Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Uh, sir? There's a letter for you."

Alfred looked up from his paperwork, the spiked tail behind him flicking in annoyance. His wings, blackened with soot and tar from the very pits of Hell, fluttered and helped push him up and out of his rather large chair. In front of his desk, staying close to the door was a well-dressed demon with a shaggy mess of hair atop his head, a nervous energy radiating off him in waves. The smaller demon's wings were more bat-like than the fallen angel's, but that was to be expected from the lower ranking demons. With an impatient snort, Alfred rose from his chair, grimacing as he stretched and felt his back crack, his wings stretching out and brushing the ceiling.

The incubus shuffled his feet and bent forwards, bowing as he gave Alfred a pristine white envelope. "One of the spies-you know, the ones that hang out in houses?-saw that this letter was addressed to you, so they brought it here and, well, since I'm the messenger.

Alfred hummed and took the letter, the spots where his fingers touched singeing from the sheer heat he radiated. He read over the address, 182 Postwalker Street, and felt his tail flick. A small seed of curiosity was planted in his mind, and he dismissively waved the underling away. "Very well, you may leave."

"A-Are you sure you don't want me to stay? This could just be an elaborate trap by the angels and-"

The brimstone circling the walls of Alfred's office jumped to life, and the King of Hell smiled down at the tiny morsel cowering in front of him. "Are you disobeying me?"

The incubus teleported out of the room, a small puff of smoke rising from where he stood. Alfred chuckled, and the flames in the room began to die as he moved back to his desk. "Ah, I love that part." Settling back into his worn leather chair, the King took one of the many card openers on his desk and opened the envelope. Inside was a sloppily folded letter covered in smudges, orange juice stains, and so many decorative stickers of Santa Clause that the writing in the very center of the paper was practically smothered by red, white, and green.

Now more entertained than anything else, Alfred's eyes swept over the messy handwriting, a fanged grin growing with every horribly spelt word.

Dea R  Sa T a N ,

F OR  CRISMa S  I Wa NT a PUPee!

T H a N K YOU,

A RTH U R .

A booming laugh filled the room. Normally, when his spies would mess up, he'd send them down to the seventh circle as a punishment, make them do hard labor with the more devilish souls that were sent down. This, however, we just too good for him to complain.

A child misspelling 'Santa' and writing 'Satan' instead. Oh, Father, this was too rich. Sighing, he leaned back and held the letter over the fire, intending to drop it in and watch the ashes swirl up and leave the matter as it was, a private, funny moment he could look back on and smile.

And yet, he hesitated. The flames jumped and licked at the card like a petulant child denied dinner. Frowning, Alfred diminished the flames completely and skimmed over the letter again, and again, and then he picked up the envelope and read the address. His forked tail lazily flicked behind him and he reached for the telephone he kept on his desk, tapping away as he dialed the number for the Eighth Circle. The phone rang twice before it was picked up, and a deceitfully cheerful jingle rang through the speaker.

"Eighth Circle of Hell, where fraud is aplenty and information comes at a price! How may I help you?"

"Hello." Alfred purred, smirking as he heard the telephone clatter out of the secretary's hands and onto the tiled floor of, presumably, the lobby of the spies department. There was shuffling, a muffled "Oh, shit." on the other end of the line, and a distinct silence before he was 'reconnected.'

"M-Mr. Satan, sir! How may I help you on this hellish day?" Alfred frowned. He could understand why other demons referred to him as Satan; it was their way of showing respect, by not using his true name, but he'd honestly prefer Alfred. Satan just didn't roll off the tongue.

"Oh, relax, no one's in trouble. I just need you to pass on a message for me."

"Ah, well, very well sir. What would you like me to, uh, to pass on?"

"I'm assuming that you have all records of the multitudes of spies you have across the globe. Well, could you tell the spy stationed at 182 Postwalker Street to leave his station on the night of the 25th?"

"Y-You mean Christmas, sir?"

"Yes, I have personal business to attend to, and I'd prefer to not have a nosy little bastard floating around. If you could do that for me, that'd be wonderful. Thank you." With that, he hung up and stood once more from him chair. His wings twitched behind him, and the King smiled at the prospect of flying around his kingdom-good Father, how long had it been since he had done that? Strapped down by paperwork and responsibilities was dreadfully boring, but this letter had given him the opportunity for excitement.

Ah well, it didn't really matter now, did it? Arthur was going to get his gift.

Alfred really had to wonder how the in the Hell Saint Nick could do this annually.

It was annoying to begin with, simply because it was frigid where Arthur lived, and he was so used to temperatures well above one hundred degrees that the low temperatures were comparable to torture. Not only that, but trying to find the boy's house while she lived in a suburban neighborhood was even more frustrating: every house looked the damn same.

"Honestly if the angels wanted to deal with me they just need to stick me in Antarctica for a day." Alfred grumbled as he descended, landing on the sidewalk and glancing at the house on his left. Said house was intricately decorated with strings upon strings of Christmas lights, a few light up reindeer spread out through the front yard and a few different snowmen scattered around the front yard.

All in all, it was a lovely, Christian household.

Alfred could feel bile rising in his throat.

He could just leave. He didn't need to do this. This was simply for his entertainment, and nothing more.

But then it was back to endlessly pushing papers and the inability to do anything fun. Besides, it had been a nice break getting the boy his gift, and he might as well give it to his unless he wanted to have completely lost his time going through with this.

Now the only problem was finding a way indoors, getting to the boy's room, and then giving his the gift. Easier said than done, but the King of Hell could do it. Especially considering what his gift was, and the fact that she had a rather large, protective family… and humans were very responsive to screams.

Even the King of Hell shuddered at the mere thought of what they could try to do to him.

Every house had some sort of 'gap' of sorts, where passage for supernatural creatures was easiest, regardless of whether they were positive or negative spirits. Arthur's house's gap was, believe it or not, the window in their backdoor. It made Alfred smile as he slid through, not fully expecting such an easy entrance.

The interior was somehow jollier than the exterior. Perhaps it was the Christmas tree, decorated top to bottom with so many ornaments Alfred thought they would fall off. Perhaps it was the overly cheery table with milk and cookies with a ceramic statue of Ol' Saint Nick standing on one of the chairs. Perhaps it was the little Elf on the Shelf that rested on the fireplace banister. Honestly, Alfred liked that little thing. Its soulless eyes reminded him of a few broken souls in the first circle. It was most likely just the aura of the house, all cheery and ready to wake up, a certain restlessness echoing through the halls.

Annoyed, Alfred spread his wings and let his aura loose. The lights on the Christmas tree flickered and dimmed, and the milk on the table instantly curdled. Santa would not come to this house; he was the one running the show.

That didn't mean that there weren't any gifts under the tree, he had taken care of that already.

Climbing up the stairs which creaked and groaned with every step, he smiled when he felt the aura in the house darken further. It was feeling a bit more like home, for him, but he wouldn't completely contaminate the household, he just wanted to feel a bit more comfortable while doing this.

Arthur's room was the first on the right. The door had a massive amount of stickers plastered across it, ranging from butterflies to stars to fairies. Inside there was a small night light with a Christmas tree covering it, a stocking hung up next to various posters of different artists and other things that would take up a six year old's attention (it was filled with rocks, he noted, and while moving further in he took them out and put them in his pocket), a backpack with papers sticking out of it was discarded in the corner, crumpled papers sticking out of it.

Alfred smiled and moved closer to the boy, pulling his wings in as he stared down at his sleeping form. His blanket was decorated with stars, connected together to form constellations, his pillows were tie-dyed to look like the sun and other stars. His blonde hair formed a halo around his head-a messy, crumpled halo that was flung in every direction.

Alfred grinned, his fangs glistening in the night light's glow, as he shook the little boy awake. His green eyes blinked open and slowly focused on the King of Hell, frowning once his highis brain functions kicked in. "You're not Santa."

The Demon King chuckled. "No, no I'm not. But you did write a letter to me, so I thought I'd show up and say give you a good holiday greeting."

Arthur pouted, sitting up. "No, I wrote to Santa."

"You spelt jolly old Saint Nick's name wrong. Santa's spelt S-A-N-T-A. You wrote S-A-T-A-N. Simple mistake, really."

The little boy tilted his head. "So your name's Sahtahn?"

Alfred laughed. "No, no, but if we're being honest, I prefer the name Alfred. The one you wrote is for business purposes, not personal matters like these."

"Personal?"

