Young Writers Society

He let out a quiet sigh of a relief.

Then he just as quietly whispered, "Thank you."

He quickly fell into silence after he finished speaking. There was so much he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure where he was supposed to begin - or even how much he could say.

He propped himself up on a shoulder.

"Do you have any family?" he asked. It was a simple question, and one that shouldn't have felt so important, but family was everything to him - family was Luci. Family was his little trio of hunters. Cain had to have someone like that, didn't he?

"Not anymore," he said, and his voice was rather bland. "I don't think I ever really did. I don't even know if I have any friends. Except for Runi. But she wouldn't be my friend if she knew the things I'm doing. Not that I care, really. I don't need friends. Or family."

I don't need people. It'd become something akin to his motto over the years. He didn't need anyone. All they did was complicate things, and hurt him, and he didn't care. He didn't care about them. He had himself and, by god, he was powerful. He'd taken his throne near single-handedly, and kept it in the face of rebellion and war and resistance for years. He'd managed it without an education, without a family; he'd hardly even known what he was.

And he'd done it. He'd done it all. He'd built himself up from nothing until a force that turned the summer to winter and froze a world until it was white. Until it was all white.

The name rung a bell, but he ignored its ringing.

He studied Cain's face. His face rung a bell, too, but he didn't want to think about that. All he could think about - drunk as he was - was the familiar story that Cain was telling. It was a story that he hadn't heard in a long time, but it was one that he knew all too well.

"That sounds lonely," he commented, frowning. "I think you need a Hallmark Christmas movie, Cain. That-That's not a way to live."

He thought over what he wanted to say for just a second, unable to give any more attention to the issue of Cain's apparent loneliness.

"I...I used to be like that, too," he said. "Not because what I was doing. Because of who I was - I, I..."

He faltered.

He couldn't say he was God. He knew that. But every fiber of his soul wanted to tell Cain the truth, and to tell him exactly why what he was doing was so bad.

"I-I was loved by everyone," he said. "And I hated it, because they-they never bothered to see the real me. They...They just saw this person I was supposed to be, and it wasn't until my brother came into my life that I...I finally had someone who liked me for me. And then I was happy - really, truly happy because I-I could be myself."

He looked into the depths of Cain's eyes.

"I think you need someone like that, too," he whispered.

"No."

No. He couldn't. Not again. Not after Evelyn. Absolutely not, never again. Never again could everything come to a stop; never again could the white melt away; never again could red stain the snow. Never again could he be abandoned like that.

"Besides," he said after a moment, "no one could see me and love me. Not anymore. They'd see behind the mask and they'd run away. They'd be right to. No. I don't need anyone. Not like humans do."

So Cain wasn't human.

...Not that God really cared. He didn't even bother to check his soul - what was the point in doing it, when he was sure Cain was going to explain it at some point?

"We haven't known each other for long," he quietly said, "but I've liked what I've seen behind your mask."

A light blush appeared on his cheeks as he reached a hand out towards Cain again, holding back so he didn't touch Cain but came incredibly close to. "Both literally and figuratively," he clarified.

"You shouldn't. You wouldn't, if you knew the rest of it. It's a mistake."

He didn't quite look at the other man as he said that, and his voice was hushed. Far more hushed than it would've been if he were sober and capable of being enough in denial to numb himself entirely.

His eyes slid to the side as the man's hand approached him, but he didn't pull away. His attention only left when he realized that he wasn't going to continue the motion and make physical contact. He was so sensitive to that. It was something he'd always hated, but never been able to fix, so he hadn't. He just lived with it.

"I deal with all kinds of people at my job," he insisted. "I...I know it's never black and white. And that's what people would say about my brother, too - that it's impossible to love him when you find out the truth about him, but he's the sweetest person in the entire world. I-I don't think anyone can be as sweet as him, but..."

He faltered, took a long, slow breath, and said, "...I think I could handle whatever secrets you have."

"I'm not a good person," he said. "I'm the worst kind of person. I don't even care that I am. I'll do anything. I'll do it because I can. I'll do it because it's fun. Does that sound like a secret you can handle?"

There was a certain bitterness to his voice. Even Cornyx had to admit that. He sighed, closing his eyes. He didn't feel things. He didn't, normally, feel things, but right now he was, and that wasn't something he liked.

He gave Cain a long, hard look.

"You sound pretty upset about it to me," he said, frowning. His gaze went back up to the ceiling. "If you really didn't care, you wouldn't be telling me that."

He gave a tiny giggle.

"...We are drunk," he admitted. "So there's that. But I think...I think the things you say when you're drunk are things you really think, but are just too scared to say. Right?"

"The things you say when you're drunk are stupid and thoughtless and impulsive," Cornyx replied. Evidently, inebriation didn't quite erase his cynical streak. "I don't care. I almost care about not caring, but not really that, either. I don't think I ever did. Maybe I was just born fucked up. That's what the psyche lady said."

