#it doesn't exactly match up to how i describe demon mode neil here because i made the edit a while ago

[primatechnosynthpop]

Like A Catabolic Seed (I Want To Destroy Everything That's Mine)

Something's wrong with Neil.

He knows that much, and the others know too. He tries to hide it anyway. Don't worry about it, guys, I'm fine, honest-- No, not honest, and certainly not fooling anyone. But he puts on the act anyway.

Beneath the washed-out yellow bathroom light, he wraps a bandaid around his paper cut and pauses to take a long hard look at himself in the mirror. Pushing back his overgrown bangs reveals bloodshot eyes whose colour looks a little off. Maybe it's just the lighting... yeah, that's what he'd say if someone asked, but deep down he knows that's not it. His stomach turns with discomfort. Below those discoloured eyes, his skin is pale and clammy, seeming to press a little tighter than usual around his cheekbones. And ooh, his mouth... it's itching again. Lately he's had the urge to gnaw on things like a teething puppy. And they're not acting up right now, but his forehead and shoulderblades have been periodically aching in a way he hasn't felt since teenage growing pains. Finally, his fingernails need to be trimmed--when did they get so long and sharp?

Well, he can't do anything about 83.3% of his problems, but at least he can trim his nails. He reaches for the vanity and--

The glass cracks as suddenly as the lightning bolt that struck him the day before. Neil staggers back, eyes wide, hands instinctively clutching at his chest. He can feel his pounding heart, and... it's wrong. The rhythm is all wrong. His breaths come quick and shallow and distorted, wrong. Gosh, his teeth really hurt. He runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth and ooh, that's not the shape those teeth should be but more importantly, man, I could really go for a nice bloody steak right now. Just the thought of sinking his teeth into flesh makes him start salivating right there in front of the broken bathroom mirror.

Never mind the nail clippers. He can just chew them down--not a usual habit of his, but in this case it'll be killing two birds with one stone. And oh does he ever want those two birds dead. Heck, he wants the whole flock demolished and served to him on a silver platter!

Back in the living room, his friends are waiting for him with matching concerned looks etched across their faces. Neil takes a seat next to them and forces a grin.

"Everything okay, Neil?" Kevin asks.

"Yeah, you sure took a while in there," Ryan adds with a questioning tilt of his head.

Dang it, did he really zone out for that long? Skin prickling, Neil gulps and looks away. "Sorry, guys. I had trouble finding the right bandaids."

"Ohh... my condolences, friend." Ryan smiles, appeased by the excuse, and pats him on the arm. "I've had that same trouble more times than I can count."

They carry on with their house of cards like normal. It all ends in bad luck, but Neil barely notices. He zones out for a moment, thinking about how easy it would be to tear the whole deck of cards to shreds with his overgrown nails, and then how easy and fun it would be to tear apart the couch and the whole clubhouse and his friends' bodies and-- No, wait, I don't want to do that, what am I...? And next thing he knows the fire alarm is blaring and Kevin is whipping out the fire extinguisher. A few flecks of foam spray onto Neil's cheek. He hisses as he flicks them away, nearly slicing his own cheek open in the process.

This is no good. If they're going to make a webisode this week, he needs to get his act together. Luckily, Neil knows just the thing.

*

Fortuna Daemonium, also known as corpse puppet demons, have a tried-and-true operating system. They rely on humanoid host bodies, but lack other demons' ability to directly possess a living host. No, they can only inhabit inanimate objects, rudimentary plant life, and--as their colloquial name suggests--corpses.

In its larval stage, the demon takes the form of an item which mortals can't resist picking up. Upon contact with a suitable host body, the demon bestows a bad luck curse upon the (un)lucky mortal. Once the curse kills the mortal, the demon is free to transfer itself into their body and take control. The trouble only comes when a demon acts too hastily.

A direct lightning strike against an unguarded mortal should have been fatal. It should have! Was the luck demon truly such a fool for thinking, as its host crumpled to the ground with a smoking crater in his chest, that it was free to propagate? And yet when it sent forth its demonic seed, it ran up against a barrier. The human's brain and soul were--and indeed are--still active. The demon can't possess him yet. Frustrating, yes, but not the end of the world. It just has to keep triggering bad luck events, and eventually something is bound to keep the mortal down.