"Yep!" Alfred turned his head and whistled, a swirling red vortex appearing behind him before a lithe black dog trotted out, flames crawling up from its paws, chest, and the corners of its mouth. It panted and barked, coming to Alfred's side and sniffed at Arthur's paw. "This is Helen. I know your letter asked for a puppy, but I felt like you would've like a Hellhound much better."

Arthur's eyes lit up, and she eagerly crawled out of the bed, tentatively petting the dog's head. Helen sniffed the air before smiling, licking at Arthur's palm. "Did my parents say yes?"

"Well, no. Like I said, this was more of a personal matter, so I didn't ask them, but here's the great thing: Helen takes care of herself, and she'll protect you so long as you need her. There's only one catch, you're the only one that can see her, and Helen will only listen to you." Noticing the rather calm expression on the six year old's face, Alfred quickly backpedaled. "If you don't like her, I can just get you a puppy and say it was from-"

"I love it!" Arthur said, jumping up and hugging Alfred, the Demon King pausing at the sudden contact. "And I love her, too! Thank you so much mister Sahtahn!"

Alfred slowly unfroze, carefully wrapping his arms around the little boy. "It was no problem, really. Just make sure you spell Santa's name right next time, okay kiddo?"

"Okay, promise!" Arthur pulled away, a gigantic grin on his face. "Can I go down and open my other gifts now?"

"No, I think you should wait until your parents wake up. For now, get a little more rest, alright?" Arthur nodded and pulled the covers back up around his shoulders, closing his eyes and giggling. Helen barked and jumped up, curling protectively around Arthur's back and placed its snout on Arthur's neck, looking up at the Demon King. With a resigned sigh, Alfred stood and moved to the door, pausing when he heard Arthur's quiet, "Thank you."

Alfred looked back and spread his wings. "No need." With a flick of his wings, he activated a teleportation spell, and he rubbed his arms as the heat of Hell encased him and greeted him like an old friend, happy that he went through with delivering Arthur's Christmas gift.

Chapter Text

Alfred assumed that was it. He gave the child his gift, Arthur would be happy, and the book would close on that little adventure. For the following year, the King of Hell went back to pushing papers, keeping everything in line, and occasionally stretching his wings and taking a quick sweep around his kingdom, reveling in the heat that was natural in the deep pits of Hell.

And then, a week before Christmas, a new messenger slunk into his office and delivered him a letter. The same address was written on the envelope, and inside was a new, much cleaner letter from Arthur. There were no decorative stickers, the handwriting was much neater, but in the corner was a little sketch of a little frowny face with puffed cheeks and a pair of horns on the top of its head. It made Alfred smile—it showed that the seven year old had grown, not only physically, but mentally as well.

Dear Alfred,

Mum said to write to Santa but I wanted to write to you. Helen is nice! She keeps the meen kids a way from me. I hope things are OK for you were you are. Thank you for Helen!

Love,

Arthur

Alfred raised his brow, dismissing the messenger. He read over the letter again, mouthing the words as he read. It was hard for him to not be curious, as he had assumed that Arthur would forget about him and Helen would wander back to the sixth circle where he found her.

But no, the little seven year old had remembered him and purposefully wrote back. This was… unprecedented, to say the least. A child misspelling Santa as Satan probably happened all the time. A spy being stupid enough to deliver it and then the unfeeling fallen angel acting upon the child's wish was a one-time affair. A boy of seven, maintaining contact with the devil with no ill intentions or ulterior motives, well…

If it weren't for the fact that he ran the whole underworld since his fall, then Alfred would say that he'd have been damned for what he was about to do. Running his fingers through his hair, Alfred took a pen and a lined piece of paper, and began to write.

Dear Arthur,

I hope you still wrote to Santa. The old man doesn't like me all that much, and the feeling is mutual. At the very least, keep up with your studies at home.

It's reassuring to hear that Helen has been pleasant. At the same time, I hope that those mean kids got what they deserved. You are to pure a child to be tormented by them.

From,

Alfred.

The letters continued, back and forth, for three years. Alfred watched as the young boy grew to a proud ten year old, and they slowly learned more about each other through the growing letters (well, as much as Alfred was willing to tell Arthur about himself. The boy could never truly know he was the Devil).

Arthur, as of the latest letter, was in the fifth grade. He had three older siblings, two brothers and one sister, with the eldest in his freshman year of college. He loved anything mythological, but didn't really care for religion in general. His favorite subjects in school were English and History, his least favorite was Science, and his birthday was on March 23rd.

Arthur learned, in the simplest terms and not letting too much slip through his tongue and cheek letters, that Alfred worked a very busy job where he could rarely catch a break. He was in charge of many people, and a representative that had visited the boy's house had seen the letter addressed to his boss and that was how their little relationship was born. He learned that Alfred's birthday was July 4th, and the Devil had simply said the first date to come to mind because, hey, the kid asked, and he never really had a birthday to begin with.

But still, Alfred thought as he flew over Hell, Arthur's tenth birthday was coming up, and he might as well think up something to celebrate. It wasn't a normal thing for a Demon to celebrate, as the moment they're brought into the world, their life is filled with work or tormenting others. There was no need to keep track of how old you were, because it was an unnecessary number to keep track of. What difference would it make if you died at two, or twelve, or twenty? You did your work, you added sin to the perfect little world that God made, and then you died. Simple as that.

But humans had a weird fascination with the day they were brought into the world. They kept track, they had parties, they gave gifts to the person who grew older, and all in all, it was an odd tradition.

Still, Alfred had broken the traditional Christmas by giving Arthur a hellhound. He could just as easily break this one, too.

March 22nd came and was soon to pass, and Alfred glided through the skies above Arthur's neighborhood. Once again, it took him a fair amount of time to find his house among the hundreds that filled the suburban neighborhood, but at the very least it was much warmer than when he came in December. Not only that, but there weren't any god-awful decorations that lit up the streets in the middle of the night, and the holly-jolly feeling that came with the holidays had dissipated completely.

Thank fuck for that.

Entering through the Kirkland's 'gap,' Alfred slowly moved through the house. It looked different, to say the least. The lack of the Christmas tree and general decorations hung up through the halls showed that, yes, this house could look normal sometimes. The walls that lacked tinsel were a beige color and had a few family photographs, some having a tall boy with red hair while some didn't. The kitchen had a nice granite counter, a fancy refrigerator, and there wasn't an annoying Santa figure standing in the corner by the microwave.

All in all, it was a pretty damn nice house. Alfred could imagine camping out here for a year if it weren't for the fact that, in every other hall, there was a cross hung on the wall. They didn't completely repel him, but they gave him an annoying eye twitch. In fact, Arthur's room was possibly the furthest point between two crosses, which explained why the spy had seen the letter. His room was the least irritating to stay in.

Arthur had clearly grown over the years. His door was still decorated with stickers, and there were glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, some with strings connecting them to represent constellations. The night light was gone, and instead there was a charger for a handheld game system in its place. Arthur's bed sheets hadn't changed and, if he opened up the bottom drawer at his desk on the wall by the window, there was a small collection of his letters.

On the wall was analog clock that read 11:59, nearly midnight. Alfred grinned and rubbed his hands together, stretching out his wings as he stood by Arthur's side. It was a Saturday, or, rather, it would be Saturday in less than a minute, so he had plenty of time before Arthur was forcibly woken up or wake up of his own volition to pull off his gift.

Looking around, Alfred decided to sit against the wall before lowly chanting a spell, his magic weaving around him and Arthur's sleeping form. The Demon's body slowly began to flicker and turn into a black mist, which moved towards the boy and entered through his mouth and nose, settling in his lungs before spreading through his body. The clock ticked over, March 23rd greeting the Kirkland household, and Arthur shuddered in his sleep as the spell activated.

"I will fight you all!" Alfred's eyes snapped open, body tensing as he spread his wings and prepared to take to the sky.

He broke out into laughter when he saw what was in front of him. It was a scene straight out of a fantasy novel: thousands of men riding horses clashed in a major battle, clashing with swords and shooting off arrows chaotically. In the center of the battle was Arthur, his horse rearing on its back legs as the ten year old—who had changed to be far, far older in his dream—pointed his sword at the opposing side. "All of you will fall by my hand!"

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Alfred pushed off the ground and flew over the knights, smiling as he heard the shocked cries beneath him before he dived at Arthur, picking him up before skyrocketing. Arthur let out a shriek, flailing in his grip as he saw the battlefield shrink beneath him and the feeling of his stomach dropping as he was pulled up, up, up, and then they leveled out, just barely skimming the clouds. Growling, Arthur swung his fists around, getting a good thump or two on Alfred, but nothing too serious.

