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"Shut the fuck up!", he yells, voice shaking from fear and the adrenalin that rushes through his veins. Shane (no, not Shane - the demon that possesses him, Ryan corrects himself) complies.
The whole situation is absurd to say the least. Ryan has Sha- has the demon cornered, shakily pointing a toy gun leaking drops of holy water at his friend‘s head. They are standing in an abandoned old mansion, a few feet apart, wood creaking under Ryan’s feet as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. He has no idea where the rest of their crew is – they haven’t actually started shooting yet but simply strolled around the building, no cameras, no mics, just checking out the place - so right now he is alone with this thing that’s staring at him with pitch black eyes. A water stain marks Shane’s shirt at his collarbone and streaks of burned skin are exposed just above it where Ryan has shot him – jokingly, for Christ’s sake! – with his stupid holy water gun.
Ryan’s mind is racing and he tries to figure out when this possession thing might have happened. He hasn’t left Shane’s side since they entered this building so he doesn’t think it happened today. Which somehow makes it even worse because it means he has been sitting next to a fucking demon at work for… what? Days? Weeks? Without even noticing, he might add.
Does it matter though? Does it matter when it happened when there is no doubt that it happened? Maybe he will have time for the freaking details later – like after he somehow gets this demon to leave his friend the fuck alone.
In the meantime the demon‘s eyes have returned from black to Shane’s usual brown and it looks at him and Ryan swears there is something akin to fear in those eyes – or maybe he’s imagining things.
"Leave my friend’s body, right now" , he hears himself say, almost stumbling over the words.
"No."
Ryan inhales sharply and he repeats: "I said: leave!" He is surprised at the harshness in his own voice and even more surprised to see the demon flinch.
"Can’t do, buddy", it says quietly and it sounds almost apologetic - but also quite determined and that makes Ryan sick to his stomach. "I can‘t go back to hell. I won‘t."
"I don’t fucking care", he replies and pulls the trigger because he wants – no, needs - to show this hellish motherfucker that he is determined, too.
The holy water hits Shane’s hand that the demon has quickly risen to shield his face and a cry of pain escapes Shane‘s mouth, paired with a sizzling sound as the skin turns red.
"Please, stop!", it begs and it sounds pathetic and hurt and like Shane – the demon – is about to start crying and it twists Ryan’s guts and he actually stops and lowers the gun just a notch. He feels like throwing up.
The thing clenches Shane‘s injured hand and presses it to his chest, looking up with tears pricking his eyes. "You don’t understand, Ryan", it says. "Please. It’s me, alright? It’s me. It has always been me."
"Bullshit", he croaks. That thing is trying to fuck with him. "Leave my friend alone or I will…" What? Shoot it again? Would that even help? It may just piss the thing off - and then what?
"Ryan, please listen. I don’t… I’m not…" It’s fumbling for words and that is a weird thing to watch because the demon looks and sounds and moves like Shane and it is so convincing and-
That’s exactly what it wants you to think, he reminds himself. It is just waiting for an opportunity. An opening. And then it’ll probably kill you. Because that’s what demons do, right?
"I told you to shut up!"
But this time it didn’t. "It’s me, Ryan. It’s Shane, I swear! I know this must be confusing but you have to believe me. I will not… I would never do anything to hurt you. Or anyone for that matter." When Ryan doesn’t respond and doesn’t tell it to shut up again, it continues: "You see, they’ve got it all wrong. Father Thomas and the books and the movies and all that shit. It’s barely accurate. I mean some of it is but… it’s not all black and white, okay? We are not all psychopathic monsters on a mission to devour poor humans‘ souls. I am not a monster."
"So, you’re telling me you are not hurting my friend by possessing him, by forcing him to be your… vessel or whatever, against his will?"
"I…" Shane’s eyes squeeze shut and he shakes his head. Or rather: the demon is making him. "I am your friend, Ryan", it says next. "Not this… this…" Shane’s eyes open again, meeting Ryan’s gaze. "… this guy", it finishes weakly and heaves out a sigh.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means the Shane you know – have known for years? That‘s me. It means you have never even talked to… human Shane. I found this guy almost a decade ago."
"Bullshit", he repeats his words from earlier but this time he’s not so sure. A tiny voice in the back of his head tells him that this is all part of the game the demon is playing, that it is making up this story to confuse him – and if that is indeed the case, well, it fucking works. He doesn’t know what to believe.
"But you are… you are possessing him against his will", he finally says because that is still a fact and still very, very wrong, no matter which Shane is the one he supposedly knows.
There is a long silence before the next words from Shane’s mouth follow. "I am."
"That’s fucked up." The words slip past his lips unintentionally.
"I know. I know, okay? But it’s not like… for the most part he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t see or hear or feel most of this. He’s… only conscious sometimes."
Somehow Ryan starts to suspect that the demon is actually telling the truth. Because if he wanted to he could have made up a far better story, one where he is possessing a dead guy maybe, or at least someone who is brain dead or some shit like that, not someone who seems to be very well aware of what is happening to him albeit only sometimes. Because he must know that Ryan just cannot overlook that detail.
"Jesus, Shane. Do you hear yourself? For the most part?“ He shakes his head. Also, did he actually just acknowledge the one talking to him as Shane? His stomach drops at the realization. "I… I want you to leave him", he says, trying to steady his words and ignore the sudden nausea that hits him. "If you really are one of the good guys, as you claim to be… if you are the Shane I know, you will let him go."
