The hot chocolate really did warm up your heart.

The fire was cackling. It seemed more alive than you ever had been, with its shadows dancing and its smoke curling in the air like it was reaching for something. The smell of it was comforting, too, like cooked wood and stale air. You could barely detect the home's natural stench (blood and fake cinnamon... you know the drill) over the fire. The hot chocolate smelled good, too. A white, toasty mug of marshmallow-scented goodness wafting straight up into your nose from the palms of your hands.

You took a breath and savored the smells. Savored everything. You leaned into Alastor, who had his arm around your shoulders.

"So, do you want to tell me about the person you 'might have killed'?"

You blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Alastor laughed. "The person in heaven. An angel, correct?"

Your heart skipped a beat. Quicker than a bolt of lightning, the appalled expression of Dr. Preston's face as you stabbed him in the shoulder flashed before your eyes, and remained there like an imprint of bright light seared into your retinas. "Uh.... how do you know about that?"

Alastor laughed a second time. You could feel his chest shivering underneath your cheek. "You mentioned it to me, my love. Remember?"

"Oh yeah."

Alastor squeezed your arm gently. Lovingly. "Tell me about it."

You didn't say anything for a moment, just watched as something in the fire popped and a shower of ashes sprayed out from it. They trickled down to the floor slowly, peacefully, like fallen angels.

"You really don't have to tell me anything," Alastor said, his tone changing. "If you're not comfortable with it."

"Oh, sorry," you mumbled with a half-hearted giggle. "I'll tell you about it. I was just... zoning out."

"Okay, darling."

You noted the sympathy in his tone.

So you told him—not just about you (possibly) killing Dr. Preston, but all about heaven. The relationship between the two doctors, the little girl, the meeting with the Council. He was silent for most of the time, giving only an occasional, thoughtful hum. When you got to the part about Mary bringing you back to hell in that weird glass bubble, you started to choke up, like a fist had clenched around your throat to keep you from talking. It was a feeling that, as of late, had become too familiar for comfort.

Just thinking about the bubble made your heart clench into a heavy sort of emotional ball. You didn't like the feeling, yet, somehow, part of you accepted it. What happened happened, but you had still found your way back in Alastor's arms.

"Thank you for telling me," Alastor said. After a moment's pause: "Are you alright?"

You nodded against his chest. Instead of responding, you simply took another sip of hot chocolate, careful not to spill it out of the side of your mouth. It was difficult.

"I'm sorry I put you through that," he said.

You stayed silent.

It was like the whole thing was all a dream, and you woke up feeling dazed.

Everything had felt like a dream, ever since you died. It was like your brain just kind of turned off. Like it had...

Died.

You sighed. Alastor rubbed his hand up and down your arm, and just the gesture made you feel better, knowing that he was trying to comfort you.

"What if I had stayed up there?" you wondered aloud with a cringe. "Like, what if Mary never tried to prove me wrong? What if she never brought me back here?"

Alastor didn't say anything. You wondered vaguely if he had, deep down, really wanted you to stay up there.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I love you."

Your heart clenched.

But you didn't cry. You thought you were going to, and it was certainly a situation that validated tears, but you didn't.

"I love you, too."

After a while, Alastor got up to make dinner. You stayed on the couch, because you were still tired, and ended up falling asleep, enveloped in the warmth from the fire, your heart filled with marshmallows and hot chocolate.

☆

You woke up to the sound of voices.

One was distinct—it was Alastor's cheerful tone, clear as day. The other voice was feminine.

It took you a moment to recognize who it was. You sat up and looked around. The fire was nearly dead, and the air was strangely still and quiet, save for the voices. Your head was fuzzy and kind of hurt; it felt like you had gone swimming and stayed underwater for too long, only to come up and discover that there was water up your nose.

The other voice was Vaggie. She was talking to Alastor about something, but you picked up on her words mid-sentence, so she didn't make much sense. "—because they're dead. Charlie can hardly handle it. I mean—I don't know what to think!"

You rubbed your eyes and stood up. The sudden movement didn't help the pressure in your skull, but you ignored it and stumbled out of the living room in a sleepy daze. You had to get to the kitchen—that's where the voices were coming from—and figure out what was going on.

The lights in the kitchen were too bright. Your eyes fluttered shut, and your whole body practically recoiled, like a vampire in sunlight. When you managed to get them open again, you saw Alastor and Vaggie staring at you. They were facing each other, clearly still in the middle of a conversation, and Vaggie's arm was still in the air.

"I see you're awake," Alastor said, a sweet smile gracing his lips.

Vaggie crossed her arms, and made a face that was slightly sad, but also angry—a mixture that seemed to have been made specifically for her face. "I would yell at you, too, 'cause this never would have happened if it weren't for you, but I can tell that you've been through enough."

You ignored her. "What are you guys talking about?"

"According to Vaggie, hell is drowning in chaos—"

"It is drowning in chaos."

You rubbed your eyes, mumbling, "Isn't it always drowning in chaos?"

"Everyone's rioting, and the time between exterminations has been shortened to a month," Vaggie hissed. "Nobody's happy about a Pureblood being allowed to stay in hell. A little birdie told me that Mary is pissed to her wits end. Not to mention the fact that you killed an angel."

Oh. So he was dead after all.

"Word travels fast," Alastor chimed.

"How does everyone know I'm back?" you asked.

Vaggie spat his name out like it tasted like sewage. "Angel Dust."

Of course.

"I don't know what you suppose I do," Alastor said with a smile. His eyes shimmered down on Vaggie like menacing spotlights. "You come running to me for help, after you've spent your entire life hating me, tried to convince (Y/N) to stay away from me, and encouraged Charlie to tell me to let (Y/N) go to heaven."

Vaggie stuttered for a moment, then: "That was all perfectly reasonable! You are dangerous! And none of this would be happening if you had just listened to me from the start."

"Well." Alastor leaned down, so he could be closer to Vaggie's face. He shrugged. "I didn't listen."

Vaggie glared at him, steam practically rolling out of her ears. "Could you at least fake (Y/N)'s death or something?! Pretend to kill her or send her back up to heaven, I don't know! Charlie's the heir to the throne, and since you killed Lucifer, you're the one who needs to clean up this god-forsaken fucking mess!"

"Hm. Yeah, I could do that," Alastor replied calmly, straightening up. Vaggie only seemed to be angrier with his calm stature.

You frowned, unsure of how you felt about having your death faked by a sociopath. He glanced in your direction, then winked.

Your doubtful thoughts vanished. You trusted him, didn't you?

"Okay. Deal. You fake her death, then you're helping Charlie. Before that, please, for the love of all that is good, keep (Y/N) in the house."

You and Alastor shared a glance.

His smile widened as he looked back down at Vaggie. "Shake on it?"

☆

[ fuck guys i really just can't bring myself to end this story, i love it too much, but ik it needs to end so i need to suck it up and end it already jeez ]