But there might be a problem. Some humans' blood is far purer than others, and they ingest all kinds of terrible things, so as a precaution Fortuna Daemonium release demonic toxins into the host's bloodstream before taking them over. The toxins essentially provide a makeover that renders the corpse (normally it would be a corpse at this point!) more habitable for the demons, and better suited to their violent needs. If released into a living being, however...

There are a few recorded accounts of such a folly, but accounts of what happens to either the host body or demon differ greatly--unsurprising, when these events rarely leave behind survivors. It seems humans can fight with surprising ferocity if they think there's a chance it will save someone dear to them.

*

Sitting on his bed with his legs drawn up and his shoulders hunched, Neil lowers the horseshoe necklace over his head with an unexpected tremble in his hands. His fingers twitch and jerk involuntarily like they don't want to touch the good luck charm--which is pretty silly of them, because those hands are high on the list of body parts that could use better luck. He takes a deep breath in and releases the string on the exhale. There, now he'll be safe from the...

Safe from...

Neil hears and smells his sizzling flesh before he feels it. But when the sensation does reach his nerves, oh, does he ever feel it. Screaming in agony, he rips the necklace off and flings it across the room. It bounces off the wall and lands with a clatter next to his trunk full of puppets.

Panting, he stares down at himself. Twin trails of smoke wind like lazy rivers off the points where either end of the horseshoe briefly connected with his skin. At least his shirt isn't completely ruined, but it's a tiny bit singed around the collar. Maybe he should wear a jacket today, so the guys don't get suspicious. Yeah, yeah, and if they ask he can say...

"Wait, who cares about keeping up appearances?" he cuts himself off. "I've got bigger fish on my plate right now. Like: since when am I allergic to horseshoes?"

And why is there a ringing in his ears as he slinks cautiously toward the discarded necklace? Why, as he reaches for it, does a hiss escape his bared fangs? Why does he have fangs and claws all of a sudden when two days ago his teeth and nails were perfectly normal and flat? He blinks against the strain of his headache, and--hey, were his eyelids always oriented that way? His shoulders twinge as he kneels down, and he could swear there's something swelling up beneath the skin, just like it feels like something's swelling at the top of his skull. There's no bruising, no recent injuries apart from the lightning strike which could account for all this. He reaches for the horseshoe with a trembling hand--his skin has taken on a yellowish hue now, and the veins on the underside of his wrist are green, which he's pretty sure isn't a normal human colour--and braces himself for a scalding sensation.

If he clutches the horseshoe for long enough, will it drive out whatever evil force has lodged itself inside him? Or will it just kill him?

"This is no good," Neil laments. Chickening out at the last second, he retracts his hand and drops it in his lap. The horseshoe goes untouched. "I need to ask Ryan for advice. He knows all about curses and stuff."

(Kevin might know something too, since he moonlights as a ghostbuster, but that's different. Kevin would worry if he knew. Ryan wouldn't worry. Would he? Neil won't tell him if it'll make him worry.)

*

Neil shows up for work wearing a horseshoe necklace and a big nervous grin. And colour contacts, apparently, unless his eyes were bright green the whole time and Ryan never noticed. But no matter, they have a webisode to film.

Ryan gets in the car and turns the engine over. For a moment he tenses, hairs standing on end in anticipation of something dreadful happening. But nothing does. Kevin climbs in beside him, and Neil allocates himself to the backseat, where he sits with his knees pressed tight together and his nails digging into the upholstery and his mouth all clamped up like he's got a case of lockjaw.

"Neil, you haven't stepped on any rusty nails lately, have you?" Ryan asks, shooting his friend a glance in the rearview.

Neil blinks in surprise, and oh dear, his eyes are definitely not supposed to be that colour and his eyelids are not supposed to go that way. It's an exciting new look, but not a style Ryan thought Neil would go for.

"Huh? Uh, no, I don't think so."

"You'd better not have," Kevin admonishes. "I've warned you guys about playing barefoot at the abandoned nail factory."

