A tan-skinned male walked down a busy sidewalk in London. His appearance didn't draw any attention, though a black trench coat in any season, save for winter, seemed ominous. The illusion made him seem as if he were just a regular Englishman on the stroll in the chilly December air. The other regular humans seemed to be going to a particular location, however this man seemed to be wandering just to wander.
If an assisted eye could see beyond the veil, they would be no doubt startled. The rather tall and lanky man had skin the color of blood, but his eyes as icy blue as his heart. He had several nice scars on his face; the most dominant was the one across his left eye. Longish black hair was greasily slicked back, looking quite tacky. His beard was nicely trimmed, but did not help him look younger than late forties.
The filthy slush of the leftover snow was in piles on the edges of the sidewalk and there were larger piles in the entrances to the alleys. His eyes were not settled on anything as he kept glancing around.
People rushed by the easy gait of the demon in human clothing. He had an amused smile as he wandered the crowds for the upcoming holiday season. Unfortunately, he did not have the same whims as them, to enter every store and try to locate useless trinkets. His invisible tail swished in agitation.
'Humans and their useless religious holidays,' bitterly thought the male, as he past yet another fake white and red suited fat man. 'Christmas.' he spat the word like it was vile.
As he left the markets for the slums of the city, the male noticed the severe lack of 'holiday cheer'. No one had up those silly colored light, or any decorations for that matter. Trying to ignore the looks from the weary and dirty residents, he pulled up the collar of his coat to drive the cold off his neck and to resist the urge to just go somewhere warmer.
'If only the whole world was warm,' wished the demon as his ears picked up on a ruckus not too far from his path. No one seemed to care as they leaned against various vertical surfaces; talking, carving items with a knife or drinking. Curious for no apparent reason, he continued on his path to see what the fuss was all about.
Past a rather tall pile of slush, that reached the man's waist, was a crowd of children. The oldest was probably fourteen, to the youngest being about six, were shouting and kicking something on the ground. Dismissing it as an attack on a puppy, something that he had seen before, he began to leave the alleyway entrance, until he heard it; a heart-wrenching moan of agony from what he took to be a demoness throat.
Rage bloomed in the demon's chest, where his heart should be. Suddenly, he leaped the slush pile and released his illusion. With his tail going close to his head, he let out an inhuman hiss. Children glanced his way, then again and screaming they fled out the other side of the alley.
Alone with the figure in the snow and slush, the demon looked down at the figure at his feet, to who he knelt down beside. Donning his illusion, as to not startle, he gazed at the human child. 'No, not a demonss, but a human boy.'
After centuries of life on this miserable planet, the demon thought that he was immune to the pain and terror of the horrific actions that humans did to others. He had seen men and woman stoned to death. He had seen people thrown off bridges with concrete blocks tied to their ankles. He had seen people hang. He had seen war.
"Dear child." he breathed in Russian as he assessed the damage.
The child could only be three. However, he must have been on the street for a long time. He was covered in filth from head to toe, even the rags that he wore was not any different shade. Hair, cut very short and matted beyond help, and skin must have been darkened to the grungy shade of gray-brown it was now. Curled into the fetal position, most likely an attempt to fend off most of the brutal attack, he was tiny.
Gently, the demon picked up the child, whose bright hazel eyes gazed into his own blue. The pain that had once took over the expression calmed into a soft look of awe as he touched the demon's cheek.
Knowing that he may have a child of his own near this one's age, the demon tried to reason as to why he wanted to protect this one insignificant human. Sighing at all the illogical excuses he produced, he stared at the face in his arms, who weight was much less than it should be for a healthy toddler.
"You have a mother or father, da?" he asked the child, his accent was making it slightly hard to understand what he asked. Although he had hoped for an answer, the three-year-old gazed blankly at him in return.
Sighing, the demon tried not to smile down at his bundle. "Then we'd better get you cleaned up." he informed the child. The child smiled slightly and nuzzled his head into the demon's chest. Surprised, the 'ruthless' demon froze, his heart melting ever so slightly.
"Alright, child. My name is Azazel," the demon laughed slightly, as he prepared to teleport to a house than he had bought when he was a part of the Brotherhood. He paused for a moment and wondered if the child would be sick, as it was his first time.
Tired hazel eyes were already asleep when the demon finally teleported.
The house was quaint, for being in the rich part of Moscow. Azazel would never admit it aloud, but he adored this city. This house was the privacy he occasionally sought after some long periods outside it. No one had been allowed into his domain, except for the cleaning lady and the other working class, who maintained the property.
"Home sweet home." he stated in Russian as he looked at the child, he was now adopting as his own. The only child he claimed that wasn't of his own flesh and blood.
Walking from the welcoming mat toward his bedroom, Azazel tried to see how badly the child had been damaged by the older children. However, the filth and the even more filthy rags kept his curious blue eyes from being able to properly study for harm, not to mention the fact that the child had buried his face into Azazel's chest. Thankfully, the house was heated as it always was in case of his unexpected arrival.
The floors themselves were heated to prevent any chill, a foresight that Azazel favored. As he dropped the illusion in the master bathroom, he wondered if the child would be startled or frightened. Gently, he shook the bundle in his arms. "Wake up, child." he urged, in his rough English.
As a response, the child turned its face toward him and open its hazel orbs. Azazel tried not to smile as the small weight in his arms squirmed to stretch. "Come child, we need to get you clean." His English was improving, though his Russian accent made it difficult to understand.
Kneeling beside the tub, Azazel watched the child's eyes turn to saucers as it gazed around him. The bathroom was stylish when he bought it, so he didn't alter it. There were granite countertops, with rough brass faucets on everything. Slightly rough stone tiles were different hues of gray and brown. It had the normal consistent toilet, sink, and separate shower and tub. It was expensive looking and not doubt was.
