Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part I.

It’s best if he just thinks of this place as any other old place they were going to investigate. 

Only it’s not ‘they’ this time. It’s him, just little ole’ Ryan Bergara. Alone. With no camera and nothing but the Ovilus and his camera and a helluva lot of nerve he has venturing into this…this defunct, sad, dark and gloomy abandoned theater. No TJ, no Devon. No BuzzFeed Unsolved. 

But it’s the only clue he has. It’s the only place he can start looking for something to help him unravel the mystery that is slowly consuming his life. 

He has to know, the burn is too strong and the urge has him by the throat. 

This old theater is apparently where his cohost and best friend has been living, as well, and that alarms Ryan as much as it intrigues him. 

He tiptoes across smooth floors, eyeing the dated shag carpet and trying not to jump and spook at every little noise and skitter in the darkness. 

Shane isn’t here. 

Shane is…

Well, that’s part of the puzzle, isn’t it? A huge part of the puzzle, infact, overshadowed only by the very serious and very horrifying fact that his best friend of a couple years has been a demon. A real, flesh and blood and horror incarnate Demonic Entity. And Ryan is pretty sure this isn’t a new development, either.

But now? Now, Shane’s gone. He left nothing behind. He just…vanished. Phone. Contacts. It was like someone had frozen time and then reversed it, then rewrote it over. 

The world feels wrong to Ryan, but no one seems beside him seems to miss Shane, or even remember him. 

Ryan tried googling his relatives and found dead ends so impressive that Jimmy Hoffa would have been at awe. 

He tried asking coworkers, and got confused glances. 

He ran into Brent, who apologized for dropping from the show and then politely asked if he had found a replacement yet. It was chilling. 

Ryan had been moving through a fog ever since then. It only seemed to to get thicker the more he tried peering through it. 

Ryan grips his flashlight, stealing himself as he tries to peer into every dark corner and behind every brittle, moth-nibbled curtain. 

Shane. Goofy, long-limbed, bottomless pit, scarecrow-looking easy-going Shane. A demon. 

He tries to wrap his head around it all. Easier said than done, of course. 

‘A demon that saved you,’ whispers a snide voice in Ryan’s head. He glares and pushes deeper, wandering across the stage. His steps echo, sounding like gunshots.

In reality they’re rather muffled. Everything in here is muffled. And sleepy. And old. And watching him, with low disdain as if the building itself recognizes he doesn’t belong here. But Ryan doesn’t feel like he’s in trouble, not even in any danger. 

It’s kind of pretty, a moment trapped in time with dust motes swirling the air sleepily. The molding is gorgeous and stunning, and Ryan can see why the city is trying to find a job for this place besides bulldozing it and putting up another shopping mall they don’t fucking need. 

The building breathes, and Ryan explores.

Suddenly, a demonic looking Shane in his mind fits quite comfortably in a place like this. 

Ryan stands in the middle of the theater, at the old, half turned down white screen on which a projector would have shown a film back in the 50’s, when it was no longer being used for magician and stage performances. 

And suddenly some of their late night conversations on the phone seem to make sense for poor Ryan, who feels the jarring sensation of a forgotten memory pricking through his subconscious with an eager nail. 

(“Hey man, I catch you at a bad time?” 

“Nawh Ry, never! I’m just watching a movie, you’re good. What’s up?”)

Ryan swallows, and it feels like there’s a tennis ball in his throat. 

“...Shane?” He calls, into the quiet, dim hall. 

No answer. 

“....Sh…Shane? Are you here?” He bites his tongue to stop ‘Can you speak to us?’ Because that’s honestly what this felt like. Like he was hunting a ghost and trying to prompt it to speak. 

‘I’m trying to call a demon to me. This is it, Bergmiester. You’ve gone and cracked your nut.’ Ryan thinks dimly, feeling like he’s having an out of body experience. 

But there was no response. Ryan thinks back to the lobby he crept through. The popcorn machine looked oddly well taken care of. It didn’t look new either, just lovingly cared for. The smell of popcorn and butter tingled his senses and made him ache for the familiarity of a warm, salty snack and a long flick to make fun of or admire. 

(“I was thinking if we just head North from there, we can pick up the express way–dude, are you eating popcorn again?”

“...what gave it away?”

“I can hear you chewing, dumbass!”

“Well, it’s good man! Love this stuff,”)

Shane lived here. Correction–Shane lived here. Ryan can’t think of his friend in the past tense. Nope. Won’t do it. 

Shane used spells or some kooky, all-powerful magic demon shit to get his way, pulling the wool over everyone that ever looked at him. 

Even Ryan. 

Especially Ryan. 

But when the chips were down, when it mattered the most, Ryan could not argue the facts. 

Shane had saved him. Shielded him from a two story fall that would have snapped his neck or broken his legs. Took the brunt of it and that moment of heroicness likely cost Shane his freedom, hadn’t it? In the end, Shane had been down and out for the count.

Because, as if Ryan finding out his best friend isn’t a demon (and a liar) isn’t enough, said revealed demon has been kidnapped. Demon-napped? 

Regardless. It’s not good. 

But Ryan is nothing if he’s not an investigator. 

He doesn’t want to think about what’s happening to his friend while he’s missing. He remembers the look in the Hunter’s cold eyes and shivers at the implications. 

Where did Demon Hunters take demons? He was pretty certain there was no highway to Hell, but if the last few weeks proved anything, it was: what the fuck did he know? 

Ryan frowns, continuing to explore the old theater with growing anxiety and carelessness. He almost spooks right off the paisley carpet when a yowl snaps his attention to the front of his mind and he swings his flashlight down onto a little orange cat. 

The cat pauses, tense but waiting as the two size each other up. 

(“Dude, did you get a cat? I just heard a little meow.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, my new place has rats, Ry. Me and him made a deal, you know how it goes. Food and shelter and sans rats for me~”)

“I know you…” Ryan relaxes slowly, and is relived when the cat seems to do the same, if slower. 

“What did Shane call you…Obi?” 

The cat regarded him evenly, barely a flick of its whiskers to indicate it heard Ryan at all. The orange tabby turned sideways and ignored his ‘psp psp psp’ of invitation. 

Wasn’t that typical of cats?

When Shane didn’t like someone (Rare those times were, they still happened,) Shane tended to ignore them too, come to think of it. 

In the brave little feline before him, Ryan saw a flicker of Shane and it made his heart ache again. 

“It’s okay little guy, I’m a friend. I’m…I’m Shane’s friend.” He tries. The cat eyeballs him. 

The little tabby seems to make up its mind, because it turns its nose up and slinks off, tail in the air and unashamed to exist in its space. Ryan snorts. 

Only to pause when the cat returns, meowing at him baleful, and begins to retrace it’s steps. 

It halts and looks over it’s shoulder at him. A third meow catches Ryan by surprise. 

“...You….want me to follow you?” 

‘I’m looking for a demon and talking to a cat.’ 

Ryan can just hear his missing best friend in his mind, too. 

(‘I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it, buddy. There always is.’)

Not this time. Well, there was an answer alright. It’s becoming more apparent that his best friend’s lived a second life. 

Or rather, Shane was living a second when he was with Ryan, working at BuzzFeed. 

That was perhaps the hardest part for Ryan to wrap his mind around. And the answers to this questions would come from Shane and Shane only. That didn’t mean Ryan wasn’t keeping a running list, though. 

It kept him from digesting the bitter pill that perhaps Shane was dead already. 

If demons could be killed. His research–which had become more frantic now that he knew he was right and had a basis for it–hadn’t helped him out in that area. Demons could be weakened and banished and, judging by poor Shane, trapped and stolen away. 

But to be truly destroyed? 

Ryan forces himself to study the old posters tacked up behind bronze frames and shakes his head, disgusted with himself for even wondering. Of course Shane was alright. 

Shane was always alright.

The little tabby cat strutted through the back of the stage and right up to a door marked ‘Mens’, complete with gold star and all. It was dark, too dark to see. 

(Shane, ambling around in the dark, unbothered and also so at peace with everything around him.

Shane, coming up behind him and cackling when Ryan rightfully startles and curses him out. 

Shane, stooping low into awkward, dark places and joining his side the instant Ryan gets scared beyond his typical fear. When Ryan started losing it in the darkness, Shane just seemed to…materialize. Right by his side. For him.)

Ryan tripped on his sneakers, flashlight catching a mirror and sending a bolt of refracted, grimy light that startles him. He idles just at the threshold, hand fumbling on the wall for a light. The second attempt earns him a switch. Flick. 

The room inside is cluttered but someone has definitely been living in here. There’s some blankets in a corner, an odd nest-type thing. 

Demons made nests? 

Ryan recalls the sheer immense size of those scarlet wings and decides that, if he had two walking blankets, he’d sleep in them too wherever he pleased. Or could fit. 

Ryan tugs open a wardrobe that has little dust on it, and finds Shane’s favorite shirts and jeans. He finds the straw hat he wore once on set, and a strange, antiquated looking box. The air is sinister around it, but Ryan gulps and grabs it anyway. 

It won’t open for him, and he sets it aside, frustrated. 

There’s a soft mewl of approval, and Ryan turns in time to watch the orange cat leap down, the box now open and waiting. 

Oh. 

“Creepy demon magic.” Ryan complains, even though he feels a surge of thrill at all this. 

A world where the supernatural exists, and he was right. 

The box is crammed with stuff. It takes Ryan a moment to realize the box for what it is. 

Mementos. 

Pieces of marble. An arrowhead. A small string of pearls, a single ruby. There’s a few shells, a starfish, and some letters. Half of them are in latin, some in Greek, French, a few in Hebrew. Those are brittle and yellow, and Ryan is loathe to even handle them too much. 

But there’s one on top. White. New. 

And it feels….helpful. It’s the first one in the pile anyway. Ryan selects it carefully and unfolds it. 

Shane,

It was nice to hear from you. Twice in one decade is a rare thing indeed, especially with you so prone to your depressions. Judging by your last letter–and the things I’ve heard through the grapevine–you and your friend have certainly started carving a spot for yourselves in the supernatural hunter’s legacy. 

Of course, considering your role in the series seems to be entirely disbelief and antagonistic toward your kind, I find it all just as amusing as you thought. 

I’m a little surprised at your request from your last letter, but I don’t see why not. It’s not like you to be so…protective toward the species that took your Father’s love, but I suppose time has a way of changing us all, even you, Wanderer. 

I suppose the true term is ‘possessive.’ Nothing is quite so deadly as a demon laying stake to it’s claim, eh? Be sure you don’t harm your new favorite in the process. 

No matter. Keep your horns out of trouble, and if I’m around the old grounds when you visit, I’ll see you then. 

If not, you have my word she won’t be any trouble. But don’t be afraid to throw your weight around if you must, you know how she gets around human kind. 

Kindest regards,

Ed

Ryan blinks, gapes, stares at the paper. 

At the name. At the subject. At the implications and all the tangled notes snagged in the works of his brain. 

“...that sunvabitch…” 

Still, the whole letter and all its meanings just…alls down onto Ryan’s shoulders hard and his heart tightens suddenly. Shane little cat…familiar?...is gone, and so no one sees Ryan swipe frustrated tears from his eyes. 

His dumbass best friend really was always looking out for him, wasn’t he? 

Ryan decides to close the little box and take it with him. It’s a heavy burden in his bookbag, and the cloth feels warm as he carries it out of the old theater and into the afternoon light of LA. 

At least he has a lead now. Not a great one, but something. He has a box that belongs to a demon, a letter from a man who died in 2006 that is dated this year and a place that he knows Shane has been to before. 

He needs to find where Shane is being held. 

He needs to. There’s no other ending for them that Ryan will entertain. 

And that is because he wants Shane back. Demon and all.

Chapter Text

Part II. 

Connecticut is chilly, in the throes of Fall with colorful trees and deep blue skies. It’s a perfect, moody day and Ryan hasn’t stopped to enjoy any of it, nor does he plan to. A sleepy wind blusters around the ghost hunter and his rental when he arrives at his next destination, a slim chance at finding some sort of clue. If Shane had contact with Ed, Ryan wouldn’t be able to ask the man, since he’d died years ago. But what he worked with—and the things he captured—were still here. The plane ticket was cheap enough, only because it was one way. His savings haven’t taken quite a hit for him to stop searching, so Ryan can still focus on his search for his best friend. 

Time is running out, but maybe for once Ryan can run faster.

The letter burns in his back pocket as he approaches Ed and Lorraine Warren’s Occult Museum, its weight almost comforting. If nothing else, it was proof Shane wasn’t a mindless, cruel Demon. And that at least one other human, perhaps two, had known his secret and kept it. (After all, Shane wasn’t locked up in the occult shed, so either the demon was on good standing with certain hunters or…or perhaps he was simply too powerful to trap, and he was something better left alone for the sake of sanity and safety.)

Ryan tries not to worry too much about the implications of that last possibility. It’s one thing for a man to live with lions; it’s another for the lion to be a surprise. Ryan likes surprises, just not ones that involve teeth and horror and death.

The additional thought of Shane being alive for so much of history is also startling. At the same time it also just makes sense somehow, a final piece to the puzzle. It also just plain ticks Ryan off a bit. Of course Shane was around for all that stuff he loved to ramble about. It used to be almost insufferable, how well traveled and learned Shane liked to drop that he was.

…He should have let Shane do a True Crime Unsolved on those people in France that danced themselves to death. Now he might never get the chance.

…if—when—he finds Shane, that’s the first thing he’ll promise. And if he does, maybe Shane won’t make fun of him too much when the second he does is hug the dumb sasquatch so tight he squeezes the air from Shane’s stupid demon lungs. (If Demons even did breathe air. )

Ryan maybe alone, but he’s armed to the teeth. He has his holy water, a phone call to a contact from the episode they did here, and a friendly promise to allow him entrance into the terrible place. Not to mention a silver switch blade he picked up at a flea market, and Shane’s little box of trinkets and prizes from over the years—centuries?

He’s as ready to walk into the old shed off the Warren’s house as he’s ever gunna be, frankly.

No Ouija Boards of course. He may be close to desperate, but he’s not going to be stupid in his search for Shane. 

Besides, Shane isn’t the only demon around, by Ryan’s estimate. 

So there’s others. Sallie, maybe. 

And…Annabelle, likely. Sitting inside. If he can’t connect with the ghost of Ed Warren, Ryan is prepared to try and get Annabelle talking.

She’s in her little wooden casket of a display box when he enters. Ryan shivers, pretends not to think about their last encounter, pretends he doesn’t feel like he’s lost a source of protection that was apparently so fond of him that he willingly followed Ryan into all manner of places just for some damn online show that BuzzFeed thought about nixing more than once.

Ryan has had a few weeks to think. 

Shane had followed him everywhere, mild mannered, cheerful and polite to the locals. 

If Shane hadn’t gone with him to the estate last month, an apparently obvious Demon Trap, he would still be here with Ryan making snide remarks and wondering where their next meal was going to come from, and if it perhaps couldn’t be sooner rather than later, Ry, please?