The Demon laughed, leaning close to Arthur's ear, whispering, "Guess who?"

The ten year old paused and squirmed, trying to turn around to face his captor. "Alfred?" Chuckling, Alfred's grip tightened as he turned Arthur around, watching as a massive grin broke out across his face and to nearly be choked out as the human wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck in a tight hug. "Alfred! How're you here, I thought you said you couldn't visit?"

"Normally, no, not in the flesh, but this—" Alfred gestured to the sky and ground as he began to slowly descend, heading to a small clearing. "—is a dream."

"I'm dreaming?" Arthur murmured, his grin falling into a pout. "So none of this is happening?"

"No, this is happening. I entered your dreams because today is your birthday and, I figured that if I couldn't visit you in real life, then I could visit you here and give you a gift."

"Like Helen?"

"Well, sort of." Alfred touched down, gently placing Arthur onto the ground as he sauntered into the center of the clearing. He cracked his neck, spreading his arms and wings out and letting his magic flow through the area. The grass rose, like it had been startled out of sleep, and then curled and darkened. The trees shuddered before the bark changed from a crisp brown to charcoal-black, their leaves falling off their branches and burning into embers which danced through the air. The sky flickered and submitted to Alfred's will, turning from a cheery blue to a bloody red.

Turning his head, the Demon expected Arthur to have been trembling, scared out of his mind at the sudden, demonic change. Instead, the human was turning around constantly, watching slack-jawed and in awe at the transformations occurring around him.

Arthur was the oddest kid Alfred ever had the chance of meeting, and it was a nice change of pace.

Letting his plan continue, the sky bled from red to black, a myriad of stars twinkling into existence and lighting up the clearing. The embers bunched together and formed small, fairy-like creatures that danced around Alfred and Arthur, whispering and giggling as they danced in the sky. Arthur breathed a sharp gasp and slowly reached out his hand, allowing one of the fairies land in his palm. "…It doesn't burn."

"No, because this is a dream," Alfred said, moving back to the birthday boy and crouching so that they were eye-level. "If it weren't, then it would burn a bit, like if you put your hand on a lightbulb that's been on for a while."

There was a long stretch of silence where Arthur was just looking at everything he could: the beautiful sky, the Ember Fairies, Alfred's glowing eyes and oily black wings, but it was broken with a quiet statement. "You're not a businessman."

Alfred sighed. "No. No I'm not."

"Can you tell me what you are, then? I'd like to know that, for my birthday, please?"

Alfred sighed again and turned around, sitting down on the ground and letting the tension in his body out before falling to the ground. Arthur looked down and cautiously sat next to the Demon, seeing how the other would react if he lay down on his wing. Alfred didn't react, so he curled down and stared up at the night sky.

It was silent, only the sweet nothings of the Ember Fairies filled the air. Eventually Alfred turned his head to Arthur, who had nearly fallen asleep resting against his wing. "I'm a Fallen Angel."

Arthur snapped awake. "Oh? Don't Angels have white wings, though?"

"Those are normal Angels. I'm a Fallen Angel, so mine are black. Plus, I get the cool tail and horns with the color job."

"But… I thought there was only one Fallen Angel."

Alfred grinned, his eyes burning and his fangs shining in the Ember Fairies' glow. "Exactly."

And it was at that moment that Arthur's older sister jumped on his bed, shouting, "Happy birthday!" as she startled her little brother awake.

Chapter Text

Another two weeks passed, and each day had a new letter from Arthur. They were incessant, demanding for answers and explanations of what Alfred could do, but each time he had to decline. It wasn't a nice thing, especially since the boy was just curious (and it was partially his fault, but the Demon ignored that little fact), but just telling him that he's a Fallen Angel was enough. He had to deny each question, or dodge it, or deflect it, or flat out ignore it.

Eventually, the questions died down, and it was back to their normal routine of telling each other about their days. Occasionally, Alfred would mention something to the effect of "There was a stray one from the First Circle, so most of my day was spent tracking them down before they were destroyed," or "Some of these underlings simply think that they're Kings of the world, swear it on my Father," and Arthur would ask for clarification. He would explain it in the simplest terms possible, but it was clear that it was difficult for Arthur to fully comprehend the concepts.

He couldn't blame him. The boy was only ten, he wasn't a religious a child in the first place, and even then humans didn't really understand how Hell worked in the first place. The circles were correct, though the ninth circle was slightly warm to the point where a demon wouldn't freeze to death if they had to go down for whatever reason. They didn't get anything down about how spies or servants worked, but that was probably for the better because Angels read that shit damn-near daily and the last thing that Alfred needed was his Father to know how he ran things down under—literally.

But then, after two weeks, there was nothing. No new letters, no signs of life from the boy, and it was worrying, to say the least. None of his prior letters had indicated at any illness, and it was the beginning of April, so there was no reason for him to go away for some activity where he couldn't write a letter for two weeks. Even if he was sick, it wasn't reassuring that it had lasted two weeks and made him weak enough to where he can't write.

Before he even knew it, he was through the gap and inside Arthur's room, panting from exertion.

The room was spotless, completely freaking spotless. The bed was made, everything was dusted and organized to where it was far, far too unnatural for a ten year old's room, his backpack laid abandoned in the corner of the room, his phone was left on his desk, and his hamper was empty. He clearly wasn't at school, or away from the house, because he would have brought his phone and backpack with him. But that only left the question of where he was, and so far, there were no hints.

Until he heard shouting.

"I'm comin' sis!" Alfred jumped, his tail flicking in response to the sudden loud noise. Breathing out, he peeked his head through the wall, activating his intangibility powers that were innate in all demons as he looked for the source. At the top of the staircase was a rather tall man, probably taller than Alfred, with a shade of red hair that was startlingly familiar.

Ah, right. This was the man in the family photos downstairs.

"Hurry up Alasdair!" From the first floor came a rather feminine girl, clearly younger than her brother. Her ginger hair was tied back in a braid, hazel eyes darkened as she shouted up the stairs. "Mum's started the car already, and she's going to leave you behind if you don't move your arse. Visiting hours end at twelve on Sundays, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm movin' my arse Daimhin. Also, don't let Mam hear that foul mouth of yours. You'll give her a bloomin' heart attack." Alasdair replied, going down the stairs and playfully smacked the back of Daimhin's head, trying to lighten the mood. Alfred frowned—demons and most other hellish creatures reveled in negative emotions, but this felt so oppressive and wrong that it was hard for him to feel like he was getting a 'meal.'

Feeling a horrible twist in his gut, Alfred waited atop the house for the Kirkland family minus Arthur to leave. Seeing their car reverse out of the driveway, the demon spread his wings and took flight, following the car from the sky and occasionally ducking down to hear anything they were talking about, which wasn't much. The three in the car—Alasdair, Daimhin, a boy with shaggy ginger hair, and their mother—were near-silent, only asking if the radio could be turned on, or lowered, or turned off all together.

It was far, far too somber, and there still wasn't any sign of Arthur.

Alfred did not like this.

He liked even less when the car made a sharp right in the city, pulling into a large parking lot, and then turning off as the family exited the car. To the left of their parking space was a mausoleum that Alfred had visited, along with other demons of varying ranks, so many times he had lost count, across the entire planet. Each one named differently, but all serving the same purpose, for humans and demons alike: the former to seek the sanctions of life, and the demons to sink their teeth into a nice, juicy meal for something so meager in their eyes.

The Kirkland family had entered a hospital.

It occurred to Alfred, as he raced frantically through the halls of the hospital, that he had formed an attachment to Arthur Kirkland. That was certainly not planned, and he certainly shouldn't care as much as he did, but attachments tended to do that to you.

Attachments were hard to explain. Normally, this happened with ghosts: ghouls, poltergeists, spirits without a body. They get addicted to the life energy given off by a human or some other being that still had a heartbeat, a soul, or a working brain. It was like being addicted to heroin—if you didn't get enough of it, then you would feel an incredible amount of pain and would require more. Demon attachment was somewhat different. Perhaps they got addicted to the energy the soul gave off, but they don't drain it forcibly from the being. Instead, they actively seek out a deal, and if it already exists, they stretch it out as much as possible, letting the soul fester and darken deliciously with sin before taking it and devouring it for energy. The finest raw souls make the most amazing meals after a demonic presence wore down on them.

Personally, Alfred had never had to experience that, he'd never been a ghost, but he'd have to think that this was probably the closest he would ever get to experiencing it. He was irrational, it felt like his stomach was doing loops, his mind was running in loops frantically all concerning Arthur (he'll be okay it's just a broken bone it's nothing bad he hasn't been attacked Helen would have protected him fuck fuck fuck Father I don't ask for much but don't let him be dead don't let him be dead) and he had to forcibly stop himself for a moment and duck into a bathroom to reign in his powers before he destroyed the floor of the hospital.

