The Fox and the Hunter | Alastor x reader |

~The Cost~

Your first night in hell wasn't exactly peaceful...

You remembered this place. The dark that had come right before you were torn away from him. You snarl looking around.

Messed with the present.

How? No facts about the world changed. Nothing major at least. You would have been fine to stay with him.

There's a snap, and you're staring at the same chains you'd seen twice before. You reach up to your throat, snarling as you tug on them. You know that in this dream, you stand as you are in hell. You can feel the difference between this one and the last couple of dreams.

You don't need to keep guessing though.

Instead, you get to witness the same thing you had watched the day you were torn from happiness. Only this time there is no book. You watch things you never experienced, or at least feel foreign to you.

You had once wondered what would have happened if you'd been too afraid to enter the study and if you never took the book.

Right before you is the answer. In a twisted mind game produced as the consequence of messing with time.

As if watching through a foggy memory, there is a version of yourself hands deep in blood, breathing unsteadily and trembling. You don't need to ask to know that you look either slightly high or intoxicated. Perhaps almost trance-like. Below This version of you is your stepfather. The scene is beyond anything you'd been capable of with Alastor back in his day. This version of you is quite literally elbows deep in blood and gore. You're almost glad this is all you get to see. It's all this twisted consequence gets to show you.

This isn't how it happened... he is the reason you died, and yet he lays on the ground brutally torn apart. You're not harmed at all, and you look older... maybe 25? You know that even now you're broken, but looking at this version of yourself so completely engrossed in gore... you hardly recognize yourself.

Your body leans over him on top of the bed. They hum your mother's song, setting the knife down and starting to clean the mess up. Not that the mess looks like it can be cleaned up, but suppose effort is acceptable. Your eyes track their every movement focused on their stare, one that focuses on the untouched arm. They then run a finger over that arm, a sick and twisted hum leaving their lips as if debating something. You know that hungry look in your eyes. So even without Al, you still would have become what you are. You notice a shadow in the corner of the room watching your movements. It's odd and out of place, but there is nothing you can physically do. It's like watching a movie. No matter how much you want to interact, to point something out, you can't.

A shriek startles both versions of yourself. You watch as this version of yourself turns to see your mother.

She lived...

In this little show where you never interact with that book, he didn't kill her...

She covers her mouth. "Oh god... sweetheart. Oh god..." You see her reach for a phone, and before you realize it, you're watching yourself become the one who kills her. The knife hits her so smoothly, stabbing her through the chest.

You gape, staring at this version of yourself as tears stream down your cheeks. You feel sick watching this. How could you ever bring yourself to do... that? Your sweet mother, who, sure, wasn't the best, but she was there for you. She protected you the best she knew how to.

There's this look of realization in the version of you standing there, the knife slipping out as the body falls to the floor. Their eyes are consumed by horror as tears prick in the edges of their eyes. You watch as you start to turn the blade on yourself. Ah, so you still die the same day you kill him.