To keep himself thinking positive, he has a list of things to question Shane with if–when–he finds his friend. 

Questions like, what did demons eat? He’s seen Shane eat enough in one sitting to be seriously concerned about the state of Taco Bell if more than one demon ever swarmed the joint. 

Ryan’s stomach grumbles, and he ignores it. He’s had little food and less sleep as of late, his appetite shaky and his dreams punctured by darkness and growls and Shane’s helpless, pleading look of tired betrayal.

The floor creaks under his boots, anchoring him to the moment whether he wants it or not. The hairs on the back of his neck prick. The place is cold, almost frigid. It feels wrong.

He’s been given a gracious 10 minutes to do this, and he needs to do it fast. 

Ryan steps close to Annabelle as he dares, eyes darting from her beady little button eyes of doom to just about anywhere else, and clears his throat as he fiddles with the half melted Spirit Box. 

It crackles meekly, protesting but resilient. 

‘Shane hates this thing. Guess now I know why.’ God, was he dumb. So many signs were there, now that Ryan thought about it all.

He clears his throat, and makes a go of it.

“I’m here to speak–I’m here to speak to…to any spirits in here.” Hopefully Demons didn’t notice voice cracks.

“I’d like to contact the ghost of Ed Warren if he’s here…”

Annabelle’s gaze is empty and yet…not. Ryan doesn’t feel alone, but he honestly hasn’t felt alone since he crossed the threshold of this place.

He waits, hoping for a reply.

Nothing. The large, hoarded over shed is void of life yet creepy and foreboding as ever.

Ryan licks his lips, loosens the dryness of his throat. Turns his attention onto the stuffed doll sitting in her little cage with the glass front.

“It’s just me, this time. No cameras. No…no one else. I’m sure you’ve noticed that. I don’t like doing this. I don’t want to be here–”

‘Never show them fear, Ryan.’

He remembers Shane suddenly, reaching for the case. Had it been a threat? Shane certainly didn’t seem afraid. He never took anything seriously, did he?

“I…don’t want to be here. Okay?”

(“Aren’t there any fun demons, Ryan?”)

“But uh, but I’m not going anywhere either. I’ve got some questions and you’re…you’re going to answer them. If you’re really a-a-demon, Annabelle. Then…then I think you know my friend, Shane.” 

Silence. And it must be his imagination, but the air feels….thicker, suddenly. Smoky. 

Ryan grasps at straws, recalling the letter and how it addressed his friend.

“I think he’s sometimes called ‘The Wanderer–’”

The lights pulse and flicker above, and Ryan shakes and forces himself to stay rooted. Names have power. This must be one of Shane’s. Ryan wonders briefly what the others are. He adds that question to the list of ‘Things to Ask Shane WHEN He’s Found.’

When Ryan looks back ahead, Annabelle has her small mitten hands on the glass, peering out at him. The Spirit Box burns in his palm for a second, then cools down and gurgles angrily. But Ryan keeps himself steady, forces himself to breathe even as a sound like thin reeds whistles toward him and then, somehow, speaks. Forms words that he can understand, and he hates listening to the Demon in Doll’s Body.

‘YOU’RE SMALLER THAN I REMEMBER, LITTLE MORSEL.’  The voice–Annabelle—remarks with a sinister noise of satisfaction. 

Ryan pretends to feel like Shane, pretends to think he can just turn off the parts of his brain that make him feel scared, and then just chokes for a second.

The words register, and he pauses.

“...first off, I’m not that little. It’s because Shane’s so tall, that when I’m next to him I–no, you know what? We’re off topic. Also, holy shit. Holy shit, you’re real.” As much as he pretends to know what he’s doing, all Ryan’s ever really focused on was how to avoid, scare off, and ward away Demonic Entities.

He’s never tried to speak with one on remotely good terms. (Shane, the jerk, does not count.)

“NICE OF YOU TO NOTICE. LET ME OUT OF HERE, AND I’LL HELP YOU FIND YOUR FRIEND, HUMAN.”

“...you must be out of your damn–” Ryan turns, grousing as he checks himself. 

“I’m not letting you out of there.” He sets the boundary firm as he can.

“THEN I’M NOT ANSWERING YOUR QUESTIONS ABOUT WHERE HE’S GONE~” Annabelle’s Demon replies with a hint of childishness.

“...how did you–? I never said he was even missing.” Ryan says.

“YOU’RE HERE ALONE, AREN’T YOU? YOU THINK JUST BECAUSE I’M TRAPPED IN THIS…SHACK…I DON’T KNOW WHAT GOES ON IN THE WORLD, IDIOT? SERVES THE WANDERER RIGHT, TOO.”

Ryan catches the end of that rant, and swallows.

“Tell me where he is.” Ryan doesn’t know where his courage comes from, but it bites him deep and encourages him to bite too. 

“BETTER YET: LAY YOUR HAND ON THE GLASS OF MY CAGE, AND I WILL SHOW YOU~”

Ryan doesn’t move. He eyes the little stuffed doll, hating how its head lolls to one side, as if listening eagerly. 

“Fuck that shit. You’ll just possess me and go run around with my fucken meat suit and–and–”

“HE NEVER TAUGHT YOU A THING, DID HE?” Annabelle mocks outright, with glee and a sick, twisted snicker. 

Ryan’s anger burns, some of it aimed at poor Shane who, yes, did leave him rather unprepared for all this. He has his Holy Water gun at the ready, and is pleased when Annabelle’s black button eyes glance at it and then don’t look up at him for a few precious seconds. 

She’s aware of it. She doesn’t seem to like it, either. Good. 

“I know enough.” Ryan says, like a liar. But maybe Demons read minds (can Shane? Oh God,) because Annabelle giggles a second time at his words. The sound is atrocious to hear through the dying remains of the Spirit Box. 

“YOU DON’T KNOW A DAMN THING, DEAR. WE’VE BEEN TALKING, AND YOUR LITTLE CHATTERBOX IS FINE. THE WANDERER USES IT FOR BARELY A SECOND, AND I’LL BET IT BEGAN TO MELT. I’LL BET HE DID THAT TO IT, DIDN’T HE.

YOU HAVE NO CLUE WHAT HAS BEEN PREYING ON YOU ALL THIS TIME.”

Ryan studies the little paranormal object in his hand, body loosening as he tries to understand. 

“YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW, THOUGH? YOU WANT TO GO HUNT THE DARKNESS? I’LL SHOW YOU. IT WILL BE FINE. YOU CAN TRUST ME, CAN’T YOU? …YOU SHOULD RUN, NOW. TURN TAIL AND FLEE, COWARD. THERE’S NO ONE HERE TO PROTECT YOU NOW.”

Annabelle pushes on her box, making it wobble for a second. It’s sturdy, and it doesn’t move, but the gesture is clear and sobering to watch.

The threat from the little Raggedy Ann doll is almost enough to win Ryan over. He almost turns the Spirit Box off, leaves the shed and climbs back into his rental to take him to the airport and back to the West Coast. To home. 

But Ryan Bergara hesitates. 

He stands stuck in the moment, torn between two choices.

His memory betrays him then. It always has the worst timing. 

He remembers the whipping wind, the sting of a salty air. An absolute abject terror of certainty that he was about to die in that moment. The splintering sound like a gunshot as something broke free of something else, and then just….Shane’s controlled dart after him. Wings beating, muscles taught with desperation. The way Shane took the brunt of their fall and how it cost him his freedom. All for Ryan. 

Shane should have fled and left him. He could have, just as easily as Ryan could turn his back on Annabelle right now, and go home with his tail between his legs and another case left Unsolved. 

What’s one more, really? 

…

No. 

He won’t have another. This one, he can’t just drop.

Shane didn’t let him drop. 

Ryan’s fingertips and palm slide against the glass of Annabelle’s cage, and he keeps his eyes closed, tense and expecting the absolute worst. 

There’s a sucking sound, strange and alien as his mind is snatched and sent into a fraying whirlwind. 

The road winds dizzyingly before him, a sign so old it’s half missing and leaning. He catches the name, barely a blink and it’s gone by him. He’s moving again, inhumanely fast. Traveling. 

The half toppled asylum he swings into is a place out of Ryan’s nightmares. It’s not empty though, there’s activity. Not paranormal, but human activity. Walking, watching, waiting. A chatter. 

Boredom. Arms behind backs. Mild conversation. Something is going to happen here. 

There’s bodies, dark and slender, small and prickled. Inhuman. Grotesque. Trapped like rats. Shackled and held and locked behind bars. Pacing, angry. They’re small, they don’t give off the right feeling for Ryan–they aren’t who he’s looking for. 

“MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS, ALL WEAK AND CAUGHT. ….OF COURSE…I WAS CAUGHT TO. AT LEAST MY PRISON IS PLUSH. AS IT WERE.”

Is Annabelle wasting his time? He snorts at the shitty attempt at a joke.

His answer comes quicker than he would like it too.

Fire erupts across his mind’s eye. A bout of angry orange and yellow that dies, empty and weakening. Screams, glowing sigils and a splashing wave of water from a bucket. Steam appears from the water’s contact, and the roars that splinter through his head make his ears ring. Holy water. 

Pain. Rage. A blind passionate anger that feels deep as the ocean. And so very, very Old. 

“SEE HOW HE FIGHTS. IN A MILLION YEARS, HE’S NEVER BEEN TRAPPED LIKE THIS. WE DON’T FEEL FEAR PERSAY. WE CONSUME IT. DEMONS CAN CONSUME THEIR OWN FEAR AND KILL THEIR ENERGY BY ACCIDENT, YOU KNOW. WE’RE ALL DYING, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER…IT JUST DEPENDS ON WHAT KILLS US.”

The monster rampages, with thick chains dragging. It’s an unrecognizable creature of horror, so detached from the warm, relaxed Shane that sits beside him on movie night and smiles at him when he jumps at something on the screen. 

Then the lean, humanoid monster with huge claws and bloody teeth tries and fails to rise to full height before collapsing back down when more chains are added.

Light bleeds above, thin, watery and mocking. The hulking shape doesn’t rise again. It’s shaking, trying to fold itself impossibly small up under its own wings.

It’s dark. And it’s cold. 

And Shane is there. Lying all alone, starved and beaten in a crumpled pile of limbs, slipping farther from himself and losing his sanity a little more each passing night.

“THEY’LL PARADE HIM LIKE A DOG AND HE’LL GO TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER. A PERSONAL DOOMSDAY FOR THE ALL POWERFUL WANDERER….AND WHOEVER MAKES THE MISTAKE OF TRYING TO OWN SOMETHING THAT CANNOT BE OWNED.” 

Ryan is back in the shed, sitting on his ass, having jerked away from the glass. The Spirit Box sputters and spits at him as Annabelle slumps back into her little chair, folding her tiny mittens over her lap. 

She stops moving, and to Ryan she seems bored. 

“Shane’s being held in a fucken…a what, a demon…selling…ring? Someone’s gunna sell him for money?” Ryan feels sick all over, a cold sweat drenching him. 

“YOU ALL WILL PAY A PRICE FOR POWER. IT’S IN YOUR NATURE~”

A new thought strikes a match in the back of his mind. 

“How do I know you’re not lying?” 

“YOU THINK YOU’RE IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO LIE TO?” The Demon mocks him outright, laughing until the Spirit Box goes hoarse from the stress. Static grows and wanes before Annabelle replies, 

“GO AND RESCUE YOUR LITTLE PET, AND BE SURE TO TELL HIM WHO SENT YOU. DEMONS DON’T LIKE OWING OTHER DEMONS FAVORS~”

Oh. That was why she was telling him where to find Shane. For her own gain.

Ryan rises slowly, realizing the door to his back is open and waiting. He’s being offered an out.

“...and if I die, you still get a laugh, don’t you? Either way you win something from this.” Ryan snaps, finding it easy to snark back now that he saw Annabelle’s game. She was trapped and Shane was, too. Hell, if he was trapped in a wooden box for years, he’d likely try stirring the pot wherever he could. 

Annabelle giggles again, and replies with a chillingly pleasant comment of: 

“WHY, MAYBE HE DID TEACH YOU SOMETHING, AFTER ALL.”

Chapter Text

Part III.

His world has been fire and darkness and hatred for a while now. 

There were many voices, a fluttering noise of souls mingling together, stinking of human and reeking of fear. They poke and prod and spread Anger for the betterment of their own greedy Desires. But smeared across the rest of his senses was the acrid taste of Want, and deeper than that, of Hunger. 

The Wanderer hates when humans Hunger. Their appetites are always too big and too much, and always, always, bottomless. 

When he and his kind feed, at least they can be satiated for a while. They grow full and slither back into the darkness and sleep and hide and tangle into old bones that belong to houses. Some even drift into immense woods, mingling among moss beds and fluttering moths. Demons spread chaos and feast on the tasty remains of one’s residual pain or anger or fear. Then, they fuck off and do as they please. It’s a never-ending cycle, but a safe one. It’s worked well for a couple millenia, hasn’t it? Demons haven’t run species to extinction. How many had humans wiped off the face of the Earth, again? About 180, in round numbers? Even Demons know that you cannot ravage a system and ruin it’s lives. You’ll kill yourself, eventually. 

But these humans…these Demon Hunters…

The more things change, the more they stay the same. The Wanderer learned this quickly. He just never hung around long enough to let it bother him. Until now. 

Until this.

The silver logging chains are generally useless on his ilk, but the salt and Holy Water they drenched them in make them far more effective when subduing Demon Kind. He sneers at the crosses on every wall of his cell and slams them upside down without touching them, turning with glee to see if they caused a cower or flinch. Even like this, he was still powerful, see? They had no idea what they’d dragged down here. Not a goddamn clue. 

The only reason they caught him was because he put someone else first for once, and isn’t that just how it goes? 

Of course, the problem is that he didn’t really regret it, either. He’s never been that nice before. It was fascinating. It was worth it. He saved a human life. 

Some did look disturbed at his outright and warning displays of power, even chained up and unmoving in the middle of the dank, musty little room. But not enough of them did. They hurried off where Wanderer could not feed on their fear and he turned and bite his own tail to endure and survive.  

There are Hungry Eyes on the trapped and caged Demon now, and he scowls and goes back to pacing his new little mini-Hell. 

The problem is he barely fits in this cell, his wings and tail getting in his way. His long, unearthly limbs twisted out a few extra inches, trying to give him the power of size to intimidate. But he was weakening, and losing his hold on himself. Less power meant less illusion, so now his cover was gone. There was no reason to hide, really. And he’s growing tired, (though he won’t admit that to anyone) tripping on his ruby claws and boots as he tries to remain upright, or at least on all fours. His wings have to fold and lower, creating a rough set of supports, leaning on the thumb knuckles as he sways tiredly in place and shakes himself all over like a wet dog. 

He has to stay awake. He’ll grow more weak if he keeps drifting in and out, each time it was harder and harder to wake up and think with a clear mind or even see with clear eyes.

