Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“If you are a dreamer come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hoper, a prayer, a magic-bean-buyer!
If you're a pretender come sit by my fire,
For we have some flax golden tales to spin.
Come in! Come in!” -Shel Silverstien

Part I.

The old theater stood against the creamsicle orange sky, a hefty building of tired grandeur with worn paint and unpolished details. Once it was illuminated, the marquee lit and the crowds a sea of bodies as people came in from far and wide, clamoring for tickets and snacks offered inside and out. Once, it was busy and warm and noisy. Once, once, once…

Those days were gone. The old place was out of code and shut down for decades by now, although not totally abandoned despite outward appearances. A group of unseen investors kept it alive by keeping connect with the city’s Historical Society, trying to push the process faster than the red tape would let it go. Once passed the theater would be properly protected, maybe even restored or outfitted with newer technology.Vintage was ‘in’, after all. Old was often enjoyed the young and the new. The marble polished and the carpeting yanked up and cleaned or replaced with something equally antique but less…blood stained and morbid. 

Oh yes, the bloody history of the theater had been what done her in. She was haunted, a haunted theater in Los Angles where stars shined brighter in the day and the murky nights were full of all sorts of…activities. The owner had murdered his partner and then himself, unable to face the looming debt the building had incurred during it’s long and trouble stricken construction, just at the turn of the century. More’s the pity, although with the way film pushed aside magic acts a few years later, perhaps the man picked the route that caused him the least amount of trouble. However, his rest wasn’t for long. 

His spirit was said to roam the building in this day and age, muttering nonsense and firing gunshots into the walls to scare movie goers and staff off. 

None of this mattered to Joe, who arrived in his pick-up to check on an alarm that had gone off inside the Royal Palladium not twenty minutes before. 

He marked a note on his phone, letting the GPS sync to indicate he’d reached the address he was sent to check in on. All routine, nothing outside that caused him concern or worry. This wasn’t a rich jewelry store or a hoity-toity bank. The alarm system wasn’t even that good. But it was something. 

Joe hauled himself out, mind already at the bar and thinking of the beer waiting for him downtown once he was off shift. 

The broken and dead marquee flickered once. It was overhead and Joe had his eyes on his clipboard, rifling through the paperwork to find the correct code to gain entry through the side door around the alley. He didn’t notice the gloom of the building. The way the windows reflected the sky with a silver slash of light, like eyes peering out from under a heavy curtain that followed his every step. 

He wasn’t very worried, you see. 

The theater had been a hot spot for teenagers and ner’do’wells of all groups. The alarm system was older than most of them, and was easy to trick. On the few times it did go off, it was a simple matter of shooing the punks out and resetting the system. A 15 minute job, 10 if the kids were already outta dodge which seemed to be the case.

If Joe had any mind to check the history of the place, he’d note that, despite the archaic security system never being fixed, no one had reportedly snuck into the Royal Palladium in the last five years. At first glance one might argue about the ghost, but the response to that was simple, “When things are quote unquote Haunted, often times they get more attention from local kids trying to find a way to pass summer nights with a little fun.” 

Despite the allure of such juicy gossip–who doesn’t want to see a dead man splatter his ghostly brains on the ceiling when you’re 18 and bullet proof?–no one had tripped the alarm in the last five years. This was also about the same time the East Coast Investors began working to save the place, oddly enough. 

Clueless and unbothered, Joe unlocked the staff’s side door and tromped up the once ruby red carpeted steps, now faded to a garish brown and peeled and worn thing. He entered the lobby from the side and this is when he finally paused, because there was something off about the place. 

And he could put his finger on it, right away in fact. 

The damn lights were on. 

The air tingled with the scent of buttery, salted popcorn. The air conditioner chugged tiredly, as did the fridge trying to keep the soda from going flat. 

Joe turned and stared at the well lit and almost inviting concession stand. 

The place went dark with abrupt and untimely fizzle, as if caught in the act of doing something it knew it shouldn’t. The ceiling creaked.

Joe blinked. Once. Twice. Scrubbed at his face and peered through the sudden blanket of gloom. 

He’d imagined that. He must have. 

The old building was wired yes. Some of her was still up and running, sure, but only enough for safety signs (the EXIT sign to his left was spelling ‘_X_T’ by the way) and just enough juice for the alarms. Not enough for…all that nonsense that he most certainly had not seen. 

“Too much coffee.” He said aloud. The sound of his voice seemed smaller than usual, but thankfully no one was around to here it. …right?

Something shifted by the snack bar, as if in sympathetic agreement. 

Joe headed for the security room that used to be the ticket stand. 

The door refused to budge. Joe was not a particularly small man, although he worked hard so his bulk was arguably more muscle than pudge, and yet despite his yanking fist on the brass curved handle, the door wouldn’t give. 

He stared at it, eyeing the lock. There’d been no key, because the lock had been removed ages ago. Didn’t need any dumb kids locking their dumb friends in there, did they? 

The door still wouldn’t open. 

When he turned a second time, feeling eyes on him now, something Dark and Too Tall ducked behind the concession counter. The glass warped the shadow as it moved– slithered –and Joe watched in growing, abject terror as the red-eyed shape slunk into a corner and then appeared to vanish. 

He was alone in here. 

Only he was not alone in here. 

He didn’t know where ‘It’ was though. ‘It’ could be anywhere. 

“Al–alright…come out!” To his credit, he did try to maintain some common sense about the whole situation. Lots of places in his job required his own light source. He snatched the metal flashlight from his belt and flicked it on. The light wobbled, then held. 

“Come out right now.” This time his voice was steady. A personal triumph that bolstered his confidence. 

For a second. 

The problem was, the tiny white orb of light made the darkness around the huge room seem even worse. Hungrier. Like teeth were nibbling at the cone of light as he waved it around the other end of the room. Trying to gobble it up and cast him in darkness. He refused to step near the concession stand on principal now. 

A few far off thumps caught his attention, but then he dismissed them. He knew from experience teenagers were not exactly Navy Seals when it came to stealth and sneaking. 

This was…this was Something Else. 

Dust motes drifted in the air. The warm, inviting light of the lobby that had been on when he arrived was sorely missed, even if he couldn’t explain how a building with such little power or gas was able to illuminate itself so well and so brightly. Or why it didn’t look like the lights were on when he drove up to park in front of the theater. 

The curving staircases that hugged the left and right walls were wide as they were curved, elegant and a rich dark cherry wood. They looked awfully well polished for their age. He followed the steps, wondering if he was seeing a figure up there as well. Just as the concept was gaining his attention with more clarity, a new sound reached his already straining ears. 

Music. Organ music. Lilting, airy, echoing organ music. 

It was coming from deeper into the theater, so muffled and distant that it was maybe even coming from the stage. 

And when he turned to look at the double doors that led to the first floor of the auditorium, he noticed one of the doors under the balcony were parted open. 

Just a crack. Just enough. 

The disjointed, looming Darkness was there somehow. How it had gotten around behind the walls without moving out from behind the concession counter, he to this day couldn’t explain. Glowing, fire-bright rubies twinkled out at him, yet when his eyes and the eye of his flashlight registered the sight of the creature, it whisked backwards and snapped the door with a tight pound. Like it had been waiting for Joe to see it. 

Like it enjoyed watching at him from the darkness. Waiting to see if he’d come closer to inspect the music playing somewhere in the auditorium.  

Like he was being lured. Or hunted. 

Well, that was the end of that, Joe decided suddenly. He didn’t get paid enough to be hunted by something that seemed smart as he was, that tried to employ human logic yet clearly was so far from Human it crossed the line into Twilight Zone territory. 

Joe crab-walked sideways until the side door was in sight. He took his eyes off the dark lobby only to ensure he didn’t take a header down the rickety steps, and then he was out and back in the soft twilight of a west coast evening. The door slammed shut behind him, by some unseen, powerful wind. The locks reengaged with bright clicks, as if brand new.

Back in his truck, he marked his check list. 

Alarm system. Checked. 

Door. Locked. (Well, the two doors he checked had been.)

System reactivated. The system was green lit when he left. He hadn’t entered the code to reset the brain of it, but right now he didn’t give a damn. 

Intruders or suspected intruders before arrival? 

…

Joe marked down none, accepting that he was lying but finding himself unable to think deeper on what he had seen…or hadn’t. 

Just a bug in the system. That happened sometimes. Electrical things malfunctioned and went off on their own all the time. This was just one of those times. Regardless if it was real or not, he planned to never see that It Thing again, because he would refuse taking calls from this building in the future. And perhaps even visit Church next Sunday with his family. Sure, it had been over a decade since his last visit but it was never to soon to start praying for your eternal soul, he figured. 

A good blessing from a Priest could cure most things, at least according to his Grandmother it would have. 

The Royal Palladium sat dark and quiet, its large marquee fluttering once more in pleasant farewell as the truck pulled from the side walk and hurried back toward the more populated areas of the city. 

Joe, who looked in his rear view mirror and saw the marquee flash, decided that no, he hadn’t seen nothing. 

Not a goddamn thing. 

Ryan Bergara stayed still and silent, until he saw the truck out front pull away. Only then did he stand up from behind the balcony railing, trying to calm the pounding of his heart as his adrenaline came down. 

“Ohhh my god. Ohmygod. Okay…” He breathed, stumbling back from the rail and turning for the door that lead to the balcony seating. As soon as the older man had left, the lights came back on. He pushed through the carved door into the theater and looked around. 

“He’s gone!” He called, then grumbled to himself as he walked down the steps to the balcony railing and peered one story down into the mezzanine. Nope. 

“Shane?” Ryan asked the thin air again. “Shane, did you hear me? Dude, I swear to God–”

That earned him a low, whining hiss, like someone had stepped on an adder’s tail. 

“Well, you started that little haunt-fest.” Ryan threw up his arms in exasperation. “Don’t want me to say the ‘G’ word then don’t play Haunted House on poor guys trying to do their job–”

This time, there was a growl of insulted, put-off reply. 

He turned, folding his arms in defiance as Shane (sort of) finally appeared. No longer shadow but solid bone, he looked like someone shoved a red demon and a human together, and the end result was a horrific humanoid monster that somehow still pulled off expressions with remarkable ease. Especially Shane’s dopey, warm one when he was in a good mood. He still sort of resembled Shane Madej, at least enough to bring his cohost and cohort comfort. The big dope extracted fully from a shadow in the upper corner of the gilded ceiling and landed on the balcony lip, light as a cat on his gangly limbs and uncaring that he was balancing so high. Shane flicked his spaded tail once and smirked down at Ryan, shifting to perch comfortably as the giant wings behind him  flapped once then folded neatly against his back. 

“What?” 

“You.” Shane uttered. Ryan scrunched his nose, knocking the ruby claw that pointed at him playfully. 

“What? What did I do?”

“Alarrmm.” Shane pointed out. “You.”

Fair. Ryan had been the one to set off the alarm on accident. They’d had plenty of time to hide but Shane took it upon himself to defend his territory or something. 

“Oh. Well. That.” 

Ryan’s face flushed with warmth and he groused for a moment. This only made Shane’s Cheshire cat grin widen, and so Ryan rolled his eyes and headed back the way he’d come. 

The thud from behind indicated his demonic best friend was following him.

“Sorry, Shane. About the alarm.” He said once they were back behind the counter and he had handed over a big bag of fresh popcorn. It was half peace offering, half snack. Shane’s demonic hunger was sometimes bottomless, and though he refrained from chowing down on mortals, he couldn’t stop the need to feast on good old man-made fear. Fear equaled power, and the more freaked-out fits a person fell into, the longer and deeper a Demon could gorge until it was at max power. The poor soul from earlier hadn’t stuck around long enough to fill a Demon of Shane’s caliber up, but he also hadn’t gone full out nor given chase to his prey. 

Shane was only scaring him off because he had to, because he might have found Ryan hiding up on the balcony. Sure, this was Shane’s theater but near as he could figure, he was Shane’s territory. And the normally relaxed Demon didn’t take super kindly to threats against his favorite. 

Well, and the added bonus of getting a snack might have helped too. 

“Thanks for the save, big guy. I owe ya one.” Ryan offered finally, and the tension between his shoulders vanished when Shane grinned his big fangs at him and cronched on his popcorn in reply. 

From there it was easy to goad Shane back into watching a movie. The screen that still hung from when the theater had switched from stage performances to film was down. Ryan’s laptop was hooked up to an old projector in the projector booth that did the job and sort of added a little authenticity to the experience. 

They watched through Ed Wood until the credits, and by then Ryan was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The quietness of the dark, cool theater and plenty of junk food–not to mention the demon he was sort of leaning into–only made his eyes heavier. Ryan shifted, and on cue Shane stirred and grunted under his breath in quiet askance. 

“I know,” Ryan replied as if Shane had spoken clear English. 

Shane rumbled again, making Ryan chuckle. 

“I ought head home, Shane. You know the drill.” 

He ought to at least. They’d been doing said drill ever since they’d returned from across the country. Ryan’s rescue of Shane had gone over without issue, and their trip home had been uneventful and easy. It was a few weeks later and the days were getting shorter as Fall wandered over the country. There were no changing of leaves or frost on the pumpkins here, but the temp was still trying to drop and the evenings were getting cool.

Ryan had returned to work to find himself on paid vacation, and his confusion spiked only until he realized what a certain meddling scarecrow was up to. He’d headed for the old theater that he now knew to be Shane’s hideout that same night. Shane, still Demonic and unwilling (or unable) to recloak himself in his Humanity, had pretended to be innocent up until Ryan realized what Shane wanted. 

A chance to rest. And recover. 

They could get their Ghost Show back whenever Shane wanted, Ryan had sussed out. It was a simple snap of claws and life would pick back up. But for now…Shane was tired. And he wanted to chill a bit more. 

And he offered Ryan full run of the theater, from snacks to private viewings until Shane felt well enough to go Ghost Hunting.

It had been a hard deal to pass up, obviously. Ryan had resisted for about five minutes before he gave in and chuckled at Shane’s grin when he got his way. 

So now their days were this:

Ryan woke up after sleeping in, (it felt wonderful,) and had his breakfast. He checked emails, or gave his apartment a once over if he felt like it. Then he drove to a parking lot near the theater (as any cars around it might look suspicious) and let himself in after walking a couple blocks. The door never locked or stuck here, not on him. He thought that was Shane’s doing but the demon had looked pleasantly surprised when he asked, before shrugging and informing him ‘she likes you, Ry.’ Whatever that meant. Ryan didn’t know of any ‘her’ in the history of the old building. Maybe he meant the actual building. 

Then it was movies, exploring, lazing around back stage on his computer looking for new haunted spots to check out, or just eating. 

Around midnight, Ryan would call it a day and head home. Sometimes he’d stop at the 24/7 mart to grab groceries, other times he’d just head home and collapse into bed.

Through it all, Shane was more lazy, sleepy cat than Demonic Horror Hellbent on Torture and Pain. He play stalked Ryan a few times, but it had the air of boyish antics than any true harm or anger. Shane wasn’t dangerous to Ryan, nor was he stalking the night preying on innocent humans…but that was where the demon’s niceties and calm nature ended. 

The theater’s more sordid history had only tried to bother them once. Edgar Egan, the man who’d built the Royal Palladium as his opus magnum, and was said to have murdered his partner and then commit suicide, appeared to Ryan one dark night. His gaping, black eyes had locked the young man in place and fear tightened his throat. There was a smothering pressure stemming from the ghost, powerful and miserable and awful. He couldn’t cry out for Shane or help or anything–not that it had mattered. 

Just as the man cornered Ryan in the wings of the basement where Ryan had been snooping, did the Darkness behind old man Egan distort and stretch. Shane erupted from the darkness with an angry screech, materializing and dropping on the startled ghost like a spider, his jaws snapping down and a horrible cracking sound heard despite Egan being nearly see-through and foggy. 

Demon-on-Ghost violence was very much possible, it seemed. And Shane’s deep snarls practically made the walls vibrate even as Ryan had fled the basement with Shane pushing him on. 

That had been a lesson Ryan hadn’t really needed when it came to Shane’s more brutal side. It was a necessary reminder in some way, he supposed. And he was grateful for it, no doubt, but watching Shane destroy the tortured spirit had been just as scary as said ghost appearing and threatening him. To this day Ryan wasn’t sure what Egan was trying to do–but since Shane had left other ghosts alone, he decided to trust his best friend on his judgment call. If nothing else it was the warning that Shane was still ‘do no harm, take no shit’ like he’d always been. Just now he had literal fire power to back it up. 

Considering how dangerous some of the places they explored for their job could get, that brought more comfort to Ryan than one would initially expect. 

Ryan had been good at avoiding the alarm system usually–it was one of the side doors that caused the most trouble. At least he had been until today, that is. Still, no one had gotten hurt, (or, uh…worse) and despite someone potentially changing their career, the day had drawn to a close and it was time for Ryan to head home. 

Every night he internally toyed with the idea of asking Shane to return with him, but he’d always chickened out before he could get the words. And Shane, Demonic and creepy as he looked, had never pushed him or forced entry into his apartment. 

“I'll see ya tomorrow, Shane. Get some rest big guy, I think I’m ready for us to go back to the office next week.” Ryan reminded. 

“Night, Ry.” Shane practically purred, seeing him out and smiling his farewell as the shorter Ghost Hunter slipped down the stage steps and exited the building. 

And so Ryan headed back to his apartment, and Shane returned to the walls of the Royal Palladium, slipping between the cracks in the plaster and shedding his solid form to curl around nails and wiring. He drifted, content, aimless, and wholly at peace with the situation. 

Neither of them knew what was lurking on the horizon. 

It was better that they didn’t.

Chapter Text

Part II.

The Wanderer patrolled the high ceiling of his theatre, wings tucked tight and spine ramrod straight in discontent and unease. His prowling was for a purpose, mostly because it was too early in the night to fly, and he had no interest in flexing his barely recovered energy reserves on masking himself to the world below. Human eyes could be so prying, and being spotted was low on his list of To Dos.

It wasn’t the presence of a stranger that had set him off. 

If anything, scaring that human away had been kind of fun. He had put quite a lot of restraint on himself, understanding even in his feral mindset that Too Much Fear would cause his favorite human to react…poorly, at best. 

The Wanderer had no deep desire to ruffle his human’s feathers. Though the Demon was far from a push-over, he still felt it unfair to bully or dominate Ryan when it wasn’t needed. The beauty of his and Ryan’s partnership was each provided the other with what they needed. What they wanted. 

