#it sorta reminds me of when i used to do ink washes in my figure drawing class ages ago

[incessantlark]

strahm got caught snooping around as per usual

[musicallisto]

♬ Pour Your Heart Out (Ashton Irwin)

( I PROMISED I had stopped writing about real people, because, in hindsight, it’s kind of weird to them (esp. bc 5sos used to say they feel sorta uncomfortable with fanfic, I don’t know what their stance is now), and I had done a pretty good job of it for a few years. but then this idea came and as much as I tried to repress it, it wouldn’t go away. I blame @softeninglooks​ and our walk down memory lane for prompting me to write this eventually. I think it’s supposed to give me some kind of closure with the rabid 5sos stan I was in 2015-2018, a parting gift to that teenage girl, a reconciliation of sorts, if you will. In a way, this is all a metaphor for my own state of mind regarding Ashton, whom I adored so very dearly during those years and that I think I’ll always like, deep down. Anyway, y’all don’t care about my Freudian portrait and with good reason, so like, enjoy. )

word count: 4.0k words

summary: In which you cross paths at the hotel bar with a handsome face you prayed to God you would never see again.

warnings: angst, alcohol, foul language, gets a bit steamy, implied sex (but no smut!). we’re gonna be antagonizing Ashton a lot in this one so if you can’t bear insulting him (which I wouldn’t lmfao) I guess don’t read?

soundtrack: ♬

FOR A PLACE so upscale and brimming with obscene luxury, New York City’s Fifth Avenue Hotel’s bourbon was horrendous.

Or maybe it was merely because you’d never been an avid drinker anyway. All alcohols merged in your throat in some bubbling fire, until you couldn’t distinguish anything inside you.

Which was exactly why you were leaning your elbows on the bar, mindlessly playing with a finger of whiskey in your glass, the hem of your slit dress hugging the cold feet of the bar stool, and a completely absent look in your tired eyes. Because you wanted to drown all that stirred inside of you - a chaos in your chest, an incomprehensible riot in your stomach. All because the universe and its sickening sense of humor had thrust in your mind memories you’d rather forget, like a knife to the chest.

All because your work had sent you to a gala in New York City on the exact same night he would be there as well, playing in Brooklyn to a crowd of adoring admirers.

Not that it mattered anyway. The day you left, you had accused him of only adoring himself. You were a revolted fury, and you had spat out every single word you could before your mind would go numb and your throat would constrict forever.

You regretted all of it. The fighting, the accusations, the way you had slammed the door when you had left. Something in your chest, however, growled that you still resented him for never reaching out to you.

And just like that you both had returned to your respective nights - he in the spotlight and the unconditional love, you in the business and the casual dates. It was a crash like no other, coming down from the high of being his goddess every day and every night, but you managed. You always did. You were strong, resilient. Stronger than a sudden pang of nostalgia and certainly stronger than the foolish hope that you’d somehow run into him in New York...

And even if you did, he wouldn’t recognize you, anyway. Your hair was different, your face more tired despite the golden hues that the ceiling lights cast on your cheeks. He was different, too - and in all likelihood you would see him on the arm of a young and beautiful starlet. Not that it would matter to you, or that it would break your heart to see someone in your spot, or that it was any of your business who he shared his nights and secrets and tears and laughs with - no, you were stronger than that. You downed your bourbon. Disgusting, and you were still too acutely aware of your emotional confusion for your liking.

A light breeze suddenly breathed on your neck, slightly lifting your dress around your ankles, and the rustling sound of a door opening barely made its way to your ears before you drowned it out. Maybe the alcohol was having an effect after a —

You turned your head around. Your beath hitched. Your vision was suddenly restricted to a single tunnel right in front of you - a tunnel one single silhouette occupied entirely, making his way to the reception with nonchalance, his hair tousled from the autumn wind of the city. Your eyes traveled to his face of their own accord. Before you could make out the outline of his eyes - Gosh, his eyes, you remembered them so vividly, the spark that inhabited them whenever he would play music to you -, you had frantically turned around.

“Bartender, please. Another,” you signaled.

Maybe it wasn’t the best choice to get another drink when you were already starting to hallucinate, but a sudden urge had overpowered you, almost to the point of nausea. The bartender’s empathetic shake of the head did nothing to alleviate the shrill alert that had suddenly overcome you.

“Sorry, miss. The bar is closing for the night.”

“Deliver it to my room then,” you pleaded, and you thought for a moment that your sincerely distraught expression would be enough to convince him. But he shook his head once again as he turned to wipe a plate, his voice dropping.

“I don’t mean to pry, miss, but I don’t think it would be good for you. It’s getting late. Maybe catch some sleep?”

Heavens, you wished nothing more than to go to your room and sleep it all off - to wake up to an empty room and an empty heart, devoid of fear, hurt, and passion, but you were certain now that you wouldn’t catch any sleep that night if you chased it for hours. Not when closing your eyes meant seeing him again, striding towards the reception with his natural ease and focused gaze, that same one he had when he walked up to you for the first time... Almost unvoluntarily, you had turned around once more on your stool. He was leaning on the reception desk and chatting with the receptionist - judging by the bright smile lighting up her tired features, he still had all of his charm and humor. You found yourself observing his back, his relaxed shoulders, then his neck, the ink where you used to leave bruises... his hazel eyes, familiar and stunned... his eyes? He had turned around, mindlessly playing with his keycard, and was now looking straight at you, a glimmer of astonishment pulsing through his pupils. A cold shiver washed over you. You returned to your drink. Empty. Dammit.

You hated them, all the steps that had let you to that moment. You hated your firm for sending you to a gala in New York of all places, on that night of all nights, booking you a ridiculously expensive room in that hotel of all hotels. You hated the bartender for not refilling your glass, and yourself for thinking that running into Ashton would make for a sweet reunion like in the movies. You hated him for walking up to you, footsteps all but timid, bathed in the assurance you knew so well - the one he had after playing a show, when he perspired confidence and enthusiasm, when the blood in his veins pounded against your skin in the dressing room backstage — Godammit, why couldn’t he be in a groupie’s bed, and why couldn’t you actually hate him...

And yet, when he spoke, his voice was soft and warm.

“Y/N?”

You couldn’t have turned to face him, even if you had wanted. The voice that called out your name was that of a stranger. The last time you had heard it in his mouth, it was but a strangled cry, a crack that shrouded what little of his Australian accent remained, enough to remind you of home. There was no space for a home in his voice anymore; he could’ve blended with the locals perfectly if he had wanted.

Somehow, yet... you would have picked him in a crowd of billions. Something about his radiance.

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as you.”

“Oh, you’ve started a band?”

You rolled your eyes. You hated him. Always joking. Always fun. Always affable...

“Work.”

“Of course.”

He had mumbled, his gaze dropping to the empty drink in your hands and its pitiful foamy stains. You almost clicked your tongue in annoyance. He was bitter, unusually so; you much preferred the upfront and unwavering Ashton, the one who had told you without blinking that you might as well leave him, since you hated him so much.

Still, for a reason incomprehensible to you, he hoisted himself up on the barstool immediately next to yours. You could've sworn you heard the vibrations of his heart, though you couldn't tell if they were caused by his post-concert adrenaline, or your warm breath on his tense hand.

“What?”

“It was always work.”

“On your side too, Ashton.”

You almost shivered when pronouncing his name. The chant that used to paint your lips, like a prayer you would whimper in the crook of his neck.

“I know.”

You would've expected an apology, and obviously there was none. There never was any with Ashton, no matter how profoundly he wounded you. Why would he need to? He was so unapologetically himself, so radiant and imperial, like a solar king... and you but a common girl in his wake.

You refused to go over all the reasons that had caused your constant fighting and eventual breakup - you had thought them over time and time again, tossing and turning in a bed too cold. And if you let your mind wander astray, it would inevitably come back to his hand on the small of your back, the devilish grin you heard in his voice when he whispered in your ear, and the pulsing between your legs only he could vainquish... it was the last thing you wanted to think about when you were alone with him, with a luxury suite all to yourselves...

