How to be Badass (2nd Draft)

Queri made something of a habit of checking up on the woman at the bar. Sometimes she was clearer-minded than others. Queri eventually learned her name, and that she lived in the inn above the bar. In her more lucid moments, Queri saw such a myriad of things in her expression that she couldn’t help but become somewhat fond of her. She didn’t know much about her, but she knew that she was complex, and there is something deeply lovely and human about someone complex and messy. Someone’s darkness made them complete. No one—no one real, at least—was made of light. Queri found herself feeling resentful that she didn’t have her own darkness, just this frustrating greyness. At least, that’s how it seemed to her. She still went to school. She wasn’t a mess on a barstool.

Queri wouldn’t romanticize the state that Mimi was in. It was just that sometimes when her pupils were ordinary and her movements precise, Queri saw such unfathomable pain in her that it took her breath away. She could feel it resonate within her. She saw her mother’s tears; she saw her mother’s casket. She saw IV tubes and a heart monitor and a pantsuit she wore to court and to funerals because that’s what you did on a budget, even if it hurt to put it on. It felt like how she felt when she leaned against the kitchen counter at three am filled with such nauseating emptiness that she wanted to—she wanted to—

She wanted to have something. It was such a vague want. Instead she just continued staring at her shitty, ugly green linoleum tiles. She was spiraling. But it was such a slow spiral that she usually was able to convince herself that she wasn’t.

And so when Mimi got into a fight with some fucker who tried to pin Queri against the bar and kiss her and got herself kicked out of the inn, Queri thought, what the hell. She brought Mimi into her home and her life, and whatever darkness she had with her.

Allen felt distracted by his own weakness, frustrated by it. He longed to go out fighting, but the demonslayers checked on him. They made sure he was around, that he was in, that he was alright. He resented it, somewhat. Especially since today the only person home was Fay—and she still checked on him, clearly at someone else’s insistance.

So Allen didn’t go wandering through the streets of New York trying to find someone to pound the shit out of him.

When Fay came into the library in the afternoon to check on him, Allen touched his fingers to his temple and his palm to his nose, closing his eyes. Steeling himself. Dustin came to attention. His tilted head and his eyes lifted from his book made Allen feel better, even if he was facing Allen and Allen was facing Fay.

“Have you eaten lunch?” she asked, crossing her arms and cocking a hip.

“No,” said Allen, dully. At least when his father called him names he had the decency to ignore Allen afterwards.

“Well, someone’s going to murder me if you don’t eat lunch, so I’m here to suggest you do,” Fay said. Allen opened his eyes to glare at her through his eyelashes.

“Very motivational, thanks,” Allen said. He put his eyes back on the book he’d been trying to read, but he was too on edge to really process anything in it. When Fay didn’t leave, Allen closed his eyes and said, “Are you really looking for my mom?”

He needed to know. She didn’t like him, and all of his percariously balanced mental stability hinged on that.

“Look, brat,” Fay said, though she didn’t sound as biting as normal, “I might not like you, but I do my damn job. I’m looking.”

Allen’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. She was looking. “But you haven’t found her yet.”

“All I have is a name and your address to go off of,” Fay snapped. “But I think I’m close. I’ll tell you when I find her. Okay?”

“Okay,” Allen said. Dustin gave him the barest of smiles, and Allen returned it. His heart was fluttering in his chest at the confrontation, making him feel angry and scared again. Oh, that was right. He was angry about his inability to fight. Well, here was someone who could fight. “Will you teach me how to fight demons?”

Fay snorted. “Like I want someone like you on my hands,” she retorted.

Although he emotionally recoiled at that, he was frustrated enough that instead of retreating like he would have with his father he said, “I wouldn’t be so on your hands if I could take care of myself.”

She was silent for a second, and then said, “Kidd grilled me out when we had that spat the first day you were here.”

Allen couldn’t figure out why she had just told him that. His cheeks heated. He was touched, but Fay seemed unimpressed with it. She seemed unimpressed with everything about him. “I didn’t ask her to do that.”

