess… and Vincent’s dick twitches. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, trying to shoo these thoughts away and focus on what his dad is teaching him. He doesn’t want to disappoint him by zoning out.

But it’s hard.

Their bonding activities mainly consists of Alastor teaching Vincent how to kill men. He’s not impressed with Vincent ending his first victim by beating him with a shovel ā€œlike a cavemanā€. He says he’ll overlook it because it was Vincent’s first time, but he shows the boy how distinguished gentlemen commit murder.

He places huge importance on it being done with one’s own hands. Up close and personal.

Intimate.

ā€œLike sex,ā€ he drawls, chuckling when Vincent—flushed and sweaty—jolts at the words.

Alastor’s laugh is bright in his ears. The man calls Vincent a naughty boy for how the mention of sex apparently makes him more embarrassed than the straight up murder they’ve just committed. It just makes Vincent’s face turn an even deeper shade of red.

(It just makes his pants feel even tighter.)

The second time Vincent himself kills someone, Alastor is right there, helping him, guiding him. The victim is still breathing, albeit wet and wheezy, and Vincent is staring at him but doesn’t REALLY see him. All his senses are focused on his dad alone who has curled his fingers around Vincent’s own on the hilt of the knife while his other hand is holding Vincent’s shoulder in a firm grip. His cheek is resting against the top of Vincent’s head, and he is warm, so warm around him.

ā€œSee?ā€ Alastor’s voice comes from above. ā€œYou take the blade… and push it between his ribs there…. Just like that.ā€

Vincent’s head is hazy. His dad’s body heat is stretching all across his back. The man is speaking with a low, husky tone close to his ears, and Vincent can’t look away from their joined hands pushing the blade into the victim’s body again and again and again. Vincent is getting more forceful with each stab… each thrust… his panting is growing shallower, and Alastor is still holding him so tight throughout it all. Blood squirts out from the body, splashing Vincent anew, and that is so hot, too. He thinks he might be burning. Alastor’s pleased hum is oil to the fire.

ā€œJust like that,ā€ Alastor breathes again, warm and proud, and Vincent makes a thin noise, shuddering as he cums in his pants.

When he comes down from the high, still shaking, he’s terrified. Did Dad notice? Does he know? He swallows, and risks a glance up.

Alastor is watching him warm, glinting eyes. He doesn’t seem upset or disgusted.

ā€œGood boy,ā€ is all he says—and Vincent can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and sag against the man, feeling boneless all of a sudden.

This is how they start fooling around. Vincent keeps getting affected, and while Alastor has never really cared about such things, the expressions his boy keeps making are FASCINATING. The next time they commit a murder together, he speaks in an even huskier way, pressing even closer, wanting to see if it was a one-off thing from the intensity of the experience (he can understand bloodlust, at least!) or he can coax it out the boy again.

It was not a one-off thing.

It’s interesting. Fun, even! Alastor has realized long ago that the boy wasn’t exactly forthcoming with him that day he’d caught him with a dead body. Vincent isn’t as cold-blooded as Alastor had first thought.

But he is trying. For Alastor. He is so EAGER to be molded.

And that’s even better.

He can make Vincent into his perfect partner. It’s them against the world, a father and his son—two men sharing the limelight, the world their stage!

In just a few months, they grow close. Suspiciously close. People around them start to notice the long stares at each other, Vincent always hovering around Alastor and vice versa, the long hold on Vincent’s shoulders Alastor always seems to do. Therese is happy they’re finally getting along.

She has no idea her son is becoming a masterful serial killer under her husband’s tutelage. She has no idea Vincent and Alastor’s relationship is getting increasingly sexual.

The ambiguously dirty words morph into proper dirty talk; the ā€œinnocentā€ touches morph into Alastor rubbing Vincent’s straining crotch while his chin is propped on the boy’s shoulder, watching as Vincent efficiently dissects a body.

ā€œWould you like to stick your cock in there?ā€ Alastor asks, genuinely curious. He’s never tried it himself—he rarely wants his dick involved in these things—but he can’t deny that there’s a flare of heat in his belly at the idea of Vincent doing it for him and narrating the experience.

Vincent sucks in a breath. His blood-stained hands still.

ā€œI bet it would feel really warm and wet,ā€ Alastor suggests while oh-so-casually unzipping the boy’s pants and sliding his hand inside. Vincent gasps, and then outright moans when Alastor curls his fingers around the boy’s hard dick. Alastor’s mouth twitches—ugh, so slimy—but Vincent can’t see it, and his revulsion passes after a moment or so anyway. His intrigue is much higher than his distaste.

ā€œI—I don’tā€¦ā€ Vincent stutters.

