Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Okay, so why are we here, again?" Shane picked through a bag of Jelly Babies with his long fingers, locating a pink one and holding it up to his face to examine it before biting off the head with satisfaction.

"Because it's one of the most dangerous haunted houses in the united states, I told you this before we left."

"Yeah, but I mean why are we here? We're obviously not going to find anything."

Ryan gave him a look. "You don't know that. This might be the one. After all the haunted spots we've been to over the years, this may be the one . We might go in there and see a spirit or a ghost or a demon---"

"Demon?"

"Yeah, I told you demons. You really weren't listening, were you? And give me one of those."

Shane pulled a face at Ryan as he took a hand off of the steering wheel and leaned over to take a jelly baby -a red one- one of the best ones. "What makes you think they'll be demons? Oh, this house here, by the way." The little red arrow representing their rented Honda on the taller's phone screen mimicked the panicked turn Ryan made as he desperately spun the wheel, taking the vehicle into the driveway of Number Five, almost scraping the fence in the process.

"This house is said to have belonged to a witch that went black magic back in the day. Apparently, he opened a bunch of portals to hell. If there are demons anywhere, it'll be here."

" He? "

"Yeah, Shane, men can be witches too."

"I didn't say they couldn't---" he forced a laugh "Wait we're talking about witchcraft as if it's actually a thing."

"IT IS A THING."

...

The two argued lightheartedly about witchcraft as they unloaded the car, each slinging their overnight bags over their shoulders before Ryan started towards the house.

Confused, Shane called to him as he caught up: "Aren't you going to lock the car?"

"No, I figured unlocked cars would make for faster getaways."

"This place really has you freaked, doesn't it?" the taller smirked, watching his friend's face with amusement as he gaped up at the building they would be sleeping in tonight.

"Well, it would you, if you knew what horrors await. And I'm especially scared this time 'cause I lost my holy water. That keeps happening for some reason."

"Yeah... funny, that." Shane tugged his sleeve down over the small burn mark etched into his wrist, grimaced as he remembered its origin. Earlier that morning he had tried to dispose of a plastic bottle -full of what to him was literal poison- without touching it. He'd put on oven gloves and sort of juggled it between them as he unscrewed the lid with great difficulty and poured the whole thing down their hotel sink. He'd been careful but poured it too fast and some still splashed back and made a gash shaped red mark on his arm. Then he kicked the bottle under the bed as if nothing had happened, glad it could hurt him no longer. He couldn't risk Ryan getting spooked at a site and spraying holy water everywhere.

"You wouldn't guess it's haunted from the outside, would you?" Ryan's voice brought him back to reality as they reached the front door.

Shane turned away from the shorter and focused on the building properly for the first time since he'd got there. It was a fairly modest yet pretty much average American home apart from the fact that it was clearly abandoned. The paint had started to peel about the window panes and they looked smudged and dusty. A "for sale" sign had been stabbed into the ground some time ago but now slumped at a sixty-degree angle having long since realized its efforts were fruitless. There was a tile missing from the roof. Apart from that, nothing special. "Hopefully looks can be deceiving."Like always, Shane volunteered to go into the site first. He inserted the key they'd picked up from the house's owner before arriving and turned it, Ryan starting at the small 'click', already on edge, making the taller chuckle.

Earlier, Ryan had mentioned how this house was one of the most haunted places in America. He wasn't wrong. As soon as Shane saw the location on the GPS map on his phone he knew they were both in for a rough night. He couldn't see any ghosts at the moment but he was certain there were many. That would be annoying for multiple reasons, the main one: having to spend two days pretending not to see anything when in fact there was a spirit right in front of his face, probably taunting him. Well, the spirits didn't usually taunt him so much, it was the other demons he had to look out for. They found it hilarious that a higher demon such as Shane was wandering around their stomping ground with a human, acting like--- well, an idiot.

Another problem was having to make sure Ryan didn't see any of the spirits. Usually, the spirits sense Shane's presence and keep out of his way, which is good because Ryan would freak out if he heard one let alone see one or be teased by one. Shane was almost sure it would break him. That's why he goes on these little trips. To protect the strange human that he had become so fond of. This would be extremely difficult for this house, however, he thought, because there is rumoured to have so many things that could be Ryan's end. Shane will have to juggle the task of acting like a cool and confident non-believer and also being an actual ghost hunter at the same time; shoving entities into cupboards while ranting about how the wind in a windowless room was the cause of the loud bang Ryan just herd behind him.

Sighing at this (though his friend probably thought it was from bored scepticism), Shane pushed the door open and put on his fake grin. "Hey there, ghoulies! We've come to stay at your house. Gonna have a little sleepover. Hope you don't mind."

"Shane!"

"What?" The taller turned around quickly, expecting to see his companion staring at a ghost, the insanity and madness already clouding his large eyes but was relieved when Ryan continued:

"You were being way too friendly, dude. You need to respect the spirits, don't you know what they're capable of?"

Yeah, I know what they're capable of, bunch of weaklings. Shane thought to himself but corrected his tone all the same: "I formally apologise, my friend here told me I was being rude. May we stay in your house, please?"

Ryan's elbow gave his side a nudge from where he'd crept up, using the taller like a battering ram. "Now you're just being sarcastic."

Shane kind of was. He had caught sight of a small translucent spirit watching them from a doorway. It had lowered its visibility so much so that Ryan's human eyesight couldn't see it but Shane's demon eyes sure could. He stared it down, saying as he did so: "Smash a vase or switch on a light or something if you want us to go." It was a challenge.

The spirit continued to meet his hardened gaze, then vanished with a small flicker.

Yep. That's what I thought. Shane smiled for real now, glad that the night may not be as difficult as he thought. The ghouls here are clearly clever. Clever enough to know when they should stay out of someone's way.

Cautiously and when he realised that no lights were going to be turned on and no vases were going to be thrown, Ryan came all the way into the house and closed the door behind him, the only light being their torches dimly illuminating the narrow entry hallway. "O-okay. Shall we have a look around?"

"Sure."

…

Ryan followed close behind Shane as he wandered about the house. Occasionally he would stop suddenly just because it was amusing to feel the shorter bump into him, he'd been following so close.

They came to a stop in the living room first. Well, what they assumed had been the living room. A couch had been left by the last owners, leather sagging and cracked but once the dust had been swept away, actually looked rather comfortable. Shane took a seat and crossed one leg over the other, Ryan almost yelping when he realised he was stood in the middle of the room by himself.

"You're really sitting down? In the middle of an investigation?"

Shane shrugged. "I figured that it'll be a long time--- and eternity in fact because ghosts aren't real---- until you find some evidence of these things so I might as well get comfy."

Ryan's mouth opened and closed as he tried to formulate a comeback before muttering: "You know what? That's just---- that's just lazy."

"Well I tell you what, why don't you get stop insulting me and get out your stupid little screaming box thing and we'll see if I'm lazy or if I'm actually on to something."

"'Screaming box?' Is that what we call the spirit box now?"

"That's what I call it."

As Ryan fumbled with his jean pockets to retrieve the rectangular device: "That's what I'll call you."

"I'm not a box, Ryan. And, as I recall, it's usually you whose screaming. I'm normally just sitting there, chill'in. Like now, I'm just chillin' on ma couch."

Ryan had found the spirit box and was holding the torch in his mouth to find the buttons to turn it on so couldn't formulate a comeback, just glared at the taller who was watching his struggle without offering to assist. Ryan glared about that too.

It made Shane smile.

"Well, what do we have here?"

"Ryan?"

Ryan had finally managed to turn the box on and it roared to life, making them both flinch but Shane was too preoccupied to comment on the dreadful sound for once.

"Ryan, did you say something?" Shane raised his voice over the distorted radio waves retching into their ears.