He breathed in, and out, and then in again, and cast out his sense. He felt for Arthur or Helen, something familiar, and did in fact find the latter, but nothing of Arthur. Panic rose, choking him slowly, as it rose and spread through his chest, before he forcibly stomped it down and shot through the various floors of the hospital until he reached the thirteenth. He felt his claws dig into the palms of his hands as he searched for Arthur's room.

The sound of his mother sobbing made it, unfortunately, easy to find.

Arthur was hooked up to a variety of devices, wires and needles poking through his skin, a breathing mask over his mouth with an oxygen tank standing against the wall on the side of the bed. His family was gathered around his bed, a doctor ribbing at the bridge of his nose as he stared at the clipboard in his hand. Helen stood guard on the inside of the door, resting on her haunches once Alfred entered. Arthur's mother let out a choked noise as tears ran down her face, and Daimhin was trying to comfort her while holding in her tears.

"You're sure there was nothing, absolutely nothing, on your scans?" The shaggy-haired boy asked, sitting down in one of the chairs against the wall of the room. Alasdair stared down at his brother blankly, almost like he was mentally urging his youngest brother to wake up.

"No, I'm sorry." The doctor flipped through the papers on his clipboard. "Nothing on the MRI, nothing on the CAT scan, blood test came back normal, and nothing was picked up on the sonogram of his vital organs. By all means, he's perfectly healthy, but his heart rate keeps dropping and his brain activity is barely perceptible on our machines. He… If your brother doesn't recover within the week, it's very likely that he'll die."

"Bullshit." Alasdair snarled, curling his hands into fists. "Bull-fucking-shit, he was fine last I called and now he's dying? There has to be a reason, he can't just bloody die!"

"Alasdair, stop." Daimhin whimpered, hanging her head. "Just… stop, please. You're upsetting Mum."

Almost immediately, the red head stopped, letting out a defeated breath as his shoulders sagged. "I-I need a minute to just, just get out of here. 'm sorry."

"I'll give you all a few minutes to collect yourselves, or you can leave. You have the option to pull the plug, if you feel like that is the best decision." The doctor said, phasing through Alfred as he left the room. Slowly but surely, the rest of the Kirkland family bled out of the room until only Alfred and Helen, remaining obediently at the door in the same position, remained next to the comatose ten year old.

If Alfred had a soul, it would be cracking at the sight of the poor boy. He walked slowly over to the end of the bed, flipping through the clipboard attached to the foot of the cot. Like the doctor said, everything was normal, except his heart rate and brain activity had been dropping at a steady rate and wasn't healing, nor was it flat lining entirely. He had maybe three days, four, if there was a period where his vital signs steadied at any point. Rolling his eyes, Alfred cast out his senses and tried to feed off of Arthur's soul, not to encourage the involuntary attachment, but to see how his soul was doing. You'd figure that, since souls are so important for their survival, humans would invent some technology to check on their wellbeing. If they could, they would be able to tell whenever a person was being influenced by negative energies and, hopefully, eliminate it before it would get to serious.

But humans were factual, scientific beings who had abandoned God for the sake of advancing beyond anything ever seen before. It made Alfred's job easier, but it certainly didn't make a human's life much better. His senses delved beyond the physical plane, delving into the energy given off by living beings, as he peered into Arthur.

Alfred's eyes widened, and he immediately pulled back. Arthur's soul, which had previously been a beacon of innocence and child-like joy present in childhood, had been engulfed with such a demonic force that it was hard to recognize it as Arthur. It finally made sense as to why he couldn't sense the boy while rushing through the hospital—his panic, along with the fact that he was used to feeling the innocence presented by the ten year old before, had made it impossible for him to find anything.

But the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that the energy felt far too similar to what the Fallen gave off. He let go of his breath slowly, shakily, as he moved towards Arthur's head and carefully parted the golden mop of hair that had bunched up from sleep.

The roots of his hair had changed to a deep red, just enough to where it was visible, but didn't pierce through the boy's natural color.

"Fuck." Alfred whispered, backing away. "Fuck."

This was much more complicated than he had originally thought.

It was possible that Demonic magic, if there was heavy exposure to it, could taint a human's soul. It happened to those who made multiple deals (regardless of which devil they interacted with) or those who survived a heavy magical attack from a demon. It ended in two ways, and there was an equal chance of either happening: one is that they died, as the soul and body are too discordant with one another to work, and the body shuts down. The other is that their body and soul manage to get on the same level and cooperate, and they slowly turn into demons.

Alfred, being the first to fall, a powerful Angle before and an even stronger Devil after, had incredibly magic prowess as well as the fact that it was incredibly potent. He hadn't even considered the repercussions of performing one spell, especially since even the most low-level demons could pull off something off that caliber.

But he had done it for the whole night, Arthur was ten, and didn't care for religion. He would never tell his family about said dream, so there was no reason for them to take him to a priest or a psychologist where there could be a precursor to hint that something was wrong.

Alfred could not have felt worse in that moment as he leaned heavily on the bed railing for support, denting the metal under his grip.

It was his fault that Arthur was in the hospital.

It was his fault that Arthur was going to die in less than a week.

Father, why?

He stood there for who knows how long, only peering up through the hair that hung over his eyes to see a nurse walk by, tending to a different (not bound for death) patient. His heart and soul were crushing, mind numbed to the world as he stared at Arthur's prone form. He searched in his mind for a way to save Arthur, but he couldn't do anything without risking the life of Arthur or someone close to him, and that was the last thing that he wanted or needed to happen.

His mind, rampant with fear for Arthur's life and fury at his own stupidity, that he didn't hear Helen stand and start her tri-pitched growl as a small white orb formed next to the bed, opposite of Alfred.

"Hey, get away from him!" Alfred slowly dragged his gaze away from the human's comatose body to stare at the man on the other side of the cot. A faint golden glow surrounded his body, centered on the ring of gold hovering above his dark brown hair. He wore a white toga which clung to his shoulder, fluffy white wings spreading out from his back, shimmering in the harsh electric lights of the hospital room.

Alfred scowled, a faint growl building in the back of his throat. "Oh, great, you're his incompetent Guardian Angel."

"I am not incompetent!" The man responded, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest as a distinct curl bobbed on the side of his head from the motion. "I'm Lovino Vargas, and you need to leave."

Ignoring the heavenly being's request, Alfred took Arthur's wrist and squeezed it, smirking at the cross expression that formed on the Angel's face. "I'm not leaving, Angel. Besides, I doubt that you can do anything to help him. You shit heads just leave once your charge is dead and you do a fucking horrible job keeping 'em from crawling to us."

"I did a damn good job from keeping him from making a deal—which, by the way, I'm trying to prevent right now."

"Really? Not saying that the kid here made a deal, but you do realize I've had contact with him for about, oh, three years, now? Give or take, might be less."

Lovino's face turned red, an accusatory tone filling the room. "So you're the shitty demon that did this! You better fucking fix him, he's not ready to die!"

"I know that, and that's where the problem falls—and no, it's not that I don't want to." Alfred vaguely gestured at Arthur's head before turning the palm skywards, a ball of demonic energy bursting to life. "I want the kid to live, but his soul's been tainted to a level where only a surgeon could fix this shit. My magic's to volatile, and you know that your magic will only make it worse 'cause the magic will cling to his soul and corrupt it even further, possibly killing him."

"So what, he just dies? He's my first charge, I don't want your shitty magic and deals screwing up my job."

"I can't do anything…" An idea formed in Alfred's mind, and although he hated using Arthur as a bargaining chip, it was probably the safest way to ensure that he'd live. "At least, not on my own."

Lovino scowled and moved his wing so that it was blocking Arthur's head from the Demon's sight. "What, another shitty decision?"

Alfred hid a flinch. "On my own, I can't do anything. My magic's way too volatile for delicate work like this. But a contract, on the other hand—" The ball of demonic energy in his hand transfigured to a contract, quill and inkwell already provided. "—a contract could easily do it, so long as it's explicitly stated that his soul be fixed and he stays alive."

Lovino flinched and backed away from the cot. "And… you want me to sign it? I know there's a catch, what do I have to do?"

Alfred's grin grew, fanged teeth showing. "You, Lovino Vargas, if you sign, must resign from your current job and leave Arthur without a Guardian Angel until his death."

