The Demon that Never Leaves
Chapter 2

They bandaged up his hand and moved him to another ward: brighter, busier with lots of soft toys and things but nothing solid, nothing sharp, and he knew what they thought. He snapped at them, because they didn't believe him still, didn't understand. But he was grateful too. The constant watch meant that Duskmon could not easily sneak in and the only visits were in his nightmares.

And, of course, he stayed far away when the others visited, so they might convince him it was a delusion from the past and he'd be free access again.

They wouldn't. They wouldn't. But without Duskmon badgering him, he got better.

He had a new badgerer instead, and he might have grown to like that one if only she'd believe instead of humouring him.

.

'So his name is Duskmon?'

Humouring him. She was humouring him again and he was pretty much humouring her back because that was the one waking time he could still see the demon, standing behind her with that cold smirk that told him to try as hard as he dared and fail again. But of course she couldn't see it. Whether it was because she simply couldn't let him out of her sight to turn around like that, or because only they kids would be able to see. How many adult eyes had brushed past the corner where it always stood.

But regardless of why, she pretended its shadow wasn't looming over him like that.

And Kouichi really had no choice but to pretend as well. Even if it could so easily unsheath its sword and slice her neck from ear to ear and then gut him like the pig for slaughter he'd become.

.

They made him sleep, still. Gave him injections until they were sure he'd swallow the pills and although it felt incredibly narcissistic, he did it anyway until someone in one of the other kids showed him how to slip them into a corner of his mouth, behind his teeth, and then spit them out later. 'Because why should we put up with nightmares when they don't understand what it does to us?' she muttered scornfully. 'Get out faster when I don't have them to deal with too.'

She'd been here three times already, she said.

And she was right. Lying awake at night did wonders, because Duskmon was a silent shadow in the corner instead of the demon chasing him in his dream. It wasn't restful. Not at all. But the tiredness meant he could focus on other things more easily during the days: when doctors and nurses and counsellors and families and friends were there and making sure he wasn't going to stab his hand with a butter knife instead (except his brother and friends who seemed to hang on the edge of believing him). It was frustrating, but they were right. He had no proof. If anything, he had proof against the fact: the butter knife that had still been embedded in his palm when the nurse had come in, his fingers still curved around the hilt and no fingerprints on his wrist to show Duskmon's tight grip forcing his thrust astray. And no-one else had seen him. But none of that made him any less dangerous. Any less there. Because Duskmon had avoided the radar for a long time, in the digital world. And they had no defence when it finally showed itself, again.

Foolish to fight that, really. What could a weak little human do? But at least there was safety. Safety in numbers, for as long as Duskmon wanted to stay out of the radar. And safety in the light, in the distracting display of colours that tore his gaze away from the dark corner where he stood. He could even pretend there was nothing there, leaving the overhead television on at night and letting his vision tunnel. But when he slept, when the nightmares gripped him and Duskmon was larger than life, his eyes immediately sought out the corner and saw the confirming demon there.

And just what are you waiting for? Because what did implicating itself matter to a demon humanity couldn't properly explain?

And he'd work on ignoring it again. Ignoring it until the nightmare came back, or the sword.

.

They let him go home after another few days. Kept him on medications and called him back for twice-weekly checkups and the tablets were easier to avoid, but harder to separate. Because when he had a migraine, he wanted his painkillers. He wasn't letting those slip down the drain. He needed them. The sleeping tablets, on the other hand, were more trouble than they were worth and he hoped he could convince his mother to not restock the script when they ran out. They were a pointless expense. The price he paid was a constant exhaustion he couldn't shake himself out of and they had other medications for that as well. Thinking it a mood imbalance; a traumatic side-effect, with some fancy name he hadn't bothered remembering because it wasn't that. The doctors just weren't listening. Not until he told them what he wanted to hear.

Duskmon still followed him. And when it was him and his mother at home, that was the worst. The most frightening. Because Duskmon could so easily do something to her but it followed him like a ghoul, a ghost, and so he did the only thing he could do in such a state: he kept his distance. Duskmon would have to get through him to get to her. Get through him to get to anyone - though it fled whenever Kouji approached and he wished Kouji would stay so he wouldn't have to see that demon again.

Sometimes, he'd wish instead that Duskmon would be the one to stay, so he'd finally be caught, or proven false. Because Kouichi couldn't believe Duskmon wasn't there until proven by one who'd seen him before - and Duskmon knew that perfectly well. That's why it was never there at the same time. Never confirmed.

Damn him.

.

They - counsellor and doctor - asked him about the scratches. He opened his mouth to say it was Duskmon - Duskmon who'd scratched in him in his dream when he fled - but then closed it again. Switch to simply "nightmares" because nothing in his bag of medication is supposed to stop those nightmares. They talk about switching his sleep medication as though that's going to help. They wouldn't. He'd read enough about it to know that dreams and restful sleep, for whatever bizarre reason, came hand in hand. Sedatives were fine for dreamless sleep - but no-one woke up from a sedative feeling refreshed. They just didn't work that way. They weren't supposed to work that way, so why were the doctors pretending they did?

Sometimes, he thought Duskmon found that funny. Is that what you want? For me to be stuck in that dream?

And it made a frightening amount of sense. After all, he'd been comatose the first time he'd fallen victim to that demon.

And now it was a battle as to whether the need for some uninterrupted sleep or Duskmon's patience ran out first.

Though he was stuck either way.