If only his Hate were as powerful as his strength right now. Then he could go around ripping out throats and show these fuckers how to really Hunt. Humans saw themselves as so clever, as the top of the food chain. 

Well, they weren’t. 

They hunted those species that were dumber than they, driven by fear and ruled by outdated and failing instincts. 

Humans never realize they are being Hunted by something as smart as they until it’s too late. 

The stupid, greedy Hunters mill about him. He’s apparently the most interesting one on the lot right now, and all the attention is starting to make even him nervous. 

Escaping hadn’t gone well. His right wing aches from where the spiked netting snared him in a well timed if panicked toss–if he’d tugged himself free he would have left a wing behind. 

Flightless and unable to grow it back right away, the shocked and angry Demon had made a choice and slumped back to the cold cement. He’d even let them lead him back into the cell by his chains. 

Their laughter was the worst wound of all, frankly. Gouges to his pride. He had let them tug because he choose it, not because they bested him in anyway. 

But they didn’t understand that, and he couldn’t even use his claws and teeth to make them.

The Wanderer hisses into the opening of the room, turning slitted eyes on any brave–or stupid–enough to oogle him. He tries to intimidate, tries to bully. He smirks when even the Stupidest and Bravest cannot meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. They always, always turn away, showing submission. 

No Soul can hold his gaze~ Not when he’s like this.

But the Hunger for money and power is a far greater promise than any curse he can muster up right now. 

Once or twice they had thrown in a smaller Entity. At first, the larger and more powerful Demon had paused in his tracks, scenting the air before grunting and turning. Dismissive. He wasn’t going to just fight and claw and act like he was a monster, thank you very much. 

Then the smaller Demon, panicked and frightened, had tackled his back. It started it.

He turned and cleanly snapped the smaller spirit in two, then gobbled him down as he listened to the whispers of pleasure and shock and excitement. 

It’d only been his instincts triggered, but he still knew it was bad, what he’d done. Not in the morale sense of course, but in the sense of ‘Now they know what you are, what you can do. You’re a Weapon. You’re the Monster they’d been waiting for.’

‘I’m not.’ the Demon had tried to cry out at his own Instincts, growing under his Anger and Hatred. ‘I’m whatever I want to be.’

He’d run from his true self for eons. He’d made a game of it. 

He misses games. He misses movie nights. He misses…he misses…

The Wanderer tucks his threats away with a fold of his aching wings, lips stretched rudely back against his far too many fangs. He keeps himself looking Ugly and Mean on purpose. He goes back to waiting and watching, forgetting the passage of Time with alarming ease. 

He curls up under his wings in the corner and with great, exhausted reluctance, lets himself slip into the lulling sleep. It’s dreamless, and dark and cold and so empty. The dreams of kind eyes and amused laughter and all the little human things that he’d come to enjoy are leaving him, like sand through his claws. He forgot how to cloak his meaner attributes, he forgot how good popcorn tasted, how sitting in traffic needled at your mind but was fun when you were with someone you enjoyed. 

He started losing Shane Madej the second he was captured. 

He forgot his promises, his pleasures, his plans. 

(“There’s this…show, I’m trying to put on the map. Get Corporate to agree to a full season. I’ve gotten a few episodes up but Brent left the show–it’s cool, and I get why but now I need…I need to find a replacement for him and I know this is last minute–”

“Sounds good. Where we going?”

“...w-what? Wait, seriously?” 

“Got potatoes growing in there, Ry? I said ‘sounds good.’’ A smile he’s been practicing in the mirror and an appreciative hum. “Where’s the first place we’re going hunting for your ghosties~?”

“Uh…well it’s a three parter…kinda…I mean, I’m gunna have to drag you across the country for this one alone…”

“Speaking my language, Bergara. Traveling is practically my name.”

A snort of bewildered amusement. And then Ryan grins in reply at him, and everything leading up to this moment is worth it.)

He’s not even really The Wanderer anymore, the Demon that turned his tail to his lesser nature and hopped around the Globe, poking his nose into all manner of Interesting Things and watching the young species grow and play and learn. 

The one small miracle is that no one has his true name. His second and third were mild weapons on him, but they’d only really serve to piss him off if used to control him–especially if he were Free when they said them. 

Hours turn to days, which turn to nights and then of course, to more days. 

He’s stopped moving, stopped hissing. 

The logging chains dry of course, and salt can be shaken off. The damp, swollen ropes under those, dragging overtop of him like some macabre blanket, do not dry so easily. 

Sleep drags him under, relentless and lulling. Even if it’s Empty, at least he is alone and somewhere without Hungry Eyes and Covetous Smirks. He will take his freedom where he can, starving to madness aside.

He damns them all, and he will do so even if it takes his dying breath. 

His Hatred grows, and Shane Madej is buried a little deeper each time.

Ryan has explored more giant, rotted hospitals and asylums and jails than he has lived in various homes. He’s even spent nights in some, although his personal bane will forever be Sallie’s House, his unconquerable nightmare. (Although considering what he was sleeping beside, now he wonders if there ever was anything to be afraid of in that old house. Surely Shane had been looking out for him back then, too?)

Anyway, this isn’t his first rodeo, is all he means. 

It is, however, his first ‘break into an old asylum that’s being used to house captive demons and spirits.’ 

It’s also his first ‘save the demon inside and avoid the humans just in case they take umbrage to him stealing their bounty.’ 

Which they most likely will. The caretaker from the manor had certainly threatened him readily enough, even if he had held back. That was probably because he underestimated Ryan.

The motel in the little town had enough of a history that Ryan was given some prime advice for the haunted hospital up on the hill, deep in the back woods. 

He was just a Ghost Hunter, for a show, maybe you’d seen it? 

Yes, any information on the building you’d like to give me? 

Thank you very much.

They bought the mild lie easily. Ryan has learned quickly how to make people talk when they think a camera and some fame is involved. 

He’s not here for a show though. He’s here for his co-host. 

As Fate would have it–because she loves to poke people when they’re down–the safest and easiest route into the building is in fact a body chute that trails up to the basement where he thinks they’re holding his friend. It’s devoid of people who are lingering around, people who Ryan realizes are probably Hunters too, only ones looking for power and trophies. It’s sickening, but when Ryan considers that this has been going on since before he found out one of those trophies was his best friend, he feels icy all over and has to stop thinking about the semantics for now. 

He’ll worry about the consequences later. This approach had worked so far in his life.

Ryan is so focused on getting to the basement level where Annabelle showed him, that he pulls his sneaking off with surprising speed and efficiency. 

It’s also twilight hours, the sun barely setting. There’s chatter above him, the ceiling creaking and the rustle of paper and small sounds of eating. 

Ryan has no idea the timeline of their little business, if they’ll be moving or selling or what, but right now it’s dinner time. He can use this. There’s no one in the basement but the awful cages and the black things drifting hazily in them. Ryan can’t look at them too long, and anyway, he’s only here for one Demonic Entity. 

The body chute opened into a second room which went up six low steps, cement and slippery with moisture and age. That room was a mere square, and a door to the basement that was half open and slid with a tiny creak. The slanted slope for the gurneys is to his left. He stops, staring into the gloom of the terrible space and sizes up the cages in the massive and terrible looking basement, brittle with age. The whole room gives off an aura of anger and rage, it’s sickening. Two cages are empty, open. Three more are small and there’s chains and ropes and gallons of water just…sitting around. Holy Water. 

Ryan thinks of the way Shane used to eye his piddly little plastic gun, and feels strings of shame and regret. There’s a smell of blood and sulfur so strong his nose wrinkles and he fights to cover his face with a hand. 

And somehow, in some small miracle, there is a fourth cage about ten feet directly across from him, and a pile of leathery wings that is a shade burned into Ryan’s memory. His heart races to his throat and it takes everything he has not to dead sprint to the cage door. He moves quietly and hurriedly as he can muster, grabbing at the thick lock and cradling it even as he presses close and peers into the dim space.

“Shane,” He hisses, a bared and hopeful whisper. “Shane, hey, let’s go.”

The lump of wings stays unmoving, uncaring. Ryan pauses, weighing his options for a split second. Nope. Something’s up. 

Fine, then. 

Ryan spares a glance toward the staircase but here’s and sees nothing bad yet. He takes note of at least two potential hiding spaces just in case, and begins digging out his pocket knife. He buries the blade into the huge padlock, all the while trying to get Shane’s attention. 

The lock reluctantly gives way before Shane rouses though, and all sorts of alarm bells go off in the back of Ryan’s mind. 

The door creaks noisily, so he opens it slowly and silently as he can muster, and slips inside the second there’s space. He closes it behind him, trying not to make a mistake that will cost either of them anything more. 

“...Shane? Seriously man, c’mon…rise and shine big guy.” He whispers, but being closer doesn’t help either.

He’s down on his knees beside the pile of limbs and wings, fingers catching hold of the chains and ropes as he realizes. What Annabelle showed him was the truth, then. 

“You’re gunna be okay, Shane.” Ryan doesn’t know what possess him to comfort the obviously dangerous Demon lying before him. In the same breath he’s working at sawing the ropes off too, and then grabs fistfuls of the cold, clammy chains and starts easing them to one side. All of the netting is tangled, and Ryan curses under his breath as he twists and tugs, all the while trying to ignore the welts that are left behind the demon’s wings. He’s making progress though, the chains clinking softly.

And then there’s a growl under it all, and Ryan’s spine turns to ice as the bulk of it begins to move. The sound ripples through the air, low and commanding. A wing lifts, revealing something that at one point, might have been Shane’s face. Now it was too long and all wrong angles. His fangs jutted in neat rows, no doubt able to bite his wrist cleanly in two if Shane wanted to. The claws that slide off the floor and up onto his arm scrape his skin ever so lightly, and suddenly Ryan can’t move. 

Not because Shane’s pinning him, rather because just staring into those black and ruby eyes is enough to paralyze. 

“Sh…” And that’s all he can manage. 

Shane’s clawed hand slithers across his chest and then is up, gripping the front of his jugular and squeezing. Shane’s gaze is calm and cold, but on the edges…

The edges are tight. Livid . Shane is Furious, and there’s zero recognition in his deadly gaze. 

Ryan can’t even swallow, but he tries it anyway. 

For a while, there’s silence in the cell as he is held there by his throat. Shane is half upright but unmoving too, one wing dropped back and the other still mostly muddled by the trappings. He’s frozen in an animalistic crouch and waiting to pounce. Shane is going to pounce him, and in his anger, rip him to shreds. 

Not exactly how Ryan saw his whole rescue going, frankly. Nor how he wants to be remembered, as the guy who got murked by his best friend the demon. 

Besides, Shane’s end game was to follow him everywhere, save him from that fall, and then just kill him in this cell? 

No way. None of that fits together in Ryan’s mind and his mind right now is racing a mile a minute. Desperate to survive, desperate for them both to survive. 

He’s scared, there’s no way around that. He’s Terrified, actually, and it pulses off him in waves. Shane inhales suddenly, nostrils flaring as he seems to greedily drink the air down. His eyes half lid, jaw working as he considers the apparently mysterious human he has in at his mercy. 

And then on the second gulp, Ryan sees it. 

Sees the barest hint of a falter. Shane’s grip is steel but his expression cracks for a moment–is he? He is. He’s seeing Ryan now, not just staring through him with mindless Rage, ready to annihilate him. 

The fear in his chest stutters, curdling up into concern and a small spitfire of Hope. 

If he peers very hard, and holds the Demon’s gaze and doesn’t blink, he can see Shane in there. 

So Ryan Bergera does something wonderfully, fantastically, insanely stupid. 

He reaches his hand up, slow but certain. Finds Shane’s wrist between them, the one currently holding his airway nearly shut but not quite, and curls his fingers in. The skin is blazing warm, but despite being an alien red, it’s not scaly or cracked. It’s worn and familiar, almost pleasant to touch. 

Shane’s utterly silent–and doesn’t that worry Ryan, because Shane never shuts up–but his expression speaks volumes, enough to fill a whole library. 

The almost too tight grip loosens. Ryan can inhale fully again, and his voice returns.

“...Shane?” 

The look his friend gives him is a chilling glance of mild confusion, as if Shane simply doesn’t know what to make of Ryan, even if he’s decided not to slaughter him. 

Bewilderment begins to give way to Familiarity and then–

Then the moment is broken, because boot steps halt beside the door and there’s an outcry.

Shane, fully Demonic and more than half freed, whirls in place and Ryan can see the wicked gleam of something archaic and furious return. In one second, all the work Ryan has done to coax a little flicker of familiar Humanity out of his friend is gone in a blink. 

Shane grins, collects himself with the skilled grace of a predator beside him. 

“Wait, wait Sha–”

The Demon lunges.

Chapter Text

Part IV.

Ryan has found himself a lot of incredible places in his life. He’s not even 30 and he’s been around the world, searching for ghosts and chasing stories of demons along with his crew and his best friend. 

He’s had a pizza decorated to look like Mothman. He’s tried to share a cold one with Bigfoot. 

This is new though.

His best friend is a Demon, and said Demon is currently hunting humans.

It’s hard to say Ryan is sorry deep down–how can he be? Shane didn’t choose this, he wasn’t picking on helpless prey here–He was the one who got captured, chained up like a diseased dog, and from the looks of it, maybe even starved and beaten. They didn’t do this because he was destroying the countryside harming virgins and burning down homes. 

Shane is angry, and Ryan is too, and there’s a blazing burn of righteousness to all of this. Still, Ryan does feel odd about the tiny monster inside his chest, that giggles with delight as Shane begins delivering some revenge style justice on the people who took his best friend from him. 

And despite all that he endured, Shane isn’t helpless. He bounds on all fours with effortless motions, evading swings and cutting off a fleeing target with thinly veiled delight. He corners and tackles the first man, then whips his right wing out to bat another man away, who’d come pounding down the stairs and tried saving the first. All the second hunter gets for his trouble is swatted into a cell which he slides down, unconscious and out for the count. 

Ryan sees something quick and small dart past, hears the cracking shot and startles when he sees a muzzle dip back down after he looked to his right. They’re literally shooting at Shane from the bottom of the stairs, with fucken guns. Shane shrieks and straightens, climbing up onto the ceiling with digging claws and a snarling hissing sound as he evades another few rounds that ricochet off the ceiling but thankfully don’t cause harm beyond that.

The bullets don’t seem to do much beyond stun or distract the demon, who winds his way around a light fixture and pushes into an upper corner. He leaps out of it using his own momentum, and lands on the third hunter from behind. 

Ryan’s brain takes a treacherous moment to remind him of the time Shane commented on being able to hold his own should someone ever fight them. Sure, he was being his goofy self at the time, but now Ryan will forever have this sight burned in his mind. Shane, more animal than human, feral and wild and enraged. 

Ryan gathers his legs under him, tries to find his voice but is too late, because Shane is snapping his jaws and wrenching down into the man’s exposed spine–and that’s one human killed. Ryan tears his gaze from the sight, trying to block out the sounds of ripping tendons and flesh. He can never watch another gorey movie again, he thinks. 

