Grace Santana knew what she was getting into when she first laid eyes on the tattooed man they called El Diablo. Temptation's hard to resist and after all, who can say they fell in love with and married the Devil?

Rating: Mature/Teen (PG-13+)

Word Count: 4,527

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Blood, Gore and Death

Pairing: Grace/Chato Santana

She first sees him when she's working full time in an old diner in East Los Angeles, an old jukebox faintly crooning the tales of loss and heartbreak, her dark brown eyes wandering over the beautiful ink on his caramel skin. She wonders what stories he has to tell and reminds herself that she's three weeks into her new job and she already has a crush on some guy she has just glanced at. Way to go, Grace.

A cute guy, she thinks, sitting all alone by himself . . .

The young man wears a blue letterman jacket over a white tank top. He wears the embodiment of Death on his face, a scythe on his forehead, tally marks etched over his left eyebrow. Nicola, her best friend, notices her curious lingering gaze and draws her attention.

"Be careful with that one. They say he's El Diablo," she warns.

Grace shoots her a look. "Why?"

Nicola glances over to the man, making sure he's not eavesdropping or looking their way. He's not, his thin tattooed fingers linking together, staring out the window, watching the fast-paced nightlife of East L.A. go by. She keeps her voice lowered though. "You didn't hear this from me, okay? They say he controls fire. Like real fire - out of nothing. They think he's cursed because bad things keep happening when he's around. My brother says he's always been like that since the day he was born. Everywhere he goes, something burns. Always."

"That's . . . kinda harsh, isn't it? I mean -" Grace begins.

"Sweetie, you haven't lived here long enough to see what he does," Nicola cuts in with a serious look. "Trust me." The jukebox plays its last note as it winds down, leaving the television speaking quietly through the speakers, announcing the story of the 49th Daytona 500 winner and the capture of the metahuman who tried to stop it. "Now, be a good chica and make some money, hermanda. You have a customer to serve."

Nicola backs away, leaving Grace speechless. She sighs, tucking her blouse back into her jeans and takes a moment to collect herself and walks over to the man with her notepad and pen in hand. She puts on her brightest smile and asks, "Can I get you anything to eat?"

He turns his head at the sound of her voice, seemingly surprised that she's addressing him. Their eyes meet and she notices a hardness to them as he scans over her figure warily. Like she's dangerous. She almost wants to laugh but her eyes betray her out of curiosity, darting down to the exposed tattoo on his hand: 213 and the word DIABLO screaming across his chin and fights the urge to swallow. She holds her posture and smile, praying for the uncomfortable silence to end and counts to ten, waiting for the time to announce the specials they are currently serving that day. God, she hates this job, but it pays money and she needs it desperately. She's about to open her mouth when he speaks for the first time. It's softer than she expects, somewhat rough around the edges, a hint of a Spanish accent pushing through.

"Water's fine."

She blinks. Her mouth parts in a little "o" and snaps back to reality, jotting down his request. "Anything else?"

He doesn't speak and turns his head to stare back out the window again. Okay, then. Across the poorly-lit street, the bus makes its routine stop and an elderly man shuffles home with a young woman in heels by his side.

She tucks her notepad into her apron pocket and heads behind the counter to get the man's glass of water. While there, she notices Miguel's piece of pie sitting alone uneaten, unwanted, wrapped in leftover tinfoil, which is a shame considering it's a damn good pie. And as Dean Winchester always says, there's nothing wrong with pie. And besides, she thinks a slice of pie might brighten up the man's night, shooting a glance at the remaining locals sitting on the other side of the diner at the counter, giving dirty looks to the young man.

She thinks they're wrong to judge someone that they barely know. Hell, she barely knows him, he's a stranger for God's sake, but she finds herself wondering what the story is behind him, behind those beautiful tattoos, if the story that Nicola told her was true. Is it real? Or is it not?

She takes a chance. Besides, her shift is almost finished and then she can go home.

She realizes she's been stalling for a minute or so for a freaking glass of water, so she decides to make an unceremonious decision and grabs Miguel's piece, swirling Whip-It! on top. She begins to panic slightly - what if he doesn't like cool whip on pie? What if he doesn't like pie at all? Does anybody sane put homemade cool whip on their pie?- and then decides fuck it and heads to his table with his order.

"Here you go. One glass of water and a free pumpkin pie, compliments of the diner. Enjoy!" She sets the plate down and wrapped utensils next to it and turns sharply to avoid embarrassment - oh God, why the fuck did she do this? She's never acted this way before, ever.

