A/N: Don't drink and drive. In fact, don't do anything Gregory does in this chapter... or at all really.

And please go easy on me! I don't really do fight scenes.

Gregory parked the car behind another in a dark, nameless location. No other people seemed to be around and luckily he hadn't been followed or tracked by any police on the lookout. (This was probably because the man in the bar hadn't even noticed his car was missing yet.) He left the keys in the engine (because he didn't want to be tied down to it) and hoped it would still be there when he got back.

He tightened his coat and put his gloved hands in his pockets as he walked towards the bar Damien had told him. It was a cold night, with barely any light to trick the mind into feeling warmer. There were no stars, and though the moon was full, it seemed much dimmer, like a fading lightbulb that needed to be replaced. Gregory was thinking over whether this was possible when he heard a familiar voice, and it was not the type of familiar you wanted.

"Look who's out all alone."

He turned his head to the source of the voice and frowned - Jack and two other guys, smirking and looking uninvitingly big. The feeling of being outnumbered and somehow threatened immediately fell over him. He turned away again and decided to continue heading for the bar because he wasn't that far away.

"Well that's rude! Ignoring people!" Jack's voice grew nearer.

Gregory took a deep breath and stopped walking. "Jack."

"Gregory, right?" Jack's eyes feel over Gregory as he walked around to stand in front of him, cutting off his path. "Wendy's ex..."

One of the other men - who Gregory noticed were standing either side of him - snickered. "Right. He doesn't look like he's seen a female body part in his life."

"Probably hasn't, Ryan. I bet Wendy never let you anywhere near her, huh, pretty boy?"

Wendy actually had, and Gregory - having had rather a lot of drink - managed to do at least something with it, though he'd never slept with a girl after that, and hardly had then. "I can't see why she lets you now," he said calmly. "Unless of course, she doesn't..."

"That's nothing to do with you, fag."

"Then we're agreed." Gregory attempted to push past him but found he couldn't.

"Where you going? We're not done talking."

"We are."

"I say when we're done." Jack smirked. "And we've only just begun. Come, let's talk. Tell me what's on your mind."

"I'm wondering what Wendy possibly saw in you." Gregory casually took a small step to the right, sensing how close the man on his left had become. But then, the man on his right was also closing the gap, smirking. Something felt deadly wrong.

"It always happens with the controlling bitches," replied Jack. "They're secretly crying out to be dominated. Wendy was so easy. All her past boyfriends were pathetic."

"You should never fuck with Wendy Testaburger like that." Gregory grit his teeth. He was not the type of person to show any worry that he was perhaps outnumbered. They all knew this was more than a conversation.

"You're in no position to do anything about it." Jack raised his eyebrow.

That was when Gregory felt a hand grab his left arm. Almost in the same second, a reaction that came almost as naturally as breathing, he flipped his arm up and jammed his elbow into the person holding him (Ryan). He swung his other arm around and slammed a fist into the Ryan's face. Ryan fell back in shock. Clearly, they hadn't been expecting Gregory to have much strength or skill. Gregory always loved these few moments of shock where men would stare at him and realise what they were up against - not the gay angel he looked. These moments were also what Gregory relied on to get the upper-hand.

He knew he was outnumbered, and space was essential, so he moved to the left, taking advantage of Ryan's bleeding nose and weak defences. A perfect move would have been to slam his head against the wall and finish him, but there was no time because another hand grabbed his arm and wheeled him back around.

"A smart idea would be to stop trying to fight," growled Jack. "You don't know what you're doing."

Gregory's mind went through its usual processes in less than a second. Jack... talking... distraction... guy behind him? He kicked his leg back and heard a grunt. With a burst of strength Jack obviously still wasn't predicting, he swung him around to collide with the man behind him. It didn't do much, but they both fell over, tangling on the ground. This allowed Gregory to pull his knife out, and with barely any thought, drive it into the shoulder of the man still startled from his first attack.

Ryan gasped and stumbled back. "The fuck!"

Gregory shoved him against the alley wall with a cold glare. It was a deadly move and he knew it, but murder was starting to look like the only way. Ryan screamed as the force of the blow sent the knife further into his back. "May God have pity on you," muttered Gregory.

He bent down and searched for the gun in the Ryan's belt, but there wasn't one there. He cursed and started running. The action with the dying man had taken place in barely more than four seconds. These were the four seconds his other two opponents lay, and began to scrabble up from the ground. Gregory was sure he could get them but not if they'd pulled their guns out.

