You cowered in fear, something you never found the idea of to be anything but awful. But what choice did you have? This was horrifying!

You didn't know why you hoped to retain any control in the first part of this situation, but you at least knew you'd have power once you found that leverage.

The problem was: how?

Another language filled the room along with the billowing black haze you'd seen before. Feathers, an evil glow, dark and ominous accompanied the sound of avian screeching, blackbirds screaming again. It was as though you were back in the cathedral when that man saw Sebastian act this way, and oddly enough, you wished you were there once more.

He wasn't Sebastian any longer, and he was a thousand times more terrifying than you could have imagined. This was the power of angels and demons, not trapped by the confines of the world, not held down by mortal men.

You swallowed hard. You'd be making significantly fewer jokes about sinners and saints and God himself when you got through this. You felt stupid for thinking this was going to be anything but monumental. This was the test of faith you'd been awaiting your whole life, and you saw yourself as Moses, lost in the desert, protecting a lost lamb, faced with what seemed once beautiful, a harmless tree, a shrubbery, a mere bush, now burning out of all control, the power of Jehovah scaring him into honoured silence.

Reverence was not what would help you here, though. You had to rival this power, and find the strength to be like the God of the Old Testament: angry, mighty, and unbeatable.

You found it difficult to say the name again, especially as you were met with the true form of the man- that's what made sense to call him now, man, you wanted to believe his disguise, his human facade- you once cared for. The beast before you was less human than the Devil Himself, as you fought the urge to look away from the harsh reality of the true face of this fallen angel, his likeness somewhat obstructed by the confines of the room and the thick, impenetrable blackness swirling around it. You didn't know him, not this way, but you knew, in your heart of hearts, that you'd always known him, in more ways than one. You smirked, finding strength again from your internal adolescent joke. You inhaled and stepped forward, speaking in plain English, hoping for a miracle.

"Azazel, Leader of the Watcher Angels, Who Passed on Forbidden Knowledge to the Sons and Daughters of Men, I command you! Speak to me!"

You breathed irregularly, terror flooding through you; it was a different woman speaking. You didn't recognise yourself. You never expected to hold this level of power at one time. You wondered why you hadn't already invoked the name of God.

A slur of what sounded like hostile insults in a dead, or unrecorded, still nearly inhuman tongue came from the leer of the man you used to know, his teeth bared like a hungry lion, and you knew now was the time.

"In the name of the God of Abraham, the Father, and in his Son, Jesus Christ, who was crucified in order to atone for humanity's sins, and in the spirit which always goes with us, with people, who you and your friend claimed to want, to love, in the name of all that is holy and good, all that is right and just, I ORDER you, SPEAK TO ME! In a way I can understand, let me...help you!"

"I do not require assistance."

There. You recognised the effect of kindness, of mercy, and you knew it was that innocence, that sort of conundrum you had to go with. It was what made you so strong all along.

"Why not?" You advanced, and he drew back. "Do you want to be like this?"

"Like what?" The voice coming from this malady was one you recognised. Maybe there was more truth to his human disguise than either of you thought. "Am I not in a desirable state?"

You laughed. "No. Clearly not. Look at yourself, Azazel! If you're trying to impress human women, then you'll have to take on a more pleasing role." You emphasised please instinctively.

"You cannot speak for every human. Who are you to decide what I should be?"

"I'm not deciding. That's your choice. I can't make you do anything."

"Can't you? Is that not why you ordered me to name myself?" He began to shout, the smoke in the air lightening like fire, a white haze filling the small space like the cold flames of that far and away tree in the desert cave. You kicked off your shoes.

"I ordered you to speak to me. That's all. Is that not something you wished for?" You emphasised wish instinctively, too. You were shocked at how easily you spoke to him, in spite of your fear.

"I cannot say I don't find this conversation worth having, but WHY are we consorting? Why have you brought me here?"

"You came with me! You don't remember, but you weren't yourself then." You became more docile, instantly, somehow you sensed it was needed. How peculiar, that in the darkest times in your life, the more frequently they'd occurred, (and they'd clearly increased in frequency, given who you were closest to), the light was so easy to find, like God had personally taken you by the hand. You feared losing this man, one you realised you'd be lost without, just as he'd said about you, more than losing your life.