"What in my home's name is that awful racket?!"

"No, why? Did you hear something?"

Shane quickly pulled a mask over his suddenly alert expression. "No. No, I was just messing with you. Hey, come sit next to me."

Ryan's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "What? Why?"

An excuse: "Its harder to talk to you when you're all the way over there, especially with that thing shouting at us."

Wearily and wondering what new game Shane was playing, Ryan sat next to him on the sofa anyway, cradling the spirit box in his lap.

Shane relaxed a bit, now that his human was close by, and extended one of his wings, invisible, of course, enough to shield the shorter. While Ryan fiddled with the box, eyes wide as he combed the sounds for something his paranoid brain could twist into words, Shane whispered: "Who's there?" His demon voice sounded so different as it echoed about the room. His lips hadn't moved at all and his vocal cords had remained completely untouched--- he'd spoken through his mind. Sending some kind of signal out into the dark that only other demons could 'hear'. He'd been almost certain that it had been a demon that had spoken just now. Sure of it.

"Take a guess."

Shane's jaw tightened. "Esirinus?"

"Hole in one!"

Shane almost growled in annoyance. He glanced sideways at Ryan and moved closer to him as casually as he could. Luckily he wasn't paying any attention--- he thought the spirit box had just said "grapefruits" and was having some kind of moment. "What are you doing here?"

Esirinus' voice licked into his brain like thick syrup: "Just checking in on you, as it happens. Word got around that you were in these parts. Thought I'd see what you were up to. And look at what I find when I get here!" Suddenly a shape drifted through the opposite wall and Shane had to gauge his reaction carefully. Esirinus noticed him check himself and a smirk pulled at his thin lips like the corners were attached to strings.

"You better fuck off, right now."

"Or what? What are you going to do to me?" the other demon teased. He was in spirit form, wearing a black three-piece suit, long, slender body stretched out in thin air as if he was laying on his front on a bed. His hands were holding up his chin. Besides being partly see-through, Esirinus had all the other features of a demon, not bothering to hide them. Two twisted horns protruded from his forehead, eyes black and shining. They were pushed into mischievous half moon shapes by his smile, teeth showing just a little, forked tongue sliding over his pointed canines. His wings were folded against his back neatly, tail swishing away like a cat when it's just about to knock its owner's cup of coffee off the counter.

Shane pretended not to see him and, realising how long he must have been silent for, addressed Ryan: "When are you going to realise the spirit box is bullshit?"

"It's not bullshit, and you know it. Now shut up, I thought I heard something."

Pretending to sigh irritably, Shane took the opportunity to meet Esirinus' interested gaze. "Could you just get out of here, please? I'm just trying to have a nice time."

Esirinus' eyes flicked to Ryan and back, sly smile widening to what would be unnatural to a human. "Hmm."

"Not like that! Just fuck off, if you've got nothing useful to do."

"We're demons; since when do we do things that are useful?" Esirinus rolled over onto his back, stretching, grinning maniacally at Shane, his face upside down now.

"Speak for yourself, Lower demon."

The other demon's feathers seemed to momentarily get a little ruffled at this and he frowned for a second, turning back over onto his belly and extending a long-taloned finger at the taller. "I'm gonna leave now because you hurt my feelings. I might be back later though if I decide to forgive you or if you two start making out or something. Would liven up my evening. Hell can be so booooooring. Especially now that I don't have you to argue with."

Shane had been about to yell some profanities at him but he'd vanished and Ryan was tugging on his sleeve.

"Shane! Did you hear that?"

"Hmm?"

"It just said 'get out'--- You weren't even listening, were you?" The shorter actually seemed hurt, beneath his abject terror and it made Shane's chest squeeze in on itself.

"I was listening, it just didn't sound like that to me. It sounded more like:" he made a screeching sound in his throat and Ryan actually giggled.

"That sounds like you're being strangled."

"Exactly, its just random noises. Come on, I'm bored of this room now, should we go to the next one?" He stood up and dusted off his jeans before Ryan could protest, and began towards the door, the shorter making a small "eep" sound at being left behind before catching up.

The house still had a fully functioning kitchen, Shane figured out as he played with dials and buttons on the hob cooker and oven, though it looked too dirty to cook anything on. The tap was bunged up with algae or something but a dribble of water still seeped out if the handle is turned all the way. Shane made a joke about offering Ryan a drink but the shorter was too distracted by his next stage in the investigation:

Ryan dug about in his bag then pulled out a flashlight and placed it on the counter, flicking the beam on. He stood back as if to acknowledge his handy work then edged over to where Shane had been standing. "O-okay, flashlight test is set up and ready to go."

Shane turned around from drawing a smiley demon face on the cupboard with the dust and grinned when he saw the small torch and put on a fake-impressed voice: "Oh wow, what do we have here? This is some really advanced tech, Ryan, you've really outdone yourself this time. We're sure to get evidence of ghouls now. I mean, how could this go wrong? How does it work--- we just, invite the ghosts to have a little go at morse code?"

"Shane---"

"Well, you heard the man, ghosties! Come have a little press of this button here, you see? You just gotta press that down and make the lil' light flicker. Here, I'll turn my light off so you can have some privacy."

"Shane, take this seriously." Ryan had grabbed his arm and pulled him up into a standing position, trying to drag him away from the torch so he didn't interfere with the investigation. Lights and things always went weird around Shane for reasons the shorter couldn't explain.

Then the flashlight went out and they were plunged into darkness.

Ryan's scream smashed into Shane's brain, ripping at it and he was almost thrown sideways with the force of something barreled against his side.

Shane had a good enough guess of what that thing had been, the thing was his smaller companion that was still shouting, hands grasping at the taller's coat and shirt. "Hey! Hey, calm down!" Shane tried to get a hold of Ryan in the dark, which was difficult as he was still grabbing at him and Shane could only see with his night vision which wasn't colour inclusive. Ryan was just a blur of shapes and loud noise. He decided that turning his own light back on was an easier solution and felt around for where he'd dropped it on the kitchen table, then turned it on.

As soon as Ryan could see what he was doing he stopped shouting (or maybe he'd just burst a lung) and let go of Shane, stepping back, clearing his throat. His chest was still rising and falling, body obviously trying to gulp in oxygen and his eyes were wide and terrified, gaze flicking between his taller friend and the torch, still off. "D-did you see that?! What the hell, dude!? What do we do now? Do we leave? Does it want us to---"

He was cut off when the torch's bulb burst into life again and he lept against Shane with a yelp, who bellowed with laughter that vibrated against the shorter, almost calming him.

"It's just a flashlight, Ryan."

"There's something in here with us, Shane. I know there is." He hadn't moved away from where he was still pressing himself against Shane's front.

Said demon worried for a small second whether his friend knew he was encasing them both in his wings. Then realised that if Ryan did find out about his species he certainly wouldn't be comforted. He'd be petrified. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind and used one arm to wrap Ryan in a protective hug. "There's nothing there. Tell you what, we'll order pizza and while we wait, we'll go set up our room. Yeah?"

Reluctantly but also very relieved, Ryan let Shane steer him, up to the room they would be spending the night in, the arm around his shoulders moving to place a comforting hand on the centre of his back, Esirinus' cackles silently following them up the stairs.

The sun had already started to disappear when they pulled up in the driveway so by the time the boys had set up their sleeping bags in the master bedroom it was already completely dark. Shane had watched amusedly as Ryan set his things on the floor, checking over his shoulder constantly for something he couldn't see. Nothing was going to hurt him. Nothing dared to hurt him. But he didn't know that. Shane's face fell a little as the familiar realisation that he could never reassure his friend punched him in the stomach. Finding out his best friend was a demon would wreck him just as much--- or even more--- than finding evidence for ghosts and spirits ever would.