Why cause trouble when things were going smoothly? He no longer had to hide as human, and Ryan Bergara accepted him–embraced him, even! He lay with the Demon in a bed and they nested and it was comfortable and soothing. Even as he got back to full power from that resting. Even as he become more terror in the night than cuddly, dewclawed kitten. Even when he dived upon the ghostly owner of the old theatre and tore him apart as Ryan cowered in the corner, Soul setting off a veritable firework show of fear, shock and alarm. Ryan used to pause when he yawned, but now he seemed more fascinated and inquisitive than terrified and fearful. It wouldn’t surprise the Wanderer one bit if the nosey human just stuck his hand into his mouth one day, wanting to test at the fangs for himself, or inspect the looseness to the Demon’s jaw when it unhinged. 

It would be a safe thing to do, of course. The Demon would never hurt him. 

Shane Madej was still deeply tucked away, both in spirit and body. The human persona had been eroded and clawed at by the trauma the past few months, and he had never quite been able to raise his head above the waters of subconscious. Healed though he felt in body and power, his spirit was still a little…lacking. A little wobbly. Fragile. 

A foreign concept, normally. Demons and fragile were words that mixed as well as oil and water. A fragile Demon didn’t last long in this word. Not even ones protected by humans. 

Some part of him didn’t want to dig Shane Madej back out, another part was still tired and couldn’t find the concern to try and force himself back into the farce that was his Humanity. Another point the Wanderer made to himself, was that one cannot unring a bell, you see.  

The balancing act the Demon had pulled off could never quite be done again. 

Even if he erased Ryan’s memories, (which went against his instinctive desire to protect Ryan as well) there would always be a hitch, a wrinkle in their time together. The truth had chewed it’s way free once. There was no reason for the Demon to think it wouldn’t try to again. 

And…he had gotten weary of hiding. Ryan didn’t like liars either. Even if it was for his own good (and in some part, Shane’s) the Demon knew his attempts to explain himself likely wouldn’t fly so well. 

Ryan was a Ghost Hunter. And, once a season by his own admission, a Demon Hunter. 

Though he was far from those Demon Hunters that had captured the Wanderer. 

The Wanderer’s unease mostly lay with the night. When the darkness settled with a grunt like someone letting go of a wool blanket and then stood there in embarrassed silence. 

Night was lonely and cold. 

He shook himself. Exhaustion, perhaps. Creeping up as the rush of tasty fear from that man from earlier faded away. He could have so easily driven that human hysterical, driven him to madness.

Some Demons would have. Some Demons would have pounced upon him like a panther on a wounded boar and feasted themselves full. Left a gaping mess that looked like an animal attack. 

Others would have played mind games. Lured him closer and deeper, trapping him and then playing with the human until they collapsed, causing a heart attack. Snapped down the Soul as it escaped the corpse. A slurp and done. 

Others still would have pretended to let him escape. When in truth, they would have actually latched on and followed him home, in hopes of being led to more family members, since many humans typically lived in packs. A meal that lead to more meals was truly a feast to behold. 

And the concept of so many horror movies, to the Wanderer’s tired amusement of humanity. 

The Wanderer was unique in the way he Existed, but other Demons did sometimes Hunt as he did. Hid in plain sight. Played the long game. Made friends. Mimicked relationships. Enjoyed sipping humans like a fine brandy, aging their emotions and taking small sips. 

That was typically something only very, very strong Demons do, however. The rich that bought lobster and escargot and caviar. Strong Demons could afford such lengthy pursuits. 

But no Demons were quite like he, who sipped but never chewed. Lingered but never forced. He took, yes, but never more than Ryan or other humans could stand to give. (Even if their donations were…unknowing.) 

The Demon also known as Shane Madej appreciated them. 

Of course, he appreciated Ryan the most. 

And the Wanderer had been among the strongest of his kind for thousands of years. 

He turned, admiring his wings and sighing a little at the long jagged scars covering the right one. Well, better that then pulling it free and snapping it out, he supposed.

Humans…always wanting what they shouldn’t have and disrupting the natural order. 

His human wasn’t like that. 

Well…perhaps he was, in more harmless, and charming ways. Ryan always wanted to Know, to Learn. To study. It was easy to be flattered by the attention, frankly. 

The Wanderer traveled the roof line of the old building, listening to the decay creep in and the wind moan its lonesome song. 

Night settled in deeper, colder, and heavier. 

He really should get some rest…

Ryan lay curled in bed. His room was dark and cool, and honestly he couldn’t imagine when a time when he’d been comfier. His mind drifted and his limbs were heavy, muscles relaxed. It would be so easy to close his eyes and sleep until morning. 

But something on the edges of his consciousness was…Existing. Just there. 

But slightly to the left, too. Like it was off kilter. 

Regardless of what it was, it was definitely not natural. 

He shifted, hating how the once cool comforter suddenly seemed too much and loud. Moving shouldn’t cause noise, he would draw attention to himself. 

…drawing attention to himself would end badly. 

…a weird thought to have, upon waking. 

He…he didn’t understand things, suddenly. What was going on out in the living room of his apartment? 

Ryan sat up, holding his breath and trying to limit the sounds he was making. He wriggled and shuffled and slid, bare feet on cold hardwood, fists prepared at his side and phone forgotten on the nightstand. Not the smartest choice in such a situation. And as frantic as he felt under his skin, he didn’t feel panicked. 

That Thing lurking on the corner of his awareness prickled again. 

He felt like he was dreaming, but he never lucid dreamed like this. So he must be awake, right?

And then Ryan was pushing open his door, snorting with relief and shoulders drooping as he relaxed. 

“Jeez, Shane, dude.” He said to the back of his cohost’s head. Uttered a weak attempt at a laugh, hoping Shane would join him. “Scared the shit out of me, that’s not cool man. What’s up?” 

Shane. Just sitting. Facing forward. The tv was off. The room was dark, so dark. Ryan couldn’t even see his kitchen. Or out the window. 

There was no noise, no street ambiance, no city sounds. 

Ryan had been hunted before. As much as his job was ‘Ghost Hunter’ the truth of the math was this: Ghost Hunters subjected themselves to the supernatural world, and things in that world like preying upon humans. They liked hunting, too. 

He knew the feeling being observed, being aware that something out there could see, but you couldn’t see it. You might have some clue as to what it was–research wasn’t just for show, after all–but at the end of the day, Ghosts weren’t proven and they took on many forms and horror movies only sometimes had it right. Demons, spirits, hell, even Mothman. 

They were top predators in a world that either believed or didn’t in them. 

That didn’t stop them from existing, apparently. The things in the dark believed in humans, after all. 

If a tree falls in a forest, and all that jazz…

A tight lump sat in the back of his throat and the base of his spine, which felt prickly all over again. It was so cold in here, too cold for the time of the year, for the part of the country he lived in.

Ryan stared, frozen and gaping as the long shadow that was supposed to be Shane but was most-certainly-anything-but-Shane turned in place and slowly leaned into a strange, impossible even for him shape. It twisted, curled, then went sideways and wonky.

And it was smile, deranged and full of wide square pearly teeth. Shane’s teeth were gunmetal black right now, sharp as flint and crammed into his mouth. 

This was not Shane, but it was trying to…wear his face? Ryan didn’t know. Didn’t care. 

All that mattered was the horror that stood before him. 

And the danger he felt he was in.

And then the thing was moving at him, literally too quick to see. It had none of Shane’s physical weight, none of his lumbering joints or goofy limbs. None of his long sinew or clever eyes or jutting horns with the regal curl at the end. And as careful as Shane the demon tried to be, his wings were typically clumsily, second arms he used to take his weight or haul himself along the walls when climbing like some four legged spider. This Not-Shane tried being human, not demonic. 

It looked…alien, now that Ryan was used to Shane’s jumbled form of both sides.

The creature did what Ryan’s panicked mind could only settle on as the ‘horror movie’ lunge. 

One blink and it was twice the size it had been in his sight, shoving out at him like a tiger from the under brush. Claws and teeth out, all snarls and growls as it slammed at him. It pursued him with relentless, horrible hunger in its black, void-like eyes. It wanted him, carved up and spirit and all. 

“G-get away!” He tried. 

It ignored him. Not even a reply. 

Ryan fell back, rolled into the corner by his bedroom and clipped his shoulder trying to about-face. He ran into his room and almost dived for the bed to hide under the covers. 

The monster had other plans, cutting off his second hand lurch toward the window that lead to the fire escape outside his bedroom. A grip on his ankle went tight–the skin burned–and Ryan cried out, reaching for the sill even as he was pulled down to the floor and dragged slowly across the hardwood. He went to kick out, trying to connect with a thing more of ash than bone, and screamed now. Terror anew cracked through him and his adrenaline granted him the energy to struggle harder, with more purpose at getting free. 

By luck or by Grace of God he felt himself loosen free and he took the chance and was at the sill a second time. 

He had it up, was half out when fire razed against his shoulders. Immediately his skin flared with hot pain and that took, earned another scream. 

Why hadn’t his neighbors’ heard any of this? 

Why wasn’t he still asleep? 

What was this thing?

This felt like one bad nightmare, ripped from a page out of the scripts of some of his favorite movies. Well, used to be. Sci-Fi was gunna move back up the list, at this rate. Horror movies were becoming…too real for him. 

Ryan turned, thinking for sure he’d see his demise coming at him again, and that this time he had no energy left to fight it off or flee. 

Only to feel his heart soar to new heights, when a shadow from the closet yawned across the ceiling and unfold with a furl of leather and slitted, ruby pinpricks. A low, familiar grumble filled the room as it advanced.

Shane came FLYING off the ceiling, landing on the other supernatural monster with an enraged shriek and instantly tore into the screeching mass. 

It turned to fight back, but Shane had the upperhand in both might and position, and soon it was clawing from him the same way Ryan had done to it, moments ago. Shane was relentless and did not release his prey, curling his claws to hook into the seams and flash as Not-Shane howled in what Ryan hoped was agony, because fuck this guy. 

Ryan wobbled from the window, hipbone hitting his nightstand and causing a jostle of furniture that drew the two creature’s attention for a beat. 

Shane’s eyes widened with something akin to horror and, well, he seemed to have enough of the tussle. His fear over Ryan seemed more important. The other supernatural being–a ghost? Wraith? D-Demon…?--was wrestled and shoved and bit at. Shane was done with it. 

His huge wings flapped in the little space he had to maneuver them, herding his prey to the window and sending a bolt of fire from his jaws at it’s tail end as it finally dove over the sill and fled, into the night. His long tail cracked at the air, signaling his unease as he listened suspiciously. 

It did not return. 

Then it was just Ryan and Shane, one left panting and leaning on his good ankle, shirt torn in the back and heart going a mile a minute. And one gnashing his cruel, bloodied teeth in reproach as he slammed the window with enough force to break it. He froze at his reflection and turned, disgusted with himself but eyeing Ryan with no small hint of concern and alarm. He took a step, then stopped and waited to be encouraged to approach, clearly not wanting to scare Ryan more. 

“Holy fuck,” Ryan breathed once he’d found his voice. 

Shane grunted in solemn agreement. Holy fuck, indeed. 

“What was…? Shane, was that a ghost?” It…didn’t feel like one. The ghosts at the hotel that tried to warn him, nor the old man from the theatre’s basement. They were…different. And the fear Ryan felt was one of melancholy sadness and familiarity. Human that recognized tortured human. 

Ryan’s wide eyes implied he didn’t think it was a ghost.

The way Shane’s crimson eyes darted to study the closet door spoke volumes. 

“...was it a…a Demon?” Ryan asked.

His best friend nodded, horns dipping as he did so. 

“Why did a Demon…?” ‘Come hunting me?’ 

Ryan trembled all over, but still turned and peeled at the edges of his shirt to show Shane his back. 

“Is…is it bad…?” 

Shane crept closer, purring warmth and affection when Ryan didn't flinch at his approach, despite being of the same species that attacked him moments ago. How could he? He’d never be afraid of Shane, who protected him valiantly every time. Heck, he’d only found out about Shane being a Demon because he’d been protecting Ryan several months ago. 

Ryan felt Shane’s warm, clawed hand lay on his good shoulder, perhaps to provide support, or simply angle him better into the light for Shane to inspect the wounds. The Demon hovered worriedly for a second, but grunted finally. 

“...not’bad, Ry. Not good, but…” Shane hummed. “Should be okay. Gotta clean ‘em.”

“Can, you uh…heal them?” Ryan had wondered how Shane and healing powers worked. If they were kept only to himself or if he could heal other souls. 

A worried, regretful noise was answer enough. 

Well, made sense. Demons weren’t known for healing humans. 

“That’s okay. They don’t hurt so bad now, just…just help me get to the bathroom? Please?”

Shane did, of course. 

Shane became infinitely gentle suddenly, looming over Ryan even as the human sat gingerly on the closed toilet and shimmied his shirt up and over his sore body. The demon thumped around under the sink and, on Ryan’s instructions, found the rest of the scattered first aid kit in the small en suite. Ryan was glad to sit and rest for a moment, and frankly just let the shock wander on it’s way. 

Without prompt, Shane got to work. Ryan was surprised to discover Shane was pretty good at using his claws even on more sensitive matters. Opening Neosporin and cleaning wounds with a cool wash cloth being on top of that list, but not limited too it seemed. The Demon knelt and wrapped his bruised ankle in an ice pack he fetched from the freezer, then delivered some aspirin and his water bottle. 

Ryan hissed at the first press of the washcloth when it came to cleaning the cuts, but shook his head when Shane drew back, lip bit in concern. 

“I’m fine, go ahead big guy…” Ryan forced himself to relax and loose the tension gnawing at him. “Thanks.”

Shane rumbled in reply, jaw set as he concentrated. It was kind of cute. 

Once cleaned, Ryan stood to study the marks in the mirror. Three long gashes, all an angry red, glared back at him. 

“That creep had me before it delivered these. Unless it missed on purpose and this was a warning swipe…” Which was chilling all on it’s own. Being hunted was one thing, being played with like a toy mouse was an altogether worse concept to wrap his confused mind around. 

“No.” Shane grumbled, eyeing the marks as Ryan glanced at him using the mirror’s reflection. Shane’s intense stare unnerved Ryan, but he couldn’t be too surprised. He felt pretty protective over Shane too. “Sending….message.”

“It was sending a message?” Ryan swallowed, turning to let Shane finish up dressing the wounds. They weren’t deep and didn’t require stitches, but Shane seemed set to do right by the marks and eliminate any chance for infection. Ryan felt a rush of affection for the big dope. Good ole Shane. 

“Yisss.” Shane sighed, discontented and looking as disturbed as Ryan felt. “To me. Old friend.” 

“And by ‘my old friend,’ I’m gunna go out on a limb here and say ‘someone you got bad blood with?’” 

Shane nodded, looking ashamed and sullen.

“Oh. Well…that sucks.” Ryan shrugged with his good shoulder. “Guess we’ve got bad blood now too. Fuck that guy.” 

Shane bit down a snort and shook his head down at the human. 

“Not yer fight.” Shane denied. “Shouldn’t be init.” 

Which was noble, and very Shane like. But Ryan rolled his eyes anyway and pawed a wing trying to cup over him in gentle scold. They looked hilarious in the cramped space of his bathroom and kept leaning in close. 

“Hey, I mean it. What kind of sick twist comes into a dude’s apartment in the middle of the night and attacks him? And if it was meant for you, then he’s just a chicken shit.” Ryan rambled, because it felt good to ramble and it took his mind of the hit to his morality. 

Shane groused, but Ryan stood his ground. 

“If he had any balls he’d go attack you first, but he didn’t. Bet he was too scared. You’re pretty awesome Shane, and you handed the fucker it’s smoky ass the second you arrived.” Ryan swallowed, smile shaky now. “Which, thanks for that too, since we’re on the subject. If you hadn’t shown up…”

Shane stepped back, even moving out of the bathroom as Ryan realized he was free to fetch a new shirt that wasn’t stained with red stripes. He did so, but his muscles felt like syrup and his mind hurt.

“Any idea who…?” He asked quietly. 

“Mmm. Lotta maybes. Old soul, Ry.” Shane answered.

Ryan parsed his friend’s words. 

“Guess we got some digging to do into your past, big guy.” Ryan sighed, turning on the light and then a second one when he realized the darkness was still kind of squicking him out. He didn’t feel panicked, but now that the shock was gone and the adrenaline faded he felt…woozy. 

He didn’t want to feel woozy in the dark, either. Shane didn’t seem to mind the light, nor did he question it when it became clear Ryan was going to sleep with the lights on. 

“Later, Ry.” Shane replied after taking one look at his little unsteady wobbly from his dresser. “You…sleep. Late. Tired. Need ta heal.”

“I, uh, I don’t know if I can sleep after this.” Ryan muttered. Home invasions were no joke. Supernatural ones that no one would believe except your best friend, well…

Which made him pause and think. 

“...you wouldn’t wanna, uh…stay the night? Would you?” Ryan glanced at the Demon and tried not to pout. 

He must not have succeed, because Shane was smirking at him. That typical, playful but fond one he did. 

“Oh, shaddup. Or I’ll make you sleep on the sofa.”

“Ryan,” The Demon gasped, feigning an affronted noise of pain. “Mean to me. …sleep with you, yes~?”

Ryan for once, felt too tired to blush. His thoughts didn’t even dance to positions and situations better left for showers or when he was alone. 

“Yeah. Don’t hog the pillows.” was what he did manage. 

Curling up to sleep beside Shane  to sleep felt like the best medicine considering what was ailing him. 

Then he was collapsing into bed, face first and biting back a whimper when his body protested ardently to the abuse of simply flopping. The only reason he felt safe enough to collapse and allow his mind to crumple was because Shane was here and promised to stay. 

Shane wouldn’t let anything happen to him. 

His bed dipped after a moment, the comforter nudged aside and soon Ryan felt the center of the bed lower even more. 

A wing draped delicately over him, understanding where to arch and how to lay so that all Ryan felt was the warmth of a living blanket, and very little weight on his wounds. The gesture was so completely Shane and sweet that Ryan felt his heart melt a little. It was obvious Shane felt responsible for what had happened tonight, and while Ryan wanted to dig deep and puzzle this one out, he just didn’t have it in him to do so.

Besides, if Ryan truly felt the Demon had caused this, he wouldn’t be so quick to invite Shane into his bed, would he? 

Blearily, he hoped the sentiment he offered was reaching Shane. Judging by the low purr as his best friend settled down, and the way his spaded tail coiled round his thigh, Shane did feel well enough to hold him.

“...thanks, Shane.” Already half asleep and voice low to boot, the human hardly noticed the way the Demon was laying. 

Shane settled back, ensuring his perfect vantage point of the room. He could be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, but he didn’t sense anything even on the outer edges of his powers. The lit room helped too. Less shadows to lurk in.

“...Ry?” Shane finally asked.

