When Samael emerged into the pale light of dawn, he found himself surrounded by an army of tall trees, their trunks dark in the new light, and underfoot a carpet of soft brown needles over moss and scattered stone.

The transition was so jarring, he turned back to the tunnel entrance...

...and found no entrance.

A couple of staggered steps backwards did not cause the opening to reveal itself - he saw only more of the same: trees, moss, rocks.

And then two humans sitting next to a fire, their backs turned to him, about a hundred feet away.

He wavered on his feet, blinking thoughtfully, then turned in place once more, before finally focusing on the humans again.

A breeze swept to him from their direction, and his mouth suddenly flooded.

The humans were cooking something as they chatted back and forth over the fire.

Whatever they were cooking smelled divine.

Hunger steadied his step and he walked closer, studying the men as he neared. One was heavy, one thin - both were in black long-sleeved tops and pants, hunched over their plates. Nearby lay a mound of material - more clothing, bags of some sort, and propped against them, long metal rods.

Smiling, he walked up to and between the two men, reaching to the metal lattice they had over the fire, intending to pull some of the wonderful things cooking there to his mouth.

But he yelled out, yanking his hand back, as the men made shouts of their own.

The fire had burned him.

"OH MY GOD!" one of the men yelled behind him. "ART! He's HERE!"

"I'm not BLIND, Steve, JESUS! The wings are right in my FACE!"

Samael turned to face them, cradling his hand.

The men stood a few feet back, their faces wide with shock. The tall one still held a plate, but the other man's had fallen, and the meal lay a mess at Samael's feet.

Frowning, he picked up the plate and held it out to the larger man.

"I would like food," he said, in their language, liking the way the soft sounds mingled with the firmer ones and the overall cadence of the speech.

It was quite different from the very first people's language, which had been closer to the Guardian's in truth. This language was smoother, more distinctively patterned, and much more expressively nuanced.

He smiled.

"Now."

The large man appeared frozen, but the tall one - Art - held out his own plate with both hands to Samael, bowing awkwardly.

Staring down at it, Samael's smile fell. "Why would I eat the cold remains of your meal?"

He looked again to the larger man.

"Steve, yes?"

A small, odd noise left the man named Steve.

"It knows my name, Art," the man whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"It?" Samael said, frowning between them, before pressing the plate forward more pointedly. "Steve, you will now put food on this plate for me. You will do so quickly."

"Yes I will," the man squeaked, and taking the plate from him with shaking hands, quickly set to filling it with food from the fire. A translucent green bag, marked with Family Market in friendly black lettering, lay nearby. The bag held his attention, but he did not know why.

"Sir, mister, uh, angel, sir, we're really sorry that, ah..."

Samael turned back to the man named Art, stilling the strange idiot's mangled speech. "For?"

"For... um..." The man gestured vaguely about his head. "The... you know..."

A full plate of food was thrust into Samael's hands, followed swiftly by a metal implement that looked like a ladle with tines.

Samael grinned at Steve, who retreated while bobbing oddly.

"Perfect."

He quickly shoveled the... eggs? his mind offered, into his mouth. It burned a little, but he did not care.

Carefully lifting his wings he set himself down in the chair the large one had used.

And swiftly he devoured the eggs, dragging the odd utensil through the yolk left over and drawing it over his tongue, before stabbing at the potatoes, dabbing them into the same, and spooning them off the plate and into his mouth.

"Jesus. Angel can eat."

"That's his food, Steve, let him."

Licking his lips happily, Samael grabbed a piece of the meat - bacon? - and happily nibbled it as his gaze swept the site.

"Drink," he said, expectantly. Then a new word popped into his mind. He wasn't sure what it meant, but it sounded good.

"Scotch?"

The tall one - Art - folded his hands and stepped closer. "Uh, we don't have any hard liquor, sir, sorry. We do have beer?"

"Art," Steve whined. "That's my last can!"

Pointing at Samael intently, Art spoke in a forced whisper, "Angel!"

"Ha!" The large man moved to a colorful container and opened it to retrieve something inside. "You do believe!"

A metal can landed in Samael's hand shortly after as he chewed on another piece of the most incredible bacon. Holding the piece up to his audience, he smiled. "I like this very much. Thank you."

Art nudged Steve in the arm. "Cook more."

Samael nodded his approval and folded his wings forward so he could lean back in the chair. His hands and fingers seemed to move on their own to the can he was holding - pulling back the metal tab for reasons he did not understand. There was a loud popping noise, and a strange froth poured from the top.

Curious, he lapped some of it up.

It was lukewarm and bitter.

Grimacing, he shifted the can over the ground and dropped it.

"Awful."

"Aww, man!" Steve shouted from the fire. He ran over to pick the can up, busy gurgling its contents onto the forest floor. "You don't waste Dogfish, man!"

Samael glared at him. "My name is Samael, human. Not 'man'. Nor 'it'."

Noticeably paler, Steve nodded furiously before returning to the fire.

Art spoke up then, shuffling his chair closer to sit nearby.

"So, you're an actual angel?"

