AN: Well. This is going to require an explanation.

So, the last story I made for Slightly Damned on this site was 'Hell Hath No Snark', and it had an alright basis; then I ran into a problem.

I didn't plan out the story, then ran into a wall of "What the hell am I doing?" It was bad, and I felt sad that I can't really do much about that story anymore without spending a lot of time revising it and gutting it. And then a worse problem came up when I tried to do one for Twokinds, where I tried to do a third person POV to mix things up; with mixed (ha) results.

Then I came up with the idea of taking what I've learned about both stories, and write something new. And only this one. Whether or not I return to the other two stories depend on the success of this one, and if I have the time and effort to spare for them.

On that note, here's the prologue for Dream a Better Dream.

PS: Anything underlined inside dialogue will be considered angelic – for the sake of brevity. And the song from the alarm is by John Denver, called 'Country Roads'.

Disclaimer: I do not own Slightly Damned. I'm not much of an artist, so I'll stick with writing. Also, I don't own 'Country Roads', that's John's stuff.


Well, this is quite a nice spring night that I have on my hands.

The stars are shining brighter than normal, despite the city lights hiding them most evenings, and there is such a nice warm breeze rolling through the streets. It's been a while since I experienced something like this, despite being in a city. Usually, I have to go outside city limits to feel something like this. Even then, nightly strolls aren't the same when it's not on the sidewalks.

I take in a breath of air, smelling the unusual scent that the breeze carries, breaking away from the mild one of smog that permeates cities like this.

This break in normalcy is, while very odd, is welcoming. I've only lived here for about a year, and yet I already miss living in a more rural area. The air here is stale, and I still haven't gotten used to the smell of fumes and city filth that clings to everything here.

The only things that really keeps me here is the odd sense of wonder that comes from a walk through the concrete jungle at night. The lights that turn on at night shine in so many colors, like a circus that seems to never leave town, keep me coming at night to witness their splendor. The shadows they cast are such a contrast, that it might as well be a form of art. And the kind of people that come to the streets at night to run whatever those lights advertise...

It's like living in a beast that never sleeps; constantly moving and surviving no matter the time.

I feel the breeze start to pick up, but I don't pulling my shawl closer to myself. It's an unusually warm breeze, despite being the start of spring-

VWOOOM

I turn sharply to an alley that I just passed, a white light fading from it. I look around and see that nobody else is around, only myself as a witness to the noise and light show.

"...a-ah..." I hear a weak, disgruntled voice gasp from the alley. I turn my head back to the alley.

'Well, guess nobody else is around to check it out.' I slowly walk up to the entrance, my heels clacking on the concrete.

"Hello? Are you alright there; that was some weird flash-" As I turn the corner to look in, I froze where I stood.

In front of me is a beautiful woman, features sharp and foreign with white hair, laying on the ground in a pool of blood. There are jagged claw marks raked all over her body, still pouring blood out of her onto the alley floor.

'Oh shit. Call the cops pronto.' I try to take my phone out, but it takes longer than normal with my shaky hands almost dropping it. I quickly flip it open and punch in the emergency phone number.

"Shit shit shit shit, oh shit." I bring a hand to my hair and bunch up a side of it, eyes looking around the alleyway for any signs of what might've done this. The more I look around, the more I realize that nothing is around, and the alley ends with a brick wall. What could've done this?

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" The ringing stops and a masculine voice answers.

"Th-There's a w-woman bleeding in an alley o-on Silver Grove Street!" My voice is loud from the panic filling me. There's just so much blood everywhere, and-and-

There's a bundle in her arms, wrapped in a white and red-patterned cloth. It began to squirm slightly and let out a slight whimper, as if it was-

"Okay, mam. We will be there momentarily-" The voice on the other line stops when we both hear a loud cry of a baby come from the bundle in the woman's arms.

"Th-There's a baby s-she's a mother oh my God-" I put my hand up to my mouth to stop the sob that was threatening to escape.

The operator told me to stay calm, and that there was help on it's way, but nothing could help the woman now. What with the sheer amount of blood that was on the ground now, and the baby still in her dead arms. The baby cried, and cried; it kept at it even after help arrived and took the corpse of the woman in a body bag. Somehow, I ended up being the one holding the little orphaned bundle.

I just stare at the infant, the baby still crying in my arms. The more I look at their face, the more my head tilts in confusion. Their face has that same sharpness like the other woman, but chubbier. The eyes, squinted from their wailing, are an odd shade of red, of all things. There is a small tuft of white hair on their head, but it's the ears that hold my attention.

Their ears are long, going on for another inch and a half at the top to a point. It's like the child came straight out of a fairy tale, as if they were an elf from an old folktale.

And so there I was; standing in the middle of a murder scene, holding the child of someone who died in an alley while emergency response personnel mill around with their work.