With a stir, you finally looked up to him. The fire in your throat, from all the glasses of whisky, instantly descended to your chest, your stomach, then lower, as your eyes trailed down his figure. He looked tired, but blissfully so; the same disheveled hair, tanned and slightly clammy skin you woke up to in the morning. His eyes - Gosh, his eyes - detailed you with this amused attentiveness he always had. And the top buttons of his shirt, untied, revealed the beginning of a strong torso you had cried and laughed and moaned into until the ungodly hours of the night... a few more tattoos, a face older, eyes and jaw sharper, and yet you recognized the stranger in front of you. You had been everywhere inside of him, seen everything; your body ached suddenly for his touch, his warmth, his burn.

Biting back an expletive and squeezing your legs together to calm the throbbing, you grabbed your glass and... Still empty. Dammit!

You hated him.

And yet the sound of him murmuring your name, soft and tender, like a sunray on your eyelids, was an abominable indicator that you didn't really.

“Come on, I'll walk you to your room.”

He extended an arm towards your shoulder; instinctively you bolted up from your stool. Your hand grabbed your handbag; his, hesitant, fell by his side.

“You're the last person I'd want with me right now.”

You're the last person I'd want with me in front of my room.

“Y/N, come on. You can't stay here and drink all your problems away.”

“Yeah, you'd know about that.”

Low. So abjectly low, even in your slightly ebriated state, even in the irascible torpor clouding your mind. Did you regret it, when his gaze darkened, when his lips - Gosh, his lips - twitched in a scowl?

“Fuck you, Y/N.”

“No, fuck you, Ashton.”

Your voice had raised as he stood up from his barstool; his somber figure, now entirely devoid of its post-concert enthusiasm, facing you like an angered god, reminded you all too well of all the nights spent arguing and making up. This time, however, you would utter your parting words. Or so you promised.

“Fuck you, Ashton, you want to know why? Because you're a self-absorbed asshole who doesn't care about anyone but himself. Everything in our relationship was about you. You, you, you, always you, like you were the goddamn center of the universe, and I swear to God, for me before anyone else, you fucking were. All my friends, all my family, everyone in the whole damn world only ever cared about Ashton Irwin. Everything was catered to Ashton Irwin's best interest. Everything calculated to please Ashton Irwin. Everything to prioritize Ashton Irwin's career, Ashton Irwin's comfort, Ashton Irwin's fun. And you know what? Fuck that.”

Your words weren't slurred, you hadn't drunk that much, even. Why, then, was the world suddenly spinning around you? Why were your tears brimming to the surface of your eyes? Why did you get the urge to fall in Ashton's strong arms and close your eyes forever in his embrace?

You opened your mouth to resume, breathless, but your train of thought derailed for a second when your eyes fell on his dark gaze, piercing through you with the intensity of a titan, and every inch of your skin combusted simultaneously. You swallowed, hard. Where were you? Right, fucking him. No! Absolutely not! Not fucking him! Only fuck him!

“All I wanted was you to see a person when you looked at me... not a freaking satellite. And the worst thing is I didn't even see myself when I looked in the mirror, didn't even hear myself in my thoughts. I was you, entirely you, I had you everywhere on me, in me.”

You inhaled deeply, but still, the tears were threatening to spill. To hide them and simulate assurance, you grabbed your handbag, raised your chin, puffed out your chest. A chest your dress did its best to showcase in the most sensual and classiest way, obviously.

“I would've liked our story to work out, truly.”

Oh, how I wish our story had worked out.

“But we're better off on our own, I guess.”

You were about to turn around when a hand grabbed your wrist, and your heart stopped beating for a second. Heavens, it was the first time in years you felt his skin on yours, and your nerves were seconds away from combustion.

When he lightly tugged on your arm to make you face him, however, you swore something in your core exploded.

“You say that as if you hadn't hurt me too,” he stated coldly.

His eyes, dark golden under the lights, eyeing you up and down, stopping imperceptibly longer than decent on your cleavage... his now harsh features, so alluringly enticing... an interdiction you would be willing to die just to taste.

“You'd never talk to me. I'd never know what was wrong, what you wanted, what you needed. I couldn't guess, Y/N, I can't read your mind! You never told me anything - don't you think I suffered from your silence? I loved you and I never knew if you loved me back or if you resented me!”

“You shut me up. You're so important, why would you bother with my input? Better keep my mouth shut, and save everyone the trouble.”

Without realizing, you had both started striding towards the elevator. Too focused on the argument, on your raising, raspy voices, on the brush of his shaky fingers against your skin, you didn't tell him to leave you alone.

Maybe you didn't want to.

“That's bullshit, Y/N, you know it. I always cared about you, more than anyone else.”

“Oh, really, now?”

“Yes, really! Remember how I'd fly all the way from L.A. on each of your birthdays if I wasn't there, no matter what we were doing the day after? Remember all the songs I wrote you and never sold, because they were gifts to you? Remember all the journalists I told off because they disrespected you? God, Y/N, if you weren't so focused on your self-loathing, you'd see that I sacrificed so much of my career, all for you.”

You pressed the button to call the elevator.

“You're one to talk about self-loathing! And is that supposed to make me feel better about feeling like a burden?”

“Stop twisting everything I say, you know very well you never were--”

“Well that's the thing with you, Ashton! I never know! I never know anything! I wasn't your girlfriend, I was just a you in a song!”

The doors opened. You both stepped in. You furiously hit the forty-ninth floor button. Twenty-five excruciatingly long seconds ahead of you.

“You created this idealized version of me in your head, and because I wasn't as perfect as you thought--”

“I wouldn't call being a self-obsessed prick not being perfect--”

“Will you let me talk? Jesus, I can't believe - this is ridiculous - I fucking hate you!”

“Good, because I fucking hate you too!”

And with that the screaming match died as suddenly as it had started, with two panting hearts suspended in the air, facing each other mere centimeters away.

All you could focus on was the boiling fury pulsing under your humid skin, Ashton's face, contorted with exasperation and yet still as handsome as ever, his breath fanning over your mouth... the unquenchable burn in the pit of your stomach and between your legs, the unshakable pull toward him.

Your mouth and throat, all your soul had spat out all the7y had. Now they desperately needed something to fill them back up.

You took a step forward; he did too. Your lips came together immediately after.

Instead of stepping back, he pressed you closer to his body, as if he had wanted to consume you whole, his embrace erratic and furious. With a swift motion, he had pinned you to the back wall; when he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, you swatted it away and deepened the raging kiss instead; you were two pyres desperately clinging onto each other, kissing and biting and grunting. Your head filled with a flurry of touches and colors, the warmth of his lips under yours and the throbbing of your blood desperate to mix with this, and your unforgettable hate for him and how fucking putty in your hands you were, and as you bit his lower lip and he let out the rawest of moans in your mouth and your entire body trembled, you were not sure if you wanted to devour him or be devoured.

“I still hate you--” he murmured against your parted lips, but you shut him up with your tongue.

When his hands tentatively settled on the small of your back, though, sliding under your dress, you let them in. Maybe you did hate him, but you needed him, you needed him filling every angle and inch of your body, every crack of your soul, every side of your senses, just as much as he needed you.

Like someting out of a frenzied dream, the elevator doors opened, and he broke the kiss abruptly, so much so that you barely bit back a whimper. The somber, sinful look he gave you for a split second, though, was enough to make you shiver in anticipation. You grabbed his arm, making sure not to look at him - he didn't deserve it just yet -, and strode towards your suite.

You had barely turned on the light and closed the door behind you when Ashton swooped down on you like a starved man. His lips found yours like they had so many times before, his grip so mean on your back, his other hand tugging at your hair lightly to keep you in place. Your mind pleaded you to push him away; instead your body grinded against his, and a hundred flares roared everywhere he kissed you and everywhere you wanted him. Would you regret this in the morning? Undoubtedly, but his lips were biting your neck and you were sighing and moaning and praying to God he wouldn't let you go, so you couldn't care less about the shame and guilt you'd feel waking up.

Your dizzy head didn't register he had unlaced your dress until it fell to the floor. Still savoring the ever familiar taste of his tongue, you made work of his shirt - your burning skin couldn't stand the agony of being far from his anymore -, but he pushed you back on the bed instead.