“Mm?”

“This demon gunna count as yer ‘one per season?’” It was a shitty joke for sure. “Or that still me~?”

The demon got a tired smack for his troubles, and Shane got a low smirk for his, and for a little while longer all was well.

Chapter Text

Part III.

It was weird returning to a location they’d already inspected for a whole night, but kind of exciting for Ryan, too. He had new eyes now, and though he was still the same, his cohost was most certainly not. 

Shane had insisted, which was the intriguing part. In a strangely assertive manner that betrayed his typical laid back Devil (Literally) May Care attitude. It was so unlike him, and the big goof seemed to be so tense and worried over Ryan, that his fellow Ghost Hunter didn’t quite put up the usual fight like he might have another time. If nothing else, last night’s attack proved he was in danger because of his proximity to Shane, which Ryan didn’t mind as much as maybe he should have. 

But Hell, his life hadn’t exactly been safe before finding out his best friend was a Demonic Entity so strong and rare he made himself a target for Demon Hunters.

At least for once, Ryan was nice enough to not try and pin Shane down and make him spill all his secrets. 

But still. The question of why was heavy in his mind as he drove. He had questions he wanted answers too soon, nibbling in the forefront and back of his mind.

“So…tell me exactly why do we gotta go here first, Shane?” Ryan tried asking for the third time since the attack, even though he knew he was talking to the windshield and nothing else.

No answer. Not that he’d expected one. Ryan grumbled and peered out as he used his headlights to guide him to a suitable parking spot to hide his car in for the night.

They weren’t technically supposed to be here, after all. This was trespassing, and not the more fun than scary urban exploration kind that he used to do in his younger days, before a camera was following his every move. More in the ‘if you get caught, your ass might just go to jail for a night and you’ll end up picking refuse on the side of the highway.’ 

If he got spotted…if either of them, frankly…Ugh. 

Well. Ryan would probably be okay. But Shane? He’s not sure how Shane would react to a human threatening him…he’s seen more than once now, how the Demon handles ghosts and fellow kin that dare to so much as look the wrong way at Ryan.

It was barely a day since last night’s horror show had happened. 

Ryan’s back still ached, but the bleeding had stopped and was clotting. His ankle felt better, and he could walk on it fine, so thankfully it wasn't sprained or broken. His limbs were stiff, but his nerves recovered, not worn or frightened. 

Ryan followed Shane willingly, too curious at the prospect of digging into the demon’s history, to trusting to be anything but compliant. Shane seemed pleased, but his eyes were dark and hooded when he wasn’t looking at Ryan, clearly caught up worrying and thinking. He brought up the first stop on their adventure and took to the skies with zero explanation.

He hadn’t given Ryan much time to wonder, just to pack his bags and grab his phone and charger. Off they had gone, two misfits heading into the afternoon and driving until the moon yawned a mostly full shape down at them.

Ryan bit his lip as he got out, casting big eyes over the looming behemoth that was the Winchester Mystery House. 

She seemed bigger than in the daylight, where at least the stained glass windows and intricate paneling would be made out and admired, even in the dying sunlight. It was full dark right now, and that only added to the creepiness of the setting. It was a gorgeous house, if far too big for itself, overgrown like some man-made weed and filled to its OSHA-insulting brim with memories trapped inside. The mansion was a massive monument to what grief and loss can do a single person. That alone was scary, and horribly depressing. Even the trees around it seemed embarrassed and ashamed by it’s lavish size and wasted potential, and the cause for it’s build. 

Shane had called this a grave yard, for some reason. 

Either because he liked vexing his best friend’s mind, or because ‘Winchester Mystery House’ was too long for his jagged maw to pronounce, Ryan couldn’t be sure. A graveyard. 

That’s what he said their destination was, but Ryan was more than a little puzzled to see the graveyard was the familiar sight of the big mansion. 

There was no grave on the property, near as he could tell. At least, not one for public eyes.

So perhaps this was just another of Shane’s infamous riddles, paired with his coyest half smirk and warm eyes as he whisked upward and told Ryan to follow the Demon down the back roads.

They’d arrived around the time Shane said they would. 

Ryan heard more than spotted movement and lent up, steadying himself on the hood of his car as he watched huge wings blot out the stars above. The Demon had turned down his offer to be shot gun while Ryan drove, but instead traveled his own way. Ryan didn't mind it, he knew Shane was close by and he trusted his cohost and best friend enough to know Shane had a reason for wanting to travel by sky while he went by land. Besides, as big as his theatre was, he could only stretch his wings in the atrium, no where else.

Shane’s now recognizable–yet still kind of spooky–shape was in clear, confident flight. He glided over head, his wings flapping to fill with wind as he coasted from one thermal to another, angling lazily. He circled the jagged, strange shape of Sarah Winchester’s house and then swooped. What was solid on Shane went smoky, and he seemed to suck into the biggest chimney he could find, like a reverse puff of smoke. 

Then he was gone. 

Ryan gulped, and grabbed his bag before he could steel himself to approach the house after waiting the five minutes they had agreed on.

The security system was dead silent. No guard came to corner and interrogate him. 

The door clicked open as he stepped on the porch, but it did not open silently. It ‘eeeked’ , perfect haunted house ambiance. 

Unlike the warm, inviting and sleepy theatre that illuminated easily under Shane’s power (and apparently liked him, though God knew why), the Winchester House stayed dark and gloomy and asleep. There wasn’t…hostility. But rather a bored air of sheer indifference. Ryan had felt it before when they first visited for the flagship episode of Unsolved: Supernatural, where only the basement unnerved him fully. The house was too well taken care of, too popular and too pampered in most sections to truly embrace the endless horror that, say, Penhurst carried. The Mystery House was also not like the mansion on the cliff-side that had ended up being more trap than episode fodder, but the place still gave Ryan the creeps…maybe because this time they were here illegally. 

Even if it was a place he knew, he was still in the dark. Literally and figuratively, both areas he wasn’t happy about. But Shane had promised no harm would come to him, and that this was something that had to happen before Shane allowed Ryan to come with him on the journey to find out what was stalking them both, and how to stop it. 

He crept inside and stood, frozen like a deer in the headlights as he fumbled for his flashlight and flicked it on. The beam swung around, dust motes illuminated and passing by unhurriedly when they got caught in the warm light. Ryan crested it through the drawing room, noted a doorway there, another there. A big picture on the wall. Followed the wooden molding upwards…

The light caught a line of ruby and then crested leftwards. Without warning, it was illuminating Shane’s demonic face with pinprick bright eyes for all of a second, jaws in a carved gaping smile, eyes wide.

The jackass was just standing, stock still at the top of the massive staircase. Clearly waiting for him to notice, crouched on all fours like some massive guard dog lying in wait. Poised to scare, and scare he did.

Ryan yelped and spooked, and then groused when he heard the lighthearted, familiar cackle from his jerk of a friend.

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Shane.” He hissed, keeping the light from what he knew now to be sensitive eyes, and despite his heart in his chest at the situation–not at Shane–he joined the Demon waiting at the first landing. 

“Sorry, Ry~” The Demon purred.

“You’re not though, you piece of shit…”

Shane snickered in reply, the sound downright lilting and playful. He crawled up the remaining stairs and banister on all six limbs, taking the lead as he traveled through the dizzying, disjointed halls with all the ease of Ryan walking through his own apartment. 

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Ryan realized shortly after. “I mean, before we investigated.” 

Shane paused mid-reach over the second landing and shifted to walk on two legs down a hall, but his guilty glance over his shoulder told Ryan all he needed to know. The single bob of his horns and head cemented the reply.

“A long time ago? How long?” Ryan prodded, but Shane had stopped listening and was tense, head lifting with prickled interest. 

He grunted and jerked his head, leading Ryan back the way they’d come for a few paces and then stalked down another hall, as if he received new information about their destination.

Which was odd. But Ryan decided more questions could come later. 

He followed, trying not to listen to every little creak and sigh the old, poorly constructed house uttered. Half the sounds seemed to be just that and no more. Sometimes it felt like the creaks were behind his own boots, stepping off time to his. Shane moved soundlessly–which was unnerving in its own right, and not something Ryan thought he could ever get used to–so it wasn’t him making the noise. But anytime Ryan halted and twisted quickly in place to peer down the hall, all he got for his troubles was the ice cold feeling of wishing he hadn’t tried to look in the first damn place. 

The place wasn’t crawling with lost spirits, crying for release or revenge. And if they were, none of them showed themselves around Shane.

Shane stopped suddenly, and Ryan nearly stepped on his too long tail. The human muttered an apology, but noticed Shane was busy listening at a heavy oak door he’d chosen. 

He motioned for Ryan to keep quiet, then rapped a few times with his red knuckles. The demon waited.

The reply was distant, soft and faded, like a record player giving it’s dying notes.

“It’s open.” 

Ryan froze, hating how that distant, airy voice brushed across his senses. It wasn’t meanly said, no hint of aggression at all. 

But it was so…unnatural. Eerie. Not Right. 

It made some deep seated, old unease in the depths of his mind awaken and frazzle at his senses. Some caveman mentality that was startled and wanted Ryan to turn and walk away from here quickly and safely as possible. 

“S-Shane, wait, maybe we shouldn’t–” He stuttered.

Shane, for his part, perked up and grabbed the handle, walking right in the second he’d been given the go ahead. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder and ushering Ryan in with an amused little smirk.

“S’okay, Ry. C’mon.” He called, and even lifted his right wing up and crooked it, purring when the human staggered into the welcoming space at his side and stood close. His human eyes were wide with blown pupils, but he wasn’t having an attack or anything. It was just…hard to reconcile hearing a sound as soft and unearthly as what he’d heard. It was even harder giving his body the okay to walk forward toward the voice instead of flee.

And then it went from hard to almost impossible to process the fact that he was standing in a fire light room, with oil lamps illuminated brightly on every sconce. The room was furnished, alive, and looked…Wrong. 

Wrong time period, that is. 

The furniture was polished until it gleamed cherry wood bright. Books and knick knacks covered surfaces. The thick, intricate Persian rugs looked older than his childhood home, sitting under the clawed feet of all the items in the room. The curtains were pulled but the window was cracked, letting in a pleasant chilly breeze. Crickets and peppers chatted beyond in the darkness. 

The room was aglow with warmth and comfort.

And it wasn’t vacant, either.

“Yes, come in. You’re welcome here, good sir. Why, if you weren’t, you’d know it already!” The woman sitting across the room laughed lightly, the edges of her voice fraying into the wind and vanishing. 

She was dressed in black, like women in photos who were in mourning. The dress she wore fluttering along the hardwood, and though it looked stiff and heavy, did not make a crinkling sound for Ryan’s human ears to hear. It faded every so often, and the edges of the woman in black were fuzzy if he peered too deeply at her. It was almost easier to look at her if he was looking at something next to her. His eyes took several stunned moments to focus. 

She chatted on, as if not minding Ryan’s open mouthed gape and alarmed stare, nor Shane’s looming status and inhuman appearance. 

“You’re one of the lucky ones, I don’t mind telling you. The Wanderer’s quite taken with you lately! If he’s bringing you here again on such short notice…ah, don’t mind me going on. Get the door, sir.” The ghostly woman said again, almost cheerfully. The last part she said to Shane it seemed.

Shane uttered a chuffing noise, looking a little embarrassed before he turned, shutting the door behind them obediently. He turned back around and, even with his one wing sheltering Ryan, he bowed. 

Shane actually bowed , little flourish with his dancing tail and all, that dragged several feet on the carpet when he stood tall. This was clearly the right thing to do to it seemed, because the woman in black smiled, pleased.

“Lovely to see you, regardless of the hour.”  The woman–Sarah Winchester herself! Ryan’s brain popped like a frightened toaster–beamed and held her hand out. 

This apparently meant something, because Shane cleared the distance the second she did it. He took her blue, moonlight pale hand and bent and touched his closed fangs to it, a gentle gesture that betrayed his size and ferocity but seemed so genuine.

“Forever and always a gentleman, aren’t you?” the ghostly woman still dressed in funeral garb nearly giggled, the sound young and betraying the lines on her face.

“I hope your handsome friend has the same manners when calling on a lady at such an hour.” Playful as it sounded, it was not a question. Something about the way she glanced at Ryan, as if appraising him up and down and so expectant, made him jerk to life as he realized she was waiting for a reply from him, not the Demon near her.

“Uh…I…” He saw Shane’s little raised brow look and head jerk. Ryan went ramrod straight and stumbled up to his side. Ryan didn’t know if he ought to bow or kiss her hand, so he went for both at the same time, nearly losing his balance and wincing when Shane steadied him and Sarah Winchester uttered a tiny snort at his gracelessness.

“It’s very nice to meet you–ma’am–I m-mean Miss! No, I mean Mrs. Winchester–”

“Sarah will do just fine.” She replied with a nod, and then gestured to the chairs around the table. “Sit, it’s alright. I’d offer you tea or the like but since my butler died several decades ago, as well as myself, I’m afraid anything I offer you will go right through your fingers and shatter on my favorite rug.”

“Oh, no, it’s totally okay–” Ryan startled when Shane’s wing nudged him gently. “Ryan! I’m, my name is Ryan, Ryan Bergara. I, it’s such a cool–honor to meet you, Miss Sarah.”

“Of course it is, we’ve met before.” Sarah Winchester reminded him with a sudden, sympathetic kindness that made him like her instantly. “Sit, you’re safe here, it’s alright.”

He obeyed, trying to do something with his hands and not look as awkward as he felt. Shane plopped into the other chair, the high curved back letting him tuck his wings with less discomfort than usual and over the arms, and he grunted to get Sarah Winchester’s attention.

“I sense you’re not here to talk about the weather, Wanderer.” 

Ryan’s brain kicked at neuron in gear. 

“I’m sorry, is that…is that what you call Shane…?” He’d heard it before, but now that the shock was easing out of his bones, his mind kicked into gear. 

The mystery of Shane could find some answers even here, it seemed. Ryan learned forward eagerly as Sarah replied.

“It is. You know him by Shane, as did the rest of your crew when you visited my house last year.” The oddest part of that sentence was hearing her so casually refer to the mansion as a ‘house’ but, well. Fair. It was her house, after all. 24,000 square feet and all.

As was how she mentioned their crew. She’d been here the first time. They just hadn’t caught a trace of her. She recognized him. 

“Myself, and many others know him only as The Wanderer. The Demon who shed his rightful skin, fled his duties and wandered Earth since time began.” She gave a slight half smile at Shane, who flushed again and shrugged, spaded tail coiling tightly as if displaying his shyness. 

“There’s one in every family, Wanderer. ” Sarah remarked with a look. “That doesn’t make you wrong, just different.”

“Demon’s don’t normally…do what Shane does?” This wasn’t the first person to remark on how unusual and strange Shane’s behavior was. The first being the Demon Hunter that stole Shane away, the second being the young woman at the motel concierge desk when they were heading home. 

“I’d imagine a fair few might, but none I’ve ever met. They must keep more hidden. Your friend has always been the inquisitive type. Ever since the day I met him, wandering around the eaves of the west wing when it was under construction, careless and nosey.” The ghostly woman broke into a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand quickly, “He kept scaring off the workers just by sitting there! I had to double their pay to get them near the spot! 

Once I realized he wasn’t one of those Spirits out to get me, it was more silly than anything else.”

Shane itched his cheek with a sharp claw, rumbling as he eyed the painted the ceiling with an embarrassed grunt.

“I thought about getting the Priest to come deal with him, but all the fellow ever did was lay around like a spoiled cat, eating from our fruit trees and sunning himself. It was a warm summer that year, I remember. I can’t be sure, but something about having a Demon around did make me feel…rather safe. A little. No other Spirits would come near him, after all.”

“So Shane never made you feel afraid?” Ryan blurted before he could stop himself. 

“Well, now I wouldn’t say that. When you’re alive and you find yourself face to face with unspeakable horror, you’re always sure be a little wary of it. There was a healthy distance for a long time. No one ever got close to him when he lurked around, no one made eye contact, not even me. He wasn’t around for long either, but he’d check back in every few years or so. You found my house as fascinating as I found you, was that it?”

Shane nodded in reply, smile gentle. 

Her look turned gentler suddenly, eyes distant and voice bitter.

“Then…early one fall I woke up, and my body didn’t. I was Dead. No fanfare, no notice. And that was the end of Sarah Winchester. I refused to believe it, until I had no choice. I wanted to go outside to watch them build my beautiful house…but I couldn’t find the door.

She shivered, as if a chilling wind was cutting through her bones. She drew her black shawl tighter round herself at the memory.

“It was horrid. I couldn’t hear anything, no hammers or pounding or talking. They all looked right through me in the window. I pounded, I screamed. I begged. Oh, they showed up to collect my body, but there was little respect about it all. It was a job, like moving a sack of flour. No one bothered to ask if perhaps I was still around. If…if I was alright with being Dead.”

“Oh.” Ryan winced. Sarah nodded, lips thin and eyes old.

“Yes. My, I was livid, I had such a temper in those days. And I was scared, so frightened. I thought the Darkness would come for me, I couldn’t find the way out of my own house! Can you imagine that fear? I was trapped, helpless and hurt and no one cared .”

Ryan shuddered. No wonder people saw Ghosts as sad, pitiful things. Or angry ones.

“So the house you were building, to keep you safe and protect you…” He realized numbly.

“It was meant to confuse spirits, dear.” Sarah Winchester’s smile turned ancient, thin and warning. “It worked. Funny, I never thought of how I would get out when I died. I thought I would remember my own house. It was like a…wall, in my mind. Keeping me clouded, and unmoored. By the time I realized what I had done, it was too late.”

“Is…is that why you’re still here?” Ryan asked, realizing now how quiet Shane had suddenly been.

Sarah Winchester shook her head gently.

“I’m here now because I choose to be. That story has a happy ending, as matter of fact.” The lady of the house smiled at the Demon beside him. 

“Your friend The Wanderer returned sometime after. He could have turned away, since there was no construction going on, nothing of interest. Instead, he walked my labyrinthine house and he found me there in the deep Darkness…and then, for reasons known only to him, he took my hand…and he lead me to the way out.”

Shane shrugged easily, as if saying ‘Well, anyone would have.’

Ryan snorted, shaking his head in the realization. Shane’s logic only applied to creatures with inherently good natures. Not his own.

Anyone might have, but the fact a Demon did it, was what got Ryan. His Demon, the more he thought about it. If Sarah Winchester was any indication, Shane had stayed with him the longest. Because he wanted to. Ryan’s heart warmed in his chest, a good kind of ache.