“No one ever asks Kidd to try to save everyone and yet she does,” Fay said. “I’ll train you. For her. But not today. I’m too busy looking for your mummy.”

And then she left. Allen let out a shakey breath. Dustin said, “Wow.” Allen agreed.

So no training today. But he would train. His stagnance curled like a snake in his chest, and he snapped. “I’m going to try to find somewhere to fight,” he said.

“You don’t have your hand wraps,” Dustin said mildly, his nose back in his book.

“Oh no, whatever shall I do if I get blood on my knuckles,” Allen said, and Dustin chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Fair point,” Dustin said. “I hope you know I’m coming with you.”

“I do.”

Allen was on his way out with Dustin just as Char was on her way in. Allen stopped. So did Char.

“Where are you going so late?” she asked. Allen imagined this must be what it’s like to actually have a parent. The thought made it slightly less aggravating. Slightly.

He thought about it, and decided he respected Char enough to tell the truth. “Fighting,” he said.

“Ah,” said Char. “Let me get my hand-wraps, then. Do you have any?”

Okay, so apparently not exactly what Allen assumed it would be like to actually have a parent. Allen shook his head. “I didn’t exactly pack.”

“True. Do you want some?”

Why not? Allen nodded.

“Do you fight too?” Char asked Dustin.

Dustin shook his head. “I just make sure he’s safe.”

“Well, if you want the night off, I can handle that,” Char said.

Dustin looked uncertain. Allen felt uncertain. He swallowed. Dustin worried at his lip. “I’ll still come. But I’ll bring my book.”

So off they both went into the house. Allen sat on the steps while he waited, thinking. Everything was changing. It was overwhelming, but it was no longer bad overwhelming like it had been when he’d first come here. He touched the amulet. It had become a habit. It seemed unreal to him, a promise hung around his neck that his body was his own. He supposed that was when they’d really realized something was wrong; they’d tried to get into Allen’s body yesterday and found they couldn’t do it. The thought scared him a bit. He pulled so that the chain bit into his neck.

Char came back out first. Allen supposed she wouldn’t have had to go so far. As she stepped onto the first step and started to sit beside Allen, there was a groan, and then an ominous cracking noise and the step fell. Allen lurched forwards before balancing. Char gave a little scream as she fell, her butt landing soundly on the porch.

“Holy fuck,” she swore emphatically, flopping backwards, her legs dangling in space. Without any warning, she punched Allen in the shoulder. Since she was lying down it didn’t have any momentum behind it but Allen was still shocked by how much strength there was in it.

“What was that for?” Allen asked, rubbing his shoulder.

“I don’t know, I was just full of adrenaline from that and you were there.”

Allen gave Char a weird look, and she laughed. Allen smiled apprehensively.

Dustin came out the door, and then abruptly stopped. “What happened?”

“Step broke,” Char said.

Dustin peered down into the hole that used to be a step. “Sparrow told me to skip that one when I first got here.”

“Smart girl,” said Char. “Now someone’s going to have to fix it. Probably Queri.”

“Isn’t she a lawyer?”

“Yes, but she likes doing stuff with her hands. She keeps all the cars running, too. Mods weapons. Those are usually useless actually.” Apparently nearly falling through a step made Char giddy. “Okay, let’s go!”

And they did. Char seemed to know where they were going. New York City was full of so many gritty corners. They pulled up to a place that anonymously proclaimed itself BAR, but that Char called “Master of the House”. She laughed when she said it, but Allen didn’t understand the joke.

“This place is great,” Char said. “Everyone’s super greedy and we don’t look like much of a threat. Until we beat their faces in.”

Her confidence in him warmed Allen.

When they went inside, Allen was struck by the old shabbiness of the place. Wood with the polish worn away accented every surface, and there was sawdust on the floor. Allen didn’t want to think about what was in the sawdust. The stench of sweat, vomit, and cheap alcohol, present on the street, was so much stronger inside.

