Author's Notes: Been a few months since an update, so think of this as an early Christmas present. Finally going to move this along and try to close this story up. Enjoy, kiddies.

~ . ~

Don't pray for us

We don't need no modern Jesus

To roll with us

The only rule we need is never

Giving up

The only faith we have is faith in us

- Modern Jesus, Portugal, The Man

~ . ~

"When do you think I can get out of here?"

Arthur, who was busy winding the wire back around Alfred's wrists, shrugged, glancing up every now and then when Alfred winced. It was uncomfortable, but no one could know of Alfred leaving his chair to practice walking again. It would ruin everything.

"Hard to say. It's not really up to me."

"Who's it up to?" Alfred asked, taking a few breaths to readjust back to the feeling of rigid metal squeezing his wrists. He attempted to glance over his shoulder, but Arthur was out of view at this angle.

"For lack of a better term, I'd say fate."

"I thought you didn't believe in fate?"

"Regardless of that or not, I can't think of a better word for your situation," Arthur grinned, standing up from his kneeling position to meander across the room and put the pliers back in their original spot. "These accommodations are tricky. You must be able to walk because I will not be capable of carrying you should anything go awry. My accomplices need to contact me when they are able of doing it. It must be at a time not to rouse suspicion. There are many things at play here, Alfred."

Alfred watched curiously as Arthur paced, lost in his own thoughts. He suddenly felt overwhelmed with how grateful he was to know someone actually gave two shits about him, even in Hell. When Arthur suddenly stopped moving to look at him, he realized he was laughing.

"Do share what is so humorous about this," Arthur smiled, but it was one of his false, plastic smiles.

"It's not funny," Alfred grinned, even through the pain radiating in his body when he laughed. "I'm just happy."

Arthur blinked at him, raising a large eyebrow. "You're . . . happy," he deadpanned.

Alfred nodded.

The Greeter watched him as though he were looking at a carnivore attempting vegetarianism. "You are aware that you're in Hell, aren't you?"

"I know – I mean, yeah, that's bad. I'm not happy about that. I just – I'm glad I met you," he admitted, feet shuffling against the tarp in a nervous habit. Arthur was silent, his lopsided smile smoothing out to a blank expression.

Did this boy even know what he was saying? He had to be a complete buffoon to mean that. Alfred was in Hell under a completely selfless deed for a sentence of unending agony for eternity, and he was saying that he was happy he met him?

"You're mad."

Alfred stopped grinning and shut his eye as a bead of sweat dripped past his eyelid. "I just said I was happy."

"Not mad like angry. You're mad like you're mad. You've clearly lost your marbles down here. Too many blows to the head?" Arthur inquired, smiling a tense smile at him. Despite wanting to hear that admission from Alfred, Arthur didn't feel pleased when it was finally out in the air. No one was supposed to be happy to meet Arthur. By meeting him a soul was meant to be damned.

He didn't want Alfred to be damned.

"C-can't you take a compliment?"

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Technicalities. I just said I like you. That's b-basically a compliment," Alfred said, squirming in his seat with a frown. "Jesus, did you have to tie these so tight?"

Arthur flinched, then sighed heavily through his nostrils. "Take it from me, you're in no state of mind to decide what you like and what you don't. Now please, let's not talk about this anymore. I have to leave soon or it will become suspicious."

"I don't see what the big deal of me liking you is," Alfred persisted, grimacing as his skin was pinched between the wire threads.

"It compromises things."

"Like what?"

"Like getting you out of here," Arthur enunciated, frowning in a rare bout of physical annoyance. Alfred watched him quietly with his one good eye. "If you grow fond of me and then leave, you'll be distraught if I somehow don't make it with you. And if you separate from me here, then I . . ."

Arthur ran a hand roughly through his hair, realizing that he was losing his composure. He didn't want to think about this yet. "What am I to do with my free time?"

Alfred stared as Arthur attempted to place his unyielding smile back onto his face. He pursed his lips and shut his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth. "I'll . . . I'll be sure to bring you with me."

Arthur stilled, his fingers stopping their combing over his messy locks. He tilted his head to the side and took a few steps forward until he was standing over Alfred's body. "Pardon?"

And when Alfred looked up at him, he felt something in his chest swell, like a balloon pressing against his lungs was suffocating him.

"B-being unemployed isn't so bad. You'll get used to it," he beamed. "Plus I'm sure they'd let you into Heaven. You're a g-good guy, Arthur."

Arthur felt his knees quake for a moment before he leaned down and pressed his forehead to Alfred's grimy one. "I'm not," he denied.

"You are. I'd miss you, Arthur," Alfred reassured, shutting his eyes when he felt Arthur's breath against his cheeks.

