I Am No Angel

Okay, so, this is what I get when I go on a Fandomstuck kick and listen to Imagine Dragon's Bleeding Out one too many times.

In case you don't know what fandomstuck is, it's the personification of different fandoms combined with Homestuck shipping and violence.

Warning: do not read if you are squeamish or faint of heart, contains lots of blood and killing.

Hetalia pushed open the door, his flashlight beam sweeping the bedroom.

"Nat?" he called. "Supernatural! Doctor Who is looking for you! Hello?" He stood in the doorway, looking for the elusive fandom. Suddenly, he felt an ice cold hand on his shoulder.

"Hello Hetalia," Supernatural purred, a dangerous edge on his voice. "I've been waiting for you."

"Perche?" asked Hetalia in Italian, trying not to freak out.

"Because, you are the only one that will get me what I want," Supernatural replied, pulling out his silver angel blade. He pressed it onto Hetalia's neck, "Aw well, guess one death is better than none." He reached up and tugged on Hetalia's hair curl, making him cringe. The poor anime, he was shaking!

"Scared Heta?" he asked softly.

"S-stop!" Hetalia stammered. "Il mio amico prego non farmi male!"

"Goodbye friend." A scream tore through the air as Supernatural sliced the sharp angel blade deep in Hetalia's neck, cutting his head clean off. Moments later, the others raced in, Homestuck in the lead, ready to defend his moirail. They froze, eyes glued to the sight of Hetalia's severed head and the puddle of blood forming around it. There was a moment of dead silence as the three fandoms processed what they were seeing. Homestuck's legs gave out, he dropped down, hands splashing in the red puddle. Doctor Who leaned in the doorway, barely able to stand he was so shocked. Sherlock knelt next to Homestuck, putting a hand on his back, used to grim and gory deaths.

"I'm sorry," the detective muttered. Homestuck brushed the hand off and got back onto his feet. He wiped away the few green tears on his cheeks, leaving them streaked with the red blood on his hands. He pulled a single green captchalogue card from his pocket, turning it into a pair of sharp colorful sickles. He turned and walked out the door. "Where're you going?" asked Sherlock, because Doctor Who couldn't speak.

"Demon hunting," he replied stiffly, before turning and running off. Slowly, Sherlock stood. He wiped Hetalia's blood onto his pants, before looking up at Doctor Who. "You going to be okay?" He nodded a little. Sherlock pulled out his pistol and loaded it, "Stay here, keep and eye out, and be careful." The detective walked off after Homestuck, leaving Doctor Who alone with the body. Who slumped to the ground, legs weak with fear, he could feel both hearts racing with panic. Never, ever, had he seen so much blood, and his head- no, he must remain calm. But he couldn't.

A wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Doctor Who curled in on himself, trying to hold in his lunch. But one glance at the body and he couldn't anymore. A moment later, he wiped the bile away from his mouth, feeling no better.

Slowly he stood again, knees shaky. He made his way down the hall, keeping a hand on the wall to steady himself. He went into the living room, pulling off his scarf. He failed to notice the flickering lights, which were a warning. He pulled off his scarf and tossed it aside, then pulled off his fez and glasses, doing the same as he moved towards the couch. Who froze, as he heard them being picked up, and ripped apart. Slowly, he turned around.

Supernatural grinned a toothy fang filled grin, the 3D glasses lopsided on his noes, two halves of a fez and scarf in each hand. He dropped them, "What's up Doc?"

"No, no no no," Doctor Who put a hand to his head, shaking it. Supernatural stepped towards him, his wings coming out the shadows, their tips sticky with strings of blood. "S-supernatural! Snap out of it! Th-this isn't y-you!" he stammered. Supernatural grinned again like a shark, "I don't think so. I never get to see you scared, I love it."

"Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to."

"I won't let you hurt anyone else!"

