A/N: This idea if in between when Lucifer escapes the cage, so around season 12 and some things will be changed to fit the story line. I got the idea from watching the show with a good friend of mine. Updates are slow due to college work and classes. But I'll try to update regularly. Reviews and favorites are very much appreciated. Flamers are bitches who have a place in Hell for them.

Read and Review please!

Jade

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Staring ahead at the embers and crackling wood, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. Since his friend days on this planet, heat had become a second nature to him. It was all he saw, knew, and felt to be real. Fire, nothing more dangerous then fire. On one hand, it was the light source in the darker times, on the other it was the destruction that took down forces bigger then itself.

Slate gray eyes shone with the reflection of the flames as they danced freely under the chimney. These were the things the possessor of these eyes wondered about. The intensity of the heat as it warmed his face and chest. How it would feel if he were to just touch them. To feel the truth of what he knew to be real. But, that was a bad idea, fire could hurt him.

That is what his caretaker told him, when the caretaker of this place saw him taking an interest in the flames during the winter years. In all the five years of him living here, the Caretaker was always his guardians name. He never found out Caretaker's name, not that Caretaker ever told his name to him. However, he had a name, Caretaker gave it to him when he found him outside on the doorsteps to this large building.

Caretaker named him 'Christopher', for what purpose, Christopher had found out because Caretaker always wanted a child. As a sworn servant to a man named God, he was forbidden to have children due to a vow. Being unmarried when he entered that life, he tended to this place and hosted Sundays to the people.

What a surprise to Caretaker when, he, a mere baby had be found on a crisp autumn night wrapped in a soft brown and red quilt. When Christopher asked about it, Caretaker always told the story the same.

A cool autumn night, the moon nearing midnight as he finished cleaning the church after late Sunday night. When a knock at the large red doors pulled him away from storing the song books. The knocks happened twice in the time it took Caretaker to reach the door. When he opened the door to the chilly night, the wind carrying the leaves in the gravel driveway.

He was about to close the door, then a soft cry at his feet stopped him. There, in a brown quilt, was a baby with tuffs of brown hair static clinging to the blanket and squirming a bit at the cold.

The story always ended there, Christopher knew that no name came with him. So, Caretaker thought it best to give him a name. In his small, and simple room, Christopher still kept the quilt he was found him. It was his only connection to the questions that plagued his mind. Why he held onto them, when many would tell him to let go, was for a reason that was as simple as breathing.

Christopher wondered why his mother, or father, left him here. He had seen kids his age come and go in this place, holding the hands of a man and women. Who this kid called their 'Mother' and 'Father'. On days, when Christopher would stare at the flames and wonder, he asked Caretaker why he didn't have a Mother or Father.

Caretaker would only sigh as a reply, and always answer with 'I don't know'.

That wasn't the answer Christopher wanted, but that was the only answer he got. For it seemed not even he knew where or why either. It frustrated him, but no amount of anger would solve anything. So, he resorted to just staring at the fire, and wondering. It was the only thing he could do for now, until he was ready to find the answers.

That time came sooner then he hoped for. As he stared at the flames, he the weight of what he had done rested on his shoulders. He didn't feel anything, he was too numb to feel right now. The flames cracked and let out a puff of sparks as Christopher didn't wince. By now the smell and the sight was a thing he had gotten used to. He pet his finger tips touch the flames, feeling their heat but not their pain. The skin hovering above the deformed, burnt corpse of his Caretaker.