Another two weeks passed, and each day had a new letter from Arthur. They were incessant, demanding for answers and explanations of what Alfred could do, but each time he had to decline. It wasn't a nice thing, especially since the boy was just curious (and it was partially his fault, but the Demon ignored that little fact), but just telling him that he's a Fallen Angel was enough. He had to deny each question, or dodge it, or deflect it, or flat out ignore it.
Eventually, the questions died down, and it was back to their normal routine of telling each other about their days. Occasionally, Alfred would mention something to the effect of "There was a stray one from the First Circle, so most of my day was spent tracking them down before they were destroyed," or "Some of these underlings simply think that they're Kings of the world, swear it on my Father," and Arthur would ask for clarification. He would explain it in the simplest terms possible, but it was clear that it was difficult for Arthur to fully comprehend the concepts.
He couldn't blame him. The boy was only ten, he wasn't a religious a child in the first place, and even then humans didn't really understand how Hell worked in the first place. The circles were correct, though the ninth circle was slightly warm to the point where a demon wouldn't freeze to death if they had to go down for whatever reason. They didn't get anything down about how spies or servants worked, but that was probably for the better because Angels read that shit damn-near daily and the last thing that Alfred needed was his Father to know how he ran things down under—literally.
But then, after two weeks, there was nothing. No new letters, no signs of life from the boy, and it was worrying, to say the least. None of his prior letters had indicated at any illness, and it was the beginning of April, so there was no reason for him to go away for some activity where he couldn't write a letter for two weeks. Even if he was sick, it wasn't reassuring that it had lasted two weeks and made him weak enough to where he can't write.
Before he even knew it, he was through the gap and inside Arthur's room, panting from exertion.
The room was spotless, completely freaking spotless. The bed was made, everything was dusted and organized to where it was far, far too unnatural for a ten year old's room, his backpack laid abandoned in the corner of the room, his phone was left on his desk, and his hamper was empty. He clearly wasn't at school, or away from the house, because he would have brought his phone and backpack with him. But that only left the question of where he was, and so far, there were no hints.
Until he heard shouting.
"I'm comin' sis!" Alfred jumped, his tail flicking in response to the sudden loud noise. Breathing out, he peeked his head through the wall, activating his intangibility powers that were innate in all demons as he looked for the source. At the top of the staircase was a rather tall man, probably taller than Alfred, with a shade of red hair that was startlingly familiar.
Ah, right. This was the man in the family photos downstairs.
"Hurry up Alasdair!" From the first floor came a rather feminine girl, clearly younger than her brother. Her ginger hair was tied back in a braid, hazel eyes darkened as she shouted up the stairs. "Mum's started the car already, and she's going to leave you behind if you don't move your arse. Visiting hours end at twelve on Sundays, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm movin' my arse Daimhin. Also, don't let Mam hear that foul mouth of yours. You'll give her a bloomin' heart attack." Alasdair replied, going down the stairs and playfully smacked the back of Daimhin's head, trying to lighten the mood. Alfred frowned—demons and most other hellish creatures reveled in negative emotions, but this felt so oppressive and wrong that it was hard for him to feel like he was getting a 'meal.'
Feeling a horrible twist in his gut, Alfred waited atop the house for the Kirkland family minus Arthur to leave. Seeing their car reverse out of the driveway, the demon spread his wings and took flight, following the car from the sky and occasionally ducking down to hear anything they were talking about, which wasn't much. The three in the car—Alasdair, Daimhin, a boy with shaggy ginger hair, and their mother—were near-silent, only asking if the radio could be turned on, or lowered, or turned off all together.
It was far, far too somber, and there still wasn't any sign of Arthur.
Alfred did not like this.
He liked even less when the car made a sharp right in the city, pulling into a large parking lot, and then turning off as the family exited the car. To the left of their parking space was a mausoleum that Alfred had visited, along with other demons of varying ranks, so many times he had lost count, across the entire planet. Each one named differently, but all serving the same purpose, for humans and demons alike: the former to seek the sanctions of life, and the demons to sink their teeth into a nice, juicy meal for something so meager in their eyes.
The Kirkland family had entered a hospital.
It occurred to Alfred, as he raced frantically through the halls of the hospital, that he had formed an attachment to Arthur Kirkland. That was certainly not planned, and he certainly shouldn't care as much as he did, but attachments tended to do that to you.