“Shane–”

But any camaraderie Ryan had gotten built up between them is on hold now. His calls and attempts to distract Shane from wrecking the place falls on deaf ears as Shane twists to spot the next victim. When Ryan realizes that the nearest motion sets Shane off and he recklessly chases the now fleeing Hunter, Ryan gets an idea. 

“I swear to God if Jurassic Park had it right–” Ryan angrily gripes even as he fishes for his flashlight and the busted but valiant little Spirit Box. He turns on both and sidles out of the cell, bolting for the open door into the small room with the body chute. Ryan isn’t about to willingly lead Shane upstairs to the rest of those idiots if he can help it, and not just because he knows it won’t be a fair fight. The less there is to distract Shane once he has the demon’s focus, the better for them both. 

There’s the loud thud of a full grown man being heaved by Shane’s good arm, and more yelling and shouting and cursing as the onslaught turns into full on target practice for the enraged Demon. 

He pounces on any who can’t run fast enough like a barn cat on a nest of mice, cackling darkly and seeming to enjoy the misery and fear he’s spreading. He gulps a few times and Ryan’s sure he sees his eyes flare bright, as if the demon’s just been plugged into a battery. 

Ryan’s scared too, he won’t lie. But his fear is less for himself and more for Shane. He’s had plenty of chances to run and he hasn’t, which makes Ryan grow more and more concerned. 

So, like an idiot, he bolts right up to the Demon, ready to duck claws that slash or teeth that bite, but Shane snorts and draws up when he locks gazes with Ryan, perhaps startled at being challenged, or maybe he recognizes Ryan deep down and won’t attack him.  

And then Shane is glaring at something past him. And Ryan sees Shane dropping lower to crouch down and he startles too, feeling himself get pinned to the floor as what sounds like an entire furnace ignites above him where Shane’s chest is. 

The furnace builds to a fever pitch and Ryan lets his head fall to look upside down, skull pressed to the cement floor in time to see fire billow in a straight shot against a cluster of bodies and into the cell doors.

So now the place is covered in smoke and tiny bouts of fire that catches on the brittle, wooden furniture. The basement and cells are stone or metal, but the humans and chairs are flammable and Shane looks delighted at the increased scattering chaos this causes. 

Ryan chooses to ignore the flames and smoke. But maybe he can use them…

Someone calls at Ryan–or at least presumably, since he hears ‘kid’--and he ignores them too. He rolls out from under Shane whose chest is already expanding in a deep breath to reignite another breath of that horrible fire. He ducks an opening wing but keeps himself upright, panting hard as he turns the volume dial on the Spirit Box and, when Shane screeches at the sound and whirls, he aims the flashlight right in his friend’s ruby eyes. 

The pupils is nearly gone in the ruby sclera even without the piercing light, and all Ryan can think about is the way Shane has a bloody mouth and claws, his eyes knitting shut briefly as he recoils for a second at the burst of bright light on his sensitive eyes. 

Shane shrieks, the noise a wailing cry of confusion before he whirls back on Ryan and glares, looking more insulted than livid. Ryan clings to that subtle but there difference and gathers the last of his courage. 

“That was for your own good Shane! Let’s go big guy, c’mon–” He puts as much power into his tone as he can muster, backing up with increasing worry when Shane doesn’t follow him right away, only cocks his head to one side like a bloodhound hearing a new bird call. 

But then the Demon does lurch after him, rumbling under his breath as he stares Ryan down and follows him into the slightly lower room. The cold, wet air bites Ryan’s sweaty skin as he scrambles to stay ahead of Shane, whose picking the pace up. He stashes the Spirit Box, trying to keep himself looking less like an easy target while still keeping Shane preoccupied with escaping and not slaughtering. He…thinks it’s working. 

He aims his flashlight to the ground, trying to keep from wiping out, a primal fear to not show this creature his belly spurning him on. 

If he can just get Shane to see the exit…

And then he can tell it’s working, because the Demon suddenly isn’t paying anyone else a lick of attention. That sizzling gaze burns into his own brown eyes and he gulps as he realizes what his friend is thinking.

“Just straight this way, that’s it–Shane? Shane–no–no!” 

Because those eyes are wide, his nostrils flared and now Shane is so focused on the empty tunnel to freedom that Ryan can tell there’s not much going on up there in that big, horned noggin. Shane wants out, and he’s found it. Ryan isn’t an apparent threat, so there isn’t anything between him and the open air in Shane’s mind. 

He’s effectively pointed Shane to the nearest route to the outside and all those muscles are collecting again with purpose. 

Shane leaps, barreling past and Ryan hardly has a second to latch onto those strong shoulders as Shane pushes off from all fours and and bounds. The flashlight goes rolling, but Ryan doesn’t care.

Ryan closes his eyes, presses his face into the back of that dark hair and tries to ignore the weird feeling of every shoulder muscle bunching and flexing as Shane’s wings start to help, pushing them forward with long, loping strides. 

Leather rustles against the air but Shane doesn’t fully spread them until he’s darted through the opening, a final bolt of fire blasting apart the doors to give him room. 

A roar erupts, but it’s short and almost joyful. 

Even if Ryan can’t see, he’s been on roller coasters before. The dizzying sensation of your stomach somersaulting down to the back of your spine hits him as they upward, soaring high into the cool night air. The bones and muscles under him swing tightly several times before stretching out, and the distinct feeling of leveling slowly washes over the young ghost hunter. 

He’s clinging to Shane from behind like some weird monkey-backpack and doesn’t care how silly it looks. He’s alive, and Shane is too. And they made it. 

Ryan stays silent, listening for any sound that they might be being pursued. His luck holds out, he’s pretty sure they aren’t. Not with the speed Shane is flying, not with the way he’s bolting up into the cloud cover on clever instinct. 

Ryan dares a glance over his arm that’s wrapped round Shane’s neck, peering down several hundred feet at the tops of trees and a sloping trail. Shock and adrenaline are still pounding in his veins, and he can hardly catch his breath. 

Maybe later he’ll marvel at the sheer act of impossible flight, because he’s pretty sure something besides Shane’s wings–massive though they are–are keeping them both aloft. Magic, maybe? 

And the stars above are gorgeous, the half moon is bigger than Ryan’s ever seen it…

But all too soon Shane’s wings are straining, and his beats are getting suddenly more ponderous. Whatever energy Shane collected he’s just spent fighting and flying their way out of that creepy asylum, and their flight can’t last forever.

 What goes up, must come down. 

And while Shane may have some innate ability to land on his feet, Ryan knows he himself doesn’t. 

Worse is the nature that is all around them threatens more problems. They can’t hide out in the deep woods, with no water or food. 

Ryan dares to look left and right, relief filling his lungs as he spots the familiar landmark of the big Church he’d seen two days ago when he drove into the town. 

“Shane–that way–fly that way, toward the lights–” 

It occurs to Ryan that asking his recently captured best friend to willingly head toward signs of human life might be a bad idea. But he has no other ideas willing to offer any help, and in any case, the Demon carrying him utters a weary grunt and dips his right wing after little hesitation. 

Shane angles them to where Ryan points, but their powerful sailing upward has become a tired, dipping swoop. Shane’s wings begin to brush the tips of pine trees even as the distant lights of the tiny village get closer, and Ryan feels the shoulders and back under him begin to shake. 

Ryan feels a warm surge of affection for the big guy, marveling at the sheer trust Shane was placing in him right now. It made him all the more certain to not let Shane get hurt or taken again. 

Those slender red horns dip and wobble, and even though Shane is spent beyond belief, he still manages to switch his wingbeats from up-to-down to a rocky front-to-back at the last second as they glide wearily past the tree trunks. They topple into a pile of leaf litter on a moss bed, and Ryan only rolls a few feet, choosing to let go so Shane wasn’t carrying him when he hit the earth. 

He groans, but is able to sit up and notice Shane isn’t rising, just lying on his side, one wing arched upward from his tired flop. It doesn’t look broken, and their descent was too slow for anything worse, he’s pretty sure. He’s got some bumps and bruises and a scrap from a thorn bush of his own, but feels none of it. 

“Shane–” 

When he gets to the demon’s side, he’s relieved to find him breathing. It’s rough and deep and worn, as is Shane’s awake but groggy expression. Ryan peers into that glowing gaze and freezes, realizing exactly what he just managed to accomplish. 

He blinks once, slow and gentle like a cat. Ryan huffs, sitting back on his heels.

“...you big jerk.” Is what Ryan chooses to say for their first, more calmer encounter. “No fun demons, huh?” 

Shane snorts in reply, grinning round his massive fangs but then his expression turns softer. Apologetic. He barely moves his head after that and doesn’t seem able to talk well either. He looks like he’s curling up to sleep, and Ryan realizes a new clock is ticking on them now. 

Ryan wants to talk more, but now just isn’t the time. They’re not safe, Shane is exhausted and frankly doesn’t even seem human. There’s still work to be done, and this case isn’t closed just yet. 

“Can you stand?” Ryan bites his lip when Shane tries to rise but topples, grunting a negative. “We gotta you somewhere safer, big guy. You don’t exactly…blend.”

Shane blinks again, slowly, tiredly and hums in agreement. Something makes Ryan touch the demon’s shoulder, and he leans into the contact. 

The way Shane just…remains compliant and trusting under the touch makes Ryan’s chest feel tight again, and he smiles what he hopes is a comforting smile. 

After a second Shane closes his eyes and exhales, sounding like he’s forcing himself to become calm or relaxed. It spooks Ryan, who opens his mouth but clams shut when Shane is fading down before his eyes. Shane’s brow knits, a look of concentration showing. 

It’s a strange sound, the noise Shane’s apparent magic makes. It’s silent but not, prickly but soft. The air around him smells like ozone and tiny wildflowers, which is weird because shouldn’t he smell like sulfur? 

Shane just seems to shed his everything like some weird-ass snake, seems to decide to ignore Reality as his skin and hair and wings and clothes just straight up ghost. 

There’s a dark bundle of smoke curdled before him. That’s it. 

If Ryan squints he can just make out glints of ruby, thin and slitted. Eyes, maybe? They track Ryan’s hand and then seal shut, vanishing as the smog moves and billows up into Ryan’s arms like a tired cat climbing. 

He brings his arms out on automatic reflex, startling when the pile of weird ooze and smoke bundles up in his arms and doesn’t go anywhere. 

“Uh…that works…too…” He balks, glancing at his messenger bag. He sighs and opens it anyway. 

“...just get some rest, Shane. I’ll take it from here.” 

It’s almost funny, watching the demonic smoke tip sleepily into the gaps of his bag and tuck down tight. Ryan can’t be sure, but he’s almost positive he hears a soft purring sound. His bag is heavy but not unbearable, it feels like two extra hardcovers at most. 

Ryan stands in the dark woods, listening to the muted whispers of crickets and a brush snap and an owl hoot.

He’s carrying a whole ass Demonic Entity in his bag, and has a several mile trek through the woods at night into a sleepy little town where his motel is waiting. 

He didn’t want to deal with a car at the asylum, so he’d hiked the whole way there too, early this morning. 

It’s been a hell of a day, but worse for Shane. For Shane it’s been a couple months. 

Ryan grits his teeth, forces himself to ignore his aching muscles, and starts trudging. 

“I got you.” Ryan promises, and he’s never felt more resolute on anything in his life. 

The sun peeks over the mountains in the east, trickling orange light over the tops of the little sleepy village’s highest buildings. There aren’t many high rooftops, and Ryan almost spooks when he hears the lull of church bells ringing clear and loud down the street. 

Today is Sunday, he guesses, blinking tiredly as his legs scream their agony at his several hour walk. The bells are a nice sound, but surreal and weird to hear. Life is just going on for everyone else. 

But he’s on sidewalk now, at least. And the town is barely 1,000 residents, and it seems anyone who is awake is either heading to the steeple or the diner, or simply staying at home. 

He doesn’t really catch many eyes, and no one bothers him even if he looks like a strange man covered in mud with a cut across his cheek and dust and grit covering his many layers of rumpled, smoke-smelling clothes.

And that means no one is there to see the bag he’s holding, because after it had started digging into his shoulder Ryan had moved the strap to his other side. Then two hours after that, he’d given up and started cradling it like he was Indiana Jones protecting some bounty he’d stolen from some ancient culture he had no business looting. 

The dinky no-tell motel is an L shape and faces the west, surrounded by trees and brush and a fence for an empty pool. Ryan is able to walk right up to door #16, grope for his keys and let himself in. 

It’s dark in the room, the curtains still drawn and Ryan makes no move to open them or even turn on a light. He wants sleep too now, and he’s pretty sure Shane will appreciate the darkness when he wakes up.

“...Shane…we’re here…” His words feel hollow, and so does his head. He sets his bag on the bed and opens it, trying to peer in the dark little room to see if the blob that was Shane was moving or not.

The lightheaded-ness started an hour ago, but Ryan staved it away by breathing deep and just focusing on one foot in front of the other. 

But he was here now, somewhere safe with a lock and literally no in town gave a damn, and he had accomplished his mission, he’d found his best friend and rescued him and, god he’s hungry, but he’s literally too tired to eat and he really doesn’t feel lightheaded, he just feels empty, like everything is happening slowly and–

And Ryan can proudly say that until now he’s never fainted before, despite his general fear of his own damn job. He’s panicked, hyperventilated, screamed and did what Shane happily called ‘the Scooby-Doo scramble’ but he has never fainted. 

But he’s doing that now, he thinks. Guess all streaks were made to be broken. 

The world is a buzzing tunnel, and there’s tiny lights popping in and out of his vision, and he’s trying to stay upright while also not even sort of succeeding. 

And then there’s a heat against Ryan, tall and lean and looming. 

There’s a tired rumble beside him, and then hands with claws carefully gripping him and bringing him closer and pulling with such gentle instance. Ryan mumbles something, follows dumbly, and lets the darkness win. 

He doesn’t feel himself hit the mattress and the pillow on the unmade bed, nor does he feel Shane’s frame sagging against his, even now trying to curl around and protect him. He doesn’t feel Shane drape a wing to cover Ryan from view, or hear the relieved, deep sigh from the Demon as he relaxes into the soft bed. 

But Ryan feels safe, and warm. And right now, that’s all that matters to them both. 

Chapter Text

Part V.

The Wanderer keeps himself together, in his Not-Quite-Demon-Not-Quite-Human form, and he is comfortable now. 

Before he wasn’t. Before, after he and his wild little Light had fled, he had been so happy to taste the wind and leap into the night sky. He’d half a mind to dissolve right there, twisting up into the stars and tangling with the ether until he found a shooting star trail to ride. He wanted to get positively drunk on his freedom, spread to the size of Jupiter and crash through an asteroid belt, chase a comet, spiral out into the vastness of space and ride that glorious high of immortal powers and presence. 

But the weight on his shoulders warned him against it. 

The weight on his shoulders would not be able to do all this, the Wanderer knows. 

Even like this, without Shane Madej ruling his Being, he doesn’t really loathe humans now. He isn’t happy, sure, and he will think twice now when letting down his guard. 