They had ordered the pizza and Shane went downstairs to answer when the doorbell gave a feeble attempt at the tune of Chopsticks, Ryan following close behind so he didn't have to be left alone upstairs. He felt a little more relaxed now that the spooky house was full of the aroma of freshly cooked dough and even proceed to take the food upstairs while Shane was still working out the money.

They sat on their sleeping bags that were side by side, the pizza box open between them. They were sitting cross-legged, facing each other and Ryan kept scooting forwards until their knees were pressed together.

Shane chuckled. "Why don't you just sit on my lap, Ryan?"

Ryan pulled a face. "Shut up, Shane. Aren't you even a little scared? Like, at all?"

The taller sighed, taking another piece of pizza, watching the cheese stretch between the slice and where it was clinging to the box before it snapped and sprung free from the cardboard. "What do I have to be scared of?"

"Everything. The fact that we might get possessed or stabbed or something by malevolent spirits in the night, all the way to death in general. Aren't you afraid of death, Shane?"

Shane merely shrugged because he's a demon. He won't die. Can't. As long as souls are around to torment, so is he. "Not really."

"Unbelievable."

"When you're dead, you're dead. Wormfood. That's the end, you know?"

"Don't say things like that when there's a chance we could be killed tonight."

Something poked at the inside of Shane's brain, reminding him that this is one of those moments in which 'comforting' is something he should be doing. He wiped his amused expression clean from his face and placed a hand on Ryan's knee, giving it a small squeeze. "We're not going to be killed. Here, you can have the last slice of pizza."

The shorter narrowed his eyes, first at the hand on his leg and then at his companion who was holding out the slice he was about to eat for him to take instead. Ryan did, hesitantly, wondering what game Shane was playing.

When dinner was finished they decided to watch a film before they went to bed, leaning with their backs against the wall behind their pillows so nothing could creep up on them from behind, Ryan explained as he arranged them that way. They had only brought their phones, so had to scoot closer together until they were side by side under their spread out sleeping bags and blankets, Shane holding his Samsung up between them. Getting absorbed in the film was an escape and Shane could feel Ryan relaxing next to him, head falling onto his shoulder at some point. Shane wasn't really paying attention to the film now. More to the fact that Ryan's harm had moved over him when he stretched, falling onto Shane's tummy. And instead of taking it away, the shorter just... left it there.

When the credits rolled Ryan hadn't moved and it occurred to the taller that his friend may have fallen asleep. Or passed out, his brain had been racing a million miles a minute since they'd pulled up in the driveway. Die Hard Three had given him the distraction he needed to finally switch his brain off.

Carefully ---because he didn't want to wake Ryan who would undoubtedly never go back to sleep once woken--- Shane wriggled down their makeshift bed until he was laying on his back and pulled Ryan's blanket closer around his shoulders.

The shorter was still against Shane's side like his unconscious somehow knew that was the safest place to be, which made Shane smile.

...

About ten minutes of peaceful silence. That's what Shane got. Only ten.

"So this really is what you're doing with your time now? Oh, Mighty One?"

Shane exhaled like he'd just remembered he'd forgot to put the cat out and now it will spend until dawn walking up and down his chest, trying to get him to feed it. "Go to Hell, Esirinus."

Saying his name seemed to summon him, and the lower demon's lithe form materialised at Ryan's other side. "Oh, but I just came from there. I like to get away from it every now and again. Have a little break. So HOT." He pushed himself up onto one elbow, turning to face him. " You've had more than a break, haven't you, Shane? Don't get me wrong, I can see why. What an adorable little pet you've got yourself there." His slender smoke-like fingers reaching out to run a talon over Ryan's cheek and Shane bared his teeth, making him retract his hand, a flicker of fear nearly visible. His lips had turned upwards in an ugly smile at the fact that he'd gotten a rise and he decided to push a little further, enjoying himself now. "Unless you're the pet. His guard dog--- no, a kitty cat, with teeth like that. "

A growl emanated from Shane.

Esirinus' smirk faltered out of habit--- but only for a second. "Hush now, you don't want to wake him, do you? Wouldn't it be a shame if he woke up and got a look at you as you really are?"

Shane tensed, certain that Esirinus would attack or smash a vase or do something to wake his sleeping friend but was surprised when instead he just disappeared, the last thing to do so being his wide grin. His last statement still echoed around Shane's head and he was unsure whether the evil little trickster was just floating about, invisible, repeating it again and again or if he just couldn't get it out of his mind.

As you really are.

Turning his head to get a glance at his reflection in his phone's sleeping screen, Shane felt a jolt as if he was surprised to see himself in his non-human form. His magic had almost been completely boiled away by his anger; ears pointed, canines long and menacing, blood-coloured leathery wings arching behind him defensively. Sighing then blinking hard, he concentrated for a second and they were gone.

"Have a good sleep, Shane."

...

Shane didn't sleep that night. He sat up, watching over Ryan. Well, sometimes he was laying down, a wing outstretched protectively covering his friend as he tossed and turned, fighting off monsters in his dreams. Shane was mainly looking out for Esirinus, wondering what he had the guts to physically mess with a higher demon but he didn't return or show himself for the rest of the night. It seemed his method for annoying Shane was to leave him with haunting messages to turn over in his brain all night rather than actually hitting him with insults or furniture.

At one point Shane was laying on his side and let his guard down a little because Ryan had turned over in the night to face him and moved up against his chest. Maybe because Shane was warm. Demons are always warm.  

Chapter Text

Shane's phone beeped incessantly at 5:00 am, but it was 5:05 before he managed to drag his mind from unconsciousness and jab blindly at the screen in an attempt to shut it up.

He didn't mind, so much, that on every one of these little sleepovers Ryan demands that they get up obnoxiously early (after all, how much sleep does an immortal being even need?). No, what irritated him (or as close to irritation as his drowsy body could muster) was the fact that they'd risen at this ungodly hour just to sit crosslegged on the floor with ouija boards and salt circles. And these things weren't irritating because they didn't work, they were irritating because they very much d id, and it was Shane who had to deal with the consequences.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back and pushed himself up into a sitting position, jamming his fists into his eyes and as if he could physically rub the remaining sleepiness away, then blinked a few times. The sun was about half-way through rising by this time, but the thick layer of ink-coloured clouds (not to mention the fact that every window in this house had been boarded up long ago) meant they were several hours away from it actually being viable daytime.

This isn't why Shane's eyes took a little while to adjust; he'd just pressed them too hard and was waiting for the psychedelic array of colourful blobs to leave his vision.

Eventually, his surroundings started to transform from amorphous shapes to distinguishable objects; a broken dressing table, the door, Ryan---

"How long have you been sitting like that?" Shane asked the huddled figure next to him. He would have had to hold in a smile if the dark circles under Ryan's eyes didn't genuinely concern him. They looked as though someone had smudged charcoal dust over his skin. He was alive, though. Tired, eyes wide like a startled hare, but alive. So that was promising. 

"Ages."

"I thought you managed to fall asleep." He felt his cheeks suffuse with a blush at the memory of Ryan's nose pressing into his sternum. He'd been asleep then, Shane was sure of it. He definitely wouldn't have done something like that when had he been awake.

Ryan's tone was surprisingly light when he answered: "Something woke me up. It felt like someone was touching my face, but I was probably dreaming it."

Shane forced a laugh but it sounded more like a chest cough. That thing touching Ryan's face had probably been Esirinus. If the fact that a demon had been teasing his friend while he lay unconscious, unprotected, and vulnerable wasn't such an unsettling one, Shane would have found the irony of the situation amusing; this is the one time Ryan experiences a real-life encounter with the supernatural (besides Shane, of course), and he deemed it a fiction of his subconscious.

"You could have woken me up."

