Disclaimer: Okay, so this is a sort of homage – the essay style that is – to a story over on fictionpress dot com, called ...sod it. I don't know. I can't find it, and believe me, I've tried. It's very popular. Anyway, the idea isn't mine, I'll admit that :). And obviously I don't own demons.

And my story begins just as the series ends (anyone else bummed at the lack of Luke/Ruby?!?).

1. Demons.

So, Mrs Cohen, you told us to write an essay on an usual event in our lives and to link it to one of the topics you've taught us about. Really? Really? You really think that this is going to prepare us for the big bad world out there? Because let me tell you something, psychology has taught me diddly squat about life out there in the real world.

For example, if I were to tell you that out there, in the 'real world' were scary weird evil things that wanted to take over the world, you'd sit me down and psychoanalyse me, right? See, this is why I can't ever hand in this essay. Because you won't believe me. Because the 'd' word is driving me insane. Well, it's not exactly the 'd' word. Just mainly the effects of the 'd' word. You see, I can't even answer the question. There's a reason this essay won't ever see the light of day...a reasonable one. I swear.

The thing is, I did a bad thing. I fell in love with my best friend. And no, before you ask, he's nothing like my father. Freud was wrong. I love him for reasons I can't explain, for explanations that elude even me. He told me he didn't trust me, and I still love him. It's a mystery why I do what I do.

I guess my love would be what you call unrequited. Shame on me, right?

"I love you, not only for what you are, But for what I am when I am with you." - Roy Croft.

"Hey Ruby." The wind was cold, but I was here anyway, Starbucks coffee in one hand, the other tucked into my pocket. He knew I'd be here. I was always here, waiting for him. The last time I'd been here, we'd had an argument. The time before that had been the same. It was a pattern that had seemed to emerge lately; we'd argue, and then meet here and make up.

"Hey." I didn't turn my head, because I could smell him, smell his shower gel, the scent of fresh woods and citrus. He was sorry, I could tell, because he was here.

Here was at the edge of the pier, a secluded place that few visited because it was so far. Like an oasis in the middle of this huge, lonely city. A place that I loved, because it was one of those illusive treasures, one of those places where time stopped and life - and it's problems - ceased to exist. Luke took a breath, breathing in the fresh air and glorious scenery."So, my dad was a bastard." Understatement of the year.

I didn't want to smile, but I did. "Aren't they all?"

"I suppose you'll want to analyse me now." I thought about it, Mrs Cohen, I did. It was the psychology student in me, but I refrained.

"No. I'll leave that to the experts. I'm sure you've years of analyse-worthy information stored up. You'll make some shrink very rich indeed." He chuckled, sitting next to me, his knee brushing mine, our jeans between our bare skin.

I leaned back on the railing, the bars digging into my thighs dully. He was silent, rubbing one hand through his hair; they way he always did when he didn't quite know what to do.

I bumped his shoulder. "You okay?"

His eyes locked with mine, and I wanted to save him. Always had. "Yeah." He exhaled. "Just about."

"Well," I took a careful sip of the coffee. "At least those nightmares have stopped."

His smile was wry. He no longer had nightmares about his father dying. I think we can call that progress, Mrs Cohen, can't we? "Yeah."

He was a boy of few words. It was okay; I talk enough for the both of us. "Any news on Mina?" Not that I cared. Mina was...an unusual acquaintance, and currently missing.

He shrugged. "Galvin knows."

Ah, Galvin. I had been wondering when he'd bring him up. "And how's Galvin?"

I hadn't seen him in days, just like I hadn't seen Luke in days. Another 'job'. The wicked never rested, and therefore, neither did Luke. "Oh, you know business as usual. Grade 'em and smite 'em." His impression of Rupert - gruff American accent and all - was awful.

I giggled, and he smiled, pretty blue's crinkling at the corners as my mouth curved upwards. "That's awful."

His smile grew wider. "I know."

I loved him like this, carefree and happy. He was rarely like this, because he was the last Van Helsing. Because he had a job, a legacy to live up to. If it hadn't been for the 'd' word, then he could have been normal. Just one boy, with the mum and the dad and the mundane life he craved. But, I knew he could never be normal, that he could never lead a normal life and I accepted that, because to me, he was extraordinary. And that was so much better than a boring normal. Because of him, I'd seen things, felt things that I could never forget. My life had been turned upside down because of that one 'd' word. And for that, Luke would never forgive himself.

He was eyeing my coffee. "Is it still hot?" His breath came out in puffs of smoky white.

"What this?" I held the coffee cup out of his reach. "Maybe."

He was smiling, leaning closer. "No. You are not that evil. I know you."

I giggled, the coffee cup out of his reach, as I stretched and stretched. "Ah, but do you? Maybe I am that evil, Van Helsing."

He was leaning on me now, one hand clutching the railing and one hand grasping the sleeve of my leather jacket. He radiated warmth and freedom and all things good. "Oh, no. No. No, you don't."

He'd obtained my coffee triumphantly, leaning back on the railings as he gulped down his stolen prize. "Ahh." His lips smacked, savouring my coffee.

I pouted. "And I'm the evil one?"

He smiled, pretty blue's glinting. How could I resist? "Maybe."

His phone rang then, and I knew that ringtone. Maxwell Murder. That meant only one thing. Luke sighed, hair flopping into his eyes. "I have to go."

I smiled, "Yeah, yeah of course." He had a job to do. I knew that, I accepted that. But that didn't mean I didn't want him safe and in one piece. "Need any help?"

"Er, no, it's fine." He smiled apologetically, hopping off the railings and holding out a hand to me. I took it, hopping off the railings too. "I'll give you a lift home." And just like that, we were back to almost normal. I'd always forgive him; he knew that.

"Show off." I nudged him again gently, just for the contact and just to show him I wasn't mad that he was blowing me off to save the world.

He smiled, unlocking the car. That look was back. The broody, tortured look. You said to write about our lives, right Mrs Cohen? You want to know what I've learnt? Well, if it weren't for the demons, then I think my friend Luke would have been a very happy boy indeed.

Remember when you told us that everyone is subject to life events, and that no one walks away unaffected? Well, I think Luke has demons of his own. And I don't just mean the scary parrot look alike's or the creepy clowns. I mean big demons. Like doubt and fear and those gremlins that all of us who aren't the last Van Helsing's have. You are your own worst enemy, right? And that, that kind of sucks, because with all these demons, I'm lost. Swamped in the middle of these creatures, contending for a place in his life.

Now Mrs Cohen, tell me I don't have demons of my own.