When my eyes first met with his and he looked at me, I could instantly tell that I would hate him as much as he loved me.

I never wanted to be an older brother. I told Father that from the start. He never listened to me, obviously, because there were five little brats running around aimlessly causing mayhem and destruction wherever they went almost twenty four-seven. And guess who was the guy who picked it all up afterward? Yes, that's right. It was me.

I never understood why it was never Lucifer. After all, he was the eldest, if not the most respectable of the group. Perhaps I would have had a better time with them if he looked up from his book every now and then or turned away from his paperwork to help. Instead I was left with the responsibility of guiding our younger brothers to fruition, to raise them up to be dependable little tykes who would reign their elements with clarity and pride. I tried many different ways of teaching them, and none of them turned out how I - or Father - wanted.

So Father yelled at me.

He was usually patient and quiet, but once a Gehennian (1) month, he would call me into his room and assault me with words. He would tell me how awfully my younger brothers were doing; he would complain about Astaroth's foolish antics and Iblis' fiery temper that he never seemed to control, no matter what he did nor how he did it. He would explain how Beelzebub still wouldn't socialize, how Egyn kept up his petty rivalry with Iblis and wouldn't focus on his own kingdom.

Each month, I would say that I was sorry, that I would try harder, that I knew what was wrong and that I would fix it. But deep inside, I knew that I couldn't, so I never did. This continued for seventeen years, ever since Iblis was born after me, then Egyn, then Azazel, and Beelzebub and finally Astaroth.

After Astaroth, I knelled down in front of him - hugged his legs, grasped his hand, placed many kisses upon his deathly white knuckles - and begged, pleaded for him to stop. Please, just stop making babies. No more little brothers, please, I can't take it anymore. His eyes turned somber and he nodded his head after many many moments of this, agreeing that if he ever did have another child, he would take care of it personally. That didn't stop him from calling me into his room three days after, complaining once more of my little brothers' misconduct.

And then there was the Earth.

I always walked by the nursery, more out of habit than anything else. It was a humbled nursery with walls that would comfort a demonling and music that was specially selected to soothe the minds of the different little brothers I had. I remembered that mine was techno and disco, which I always found to be quite humorous because they hurt Father's ears as well as Lucifer's. There was a toy box in the corner, and a small crib in the middle of the room as well as a bed for toddlers against the wall by the window that let in the yellow glow of our large, luminous moon. There were several chairs for guests, maids, the like.

There hadn't been music coming from the room in years, and the place was all but abandoned, save when the maids and butlers entered to clean it on a daily basis. Not since Astaroth, six years before, had the dim lights been on, signalling that it was time for bed or for their nap. But that day, when I passed by, I noticed out the corner of my eye that it was on.

The lights were on and there was a quiet music coming from behind the door.

I stopped abruptly and looked to the side, staring at the door with a dark, brooding vibe sparking in the pit of my soul. I walked up to the white door and pressed my pointed ear to it, my forest eyes narrowed with suspicion. Earthy tones that rocked my very bosom crept from beneath the floor of the door and up my legs, vibrating oddly in my stomach. My hands were on the wood of the door, and my black nails dug deep into it, my pointed fangs showing in a deep scowl.

Lifting my head, I stood on my tip toes and peered through the transom (2) into the nursery. It was easy enough; I was rather tall, so it was no trouble at all. Despite how the window was tainted slightly darker than I would have liked (for the privacy of the child, so said Father), I could see clearly what was through the window. And I frowned.

I stood flat on my feet and shoved the door open easily with my rage and anger, my claws unsheathed, my eyes devilish and my fangs bared. The door slammed into the wall, startling Father and the green-haired child he was having drink water from the bottom of a water bottle. It was how he gave us water when we were younger; he'd bite a hole around the rim of the bottom of a water bottle, enough that a little at a time can leak through, and then he'd tip it in our mouths and have us drink it. He was quirky that way, and while there was nothing wrong with that, it grew tiresome to do over time.

Father looked at me with wide blue eyes and a startled expression upon his features, which gave me a small sense of pride. Surprising Satan - hah! I couldn't help but wonder if that had been done before. And if it had, I certainly wasn't alive to see it. When he spoke, it was with a gasp, as he tried to recollect his breath. "S-Samael!" he exclaimed, standing to his feet with the child in his arms. The demonling had his small, tiny hands on the bottle, his tail impatiently tapped Father's elbow when he couldn't figure out how to get the water through. "I didn't think you would be here -"

"Just be quiet! What is this?!"

Father blinked before he looked down at the child, who by now gave up and was rolling over so that he was positioned like a puppy resting on its belly in the middle of a hot summer day. He struggled to correct his posture, to which the demonling protested by lightly cuffing his cheek. His eyes were trained on Satan's pale face, quiet and serene. Several drops of water leaked from the hole in the bottle to the floor. "Um, well, Samael, you see -"

"I thought we had an agreement!" My face was flushed, not only from my rage, but also from the realization that I had embarrassed myself for nothing. I had no regard at the time about any of my brothers' presence, about how much they giggled and laughed, but now that I knew that it all amounted to nothing, the first thought on my mind was killing not only every single one of them, but Father, as well, and then perhaps myself.