The baby manages to cry harder, the breeze – now lost of it's warmth – picking up again at their wail.

I'm thinking that the city's lights aren't worth the shock it gives me.


Five Years Later...

"Are you excited, bud?"

"Yeah, but..."

"You nervous?" I nodded, my white hair swinging a little. Mom bent down to give me a hug. "It's alright to be nervous; it's your first day of school, after all." She leaned back and smiled down at me.

I smiled back. "Okay."

Mom and I had walked down the dirt road to the main one at the end, waiting for the bus to come. It's my first day of school, I felt super excited yesterday for this, but now...

I frowned again. "What if nobody likes me?" Mom gets a weird look on her face before she gives me a bigger smile.

"Don't worry, hon. Everyone will like you, and you might even make a few friends!" She gives me another look when I don't feel better. "Django Freedom Cooper, you are by far the cutest kid I have ever seen. So why wouldn't anybody else?" I duck my head at her calling me cute; Mom likes to do that a lot. "Now, the bus will be here soon- wait! There it is!" She gives me another big smile and points to the bend of the road.

I turn to where she's pointing and see a huge yellow bus, like the ones I saw in some of the books that Mom read to me. Even though I still feel scared, a smile starts to appear on my face. Mom gives me a pat on the shoulder and stands back, as the bus pulls up to us and the door opens.

I look back to Mom. "Bye, Mom!" I wave to her, then step onto the bus; the bus' door closes behind me.

The bus driver, a big lady with pretty blonde hair, gives me a weird look before smiling.

"Just find a seat; you one of the first ones, so there are plenty to choose from." The lady gives me a nod and waves her hand behind her.

I look to my left to see a lot of empty seats. There are a few others leaning out of their seats to get a look at me; they just keep staring, so I quickly look down and walk forward. There are a lot of empty seats, but they all look torn up in a couple of places. There's even an empty candy wrapper; I thought nobody was supposed to eat on the bus?

I found an empty seat near the front, having the least tears in it, and climb up it. As soon as I sit down, the bus starts to move. I look out the window to see Mom waving at me, so I wave back to her. She smiled and put her hand back down, and I try to keep watching her until the bus makes a turn.

I look back forward and take in a deep breath, like how Mom showed me if I feel scared. Mom said that people will like me, and that I'll make some friends.

I start to smile again. I get to meet other kids, instead of being alone with Mom. I get to see what it is like to play with others like me! I start giggling, the kinds of fun that I can do with others running through my mind.


It's only afternoon, and Mom had to pick me up from school. There's paint dripping onto the seats, and the only thing that kept me from crying again was Mom saying that she "Needed a new seat, anyways." I can still feel the pain in my arms and legs; a few dark blue marks showing through the parts where there isn't paint.

I can see Mom giving me weird looks, just like the one from this morning. She then sighs.

"Sorry, hon."

I nod, but don't say anything. Another silence filled with those looks goes by.

"... you lied," She gives an even bigger look at that, but I ignore it. "You said that they would like me; that I would make some friends..." I start sniffling, again.

She doesn't say anything except give me those looks. It's silent the whole way home; through the woods, and onto the dirt road to home.


There's fog everywhere.

I look around to see nothing but the fog. There's no one around, and it's kind of dark.

I'm all alone.

"H-Hello?" I call out into the fog. "Mom? Are you there?"

No answer. No noise. Just my breathing.

I start walking forward, the fog moving away from me. I keep walking, trying to find something; home, Mom, anything.

I don't know how long I've been walking for, but I finally see something in the fog. It's small, curled up in a ball on the ground.

"Hello?" The thing on the ground freezes for a second, then looks up. The fog's too thick to see anything but a shape.

"Who's there?" A voice, sounding squeakier than me, calls back to me. They look around at the fog. "And where am I?"

"I don't know." I look at the fog again. It kind of looks like water, but if it moves in the air. What word did Mom use? Ripple! It ripples like wat-

"What do you mean, 'I don't know'?" The voice calls out again, and it would sound mean if it didn't sound so squeaky.

I start to giggle. "You sound even squeakier than I do."

The thing with a squeaky voice stands up and starts to stomp in my direction.

"Squeaky?! I'll show you squeaky, you... little..." The thing passed through the fog, stopping when it saw me. I stop laughing.

It's... not human, whatever they are. They kind of look like a dog, but blue and with stripes. They also have blue hair.

"Are you a talking dog?" I blurt out, then wince when they give me an angry look.

"No! I don't even know what a dog is," They give me another look. "And I know what you are."

I feel my eyes stinging again, that bad feeling in my gut showing up again. Before they could say anything else, I started to cry again, sitting down on the foggy ground.