And then there was the ring. It wasn’t enclosed; it was a platform. The crowd took a much more hands-on approach to the match, pushing the opponents back up when they got thrown into them. Char went up to the bar and looked at the bartender. He seemed to know her. “Who’s the kid?” he asked.

“He wants to fight, too. He has experience,” she said. He looked doubtfully at Allen. He was small. He hadn’t hit his growth spurts yet, and he was a bit underfed.

“Okay,” the bartender said. “I suppose if this place got written up we’d have so many problems that one count of letting children fight isn’t gonna make that much of a difference.”

Allen wasn’t sure he agreed with that logic, but it gave him what he wanted, so he only grinned. The bartender smirked back at him. “I’ll bet on you,” he said. “Only because I didn’t bet on this little lady when she first came here when I should have.”

So Char had the respect of a bartender.

Char handed Allen a pair of black hand-wraps. The bartender left, and when he came back he said, “Put the kid on first. He’s fresh. We know you’re good for it so they want to put you on later.”

Allen went on first. His best asset was the element of surprise; no one expected a skinny fourteen year old to hit hard, and to hit fast. So he did. The woman in the ring was buff, broad-shouldered, and serious looking. Allen grinned at her, and she narrowed her eyes. Allen rolled his in return, and when the match started he let all his frustration flood through him as he hit her. Allen didn’t feel bad about hitting a girl—he thought about all the women of the demonslaying house, and how strong they were. Why would he feel bad about hitting a girl? She was here to get hit. So was he.

The woman was strong, but she didn’t have much fighting experience. Allen stepped in swiftly, fist colliding with her nose. He felt it give and the rush of adrenaline that gave him, and when her hands went to her bleeding nose, he hit her solar plexus and tried to sweep her legs out from under her. She was heavy, though. Instead of falling she stumbled back into the crowd and they pushed her forwards obligingly, and this time when she faced up with Allen she had blood running down her face and her eyes were alight.

She advanced on him slowly, and when she was close enough, he grinned again. It was a grin only seen by those who fought him, an awful shit-eating grin. “Fuck me up.”

She smirked, and obliged.

She went for his jaw, and Allen got out of the way enough that her fist hit his eye instead. He felt the skin on his brow break, and blood ran into his eye, obscuring his vision for long enough for her to get him off balance and off of his feet. His back hit the ground and he felt it reverberate through the hollow platform beneath him. The crowd roared its approval at his fall. She tried to pin him down, but Allen smashed his face into her already probably broken nose and she screamed, sitting back. Freeing a leg, Allen kicked her chest—hard—so that she was on the ground instead. His hand wraps were wet.

Her chest was heaving and her eyes were blank. Wind knocked out of her. Allen sometimes forgot how strong he actually was. If he was fighting his way, he’d put a foot on her chest to restrict her breathing until she gave up, but that was probably a little too dirty. Instead he took advantage of her momentary weakness to pin her down. She bucked beneath him, growing stronger as she recovered from having the breath knocked out of her, but she wasn’t able to dislodge him before someone hauled him off of her.

Apparently he’d won. His arm was held up in the air and he shook his hair out of his eyes like a dramatic movie character. He really needed to get it cut. It was at such an awkward length; too short to stay out of the way but too long to properly tie back.

He stumbled off the platform when he was released, people who’d bet on him slapping him on the back. On his way back to where he’d last seen Char, someone shoved him. Allen turned around to face his assailant. “I bet a hundred bucks against you, you little prick,” the man said, striding forwards to shove him again.

“If you have a problem with me winning,” Allen said, “then come beat me yourself.” The man snarled and Allen wasn’t sure what the rules were about fighting out of the ring, but he was still pent up with feelings and wanted someone to hit him so he added, “Thanks for the cash.”