And there had been a reason for that, hadn’t there? Yes…it’s hard to recall exact details, but the Wanderer has a good memory when it pleases him to. 

He was only captured because he choose to be, wasn’t he? He was…protecting.

The weight on his back was that Soul, and he had mentally reached back to it, trying to decide if he ought to gobble it down for more energy or if–

Oh. Ohh. 

The Demon knows this weight, it is a Good one, it is sturdy and warm and kind. But it is also wicked and playful and unashamed. He will challenge Wanderer in the best ways, pushing him to argue and think and ignore common sense for some old fashioned fun or exploring. He also showed Wanderer new sides to humanity, new foods and new technologies. 

It had been almost second nature to obey when the familiar human had pointed him to the faint sign of humans. For a moment the Wanderer is concerned, then shakes it off. This soul wouldn’t harm him, right? 

The Wanderer had relaxed almost instantly with heavy relief after only a few seconds. 

He knew this Soul! It belonged to his human. His favorite one. 

Under the overexcited tang of vinegar-tinted fear the Soul was less brittle. It was erupting messily into shades of emerald and pretty pinks, trying to find balance between alarm and eagerness. The Little Bright Light liked this flying and soaring! The Soul was apprehensive but joyful, trying to broadcast back to him with a refreshing eagerness. Flying is a Good thing! He will show him more flying!

Wanderer remembers a bit more. He has a name to that face by the time his body gives out and he clumsily crashes into the leaf litter. 

…he will fly more later, then. Urgh. 

‘Ryan.’ He tries to say the beloved name too, but all that comes out is a rumbling purr. Ryan looks bewildered but not fearful–and his Soul kneads into itself and flares a flirty scarlet, as warming with affection at the Wanderer recognizing Ryan even in this situation. Ryan merely smiles at him and sticks close, and the Wanderer is grateful and touched and very pleased at this loyalty. Ryan had been the one to find him, to open the way and point him to sacred, wonderful Freedom. 

Ryan is talking, trying to urge him up and awake. He remembers rousing only to shed his physically form and billows into his cloudy, smogy travel-sized self. 

He’d crawled into Ryan’s bag and drifted into darkness. The haze had been heavy, and he just wanted to rest for a moment. 

He’d woken when Ryan had started smelling off. Well, not him persay, but his Soul. The bright flare had wobbled and broiled, spiking into an alarming star shape of distressed orange with milky white edges. Ryan was deep-bone exhausted, right into the marrow. It was spent and desperate, reaching to Wanderer with a silent but beseeching wail. 

The Demon had replied in kind, using his small bout of energy to tug Ryan into the big warm nest in the dark little room. 

Ryan’s Soul kneaded itself up and rolled, and they slept for a long while like that. 

But no matter how deeply he slept, how relaxed and healing it was, the rest of Shane Madej did not seem able to return to the forefront of the Demon’s mind. 

And this little problem wouldn’t become apparent for a long while. 

Ryan doesn’t know how long he sleeps, only that he does. 

And it’s a good sleep, deep and disorientating. The world revolves around the sun like always, and a whole two days pass with the boys oblivious and unconcerned to the outside world. No one comes knocking. No one disturbs them, either by luck or chance or some evil, foreboding aura Shane might be giving off that makes others refuse to see the motel door. Ryan’s phone rings once before it’s swatted clear across the hotel room by Shane, who gives a grumpy grunt and then recurls around his best friend. 

When Ryan does rejoin the land of the living, it’s to darkness and a wonderfully comforting heat like he fell asleep beside a healthy fireplace. And that furnace noise–Shane’s demon fire or something–pulses low and slow in the center of his chest just beside him. At some point Ryan tugged the comforter over himself, and pocket of heat had blossomed. Shane has no heartbeat right now but he’s breathing, deep and even as that furnace churns lowly. Ryan lies there in the gloom, matching his breathing pattern to Shane’s on some tired, soft little instinct. He’s cozy and half-delirious for a few minutes, simply letting time pass and blinking sleepily into the darkness.

Ryan sniffs, groggy.

He is…where is he? Were they in a hotel on a case? No…wait.

Oh, right. Right.

It comes back to Ryan, who licks chapped lips and stares at the tent of bat wing bent over them both. He glances very slowly to his right, eyeing the pile of limbs boneless and relaxed beside him. At some point Shane shifted onto his belly. He kept his left wing tucked against his back but his right was now slightly crooked up to offer them both a warm, cozy shelter, blanketing them under his right wing. It was plenty big to tuck them both under it, and Ryan feels his heart twang at the sweet, simple gesture from the demon. It was clearly what kept the daylight from hitting either of them, and Ryan can’t lie to himself. This is yet another side of Shane he could get used to. 

The clawed thumb twitches above Ryan, far out of striking distance and in time with Shane’s sleepy grunts and other assorted, tired flinches. He even snorts once in his sleep.

Shane is dreaming, and it’s far too cute a sight considering Ryan remembers what this creature looked like leaping onto grown men and tearing at their spines. And how easily he had done it–both physically and mentally. Shane didn’t seem like he’d be ruminating over what had happened, and a part of Ryan isn’t sure how to feel about that. Another part doesn’t care, and all of him is just tired and trying to find a reason to go back to sleep. 

He’s lying in bed with a demon. He’s chilling next to a demon. 

This is a killing machine. The stuff of nightmares, the star of endless horror movies. A, a demonic entity. A thing of Evil and Anger and Hate and Death and–and–

Shane, clueless, turns his head, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow and keeping his noggin dipped subconsciously to allow for the length of his ruby horns. They don’t bump the headboard even as he fidgets. Shane just seems so used to moving in his sleep with all his…additions. Ryan’s never seen him like this, yet they’ve crashed together in haunted houses and asylums and once on a boat. 

It occurs to Ryan, his friend has slept like this before. 

‘Of course he has, you idiot,’ Ryan’s mind snips back. ‘He’s been a Demon before he knew you and he’ll be one after you.’ 

Long, long after him. 

Ryan sighs, wonders when his life turned into a B rated horror movie, and slowly snakes a hand out from under that wing-blanket to grope the nightstand. He doesn’t want to get up, but if he keeps lying here doing nothing he’ll begin to shift and turn, and that might wake up poor Shane, and he doesn’t want that. His friend looks exhausted even in sleep, and Ryan knows he needs it. 

The nightstand yields nothing. Ryan blinks, gently slipping out from under the wing.

He has to get up and rescue his poor phone, and he eyes the distance from its original spot where he dropped it when he came in to where it was laying, face down with a few missed messages.

“Dammit, Shane…” He gripes in bemusement, but also returns quietly as he can muster into that warm little pocket of heat on the mattress. 

It’s good he does, because Ryan is just wriggling back into the cavity he left open when he notices the low glow of a half mast stare. 

There’s no shouting or yelling or gun shots ringing or fire to disturb them now. 

Ryan turns, locks gazes with a Demon wearing the face of his best friend and nearly drowns under those pretty ruby slitted pupils, and the midnight sclera so black and so inky. 

Ryan blinks, phone in hand but not unlocked, the screen illuminating his own nose and chin. 

“...hey, big guy.” He goes for casual. His heartbeats loudly in his chest. 

Would Shane be mad at him? Would he cave to those feral instincts Ryan met only a day ago? Would he just dig into Ryan like Tiny Tim on a Christmas ham? Is this it for him? He never called his mom to say he loved her. Maybe Shane would let him have a last request–or a final meal of Taco Bell–

A huge set of jaws is displayed at him–so wide, so gaping, forked tongue curling–

Shane completes his large, unhurried yawn and then quietly snips closed his jaw. He licks at a cut on his cheek with a far too long tongue and then, hilariously, utters a low half-rolling grunt. It’s somewhere between a purr and a greeting, and Shane doesn’t seem bothered to move. He barely takes the effort to blink, but he smirks sleepily when Ryan’s eyebrows head north on his brow.

“Dude, did you just purr at me?”

Shane, the clearly evil and vile stuff of horrors, blinks and hums a low sweet rumble. He seems amused at Ryan’s incredulous comment and wide-eyed stare, pausing to stretch aching limbs until they shudder and then recurls up. He takes pains to sweep that wing over the bed and buries his face into the pillow beside Ryan’s. 

“...Shane?” Ryan whispers.

The big dumb goof seems to have fallen asleep again. Ryan sighs again, pretending to be long-suffering and put-out. 

And though he turns his attention back onto his phone, he can’t quite stop the hand that strokes slowly along the arm of Shane’s one wing. 

Ryan drifts off again, despite his intentions to stay awake. 

He wakes up to an absolute nightmarish sound, one he won’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

And mutterings. Soft, muted whispers. 

Ryan’s awake, like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water on him. But that heat is there, still. Shane is still there, only suddenly he’s got an arm pressed over the smaller ghost hunter’s chest, and is awake and alert. 

Shane is eyeing something across the room, fangs bared in angry defiance and keeping Ryan pinned. 

But then Ryan realizes he feels fine, and wonders if maybe this isn’t Shane being protective again. 

“...what is it?” He manages, proud to say he doesn’t quite squeak the sound out. “...Shane?” 

Shane doesn’t answer him, just flicks his gaze to Ryan and then back to the far corner of the room. He lifts his wing a foot or so, allowing Ryan room to look and see, but not allowing him to be exposed or even to get out of the bed. 

The cluster of people standing there look like actors from a different era. But they’re also not quite-there, more like see-through shapes. They turn frightened stares from Shane to pitying looks at Ryan, who blinks. 

Considering his job, it takes him far to long to correctly analyze what the hell it is he’s seeing.

“...you’re… ghosts!?” And this time, his voice does quiver. 

Ghosts! Real, live…well…maybe not live…but!

Ghosts!

They open their mouths to speak but Ryan can’t make it all out. It sounds bad though, their panicked looks and waving hands like he’s a dude on the tracks and doesn’t see the train coming.

Ryan, tried as he, snorts suddenly. 

“You…you’re afraid?” That much is clear. He squints at them, sussing out the body language more. Shane has relaxed a good deal and has even removed his arm. Not his wing though, and he’s leaning quite close, so close Ryan can feel that furnace in his chest hot against his shoulder. 

“You’re afraid of Shane.” Ryan interprets, and is rewarded with empathic nods. “Why are you here then? Are you…trapped?”

Shane snorts, and Ryan interprets that as a no. The ghosts seem to look confused, not relived, either. 

There’s a freaking crowd of like four–maybe five?--Ghosts just standing in his room at likely the dead of night. His friend and cohost went on guard duty and growled at them until Ryan woke up to see for himself. 

“...you’re…warning me? About Shane?” He tries, and is a little smug when he gets a chorus of faded voices and nods.

“...oh.” He has a vague sense of deja vu. “Thanks, but he’s…he’s not really bad. I mean, he won’t hurt me.” 

This causes Ryan to consider another angle of this. 

He turns and, without thinking, sits up and glares at his best friend. 

“You fucken noodle!” He’s exhausted, leave him alone. “Ghosts and demons are real! Ya liar, Shane, what the hell!?” 

Shane twists his lips and averts his gaze, staring at an ugly red lampshade with frills like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world to him. Ryan’s surprised he hasn’t started innocent whistling. Shane even folds his wings tight to his back to make himself seem smaller. It doesn’t work but Ryan can appreciate the attempt. 

“Uh-huh.” Ryan knows this is an amazing moment in his life, knows this would make his career and then some if he grabbed a camera and started rolling. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this, big guy. Later, though.” 

Because goddamn is he tired. And Shane seems edgy enough without Ryan trying to get off the bed and leave the safety of his reach. 

Plus…these ghosts are one thing. Ryan doesn’t know them. Sure they were people once, but evidence is evidence.

Shane is not evidence. He can’t ever be. It’s way to personal. And not after the way even as a demon hellbent on tormenting his captors, Shane still recognized him.

Ryan can’t lose him again. And he can’t betray the trust Shane’s given him so easily. 

He flops back down into the divot his and Shane’s body has created over the day or so of sleeping. 

“Can you, like, send them away, man?” Ryan sees Shane toss him a searching glance and quickly realizes how that might go. “Nicely. Be nice but like…I dunno. Don’t hurt them or whatever.” 

Shane seems to understand. He tosses Ryan a light, amused smile and turns back to the ghosts. His time his wings flare up and unfurl, his growling rises in pitch to a snarling as his eyes begin to glow. 

Ryan watches with awe at the clear display, and the ghost’s sense of desire to warn Ryan doesn’t outweigh their fear. 

They vanish with thin popping sounds, like lily pads getting plucked from a river. Plop! And gone. 

“..thanks, Shane.” 

The demon hums a pleased, deep murmuring sound. It doesn’t sound like English, but it does sound like Shane’s happy. 

For now, Ryan supposes, this will have to do.

Chapter Text

Part VI.

The next time Ryan is conscious enough to note his surroundings, Shane is gone. 

Ryan realizes this in one second, then is up on the third second, eyes blown wide and covers being tossed across the floor when they tangle his legs. He’s almost dizzy from his rise, and he groans as he fumbles around the room for his missing best friend. 

Had the Hunters found them? Had other humans found them? Was Shane taken again, captured, being tortured? Was he doing the torturing? It’s a valid fear, and Ryan licks his dry lips as he tries not to panic. 

“S-Shane? Shane!” Ryan yells, not caring how loud or what time. He whips a look to the drawn curtain, not a single sliver of light to be seen. It’s night time, and Ryan looks for the old alarm clock that came in the motel. 2:49 am. The door is locked, untampered with. 

Instead of this sight granting him relief, now all Ryan can think about is Annabelle, and how there were other Demons out there in the world. Did Demons hunt other Demons? 

Ryan grabs his phone, yanks his coat half on, and doesn’t need to bother with his boots because he was so tired he slept in them, and stumbles out the door. 

A chilly breeze brushes against him, but nothing cruel or bitter. It’s almost pleasant. The heat under Shane’s wing had built up, and come to think of it the entire little room was kinda warm-ish, now that Ryan is outside and has a comparison. The fresh air feels good, but Ryan misses Shane’s warmth and his heart pangs. 

Shane always joked how hot-blooded he got. 

There’s a few streetlights on, one flickering tiredly. The little town is sleepy and uncaring. The moon is peeking out from behind some clouds, and leaves dance and titter across the cracked driveway. Ryan sees none of this, so focused on trying to hear screaming, or look for blasts of fire that signaled his friend was on the hunt. 

He backtracks after five minutes of searching, stumbling over his legs as he fights the urge to shout loud as he can for the Demon. 

In a million years, Ryan would never think he’d be willing to yell for a demon around the damn Witching Hour. 

And then he hears it. 

He tracks the unearthly sound, locking gazes with a still fully Demonic looking Shane. The big dumbass is perched like some archaic gargoyle on the corner of the motel roof, facing the back into the forest that crept up behind the building through the years. He rumbles a low, cheerful note and seems all the world an innocent cat up on a roof, wondering why Ryan is making such a fuss at this hour. 

