A/N: I'm so sorry.

Gregory was finally at Damien's house and demanding some answers, demanding the truth Christophe was speaking of and what he felt was his right to know. He needed to know what it was that made him so ill, on top of all the other questions he had backed up about who Damien was and why he was here and why he seemed to hate him, but then care for him, never want to speak to him, but then seek him out and kiss him. He also wanted to know why his heart was beating so fast, and why he couldn't stop staring at Damien's magnificently sculpted face - it could barely be human for the sharp lines of pale glowing skin.

If felt weird here in this house, having Damien's scent all around him and looking into the confusing colour of those eyes. He wouldn't be here at all had it not been for the previous night. Something had clearly changed now, he still heard Damien's words ringing in his ears: '...don't worry, you're safe here, right now. You're safe to sleep.' He'd believed him and fallen back to sleep in Damien's arms, and it had been warm and comforting and... and he shouldn't be thinking like this. He held his shirt in his hands. Damien had returned it to him fresh from the dryer and it was still warm. He hadn't expected such a little thoughtful gesture as that.

There hadn't been much small talk, just a few questions about how he was feeling, and then onto the reason he'd felt that way.

"The wine was poisoned."

"That's rather slow acting poison."

Damien turned away. "It would seem so." His voice sounded like it held more knowledge about this situation, but wasn't willing to impart it. Damien continued: "Tell me, Blondie, because I'm interested. Do you know of anyone who would want you dead? ... You seem to attract danger."

Gregory shook his head and looked down at his clean shirt. What if it wasn't a thoughtful gesture? What if it was washed to get rid of evidence because something more had happened that he couldn't remember? Damien said it was covered in sweat and vomit but Gregory only had his word that there had been nothing else. "I'm stumped. I thought I'd killed everyone who wanted to kill me." He tried to gauge Damien's reaction at this confession. He figured Damien wouldn't be shocked to know he was a killer; he'd seen him handling Jack and his goons after all.

Damien just nodded. "Right."

"Do you know who it was? Who did it?"

Damien blinked. "No."

"But you know the wine was poisoned?"

"I worked it out after talking to Christophe."

"But last night you had no idea? You made me sick over that toilet when you didn't really know what was wrong with me?"

"I... I knew I had to get something out of you."

Gregory narrowed his eyes. Surely it wasn't that easy to get poison out of your body. And in the time it took for him to get from his to Damien's, the poison must have had a while to sink in and work. He remembered he felt like he was going to die. "There's no way I survived just by being sick."

This was when Damien looked him straight in the eyes with a very serious expression. "Do you believe in magic?"

Gregory scoffed at this ridiculous turn. "I'm not five. Magic has no place in reality, Damien. You can't tell me magic cured me."

Damien spoke gravely. "Then you'll never understand."

Gregory cocked his head. "No, go on, try me." He looked better now. He'd had a shower as Christophe had told him, washed his hair, which now fell in curls around his face. He was wearing fresh clothes of his own, not Damien's, but he hadn't returned Damien's shirt yet, something stopped him. He'd had another nap and then come over.

"If not in magic then do you believe there's a God?"

"So you're referring to ethereal magic? You're telling me that God cured me?"

"Well, if clearly you were meant to die from that poison then why didn't you? Maybe I am magic, maybe I have healing powers." Damien's voice was sarcastic but if Gregory stripped back the layers, he could get to the true emotion underneath and that one was serious. "How could I have these powers? Maybe I'm an angel, though it's much more likely I'm a demon... hell, I could be the Antichrist for all you knew."

"Do you really believe that the Antichrist is real?" Gregory rolled his eyes. "Because I don't. What did they say in Sunday School? He'll be a great peacemaker, the rider on the white horse, and then he'll show his true colours and start Armageddon. It's a bunch of bullshit."

"That certainly is. There's no white horse. The bible has that part wrong... though I guess I can make deceivingly good first impressions?" Damien shrugged his shoulders. "Hmm, I guess it does have some truth."

Gregory raised an eyebrow. "You're not seriously telling me you're the Antichrist?"