The man hit him. Allen hit him back, a brutal uppercut to the jaw. Someone grabbed him from behind and he snarled, jerking to free himself. Someone else grabbed the other man—the bartender. “Allen, you can only fight people on the platform.” That was Char. Allen jerked once more, and then relaxed.

“Fine,” he said. “I want back up there, then.”

Char turned Allen around to face her, and then looked at him thoughtfully. “How many times do you want to go up there?”

“I fight until I lose,” Allen said. “Whenever I get beat, that’s when I go home. Usually.”

Char frowned. “That doesn’t sound that healthy, kid.”

“Why not? At least I stop then.”

“What do you get out of it?”

Allen hadn’t really thought about that. He felt better afterwards, but he usually didn’t try to rationalize his feelings. He frowned as he thought. “It’s like the opposite of when I’m possessed,” he said, “if that makes sense. I’m in control. And people can stop me. And no one dies.”

“People do die in these fights.”

Allen lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s not the same. It’s not—” Allen stopped, frustrated. He wasn’t good with words. Dustin could probably explain Allen’s feelings better than Allen could. It’s not senseless. It’s not senseful. It’s consensual. It’s not a violation of my life and theirs.

One side of Char’s lips lifted in a wry look. “Okay. It’s not like I can really talk, anyways.”

She wasn’t wrong.

When Char stepped into the ring, the crowd was raucuous. It seemed they knew what to expect, and they weren’t disappointed. Allen had seen Char fight in the training room, but he hadn’t seen her fight like this—just to win. She was cold, efficient. Allen gnawed on his lip as he watched her. She executed a beautiful kick that knocked her opponent onto the ground, and when she did saw Allen looking at her she smiled. It was dangerously sweet.

Allen went up five more times before someone beat him. His body was finally starting to tire, and someone got the drop on him and pinned him. Allen hadn’t been able to buck him off. How he loved and hated that feeling. A forced end to his violence.

Allen had to admit to himself that that was messed up.

The ride home was quiet, but more in a content way. Adrenaline had replaced Allen’s frustration, and with that drained as well he was at peace. He opened the window and closed his eyes to the feeling of wind drying the sweat in the creases of his eyelids and his hair. The street lights were dimmer than the bar-fronts here and they flashed through his eyelids with the sounds that accompanied them.

The lights faded. They got back to the house and in the driveway Dustin touched Allen’s split brow, and then his split lip. They cooled at his touch, the pulsing pain fading just a bit. It was like someone had put an ice pack on them. “I didn’t know you could do that,” Allen said.

“I’m working on it,” said Dustin.

“Thanks.”

They went inside, and Char got some warm water and a rag to clean their wounds. Normally Allen was too beat after fighting to do anything but fall asleep, but he sat at the kitchen table while Char cleaned herself up, and then let Char wipe the blood from his own face and arms. It’s amazing how much splatter can come from head-wounds.

Char was dumping the dirtied water in the sink when Fay came into the kitchen. Or, rather, when she walked into the doorway and, upon seeing Allen sitting at the table, stopped dead.

Fay was frowning. Allen hadn’t realized until then that she really didn’t emote much, but the frown was shocking enough that Allen realized that the most expressive thing Allen had seen Fay express was boredom.

She narrowed her eyes, and then said, “I found your mom.”

The words didn’t immediately compute. Char stopped moving. Dustin looked up from his book.

“Where is she?” he asked, getting to his feet and taking a couple steps towards Fay. His mind picked up speed. He was breathing heavier, but it was from relief, like someone had taken their foot off his chest and he was finally able to breathe freely again.

“I hate emotional shit,” Fay said, curling her fingers over her palm to look at her nails. “She’s dead.”

Allen’s mind flatlined. Thoughts half-formed and then fell apart as the foundation of his world refused to hold it. So many questions and denials made and unmade and remade themselves that it overflowed, his heart picking up and his lips parting as he tried to get them out. His chest tightened again with every breath.

Char said, “Extrapolate.”

“They pulled the plug on her eight years ago,” Fay said. “They were lying to you.”