Perhaps Father could sense this, for he steeled his gaze and lowered his face with a quiet sneer that was meant to intimidate. It did its job rather effectively, making me shut my mouth and clench my teeth in irritation. "Our agreement," he said, "was not that I couldn't have any more children. It was that the future children not be in your care, was it not?"

Oh, he was right. Then was the demonling going to be taken care of by Father? Perhaps, but I truly didn't see any positive aspect of that in either case. My mouth quirked into a frown, and I clenched my fists. My claws dug into my hand; I felt red blood begin to dribble down my knuckles and felt the hot steam emanate from the wound as it healed. "Yes, Father," I growled, resisting the urge to shout.

"And I didn't say that he would be in your care, did I?"

"No, Father."

"So that means that you have no reason to complain, do you?"

I hesitated. "No, Father. I don't."

I couldn't help but tear my gaze away from Father and plant them on the demonling, who was clenching to Father's shirt like I so often used to. He was tugging lightly, trying to get Father's attention away from me and back on him. He was making odd sounds, as if he were trying to speak but couldn't form the words. Oh, God, was he autistic? Eventually he resorted to lightly tugging on one of Satan's longer bangs, his face close enough that the Demon King could likely feel his warm baby breath on his cheek. This made Father look down toward him. "What is it, Amaimon?"

Quietly he pointed at his mouth and opened it, his tiny fangs on full display in his small mouth. His alligator tail shifted slightly, almost as if he were excited. He made a soft 'ahhh' noise, which was high-pitched due to his young age.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. "If he's hungry, why doesn't he say so?" I snapped, tapping my foot impatiently on the ground. "Does he even know how to talk? Ugh, this is a waste of your time, Father! Just get rid of him!"

Before I knew what was happening, Father was directly in front of me, his inch-long claws pointed directly at my eyes as if he were threatening to gouge my eyes out. In surprise, I stepped back as the water fell down to the ground with a dull thud. "I have a nephew with a penchant for the occult," he said, smirking angrily, his right eye twitching, "who collects eyeballs as a hobby and sells them to witches in Assiah. I'm sure he would love to have the eyes of the King of Time and Space, wouldn't you agree?"

My jaw clenched tightly, a twinge of annoyance weaving its way through me. I wondered for a minute if he was joking, but the mere glint in his eyes boded of impending punishment if I didn't tread carefully. Timidly, I shook my head and mumbled a harried apology. Amaimon - I believe that was what Father called him - tugged a little harder at Satan's bang as he stepped back. The demonling was being held close to Father's chest with one arm. He made the same gesture that he did before, with the same 'ahhh', but a little louder. Father knelt down and picked up the water bottle, placing it upside-down on the table he summoned with a black puff of smoke.

He scratched Amaimon gently behind his horns, making the blue-eyed demon close his eyes and purr, nuzzling his chest. Even I had to admit that his horns looked incredibly odd - rather flat and slanted, weren't they? I opened my mouth to say so, but held back at the last second. Instead it was Father who spoke.

"Maybe if you hold him, you'll think better of him, yeah?"

I stared at him incredulously. "...You're kidding, right?" Why would I want to hold such a disgusting creature in my hands?

"Does it look like I am?"

God, how I wanted to rip his heart out and tear him to shreds. But I couldn't; out of all the demons in Gehenna, I was the third most powerful, below Lucifer and Satan. There was no way I would be able to defeat my own father, even with Lucifer's help I was useless in that regard. He walked up to me, four steps, and offered Amaimon, who was incredibly hesitant and held tightly to his shoulder. He looked over at my pink-and-white polka-dot cravat, his expression somber and nervous. I knew that if I refused, Father would get angry at me again, so with my own hesitation, I took him.

He was surprisingly warm, and his tail struck my hip with a gentle force that made it ache slightly. Amaimon held onto my right arm as I held him awkwardly, looking down at the floor as if he were afraid I was going to drop him. Don't be silly, I thought, Father would kill me if I did that. I knew that it wasn't an exaggeration, either, but if Father would turn away for just a moment, I wouldn't hesitate in doing so, pretending that he wriggled out of my grip and fell on his own accord...

But Father watched me closely, as if he knew what I was thinking. Contrary to popular belief, he was quietly protective of his children, especially his younger ones. He was Satan, but he was nonetheless a good father. Even I could vouch for that.

I tore my gaze away from Father with a scowl and glowered at Amaimon, who was making himself comfortable in my tense arms despite how outstretched they were. He continued staring at my shoes for a moment, then his attention turned to my hands. He lowered his head and seemed to sniff them for a moment before glancing at my white trench coat sleeves. He tentatively reached out his hand and ran it along the fabric. Amaimon looked up from the fabric and at my pink cravat, my lavender hair, my pale complexion.

His hand raised from my arm to my face, and he touched it gently. I was honestly startled, and I almost dropped him in that moment. Ugh, his baby hands were rubbing all up in my face! When were the last time they were cleaned? They felt cold and clammy...

