Author Note: As always, my thanks and hugs go out to all my reviewers; Hayze-Chan, Mizuni-no-neko, hikaru h, KittyBePraised, Bethany C. MacKenzie and MercuryLion. Much love to all of you and I hope you like this chapter too!
I just got Season 11 on DVD – it came out a few days ago and for some reason, I thought it wasn't out until August, so I'm stupidly happy. Although repeated viewing of La Petit Tourette has made me overuse the phrase, "I would be so happy," and the word "Cock."
Um, long chapter is long. There was no good place to break it into two, plus I was aware that if I did it would bugger up my pre-planned chapter count (because stories about eeevil need thirteen chapters, obviously). So yeah, get yourself a coffee and a biccie, because you're gonna be here a while. Long chapter is also later than I had anticipated, because this is the one chapter I hadn't already written most of before I started posting and had to spend a lot longer on it as a result. Sorry 'bout that. Quick fact that I forgot to mention in the last lot of notes, the quote for C10 was supposed to be You're born of a jackal, you're beautiful – it wasn't until I was about to post that I remembered I'd already specifically disclaimed the jackal. Ooopsie.
~:~
It was at about this point that I realised I was fucked.
~:~
Christophe dealt with Kenny as efficiently as he could, searching the bedroom for a pair of jeans that might fit the boy and managing a compromise, a pair long enough but probably too wide in the waist for his scrawny ass. There was a belt advertising a love of Country and Western music in one of the drawers – Kenny would probably have a fit, but tough luck – and some decent quality long-sleeved tops that were more appropriate for the weather than the shitty shirt he had been wearing before. The parka was probably non-negotiable, so Christophe sprayed it liberally with deodorant, grimacing slightly. Still, that smell would be preferable to stale alcohol.
When Kenny emerged from the shower, he seemed slightly clearer, although his eyes were filled with drunk-defiance; I don't need you telling me what to do, I'm only listening to you because it's what I was gonna do anyway. Christophe didn't really give a shit about death glares. With only a towel wrapped around his waist, Kenny's body was clearly displayed and the Mole took casual note of his extreme skinniness, the goosebumps raised on his pale skin from the cold of the shower. He looked tired and pitiful and somehow younger without the hood covering most of his face, with the exception of those angry, hurt glares. Christophe indicated to the clothes, turning his back while Kenny got dressed, then hustling the boy down the stairs and into the car.
By the time Damien appeared downstairs, Kenny was asleep in the back seat, dosed up on paracetamol and orange juice. Christophe was sitting at the kitchen table, irritably smoking his way through the second packet of cigarettes, wishing he got more normal assignments. He glanced up when Damien walked into the room.
"Are you two ready?"
"Good morning to you too," said Damien. "Pip's just going to be a moment. Where's Kenny?"
"In ze car already," replied Christophe, not elaborating. Too much information was usually a good indication of a lie.
"Uh-huh," said Damien. "So, how drunk did he get?"
Christophe looked up sharply. "Wait, 'ow did you know?"
Damien shrugged nonchalantly. "Did you know Kenny died nine times in the last five years from drinking? Alcohol poisoning, falling over, one time he was trying to puke and passed out face first in a toilet bowl. And I noticed him noticing the liquor cabinet last night. I know what he's like."
"Zen why 'ave you never tried to stop 'im?"
"Why would I? He can look after himself."
"Oui, and 'e will not be much 'elp with an 'angover."
"Look, Kenny's just worried about being dragged screaming and kicking into adulthood. He's letting off steam. And if he fucks up today, I'll kill him myself."
Christophe let the subject go, since Damien really didn't seem to understand what the issue was. "Where is ze target?"
"Still in the same place. We should be able to take it down easily enough, once it jumps into someone else and gets out of the cop shop."
Grinding out his cigarette onto a saucer he'd grabbed for that purpose, Christophe nodded. "It can sense you though, and zat will put it on its guard. Perhaps you should stay behind and I will take it down."
"Quick assassination sounds good, but there's one problem. I won't know who it's in exactly until they're in sight. You might get the wrong person."