'You should have woken me up', Shane felt more like saying. He must have gotten too hot in the night and shifted away from Ryan's body---or something. Left him unguarded. Why had he fallen asleep---?

"We could have done all your other little ghost-hunting activities then, and be halfway home by now." He started untangling himself from his sleeping bag. "Or just left without doing the ghost-hunting activities. Because they're nonsense and all that."

Ryan hadn't moved. He seemed to like the security his make-shift bed provided and was reluctant to leave its comforting embrace. "We have to stay the whole night, that's, like, the challenge---"

"I think the challenge is managing to sleep in a haunted location. Which you didn't really do. Not for long, anyway. Does napping count? That's creepy, stop it."

Ryan was grinning at him, the white of his teeth contrasting with the general gloom of the room. "You called it a 'haunted location'."

"So?"

"So you admitted it was haunted. I win."

"You win? What do you win? We weren't---"

"Shut up, I win."

...

Eventually, Ryan wriggled his way out of his cocoon and joined Shane in packing their things into their overnight bags. He tried to stuff something out of sight, something he'd apparently been keeping under his pillow, but hadn't been fast enough. The little wooden cross caught Shane's eye and several minutes of teasing ensued. To an outsider, this would probably paint Shane in a bad light, but Ryan knew he was doing it for him---to distract him from his fears---and for that he was grateful.

Crosses don't work, by the way. Evil has been around long before Christianity, Shane can tell you that. He was there. 

They took turns using the cramped little washroom---although that name was no longer accurate, seeing as you couldn't wash in them. Shane knew this because he'd turned the tap and a gloopy substance that closely resembled molasses had seeped out it. The toilet didn't flush either (they rarely do in these abandoned houses, them being abandoned and all); the only thing that was functioning was the cracked mirror above the sink. It was flecked with patches where its metal coating had been eaten away by time, but there was enough reflective surface left to sort out ruffled hair (and, in Shanes case, that he wasn't accidentally showing any demon-related features).

Ryan waited for Shane dutifully outside the bathroom door, shoulders slackening with relief as he emerged. Shane didn't know if that was because he was glad his friend hadn't somehow gone missing, or that he now didn't have to be alone in a room anymore. Either way, it felt nice to have someone be glad to see him.

It was agreed that they'd stop for some kind of breakfast on the drive home, Ryan being too on edge to eat, and Shane claiming that quarter-past five in the morning is too early to consume anything anyway, so they simply got to work. Not that Shane would call this work. Yes, he's technically being paid, but still.

"What ya doing, Ryan?" Shane asked, moseying over to where said man was pulling various things from his bag and placing them on the bare floorboards. He'd lit some candles, too, leaving them dotted around on any flat surface he could find, really. Shane wished he wouldn't do that; what century were they in, anyway? Does he know there are several better, non-fire-hazard alternatives to bare, naked flames? They could be easily tipped over by lesser demons wanting entertainment, this whole house could go up in flames just because Ryan wants everything to be authentic.

"Ouija Board," was the curt reply. Ryan was distracted by the task at hand but also sort of bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught of scepticism.

It never came, though.

"Cool," was Shane's response as he crossed his long legs on his side of the board and fell neatly into a sitting position. When Ryan put the planchette down in the middle of the board Shane settled the tips of his fingers on it.

The ouija board is a nice break from Ryan's more lucrative ways of communicating with the spirit world because Shane---literally---has direct influence over the results. Had Ryan being using the board without him, a ghost or bored spirit would definitely mess with him. Send him confusing messages, usually, a string of meaningless letters, which Ryan would, no doubt, spend the rest of his life attempting to decode---or something. But when Shane; a higher demon; has his hands directly on top of the game? No one dares to interfere.

Ryan looked up at him in surprise. "Why are you so eager? You usually say the ouija board is, well, I think once you said 'trash'."

"It is trash. All of this is trash," he gestured to the house around them, meaning their whole career in general, "but the faster we get it over with the faster we can go to Taco Bell."

"You want to go to Taco Bell for breakfast?"

"That's the part of that you're focusing on?"

Ryan pursed his lips, settling himself down and placing his own fingers opposite Shane's. "That's the bit I'm choosing to focus on, because I'll just get angry with you about the rest. Now shut up, I'm trying to talk to the supernatural." 

...

The supernatural didn't talk back. Shane didn't even let Ryan's subconscious slide the pointer around the board. He leaned one arm on his knee, propping his chin up with his hand and gave a very convincing display of being bored, whilst Ryan's brows furrowed closer and closer together into a bemused frown as he asked 'why isn't it working?' in about seven different ways. Eventually, he gave up, seeming dejected, but Shane knew for a fact that he was glad nothing had come out of it. Especially in a house like this.

"What's next? Human sacrifice?" Shane joked, still sitting on the floor as Ryan folded the board neatly and placed it in its box. He'd ordered it off Amazon, from a company with the word 'toys' in the name, but he still treated it with the utmost respect. It was sort of sweet, in a way.

Ryan had started to fudge around for something else and brought it out; a water bottle half-filled with fine white crystals.

Shane narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to ask me to do methamphetamine with you? Because if we did we'd definitely see some ghouls."

"Drug addiction isn't funny, Shane." But the corner of his lip had twitched all the same. "This is salt, for summoning a demon."

The mention of salt made Shane's ears metaphorically prick up. He's immortal, but there are some things that can cause him immense pain. Being immortal makes this worse, in fact, because he can't die, so someone could just stand there forever, tipping salt onto his head while his skin burns to a crisp, regrows, and burns again and again, until the last syllable of recorded time. He doesn't know why salt is harmful to demons. Holy water is harmful because it has been blessed with prayer---it's nothing to do with religion, and more about the concentrated amount of goodness that went into it's making. Salt, though, who knows. Some people believe it's because it's used to purify things. Others think it links to how throwing salt over your shoulder is said to distract the devil from meddling in your life. Either way, it hurts like a bastard.

"Is the idea to trap us in the circle to protect us from demons? Or make a circle in the hope of catching some demons?" Shane asked casually as Ryan unscrewed the bottle. It had been upside down in his bag, a few granules had become lodged in the cap and rained onto the floor. Shane tucked his left foot a little closer to himself.

Ryan started pouring the salt onto the floor in a fine line. "I'm going to make a circle then try to summon a demon into it."

Little did he know there was already a demon in the circle and it wasn't even finished it yet. No summoning required.

Said demon stood up with a smooth unfurling of his limbs and discreetly tried to find a way to escape the almost-complete salt circle his friend was drawing around him. There was a narrow gap remaining and he sidled towards it---but Ryan bumped into him just before he could get there.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked, turning his head to look up at Shane inquisitively as he sealed them both inside the circle.

Shane scratched languidly behind his neck that had actually prickled with beads of sweat. He's lived through all five mass extinctions, and yet here he is, bested by a ring of table salt. And not even a good ring, more like a wonky oval. If he was on the other side of the circle, free, he would have pointed that out. But he wasn't, he's trapped, and suddenly not feeling so cocky.

Ryan hopped easily over the little mound of sodium chloride and turned back to Shane with a confused expression when he didn't follow. "Get out, that's where the demon is supposed to go."

Somewhere, Esirinus was probably cackling, Shane just knew it.

Shane shrugged his shoulders over dramatically. "I'm a demon, I can't get out. Would you be a lamb and kick me a little exit, please? Just come on over and scuff a little crack in this here circle---" he stopped because Ryan was laughing at him. 

Well, not at him . He thinks he's joking.

He's really not joking, though. Shane suddenly wishes he'd picked a less gangly human body to inhabit; this one's limbs are too, well, everywhere. It was becoming a challenge to keep them all neatly clasped against himself, as far away from the prickling heat of his prison walls. 