“Shane,” Ryan hisses, trying to muster as much command and warning as he can into the name. “Shane, get down here, what the fuck–”

It’s useless. He knows it’s useless because Shane is watching him with that playful gaze. The one that means nothing good for Ryan’s frayed nerves. His eyes glitter like rubies as he crouches, and his wings spread up behind him, unfurling. Ryan realizes for a half second that Shane’s wounds and injuries are nearly gone as he poses there.

Shane pushes off with too much power to be a short land–and Ryan is right. 

The Demon glides effortlessly through the tree tops and nearly vanishes, angling with lazy but content precision as he flies. Ryan follows, unthinking, uncaring. His only goal is to keep his best friend in sight, fearful that Shane was headed off to go cause trouble or hunt or, or whatever it is Demon’s did at the Witching Hour. (If Sallie is anything to go by, tormenting humans is high on the list, and this is the last thing Ryan needs right now.)

But wherever Shane is headed, the destination he has in mind seems wholly private and unpopulated. The Demon wasn’t flying into town or aiming for homes. 

In fact, it occurs to Ryan as he hefts himself over a fallen trunk he almost ate shit over, one he only saw due to the moon fully coming out to guide his way, Shane seemed to be waiting for him before taking off. 

‘Shane wants me to follow him.’ Ryan thinks. 

He gets lost for a heart-freezing beat, then looks up and sees Shane’s wings full of wind as he flaps upwards, milky red from the moonlight illuminating the webbing that is stretched wide.

“Shane?” He feels stupid, and he feels awkward talking into this night air. There’s sleepy crickets and an owl hooting somewhere, but this isn’t exactly his first time in a forest at night. There was always something magical about nighttime, and usually Ryan is at his most awake and energetic when the stars are out. 

He always figured Shane–who loved sleep–was humoring him over his odd hours.

But maybe not, come to think of it. Shane probably felt happiest during the dark hours too, although he often mentioned how beautiful he thought twilight was to Ryan. 

Ryan follows Shane for almost twelve minutes before he spies a lump of something in a high oak tree. The Demon positively purrs the second Ryan stops by the trunk the Demon had landed in. Shane leaps down in a single shot, alighting on all fours before standing back up. His wings tuck against his back, but they still seem huge in close quarters, and Ryan tears his gaze from those arguably majestic horns to see Shane smirking at him again. 

“...what?” Ryan asks. “Why are you looking at me like that? Dude, this is starting to freak me out…”

Shane points with a finger dipped in ruby, the claw longer than Ryan’s finger.

Ryan looks, peering through the night. He pulls his phone out, but Shane stops him with a warning snort and gestures again. This time the Demon pulls him tighter around the tree trunk. They’re standing there to hide, Ryan realizes mutely. To see something going on below the little slope of the woods. 

He peers again into the little glen below and eyes the fire flies. 

“...okay?” 

Shane smiles, coy and bemused. Ryan feels like he’s being made fun of, so he ignores Shane and peers into the scene. 

Wait, fire flies? It’s too cold for fire flies. It’s not even their season. 

Ryan blinks, listening to the chimes of bells and it takes him far too long to register the airy sounds for what they are. Giggles. Small, itty giggles. And talking, too small and too high to hear acutely but enough to hear the outward sounds of laughter and chatter.

The not-fireflies are dancing around the small area, bobbing and flickering as tiny laughs are heard. They are not fireflies. Shane hadn’t dragged him this whole way to see fire flies. 

Fairies. They were Fairies. They were real, they existed, and this was their favorite hour to prance and idle out in the open, it seemed. 

The sight is beyond enchanting, and Ryan stares helplessly as Shane waits beside him, patient and silent for once. 

“Are those…?”

Shane hums, looking up at the sky as he tracks the clouds. The moon is fully out now, casting the area in an icy glow with blue undertones and the little bobbing lights are heading closer to them now. They’ve been spotted, but many of them recognize Shane for what he is and falter back, unsure and spookish. 

“Oh, uh…” Ryan tenses, about to push off the trunk and move, uncertain. But Shane nudges him and then sidles past, climbing his way back up the tree to settle on a thick branch that can hold the weight of him and his wings and coils his tail lazily. He makes himself comfortable and yawns. 

“H-hey, hey don’t leave me down here man, c’mon–”

The little lights are closer and louder. Now that Shane is out of reach, they seem emboldened. Three pop in close to Ryan, and when he slowly holds a hand out, two of them alight on his palm. 

The tiny little shapes are humanoid, shorter than a pencil with long fluttering wings. They have formless faces with two indents for eyes and a low curve below, and they study Ryan with intelligent, playful eyes that are alien to him. There’s no nose but their eyes are bright little opals, flashing with various colors as they peer up at him with happy curiosity. 

A few more join the original two in his hand, giggling and pointing and fluttering their wings at him. 

“Uh…hello?” Ryan tried, hating how his voice croaks, afraid if he spoke to loud he’d startle them. He lapses into Ghost Hunting mode, and goes for introducing himself. “I mean, hi, it’s an honor too…it’s very nice…I’m Ryan, this is Shane–” 

The creatures–the Fairies, he’s holding actual Fairies–titter and start to swarm closer. One dips around his waist, circling it’s way up to arc over and inspect his hair. Two join that one, and Ryan feels a small weight as they land in his hair when the wind blows. He blinks and tries to see, only looking up to see Shane laying across the branch and appearing to doze. 

“You guys don’t mind Shane?” Ryan can tell they understand him fully but can’t speak, but they seem able to mime, and their little noises do say enough to get their basic points across. When he points with his free hand up to the Demon in the trees, they giggle and wink at him but don’t approach the dozing demonic entity lounging in the tree.

“Guess not…oh, hey, c-careful–Okay, it’s alright–” Because there’s four fighting for a spot on his shoulders, one crossing it’s legs all prim and angrily squeaking at the three wanting their turn. Ryan offers his other hand, until soon he’s covered in the Fairies, trying to watch all their antics at once. There’s over a dozen of them at most, clustering and exploring him with equal fascination. 

Their gentle pokes fast become inquisitive prods, and when he utters a noise of pain at his ear being pulled, a warning snarl from above quickly readvises his new friends about getting too adventurous. Several Fairies not even involved in the over zealous playing scatter into the air for a moment, clearly unwilling to test the Demon’s ire. Shane gives a possessive, warning glare but soon closes his eyes when he hears Ryan laugh when one Fairy burrows into his chest pocket and cooes cutely. 

Ryan snorts, rubbing the offended ear and glancing up at the Demon who is pretending to be asleep but clearly keeping watch. As much as the Fairies don’t mind Shane, they don’t seem willing to get to near him, although two brazen ones keep dancing toward his dangling spaded tail and trying to goad the other into pulling it. 

But most of them wander around Ryan, floating and dancing and bringing him tiny flowers to show. The more content ones seem fine chittering amongst themselves as they rest on Ryan’s shoulder, unafraid and enjoying the view.

“You guys are so pretty,” He can’t help but gush, and he must say something right, because several of them flutter around and giggle at the praise.

It’s a strange moment he finds himself in. Covered and entertaining Fairies under an old oak tree in the dead of night, with a demon watching over him from above. He feels unmoored, cast out into a strange new world that’s apparently been living alongside him (in Shane’s case, literally alongside) for the entirety of his life. But he also feels…welcome? Wanted? Shane wanted him. This little display wasn’t just for Ryan’s gain. Shane was giving him this, as a gift. 

The moment is broken not by Ryan or Shane, or any need for them to hike back to the motel. The moment is broken by another group of lights, their high pitched sounds bursting into the relative calm moment and if they notice Ryan, they don’t care about him. They fly so fast they’re little streaks, tiny shooting stars that dive with purpose into their friends. The uptick in sound is immediate, and the peaceful and happy Fairies become a small hornet’s nest of activity and alarm, but no one hurts Ryan or even sort of pays him much attention. 

At least not at first. 

Ryan doesn’t need to call for Shane, because the Demon is already up and crawling down, rumbling for only a second as he sniffs the air. He must not like what he scents, because he snarls and sneezes. But one of the largest glowing orbs sees Shane and actually approaches, buzzing into his pointed ear and the sounds and gestures just seem…frantic, and maybe pleading. Shane eyes the Fairy back, looking like he wants to display his fangs and shake his head at whatever it is the biggest Fairy is asking of him. 

“What’s wrong? Is it something we can help with? Sounds like they’re in trouble–or, or they know someone who is.” Ryan blurts before he thinks, and Shane grouses that Ryan seems to have figured something out so quickly. 

“Dangurr,” Shane rumbles in reply, eyeing him with clear concern before the buzz of the Fairies cluster round him and Ryan both now. Ryan feels tiny hands tugging his shirt front in the direction the second group flew from, and he frowns at Shane with worry. 

“It’s dangerous?”

Shane nods. Ryan chews on his lower lip. 

“Look…let’s check it out, big guy. We’ll be careful.” He knows he’s promising himself more so than his companion–and Shane sees that too. He tosses Ryan a dark, warning look before he relents with a heaving, put-upon sigh that is so very Shane it makes Ryan grin a little. 

Unhappy or not, Shane put up with most of, if not all, Ryan’s antics. It seemed that even now, things hadn’t changed. 

The Demon does not take to the air again for some reason. He shadows Ryan as the Fairies tug the shorter Ghost Hunter, making a tiny racket of bells and other anxious noises. 

It is another twenty minute walk before Ryan heard the most, hoarse, horrible draconic noise he’d ever heard in his life–and this was coming from hearing Shane’s noises fresh for the first time in that asylum. It was a deep bellow and it spooked several Fairies into his hoodie pockets. Even Shane pauses and snorts, wings tensing for a second before he reluctantly lets Ryan keep walking down the dark path. 

Whatever puts his fearless friend on edge must be something big, and Ryan feels a surge of anxious adrenaline. He almost likes the feeling, because he also feels utterly safe walking beside Shane. His friend hadn’t let anything happen to him so far, why start now? 

“What the hell is that?” He tries to ask Shane, only to see the Demon focusing with birdhound efficiency ahead of them, his eyes slitted and thin. Shane growls, low and soft under his throat. There’s a general air of unease and awe in his gaze too. 

The moon kept hiding and peeking out, but the Fairies light Ryan’s path and Shane’s furnace-liking breathing kept him grounded enough to keep a good pace. 

And then Ryan sees it. 

It is not a Dragon, or another Fairy, nor is it a Demon. 

What it is, is a Unicorn. 

And in that moment Ryan learns that all the pictures and writings of Unicorns being gentle and meek, covered in flowers and posing with butterflies…was nothing more than lies and a false image. 

It is horse-like, and it has hooves. This is about where the similarities stop. This creature is mostly fury, muscle and energy and on top of that, it was mad. 

It is ivory white, so much whiter than the moon, and it outshone the moon by leaps and bounds, throwing it’s mane high and tail lashing the air. It’s dark eyes are wide and haunting, although that might have more to do with it’s panic at the rope trap tangled round it’s front legs as it bucks and tries to pull free. The horn is two feet long and glinting with a razor edge, but any angle the Unicorn has to saw itself free just isn’t reachable. This doesn’t stop it from trying, and it is clear the useless attempts had started driving it mad and exhausting it too. It’s pearlescent coat is slick with sweat and panicking, side heaving, and Ryan is afraid if it kept this up it’d die of fright or get stuck worse and strangle itself because it kept rolling to try and use it’s horn to get free. 

Ryan gapes, frozen beside Shane who is silent as well. 

It is hard not to draw parallels between this wild thing and his best friend, who grumbles when he sees Ryan’s pleading look at him. 

“We have to help it, man.” Ryan is digging his pocket knife out of his coat as he speaks. Several Fairies swarm his hands and try to see it, only to shriek and cower away when they pick up on the steel within. One even sneezes and topples adorably through the air. 

The biggest Fairy, the one who went to Shane fearlessly, hovers nearby Ryan, pointing and pleading.

“Bad idea, Ry.” Shane manages to speak through his cruel jaws, but he sounds like a man who knows he’s lost the argument already. 

“Hey, I saved your bony butt, didn’t I?” Ryan shoots back, and it’s almost like nothing’s changed. This is their normal, arguing happily while still walking side by side into terrible situations while looking for answers to mysteries better left unsolved. 

It’s familiar, and it’s safe, and Ryan has never felt more certain in his life about what he’s about to attempt. 

The Unicorn doesn’t pay much attention to Ryan when he slinks up, still struggling. Then Shane approaches, trying to flatten his wings and letting his long tail drag, but the Unicorn only acts like it’s about to be murdered, screaming in fright at the sight of Shane and making Ryan covers his ears. 

Some of the Fairies that rocketed away do return to Ryan, clutching on and chittering into his ear as if they could give him useful advice. Some of it sounds more encouraging even, urging him not to stop. So he doesn’t. 

He feels ridiculous, trying to calm the thing, but thankfully the Fairies have that sort of covered too. They duck and dart and circle, distracting the Unicorn as Shane closes the distance between him and Ryan and sweeps a wing round his shoulders. 

Ryan wonders why, but only dips and slices at a carefully selected and easily accessible section of rope. 

It snaps, the Unicorn jerks and kicks, those sharp hooves slicing through bark with a terrific crack! where before Ryan stood. He–and several stunned Fairies clinging gratefully to his jacket–are already several feet out of harm’s way in Shane’s arm with a wing shielding him. 

So that was why. 

“Thanks, Shane…” Ryan breathes, but his eyes are already on the next rope section to saw through, and he’s inching forward again to try and reach it quickly as possible.

Shane rolls his eyes but moves in, watching where Ryan cannot and knowing when to react so his little Ghost Hunter doesn’t get skewered by a horn or ribs shattered from a well-aimed kick. 

Thankfully the ropes slide away and don’t tighten, so it only takes a few tries before the Unicorn bursts free and climbs to all fours. Ryan is on his knees below it, and he has a second to look up and stare in awe at the beast puffing down, every line of it’s body poised and trembling as it takes a second to process it’s own freedom and make a choice. They lock gazes for a heartbeat, and Ryan sees himself reflected in the dead, almost wicked gaze of the Unicorn. 

Shane is over him almost immediately, hissing and flaring his wings and batting the air so that the creature wheels around and bolts off instead of going at Ryan. It may not be as outwardly smart as the Fairies or Demon with him, but it’s not stupid–messing with one human isn’t worth taking on Shane apparently. 

The Unicorn slows at a cluster of trees, beady eye rolling in it’s socket and neck bunched as it pauses, sides heaving to collect itself. There’s no softness, no intelligence that Ryan has seen in Shane’s gaze when aimed at him–this thing is wild and unabashed and deadly. 

Shane could be reasoned with–up to a point, and only if you were Ryan it seemed–but this creature is a furious testament to Ryan that the world of the Supernatural was something new and familiar. It is a stark reminder that the Supernatural world is dangerous, and not like what he’d been lead to believe in many aspects. The Demon he’d saved was his friend, and the first thing said Demon did upon regaining his strength was leading a clueless Ryan to see a nest of Fairies and explore a softer side of the mythical world that Ryan wanted so badly to be real, to interact with. 