Almost bare on your bed, your hair fanned out like a halo around your disdainful face, your breath erratic, you were traversed by a shiver when Ashton took off his shirt and crawled over to you. Your breath hitched. You swallowed. His face hovered just above yours. He bit his lip, and something growled in your belly.

“Can I--”

“Do it,” you spat, your eyes stern steel.

If you let him see how desperately you needed him, nothing would cure the guilt and hatred you'd wake up to. Better to pretend you were still the mistress of your soul... not to give him the satisfaction of owning you whole.

Though as soon as his lips scraped your collarbone and his hands cupped your breasts, then lower, lower, tantalizingly lower, you forgot every good intention and every strong facade. All that remained were the delicious ache at the tip of his fingers, and his name, like a prayer to a demon.

*

New York City was always a hundred times more beautiful in the dead of the night. Faraway lights pulsed like a thousand stars in the ink sky, and a distant buzzing climbed up along the buildings, slithering into the windows. The light breeze from outside, skimming your bare skin, was enough to kept you awake. So were your thoughts, and the heavy, steady breathing in the bed behind you.

For this night, and for this night alone, you had belonged to him and to him alone, like you had countless nights before. For this night, and for this night alone, you had slipped back into his arms, his strong and comforting embrace, the familiar caress of his skin, and his voice lulling you to sleep.

And the worst of it all was that you had enjoyed it. Sincerely, not as an expiatory, but rather a delicacy.

You couldn't promise that this was a one-time thing. You couldn't promise you would turn your head and never look back. If you could've, you would've up and left in the night for him to wake up alone. It was a worthless pact. You already knew you would break it.

You already knew a part of you, so detestable and therefore humane, would always run back to him in a world of billions.

You exhaled heavily. The flow of air from the street was a welcome reminder that a fresh and beautiful world existed outside of this bedroom where you had abandoned everything.

You didn't hate him. Not really. But you ached whenever someone uttered his name in your presence.

He had been your first love. The hollow in your chest when you thought of him was simply the part of your heart you had given him, all those years ago.

You turned around. His chest rose and dipped peacefully in your bed. As always, he remained unbothered, unatteignable, and maybe it was for the best. You shook your head.

Then your eyes fell on the door instead. Nothing kept you in this city anymore. You could walk away with only your lingering smell and the trace of your nails in his back to keep him company. But running away would be weak, unhonorable, and most importantly an incomplete goodbye that would precipitate you back in his arms the next time you'd see him.

The skyline called out to you once again. The air was getting chillier by the minute, but you remained by the window, quiet. Up above the horizon, the blinking light of an airplane crossed, indolent as a swan, the navy blanket of the sky, and your chest filled with a bittersweet wistfulness.

You would wait for the sunrise.

You were certain, after all, that dawn would break.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, All That’s Left

Request from an anon who wanted a prinxiety fic where Roman is a monster slayer and Virgil is a monster that’s a human slayer. Sorry I don’t do romance in this fandom, anon. I hope this is okay. Also like… @silly-aesthetic-me wrote a short fic about the demon thing and it’s romantic so I didn’t reblog it but I like the demon idea they had and kind of wanted to write a fic based off of it so I’m going with that. Sorta getting a Blue Exorcist vibe from what I did here. God, I love that anime. Also, this is the longest fanfic I have ever written, hands down. I really hope it was worth all of that.

Oh and there’s a disabled character in here. If I misrepresented anything I’m sorry. I tried to research but ya know, I’m able bodied so there’s probably something I overlooked.

Tip Jar

Warnings: Blood, violence, death, supernatural elements such as magic and demons. 9.695 words.

Abstract: What are we willing to do for our friends?

The air was too still for Roman’s liking. Something devilish was in the air. Something unsavory. Nearby a dark figure in a tree was having a similar thought.

The demon in the tree held the long black nail of his thumb in between his teeth and fiddled with it but did not chew. The human was just looking. Just peering around like it could smell something. Maybe it could but just didn’t know it.

The human smelled like expensive cologne and freshly cleaned clothes. A scent that could send one’s head spinning in pain if they had little experience. Humans are way too clean, especially this one. This one reeks of arrogance and determination. Almost reminded Virgil of the poor sap he had to posses in order to be here.

Could he really be that dangerous?

Roman stood on the railing of his balcony, trusting his own balance too much perhaps, but he knew he could stay. His short hair was being abused by the wind and the paper he was holding in his hand threatened to fly away.

A demon specifically targeting executioners. Exorcists that disposed of demons permanently. Still unknown what it looks like but thought to be possessing a human. Everyone was on red alert. A thin layer of stress was coating the order like wax on a paper cup.

There was something out there tonight. He looked out into the darkness, trying to get a sense of what it was. He reached into his pocket and held onto the small ring he kept in it.

What’s out there? Could it really be that dangerous?

There was a long period of observation, the human feeling the situation from subconscious clues and the demon smelling and observing the shadowy outline. The calm before the storm was sickeningly sweet, with the quiet fall breeze moving the colorful hair around.

Patience was never the forte of either demons or humans.

Roman jumped backwards onto the balcony.

“I know you’re there.” He said. “Why are you watching?”

A weight landed in front of him on the marble railing. A man about his age who could pass for a human if he tried appeared with long black nails and dark purple hair and a patched hoodie and jeans so distressed you could have sworn he just stepped out of a war zone and then haphazardly sewn some purple flannel over half the holes. His slightly pointed ears and sharp teeth gave him away. His eyes were pitch black and unreadable. As if his pupils had become so surprised they’d gone and consumed the iris and whites of the eye.

For a moment the two men just stared at each other. The demon was squatting on the railing so they were at the same eye level but then he slowly stood up and looked down at the well to do exorcist, a careful calculating look on his face. The bright dyed red hair of the human popped in the light coming from inside and stood in contrast to the well tailored casual clothes he was wearing. A jacket and button up combo that only the upper middle class could afford. A single piercing went through his eyebrow with unknown symbols carved into it.

“So what is the exorcist waiting for? An invitation?” the demon finally said with a sinister smile on his face. “I would think someone as talented as you wouldn’t need one.”

Roman pulled his left hand out of his pocket and slipped the ring onto his middle finger in one swift motion. His upper arm hardened and extended in one instant into a blood red blade.

“ Propius non veni, rex obumbratio.” Roman said, standing in a warning stance.

“That Latin crap doesn’t work on me, man.” the demon said.

Roman dodged a kick and jabbed, almost hitting his opponent’s arm and missing by mere centimeters.

The shadow king landed behind his opponent and yanked the chain off of his neck which turned into a curved blade and short handle. He turned to strike the exorcist from behind but Roman turned around impossibly fast and stuck his blade straight through the demon’s heart.

Some dark blood was spat in Roman’s face and the demon smiled weakly.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. And I know your name. Do you know mine?”

He turned to shadow and vanished like water through sand. Roman pinched the tip of the blade with his right hand and his left arm returned to normal. He placed the ring in his left pocket.

“Virgil. The stories said you led people out of the mirror world. Why are you here? And what kind of fashion sense is that?” Roman asked the night.

The night did not answer.

“Please. Please play with me. Please?”

Virgil stood at the edge of his territory and paused at the blood line poured out in the sand as a nervous hand grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie. He turned around slowly and felt his bare feet shift in the black sand as another demon came into view.

Virgil gently put his hand on the other’s head and his touch met a mix of soft hair and dry blood from the wound in the other demon’s forehead.

“I’ll play with you when I come back, my friend.” Virgil said, a smile on his face and sadness in his voice.

The older demon wearing a blue shirt sunk away a little but smiled cheerily.

“Okay.” He said with the innocence of a child.

Virgil turned away and crossed out of his territory, heading for a portal. He resisted the urge to limp and clutch at his chest. That stupid executioner had done more damage than he’d like to admit, but that didn’t mean he could stop. This was more important than a stupid wound.

Roman fell to his knees and for a moment couldn’t breathe. After three seconds that seemed to last an eternity he gasped for air and supported himself on his hands, clinging to oxygen and in too much distress to think about how he appeared. The stone floor looked very nice and polished. Probably shouldn’t throw up on it. Throwing up on a polished floor is not what someone of his social standing does anyways.

