A/N: Hey! Welcome to chapter three! If you're liking this story then place drop me a review just so I know you're out there. :)

And remember - Drugs are bad, mmkay?

Damien didn't mind Hell. He'd spent as much of his childhood there as any other place. He knew his own power, that even the other demons bowed at his command. Sinners would see him and fall down to their knees, not from respect but fear of the consequences if not. There were many different methods Hell used to torture someone and Damien knew all of them.

Hell's layout wasn't so bad. The darkness and endless pits could be quite soothing for his strained head, the pools of burning fire and magma, pretty to daydream by. Damien preferred every supposedly horrible feature, designed to torment the human soul, a lot more than he did his dad's uncomfortably normal home decor. It was the turquoise walls and soft-fabric sofas that scared him the most, the disturbingly cute collectables and ornaments perfectly arranged on specially allocated shelves.

He hated the comfort because the comfort wasn't comfort.

He stared up into his dad's angry eyes and gulped.

"Do you enjoy failing me?"

Damien's hands twitched by his sides. "Father..."

"You bought him a drink, talked to him and then ran when he figured out who you were? You didn't think to kill him then! You spared his life again!?"

"Father, there were lots of witnesses."

"I don't care! Kill them all! Burn down the bar!" Satan slammed his hand on the coffee table and stood up, now towering even more above Damien - small and shockingly human-looking by comparison. "This should all be second nature to you."

Damien looked down at the floor and nodded. "I panicked."

"You panicked! What have you got to be scared of? You're the Antichrist."

Damien sighed. "Sure, I know that."

"If you don't kill him soon and this whole situation we have comes true then you are going to die."

"I still think it's a bunch of bullshit. There's no way a mortal could do what they say he could. I don't think we need to worry about him, Father. He doesn't seem like a threat."

Damien lied about this. The blond did seem like a threat, but not in the same respect his father was talking about. With his light blue eyes, angelic face and intriguing personality - flirtatious, smart and so alluring - Gregory was becoming a threat in a very different way. Reaching to a place Damien never let anything go and causing feelings he swore he would never have to deal with.

Human emotions - there was no place for them.

"The saying 'It's better to be safe than sorry' applies here."

"But what if by killing him everything goes wrong?"

"What do you mean, Son?"

"What if bringing him here - to Hell - is all part of his plan? Or what if he knows nothing, has no plan and then when he gets sent here, decides to do something. Perhaps if I don't kill him, it will all go to plan."

Satan crossed his arms, almost pouting in annoyance. "... I want him dead. I won't let him do anything."

"But-"

"Do it, Damien."

"No, I think we should observe him for a while."

"Don't disobey me," he yelled. "I'm Satan!"

Damien rolled his eyes. "You're pathetic."

Gasping as his feet left the ground, Damien immediately wished he hadn't said this. Satan threw him against a wall and held him, staring with terrifying yellow and black eyes. However whiny and pathetic his dad may have been, he was very strong about this cause. This was what Damien had been born for. Damien knew he wasn't cared about. He choked out his words. "I-I'm sorry!"

"I can always have one of the other demons kill him if you're not strong enough."

"N-No," stuttered Damien, trying to pry his father's fingers away from his throat. They tightened. "I-I'll do it."

"Don't come back until he's dead." Satan dropped Damien to the floor and turned away, storming into the kitchen (probably to do some baking). Damien painfully swallowed and held his sore throat, glaring at the ground.

Fuck.

The gentle buzz of the TV greeted Gregory as he walked back through the door of his apartment. He threw his jacket lazily on a hook and then immediately took it off, placing it back on neatly. He kicked his shoes off without untying the laces and then bent down to untie them anyway. When he entered the living room, he saw Christophe sprawled asleep in front of a nature program. He rolled his eyes and took the remote from his friend's loose grip, flicking the TV off.

"Are you incapable of putting yourself to bed without me?" he grumbled.

Christophe grunted awake and looked around. He smiled when he saw Gregory and glanced down at his watch, seemingly shocked by the time. "Where 'av you been zis late?"

"Out."

Christophe groaned and stretched, sitting up. "Oui. Out where?"

"I was at a bar."

"Were you drinking gin?"

"I may have been."

"Ah." Christophe nodded knowingly and stood up to look at Gregory closely. "Yet you're steel in control of yourself. Well done."

"I didn't have as many as usual."

"Why?"

"I got talking to someone."