The sight of Ryan grinning as giggles pushed up from his stomach would usually make Shane's day---especially when he knew he had been the reason for them---but now his expression fell into a moody frown. He hadn't expected Ryan to believe him, of course not, but he had hoped he'd assume they were doing a bit an play along.

"Is that your impression of a demon? You think we'll catch a Mrs Doubtfire?" Ryan asked. He was clutching his waist as if his body had spent so long being anxious it had forgotten when laughter was.

In a monotone: "Let me out, Ryan." It was getting uncomfortably hot in the circle. Ryan should have drawn it bigger. Or in another room. Or not at all. Why hadn't Shane noticed what he was doing sooner and retreated cooly to a safe distance? Pretended he was investigating a weird looking book the owners had left on one of the shelves? Said he was exploring and wandered off to the kitchen on the other side of the house?

This situation left him with two options. One: somehow trick Ryan into releasing him---which would make him look like a weirdo. Or, two: Come out as a demon and hope their friendship makes it out of that confession alive---or at least alive enough for Ryan to free him before running for the hills.

Of course, there was always the third option; walk over the circle, suffer fourth-degree burns, and when Ryan asks why his skin is slightly on fire say something like 'wow, spontaneous combustion is a bitch'. 

But that's impractical (not to mention very unappealing).

If there was a fourth option, Shane didn't have time to think about it.

Ryan's chuckling faltered as he saw Shane's hardened expression. His gaze was focused on a point somewhere over Ryan's shoulder. He knew there was a hallway to his left and the kitchen to his right, but Shane seemed to be glowering at the peeling wall between them. Ryan turned to look at whatever it was his lanky friend had seen---and obviously become so enraged over---but there was nothing there. Nothing that Ryan could see, anyway. "What's wrong?"

...

When Shane had guessed that Esirinus had been cackling at his predicament, he hadn't exactly been wrong. The exact word would probably be 'chortling'.

Shane had heard him before he could see him; distant peelings of laughter ricochetting through the house, echoing around Shane's mind. But then the Lower Demon had made himself present---his torso protruding from the wall just behind Ryan's head---and Shane had had to clamp his jaw shut in an effort to hold in a growl. Why are demons so annoying ?

"Wow, look at you,'" Esirinu's crooning drawl spilt from his unnaturally wide mouth. "This has to be a new low, doesn't it?"

Ryan was asking what was wrong, and Shane turned his head back to face him, trying to plaster on a nonchalant expression, but it wasn't sticking. His muscle felt like cake.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired. And, frankly, fed up with this nonsense, to be honest."

Ryan winced.

"Aw, you made him sad."

Shane winced too, because Esirinus was right. Whatever the demon equivalent of a heart is twisted in Shane's chest. He hadn't meant it, obviously, but if Ryan was to live to see another day he'd have to get out of this house very fast and preferably not stop driving until he reaches Mexico. "Let's pack all this up and call it a day, yeah?"

The suggestion had been a friendly one, but he hadn't managed to cloak the urgency in its tone. There was that sharp edge that gave away panic, or, as Ryan interpreted it, irritation.

"No, we only have this one last thing to do, then that's it anyway. I'm sorry your intellectual brain is not finding this stimulating enough." He'd begun angrily searching through his bag again, probably for whatever Wikipedia told him he'd need for summoning a demon; whiskey or newts eyeballs, or something. Shane was the one standing dangerously close to something that could burn him, and yet Ryan's cheeks were the ones flushed a hot red. Embarrassment? Or anger? Both were somehow as bad as each other.

Esirinus clapped his pointy hands together in delight. "Ooh! Sarcasm!" He was still just a torso sticking out of a wall, his arms folded neatly before him as if he was leaning eagerly over a countertop. 'That died with the ghost of Tommy---when he got exorcised in 1984. I was the only practitioner of it for a bit, and I stopped because everyone kept staring at me."

Shane tried again: "We're not going to summon a demon, and you know it. Here, you clean up the salt and I'll carry all our bags to the car for you, how does that sound?"

Ryan was now sitting cross-legged on the floor a few meters away from the circle, several pages of clearly photocopied text spread over his lap. "It sounds like you're trying to half-ass this investigation, that's what it sounds like. And 'clean up the salt'? What do you think we're going to do? Reuse it on some fries later? Just get out of there so I can start the spell."

"Wow, you're in trouble now."

They did look odd, now; Ryan on one side of the room and Shane on the other, just standing there, not even removing his hands from his pockets. He looked like a defiant child, purposely standing exactly where he isn't supposed to just to be irritating.

Trying to look as though that comment about leaving the salt circle hadn't rattled him to his core: "Hey, here's an idea---it might make this more interesting. Summon the demon into me. That would really be a step forward for the Boogaras, wouldn't it?" He mimed reading out a news headline, "Renowned sceptic gets possessed---"

"I'm not going to make you get possessed!" Ryan exclaimed, clearly horrified at the idea. Shane would have laughed at him had Esirinus not been watching the human this whole time as if he was a character in his favourite TV show, something like an amused glint to the soulless pits that were his beady black eyes. He was like a snake coiled on a branch; it all really depends if he could be bothered to move; he might strike, but also he might not.

And, if he did, Shane wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

"He has a point, Shane. That's very irresponsible of you."

"Why not? It could be fun."

"Stop messing around, Shane," Ryan sounded nettled, like a teacher who was struggling to control a room full of students; even though he just had the one. Somehow, Shane managed to be more infuriating than a whole bunch of children. "Just get over here. For someone who wants to leave, you're really slowing the whole process down."

In a desperate grasp for time, Shane mustered his best teasing tone: "Oh, there's a process , now, is there? Who knew hunting fictional entities was so technical."

"I'm not hunting them---" Ryan must have memorised Shane's technique for condescendingly correcting people because he was doing a very good impression of it.

Shane was almost impressed.

Almost.

"---because unlike you, I actually respect them."

"At least someone respects me." Esirinus vanished from the wall and popped up directly behind Ryan, and Shane almost let out a tiny, unintentional yelp. The Lower Demon wasn't floating anymore, his feet---in shining Oxfords that went with his suit perfectly (not that Shane wanted to compliment him)---were now planted on the floor. The only give away that he was using any kind of magic was the fact that the floorboards didn't creak under his weight; because he didn't have any.

"Don't touch him," Shane hissed, making Esirinus' long slender demon tail poking over the band of his trousers flick with surprise.

"Ah, paying attention to me now, are you? I'm honoured." He didn't look honoured. He wasn't even facing Shane when he spoke to him. He was staring down at Ryan---almost a full foot shorter, and now watching Shane's gaze slide around the room with bemusement.

"Really, what do you keep looking at?" He turned around again, nose to nose with Esirinu's waistcoat, but, of course, he saw nothing. "If you're doing this just to mess with me---"

When Ryan turned back to Shane, Esirinus gave the top of his head a little ruffle. "He's so clueless, it's adorable."

Ryan probably hadn't felt anything besides that strange shiver you get when someone runs a finger up your spine, but he jumped all the same, wide, scared eyes scanning his surroundings for a possible culprit. This gave Shane the much needed time to mentally correct his appearance; Esirinus brings out the worst in him, literally.

Innocently: "What's wrong, Ryan? Did you see a ghost?"

Eyes still raking the falling-down ceiling, mouldy wallpaper, decrepit furniture, Ryan replied shakily: "I swear I thought something touched me again."

"Again?"

"Yeah." Had Ryan been paying attention, he would have noticed Shane's uncharacteristically caring tone and no doubt felt guilty for yelling at him earlier. "Remember? I said I couldn't sleep last night because something kept touching my face."

'That may have been me,' Esirinus purred, because of course he did. He's got this wide smirk, his hands held behind his back, chest puffed out like he's physically filled with more confidence than usual. Probably because he is. What's that saying? 'When the cat's away the mice shall play?' Well, the 'cat' isn't 'away', but he is trapped in an almost inescapable prison, which is basically the same thing. Plus, there's the added thrill of Shane having to watch while Esirinus did---whatever he planned to do with him. Shane didn't dare fathom.