Arthur's fingers dug into the muscles of Alfred's shoulders, his brow furrowing. He didn't want to hear this. They were so close – the finish line was in clear view. Alfred was screwing this up, just like the last soul did. He was bad. He was vile. He didn't deserve to be missed.

"Please, miss me," Arthur whispered on a harsh exhale. He wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and bit his lip. More than anything, if Alfred just would miss him that would be enough. He didn't want to be such a terrible smear on the world.

"I would," Alfred reassured as Arthur pressed his lips to his forehead. "I promise I would."

The plan was very simple.

The arrangements were set that whenever those bloody angels could get back to him, Arthur would sneak Alfred out in a suit down the lift. The exchange would take place in his office, where the only way into Hell was connected. This would work best if Alfred could walk on his own.

The bruises were a little harder to dismiss, but if the attendants wouldn't be bribed-off like he initially wanted them to, he'd just use some make up purchased earlier in the evening.

If everything went as planned, then Alfred would be out of here without any complications. Everything would go back to normal.

Of course, there were always complications when it came to Hell.

Arthur clicked his tongue against his teeth in disapproval when fingering through the schedule for the Black Room in the near future. He was hoping to get Alfred out of here in the time equivalent of two weeks. Every shift for the foreseeable future had the possibility of Ivan working.

"Lucifer, he's either working or on call. Whose fucking idea was this?" he asked, tossing the clipboard at Francis with a bitter smile. Francis floundered for a moment before scowling and tucking the item under his arm.

"You know I don't make the schedule, mon cher. You're lucky I'm giving you a peek at all," he harrumphed, putting the clipboard beside the computer on his counter. The lobby was bustling with bodies and voices of dozens of people, leaving and coming to work.

Arthur let his eyes dart behind Francis to the busty receptionist greeting a fellow coworker in a blue cotton suit. "Interoffice relations are quite difficult, what with equipment being broken in the fray. Equipment like a computer holding a filing database."

Francis bristled and put his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. I get the picture. Look at the schedule all you want, just don't say I showed it to you."

Arthur snickered and leaned against the oval counter. "I don't know how you stand working in here. It's too noisy."

"It's better than dealing with terrified souls leaking from almost every orifice," Francis countered, his nose crinkling in disgust.

"They're more honest than anyone in here could be," Arthur responded, watching businessmen and women alike flowing through the doors. He tapped his finger distractedly against the marble and pursed his lips. Bribing was going to be out, then.

"Say, Francis," Arthur started, casting his companion a sly leer. Francis looked up from his typing with a stare of scrutiny. "How hard would it be to alter the schedule?"

Francis continued to stare before he balked as the words sunk in. "You're out of your mind."

"If I could give you a day, could you get that brute Ivan a much needed day off, hm?"

Francis leaned in so close their noses nearly touched. Arthur didn't pull away, nor did he feel unnerved by the sudden seriousness on the blonde's face. When Francis spoke, it was a deathly whisper.

"So you really are planning on doing this again?" His words belied his anxiety.

"Doing what?"

Francis' eyes narrowed. "I advise you to rethink what you're doing. Spending time up there in that room is one thing, but are you actually planning on – Do you remember what happened last time?" Francis reminded, peering around the lobby cautiously. Arthur looked down and noticed moist handprints against the marble when Francis removed them to straighten his collar.

"Are you my mother?" Arthur smiled. Francis frowned at him. "Then belt up and tell me if you would do this for me or not."

Francis was silent a long moment before avoiding Arthur's gaze. "I won't," he quietly declared after a beat. Arthur shrugged, knowing Francis was a coward for these sorts of things in the end. Why would he risk his hide for a soul when he thought them no better than feral animals?

"That's all I needed to know. Thank you for the sneak preview. Have a nice evening."

Francis opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say, when Arthur pushed off the countertop and started heading for the exit.

"Arthur! Don't be that way."

Arthur merely waved over his shoulder and left the building, leaving his friend watching his retreating back with a lump in his throat and grimace on his face.

"I don't think I can walk today," Alfred admitted with a gasp as his weight pressed down to his feet. His legs felt like cooked spaghetti noodles and they wouldn't cooperate when Arthur attempted to guide him around the room. His skin was bruised and swollen, blotches of purples and reds littering his calves. The jeans were rolled up to his knees for Arthur to get a better look, but regardless, it still looked painful.

"You must try anyway. The sooner you can walk, the less I have to worry about," Arthur explained, his face scrunching up when he got a better grip on Alfred's torso. It was filthy. "You smell awful, lad."