If these men had guns...

He glanced over his shoulder and saw them chasing him, but not reaching for their belts. Maybe they didn't have them. After all, they had seemed to just randomly turn on him after he bumped into them. What reason was there for them to be carrying guns unless this meeting was planned?

It almost felt planned that Jack wanted to kill him, but it was probably just him taking the opportunity when it arose.

Gregory saw he was approaching a wall. He cursed and span around quickly, catching Jack - who was very close to him - in the jaw with a sharp punch. He groaned at a sudden pressure in his eye. He'd been punched of course, by the other man. The worry of dying wasn't what crossed his mind then; it was the worry that it was now obvious what he was doing. Stupid bruise. He screamed in fury and brought a knee up to meet the man's stomach. They were all fighting dirty. He smashed his elbow into the man's temple and watched him collapse on the floor.

Speed was very much on his side.

Jack stared down at them with wide-eyes, and then back at Gregory. "You cunt."

"You're the one who fucked with me."

"I'm going to kill you!"

"I was going to spare you because of Wendy." Gregory dodged a punch aimed for his nose, twisting to the side and taking a step back. "But now I'm going to kill you for Wendy."

Jack took another step forward, dominating their movements. "Stop thinking about Wendy and start thinking about yourself. You're about to die."

Gregory turned and ran, not down the alley as Jack would expect, but up the metal steps to the side of them. They led up in a circle with wide gaps between each one. They were leading to the door of someone's house, or the side of an office... It could have been anything; Gregory had no idea in the light. He took his chance and ran up them, shoes slipping slightly at the wetness due to a rainfall. (He wasn't wearing the usual shoes he had in situations like these. He was wearing stupid fancy leather ones with no grip.) He cursed and hoped his balance and capability with heights would make up for it. At the top he span around and stared at the steps.

Surprise had always been one of his strong points. Hiding and pouncing on the enemy, or manipulating them into thinking he was no threat and then striking. Well-planned operation never went wrong. And if he found himself in a surprise situation, he could often run just long enough to figure out what to do. Christophe was the one with the terrifying strength, almost unbeatable power in his muscles to defeat the enemy. Gregory was better with a gun or sword. (He was so skilled with a rapier that he could use it to untie his shoelaces.)

But the situation called for fighting and he had to defeat the taller and heavier man.

Jack ran up with a murderous face, thinking fast enough to avoid Gregory's kick. He growled and lunged forward, hands outstretching, his whole body following through with the actions. Gregory leaped down, ripping his coat - and it had been a nice one too - on the sharp metal of the railing, but successfully avoiding the attack. Jack hit the railings with a loud clang and a curse. They must have been extremely sturdy for the pressure made him bounce back a little.

Gregory attempted to push himself back up, but his shoes skidded. He felt Jack's hand on his back, yanking his coat and swinging him hard against the same railings he'd just slammed into. He struggled, but Jack had him held too tightly, pushed against the cold metal.

He stared down into the darkness bellow him.

"You see? You're not strong enough to beat me," sneered Jack.

Gregory kicked back desperately. He tried to think over the situation but saw no way out. "Brute force is not strength."

"Pretty sure it is." Jack kneed Gregory in the back and pushed his head forward. "Looks like a long way down for you, huh? I can't see you surviving that fall..."

Gregory couldn't see it happening either. He closed his eyes.

Damien watched everything. The lack of fear in Gregory had been disappointing at first but it soon added much more to the entertainment. To watch him fight was very interesting, and made Damien glad he'd hired three people, not just one. It actually looked like he should have hired more - Gregory had taken care of the first two very fast.

Damien was happily cheering Jack on in his head, watching with coldness, that dark side of him ruling, until Jack started winning.

With the very real prospect of Gregory actually dying, something, some tiny light inside of him burst out and fucked up his whole plan. It was with shock at his own actions and a terrified expression on his face that he raised his arm and secured Jack's failure, saving the life he had planned to end.

Gregory heard a gasping from behind him and a sudden yank backwards rather than push forwards. With a grunt he landed on his back. He realised Jack must have fallen and took what he saw as his only chance, elbowing Jack harshly and rolling off him. Hands grabbed for him but he avoided them, getting his hold on Jack instead. He half-pulled the man up, whilst pushing him nearer the rails.

With as much force as he could summon, further power found from coming back from almost being dead, he shoved Jack into the rail. The rail he was convinced completely solid, broke. One second Jack was there and the, next, blackness, the sound of screaming and then a clank and a thud with the hit of the ground.