“You came here to tell me that you had it in your reach and it didn’t die?” A cold voice spat above him.

“Please Mx. I have information. Let me give that much.” Roman said, looking up.

Cold eyes stared down at him. His supervisor moved their long hair back and tied it messily into a bun before folding their arms angrily.

“Fine. Stand up, executioner Prince. What do you have?”

Roman stood up and regained his composure, trying not to look at those steel toed boots they were wearing.

“I couldn’t kill it with one strike. It had to be a major demon. He traveled through shadows. It had to be Virgil.”

He received a quizzical look that made him want to protect his private areas.

“Virgil? The shadow guide? He has never been a threat before. If anything, he helps humans. Why would he want to suddenly come after us?”

“Mx, there has been another killing even since I got a hit on him. He’s recovered enough to fight back. Normal demons you strike them with an executioner’s blade and they disintegrate. Their very souls are ripped from reality. How did this one survive if he’s not one we’ve heard of?”

The supervisor turned away and walked slowly towards the abstract stained glass at the far end of their office. The heels of their deadly boots clicked on the floor and stopped with a kind of finality at the window.

“How’s your friend Logan doing?”

Roman held back a twitch. “He’s… improving.” He said with a tone that indicated perhaps they shouldn’t be talking about this.

“Talk to him about this. He was always the one with the solutions. Now get out of my office before I assign you to a task force or… something.”

“Whatcha drawing Virgil?” asked the bleeding demon whose brown hair was in desperate need of washing now.

“Pat, why don’t you go wash your hair in the river over there?” Virgil asked as he dipped his pen in ink and made another slash in the cloth he was marking. “You gotta stay clean or it’ll get infected.”

“But I wanna know what you’re doing!”

Virgil sighed. “If I tell you will you go wash your scalp?”

“Yeah buddy. I will.”

Virgil motioned for his friend to sit next to him on the sand and then he pointed a long black nail at the cloth and traced it along a specific line.

“See that? That’s a map. There’s the flip side of one of my rivers. There’s the human city of New York. There’s the east coast of large human country. There’s a place called Florida full of things that make no sense and there’s where a big mansion is that a bad exorcist lives in. Satisfied, Patton?”

Patton just nodded and went to do what he had promised.

Virgil’s face was hard to read because of his purely black eyes. He folded his makeshift map and took a deep breath.

“I know you wouldn’t like this, so why do I keep doing it? They did that to you. I guess that’s why. G’bye buddy.”

And he vanished into the sand.

“It’s dark as hell in here.” Roman said, stepping into an office.

“I wonder why.” said a voice from behind a desk shaped thing. “And what you would consider ‘Hell’ is actually much brighter than this.”

“Logan…”

“The light switch is to your left, by the bookcase. I think you’d remember that by now.”

Roman felt for the switch and took a moment to adjust to the light before sitting down on the small chair in front of the huge desk his friend was sitting behind.

“So what do you need? You never visit at work unless you need something.” Logan said, typing away at a typewriter with only nine keys.

“Well you’re right about that but the day ended twenty minutes ago.”

Logan felt for a watch on his right wrist and the placement of the balls near the center and on the side told him that is was indeed twenty past six.

“Oh. You’re right.” Logan grumbled.

“Don’t be so surprised.” Said Roman, a small laugh in his voice. “I’ve been known to be right from time to time.”

A ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of Logan’s mouth. “From time to time. So do you need something or not?”

“Yeah, I do.”  Roman admitted smugly.

“Well what is it?”

“You know more about the major demons than anyone else and your… condition. I know you have to open your eyes sometimes, Lo. And I know, I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I was wondering about a specific demon. One of the big ones.”

Logan’s posture became even more proper than usual and it became clear he was now focusing on his breathing.

“Would this… be the one that has been targeting executioners?” he asked.

“Yes, and I have my suspicions who it is. I’ve seen him, Logan. I think it was Virgil, the guide. He fit all the old stories. Disappearing in shadows like sand, ripped clothes, veins of black on white hands. Dead eyes like they were the void itself. It had to be him. Please, you know I’m right. I’ve got to be right.”

There was a pause.

“Yes, I think you’re right. I wish you weren’t. Is what you saw… was he wearing a distressed jacket held together with patches of purple fabric?”

Roman leapt up and took his friend’s hand.

“Yes! Yes! You’ve seen him?”

Logan sighed. “Just as dramatic as you ever were. Yes, I’ve seen him. We live in the middle of his territory. He walks around with a demon that’s almost human but not quite and has a huge gash in its head. I must admit I’ve stared at it. It’s one of the things about the mirror world that are more difficult to unsee. And there are a lot of things there that are difficult to unsee there.”

“Can you take me to him?”

“I’d rather not, Roman. Especially since we’re on the second floor right now and if I open my eyes it will look like there is a rather large pit of spiders underneath me.”

Roman began shaking a little in his expensive boots.

“Sp-spiders?”

Virgil blew a spider off the branch next to him. Creepy little thing. They weren’t any less disturbing here in the mortal world.

He fingered the crescent shaped pendant and ball chain around his neck absentmindedly, letting his nails rub together on his right hand as he gently held his left thumbnail in his mouth. He crouched in the tree and watched the old manor with its pristine white walls. This probably used to be a plantation of some kind. One where the strange human practice of slavery used to take place. Say what you want about demons, but they always give payment of some kind. They never owned each other.

There was usually only one resident here. But tonight there seemed to be two. One of whom seemed to never look around. They both felt like they were full of demonic energy of some kind, but very different. It seemed the executioner had willingly let it in while the other had taken it on involuntarily. The other one was innocent. Should he really strike tonight?

Maybe. There was time.

“If he knows where you live and somehow got past the protective barriers I set up for you then why did you ever come back here?” Logan asked, adjusting his sunglasses and then going back to feeling the raised bumps the strange device he was holding kept raising from a few clusters of holes on the end.

“Where else am I supposed to go? And you know how I work. I face danger head on.” Roman retorted.

Logan moved the device along a wall.

“All I’m saying is it could be beneficial if you were to disappear. You’ve failed to kill a demon and said demon is out to kill people of your occupation of whom there are less than two hundred in the entire world. With the way it’s going it looks like that number could be whittled down to zero and… hold on. Oh my.”

“He’s here isn’t he?” Roman said.

“Are both of you blind?”

The two humans jumped and Roman wheeled around to see the demon from last week. Roman reached into his boot and pulled out a blood red dagger which he immediately threw with deadly accuracy. Unfortunately for him, Virgil was extremely good at dodging.

“Where’s your blade hand?” Virgil asked casually landing on top of a shadow from a lamp on the wall.

“That is only supposed to be used in dire situations.” Logan said in a serious tone and turning his head to Roman for emphasis. His guess as to where Roman’s face was only ended up being off by about an inch. Roman pushed his head back into place out of annoyance.

“Can you save your couples bickering for another time?” Virgil said. “I’m kind of considering killing one of you.”

“We’re not a couple, we’re friends, and as exorcists we’re used to life threatening or even soul threatening situations. So why don’t you get on with whatever it is you’re doing?” Logan said, not wavering for a second.

“Spicy.” Virgil said, twiddling with the pendant around his neck. “I can see how you got cursed.”

Logan dropped his device and reached into his right pocket, pulling out a bright yellow stone on a ball chain like the type that would be used for dog tags.

“Et in lucem!” He said loudly and clearly.

A bright light flashed from the stone and Virgil actually found himself taking a step back. For a second all his senses went blank except for sight which was filled with a burning white. When the light cleared and his senses returned he looked around and felt. The humans had run, but not far.

How did the blind one even slow  him down?

“How did you do that!?” Roman yelled as they ran through the house, turning on every light they could reach.

“Although the curse… Ow! Roman, did you move your couch since the last time I was here?”

“No, but the maid might’ve. She does an excellent job, I don’t want her to feel bad. Wait, what were you saying?”

Logan got up from where he’d fallen and started running again.

“If you and your employees haven’t moved anything else, I’ll tell you.” he said angrily.

They ran down the stairs into the basement.

“Hold on a moment, friendo. I need help with the door. Right behind you.” Roman said.