"I-I-I know," I throw out. "I-I'm j-just some freak." I put my hands up to my ears to cover the length of them. "A-A freak who's not supposed to be anywhere! Okay?!" I scream out to the thing, hoping that it would just go away.

I don't know how long I sat there, crying. I didn't look up to see if the not-dog left, I didn't do anything but wail. After a time, I ran out of tears to cry, and soon the sobbing stopped. I didn't move, my hands still covering my long ears.

"So... you're not an angel?" I snapped my head up to the thing. Why are they still here...

"An angel? Why would I be one?" I tilt my head to the side.

"Well," They moved around a hand – that has claws that look awesome – before shrugging. "You look like one."

I blinked.

"Aren't angels supposed to have wings?" They stopped again and looked up in thought.

"You're right. You do look kinda wimpy, and angels are supposed to be all strong and stuff. But," They flex their arm. "Demons are way stronger!"

Wait, what.

"You're a demon?" They nodded their head, their blue hair flopping around. "But you're..."

I... I probably shouldn't tell them that. They'll probably get mad, and start being mean to me.

"I'm what." They lean down, growling a bit. It would be scary, but the growl is so-

"...cute." My eyes go wide. "Wait! I meant-"

"Cute?!" They shout at me, pointing a claw. "I'll show you cute, you twerp!" They begin stomping in my direction again, their cute growl starting to sound a bit scary.

I jumped up and started running, hearing them chase after me. I didn't get very far before they tackled me, both of us crashing to the ground. I tried to roll out from under them, but they grabbed my arms and shoved them to my sides, leaving me to squirm underneath them.

"Ha!" They have a huge teeth-filled grin. "Not so cute now, am I-"

I kept trying to break free. "Let me go!" I feel my eyes sting again. "Please..."

They let out a 'huh?' and lightened up, then I shoved them off and scooted away from them; curling up into a ball and start to shake again. I don't let my eyes move away from them; I stare at them, and they stare at me. We stay like that for a while, just watching each other.

Finally, they let out a squeaky sigh. "Okay," They crawl over to me, stopping in front of me. "I... didn't mean to hurt you. Just don't call me cute, and I won't tackle you, yeah?"

I give a nod, still shaking. "Y-Yeah." I pause for a moment, then slowly put a hand out. "I-I'm Django."

They give my hand a weird look, and I can't help but roll my eyes. "You're supposed to shake it," I lean forward to grab one of their clawed hands. "Like this." I shake our hands. It felt weird, with only me moving our hands.

They give our hands a weird look, then gives them a squeeze and looks at me. "My name's Lazuli." They let go of my hand, theirs dropping back to their side.

I tilt my head a bit, squinting at them. I... can't tell if they're a girl or not. The girls at school were never like this; they sat together and gently talked about... whatever girls talk about. But Lazuli's voice sounds too squeaky to be a boy. They sure are rough enough to be one, though...

Lazuli tilts their head to the side. "What?"

"Are you... a boy?"

They freeze up again, then sent me another angry look. "What?" They start to growl again.

I put my hands up, waving them in front of me. "I-I mean, I never seen a demon before! I can't tell!"

They stand there for what felt like forever, before they let out a huff. "I'm a girl." The- she crossed her arms and look off to the side, then start to look around at the fog.

"Hey, do you know where we are?" Lazuli speaks slowly, starting to sound scared.

I look at the fog, too. I... don't remember how I got here. The only thing I remember before this was Mom reading a book to me, then wishing me a good night-

"Um," Lazuli looks at me, her face looking scared. "I remember falling asleep before... this." I point at the fog around us.

Lazuli puts a claw to her chin and taps it. "I think I went to sleep, too." She then lets out a huge gasp. "Are we having the same dream?! That's so cool!" She puts her hands together and starts to bounce in place, with her ears bouncing around.

As soon as she said that, my eyes start to feel heavy, and Lazuli yawns loudly. She waddled over to me, sitting down and curling into a ball.

"I'm tired..." She let out another yawn.

"Yeah..." I cover my mouth as I yawn, too. "I'm tired, too..." I lay down next to Lazuli, hugging myself and closing my eyes.

A thought crosses my mind. "I wish I can see you again, Lazuli." I mumbled to her.

I thought she fell asleep, but she spoke up. "Yeah... you're alright, Django. For a... not-angel."

The last thing I felt before I felt asleep was a warm feeling in my belly, then nothing.


Eleven Years Later...

High school sucks.

If there was a way to just torture teenagers slowly, it would be in a guise to educate them. I mean, it's alright in trying to educate us, but I feel like it does it in the slowest, most boring way known to mankind. And the classmates... just no.

I look over from Mr. Winchester, the very old history teacher, to the small group of classmates just talking. It wouldn't be so bad – the teach can get very monotonous – but they talk just loud enough that everyone but the teacher knows what they're talking about.