He got to his knees against my chest and felt my hair, as if he were exploring my features, trying to memorize them to the best of his capabilities. Against my chest, I felt his small stomach grumble in hunger. He was breathing his breath in my nose, reaching even further up, trying to touch the curl on the top of my head. I tilted my head back so that he wouldn't reach it, staring down at him with a deep sense of loathing.

That's when our eyes met.

They were cold as ice, more bitter than a December. Perhaps if he had never met my gaze, they would have stayed that way, and he would have turned into the ideal demon that Father always wanted. But when they stared into my eyes, they melted into a slightly deeper sky blue, and he giggled and hugged me around my neck. The fabric of his baby blue one-piece was soft and rubbed against my neck from his arms, his tail swaying excitedly and happily. His hair had the texture of pine needles, and they rubbed against my chin annoyingly.

"Aww," said Satan, closing his eyes and smiling brightly. "I think he likes you, Sammy~"

The twinge of annoyance only grew sharper when Father called my by that nickname. How many times had I asked him not to refer to me by that name? I opened my mouth to snap at him, but before I could -

"Aniue!"

My eyes widened, and I glanced down at Amaimon, who was snuggling up close to my neck. A surging wave of emotion roared over me, though it was by no means positive. On the contrary; anger, hatred, disgust, loathing, all rolled up into one, and oh, so many more that I didn't know the names to. My hands wrapped around the boy's arms, letting go of his bottom half. He was held in place by his arms around my neck, which I removed with a little effort from my part.

I held him in the air in front of my face with a deep scowl. "What did you just call me?" I hissed.

Father sounded surprised. "Oh, my..." I turned my gaze momentarily to him, noticing how his mouth was covered by his hand in a shocked manner. I couldn't help but wonder what he was so shocked about. "I... I've been trying to get him to say 'Papa' for weeks..." He lowered his hand slowly, and he smiled in the sweetest manner. "Heh, looks like 'Aniue' is your new name, huh, Samael?"

"No, it's not." I returned my attention to the confused child, who was struggling slightly in my grasp. He was looking at me, trying to pull his arms out of my grip so he could hug my neck some more. He kept on repeating that name. 'Aniue', 'Aniue'; it was getting on my nerves so I dropped him to the ground, reveling in the high-pitched whimper he gave.

Satan gasped and stepped forward, but not before I reached down and slapped the boy across the face.

There was a stiff moment of silence.

And then Amaimon began to cry, loudly.

"SAMAEL!"

Father, can't you see what you've just done? I scowled down at the child before turning on my heel, advancing back toward the door and grasping the handle.

"DON'T YOU DARE TURN THAT HANDLE."

I ignored Father's interjections and did as he commanded me not to do. Behind me I could hear Father's outbursts and Amaimon's wails and the music that vibrated in my stomach. I pulled the door open.

"DON'T YOU DARE WALK THROUGH THAT DOOR."

I looked over my shoulder and frowned at the scene before me. Amaimon was staring at me with deep, desperate tears in his eyes as he reached his tiny clawed hand toward me. He kept calling me by the name he'd given me, 'Aniue'. Each time, it ground my nerves into dozens of pieces, and then into a fine powder that almost seemed to be rubbed into my face. Father was completely enraged, the blue flames he wielded licking his skin and his clothes, his teeth all pointed and bared. It almost made me smirk, but I held it down.

"What are you gonna do about it, Father?" I asked, stepping out the door and closing it behind me.

"SAMAEL!"

I pressed my ear against the door, knowing that Father would focus more on comforting his son rather than chasing after one of his eldest sons. He had mixed priorities, but one thing was for certain: When it came to his children, calming them was always his first initiative, especially when they were so very young.

After a moment, he heard a light shuffling, followed by the sound of hushing. "Shh, it's okay," murmured Father. I could imagine him holding my youngest brother close in his arms, rocking him back and forth on the floor, humming a melody in order to calm him. "Sleep now, the monsters are gone..."

"Aniue!"

How odd, why did he call for me after I left? Especially after what I just did to him. Amaimon was odd, wasn't he? Hmm... perhaps it would be interesting to play around with my littlest brother a little bit, especially if he reacted the same way as he did just then. I felt a coy smirk play on my lips. Just before I pulled away, I heard Amaimon say:

"Bye-bye, Aniue..."

His first words were dedicated to me.

1) Younger demons gain one physical year every 150 years until they turn ten, after which the time period will lengthen depending on the type of demon. Because of the amount of time it takes for them to age, one month to demons is one twelfth of 150 years, because to them, a hundred and fifty years is equivalent to one year.

2) Transom-A window above a doorway, which is used mainly for decoration purposes.

Woo, yay, another fandom. I've been a fan of Ao No Exorcist/Blue Exorcist for about two months. At first I was hesitant because of all the references to the Catholic religion, but now... well, it's awesome. I love the two demon brothers, as you can tell, and Rin's hilarious.

There is going to be an italicized line at the beginning of each chapter. Each chapter represents a different year/age that Amaimon grows... so chapter one takes place when Amaimon's one, chapter two when he's two, and so on so forth. Mostly Mephisto's going to be mean to him, so fair warning.

I encourage any kind of review, so if anything seems off or if you just want to say that it's a good story, please tell me - for motivation's sake!