Despite the increasing worry about Neil's condition, they reach the warehouse they've decided to film at and get through a productive rehearsal without much issue. Eventually they encounter another bout of bad luck: one of their cameras acts up, and when Neil leans in to carefully adjust the lense, the entire piece of equipment crumbles to dust. That garners a concerned eyebrow raise from Kevin, which Ryan acknowledges with a tight-lipped nod: Indeed, something's not right with him. But clearly Neil doesn't want to talk about it, so what can they do? At least the curse or whatever it is isn't hurting him directly anymore.

Kevin heads off to buy a replacement camera while Ryan and Neil set up the rest of the equipment. Nothing goes wrong, and Ryan manages to relax a little. He almost wonders if there's no curse after all, and Neil is right to accuse him and Kevin of being paranoid. Nothing really bad has happened since the lightning strike, and those are usually random anyway, so...

But then Neil goes stiff. The chair he was moving drops from his hands in a clatter and he leans over it for support, hissing like a feral cat in distress. Ryan rushes to his side and holds him upright--he's clammy to the touch, and green-tinted veins pulse frantically beneath his skin. Brushing his bangs aside, Ryan lays a hand against Neil's head to check for fever.

Oh. Oh, there are some very strange lumps on Neil's forehead. That's... not good. Icy dread stirs in Ryan's gut as he pats his friend down.

"Say, Neil, what are those protrusions?" he asks, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking. "You're not... sick, are you?"

Neil doesn't answer. His discoloured eyes are glazed over, and his breathing is shallow yet echoey, like it's coming from far away. The horseshoe necklace dangles loosely around his neck. Too loosely, for a heavy steel object.

Something snaps into place in Ryan's mind, and he jerks back with a gasp.

"An electric car! With the luck you've been having, its magnetized engine should have attracted your horseshoe... unless..." He rips off the necklace, and his hand closes around moulded plastic. "Ah-hah! You thought you could fool us with a fake horseshoe necklace? But--" Triumphant revelation gives way to an even deeper concern and bewilderment. "Why not wear a real horseshoe? A smart man like you should know the plastic ones never work."

Neil's shoulders spasm. His head jerks back, and his bangs fall back into place to conceal the tumours on either side of his forehead. His mouth moves to whisper something. It sounds like he's saying Ryan's name.

"I'm here, Neil," Ryan assures him, laying a hand on his friend's arm to hold him steady. "I'm right here."

"No... Ryan..." Neil shakes his head, and it looks like the motion hurts. Thin streams of blood trickle down from beneath his bangs. He bares his teeth in a grimace and they're so much sharper than they're supposed to be. "Run away."

And that's the only warning Ryan gets.

*

Neil's head is going to kill him. And that's not just a dramatic way of saying it hurts a normal amount; no, it really and truly feels like his skull is going to burst open and splatter his brains everywhere. He tries to breathe in and out evenly, like that'll help. But he can't catch his breath, nor slow his frantic pulse. His body shakes, and oh my god it hurts so bad help please guys you have to help me it hurts it hurts it hurts--

Ryan is saying something. Neil can't hear the words over the buzzing in his head, but the tone sounds reassuring. It's funny--Ryan is rarely the reassuring type, but when he is it's almost maternal. Neil wants to lean into his friend's touch, to listen to those calming words and fool himself into thinking he's gonna be okay.

But his fangs and claws itch to tear something apart. And if Ryan doesn't get out of the way--

"Run away," Neil pleads. There should be tears pricking at his eyes, and it feels almost like there are--his eyes are hot and irritated, and there's something wet sliding down his face now--but his tear ducts seem to have sealed up. He can feel something slithering out of his back, like being stabbed in reverse. "Please--you can't--I don't want to--"

Is he pleading to Ryan now, or to the thing he's becoming? It doesn't make a difference anyway. Neither of them listen.

Neil doesn't mean to swing his hand in an upward arc, claws extended. He doesn't mean for those talons to shred the front of Ryan's jacket and dig into the flesh beneath. He doesn't mean to send Ryan falling back, jaws parting in silent shock, or to then leap on top of him while he's down and bury his fangs in his shoulder. He doesn't want to do any of it.

