A/N: I want to give a special shout out to RisaShootingStar who made TWO pieces of fan art for this fic. The links are on my page, and I suggest looking at them. They're good. And, again, thank you!

Also, the title for this chapter comes from the Breaking Benjamin song. And yeah, I know that Damien isn't actually the devil—he's pretty close to it though.

...

Damien was hurting him. Pip had seen Damien hurt enough people for the signs of pain to be obvious—eyes watering, teeth clenched, body thrashing. Christophe was stronger than that though, and if it wasn't for the look in his eyes—Pip had never seen such a stare, not from any of Damien's other victims—he would have thought that Christophe was fine. The boy wasn't fine though, and even if he had been a prick to him before, Pip felt as if he had to do something before the situation got even worse than it already was.

Besides, Damien's hand was searing hot and it was burning the flesh of Christophe's neck, scarring it. Not only did no one deserve that—Pip was never one for harsh punishment—but the smell of the French boy's burned off skin was making him sick.

He swallowed, getting ready to speak, and took a step towards his friend.

"Damien," His voice shook, but he couldn't stop; Christophe's blood was beginning to drip onto the floor, and he wasn't sure how much longer the boy would be able to last if he did. "Let him go."

No one acted as if they heard him; Christophe's dark eyes didn't spare him a glance, which bothered him, but he didn't have time to think about why; Damien didn't stop what he was doing, which didn't surprise him—once the prince set his mind to something, it was hard to get him to change it; the students and teacher still had their eyes glued to Damien's hand, not helping a bit. Philip knew that they did though; the only sounds other than his own voice had been—and still were—the breathing of the people in the room and, though he didn't like thinking about it, the sound of blood hitting the floor.

Another step forward.

He had to be brave. Damien would never hurt him, after all. There was nothing to fear. Besides, even if he did get harmed—which would be an accident, he was sure—Damien could always resurrect him unless he went to Heaven, and if he went to Heaven, he would get to be with his parents. Everything would be okay in the end.

So why was he so terrified?

He could feel the heat radiating off of his friend. Damien always felt so warm when he was angry. It was never a good sign. Christophe would die soon if he didn't do something.

Another step forward.

"Damien," He wanted to pause, to swallow again. There was no time though. "Damien, please. For me."

Damien still wasn't listening though. His teeth were gritting together and his hand was wrapping itself tighter around Christophe's neck. Time was running out, and Philip beginning to panic. He had an idea, but there was a good chance that he could be hurt in the process; he could never stand to see someone in pain though, so it would be worth it—he would do what seemed to be Damien's favorite pass-time.

He took one last step forward so he was standing directly behind his only true friend in the world. Finally allowing himself to swallow, he reached out in front of him, wrapping his slim arms around Damien's waist. He could imagine the dark haired boy's eyes widening before they narrowed to slits; if Damien was surprised though, he still didn't show it—he still didn't let Christophe go. Deciding that more extreme measures were needed, he moved even closer; his whole front was pressed firmly against Damien's back. He was hoping that it would be enough to distract Damien from what he was doing—as much as Damien touched him, Philip had never pressed up against him like this before; he was hoping that the feeling would be alien enough to Damien for it to shock him into letting Christophe go—but Damien's focus was strong; his hand was still wrapped around Christophe's burning neck, though it wasn't as tight as it had been before, and Pip liked to imagine that he saw it shaking just a bit. Maybe Damien would let go if he did just a bit more...

Damien was hotter than he had imagined though, and the heat, along with the smell of burning flesh, was making him feel light headed. His head fell against the crook of Damien's neck, and despite how determined he was to save Christophe, he couldn't bother to move it. Still, he couldn't give up.

"Please, Damien," He had to pause this time—the heat was getting to him. "You're making me sick.."

His last four words seemed to do it; Damien dropped Christophe, causing him to crash to the floor. If he was angry with Philip for trying to protect his believed-to-be abuser, the blond couldn't tell; blackness was closing in on him, a fact that Damien wasn't aware of, and he would be passing out soon; he recognized what it felt like to lose consciousness from all of the times that he had been beat up by bullies until he had passed out years earlier, and he had never been strong enough to win the battle to stay awake.

Now was no different. He could feel himself going as he literally felt himself falling—Damien had vanished, choosing to go back to Hell for the time being to cool off, his last words being a sneered "Whatever". So he was angry then. Well, he would deal with that later, he decided. He could feel himself being lifted up by someone—Christophe, he believed—and that was the last thing that he thought about before finally giving in to the darkness that had been trying to lure him in.

If he had stayed awake, he would have heard the teacher, who had finally come out of her shock, order Christophe to take him to the nurse; the boy would have to be looked at himself, after all. He would have seen the French boy scan his appearance over to check for burns before he picked him up. He would have heard Christophe whisper a soft "Thank you" in his ears, and he would have noticed a softness in the boy's eyes that hadn't been there before—eyes that he was still fascinated with.

What he wouldn't have seen, however, would have been Damien's erection, an erection that he had caused just by holding the boy from behind. No, he would have to deal with Damien later.

At the moment he had a French boy holding him, a boy that was quickly growing attached to him.

If Pip had known all of this, he would have wondered why it was him that the two toughest boys—toughest, not cruelest; though Damien was high up there on the list, Christophe could never beat Eric Cartman for either the number one or number two spot (it was bad when you couldn't decide if an obese boy that you grew up with or the son of Satan should hold the number one spot) for the cruelest—in their grade both now held a soft spot for him.

Of course, Pip didn't know it, and Christophe wasn't going to come out and say it; emotions were for pussies, after all, and he was not a pussy. No, only time would tell—and that time was approaching them quickly.