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In life, he'd been a true blue people-pleaser. Ever since he'd been old enough to help, he had. With his mother in the kitchen, helping her make jambalaya, with his father as he got home, with his siblings and neighbours, whatever they might ask of him. It was only fair, after all. They all needed his help.
And if they'd pushed him a little too far, asking him to do things that he felt uncomfortable with, well...he'd comply, but eventually they'd have to pay the price. That's what he told himself.
There was only one place he put his foot down fully, and that had been his first blood. Perhaps they hadn't expected him to refuse, after all, they'd never seen him say no before, and he was still smiling, so they must have heard wrong, right?
When they asked again, and he reaffirmed his answer, maybe they'd drawn out a knife, or something. It was fuzzy. All he could recall was returning home in blood and tears, and his mother hugging him as he cried himself to sleep.
Of course, his mother had fallen ill shortly after he'd reached adulthood. Somehow he'd managed to avoid catching the sickness. His siblings weren't so lucky, they'd fallen ill like his mother had, and his father would have fallen into a drunken slump after it all if it weren't for him.
So with a smile on his face and the idea that he was great at cheering others up, he decided to try something new and cheer up as many people as he could without them even having to see his face.
And, well, it was all fine and dandy, but people would still press his buttons and get him to agree to things, even if he didn't particularly wish to help.
Of course that was the reason he found himself working insane hours as the others slacked off and drank themselves silly.
Until, well, he decided he'd had enough.
And maybe the accidental splash of blood inside his mouth as he stabbed the man who always asked him for everything he had triggered something animal inside him. Maybe he wanted the man to be chewed up and fed to the dogs, just like the man kept doing to him - using him like a dog.
So he'd dragged home a man that night. Maybe his father had been too out of it to notice. Ever since he'd had longer hours at work, his father had taken to drinking again, while he was out of the picture. It worked in his own favour this time.
His father was too drunk to even question what kind of meat was in their dinner that night, it seemed.
As he headed to work the next day, hearing about the news that one of his coworkers was missing, it shocked him to his core. Well, that's what people expected of him, and he always supplied what was expected of him. It was foolish to ever think he wouldn't. Except for...
It was of no consequence, regardless.
Still, the police investigated, and he realised, maybe, if there was a next time... it would have to be a lot less closer to home...
At first, he was picky with his prey. Those who wouldn't listen as women screamed no at them in dark alleyways, high and mighty rich people who acted as if nobody would ever say no to them, that one scrawny kid by the railway who tried to nick his pockets.
After a while, though, all their faces merged into one. How was he supposed to keep track when all he could see was his next meal?
That's where he'd made his last mistake, he supposed. Choosing some rich man's wife, who had hunting dogs to try track down her scent.
And, of course, they hadn't exactly reacted well when they smelt her blood on his lips, trailing down his throat as he realised too late that he was caught.
The teeth snapping at his throat, or the gunshot between his eyes, Alastor could never remember which had got him first.