“You’re going to get poisoned by this shelter.” Logan grumbled, but he went to help anyways.

Logan knew where everything was here. His spacial memory served him well as he found the center of the large two foot thick door and began pulling on a large handle in the center of it. The door slowly started moving out of its hole in the wall and when it was enough for Roman to put his hand on the side he started pushing on it. When there was a space wide enough for them to get behind it Roman tapped his friend’s shoulder and they got behind the huge hulking door and pushed with all their might until it finally clanged shut.

Logan panted, leaning against the door as Roman turned the wheel in the center of it to lock it shut. The seeing man slumped to the floor and weakly reached up to press a black button on the wall that turned on floodlights that filled every corner of the bunker with light.

“So, the light? That, what was that stone?”

Logan swallowed. “Well, the curse, the curse may make it only possible to see the demon’s world but… I think it helps with spell casting. I’ve grown stronger at the cost of real sight. And they say being hurt emotionally makes you better at magic. You know I‘ve never been one for strong emotions but…”

Logan choked on his words and pulled off his sunglasses to rub at his face. He opened his eyes and Roman was glad Logan couldn’t see him wince at the burn marks around his eyes and the milky whiteness of his pupils.

“But you can open your eyes here.” Roman said, putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “We’re underground. There’s nothing to see.”

Logan’s voice broke as he said “We’ve had this conversation a thousand times you half-wit. And there’s a… a demon out there, trying to take you from us and… oh God. Not now.”

Tears started flowing.

“Why now? Why here?” Logan begged as he hugged his knees on the floor.

Roman let him take a moment. He would have liked hugs and kind nothings whispered if that were him, but he had learned over the years that Logan wasn’t like that. He just needed a moment to compose himself.

After a moment there was a deep breath and Logan replaced his sunglasses.

“The stone was a citrine. One that actually came from the sun. They’re pretty rare. Now, how’re the spells?”

He stood up and walked to a double sided bookcase in the center of the room. He started touching the spines, reading them.

Roman sighed and tapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m right here, genius. It’s faster if you just tell me the book you’re looking for.”

“Oh, right.” Logan stopped touching the books with a hand gesture that suggested mild embarrassment.  “Banishing spells level alpha, 30th edition.”

Roman searched for about two seconds, saw the braille copy, and then pulled it out and dropped it onto the dining table sitting next to them. It landed with a loud slam, as it was about as tall as an atlas and as thick as an unabridged dictionary.

“Remind me again how you memorized over half of this.” Roman said.

Logan started feeling for page numbers and said “Unlike some people, I actually studied at academy instead of trying to steal from the armory.”

“I take that as a personal offense.” Roman said. “You’re getting better at that. Well done.”

Logan presumably found the page he was looking for and started reading it.

“I worry about where your priorities lie.”

Virgil considered the door carefully. There was all kinds of messy stuff painted on it in multiple languages. Latin, ancient Greek, old English, old Norse, several hieroglyphs from African, North and South American languages. He even recognized a little bit of old Mesopotamian. The Mesopotamians were older than him. Where did the humans get all this stuff?

Well whatever all this said it was obviously spells meant to keep demons out. Darn them. He couldn’t even sense any darkness inside. Except for… it was risky. Would it be worth it?

Of course. It had to be. It had to be.

Logan gestured for Roman to come over and he ran his hand over a specific type of pentagram symbol made out of dots.

“Can you make it out? Do we need to look in the regular print one?” Logan asked.

“No, I can make it out” Roman responded. “Where’s that one?”

“On the bookcase. See if it’s intact.” Logan ordered.

Logan heard a couple of clicks of boots on the tile floor and then an uneasy “Uh, Lo?”

Logan sighed. “What now?”

“It’s sort of bleeding. Black. And the center’s smudging as I’m looking at it.”

Logan hit his fist against the desk. “Crap. Well perhaps we should…”

There was a grinding sound of something metal being pulled apart and books hitting the floor. Logan gripped the side of the table as he felt the temperature in the room drop. A magical whoosh came from where Roman had been standing.

“Roman? Did you put on the ring? Roman!”

Logan got no answer but heard metal hitting metal and then metal hitting wood. Crap. Roman had attacked him. He can’t shoot a spell at that. While Roman is using that blade he’s susceptible to spells meant for demons.

Logan picked up the huge book and began running with it. He felt air move and dodged something. What, he did not know, but he managed to reach the door and through pure adrenaline rush turn the handle and yank it open with one arm.

It still took him several seconds though, long enough for something in the battle behind him to change and his shirt collar to be grabbed. He tried throwing the book behind him but he couldn’t aim correctly and in a moment he felt long nails pushing into his wrists and some shaped piece of metal fitting perfectly around the curve of his neck. Whoever was holding him smelled like fresh rain and tobacco smoke mixed with axe deodorant.

“Listen to what I have to say, and the witch doesn’t get dragged into the mirror world.” Virgil hissed.

Logan heard the sound of a blade scraping slowly on metal. It seemed like Roman was running his blade arm along the bookcase to think. Logan scoffed, feigning confidence.

“Honestly, who calls us witches anymore? And you wouldn’t open a portal here. We’re underground. And if you make a move towards the stairs he’ll strike.”

The blade came closer to his neck. It was in danger of breaking skin. Logan knew too well what that felt like.

“Would it be so hard for the scholar to shut his mouth please?” Virgil said. “I just have something to say.”

Logan wanted to swallow but was afraid that could push the blade into his throat enough to do damage to it. He remembered that five years ago he would have been looking. Noticing every tiny detail. He would be able to read Roman’s face and know exactly what was needed and why. They could communicate with their eyes. He could see where to aim if a spell was needed but now nothing. If he opened his eyes here all he saw was darkness.

“What do you have to say, Virgil?” came Roman’s voice.

“Oh, so you figured out who I am. Surprised much?”

“Not really. Well, don’t know why you’re doing this.”

The blade relaxed and Logan dared himself to take deeper breaths. The voice behind him was laced with a deep frustration.

“You… I overreacted to something. Badly.”

“You murdered ten of my coworkers.” Roman said forcefully.

“Like I said, I might have overreacted.” Virgil said.

“You don’t exactly sound sorry.” Logan growled.

“Will the witch please shut his mouth?” Logan heard as the blade began resting against his skin again and the nails buried themselves deeper into his wrists.

“So what do you want? Just let him go.” Roman demanded.

“Well what I want is the head of every executioner in convenient carrying bags that I can throw into the pit of spiders.” Virgil hissed, getting a shudder out of Logan, “But I can see now that might not be the best course of action, or what Patton would want me to do.”

Logan’s breathing slowed and his heart sank. He wished he could see what Roman’s face looked like. Probably not as defeated as his own. Roman didn’t see. Didn’t see what happened on the other side.

After a painful pause Virgil continued.

“Patton is a friend. He’s a very good friend. A mentor or… something along those lines. He’s the reason I started helping humans out in the first place. One of your filth tried to kill him because he made a mistake. And now he’s worse than dead. There’s nothing left there. He doesn’t remember one day to the next. I need you to fix him. Both of you.”

“Why in the Hell do you think we would help you? I don’t kill without cause but you sure seem to be doing your best to give me a reason.” Roman hissed.

“I thought you might say that, so I took the time to figure out something that might give you a little motivation.”

Roman looked over at his best friend since grade school and reached out and took his hand. Logan didn’t shy away, most likely knowing this was more for Roman than himself.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Roman.” Logan said.

“It’s important to you, so it’s important to me. I know I tend to be selfish but… you want this. I can tell.”

“If that’s what you want.” Logan said simply.

Virgil continued kicking around in the dirt.

“Uh, just like me to forget to leave a marker. Where in the Earth did I… oh. I should probably pay more attention to that.”

He kicked a fake bush over with his bare foot and revealed a small hole that seemed to be covered with purple plastic wrap.

“Wait a minute. The witch could have opened his eyes and told me where it is. What…”

“Do you think I have no sense of humor?” Logan asked.

The king of darkness smiled, showing his pointed needle-like teeth.

“Oh, you are going to live to regret that, Logan.” he said. “Well, everybody in.”