She's about halfway to the counter, ignoring Nicola's disbelieving look when she hears, "Thanks, Grace."

Surprised and fear ripples through her because she wasn't expecting him to speak again and how the hell did he know her name? She practically spins around and says, "You're welcome. It was nothing."

He takes another bite of the pie, glancing at her. Apparently she must've had a confused (terrified?) expression on her face because he mumbles between chews, "Nametag."

Lo and behold when Grace looks down to her breast pocket on her blouse, there is is, etched forever in shitty copper plate is her name. She wants to smack herself for her own stupidity, barely resisting the urge to do so. She stammers out something unintelligible, returning to the counter by Nicola's side and watches as he continues to devour the pie like there's no tomorrow. She finds herself smiling somewhat, understanding how the man feels. It is a damn good pie. Nicola's shift is over and although she insists on staying, Grace persuades her to leave, promising she'll lock up the diner when everyone leaves. Grace ignores the uncomfortable stares around her and begins to busy herself, wiping the countertop currently not in use. She's so engrossed in her work that she doesn't realize a tattooed hand is setting down the empty glass and plate in front of her. She looks up.

"Can I have another piece?"

Grace suddenly wishes that she isn't here. She didn't plan on taking it this far. This is probably why she never has any boyfriends. "Um, that was the last piece, I'm sorry." She's apologetic and sees his downcast face contort in understanding. He starts to turn away and the next rush of words burst out of her like an unstoppable force. "But I can make some more. It'll be a while though."

The corners of his lips twitch in amusement. "I can wait."

"Okay."

It comes out as a whisper and Grace finds herself smiling back at the tattooed man. She retreats toward the kitchen to make the Devil's pie, humming softly to herself while she puts it all together. Thank God Miguel has another copy of his pie recipe hanging on the fridge. When she heads back to the counter with his pie an hour later, he smiles genuinely, or so she thinks. It's nice to see. She turns to give him another glass of water.

"You got a problem?" His voice is suddenly harsh and cold, threatening almost and Grace turns her head back in confusion. The two local men sitting at the counter have risen from their spots, facing the tattooed man with an intent to cause harm. She feels it and sees their body language shift menacingly.

"We don't want you here, Diablo," one man spits. "You don't belong here."

"Go back to where you came from!" another growls.

Diablo tightens his grip around the glass and she can see he's getting angry. He chuckles mirthlessly and slides off the stool he's sitting on. "You still have no idea what I can do, do you? You still think it's fake."

Grace is frozen. Her heart thunders wildly in her chest and she can't bring herself to move. She knows she needs to leave but the back door isn't fixed until tomorrow and the only exit out is by the local men.

"I can see all your pretty little sins as clear as day, each one of you. Jermane, what would your wife think if she really knew what you were doing on the weekends? And Ted? The dog, really?" Diablo asks in an accusing tone, shaking his head. "Now, I don't want to destroy this beautiful diner and this chica bonita here, so back off. Now. And apologize for what you said about her."

The men exchange glances, unsure whether he's bluffing. Finally they decide he's not, refusing to sprout any apologizes whatsoever and charge at him, switchblades from their pockets raised high. One man heads toward Grace while the other lunges for Diablo but in an instant everything changes.

She sees him look at her for what seems to be a long time before he grimaces. Diablo sweeps out his hands in an arch in front of him and balls of flame ignite in his palms, traveling down to his wrists.

"Leave. Now." El Diablo thunders, his voice growing deeper.

As if to prove his point, Diablo's eyes glow orange and the flames spread farther around his body. Grace knows she should be afraid - screaming, in fact. And she does, not because of El Diablo, but because she feels the cut of the blade as she tries to run, feel the man drag the sharp end halfway into her throat. blood rushes into her mouth and she tries to fight the river of blood that's drowning her, falling to the floor, grasping for hope as her fingers press the skin back together . . . but she's mesmerized by the haunting melody the flames are singing, flickering orange shadows dancing across his skin, illuminating the hatred in his eyes. He throws his arms out, preparing to hit the two men with a fireball, but they wisely make the decision to bolt and El Diablo extinguishes the flames quickly, dropping his arms to his side. The entrance door shuts and the bell chimes and goes silent.

He rushes to Grace, unable to meet her eyes, tattooed skeletal fingers wrapping around hers to stop the bleeding. She's gasping, gasping, gasping for - A phone is pressed against his ear and she sees his lips moving rapidly, sound distorted, her vision beginning to blur together, threatening to fall into endless darkness.