That thought pitched him into a new level of fear and he decided to change tactics; desperate times call for desperate measures. "Maybe it was a ghost."

Ryan looked up at him, puzzled. He'd waited for so long to hear those words (or any words similar to those ones, anyway) come out of Shane's mouth, and now they had, and he didn't quite know what to do with them. "What?"

"You heard me. It might have been a ghost. So we should leave. Like, right now." He didn't know how he'd follow. Getting Ryan out of harm's way was Shane's main priority; he'd think about himself later.

"We'd be pretty bad ghost hunters if we left when we actually find a ghost."

"I can show you something cooler than a ghost."

Shane let his eyes flick to bore into Esirinus'. ' Don't you dare. I'm serious.'

His smirk broadened, pushing creases into his cheeks. Somehow, they sharpened the appearance of the bones below rather than softened them. "What you gonna do? Come and stop me? Living with the humans has made you soft. If this was 1703 you'd be right here with me."

"You see it, don't you?" Ryan asked Shane. Every one of his muscles had tensed. "That's why you keep looking over my shoulder, isn't it?"

Shane didn't know what to say to that. Ryan said they'd be bad ghoul hunters if they ran from a real ghost sighting, but he does scare easily, afterall. Maybe if Shane makes is convincing enough---

Before Shane could answer Ryan asked:

"You're scared aren't you? You. You're actually scared." He said it like a statement rather than a question, and, despite himself, he was actually smiling. It was a tentative smile, one he didn't quite mean to be there, but a smile all the same. He was so distracted by Shane's uncharacteristic display of anxiety that he didn't even bother to pay attention to his own rapid, shallow breaths.

"I don't get scared," Shane almost snapped, out of habit, and bit his tongue. He was supposed to be pretending to be scared. "I think I saw something, so we should leave. But I'm not scared."

Isirinus' face split into a beaming grin. "Even if I do this?" And---before Shane could figure out what he meant---Esirinus had slipped his arms under Ryan's and started dragging him out of the room.

Ryan barely had time to scream.

"See you in Hell, Shane."

Chapter Text

If Shane was merely human, he wouldn't have been able to see Ryan be pulled out of the room, down the hallway, and into the basement---it had happened so fast. Esirinus' feet didn't even touch the rickety floorboards, he'd just glided backwards as if he was being sucked into whatever he was so eager to get to in the basement. 

Shane had a pretty good idea of what that thing was. That's why, when Esirinus' skinny arms had hooked under Ryan's, Shane’s insides knotted suddenly and violently and he had subconsciously strode forwards, and reaching out as if he planned to simply snatch Ryan back. That action had been met with a searing pain at the tip of his left foot and he'd retracted it with a small high pitched sound from the back of his throat. Upon following the little wisp of smoke, he discovered the toe of his shoe to be almost entirely missing, the leather smouldered moodily to itself, charred and glowing vaguely orange in some places.

He looked back at the indent in the wall where Ryan had disappeared, mouth open in a gaping scream. Shane had heard him scream a lot , and yet he'd never get used to it. He could, quite often, push his concern back down, knowing that Ryan was most likely terrified because the wind had ruffled a curtain, or a door had made a noise, or something else stupid. But this time---for the first time---his raw terror was not only justified, but abt. If Shane was a human being dragged by an unknown entity into what was most certainly a portal to Hell opened by a rogue witch, he'd be screaming too.

At least Ryan couldn't see Esirinus as he'd grabbed him. Knowing Esirinus, he's probably going to save his big reveal for when Ryan is in the basement; because he favours the dramatics. Simply plucking a human up off the floor and taking them straight into the netherworld isn't enough. He'll string it out, make Ryan beg for mercy, or think he's sold his soul in exchange for release, or something. He'll let him go, like a cat taunting a mouse before eating it, then , only when he's bored, will he give Ryan the final shove into the portal.

This works in Shane's favour. This means he has time. Time to do what? He scanned his surroundings but he wasn't sure what for. He wasn't even in reach of anything he could use to sweep away the salt circle. Ryan had made it squarely in the centre of the room; not that the room was full of many things anyway; pretty much all the furniture had been removed or destroyed long ago.

The only option available to him was obvious. (Well, there were two options, but one of them was 'Leave Ryan and stay in this salt circle for the foreseeable future', which was, as far as Shane saw it, out of the question).

Clenching his jaw in preparation for what was to come, Shane shoved his foot forwards and into the pile of salt surrounding him. Little grains of white skittered across the room, along with the edge of a strangled whine of pain that had escaped through Shane's teeth. Every nerve in his body (mostly the ones in his toes) were screaming to stop, for time to recover or take a breath, but every millisecond he spent not helping Ryan was a millisecond he knew he'd forever despise, so he continued. 

Closing his eyes tight shut---so he couldn't see the fat flurries of smoke rising from his shoe, the singed skin now exposed and bare---Shane gave the salt ring another kick. He needed to break it properly, to give himself enough room to slip from the fortress of its invisible bonds. He kicked and kicked, scuffing the granules underfoot, hearing them crunch between the floor and his shoe now full of burnt-away holes, the sound mixing with his hisses of agony and the sizzling of his flesh. 

Finally, after what felt like a millennium (and he’d know, seeing as he’d seen every single one), the ring was broken enough for Shane to turn his body sideways and slide out of its prison. As soon as he could, he started sprinting in the direction of the basement, spirits that had gathered to investigate the commotion fleeing in all directions. The scattered grains of salt smarted like pins spilled all over the floor, pricking the soles of his shoes and he winced with every step, nearly tumbling down the basement steps as his long limbs careered him through the house. 

…

When Shane came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the basement steps, his face shiny, his chest heaving, and his eyes burning redder than his smoking skin with rage, Esirinus seemed to be---for once---lost for words. He lifted his head when Shane entered, jaw falling open, exposing his pointed teeth, and an unnaturally long, scarlet, forked tongue, as he caught sight of the state of his feet, his brain putting two and two together. Despite his eyes being as soulless and black as a shadow, they seemed to ask one thing: ‘How?’

Shane didn’t answer, but released him from his hardened gaze just long enough to skim them over Ryan, whom Esirinus still had caged in his arms several feet off the ground. Said demon is still invisible to human eyes, he’d probably been holding Ryan captive and cackling as he struggled against his invisible restraints. 

Besides his face being drained of all blood, his eyes holding a startled look of terror, Ryan was okay. Exhausted from flailing against Esirinus’ claw-like fingers, confused and terrified at whatever was happening to him, and thoroughly out of breath from---well, everything---but okay. He squinted at Shane in the gloom, a look of relief loosening his features, which almost made Shane smile. 

To Esirinus’ right, the air morphed slowly, like the atoms were being stirred in a bowl. It wasn’t obvious, you could only see it if you stared for long enough, like heat waves shimmering over tarmac in summer. Shane knew, though, that if Esirinus was allowed to drag Ryan through that patch of air, there’d be no getting him back out. 

‘Let him go,’ Shane warned, fixing Esiriun’s beady black eyes under a stare cold enough to freeze, well, Hell. 

Esirinus’ lips curled into his trademark smirk. “Was that an undertone of fear I detected? I thought you didn't get scared.”

“Shane?” Ryan was barely conscious by this point. Despite his eyes being as wide as saucers, they were also vacant and unseeing, as if he was drunk on fear. Shane made an educated guess that his vision was hazy and nebulous as if drunk too. Ryan is probably watching him through a mist of adrenaline. 