He jumped into the hole and the cling wrap looking cover didn’t move for an instant as he disappeared into it. Roman led Logan to the hole and he jumped in. Roman took a moment and then followed suit.

He immediately fell over, but it was like falling over after standing on your head. He looked up and saw he had fallen feet first out of the largest dead tree he had ever seen.

“Roman? Oh my.”

Roman turned around and Logan had removed his sunglasses. His eyes were still burned and the pupils were still milky white but he was… looking at him.

“You… you’ve got a scar on your arm.”

Nothing more had to be said. Logan could only see this world, so when he was here he could use his sight. Virgil gestured for them to follow.

Logan was right, Roman decided. Hell isn’t that dark. Well, this wasn’t technically Hell but it was close enough. The sun was a burning red like it was dying. Virgil kept jumping in front of them to prevent them from falling in hidden holes or canyons filled with magma or insects or any other number of unsavory things. The shrubbery and trees all seemed to be watching. Low level demons whether humanoid or animistic ran away in Virgil’s presence and if they dared to come close he hissed and pulled the chain off his neck turning it into a scythe or curved sword depending on the threat. Several monkey-like green things tried to carry Logan and Roman off several times but they could fend for themselves against small demons and so far Virgil had kept his promise and helped them when they needed it.

They walked for over an hour like this, mostly in silence. After the first hour attacks became less frequent as the landscape became more barren. Roman asked something that had been on his mind.

“Virgil? Is this what your daily commute consists of?”

“I was wondering that as well.” Logan chimed in. “I have seen you occasionally when I opened my eyes by accident or by choice and you seem to cover a large area.”

Virgil jumped off a ledge but held his sword out to stop the humans from following him. He calmly struck the head off of a cat-like thing and then gestured for the other two to follow him.

“Shadow travel. Humans can’t do it.” He said and then kept leading the way.

“So, how many humans have you led through here?” Roman asked, shaking a little green goblin off of him and fending it off with a red knife.

Virgil shrugged as Logan murmured a spell that made the goblin shoot off of Roman like a rocket.

“A few thousand probably? I don’t count.” the demon said before starting a climb up a small rocky ledge.

When they reached the top of the ledge Logan looked like he was about ready to pass out and Roman was rubbing his hands and trying not to think about if any part of him was bleeding.

“Home sweet home. This way.” Virgil said.

He led them through a small grove of black and purple trees, crouching and looking around every so often like demons tend to do and then led them to a wide expanse covered in black sand. A river of lava on one far end and a river of what looked like water on the other. Both rivers were so far away you could just spot them if you climbed a tall tree and shielded your eyes from the red sunlight.

Virgil led them through the course sand for about a mile, bringing them through another grove of trees and finally to a battered old house that seemed to be made of planks of black wood and a lot of hope.

“Why doesn’t it fall down?” Logan asked, clearly concerned.

Virgil just shrugged and jumped forward, landing right in front of the door. The humans had to run to get there as he opened it and they were told to get inside.

The inside was plain. The walls had small holes and the floor was stone. There was a small pile of bones in the corner, some of unknown shapes. There were pieces of paper, pens, and canvas stacked against another wall and along another there was a pile of rags with a sleeping figure on it.

Virgil put his necklace on and then tenderly approached the bed. He gently rocked the shoulder of the person lying there.

“Hey buddy. Hey. Hi. We’ve got some visitors.”

There was a sniff. “Hmmm? Humans?”

“Yes buddy, humans. Can you say hi?”

The groggy figure that sat up seemed to be both more and less human looking than his friend. His brown hair was matted with dry blood. His red and brown eyes seemed strangely human, especially in comparison to Virgil’s whose eyes were just blank. He wore a neat blue dress shirt and cargo pants with formal shoes. He wore a cardigan over his dress shirt that was far too big for him and would have made him look cozy were it not for the light blue color of his veins. His nails weren’t nearly as long as Virgil’s but they ended in a point and looked like they could easily cause some lasting damage.

“Hi.” It said. “Are we friends?”

“Well we just met your acquaintance but…” Logan began before Roman stepped on his foot.

“Uh, I mean… Yes of course. You must be Patton.” Logan said, trying to not express his pain.

“You can see.” Patton said before trying to lay back down and sleep again.

Virgil pulled him up a little forcefully. “You can’t sleep right now.” He said firmly.

Usually that blank face was unreadable but at this moment even with black eyes the shadow demon looked both incredibly concerned and dangerously hopeful. Patton fell asleep in his grip.

He let out a sigh. “All he does is sleep and mess around now. He’s like a human little kid and he can’t remember things from one day to the next. I really want to blame you but he wouldn’t want me to do that. Fix him. Make him better.”

The force in those last words made the exorcists take a step back. Some of the light in the dim little shack ran away in fear and it became even more dim. Black tears fell out of  Virgil’s eyes and the shadows started to move.

“Make it better! Fix what you did!” He demanded.

Both humans were frightened by the sudden change but kept their composure. The prize here outweighed the risk. They had discussed this beforehand. Find a way to fix the head wound and Virgil would stop killing executioners. If Patton returned to normal afterwards, there was a chance Logan could see blue skies again.

Logan stepped forward and took his satchel off of his shoulder, trying not to make any sudden movements. Further enraging an already angry demon is beyond suicidal.

He knelt on the hot floor next to Patton and made him sit up. There was a sleepy questioning hum and then the red and then the red and brown eyes opened sleepily.

“Hi.” he said groggily. “You’re a human.”

“Yes, and I’m here to help.” Logan said firmly but gently. “Can you hold yourself up?”

Patton nodded and did what he was told. Logan looked back at Roman who nodded and pulled a hidden red knife out of his belt.

“Liar!” Virgil exclaimed as Roman found a sickle at his throat.

“It’s not for your blood!” Logan said. “It’s for Roman’s! Put that away or he stays like this!”

After an intense moment Virgil slowly lowered his weapon and turned it back into a moon pendant before putting it back on.

Logan started murmuring in several dead languages, blending them together and making a hypnotic chanting sound as he wrapped a blue and silver cloth around Patton’s eyes and then over his head. Roman knelt next to him and rolled up his sleeve. He waited for Logan to stop chanting before handing him the magic knife.

“Just get it over with.” He said, covering his eyes with the other arm.

He bit back a cry of pain as the cursed blade swiped across his skin, stinging like acid and moving through his veins. He only dared to open his eyes when it was bandaged.

Virgil was putting on the bandages. Roman gave a confused look.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Virgil asked. “Getting a taste off your own medicine?”

“I’ve gotten it before.” Roman said, looking over.

They sat in the far corner of the room, watching Logan work with copper beads covered in Roman’s blood. Watched the wrapping and unwrapping of the wound several times and various stones being used.

“Is there any kind of sense to what he’s doing?” Virgil asked quietly.

“Oh now you talk?” Roman asked skeptically. “You want my head on a plate, remember Coraline?”

“Coraline?” The demon asked.”

“You know. With the button eyes and.. oh never mind.”

“Button eyes?” Virgil asked. “Like as in, those things on your shirt being eyes?”

“Well they’re large and black but yes.”

“That’s really disturbing. I do not want to see that.” Virgil said, disgust in his voice.

“Disturbing?” Roman asked. “Look who’s talking. Look where you live.”

Virgil shrugged. “You know, humans have been trying to point that out to me for centuries when they accidentally end up here. How horrifying it is. The only reason so many things ever attack humans is because they’re humans. When demons go into the mortal world they’re attacked because they’re demons. It can be frightening and stupid. Aren’t there exorcists that lead peaceful demons back or something? Kind of what I do in reverse? This is just a place. The mirror world is just a place. There are things to be afraid of both places. If someone likes you, if they hate you, if your clothes are going to fall apart, if you’re gong to eat tomorrow. All the same thing.”

“Sorry I think I fell asleep for a second, what was that, Tim Burton?” Roman said, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh screw off.” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Looks like he’s almost finished and… Hey!”

Virgil used Roman as a rest to push himself up on and leapt to the other side of the room.

“Your stupid nails dug into my scalp!” Roman exclaimed.

Nobody was paying him any attention. That was the problem with other people being hurt. They always got the spotlight.