You hated that. It reminded you of one of those awful romantic, sappy stories about lovers leap, Juliet Capulet and her antics, and the literal apostate of evil before you was far from a Montague, let alone Romeo. Maybe Tybalt could take some lessons from him, if he really wanted to be imposing.

You didn't care anymore. It was true, and in your defence, it wasn't typical, this situation, and loving someone like him wasn't like loving a human being. Dying with or for or because of an instrument in the ruin of mankind itself was hardly trivial, romantically childish or anything basic at all. It was worth everything. It could mean so much more than just hope for you if you could help him.

So you would. You'd do whatever it took. You'd do anything for him.

"You were someone else, or pretending to be. I met you before, though, the real you, but I didn't know your name then. I was afraid, Azazel, I was scared because I thought you tried to kill me before. I thought you tried to take my soul away, but you didn't remember. Do you now? Do you know me?"

You knew this was the time to ask. It wasn't an order, but you'd said his name nonetheless. He had to, at least in part, obey.

"No." It was a short response. He said nothing else, but the room had changed. It wasn't as heavy, the air wasn't spinning, it wasn't like you were lost in a storm without end. It was clearing up, though he didn't know it.

"Are you certain? Do you remember where you've been? London? England?"

"Yes."

"To both my questions?"

"Yes."

"So do you remember me?"

"No."

"I'm speaking to Azazel." You inhaled. Was this the right thing to do? It seemed pretty clear that you'd accused the wrong evil of trying to take you before, all those years ago, when you were young. Perhaps you'd never find out who it was. God. I hope it wasn't his former comrade. You shuddered for a reason completely unrelated to the quasi-still-not-an-exorcism-conversation you were having with Azazel. You wondered what'd happen if it had been Shamyaza or whatever his name was. "Do you remember your other name?"

"I have gone by many names."

You inhaled again, resisting the urge to cross yourself. The name you'd next use wasn't one you'd need that for. "If I were to call you Sebastian, Sebastian Michaelis, would that mean anything to you?"

The hostile vibe in the room dissipated, and you stood, trembling, looking at the unobstructed form of what falling from heaven did to a pure being. It was indescribable, and hideous. If it had been different, and you weren't overwhelmed with sympathy, pity, and affection for his afflictions, you'd thrust your hand in the air in victory, for you'd never feel less insecure in your life. You were Aphrodite in that moment, the creature before you a thousand times more unsightly than Vulcan. It was as though you were looking into the heart of evil, not its disguise.

The punishment for coveting beauty was clear. Tears slid down your face. You pitied him. You felt sorry for him. You stepped forward, impulsively, just as you done with Ciel Phantomhive, but you were too afraid to be as close as you'd been with someone like you, someone young, brilliant and human.

There was nothing human about what you were trying to help. You reached out a hand, and your silver ring glinted in the moonlight. Other light began to emerge. Light from the evening star, the north star, the array of the milky way, galaxies, the endless sky, countless tiny rays of light sparkled in the darkness, shining down upon the village, heaven and earth were at once united, reflecting purity, hope and love. This was the power of forgiveness, of mercy, of faith.

You'd passed almost all the parts of the test, but there were more to come. It was an all or nothing exam: you had to get everything right.

He hadn't answered, and you took it he was thinking, or at least, confused into a state of inner conflict. You repeated yourself, as you laid your hand upon him.

"Would  it mean anything to you, Azazel, if I were to call you Sebastian?"

His arm felt like stone, and you looked up. His eyes were grey; behind him, an odd pair of pillars, scraggly like the rocks before a harbour, jutted against the wall. They were connected to him, holding him down. You remembered that woman from the tavern across the channel, and you thought of her various references to the works of Victor Hugo. He no longer looked like Esmeralda. Here he was, Quasimodo crossed with a Gargoyle from the walls of Notre Dame. It looked painful, this prison, and you were distraught to know you'd brought it on. You knew he asked, you both wanted this, but you didn't want it to be this way. You were sorry.