"You?" Christophe raised an eyebrow. "You actually let someone chat you up?"

Gregory sighed. "I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, deciding that he wasn't going to question Christophe about Damien just yet. It was late, and Christophe wouldn't be in the best state for talking. "He seemed nice, I guess." More than nice, he seemed perfect. Gregory sighed again. "Nothing's ever simple."

"Zis sounds... intriguing?"

"Tomorrow." Gregory walked to his room and shut the door behind him. "Night."

Gregory woke up the next morning with a mug of tea thrust in his face and some toast thrown on his lap. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, groggily sitting up and glaring at the slightly over-burnt bread. He flicked his eyes to Christophe, still only in his boxers. Christophe smirked and climbed into the bed next to him, taking a piece of toast and starting to eat it, before speaking first.

"Good morning, angel. I want to know more about last night."

Gregory groaned again and sighed. "What?" He ran a hand through his hair. "You're up before me! How is that even possible?"

Christophe shrugged. "I slept while you were out last night." He poked Gregory. "And I want to know."

"Do you have nothing better to do than wake me up and question me about my night?" Gregory took a sip of the tea, which he had to admit was pretty nice, and essential to starting the morning right.

"Non."

"Wait a second. Did you get the job?"

"Ah! Oui." Christophe smiled. "Zey weren't sure about taking someone with no experience but zey soon changed zeir minds when I showed zem a demonstration." He chuckled.

"Do you have set hours?"

He shrugged. "Zey differ. Eet's eizer late afternoon eento evening zey want me to work, or early morning. Ze hours don't matter as long as I deeg my quota. I get weekends off."

"Sounds perfect."

"Oui, now speel."

"Sure, Tophe. I'll tell you if you really want to know." Gregory set down his tea and took a bite of toast, setting it down again as he chewed.

"Well I want to know eef zey're good enough, zough I fear zat's an impossible task." Christophe smiled at Gregory and looked into his eyes. "It's rare a guy gets close to you."

"Yes, and he was such a breath-taking man. He was tall, black hair, a pale perfectly structured face, fierce eyes..." Gregory watched Christophe face, which drew more emotionless and pinched with every detail. "And his name... Damien Thorn. Such an intriguing name." He smugly took another sip of his tea.

"Damien Thorn?" Christophe asked casually, hiding his clenched knuckles under the covers, though Gregory had already noticed them. "And... what 'appened?"

"We were talking, flirting, the usual." Gregory shrugged. "It was definitely going somewhere. I was sure I was going to let him take me home if he wanted to."

Christophe's hand flew out and grabbed Gregory on the arm. "NON! I forbid eet!" Gregory blinked slowly at Christophe's violent action and looked down at the hand that was squeezing him tight. It took Christophe a few seconds to finally loosen his grip. "I - uh - don't think zat's a good idea."

"And would that be because he was the one who tried to kill me?" snapped Gregory. "A detail you failed to tell me."

Christophe nodded slowly and pulled his arm back. "I thought you would be safer eef you didn't know - zat eet would be easier."

"How? I was happy to get close to the man who almost killed me. How have I been safer?" Gregory shoved the plate off his lap and turned to straddle Christophe, glaring at him straight in the eyes - a position he always took when he wanted to show he was dominant in the argument and Christophe was not going anywhere.

Christophe bit his lip, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "I thought eef you didn't know who he was and he saw zat you had no idea zen he might leave you alone. And I hoped zat eet would also mean you wouldn't try going after 'im..."

"We always go after them!"

"Not zis one. He almost succeeded een killing you. Zat says a lot."

"He told me I was the wrong person. You told him I was the wrong person."

Christophe licked his lips. "Oui, and zat's why I hoped he'd leave you alone."

Gregory growled. "I don't need being cared for like that. I can look after myself." Christophe didn't look so sure. Gregory got even more annoyed but remembered to stay calm. He really didn't want to hit his best friend as frustrating as he was being. "Do you know who the right person is?"

Christophe flicked his eyes down to his lap. "Non. I believe he was searching for someone for a specific reason and we 'av never crossed him before so eet couldn't be you he was after."

"So you don't know why he wanted this person dead?"

Christophe replied confidently. "Non."

Gregory didn't believe him. "So then... if it isn't me he's after, why are you so worried about me being near him?"

"He's dangerous. Can't you tell? He's really fucking dangerous." This Gregory did believe.