Patton yawned and opened his eyes. He felt like he had just woken up from a bad dream he couldn’t quite remember, which was strange because demons dreaming is a rare thing indeed

There was a familiar pair of black eyes with a hopeful look that he had never seen before.

“Hey kiddo. What am I doing at your house?” He asked. “Do I smell an exe- oh!”

Virgil had engulfed the older spirit in a bone crushing hug and was breathing too hard. His face was one of shock and he gripped his friend’s hair and held on for dear life.

“I didn’t know you gave hugs.” Patton said happily. “What’s the big fuss? And your nails, buddy. The… the nails.”

The shadow demon let go out of embarrassment and seemed to mentally curl in on himself. “Sorry, Pat. You’ve just been gone for a while. Maybe I have been too.”

“Gone!? You killed five percent of the executioners on the force!” Roman exclaimed. “And…”

“Easy, Roman. It’s in the nature of demons. That’s what a temper tantrum looks like.” Logan said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

A quick explanation and a long trek through the same territory later, all four of them stood at the portal. Patton was giving his younger friend a death glare that reminded both humans of when Logan’s mother got particularly “disappointed”.

“Say it.” Patton said firmly.

“I’m… I’m sorry for attacking you, and killing your coworkers. And stealing your sewing supplies to alter my clothes” Virgil said, reluctance in his words.

“And I’m sorry for stabbing you in the chest and that one of my friends hurt your friend.” Roman said with a similar tone of defiance.

“Now, about my eyes…” Logan started.

“Oh yeah.” Virgil said.

He dug around in his hoodie pockets and pulled out a sheathed knife and handed it to Patton.

“Awww. You hung onto it for me?!” Patton squealed.

“Yup. I definitely prefer angry demons.” Logan said in disgust.

Patton unsheathed the blade which was leaf shaped and about the size of his hand. It was rainbow like and changed colors with the angle you looked at it like oil on asphalt.

“This is gonna look a little dangerous but just go with it, okay?” Patton said.

“I have my suspicions but very well. I have a trained exorcist executioner with me and I’m already blind in the other world so what do I have to lose?” Logan said.

“Close your eyes.” Patton said.

He pushed the flat of the blade against each eye putting gentle pressure on it for a few seconds and then told Logan to open his eyes. They had pupils again.

“You conspired with a demon? Two demons? One of them the fiend that’s been killing our kind?” The superior asked.

Logan tried his hardest not to look down at Roman clutching at his stomach on the ground. This was not how he wanted to spend his first day with his normal sight back. In the basement of a stone church where no sunlight could get in while his friend got kicked repeatedly with a fashionable pair of steel toed boots. Honestly, disciplinary action for executioners had to be mended. All other departments had gotten rid of physical punishment ages ago.

“Mx,” Logan said, trying to stay professional. “if I may, we have solved the issue, and preserved a valuable resource for humans that might wander into the…”

“I don’t wanna hear your intellectual mumbo jumbo silver tongue right now, Sanders. You got your sight back, congratulations, but you acted against orders to do it. You and Prince here are in a world of trouble. If I could take a knife to your skin too I would.”

Logan adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses with his middle finger and then helped his friend up.

“You’re welcome, for solving your little problem. I’ll see my supervisor later.” Logan said coldly.

He put one of Roman’s arms over his shoulders and supported him on their way out.

They paused at the church doors. The abstract stained glass shone all around them like a kaleidoscope. Roman had recovered enough to stand on his own but still clutched at his side.

“So nerd, are you ready to see the sky again? It’s about dawn.

“The pollution in this area should make the sunrise nice to watch.” Logan said, still not opening the door.

“Just like you to take the fun out of it. Go ahead. You’ve waited half a decade for this. You always talk about logic. Is it logical for you to not look?”

Logan flung the doors open and he had remembered correctly. They did face east. And he had never felt so much melancholy and happiness before now.

“He’s very sorry!” Patton called out as he and Virgil ran through trees.

“That’s not going to help anything Pat.” Virgil hissed as he pulled him inside the shadow of a tree and they flattened out. “Humans work differently. Especially exorcists. Why don’t you get that? Do humans ever summon us to make friends?”

“I always hope they will.” Patton murmured.

“Aha!” came a voice.

“Oh for the love of… move!” Virgil ordered, pushing the other demon along.

He could hide in the shadows but not move through them. What had they sprayed him with? If only he could have enough time to open a portal, or teleport or anything other than keep running.

It was all a blur. A missed shot. A flash of red blade. Patton jumping out of instinct. An already dark red blade dripping with even more blood. For the second time in his life Virgil saw his friend’s blood be absorbed into one of those accursed things but this time there was no movement. The axe hit just the right spot on the chest that even the strongest of demons couldn’t escape. He melted into the ground, leaving behind a pile of clothes, a blue and red stain, and his dagger.

There was a demonic screaming so loud and ungodly that Virgil could hardly believe it was coming out of his own mouth. He yanked the pendant off of his neck and began to move in a daze. The executioner with the axe fell, her chest cut clean open, the witch ran but but couldn’t escape. The marksman was shot through the mouth with his own gun and the two executioner trainees fell over, one of them bled out, the other was left with a broken leg.

Just as Virgil crushed their weapons and was about to hit the teen with a final blow he froze, his curved sword hovering above his head, ready to strike.

“No.” he murmured. “Stop. Breathe. It’s not too late.”

He put down his weapon and looked down at the trembling human. A normal apology wouldn’t work here. Humans typically didn’t go in killing sprees when something shocking happened. He had learned that the hard way.

“Your mentor killed my mentor.” He sighed. “I overreacted again.”

No response. Just blank terror.

“I’m going to take you to a hospital. Understand?” Virgil said, kneeling down. “A hospital. With doctors and hopefully therapists.”

To his surprise the young man allowed him to pick him up and carry him quickly to an emergency room parking lot.

“Now if you yell for help someone should probably come. I don’t…”

He couldn’t finish his statement so he just disappeared instead.

“I heard Logan disappeared.”

Roman jumped out of his skin and dropped the book he had been staring at.

“Demo- Virgil?” Roman said.

“That was pretty sudden.” Virgil said from the top of a table in Roman’s private library.

“What are you doing here?” Roman asked. “I’ve done nothing.”

“You’re reading.” Virgil noted.

“What of it?”

“What happened to Logan?”

Roman stared off into the distance for almost half a minute and then sucked in a breath through his nose.

“I haven’t seen him. At first I assumed he was just not keeping in touch. There’s a lot to go see after all, and work to do. But no one else has seen him either. It’s all very anticlimactic. I hate anticlimactic.”

“Patton’s dead.” Virgil said, chocking on the last word.

Roman didn’t move. “Why are you coming to me? One of the few humans who could kill you?”

“Because I overreacted again and I don’t know anyone else that would listen. He was my only friend. Where else do I go. It took me long enough to get myself to come here.”

“You?” Roman asked. “You are one of the ten most powerful spirits in history. A legend. The poet Virgil was named after you. And… you had difficulty approaching a human?”

“I have some issues.” Virgil murmured. “One of which is that my friend and mentor is dead, Mr. Prince. How in the Earth am I supposed to move on from that?”

“I don’t know if my best friend is alive.” Roman said. “You just got him back. Mine just got his sight back. And they’re gone.”

“No kidding, Sherlock.”

“Oh, so you do know something about human culture.”

“How can you sound so smug at a time like this?”

“Misery is the source of all comedy Jason Demon, that’s how.”

“I’m not Jason.”

“If you’re going to be bothering me you really need to learn more pop culture things because I reference them like all the time.”

People disappeared sometimes. It was always anticlimactic. Only a select few knew what happened afterwards. Those who were heard from again never said what happened.

Logan stared at the wall of the square cell. He had disappeared he supposed. No idea where he was or what exactly his charges were. Being blind had been much better than this. He could move and find meaning. If only there was more to tell.

Well, an unremarkable end to a boring life perhaps. No, his life hadn’t been boring. Thinking it had been anything other than extraordinary would be illogical.

“Let me help you. I know this guy.” Virgil urged, following Roman by walking along tree branches.