Attachments were hard to explain. Normally, this happened with ghosts: ghouls, poltergeists, spirits without a body. They get addicted to the life energy given off by a human or some other being that still had a heartbeat, a soul, or a working brain. It was like being addicted to heroin—if you didn't get enough of it, then you would feel an incredible amount of pain and would require more. Demon attachment was somewhat different. Perhaps they got addicted to the energy the soul gave off, but they don't drain it forcibly from the being. Instead, they actively seek out a deal, and if it already exists, they stretch it out as much as possible, letting the soul fester and darken deliciously with sin before taking it and devouring it for energy. The finest raw souls make the most amazing meals after a demonic presence wore down on them.
Personally, Alfred had never had to experience that, he'd never been a ghost, but he'd have to think that this was probably the closest he would ever get to experiencing it. He was irrational, it felt like his stomach was doing loops, his mind was running in loops frantically all concerning Arthur (he'll be okay it's just a broken bone it's nothing bad he hasn't been attacked Helen would have protected him fuck fuck fuck Father I don't ask for much but don't let him be dead don't let him be dead) and he had to forcibly stop himself for a moment and duck into a bathroom to reign in his powers before he destroyed the floor of the hospital.
He breathed in, and out, and then in again, and cast out his sense. He felt for Arthur or Helen, something familiar, and did in fact find the latter, but nothing of Arthur. Panic rose, choking him slowly, as it rose and spread through his chest, before he forcibly stomped it down and shot through the various floors of the hospital until he reached the thirteenth. He felt his claws dig into the palms of his hands as he searched for Arthur's room.
The sound of his mother sobbing made it, unfortunately, easy to find.
Arthur was hooked up to a variety of devices, wires and needles poking through his skin, a breathing mask over his mouth with an oxygen tank standing against the wall on the side of the bed. His family was gathered around his bed, a doctor ribbing at the bridge of his nose as he stared at the clipboard in his hand. Helen stood guard on the inside of the door, resting on her haunches once Alfred entered. Arthur's mother let out a choked noise as tears ran down her face, and Daimhin was trying to comfort her while holding in her tears.
"You're sure there was nothing, absolutely nothing, on your scans?" The shaggy-haired boy asked, sitting down in one of the chairs against the wall of the room. Alasdair stared down at his brother blankly, almost like he was mentally urging his youngest brother to wake up.
"No, I'm sorry." The doctor flipped through the papers on his clipboard. "Nothing on the MRI, nothing on the CAT scan, blood test came back normal, and nothing was picked up on the sonogram of his vital organs. By all means, he's perfectly healthy, but his heart rate keeps dropping and his brain activity is barely perceptible on our machines. He… If your brother doesn't recover within the week, it's very likely that he'll die."
"Bullshit." Alasdair snarled, curling his hands into fists. "Bull-fucking-shit, he was fine last I called and now he's dying? There has to be a reason, he can't just bloody die!"
"Alasdair, stop." Daimhin whimpered, hanging her head. "Just… stop, please. You're upsetting Mum."
Almost immediately, the red head stopped, letting out a defeated breath as his shoulders sagged. "I-I need a minute to just, just get out of here. 'm sorry."
"I'll give you all a few minutes to collect yourselves, or you can leave. You have the option to pull the plug, if you feel like that is the best decision." The doctor said, phasing through Alfred as he left the room. Slowly but surely, the rest of the Kirkland family bled out of the room until only Alfred and Helen, remaining obediently at the door in the same position, remained next to the comatose ten year old.
If Alfred had a soul, it would be cracking at the sight of the poor boy. He walked slowly over to the end of the bed, flipping through the clipboard attached to the foot of the cot. Like the doctor said, everything was normal, except his heart rate and brain activity had been dropping at a steady rate and wasn't healing, nor was it flat lining entirely. He had maybe three days, four, if there was a period where his vital signs steadied at any point. Rolling his eyes, Alfred cast out his senses and tried to feed off of Arthur's soul, not to encourage the involuntary attachment, but to see how his soul was doing. You'd figure that, since souls are so important for their survival, humans would invent some technology to check on their wellbeing. If they could, they would be able to tell whenever a person was being influenced by negative energies and, hopefully, eliminate it before it would get to serious.
But humans were factual, scientific beings who had abandoned God for the sake of advancing beyond anything ever seen before. It made Alfred's job easier, but it certainly didn't make a human's life much better. His senses delved beyond the physical plane, delving into the energy given off by living beings, as he peered into Arthur.
Alfred's eyes widened, and he immediately pulled back. Arthur's soul, which had previously been a beacon of innocence and child-like joy present in childhood, had been engulfed with such a demonic force that it was hard to recognize it as Arthur. It finally made sense as to why he couldn't sense the boy while rushing through the hospital—his panic, along with the fact that he was used to feeling the innocence presented by the ten year old before, had made it impossible for him to find anything.
But the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that the energy felt far too similar to what the Fallen gave off. He let go of his breath slowly, shakily, as he moved towards Arthur's head and carefully parted the golden mop of hair that had bunched up from sleep.
