Your Wrath Had Freckles

Let me say this: bein' a demon ain't all lollipops and candy canes. People ain't exactly welcomin', you live in hell – literally, and there's the whole damned to eternity dealio. Now, they says folks are sposed to fear us; but that ain't always the case. Hunters for one, those pushy dickweeds – they ain't seem to gots no scared bone in their whole bodies. Us demons, we always on the lookout for a hunter. We know to jack-rabbit outta a town quick smart, 'soon as one rides in – things ya learn over a eternity or more. 'Sides those sons of bitches though, I ain't got no complaints, because I reckon I done lead an interestin' life, so far.

Can't remember when the boss man made me 'zactly. Fars' I know I been goin' on six thousand and thirty four next solstice – but don't go spreadin' that 'round, ya hear? Demon's gotta keep a few things to 'imself. Alls I remember is popping outta the pit; copper deep smell and black everywhere, then the heat hit me, fire full on in the gob, so hot I never forgot it. Can still feel it snappin' at my heels, even when I'm cruisin' 'round on the mortal plane – 'hot as hell' they says. They ain't got no real idea what that means. None do, less they've spent some time there. Wouldn't recommend it m'self.

The big cheese 'imself greeted me outta it, smirked at me with his red lips and yellow eyes and said summat like, 'welcome my child'. Wasn't listening too well 'cause a all the crap in my ears, done got me deaf for at least a week. Maybe a year. Ain't too easy to tell time in a place like purgatory, ya know, unless ya go to Customs an' Trade for one of the noobs' watches. They usually go for a hand or foot though, and I ain't got none to spare, unlike some other demons I could mention. Nah, I'm stuck with the standard two on each limb, like a fuckin' human or summat. Dunno what the boss was thinkin'; maybe he wanted me up lookin' at the homo sapiens like the others are wont to do, while lookin' like 'em. I ain't got no problem with that – means I dun have to possess one of the greedy bastards. I dunno 'bout the others, but I don't wanna get inside a mortal's head; they're more fucked up than I wanna have first hand experience of. Just thinkin' about 'em, runnin' around in their wooden boxes, wearin' artificial skin ontop o' themselves 'cause they dun want each other to see the true them – gives me the willies. I just dun get 'em. Dun want to really, neither.

Luce tried to 'splain it to me once – and nah, I don't mean Luce like Lucifer; I ain't got that much balls as to be givin' Satan 'imself a nickname. He can read minds ya know. I mean Luce as in me mate, succubus which done feeds on the sexual energy of the mortal menfolks. Now, I asked her one day, said, 'Luce, whatcha see in them fugly mortals anyways? They's all sticks and dicks and stones for brains.' And she smiled at me, perky boobs floppin' 'round as she made Bloody Mary's with kitten blood, not wearin' any clothes 'cause that's her nature, said to me, she said, 'Now, Bob, don't you be judging humans by their appearances. They're all God's children, which means we get to mess around with them, get as many to come to our side as we can before he gets his white light shining down. They're good for some things, food and entertainments being primary, but even then once in a while you get one to do you proud. Hitler being one – and you remember Hannibal? Such a wonderful man. Point is, you can't be thinking of them just as, well, what you said – they'll surprise you one day.'

'Course, I ain't one much for listening. Mean, I love Luce, she's a real great gal, done gives me shivers in my spine whenever I look at her, or she smiles. But I dun even pays attention to Dantelion on most occasions, and he's the freakin' Duke o' Hell. So's I dunno what she was 'spectin' from me.

Time passes, and afore I knew it twas the twenty first century, set in almost a decade, and I felt twas 'bout time to go see for m'self what those humans been up to in the last coupla centuries. I ain't been up top since Henry the VIII started killin' off his wives, which musta been what? Six hundred years? Yeah, summat like that. Anyways, I clears it with the Travel folks, signin' in and out, get m'self a passport, borrows some clothes from the Costumes Department, says my goodbyes to Luce and Steve, one of my Jikininki buds, then pop through the divide. I mean, 'snot all bedlam and bloodshed, ya know – 'can't just go rarin' off, ready to lop off some heads – you gotta get clearance with the higher ups first. You think we's unorganised or summat? Obviously you ain't ever had to sit through one a Dantelion's rants 'bout his paperwork. I swear that guy could make a rock cry wit his whingin'. Dun tell him that though. He'd prolly cut off my testicles for desk ornaments.