Alastor keeps stroking him, calm and unhurried. ā€œYou don’t have to.ā€ He affects just the tiniest bit of disappointment, and like magic, the boy’s bright blue eyes snap to him.

ā€œI didn’t say—I just—Um. Have. Have you ever…?ā€

Alastor lets out a noncommittal hum. He rubs his thumb against Vincent’s leaking slit and smiles when his boy inhales sharply.

ā€œYeah, okay,ā€ Vincent says after a moment. His voice sounds surer than his face looks. ā€œWhy not.ā€

Alastor presses a kiss to his neck as a reward, and it takes all his self-control to keep the sharp grin off his face when the boy melts against him.

Vincent cums inside the body’s cooling guts that night. Alastor makes him narrate every sensation and thought that comes to him, and then presses more kisses to the boy’s neck and jawline.

This goes on for a while. There’s no penetration for the longest time—not because Alastor is hung up over the incest, but because he doesn’t really like to involve his dick (or ass). So it’s a lot of teasing, guided masturbation, handjobs… and blowjobs when Vincent is VERY good.

But Vincent is a horny teen, and by the time he’s going on seventeen—a year into Alastor’s careful grooming and nurturing the boy’s darkest sides—he snaps. The teasing is frustrating now, the touches are not enough, and one day something switches in his brain: he pushes Alastor against a wall, yanks down his pants and fucks him.

Rather than being upset about this turn of events, Alastor actually gets into it. It turns him on to see Vincent so rough, taking what he wants with such assertiveness. It’s proof of how much the boy has grown into his true self over the past year. And Alastor LOVES that. He finds he enjoys the pain and manhandling too.

Then, another time, after they’ve just killed and cut up someone together, both of them covered in blood and viscera, Alastor is high on bloodlust… and it’s HIM who feels overcome with feral urges. He ends up pushing his son down onto the filthy floor and fucking him into a puddle of sticky blood. Vincent just grasps at him and urges him on.

From then on, all gates are opened.

They can barely keep their hands off each other. Vincent seems to be horny 24/7, and Alastor is happy enough to indulge him, to enjoy this sinner he’s created. Some days, when his wife is gone, Alastor is pushed face down into the marital bed he and Therese haven’t been using for anything but sleeping since Vincent’s conception, Vincent’s fingers bruising on his hips and Vincent’s cock hammering into his ass as breathless praisesā€”ā€œGood boy, very good boyā€ā€”fall from his lips.

Other days he takes Vincent on his work desk, or the living room for floor, or the couch in his studio, or right next to a cooling corpse in the shed they’re using to dismember bodies while they’re both soaked in blood, the boy scratching Alastor’s back raw as he clings to him and moans, endless tirades of ā€œYes, yes, Dad, please, oh fuck, yes.ā€

One evening during dinner, Therese comments on how much Vincent has grown. A dashing young man now, who resembles Alastor more and more with each passing day—and not just in appearance.

Alastor looks his son straight in the face, eyes lidded, and says: ā€œIndeed! I can definitely… see myself in him.ā€

Therese doesn’t notice how Vincent’s cheeks darken.

(Once she is asleep, there is even more of Alastor in the boy.)

Alastor turns Vincent to cannibalism, too. Vincent isn’t into it, not like Alastor: he feels sick eating human meat, no matter how delicious Alastor makes it. The first few times, he throws it all up, and then he can’t bear the look of disappointment on Alastor’s face. But he keeps trying. The nausea never goes away, but he learns how to keep it down. He learns how to fake enjoyment for his dad.

(Newsflash: Alastor knows. But he LIKES it that Vincent is forcing himself to eat with gusto, that he praises Alastor’s cooking despite his—to him—clear revulsion. The boy’s willingness to do this for him, to tie them together with yet another depraved bond gives such a kick to Alastor. He kisses Vincent deeply and rides his cock eagerly in return. He’s never had any real interest in sex before this, before them, but nothing gets him harder than his son willingly sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of sin for HIS sake, just for him, always for him.)

Life is good.

Ā 

Ā 

Ā 

But all good things come to an end. Alastor meets his own sudden end two years later, at the age of 39. He’s shot by a hunter when they’re burying a body. He dies in Vincent’s arms, still smiling, using his last words to urge the boy to flee.

Then he’s gone, and Vincent? He really considers going after him. His dad was his WHOLE WORLD. His other half. He can’t imagine living without him.

But he knows Alastor looked down on weak people, and killing himself would be the ultimate weakness. So instead, he keeps going—with life AND the murders. Using the exact same MO as always. The world never realizes that the serial killer who’s been terrorizing the area for decades is gone. The police has no reason to suspect it, because the murders keep happening.