"What?" Lovino spun away, nearly snagging one of the many tubes connected to Arthur. "No way, not on your ashes! That's never happened before, not unless the person's made a deal!"

"Exactly," Alfred said. "Arthur hasn't made a deal, you showing up proves that he hasn't. But that makes it all the more interesting, another unprecedented event where we just have to see where the chips will fall. We'll leave Arthur to his own devices and see just what he does, and he'll be alive and well."

"No deal. No. Fucking. Deal." Lovino snarled, only to flinch at Alfred's responding laugh.

"You don't have a choice—this is the easiest option to save him without losing a life, and a much easier way to lose an infuriating Angel such as yourself." At Lovino's confused expression, he elaborated. "You've got two options: sign the contract or don't, but signing it is the easiest because, no matter what you do, you don't win. You could try and fix the taint, but that could easily just end up with his death. You could just leave like you normally do, but then I could just make a deal with one of his siblings or his mother and get rid of another one of you shits. If they don't make a deal—and I know their religious, so it's highly unlikely—than no matter what, Arthur dies.

"Plus, I'll throw in another bonus just so we know that Arthur won't be influenced to go to the light or the dark. I'll also erase any memories of our interactions, get rid of any evidence that he talked to me, and not interact with him unless he calls directly upon me. Does that sweeten the deal?"

The Guardian Angel hesitated before he snapped his hand out, grabbing the quill and resting it atop the signature line. "Just so we're clear: I stop being his Guardian Angel, and you stop all contact with him, along with fixing his soul and he ends up alive, with no memories of you?"

Alfred felt his heart tug, his mind berating him and screamed what the fuck are you doing as he nodded. "Yep, that's right."

The man sighed, pitifully looking down at the boy as he signed his name right beside the tiny 'x.' In a burst of blue flame, the contract disappeared, and already Alfred could feel the energy slipping off of Arthur's soul and vanishing, the normal innocence given off by the ten year old returning.

"Alright," Alfred began, shrugging and ignoring the festering self-hatred stirring in his gut. "I kept up my end of the bargain, now you. Fuck off."

"Same to you, horned-jackass." Lovino swore as he disappeared, the gold glow equating to the light in a flashbang as he left. Hearing a commotion from outside (probably from Arthur's rising heart rate, if the monitor was anything to go by), Alfred darted over to Helen, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, and activated a teleportation spell, winding up in his office.

The first thing he did was kill Helen.

He did take a photo of her before she darted back to Arthur, her master, and he kept it framed on his desk. He didn't hold a funeral, because she burst into flames and left nothing to bury or even make a small little memorial of.

The next thing, which was much more delicate, was to take every letter that Arthur had kept for the past two years, take them to the sixth circle and then throw them into a lava pit. The family had yet to return from the hospital, probably all wondering and praising every holy being that their youngest had made a miraculous recovery, so this was relatively easy.

Contracts couldn't be undone by either party—as far as anyone was concerned, they were permanent. So right now, Alfred's main focus was figuring out how to keep him from going back to the ten year old and feeding his attachment, and the solution, as it turned out, was childishly easy.

Distance. He distanced himself from everything, everyone. Didn't make a connection, didn't bother to make an effort to hide his irritation. He didn't 'play' with his employees, like the one who had come in to deliver Arthur's death sentence four years ago, but he did make sure that they knew not to mess with him. Be what fate decreed him to be: a monster, a traitor, the Fallen, the Devil, the ultimate form of sin. Be cruel, demonic, be Satan. He threw himself into his work, only flying out to travel the circles and forcefully beat any loose souls with an attitude to a pulp. He was surprised he could real himself in sometimes, because most of the time he honestly just wanted to crush and rip their broken and tattered souls to irreparable shreds.

He should never have gone through with Arthur's gift on Christmas' he shouldn't have continued writing to the boy when he was seven; he shouldn't have performed the spell for the child's birthday. He shouldn't have done anything, but he did, and Arthur nearly died from his stupidity. Not only that, but the fucking attachment, even after five years, was still festering inside him, begging him to go up and just take a glimpse at the boy, damn the contract and fuck Lovino and all the Guardian Angels who came into existence.

And then, unbelievably, against his will, that opportunity arose.

Chapter Text

Theoretically, it was impossible for Alfred to be dragged out of Hell by a simple summoning circle, especially since most that did it were unexperienced, desperate, and didn't care which demon they got so long as they got one. The only ones that came to mind who had the utmost power necessary to do so were his brother, Matthew, and his Father—and they knew that doing so would shatter the tense peace between the two otherworldly realms.

Yet here he was, snarling as his eyes burned fiercely with his magic, trying to fight the pull. It certainly didn't feel heavenly (that would feel like his skin was being pulled off his skin by slugs, salt burning into his veins), but that didn't solve the mystery as to who was—

There was a knock at the door to his office, and in that lapse of concentration where he tried to shout at the inferior demon to "Go away!" was enough for him to get ripped out of hell and confined to a chalk circle with symbols surrounding the circumference. A faint green glow rose from the ground, contrasting against the agitated blue flames that danced around Alfred's hands and eyes. Roaring in rage, he blindly charged forwards with his vision tainted red, only to collide with the barrier, sparks flying as the summoning magic painfully charged through his body and flung him back. A high-pitched scream filled the room as he writhed on the ground, his body trying to heal his injuries

Snarling and furious, Alfred rose to his full height and took stock of his surroundings. Other than the lingering feeling of the summoning circle keeping him confined, he was unharmed. He wasn't given much wiggle room; he could stand up and sit down, but he couldn't really spread his wings too far without them brushing against the barrier, about an inch of leeway.

"Gil, you said the book was a dud!"

"It was! I bought it at a Pawn Shop, and the guy said it wasn't real. This was just a stupid thing for fun!" Alfred let out another growl as he looked at the small group of teenagers surrounding him. The two on his right (who he was pretty sure that one of them was the one who screamed) were now frozen in fear as the Fallen Angel raked his eyes over their shivering forms, the one with brown hair looking close to pissing himself in fear. In front of him was another duo, one lying on the floor groaning as the other was shaking his chest, muttering in French.

Ugh, French. Raging religious fanatics, most didn't enjoy deals and would pray up and down every day to 'repent' for their 'sins.' Said sins would be stepping on a bug, or thinking "Huh, I don't need God!"

Alfred didn't like them.

"Which one of you summoned me?" He growled, taking a small amount of satisfaction at the resulting flinches. "Which one of you?"

The one with bleach-white hair frantically pointed at the boy lying on the floor. "Arthur, it was Arthur!"

The Frenchman whipped his head around, an irritated expression on his face as he assisted the other boy—Arthur—to sit up. "Gilbert!"

"What? Do you want to piss of the demon? I don't!"

Alfred rolled his eyes and focused on the summoner. The tips of his hair were dyed green, a scaffolding piercing in one ear and a double helix in the other. He wore a ripped leather jacket, and one green eye was cracked open to stare at Alfred.

The Fallen's eyes widened. His soul had changed—the innocence replaced with a crescendo of self-hatred and confusion and an utter lacking, like he knew he was missing something but couldn't put his finger on what—but it still had the underlying layers that made the boy so, so recognizable, so delectable. Alfred's own soul cried out in victory, reveling in the sheer fucking odds that led to this moment.

"Arthur Kirkland," Alfred whispered, smiling and showing his fangs, gleeful as the boys on his right took a step back, and the Frenchman curled protectively over his friend (lover? He had abided by the contract, and as such, had stayed out of Arthur's life. He didn't know the other boys, but he would kiss all of them for giving him this astronomical of a chance). "It's a pleasure to see you."

"How do you know his name?" The Frenchman demanded, keeping Arthur out of Alfred's direct eye contact. "How do you know his name?"

"A little birdie told me." Alfred replied, casually putting his hands in his jean pockets. "But, he's the only one who can make a deal with me. Kind of rule of thumb here, only the summoner can dance with the summoned."

"Hahaha, no." Said Gilbert, shaking his head and flailing his arms. "No, no, nonono, we are not making a deal. This was a joke. Please go back to Hell mister demon."

"Can't do that! Circle's keeping me here and, unless you have the balls to do it, then you have to break it by getting rid of the chalk line. And if you do that, who's to say that I won't kill you and string out your corpses along the walls and paint a couple pictures with your blood?"

Gilbert visibly paled, backing away quickly from Alfred. The Fallen let out a hearty laugh, tilting his head back as he crossed his arms over his stomach.