And it's about fishing, of all thing! Fishing! How is fishing so important that it can't wait for one more minute-

RIIIIING

As soon as the bell went off, everyone scrambled to shove their notes into their bags and get out of the last class of the day. Only a few people orderly put their things inside their packs. A couple of them finish up and talk to each other as they walk out. Others just try to hide themselves from the teacher as they shuffle out the door.

I go to get up, but a shadow towers over me. I look up from my fairly short – on average – stature of five foot six to see-

"Hey, Jamar." I give a halfhearted wave as I slip my notes into my bag, zipping it up and shouldering it.

Jamar Smith, a very tall guy, is someone I would consider to be a... friend. Loosely. We meet up at lunch with a bunch of other people, and just do hipster-level complaining about school and such. Jamar is, despite his hulking size, a fairly normal person – if a bit chill about everything. It's probably one of the reasons he sticks around me; we have the same last class of the day, and our houses are close-by when we walk home.

"You looked like you were going to bit off their heads." Jamar, in his deep baritone, bluntly informs me. I level a deadpan in return as we walk out of the classroom.

"Excuse me, but who the hell talks about fishing during history class?" I lazily throw my hands into the air, then let them flop back to my sides.

We keep walking, navigating our way outside the main doors of the school.

"...do you ever think that 'fishing' is code-word for, like, making moonshine?" Jamar looks down at me-

"Probably does, knowing those guys, Legolas." Both of us jump slightly at the inclusion of the new voice, turning to Jamar's other side to see-

"Kate! The hell!"

Katie Evergreen, also known as Kate, is... odd. Not like Jamar; he's just normal with a height advantage. She's full-blown nerd and she has a fascination with the weird. Which might explain why she sticks around me and Jamar. The Legolas nickname is obvious, and the fact that it doesn't really bother me seems to be the unspoken permission to stick around.

The fact that she is taller than me – at five foot nine – doesn't really bother me.

I ignore my eye twitch.

"You really need to stop doing that," Jamar calmly tells Katie. "You might break Django one of these days."

…the fact that Jamar is completely serious about that doesn't fill me with confidence.

"Your right!" Katie gives a mock look of horror. "Where else can I find someone who has ears like his?" All of us laugh a bit at that.

We're on the side of the main road, heading towards our homes, as we just talk about whatever comes to mind. Most of it consists of Kate talking about the most recent fight at school, or some kind of new show being aired that's worthy of her time. After a while, we hit a turn that she has to break off to head to her house, waving energetically as she makes her way down the road.

Jamar and I keep walking, letting the sudden burst of Katie sink in before talking again. It's Jamar that's the first to talk.

"So, I want to know," I glance up at him, but wave him on. "What, exactly, do you do at your house? For fun, I mean."

I tilt my head in thought, before shrugging. "Nothing much. We're not very rich, per se, so I just do my homework when I get home, then read in the oak out back." Jamar lets out a quick laugh.

"So you're a book geek? Never did see you read at school." I shrug again.

"I like reading in comfy places, and the library chairs are the worst."

"Whatever, man. See ya tomorrow." He gives off a wave, then turns off into his subdivision.

"See ya, J." I wave back to him.

I keep walking, watching him go down his road. Soon, the trees block the view of him.

I take in a deep breath, then start to jog. It's a longer distance, from either Kate's or Jamar's place, to mine. So I have to start jogging in order to make good time to get home. It doesn't hurt that there's a nice fall breeze blowing through, so it's not like doing this during the late summer where it's extremely hot out.

After a few minutes of jogging, I come up to the dirt road that I've always remembered. I turn off onto it and break into a run, kicking up dust as I make my way up to the house at the end. As I approach the house, I slow down and take a second to take in a few deep breaths. While I'm doing this, I hear someone start to clap.

I look up to see Mom, sitting in one of her rocking chairs, applauding; like I'm some kind of Olympic runner.

I wave at her as I walk up. "Hey, Mom." She stops clapping and stands up, arms open wide. I walk up to her and gladly accept the hug.

"Hey yourself, bud," She leans back a bit to look at me. "You looked like the devil was on your heels, with how fast you were running."

"Nah, nothing like that," I break from the hug and walk inside. "Just my social anxiety showing from being a teenager. You know," I wave my hand around, looking for a proper term, before shrugging. "Teenager things." I hear Mom let out a laugh.

"Yeah, lord knows I was bad when I was your age." She pauses for a second, then shivers. "Bad times..."

"Well... on the bright side; I got my social contact in for the day. Kate found another show to get absorbed into that isn't people at school beating each other up. And Jamar... is being Jamar." Mom goes over into the living room, sitting down onto the couch.

"The Smith boy?" Mom looks up with a raised brow.