Allen felt like the floor had dropped out from under him.

She was dead?

She was dead.

For eight years.

His vision tunnelled and his heart rioted, but unlike so many times before this wasn’t fear—no, this was anger. This was anguish and truth shoved in a blender and then served fresh. One thought rang clear through his mind:

All of this was for nothing.

Every dead body, every life ended and soul sipped by the fucking junkie in his body for his comatose mother. It had all meant nothing to her. All of this for nothing—

It was in that moment—that moment he saw the wave of torrential emotion coming for him that it happened. A physical mantra he’d lived through far too many times.

His muscles slackened, face loosened and eyes unfocused. He felt himself breathe in, but it wasn’t him who was doing it.

That was the last straw for him. Whatever modicum of control, or whatever had been holding back his resentment at his uncontrol, let go. This demon had no right to be here. They hadn’t held up their end of the deal, and Allen had no reason to hold up his. The whole of the pain, both his and of everybody he’d ever hurt, crashed through him like a tsunami, crashing at his feet and roaring through him. He became it.

That pain, it turned into rage so hot that it burned Allen from the inside out. If he couldn’t have his mom, if he couldn’t have his life, then he was going to damn well have his fucking body. Something inside of him pulsed, and he felt the power of it sweep over him, and quite suddenly, he found that it was him breathing.

He did it again, just to feel it happen—the rise and fall of his chest. He choked out something between a laugh and a cry. The cry dug its way through his chest, and became something bigger that came out of him in the form of shockingly real flames. That surprised Allen as much as anything else, shocking him into the moment enough to try to really think about what was happening.

His dad had lied. He hadn’t just lied—Allen couldn’t understand it. Why had he done any of the things he had done, if not for his wife? Had his father been on the demons’ side from the beginning?

His world was falling apart at the seams, and it hurt.

This was exactly why Char hadn’t wanted to start caring about this boy.

Everyone had come-aparts when something really shocking happened, but literally pouring out flames was a level of hysterics Char was unprepared for. Taking the kid out fighting? Doable. Trying to keep the table from bursting into flames? A little more tricky.

She pulled the table back from Allen. There was a cacophany of noise as the demonslayers upstairs were rudely awakened by the demonic presence now in their household. They clattered downstairs in a pack, looking harried and confused and half-asleep in their pyjamas.

Char’s mind raced to keep up with the events that had just transpired—Allen’s mom was dead. As much as it pained her, she wasn’t that surprised. Demons didn’t keep their deals. This was the accepted norm. The demon possessing Allen had definitely been a bit more of a shock. She supposed it had overwhelmed the amulet. From the motherfucking flames pouring out of him now it certainly seemed like it was powerful enough. What was even stranger was that it was—it was definitely moving the way Allen moved.

“Someone get it the fuck out of him!” Char yelled, frustrated with her lack of demonslaying power. Mimi obliged with a flick of her whip—when had she even gotten that?—and suddenly the flames were gone. Allen was on his hands and knees.

“Allen? Are you okay?” someone asked him. Char moved towards him, crouching and brushing his hair out of his face. His eyes were wide and distant.

“What just happened?” Allen tried to say. His voice came out scratchy and dry, and he coughed. Sparrow stepped into the kitchen and fixed him a glass of water while Char rubbed his shoulder. His breathing was short. Maybe he’d breathed in some flames. “I—the amulet—my mom—”

He fell silent. He didn’t seem to see the glass of water right away when Sparrow offered it to him, but when she guided his hand towards it he took it. His hand shook and Sparrow quickly put her hand back on his to steady it before he spilled anything. He downed it with her help. “I don’t understand,” he finally said, voice breaking. His eyes were focusing bit by bit.

“I know it’s a shock to you,” Mimi said, “but demons break their deals. None of us are surprised.”

Allen swallowed and shuddered, and Dustin stepped forwards for him to lean back against. “I don’t understand. How did this happen?”