Her heart pounds wildly in her chest and she struggles to breathe. He seems to hesitate, unsure what to do, then decides to curl their fingers together. She clutches it desperately, her body ready to fail her. "Breathe, Grace. It's okay. It's okay, Grace. I'm so sorry."

Speckled drops of red laughter burst past her bloodstained lips before she can stop it. "El Diablo," she gargles out, recalling Nicola's story. Grace is not frightened nor upset like she thinks she would be in a situation like this. Instead, it's a mixture of gratefulness toward the Devil for trying to save her life and a million other emotions she can't explain running through her veins.

He smiles halfheartedly, tapping his fingers around hers nervously, her blood seeping pass as he tries to stop the bleeding. "The Devil," he translates for her. "No. Not all the time. I was born with the Devil's gift. My name's Chato Santana."

"Elizondo," she chokes out her last name, because what else do you say after a thing like that? He gently reaches out and squeezes her hand, her thumb slightly brushing over the heavily-inked 213 on the back of his hand when he stokes her hair subconsciously. She tries to focus on her breathing, to keep the strength to live even though the Devil's flames - Chato's flames linger burning forever in her mind. She thinks back to the old Aztec Gods her ancestors used to pray to, her Grandmother whispering ancient superstitions in her ear, warning of the Devil's mark being branded forever in her heart. All the things she could never explain, how it always seemed to find her . . . Is this the answer to her questions? This man born from flames owned by the Underworld and paintings inked on his skin, waiting to be told.

Is this what she's destined for? To die in the arms of the Devil?

"Stay with me, Grace," El Diablo murmurs as if in response to her voiceless question. "I'm not gonna let you die tonight. Help is coming. Close your eyes and dream with me."

Her eyes flutter helplessly and she finds herself drifting into a sea of ink and fire lurking behind her eyes.

_oOo_

He stands in front of her, hand outstretched in a gesture of trust, waiting for her to accept it so he can lead her back home. And so she lets him, blood boiling underneath his fiery touch as he guides her back into the world of the living and of breath.

She thinks that she could've chosen to stay if she wanted to but then she thinks of her parents and reminds herself of the fact that one set of family has already been stolen from them. They don't need another to add to their wall of grief and mourning. She hears her father's voice, tearfully telling her that it would be okay if she left, they would understand and another voice telling her to fight with the spirit she has. So she fights. And the continuous steady beat of her heart rises again.

She panics when she wakes, hands thrashing wildly at the tube shoved down her throat, desperate to pull the IV's away from her flowing veins. She doesn't remember what happens at first because Chato is not there by her side. Her father and mother try their best to explain what happened to her to no avail. She only remembers her name: Grace, falling from Grace into the arms of -

Today is her birthday and she dreams of the hope the ripe age of 24 has to offer. The white scar on her neck serves as a reminder and a curse to bear, suffering from distorted flashbacks that make no sense are all, reminding her she is a survivor and she should honor it. She remembers the feeling of dread every time she steps behind the counter, looking toward an empty booth, wishing, waiting for someone to show himself again. She doesn't understand where this unhealthy obsession comes from and knows it fuels her darkest desires deep inside. She keeps her ears out for the mention of El Diablo and prays he'll show up again someday. Not because of her crush but she needs to thank him. He has saved her life and revived her from the Dead and she's grateful. Grace feels like if she thanks him, she can finally try to move on with her life.

So why is this one thing keep holding her back? She knows most people in the movies will honor their protector in their memories, create a goal to reunite with them and change lives forever. But how does that work when he's the Devil and you're a mere mortal in a vessel filled with the remainder of your soul?

She wonders briefly whether the name he has given her is real or fake, perhaps it is an alias? She heads to the library when she gets the chance, walking to a vacated computer, logging in with her library account. Her Google Search results reveal nothing but several MySpace profiles and searches further, remembering the back of his letterman jacket reading: Thee Hillsides.

Or maybe it was The Hillsiders? She finds one small article which explains a local gang is terrorizing nearby neighborhoods, warning for people to remain cautious and stay safe. It offers no insight on who the members are or who the leader of the gang is, expect for the mention of showcasing tattoos. Another article looks promising so she prints it off and finds another newspaper article, photocopying it to read later. Grace sighs as she gets into her car, driving home and tries her best to sleep after changing into comfortable pajamas. Nothing seems to help, bolting from her bed, fingers reaching for her throat again, a scream ready to rip from her mouth. She sobs, muffling her cries, her body shaking, fingers trembling in fear as she wraps her arms around herself, rocking back and forth slightly.

