Work Text:
“You’re kidding me, right?” Jonathan stared, disbelieving, at the iridescent red Gibson Firebird-X cradled in Sock’s hands. “A demonic guitar? Really?”
Sock tipped his head to one side, a cheery smile sliding onto his face. “Demon-possessed guitar, actually. This is Floyd. Say hi to Jonathan, Floyd.”
Without a hand on the strings, the guitar played a riff that sounded distinctly like a hello. Jonathan took a step back, eyeing the instrument warily. “Demon-possessed...?” he queried, voice flat.
“Um, Floyd made a deal, and kinda got himself stuck.” Sock told him sheepishly. “But it’s okay. He doesn’t mind, because he can still play music, right, Floyd?”
A trill of notes, light like cheery laughter, rippled from the strings.
“So why a possessed guitar?” Jonathan seated himself on the edge of his bed, with the battered old Fender he’d bought at a second-hand shop and painstakingly fixed, resting in his lap.
Sock reached out, his fingers passing harmlessly through the neck of Jonathan's guitar. “Because Floyd, I can touch. But he can’t teach me, like you can.”
Jonathan huffed, blowing blond bangs out of his eyes. “Fine, just... You’re the one playing, alright? You can’t learn from your mistakes if he doesn’t let you make them, okay?”
Sock nodded enthusiastically, the Gibson in his hand echoing his movement with a twanging note. He settled himself in midair, floating at a level height with Jonathan.
“Okay, so first off, you’re holding it... er, him wrong.” Jonathan demonstrated the proper way to cradle the instrument
Sock copied him, shifting around until Jonathan gave a curt nod.
“This is an A...”
~~~~
Jonathan wasn’t sure how long they’d been working, but Sock was a fast learner, for the most part. He’d picked up most of the major chords without difficulty and was beginning to combine them into actual music, though he was still having a little trouble with certain things.
Jonathan shook his head and repeated the movement. “Watch my fingering hand, not the other,” he instructed. “You have to vary how much pressure you put on the strings in order to change the tone.” He played the chording again, more slowly this time, so Sock could watch how his fingers moved on the neck of the guitar. “We’ll worry about moving up and down the fretboard later.”
Sock tried again, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth absently. He let out a yelp of dismay as he missed the note again, producing a discordant sound.
Floyd helpfully played the note correctly, so Sock would know what it was supposed to sound like, but Sock was unable to replicate the fingering. Sock’s frustration was clear in the growing crease between his eyebrows and the absent way he gnawed on his bottom lip.
Without thinking about it, Jonathan rose, setting his guitar aside and stepped behind Sock. He put his hand on Floyd’s neck, demonstrating the proper fingering technique slowly. “Like this.”
Sock, teeth clamped on his lower lip, watched and then slowly and hesitantly tried again. He almost had it, but right at the end, he failed again.
Standing this close, Jonathan could see where he’d gone wrong. Without thinking about it, he placed his hand over Sock’s and guided it back into position over the frets. “To keep the note true, you have to make sure the pressure is consistent. Otherwise you lose it.” Fingers over Sock’s, he held Sock’s fingers in the right position, showing him how much pressure to apply and how to change fingerings smoothly.
Despite his efforts, the next notes were uneven, sounding almost shaky in pitch.
Jonathan frowned, looking down at the hand Sock was using to strum the strings.
Sock’s fingers were quivering, uneven little tremors racing across his whole hand. Blinking, Sock looked up at Jonathan, offering him a wobbly, uncertain smile. “I— um—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat softly, red rising like a tide in his cheeks. “You— you’re touching me.”
Jonathan looked down at the hand he had over Sock’s, feeling the cool skin beneath his fingertips. He hadn’t even realized he’d done it, it had been natural at the time, just to step up and show him what to do. He tightened his hand a little bit, feeling the flex and give of Sock’s muscles. “So I am,” he murmured absently, watching Sock’s hand move under his. “Wonder how that happened?”
Floyd played a cheery little arpeggio, strings vibrating under their fingers.