"You think you can stop me?" He lashed out, slicing a long clean cut across Doctor Who's cheek before vanishing. "Just try Time Lord." Who stood motionless, slowly, he reached up and touched the cut. He looked into the shadows, "Let me talk to the old Supernatural, not you, give me my friend back." He cried out as a sharp pain flared across his back, a new sharp cut appearing across his skin. "This isn't you!" A new one along his arm. "You're corrupted!" A gash across his chest. "Possessed!" Another across his forehead. "A demon!" Nothing.

Who froze, had he done it? No, Supernatural appeared out of the blackness, closing a fist around Doctor Who's throat and hoisting him in the air.

"I, am, not, a demon!" he roared, throwing the fandom into the wall. Who's head smacked hard against it, a sickening crack was heard. Supernatural stormed over and lifted his head up, Doctor Who's eyes were vacant and a delusional smile was on his face. Bruises were already forming across his neck, and blood from the head wound was creating a stain on the wall. But he was dead, no doubt, and no regeneration either, he'd planned for that. Using a small bit of poison to cancel the Time-Lord's ability would make it certain he didn't come back.

Satisfied with his second kill, Supernatural wiped his hands clean, leaving large red streaks on his already stained coat. Behind him, he heard the door open. He smirked, it'd take more than that to sneak up on him.

"Well, Sherlock, this is, a turn out," he said, mimicking John Watson's voice, before turning around. Sherlock's eyes were cold with fury, he had his pistol raised and loaded, but he could see the tears brimming. "Oh my, I didn't realize you liked the poor bastard, I'm so sorry." Sherlock cocked the gun, allowing a single tear to fall. Supernatural smiled, "You'll be crying a lot more when I'm done with you." He vanished in a puff of feathers and reappeared behind the detective, getting a fist straight to the face. He stumbled back into the hall, clutching his bleeding nose, and eyes wide with surprise. Sherlock cracked his knuckles and threw another punch, splitting Supernatural's lip.

"Wait! Stop!" the winged fandom cried, eyes returning to normal. Sherlock hesitated, and he grinned. He lunged at Sherlock, knocking them both to the ground, but keeping him pinned underneath. He punched Sherlock right in the face, and the blows came down fast and hard. They kept going until Sherlock was so bruised he couldn't move without flinching. The pistol had been cast aside in the fight, and as Supernatural stood, Sherlock tried to reach for it. Supernatural pressed a boot down onto the detective's wrist, making him cringe.

"I don't think so," he stepped down, snapping the fragile bones in the fandom's wrist. Sherlock grit his teeth, he would not cry, he had to stay strong. The door was still open, if he really tried, he might be able to make a run for it. But, as if sensing his thoughts, Supernatural tsked sadly. "Oh no Sherlock, what are we going to do with you? you can't leave yet, The corpse party is only just starting. But, i guess, if these delusions of freedom still give you hope, i can fix that." He knelt down next to Sherlock's leg, grabbed his ankle, and snapped it. Sherlock screamed despite himself, but it did hurt, a whole flipping lot. His eyes fluttered shut as the pain became to much to bear and he passed out cold. Supernatural summoned his blade, and while Sherlock was unconscious, slit his throat.

He vanished before Homestuck arrived, alerted by the sounds of a scuffle. Homestuck stood in the doorway, mouth hanging open, on the verge of tears. But, he took a deep breath and steadied himself, remembering his own characters. The troll fandom went to both his friends, checking their pulses and sighing. He stood, before going over and picking up Doctor Who's things. He arranged it so it still looked like he had his scarf, like he still had his fez and glasses. He fixed Sherlock's ankle and wrist back into position so they didn't look broken. He stood there, silently, sickles hanging by his sides.

He scowled, this, ended, now.

He ran out into the front room, where the largest open space was, and stood in the defense. A wind picked up as a shadowy figure appeared in the darkness. Supernatural strolled out, his coat and feathers stained red with their friends' blood, a large amount on his face from where his broken nose had bled, and despite this, a fanged grin that could light up a city. Homestuck scowled, "This is between you and me."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Supernatural replied nonchalantly.