"Yes."

The atmosphere suddenly went tense as the two of them locked eyes. Gregory's head suddenly span with dizziness and all he saw before him was red - the red of Damien's lips, and something more... In that moment, Gregory dropped his shirt onto the floor and leaned in towards Damien, lips twitching and eyes glistening. He didn't know why he was doing it but he felt his heart rate increase the nearer they got. And as he got nearer he could feel more heat radiating from the man, reminding him of the night before and how he'd clung to Damien's body so desperately and how Damien had let him. He felt his breath hitch as they came together in a thank you kiss, one that only grazed over Damien's surprisingly soft lips.

Then Damien pushed him away.

"You don't want this."

Gregory growled. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" He had to feel those lips again, just had to. He had to know if this feeling was real and if what Damien was saying was true. This was the way...

"You and I can never happen. Now go."

It hurt to hear that. Damien was a messed up seemingly bi-polar and God knows what else guy and Gregory doubted why on earth he cared what the guy said. But it still hurt to hear that. Gregory knew it was ridiculous but he couldn't stop the itching in the back of his mind. Find out more about the Antichrist just to make super certain that Damien was not it. He couldn't believe he was even entertaining the idea. It was so ridiculous it would have made him laugh, if not for the fear if he was proven wrong...

"Fine, I'm gone. This is stupid anyway. Thanks for looking after me, but I'm fine now, and you are not the Antichrist." Gregory stood up and left the house, slamming the door before he'd had time to listen to anything else Damien had to say, any more rejections he may be given. He was halfway down the road before he'd released he'd left his shirt behind but he really couldn't care. Damien could have it. He would find out this man's secret and then he would never talk to him again.

Gregory was walking back through the town main street and back to his apartment when he ran into Stan. He'd just been at the cemetery complaining to Christophe about how pointless everything was and how he'd given up on caring about what was going on. This wasn't true - he was just venting, but Christophe seemed strangely pleased by it. He'd told Gregory to go home and rest and then blond had reluctantly agreed. Now he was standing outside Stan's garage and watching the man work - smudged with grease and holding a wrench? or something similar. Gregory wasn't very mechanical. The man had looked very happy and content until he'd noticed Gregory.

"What do you want?" he snapped, standing up. His general attitude was one of frustration, like Gregory was unnecessarily bothering him. Why? What had Gregory done just now apart from stand there?

"Please, Stanley, I was just walking past and thought I'd stop and appreciate your overalls." It wasn't exactly a lie. That blue did compliment Stan's ass extremely well. And who could deny just what a beautiful shape it was. Gregory walked closer to sit down on Stan's desk, and he surprisingly wasn't stopped. The man may look extremely annoyed with him but he wasn't intercepting his path.

"Right, of course."

"Can I ask you a question?" Gregory continued, looking down at his nails. Inside the garage, surrounded by all these tools and cars, with empty coffee-stained mugs lying on the desk, papers that hadn't been filed, posters and a fairly risqué calendar, Gregory felt what it was to be somewhere normal again. He realised that his life was definitely lacking in the 'normal'.

"That depends whether you want an answer or not," Stan grumbled, putting down his tool and folding his arms. He just stared at Gregory with a blank expression, waiting.

"When was the last time you did something that wasn't normal?"

Stan frowned. "What do you mean by normal?"

"Okay, let me put it another way. Have you been on any of those strange adventures or had anything happen to you which you wouldn't expect to be in your day-to-day life? Say perhaps a mysterious stranger talked to you? Or you found something in your house that shouldn't be there?"

Stan squinted his eyes and tilted his head. "Mysterious... I... well there was this incident a few years ago where Kyle got captured by terrorists who let all the animals free from the zoo because they claimed they were looking for this magic monkey or something. Apparently Kyle angered them because he'd been talking to a monkey about how he hated bananas - they were looking for a hostage and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it was just a massive distraction so that they could pose as animal control and get inside the White House. It was a weird plan; it had flaws."

"...Yes."