I'm sorry it had to be this way. You exhaled, and looked directly ahead, stepping forward. You kissed the side of his face, and it was unpleasant, but you'd do it again. You loved him. You didn't care. You couldn't lose him.

It was cliche and almost insulting, and you cursed internally for forgetting you were, in fact, a Princess, but it worked. It was as though a spell had been broken, and though no massive change occurred, no giant transformation turning this beast back into the proud, peacocking prince he'd been, he recognised you, and he fell forward. At least he wasn't chained to the walls anymore.

"I think so." You held him, not letting him break free, were he to regain his memory, you needed it to be the right one. "It depends. Who is asking? I think...two...humans...no...more...knew me as...but...only two knew why to call me that...only two knew what I was...I...can't...remember..." he hissed: steam coming from the edge of a caldera. Something hurt him. You looked down, and he moved his other arm to his abdomen. Was it because of what he'd done to Ciel, that naming him caused him pain? Was that why he couldn't say his name afterwards? Apparently so. You grabbed his hand, and prevented him from speaking any other name.

You said you'd do it again, but this was more unpleasant than the last time. You placed his hands on you, moving yours to his face, and one long, drawn out gesture reminded him of the second person to know who he really was, and it was that person who knew the truth in full, the ugly, raw, unbecoming truth. If salt wasn't bearable for him, then he'd forgotten what fire and brimstone was like. It was like stepping into a tar pit. It was almost sickening, but you didn't stop, nor did you hold your breath as you pulled away.

"My name. My name is {F/N, L/N}, and I loved the human you pretended to be, a servant, a butler, as part of a contract. Sebastian Michaels was what you were named, by a young man I also came to love, Ciel Phantomhive. You consumed his soul, as the contract stipulated. In return, you served him, and that's how you came to know me." You raised your head high, his hands rested on your sides, your hands on top of his. He was tall, much more so than before.

"I-I remember, you...but we never made a pact....why do you stay? Why do you help me?"

Something about this situation seemed familiar. You felt lighter, and you looked down, lifted slightly off the ground, your feet dangled, cold and bare as the air in the room.

It was just as last time, when he'd first picked you up like this, demanding to know why your faith was so strong, why did you believe in God?

Your response was parallel. "Because you saved me."

If the look on his face then had been one of genuine surprise, which you now knew it was, it paled in comparison to this. He was stunned, and suddenly, you seemed precious, dainty, a treasure not worthy to be broken by gravestone. You felt the wood of the floor under your feet again, and his hands left your sides. You stepped forward, tugging at his shirt. "You're not going to hurt me. You don't have to be afraid of anything. I believe in you, Azazel, Sebastian, whoever and whatever you want or need, whatever it takes, I'll do anything." He turned to look out of the window. The night was fading slowly, dawn was approaching. The starlight dwindled with the coming of the sun. You reached out your hand again, and the faintest sunbeam fell on silver, a miniature star against the statue closing its eyes to the harshness of the world it so longed to be a part of. "Look at me." He tried to pull away. "Azazel. Look at me." It still didn't work. Why? That was the name of power. It wasn't as though the illusion Ciel had given him was real. Still, you tried. "Sebastian. Look at me. You told me I can't hate. It's not in me." He looked at you, and his eyes weren't grey any longer. You realised he'd moved closer to you as well. You pulled him against you. It was odd, awkward, strange, he was so large, so giant, but you felt no smaller. He was a man in your arms then, your equal once more. You looked up, smiling, still crying, but this time you didn't hide it. "I love you."

"{Y/N}." He replied. "I know you."

You smiled, wiping your eyes. "You remember me? You remember what we did?" For once, you wanted lust to be the most powerful force to exist. You looked outside at the amber glow of the sunrise as it cast a garnet shade of red on the water. It reminded you of that night, when you cheated death because of him.

He looked out across the sea as well, following your gaze. "Yes. It was wrong. It was a sin."