“He stayed for a few months, lurking in the walls and chasing mice around while I recovered from the terror. That was when I first felt safe around him. I discovered then that other lost spirits wandered toward my house too, so I let them stay. I’ve got plenty of room, after all.” Sarah Winchester laughed again, the noise the tinkle of a bell. 

“Then I woke up one morning and he had slunk off with the night, but I didn’t mind now that I knew the way out. I figured he’d ‘wander’ back when he was ready.”

“You’re like a stray cat,” Ryan snorted at Shane before he could stop himself, and Shane only winked in reply, seeming pleased at the comparison. 

“I was surprised to see him return to my house as a human, along with a group of them. You were clearly his Favorite, the way he followed and teased you. Ghost Hunters, is that what you call yourselves?” Sarah asked Ryan than, her intense, glittering gaze on the human once more.

“Uh, yes, Miss.”

“Sounds like a fascinating job, Mr. Bergara. Even if you didn’t find much in my home, and I’m afraid that was due to me and the others. I’m the nicest of the lot, and we get so much traffic we’re very, very good at hiding in plain sight, just like your shadow here.”

Ryan nodded, realizing that made a good amount of sense. He couldn’t imagine living his life and having people that couldn’t see him but tried talking with him, walking through his house and causing a racket, typically at the dead of night.

It certainly gave him a new perspective on Ghost Hunting. 

“Actually, uh, we’re sort of…on a hunt right now.” Ryan started slowly. “But Shane insisted we stop here first, before we look any farther. Thing is, he’s sort of…stayed like this, in his demon form, I guess?”

Sarah nodded, listening intently. 

“I mean I can understand him, but his fangs don’t let him talk too well, so as…as awesome as this opportunity is, we’re kind of a time crunch.”

Ryan explained the past events best he could, Shane filling in with nods or grunts of agreement at their story of what led them to the Winchester Mystery House. Finally, Ryan finished and trailed off with,

“But I have no idea what we’re doing here in the first place, if he just wanted to see you or…”

Shane shifted then, motioning for their attention as he looked meaningfully at Sarah Winchester’s ghost and tapped his throat a few times.

“Carnieelee-ann.” Shane uttered. “Jus’borrow…yer am-let.”

The woman’s face smoothed from its tight concentration, parsing the Demon’s stilted words. Ryan, who could only guess half that sentence, was relieved she seemed to figure it out.

“Oh!” She light up, sitting back. “My carnelian amulet! That’s a hefty favor, my good sir. It’s priceless for more than one reason, and you know that.”

“Your what amulet?” Ryan probed.

“A special necklace I’ve had in the family for generations. It’s used to ward off Devils, the Evil Eye and the like, as well other purposes…it’s one of a kind, because of the carvings all along the chain, too. I’m not sure how willing I am to part with it…”

The woman eyed them both, but her gaze lingered on Shane the longest, her fingers fiddling with her rings.

“Pliess.” Shane nearly begged, head bowing and eyes honest and big, like a puppy. “Fer Ry.”

“You’re very worried about whatever it is chasing you two, aren’t you dear?” And the woman sighed, though her chest didn’t move as she no longer breathed. “You must be, to use up your favor after almost a hundred years…”

Silence hung over them for a moment, until Ryan was convinced her answer would be refusal. 

Interestingly, she turned to Ryan and said plainly,

“Recognize what your friend is doing for you, young man. I have owed him my afterlife for a near century now and he has not once called to collect upon it. He didn’t even do it when you and your company visited, which he could have to give you the answers you sought after. Yet when he finally does, he still uses it for you .”

Ryan swallowed, face feeling hot and nodded. He glanced at Shane in concern.

“Look, big guy, we can find some other way, you don’t have to go through all this trouble if–”

Shane growled, the first low, insulted note he’d ever given Ryan and glared until the human backed down sheepishly. 

“You’re very special to him, Mr. Bergara. And I wouldn’t try to talk a Demon out of anything were I, you.” She snorted as she rose, walking to a section of wall. “You misunderstand me there, do not argue with him on this. Demons are prideful fools, and that can be their undoing. Even if his pride lies in you.”

She stood before the paneling, plain and matching the ones that lined the room. Her hand graced the wood grain but could not interact well with it.

“The necklace is behind this wall in my safe, and you may keep it until this matter is settled.” She answered, suddenly all business and perfunctory. “May it protect your beloved human from whatever it is chasing you, Wanderer.”

Shane, looking so relieved his wings sagged, rose and nodded to collect the necklace from its secret hiding spot once his claws wriggled the paneling loose.

“Ry,” Shane called him over once he had it, wincing as it hissed against his own fingers.

“Jeez, dude! I would have grabbed it first, give it quick, before you hurt yourself–” Ryan snatched the jewelry, which was apparently so good at it’s job even Shane touching it made him wince in discomfort and pain.

It was warm to the touch for Ryan, but not overly so. It felt…good to hold, like a hug from his grandfather or the smile of his mother. He slipped it on, and then after second thought tucked it under his shirt and wholly out of sight. The chain was there but not too heavy on his neck. 

He must have done something correct, because Sarah Winchester’s ghost nodded at him approvingly. 

“Wear it in good health, Ryan Bergara.” Sarah Winchester said, both blessing and warning. “And whatever happens, do not ever take it off around Evil.”

She glanced at Shane who was sealing the hidden compartment up, and winked coquettishly at Ryan.

“Present company excluded, that is.”

Chapter Text

Part IV. 

The next place Shane wanted him to go involved returning to his apartment complex, abandoning his car and packing everything he needed to survive out in the world for a week or so. 

That was the only direction he was given. It wasn’t a lot to go on. 

Ryan had stared the Demon down for a good while, but when he didn’t move–and Shane didn’t try to explain further–the lanky dolt rolled his ruby eyes and started packing for Ryan. Ryan took the moment to send a text to his mom, knowing she’d pass any info along and hiding their odd escape under the exciting–but time consuming–guise of another trip for work. That he loved her, he loved Dad, and he would call her the second the plane landed. 

A good enough lie. And a text was easier to buy, since she’d always been able to hear his fibs in his voice. 

Let her think it was work for Buzzfeed, as had happened before for various side projects until Unsolved had come along. Granted, whatever strange spell Shane had brought upon them was lifted, and reality was closer to what Ryan knew it as. Now, everyone just assumed Unsolved was on a break until the next season. The last episode in the public’s mind was the one before the mansion by the sea, it had never even aired. 

No one knew about the old mansion breaking into the sea.

Shane seemed to want it that way. Now that Ryan knew the truth to his friend, he sort of wanted it that way too. 

Still, it was strange watching people around you accepting truth and facts that you knew were lies. Ryan supposed this was something he’d just have to get used to. Not everyone believed in the Supernatural. Hell, his co-host was the perfect spreader of such statements. (The irony.) 

There was an air of growing unease and hurriedness to Shane now, which didn’t sit well with Ryan and started growing a pit in his stomach. Ever since they’d left Sarah Winchester’s house, the demon had begun acting jumpier and flightier. 

It was a full blown rock in Ryan’s belly by the time they were done. Shane took him to the roof in the dark night and scooped him up like Lois Lane and just stepped right off his apartment complex and into the nothingness. Just, gone. Dropping like a stone.

Of course, the wings did kick in, but only after they dropped three stories and Shane unfurled them with a snap, sending them reeling upwards on a strong updraft as they pounded higher with great sounds of leather beating at the air. 

Ryan isn’t proud to admit he probably screeched a little, this being only his second flight. The first time was lower too, and their escape back then had been more frantic, and Shane had been exhausted. He hadn’t even seemed to know Ryan was on his back until his descent, clinging like both backpack and frightened monkey. 

Now, Shane did know very well he was carrying a whole human being. Basically a walking jenga tower of blood with fragile bits and bones that did not want to be dropped hundreds of feet in the air. He was carrying Ryan’s stuff too, slung between his wings. If Ryan needed any indication Shane was stronger, this was it. He seemed unhindered if gentle holding Ryan, and focused on the world that lay stretched below them, brown hair fluttering back in the breeze as he set a course for some private destination in his mind. 

The city skyline was aglow below them, so many tiny golden spots like a cluster of fireflies. And then the lower star spots became scattered, and the stars above became a bit brighter. 

Shane flew beyond it all without pause, following some private destination in mind as he flew out over the desert, until the only light was the swelling moon and the stars above instead of below. Ryan tried not to let his fear lob in his throat, but he could tell the Demon carrying him felt it. His wings seemed to fan wider with lighter movements, and he sneezed a few times before glancing with warm bemusement at the human in his arms. After making sure Ryan could see him, he smiled wider and had the nerve to lick his chops, the same way they did at big platters of junk food or fresh popcorn. 

Heat licked Ryan’s face. 

“Shut up, Shane.” Ryan mumbled, arms still locked round the demon’s neck and face half buried as his anxiety wrestled with his innate curiosity. 

It was just sandy miles and sky and clouds and them. All alone as the Demon flew strong and unhindered. Ryan understood now why Shane had pressed a hoodie and his jacket onto him, insisting he layer up. The flight was chilly, but between clothing and Shane’s heat, he would live. 

Shane pulled another all-nighter, although at a certain point into the flight Ryan’s dropping adrenaline and the soft coasting sensation actually started sort of lulling the human into the lightest of dozes. Coupled with the furnace churning beside him in Shane’s chest, it became surprisingly hard to keep his eyes open. 

He didn’t notice when his arms finally loosened into a more casual drape, or when his head rested fully and heavily onto Shane’s collarbone and tucked under his chin. Shane, for his part, merely glanced down at the human nestled against him and smiled fondly, before staring straight forward to the horizon line. 

“You’re back.” 

They were.

Ryan stood in the little lobby of the motel that he and Shane had visited before, almost a month ago on their way home. 

Here was the impossible thing, though. The reason he was standing, eyes wide, shoulders drawn up, and fist holding his dangling backpack and feeling strangely jet lagged despite no jet being involved in his travel, only flight by magical demon wings.

God, he was tired. 

What was he saying? Oh, right–

“Y-yeah. Hi again. We uh…we are. Only we…wasn’t this place…in…” He hesitates, looking around warily even as Shane strutted over to the vending machine and tapped at it with a ruby claw, his other hand shoved in his pocket. 

He looked unbothered again, and that did sort of put Ryan at ease to. Just a little. 

Shane thought they were safe here. 

“Wasn’t in…?” Concierge woman from before prompts, but her look suggests she knows Ryan’s train of thought. 

“Another part of the country? Another, uh, state?” He croaks, standing on linoleum but most certainly feeling like the rug’s been swept out from under him. 

“Oh. That.” The Concierge woman has different hair now, bright red with black tips and her nails are squared off and covered in hot pink diamonds with a black bottom coat. But her face, her eyes, and her lack of name plate were the same. Ryan even thinks she might be reading the same exact magazine as she was the last time. 

Weird as this is, she doesn’t scare him. She’s familiar, and she seems nonplussed to see them, too. Had Shane called ahead somehow? 

“Sometimes we move. Sometimes we don’t. We’re always around when Supers need a night’s rest though.” She winked at Ryan and popped her bubble gum, then leaned round the counter to watch the demon that sauntered in after the human with amazement. 

“Aren’t you one tall drink of water, mister?” She grinned, oozing a rather flirty air that makes something dark in Ryan’s center gnash it’s teeth jealousy. “Last time I saw you, you were smoke and mirrors.” 

Shane, for his part, just shrugged back at her and cocked his head a little, lips curling and eye lidded as he gestured to the glass with a polite flash of fangs.

“Yeah, help yourself. My Uncle’s gunna flip again, this is totally worth it.” The young woman turned back to Ryan and kept her playful smile, which sort of soothed Ryan’s nerves. “How many nights, ‘Ricky?’”

“Just three. Shane thinks–” He hesitated, wondering if this wasn’t exactly a conversation topic he should be dropping so casually. “We just need three nights. I don’t have cash on me this time…”

He has his credit card of course, but one glance at behind her desk and he realizes this place doesn’t…take cards. He’d had enough to cover one night last time. 

At this, Shane drew back from his assault of the poor candy machine and gives a grunt for their attention. He’s by the counter beside Ryan in a moment, digging something from his back pocket and laying it on the top lip of the Formica for the Concierge to see it.

“Nice. Sure, this’ll work for three nights. I’d consider four if you needed it, I don’t mind returning customers that don’t chew through the walls or try razing the place with fire breath.” She spotted Ryan’s stare and sighed. “Don’t ask. Fire spirits are such pyros.” 

Ryan had nothing to say to that, at least nothing that made senses and wasn’t an incoherent squeak. 

“Dude,” Ryan went for Shane instead, because Shane he could always probe with questions and not be sorry, even when he felt this exhausted and out of his depth. The Demon glanced down at him with a prompting grin as if to say ‘Yes, Ryan~?’ 

Ryan looked over, staring at the item he’d slapped on the desk like it was a MasterCard. 

“What did you give–holy shit, is that hair? You gave her fucken hair–”

“Ry.” Shane muttered, rolling his eyes as if put out and shaking his head. ‘Have a little more faith in me than that, buddy.’ His eyes say. 

Concierge-lady burst into laughter, stopping when she realized from Ryan’s look he wasn’t joking.

“Oh no, hunny! This is–it’s–well, yes, it is hair. Fur, actually. It’s from a Dobhar-Chú, a sort of otter-dog monster-thing that is said to live in Ireland.” She holds the tied up bunch of fur with a gleeful smile but shows it to Ryan to let him see and touch it. 

“It’s fur is said to have awesome protective properties. Your ‘friend’ here basically just paid me with protective ward worth thousands on the Midnight Market. This is near impossible to get, easily a couple hundred years old.”

“...holy shit, Shane.” 

Shane, for his part, just shrugged and went back to freeing another Hershey bar. 

“Don’t forget to sign in.” The young woman reminded Ryan cheerfully, pocketing her payment.

“R-right, thanks.” Ryan took his time writing, if only so he could make conversation. “What’s the Midnight Market?”

“Sort of like a cross between a bazaar and a festival. Supers go to buy cool stuff, trade old junk they don’t need, or just eat and get drunk. Yanno, like humans do at theirs.”

“Oh.” replied Ryan. 

“You look beat, kid.” She smiled. “I can see your buddy still isn’t in a big talking mood.” 

Shane pitched a snort over his shoulder as he unwrapped a Reese’s Cup and popped it in whole. 

“Look, if you have time tomorrow, feel free to stop in and I can answer those questions I see burning behind your eyes.” She offered, just like that, and Ryan felt a pang of annoyance at himself for being jealous initially. 

“Thanks, that’s…I’d really appreciate that.” He just felt so out of his depth with all this. And he knows Shane’s lack of verbal communication isn’t out of desire, but limitations. Besides, he does understand Shane in the moment just fine. It’s just the deeper conversations he can’t have with them. 

And he misses Shane’s calm, airy voice so much. 

“You’re pretty cute, Ricky. And the thing chasing you two is pretty mean it sounds like. I think Shane brought you back here for a few reasons.”

“You…you do?” Ryan blinked.

“Yeah. One, the motel’s good at hiding when it needs to. And you two look like you need to hide for a bit. Two, he either trusts me telling you some secrets or he just wants to swipe all the KitKats we have.”

“...little of both, knowing Shane.” Ryan paused, “Wait, how you’d know something was chasing us?”

“People only come here for two reasons. They’re either lost souls looking for an out…or running from something. Shane’s a little too old to kill, and you don’t seem the type. Hell, you made friends with a Demon.”

“Shane’s protecting me, yeah.” Ryan said before he could stop himself, cheeks growing hot and groping for the key as a way to ignore the delight in the Concierge’s eyes. 

“Whatever you did to get his attention, sure must be something to him.” 

And then she goes back to her Time magazine from 1924, and they slink out and head under the covered walkway to Room #13 again.

The sound of scraping woke Ryan in the night. 

The worst part of it was, he had gone to sleep under Shane’s wing and in the cavity of the mattress, warm and cozy. And the only ambience he had was to the oceanic churning of Shane’s breathing, his inner fire pulsing slow.

That was gone now. 

Sktch-a sktch-a sktch-a.

That was new. 

He woke up chilly, alone, if rested enough to know something was wrong. 

Not only because of the eerie scratching sound, but because Shane was gone. 

He’ give anything for this to be a normal case, for them to be talking with their Go-Pros listening. For Shane’s calm insistence that the sound was from an overeager rat, or just a tree outside, Ryan. 

(‘It was the only the wind, Ry.’) 

He stopped himself before he could call for his friend. Drawing attention to himself and making noise seemed…like a bad idea.

Ryan gulped and cast for his bag. He retrieved the Holy Water pistol, uncaring how silly it looked when he considered how useful it would have been the night he was attacked. From now on, he was leaving it on his night stand. He didn't care if Shane teased him endlessly. 

Ryan also grabbed a small bag he’d shoved some rosaries his Grandmother had given him, having sealed them so Shane could move the bag if need be without burning himself. 

He didn’t free them, not wanting to give Shane the wrong idea but instead stashed them in his hoodie pocket. Close but not dangerous unless Ryan needed them to be. 

And he still had the amulet from Sarah Winchester, tucked under his clothes and a warm, comforting weight as he ventured to another door and peeked out. As long as he kept it on, she said Evil wouldn’t harm him. Interestingly, Shane was able to touch him fine, he just avoided the protective amulet. Maybe it knew when an Evil presence had ill intentions, like a guard dog going off at strangers but not at friends? 

Ryan looked around for a note or message, or anything left behind by his wayward Demon. 

Zilch. As troubled as Ryan felt, he didn’t feel…panicked? Just a little uneasy. 

He felt safe here, despite it not being the comfort of his apartment. (Not that his apartment had proved able to ward of demonic attacks. So that was something he’d have to reconcile with and process fully once this matter was over and Shane and he were no longer being hunted.) 

It said a lot about the place for him to feel at peace even sans Shane Madej. Even after the truth had come out he was a demonic entity (and if everyone else was to go by, a fucken Strong One) Shane’s security blanket status had really only gone up. 

Shane was good like that. He made you validated, and even when he thought something was full of bullshit, he still believed in the person saying the statement. 

And he’d always believed in Ryan, in his dream and his thirst and his plans. 

He listened some more, but the scratching sounds were on the edges of his hearing now, and fading fast. It was coming from outside the door but simply passing by. So perhaps the noise wasn’t intended for him? 

Something was just walking outside. Maybe on the way to their room after checking, the direction would track if so. 

The demon that had attacked him hadn’t made such sounds. And as time passed, nothing and no one came to get him. Shane also didn’t return. So he knew he wasn’t going back to sleep until the Demon did so. Big jerk. 