She knows she should get help, therapy at least, but she doesn't have enough money for that. Everyone knows that she's not okay even when she tries her best to hide it and her boss decides to let her go despite her protests. Grace knows that her boss has good intentions and realizes that she had been wrestling with the idea of quitting for a while.

She's looking for job openings (while also scanning through the newspaper article for more information about The Hillsiders) with Nicola in her friend's apartment red Sharpie in hand. Nicola keeps looking over at her when she thinks Grace isn't looking but she can feel it.

"What's the deal?" Grace asks, swiveling around in Nicola's chair. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Nicola exhales, setting her Dell laptop aside and leans in toward Grace, her legs crossed underneath her. "You survived El Diablo," she says bluntly. "You should be dead."

"Would you rather I be dead?" Grace retorts sharply. "He saved my life, Nicola. That's all you need to know."

Nicola's silent. After a moment, she finally speaks. "It's just . . . Nevermind. Did you find anything?"

"Uh, no," Grace starts, unsuccessfully able to switch newspapers as Nicola walks over, "I -"

Nicola leans over her shoulder, lips silently reading the caption: GANG TAKEOVER IN LOCAL NEIGHBORHOOD IN SOUTH EAST L.A. and shoots a look toward Grace.

EASTSIDE (AP) – More than 10 residents of a neighborhood in a local neighborhood in East L.A. fled from their homes following threats from a gang, authorities said Thursday. It was at least the second such exodus this week.

People in El Sereno on Los Angeles east side told local television that tattooed gang members armed with various weapons appeared Wednesday night and destroyed and ransacked several stores and houses and announced that residents had 24 hours to abandon their homes or face the consequences. They also distributed flyers, proclaiming themselves to be Thee Hillsiders.

El Sereno police spokesman Josè Garcia said at a news conference that more than 12 people fled El Sereno. "Gang members have the people of El Sereno terrified, but we are here to re-establish order," he said.

The former policeman also tried to reassure residents they would be kept safe. "We urge residents to return to their homes because we have posted police and soldiers to protect their lives and possessions," he said.

About 20 police and soldiers patrolled the neighborhood Thursday.

A young man who has remained unidentified said a man with tattoos lurked through the streets the whole night ordering to the gang members to go to specific abandoned buildings and had shouted in the street: "Everyone who lives here has to go!"

"He summoned fire out of nothing," Sara Martínez, an eyewitness said. "It was unbelievable to see."

"My family doesn't have anywhere to go, but we're going because we're scared we'll lose our lives if we don't," resident Anton Romero said. "He shouldn't be able to control fire. It's unnatural. He's El Diablo."

The small neighborhood clinging to a hillside was occupied by squatters about 20 years ago. Thee Hillsiders and MS-13 gangs compete for control of the neighborhood and other former members allegedly issued the threat.

"You're trying to find him?" Nicola's voice grows cold, turning to look into Grace's eyes. It wasn't a question, but a statement, and Grace knows she isn't pleased with this. "After all he did?"

Grace says nothing. The evidence is there, there's no use in lying and she knows she won't get away with it.

Nicola lets of a string of Spanish words Grace doesn't recognize. "I thought you would let this go," she tells her, shaking her head slightly. She sits on the edge on her bed, facing Grace. "I've never asked, but . . . was he the one that . . ."

Grace's fingers trail up to the scar, feeling the small bumps underneath, tracing the line subconsciously. "No. It . . . It was Jermane."

Nicola swears underneath her breath. "I should've stayed."

"Nee, it wasn't your fault," Grace replies, leaning forward, "I was the one who made you go. I thought I could handle it. It's not your fault."

"Still I should've stayed. I knew something bad was going to happen and I ignored my instincts," Nicola continues. Her eyes begin to fill with tears. "And you . . ."

Almost died. It's unspoken, hanging in the air as Nicola struggles for words and Grace gives her a hug, understanding how her friend feels. They may have not been on best terms lately considering her attempted murder and Grace pushing her away somewhat, but Nicola has always stood by her even if she didn't agree with it. Nicola sniffles and Grace assures her it's okay while handing her tissues. She's never been the best at comforting people but she tries. They sit in silence for a few more seconds, embracing each other in comfort.

Finally her friend pulls back. "Look at me," Nicola says, a small chuckle coming out as she wipes her tears away. She seems like she's in thought and Grace hesitantly leaves her be, about to turn back to her article but an "Oh, shit!" from Nicola makes her turn back again.

"What? What happened? What's wrong?"

"Here," Nicola thrusts a paper - no, a flyer - into Grace's empty hands. "I almost forgot."

"Okay," Grace says hesitantly, unsure why Nicola is giving her this. It's a dance flyer for a club called The Inferno. "And . . . why should I care about this?"