But also... maybe he does want to do it. His pulse settles into a regular rhythm at last, a healthy pitter-patter of excitement, and he can taste the saliva swelling in his mouth when he rips a chunk out of his friend's shoulder and worries it between his teeth. The pain is finally gone. Now it's just a rush of exhilaration. Neil breaks into a giddy grin as Ryan screams and writhes beneath his claws.

This is going to be fun.

*

Their equipment still isn't set up when Kevin returns. That's the first thing he notices, and he frowns at the sight of the filmmaking gear strewn around like furniture after a robbery. His frown deepens when he spots his friends jumping around in the shadowy corner of the warehouse, apparently play-fighting--complete with disturbingly realistic screams and growls and hisses. What is this, a warrior cats roleplay? Eccentric as they are, Neil and Ryan are professionals; they should know better than to goof off at a time like this.

"C'mon, guys," he says, clapping his hands together like an animal trainer as he approaches them. "Let's get to--"

The scent of blood hits his tongue, and Kevin's breath catches in his throat. What are they... this isn't another one of Ryan's creepy rituals, is it? He flicks a lightswitch on to illuminate the warehouse. When he does, his blood runs cold.

Four leathery green wings protrude from Neil's back. No, not quite leathery--they're rounded, and they look delicate, like leaves. Less delicate-looking are the golden horns sticking out the top of his head, with swelling around the base and trails of blood running down from where they protrude. Just looking at the extra body parts makes Kevin cringe. Those definitely weren't there before, and it looks like their growth wasn't pleasant.

But his sympathy for Neil is dampened by what he's doing. Rather, what he's already done. Ryan sways on his feet with a sickly expression, arms wrapped tight around his own torso like he's trying to hold his guts in. Maybe he is. There's a lot of blood streaming down his face and matting his hair and staining his tattered clothes. One section of his sleeve is torn away, revealing a flash of exposed bone where flesh has been shredded.

Kevin takes this all in as a tableau, his friends both having froze in place like deer in headlights when he flicked the light on. It's several breathless, stomach-churning seconds until Ryan turns his wide-eyed stare on Kevin. He opens his mouth to say something--a plea for help? A warning to stay back? Some odd little overly casual remark, haha, typical Ryan yeah I bet he's not even bothered by this sure yeah he probably likes it, we know him, what a weirdo--

But Neil--if this even is still Neil--lunges before Ryan can speak. He grabs Ryan by the collar and flings him across the room, where he crashes against a radiator with a pained yelp and crumples to the ground. Neil grins, exposing a row of gore-caked fangs, and leaps forward to finish the job.

"Hey!" Kevin rushes forward with no plan in mind, just protective instinct. "Get away from him!"

He grabs Neil's leg and pulls him to the ground moments before those claws would have slit Ryan open. Neil hisses and squirms around, but Kevin locks his arms around him--though not without getting an armful of fangs. Diluted by adrenaline, he barely registers the pain, but he can see blood leaking through his shirt sleeve and his stomach hitches at the dull scrape of enamel against bone. Drawing in a shaky breath, Kevin closes his hand into a fist and draws it back. "Sorry about this, bud."

He clubs Neil in the back of the neck, like they do to knock people out in TV shows. Neil spasms at the contact and goes still. For a split-second Kevin is terrified he hit him too hard--but no, he still has a steady pulse, albeit one with an alien rhythm. Thinking fast, Kevin peels off his flannel shirt and ties it around Neil to bind his arms and those creepy wings (which upon closer inspection look like plant matter, but a tear in the lower right one--Ryan must have gotten a few hits in during their scuffle--is bleeding, and it's definitely not sap. He considers just ripping the wings off, but... no. Possessed or not, he doesn't want to hurt Neil.) Once that's done, he sits back on his heels to catch his breath. The pain from his freshly sustained wound creeps in now, and man does it ever sting. And that's just one bite, so he can't imagine how bad it is for...