"Yeah; big, tall, dark, and completely normal Jamar." I walk into the kitchen, pulling open a cabinet and fishing for a snack. Mom suddenly shut the door and swatted my hand.

"Boy, you know to not eat before dinner; you'll ruin it," She walks over to the crock pot sitting on the counter, taking a glance at it.

"Sorry..." I quietly say as I set my bag on the back of a chair. "I wasn't assigned anything, today. You mind if I..." I wave my hand at the back door. Mom looks back to me and gives a exasperated look.

"What, you don't want to talk to your mother about your day?" She quickly gives out a laugh when she saw my conflicted face. "I'm just kidding, bud. You can have your fun; just don't fall out of it, alright?" I shoot her a grin.

"I'll keep my body safe; don't worry." I bounce off to my room a few doors down.

When I get into my room, it's... definitely a teenager's room. There's a spare chair in the corner that serves as the deposit for clothes that I – totally – forget to put away, there's a general sense of clutter that only I don't seem to mind, and that beautiful stench...

I look over to the used-up air freshener, all dried up for about three days now. I'll replace that soon. Maybe.

Looking around one of the many piles of loose papers, I dig through one specific stack and fished out a stack of notebooks. They all have roman numerals on their covers, and the most recent is the fifth one.

I've been... busy, when it comes to my writing. All of it was written in the company of myself, and I can't help but just... not show it to anyone. And as far as I know, not even Mom knows about it. On the way out, I grab the burgundy beanie sitting on my dresser.

I make my way outside, passing Mom staring at the items in the cupboard – most likely thinking what would spice up dinner – and head over to the oak. This tree has always been here since Mom and I moved out here. The rural background that extends beyond the view of the back yard definitely adds to being one of my favorite places to relax. Not the best, but definitely close to it. I slip on the dark red hat as I begin scaling the tree to the one branch I always lay on.

My ears had definitely grown longer since I was a kid. When I was born, it was already at an abnormal length, and then it decided to take a turn for the weird and get even longer. If it wasn't for the fact that the ears were off-putting, I would just look like an albino, albeit one with actual red eyes, instead of pinkish-red ones. Hence, the beanie; it both covers the ears to where it looks like my hair just bunches up weirdly, and the only odd feature about me is the eyes.

Almost perfect, but not quite.

It's close enough for me, however.

I settle into my perch, pulling out a pencil and flipping through the pages of the most recent edition to my story. All of the pages of the book are littered with gray smudges from cheap erasers and doodles for whatever come to mind. As I flip through the pages, one page that I see is dedicated to a singular sketch.

It was a few days ago, and the local gaggle of bullies decided to flock onto me. It was kinda bad, and I did have to make the 'I fell' excuse for why I had a bruise on my face. And my arms. And why one of my ears looked a little too red-

Yeah, it wasn't a fun day for anyone.

But one thing was always a constant for me, ever since... eleven? Eleven-ish years and still counting has been my dreams. Specifically, a supposed blue, fluffy demon.

Lazuli. I looked down at the rough sketch that dominated both the page and my thoughts for the rest of that day. I'm definitely no artist, but I like to think that my sketches aren't too bad.

They still classify as doodles, in my book. But good doodles, nonetheless.

I still had the same strange lucid dream with Lazuli after all of this time, any not a word of it continuing has came out of me. I say continuing, because I used to say that there was a talking dog in my dreams to Mom, but after a while, when the dreams persisted, and she started to look worried about this fixation on it to the point of shoving medication in my direction...

Well, only I know about this weirdly nice thing I have, and it's going to stay that way.

I flip past the sketch and move onto the most recent page, putting pencil to paper once more.

The story I've written is a simple one, and there are definitely who knows how many hero stories out there, and what I'm doing definitely hasn't been seen before – as far as I know; I don't read as much as I say I do. But nothing get me like a good story about a buddy adventure with heroism and the good guys winning. The twist I put in here is less of a twist and more of a better focus on the partnership between the two 'heroes', where one is a scraggly archer with seemingly no special abilities, and the other is a skilled swordsman. And nothing gets the adventure going like the archers' quick wit entertaining the swordsman and both of them getting drunk beyond belief, then waking up tied together and surrounded by bandits...

Telling anything more would probably spoil the story.

Well, except that the main hero is the swordsman, but not the main character. A sidekick's perspective, if you will.

...Wow, Laz is right; I must be weird if I'm explaining to myself what I'm doing.

"Time to focus; deal with fluffy inner demons later." I mumble to myself, then dove into writing out said story.


That night, in the dream...

I suddenly felt a feeling ghost over my skin, something akin to a lukewarm breeze slowly drifting over top, blanketing on me. Everything is quiet, the only sound I hear is the sound of my breathing and the faint beating of my heart in my ears.