“No. I need to do this myself. Besides, if my superiors find out I’ve befriended a demon I could very well disappear and if I die before my time I want it to be dramatic.” Roman said.

“Who said we’re friends?” Virgil asked with a smirk.

“You visit my house regularly. I’ve cried in your arms. We fight things together and talk crap about human celebrities. What more is there?” Roman said.

“It’s only been six months. What’s that to humans? A hundred years?”

“Roughly.”

“Damn. You drop like flies. I’m gonna miss you I think. You’re like a puppy I’ve become attached to.”

“What kind of puppy?” Roman said playfully.

“A bloodhound.”

“Are you serious?” Roman said, completely solemn, “I’m clearly a poodle.”

That almost made Virgil fall right out of the tree.

“Now get lost. I kill things like this all the time without your help.”

“Okay I’ll just die of boredom then.” Virgil said before slipping into the shadows like falling sand.

Roman smiled and continued walking. The guide of the underworld could pretend he wasn’t dramatic all he wanted but that didn’t make it true.

Virgil slumped back on his pile of rags. He traced the edge of the dagger Patton had left behind. It changed color in the light just like it always did.

What was six months to a human?

Roman had told him the first six months is the hardest. Was that true? What about now? What about Roman? As aloof as he acted he was actually becoming pretty fond of the stupid over the top exorcist.

He really could be that dangerous, but still Virgil worried about him. He only had this friend for a small amount of time, and in that time he was destined to watch him wither away.

In the best case scenario of course.

Roman threw a dagger at the green tiger thing. It dodged. Crap.

He pulled out his ring and his upper left arm turned into a blood sword. The tiger snarled, smelling small amounts of demonic qualities. A traitor.

It pounced but Roman dodged, rolling away and missing the claws by inches. The tiger drooled and it’s saliva fizzled on the ground leaving dead patches. Perfect. just perfect.

Virgil showed up out of the shadows. He saw Roman and immediately thought he was in danger. He ran to help but then there was a squeak.

A puddle of green and black melted into the ground and ROman looked up.

“Did you follow me here? That’s… kind of rude.”

“No. I just knew where you were. That blade hand?”

Roman looked down at his arm. “What about it?”

“It hurts a lot. And it’s creepy.”

“Your face is creepy.” Roman said, pulling the ring off and looking in disgust at his pus covered arm. “Disgusting. I’ll need a shower at once. Goodnight, my friend. Please stop spying on me.”

Roman heard Virgil call over “We’re not friends, ape!”

“Whatever you say, poet.” Roman said, pulling a towel out of his bag.

“What do stones even do?” Virgil asked, flipping through bags. “Ugh. here’s the one that almost blinded me.”

“Nobody would be able to tell if you were blind.” Roman mumbled.

“Can we have one meeting where you don’t poke fun at my eyes?”

“Admit the sword hand is really cool.” Roman said, placing another braille book on the growing stacks on the bunker dining table.

“No. You became less human to be able to do that. It’s really disturbing.” Virgil said, flipping through a book.

“How do you read these?” he added in.

“Oh.” Roman said pausing for a moment. “It’s called braille. It’s a way to read by touching when eyesight is lost.”

He ran his hands along an otherwise blank cover.

“Phillis Wheatley. Well maybe I’ll keep this one. I don’t want to imagine I spent two years learning braille with him for nothing.”

“Why are you only going through his stuff he left here now?” Virgil asked. “I went through Patton’s house right away in case scavengers went through it. He had an actual house.”

“Maybe because I’m not a demon?” Roman asked.

Virgil recognized that sound. It was choking back a sob. Oh gods what is he supposed to do here? That comment stung a little but… oh no. Now he’s crying. What happens now? And, he dropped the books. Oh no. Now he has to say something.

“What… what do I…”

No, he’s not answering. He’s still crying. What does he need? Warmth? Virgil can’t provide that. He’s cold like ice. Understanding? He can’t give that. They may be friends now but it wasn’t like they could understand each other. What… what do you do?

“Do uh…”

Oh gosh is he about to attempt compassion? Ew. Abort. Abort! But there’s nowhere to escape here. The bookcase is still mangled and not providing any shade now the books are mostly gone. A friend. What would Patton do here? Probably hug. That’s not Virgil’s style. What is his style? Patton always told him what he needed. Humans don’t always do that.

“I’m sorry.”

Virgil looked up. Was Roman actually apologizing for something? He was. Roman Prince, the most narcissistic asshole he had ever befriended was apologizing for… crying?

“Why are you…”

“I’m supposed to be unshakable. But I suppose… when the ten months actually came I didn’t want it to. I thought…”

Roman gripped a huge spellbook in his hands and then clutched it to his chest and held on as if it could bring Logan back.

“Surely he would be one of the ones that came back. Logan can’t just disappear and die in such an anticlimax. That’s not what he does. Not what he… did. That’s not how he did things. He would go on his own terms. Not… whatever it is they do when people disappear. It happens so rarely these days we never thought..”

“You were putting off grieving for Logan.” Virgil realized.

“I suppose I was, now that I think about it.”

Roman woke up one morning strapped to a chair.

“Where…”

“Roman Prince, you have been charged with having personal relations with a demon and concealing your lineage.”

Roman couldn’t see anything. There was a bright light on him and the rest was darkness. It reminded him of being on stage as a young man. The audience can see you, but you can’t see the audience.

“How do you plead?”

“Am I being made to disappear?” Roman asked.

“How do you plead?”

“Where did you find proof of this?”

“How do you plead?”

“Get me my lawyer!”

There was a crash and a scream. Gunshots fired and there was the sound of an axe hitting stone. In a moment the lights turned back on and something cut the ropes tying him to the chair. Roman looked back.

There he was. In those stupid overly distressed black and purple clothes with patches all over them. He was like a badass emo ragdoll or something. He even had the blank button eyes.

“Prince doesn’t go quietly. Not on my watch.” Virgil said.

“Have there ever been darker angels than you?” Roman asked, standing up and rubbing his wrists.

“Save your painfully dramatic gratitude for later and start running, moron.”

They leapt through trees and over houses, never slowing down for a second. Finally sprinting down country roads, Virgil melting in and out of the darkness as Roman ran coming back every so often to get updates.

“Keep going. I don’t think you’re demon enough for me to shadow travel with you.”

“They’re a mile behind. You do use miles here, right?”

“And you complain about the weather in Gehenna. How is Florida this humid at night?

And on for several miles. Roman saved his breath and didn’t yell at the demon for his stupid commentary, but it was tempting.

They finally reached the manor house and Roman frantically began packing. Virgil even put on a backpack, a new experience for him, to carry a few spellbooks in braille they had set aside for an event like this.

“Is it possible to ever be comfortable wearing one of these?” The shadow king said as he struggled to adjust the straps without breaking a nail.

“No, let’s go!” Roman said, dragging Virgil outside.

Virgil hissed and panicked and Roman quickly let go of the demon’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t like it when I touch you.”

Virgil took a moment to compose himself and then led Roman to a portal nearby. He gave roman permission to take his hand and they jumped through the purple cling wrap together.

Roman picked his nails with his knife, sitting on Virgil’s pile of rags.

“So why can’t you try to shadow travel with me?” He asked.

Virgil sighed. “I have told you way too many times. You’re only one sixteenth demonic. Probably less. It won’t work.”

“Oh you’re no fun.” Roman pouted. “You always think everything could end up in death or dismemberment.”

“Because it can.” Virgil responded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you want to help me while I’m on the run?” Roman asked skeptically.

“Well… what are friends for?”

“Aha! So you admit that we’re friends!” Roman exclaimed dramatically.

“You know one of these days I’m gonna lose my patience and straight up eat you.”

“And I’m certain I will be delicious.” Roman said, a classy smile on his face.

“Nah, I won’t eat you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re all we have left.” Virgil said solemnly.

Roman let out a dark chuckle. “And to think I stabbed you through the heart the first time we met.”

“I’m still sorry for all those killings.”

“I forgave you for that a long time ago.”

Virgil leaned against the wall. Roman couldn’t help but smile when that mouth curved upwards and showed just the smallest hint of pointed teeth.

They had no idea how, but it was going to be okay.