"Okay, how do we get rid of you without breaking the circle?" The brown-haired boy said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Make a deal, sign a contract, potentially sell your soul for meager things. I doubt that any of you will do that, but your teens, so fuck if I know. Once the deal's done, the circle will automatically bring me back to wherever I was before you dragged my ass out here, and we hopefully never meet again!" Alfred rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. "So! What'll it be? So long as the Kirk-man says it, it'll happen and tonight will be easy pickings."

"Oh, wonderful, just wonderful—we make a deal, or we die, just how I wanted to spend my Wednesday night!" Gilbert replied, throwing up his arms and marching through the empty factory. "I would sooner volunteer to help Ludwig with his homework than go through this shit! That is how little I want to do this!"

"Well, we don't have to deal with the guy, Arthur does." The brown-haired one said, turning to his friend on his right.

"Antonio we are not leaving!" The Frenchman shouted, helping Arthur to his feet. "It was our idea to do this, and we dragged Arthur into it, so we stay."

"Francis, buddy, pal, Freund, I don't want to die."

"No, no, he has a point." Antonio placed his hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "What if Arthur says that Alfred has to kill us?"

"I'm not that depraved." Arthur said, brushing some of his hair out of his face and glaring at the two. "If I wanted that, I would do it myself." He turned to Alfred and, for a moment, the Fallen thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Before he could solidify this, Arthur threw on a stony mask and bravely took a step forward. "What would I have to give in exchange for a deal?"

"Don't you want to know what you could get?"

"I don't need anything. I'm just going to do give something in return for something stupid that one of these three morons want. What do I need to give?"

Alfred shrugged, tilted his head, and rolled his wrist non-committedly. "Could be anything, really. Most demons simply ask for the person's soul in a number of years, but I know you're not stupid enough to do that. I might ask for a borrowed amount of time, make you die sooner. Might ask for a pint of blood, or a depraved secret only you know, yadda yadda yadda, it mainly depends on what you ask in return."

Arthur raised his brow and turned to Antonio. "Well? You said you wanted information on that one kid's brother. What was his name? Vargas?"

Antonio nodded. "Yeah, Feliciano's older brother. I've only seen him on school grounds to walk Feliciano home, sometimes, but he's enigma in general."

"Are you sure you just want information on a 'Vargas?'" Alfred smirked. "I could give you info on anyone—so you've gotta be specific. Loopholes are the devil's ally, just like lawyers."

"Uh… I think it starts with an 'L'…"

"Fuck it, it's Lovino." Gilbert huffed. "Ludwig goes to tutor Feliciano sometimes, and the kid tells a bunch of stories about how his brother is overbearing and everything. If I'm going to hell I'm dragging all of you with me."

Alfred felt rage rising in his stomach, and guessing by how quickly they backed away from him, his eyes were burning with his magic. "Lovino Vargas? Brown hair, stubborn curl, swears a lot?"

"Er, yes?"

"And he goes to your school?"

"N-No," Antonio waved his hands out on front of him, taking another step back. "He doesn't, but I want to know more about him because… uh, well, it doesn't matter does it? But that's why no one knows about him, and his brother doesn't really talk about a lot of personal stuff, so…"

Alfred punched the barrier, magic curling around his arm and keeping him from breaking through. "That little bitch." He hissed out, eyes flashing dangerously as he checked on the condition of the contract he had made before. If a contract was invalidated, then it would start to rot until there was nothing left. Currently, it was fine, but that didn't mean that it wouldn't start to once this little spying mission had continued.

"Look, it doesn't matter if you know him personally. We want information about Lovino Vargas, what do we have to give in return?" Arthur interrupted, grabbing Alfred's attention. The Demon took a calming breath and pulled back his arm, shaking out the lingering prickles of discomfort traveling along his skin. Briefly, he entertained taking Arthur's soul, or taking a year off his life, but a much better idea came to mind. Repeating what he had done with Lovino, he held out his hand and allowed a contract to form in between them.

"Arthur Kirkland, should you sign this contract stating that I give you all the knowledge I can obtain about Lovino Vargas—and I do have a few juicy tidbits—you will have to be tutored by me for a month in the art of magic."

"Non. Non, that is not happening, Arthur you are not signing that." Francis said, shaking his finger at the both of them like a doting mother.

"That's the only thing I'm offering, and trust me—I have an actual good reason to do this." When the teenager's attention was on him, he explained. "Listen, I would've bartered a month off your life, or something really trivial like that. But you summoned me. I don't know if you have any idea how high up on the chain I am, but you also targeted me. That doesn't happen, normally a summoning circle just grabs a demon at random, and I doubt that out of all the demons that exist, you got me based off of a random fuckin' draw.

"You have the potential to be incredibly fucking powerful, kid. I tutor you for a month, no strings attached, and if you want to keep it going after a month, then we can talk that out."

"How high up are you?" Antonio asked, tilting his head. Behind him, Gilbert was backing away slowly, muttering a prayer under his breath.

Alfred grinned. "I'm the highest you can possibly get. You are looking at the Devil, the original sin, the King of the Damned! Do you want to start bowing, or praying to a God that isn't here?"

"No! I am gone! Bye Arthur, you are on your own bitch! I was never here!" Gilbert shouted as he turned tail and ran for the door. Running after him was Antonio, who tried to convince him to come back. Francis and Arthur stayed, starring in shock at the Demon that was only restrained by a thin line of chalk and a few fancy scribbles.

"Two questions:" Arthur asked, ignoring the pleading look from Francis. "What happens if I die, and can I add something else to your side of the deal?"

"The contract becomes useless if you die before each side is complete, so the deal ceases to exist. However, if you say you can provide something but really can't, I immediately get your soul, no matter what the reason. And so long as it's within reason with your last request, then yes, you can add another requirement."

"Alright, so long as the contract is in effect, you cannot harm Francis, Antonio, or Gilbert. I'm the one who signed this, so only I have to deal with you. If that's included, I'll sign."

Alfred stood up, pushing the contract closer to Arthur. "I can most definitely do that."

"Arthur, wait, think about this—"

"You were the one who dragged me into this, Francis, so I'm going to go through with it. Give me that damn feather." With a scowl, Arthur grabbed the feather and signed the contract, his signature somewhat messy due to his inexperience with writing with it. The contract burst in a plume of green and blue flames mixing together, and the glow surrounding the chalk circle faded. Alfred stood up once more, spreading his wings and stretching his arms above his head. At that moment, Gilbert and Antonio came back in, the former nearly bolting again at the sight of the demon.

"Alright, Antonio, get over here. You were the one who wanted to know about Lovino right?" The brown haired teen nodded, and Alfred gestured for him to come closer. "Listen up, it's painfully fucking obvious that you have a crush on this kid. Don't know why but trust me when you say it's either not going to work out, or it's not gonna happen, because he ain't human. He's an Angel, servant of God and all that bullcrap, so he's going to outlive you or just turn you down.

"Not only that, but his brother is an angel, to, and I have absolutely no clue why they're here, but I can make an educated guess. I made a deal with Lovino a few years back, told him to quit being the Guardian Angel of a kid, so he might be sending his brother to do recon and check on the kid for him.

There was a long pause as the quartet waited for Alfred to continue. After a certain period of time, Antonio's eyes widened and he cried out. "That's it?"

"You asked for information about Lovino Vargas. You didn't specify how much and, in my opinion, I was generous. I could've just told you how old he was and what he looked like, and left it at that, my side of the bargain would be done." Alfred rolled his neck and yawned. "Ah, well, I'll see you tomorrow for our first lesson Arthur!"

Tendrils of darkness swarmed around Alfred, encasing him in a cocoon. After a few seconds, the delicate weaving snapped, and the Demon was gone.

An interesting thing Arthur learned about a month into the school year was his math teacher just didn't give a single shit about what he was teaching, nor was he observant of what happened in the classroom. As such, since he had math as his last period of the day, he normally just left after she took attendance and either wandered around the school or left early.

Today, he was going to swallow his pride and do something incredibly rare that probably would never happen under any other circumstances. Despite every attempt, Francis still knew his cell phone number, and had sent him his schedule. In an attempt to try and lengthen the amount of time he would have to stay in school, he waited until the teacher was sufficiently distracted by his book before ducking out and heading to the stairs, trying to find Francis' class.

He should never had agreed to that damn deal, should've just bargained a bit more and not signed off for a month of 'training,' whatever that would entail. He fiddled with the bottom of his shirt, a nervous habit that he had picked up from when he was a child, and pulled out his phone, checking the time and for any recent texts.

1:42 pm, and a text from Daimhin: ill pick u up after class today so dont be late or else ill ditch u!

