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“Oh no!” Dennis's voice came from too close, almost right at Robby's ear. “Robby, this is a nightmare! You have to help me find a pulse, because the moment I saw you, I lost mine.”
Robby didn't flinch. Didn't even stop.
“Are you sure that's a joke and not a cry for help? I can still kill you.”
A pause.
“Oh,” Dennis drawled, pleased. “Progress. You’re throwing sarcasm back at me now. I'm so proud of you.”
Robby snorted and slammed the trunk shut. The bag filled with salt, iron, and everything else settled heavy on his shoulder. Dennis flickered in the car window's reflection. Smile too wide, too satisfied, like a cat that's gotten into the cream. Robby rolled his eyes.
Warmth. Familiar.
Robby caught himself almost smiling. Almost. He crushed the feeling in a second, a habit worn deeper than any other instinct. Warmth is dangerous. And warmth from a demon is even worse. Warmth makes you slow. A slow hunter is a dead hunter.
“If you're done, I have work.”
“Oh no, no, no,” Dennis took three quick steps, overtaking Robby and spinning around to walk backwards down the road. “I've only just started. Listen: why doesn't a ghost pay rent?”
Robby groaned.
“Don't.”
“Because he's already been evicted.”
Silence.
Robby looked at him. Dennis was beaming like that was the best thing he'd ever said.
“That's just awful.”
“It's brilliant.”
“That's fucking terrible. That should be illegal.”
“Then arrest me, mr. hunter.”
He spread his arms, as if inviting.
Robby just shook his head and walked past him toward the house.
“You're not worth the paperwork.”
“Oh, you wound me.”
“Doubt it.”
Dennis kept walking backwards, but now he was silent. Three seconds. Five.
“You didn't even check!” he said, mock-serious, without his usual smile. “What if I'm dying from your coldness?”
“I know where you are. You're like a cockroach,” Robby answered without looking back. “Can't get rid of you that easily. You're always where you shouldn't be.”
Dennis's gaze stopped being playful…
The house that greeted them was old, with peeling paint and boarded-up windows. Typical..
Too quiet.
Robby checked his gun, ran his fingers over the cold metal out of habit.
“Tell me the truth,” Dennis's voice came closer, quieter. “Would you miss me if I stopped coming?”
Robby didn't turn around.
“No.”
Short. Without a pause.
Dennis was silent for just a second, then gave a sly smile.
“Liar,” he said lightly, though the shine was already gone.
Robby pushed the door open.
“Watch the jokes, Dennis.”
“Always.”
Inside, the house was empty. Too empty, and not eerie enough for a haunted house.
Robby stopped in the entryway, frowning.
“Strange.”
“Oh don't,” Dennis perked up. “Don't tell me our ghost decided to take a sick day. The ghost union finally won some rights?”
Robby didn't answer. He moved slowly through the rooms, checking the rooms.
No trace.
No cold. No whisper. No presence.
Nothing.
Robbie stopped. And very slowly turned around. Dennis stood by the wall, leaning against it, wearing that same lazy expression. Almost deliberately relaxed.
“What did you do?”
It wasn't a question. Dennis raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you say that like I did something bad.”
“What. Did. You. Do.”
A short pause.
“Took care of the problem,” he shrugged. “Don't thank me. I decided you deserved a day off.”
Robby looked at him.
For a long time.
“I didn't ask.”
“But you didn't say no,” Dennis answered quickly. “Seriously, isn't this convenient? No mess, no—”
“Did I ask?”
Silence.
Something had changed.
Not sharply. Not loudly.
Just… vanished.
The warmth.
Dennis didn't move. Only his smile twisted into a distorted grimace, not all at once, but millimeter by millimeter, like rain washing away every trace of cheer.
“Robby,” he called. Quiet. For the first time, not playing.
Robby turned and walked toward the exit.
“We're not done yet,” Dennis threw after him, with forced, misplaced cheer.
“Yes, we are,” Robby said without looking back.
The door slammed. The sound echoed dully through the house. Dennis remained where he stood, alone.
Dennis frowned.
“No, wait, are you serious?”
Robby looked away and ran a hand over his face.
“I came here to work.”
“So be happy. You're already done.”
“I didn't do this.”
“What's the difference?”
And then Robby looked at him again.
“For you? Apparently none.”
A pause.
“I honestly thought…” Dennis hesitated, searching for words. “I thought you at least understood” that.
It was said quietly.
No anger. No mockery. Just a trace of exhaustion.
Dennis didn't immediately understand what had just happened.
Because when Robby simply turned and walked to the exit no glance, no word, no eye-roll —
That somehow turned out to be… worse.
So much worse.
“Hey,” he said.
Robby didn't stop.
“Hey.”
Zero reaction.
The sound of the slamming door echoed dully through the house. Dennis stayed where he was, by the wall.
A few seconds. Nothing.
Then he slowly straightened up.
“Fine,” he said into the emptiness. “Great. Just great. A new phase. The silent treatment. Very… mature of you.”
The silence didn't answer.
He paced the room, stopped where Robby had stood just a moment ago. Tilted his head slightly, as if trying to catch something that had already vanished.
“This is a joke, right?” he added, quieter now. “Any second now Robby's going to walk back in and call me an idiot.”
Nothing.
The corners of his mouth twitched again, but couldn't quite gather into a smile.
“Fine.”
The word hung in the air, finding nothing to cling to.
Dennis dragged a hand across his face sharp, irritated and for a second his features distorted more than usual, something almost inhuman about it.
“Fine,” he repeated. “ You want me to… fix it.”
He laughed shortly.
“No problem.”
After that, Dennis was always there. Not right away. Not walking beside him, not cracking jokes. Just… there.
Like background noise that had been removed, then brought back but quieter.
He watched.
Waited.
For Robby to look up. To say something. To at least roll his eyes for appearances.
Nothing.
And that was worse than shouting.
Worse than threats.
Worse than anything he could have imagined.
Finally, Dennis couldn't take it anymore.
“Alright,” he said, appearing in the doorway. “This is starting to get offensive.”
Robby walked past him.
Like he wasn't there.
Dennis blinked.
“Seriously?”
Zero reaction.
“I'll fix it.”
Robby stopped.
Didn't turn around.
“You can't fix it.”
A pause.
Dennis gritted his teeth and took a step toward Robby.
Then another.
“Then explain,” he said sharply. “Explain what you want from me.”
Robby slowly turned his head.
Looked at him.
And for the first time in all of this, there was something in his gaze… tired.
“I want you out of my life.”
“What?”
A pause.
“I want you to leave.”
Silence.
And for the first time, Dennis had no answer.
No joke.
No snark.
Nothing.
He just stood there, staring.
And Robby turned away.
The next time, Dennis didn't come. He wasn't there before, or after, or in the moment. He wasn't there at all.
And then Robby, standing in yet another empty house, suddenly caught himself listening. Waiting, really for just one stupid pun. Any pun at all.
But all he got in return was silence.
And even that didn't feel the same.