Opening my eyes shows me the familiar mist of The Dream.

As per usual, I take the time to stand up, then pick a direction to walk in. No matter the direction I pick, I always end up in the same place. I'm the only one of us who can actually do this; whenever Lazuli tries the same thing, she always ends up walking for no reason. We tried her walking to get to me one dream, and she only got that feeling of being completely lost.

We both agreed that she's not allowed to move, just in case both of us moving would just waste time – seeing how he only get this dream once a week. It still frustrates her to no end, though.

After what felt like the required walking to get into earshot of her, I call out.

"Hey!" My voice echoed into the mist.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps running, and while it doesn't sound like it's coming from any specific direction, I still brace for-

A large force slams into my back, and the only thing I see from said force is cobalt at the edges of my vision before I slam into the ground, and a weight plant itself onto my back.

"Gotcha." The voice is completely smug, and I don't need to see the face of the voice's owner to know that there's a wolfish grin on it.

"If it wasn't for the fact that we can't feel pain in here, my face would be broken in seven different ways." I push out from underneath the weight on my back. While pain isn't a thing in here, the effort to breathe is still a thing.

The weight scoffs at that. "Seven? Don't be so melodramatic." Despite knowing about breathing in here like I do, the weight doesn't budge.

I roll my eyes. "Okay then, nine different ways. Better?" The only answer I get to that is a swat to the back of my head, pushing my face back into the non-floor for a second. "But seriously, can you let me up now?"

"Hmm... nah, I'm fine up here."

"..."

"..."

"Can I at least talk face to face?" I offer.

I can feel the weight shift a bit, probably putting on the cliché thinking look.

"Yeah, that works." The weight lifts up slight, just letting enough room for me to twist my body onto my back and face the weight.

Said weight is Lazuli. She had come a long way from the squeaky, dog-like kid that I first met. The voice is no longer in the soprano range, but has some odd husky quality to it; as if she either hadn't drank any water for a day, or if she's trying to growl while talking and ended up mostly talking. Her body ended up taking a stocky shape, and while her height seems to pronounce that, she still ended up an inch taller than me.

Which she lords over me all the time.

Which is alright, because I lord over her the fact that I'm better at navigating.

It's a stalemate, for now.

Her face has the suspected smug grin as she sits on my stomach, as if she hunted down her prey and was just soaking in the pride. And knowing how she gets, there really isn't any better way to explain it.

"What's up." Lazuli's grin seems to grow even more smug when she sees me look at it.

"You, obviously." That earned me a snort and a swat that really didn't have any heat behind it. "But I'm doing alright. How're you?"

"My week was the worst," She groaned out the last word and threw her head back, in which I respond with another eye roll. "The amount of punks that I had to deal with today was frustrating, and they won the matches, so I couldn't really do much about it."

"Yeesh, sounds like me a few days ago." At her questioning look, I continue. "The same flock of guys who I talked about a few times? They got a bit physical. And when I mean a bit, I mean I had a hard time telling people that I just fell, and wasn't ganged up on."

Lazuli gives me a pointed look at that, crossing her arms. "I still don't see why you don't just beat them up; that's what I would do."

"Yeah, but doing that would land me in trouble; that's what happens when you have a load of money to back you up- hey! Don't give me that look," Said look was a raised brow from her. "Doesn't matter if I broke Jackson's face, I would just be blamed for it and he would get off with a slap on the wrist and a pat on the back. Just like every other time I tried something, as you know."

At that, she goes silent, her face scrunched up a bit in thought. After a bit of this, she slides off onto the floor next to me and lets out a huff, starring into the mist.

"Wish I was there; I would help you out with them."

"You and me both; they'll never find the bodies, with how good of a duo we'd be." At that, she looked over long enough to flash a wild grin before returning to the fog.

After that, we just relax there; soaking up the presence of the other and the quick conversation we had. Usually, we would try to shove as much as we could into the short time we spend in here, but sometimes the quiet solace like this is all we need. After a week of dealing with what's out there, it's a comfort to be here.

Ha, comfortable with a self-proclaimed demon; that's not something you hear every day. Although...

I look over to Lazuli, watching her eyes trace a wisp of fog as it rolls overhead. If it was possible for me to ever see her outside of here, I would take any chance I can get my hands on. All just to see her more than once every week for a few precious minutes. Maybe I could show her the things that I always talk to her about; to show her what nature feels like, what good food tastes like, what a sunset – the entire concept of the sun, for crying out loud – looks like. All of these normal things that she never even knew existed.

But that nagging feeling creeps up on me again, the 'what if all of this really was a dream?' The Dream is oddly consistent for it to just be a figment of my imagination, but the sinking feeling that none of this is real, that Lazuli isn't real...