Bringing her up was something he never would've done if he was sober. She was the last psychiatrist he'd had in prison, the one who'd finalized his diagnoses. He didn't dislike. He just...didn't like the things she'd said. Probably because she was right.

He mulled over that for a moment.

"I must be, too," he said. "I've been told I have a God complex, which is hilarious because-"

He faltered, giggled and reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to actually be God right now.

"-of where I work," he said. That didn't really help much; he still ended up letting out another giggle. He worked in Heaven, so it was still just as funny. Then he tried to be a little more serious, because Cain needed him to, and the conversation really wasn't that entertaining once he took away the puns.

He let out a sigh.

"...I might have cared, once," he said. "And I-I think I still do, for some things. But sometimes I feel like I'm starting to lose touch with my humanity again - I can see it, and I know it's there, but..."

He faltered again.

"I don't like saying it's because of who I am," he said. "That makes it sound like I can't change it. And I want to change - I want to start caring again - but it's so hard because I-I...I don't know how to care about things anymore. Everything is just another day at the job, and no-no one there ever wants to know if I'm doing alright. Because I'm supposed to be doing for them."

His lips quivered.

"It's not fair," he whispered. "I-I never asked for this."

"Nothing's fair," Cornyx said. "I mean, I didn't ask to be abandoned. Or for..." Evelyn. But even drunk, he couldn't bring himself to say it, so he just trailed off into somber silence for a few minutes. "Things just kind of happen and we're just stuck dealing with it."

He sighed, fingers running through the chain of his watch that was in his pocket. "I tried, really hard, for a really long time, to be human," he said, his intoxicated brain not making it far enough to realize that he was implying he wasn't human. "I tried so hard to...be good. Be...caring. All those stupid things. But it's b*******. All of it. You can only fight one's nature for so long before your true colors start to show."

Cornyx wrapped the chain around his finger, studying its glittering surface. "No one cares about me, either. Be grateful you have the humanity in the first place, though. That's a gift not all of us get to have."

God couldn't help himself.

He let out a little, pitiful laugh at Cain's comment.

And then some common sense kicked in, and he did something he probably should have done awhile ago - he checked Cain's soul. And there it was, in all of its glory: a demon soul.

Cain wasn't human in the slightest.

And God really wasn't one to be talking, so he let out another quiet snort and scooted a little closer to him. "You're a demon," he said. Another laugh escaped him. "I-I should have seen it sooner. A business man. God-" Cue another giggle at his own bad joke. "-I should have seen it sooner."

Then he caught himself, realizing that 1) he had just hinted at not being normal by knowing that demons truly existed and 2) was totally ignoring the point Cain had been trying to make.

He pointed at himself, a unfocused, almost wild grin on his face.

"I'm not human, either," he declared, jabbing himself with his finger. "I'm an angel. An angel named Angel. It's a funny alias, isn't it?"

How it'd taken someone aware of the supernatural this long to figure out his identity, he had no idea. Of course he was a demon. Then again, no one had figured it in his entire childhood, and he knew that there were hounds and the like in the areas he frequented. No one but Runi, anyways. But she hardly counted. She wasn't even of Earth.

Although both of them were pretty drunk, and that probably contributed.

Angel. Angel, Angel. Heh. That was kinda funny. "Maybe I should've called myself Damon instead," he said. "Daaaaamon. Damon. Damon. Huh. Cain is such a s*** name. It's ironic in...all the worst ways."

He paused, glancing over at Angel. Angel the angel. That prompted a slight giggle that never should've left his lips, and certainly wouldn't have if he wasn't completely and utterly intoxicated. An angel that smelled...weird. Weird, for an angel, that was, and he hadn't noticed until the man had claimed his species.

In an feat of confidence and boldness that he never would've attempted were he sober, the demon leaned forward, so close that his nose almost brushed Angel's neck. Mouth half-opened to taste the air, he drew in a long breath, sorting through the scents. He didn't smell enough like...tangy feathers. That was the only way he could describe it. Metallic, almost, but not quite. That was angel smell.

Whatever, it was probably just the alcohol.

"You smell like a weird angel," he said, and then leaned back again. "Are you missing your wings?"

He shook his head - he didn't have wings to begin with - but then he gave a nod when he realized that angels were supposed to have wings. God didn't have wings; he didn't want them. But if he really was supposed to be an angel, he guessed he was supposed to have a set.

"I'm missing my wings," he said, biting back another little giggle. He was telling the truth, wasn't he? He didn't have a pair, but not for the reason that Cain thought.

Or Not-Cain. Cain wasn't really his name, but God didn't feel like asking what. He just giggled again, squirming a little on the bed so the rest of his body was as close to Not-Cain as Not-Cain's head was to him right now. "I was born without them - it's very inconvenient."