Ryan glanced at the clock, unhappy to see it was around 4am and he’d only slept a few hours. Shane must have gotten up and left shortly after, because Ryan was well adjusted to sponging off the demon’s frame and sleeping deeply with his wing as a blanket, and a smooth red tail coiled round his leg. 

All’s quiet now. 

Ryan grabbed the key–locks and doors didn’t exactly bother Shane, and now he knows why Shane sometimes forgot to grab a key card at their fancier hotels and stay-overs. So many little signs that Something was Up with his best friend. So much that added up over the years. 

He found outside to be quiet and calm. The L shaped motel had the reception center at the bottom of the L. Ryan wandered to it, glancing at the eternally illuminated OPEN and VACANT sign in tired, fuzzy neon. 

He almost knocked, then chided himself and pushed through the glass door.

Concierge was still there, only now Time Magazine was replaced with some dime store novella with a handsome man and swooning woman on the cover. 

“Uhm,” he managed, realizing this was the first time it was just them and no Shane to distract, scold for swiping candy, or talk about. 

That didn’t stop the young woman (or…whatever she truly was,) from glancing up and offering him a little grin. 

“Hey.” He managed.

“Hi. You don’t look much better.” She pointed out, and he snorted at her, then eyed the coffee maker sitting in the corner. 

“I…woke up and Shane was gone. He didn’t happen to say where he was going, did he?”

“Sure didn’t.” Concierge–Connie, Ryan named her in his mind–replied simply. “But I’m not exactly who he’d answer to, yanno? I wouldn’t be worried. He’ll come back. Demons are territorial, he might be checking wards and boundaries, scoping things out. It’s weird to see one frequent as him that just seems so at ease traveling. Does he mostly stay with you or wander like that often?”

Ryan blinked, and realized then her offer to help him was going to involve him answering her questions. 

As long as they weren’t ones about Shane’s true name–not that he knew it anyway, nor did she seemed interested in digging for it–he supposed that would be alright.

And then he thought about her question. ‘Did Shane, the demon, travel a lot which would be highly out of his nature?’ 

…

Well. Perhaps he owed Shane a lot of Taco Bell. 

“Actually, uh. We…run a web show. And it kinda…takes us all over the world.” Ryan gnawed his lip. “He’s never complained to me about it. I think, I always got the feeling he liked going to see new places.” 

Connie’s eyes light up with interest, if confusion. 

“Wait, what’s the show about?” She asked, the question he’d been dreading. 

Oh, here it came.

“...we’re Ghost Hunters. Trying to prove the existence of the Supernatural.” Ryan said. Might as well get it out now. “Shane’s job is the skeptic, trying to debunk any evidence we find, and I’m the believer looking for stuff in the dark…”

A pause. The a/c blew loud and unhindered. The fan swung overhead. The OPEN sign buzzed merrily. 

And then Connie’s laughter came so hard and loud and sudden he almost dropped his sugar into his coffee, cup and all. 

“Yeah, yeah, get it out now.” He groaned, but finished prepping his drink and slunk to the nearest chair to her and plopped down in view of her. 

“You said you’d answer my questions.” He reminded once she’d collected herself–sort of–and the giggles were down to a minimum. 

“Oh, honey.” Connie snickered and swiped the last few tears away. “After that laugh, I’ll tell ya anything you want. But! On one condition.” 

Ryan swallowed. He hoped, whatever Connie was, she was not a Demon in disguise. 

She didn’t seem to be. 

“Shoot.”

“My motel and I never, ever come up on your little hunting show.” She winked, and her eyes seemed to glow an unearthly shade under the tired overheads. “Bad for business, if word got out about us. Ya dig~?”

Ryan felt a note of relief in his chest. 

“Absolutely. I promise, we’ll never so much as insinuate about a haunted motel that moves around the country for Supernaturals.” Ryan crossed his heart with his free hand to assert his deceleration. Connie’s body relaxed and she nodded. 

“Good boy.” Connie praised, and she seemed genuine. Especially when she tucked her book away, steepled her long hands with flashy nails before her and smiled. “Now, what do you want to know about?”

“About Shane?” Ryan hedged hopefully. 

“About Demons.” She corrected with a wane smile. “Your friend, Demon or not, is clearly one of a kind. I know he’s old, and he’s powerful, top of the food chain stuff. That’s about it. I can tell you what I’ve learned about his species over the years. But the more specific stuff…sorry, Ricky.”

Ryan took a perfunctory sip of his coffee. It was better than he expected. 

“That’s fair.” 

And so Ryan did what he did best. Seek the truth out, memorize the facts, reorganize the fiction from the truth and so on and so forth.

It was a good distraction, while he waited for his best friend to return. 

Chapter Text

Part V.

“So this hotel, this hotel I’m staying in right now–this is the hotel the Eagles based “Hotel California” off of?” Ryan was proud to say that despite the crack in his voice he kept his shock and awe down to what he presumed were reasonable levels. 

Connie smirked at him though, so maybe he wasn’t acting as suave as he thought. 

To be fair though, “Holy shit.” He managed before she could confirm.

“That’s the one. You know, there’s a lot of song you normies wrote with ties to the Supernatural world.” She declared easily. 

“People don’t come looking for the real Hotel California, then?” He wondered. 

“I’m sure hundreds do. No one finds us without a Supernatural helping or…forcing  them. And even then…” She made a face and then hummed, “Remember, you can check out anytime you want but you can never leave.”

Ryan blinked then laughed, but it seemed empty and it felt worse. 

Right. This place was creepy, too. 

Harmless for him currently, but creepy. Potentially creepy.

Ryan quickly scrolled through what could only be described as a mental playlist of potential songs with suspicious titles or suddenly very obvious meanings. 

“...So did AC/DC actually go to–?”

“Oh, that I don’t know for sure.” Connie laughed. “And usually what happens is a song that we don’t want to become popular ends of taking off. It becomes the best kept secret by the time it hits the Top 40. We all agree to pretend it’s just a song to keep things on the down low.” 

“Oh.” said Ryan, then looked down at his notes with the air of a man getting tired of trying to keep all his thoughts collected.

He’d jotted down the basic questions and Connie’s answers, though some were cut into his quick shorthand. 

‘Do Demons live 4ever?’ – Unless their vessels are destroyed, even then, new vessel = same demon. Demons in their True Form are never more powerful…OR more vulnerable. 

(A chilling concern. Ryan wondered if Shane Madej’s human visage appearance had belonged to a human once. But that wasn’t a question for the Concierge.)

‘What kinds of powers do they have?’ –Typical, obvious answers. Super healing, super strength, super speed. The ultimate hunters. hey can mimic prey, can go intangible. Fill cracks and seams and possess certain things that have enough human attachment. Things manmade, things with spirit and Life. 

(They couldn’t haunt this Motel, it had grown too old and had gained a consciousness all its own. Another reason why maybe Shane brought him here? Ryan finally learned this place was called ‘The Omni Motel.’ Connie had gone so far as to tell him that the motel could be called to a new place by desperate patrons needing to hide. Though there were some limitations, that was still useful information he tucked away.)

‘Are Demons always human in appearance? Why did Shane seem stuck looking mixed between human/demon??’ – Demons can look like anything, some even disguise themselves as entire houses. A haunted house can either be a fable, a truth, or an entire infestation of spiritual activity. 

(Connie had no solid answer for Shane’s jumbled and monstrous looking physique, but she did suspect it had something to do with the Devil Traps and subsequent capturing he was forced to endure. He might have strayed too far from his humanity and was having trouble finding his way back to his harmless, hidden in plain sight self. But she didn't seem worried and Ryan didn’t feel scared around Shane either.)

‘Are they EVERYWHERE? Or just haunted places?’ – There’s less Demons currently on Earth than most humans think. One Demon can do a ton of damage + super territorial.

(Just another sign Shane was an oddity to his species. Ryan and Los Angles aside, Shane didn’t strike him as the vicious predator type that would spill Demonic blood over a choice spot. Course…he did have strong opinions on the Hamburgler.)

‘Do Demons and Ghost get along?’ – Not that Connie had ever heard. A ghost to a demon was what an empty wrapper of food was to a human. Trash. To be discarded, ignore. Some Ghosts got as aggressive and dangerous as Demons, but they couldn’t turn into one. Normally a Demon spotted a human and latched on instantly, feeding from them until dead, mad or…worse. It was typically a quick process. Months. Weeks. Less.

(Connie saw Ryan’s worried stare into the horizon after that comment. She commented that, while they had probably come across maybe one or two Demonic entities, they were either too weak to try attacking Shane–or him– or they had some inner agreement made that allowed Shane and his human to traverse the world unbothered, poking flashlights into dark spots and questioning the noises the wind made. Ryan made a mental note to grab Shane another candy bar.)

‘Demons in other cultures/religions?’ – Every religion has its version of the ‘monster.’ The ‘bad guy.’ Whether those creatures are truly Evil Incarnate is dependant on both the viewer, the religion, and the creature in the setting. Nothing is, and cannot be, black or white. 

(Connie’s look was older and ancient at this reply than before all the others, something inside the lovely young woman shifting to the surface and gazing at Ryan with the stare of a mountain or a valley, something very old and very sad. He had wisely shifted the subject, and she seemed quietly pleased at his subtly despite the thirst for answers to all his questions.)

And then at some point the Q&A session had strayed toward the Motel itself, wherein Ryan learned the true ‘name’ of the little longways building and the aforementioned, insanely popular song that it inspired. 

Which made him think.

“...Shane hums “The Devil Went down to Georgia.” Like, a lot.” Ryan finally started with. 

The newly nicknamed ‘Connie’ giggled and turned away from whatever thing she was fiddling with on her desk. It looked like stick and reeds and twine, and every so often he thought he saw a tiny little brass bell but he couldn’t be sure. He’d had too many questions until now that weren’t focused on her arts and crafts, and she’d started weaving towards the middle of their long Q and A. 

She just seemed to like to be always doing something with her hands. 

“Course, he also sings ABBA even more.” Ryan hummed thoughtfully.

“With your Demon, I’d say either he was playing that fiddle or he straight up got ABBA together. He’s seriously friendly, but I wouldn’t call him tame, even if he wasn’t presenting his Demonic appearance. And all Demons love meddling, plus they need to eat fear to thrive.” Her appraising look at him–and Ryan just knew she was recalling what their jobs were–said enough. ‘And Shane eats pretty damn well right now.’

“...sometimes he scares me on locations.” Ryan admitted. 

“I mean, even if he was just human, he’d do that. And I’ve met him twice.” Connie grinned.

Ryan huffed but cracked a smile again. A fair statement. Shane’s playful streak was wicked when it wanted to be.

“He’s never, like, hurt me. I don’t think…” Ryan jotted down his question and then posed it for the patient young person. “Do Demons leave marks? Even small ones?”

“Usually what they leave are smoking craters behind. Physically or emotional. Or just, abject terror and trauma. Locked-away-in-a-little-white-padded-room-kind-of trauma.” Connie answered with a concerned shake of her head. “You said you were attacked a few days ago?”

“We don’t know what it was…at least, I don’t. I think Shane has a clue, or a few suspects, but he won’t share them with me.” Ryan replied. 

“He might be trying to protect you. Names are dangerous, and the more you’re aware of what goes bump in the night, the more it becomes aware of you.” Connie pointed out. 

But that didn’t make Ryan feel much better, frankly. He shook his head in frustration. 

“I get that, I guess, but the unknown is way more dangerous. All I have is this amulet from Sarah Winchester that’s supposed to ward off ‘Evil Intent’ or something. Neither of them mentioned Demons but Shane did say it was ‘an old friend of his.’”

But Shane was old. And he must know countless souls– living, dead or undecided. Right? 

“Maybe it’s someone you both know, then. A’Course…Evil Intent can come from anything, even another human. Any skeletons in your closet, Ricky?” She asked, fingers moving deftly as she attached the bell to the bottom of the little…whatever it was she was making. 

It struck Ryan vaguely that despite her movements the little bell was silent.

“...if you mean, any humans want to murder me? None that I know of. I try to keep my life pretty chill. Uh, Ghost Hunting aside.” Ryan snorted. 

“Hmm. Then we’re back to something strong and Supernatural coming after you. Why, though? Demons do hold grudges but they’re not the only ones. And that typically involves you to have met them beforehand. I don’t see Shane being happy with either you giving another Demon attention or you being a stranger’s snack bar.” 

“That’s…comforting. In a weird overprotective way.” Ryan blinked. “We used to do one Demonic Investigation a season.”

Connie watched him with interest glittering in her eyes. Ryan swallowed.

“So maybe Shane doesn’t know as much as I thought. Because the two of us have poked into at least three Demonic hideouts over the years. Maybe more if we weren’t aware…Or at least, he just doesn’t want to fuck with what’s out for us both.”

Or have Ryan be used as collateral. Ryan frowned, not liking feeling helpless. And that came back around to him knowing exactly what they were dealing with. 

He could prepare if he knew, couldn’t he? 

Two demons in particular sprang to mind. Ryan swallowed at the thought of either of them. 

But…Sallie was supposedly content in her house, and Annabelle was trapped inside her doll in the Warren’s museum. 

Unaware of his train of thought, Connie went on.

“He certainly didn’t waste time spiriting you away to somewhere safer. I’m not crazy about my Motel being a safehouse, but for you two I’ll make an exception. This once, okay?” Connie bobbed her head and then sat back from her desk with a noise of satisfaction. “Done! Here, take this.”

It looked like a celtic knot, a tree branch, and a corn stalk had created a small oval shaped ornament. The bell and one small ivory feather hung off the bottom, along with a slightly spade shaped disc that was a familiar shade of striking crimson. 

Ryan took it gingerly. He was surprised to feel how sturdy it was, how tightly woven and strong. The bell was being moved again…yet remained silent. Ryan’s fingers found the red disc and rubbed along the flat top of it, sensing its sharpness and feeling a warm bolt of familiarity.

“Is this…from Shane?” Ryan blinked at the pretty, scarlet scale.

“He left a few of those here last time. They must have gotten scrapped off when he was wedging himself up the Vending machine.” Connie sipped at her coffee and winked. “I kept the rest for myself, but I put one on this charm for you. It’s not so much for protection as it is for warning. The bell only rings if something like Shane is nearby, regardless of emotion or feeling.”

“...in terms of what he is, or his power?” Ryan asked slowly, and earned a noise of praise from the Concierge. 

“A little of column A, and a little of column B. Keep it with you though, because if it gets burned up, dismantled or lost, it can’t help, and the range is limited.” She warned, but there was a kindness in her tone that made Ryan feel comforted and at ease. 

“Thanks…I mean, thank you.” Ryan said earnestly, rising and looking around himself. Silly as it felt, he attached it to the key ring on his jeans and studied it by his hip. 

“You’re welcome.” She seemed equally pleased at his honest gratitude but glanced toward the front of the Motel’s entrance. The wind was blowing harder than before, and every so often the door popped ajar to nudge the welcoming bell before it collapsed shut. 

“I’ve got another check in coming soon, hun. Nothing big but we all like our privacy. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”

Ryan, sensing her words were more gentle hint than a true concern over his sleep schedule, was wise enough to take the hint and nod. He knew that walked here was not wholly for him. And anyway, he had promised no investigations of the Omni Motel that sat disguised as a Motel 6– and that included of it’s patrons too, he supposed.

“You’ll be okay, right?” Ryan couldn’t help but ask, and the concierge’s smile lit up the dim room. 

“You’re cute, Ricky. I’ll be fine.” She stood up a little, leaning over the counter and directing him to look at the nearest window that caught some of her reflection. 

Ryan glanced, did a double take, and stared.

“Kitty’s got claws, too.” Connie purred. Ryan peeled his eyes from the massively bent over, four armed frame with massive stag-like horns and too many eyes back to the young woman with bright blue hair and bedazzled acrylic nails. She popped a piece of bubblegum in her mouth, winked and sat back down. 

She was not a Demon, nor did she seem like an Angel. 

Whatever she was, she was fearless and calm and Ryan envied her spine greatly. 

“R-right.” Ryan managed, before slinking out to head back to his and Shane’s room. 

‘Nothing is, and cannot be, black or white.’

The words rang over and over in Ryan’s mind, turning and churning and jumbling until all he could think about was what the words meant. How dangerous and alarming they were, and their hidden meanings. 

He’d closed his notes and tucked the journal away deep in his bag, wanting both to protect the secrets and their subjects within, wanting to prove to Shane and Connie and perhaps the Motel itself that he was trustworthy. 

Yes, he was a Ghost Hunter. In search of the impossible and trying to carve it into Reality, tell the world a triumphant, ‘I was right! They exist!’ 

Yes, he was best friend’s with a Demon. Shane who loved and trusted him so fiercely it was a strong, dizzying weight on his own mortal shoulders. 

He had to be both, didn’t he? He had to search the Darkness for answers but keep most of those findings to himself. Close to his heart like Shane was and twice as protected. 

And now, from both human and monstrous eye too, it seemed. 

Ryan was troubled, and he knew it wasn’t good to let his imagination get carried away with him, but at the same time he couldn’t help it. 

There was a deep knot in the pit of his stomach, and the absence of Shane and the silence of the dark motel room had grown suffocating an hour ago. 

Ryan glanced at the clock. Near eleven at night, half way to midnight. The day was gone, Shane still hadn’t returned. He had some questions answered, yes, but he hadn’t eaten much and didn’t feel like it. He didn't feel poorly, persay. 

Just tired. To be expected, though. 

He only ever seemed to rest well when he shared a bed with Shane, come to think of it. 

The tv tried keeping a channel but couldn’t, and even the room seemed apologetic as Ryan fiddled with the drooping bunny ears on the ancient cube with a sad 12 in screen. 

The radio was another story, it worked a little too well. 

The sounds were a little too clear, and when Ryan plainly heard a voice ask between songs “Are you there?” he shut it off and tried some good old fashioned doom scrolling on his phone. 

His eye began to grow heavy, which he supposed was a good thing. The door was locked, the necklace was still on him. The charm was on the nightstand, closer than even his phone charger and water bottle. 

Ryan drifted, deeply asleep so that when his phone and hand overbalanced into the blankets he didn’t so much as stir. The fan unit chugged cool air into the room, humming with approval. 

Nothing stirred. 

Silence. 

And then silence shattered. 

Ryan jerked back to life, so sure he had merely blinked. But he was wrong– what had become a blink had become a two hour nap– it was near 2am and the bell was ringing madly, as if someone was shaking the woven charm erratically. 

Ryan peered through the gloom, then used his phone to illuminate his nightstand. 

The charm lay still, but the bell was alive doing an invisible dance on a marionette string. 

The bell rang sharper when he looked at is, as if frightened worse by something.

His heart beat in his chest, off-beat and thunderous even as Ryan drank in his surroundings. 