Ryan. Oh, god, Ryan. Snapping back to grim urgency, Kevin scrambles across the room to his fallen friend in such a hurry that he trips over his own feet. He falls to his knees at Ryan's side and turns him over, shuddering at the glassy look in his eyes.

"Hey, stay with me, man," he commands. "We need a plan, and whatever's up with Neil looks like a two-person job."

"Mmn... a plan. Yes." Ryan rolls his head back and shifts slightly. "I definitely... have... a plan..."

His mannerisms are those of someone reluctant to rise from bed on a cold winter morning. Kevin's certainly been there, and the thought of such a simple shared experience makes him half-smile despite the circumstances. That smile fades when Ryan's face contorts in pain and he curls in on himself with a hiss. After a few shallow trembling breaths he speaks again, more faintly this time.

"I think Neil... is possessed. An exorcism may be in order. But there could be--" He coughs, and blood dribbles from his lips-- "another way. If..."

He trails off, head lolling to the side. Kevin waits expectantly for him to pick back up, but... nothing. Swallowing down a spike of anxiety, he props Ryan up and brushes a strand of sweat-and-blood-soaked hair out of his unfocused eyes.

"What's the plan, Ryan?" he prompts. "C'mon."

No answer. There's so much blood seeping through Ryan's jacket. Is it too much? He's not sure. It looks like too much.

"Ryan."

Nothing.

"Ryan!"

*

Neil stirs from a dreamless sleep to the sound of a dripping faucet. There's a damp chill to his surroundings that makes the human part of him shiver even though the demonic part is unbothered. He opens his eyes to find himself surrounded by four rough-hewn dark gray walls; the floor and ceiling are the same material. There's a busted pipe sticking out of one wall which seems to be the source of the dripping. In the far left corner is a staircase leading up.

What is this, a basement? Ugh, I hate basements... Neil hisses in annoyance and tries to move, only to find himself bound by ropes. Twisting his head around, it looks like he's tied to a wooden column, the way pirates used to tie up their prisoners. Uh oh. Am I gonna be executed?

As if in answer to that question, the sound of footsteps alerts him to a human descending the stairs. It's one of the same humans Neil was playing with earlier--the one with the short dark hair and the flannel (he knows their names, but that information is locked away right now). But he's not wearing flannel anymore, just a plain white t-shirt and jeans and... what is that, a backpack? No, it's something else, something Neil recognizes, but... his head feels funny. It's like his mind is splitting in two, and the half that's in control right now doesn't know or care about mortals or any of their strange devices. He just wants to torture and kill and eat them!

The mortal flicks a lightswitch. Neil flinches at the too-bright yellow glow that flickers on overhead, curling in on himself like a dying plant and hissing like a vampire. Only when his eyes adjust does he realize the lights were off a moment ago. Come to think of it, his surroundings did look a little washed out, but he could see everything perfectly. Woah, I can see in the dark, he realizes with a grin. Cool!

"So... Neil." The mortal strides slowly over to him and comes to a stop a foot away. He unhooks something from his backpack and points it at Neil as he speaks. It looks like one of those weapons mortals use--the kind they only bring out when they're really serious. So it's surprising when the mortal's first question is: "You okay?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah..." It's not a lie; the ropes might be a bit tight, but they're not hurting him. Heck, he can barely feel them, nor can he feel the cut on his wing or the spot where the mortal clubbed him to knock him out. Demons aren't built to feel that kind of stuff. "How about you? That arm looks pretty bad."

He nods to the appendage in question. The bandages look hastily applied, and he can smell that the wound isn't fully closed. The bloodscent is simultaneously enticing and sharply concerning. The latter reaction is surprising, moreso when Neil reminds himself that he did that, and it's nothing compared to what he did to the other mortal.

"I'll live," the mortal replies tersely. Only his inflection is more like "I'll live," as in yeah, he'll live, but somebody else won't.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Neil wonders aloud. The testy look he gets from the mortal in response seems to confirm it. "Pshaw, you mortals are so pathetic! What are you gonna do to me?"

The mortal cocks an eyebrow, and one corner of his lips twitches into a smirk. It's an amused expression--or no, the human side of Neil recognizes, a wry and weary one. It's all in the tired eyes: this mortal is not having fun. He raises his weapon and presses its tip against Neil's upper abdomen.