Anyways, so I'm on Earth, lookin' around and thinkin' to m'self it ain't much different since the last time I been here. Sure, they's got metal boxes instead o' wooden ones now, but they's still as paranoid an stupid as ever, got their noses to the ground, or the sky, or stuck in books or little beeping gadgets. I's never heard such an annoyin' sound as when this little boy done walk past me, stuck on the end of a leash, both fat hands glued to this coloured plastic square that he looked at like twas the Holy Ghost's long lost scriptures. Figured Chaos had been busy again, sortin' out new ways to torment the masses. 'Course, if it got on a demon's nerves he reckoned so much the better. I wondered how much of a bonus he'd got for that one.

Playstation? Gameboy? Summat like that; the mother pullin' her little boy around gave me a glare when I asked to see it. Shoulda known that mom's'd have the same neuroses in all centuries.

So anyways, I'm roamin' around the main street of whatever town I got sent to, almost missin' the heat 'cause it's freezin' in comparison, eyein' the folks like the cattle they are. Saliva's fillin' my mouth when start thinkin' 'bout the last time I had a fresh human flesh to eat. Sure, we got fluxes o' bodies down below, depending on wars an such, but when it got to the hoards they was usually at least half rotted away, seein' as the imps weren't picky about deadlines.

Still, I knows it ain't exactly smart to just go 'round and pick out a dead man walkin'; it's just one sure fire way to get caught out by a hunter or at the very least, the authorities. Then you gots Volac ridin' yo' ass, an' no one wants that, see? Ya gotta at least have a base plan, a place o' operations, all that shit that the military types blab on 'bout for hours on end. Seem to do everything with their asses, those demons. Eat, talk, fuck. Can't meet one these days who isn't in love wit his scoutin' partner. Not that that kinda thing's a problem in hell, but it ain't zactly the thing ya wanna be thinkin' about all the time, ya know? I'm not on their side a the fence, if you get me drift.

Wish Luce would.

First thing for me to do is get m'self a room somewhere; motel's the best place to do it usually – temporary and no one around gives a fuck whatcha do. So I starts lookin' for one, and find this little place just off the main street, pretty enough for a broken down dump, climbin' vines erodin' the brickwork slow-like, dried up husk of a garden out the front, chipped paint and a smashed and boarded up window. I shrug, turn around and look for the closest yuppie to pickpocket. There's a fair few spiffy lookin' ones in this town, an I make quick work of this one guy with a buzz cut and pinstriped suit, blinkin' the pictures of him in his purse to reflect my own image. It's as easy as takin' teeth from a sleepin' baby, and I stride into the little motel, introducin' m'self as Tommy Terruns, which was the name on the little plastic card the woman asked for, an took outta the buzz cut guy's wallet when I jus' looked at her all blank like. Nows I knows what a Mastercard is at least.

Soon as I smile at her an make to turn around I hear the tinkle of the bell behind me, an these two guys walk in. One's taller than some o' the demons with three leg joints I know, floppy hair like a woman, and soft lookin' baby face. The other one's got rough blonde stubble on his jaw, lips like a woman and set shoulders like he's fuckin' Shakespeare or summat. Cocksure as anything, givin' me this shit eatin' grin as he sidles up to the woman at the counter. Callin' her sweetheart as the babyface Sasquatch rolled his eyes and muttered to himself. I just shrugs again, thanks the woman wit a mutter and stroll out to locate my room an then start in on the smorgasbord o' humans this place offers.

Lookin' forwards to the shocked screams and tart tin taste already.

I brings the first woman back to the motel that night; got lucky at a bar on the main street. She started getting' real close to me right off the bat, puttin' her hand high on my thigh, alcohol tainted breath spillin' across my cheek. Asked me if we could go back to my place 'bout an hour in. Shocked me to no end I can tell you; the womenfolk in the sixteenth century never had more testosterone than the men, I knew that much. Maybe women these days got injections or summat. Would 'splain the weird shape of some o' their tits – like this one; felt like she had orange peel sewed up inside 'em when she pressed herself against me side. Might also 'splain to me why she was wearin' pants.

Snap of the bones in her cervical vertebrae was everythin' I'd been hopin' for – even better, maybe, 'cause I hadn't realised afore hand that I'd have to be listenin' to 'the goss' 'bout Paris' hilt-on or summat, and whatever reality TV was. For one thing, I wonders, what's TV? 'Course I didn't ask, and she just blabbers on about how stupid it was, how no one wanted to see 'bout twenty adult strangers livin' in a house together, contestin' for money, but she watched it anyways 'cause that blonde guy was just so smokin'. I considered askin' what, 'zactly, but figured twas marijuana, if the woman's glassy eyes were any indication.