“None of us can answer that question.”

Allen was silent again for a moment, picking at the floor with a nail. “Did I hurt anyone? Or anything?”

“Only a chair,” Char said. “I’m glad we invested in tile flooring.”

“Wasn’t the amulet supposed to stop me from getting possessed?” Allen asked, softly. Dustin knelt down beside him, and put an arm around Allen. Allen leaned into him, closing his eyes and flaring his nostrils as he tried to contain himself.

“Sorry about that,” Mimi said, and she sounded like she really was. “They’ve never had to withstand much pressure before. I would guess they just—forced their way past it.”

Allen frowned. “Fuck.”

Char had to agree with that.

“I’m sorry,” Queri said. “Are we just going to ignore that a fourteen year old just repossessed a demon?”

“I was planning on it,” said Mimi.

“For fuck’s sake—”

“I’m being facetious.”

Queri made a frustrated noise, and crossed her arms.

Mimi sighed. “Fine. It was very impressive.”

“Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“Just because you were a prodigy doesn’t mean no one else is allowed to be,” Sparrow sniped back. “He needs training.”

Mimi got three more amulets for Allen, and then they sent Allen to bed. Sparrow wasn’t sure he should be away during such an important discussion concerning him, but the poor kid had obviously been used up. What an ordeal, being possessed and repossessing and learning his mother was dead. Dustin went with him. She had some concerns about Dustin, too. He spent far too much time taking care of Allen. She wondered how well he took care of himself.

“Well that was… eventful,” Mimi said as they all walked out into the sitting room. Mimi sat down and put her head in her hands. Sparrow walked up and brushed her hair gently.

“No shit,” said Fay.

“You could have been more tactful,” Char snapped, bracing herself on the back of a couch.

“Really,” Fay said flatly. “You expected me to be tactful.”

It would have been a question had it not had so much sarcasm. Char scowled and said, “No, but you could have told us first. Or told him at any time that wasn’t four in the fucking morning.”

“I just figured it out,” Fay said, “and it seemed like a time-sensitive matter, what with them sending a half demon after him. This isn’t small game. This is a group with resources, connections, and a head start. All we have is the six of us and a bratty kid.”

“You’re going to call him a brat after that,” Sparrow said, frowning at Fay herself.

“Stop it,” Mimi said. “Fay might not be tactful, but she’s right. This is something bigger than we’ve ever had to deal with before on our own. I’m not sure if we can, realistically.”

“We can’t just let it go,” Kidd said, voice louder than was strictly necessary. “Allen’s basically been enslaved all his life and if his dad is working for them instead of also being under their thumb then it changes everything! It means they have long-term footholds in the human world.”

“I know,” Mimi said coldly. “And for all we know Allen and his dad are the tip of the iceberg, rather than the core of it. Although if they were willing to send a half demon after Allen to get him back then he must be a very valuable resource to them.”

“Valuable or dangerous,” Queri said.

“How do you figure?”

“Well, aside the obvious of him being a demonslayer and learning how to harness that… I suppose he’s as close to an informant on the operation as we can get. That’s dangerous to them. Maybe they know something about the tattoos that we don’t. Who knows.”

There was quiet for a moment as everyone chewed through the information they had. “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to do this,” said Mimi. Sparrow had never heard Mimi ever admit that she—or they—weren’t strong enough to do something. It sent a chill down her spine. “But we need to try. This is exactly the reason the guilds were necessary. It’s exactly what I was afraid would happen without them around anymore.”

Sparrow felt a pang for Mimi’s pain, and rubbed her shoulders sympathetically. Mimi leaned into her gratefully. As a massage therapist, Sparrow gave very good shoulder rubs.

Sparrow couldn’t imagine having to go through what Mimi had. Sure, Sparrow had her own dark and spooky past, but nothing that could hold a candle to having your entire culture, way of life, family, friends, acquaintances, all destroyed.

“So what’s the next step, then?” prompted Sparrow.

