Xxx New York – March 3, 2009 xxX

For ten years, he's followed that fey child. He's watched him grow up from a scrawny and unsightly child into a handsome and lean young man. He's watched that fire in his eyes grow, and intensify, and he's watched that boy go from candy to cigarettes, classical music to punk and metal, from tot toys to sex and drinking.

He didn't understand it – by all accounts, this boy had dipped himself into sin, ate it and relished it and kissed it, but he was still this… golden child, beautiful and good and bright. His soul should taste bitter and dark and rancid, but he couldn't even look at it – the brilliance being too blinding.

Even all grown up, he still talked to the fairies, still laughed and giggled and graced them with his smile. Alfred couldn't stand it, it didn't want to see that smile – no, not at all, he didn't want that smile directed at anyone – he wanted that face twisted in despair and pain. And that was what he set out to do.

However, with every death, every accident, every time the demon took someone precious from the Gifted boy, he just brushed himself off and shrugged at the demon. It drove him crazy – what did he need to do to break this boy? He thought he had him when he took his mother, the only solace Arthur had from his father and brothers – nothing. He thought he had him when he had the love of his life, Francis, set ablaze in a freak accident – nothing. He kept piling on and on with the hurt and pain, kept shoveling up tragedies and deaths – absolutely nothing.

The older the boy got, the more he was able to set Alfred off, in many many ways. He couldn't lie and say he didn't find the boy beautiful, or intriguing, or addicting. He had the choice to give up on the boy and find some other victim, but he couldn't let him go, or have some other demon break him.

This was his fey child, his Gifted boy, his victim to take.

"Must you follow me everywhere, you rotting piece of shit?" Arthur looked over his shoulder at the demon, startling him out of his thoughts. "Seriously, it's bad enough you sneak into the room to watch me shag, but must you follow me to my interview? And must you wear that form? It annoys me."

Alfred grinned sweetly, which only made the Brit's scowl deepen. "Why, Iggy, don't you like my company? And wouldn't it look silly for you to be talking to yourself? This way, it just looks like you're talking to a handsome somebody!" He scuffed his shoes against the pavement, pretending to be offended. The blonde boy had another job interview lined up, and of course he was following. He promised to make his life hell, and so far he had. He knew, he knew it wouldn't be long now before the first spore of sin would infect the soul.

"No, I don't bloody well enjoy your company nor find you handsome, now sod off." He said it so coolly, so calmly it ticked Alfred off.

"Seriously, Artie, what is your problem?! I've burnt your house down, had your mother killed off, killed like 5 of your boyfriends, had every best friend to ever come near you in a horrible and violent accident, ruined every job you've ever had, no one will come near you because they think you're cursed, why do you keep trying - ?!"

"Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;" Oh hell, it's started. Every time Alfred went off the deep end and started yelling, the annoying Gifted man would belt out that damn Marley song. "None but ourselves can free our minds. Have no fear for atomic energy, 'Cause none of them can stop the time. How long shall they kill our prophets, While we stand aside and look? Ooh! Some say it's just a part of it: We've got to fulfill the book."

"Okay, okay, sheesh, I get it… Your voice is incredibly horrible, it's even making my ears bleed."

Arthur smirked, and Alfred swore to himself that it didn't make his nonexistent heart flutter. "I'll have you know many people thought my voice to be incredibly moving and powerful."

"If by moving as in making people run away, and powerful as in making people scream, I can believe that."

The Brit laughed, bitter but warm. "What would you know, demon? It takes a heart to know music and how a person feels from it. You don't have one."

For some reason, that stung. It was true, but it stung so much and the demon couldn't figure out why. He grinded his teeth, his canines becoming sharp and twisted. Oh, he was going to make this interview terrible. He was going to make sure he'd never have another interview again, as long as Arthur Kirkland lived. Fist clenched and stuffed into his pockets, Alfred swore to himself that he was going to get that damn fucking soul if it was the last thing he did.


"Really!? Really, a fucking heart attack!? All because you're pissy at me?" Oh, he had done it this time, and he was damn proud of himself. Arthur was storming away from the building, the ambulance already having questioned him. It was a quick process; the EMT's were familiar with Arthur now. The demon skipped happily behind him, not even putting on his human front, no, he wanted Arthur to be the only one to see how happy he was.

"The man didn't have to die, demon! You could have broke my leg or something, or maybe made me late, or suddenly get cancer. You didn't have to punish him! You didn't have to punish anyone… "

Alfred would have giggled were he capable. "Aw, but Artie, dear, you know I can't do that. You can survive all of those. It's the people around you who you care about. What would be the point of hurting you… when hurting others works so damn well?"

Arthur stopped, stopped so suddenly that if Alfred were wearing his human guise he would have toppled into him. There was silence for the longest time. As Alfred went to go open his mouth, him being uncomfortable with said silence, the Brit turned around and glared – glared at him so terribly, that is Alfred were mortal again, he would have pissed himself.

"Listen here, you vile, disgusting, hellish creature, you will never have my soul. I will join a convent, become a Father or a priest, give myself and body and spirit to God before I even think of letting you in." The thick accent grew thicker with rage and grit. "I know you were not always a demon, it is very easy to see that, or at least for a Gifted as myself. You were once human, were you not? I bet you blame your demon demise on everyone but yourself, eh?"

Alfred felt he wings flutter, his claws clench, he felt the bottom of what use to be his stomach boil with venom and tar. He shook with a demonic rage, the first time he had ever truly felt such intense emotion since the day Heaven let him fall.

"Have you ever possibly thought you fell because you're trash, garbage, you deserve to be nothing more than a festering, decaying, revolting mass, full of – " Arthur never finished what he was saying. The demon couldn't take it, couldn't take what could possibly be the truth.

With an unsteady jerk of his wrist, Alfred slashed across the blond man's face, leaving behind such ragged and ripped scratches, already becoming infected from the filth of the claws. Alfred raged, screamed, clutching at his hand. He couldn't touch Arthur, no, not while his soul was still pure and good. However, the pain was not what angered the demon.

The fey child had not once flinched, nor screamed, nor even touch his face or the already healing wounds on his face. All he did was let the fairies swoop in and mend him, his gaze not once leaving Alfred.

The demon brought his injured hand to his chest, cradling it like a child, and growled as he disappeared into smoke. He'd let Arthur have this victory, for now.

A/N: Was originally going to make this three chapters, but I rather like how this is turning out… How about some reviews with whether or not I should extend this? ;D