"So, what? We 'ope zat it stays in one person long enough for you to identify it, zen chase it somewhere and 'ope we can corner it? Zat's a shitty plan."
"We could just blow up the police station. All cops go to Hell anyway."
"Let's call zat plan B. It would 'elp if we knew what range it could sense you from."
A third voice spoke. "I know."
Christophe and Damien looked up at Pip stood at the door, vaguely timid. He'd liberated fresh clothes from the drawers, grey combats and a sweater that were the closest thing he could find to his normal style, and tied his hair was back neatly. "Uh, it was in my mind when it sensed you Damien. So I know when it realised you were there."
Damien smiled, causing Christophe to raise his eyebrows slightly. Damien grinned, he smirked, he sneered, but he didn't smile. "Perfect. What's the range?"
"It noticed something wrong when we got out of the petrol station. But you were already there, so I reckon it didn't sense you arrive. That makes it what, maybe fifty metres?"
"I can hit it from fifty metres," said Damien cheerfully.
"I can shoot it from zat distance before it knows what 'as 'appened," added Christophe. "If we are doing zis low profile, zen a bullet is preferable to a fireball."
"A surer bet too," said Damien, thinking of how much humans ran around when they were set on fire. And it took them a good few minutes to die, giving Asmodeus time to jump hosts. "Fine, we shoot if possible."
Pip looked uncomfortable. "Do we really have to-"
"We really have to." There was a marked lack of irritation in Damien's voice, another surprise, although he didn't sound especially compassionate either. "And..."
Christophe glanced up sharply as Damien trailed off. "What?"
"Time to go," said Damien, all business. "It's in the same place, but it's movements are changing – I dunno, something's different. I think it's getting ready to run."
Christophe stood and strode out of the house, heading for the car. Damien grabbed Pip's wrist and pulled him toward the door.
"Uh, Damien," said Pip anxiously. "Shouldn't we tidy up a little?"
"No time."
"We should leave a note then, at least lock up behind us... Wait!"
Damien paused, turning back to face Pip. "Look, the house will be fine. We need to catch Asmodeus, before it does any more damage. That's the most important thing."
"I know." Pip looked downcast, eyes fixed firmly on the logo on Damien's stolen shirt.
Damien reached his hand up with some notion of making Pip look him in the eye, withdrawing at the last moment. They weren't in bed together any more and such gestures were unnecessary. Worse, they created the illusion that there was more between them than there really was. There was something between them – had been something, Damien hastily corrected himself – but that was over with. Once the demon was returned to Hell, he would be going home and Pip would be forging a new life with a new name and it was unlikely their paths would ever cross again.
The thought should have made Damien pleased – job over with and back to normal, with the promise of greater responsibility and power. Instead, it made him feel oddly sad in a way he couldn't quite comprehend.
"We have to stop it," he mumbled, suddenly not knowing what else to say. He wasn't even sure he was talking about the demon any more. Once he had given his thoughts room in his head, he couldn't seem to think of anything else. He might not see Pip again after he went back, not alive. And there were no guarantees with death. If Pip went to Heaven, then he might not see the blonde again ever.
It shouldn't have made him feel as hopeless as it did.
Pip finally looked up and Damien could see his own misgivings reflected back at him. For once, Pip wasn't hiding his feelings behind a mask of good humour, and the increasingly familiar emotions rose up in Damien again. Mine. I want.
But what he wanted was of no consequence; he already knew how things had to go.
There's still today, he reminded himself with some agitation – he was supposed to be over this, he shouldn't be feeling this wretched. The demon isn't returned yet and there's still this moment right now...
Pip opened his mouth to say something, but the words were lost as Damien crushed his lips to the other boys, acting on an impulse he didn't understand. One of his hands was twined in Pip's hair, pulling it from its tie, the other around his waist, pulling their bodies closer. Pip clung to him, meeting the kiss with equal fervour, pressing himself against Damien in a gesture that wasn't so much sexual as it was needy – more, the movement said, I want more. Damien tried to draw Pip impossibly closer, to take something of the boy with him.
