Alfred assumed that was it. He gave the child his gift, Arthur would be happy, and the book would close on that little adventure. For the following year, the King of Hell went back to pushing papers, keeping everything in line, and occasionally stretching his wings and taking a quick sweep around his kingdom, reveling in the heat that was natural in the deep pits of Hell.

And then, a week before Christmas, a new messenger slunk into his office and delivered him a letter. The same address was written on the envelope, and inside was a new, much cleaner letter from Arthur. There were no decorative stickers, the handwriting was much neater, but in the corner was a little sketch of a little frowny face with puffed cheeks and a pair of horns on the top of its head. It made Alfred smile—it showed that the seven year old had grown, not only physically, but mentally as well.

Dear Alfred,

Mum said to write to Santa but I wanted to write to you. Helen is nice! She keeps the meen kids a way from me. I hope things are OK for you were you are. Thank you for Helen!

Love,

Arthur

Alfred raised his brow, dismissing the messenger. He read over the letter again, mouthing the words as he read. It was hard for him to not be curious, as he had assumed that Arthur would forget about him and Helen would wander back to the sixth circle where he found her.

But no, the little seven year old had remembered him and purposefully wrote back. This was… unprecedented, to say the least. A child misspelling Santa as Satan probably happened all the time. A spy being stupid enough to deliver it and then the unfeeling fallen angel acting upon the child's wish was a one-time affair. A boy of seven, maintaining contact with the devil with no ill intentions or ulterior motives, well…

If it weren't for the fact that he ran the whole underworld since his fall, then Alfred would say that he'd have been damned for what he was about to do. Running his fingers through his hair, Alfred took a pen and a lined piece of paper, and began to write.

Dear Arthur,

I hope you still wrote to Santa. The old man doesn't like me all that much, and the feeling is mutual. At the very least, keep up with your studies at home.

It's reassuring to hear that Helen has been pleasant. At the same time, I hope that those mean kids got what they deserved. You are to pure a child to be tormented by them.

From,

Alfred.

The letters continued, back and forth, for three years. Alfred watched as the young boy grew to a proud ten year old, and they slowly learned more about each other through the growing letters (well, as much as Alfred was willing to tell Arthur about himself. The boy could never truly know he was the Devil).

Arthur, as of the latest letter, was in the fifth grade. He had three older siblings, two brothers and one sister, with the eldest in his freshman year of college. He loved anything mythological, but didn't really care for religion in general. His favorite subjects in school were English and History, his least favorite was Science, and his birthday was on March 23rd.

Arthur learned, in the simplest terms and not letting too much slip through his tongue and cheek letters, that Alfred worked a very busy job where he could rarely catch a break. He was in charge of many people, and a representative that had visited the boy's house had seen the letter addressed to his boss and that was how their little relationship was born. He learned that Alfred's birthday was July 4th, and the Devil had simply said the first date to come to mind because, hey, the kid asked, and he never really had a birthday to begin with.

But still, Alfred thought as he flew over Hell, Arthur's tenth birthday was coming up, and he might as well think up something to celebrate. It wasn't a normal thing for a Demon to celebrate, as the moment they're brought into the world, their life is filled with work or tormenting others. There was no need to keep track of how old you were, because it was an unnecessary number to keep track of. What difference would it make if you died at two, or twelve, or twenty? You did your work, you added sin to the perfect little world that God made, and then you died. Simple as that.

But humans had a weird fascination with the day they were brought into the world. They kept track, they had parties, they gave gifts to the person who grew older, and all in all, it was an odd tradition.

Still, Alfred had broken the traditional Christmas by giving Arthur a hellhound. He could just as easily break this one, too.

March 22nd came and was soon to pass, and Alfred glided through the skies above Arthur's neighborhood. Once again, it took him a fair amount of time to find his house among the hundreds that filled the suburban neighborhood, but at the very least it was much warmer than when he came in December. Not only that, but there weren't any god-awful decorations that lit up the streets in the middle of the night, and the holly-jolly feeling that came with the holidays had dissipated completely.

Thank fuck for that.

Entering through the Kirkland's 'gap,' Alfred slowly moved through the house. It looked different, to say the least. The lack of the Christmas tree and general decorations hung up through the halls showed that, yes, this house could look normal sometimes. The walls that lacked tinsel were a beige color and had a few family photographs, some having a tall boy with red hair while some didn't. The kitchen had a nice granite counter, a fancy refrigerator, and there wasn't an annoying Santa figure standing in the corner by the microwave.

All in all, it was a pretty damn nice house. Alfred could imagine camping out here for a year if it weren't for the fact that, in every other hall, there was a cross hung on the wall. They didn't completely repel him, but they gave him an annoying eye twitch. In fact, Arthur's room was possibly the furthest point between two crosses, which explained why the spy had seen the letter. His room was the least irritating to stay in.

Arthur had clearly grown over the years. His door was still decorated with stickers, and there were glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, some with strings connecting them to represent constellations. The night light was gone, and instead there was a charger for a handheld game system in its place. Arthur's bed sheets hadn't changed and, if he opened up the bottom drawer at his desk on the wall by the window, there was a small collection of his letters.

