The Radio Kids. (Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction)

Suspicion and inconsistency.

⚠️ - CHAPTER WARNING - ⚠️
- DEPICTIONS OF TIME-PERIOD TYPICAL RACISM -

- SUCH LANGUAGE AND ACIONS IN THIS CHAPTER WAS REGRETTABLY COMMON IN THIS TIME PERIOD - I DO NOT CONDONE NOR ENCOURAGE RACISM OF ANY KIND -

- IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO READ THIS CHAPTER, SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM AND I WILL LEAVE A SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER WITHOUT THE TRIGGERING BITS -

❤️ - EVERY. SINGLE. READER. HERE. IS RESPECTED AND LOVED DEARLY - ❤️

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"Why not at least ask?!"

"I won't hear it! I won't have my reputation diminished because of my offspring attending a white school! Not that he'd be allowed anyway. He gets an education don't he? 'Separate but equal!' Ain't that what they say?!"

"No! The white schools are so much better! They're newer, they're nicer, and they teach so much more! Alastor could go so far if he could ju-"

Alastor flinched as he heard the sound of his father's hand hitting his mother's face from the other room. His hands were firm over his ears he listened to muffled sounds of his parents fighting.

Tears trickled down his cheeks.

He hated it when they fought over him. They always did and it was always about him.

"That lil' negro will amount to nothing no matter what school he's at! He's a coward! Ain't no changin' that! I'm savin' you woman!"

Alastor tensed as he heard his father's footsteps slowly approach and stop in front of him.

The little boy looked out from his hiding spot inside the kitchen cabinet and saw his father staring down at him. Even though his face was covered in shadow, Alastor could feel the blonde man's gaze burning holes through his skull.

With a growl of annoyance, his father's hand latched onto his arm and ripped him from his safe haven and onto his feet before roughly letting go, no doubt leaving another bruise behind.

"Get out of there and quit your sniveling, boy! You're sure not worth the dirt on my boots. You sure as hell ain't goin' to no white school."

Alastor's facial expression turned from fright to mix of fear and anger.

"Y...re... ng." The boy mumbled under his breath.

"Speak up, you mindless whelp!" His father yelled at him.

The drop of spit that hit Alastor's cheek was enough for his anger overshadow his fear.

The eight year old raised his head to look at his father's face. "You're wrong!" He shouted out, stomping his foot on the floor.

His father's bright blue eyes stared down at him with a mighty rage. The few seconds of silence that followed were tense, but Alastor's tiny stance remained firm.

That is until the man's expression turned from anger to fury.

He messed up...