The car horn sounded outside, paused briefly and then sounded again, this blast longer. Reluctantly, Damien broke the kiss, not releasing Pip from the close embrace. Pip was breathing erratically, lips slightly parted and Damien realised he hadn't done the blonde any favours with his actions. The sensible thing to do would have been to continue as if nothing had happened the night before, begin the separation quickly. Painful, but easier. Instead, he had drawn it out and there was still the demon to catch.
Damien didn't know what the hell was happening to him, but the bubble of bitterness and loss that rose when he thought about going back was hard to ignore. He was beginning to feel fractured, like he'd been broken and badly repaired. Worse, he felt abandoned even though Pip was still in his arms.
The horn repeated and Pip pulled away. "We'd better go, before Christophe attracts attention, or has an aneurysm."
"That can be arranged." Damien looked at the door, away from Pip. "Hey, just for shits and giggles, what would you think about letting the demon go? Not bothering to chase it any more?"
"Damien," said Pip firmly. "You can't do that. You have to catch it and..."
"Yeah, I know." Damien walked out of the door, giving Christophe an angry glare as he headed for the car. What else had he expected Pip to say? Sure, let's let the demon create even more chaos while we sit back and laugh and maybe we can even have some more sex while we do it. In the same position, it was what Damien would have said, but Pip was different. First and foremost, Pip wanted to do the right thing.
Christophe was in the drivers seat and Kenny was in the back, head resting against the door, totally hidden by his parka. Unmindful of Kenny's delicate state, Damien dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the door hard, causing Kenny to jerk blearily upright and look around.
Pip climbed in beside Kenny much more quietly and gave the boy a sympathetic look. "It's fine Kenny, go back to sleep."
"Uh-huh," mumbled Kenny, rearranging himself as comfortably as the limited space allowed and seemingly heading straight back for unconsciousness.
"If he pukes..." Damien let the threat unfinished and turned to look through the windscreen. "Head back to the police station. It's still there, somewhere."
Christophe nodded, starting the car and as an afterthought, turning on the lights. The sky was overcast with the promise of further snow or possibly a storm. The day was gloomy and dark, the sun barely casting any light through the grey clouds.
The streets were busier than they had been the night before, but the people were hurrying about their business without lingering, keeping a careful watch on the weather. Christophe parked opposite the police station, putting the car into neutral and waiting for Damien to give some indication as to what to do next.
Leaning back against the seat, Damien closed his eyes and tried to push all thoughts out of his head to concentrate on the demon. It was moving, but within a limited area, definitely within the confines of the police station judging by the direction and distance. He wished he could sense more than just its presence, perhaps see the host or hear what it was saying, but all he could sense was its demonic essence and blue eyes staring at him.
...Wait, that wasn't Asmodeus. It was Pip, watching him. For a moment he had the urge to turn and meet Pip's eyes, then he caught himself He was supposed to be concentrating on the demon, not thinking about the blonde, how he would be leaning forward slightly, arms resting on his knees, waiting for him to say something – and shit, he was doing it again.
"It's still in there," he said, hoping no one had noticed the lag and not quite daring to open his eyes, just in case he couldn't resist the urge to turn around and got lost again. "But – wait."
He concentrated on the demon, finally pushing his distractions away and thinking only of Asmodeus. "Its coming out. Over there somewhere."
He opened his eyes and indicated to the side of the police station. Christophe and Pip looked over and saw the riot van emerging from the parking section, conscientiously obeying the traffic laws, no sirens or speed.
"A van." Christophe's voice was filled with disgust. "Zere will be cops in it and it's bulletproof."
Damien glanced over. "I could..."
"And not easy to torch."
"Bet I still could."
"Or we could just follow the van," said Pip mildly. "When it stops, we identify which one is Asmodeus and if we stay in the car, we can escape detection."
Damien glanced back over his shoulder, startled by the contribution. Pip smiled back at him. "It would be the quickest way to get things over with."