Night time. Asleep to awake. 

The bell ringing. Danger. 

Close by Danger, to be specific. 

And there was noises outside, horrible, raucous screams that wailed and sounded like tearing of flesh and agony. There was no wind anymore, no one outside questioning the noises. 

Then, worryingly, the whole room shuddered once as something huge and heavy hit the frontside of the motel, and Ryan felt more than heard an answering groan of plaster, angry and old. But the walls did not cave, and the room did not buckle. 

The sounds started back up, and Ryan had the crazy recollection of hearing cats fighting under his window when he was young, cowering in his bed and frantic with tears at the baby-like wailing. 

If there were cats fighting outside right this moment, then they were jaguars now. They were hooked claws and fangs and wild and feral, beyond the point of reason. 

Ryan Bergara was not a scared little boy anymore. He would not hide under the covers and cry and ignore the sounds outside. 

Because there was a deep, archaic, familiar roar followed by what sounded like a bonfire bursting for a second– Shane. Shane’s fire. 

Shane was attacking something or he was being attacked. The motel was being attacked too, either by proxy of the fight or targeted because something out there was trying to get in here. To him. 

Ryan bolted over the side of the bed, barely managing to keep his legs under him and having to double back to snatch up the charm before he made it out the door that opened to the parking lot. 

The night sky erupted into a dazzling display of fireworks, but by the time Ryan adjusted his eyes he realized the sparks were not man-made, nor even from nature. Huge ruby wings unfurled open but flapped erratically as their owner wrestled in mid air, almost twenty feet above in the sky.

Shane’s lean figure was trying to gain upper hand over an equally sinewy frame, black and too long and all wrong looking. It wrestled for control, and Ryan felt his heart sink when he realized how evenly matched the two looked.

“Shane!!” Ryan called, and a second later hated himself. 

Shane’s two second glance toward his voice earned a set of teeth into his shoulder, sinking deep until black blood spurted as the two tumbled closer to Earth. Shane roared and struck his claws across the Demon’s black, spiked horns, trying to get free. It was no use. 

Shane was swung around as they plummeted and buried deep into the asphalt, which cracked from the force of the two creatures.

Ryan couldn’t move, his legs frozen to the still intact cement even as Shane was lifted a little only to be slammed a second time into the crater they’d made. His wings flopped open limply, tail still. Shane groaned and collapsed back, looking a bit far beyond dazed and clearly out of it. No longer offering a fight, the Demon redirected its attention from Shane with slow, pleased ease.

The second Demon rose off Shane’s body, abandoning its weakened and slumped prey only to set sights on Ryan. Glowing yellow eyes fixated on him, pupil widening from slits as it bobbed hungrily and stepped forward.

It moved on awkward limbs, baring a circle of a maw that jutted with needle like fangs. They circled in closer, sizing Ryan up. The marks on his back that were almost healed burned hot-white, making him wince and flinch. 

This was the Demon that had attacked him in his apartment. 

It had followed them.

The Demon seemed to take delight in his show of weakness, and made a play lunge.

Ryan flinched again and cursed himself, because now he’d really gone and shown how much he deeply he was scared, hadn’t he? 

The Demon cackled, bunched up and lunged for real this time–

It went down a second later, shrieking in more insult than pain as it whirled to find Shane’s ruby claws holding it’s ankle as he held it back with a low hiss of warning. Shane glared at the newcomer, gritting his fangs as he held on stubbornly and hissed like an angry adder.

Ryan didn’t know what to do, and he hated it. 

He could only watch as the second Demonic Entity jerked free and turned back onto poor Shane. Dopey, warm, fun-loving Shane, who was mostly gone in favor of this form. Shane stumbled up to meet the shove and they both tumbled like wildcats, only this time they were already on the ground and Shane’s wings were more cumbersome than providing lift and flight. He still didn’t give in though, fighting for control until he had himself between Ryan, the motel, and the interloper and giving a big push. 

The Demon went flying and Shane leapt backwards, landing with a tired sway but planting himself as he waited. He was growling so low and so deep, and Ryan shuddered as he stepped back until he was pressed against the wall between their window and door of Room #13.

A voice punched through the haze of the human’s fear and alarm.

“Hey!” He looked to his left to see Connie leaning out from a new door, one he couldn’t remember seeing opened but the sign had said Ice and Laundry. She saw she had his attention and jerked her hand harder, teeth gritted. 

“This way! Quick!” She hissed, and Ryan blinked when Shane turned and swatted at him lightly with a the nearest wing. 

“Run!” Shane commanded, and that did it. 

Ryan sprinted for the opening, relieved when he heard Shane leap after him but confused when the Demon merely leapt up to the awning and didn’t follow him through the door Connie was leaning out of it. 

The second Demon was following Ryan though, and he could feel hot breath on his neck as he skidded a sharp left and tumbled into the room. He would have fallen had Connie not taught him and yanked him left again, directly into a thin corner created by a tower of dryers.

The Demon burst into the middle of the room, careless and screeching as it cast about eagerly– and all its efforts got in hunting Ryan were to land itself on a huge pentagram painted along the yellowed, cheap linoleum.

The Demon realized instantly it was trapped and howled, starting to crackle along the edges. Its anger turned to a higher pitch, one of fear and rage as it swung to turn beady eyes onto the trio clustering in the doorway. 

“Is it just trapped o-or–?” Ryan wheezed. 

“That’s a kill-trap.” Connie informed, glaring at the second Demon with a twisted look of malice he’d never seen on the friendly woman’s face. 

The Demon either realized or heard, and it soon turned to thrashing and raging, for all the good it did. The overhead lights fluttered and flickered, as if the Laundry room were smugly pleased at what it was slowly killing.

Although the Demon spared Connie a hateful look, and cursed out Shane, it’s final words were for Ryan only.

“Pay your debts!” It seethed. “Pay your debts! I am the first of many to come! Claimed or not by the Wanderer, your Soul is forfeit to another until you’ve paid–”

A third and final bout of fire slammed into the Demon, and Shane scowled as he stepped back and covered Ryan and Connie both in huge wings, sheltering them from the shower of embers and flecks of black chips as the Demon burst apart against the invisible wall of the Devil’s Trap. 

It did not die quietly, its echoing screams fading into the ether as it slowly melted into nothing.

There was no silence now. 

Connie was panting, her eyes wide and livid at the damage to her beloved Motel. 

Shane was heaving and held upright by the porch’s pillar, clutching his shoulder and the furnace in his chest sounded ragged and half gone out. 

Ryan was the quietest of the two, but only because shock, terror and shame were wonderfully powerful muzzles.

Chapter Text

Part VI.

A Few Hours Before…

The Wanderer coasted with ease on a warm thermal, fanning his wide, ruby red wings with ever so gentle adjustments to slow his descent. This angle let him truly study the landscape all laid out before him, and he did so with a critical, wary eye.

From here, he could see the world. From here, the curvature of the planet, slumbering on this side of the world in darkness sat quiet and relatively peaceful. It was all tucked neatly under the velvet, inky nothingness of Space that he loved so dearly. 

From here, he could see his world. 

Well, in a word.

Ryan was only just below, tucked into the Motel and behind its’ many safe and powerful wards. The Motel and its’ tiny parking lot were miles below him, and getting farther as he circled around, searching. He knew it was somewhere around here…

The thing he was looking for wasn’t technically like him, although they were similar. He had discovered it years ago, but he doubted it would remember him as he was now. It didn’t move. It couldn’t. 

And it had to still be here. 

It must. 

Humans would never dare…

A long stretch of highway lay to his right. Several dozens of massive acres of corn, high and heavy in its final stages of life was to his left. Beyond that, forest. Beyond even that, mountains. 

And beyond that…

Well, he had no need for beyond that. He wasn’t even heading to the mountains, frankly.

The Demon clicked his fangs uneasily and drove his head and shoulders into a new angle with a sudden snap of intensity. He swooped to the left and soared, wing fingers stretching to catch the sleepy wind. The corn rustled and whispered and giggled, but the Wanderer did not let himself get drawn into the game of dive-and-dart that shadows were so fond of playing. 

Even better when humans lived nearby, though Shane knew the dark farmhouse in the distance had no lights on. 

He would not be seen, not this far away. And if someone did glimpse him, why, he was only a night terror. A late night snack catching the poor unfortunate soul off guard. 

The corn stalks muttered up at him, sullenly, from the wind’s efforts to comb through them and their neat little human made rows. 

Wanderer huffed in reply. 

‘Not you.’ He informed with amusement, knowing this answer would cause a ruckus of whispers and jitters, and indeed, it did.

‘Not us?’ Pouted the farm field, an old thing but tilled yearly and constantly turned into something new. Fresh. Life.

‘Older.’ The Demonic force sneezed down at the waving stalks, lifting himself a few feet higher with a pulse of his wing beats to avoid the tempting desire to give into temptation and stay and play along. 

‘Scaring-the-shit-out-of-the-locals’ was always a fun game. But not right now.

‘Older!’ screeched the spirits of the corn stalks, effervescent and shrill and airy as the night wind. ‘Older, older–’

Leaving them with a new game to play amongst themselves, the Wanderer landed on the first solid tree at the forest-line, where nature stood alongside human farming and the two coexisted. Each pretending the other one was less important, when in fact, as the Wanderer had learned, both were necessary. 

Corn would not grow without animals to eat and spread it. What were humans, if not fancy little animals, after all?

This is not to say humans didn’t often overstep their boundaries, and the Wanderer knew that as well too. 

Better than most. And unlike most Demons, it was not a trait he admired. 

The slender, creepy nightmare that was once known as Shane Madej, crawled deftly over the branches to the center of the tall tree. He pressed himself to the hard trunk like an affectionate cat greeting a person and hummed at the massive oak. 

He asked of it. 

He listened. Eyes closed. Seeing what it could see. Though sleepy and young for a tree, it answered readily enough in it’s simple, short way. 

He opened them in a snap of urgency. 

‘There!’

Shane was careless in his plunge into the deep woods, leaping and climbing where he had no room to glide, then flapping loudly when he had nothing but spongy moss and air below. 

He crossed a noisy river that took its cue from the mountain springs up higher. Several animals screeched and fled in a panic, alarmed at this disturbance in their woods.

He hurried on, fearful of any time and space between him and his favorite human. Ryan would be up eventually, and he would begin asking questions. 

The creature that ran the Motel would entertain him, no doubt. Even without Shane’s thoughtful gift, they had taken a liking to his boy. Of course they had, it was Ryan! 

The Demon smiled to himself as he leapt the final distance, and came to a swift halt right before a tree so large that his wingspan tripled would still not have encircled the grand old thing. 

The wind did not blow here. 

Whatever walked this part of the woods, walked alone.

It stood proud and tall and wholly uncaring. Half of its lower trunk was sprawled out like spider legs, only instead of eight it had about fourteen sections. A hollow was under it. It leaned into the earth side hill and stretched almost 100 feet up into the air. 

And, in the right light, it was such a dark color it appeared almost black. A human might consider it having a sinister, insidious air of foreboding. Animals avoided it. No birds or squirrels dared make their nest here.

But to Shane, the Wanderer, it appeared as an old friend. 

Shane scented the air, found no hostility or anger or fear, and slunk up to the trunk.

He drew his fangs through his arm, pulling a few good swipes of black, oily ichor that stood in place of his blood and then used two claws to rake the blood over the bark of the tree. 

“Wake.” He spoke, half command, half worried plea. 

The tree did. 

There was no movement, of course. Trees this old did not move quickly. It would take all of Shane’s powers to listen and speak with the tree.

W̷̪̖̱̰̞̯͎̼͊̿̓̕͜͜H̷̡̜͔͙͙̝̫̀̀̑̅̽̊̄͒͛͐͘̕͝͝Ǫ̵̢̺̥̖͍͖̈́́ͅͅͅ ̸͈̙͉͕̺͎̞͖͖͕͙̥̝̍̈́͆̔̎̌̇̈́̓̆̃͐̃͝͠Ả̸̢̲͖͇͇͔̙̯͈̃͑̂̊̇̈͆̂̒̀̿͜͠͠Ṟ̴̛͕̦̝͍̏̉̄̃̇̅Ȅ̷̛͉̹͓͖͙̙̜̬̭̹̼͗̉̂̃̀̕̚͝ͅͅ ̵̧̯̭͓̬̦͎͔̂̓̋͐͌̊͌͘̕͝͠Y̶̼̜̟̻̖͖̖̏͐͐̐̉O̶̥̩̓͛̌̈́ͅU̴͚̞̽͂̀́̓ ̸͖̬̩̒̈́͐̊͝T̴̡̡͇͓͉͍̣͓̟͕̬̀͒̄͐́́̀͌͑͑͂̀̓̀O̶̯̻͔̩̗̹͇̟̩̙̅̏̿́̽̐̎͌̑̏̕ ̷̢͚͔͙̖̲̰̄͂̏̿̽̐͛̈́́͑A̵͉̫̤̹͍̬͇̋̋̐̒̈͑͒̔͠W̵̢͚̠̹͂̅̈͑̑̄̆̈͘͜Ȧ̸̧̨͙̠̱͙̑̈́̓̿͋͗̿̌͜͠K̷͓̺̯̮̰̇̎͆̆͘͘ͅE̵̛̛͇̺̪͋Ņ̵̙͚̠͓̠̱̻͛͊̔̓̈̃ ̶̬͎͉̭̫̪̝̠́̍͜M̷̞͇͉̺̻͑̒̒̂̿͆̉Ẽ̵̡͈̱̬̬͙͙̅̓͐͋̉,̸̡̜͍̲͈͙̪̳̓̔ ̶̪̻͓͎̟̖̝̬̰̖̱̳̲͍̄͆́̒͆͗̀͑̂̌͛̐̔͜͝Ĺ̶̘̔̅̏̉I̶̠̝̜̱̭̗̮̟͚̬̖̻̣͍͒T̷̝͈͓̥̘̝̟͖͔̺̅̏͗T̸̡̨̩̺̳̺̺̪͙̈̕L̷̥̼͚̣̘̖̦̮̩̪̖̘͎͒̆̏͆͗̓̅͋͆̂̍́̆͝E̵̢̡̻̜̬̙̲̜̝̅ ̶͍̠͎̺̖̤̀̉̔̓̑̆̿͐̄̈̅̌̉̈̕͜Ḓ̴̨̧̣̱̬̙͓͍̦̘̫̔̂͋Ě̵̯͉͌̓̌̃͆̅̄̀̀̎̌̀͘̚V̸̛͉͖̈́̅̍̓̍̄̀Į̷̢̛̭͈̫̱͓̺̞͚̯̖̆̂̃̐̂̊͒̌̆̾̕͝L̸͖̻͕͇̙͎̯̗͒̋̈́́̉̊̊̓?̷̧̦̟̪͉̮̟̮͉͖̭̠͎̼̎̎̏͑̚

The noise was unholy. Which, fair, so was he. 

But it was louder and deeper and endless too. As old as he was, but not older. It was every chainsaw biting into bark, every forest fire setting the land ablaze, every fallen tree and every rotted, weather ruined trunk. If Ryan could have heard its ageless voice, he might get ill. A lesser man would simply go insane. 

Shane, of course, planned to protect Ryan from both. 

This tree was no vacant and decrepit asylum. No flashy and harmless Mystery House belonged to a grieving widow with too much money on her hands. This was no fairy ring in the woods. And it certainly was no wandering Motel with a kind Concierge with a fond streak for mortals who proved capable of coexisting with their kind. 

This was…Different.

Sometimes this happened to Demons. They haunted a place so long that they became one with their cloak and they lost the will to return to their Demonic ways. Their disguise became a prison, and they found themselves trapped and more compliant with the concept by the day. 

But their nature…that stayed the same. 

Idly, Shane wondered if perhaps that hadn’t happened to Annabelle, or was at least in the process of happening. Hm.

Familiarity sang between the two beings. This was, in a word, a brother of his. It was not one he’d ever met, not one he had Bad or Good blood with. 

But they were related nonetheless.

And this Demon had been here a while. It’s roots far reaching. It’s ears every single living creature in the woods, the corn, perhaps even the humans in the farmhouse miles back.

Shane stepped back in a display of polite greeting, folding his wings into a more neat posture and stood to his full height. His spaded tail flicked through the grass like an unhappy serpent.

“Sshane Madej. Woke youhh.” He replied, keeping his tone level despite the echoing thunder that was merely the Ancient Tree’s version of a voice.

Silence. 

F̷̣̃A̴͕̎̄͐͘S̶̱͙̹̞̈͝ͅC̷̣̓̒͊̀́I̶͔̿̂̀N̶̞̈́̍͝Â̶͚͚̥̖̿͐͘͝ͅṰ̷͈͈͊͘Î̵̻̊̽N̸̡͕̹̤̥̈Ḡ̶̟͕̝̺̿͆͝.̵͇̫̌̀̋ ̴͔͎͍͎͖̀̈̑̈́͘Ă̶̢̡͇̤̥̈́͝N̷̡̯͌͌́̍D̷͔̺̓̂ ̴̻̐͑̔̚A̴̠̟̥͐̀͆̆͜ ̵̫̉̍̓͗͝Š̸͕͚͚̝̦̆̆̏̂T̸̙̳̩̰̲̎̅͘R̵̩̬̻͌̐̄À̸̠̈́̎͝N̵̡̞̝̬̅͂͜͠Ǵ̸̡͕̺̭́̃͆Ẽ̷̡̳͙̝̅̉ ̵̜͔̼͊̏̓͘͜͜T̵̜͓̉͘͜I̸̤̟̘̺̺̾̾̌Ţ̴̧̟̯͆̆L̸̪̂̉̚Ę̵̬̜͓͔̀͑̉̎̃ ̷̣̲̭̲̪́͋̓̉̒Y̶̝̹͉͊O̵̳̕Ụ̶͠ ̶̧̤͛̌C̶̞̫̗̽̅̾̽͘A̴͎̰̯͂R̴̻͔͚̖͋̆̏͒̋Ŕ̶̢̹̮̳̈́̏͋Ỵ̸̆̅̋͂͛…̴̡̛̻̪̙̅͜

Ỵ̶̧̥̩̀͑̍͆̚O̵͍̾̿́̄̍U̶̝̮̦̎͊͛͘͝ ̷͍͕͇̲̓̊͐ͅÄ̶̛͈͓̹͉͖́͐̅Ṕ̷̠̕P̸̛̬̗̖͋͜E̴̻͉̯̩̅̇͆̿A̴̬͇͐͝R̵̫̪͆̕ ̶͍͚̥͉̈́͂̋̕D̴̙̥͋͋ͅÉ̵̼͙̗͎͈̋̋M̸̢͎̋̆Ȏ̸̢͉̼͛̆Ṇ̵̅̎͘,̵̭̯̗͑̿͝͠ͅ ̶̡̫͇͉̆͐̆̀Y̴̗͙͋̒̏̊͘Ë̸̮̳̥̌T̷̨̥̦͚̐̈͊̋ ̶͇̀G̴̦̱̐̕I̴̫̯̗̠̖̕V̸̧̞̬͙̒̽̿̂́Ĕ̶̡͚̇͛ ̷̛͍̔̍̃M̶͉͆̔͆͌́E̶̦̮̐ ̶̨̓̋͝͝Ạ̸̊͘ ̷͖̂̍H̸̟̰̓̈́U̶̩͒M̵̼͇̓́́̒Å̵̛͖͉̖̈́͆̌N̵̤̲͔͆̓͜ ̸̨̺̻̗̫̓̈́̂Ṉ̷͕̺͎̊̈́͊̚͝A̷̰͈͇̳͆M̷͍͇͖̀ͅE̸̡͎̜̗̱̿͘?̷̼̙̯͛̔͜ ̶̗͎̥͇̭͐I̴͇̰̽̄͌S̷̞͉̥͘͜͝ ̴̨̯͖̱̻̒T̸͓̗͈̻̭͗̀̌̕H̷̙̀͂I̴̩̠͈̭̦͛̒̆̓͑S̶̜͛̆̔̈ ̵̭̻̖͓̔̚͜͝T̷͚̯̮̏̍͆R̴͙͕͙̙̤̉͆͂̈́̈Ǐ̸̡̹̰̗̖̈́̏C̷̫̥͑͛K̴̞̲͆Ĕ̴̡̢̄̀R̵͕̳̆͊͛͊Ỵ̴͙̜͗,̷̭̫̳͕͑̆͐̾̀ ̵̞̯̳͒Ș̸̬̘̳̑̓͘M̴̟̞̩̽̄A̷̲͈̋͗̂̎͜L̴̪̄L̵͔͗̏̒̍̈́ ̴̫̺͕̦̝͊́̃̎̾Į̸͎̳̀͛̎͌M̸̢̥̮͓͐͛́̕͝Ṕ̶͈͇͕̭̇́͘?̴̥̳͈̺̮̃!