Gregory let out a long breath and stood up.

He walked down the steps calmly but hastily; first to retrieve his knife, wiping the blood off onto the man's shirt, and next to where Jack had landed, on his back, a pool of dark blood leaking from the back of his head. He bent down over the man, putting a gloved hand to his neck to feel for a pulse. He felt none. Dead on impact of the ground.

No one had seen him, he was wearing gloves, and there was no evidence or motive to link him to them. He was good to go. He walked away feeling absolutely nothing. Gregory was usually able to throw fights out of his mind straight away, often because they were just a small part of a bigger operation, but he was concerned that without the railing faulting he could have been in quite big trouble.

The railings hadn't been rusty or old, they looked new if anything, less than a year put there. Gregory observed more closely, checking for any screw that may have come lose, or a jagged end that may have shattered off. He found none. Instead he was baffled by two impossibly and perfectly straight cuts running down either side. They can't have been previously there because Jack had crashed against the railing, he'd been held against the railing, and it had been secure.

It was as if the section of railing had simply detached itself. It wasn't possible and yet it was right in front of him.

And so was something, or rather somebody else, looking extremely angry. The blackness in their eyes was startling. They looked empty, void of emotion, almost not human. Gregory was sure that they had previously been more of a reddy-brown; perhaps it was the darkening light.

"Damien, what the hell are you doing here?!" Gregory jumped up, glancing at Jack's body again.

Damien could feel an animistic snarl form on his lips, one that should have told Gregory to walk away. It was the barely human snarl of feared predator, and anyone with sense would leave. He was unbelievably angry, not only because he'd saved Gregory's life, but because he was still saving Gregory's life by not killing him then. He felt angry because he wanted to pin Gregory against the wall and kiss him fiercely, and hold his fucking perfect body, stroke that angelic face and keep it all for himself.

It was a moment where he didn't know what he was going to do.

Over the years, the good and evil sides of Damien had grown further apart. They did this in two ways. The first way was that, rather than both being together to make an informed, conscious decision as seen in humans, they did not work in harmony. When the good side was talking, it showed him emotions, care, that he could save lives rather than take them. When the evil side was talking, it reminded him he could do anything and feel nothing - try to kill Gregory, say cruel things, threaten people, give such horrific glares devoid of care. As these sides had become separate, they had also intensified. Now guilt would be an almost unbearable torment, love would almost kill his heart, and when he slipped to the dark side, he could be an Antichrist fit for the darkest horror film.

The voices were completely him; they merely said what he was thinking.

Satan had shown how to project his subconscious into voices that only he could hear. His father had hoped that if they were talking to him from what felt like outside his mind rather than it feeling like he was doing the thinking within, he'd find it easier to ignore the good one and just listen to what the evil one had to say.

It didn't work. More than often Damien found it harder to disagree with the points good was making than evil. He liked his good side; it was what he wished he could be all the time but knew he never could. Other times though he wished the good would hurry up and leave (like it had to do soon), for then he would feel no guilt or remorse for the actions he did, and then it would be very easy to kill Gregory Rose.

Good was running out of time before evil controlled Damien forever, and in fear and desperation, it was stopping Damien completing his task.

"I asked you here."

"What?" snapped Gregory, then he paused, remembering. "Oh yes, you did."

Damien glanced down at the new additions to the underworld. "Inside. I did not ask you here so you could murder people."

"I - they - Oh fuck off!" Gregory turned on his heel to walk away. Damien's hand snapped out and grabbed Gregory's wrist. He tried to control his temperature. He span Gregory around to stare into his blue eyes.

"We're getting a drink."

Gregory yanked his arm away. "We are not!"

"Then why did you come?" growled Damien.

"I..." Gregory frowned as he once again had nothing to say. He licked his lips. "And what happens when we get a drink?"

"We talk."

"We can talk here," Gregory said firmly. "I don't trust right now that you won't spike my drink or pull some other trick. And look at the state of me!" he motioned to his blood-stained and ripped clothes and what he assumed was a black-eye forming. "After what's just happened, I want to go back to South Park."

Gregory was shocked at his own feelings; that he actually wanted to be in South Park.

"Fine then, I'll make it quick; I want you to stay away from me. Don't try to argue, just... stay away." The tone was menacing but somewhat desperate. Gregory could detect almost a pleading, confused and repressed as it was.

"But you keep approaching me and you invited me here!"