Turning his attention back to Esirinus: ‘I’m warning you,’ Shane growled, the corner of his lip twitching as a muscle feathered there. If Ryan was in any fit state to register anything around him, he would have been surprised at how Shane...didn't look like Shane. No, his demon features weren't showing, but his fury was. He looked strange, angry. Strange as in different; not at all like the lanky man Ryan worked across from, cracking jokes and overstretching most of his words into sarcastic quips.

Esirinus’ smirk broadened but it didn’t look like a smile. Not a genuine smile, there was something off about it, as if it had been broken then put together wrong. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I said, let him go.”

“As you wish,’” Esiriuns drawled, fractionally inclining his boney shoulders in a shrug. And, before Shane could register his surprise, he released his vice-like grip under Ryan’s arms.

Ryan fell straight down onto the splintered floor with a yelp that turned into a whimper of pain as his body crumpled to the ground, knees too weak to even hope of absorbing even a little of the impact. Shane stepped forwards, out of instinct to help him up, but Esirinus blocked his way. 

Blocked his way as in he literally stood in his path, Shane’s body colliding with the pristine---and very much physical---material of Esirinus’ suit jacket. 

Physical. 

Visible to human eyes. 

…

Shane always wondered what Ryan’s reaction would be if he saw a demon, and now he knows. His eyes go almost as wide as his mouth, then sort of roll back into his head as he passes out. Or has a heart attack, Shane couldn’t tell from this distance. Or he might have had an aneurysm, or---

“Aw, humans. So fragile,” Esirinus crooned

…

Ryan being unconscious for what happened next was probably for the best. Shane lunged at Esirinus, who let out a little yelp that morphed into a winded squeak as their bodies collided, Shane’s now sporting the added weight of his demon wings arching at his back.

Demons have been around since the dawn of time, so you’d think they’d be the most evolved species on the planet, but they’re not. They’re the embodiment of evil, thus everything about them, right down to their atomic makeup, is...well, evil. They don’t seem to even be made of atoms, just sins and misdeeds and errors and crimes and profanities stringed together into something that only just passes as a living creature. They are everything bad about a person, greed, envy, etcetera, they’re petty and immune to personal growth. (Well, some are. There’s always one oddball in the family, naming no Shanes).  Evolution is something that seemed to have passed them by. Because of this---have you ever seen two feral dogs fight in an alley? Shane and Esirinus’ fight in the basement was like that. Feral. Animal. Lots of hissing and growling and biting and scratching and snarling and noises words haven't been invented for yet. 

Demons heal fast, really fast---immortal, remember? So Esirinus would swipe at Shane, his jagged claws shredding whatever they made contact with to ribbons, and the tissue would rebuild themselves in their wake only to be ripped apart again with his next attack. Capillaries would shatter, that patch of skin turning a vibrant red, a deep purple, a stodgy yellow then disappearing within a matter of seconds. Bones snap, the recipient shrieking with pain but not breaking stride, the injury pulling itself back together like a video in reverse. 

Being a lower demon, everything about Esirins is jagged, from his appearance to his personality (if you could even call it that). He’s little, for a demonic being, little and pointy and sharp. Where Shane used strength and brute force to knock him into walls, the floor, and even, at one point, the ceiling, Esirinus lashed out in flurries of talons like a cat skittering about the room, ricocheting off shelves, countertops and thin air. 

Esirinus knew he was going to lose. Of course he was. Shane wondered, as he almost tore off one of Esirinu’s bat-like wings, why the lower demon had bothered to start a fight in the first place. Was he just plain self-destructive? Bored? Did he have some deep, fundamental frustration that needed to be released? Shane almost laughed at himself; here he is, trying to put the human’s logic to a demon’s actions. Who knows why they do anything? They are chaos as a creature. Irrationality personified.

Every now and again, Shane would glance back at Ryan, still laying crumpled on the floor like a pile of wet paper towels. He wanted to pick him up and put him somewhere out of harm's way. Not out of the way of Esirinus---it was easy enough to direct their tussle around Ryan---but out of the way of the portal. It still  shimmered away to itself, too close to Ryan’s right elbow for Shane’s comfort. Ryan being in the same building as that portal was too close for comfort, to be honest. He was thankful Ryan had wanted to save exploration of the basement as the last activity of their demon-house-sleepover. Steering him around that---quite large---patch of air would have been a difficult task. And there’s always the chance Ryan might accidentally put his hand or something into it by accident, which would---best case scenario only---lead to loss of said limbs. 

Yes, this way was better; Ryan being unconscious, and all. His brain possibly being melted by his experiences was obviously not ideal, but Shane would worry about that once he’d dealt with the demon currently trying to bite through his tail. 

Shane flicked him off, Esirinus smacking into the definitely-not-working-anymore water tank that was slumped in the corner of the room, a pathetic sound escaping through his teeth. He’d kept them bared in a smirk the entire time Shane had beaten him to a pulp, relentless snark stuck to his face like it had been sewn on. It faltered, now, though, as Shane stood over him, looking down at him like he was something that had lost its shape in the wash. A long, narrow cut Shane had drawn along the length of Esirinus’ leg struggled to patch itself up before his eyes. He reached out to grab what was left of the front of Esirinus’ button up shirt to pull him into another round, but Esirinus’ hands rose in surrender, palms exposed and caked in blood. 

“Fine, fine” he wheezed, about to push himself into a sitting position, but letting himself fall back down when Shane gave him a warning glare; but retracted his advance anyway. His voice, his physical voice, crackled like static through a radio. He probably hadn’t used it for many, many years. “You win. Take your silly little human, I don’t want him anymore anyway.” He gave a cough, as if his vocal chords were a microphone that wasn’t working quite right. “ He screams too much.” Lifting one hand with visible effort and pointing vaguely upwards. “Gives me a headache.” 

“Why do you have to be---” Shane didn’t know how to finish that sentence He just stood there, panting lightly, wishing he had some cold water to put his still-burning feet into. No gentle word suited Esirinus. He wasn’t annoying, he wasn’t irritating, he wasn’t childish or petulant. He was just… “---such a dick?” 

Esirinus barked a one syllable laugh. “Because I’m a demon?” 

Shane dismissed him with a roll of his eyes and turned to Ryan. He crouched, wincing, down next to him and slid one arm gently under his back and the other under his knees and stood, lifting him up. His head lolled over Shane’s bicep so Shane leaned back a little until it rested safely against his chest.

“And so are you. Had you forgotten?” Esirinus had stood up, now, although he was tipped slightly at an angle because several bones in his leg had broken and were still working on righting themselves. He was watching Shane with a look he couldn’t quite read. 

He elected to ignore him. 

…

The sun was rising as Shane pushed the front door open, a plank of weak, watery light falling onto the hallway. The fresh air felt good, after so long breathing in more dust than was good for him. With a cleansing breath, Shane’s demon features faded away, horns retracting into his forehead, wings folding neatly into thin air like Japanese fans.

He’d just left Esirinus in the basement. He’d use the portal to go back to Hell, or hang around to torment the next unsuspecting person to visit this house of quite literal horrors, but he wasn’t going to bother Shane anymore. Not for a couple hundred years, anyway. 

Supporting Ryan’s weight wouldn’t usually be a problem, but Shane’s feet were still struggling to heal with their usual gusto. He limped as he carried Ryan to the car that he’d longed to be in so many times during their short yet very eventful stay, wincing as he’d loped down the porch steps and propped Ryan up in the passenger seat. Reluctantly, he then went back into the house to retrieve their overnight bags. Several spirits watched him from holes in the walls, shadowy patches under shelves and cabinets. It took him a while, but he finally managed to find a tap in the house that dispensed something resembling water. He used it to scrub off the freckles of scarlet blood dappling his skin, then took off his torn-up shirt and jeans, biting his tongue as he did so, to keep little wounded sounds inside his chest from the movement. He put on some clean clothes (sighing at the fact that he’d have to continue wearing his mangled shoes, though) and stuffed the bloodied ones to the bottom of his bag, and made his way back to the car. 