It scares me.

A feeling of lethargy washes over me, and next to me Lazuli lets out a yawn. Seemingly on instinct, she rolls onto her side and grabs onto my arm like it's some oddly shaped toy.

"Ya know, you get grabby when you're tired." Despite my words, I curl up too, pulling myself closer.

"Shaddup, Jane; you're too soft not to." Despite the biting tone, there's a dopey grin glued onto her face.

I'm too drained to correct the feminine nickname she's so intent on giving me.

We shuffle a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot on the strange misty ground, before the feeling of just being plain tired falls over us.

"G'night, Jane." Her blue orbs close.

"G'night, Laz." Mine follow suit.

Then the void of sleep overtakes me, with the comforting pressure of us clinging onto each other being the only thing that sticks.


Nine years later...

"Almost heaven, West Virginia. Blue ridge mountains, Shenandoah River. Life is old there..."

"Uuuuuhg." My arm sluggishly moved its way from under the covers to the alarm on my nightstand, swiping the image on the phone to turn it off. I limply slide my arm back under the covers, moving a bit to get comfortable again.

And then the headache hits, accompanied by a strong nauseating blow to my stomach.

I throw the covers off of me, suddenly feeling too hot for them, and I practically fly to the open door to the bathroom.

What follows is a solid five minutes of vomiting, retching, and a bile coloring that should have made me feel worried, sparing the exact details.

After said event, and spending an additional minute or so using the porcelain throne for what it's meant for, I wash up at the sink. Splashing some water on my face, I open up the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and fish inside for some aspirin, swallowing the things dry when I palm a few.

"I hate hangovers..." I grouch under my breath. When I close the cabinet, the mirror shows just how I feel; I have bags under my eyes, my skin looks clammy, hair looks unkempt, and my ears droop lower than its usual perkiness.

All in all, it could be worse.

I could barely remember what happened last night, but something tells me that I probably have to actually think about it for me to recall it.

...I should make something to eat, if I'm going to think. I trudge out of the bathroom, the headache still throbbing in my skull, and drag my feet across my apartment – which I stop immediately when I find out I slept in my shoes – to the kitchenette. Gracelessly maneuvering to the fridge, I open it up and look inside. The fridge is stocked with ingredients that I could use to make something, but the effort...

A perfectly normal looking apple catches my eye, and I greedily grab it and shut the door. Within a minute, the poor fruit is reduced to a core, then promptly tossed into the trash. I look around the rest of the apartment, and I breathe out a sigh of relief when I don't see any visible messes made, other than a winter jacket that I remember wearing to the outing last night laying on the floor outside my bedroom.

Last I recall, Kate called for a celebration that involved Jamar and I when she got a promotion, and of course she brought us to a bar, despite the fact that she doesn't drink.

I get the feeling that she only stays sober to see us fail around while we're wasted off our asses, sometimes.

Other than the specifics – and a few general things, too – missing, it just seemed like a normal night of drinking and joking. Maybe if I look at my phone, something will come up...

Something catches my eye, now that I take a closer look at the coat. There's a cord spilling out from one of the pockets, and I have no idea what the material looks like. I bend down to pick it up-

-Then jump when I hear my phone ring, and hearing the theme song of whatever show that Katie was especially addicted to, something about brothers who were monster hunters. I huff out a breath and step over the coat into my room, heading over to my nightstand and answer the phone, turning on the speaker as I do.

"Mornin', Kate." My voice is still hoarse from earlier, and while the headache went away a bit, I feel thirsty as all get out...

"Hey yourself, Django. Are you feeling alright; some people came into the bar last night and talked to you. You left while I wasn't watching, and I had no idea if you got home alright." Her normally jovial tone is drenched in worry, but I don't focus on that as I look around for wherever my shirt went.

"Well, I got home, and nothing feels broken other than my soul." A very unladylike snort comes from the phone as I continue. "You said that there were some people that talked to me? I don't really remember much, other than the general sense of 'I walked into a bar sober and walked out wasted out of my mind.'"

"I don't really know what those people were, but they both wore a suit, and they handed over a manila folder at some point while talking to you. I didn't see what was inside, but Jamar got rowdy and when I looked back, all three of you were gone," I hear her let out a sigh as I slip on a fresh shirt; I couldn't find my old one. "I thought you got kidnapped, but when I ran outside both of those guys were alone, and they said that they couldn't talk about the conversation they had with you."

Well, I certainly don't remember any people in suits, but I do feel a detached feeling of 'sad', but that's it.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, the worst that's wrong with me right now is nursing this headache and making sure I don't throw up again." I hear a reluctant laugh cough out from Katie, and it comes out again in another sigh.

"I don't know why I worry about you so much; I'm not your mother, damn it." Her happy tone returns, and I can't help but smile a bit myself.