"He used your name, Tophe. You know him."

"Sheet."

"Now, tell me the truth."

Christophe bit his lip. "Zen please give me some space." He pushed Gregory off him, slightly red-faced. Gregory reluctantly agreed, rolling back onto his ruffled side of his bed, though it seemed Christophe just assumed full rights to it.

"Explain."

"Drugs." Christophe's look transformed into one of anger. "'E was my drug dealer..."

Gregory gasped. Christophe had mentioned that time, the horrendous period of their lives that had grown almost taboo to talk about. Christophe once claimed that drugs heightened his reflexes and reactions to situations where he needed to be strong. They did no such thing, putting him instead in grave danger and almost costing him his life, found dying from an overdose one day. Gregory had managed to get him off the hard drugs - primarily cocaine - and they'd both sworn never to go near them again. Neither had broken the promise.

Gregory felt a twinge of hatred for Damien at that point. Christophe had never told him the drug dealer because he knew what Gregory would do if he got the chance. Now Gregory felt so confused.

"So you knew him as a teenager?"

"Oui, een Denver. I don't think he lived zere but zat's where he did 'is business from. Zis may sound weird but I think drug-dealing was more of an 'obby zan anything for 'im."

"How much do you know about him?"

"Really, not much." Christophe looked truthfully into Gregory's eyes. "I would buy ze drugs and I would leave. Zere was just zis one time zat I ended up talking to 'im properly. I was particularly desperate for drugs zat day and I think he was bored so he asked me what was wrong."

Gregory stroked Christophe's arm. "What was wrong, Tophe?"

"You." Christophe sighed. "Eet was ze night after we'd first 'ad sex."

"Oh." Gregory nodded as he remembered. "You really lost it when you woke up the next morning and remembered..."

"Oui. Well, Damien was interested een hearing about you once I'd mentioned you. Eet was like a sudden detail sparked 'is interest. I can't remember all I said, but I remember saying I was freaked out zat I'd just slept wiz my best friend... and you were so attractive wiz blond 'air and an angelic face and I called you an arrogant Brit and when I finally said your name 'is eyes lit up.

"He asked me your surname. I told 'im ze fake one, zat eet was Williams, because suddenly I didn't trust 'im. Suddenly eet was like zere was something not quite right about 'im... After he heard zat your surname was Williams he seemed disappointed and 'is eagerness dropped. Zen you 'elped me come off ze drugs and I cut all connections wiz ze faggot."

Gregory's mouth went dry. "But that wasn't the truth."

"Oui, and zat ees what saved you until now, obviously he's found something else out and he's back after you."

"But why?"

"I don't know."

"I - I almost told him my real surname last night."

Christophe sucked in breath and then sighed. "I don't think eet matters now. He knows you're ze right one. Why did he say he was here?"

"He said he has a home here, that it's a quiet place to get away for a while." Gregory sighed. "He seemed so nice until I recognised him and then he ran away. Surely if he was going to do anything he'd have done it last night? I think he'll be staying away from me."

"Well, okay, but eef ze moment 'e comes near you, you 'av to tell me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you zis sooner. Do you still trust me?"

"Oh, Tophe. Of course I do." Gregory sighed and smiled. Christophe smiled back in relief and leant closer to him. Gregory laughed at the almost sentimental atmosphere between the two of them. They were meant to be violent mercenaries, but their tight friendship always led them to caring moments. This time, Christophe was showing his protectiveness.

"Would you like to cuddle?" asked Gregory. He put on his most seductive smile, though it was hard to stop it spreading to a humoured grin.

"Knock eet of, faggot," hissed Christophe, but just to contradict himself he wrapped an arm around Gregory, pulling him close. "I 'ate zat you make me do zis."

"I didn't make you do anything... and you love it!" Gregory sighed and rested his head on Christophe's shoulder.

"Eh, oui, and I love you." Christophe fell silent. Gregory would have been convinced he was lighting a cigarette if there had been any stored in the room. He thought to himself that it was only a matter of days before Christophe sneaked a packet in somewhere to have on standby. He glanced up. Christophe was staring into space, anxiously biting his lip. He blinked when he saw Gregory looking at him and then smiled.

"Want me to check your leg?" he asked, throwing the covers back. He didn't seem to care about Gregory's answer so Gregory just allowed it, smiling as Christophe got the bandages and re-dressed it. It was sweet how much Christophe cared and weird to think Damien was the harmful one that caused it. Sometimes he wished he could just fall in love with Christophe, and that Christophe would fall in love with him in return, they would not notice anybody else and just enjoy their happy bond into old age.

