EDIT: Wow, I was not expecting the amount of positive reviews I got on this. Thank you all, seriously, it lifts my heart. Regardless, Merry Christmas! A person on Ao3 helped me find the tumblr post this was based off of, so hopefully this link will work. incurablenecromantic . tumblr post/ 106535043037/ eccentricmisseclectic - autisticdorumon - give

"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.

DeaR SaTaN,

FOR CRISMaS I WaNT a PUPee!

THaNK YOU,

ARTHUR.

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.