"So Kyle got captured. Kenny and I then stole this helicopter to go and save him. On the way we actually found the 'magic monkey' that wasn't supposed to be real. After that I developed a passion for flying."

Gregory blinked. "Your adventures make mine sound cold and heartless."

Stan rolled his eyes and turned back around to lean over the car and continue with however he was fixing it. "Yeah, well, yours are."

"Passion for flying?"

"Yeah, I took helicopter lessons and everything. I can fly when I want to."

"Impressive."

"Thanks."

"Do you remember the night we had sex?"

Stan all but hit his head on the hard metal of the car he was working on. He spun around and glared at Gregory, who now had his full attention. "No." He made a pained expression. "I was really drunk..."

"That's right, darling, and such good fun with it."

"I'm straight, Greg. You know it was a mistake."

Gregory grinned. "Mmmm, I'm not so sure. You were too into it to be straight."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Think whatever you want; it doesn't change the truth."

"The truth that you like boys... at least as well as girls." Yep, that was it. Stan's quiet reaction had shown Gregory that he'd got that right, in some way. Maybe it wasn't 'boys', maybe it was just 'boy'. Maybe Stan had only ever liked him, or maybe Stan had liked lots. Whatever, he was satisfied.

"You know Wendy's pregnant..."

Gregory wondered how long it had taken Stan, whether he'd figured out or she'd told him. He saw at that moment exactly what had been going on and grinned. "With?"

"A baby, Greg," replied Stan sarcastically. He averted eye contact and stared back into the car's engine. "Mine actually."

"Ha! Oh, Stanley Marsh of course it was you. How do you know it's yours?"

"Because we didn't... I mean, the one time we didn't use protection... it corresponds."

"Wow."

"She wasn't happy with him, but feared ending it. It was all a big mess." Stan clucked his tongue absently. "I guess... you sorted it all out, hey?" He gave Gregory another knowing look.

"He attacked me, Stanley. Now what else was I suppose to do?"

"Why did he attack you?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Maybe because of my past with We-" Gregory paused. "Wait a minute. Did he think I was having an affair with her?" He glared at Stan. "I swear to God, Stanley, if I almost died because of you then you're dead."

Stan raised his eyebrow. "When people make death threats I can usually tell they're jokes, but, Gregory, are you serious?"

Was he serious? Good question actually. Gregory was sure that some deep part of him would love to slowly twist a knife into Stan's heart and damn him for being... him. Stan Marsh, Gregory's first crush, and a stupid crush to have. Why? As well as the mysterious and intense, Gregory just loved anyone who opposed him. That other deep part of him would stop him from ever harming Stan. He may not still like him but you never forgot your first crush.

Gregory smirked at Stan, moving nearer to him. Stan watched Gregory cautiously but did nothing. It was only when Gregory moved even closer that Stan realised something wasn't quite right and by then it was too late, Gregory had pounced on him in a hug.

"I'm not going to kill you, Stanley," said Gregory, laughing.

Stan laughed nervously. "Greg, you're scaring me."

Gregory hugged Stan tighter and sighed. "Life is hard. My head is being messed around at the moment. I keep nearly dying. People are obviously keeping important secrets from me. I can just feel this big problem creeping up on me and I've been told something that if it's true... well..." Gregory had no idea where all his emotions and worries were coming from but he felt they were important. It dawned on him that rather than his life becoming boring by stopping, it was so much more complicated. "I just want a hug." Why the hell was he hugging Stan in such a needy way? He thought he was being pathetic but it was the truth.

He clung to Stan's tense body for a few more seconds before he let go.

Stan just stared at him and then shook his head. "Whatever."

Gregory smiled. "I think you'll make a good father." He sighed - the word that still made him feel disappointment. "I know you won't leave his side. You'll be there for your child as long as they need you. To stop your child growing into a murderer with a death wish himself? Someone who has no idea who he can trust. Just make sure he knows he can trust you forever."

"I could have a girl, Greg."

"He or she."