Vincent works the odd jobs to support himself and his mother, but he eventually finds a way into the entertainment business; another way to honor his dad’s memory. When television becomes a thing, he goes for it because he thinks Alastor would have loved that, too.

26 years go by. Vincent never gets married or has kids. What he has is a lot of flings—sometimes with women, most often with older men. He dies at the age of 45 due to a freak accident. The identity of the serial killer(s) remain forever unknown.

The second Vincent wakes up and processes that he’s in Hell, he starts looking for Alastor. There’s no question that he is here. Somewhere. Vincent just has to find him. And as soon as he hears of the Radio Demon, he is drawn to him like moth to flame. (Literally. LITERALLY. Now that he’s had a bit of time to get used to this strange new body of his, when he concentrates, he can feel a draw between them like static against his skin, a lighthouse beckoning him in the dark, ā€œI’m here! I’m here!ā€)

Alastor doesn’t recognize him, not right away. It’s been close to thirty years, and while he does look very much like his old self, Vincent can’t say the same. He finds his tongue twisted, unable to just come out and state who he is.

But in the end, he doesn’t need to. It doesn’t take long after all for Alastor’s eyes—red, so red; the color suits him so well and Vincent could get lost in them forever—to widen in recognition, and then his grin turns sharper and his shadows surround them and static buzzes between them like exited bees.

They are reunited in eternity, and nothing is going to separate them ever again.

They take their time catching up. Alastor is once again—always—a mentor for his son, showing him the ropes and teaching him about the ways of Hell. Vincent is technically older now than Alastor was when he died; how insane is that! His father is proud to hear tales of Vincent’s continued murderous accomplishments. He is less pleased about his interest in television, although it does stroke his ego that Vincent was doing it for his perceived approval.

It quickly becomes apparent that Vincent isn’t a biological cannibal here like Alastor is. Frankly, it’s no surprise to Alastor, but he plays it up like he was expecting Vincent to be. That boy of his may have grown up, but in a lot of ways, he’s still the same: the faintest hint of disappointment is enough to shatter his expression. He can’t rush enough to reassure Alastor that he doesn’t understand why this has happened, but he will STILL eat it, of course he will!

And he does.

Even raw sinner flesh, at Alastor’s prompting.

This is the first time since their early days that Vincent is back to heaving, on the verge of vomiting everything back up—but Alastor rubs soothing circles into his back and licks the blood and viscera off his screen.

ā€œYou can do it, darling boy,ā€ he murmurs encouragingly. ā€œI know you can.ā€

So Vincent swallows, and keeps it down.

Alastor kisses him stupid for it.

This is the first time since their reunion that things get heated between them again. There've been long touches, lingering looks, teasing words exchanged—but now? Vincent clings to Alastor and rubs himself against him, trembling violently, his voice somewhere between a sob and a whine, laced with static: ā€œLet me fuck you. Oh god, please Dad, I—I, I need you, I need you so much, it’s been so long… Dad, please, let meā€”ā€

Humming, Alastor wraps his thin, dainty legs around Vincent’s hips and pulls him down on top of him. Remaining bits and pieces of the sinner they’ve just killed are digging into his back, but Alastor is smiling, purring as he lets Vincent fuck him into the filthy cobblestone of the alley.

They are together, truly and forever now.

ā€œWe are soulmates, my love,ā€ Alastor tells him later, in his bed, while scratching a bloody heart into Vincent’s naked chest with a sharp claw. ā€œIt was never a question that we’d both end up here. Nor that you would find me again.ā€

There is no splitting them up in this verse. Even Vincent’s—Vox’s, as he rebrands himself for every other soul but Alastor—interest in ā€œfrivolous new technologyā€ is not enough to break the depraved, bloodstained bond between them. Vox is thoroughly his daddy’s boy, so he pursues those interests in a measured way—and because of this, Alastor is more lenient, too.

Soon enough, they become Hell’s infamous, terrifying overlord power couple…. who don’t exactly advertise their incestuous relationship, but also don’t care enough to properly hide it. They usually use each other’s names, but sometimes Vox drops a ā€œYes, Dadā€ and the employees around them can’t quite convince themselves that it’s just a weirdly phrased daddy kink. Especially when the Radio Demon drops gems like: ā€œSuch crass language! I really should have spanked you more growing up.ā€

But this is Hell. They’re all sinners here. People look the other way. (They’d better, if they know what’s good for them.)

The Media Overlords of Hell are inseparable—and together, they rule.








Notes:

If you got this far, THANK YOU FOR READING and hope you enjoyed!!😊
The first art you see embedded here was drawn by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous.
The other two are by me, and there's several more I did - you can find all art for this AU here on AO3 or here on Aethy.

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