Sock shifted a little. “It has to do with intent,” he said quietly, his eyes darting around the room in an obvious attempt to not look at Jonathan. “Your intent. You intended to touch me, to show me what I was doing wrong, so you did.” Sock’s mouth twitched slightly, a sad imitation of his usual cheerful grin. “What I want, or intend, doesn’t matter. You are the one that controls how we interact.” Sock laughed, a breathy, faint sound that lacked genuine amusement. “Why do you think I have to bug you into offing yourself, huh? No matter what, I can’t do anything. Not anymore.”
Three discordant notes came from Floyd, making Jonathan wince. “Should you really be giving up all your demon secrets like that?” He teased, somehow not liking the weary resignation on Sock’s face. “Floyd doesn’t think so, obviously.”
Sock’s laugh this time held a little real humor. “Doesn’t matter. He can’t tell anyone. Kinda hard to tattle when you’re a possessed guitar.”
Another dissonant twang made them both laugh.
Sock’s gaze drifted down and the red in his cheeks crested higher. “Um, Jonathan?”
“Yeah?”
“You're still holding my hand...”
Jonathan looked down and noticed that without his intending it, his fingers had curled around Sock’s, holding the demon’s hand captive against the frets. Sock’s skin was cool, but not cold, and his muscles tensed jumpily under Jonathan’s touch. “Huh...” Jonathan muttered, not pulling his hand back, curious about the solid feel of Sock’s flesh against his.
He’d passed right through Sock so many times, it was odd to know he could also be solid. Sock’s fingers were thin, but not bony, and his skin, aside from that strange coolness, felt normal and alive. He rubbed his thumb over the slight rise of an old scar on one of Sock’s knuckles, feeling the thickness of the scar tissue and mentally comparing it to one of his own scars. They felt the same, and Jonathan wondered how much Sock had retained from his life.
After a single futile tug, Sock had remained still, allowing Jonathan’s exploration, watching him with wide eyes and a bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Floyd shivered under their entwined hands and segued into a soft, lilting melody.
It was one Jonathan recognized immediately from his childhood and he guiltily released Sock’s hand, taking a step back. Jonathan knew he was turning almost as red as Sock. “Uh, dude, your demon guitar buddy either likes Disney movies way too much or has figured ways around the lack of vocal cords.”
Almost like it was agreeing with Jonathan’s assessment, the tune from the guitar changed again. This one was just as familiar as the first.
Jonathan took another step back, leveling a venomous look at the guitar. “Quit it.”
Sock blinked, a little confused by the sudden change in the atmosphere. “What? What is he doing?”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, “Seriously?” He glared at Floyd again, knowing he was red and getting redder. “I don’t care if you are the only possessed guitar in existence, knock it off or, so help me, I will rip every one of your tuning pegs out and hang you over a nest of termites by your stupid strings.”
“Wait, what?” Sock protested, looking down at the guitar still in his lap. “I don’t get it!” he complained. “I never watched any Disney movies. My dad hated them. What’s he doing that’s so bad?”
Jonathan snagged Floyd out of his hands, slapping a hand over the strings and sound box, and muting the cheery tune. “Nothing important!” He growled, giving the guitar a little shake for emphasis. He’d never been so glad that his parents had long since gotten rid of all the old movies from when he was a kid. No way was he letting Sock figure out what Floyd had been playing.
Growling under his breath, Jonathan shoved Floyd back into Sock’s hands. “Look just take him back to hell or wherever it is possessed guitars hang out when they’re not being dumbasses, and we’ll go hang out when you get back. Whatever you want to do that doesn’t involve me killing myself or anyone else...” He offered frantically. “I think there’s a new exhibit on dinosaurs at the museum downtown. You like dinosaurs, right?” Jonathan would take several hours of Sock going off on gore-filled tangents about his favorite creatures over dealing with a demonic guitar with an assholish sense of humor.
Sock brightened. “Yeah!” He took hold of the guitar. “I’ll be right back.”
Floyd played a mocking trill in the moment before Sock vanished, a few bars of yet another song that made Jonathan grit his teeth.
When Sock was gone, Jonathan flopped back on his bed with a groan. It didn’t matter he’d been holding Sock’s hand... out of curiousity, dammit!... that stupid guitar had no right to insinuate things.
He made a mental note to never, ever let Sock near a Disney movie.
“I see that stupid guitar again, he’s going in a wood-chipper.” Jonathan vowed, sitting up to wait for Sock’s return.
Dumb guitar had obviously seen way too many romantic movies.