"Drive-by sniping," mused Christophe. "Zat works. If you can do zat thing you did yesterday so we don't get chased."
"I can do it." Damien smirked. "Go after it, but stay back. We're not gonna lose it and if it's jumped into one of the cops already, it might see us following it. We don't want it to know we're here."
Nodding, Christophe drove off again.
Before long, it became apparent that the van was following the road signs for the courthouse, suggesting that the demon was still manifesting within the original host – Someone Ronaldson, Damien recalled from the previous nights news bulletin. That suited him fine. Let the demon think it'd lost them or that it was safe under the watchful eye of the cops.
Eventually, the van pulled up outside the court house – Damien had been worried that there would be some kind of interior parking with a direct path from within into the court, but it seemed like the town was far too sleepy to need such stringent security precautions, because when they approached, the van was parked right outside.
Christophe pulled into a no-park zone on the opposite side of the road and pulled a handgun out of his pocket, shaking his head ruefully. "If I 'ad known I was going to be assassinating someone, I would 'ave brought something more suited to ze task."
"If you think you can't do it, just say so," said Damien.
"Huh." Christophe checked his bandoleer and found ammunition for the weapon. "Surely you joke."
While they discussed the matter, two police officers got out of the front of the van, their conversation impossible to hear form within the car, but they seemed to be happy enough. They went to the rear of the van and pulled the door open, hustling their prisoner out from within.
"Shit," muttered Damien quietly.
Christophe glanced at him. "What?"
"It jumped. It's in that cop there."
Checking where Damien pointed, Christophe noted that the possessed cop was a shortish Hispanic guy in his early thirties. The other cop, currently helping the handcuffed Ronaldson from the van, was a slightly taller white brunette, who hadn't seemed to notice that anything was amiss.
Ronaldson shrank away from the Hispanic cop, his voice audible even through the tinted windows of the car. "Don't let it near me! He's – he's got something inside him! Please, you have to believe me!"
The white cop seemed to be trying to soothe the prisoner, but his face showed his amusement. Christophe wound the window down wide enough to fit the gun barrel through, positioning himself for easier aim and hoping that Damien was right about the car being off the radar and that Pip was right about the distance Asmodeus could sense the Antichrist from. He was careful but quick, finding the back of the cops neck in his sights.
A man hurried out of the courthouse toward the cops and Christophe paused to readjust his aim. No point in taking down an innocent man, since he wasn't about to get paid for extras.
The Hispanic cop spoke to the new guy, perhaps a clerk or something, the chat still going on when the bullet slammed into the back of his neck at high speed. From the car, it was impossible to see what exactly happened. The Hispanic cop pitched forward, reaching for the man as he fell and only Damien saw the sparks going from the dying man's eyes as the demon jumped.
"FUCK!"
He leaned forward, trying to see the scene through Christophe's window. "You were too slow! It jumped!"
"Too slow? Fuck you, it 'as been five seconds!"
"Go for the brain! You have to kill it instantaneously!"
"You could 'ave mentioned zat before!"
The clerk froze for a moment as the demon possessed him, seeming to the casual observer to be shocked at the man fallen dead at his feet. And then he ducked, just in time to avoid a head shot from Christophe.
The white cop turned, his attention on the direction of the bullets, drawing his own weapon.
The clerk snagged the gun from the dead cop and rose, pointing the weapon casually at the white cop and shooting him through the head. Then he opened fire on the car while the prisoner hit the floor, screaming.
Christophe ducked, cursing in French. Damien glanced over his shoulder as the first bullet hit the car, noting that incredibly, Kenny was still out cold. But Pip was frozen, sitting bolt upright, ready to be hit the moment a bullet penetrated the window. And he was sitting on the drivers side, where the shots were landing.
Damien dived into the back seat, landing an accidental but hard kick to Kenny's ribs as he did so, forcibly yanking Pip down to the floor and covering him with his own body.
The kick seemed to rouse Kenny from his snooze. He looked up, sleepy confusion in his eyes. "Hey guys, can you keep it down?"
