DISCLAIMER: Okay... soo... um... I wrote "Demon in the Dark" .. a long time ago. Half a year, really. And I forgot about it. But I was, actually, going to write a sequel. It just took so long... It'd be best if you read the prequel. Because... Well, it comes before this one. You can probably search for it. Wendell is the character so you should find it easily seeing as there are so few stories with him in it. I don't own Bones or the characters. And, I'm not sure where I am going with this. I will set up a schedule for updates when I'm ready to. (I'm really busy for the next couple of weeks). So let's begin, right? Sorry this took sooo long.

WENDELL BRAY

Three months. Twelve weeks. Ninety-two days. Every single one of them had been spent away with nightmares, terrors, new-found phobias and side effects from pain medication that hardly worked. He had been forced to stay away from the lab because of his knee. But staying home in an empty house, both physically and mentally exhausted, was worse than working. At first, he would jump at every sound: he would flinch when a car honked, or a motorcycle kicked. He would recoil in panic when someone knocked on the door and would fight an overpowering urge to hide when the telephone rang. Eventually, he stopped answering the phone unless it was his mom, someone from the Jeffersonian, or Agent Booth.

Then there was the dark. He hated the dark. He could almost hear the killer's heavy breathing, footsteps pounding off the floor; he could feel the terror of something jumping out at him and he tried to find a place to hide so he wouldn't get hurt.

He woke up from his nightmare screaming in panic and soaked with sweat, sheets twisted and pain throbbing through his knee - which had been badly broken and even after two surgeries, was practically useless. It would probably take at least a month for him to be able to put weight on it - even longer to be able to bend the knee. He could try to do both but the pain was excruciating.

His other wounds had healed (save for a deep fracture in one rib), but the scars buried just beneath the skin did not go away. He could still feel the blows, in his dreams especially. He could still see the man behind him.

He was dead. Booth had killed him. But the spirit haunted his dreaming and waking world.

He wanted to go back to work. He had told Cam and said he was getting better and could walk with a cane. He had hated the crutches. They were large and bulky and he couldn't even go up the stairs with them. He had had to get a second pair, one for downstairs, and the other for upstairs. He had tried to avoid going upstairs as much as possible, but sometimes he was forced to drag himself up each step, crawling and trying to avoid hurting his knee on the wood. The cane wasn't great though. It hurt his back and shoulders, and he felt like he was thirty years older than he had been before. He had gotten a special one though, that looked more "medical" than old.

He felt that going to work would at least put his mind back to "normal" things. He couldn't stand being home alone anymore. He'd rather be out there, with his team and his friends, doing something...

Cam had seemed to have sensed that and agreed to let him come in onlyif Booth said he cold. Wendell couldn't drive yet, seeing as he couldn't move his right leg below the knee, and would be a danger to everyone else on the road, so Booth was going to pick him up on the way to the Jeffersonian. Apparently they had found a body in an abandoned mill earlier that morning - around one A.M. - and the idea of a case intrigued Wendell. It had been a long time...

Booth had come over a lot just to visit. They hadn't always been a particularly close pair, even though they were on the same hockey team, but after that ordeal, he and Booth had connected very well. He saw it as guilt, though. Booth felt guilty for what had happened even though he had had no control over it. Regardless, his presence had made Wendell feel more comfortable because he felt safe. He didn't feel that enough lately. The Jeffersonian would be a safe place too. Much safer than his empty house on an old and tied road. He had installed new locks and a security system but those didn't help. If someone anted in, they would find a way inside.

It was around ten in the morning when Booth pulled over. Wendell wanted to smile in relief and excitement, but put on his best professional poker face as he limped to the SUV. Dr. Brennan was there, too. She had visited, but not as often. He was surprised she had visited at all though. She was busy. And he was just another intern, right?

Climbing into the car was a bit awkward. He had to forcibly push his leg over so he could sit properly in the seat, bt once he was settled, he was relieved to be off it. It was impossible to stand with no pressure at all on his knee, no matter how good the cane or crutch.

"Good morning Mr. Bray," Dr. Brennan greeted him.

"Good morning Dr. Brennan. Booth, thank you for picking me up," he said. Booth nodded once as he pulled into traffic. Wendell noticed the immediate tension between the agent and Dr. Brennan. They had probably gotten into an argument before, which meant they would be fighting the entire way back to the Jeffersonian. That was fine. He was content to just sit back and watch the show. It beat the junk on television.

Oddly, they remained silent the entire way back. He couldn't help but wonder if it was because they felt awkward with him in the car.

He stared out the window, watching the scenes of buildings and cars flash by him in a blur. His vision was slightly unfocused because he had recently taken the medication. It would go back to normal soon once it wore down a little. Still, it made him dizzy, so he closed his eyes and listened to the radio play random rock songs... That was strange... They never listened to the radio.

Excitement prevented him from dozing. He would soon be back at the Jeffersonian and everything would return to normal.

He hoped.