"Alright, mom, just make sure that Jamar is alright; I got a manila folder to find, apparently."

"Okay, take care~!" Her voice gets all sing-song-y, then she hangs up.

So... a manila folder, huh? I don't remember anyone giving me anything but drinks last night, but it wouldn't hurt to look around some more, now that I'm more awake. I walk out into the main area-

Slam

-only to fall flat.

Ow. All of my ow.

I roll onto my side a bit, looking back at the offending object that tripped me...

Well. I don't remember owning any necklaces – or is it an amulet?

When I tripped over the forgotten clothing outside the door, the item within its pocket fell out. I can see the cord more clearly, and it appears to be some sort of wound thread. And attached to said cord is the amulet, stylized to look like a cartoon-like sun. I would think it was a bit of joke jewelry, or something made for kids, but picking up the cord reveals that the amulet has some weight to it, like it's made of metal.

When I touch the sun, it gives off a strange, comforting feeling.

I still can't remember what happened, but I feel like I've seen this before. Perhaps this was what the folder held?

I need to go for a walk; try to clear my mind and remember. Preferably sometime before tonight, I rather not be preoccupied when I met up with Lazuli.

I pick myself up, grabbing the coat as I go. I head back into the bedroom to grab my phone, then to the foyer to grab my keys. I snatch the cap hanging from the hangers lining the wall and slip that over my ears.

Before I could reach for the handle, I notice that my hand is still gripping the sun amulet. That odd feeling of comfort still seems to radiate off of it...

I slowly grab the cord with my other hand, lifting the strange item over my head and loop it around my neck.

...Nothing.

Other than the nice feeling pressed onto my chest now, nothing seemed to change.

I quickly tuck the sun into my coat; no way I'm going to be seen wearing something that looks so... childish.

I go through the process of locking the door behind me, heading down the elevator, and heading outside.

Outside is into the not-so-fresh air of the city that was near my home. I recall Mom saying that she moved into the city before I was born, and that it was here that she adopted me and took me out of here; I can agree that a city's not a great place to raise an infant. When I started to get my stories published – something that avid readers of the series call 'The Sidekick Stories' – I felt that it would be a good idea to move into the city. That, and the fact that both of my high school friends both moved here, and it was great to get in touch with them again.

After taking in the not-so-great sights that I see every day, I start to walk down the street. My hand drifts over the lump under my coat as I shiver a bit from the winter chill.

It's odd, how attached I feel to this. I'm fairly certain that inanimate objects aren't supposed to radiate a feeling. To feel like something, sure; a soft blanket is comforting. Metal isn't comfortable to me, and yet here is a weird amulet of a funny looking sun that projects a feeling of 'good'.

I shake my head of my thoughts; it's not a good idea to think and walk, I could end up actually being lost, and not be washed up to do it.

My surrounding slowly shift from the quiet hum of the afternoon, with a handful of people walking about, into a street filled with shut-off neon lights and graffiti covered walls. It's probably not a good idea for me to walk around in what's considered 'the bad area', but it has its own charm to it that I can't help but like.

I still pick up my pace a bit. I may be crazy, but not that insane.

I slow it down to a stop when I hear a gentle humming.

The note – for it's a constant droning sound – seems to be directionless, at first. But when I walk forward to try and see what could be making that noise, it gets louder. And the louder it gets, the more that I realize that it's not just a single note, but a chorus of sounds all being hummed together in unison.

Like a choir.

I finally reach the location of the pleasant sound, and it has lead me to an entrance to an alley. At first, when I look into it, there appears to be nothing. Upon actually walking into it, there appears to be a faint light, just floating there.

"Well hello there," I quietly say, one of my hands lifting up to touch it out of curiosity.

As my hand slowly approaches it, the humming seems to reach a crescendo, then-

VWOOOM

-there was only light, and the sudden panic that rises within me that tells me that this isn't right, just as quickly disappears, and my consciousness follows my fears.


A/N: Holy shit, that was a big one. Pretty sure this is one of my biggest chapters to date, and it's just the prologue.

Although I do have something to say about this, and it is mostly good and maybe a bit bad, but I liked writing this. And unlike the other stories, it doesn't feel like a slog to just find a way to continue this, because I plan on staying mostly simple, and not have the main characters of this story be the main characters of Slightly Damned.

Instead, I planned on making a 'what if' kind of thing mixed with a different kind of 'what if'. Those being 'what if Lazuli knew an "angel" and was friends with them', and 'what if that "angel" was raised on Earth, and got the xenophobic treatment'. Therefore, there is less meddling with the main story line, and something on the side gets manipulated.

That, and Lazuli's bluntness seems pretty cool, and wished that she saw things differently, even by a small margin.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this story, and take it easy! Or something...