“We get Allen to show us the doctor’s office. It’s still the only lead we have. But we need to take a more active approach now that we know that they’re willing to fight if we mess with them.”

“Which we already have by taking Allen,” pointed out Char.

“Clearly,” said Mimi. “Now about Allen’s training. I’d like to work with him in regards to his power, with Char’s help, because I have no experience with tattoos like his. It might be tricky. I won’t have time to do his physical shit too. Any volunteers?”

“He asked me to train him,” Fay said grudgingly. Just the words appeared to be distasteful for her.

“What did you say?”

“…Maybe.”

Clearly Fay knew how this would be recieved, and she wasn’t wrong. Mimi made a noise of frustration. “That child needs training. I was afraid he wouldn’t want to, what with how skittish he is, and he asked and you said maybe?”

“Alright, alright,” Fay said. “I’ll train the damn kid.”

“Good,” snapped Mimi. “We don’t need him to be any more of a liability than he already is.”

“What about Dustin? Can he fight?” Sparrow asked.

Mimi blinked as if possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “I don’t know,” said Mimi. “He doesn’t read as particularly powerful to me. He’s a cold demon, right?”

“Yes,” said Sparrow. “Maybe he just keeps it under wraps. He is very nice.”

“I saw him cool Allen’s face when we came in,” Char said.

“Great. He can be a medic.”

“We could use a medic,” Queri said. Mimi shook her head, lips quirking. Queri never had been able to tell when any of them (though Mimi in particular) were being sarcastic.

“A walking ice pack it is, then,” Mimi said. “Sparrow, will you talk to him again? Try to get him in a good headspace for going after that doctor’s office.”

“Okay,” said Sparrow. “Maybe I’ll teach him to meditate.”

“Good,” said Mimi. “Now if no one has any pressing concerns, I have work in the morning and I have a sneaking suspicion a coworker is going to call in during the evening—he’s been hinting that his sister bought them tickets to some movie—and I’ll have to cover him for that, too. I’m going to need my sleep.”

Allen passed out as soon as he hit the pillow. Dustin was a little surprised, considering how revolutionary the information that had been dumped on him had been. Apparently repossession took a lot out of you.

Dustin tried to sleep himself, but he hadn’t had any such exhausting event to force his mind to submit to his exhaustion. Instead he stayed up, fidgeting, thinking. He could only ignore his own pasts entrenchment in this kind of situation for so long, from back when he’d been on the opposite side. The way things were going was sling-shotting him back into a world he’d been trying to escape. He’d put everything into staying out of sight of the demonic parent he had once worked for. He supposed when he’d decided to room with Allen he’d acknowledged that he was only stepping into the shallows of that world rather than climbing out of the ocean and it would only be a matter of time before he would have to dive back in.

He’d recognized the half demon from yesterday.

His heart beat faster just thinking about it. Sparrow had shoved him under the table he thought . Did she know somehow that his own father had been part of the industry that Allen had been enslaved to? A leader, even? Maybe he should tell someone.

He knew in the end what he really wanted was to eradicate that industry. He was not-quite-equal parts eager to help, and terrified of how he could. He thought of the touches of cold he’d put into Allen today. It had felt like a promise to himself.

He closed his eyes to better feel the flow of his power inside of him. His direction of it seemed so natural these days that he had trouble remembering it was there sometimes. Demonic power didn’t act the same way in the human world as it did in the demon world. It was part of what made half demons valuable soldiers in the human world; their power, while sometimes weak in the demon realm, channelled much better here than a demon in a vessel did.

Besides all this, Dustin was feeling distinctly hurt about things that he wasn’t sure he should feel hurt about. The feelings had paled in comparison to the drama of Allen’s possession and repossession, but the later he stayed up thinking the more it gnawed at him.

At three in the morning, Allen got up to go to the bathroom. When he came back, he stopped beside his bed. “Have you not gone to sleep yet?” he asked, voice thick with sleep himself.

