end times.

A-ONE AND A-TWO AND A-THREE

a-one and a-two and a-three.

Samuel (or, well Mephistopheles; you know a thing or two about unwanted knowledge of names) is a bastard at best. A smart one at that; this motherfucker―

Well, he played it out well enough, Asteroth is the one who actually did it, you wonder why he did it but you aren't supposed to know; you don't ask. Rin can't be that important. But, regardless, he's testing you. Samuel that is, not Asteroth, King of Rot And All Things Undone doesn't really go off anything but rage, which, good for him. But also, like, you'd prefer to not mingle with this many humans―ones that you'll have to get along with anyway. Well. They didn't tell you that Rin is your brother's kid yet, so, well, you'll just pretend that he's the same. He is, to you.

They don't know that your brother is the devil. That will change things.

You wonder if they ever will, wonder if you can shift yourself for the grand reveal, who is AZREAL Bearer of Bad News, Angel of Death, The Fourth Horseman to them? You wonder if they know how real you are. That your siblings will find them, they'll find you too, then, and you'll return to the monotony in Purgatory. You'll miss watching things bleed.

You'll miss Uganda.

It was so pretty, you'll have to tell Jamie, they'll flip, they never left their house because of ― something or other when they were alive. Ava will flip because she never left Germany and you wonder if Dembe'll give you a fill in on all the shit you missed because she's petty like that. Peaceful your ass.

She's worse than your brother, Destroy That Which Controls All That Is Vile and Horrid Such As Sin Decrees. You keep forgetting how long your brothers' names are; he's one self absorbed bastard. Self absorbed, no concept of space.

(Do you bleed blue? Do your cry red? What do fallen angels look like when they die?)

You're a ghost like this, all gold mouths and broken skin,  all soft lies and whispered smiles. You're a ghost like this. Your skin  must've been hollwed to get this kind of knock, rock hard mouth linned like a jin tonic in Jacksonville, Florida. You're gonna get blushed out of your mind when they take you down, so high on nausea and starlight they're going to burn the saint out of you to get to the sinner.

(You grin, all melted skin and nosebleeds.

They're halos melt into their eyes and their wings crumble, their skin becomes leather.)

You are to become an Exorcist, says Mephistopheles, Samuel, Faust. He's got more named than the rest of his brothers. Which is very much like his father. He sits, silly. All hard edges and plastic teeth, like he isn't beyond bastardization. You stand when the car lets you out, you soften your eyes. You pretend you're a tragedy made from an arsonist long dead.

(You must be demented, running away from it all, they must think. You must be afraid, psychotic, and they must be spewing theory upon theory to fit your actions in a bubble.)

You're very bored.

The sky is blue, the sun is gold, god does not care, you are bored. If they all knew, do you think they'd cry?

(Crybaby, crybaby.)

(Do you cry gold then, mister? Like a halo, mister? Do you miss her, mister?)

You sigh.

(Do you bleed blue, mister?)

It begins to rain again.

_

Last year when summer can round you goaded the Okumura brothers into causing chaos with you. And trying Colombian food that you made out of what was at the grocery store. It was too spicy, they said, you called them cowards and no food was ever too spicy again, even when their faces turned red.