You hit him. You had no idea why you'd do something so stupid, you could be crushed with a flick of his wrist, a defensive backhand because of your foolishness, but like before, you acted without recompense, and it worked. "It was not a sin! Did you not hear me?" He turned slowly back towards you. "You saved my life! Those human men- they raped me!" It was the first time you actually called it that. What they did. They didn't actually fully use their God given distinctions, what separated them from women, and led to more men and women, sons and daughters, if treated like gifts, instead of abused ungratefully. "They would have killed me, too, and I wanted them to, if I had to live like that, but there is no shame in living this life, Sebastian, and it's all because of you. You saved me. God brought me to you, and you to me, because he is not angry with you anymore! Do you understand?" This was what you needed to say, and why you had to find out his name. You were happy he'd fallen, because now, you'd see him rise. Your father, God, everyone would love him like you did. Your biggest hope of all brought all your strength back, and your dearest ambition was founded: He'd come home. He'd walk through Heaven's gates with you, along with the souls he'd stolen. Ciel, and everyone else. For one petty moment you feared an uncomfortable reunion, other women he'd used, but you got over it quickly. Clearly you mattered most of all. No matter how vain it was, he'd said it himself. No one else meant anything to him. Only you, and Ciel Phantomhive, and he clearly wasn't a woman worth getting all jealous over. If you didn't watch out you'd fall next, a homage to Lucifer and his completely unwarranted envy. You inhaled, fighting once more. "You've been forgiven, Azazel! You can stop damning yourself when God no longer has! He loves you, just like I do! He always did! We always will! You don't have to be afraid anymore! You can stop this Hell! Trust me!"

For a split second, you thought you'd make a grievous error, as the same sound clanged throughout the entire scene. It caused your head to hurt, vibrations like those of the clashing of cymbals, a creciendo of trumpeting, louder and more terrifying than the falling of the walls of Jericho. You feared you'd spoken for God, just as the angel you were trying to help had, and that you'd been cast aside, damned as well, but you were wrong.

The sound of cracking rock, the crumbling of mountains preceded another more beautiful sound, and you blinked, awestruck, the tears in your eyes now reflecting immeasurable joy. The sorrowful bastion trapping the wings of the man before you had been destroyed, and lavender stripped the dark violet embers away, white light swirled around ivory feathers, no longer black and unkempt, but firm, and orderly, no longer in the air, but on the back of the most beautiful sight you'd ever beheld. Almost everything was as you'd remembered, but better. You knew he had to look different, he couldn't just look like the lie he'd used when he met you, but you called him by what you knew, and the effect was apparent.

"Sebastian! You look like the archangel Gabriel!" He opened his arms, and you ran into them.

He laughed, and you felt him shake. The air was lovely. The aroma was familiar, pleasant, becoming, it was like home. Well, this wouldn't be a bad place to live. He looked down at you, now not nearly as imposing. He was radiant as he smiled.

"I hardly doubt that." He leaned closer, and his hair fell across his face. You wanted to knot your fingers in it, but now he was literally perfect, a saint again, and you actually didn't know if that was allowed. The first thing you'd do when you faced the return of Azazel, fallen angel, leader of the Watchers, not as licentious as his dumb partner, would not be a human display of lust. You'd throw yourself out of heaven before God could call you the biggest hypocrite in existence.

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

You got what you wanted anyway, he pulled your hand in his, kissed it once, the same ring catching most of it, and pushed it trough his black hair, which you always adored, it was so dark, beautiful, like raven's wings, intertwining it exactly where you'd wanted it to be. The rest was history after he spoke, his voice ringing in your ear like the bells of a cathedral in the sky, heaven's own song.

It was pretty shallow, though. "I have better hair."

{A/N: Alriiiiight! So there's what I believe is the denouement. Fitting they're in France, eh? Jeez. I say eh more than a Canadian, eh? Anyway, the reason I put their conversations in italics here is to imply it was "different" people/entities/personas speaking. Plus, I thought it gave it more weight. The scene wasn't an exorcism but it was damn near close to one and it felt right to do it that way despite potential improper grammatical usage and/or inconsistency. Idgaf about that shit anyway but I'll specify for those who do. Lol It won't be like this again unless I have another scene where the personalities clash. I don't plan on adding one, so that's probably won't pose an issue going forward! I hope you guys liked it! It was kinda sappy. Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

~ Britt}