"Oh, you'll see what I can do to you."

*

Throughout this exchange, the true Fortuna Daemonium is silently screaming from within its four-leafed prison. Such sickening irony, to be confined to a clover pinned to the shirt of its would-be host body! And there's nothing else nearby to transfer itself to--nothing that would be any more useful, at least. Exiting the clover without transferring to a new vessel is out of the question. That would expose it to human eyes, which is probably just what the human with the proton pack wants.

Yes, Fortuna Daemonium know exactly what that device is called. It's imprinted in their collective consciousness, ever since the incident several decades ago when a group of four middle-aged mortals wielding such weapons managed to wipe out a whole colony of demons. If this newly demonic mortal isn't careful, its naive taunting will get both it and the Fortuna Daemonium captured at best and demolished at worst.

Only one way out of this situation, then. A bad luck event at a scale that can reduce mortal and half-demon alike to corpses fit for possession. As the two humanoids continue their exchange, Fortuna Daemonium tunes them out and channels its energy into summoning a natural disaster.

*

"Hey, where's the other mortal, anyway?" Neil asks, tilting his head. "He was fun to play with. His blood was delicious."

The mortal (Kevin, something in the back of his head supplies--the wall between things the demon knows and things it chooses to forget is crumbling) stiffens at that. He raises his head to stare into the ceiling light and waits until his eyes begin to water before speaking in a low voice.

"Yeah, I'll bet it was. But we pathetic humans only have so much blood we can lose, you know."

Neil blinks. Something about those words send a shiver down his spine... but they shouldn't. He's a demon, isn't he? What does he care about mortals getting hurt? He's just gonna eat them anyway. Sure, they're more fun to play with when they're alive, but... hey, what do those two specific specimens matter? There's whole cities full of potential prey! And here he is all worried about...

About...

"But he's okay, right?" he asks despite himself, or maybe exactly because of himself and despite the thing he's become. The question slips out as a nervous little squeak. "He has to be okay. We still need to film our webisode, and the script calls for all three of us--"

What is he talking about? It's like he's on autopilot now, human mind running on instinct and overpowering the demonic influence. There's that sensation of the bisected mind again, and the thing that calls itself Neil is standing on the brink with the ground splitting under it. He doesn't know which side he wants to land on anymore--powerful demon or feeble emotional human. All he can do is babble out his instinctive pleas for the status quo.

"--And we can't find a replacement on such short notice!"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about that--" Kevin's voice crescendos into a yell as he jabs the proton gun into Neil's ribs-- "Before you murdered him!"

...What?

"Oww," he whines at the jab of the weapon before his human side can fully process the mortal's words. Kevin's finger trembles over the trigger. There's a scent emanating from the weapon that makes Neil's hairs stand on end. It's not quite electric, not quite acidic, but he knows on an instinctive level that he can't let it touch him. If he does...

His fragile human side catches up just then. Tears well in his eyes. When he blinks them back, he finds that his eyelids are angled the right way again.

"You mean Ryan is...?"

"I just buried him in the backyard," Kevin confirms grimly. He squeezes his eyes shut until a tear slides down his cheek. "So you don't dig him up and eat what's left of him."

"But that's... no, I'd never do that..." Neil shakes his head, lips drawn back in a grimace. His fangs flatten when he presses them together. "Ryan has to be okay. Things always work out for us!"

His demonic side can't put up a fight anymore. Neil doesn't want it to. His heart clenches with such monumental dread that it shudders back into its original rhythm, along with his frantic breathing. He can't feel his wings anymore, and his horns feel lighter, like they're hollowed out and ready to crumble. He can feel the blood caked onto his claws even as they shrivel back into regular fingernails. Ryan's blood. Are his organs physically rearranging, or is that just nausea? It might be nausea. Oh, geez, he's gonna be sick.

In this moment of emotional turmoil, he doesn't notice when the earth begins to shake. It just feels like another part of his breakdown. Dust crumbles from the ceiling, and none of it makes a difference. The whole place may as well cave in at this point.