"Is that really how you see yourself?" Stan hesitantly rested a hand on Gregory's shoulder. "I thought you trusted Christophe?"

Gregory shook his head. "I thought I did as well. Now it feels like I can't trust anyone."

"Well, you can always trust God, dude. You're big on him, right? Me too and it can really help, you know, turning to the bible for guidance."

"What was that? The bible? The..." Gregory's eyes went wide and he stared into Stan's blue ones, an idea in his head, a very good idea. "That's not a bad idea! The bible would hold my answers if he's being serious. It actually has the answer written in it. Oh thank you!"

Gregory was flicking through a thick leather pristine bible as Christophe walked through the door. He was called out for and replied that he was in the kitchen. Christophe stormed into the room, as he usually did, glancing around to check all the points of access, finding out in the few split seconds exactly which entrances were open if an intruder decided to appear. The answer, as always, was none. He relaxed his stance, sweeping over to Gregory's side to peer over his shoulder.

Gregory could sense a scowl even with his back turned. "Ze fuck are you reading zat faggot's book for?"

Gregory continued turning the pages of his bible, cheek resting on one of his hands. "Good evening to you too, Tophe. Thank you for offending my religion, any more jibes?" He stood up to face Christophe, smiling nonchalantly, not following through with his eyes which were still glued to the page.

Christophe raised an eyebrow. "I don't like you're trousers, zey're too tight, everyone can see your ass." He laughed as all Gregory did was nod in agreement, definitely not properly listening. "You insist on changing my bed sheets even when zey don't concern you. And you spend too long in ze bathroom, 'ow many times to you reense and repeat?"

Gregory finally lifted his eyes off the page, smirking at Christophe. "Three and then I condition."

"You're so gay, zat's too many times. You use up all ze shampoo."

"Mhmm."

"How are you feeling?"

Gregory dropped his eyes back down. "Good." He was thinking hard, thinking of the best way to ask Christophe about a religious matter. It was definitely a good idea to stay on his good side, and he seemed in a fairly good mood. Perhaps he'd topped his target for most dirt shovelled in a day. "Tophe, do you know anything about the antichrist?"

"Do you theenk I'd intentionally study ze bible?" He rubbed his head. "I know a few things... why?"

Gregory took a deep breath. It was time to share his theory, time to tell Tophe the thought that had been consuming his mind all day. He wasn't sure he wanted to be agreed with, if anything he wanted to be told he was talking shit. "I've been reading about him."

"Why?" mumbled Christophe as he stalked over to the fridge and poured himself a drink- apple juice, the guy loved the stuff.

"Just work with me for a moment." Another way of saying, don't storm off and mutter about how much you hate all things religious. "The prophet Daniel wrote that the antichrist 'does not regard the desire of women,'" started Gregory, scanning the page, although he had it memorised.

Christophe took and long sip of apple juice, letting out a satisfied sigh. "So, 'e ees a faggot?"

Though this would be the truth, Gregory could not simply agree. Christophe would expect him to give all the possibilities, merely agreeing would pose questions about how he could be so sure. Christophe was the one that made the sweeping statement, always to be followed by Gregory giving all the logical explanations, proving the statement either right or wrong. In this case he just gave another option. "Possibly, or maybe he's just celibate." Gregory scolded himself as the hormonal side of him whispered: 'hopefully not.' He flipped a couple of pages to where he'd marked another passage with a sticky note. "Daniel also tells us that he will have a fierce countenance or stern look."

Christophe narrowed his eyes. "Daniel's a faggot zat needs to get a life. And so do you, why are you suddenly so obsessed wiz ze Antichrist?"

Gregory also narrowed his eyes. He needed Christophe to give a more enthusiastic response. Because Christophe knew something he wasn't letting on and Gregory was intent on tricking it out of him. "Apparently he will also be 'more stout than his fellows.'"

"'E'll be fat?"

"No, in those times they'll have meant he'll be proud and boastful."

"A faggot, stern, proud... sounds like ze Antichrist ees you, mon ami."