The child clung to him, for he was afraid to dirty anything. Azazel was amused and eased the child's fears by setting him on the seat of the toilet. The child's hazel eyes were trusting as Azazel removed the boots that had seen much better days and were a size too large. The socks underneath were holy, but had multiple layers so no skin was showing, which showed that someone was attempting to care for the child.
Azazel gazed at the child, not comfortable with removing the rest of his clothes. "Can you bathe yourself?" he asked, afraid of him saying no. The child nodded and leapt off the toilet seat to start taking off the rest.
The worn winter coat was over two equally worn sweaters, but the one closer to the skin being dry versus the other two, which were soaked through. The child was very compliant, shrugging out of the coat and raising his arms to have the sweaters removed. Azazel was amazing of how well the child understood what was needed without being told. However, when the t-shirt was also removed, the demon hissed.
The torso of the child was filthy yes, but the very predominant ribs were startling and sad. Azazel's ice cold eyes softened as he lightly ran a finger down the child's side, feeling ever single bone. "Poor child." he murmured. Bruises were beginning to form in various areas.
Uncomfortable, Azazel motioned for the child to stop. "We'll get the bath ready first, da?" his English was rough from lack of use these past few years.
The child stared, unblinkingly, as Azazel prepared the bath. He made sure it was a nice warm, without being too hot or cool, before plugging the bottom. Murmuring to himself, he searched for one of the pearly bottles he kept, if he were to ever bring a lady home, of bubble bath. Adding a liberal amount, he watched as huge piles of suds started to form.
The child had decided to stand beside the demon at some point. Azazel, who was trying to guestimate the proper height for the child, didn't notice. "I need to get him a towel to dry off with." he started to list the clothes, he would have to estimate the child's size and purchase. "Socks, underwear, shirts, pants, coat..." Turning to glance at the child's feet, he was startled that the silent child was standing less than a foot away.
Jumping into a stand, Azazel tried not to glare at the child for being so quiet. "I will get you a towel, then you undress and bathe, da?" he asked. The child nodded and waited. Azazel reached into the top shelf for a rather large towel and put it on the toilet seat so it wouldn't get wet.
Giving the child one long look, Azazel turned off the water and left the bathroom. When the child couldn't see him, he teleported to various department stores to purchase the needed items. Since shoes would be better fitted to the wearer, he skipped them and returned to a different room of the mansion.
The room was prepared by an interior decorator for a guest room. It was in various shades like a beach house. Light blue walls and light colored bedding and furniture, with small amounts of dark for accent. Though Azazel had no appreciation for interior art, he thought the room would be suited for the child. He settled the bags on the large twin-sized bed.
Azazel wondered why he wanted to keep the child, but he supposed that he would like to have some entertainment during these boring years. Watching a child grow, a human child no less, would be interesting. Though, the process of removing the stickers, tags and other wrappings from the clothes, he could have lived without.
Organizing the clothes into the dresser, Azazel could not help, but chose out some clothes for the child to wear. Picking out some bed clothes he seemed to favor, the demon teleported to his room and knocked on the bathroom door. "Finished, da?" he asked. Patiently, he waited for an answer, but didn't seem to be getting one. Worried for his new toy, he reached for the doorknob, only for a towel-clad three year old to beat him to it.
Blue and hazel sized each other up and Azazel handed the child the clothes. "Bed is soon." he informed the child, who nodded and shut the door. Barely five minutes later, the damp-haired child left the bathroom.
The bath did wonders, Azazel was impressed. The gray-brown filth was gone. The boy's hair was a messy cropping of blonde. His skin, though marred by various shades of bruises, was a faint pink from the bath. He even smelt clean, like vanilla from the bubble bath. The pajamas that Azazel picked out was adorable t-shirt and shorts set with dinosaurs.
Azazel, who was sprawled out on the bed, had changed from his suit into a pair of lounge pants and loose t-shirt. The child crawled into the bed with him. Raising an eyebrow, the demon gazed at the boy, who was sitting on his legs. "Let's take you to your own room." informed the demon, rolling off the edge of the bed.
The boy followed, crawling on all fours. A larger hand was captured by a smaller one, by the time Azazel opened the door to the hallway. On the left, near the staircase to the foyer, he opened the sea-side cottage room. Unimpressed, the child kept a blank face, but allowed Azazel to pick him up and place him under the covers.
"Sleep well, da?" Azazel was unused to children, so he supposed he would do some research on his more modern gadgets, the computer. Leaving the room and shutting the door firmly behind him, the demon gazed at the now dark Moscow. Wandering into his room, he slipped under his own comforter and slept like the dead.
Azazel was attempting to turn from his back onto his side, when he ran into a problem. In the spot that he wanted to roll onto, was a bundle. The demon woke up and flipped the covers off the intruder, only to replace them.
'The child crawled into bed with me, did something scare it out of its own room?' questioned the demon. Settling onto his side, facing the child, Azazel's eyes soon adjusted.
Even though the child was emancipated, he still had slightly chubby cheeks and lips. In sleep, the child looked like one of the cherubs in the older paintings. Amused at the thought, Azazel wondered what he should name his 'pet'.
'My angel,' concluded the demon. 'He is the innocence that I lack.'
They slept in the same bed. An angel and a devil, by their own rights, were at peace. The demon would not know until he woke, but his tail snaked around the child like a coiled snake and he pulled the warm bundle to his chest, his arms wrapping like his tail. This embrace could be compared to ivy around a fence post, but it wouldn't do it justice.