"Au de miserable," Alfred offered with an eye-roll. He yelped as pain shot up his leg on the next step and nearly toppled to the ground. Without Arthur there, he surely would have.

"What was the game of the day?" Arthur asked, letting his eyes map out the corners of the room. He could feel Alfred's chest heaving against his side.

"P-play nutcracker with my l-legs as the nuts," Alfred muttered, gripping Arthur's arm tightly. A surge of nausea crashed into him and he shook his head. "Look – I gotta sit down," he said urgently, allowing Arthur to maneuver him to a wall. He put his head between his knees and gulped down air like he'd been under the surface of the ocean for much too long.

Arthur watched quietly, a hand on his hip. "I just don't see this working," he announced when Alfred seemed to calm down. It was like somehow the universe knew he was trying to do this – that it was against everything in his being as a citizen of Hell – and yet he still was trying to go through with it.

"Give me a minute," Alfred murmured, his head hung between his knees.

"You're going to need more than a minute," Arthur commented, green eyes running over the oil paintings that were Alfred's legs. "Walking exercises might be pointless at the moment."

"I'm sorry."

Arthur grinned and shook his head, pivoting his feet and walking to the sink. He filled a cup up with water and drenched a semi-clean washcloth in cool water. Alfred visibly relaxed when he draped it over one abused shin.

"You've ruined everything singlehandedly, mate. Foiled again," Arthur mocked, getting a small smile out of the blonde beside him, who nudged him with his elbow. "It's not your idea to get beaten and poked every day, so no need to apologize to me for it. Just try to force your way through the pain to the best of your abilities, that's all I can ask for."

Alfred nodded slowly and took a small gulp from the cup. He glanced at Arthur, sitting across from him in his suit pants and a white button-down with red and brown smears on one side.

"Who are they?"

Arthur's head bobbed up at the random question. He placed his elbow on his knee and propped his chin in his palm. "Who are who?"

Alfred spoke into the side of the cup. "Who are you talking to that are willing to do this?"

Arthur smiled lazily, his chin jolting up and down against his hand when he spoke. "His name is Ludwig."

"Ludwig , , ," Alfred parroted, setting his cup aside. "Is he, you know . . ." Arthur raised his eyebrow in amusement, making Alfred blow a puff of air out that rustled his bangs. "The opposite from you."

"Are you trying to ask me if he's a servant of Heaven?"

"Sure."

"Yes. The only one who's willing to speak to me without trying to melt my face off with that putrid water," admitted Arthur. "But I just think that's because his idiotic partner is overly trusting and persuaded him to be kind."

Alfred snorted and readjusted his legs with a hiss. "How do you talk to him? I don't see them coming down here, or you going up there, either. Do you guys, like, call each other's cell phones?"

Arthur chuckled. "Doesn't quite work that way. I meet him every now and then at a coffee shop." He watched as Alfred blinked owlishly at him, clearly confused.

"You guys . . . get coffee?"

"It's a ruse, of course. I don't much care for the drink, not do I have any sort of appetite whatsoever when I venture up above. It's a neutral zone where conducting these arrangements becomes easiest. It isn't like we can tell our bosses where we are or what we're doing." Arthur paused, rethinking that. "Well, my boss, anyway."

"Why is he doing it?"

"Isn't being an angel enough of a reason?" inquired Arthur. When Alfred didn't look convinced, he shrugged. "I think there may be a loophole with your sentencing."

Alfred perked up. "What kind of loophole?"

Arthur grinned and held up his palm where a gnarled, unshapely scar stared back at him from where he burned his hand in the box of fire on his desk from their first meeting. "Tell me, Alfred, are you a religious chap?"

It was taking much longer than planned, but Alfred's practices were starting to show signs of progress. His legs were strong enough to hold himself up by himself now, much to Arthur's delight; however, he could only stay upright for ten minutes before he became too winded and had to sit down. At the rate he was going there was a real possibility that his escape would be successful.

It was bittersweet, but Arthur chose to ignore the taste of bile at the back of his mouth and thought only of ridding Alfred's crying and screaming from his head for good.

His chest hurt, but he figured it was a nice hurt all the same.

One evening he ran into Ivan in the lobby. He simply smiled and carried on with the false discussions they usually partook in when in each other's company. But when they departed Arthur went home, only to return to the Black Room the next day to find Alfred's ankles swollen and bloodied. It appeared as though he'd been attacked by a wild animal.

Arthur furrowed his brow and tended to the new wounds, observing that their progress took five giant steps backward.

He didn't think he mentioned anything suspicious, but clearly he didn't give Ivan enough credit in how observant he could be.

On the day when he procured a spare suit and tie for Alfred's departure, he was practically biting his nails.