Gregory scowled. "I'm serious, Tophe. This all fits into place." The final proof, it had to be. He thought of desperately pale skin, strange eyes; the killing and vicious, ferocious looks and then the equally heart-melting seductive ones: they all added up to something. He remembered the healing feeling that had spread through him that night; it had to be some kind of magic. Poison didn't leave the system as easily as throwing it all up, not when it got into the blood. It was true; he'd been telling the truth when he said it was magic.

"For what? Why 'av I come 'ome, expecting some peace and I am instead roped in to you talking about matters to do wiz zat cock-sucking God and ze imaginary Antichrist. You should just drop eet. Let's go... watch an 'orror film or something."

It was so clear how insistent Christophe was to get off the topic. What. Did. He. Know. Gregory decided to drop the D-word. "Well here's horror for you. I think- I think that Damien's the Antichri-"

Anything else the blond man had to say was cut short. Suddenly Gregory felt in charge of his body no more as Christophe slammed a hand over Gregory's mouth, pushing him back firmly and growled. "Don't ever say zat out loud again. Do you understand?" Gregory was pressed against the wall, his defensive instincts having never kicked in. Pain shot down his spine as he realised his head had hit the wall. He groaned, blinking rapidly, staring at Christophe, unable to fight back.

Christophe looked appalled with himself as he released Gregory with rapid speed, taking the blond's face in his hands instead. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, kissing Gregory's cheek. "But you mustn't say zat."

Gregory coughed and pushed Christophe away in anger. He knew that the kiss meant he was sorry, that he had to do it and he didn't mean to cause harm. He knew that Christophe would have had a good reason but it wasn't enough at that moment, Gregory was too angry at that moment to allow himself to kiss Christophe back; a kiss that would say everything was forgiven. Everything was not forgiven. "Why can't I say it?"

"Because," whispered Christophe, pressing his lips to Gregory's ear. "Eef you say zat 'e will 'ear you and 'e will leesten een."

Gregory pressed his own lips to Christophe's ear in return. "So, you're saying that I have it right?"

"Oui."

His insides twisted. "And you'll tell me more?"

Christophe grunted. "Eh, I don't know much more zan zat. Only zat 'e ees indeed what you say 'e ees, zat ees ze son of Lucifer and zat you need to stay away from 'im."

For whatever ridiculous reason, whatever ridiculous feeling that was trying to make itself known, Gregory did not like the sound of that. He tilted his head to one side. "Why?"

"Because, 'e's trouble and 'e doesn't care 'oo 'e keels, and I don't want to see you 'urt. I'm sorry I didn't tell you but... I didn't want to see you getting hurt. I just... I know zat you'd want to explore zis thing further."

"Of course. You had no right to keep this from me." But Gregory wasn't mad. He didn't have the time or energy to be mad at Christophe too. He just accepted that there were secrets everywhere he turned and that this wouldn't be over until something had happened with Damien. He didn't know what that something was but he could feel it approaching, and it was unstoppable. Was he supposed to do something or did he have to wait? But if he waited would he get poisoned again? And was that poisoning linked to the fact Damien was the Antichrist? And why was the Antichrist here?

He needed answers.

"Now you know ze truth about 'oo 'e ees, you 'av no reason to go near 'im, oui?"

Gregory gazed into Christophe's eyes. There was something else, there had to be. What reason would Damien have for going after him? His mind flicked back to Saint Louis. You don't 'av to. Is it him...? But, Damien had said that he'd got the wrong person. Gregory's mind yelled at him. He was lying, you idiot. Open your eyes. There's something else. But another part of his head screamed back. Then why did he help me the other night?

"Gregory, are you going to stay away from him?" Christophe urged.

Gregory continued staring. "... Yes, Tophe... I'm going to stay away from the... the Antichrist." Gregory's tone was soft but he felt guilty for lying. He swallowed thickly.

"Good, mon ami, because I don't trust anyone zat's ever tried to keel you, even eef 'e says 'e 'ad eet wrong."

Oh God, Tophe trusted him though and that made him feel sick.

Could neither of them trust the other anymore?