*

Despite everything, watching Neil break down is the toughest part of the ordeal. The ground shakes--some last-ditch resistance from the demon, no doubt. Even so, Kevin stands his ground. He bunches up Neil's shirt collar in his free hand and pulls it taut, while with his other hand he aims the proton gun at his possessed friend's chest. He keeps talking as he does this, grasping at any words that'll keep the demon distracted.

"He was the only one of us with a necromancy license, you know. So we're probably never going to get him back."

"No, no, we have to... he can't be dead, we... I..."

Neil's words give way to uncontrolled weeping. The unnatural colour of his eyes, toxic green with dark violet pupils, drains like cheap dye down a sink as he cries. Soon his swollen eyes are their usual shade, everything is its normal length, and his wings droop in a lifeless shade of gray-brown. He curls in on himself as best he can around the ropes to bury his head in Kevin's shoulder. The pressure against his forehead loosens off the horns, and soon they and the wings peel off altogether, shedding like snakeskin. It's over. Or at least it will be in just a moment.

Kevin twists the proton gun around to aim perpendicularly at the front of Neil's shirt, angled so it won't hit the man himself, and presses the tip directly against the clover. As carefully as they plotted all this out, his breath still catches when he squeezes the trigger. He didn't count on an earthquake when they made this plan. If he's off by an inch...

The clover explodes to ash in the glowing beam's wake. A demonic screech rings out, and green smoke trails into the air. Neil gasps and jerks back. The instant the job is done, Kevin releases the trigger and powers down his proton pack. The earthquake stops immediately upon the demon's demise, but he could swear he still feels the ground shaking beneath his feet. He can't breathe for a solid ten seconds.

It takes Neil several shaky tearful breaths before he straightens up and ventures to speak. "I can't believe I killed Ryan. What are we gonna do?"

"Worry not, my friend," Kevin assures him, laying a hand on his arm. "Things aren't quite as they seem."

*

Half an hour prior, Kevin shoved a half-conscious Ryan into the backseat and a possessed bound-and-gagged Neil into the trunk of Ryan's newly upholstered electric car that he definitely acquired by legal means. Minutes later, the frantic driver rounding a sharp corner pulled Ryan awake with a gasp. After a few dizzying moments trying to determine his surroundings and process the hurried explanation his companion offered, the cogs of his mind were set in motion. Passing out from blood loss served as a good excuse to not explain the plan he definitely had earlier, but it's even better to actually have a plan for real in times like these.

"When he was attacking me, he kept making pop culture references," Ryan mused, stroking his blood-matted facial hair thoughtfully. "I think Neil's consciousness is still intact. The right stimuli could draw his human heart back out."

"You think so?" Kevin met Ryan's gaze in the rearview, then shifted to glance at their possessed friend in the trunk. (Come to think of it, it's a miracle Neil stayed asleep the whole time. The fight must have really tuckered him out.)

"Well, I sure hope so," Ryan replied cheerfully. "Otherwise we're dead meat!"

"Dead meat..." Kevin echoed, drumming his fingers against the wheel with his brow furrowed. Suddenly he turned in his seat and snapped his fingers. "That's it! What if we make it seem like he killed you? A shock like that is bound to snap him out of it."

"Oh boy!" Ryan sat up excitedly, only to wince as his injuries offered their sharp complaints. Quickly recovering, he rubbed his hands together with a grin. "I'll slather myself in zombie makeup and moan about dragging him to hell."

"Hm... I was thinking more the kind of death you don't come back from."

"...Oh." Ryan sat back with a disappointed huff and crossed his arms. "Well, that's a little bleak."

"I know--" And judging by Kevin's tone, it didn't sound like he was thrilled with it either-- "but it could be the only way."

And so that's exactly what they did. Hiding at the top of the stairs and listening in on the whole shindig, Ryan soon decided it was for the best that they didn't go with his zombie performance idea. He may not be dead, but he is still injured. Overexertion is the last thing he needs--to say nothing of the brief earthquake toward the end.

Now, as the figurative and literal dust settles, Ryan braces himself against the banister and hobbles down the stairs, slow-clapping as he does so.