The roots of his hair had changed to a deep red, just enough to where it was visible, but didn't pierce through the boy's natural color.
"Fuck." Alfred whispered, backing away. "Fuck."
This was much more complicated than he had originally thought.
It was possible that Demonic magic, if there was heavy exposure to it, could taint a human's soul. It happened to those who made multiple deals (regardless of which devil they interacted with) or those who survived a heavy magical attack from a demon. It ended in two ways, and there was an equal chance of either happening: one is that they died, as the soul and body are too discordant with one another to work, and the body shuts down. The other is that their body and soul manage to get on the same level and cooperate, and they slowly turn into demons.
Alfred, being the first to fall, a powerful Angle before and an even stronger Devil after, had incredibly magic prowess as well as the fact that it was incredibly potent. He hadn't even considered the repercussions of performing one spell, especially since even the most low-level demons could pull off something off that caliber.
But he had done it for the whole night, Arthur was ten, and didn't care for religion. He would never tell his family about said dream, so there was no reason for them to take him to a priest or a psychologist where there could be a precursor to hint that something was wrong.
Alfred could not have felt worse in that moment as he leaned heavily on the bed railing for support, denting the metal under his grip.
It was his fault that Arthur was in the hospital.
It was his fault that Arthur was going to die in less than a week.
Father, why?
He stood there for who knows how long, only peering up through the hair that hung over his eyes to see a nurse walk by, tending to a different (not bound for death) patient. His heart and soul were crushing, mind numbed to the world as he stared at Arthur's prone form. He searched in his mind for a way to save Arthur, but he couldn't do anything without risking the life of Arthur or someone close to him, and that was the last thing that he wanted or needed to happen.
His mind, rampant with fear for Arthur's life and fury at his own stupidity, that he didn't hear Helen stand and start her tri-pitched growl as a small white orb formed next to the bed, opposite of Alfred.
"Hey, get away from him!" Alfred slowly dragged his gaze away from the human's comatose body to stare at the man on the other side of the cot. A faint golden glow surrounded his body, centered on the ring of gold hovering above his dark brown hair. He wore a white toga which clung to his shoulder, fluffy white wings spreading out from his back, shimmering in the harsh electric lights of the hospital room.
Alfred scowled, a faint growl building in the back of his throat. "Oh, great, you're his incompetent Guardian Angel."
"I am not incompetent!" The man responded, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest as a distinct curl bobbed on the side of his head from the motion. "I'm Lovino Vargas, and you need to leave."
Ignoring the heavenly being's request, Alfred took Arthur's wrist and squeezed it, smirking at the cross expression that formed on the Angel's face. "I'm not leaving, Angel. Besides, I doubt that you can do anything to help him. You shit heads just leave once your charge is dead and you do a fucking horrible job keeping 'em from crawling to us."
"I did a damn good job from keeping him from making a deal—which, by the way, I'm trying to prevent right now."
"Really? Not saying that the kid here made a deal, but you do realize I've had contact with him for about, oh, three years, now? Give or take, might be less."
Lovino's face turned red, an accusatory tone filling the room. "So you're the shitty demon that did this! You better fucking fix him, he's not ready to die!"
"I know that, and that's where the problem falls—and no, it's not that I don't want to." Alfred vaguely gestured at Arthur's head before turning the palm skywards, a ball of demonic energy bursting to life. "I want the kid to live, but his soul's been tainted to a level where only a surgeon could fix this shit. My magic's to volatile, and you know that your magic will only make it worse 'cause the magic will cling to his soul and corrupt it even further, possibly killing him."
"So what, he just dies? He's my first charge, I don't want your shitty magic and deals screwing up my job."
"I can't do anything…" An idea formed in Alfred's mind, and although he hated using Arthur as a bargaining chip, it was probably the safest way to ensure that he'd live. "At least, not on my own."
Lovino scowled and moved his wing so that it was blocking Arthur's head from the Demon's sight. "What, another shitty decision?"
Alfred hid a flinch. "On my own, I can't do anything. My magic's way too volatile for delicate work like this. But a contract, on the other hand—" The ball of demonic energy in his hand transfigured to a contract, quill and inkwell already provided. "—a contract could easily do it, so long as it's explicitly stated that his soul be fixed and he stays alive."
Lovino flinched and backed away from the cot. "And… you want me to sign it? I know there's a catch, what do I have to do?"
Alfred's grin grew, fanged teeth showing. "You, Lovino Vargas, if you sign, must resign from your current job and leave Arthur without a Guardian Angel until his death."