On the wall was analog clock that read 11:59, nearly midnight. Alfred grinned and rubbed his hands together, stretching out his wings as he stood by Arthur's side. It was a Saturday, or, rather, it would be Saturday in less than a minute, so he had plenty of time before Arthur was forcibly woken up or wake up of his own volition to pull off his gift.

Looking around, Alfred decided to sit against the wall before lowly chanting a spell, his magic weaving around him and Arthur's sleeping form. The Demon's body slowly began to flicker and turn into a black mist, which moved towards the boy and entered through his mouth and nose, settling in his lungs before spreading through his body. The clock ticked over, March 23rd greeting the Kirkland household, and Arthur shuddered in his sleep as the spell activated.

"I will fight you all!" Alfred's eyes snapped open, body tensing as he spread his wings and prepared to take to the sky.

He broke out into laughter when he saw what was in front of him. It was a scene straight out of a fantasy novel: thousands of men riding horses clashed in a major battle, clashing with swords and shooting off arrows chaotically. In the center of the battle was Arthur, his horse rearing on its back legs as the ten year old—who had changed to be far, far older in his dream—pointed his sword at the opposing side. "All of you will fall by my hand!"

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Alfred pushed off the ground and flew over the knights, smiling as he heard the shocked cries beneath him before he dived at Arthur, picking him up before skyrocketing. Arthur let out a shriek, flailing in his grip as he saw the battlefield shrink beneath him and the feeling of his stomach dropping as he was pulled up, up, up, and then they leveled out, just barely skimming the clouds. Growling, Arthur swung his fists around, getting a good thump or two on Alfred, but nothing too serious.

The Demon laughed, leaning close to Arthur's ear, whispering, "Guess who?"

The ten year old paused and squirmed, trying to turn around to face his captor. "Alfred?" Chuckling, Alfred's grip tightened as he turned Arthur around, watching as a massive grin broke out across his face and to nearly be choked out as the human wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck in a tight hug. "Alfred! How're you here, I thought you said you couldn't visit?"

"Normally, no, not in the flesh, but this—" Alfred gestured to the sky and ground as he began to slowly descend, heading to a small clearing. "—is a dream."

"I'm dreaming?" Arthur murmured, his grin falling into a pout. "So none of this is happening?"

"No, this is happening. I entered your dreams because today is your birthday and, I figured that if I couldn't visit you in real life, then I could visit you here and give you a gift."

"Like Helen?"

"Well, sort of." Alfred touched down, gently placing Arthur onto the ground as he sauntered into the center of the clearing. He cracked his neck, spreading his arms and wings out and letting his magic flow through the area. The grass rose, like it had been startled out of sleep, and then curled and darkened. The trees shuddered before the bark changed from a crisp brown to charcoal-black, their leaves falling off their branches and burning into embers which danced through the air. The sky flickered and submitted to Alfred's will, turning from a cheery blue to a bloody red.

Turning his head, the Demon expected Arthur to have been trembling, scared out of his mind at the sudden, demonic change. Instead, the human was turning around constantly, watching slack-jawed and in awe at the transformations occurring around him.

Arthur was the oddest kid Alfred ever had the chance of meeting, and it was a nice change of pace.

Letting his plan continue, the sky bled from red to black, a myriad of stars twinkling into existence and lighting up the clearing. The embers bunched together and formed small, fairy-like creatures that danced around Alfred and Arthur, whispering and giggling as they danced in the sky. Arthur breathed a sharp gasp and slowly reached out his hand, allowing one of the fairies land in his palm. "…It doesn't burn."

"No, because this is a dream," Alfred said, moving back to the birthday boy and crouching so that they were eye-level. "If it weren't, then it would burn a bit, like if you put your hand on a lightbulb that's been on for a while."

There was a long stretch of silence where Arthur was just looking at everything he could: the beautiful sky, the Ember Fairies, Alfred's glowing eyes and oily black wings, but it was broken with a quiet statement. "You're not a businessman."

Alfred sighed. "No. No I'm not."

"Can you tell me what you are, then? I'd like to know that, for my birthday, please?"

Alfred sighed again and turned around, sitting down on the ground and letting the tension in his body out before falling to the ground. Arthur looked down and cautiously sat next to the Demon, seeing how the other would react if he lay down on his wing. Alfred didn't react, so he curled down and stared up at the night sky.

It was silent, only the sweet nothings of the Ember Fairies filled the air. Eventually Alfred turned his head to Arthur, who had nearly fallen asleep resting against his wing. "I'm a Fallen Angel."

Arthur snapped awake. "Oh? Don't Angels have white wings, though?"

"Those are normal Angels. I'm a Fallen Angel, so mine are black. Plus, I get the cool tail and horns with the color job."

"But… I thought there was only one Fallen Angel."

Alfred grinned, his eyes burning and his fangs shining in the Ember Fairies' glow. "Exactly."

And it was at that moment that Arthur's older sister jumped on his bed, shouting, "Happy birthday!" as she startled her little brother awake.