"Ten minutes isn't nearly enough time to do this. I doubt you could even manage that after that little fiasco with those fish hooks," Arthur disapprovingly announced one visit. He watched as Alfred leaned against the wall, his face sweaty and brow drawn in deep concentration. "Have your ankles recovered?"

Alfred looked away and shrugged.

Not a good answer.

"Well, evidently we have to postpone it again."

Alfred perked up. "Wh-what? Again? I'm- I'm good for it, Arthur. Look." Foolishly, Alfred held his own weight and hid his pain behind a pinched expression. Arthur could see through his act as if it were made of glass.

"Yes, you are a prodigy amongst commoners, lad. You can stand on your own two feet for all of five seconds before vomiting. I commend your talents," Arthur grinned sardonically, bitter about this situation.

"You just said we have to make it to your office and that's it. I can keep it together until then. I took acting when I was little," Alfred persisted, looking a little green around the gills as his legs gave way to tremors.

"Yes, yes, I read your file. But a clothing store Black Friday commercial when you were ten won't cut it, hm?" he commented, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms. He looked Alfred up and down before sighing and waving at him. "Do sit down. There's no reason to prove anything to me. You're just making yourself exhausted."

Alfred hesitated for a moment before conceding and hobbling over to his chair and plopping into the old wood with a groan. Arthur watched him rub at his bruised ankles thoughtfully.

"Let me explain something very basic to you, because I can see that spark in your eyes of defiance." Alfred stopped his ministrations and peered at Arthur through dirty bangs. "There are many variables that create a successful defection of Hell, and may I remind you that there have ever only been thirteen in the history of existence."

Arthur casually strolled over to the metal cart and began fiddling with a knife. "Firstly, you need to get out of your sentencing room, a task which is difficult in itself. You, however, are lucky to have caught my interest and have an all-access key at your whim." He turned around and grinned, patting his pocket where the key was. "Secondly, you need to make it to the Greeting Office. There is only one way in and out of Hell, and that is through my doors. Getting to the office will be difficult, considering there are thousands of employees registered in this building wandering aimlessly around. Not to mention my best mate is the lift attendant who never even leaves the building."

Alfred's posture slumped minutely, seeming a tad unsure about his previous charisma.

"And finally, unless you want to risk being a wayward soul risking getting caught on earth, you need a guide. I happened to snag you a couple of holier-than-thou servants of Heaven, both of which, I might add, can seldom be trusted. They are risking their hides to do this, so the reliability that you'll even have someone waiting for you on the other side of that door is uncertain. I can't reach them to communicate easily, so even I can't confirm if there has been a snag in the plan."

Alfred bit his lip and ran his hands through his hair. "So what are you saying exactly?"

"What I'm saying," Arthur murmured, setting the knife down, "is that this plan is doomed for failure." He watched as Alfred's face twisted into something sour and angry. It didn't suit his youthful visage at all.

Arthur made to stand beside Alfred and put a hand on his shoulder, urging his partner to look at him. "Unless we think out of the box."

Alfred paused for a long while before blinking owlishly at the smirking man.

"Out of . . . the box. How do we do that?"

"We take precautions. Right now we have a vehicle that looks marvelous on the outside, but the interior is rubbish." Arthur fiddled around in his pocket and pulled out a small box, tossing it into Alfred's hands. Alfred cautiously opened it and pulled out what looked like a large ring with a flat cross on the end.

"What's this?" he asked in confusion.

"An airbag."

Alfred frowned and ran his fingers over the gold edges, trying to digest Arthur's words as the Greeter began to snicker. When it clicked, his eyes widened and he watched Arthur with a sense of awe. "You didn't."

"Ah, but I did."

A smile began to creep up on Alfred's face, hilarity bubbling up from inside him. "This could help."

"I believe so," Arthur concurred, patting Alfred's head reassuringly.

"How long would branding someone with this work? I mean, I saw you just holding my necklace for a few minutes made you sick as a dog. If this was branded on their skin – I mean, wouldn't they die?" Alfred asked.

"Not quite. Short of ripping their own appendage off, they should just be incapacitated long enough to get you out."

"That's . . . really outside of the box."

"My point exactly," Arthur smiled. "Now do me a favor and get well enough to walk. I'm going to trust you won't lie to me and make arrangements for the next two weeks. If you can support yourself, we will do it."

Even as Alfred vigorously nodded and pretended to chase a displeased Arthur around the room with the cross, somewhere in the back of his mind Arthur felt confident. He felt fine, despite knowing that what he was and what he did for a living was the opposite of how he was acting. He was supposed to be vile but he somehow didn't feel that way.

For the first time in his life, he felt genuinely . . . happy.

He was happy.