Shane grunted, then shook his head.

“Need…answers. Questions, fer you.” He winced at his inability to form a more cohesive sentence without his fangs getting in the way, but shook off the distracted frustration. He would be fine, in time. Right now, Ryan was his biggest worry. 

̵͔͂Y̵̳̓Ŏ̴̼U̷̲̚ ̴̣̒D̶͓͛Ě̶͍M̷̙̓A̶̱̚Ṅ̴̻D̴̲͐ ̸̼̽Á̶̩N̵͉͑Ś̴̙Ẁ̴̥E̴̠̔R̵̟͠S̴̖̐ ̶͔̀F̷̢̓R̸̥̓O̸͈͝M̷̡͋ ̸̢̉M̸̡̈́E̷̮̿?̷̞̏ 

̶͍̄S̷̖̏U̷̺̒Ç̷͂H̸̤̐ ̷̠͠F̴͖̿I̴̧͌R̶͓̓E̷̓ͅ ̷̱̂I̴̦͐N̸̛̯ ̴͚̿Y̸̧͌Ō̴̠U̵̪̔R̶͖̉ ̵͔͐S̷̙̀P̵̭̀I̷̻͆R̶͇͑I̴̬̕T̴̫̚.̶̪̈ 

̴͘V̴̩̚E̷̍ͅR̸̘͛Y̸͜͝ ̵̪̐W̷͈̆Ȩ̷̾L̴̝̋L̶̳̄.̶͚͝ ̷͈̉I̸̢͂T̸͈͛ ̴̠̅Į̸͂S̵͖͗ ̵̗͗A̷͙͊ ̷̫͌P̶̫̈́E̵̮̓A̶̘͐Ç̵̑Ë̵̺́F̸̼̀U̷̫̓L̷͈̒ ̷̬̔Ě̷̬V̴̾ͅE̶͇͝Ṋ̵͑Î̵͜N̸͇̋G̴̭̀.̶̝̀ ̸̨͝I̸̗͝ ̸̦͌W̷̭̃I̷͚̍L̸̦͊L̴̥͝ ̷̫̔Ẹ̴́N̵͈̅T̷̨́E̴̹̕R̵̟̀T̸̺̋Ḁ̴̂Ḭ̷͆Ṋ̶̏ ̸͔̐Y̵̙̍Ò̷̤Ū̴͈,̴̖̉ ̵̞͂Ñ̵̺O̶̙͑T̸͇̈́-̸͎̒S̸̜̽Ḧ̷̰Á̵̞N̶͍͌Ē̷̘  ̸̛̝M̶̳̾Ȁ̵̯D̷̘͆E̵͓͂J̶̲̑.̴͇͐

A̷ ̴M̷O̶M̶E̸N̶T̷.̴.̷.̴

Shane waited, trying not to showcase his anxiety. Sometimes ‘a moment’ to an Ancient Tree could equate to a decade. He certainly didn’t have a decade to waste anymore, every moment he spent now with Ryan was indeed a blink to him, but he couldn’t think too hard on that either. 

The tree trembled once, shivering as if hit by an earthquake although none of the other, smaller tree that it dwarfed reacted.

THERE. THAT’S BETTER. I HAVE NOT SPOKEN AS A DEMON SINCE…WHAT YEAR IS IT?

Shane relaxed. 

“Early…2000’s.” Well, give or take. Trees this old didn’t fiddle with smaller numbers. This answer would be enough, and it was. 

Already the Ancient Tree returned to their prior conversation. 

SPEAK, O’DEVIL. I WILL ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS. AND IN RETURN, YOU WILL TELL ME THE STORY BEHIND SUCH AN ODD NAME. SEEMS TO ME, IT WILL BE A GOOD ONE, EH?

Shane snorted. 

“Deal.” He grunted, and approached again, now that he was properly welcomed.

Well, a Demon falling into a strangely adoring obsession with a human he was initially using as an all-you-can-eat buffet would make a good story, he supposed. Even better was the resulting job the two had because of it. 

Not that many would believe it. Truth bring stranger than fiction, after all..

But if anyone would appreciate his tale for the value it was worth, it would be an Ancient Tree. 

And in return, he himself might finally find some answers as to who was stalking them, and for what purpose.

Ryan staggered into their motel room, slamming only the bathroom door so he could hide behind it. He wanted to be alone. Had to be alone. He snapped at Shane to do so and didn’t care that he was being rude to a being that could sneeze and break him in half. 

All that mattered…all he could think about…

Those Demon’s words. Those icy, cruel-hearted threats tinged with gleeful delight. 

He couldn’t believe–

Yes. Yes he could.

“I did this.” Saying it out loud made it worse, because of course it did.

Ryan stood, arms locked and body braced on his palms as he dry heaved over the toilet. Despite his panic and erratically whirling stomach and mind, nothing came up and he abandoned the idea only to do the same posture over the sink bowl. 

He panted hard, staring in the mirror as angry, unshed tears prickled in his eyes. He remained unblinkingly until the tears stung, and he swiped at them angrily, frustrated with himself and anger reaching a broiling point. 

But it wasn’t just anger filling him like a reservoir, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but corrode him inward. 

It was regret, too. Agonizing regret that danced and mocked him, because that nasty little voice inside his head tickled him with the reminder of

‘Do you really regret what you did? The Deal you made~?’

“I didn't make a Deal.” Ryan whispered out loud, hating how very small his voice felt, how his face mocked him in the mirror. “I didn't mean to.” 

Weren’t those things supposed to be more…binding? Obvious? Wasn’t there some damn consent involved? 

Ryan didn't know. Didn’t care.

All that mattered was now they knew, Shane knew, what Ryan had done. 

That he was being hunted because he deserved to be.

He had done it to find his best friend though. 

“Oh, God.” said Ryan, and not for the first time, God didn’t answer. 

Every time he blinked, he saw that creepy little doll in her cage. And when he didn’t see her, he saw Shane, getting his ass handed to him, getting pile driven like the fucken MMA but where the stakes were very real. 

A rap at the door made him jump. 

“...Ry?” Shane’s throaty, Demonic voice was soft as it could go, and muffled by the bathroom door.

“N-no.” He managed, hating the squeak and stutter. Could Shane smell salt? With Ryan’s luck lately, probably… “Go…go away, Shane.” 

A displeased, grouchy old man grumble came to him. 

Ryan scowled at his reflection.

“I s-said no, Shane–stay away, I’m only gunna–gunna get you hurt again or worse–”

He couldn’t even voice the words. His mind just ended at the concept, where the bottom dropped out. Shane being gone again, worse, Shane being gone because he protected Ryan without any good reason other than–

He barely noticed his hiccups and quiet sobs, mostly because he was alarmed when Shane merely phased through the door with a single shhff of power.

“H-hey!” His scolding fell on deaf, pointed red ears. “I said–!”

“No.” Shane rumbled, a challenge with just two letters. Defiance in every line of his jumbled up frame, but the stubborn stare Ryan recognized and that hurt too, because fuck, he didn’t deserve this undying loyalty the Demon just willingly handed him. 

Shane looked like a walking nightmare like this, but he still was Ryan’s version of Shane.

That worried, tight stare spoke volumes.

“All torn up inside. Can’t do it like this, stop Ry.” Shane begged, brow knit and tail lashing erratically in alarm at the state Ryan was trying to hide from him. “Stop. Please.”

“But I…” And then his words left him again. The tears, infuriatingly, would not. He swiped at them, frustrated and angry and hurting.

“This is my fault. I made a fucken deal with a Devil and now it’s gunna kick both our asses. I just wanted to find you, dude! I was so scared…” Ryan bled his wound before the Demon, unthinkingly showing weakness and fear over their situation. Shane could clearly taste it in the air, but he shook his head stubbornly and recentered on them both.

The concerned, sad looking Demon shook his head and closed the distance, and Ryan didn't even pretend to struggle when Shane grabbed him by the arms and hauled him in. 

“I got you.” Shane offered, and that was all it took.

The second he was hugging the taller being, Ryan felt something pop and cave in him. Shane was warm, and sinewy and careful but the hug was so tight and fierce and secure it gripped Ryan tight and sank into his bones. 

Slowly, the human melted into the Demon, pressing his head into Shane’s good shoulder and pushing the last of his sobs into Shane’s shirt.

Cramped though they were, Shane found room to wrap one wing around Ryan in response. Shane talked a lot, but what Ryan admired best about his friend was he knew when to stay silent. When his strength was all Ryan needed and wanted to lean on and hide for a long while.

Right now, Ryan needed to get rid of all the weight that Shane was able to take.

So Ryan cried himself out, and then cried a little more, until Shane was holding him up off weak legs and he pulled back, spotting the damp and kinda snotty shirt and flushing in embarrassment.

“I… fuck …Sorry, Shane…” Ryan swore weakly.

The Demon snorted at him, rolling his red star eyes fondly. They were still close, Ryan could hear the furnace inside his friend’s chest. He leaned in a second time, only to miserable push his forehead into Shane’s when the Demon dipped his horned head to accept the gesture. Ryan couldn’t see him without going crossed eye, so he didn’t bother trying and just kept his aching eyes closed and gnawed on his lip until it hurts.

“...fuck…now fucken what, Shane?” He asked, miserable and lost and less angry but still scared. "This is all my fault."

“Yeh.” Shane replied, and it was frank but calm. “So? We’ll fix it.”

Ryan felt claws carefully stroke at his reddened cheeks, and he wished idly he were prettier when he cried. A stupid, silly, inane thought, of course. But the brain doesn’t care sometimes, it just likes to fire off these things. 

Shane didn’t seem disgusted or put off though. Even though a show of weakness like this should be something that turns a normal Demon just about feral with hunger and tempts them to pounce without hesitation or morale. 

Then again, if this whole experience had taught Ryan Bergara anything, it was that Shane Madej was not a typical Demon. 

The Demon patiently wiped Ryan’s tears, and smiled when Ryan drew back in alarm at the sudden, tiny, hissing sounds.

Shane’s ruby claws, long and slender, were hissing like when water is poured onto a hot skillet. Shane winced, but didn’t utter a sound or pull back.

“W-wait, my tears–?” Ryan stared in morbid fascination and concern. “But your shoulder–oh, your shirt caught it. Wait, why…?”

“Salt, Ry.” The Demon shrugged, unbothered and unphased. “Poison to us, ‘member?”

“I remember.” Ryan replied. And then stood there, awestruck and quiet as he studied the Demon’s scarlet, gentle gaze. “God…you really just will do anything for me, won’t you, you big jerk?”

Shane, sensing Ryan was feeling slightly better, smiled wider. He even flashed his big fanged maw at the human, just to see Ryan eye them in wonder and respect.

“Why?” The human demanded of the Demon, who canted his head in a thoughtful pout as if he’d never taken the time to dissect such a theory before. Like looking after Ryan and shadowing him around was just something that was done. Shane didn’t seem to need to quantify it or ask himself why. 

But the Demon did find an answer for his human.

“Gave me a chance, Ry. Gave me…something to do. Real living. I used to just…” Shane gestured inarticulately. 

“Exissst, yanno?” He settled on. “Missurable. Bored.” 

Ryan blinked. He supposed he got some of that. Shane went on.

“Seeing th’world…through yer eyes. Wanderin’ together.” Shane shook his head fondly, just the memories alone making his eyes glow. 

“So just cause I…what, cause I asked you to tag along on a Ghost Hunt?” Ryan managed.

“ Three Ghost Hunts.” The Demon corrected, as if Ryan didn’t remember the flagship episode of Unsolved that, quite literally, put them on the map. Shane smirked when Ryan made a small noise of annoyance at the needless correction. 

“Proves my point even more.” Ryan quipped back instantly. “I didn’t know at the time you were a Demon! All I knew was you had shown up at BuzzFeed one day out of the blue, and we just started hanging together and then Brent came to me and said he had to back out of co-hosting and then…”

Recognition dawned in Ryan’s eyes and he paused, a little flustered and a whole lot flattered and shocked. 

“...did you join Buzzfeed because of me, Shane?” He demanded directly. 

The sudden avert of ruby eyes with black depths was answer enough.

“But we met before I started Unsolved with Brent, so…ohmygod, were you stalking me?”

Well. Hadn’t he been living with lions longer than he first thought. Welp.

Shane grumbled at that and rolled his eyes again. (Ryan muttered sourly that one day, so help him, they would get stuck in that position. Which just made Shane cackle.)

Ryan wanted to go on, to pick apart their history even more but his eyes finally registered the wound in Shane’s shoulder and he scowled at it, shame licking his gut again. All this worrying and crying over his predicament and here was Shane, injured and bleeding and still the dumb Demon was fretting over him. 

Remembering what Shane had done for him unquestioningly when he was attacked, Ryan put his alarm aside. This was something he could handle, right here and now. 

Besides, he more than owed it to his best friend.

“Let’s get you patched up, big guy. We’ll talk about this later.” 

And Shane smiled at him, and even with all his teeth and the dim light of the bathroom accentuating his more…Demonic visage, Ryan couldn’t find a single ounce of unease or fear. 

There was too much warmth and gentleness, even in his inhuman gaze, for Ryan to ever be afraid of this big dope again. 

Shane’s fight with Annabelle’s…cronie, or whatever the smaller Demon was…had done more damage than Ryan expected. Not only was there the bite wound he had to clean, but it was bigger than it looked when they pulled his wrecked shirt free. And Shane had a few splintered bones that had already shifted into a smaller fractures with his speed healing. But the Demon was limping heavily and his wings dragging by the time Ryan had cleaned the worst of the shoulder wound. He’d gone through all their towels, because Ryan also found claw marks between Shane’s wings like the Demon had tried clawing his shoulder blades through. 

It all illustrated a very real, sobering point. The Demon wanted to do this to Ryan, too, and the only reason the fucker hadn’t was because Shane had relentlessly intervened and protected him.

Ryan was glad for the first aid kit in the car, and even more grateful that Shane was strong enough to undo the damage, even as Ryan patched him up best he could. But it clearly left his best friend sleepy and a little out of it, so Ryan bustled the big guy into bed, even covered him with the comforter. Shane’s wings did the rest, and though Ryan wanted nothing more than to crawl under one and join his best friend and hide from the rest of the world, he glanced guiltily at the pile of black and messy towels.

“I’m gunna go apologize to Connie, and uh, get rid of these before they stink up the room too much.” 

Shane muttered a weary noise of agreement, sighing as he rolled to better see the door Ryan would have to leave and reenter from. 

“Holee-water, Ry.” Shane sounded half asleep even as he reminded, and Ryan bit back a grin. 

They’d gone from human-Shane’s relentless teasing of his little water pistol, to now Demon-Shane seriously reminding him to grab it when he left by himself. 

Well, the reason didn’t make him smile. He was still being Hunted, there was still Annabelle to deal with for his Deal he made to find Shane. 

But the sheer comedic irony of it, that was different. What the hell had his life become?

“Be right back, Shane.” Ryan kept his voice low anyway, and slunk out of the dark room with towels in hand and pistol at hip. 

Sarah Winchester’s amulet was warm against his skin as he walked down the covered walkway. He made a stop in the Laundry room, swallowing dryly at the scorch marks on the tile, and the way the lights didn’t work anymore, then scooted to the check in area.

Chapter Text

Part VII.

The world was a pock marked, clustered quilt of roofs. Some towered, some leaned, many leaked and nearly all of them simply smoked from their chimneys with tired certainty. Buildings meant humans. Humans meant problems. Misery, joys, sadness. Complex emotions that other animals on this planet could mirror slightly–but Humanity had obtuse example of fears and lust and thrills. This was a city, meager and small though it seemed through the Demon’s eyes. Humans and their little nests, infiltrating the landscape like the rats they looked down upon. 

Humans were the rats in the Supernatural food chain, but he did rather admire the species. Oddities that they were. 

Always up to something, no matter what side of the globe he wandered to.

His vision swirled downward into a spiral, and with a simple dive and rushing ‘ shu-wash’ sound he was landing amongst a thick crowd of on-lookers gaping before the huge pike of a thick, sturdy log. 

Mutters, jeers, remarks all sounding all around him as he stood and stared over their heads. Even in human guise, he liked being tall.

A man’s voice boomed. Speaking of the Church, of a women’s place, of what sort of clothes should be worn by what gender, of Kings and lineage and witchcraft and heretics. 

Typical human nonsense. 

And as usual, someone had to pay for it all. Someone had to hang. 

Or, in this case, burn. 

Fire cleansed. That’s what humans imagined, anyway. So it must be true. 