Tonight, a Unicorn almost gutted him without a second thought, simply because it was afraid and angry, and he was within striking distance. 

The Fairies trill and sing and circle them both, ignored by Shane who chuffs and brushes them off. Ryan feels tiny sparks on his cheek as some dart in and get close, and he flushes when he realizes that’s them kissing his cheek in thanks. 

“It was–it was nuthin’, r-really…anyone would have…” He tries, then stops, gaze locking on the mythical creature that’s moving now.

Ryan trails off, watching the now free Unicorn canter off into the night. It’s an image burned in his mind now, one he will die with. 

But another idea strikes his thoughts, too. And he can’t stop the quiet glance toward his best friend. Shane is watching him, not the Unicorn, blazing scarlet eyes with the black pupil studying his face as he inclines his head and purrs softly. 

‘No, Ry.’ Shane’s look seems to say: one of gratitude, affection…maybe Love. ‘ Not everyone would have.’ 

If it had lived and found by other humans like the ones he had only just rescued Shane from, it would have been captured, killed, studied, anything. That horn looked like pure ivory, and so did it’s hooves. It certainly gleamed like parts of it were priceless, and look what humans did to elephants. Why would a Unicorn be treated any better in some situations?

And any other human that followed Ryan’s thinking and tried to free it, if they’d been alone, they might have gotten killed or worse. Ryan saw out of the corner of his eye how many times Shane reacted with inhuman skills, protecting Ryan with his instincts instead of letting Ryan get hurt or attacked by the fearful and incensed Unicorn. 

The Fairies swarm them the entire walk back. It’s almost sunrise and the world is lightening by the minute. It’s not a long walk, but it’s enough of one that Ryan feels his body ache in protest as they wander past the first clearing. But they stop at the forest’s edge, making mild attempts to get Ryan to stay and follow them back. The gesture is sweet but one warning grunt from Shane and they drop the subject. 

“Let’s uh…get inside before someone sees you, big guy.” 

He has a lot to think about, but mostly he needs some rest and some food. 

World on it’s head or not, Ryan still has plenty to worry about. And getting Shane back to normal was slowly heading for the top of the list. 

Chapter Text

'May August winds blow you in the right direction.'

Part VII.

He felt like fire, but a dying one. He felt like ash and thread-bare desperation. Embers that spit meekly. Smoke that curled, vapors rising into the night air and fraying into the coldest of winds that blew, unforgiving but a little melancholy. 

He’s moving slowly, fuzzily, as if under water only he is not, he knows he’s not. 

There is a hiss, wet and slippery as something slips just out side his vision. 

Something is waiting, and watching. 

It feels big, and dark and the warning surge of Wrong Wrong Wrong thunders with every pulse of his heart. 

Fire leaps from wide jaws, and familiar claws come down through the air. 

The Demon is slender and inhuman, fangs long as his own, dull human fingers and jaw unhinged to reveal the gory mess dripping from it’s jowls. The regal horns jut as the creature rears up, backlit by a heavy, full moon as it’s full wingspan unfurls across the night sky. 

He admires the sight, feeling nothing but joy and a fierce thrill that’s intoxicating–but only for a moment. 

Then there is nothing to admire, and the Terror returns, rekindling as the creature his mind thinks of as ‘fierce’ and ‘powerful’ but also ‘Safe’, is pounced upon like prey . Like something Weak, only he is not. 

Shane–it’s Shane there, the first Demon. He’s not Weak, he’s not prey–

He’s fighting with another that is twice his size, all rageful howls and gnashing teeth as each tries to gain ground on the other. It’s a losing battle for Shane. He fights anyway, stubborn as usual. 

Black smoke and fiery blasts puncture, blotting out the stars. It’s like a fire work show gone rouge. It’s like some cataclysmic event that only the dinosaurs had ever seen, like when the meteorites fell. It’s Anger and Glory and Rage and Evil setting upon Evil. 

Something pierces into Shane, pinning him up against a wall as the spike juts from his center and he screams, the smell of Death stinking closer and circling. 

It’s Horrible. 

Its what Ryan dreams of, but it’s not something he’ll remember too well. 

Only the bitter taste of ash in the back of his throat, and the warmth he’ll chalk up to sleeping under the wing a Demon.

The next morning dawns and is wholly ignored by both human and demon. 

Shane seems most comfortable sleeping on his back, and Ryan supposes that makes sense. If he had two giant webbed fingers on muscled arms jutting from his shoulderblades, he’d prefer his sides or his belly to lay on. And anyway, this position is perfect for Ryan to steal one of those wings, shamelessly curling up under it like it’s a blanket, and grinning when Shane rumbles in his sleep at being manhandled.

Shane never rescues his borrowed wing though. If anything, the few times Ryan rises to get a drink of water or take a leak, he thinks he feels those long red fingers curl briefly when he slips out. Trying to make him stay.  

The furnace of heat and power–a core, Ryan has taken to calling it, because Shane had snickered darkly at him when mentioned ‘heart’ so that was clearly a no–kept them warm the whole night and well past the sun’s rise.

So then it’s late afternoon by the time Ryan realizes he either needs to pay for more nights or get the hell out of dodge, and he can’t think of a good reason for staying in this tiny village any longer. Shane’s injuries are entirely gone, and he’s been taken to perching up on the mid century wardrobe that probably has been here since the place was opened in the 70’s. It holds his weight save for a minor creak, and he dozes. 

There is however, one slight problem to them walking out the door and climbing into the car. It has to do with the fact Shane looks like a weird cosplayer for a DnD game, and the nearly 11 foot wingspan is only making things worse. 

“Just gunna stay up there?” Ryan asks with a tired huff of amusement. 

Shane spares him a sideways glance, but doesn’t reply. 

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” He waits for the mirth to fill Shane’s eyes at the meme, knows how much Shane enjoys his Lord of the Rings. Hell, with Ryan knowing what he knows now, Shane probably knew Tolkien freakin’ personally. It wouldn’t surprise this Ghost Hunter one iota. 

There’s no light of familiarity in his friend’s inhuman, almost pretty gaze. The Demon smirks lazily but doesn’t engage beyond that. He returns to look out the back window into the twilight.

Shane’s silence has become more and more concerning as the days passed.

Ryan initially chalked it up to Shane being exhausted, emotionally and nearly physically. 

But last night, when they’d gone to meet the Fairies, Shane still hadn’t uttered much in the way of conversation. Sure, he could get out a passable utterance that resembled English enough for Ryan to understand him–but he was also Shane’s best friend. Their own private sign language was part and parcel to the whole best friend bit, wasn’t it? Shane’s voice was deep and rumbling, like maybe what tectonic plates sound, grinding together. His English comes out short and stilted, catching on his huge mawful of teeth, which are crammed in his mouth and hardly fit. 

All that aside, Ryan likes to think he knows Shane almost better than anyone, save the guy’s family of course.

Who he has...never met, come to think of it. Or seen in pictures on Shane’s social media. Which was bare bones as anything. Shane didn’t keep personal items on his desk. Just a very old rubix cube, his coffee mug and his laptop, and an X Files Ryan had given him. 

So maybe there was some truth to ‘better than anyone’ concept. Somehow, it made Ryan feel both proud and more than a little sad all at the same time. 

Who wanted to be all alone in the world, after all?

Ryan puffs out the last of his thoughts, stooping to collect some of his socks from the floor where he’d tossed them on the few nights he stripped into proper sleep clothes. 

“We uh…we gotta head home, Shane.” Ryan punctures the silence with a wince. He’s been meaning to have this conversation for a day or so now. Truthfully, he wants to have it when Shane is human again and able to respond like he would normally. Or at least, what Ryan’s normal was. 

Shane’s glittering gaze glances to his, and though the Demon doesn’t look passive, he doesn’t seem terribly interested either. He isn’t rising with a good natured, put upon sigh, and packing his things. 

Not that he has anything to pack for once. 

Instead, Shane hums and looks thoughtful, almost puzzled with a crease between his brow. Apparently Ryan’s rather clear statement has confused the Demon. Which is weird. Shane is smart and sharp as ever. He just looks a little wild, a little feral. 

“Hungry.” He eventually states in response, catching Ryan so off guard the Ghost Hunter chokes on his sip of water and snorts it down to save his wind pipe.

“...you’re hungry? Alright, well that has nothing to do with what I said but, I guess…” His own stomach growls suddenly in reply. Ryan grumbles sheepishly when Shane smiles ebony fangs at him, feral but clearly smug and amused. 

‘You’re hungry too.’ Those eyes gleam with pride and eagerness. 

“We can grab a bite on the way out of town, Shane.” 

Shane growls, making his vote no. Ryan blinks.

“You wanna eat now?”

Shane purrs. 

“Okay, anything in mind?” Ryan doesn’t feel picky. He could eat just about anything himself. 

“Taco Bell.” Shane states plainly, leading Ryan to believe he could in fact manage several words around those massive daggers he called teeth. And his friend is just cherry picking words or being his typical lazy self. 

“Brat.” Ryan bites back, smirking when he hears a cackle and digging his phone from his back pocket. “Check out’s at 4pm. It’s only noon. Lemme see if DoorDash even delivers…well damn, it does…”

Shane gives a slow blink of approval.

“…Okay, what do you want?”

Shane weighs his answers in his head, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. 

“...yes.” He decides to go with, and Ryan chokes again. 

$50 in Taco Bell later, of which Ryan ate about a 10th of, and Shane is licking some sauce off his claws with the pleased air of a cat who found a cageful of fat canaries. 

“Full finally?” Ryan asks with the air of a dazed man who would like very much never to see a Demon swallow a burrito whole again. Didn’t even chew. Just gulped it like a snake. Ryan tries vainly to ignore what other talents that big jaw and prehensile tongue might have. Shane was so focused on scarfing the food he didn’t even notice Rya’s blush, which the human feels is for the better. 

He finishes his Mountain Dew with a sad slurp, eyeing that massacre that is food wrappers and paper bags, and several Baja Blasts, whose cups Shane shoved his python of a tongue down and licked clean. 

“Better?” He asks again, chuckling at Shane’s sleepy blink and drooping tail.

“Bettuur.” Shane agrees, stretching lazily and returning to his perch atop the big wardrobe. Ryan frowns, eyeing the ancient clock radio on the nightstand. Shane merely returns to his large claws, clearly focused on their cleanliness. 

“We gotta get movin’, big guy. We can’t stay here forever.”

Shane’s confused glance sparks new worry in Ryan’s already churning mind. 

“...Go? Where?” Shane looks lost, and Ryan studies his face, more focused on watching the gears in there turn than trying to explain their current situation couldn’t be kept like this. 

“...home? Back to California? It’s gunna be like a fourteen hour drive, with traffic. Oh, and, uh, there’s the little matter of you still looking like you walked off the set of Hellboy.” 

At that, Shane snorts and goes back to his inspection of his claws.

“I’m serious, Shane. We don’t need anyone to come looking for you. You can’t fit in the car like that. Can you do that smoky thing you did earlier?” Ryan bites his lip, glancing at his bag where the Demon hid the night he saved him from the other Hunters. 

“We go, Ry.” Shane finally, finally relents. Ryan’s so relieved he ignores the sigh from his best friend that equals Shane’s exasperation at something he said or did. 

“Thank you. Now just, just get in the car in your weird travel form but stay out of sight, I gotta check out.” Ryan glances at the wreckage of their–Shane’s–feast. “And clean up. At least this will look like a few days worth of food.” 

Ryan ignores the grumbles as he finishes packing and searches for the actual metal keys to return. (This place really was off the beaten path.) 

When Ryan returns to their room, his stuff is inside the car too, and Shane is no where in sight. It puts Ryan on edge, except he’s pretty sure he sees something smoky slithering around under the dash of the passenger’s seat. Plus, Shane packed all his stuff, and he didn’t seem in the mind for wandering like he was last night. 

A turn of the engine comes with a rattling noise, and the entire rental coughs uncertainly, shuddering under Ryan’s hand for a beat. 

“Jesus christ, now what–”

The radio rolls to life randomly, but the screen is a faint, familiar red, and so are the numbers on the clock. The gearstick wriggles under Ryan’s palm. The radio searches by itself, almost lazily, and finally settles on an ABBA song that Ryan has heard Shane sing under his breath while editing. 

He freezes, trying to look normal as he takes in the sudden shift of the vehicle. How it’s…acting. Like it’s alive. 

Or fucken possessed.

“....Shane?” He hisses through gritted teeth, awkwardly locking eyes with an elderly couple two parking spaces down that glance at him with vacant faces of mild concern.

The engine purrs. 

A few more things make sense for Ryan in this moment. 

“Guess that little snack put you in a good mood, eh?” Ryan keeps speaking out of the corner of his mouth, clumsily shoving the car into reverse and backing out. 

Shane has no reply, but Ryan thinks he feels an air of smugness glinting off the rearview mirror. 

The actual act of driving was at least granted to Ryan, because Shane does nothing more besides flick to find stations with better frequency or fiddle with the heating, amping it up when the sun dips below the mountains ahead of them and casts them in premature evening light. Ryan knows shane doesn’t feel temperature, so the heat is merely for his own benefit and his heart squeezes at his friend’s thoughtfulness. 

It’s not even an awkward silence. The situation on paper is awkward, of course. Ryan doesn’t have his co-pilot…only he does. He’s sitting alone in a car on a cross country trip. Only he’s not really alone. He’s tired, but has a feeling that if something happened, Shane’s reflexes would handle the vehicle well before Ryan had to. 

He still wishes Shane were in the seat beside him, Demon attributes and all. 

“Shane…?”

There’s no verbal response, but the radio does turn down suddenly, like a human might do when they wanted to hear better or make a reply. Shane is listening. 

“How come you’re still…all Demon-y?” Ryan ask softly, then waits. He’s more than a little disappointed when there’s zero answer. Even the car is silent.  

“Uhm…” Ryan glances from the road to the dash. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna answer…or if you can’t. I don’t mind…I mean, it’s cool with me that you’re a Demon. I just don’t know how the rest of Los Angles will take it.” 

Shane doesn’t answer, but Ryan’s mind fills his voice in anyway. 

‘They’ll prolly just chalk it up to me being a Cosplayer or sumthin’, Ry.’ 

There’s a small weight at the bottom of Ryan’s heart, and it’s been growing ever since he woke up and realized Shane wasn’t turning back to Human Shane. 

It was starting to unnerve him. Even worse was Shane’s general blithe attitude about it all, like he didn’t care one way or the other. 

After about five minutes of silence, the volume on the radio climbs back up. It seems sheepish but determined, and Ryan focuses his own attention wholly back on driving. 

But in the back of his mind, he’s worrying and thinking and wondering. 

They make it about seven hours before the car suddenly starts driving itself without Ryan’s consent. He doesn’t think he’s got highway hypnosis and has at least another three hours in him.  Judging by the way the vehicle slows and ambles off the highway despite his bitching and protests, Shane clearly disagrees. 