"Yes, and I tried to kill you before, so why the hell did you come? Are you stupid?"

"What the fuck is your problem? That's what I want to know. That's why I came."

"You're my problem, and I hate you for it. You haven't done anything but you are doing so much, and I don't know whether you mean to or not. Stay away from me if you know what's best." After curiously staring over his shoulder for a few moments looking distressed, Damien added, "And, try and stay out of other trouble too."

The way Damien looked over his shoulder confused Gregory. He narrowed his eyes. "I love trouble. You saw me kill those men."

"Not necessarily... I saw those men die."

Gregory was confused at that comment. Was that Damien's way of saying he wasn't going to tell anyone or was it something else? "They were going to kill me." He couldn't be sure of that fact but he did recognise the murderous glint in Jack's eyes.

Damien stared forward and nodded slowly. His actions were curious, like he was listening to some invisible person who was telling him what to say. When his eyes met Gregory's again they were raging with anger and cruelty, all distress vanished. "It's just a shame they didn't do it very successfully." Then he gasped at his own words and grabbed his hair with a hand in distress.

"Fuck you," spat Gregory at that comment. "I knew you wanted me dead."

"What gave it away? The fact I tried to kill you?"

"That's why you didn't help me then? Just stood there in the shadows and watched did you?"

Damien stared unblinkingly into Gregory's eyes as to the blond's confusion the anger disappeared and the distress returned. "No," he replied in a flat, lifeless voice. Damien walked away from him, leaving the alley and never turning back.

'No.' What the fuck did 'no' mean? If Damien had wanted to see Gregory killed by those men then it made no sense that not helping wouldn't have been a reason for that. Did 'no' in that case mean that Damien had done something? How could he have done when he was nowhere to be seen and only made his presence known after the fighting was finished?

And why the hell hadn't Damien just killed him right then, with the perfect set-up and opportunity?

Gregory cursed and stared up at sky, as if convinced it would hold some of the answers to his questions. Perhaps God could give him some fucking answers. Suddenly the very thought of being told to stay away made him change his mind about leaving South Park. There was something about the peculiar behaviour of the black-haired man that just screamed out to be investigated. Gregory resolved that he was going to find out exactly what the man's problem was. Damien had wanted him dead that night and Gregory needed to find out exactly what he was supposed to have done wrong.

He really didn't have a clue.

Christophe gasped when he saw the state of his friend, who had thrown his coat and gloves on the floor, kicked his shoes against the wall and was now walking blood-stained towards the bathroom. "What ze fuck happened to you?"

"Fight." Gregory pushed past Christophe, in want of a mirror. He frowned when he saw that his eye was a black-purple colour, sore and slightly swollen. He sighed. Just perfect. He splashed some water onto his face.

Christophe grabbed his wrists and span him round. "Why were you fighting?" He looked into his eyes with concern.

"Some guys, calling me a fag, thinking they could fuck with me." This was close enough the truth. Gregory just wanted to avoid any questioning that could lead to the mention of Damien. He moved his wrists so they were holding hands instead. "I'm fine."

"How many?!"

Gregory clucked his tongue. "Three. And I have a feeling they'll never mess with me again."

"But you don't get eento fights!"

"I made an exception." He held his hand to Christophe's mouth to silence him. "Think of the amount of times you've got into stupid fights. It didn't mean anything."

Christophe sighed and nodded. "I hate to see you hurt."

"I know."

"More zan anything." He stared at Gregory sadly before pulling him into a hug. "Please be careful."

Gregory sensed the seriousness in the air and hugged Christophe back tightly, closing his eyes. He couldn't promise to be careful, because that would be a lie. He would never take steps to being careful if it meant he had to stop doing things, and it was obvious they both knew that.

"I'm going to bed," he whispered. "You should too."

"Oui."

"What were you doing up so late anyway?"

"I was waiting for you and watching a movie... a... western..." Christophe cringed and then laughed. "I love horses."

Gregory chuckled softly. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

Next time:

Gregory opens the door to those empty black eyes. They look annoyed, like the man they belong to doesn't want to be there. But they also look desperate... hungry. It's Damien and everything around him has fallen into shadow. All Gregory can see is the pale illuminating skin on his face. He doesn't close the door but stays staring.

Damien pushes him backwards, stepping across the line into his apartment. Gregory doesn't stop him, nor does he stop the kiss that finds its way to his lips. He merely kisses back and pulls on Damien's shirt, groaning.