"A marvelous performance, Kevin," he says upon reaching the bottom of the stairs. "You almost had even me fooled!"

Kevin nods with a smug little I-told-you-so smile, crossing his arms. Neil stares blankly at Ryan as he walks to his side, produces a switchblade from his pocket, and cuts the ropes to release him. Upon being freed, the blank stare continues for several seconds before Neil rubs his eyes and gulps--not nervously, but like he's trying to swallow down any further tears.

"Ryan... you must've come to forgive me before you ascend," he murmurs sadly. Without waiting for a response, he pulls Ryan into a hug. "I'm gonna miss you, bud."

"Er, yes and no..." Ryan wriggles out of Neil's embrace--as lovely as it is, he could do without being squeezed right now. "Of course I forgive you, but I'm not actually dead. 'Twas but a clever ruse!"

He punctuates that announcement with a raised finger and a cheesy grin. After a beat, Neil slumps with relief.

"Boy, am I glad to hear that. I dunno what I'd do if I'd--if you were really..."

He starts trembling again and breaks off into sniffles. Ryan offers him an awkward pat on the back, while Kevin lays a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"There, there, Neil. You're alright."

*

But is he really alright?

He doesn't stop wondering, even six hours later when he's getting ready for bed. Running his toothbrush around his mouth for the fifth time in as many minutes, with a little too much pressure and way too much toothpaste, he finds that he still can't get the taste of his friends' blood out of his mouth. He doesn't like the taste anymore. Now it makes him gag, which might be more morally upstanding, but it's way less fun.

He cups some cold water into his mouth, swishes it around, and spits it out. The blood taste is still there, and now his teeth ache from over-brushing. At least they're not fangs. Nothing is growing in ways it shouldn't be.

He's not going to sleep that night. If he does, he'll dream about doing it all over again and maybe even worse. Or what if he turns demonic again in his sleep? How many people might he attack without even realizing--other friends? Family members? Random strangers on the street? Too risky. Instead he fixes himself a bowl of cereal, sugary enough to keep him awake, and nestles into the couch with a blanket and pillow to watch TV. He tries not to fidget too much, but it's hard not to. It's like when you wear a backpack or hat all day and then you can still feel it on you even when it's not. He keeps thinking he can still feel the horns and wings. Yeah, Kevin assured him the demon was gone, but what does Kevin know? He didn't think there was a ghoul in spooky manor either, and look where that got him.

Speaking of...

Neil grabs his communicator wristwatch and dials in the frequencies to contact his friends as, on the TV, a jungle snake lunges to attack an explorer. The watch displays a split-screen as Kevin and Ryan answer a few seconds apart. The timing of it coaxes a subdued laugh from Neil. I guess all three of us are on edge.

"What's wrong, Neil?" Ryan asks. "There's no sign of the demon re-emerging, is there?"

"No, but..." He leans back and worries his lip between his teeth, cheeks colouring with sudden embarrassment. Are they gonna think he's being a baby? Maybe he just won't admit to being nervous. "Do you guys wanna have a sleepover? And in case I go all demonic again--not that I think I will--you can get out the bible and holy water and everything and, y'know, take care of it."

"Sounds like a plan. We'll be right over."

Despite himself, Neil finds himself dozing off at some point. Even before they actually arrive, knowing his friends will be there is like a tranquilizer. Next thing he knows, Ryan is nestled in on his left side and Kevin on his right, debating in hushed tones which Ernest movie they should watch ("Scared Stupid might be too scary for him right now--" / "Yeah, but Goes to Jail has the whole identity-stealing thing, and that might..." / "Well, how about Rides Again? That way we could bore him to sleep!") Neil smacks his lips and tries to shake himself back awake--he doesn't want to miss the evening entertainment--but it's a lost cause. He sleeps peacefully that night, and clovers don't show up in his dreams even once.

Yeah, it looks like he's gonna be just fine.

#good freaking morning people!! #id in alt text #for the like cover image thingie #it doesn't exactly match up to how i describe demon mode neil here because i made the edit a while ago #so i changed my mind on some details because im literally always doing that #hey did you know that i write stuff sometimes?