They pass a leaning, peeled wood sign for a Motel 6 and Ryan huffs. 

Ryan gripes, crossing his arms as he pushes stubbornly on the break, yanks on the wheel at an intersection, but he might as well be starring in a movie about Herbie the Love Bug. It’s useless. Shane is being stubborn and Ryan supposes he can’t be surprised. 

“Jerk,” Ryan complains, huffing as the rental pulls into a parking lot of the little Motel off the highway. The place is mostly deserted, and any other time Ryan would take one look at the place and grimace, make some jokes about murder-mysteries and Forensic Files and keep driving. Shane usually echoed the sentiments with his usual light hearted tone, but by now it’s evident he was only humoring Ryan and pretending to be wary. 

But this is the closest place off the highway, and besides…what could hurt him with Shane nearby?

And Ryan finds that–although the place does look grimy and old and creepy–he complicity trusts Shane on this. He doesn’t even question the choice, merely the timing. But trying to argue with Shane when he was Hellbent on getting them to stop for the night seemed a fool’s errand. 

Ryan cannot lie to himself much longer either. Something about sharing the bed with Shane and sleeping against the warmth of his side was a little addictive. He yawns, keeping his hands on the wheel just for appearance’s sake. 

Just because Shane had healed in less than a week didn’t mean Ryan’s body was the same. His muscles were cramped from the drive and strained from overuse from the hiking, running and clinging for dear life-ing he had been doing. 

Check-in is an altogether new adventure. 

Mostly because no sooner has Ryan entered–a bell tinkles overhead–than he realizes this place is Grade A spooky. It’s dimly lit and small, but the vacant areas make the place look bigger than it is. There’s a single chair to sit in, a few potted plants that flourish despite being in near-darkness, and a buzz of a neon sign. 

The young woman at the concierge counter (if it could be called that,) glances with polite disinterest, then double takes. 

“Hey! No Shades allowed.” She snips, then when Ryan’s face bleeds shock and hesitancy her facade drops. She grins, pops her bubblegum and sets aside her magazine. 

“Just kidding. Sorry, it’s just kind of hard to ignore your friend up there.” A long, fake teal nail points at the ceiling, and when Ryan looks he spies the familiar shaggy mass of Darkness just finishing its heave over the threshold. Shane’s shadows thin greatly as he stretches, snaking to coil into the darkest shadows of the dimly lit room. He seems to be showing off, and the young woman eyes him as Shane eyes her back with reptilian fascination. 

“I,” says Ryan, and the young woman gives him a sympathetic look. “Uh…”

He hadn’t told Shane to stay put in the car. He’d just assumed the dumbass would know to. 

Apparently this place was Different, though. 

“Hey, it’s cool. We take all sorts of people here. Usually addicts have the worst things on their backs, but those are personal monsters, more invested in their own misery than looking to cause trouble with strangers.” Her pen taps the desk as she eyes Shane thoughtfully. 

“I ain’t ever seen one that big and chill though. Usually the big ones are with the nastiest people. I had this one guy last week I hadta call the cops on, and his was smaller than yours.” She shudders, glancing at Ryan with a new hint of wariness. 

“You better not be a murderer, kid.” The clerk warns.

She’s his age, and being called ‘kid’ by another millennial does kinda make him pause. Shane’s silence is even sort of helping to keep him alert and focused. He’s waiting to see what Ryan will do, too. 

“You know what Shane is?” That’s the first thing Ryan blurts. The second thing is, “Sorry, it’s just…we’re just looking for a place to spend the night. We don’t wanna cause any trouble.” 

“I thought he was a Shade at first but he ain’t, is he?” she settles back in her chair and hums. “You don’t look too typical for the guys that come in here with lions like him on their heels.” 

“...what?”

“First time?” She sounds sympathetic but a little teasing. “Sorry, I just meant considering what he is, you don’t match. You look way to friendly and normal.”

Ryan doesn’t know what to say to that. The clerk doesn’t seem bothered by his silence and goes on happily, 

“It’s kinda cute, actually. Demons don’t really take humans in, so when you see it it’s like seeing an almost extinct species, yanno? Look, it ain’t my business, just c’mere and sign in. You just wanted a night, right?” 

Ryan approaches the desk, spurned on by the way he sees Shane start to mill about, a black mass pawing through a potted plant and then making his way to a Vending Machine that’s buzzing weakly in the far corner. 

“What’s…what’s a Shade?” Ryan can’t help the questions. Someone who was at least his own species, and recognized his friend like this? Ryan’s tiredness seems to flee the second he realized she could answer some of his questions. 

“Like a shadow, although they typically don’t stick to walls. They’re smaller and more see-through than your buddy. That’s how I realized yours was a Demon. He’s an old one, isn’t he? How long have you had him? Demon Trap? Some guys get tattoos to do it, but you don’t seem like the type.” She has mirth in her gaze, and she snorts when Shane starts wriggling into the Vending Machine. 

Ryan feels a little more unmoored.

“Uh…no, he’s not…I mean…” It occurs to him then this woman either was lying or simply didn’t recognize him. He’s glad Buzzfeed Unsolved isn’t that popular, in this instance. 

“Shane and I are friends.” The words sound lame even on his tongue, and when he glances for confirmation he deflates as the black fuzzyness is determinedly freeing a KitKat from the door.

“Friends?” And she grins, but Ryan misses it. 

“Dude, seriously? Shane! You gotta pay for that–” He tries to scold but the girl waves him off. 

“Nah, forget it. Seeing one of these guys up close is worth way more than a freakin’ candy bar. My Uncle is a Demonologist and he’s gunna go nuts when I tell him a met one this high level that’s got a human it likes. Long as you two don’t cause trouble at my ‘fine establishment,’” her smirk suggests she’s aware of how the place actually looks, “He can help himself.” 

The overhead light pulse and dim twice, and a pleased rumble filters from somewhere. 

“You made it sound like you see, uh, Shades a lot. Why is a Demon any different?” As he asks this, she hands over a key. “Oh, thank you.”

“Room 13, at the end of the block.” She seems able to multitask in a way that makes Ryan envious. “Shades are weaker, for one. They’re like the mice and rabbits of the Supernatural world. My Gramma used to call them Echoes. They’re weird collections of memories, usually more than one person. They kinda drift wherever the wind takes them. Demons are, well, Demons. And when they show up, it never goes this good.” 

“Shane’s not normal?” Ryan pauses. “Why am I not surprised?” 

“He’s maybe his version of normal. He’s way higher on the food chain than anything else around here. My Grandma wouldn’t have let you guys stay at all, and if she did you would had salt on all your doors and windows to keep him stuck in the room.”

Ryan winces, glad that Grandma doesn’t seem to be around right now. 

“Do people come in here that are…normal? Or not…haunted?” He asks as he signs in to the worn, faded book. The paper makes his fingertips tingle. 

“We’re all haunted by something.” She winks, eyeing his scrawled in words upside down. “Ricky Goldsworth, huh? Nice name.” 

He pointedly ignores the heavy snort of amusement from the corner where Shane’s pilfering candy. It’s pretty easy to mentally beam a ‘Shut up, Shane’ and there’s another cackle as Shane frees a Hershey bar. 

The girl checks a second time, something clearly on her mind.

“Did you sign in alone? Good. Don’t ever write your friend’s name down somewhere,” She warns with a sudden seriousness, then tacks on, “Although if that’s his nickname, that’s fine. I guess it must be.”

“What?” Ryan realizes she probably knows he signed with a fake name, but she doesn’t say a word about it. “Why not?”

“Names have power. Especially your ‘friend.’ And if he’s as old and powerful as he looks, I’ll bet he has at least two other names to decoy his real one.” She answers crisply, and Ryan decides he likes her. He notices then that there’s no name tag on her shirt or her desk, and wisely says nothing. 

The black mass only wanders over innocently, slithering up the front desk and holding a Butterfinger bar out to him. 

Ryan takes it, ignores the heat on his cheeks and the way the girl behind the desk nearly cooes at Shane’s antics and digs for his wallet to pay for the room and the candy, despite the girl’s earlier words. 

“Shane brought me here, did he know about this place? I mean, you said you’d never seen him before but…” It seems bad to talk about his friend like he wasn’t in the room, but the darkness coiling lazily around the ceiling fan doesn’t seem bothered. 

“We’re pretty well known for other Supers. Like I said, the humans that are brought here with dark shit like your friend are…usually here for different reasons.”

She flips back a few pages, gesturing for Ryan to see the sign ins.

There are very few who sign out, he realizes. Twice on one page of entries, maybe. 

Ryan gulps, but steels himself. 

Shane trusts him plenty. It is definitely Ryan’s turn to offer the same. 

“I think Shane just wants somewhere to sleep where he won’t be bothered. We’ve…had a rough couple of days.” This place is certainly under the radar, it seems. Liminal space levels of under. 

The clerk smiles lightly. 

“Yeah, you both kind of look it. Have a good stay.” And that seems to be the end of that. 

Ryan has more questions–lots more–but Shane is slinking toward the door and the girl is raising her magazine again. 

And…jesus, he is exhausted. The cold rush of air on his face when he exits the motel’s main building just makes him shiver. 

It’s not nightfall but it’s cloudy and dark, and no one is lingering outside, not even for a smoke or anything. Ryan watches, fascinated, as the darkness that exited the car with him and has been following along, sidles along the cracks of the walkway, and then edge under the door to the room they were given. 

“Least we’ll be home tomorrow.” Ryan says as he unlocks the door and enters. After dealing with a Possessed Car and then Smoke-Shane, he almost jumps at the physical presence of his best friend. 

Still with horns, and wings and tail. Still with coal black eyes and ruby stars for pupils. 

Then Shane yawns, stretching out his shoulders and rubbing at the left one several times. He grunts around his fangs but nods in drowsy agreement. 

“Did you know that girl in there?”

“...notta girl, Ry.” And Shane says no more on the subject, but he looks relaxed and at ease like he didn’t at the earlier room. 

Ryan studies the lines of the Demon’s body and furrows his brow a bit. He also looks tired again.

“Did uh, possessing the car take a lot out of you, big guy?” 

Shane half shrugs, but his smile is familiar and almost soft. 

‘Yeah, but it was worth it.’ His look says. Ryan melts a little. The sudden assault on the  Vending machine makes a little more sense. Shane was hungry, but thankfully he went for sweets instead of Fear. 

“We can get more food tomorrow morning, but like, breakfast for once. How’s that sound? Burger King?” Ryan knows their menu items are Shane’s favorite for breakfast. 

The Demon lets out a pleased, sibilant hiss and his lips curl. The blink he gives Ryan is almost delicate and full of warmth. The depth is so strong it catches Ryan off guard, like a string pulling too tight and snapping at just the wrong moment. 

He falters, stops, starts again. Then he blushes, shakes it off and mumbles something about a shower and hot water and needing to take a piss. He grabs fresh boxers and his sleep shirt and scoots. 

Shane’s chuckles follow him into the tiny bathroom and the memories of the loving sound gets locked in with him when he snaps the door shut. 

He doesn’t bother locking the door, just tries to master the shower knobs and strips. 

The water is broiling hot and unforgiving, but it’s exactly what Ryan wants and he stays under it a long time. Until his fingers prune, and the mirror fogs thickly, and he can scrub the flush of Shane’s burning gaze from his skin. 

Suggestiveness and flirtation–that Ryan could deal with. Either he flirted back or dodged the comments with a playful air that kept him protected and the moment from being weird–though on one occasion a stranger at a bar hadn’t taken the hint to Ryan’s lack of interest, and it had seemed odd at the time the way Shane had just materialized at his side, leaning on the counter and smiling a predator’s smile at the man until he’d left. Ryan had been buzzed, not drunk to forget and he’d always kind of liked the memory. Shane was a chill guy up until the point he wasn’t, and he had this smug smirk he could pull off that made you feel small as a pimple on a flea, especially when he was irked. 

Regardless of Shane’s current state, or even before when he was hiding in plain sight, he’d never pushed for anything…sexual. He’d never made it weird, or creepy. 

He’d just…Been. Ryan was the social one of the two, the one who Shane warned would be described on The FBI Files as ‘lighting up a room’ and Ryan had always snorted at the joke but he kind of understood now. 

This whole time Shane had been looking out for him. How many people or things had Shane seen that Ryan hadn’t? 

Despite the warmth of the shower, a chill crawls up his spine.

He’d never brought it up, supernatural or other wise. Never held it over Ryan.

A few times, sure, he bribed Ryan for Pizza Hut or something, but never anything…bad. 

Ryan lets out a frustrated sigh, hanging his head to let the water bullet into his sore back. 

He’d almost find it easier if Shane did try jumping his bones. The soft gaze and bottomless trust the Demon just seemed content to hand over to him was overwhelming and a little scary. 

The fuck he’d done to deserve Shane’s loyalty like this? Drag him onto an web show where he played the skeptic on a subject he was literally the center of once per season? Get trapped in a salt circle on another Demon’s bridge, or have Holy Water squirted at him?

But if the previous incident at the old manor had proved anything, it was that no one could force Shane to do something he didn’t want to do. He’d been held in two Demon Traps and still had broken out to rescue Ryan. He’d been shackled and chained and doused with gallons of Holy Water and still those Demon Hunters couldn’t control him. 

Shane had done all that globe trotting, Ghost-Hunting shit because Ryan asked him to. Because he needed him too, to save the show and his career. No wonder Shane seemed so confused about Ryan’s instance at heading back home. 

To Shane, home might just be wherever Ryan is. 

Ryan squeezes his eyes shut, feeling emotionally exhausted as much as physically. 

He peeks out over an hour later, shamefully relieved to find the room dark and see a lump of red on the mattress, the sheets exposed and the sounds of a slumbering Demon that’s he come to find such comfort in lately.

He finishes toweling his hair best he can, but soon abandons the worn terry cloth with a flick of it to the floor beside the bed and crawls onto the mattress. His knees meet wing joint and he scoops it up with both hands. 

Shane makes a grumbly old man noise and Ryan can’t stop the grin. It’s all for show, anyway. Those claws are relaxed and Shane’s tail is slithering through the sheets, coiling around his ankle and up his calf to cling. 

Ryan slips into the warm cavity between leather and sheets and curls his toes at the cozyness of it all. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re big and scary, Mister.” The distance and shower-thoughts gave him his spine back, reminding him any silly crush on his best friend came after their initial bond. 

No matter what, Shane was his and he was Shane’s. What lies between them is unique, priceless and, dare he be cheesy about it, supernatural. 

His best friend is a Demon. He is a Ghost Hunter. But they are still Shane and Ryan, Ryan and Shane. Never one without the other. 

“We’ll get you back to your human self, big guy.” Ryan whispers between them, wondering Shane’s really even listening. “Even if we don’t…we’ll deal with that when we come to it. Doesn’t change how much I need you.”

The tuckered Demon rumbles in his sleep, and together they rest and recover.

To be continued in Ivory Towers…