"If I leave, I will immediatly be dragged back to hell."
"If you don’t leave… I will find a way to make you."
Something in the atmosphere shifts just as the words have left his mouth. Shane breathes in deeply and straightens his back, holding Ryan‘s gaze as he – with an eery coldness in his voice – states: "Do it then."
"… what?"
"Make me leave, Ryan. You’ll have to shove that holy water down my throat, though."
"Are you… are you asking me to fight you?" , he mutters, bewildered. And yes, scared, too.
"Well, I think we’ve established that I don’t want to leave this body and you don’t want me to stay. So…" He blinks and suddenly his eyes are black again.
Ryan winces and stumbles backwards as Shane’s arm shoots up, the palm of his unburned hand facing towards Ryan, fingers spread.
He’s knocked off his feet by an invisible force hitting him right in the chest and he loses his grip on the water pistol which clatters to the floor as Ryan is thrown halfway across the room. He lands on his back hard and for a second struggles to breathe.
And then Shane is on top of him and his hands clasp Ryan‘s neck, not forcefully enough to cut his air supply just yet but tight enough to send his brain into panicked overdrive. The taller man sits on his stomach, his bodyweight pressing Ryan to the ground, unable to move.
"I am not going back to hell!" Shane growls and his voice sounds strange now, somehow distorted, full of rage and anger and… fear, probably.
He’s going to kill me, is all Ryan can think. It plays in a loop in his head and leaves no room for anything but cold panic as he stares into those black holes that are Shane’s eyes now.
His survival instincts only kick in when Shane’s grip tightens and there is no air left to breathe. Ryan’s hands shoot up, clutching Shane’s wrists in a futile attempt to pull his fingers off his neck. His feet feebly and equally pointlessly scrape over the ground while his fingernails dig into the skin on Shane’s wrists.
It’s merely a couple of seconds before a hint of emotion washes over the stone cold features on Shane’s face above him and he blinks – once, twice – and his eyes return to normal once again. His hands yank away from Ryan’s neck, who practically gulps down the air.
Shane stares at his hands in confusion before he meets Ryan’s gaze and his face twists in sorrow and regret. "I… I’m sorry", he says and his eyes are wide with shock. "I didn’t mean to…" His voice is shaky and his hands are, too.
Ryan doesn’t dare say a word – for all he knows Shane might still change his mind and finish what he started. Also he isn’t sure he could say anything, even if he wanted to. His throat is dry and his heart is pounding way too hard in his chest.
Shane stands up swaying and his expression goes blank and for a second Ryan thinks he might faint. But he doesn’t and instead takes a few steps back before he lets himself sink down to the floor again, sitting cross-legged, watching his hands.
"I’m sorry", he whispers again.
Ryan very carefully, very slowly sits up. None of them utters another word for at least a minute. Shane just sits there and stares at his hands and Ryan sits there and in turn stares at Shane, too afraid to move or say anything.
"They call it hell for a reason, you know", Shane’s words eventually cut through the silence, voice thin and quiet and drained from almost all emotions. "It‘s endless torture in a timeless space. I kept telling myself that someone must have made a mistake sending me there, that I didn’t belong. But maybe I do."
He looks up and straight into Ryan’s eyes and is quiet for a moment before he asks: "Do you really want me to leave?"
Ryan opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He is somewhat aware that tears have started to well up in his eyes, threatening to spill. He doesn’t know what to say. Shane is a demon, he thinks. He actually believes it and also believes that he may have been like this for many years, way before Ryan ever met him. He has questions, so fucking many of them, but he doesn’t ask. Somehow he‘s not sure he really wants to know.
He is sure about one thing though: there is no right answer to that question.
"I… I want…" His voice is hoarse. I want this to be a fucking dream, he thinks and pinches himself just to be sure. It hurts. He is not going to wake up from this nightmare.
Shane notices the motion and a sad smile creeps over his face. "Yeah, I get it", he says. "It’s a lot, isn’t it? All this time you’ve been freaking out over flashlights turning on and voices spilling from the radio. Yet you were so god damn oblivious to the very real creature from hell standing right beside you."
He chuckles slightly as if this was something funny and the very real creature from hell hadn’t just tried to strangle him two fucking minutes ago.
Ryan’s fingers subconsciously wander to his neck and at the sight of that Shane’s smile drops.
"I lied to you." He sighs. "I told you I would never do anything to hurt you. But look at you. I fucked up." With a frustrated grunt he runs a hand through his hair. "Again. I can’t believe this keeps fucking happening to me. I’m trying to do better next time, I swear."
"Next time?", Ryan repeats confused. Something in Shane’s expression is different now. It’s hard to read at first. The man rises to his feet in a swift motion and then just stands, looking down at Ryan who suddenly feels very, very tiny and very, very helpless. He gets it then, the look on Shane’s face. It’s pity.
"Yeah, buddy. Next time", he confirms. When his hand reaches down Ryan tries to move away but he isn’t fast enough to escape the firm grip on his jaw, holding him in place as Shane bends down, bringing his face close to Ryan’s. Blackness fills his eyes once more as he says: "Don’t worry, you won’t remember."