"Kenny, sheet!" Christophe glared as best he could from his own position of taking cover while bullets slammed into the cars body. It was only a matter of time before one did some damage. "Get down!"
Kenny's gaze had already fallen to Damien and Pip, huddled on the floor of the car, and he frowned. "Do you two have to do that now? I'm right next to you... Hey!"
Pip reached up and grabbed Kenny's parka, dragging him to the floor just as a bullet shattered the rear passenger window, the glass flying around their heads.
"Mole!" Damien raised his head as the shots trailed off, the gun apparently running out of ammo. "Get out of here before Pip gets hurt!"
"Oh, oui, don't worry about ze rest of us," snapped Christophe sarcastically, risking a look out of his own window. The possessed clerk was on his knees, rifling through the Hispanic cops pockets for the van keys, having already dropped the empty gun and liberated the one that had belonged to the white cop. As the Mole rose to take another shot, the clerk got up and ducked around the side of the van, shielding himself from further bullets.
"Hell no, zis is not fucking 'appening!"
The police van roared into life, Asmodeus apparently deciding it might be a good idea to get the hell out of there. The Mole snarled, sitting himself up in the drivers seat and putting the car in gear.
Kenny raised his head. "You're not serious!"
"I'm going to 'ave zat fucking asshole!"
"You can't run him off the road, he's in a fucking armoured car!"
But the Mole wasn't listening, taking off after the police van as it raced down the street. Whimpering, Kenny hit the floor again. He really didn't need to die right now, but it looked like he wasn't going to have a say in the matter.
There weren't many cars on the road, but the ones that were found themselves forced onto the pavement as the police van screeched down the street (on the correct side) while the Mole gave chase (on the incorrect side). The car wasn't so far off the radar as to be caught in a head-on collision, for which Kenny gave silent thanks.
The Mole drew up alongside the van, his gun at the ready. Since the window was his only shield, he kept it mostly up, sticking the barrel out of the top and squeezing off a shot while trying to keep an eye on the road. It didn't work. The angle was too bad and the van too solidly built.
"Damien! Fucking fireball 'is ass!"
"I thought you said..."
"Just do it beetch!"
Damien wasn't used to being ordered around and it was the first time he had ever been called a bitch, but he decided it might not be the time to call the mercenary on it. He climbed back onto the seat, noting the vans positioning and forming a fireball in his hands...
Then he stopped, the fireball fading. He was beginning to feel very strange indeed. His breath began coming in shallow gasps and he had to actively fight the urge to lash out, to hurt whomever got in his way. Something was close, something bad... or rather, something the opposite of bad.
"Damien!" Pip climbed onto the seat next to him and grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong?"
"That." Kenny pointed out of the window, where they could see the skyline, the rooftops – and the steeple that towered above them.
"Oh, for..." Christophe trailed off as he jerked the steering wheel to take the corner. "Pull it together!"
The church came into view as they rounded the corner and Damien moaned. When he was in Hell he had never been adversely affected by religious symbols, but it seemed that in his mortal form things were different.
Going head to head with the police van, they approached the building and suddenly, Damien couldn't stand it any more He threw himself at the door, clawing at the handle in order to get himself away, just leave the vehicle that was pulling him toward the accursed structure and run as far in the other direction as he could.
"Damien!"
Pip pulled him back, wrapping his arms around Damien and keeping him in place. Damien shuddered in his grip, but managed to keep himself aware enough not to lash out. He wasn't going to hurt Pip he reminded himself, no matter what was out there.
Damn, but reminding himself of that took all of the little self control he had left.
The police van drifted away from the church – and then veered sharply into their lane, slamming into their car. Christophe clenched the steering wheel and hit the brakes, smoke pouring from the tyres as they went into a skid that carried them almost fifty metres down the road, the car turning 180 degrees and smashing straight through a bottle bank before coming to rest almost on the steps of the church.
The police van drove away as Christophe slammed a fist into the dash. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Kenny rose from the floor, paying little attention to Damien and Pip, his attention taken by the church they had stopped in front of. "Hey, we can grab supplies here."