"Because . . . a little birdie told me the other day you like to dance. And get this: they're hiring."

"Uh-huh?" She stares at the flyer, furrowing her brows in thought. She hasn't danced in a while with everything that's been going on and realizes she missed it. Maybe it's time to take it back up again.

"And . . ." Nicola hurries on, catching Grace's attention in a tone that strikes her curiosity. "Miguel told me your El Diablo likes to hang out there."

"Really?" she says quickly, coughing to cover up her excitement, "I mean, really?"

Nicola smiles, giving her a knowing look. "So . . . What I'm thinking is, if you get a job there, you can see him and tell him thanks for saving your life."

"You're a genius, Nee," Grace exclaims happily, throwing her arms around her, embracing her tightly once again. "I could kiss you."

Nicola leans back. "Nope. These lips belong to my baby girl only. I know you're grateful and everything but you can pay me back by-"

"Giving you the last Harry Potter book," Grace finishes with her, breaking into a giggle, "I know. You tell me that every time."

"Justine's been wanting to read the Chamber of Secrets, and I told her "You gotta do your chores, hija" but she's at that rebellious preteen stage where no one listens."

"Wait til she's sixteen," Grace reminds her. "Then you'll really have your hands full."

"Oh, God," Nicola groans with a small smile, flopping back into her bed, arms thrown over her face. "Don't remind me."

Grace laughs, noticing the time on the clock, realizing that it's later in the evening than she had previously thought it would be. She begins collecting her stuff while Nicola mumbles something about Justine better not be hiding her Nintendo DS underneath the covers and goes to check. Grace glances down at the flyer in her hand, the name of the club echoing in her mind, finding it seemingly ironic that Diablo - no, his name's Chato she reminds herself, likes to hang out at a club named after Hell. Maybe she should've expected that since he literally summoned fire out of nothing. She remembers the crackle of flames around her, the distant scream ripping from her throat in a way that didn't sound like hers, the feeling of his lips pressing against hers and-

Wait, what?

Where'd that last part come from? She knows they never kissed but why then does it seem and feel like they did? And what purpose would he have for kissing her when she's on the verge of death? Did she die? Did-

Did I die? Grace thinks to herself, trying to remember. She remembers being in a state of fear and desperation when she woke, her hands pulling at the breathing tube down her throat . . .

Dream with me, Chato's voice whispers. Help is coming.

"Grace."

She's jerked out of the whirlwind of her thoughts, finding Nicola staring back at her with a concern look on her face, clutching the flyer to her chest.

"You okay chica?" Nicola asks tentatively.

"Yeah, I just . . . zoned out for a sec. Hey, do you mind if I keep this?" Grace asks, gesturing with the flyer in her hand. Nicola nods and judging from the expression on her face, Grace knows she doesn't believe her. But she's grateful that she doesn't pressure her.

"I'll go tomorrow to fill out an application," Grace tells her as they walk to Nicola's front door.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Nah," Grace lies. She tries not to think of the scar etched on her throat. She does want Nicola to go with her but she also knows she can't have a hand holding onto hers forever. "I got it. Thanks though."

"Be safe. Text me when you're there."

Grace promises that she will and heads out, hearing the door shut quietly behind her. The silence in the poorly-lit hallway is almost eerie but she hears the sound of a television playing behind the walls and the sound of someone coughing and shuffling around as she heads up the stairs. She fumbles for her keys with the newspaper roll in one hand and unlocks the door into her apartment.

She sighs with relief, happy she's home, slipping off her shoes as she sets down the items on the island, heading to the shower, stripping bare, letting the hot water pound into her tense muscles and tries to think of her next move.

_oOo_

NEXT: Chapter Two

NOTES:

It's finally here! I'm so excited for you all to read this because I thought we needed to see how Grace and Chato met. This story will cover both Grace's and Chato's past, as well as leading to the events of Suicide Squad and the aftermath of the Midway City/Incubus/Enchantress ordeal.

Corina Calderon is the actress that plays Diablo's wife, Grace in the Suicide Squad movie.

This is also cross-posted on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Also, I am not a native Spanish speaker, so if there are any mistakes, please let me know.

This chapter was beta-proofed by the amazing sirgnomethegiant on Tumblr! Go check her blog out. She was kind enough to give me more insight and ask questions I never would've originally thought of and helped make this a better experience to read. :)

Please, if you can, try to leave a review and comment your thoughts. Follow TheRisingAlleria and thegracesantana on Tumblr for more updates!

Thank you so much for reading!

- Alleria