He knew that could never happen.

He sighed and thought about Damien. Damien was searching for him and he had a horrible feeling if they were to have another encounter, things would not be as enjoyable...

Why then, at imagining that face, were fluttering feelings finding their way circulating around him?

Damien woke up with the choke of something soft in his mouth. He coughed and moved his head away, noticing it was also wet. Groggily he took in the messy scene around him.

He'd been chewing the pillow. He hadn't done that in years. It was something he'd always done when he faced a moral dilemma in his childhood - a dilemma for him at least. It had happened the night after he'd tortured his first victim. His dad had praised him, the demons had cheered and he'd felt sick, staring into the dull eyes of a person tormented beyond the level of pain anyone should have to suffer. He'd showered for a hour that night - an hour six minutes to be exact - washing away the blood, just trying to drown out the pleading look in those old man's eyes. When he'd woken up the next morning, it was to being surrounded by feathers.

It had slowly stopped but started happening again after he'd killed for the first time. He knew it was guilt; it had to be, but why did he feel it at all?

And now it was happening again...

He groaned and rolled out of bed, hungry for breakfast. Noticing his alarm clock he realised that it would probably be classed as lunch. That was one of his problems. When he slept, he slept deeply and for a long time - often meaning he could go a few nights without doing it again.

He was just walking down the stairs when someone knocked on the door - an unusual occurrence when there was absolutely no one he was expecting, no one who knew he was taking residence in this house. He hoped it wasn't neighbours... or Mormons. If this was Mormons then they were in for a surprise.

Damien opened the door and stopped himself from reacting shocked like he wanted to, though he probably should have expected this. Instead he smirked and folded his arms, leaning against his doorframe.

"How lovely to see you again so soon after..." He trailed off, letting his silence fill in what he wasn't sure he could. "How do you know where I live?"

"Zis town eesn't very big. I know ze right people to ask." Christophe scowled. "Why are you here?" He was holding his shovel and looked like he was dressed to do some manual labour - but then he always dressed like that. Not like Gregory, thought Damien. On both occasions he'd seen the man, Gregory's clothes had looked meticulously neat and expensive.

"Relax, Frenchy," Damien replied.

"Not while you're here."

Damien yawned and rolled his eyes. "I didn't answer the door to be kicked out of my own house." He ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair, knocking a feather from it in the process. "What's the problem anyway? I'm not doing anything. I was just about to eat a Pop-tart."

"You tried to kill Gregory!"

"Ohhh that," Damien replied like he'd forgotten. "Yeah..."

"So I don't particularly trust you." Christophe narrowed his eyes. "Why deed you try to kill 'im ze first time but not ze second?"

"I'm not interested in him anymore," Damien lied. "Father doesn't want me to pursue him any longer. We've done all the studies we need."

"Fazer?"

"Yes, Father." Damien smirked. "Need I remind you?"

Christophe's face fell almost as pale as Damien's chest. "Non." Damien noticed the Frenchman clutching his shovel tighter for safety. Cute. "I - I still don't trust that you've finished wiz Gregory."

"Well you're going to have to take my word for it. And remember there is nowhere you can run and there is no point in hiding." Damien reached forward and tapped Christophe's nose lightly, remembering it was a move he used to do after their dealings. "So you're just going to have to learn to live with me." He smirked when Christophe drew his face away in repulsion.

"Blondie's very charming isn't he?" continued Damien in an almost mocking tone. "Such a beautiful face, so expressive too. I bet he can pull some really nice expressions." He raised his eyebrow. "Especially if someone were to go get him excited."

Christophe raised his shovel a little higher. "'E wants nothing to do with you."

"That's his decision." Damien looked down at his nails. "And that didn't seem like the case last night."

"You don't think realising you tried to kill him may 'av changed zat?"

Damien looked up again. "No. In fact I think it will make him want more to do with me."

Christophe shook his head and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "You're crazy."

"Mmmm perhaps." Damien extended his hand. "Would you like me to light that for you."

Christophe pulled his hand away sharply. "Non. Keep away."

"Whatever you say." He swung the door shut and smirked at Christophe's angered growls. He turned around and regained his thoughts. He had a mission to complete...

He had to make Pop-tarts.