"You're having a laugh," said Pip flatly, still holding on to the trembling Damien.
"I'm serious!" Kenny looked back to face Pip and Christophe, who were staring at him with disbelief. "We've not been having much luck with any other weapons and some holy water could come in handy."
Christophe narrowed his eyes. "So, you suggest zat we chase after ze fucking demon with a water pistol?"
"No, but – well, I'd rather have it around. It could come in useful and if Damien can sense the demon, then we're not about to lose it."
"And did you even think about Damien?" Pip had never spoken so sharply before to anyone, but the feeling of Damien's forehead buried in his chest was making him feel strangely protective. "If he's this bad when we're near a church, then he's not going to respond well to having holy water in the car with us!"
Kenny smirked. "I've known Damien a lot longer than you, Pip. He can cope. It's just that all the holy stuff in one place overwhelms him a bit."
"It's not a bad idea." Christophe stuck a cigarette in his mouth, ignoring the police cars that went screaming past without even seeming to see them. "Go for it."
"Hey!" said Kenny indignantly. "I can't do it alone!"
"Getting a little water from ze font?"
"It'll take ages with just one of us!"
"I'm not going in ze fucking church. I made myself a promise."
Kenny sighed. "Pip?"
The look Pip gave Kenny over Damien's head spoke volumes.
Kenny shook his head in frustration. "Come on Christophe! What are you scared of?"
"Sheet." Christophe climbed out of the car and slammed the door bad-temperedly. "Zat is ze last time I believe a promise I make myself."
Kenny leapt out of the back, glancing back at the bottle bank they had trashed and grabbing a couple of discarded bottles. "Oh stop bitching. Grab some bottles and start hoping your unholy ass doesn't fuck up the blessing."
"I am too old for zis sheet."
~:~
Father Kaufman was standing at the alter making preparations for his upcoming ceremony when the church doors swung open. He was mildly surprised and a little worried – he was due to perform a wedding and it was too early for guests. He hoped that this wasn't someone come to tell him the couple had got cold feet and the whole thing had been called off.
The two men who entered the church were unlikely to be preparing for any wedding though.
The first was probably a teenage boy, although it was more the style of clothing that gave it away; he rarely saw anyone so bundled up even in the Colorado snow. The kid wore jeans that didn't fit, his parka fastened tightly and the hood pulled over his face so that only the eyes were revealed. The second initially seemed older and it was him that Father Kaufman was drawn to. For one thing, he seemed to be wearing a shovel over his shoulder. For another, he was smoking. And for a third, he was cursing up a blue streak.
"...Cannot believe I am in 'ere, I don't need zis sheet, zis 'ad better not be a waste of fucking time..."
Father Kaufman blinked as he was ignored by the pair. They headed straight for the fonts containing the holy water, where the devout blessed themselves. For the first time he noticed they carried plastic bottles and raised his eyebrows as they began filling them.
"...Kill you so 'ard zat you never come back to life again and zen I shall..."
"Excuse me?" Father Kaufman had an authoritative speaking voice from giving so many sermons on so many Sundays and the pair paused in their discussions to look up at him.
"Is there some way I can help you?"
"I don't think so Father," replied the boy in the parka cheerfully. "Hey, do you mind if we take some of the holy water?"
"Not at all," replied Father Kaufman dryly, since they had already taken plenty and the question had come a little late. "What do you need it for?"
"We are chasing a demon." The other man looked him straight in the eye and for the first time, Father Kaufman realised that he too couldn't be much more than eighteen, although he carried himself with a world-weary confidence that made him seem older.
"I see." Actually, Father Kaufman didn't see, but it wasn't like the holy water was there for show and the boys had every right to take as much as they wanted, or thought they needed. "Well, I'll pray for you."
"Huh!" The accented man sneered around his cigarette, capping the bottle he had been filling. "Like your God would 'elp us. We don't ask for 'is pity and..."
