Twisted

*Hell Oct. 31, 1933*

Dan is silent on the bed while I pace my room. I've explained everything to him. Everything, my death in vivid detail, finding my father in hell, building my empire, meeting Alastor not even 2 hours prior. My hair is a disheveled mess by the time I've stopped to take a breath because of how much I drug my hand through it. 

"Everything's falling apart around me. My empire was built on sand and I'm not sure how much longer till it crumbles." I finish. 

Dan hums in thought. "So Alastor doesn't remember you?" 

"I don't know. He didn't seem to recognize me. But hey I wouldn't recognize me either." 

Dan sighs and stands up. He crosses the room in two large strides and pulls me into a hug. "It will be okay. I'll tell you the truth when I first dropped down here there were certain things I couldn't remember about my past. Names and faces mostly, but with time they came back slowly. I didn't remember your name until the day you ripped my arm off." His chest shakes as he chuckles to himself. "It will take time but soon he will remember you. However, because he seemed so adamant about killing you I suggest you keep your distance for at least a while. Wouldn't want him to kill you again before he remembers." 

I nod and pull away, discreetly wiping a tear that threatened to fall. "I understand." I look into Dan's eyes and laugh to myself, "Stick around would ya? I still owe you after I tore off your arm."

Dan laughs and pats me on the back as he did all those years ago, "I'm not going anywhere, kid." 

"Good, because I think we both need a drink," I say and turn away from him and open the door, letting the continuous rabble of a busy club float into the room. 

"I wouldn't say no to a good whiskey." Dan smiles and follows me out of the room. 

"Only the best for you, Dan." 

*Hell Dec. 31, 1933*

The club isn't as busy as it is typically. Most demons have barricaded themselves in their homes in hopes to survive another extermination. I sit by the bar working on a new prosthetic arm for Dan. In theory, it should work exactly like a regular arm but with more mobility in the joints. In any case, it will be better than the scraps of metal he has glued together. 

Harley stands a few feet down the bar wiping the countertop with a yellow rag. An old radio like the one I gave Al for Christmas a lifetime ago sits just beyond her. Through the speakers, we hear the screams of Alastor's latest torture victim. As soon as I realized Alastor enjoyed broadcasting his carnage on the radio I picked one up to keep tabs on him. 

I can't help but worry for him with this upcoming extermination even though both Harley and Dan continuously tell me he'll be fine. Deep down I agree with them. Alastor is powerful. He's smart. However, my mind seems to still wander to the what-ifs. 

My mind is brought back to the present when I hear Alastor's voice on the radio wishing everyone a good night in a cheery, sadistic kind of way. 

Harley shudders as she puts the rag away. "Was he always that cheerful about death? It's like I can hear his smile the way he talks." 

I smile softly, "Mama always said, you're never fully dressed without a smile. Of the two of us, he took it to heart." 

"That's just terrifying now," Harley mutters as she makes herself a drink. "I mean, you can't smile 24/7. You have to frown every once and a while." 

I silently nod my head and continue working on the arm. A few seconds later there's a grumbling followed by a string of curses as Dan pushes open the secret door leading to my father. "That father of yours sure is a spitfire ain't he?" Dan grumbles and walks over to sit by the bar with me.