Silly little things didn’t even know what lay slumbering in their ocean waters, but so many were so overly certain about such odd subjects. 

The woman in white bound to the thick log was more a sight to behold than her funeral pyre, and the Wanderer listened and watched with a piercing gaze. Her eyes searched the crowd. She saw him but recoiled, searching deeper. No one else looked his way, no one saw him there. He might as well have not been there at all.

But he was. 

And he watched the 19 year old be burned alive, swearing until her end that the voices she heard and the creatures she’d met where exactly what she promised they were. 

Angels. 

The air reeked their kind. The young lady wasn’t lying. She died all the same for it, though. 

The smell got stronger. Oils and thick flowers and the overpowering scent of harsh, bright Light. It was almost nauseating, or maybe it was just his anger smoldering up inside of him. 

The Wanderer ignored the approach of the figure, board shouldered and blue-eyed but pupil missing, white in the center like the hot part of the stars. He glared back with his own red ones, the pupils slitting like a pair of eyes belonging to an aggravated jaguar. 

“Never thought I’d see you here, Devil.” The Angel admitted. 

The Wanderer’s jaw set, were his fangs not as strong as they were, one would have shattered by now as he stifled his temper. It was hard, pining down his base instinct that ruled so many of his kind. Hot, flaming white Rage and Power.

 Eventually the Demonic Entity peeled his lips apart, and still staring straight ahead at the flames in the center of the crowd, muttered:

“Dad’s favorites are at it again. Making War.” And this one that followed would be a dozy. He could feel it. 

“Yes, well. They’ve been doing that for eons now, haven’t they? On every side of this round little rock he made.” 

It was the casual, bored disinterest that got to him. At least, that’s what he told himself later.

“So you spoke to that human up there and then let her burn for it? Is that the kind of message your lot is sending out now? Talk with Angels and perish for it?” 

No answer. The Wanderer wasn’t done, however. Even his own kind warned him that he never knew when to quit.

“Doesn’t that make you a little too much like my kind, Michael?” He spit at the Arch Angel’s feet and smirked when the air popped with thin, tiny lights of warning. 

“It is His Plan.” Michael replied, tone gravelly and practiced. Emotionless. 

The Wandered pitied him, but he also hated him too. 

“Yes, but has anyone ever stopped to ask Him if it’s a good one?” The Demon demanded of the Angel, nearly starting off a terrible altercation for doing the things he shouldn’t have done–asking questions. 

The Angel was tense now, knuckles tight in fists behind his back and the Demon sneered back, goading and malicious in reply. 

But no fight between them would be started here. Not in the middle of this town. Not when it was a fight that would set the scheming feather-brained Arch Angel off course for whatever plans he had while down here, mingling among the hairless apes. 

He had Orders. Rules he had to follow. 

This Demon had only Chaos to call home. He obeyed no one but his own whims and he went wherever the wind took him. Even Lucifer knew that, and he seemed of the mindset to let the Demon fuck off and do as he pleased. (A happy Demon distracted by humans wouldn’t try to take his throne, after all. It was the right choice. The Wanderer couldn’t be fucked to persue such a boring job. There were too many fascinating things on Earth to see and study and do.) 

But even he had some standards, and this whole making of a martyr seemed unnecessarily messy. 

The Angel wouldn’t take his bait, though. 

As much as the Demon wanted to step in and stop it all, he knew his intervention would certainly not be seen as Divine, and only set up the one he was saving for an even worse retaliation from her fellow humankind. Tch. 

“Go on back to Daddy, then.” The Wanderer mocked, finally lifting up and shedding his human disguise. He flew, straight as an arrow for a steeple, and alighted on it as the smoke crawled high and thick a few feet away, bending with the wind. 

A thin, watery figure had tumbled from the smoke a bit after the woman’s body had gone still behind the roaring flames. It was now getting stuck on the spikes of the roof and still uttering the words she declared just before her Death. 

“Hey.” The Demon caught her attention, lowering himself to show he wasn’t a threat, and for her to not feel fear or terror beyond what she was already enduring. ‘Be Not Afraid’ wasn’t exactly in his repertoire, but let it never be said he wasn’t a Demon who could improvise. 

“A Devil–” The young woman’s voice was more tired and ragged than truly fearful. 

“This isn’t the place for you anymore.” The Demon cut her off, then pointed upward. “Keep following the smoke. Go on. Fly upward. Don’t stop.”

Arms locked around the spires as if they held the key to her absolution, the young woman, shoot covered and dress still burning at the tips like the fire in her eyes, hesitated for a beat. Clearly, this was not the messenger of God she was expecting. 

The Wanderer held her gaze, then dipped his horned head once. 

“It will be alright.” He told her instead. “Up there. You can go.” 

She seemed to be searching for something, for someone. 

Perhaps she expected Angels to greet and comfort and soothe her. Not a monster like he appeared to be. 

Still, she didn’t seem hateful toward him. 

“But what will become of–” She halted. France? The King? Her people? 

“Nothing you want to stick around to see.” The Wanderer replied solemnly. “Nothing you could prevent the way you are now.”

She was silent. Thinking. 

He waited, and when it began to rain and the rain drove the smoke and fire away, he spread a wing over her and waited some more, silent and patient. He could wait for fifteen of her lifetimes that she would never get to see. But he knew she could not. Spirits were…terrible, suffering creatures sometimes. 

He didn’t want to see her become like that. If no one else was going to help her, then Hell, why not him he figured?

In the end the ghostly figure of Joan of Arc went on upward. The Wanderer flew with her for a few feet, letting her shelter under his wingspan when the wind roared viciously. Soon her spirit was able to control itself and she vanished upward ahead of him. Where the Light was so bright, but had nothing to do with the sun.

“May you know Peace.” The Wanderer wished for her softly, and he glanced down over the horizon. 

He wished it for Earth too, even knowing that as he did so, he was renouncing what it meant to be a Demon in the eyes of many, including his own kind. 

He would never fit in anywhere, would he? 

Ryan’s eyes snapped open, and he coughed as if the smoke from his dream was still filling his lungs. He smelled ash and sulfur, which was weird to him, since Shane didn’t actually smell like how he’d read Demons were supposed to. (Of course, what did Shane do that lined up with what Ryan had been taught to anticipate? The big goof.)  

The lingering scent faded with his sleepiness, and he blinked into the darkness of the room. 

Shane was flopped beside him, their chests pushed together and one of Ryan’s arms slung upwards. It bent at the elbow and sometime during their nap his fingers had brushed the red, warm enamel of the Demon’s horns. Shane’s oceanic breathing was lulling and safe. Familiar. 

His fingertips tingled, and something inside Ryan settled on the touch of his hand to Shane’s sensitive horns being the cause for the…dream? It felt more like a memory. 

Ryan laid there, the clock telling him they had another half an hour before they had to get up and head away from this place. Shane needed to rest and heal. Ryan just wanted to be near him and feel safe for a little bit. 

He hadn’t expected to see into Shane’s past just from that little touch while they slept. And it hadn’t seemed to rouse or disturb Shane’s rest at all, so…

Ryan smiled, giving soft eyes at the Demon and who he stood up to anyone and anything when defending his beliefs. 

When the alarm went off Ryan was still awake. He chuckled at Shane’s grunt of discontent but tugged at his outermost wing finger playfully. 

“C’mon big guy. Up and attem’.” He coaxed.

The Demon grunted but sat up.

Within 15 minutes they were out and up in the air.

Shane’s flying was less sure and powerful than it was only a few nights ago. 

Still, he carried the weight of Ryan and his bag with small griping and little animosity. He’s throwing all of himself into this flight, traveling a pointed, invisible highway as the skyline stretches out below them. 

The moon, which was nearly full by now but playing hide-and-seek behind some dark clouds, was of little comfort and even less light source for weak, wet human eyes to see by. Ryan knew Shane could see in the dark (something that he’d long since theorized but now was vindicated in.) but that didn’t mean Ryan also didn’t want to see what his friend could see with such ease. 

Shane’s shoulder was still bandaged, and he seemed to be trying to hide any favoring of it, regardless of how Ryan tried to get him to open up about why it wasn’t healing beyond the initial, first stage. Why it seemed to get better just fine and then all of a sudden get worse. 

Shane wasn’t talking. 

They had bid the Concierge and the Omni Motel good-bye and given their gratitude and apologies and flown off into the night. Again, with Shane not divulging their new destination in mind, only that it was imperative they head out sooner rather than later.

After being attacked by a Demon apparently working under Annabelle, Ryan didn’t find much voice to argue or try to slow Shane down. 

The night wind was getting cooler as the hours passed, and judging by what little Ryan knew of the cardinal directions, he was almost positive they were headed north east. 

Ryan frowned to himself, staring at Shane’s injured shoulder after not finding anything of interest in the expansive, sprawling canyon of a forest far below. 

He gazed at the wound and he remembered. 

The Night Before…

“This is worse than I thought.” Connie said the second Ryan crossed the threshold into the reception area. Her tone was so low and serious he halted and got hit with the door as it swung closed, the bell tinkling moodily and spooking him. 

“What is?” He managed, ignoring how stupid and out of his league he felt about all this. He had a nagging feeling it was only going to get worse.

Connie was standing over her desk, a large book before her. Book seemed to small of a word, so Ryan mentally corrected himself. 

The tomb was open close to the middle with the pages brittle and yellowed. The binding looked old, older than the motel certainly and older than Ryan most definitely. It gave off an eerie glow, and Ryan found he couldn’t stomach looking at it for too long without his nerves unraveling a little. 

“The–that creep that attacked here, or the one who sent him?” Ryan clarified as he followed her motioning and approached around the desk to step closer to her and the work station. Charms and herbs in bundles littered the desk, and something wrapped in red cloth was smoking in a porcelain bowl that gave off a purple, ashy scent and made his head spin a little. 

“Both. Neither. Well–look. I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about what you’ve gotten yourself into. But it’s your Demon friend, it’s Shane, that’s worrying me.” 

Ryan immediately felt himself go on edge. He often found himself defending Shane from others, even before he discovered the Demon’s true identity. Shane was a weird, tall dude and sometimes the vibe he gave off apparently spooked a few people. 

But she’d seemed to like his best friend just fine earlier…

“Why? He seems fine– he saved us just now, if he hadn’t been there…”

“I know he saved us. But…it’s how he looks, Ricky. How he’s acting, apparently the fact he’s still sane is a miracle all by itself. But you mentioned his humane guise wasn’t returning. I had told my Uncle about it, and he sent word back, along with this book on Demonology.”

The Ghost Hunter glanced at it, disappointed to see the text was in a script he’d never even sort of seen before. 

“I don’t…understand.” He managed weakly, feeling some inner pull to defend Shane, gentle, fun-loving and playful Shane again. He thought of their private little movement in the bathroom and decided he needed to listen instead of judge. But he had his own opinion in mind about Shane, and it wouldn’t be altered based on some book that was written by humans. (Humans had hunted Shane and caused him to turn into this in the first place, hadn’t they?) 

“Shane’s not Evil.” He settled on.

“No?” Connie asked, and for the first time her tone was something closer to cool and concerned, not emphatic and warm. She looked at Ryan as if he were the one to be afraid of. He swallowed, not liking this new look. It hurt, but he thought back to the burn marks in the Laundry room, and he glanced down at the burn marks on her arm, that had appeared after the Demon had attacked the motel. 

The injures the building suffered…they were on her, now. 

Ryan felt guilt gobble up his stomach and chew it all down. 

“You knew something was coming after us, why is it so important it’s another Demon?” Ryan finally asked, but he had a feeling he knew the answer. 

“Because Shane is a Demon, too.” The strange young woman was firm but her eyes full of pity as they flittered to study Ryan beside her. “Demons fighting other Demons…that’s not heard of. They’re solitary, but it’s ordinary for them to team up to take on prey, not have conflicting opinions. At the most I’d expect someone like him to step aside and watch. Demons like watching horrors happen, like a spectator sport almost.”

Well, that certainly answered Ryan’s question with Shane’s fascination with old time hangings. He filed that one away for later and grumbled a little. 

“You’ve said yourself Shane is different–different with me.” Ryan managed to pull together, trying not to sound upset or accusatory. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, besides a small growing sensation of dread and unease. 

He thought back to the injury Shane had sustained, how his skin blackened like the art from a Stephen Gammell illustration, how spider-web like black lines crackled outward and how the wound pulsed under his hands as he tried patching Shane up. 

“Something in him is broken, or it’s breaking.” The proprietor of the Omni Motel didn’t mince words before, and she seemed less interested in doing so now. “The Demon that tried hunting you, that’s what’s in the books. That’s what you can deal with. Humans have been doing it for years, ever since the first man saw something move in the dark of the night. Ricky….listen to me. I’ve never seen a Demon do what yours just did, helping us finish off that other one just for your sake.” 

“He was just protecting me, from Annabelle.” Ryan blurted, fighting a curse. The less he said her name, the better. “Besides, you said you hadn’t even met a lotta Demons–” 

He stopped himself, torn.

Her eyebrows vanished behind her magenta tipped blue bangs. “You gotta name on what’s coming for you? Well...That’s good. And bad, but mostly good.” 

“Why’s it Bad?”

“Because it means you sought out some knowledge of this one, too. You brought it into your Life. Not everything you call to you will be docile and candy-obsessed as Shane is.” Connie murmured, shaking her head as if disappointed. “In fact, assume nothing is.” 

“I already do.” Ryan defended, and that was a truth that he would die on, for sure. “It’s kind of in my job description to go looking into the dark places, remember? And I’m–we’re–always careful!”

“Shane’s been the one doing the heavy lifting all this time, I’d say. And I think it’s worn him thin and thread-bare. He’s turning into something you may not be pleased with, Ricky. That thing I mentioned, how a Demon has a true form…?” 

Ryan had no comment for this, because he was starting to think the very same thing too. 

Instead, he took a step back, tearing his eyes from the wounds peeking out from under her 80’s inspired clothes.

“I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m sorry this place got caught in the cross fire. We’ll be gone, as soon as Shane’s able to move.” 

The Concierge’s cool look slowly melted. Something between them had shifted, he could feel it. He supposed he didn’t blame her, but it still hurt. 

But the guilt Ryan was feeling was another story. He felt it even if she tried hiding it. Connie had helped them and in return she got burned for it, quiet literally. That wasn’t fair. 

Life, as Ryan so often mulled, was rarely fair in the end. 

That was just the way of things. 

For better or for worse, Ryan had shared this conversation with his best friend already. Everything from Connie’s words to his own worry, and how he simply couldn’t see Shane letting anything happen to him on purpose, and so what if Shane was a weird demon? He was Ryan’s weird demon. 

Shane had looked troubled (Except for Ryan’s little claim at the end, to which he snorted fondly) but then abruptly clammed up. He requested a short nap, and then they could hit the road. They’d traveled at odd hours even before they had to do it on demon’s wings. 

In less than three hours they were up in the air again, flying off to some location still unknown to Ryan. 

The wind buffeted them both and Ryan jolted from his thoughts, realizing with a bolt of surprise that Shane’s wing beats suddenly seemed to be flagging. 

Ryan looked to Shane’s face seeing a glossed over, decidedly detached look. As if Shane had a fever, and was not all there in his own mind suddenly. How long had he been heading toward this state? Ryan swallowed. 

He didn’t look angry, far from it. He looked out of it, rather. Completely losing some inner battle as his jaws hung wider and he panted with growing effort just to keep them both in a controlled swooping descent that he was clearly trying to power through. 

They were in the middle of nowhere. Something within Ryan warned him that this wasn’t where Shane wanted them to be, that this landing wasn’t something the Demon consented to. 

Something was wrong with Shane. Very, very wrong. 

Ryan didn’t know what alarmed him more, that strange alien look of emptiness or how hot Shane’s skin was feeling suddenly, the air thickening rapidly as if Ryan’s been held by an oven with arms. 

“Shane–Shane!” Ryan tried calling through to him. Between their sudden, rocky unstable plummeting and the heat burning the air around them, clinging is about the only thing Ryan can do as he braced himself and tried to use his body to protect Shane from any major damage in their upcoming crash into the earth below. 

“What’s happening!? Are you okay?? Shane!” Ryan yelped as the wind whistled around them and the ground rushed up sickeningly quick to meet them. 

Something must reconnect inside poor Shane’s brain at his voice, because he tensed up in the last minute and roared, sounding blinded and delirious even as he jerked up ward and rolled sideways, throwing a wing under to catch them both as they topple clumsily onto land. The duo slid down a sloping hill of bristly grass and itchy wheat stalks. It’s dark, Ryan can’t see shit and he felt like an idiot scrambling about in the darkness. 

And then something red illuminated beside him and the baking heat felt volcanic for an instant–Ryan threw himself back on caveman instinct–Fire bad–and by luck or some ancestor having it out for him, hooked his ankle on a huge log and went ass-backwards over it. 

Fire flared over the night sky, smoke and ash spitting as a roar shattered the peacefulness of the night. Ryan’s back felt cold from the dewy grass under him, and prickers cut through one palm as he crab-walked backwards in an attempt to get away while trying to peer over the log and see what was going on with poor Shane now. 

“Hey!” A voice just beside almost gave him a damn heart attack. He turned to stare at a young woman kneeling beside him out of literally nowhere, her dark skin and even darker hair making her eerie, lemon-green eyes stand out as much as the impressively sharp canines pressing into her bottom lip. 

They had nothing on the terrible, curved horns though that hugged her thick dreads and jutted sideways, unlike Shane’s slender, upright ones. 

He gaped, floundering like a fish out of water as something in him went off in alarm at this unearthly being. On cue, the little charm on his hip ring-a-ling-tinged under all the other noise and chaos of the moment. 

“G-Get back–Demon!” Ryan managed, about to call Shane for help when he remembered that Shane wasn’t exactly able to help himself right now, let alone his human friend. 

“I’m a friend of his!” The young woman asserts, sticking a hand out with ruby red claws and a bunch of silver and gold rings. “It’s okay, c’mon!”

“But, but Shane–” But something was wrong with Shane and Ryan couldn’t help but feel it was from the wound he’d received earlier. 

He also couldn’t just leave Shane, not when his friend had never left him down before–

“If you want to protect him, you need to protect yourself first, Ryan.” And without ceremony she grabbed his hand and the world sucked inward like a drain sucking down dish water. He struggled for all of a few seconds, energy leaving him quick as he tried to beg his muscles to respond. He tried putting up a fight, he did. 

The bell ringed louder, sharper. Shane’s roars turned bigger, deeper, beyond something Ryan’s human brain could comprehend. His stomach somersaulted once, twice.

Ryan didn’t know anything after that.