Arthur rolled his eyes and tapped at his phone screen. I'm staying at a friend's house for most of the afternoon, don't wait up.

As much as he didn't want to meet with the demon again, he didn't want his sister getting involved in this whole affair. So, for now, he'd simply refer to the actual fucking Devil as a 'friend' and say that he's visiting him, or that they're working on a project, or homework, or some other work that would require him to walk home and not have Daimhin pick him up.

Of course, the moment he hit the send button, the classroom door on his right flew open, and a clawed hand darted out and pulled him in. He let out a quick shout before a hand clamped over his mouth and he was forced against the windows two stories above the ground, a small drive of students walking along the ground oblivious to what was happening above them.

Verdant green met toxic, neon blue that shone brightly in the dim-lit room.

"And where are you going?" The Devil leered down at him, smiling as Arthur began to kick out and struggle against his superior strength. "Aw, that's cute. But really, don't you have nothing to do? We can start practicing and figuring where we should focus—!"

Arthur had solidly driven his foot up and directly into the crotch of the Devil. The horned man's sentence abruptly cut off as he let go of Arthur to protectively cup his crotch, groaning as his wings curled around him. The teen then planted his foot on the Demon's chest and kicked, driving the other into the neat rows of desks before dashing to the door, frantically twisting at the door knob that kept clicking and it won't open why the fuck won't it open—

Arthur screamed bloody murder when the Devil grabbed the back of his neck and forcibly dragged him away from the door. A black band of mass wrapped around his lower mouth, keeping it from opening and silencing him. Two similar bands appeared around his wrists and ankles, limiting him to wriggle fitfully.

"Honestly, dude, I wasn't even going to do anything!" Arthur glared at the demon who hissed as he hopped up and down, limping (Arthur felt a bit of smug satisfaction bloom in his chest at that sight) as he made his way to a desk he could sit on. "I was fucking around, pulling your leg, I wasn't going to do anything. Honestly, I don't know what you've been told but I'm not that bad."

Arthur continued to glare, not bothering to try and mumble a reply through the gag that the Devil had created. However, he didn't miss the brief look that crossed the demonic creature's face, and it made him start.

It almost looked like regret.

"It's weird, y'know? Seeing you give me that look, seeing you run from me. I knew that saving you would have a fair amount of side effects but… do you not remember anything?" Arthur's expression melted to confusion, and his eyes flicked to his wrists when they separated, the bands disappearing from his body. The Devil's form flickered and the teen jumped when he reappeared right next to him, his philosophical mood disappearing as fast as he had moved. "Alrighty then, since apparently you don't, let's get the ground rules out of the way! You can call me a whole bunch of stuff, but I'd prefer Alfred above all else. I can't kill you, Antonio, Gilbert, or Francis, because that would violate the contract, and if I don't abide by the contract my soul is instantly destroyed, and nobody wants that. I'll pick you up from whenever you leave school or don't have anything serious to do on the weekends, and the length of the sessions can vary.

"So, with that all said and done," Alfred grabbed Alfred's upper arm as several black tendrils rose from the ground around them, wrapping around Arthur's body like a tight-fitting, leather glove. "Let's begin."

When a pair of gossiping girls passed by the room a few moments later, all they saw was a group of desks that were forced into a semi-circle facing away from the windows, and nothing more.

Chapter Text

As the teleportation spell faded, Alfred spread out his arms as Arthur coughed at the sudden change in temperature and air quality. Smoke and ash floated around them, accented sharply by the bright orange flames dancing around the two. The human and demon were high above the ground on top of a cliff and, if they were to jump, the tops of their heads would brush against the tips of maroon stalactites. "Welcome to the Sixth Circle! There aren't that many demons here—a few aggressive monsters, yes, but no one around who'll blab about what we're doing."

Arthur peered over the edge of the cliff, squinting as his vision was assaulted by the bright magma that rolled throughout the underworld in rivers. Occasionally, he would see a small, dark shape dark to the edge, become swallowed in the flames that danced along the ground, and then drink the molten liquid.

"Okay... What am I supposed to do now?"

"Simple," Alfred stood beside the human and breathed in, admiring his kingdom. "You're going to fly."

"Wha—" The air was then forced out of Arthur's lungs as Alfred slapped him, hard, on his back, shoving him off the cliff side. He desperately gasped for breath and forced out, "You fuck—!" before he plummeted.

Though he would refuse to admit it later, he began to scream. Alfred laughed and wrapped his arms around his stomach before eventually calming down, crouching down and watching as Arthur fell, getting smaller and smaller. C'mon, we both know you can do it. Make a pair of wings.

Wings, no matter what kind of demon you were, were easy to form and dissipate. Alfred preferred to keep his out, but smaller demons frequently hid their wings in an attempt to look less like a threat. It was a simple rule of survival: the weaker you appear, the less likely you are to be targeted. Arthur, even though he had the power of the Fallen Angel caged up in his soul, had no clue how to use his magic correctly, and therefore he wouldn't be able to do it on command.

The next best thing to do, instead of wasting time teaching him how and ending up with hours wasted doing nothing but sit Indian-style on the ground meditating, was to force Arthur to make the wings. It was crudely simple, just have him think he's plummeting to his death, and hopefully, the wings will appear. It was cruel, but necessary. Plus, the type of wings would tell him just how strong the human was. If they were bat-like, he would have the total power of a normal demon. If they were angel-like, then he'd really have the powers of a Fallen Angel at his disposal.

Of course, this whole agreement would be null and void if Arthur died, so he had put in a few safeguards. If Arthur didn't summon wings after a certain point, then a barrier would catch him and throw him back up so that Alfred could do it again. It would be best if they appeared on the first try, because if he got thrown back up, he would know there's no danger and this whole thing would be for naught.

But, judging by the green flames that had spread across Arthur's back, there wouldn't be a second attempt. With a scream of pain from Arthur, a pair of white (Alfred scowled when he saw the color, but it was a small, insignificant detail) wings burst out of his back and ripped through his shirt, catching the wind and slowing his freefall into a smooth glide. After a moment, they began to beat frantically, trying to slow the teen's descent and stabilize him.

Smiling, Alfred slowly leaned over the edge until he fell off, letting the dry wind whip past him before he, too, spread his wings and floated down to Arthur's level, letting out a small chuckle at the shell-shocked expression on the human's face. "Hey, congrats! You wouldn't have died, I thought of that, but you've clearly got a hell of a lot of power in ya. I mean, look at those wings! They're a little bit too white, so it'll draw a fair amount of attention here, but it's still a clear sign of what you can do with a little bit of fine work."

Arthur didn't react.

"H-Hey, you alright? I mean, I know it's probably the weirdest thing in the world to suddenly get a pair of wings, but…" Alfred's eyes widened, and he quickly waved his hand in front of Arthur's face. "Shit, are you in shock? C'mon, Arthur, talk to me bud."

No reaction. Alfred swore under his breath and he grabbed Arthur around his waist and gently placed his hand on Arthur's back as he shot up and gently landed far, far away from the edge. He laid Arthur on his stomach to check on his back.

"Oh fuck." Alfred hissed, seeing the massive amount of blood pooling around the bases of the wings. Apparently for humans, wings that are summoned magically rip through the skin, and the pain had probably shut him down. It was only through pure instinct that he had managed to remain in the air and not completely collapse.

He knew how to fix his injuries: a simple healing spell and gentle ministrations would easily fix him up and soothe the pain. However, he had no clue how to fix someone's brain so that it would function normally again. Breaking it was much easier, simply because you didn't have to deal with the repercussions.

"Arthur," Alfred shook his shoulder, gently rolling him over onto his side and snapping his fingers in front of the human's face. "Arthur, can you hear me? You doing okay?"

Slowly, Arthur's eyes lost their glazed texture and began to focus, on his surroundings. In an instant, his eyes widened, and his wings beat violently against the ground and smacked Alfred in the face, the white feathers dirtying from the rust-colored dust and the ash floating in the air. The human screamed, kicking out and pushing away from Alfred, trying to put as much space between them as possible and get onto his feet to run. Thinking fast, the devil shot up and grabbed one wing, forcing it to fold up and press against Arthur's back, and then he wrapped his arm around his chest, keeping the teen pinned. After fumbling around, he grabbed the other wing and clasped his hands together right above Arthur's sternum. The slight height difference meant that Arthur was lifted above the ground, and if Alfred wanted to keep his grip and not risk bending over to keep Arthur from thrashing and potentially flipping him, then he had to deal with Arthur's happy feet.