The other boy punched him in the arm. "Fuck Chris, not now alright?" He glanced apologetically at Father Kaufman, genuflecting hastily. "Sorry Father."
Father Kaufman inclined his head. "Don't forget to confess it."
"I won't." The boy grabbed his companions arm and hauled him backward. "We're done, let's get outta here."
"Oui, and zis time, I mean it. I will never fucking enter ze door of a church again. I'm asking for double ze pay for zis..."
"Mole, shit!"
The two boys left the church, Father Kaufman as confused about their intentions as when they had arrived. Just as he thought they were gone, the door opened again, just enough for the parka-clad boy to put his head through the gap.
"I'd be grateful if you did pray for us," he said quietly and left again.
~:~
Kenny was proven right. Once they got away from the church, Damien pulled out of his fugue and glared at the others with a look that clearly said, we are NEVER mentioning this again. Christophe rolled his eyes and dismissed it, while Kenny smirked and considered the best ways he could use the situation the next time he went to Hell.
Both of them noticed that Damien didn't retake his place in the front seat; instead he stayed in the back with one arm curled loosely around Pip's waist.
"Where am I going zis time?" asked Christophe wearily.
"It's slowed down," said Damien, no trace of his former shakiness showing. "I think it ditched the cop car and jumped into some one else. It's gone out of town though, thataway."
Nodding, Christophe headed in that direction.
Kenny leaned back in his seat. "Hey, anyone brought any aspirin?"
"Do you really want to overdose?" asked Christophe sarcastically.
"I'll take my chances."
"Huh." Christophe reached into his pocket, one hand still on the wheel and brought out a box of painkillers, tossing them over his shoulder into the back seat
"Thanks." Kenny grabbed the box, glancing up at Christophe with eyes that were both wary and hopeful. Christophe was pretty sure he understood the reaction; heavy drinkers tended to suffer from blackouts and no doubt Kenny had some gaps from the previous night and that morning. However, what he did recall would include hazy memories of Christophe looking after him. He was probably afraid of what he had said, or how badly he had embarrassed himself. He need not have worried, Christophe had no desire to discuss the conversation with anyone, including Kenny.
"I'm almost sure it's on foot," said Damien cheerfully. "That should make things easier."
"But if it's going zis way, zen it is 'eading for ze mountains," Christophe pointed out. "You do realise zat we might 'ave to ditch ze car?"
Damien snorted. "This car is the shit, even when it's full of bullet holes and some fucktard drove into the back. It's not very likely that we'll have to leave it. The road surface isn't going to be a problem and if there's rocks or something – well, I can widen the path myself."
"And there's no people for it to possess on a mountain," added Kenny.
"It's getting desperate," said Damien with an evil grin. "It knows we're on its tail and it can't just jump from one person to another forever, that only gives it a little breathing space when we're this close. It needs to lose us for a while and that's why it's up there."
"I don't care why it's up zere," muttered Christophe, checking out the sky, which was growing even darker under the weight of the clouds. "As long as we can kill it and get zis over with. It keeps getting away and it's really pissing me off."
Damien drew his brows together in a frown. Christophe was right about the near misses. Perhaps if he engineered a few more, then his stay in the mortal realm would have to be extended, as would his time with the foursome – giving him more chance to spend time as a twosome.
Pip turned his head and saw the frown, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Damien's frown vanished immediately, reappearing when Pip looked away. No, he couldn't keep dragging Pip around while pretending to fight Asmodeus It wasn't fair on him. Anyway, his dad would be pissed and the damned would make him a laughing stock when they found out.
And there would still be time. Once the demon was disposed of, he still had to stick around to make sure Pip found a new identity. They'd have to change the way he looked of course and Damien inwardly sighed as he thought of cutting off Pip's hair. It was his most identifying feature and would have to go, but that didn't mean Damien had to like the thought.
Although, the accent was pretty telling too. Damien briefly toyed with the idea of getting him out of the country and back to Britain, then dismissed it. Pip's voice had become Americanised enough so that it would stand out even more in his home country and he had a better chance of blending in among a larger population.