…

Ryan stayed unconscious for twenty three minutes. Shane had been counting. He contemplated taking him to a hospital, but his phone claimed fainting from fear does not require a visit to the emergency room. That was a good thing, in Shane’s mind; not just because it meant the little guy was probably going to be okay, but because he didn’t want to walk into an A and E with his feet...the way they were. People would definitely ask questions, which he had no idea how to answer. 

When Ryan eventually stirred, he lifted his head cautiously and squinted at the open road through the windscreen, then at Shane, who gave him a genuine smile. 

“Hey, buddy,” he grinned, eyes flicking from Ryan’s confused expression to the road. He could drive without looking, just as he could talk without talking, but he had to make some effort, right? “How you feeling?”

Ryan took a little while to answer. He seemed to be wondering that exact same thing. “I don’t know. Fine? My shoulder hurts.” He moved it experimentally, making the joint do a few laps in its socket and stooping when a little bolt of pain throbbed in answer.

“Yeah, you fell down pretty heavily,” Shane said sympathetically. He’d worked out a lie, but that wasn’t part of it. Ryan had fallen down pretty heavily. “Do you want to see a doctor?” He had to ask, obviously,  but luckily Ryan rubbed his head and mused:

“My head feels okay, actually.” He pushed himself up into a more up-right position, his body no longer slumped against the passenger seat door. Shane’s words must have eventually sunk in because his eyes widened. “I fell?” 

Shane adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, letting one hand move down to rest on the gearstick. He wanted his demeanor to radiate an air of ‘it’s no big deal’. “Yeah, something made a noise and you stared running, then fell over. I think you tripped on a floorboard. I keep telling you those old houses aren’t worth going in but no, you insist on---”

“Okay, okay, you hate ghost hunting, I get it,” Ryan huffed, folding his arms, a muscle feathering by his eye as his shoulder twinged in protest. 

Shane winced too. “I don’t hate it,” he tried, and he means it. Ghost hunting is fun, it's demon hunting that he’s not so keen on. All the salt and holy water--- 

Ryan suddenly made a little yelp sound, the blood draining from his face. “What happened to your feet?” He was leaning over to get a look at the footwell on Shane’s side, and Shane pressed his lips together. Ryan had been bound to notice their state at some point, he just hadn't expected it to be so soon. In preparation, he’d tried his best to wash away any blood. There weren’t actually any red stains left, not on the outside of his shoes anyway. And his skin had healed by this time, not fully, but close enough. They were just streaked with a few sweltering scars; hidden by his socks. “They’re fine.”

“There’s holes in your boots---!”

“Not big holes.”

This didn’t seem to comfort Ryan at all. “What the Hell happened ? Are they---” he leaned a bit closer, as close as his seatbelt would allow, and Shane pushed him back into his seat.. “---are they burnt?”

“You fell over and knocked some of your stupid demon candles over with you. One went on my feet.” Not the best lie, but believable. Believable enough. 

Ryan’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Okay, now we really should go to hospital.” 

Shane waved him off, letting his spine slump even more into the driver’s seat. It was the most comfortable thing he’d experienced since he’d been in it yesterday evening.  “I’m fine. We’re only ten minutes away from a Taco Bell anyway.”

“I get knocked unconscious, and you almost burn off both your feet, and your solution is to go to Taco Bell?” Ryan’s face almost hardened into an angry frown. Shane thought, for a horrifying second, that he’d reach out and grab the steering wheel and drive them to a doctor himself.

“You have a better idea?”

“Yeah, a hospital.”

“Isn't good food really the best medicine?” 

“Then why are we going to Taco Bell?”

Shane couldn’t help snorting a laugh. Not just because that had been funny, but because he was relieved, and that relief needed somewhere to go, so it escaped his mouth and floated about the car in the form of giggles. Ryan is okay. Okay enough to crack jokes. He didn’t seem to be able to remember anything that had happened after the salt ring. Esirinus hadn’t hurt him---besides dropping him on the floor, but Ryan falls on the floor all the time anyway. .

Their chuckles lost momentum eventually and trailed off into comfortable silence Despite the early -morning sky having been a soupy mixture of greys and blacks, the mid -morning sky looked to be rather promising. Honey-coloured sunlight trickled in through the car windows, so much so that Ryan flipped his sun visor down to stop it getting in his eyes. 

After a while, he said: “You know, even though I passed out so everything we did past five-thirty is a bit hazy, there is one thing I distinctly remember.” 

His throat tightening into a knot: “Oh?” 

Ryan just fiddled with his shirt sleeve, picking some cobwebs from the dust-stained material. “Yeah. You admitted I may have felt a ghost.” His mouth was curling into a proud smile. 

Shane rolled his eyes. He seems to do that a lot when around Ryan. “What? When? I’d never do that.”

“You did,” he stated, sounding annoyingly self-assured. “You were standing in the salt circle---you know, being an idiot---and you said ‘you heard me, it might have been a ghost.’’

They pulled up at a junction, Shane flicking on the indicator. Taco Bell’s familiar glowing sign beamed at them from the next road over. “Wow, you must have hit your head pretty hard, maybe we should go to a hospital.”

“You can’t deny it!”

“You’re right, I can’t deny something that never happened.” Shane took his eyes off the road just long enough to sneak a glance at Ryan’s moody expression. An idea occurred to him. It meant sacrificing his pride, but there wasn’t much left of that anyway. No doubt Esirinus would fill the entirety of the Netherworld with tales of Shane-The-Human-Loving-Demon. “Okay, let’s make a deal. I’ll admit that maybe you felt a ghost---”

Grumpily: “I did feel a ghost. Twice. You’re just lying now.”

Shane wasn’t lying, and it frustrated him that he couldn’t prove it. “-- - I’m not. But as I was saying, I’ll consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, you did, if you agree we never go to another demon house.” Then, for clarification he added: “Ever again.” 

Ryan’s aggravated expression melted into surprised bemusement. “What? Why?”

Nonchalantly inclining his shoulders in a shrug. “I just prefer the ghost ones.” 

‘Because ghosts don’t try to drag you into the pits of Hell,’ his internal monologue quipped. 

They pulled into one of the many empty parking spots in the Taco Bell car park and Shane pulled up as close to the building’s entrance as possible; his poor feet may have all their usual layers of skin now, but they were still weak and had prickled uncomfortably every time he’d pushed on the pedals. He’d tried his best to keep a straight face; because he knew Ryan would only start fussing. Ryan must have noticed him wince as he got out and they started walking, so, in an effort to distract him, Shane said: 

“So, do we have a deal?”

Ryan turned the proposition over in his head, inspecting it. “No.”

Shane wilted. It had been worth a try. 

“---In fact, there was a place I heard about known as ‘The Two Hundred Demons House’---” 

Ryan told Shane about a house in Indiana that had been the site of alleged demon possession---or something. He hadn’t really been listening. He was mentally plotting ways to keep Ryan as far away from that location as possible. He’d also been wondering if it would seem weird for him to go into the bathroom and run his still-slightly-charred feet under the cold tap.

Epilogue:

When asked, Ryan claimed he couldn’t remember anything that happened after the salt circle. He did have a few vague mental images but they were hazy---as if he was looking at them through a misted window. 

He didn’t mention them to anyone, mostly because he thought they were meaningless, or imagined, or a mixture of the two. 

One of the mental images were of a thin, pointy-looking, man in a suit. His mouth was too wide and his body was mainly bone.

The other was of a tall man stooping to pick him up. The man had wings that curved behind him like two oversized shields. If Ryan had been dying he would have wondered if he’d seen an angel.