"Snap out of it!" Alfred growled, tightening his grip until Arthur was struggling to breathe and his wings were fitfully twitching from pain. "Get your head together, you aren't thinking straight!"

Arthur's thrashes slowed until he was left panting desperately for air in Alfred's grasp. After a few tense minutes, the devil loosened his grip and let the teen slide to the ground, his dirty wings draping behind him like a stained cape. A sigh of relief escaped Alfred's lips, and he sat down besides Arthur and felt his tail twitch fitfully, making sure to not sit on his wings or further agitate the Brit. "Probably should have thought that through better, huh?"

"…Yeah, probably." Arthur replied, and Alfred didn't even care that it was the most passive aggressive response he could have received, because at the very least, it meant that the teen was capable of higher brain functions. "Honestly, I should be spitting at you for throwing me off a bloody cliff, but I can't summon the energy to do it."

"Makes sense. You're dealing with a fair amount of new shit, and making wings for the first time is pretty draining." Arthur's eyes widened again, and he turned his head and stared behind him, slowly running his fingers along the edge and flinching, drawing his hand back.

Alfred laughed. "Don't tell me, you didn't know you had made them?"

"No?" Arthur's voice was shaky. "Can I get rid of them somehow?"

"That's something you'll have to figure out on your own." Alfred said, his own wings disappearing in a plume of blue flame. "I know how to make the wings disappear because I've had them since before the Roman Empire. I just cut off energy to them, but you'll have a whole bunch of fun deciphering that on your own."

"Wait, what?" Arthur turned to stare at his mentor. "You aren't going to help me?"

"This is something I can't really help with, which is why I'm making that your homework." Alfred's grin grew as Arthur tensed and stood up indignantly, his feathers rising up in rage.

"You cannot be serious! I can't go home like this!"

"You could sneak through a window?"

"With Daimhin home, that's not happening. She has the ears and eyes of a hawk."

"Oh you'll manage!" Alfred said cheekily as he began to cast the teleportation spell around Arthur, the teen noticing a second too late before his ankles and wings were bound.

"No, no, you bloody fucker, do not do this right now, do not—!" Arthur was completely bound in the black tendrils and teleported back to Oxford, and Alfred plopped down onto the ground, his wings spreading as he stretched like a cat. The humidity sunk into his bones, invigorating him and easing the stress that had come from dealing with Arthur.

It was very, very clear that the small British boy who had a semblance of manners had grown into a sharp tongued, pierced, ragged teen. Who knew what he had done within five years, or what other people had shoved down his throat, but he was determined to make sure that Arthur didn't destroy himself with his own magic.

It wasn't like humans were incompetent—some became famous because of these talents, but not using the potential of the Devil's soul-imbued abilities could either make Arthur a ticking time bomb or corrode what was left of his own soul. Alfred hadn't lied about that—refused to lie, even—but his teaching methods would have to be improved at some point or another in order to have this relationship work.

Sighing once more, Alfred pushed himself to his feet and then pushed off the ground, grazing the tips of the stalactites before nosediving off the cliff and flying in earnest. Blue flames danced along his fingers as he cast out his senses, searching for a certain little grumpy angel.

"—send me back to the…" Arthur paused and blinked, swiveling around and watching as his wings followed on a slight delay, the backgrounds of EF Academy hauntingly familiar. "…school. Son of a bitch devil bastard."

Well this was just wonderful, wasn't it? He's thrown back to his school, the absolute last place he wants to be, with no clue how to get rid of his wings, and no ideas on how he would handle the next few hours, with or without them.

He certainly couldn't go home, otherwise Daimhin could see him like this and have him confess, and whenever Daimhin knew one of Arthur's secrets (especially if it could kill him), his mother was bound to find out within the hour. He could fly around, see if the wings had a timer or would go away after a certain amount of energy was used up, but that would risk him getting seen, photographed, or recorded by a stranger, who could then post it online and that would cause a massive controversy. Not only that, but if they disappeared while he was in the air, then he could die from the resulting fall.

…There was a third option, and it would solidify the excuse he gave Daimhin, but he really didn't want to do that unless it was a last resort.

But he couldn't get his bag either. The school had security cameras, and he was positive his school bag had been left in the classroom Alfred had grabbed him in. The third option would not only give him a few hours where he could safely hide, but also cover his ass if Daimhin asked about it later, and it would get him his homework without anything being caught on film.

Arthur sighed and patted his back pocket, thankful that his phone was still there, and took it out, unlocking it and scrolling through his contacts until he found Francis' number. He quickly dialed it and let it ring as he examined the dusty white wings. The feathers closest to his back were tinted red—not from the maroon dust from Hell, but rather from crimson blood. Human bodies, apparently, did not enjoy the treatment of suddenly growing wings, and the action had ripped through his skin. He couldn't feel any torn muscles, but the feeling of two new limbs resting where there was previously just smooth skin was… odd, to say the least.

Finally, thank fuck finally, Francis picked up his cellphone. In the background, there were two other voices, more than likely Gilbert and Antonio, and the distant sound of gunfire. "Bonjour?"

"Do you ever look at who's calling you?" Arthur replied in a snarky tone, ignoring the urge to run his fingers through his feathers like one would with their hair to untangle it.

"Arthur?" In the background, the gunfire stopped. "Are you okay? Are you injured? Why are you calling?"

"I'm fine—at least, I hope I am. Look, I can't go home right now and I need you to pick me up. I'm at the school and all my stuff is in a classroom, and I can't go in to get it."

"What? Why can't you go home? Arthur, I'll pick you up, but I need to know—"

"I have wings, Francis." At the ensuing silence, he continued. "I have wings, and I have no clue how to use them, and if I go home I'm screwed because Daimhin is a bloody snitch and I can't fucking fly because the Devil is a massive dick and didn't tell me how. I need you to get here, and I need you to help me get my stuff, and I would really like a blanket to cover me."

There was a pregnant pause, and Arthur suspected that Francis had put his phone on speaker at some point before or during his tirade. "…are you serious?"

"Francis?"

"Oui?"

"Get to the damn courtyard. Now." Arthur clicked the end call button and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing through the sweat and grime that had settled there and grimacing as his stomach rumbled. Francis was more than likely hanging around in Antonio and Gilbert's dorm—especially considering that there weren't many people who lived with him and he would be alone most of the day. Thinking quickly, he opened his texts app and found Francis again, tapping away at the screen. My bag and school supplies are in a different classroom on the first floor. I think it was Bordon's room. If it's not, it's a room near the A Stairs.

Everwood Academy was a private boarding school, something that Arthur's family hadn't had the opportunity to experience prior due to a lack of necessary funds. What made the situation even worse was that the school wasn't that far away, and it was actually closer than the public school. Since Alasdair and Dylan had graduated college and gotten rather decent jobs, they had the money available, and Arthur got a spot. He was a day student, going home once classes ended. Gilbert and Antonio were from Germany and Spain, respectively, and they shared a dorm room that Francis frequented more than his own house.

Of course, since Antonio had worked with this in his house back in Spain with seven other siblings, he had a rather large well of knowledge on how to wire electronics. Their shared dorm had a closet and, with a little help from his German friend, they had set up a gaming system that could easily be hidden by clothes when inspection day came around. It made it a much better place for them to hang out, not only because it was easier to get there, but because they had the most fun there.

Arthur jumped when his phone dinged, except it wasn't a reply from Gilbert. Arthur cringed as he stared at a new text from Daimhin.

A new one among twelve others, in fact. They were spread over the half-hour he was 'training', each one getting progressively angrier as he didn't respond.

cool which friends?

hello?

omg is this a new franny?

r u on a date rn?

is that y ur ignorin me?

arthur wtf

arthur WHERE ARE U

ARTHUR

U LITTLE SHIT

I WILL USE FIND MY IPHONE ON U

ARTHUR JAMES KIRKLAND

BITCH U BETTER RESPOND

arthur im gonna call the popo i swear

Frantically, Arthur tapped at the screen. Daimhin my phone died! It's been charging for the past hour, and I'm at Gilbert's dorm with the rest of his little entourage.

Almost immediately there was a reply. oh thank god u gotta tell me when ur gonna go afk for long periods of time i get super worried.

You should focus on yourself. You are in college, after all, and I am still a lowly high schooler.

ha k ill leave u alone now but u better be home in the next hour!

Arthur hesitated, almost tempted to lie and say that he would spend the night there, but that would raise a red flag, if his previous actions hadn't. Instead, he quickly sent a text saying he'd be there on time, and turned off his phone, glaring at the wings that rested against his bareback like a cloak. "Of course he wouldn't tell me how to get rid of them, of bloody course."