"Why the fuck did you kill them? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he demanded.

"What? Don't you have a dark side?" he said, "And doesn't it just nag at you to be let loose? And those days, where the hatred builds up and the anger and you can't hold it back? That's me, and I am going to enjoy killing you so much, you son of a bitch demon."

"I, am not a demon! You are!" Supernatural lost any fake smile he had had before, his angel blade appearing, "Tell that to Grimdark and Lord English would ya?"

"Tell him yourself," Homestuck snapped, readying his own weapons. The two charged, a deadly dance of sickles and sword, of wings and horns, of angels and demons, but who was which?

"Give me back the old Supernatural!" demanded Homestuck as they fought.

"The old Supernatural is dead!" he snapped back, jamming the butt of his sword into Homestuck's head. He staggered back, dazed and cut. He glanced up in time to get a second fist to the face, knocking him down. Supernatural picked up the fandom and chucked him across the room, throwing him into the wall. He watched as Homestuck struggled to his feet, yes he was powerful, but he was no match for both demon and angel strength. Slowly, the winged fandom pulled out a lighter, he lit it, and threw it at Homestuck.

It landed on his shirt, instantly catching it. Homestuck screamed surprise, ripping off the fabric and throwing it aside. The flames hungrily devoured the green Sburb logo. With his eyes glued to the flame, he didn't notice when Supernatural leaped at him, taking him to the ground. He was already bloodied and bruised, he didn't fight as Supernatural pinned him down. But boy did he scream when that angel blade touched the skin on his back, cutting in deep and carving a single word across his grey skin: DEMON. Supernatural laughed, green blood getting everywhere as Homestuck struggled to get out of his grasp. He grabbed the fandom's horns and forced him to look back at him, "See you in hell Homestuck."

"Meet you there," Homestuck snarled weakly, before the blade made one last cut, killing him the same way he'd killed Sherlock.

Slowly, Supernatural stood, shaking. The demon inside him backed off, returning from the dark pits it had been created from, leaving poor old, ordinary, scared, guilty Supernatural in his place. It took him a moment, but when he looked down at the bloodied corpse of Homestuck at his feet, and the blood smeared across his coat, he screamed. He cried. He panicked. It was his fault, all him, he had killed every single fandom who had ever dared put up with him. He didn't deserve these wings, or this angel blade, he was a monster. He deserved to die like the rest of the beasts in his world.

Eventually, he only came to one conclusion. the only way he'd ever live with what he's done, is by not living at all. So, later that night, as the moon glowed bright over the city, Supernatural tied Doctor Who's torn scarf together, turning it into a noose. With one end tied securely to the edge of the house, and his wings tucked in, he jumped off the side of the roof. It was over in a minute.

He wouldn't be found till the next morning, dead, neck snapped in the fall. Suspecting the worse, the fandoms who found him would look inside, but the bodies would be gone. In panic they'd go back to look for Supernatural's, but it'd be gone too. They'd search everywhere for any sign of the bodies, and find nothing.

Little did they know, that the four fandoms Supernatural had killed were forgiving him elsewhere, somewhere in paradox space, because of a little thing called God Tier.

The End

You are the PARADOX SPACE fandom.

Homestuck's younger ectosister who really enjoys writing stories and comics. You sit back in your chair, satisfied with your creative out pouring. Though it was grim and you had just murdered off your brother's friends, it feels excellent. You can see into doomed timelines, especially Homestuck's, and made it your job to chronicle them. Partially for fun, partially so you can keep record of them so the Alpha timeline doesn't get to fucked up. Behind you, a very sleepy Homestuck climbs out of his recuperacoon, dripping with sopor slime.

"Dox? What the fuck are you doing in my room?" he asks sleepily, confused why you're using his husk top. You flash him a smile, "Just recording another doomed timeline big brother, don't worry about it."

ME: Like I said, too much bleeding. I'm okay now though, and, apologies if I skipped anyone's ship or killed their favorite character or skipped a fandom.