I felt like that bobble-head dog the bartender lined up on the bar for the whole night.

She screamed like a cat in heat when I tied her to the bed, after she realised it wasn't just some sex game – what have these mortals been up to? The first strip o' flesh off my knife was what sin an bein' a demon was all about – sweet metal flavour, heavy and delicious wit fear and waning lust. Bit chewy in places, but I spose that was to be 'spected, coat hanger as that woman was.

Once I was finished I cleaned up all the blood an gore, blinked the sheets into an illusion of cleanliness, then laid down in the wet red warmth of 'em for some shut eye.

I think I missed Earth, truly.

Over the next week or so I done stay in the motel room durin' the day, went huntin' for victims at night. Found at least one a day – on the fourth I got three to come home wit me at once. I swear I haven' pigged out as much since the Persian Wars. Luce'd like the set up, I thought – she coulda rode the men afore I gobbled the remains. But ya can't have ev'rythin' and I been doin' just fine 'til I noticed my stack a bones out in the forest 'bout the town had been picked through. Meant someone'd caught me out, and I'd have to be endin' my vacation early or move on to the next town.

I sighs, and buy m'self a suitcase wit Tommy Terruns Mastercard, pack all the bones in it for souvenirs and trudge back to the motel. Figured I might've been getting slow from all the eatin', though, 'cause I didn't realise 'till I was well in the room that it was a trap.

The guys I'd seen in the reception my first day here were lyin' in wait, shotguns full o' rocksalt, silver and consecrated iron – "Whatever works," the shorter one said – an a devil's trap laid out on the ceiling. I just held the suitcase o' bones close and waited, silent, for them to get on with it an send me home. It'd be quicker than goin' through Customs wit 'em, at least. Instead, the floppy-haired one started stalkin' around me in a circle, tryna look impressive with this giant book in his hands, murdering a delicate Latin dialect with his thick American accent. I done reckon they was tryna exorcise me and started laughin' my socks off. Possessed – ha! They think I'm ridin' around in a fuckin' meat-suit, like I'd be that dumb.

Hunters always think too goddamn much.

'Course, the older one started yellin' at me when I belly-laughed, cursin' an swearin' summat beautiful. I just stuck my tongue out at him an dared him to send me back. Was kinda missin' Luce's kidney and brain pie by then anyways, so I didn't mind so much that the hunter express'd be me mode o' transport. Beats the fires any day – I always smell like burnt skin for weeks after. Babyface got this confused look on his face whence I started invitin' 'em to send me back, and stopped his futile chantin', turnin' to his buddy an saying, "Dean, I think it wants to be sent back. Do you think it's really a demon?"

The blonde one done flick an annoyed glance at the other, said, "'Course it's a fuckin' demon, Sammy. We just gotta figure out why it's not leavin' that poor sucker's body. Do you think it's a sigil, like you had?"

I rolled my eyes, and rubbed at me temples. Knowin' hunters we'd be here all day 'till they sorted their li'l' problem out. I squatted on my haunches and started pickin' at my toenails, wishin' they'd just get on wit it, havin' enough brain cells to rub together to realise they wouldn'.

"Can you see a sigil?" the one called Sammy asked, started peerin' at me from narrowed eyes, halfway from across the room – twas soon decided that the shorter one'd come and check my good out for 'imself and stalked his way over, grip tight and practiced on his shotgun.

Since I was pretty much powerless I let him fondle me, only sayin' when I got a close-up of his mug, said to the ceilin', and God, "Why didn' You tell me that Your wrath had freckles?"

'Course, the blonde shot me after that, and I crashed straight back into hell with a thump. Still had the bones, though, and that's all that really mattered. Plus, I gots told later I'd had and survived a meetin' with the infamous Winchester brothers, so Luce was askin' me all about it. When I shared the remains o' my trip wit her she ended up stayin' the night. I think we got summat goin' now, so all an all I'd count my vacation a win.

Might even send those boys a letter o' thanks.

If I remember in the next century, or so.

Crack was smoked excessively throughout the writing of this fic. Unbeta'd – written in a fit of passion in one night. (Tonight, in fact – ha ha!) It was POV experimentation… I was trying to find a different voice. Tell me if it worked? Reviews are forever adored. Pixc P.S. This is kind of a spin off of this other fic I read that I can't remember… whatever. Thanks for reading!