"What?" Lovino spun away, nearly snagging one of the many tubes connected to Arthur. "No way, not on your ashes! That's never happened before, not unless the person's made a deal!"
"Exactly," Alfred said. "Arthur hasn't made a deal, you showing up proves that he hasn't. But that makes it all the more interesting, another unprecedented event where we just have to see where the chips will fall. We'll leave Arthur to his own devices and see just what he does, and he'll be alive and well."
"No deal. No. Fucking. Deal." Lovino snarled, only to flinch at Alfred's responding laugh.
"You don't have a choice—this is the easiest option to save him without losing a life, and a much easier way to lose an infuriating Angel such as yourself." At Lovino's confused expression, he elaborated. "You've got two options: sign the contract or don't, but signing it is the easiest because, no matter what you do, you don't win. You could try and fix the taint, but that could easily just end up with his death. You could just leave like you normally do, but then I could just make a deal with one of his siblings or his mother and get rid of another one of you shits. If they don't make a deal—and I know their religious, so it's highly unlikely—than no matter what, Arthur dies.
"Plus, I'll throw in another bonus just so we know that Arthur won't be influenced to go to the light or the dark. I'll also erase any memories of our interactions, get rid of any evidence that he talked to me, and not interact with him unless he calls directly upon me. Does that sweeten the deal?"
The Guardian Angel hesitated before he snapped his hand out, grabbing the quill and resting it atop the signature line. "Just so we're clear: I stop being his Guardian Angel, and you stop all contact with him, along with fixing his soul and he ends up alive, with no memories of you?"
Alfred felt his heart tug, his mind berating him and screamed what the fuck are you doing as he nodded. "Yep, that's right."
The man sighed, pitifully looking down at the boy as he signed his name right beside the tiny 'x.' In a burst of blue flame, the contract disappeared, and already Alfred could feel the energy slipping off of Arthur's soul and vanishing, the normal innocence given off by the ten year old returning.
"Alright," Alfred began, shrugging and ignoring the festering self-hatred stirring in his gut. "I kept up my end of the bargain, now you. Fuck off."
"Same to you, horned-jackass." Lovino swore as he disappeared, the gold glow equating to the light in a flashbang as he left. Hearing a commotion from outside (probably from Arthur's rising heart rate, if the monitor was anything to go by), Alfred darted over to Helen, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, and activated a teleportation spell, winding up in his office.
The first thing he did was kill Helen.
He did take a photo of her before she darted back to Arthur, her master, and he kept it framed on his desk. He didn't hold a funeral, because she burst into flames and left nothing to bury or even make a small little memorial of.
The next thing, which was much more delicate, was to take every letter that Arthur had kept for the past two years, take them to the sixth circle and then throw them into a lava pit. The family had yet to return from the hospital, probably all wondering and praising every holy being that their youngest had made a miraculous recovery, so this was relatively easy.
Contracts couldn't be undone by either party—as far as anyone was concerned, they were permanent. So right now, Alfred's main focus was figuring out how to keep him from going back to the ten year old and feeding his attachment, and the solution, as it turned out, was childishly easy.
Distance. He distanced himself from everything, everyone. Didn't make a connection, didn't bother to make an effort to hide his irritation. He didn't 'play' with his employees, like the one who had come in to deliver Arthur's death sentence four years ago, but he did make sure that they knew not to mess with him. Be what fate decreed him to be: a monster, a traitor, the Fallen, the Devil, the ultimate form of sin. Be cruel, demonic, be Satan. He threw himself into his work, only flying out to travel the circles and forcefully beat any loose souls with an attitude to a pulp. He was surprised he could real himself in sometimes, because most of the time he honestly just wanted to crush and rip their broken and tattered souls to irreparable shreds.
He should never have gone through with Arthur's gift on Christmas' he shouldn't have continued writing to the boy when he was seven; he shouldn't have performed the spell for the child's birthday. He shouldn't have done anything, but he did, and Arthur nearly died from his stupidity. Not only that, but the fucking attachment, even after five years, was still festering inside him, begging him to go up and just take a glimpse at the boy, damn the contract and fuck Lovino and all the Guardian Angels who came into existence.
And then, unbelievably, against his will, that opportunity arose.
For those confused about the Kirkland family, how I pictured it is that there's his mother (Britannia), his oldest brother Alaisdair (Scotland), Dylan (Wales), his sister Daimhin (Ireland), and Arthur. The names for the UK siblings come from ask-emerald-isle, awesomerevolutionarytomato, and ask-the-welsh-dragon on Tumblr! Please check them out.
This one was somewhat slow and very dialogue heavy, but it's an unfortunate necessity for later chapters (which are going to be much, much more fun. I guarantee it). Thank you for reading!