Chewing on another piece of bacon, Samael nodded.

"Then... God's real?"

The meal's flavor lessened somewhat, and he frowned at Art. "My Father is indeed real. I do not wish to speak further of Him."

Art leaned back against his chair. "Right. No God talk, got it."

"What about... Jesus?" Steve asked from the fire, his brow wet.

"Jesus?" Samael asked, holding his plate out for more bacon. "I know of no Jesus."

"Whoa," Art said softly, before gawking at his friend. "Jesus was a fake!"

Steve glared at him. "Was not." He turned to Samael then. "How can you say that? He's supposed to be God's son?"

Samael shook his empty plate at the man with a sigh. "I am God's son. None of my multitude of siblings is called Jesus. What is he known for?"

Art shrugged, digging into his now cold food. "Healing the sick. Talking about God a lot. Telling people not to be dicks."

Samael snorted. "Sounds like a wayward sibling. Probably Raphael slumming it."

Steve's mouth fell open.

"Raphael? He's real?"

Frowning, Samael pressed his empty plate into the man's gut. "If I am real, why would Raphael not be? Or Gabriel for that matter? Amenadiel, Nuriel..." He sagged back against the chair with a sigh. "Curse them all."

Taking the plate, Steve bent over the fire again, frowning.

"Why would an angel curse other angels?" the man finally asked.

Yawning, Samael rested his head on his hand. "Because they cast me out of heaven."

Art raised an eyebrow.

Steve grew suddenly very still.

"Cast you out?" Art asked. "What's that mean?"

Steve made rapid movements across his throat while taking very deliberate steps away.

Frowning, Samael held out his hand for the plate the man was walking away with. "Where are you going with my bacon?"

"Oh my god oh my god ohmygodrun," Steve said in a panicked rush, dropping the plate to the ground.

"What?" Art said back, lifting part way out of his chair.

With an irritated sigh, Samael stood. It was a little too quickly, and he had to grab the chair to steady himself.

"Allenfay angelay," Steven muttered through gritted teeth, staring pointedly at Samael, who'd just reached the pile of bacon on the ground.

"What are you babbling on about, weirdo?"

When he bent to pick it up, Samael was swamped with dizziness.

He fell to his knees.

Art jerked forward, leaning over to help him up. "Whoa, you okay there Sam?"

Frustrated at his own weakness, and greatly irritated by the mangled use of his name, Samael looked up at the man with eyes aflame.

"My name is Samael, human. You would be wise to say it properly."

A few things happened very quickly.

Steve screamed and jumped behind Art. Art jerked back, knocked his friend over, and promptly fell on top of him.

And Samael laughed, pointing at the thrashing pile as he chewed on another piece of reclaimed bacon.

"Do that again."

"HE'S A FALLEN ANGEL!" Steve roared, scrambling out from under his backpedaling friend, over to the pile of gear behind the chairs. "THAT'S WHY HE'S A DICK!"

Samael frowned thoughtfully through his meal.

"Did you just call me a penis?"

The thin one followed after his friend, using his elbows to crawl at speed along the ground.

It was all so incredibly amusing.

Samael sat back on his legs on the ground, the tips of his wings trailing on behind him, devouring the bacon as the two men struggled over the metal rods.

"I have a penis, you know. I have used it before. It felt fantastic."

Frowning thoughtfully, he pushed himself from the ground, much more slowly this time. Wincing, he grasped his head as the two men stood to their feet. "Do you enjoy sex? We could have sex, if you are both interested."

He smiled then, as the men leveled the metal rods towards him.

"I am quite good, I assure you."

"He's a perv, Art!" Steve spat at his friend, his eye firmly fixed along the metal rod. "The fallen angel is a perv!"

Samael frowned.

"Do you mean... pervert? That is an interesting word. No, I am not a pervert. I simply enjoy the act of sex. Do you not?"

"Do we shoot him, Art?"

Art was frowning. He lowered the gun slightly. "He's standing there eating bacon, Steve, and talking about sex. I don't think he remembers us either. I think you scrambled his brain when you shot him before."

Chewing the last piece of bacon in his hand, Samael tried to grasp what they were saying. This talk of shooting, and having shot him?

Guns his mind offered helpfully again, finally labeling the rods in the men's hands.

"Are those guns?" he said, quite happy with his deduction.

Wait...

Shot 'him'?

The smile flattened and he gestured at his temple. "Are you the ones responsible for this?"

"Oh, God, he's gunna kill us, Art! He's a fallen angel! Like the devil!"

Samael blinked.

the devil

His head throbbed wickedly as his mind stuttered over the word.

Gasping, he cradled his temples as his eyes burst into fiery life once more.

Devil?

That is... I... was...

"LUCIFER!"

He raised his burning eyes to face the two men and slowly turned towards the shout.

That voice...

He knew that voice...

"He IS THE DEVIL!" came Steve's cry behind him.

And the air cracked in protest as the men opened fire.


Sorry about the wait on this chapter. Lots of wee edits.

So... things are about to get dark.

If you're enjoying the story, I hope you'll leave a comment :) Thanks to everyone who has!