Dustin shook his head.

Allen made his way to Dustin’s bed and knelt beside it to lean against it and play gently with Dustin’s hair. “Fluffy,” he mumbled. Dustin’s lips twitched in amusement. “What’s on your mind?”

Dustin considered the many things on his mind and selected the most relevant. “You know that I’m always going to be here for you, right?”

Allen lifted his head at that to look at Dustin and tilt his head. “I—I try to. Why? Where did that come from?”

Dustin did his best approximation of a shrug while lying down. “Tonight, I didn’t need to come with you. I could have just stayed home and you would have been fine.”

Allen’s eyebrows were creeping downwards. That didn’t make Dustin feel any better about this situation. “Is that a problem?”

Dustin felt frustrated with himself. He thought he probably had no right to feel the way he did, but he’d dug himself into a hole and now he had to explain himself to get out of it. “I’m a little bit afraid of being replaced.” He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see the emotional repercussions of his words. The darkness of the room was complete this way.

“Are you serious?”

Dustin nodded, still not opening his eyes.

“Dustin, that’s—ridiculous,” Allen said, his hands stilling on the edge of the mattress. His words were callous, but his tone was vulnerable, concerned. “No one could ever replace you.”

“What can I be that the women here can’t?” Dustin reasoned.

“You!” Allen said, letting himself slump sideways onto the ground from his kneeling position. “You know I’m really bad at explaining feelings but Dustin, if anything in my really demony life is sacred it’s what’s between us.”

Tears pricked Dustin’s eyes and he smiled a bit. That was right. He and Allen had grown together and supported each other too much for anything to usurp that. “For someone who’s bad at feelings that was astonishingly well-thought out.”

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me,” Allen grumbled, flicking his arm.

“No,” said Dustin. “You’ve got lots of feelings to talk about. Actually, it’s probably because you have so much that you have trouble talking about them.”

“Whatever,” Allen said. “You need to sleep. I don’t want to even think about what you’re going to be like in the morning. Actually I probably won’t even see you in the morning at this rate.”

“Allen?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not okay. I can tell.”

“I know,” Allen said, bracingly. “I’m just—trying to pretend I am so I don’t have to deal with it yet.”

“That literally never works,” Dustin pointed out.

“Fine,” Allen said, and Dustin accutely felt the wash of suppressed feelings tumble out of Allen into the air around them. It was stifling. “I’m pissed off and sad and I’m caught between shoving everything I have into hunting down my father and the demons he works for and never moving again.”

“That’s more like it,” Dustin murmured, turning onto his side to look at Allen. Allen was looking at the ground and his eyebrows were reaching critical levels. “Of course that hurts.”

“I fucking hate it,” Allen said. “I hate it. I hate it.”

His words became puncuated by his strangled tone. “I know.”

Allen was going his usual route of disguising his hurt with anger. Dustin thought that in this very specific situation that might not be a bad thing. He had a right to be angry, and to correct the wrongs done to him and his family.

“Do you really think your dad is working for the demons?” Dustin said, remembering what Allen had said.

“What other explanation is there?” Allen spat.

“Maybe he’s just weak. Maybe he doesn’t know.”

Allen shook his head. “There’s no way. There’s no way.”

“That isn’t very solid reasoning.”

“You weren’t there,” Allen said, voice rising just a bit. “He was… so strong-handed about me doing this stuff. In the beginning. He told me it was how we took care of our family. He got mean when I tried to avoid doing it. Told me I was being weak, letting mom die. It was like he became a different person. He was self-assured. There’s no way.”

Dustin wasn’t sure how to argue with this brand of logic. It was all emotional, and borne of years of manipulation between a father and son. “Okay,” he said. “I guess we’ll have to know for sure by the end of all this. Do you want to try to sleep again?”

Allen didn’t look like he did really. “Will you sleep now?” he asked.

“I’ll try,” Dustin said.

Allen raised an eyebrow. “Ditto,” he said. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

Part Two