There was no reason why Damien couldn't track him down on the occasions he returned, he reminded himself. Just to see how he was doing and make sure he hadn't been caught. Not for any other reason. And assuming that Pip remained in the same place; if he didn't then Damien had no way of finding him. Being able to search out those who had been in Hell at any time was easy enough, he could locate Kenny or Christophe any time he chose, but it wasn't them he wanted to be able to find.
Snow started to fall from the sky, coming in soft, wet flurries that made Christophe curse colourfully and turn on the wipers. "Are we getting closer?"
"Yeah." Damien looked through the front window as best he could through the falling snow. Ahead of them, the mountain loomed, the winding road looking treacherously slick. "It's gone up there."
"Typical," growled Christophe.
"Probably thinks we won't be able to follow it," said Damien. "Isn't it in for a surprise?"
"You think there's a drive-thru?" asked Kenny hopefully.
"It's a fucking mountain Kenny," snapped Damien.
"Even deranged mountain men have to eat."
"We're not stopping for food! Shit, didn't you eat enough already?"
"I'm a growing boy."
"The only thing you'll be growing is a beak if you don't stop pissing me off."
Kenny opened his mouth to reply, saw the look Damien gave him and wisely thought better of it.
Christophe had slowed the car to practically a crawl and Damien sighed. It wasn't as if they could realistically go any faster – the cars traction was good but it wouldn't help them if the Mole drove them off the edge – but it was frustrating. Much as he had considered not catching the demon, he had decided that if he was going to get it, he wanted it done right now.
But it was on foot and he could sense them catching up.
"It's close," he said after ten minutes of silence, broken only by Christophe's occasional muttered blasphemies as he navigated the tricky road. The mountain was deserted aside from them, the weather far too inclement for even the most dedicated hiker and the road leading around it much safer for drivers. Anyone who saw the car up there at that time would think them insane, stupid, high or some combination of the three.
"It will 'ear the engine," said Christophe.
"Doesn't matter." Damien grinned unpleasantly. "It can't hide. End of the line."
They rounded another corner, the tyres gripping surely to the slick surface when any other vehicle would have gone into a skid at even the low speed they were travelling at. No one needed Damien to tell them they had found what they were looking for.
A flash of colour against the white alerted them to the person darting behind a tree, perhaps hoping to leave the road altogether and climb the steeper inclines, forcing them to do the same. Christophe stopped the car and all four of them climbed out.
"Pip, you stay here," commanded Damien.
"Forget it," replied Pip. "I'll stay back, but I won't leave you to face it without me, so don't ask me to."
"I can kill it."
"I know. I'm still not staying behind."
"Dammit!" Damien ran a hand through his hair. "If something goes wrong..."
"...Then I want to be here."
Damien stared at the boy. Pip looked back at him, resolve unwavering. Damien could see the conviction in his face, the trust that Damien would handle the situation. No one had ever trusted Damien to do anything before, except to fuck them up or fuck them over. For some reason, he didn't want to betray that trust, wanted to prove that he was worthy of it.
No one else affected him like that, only Pip. Always Pip. His mind was starting to offer him some darkly dismaying suggestions as to why, but Damien shoved those thoughts right out of his head. He was what he was, evil embodied, and he had no room in his life for anything that was good or pure or uplifting.
But it was so hard to fight the voice in his head that spoke whenever he looked at Pip, the one that whispered mine, I need.
"Nothing's gonna go wrong," Kenny interrupted.
"Huh." Christophe sneered and drew his gun. The others could see his point. Things hadn't exactly gone smoothly so far.
Damien strode toward the tree they had seen the movement behind, Christophe close behind with an obvious wish to settle the score for personal satisfaction – he wasn't used to filling his missions. Kenny kept up with him and glanced over his shoulder to see Pip was being true to his word, following them. Kenny wondered briefly if perhaps there was some need for personal retribution there as well, or if it really was a need to stay by Damien. He hoped it was the former. Pip's life was already in the toilet without adding love to it, particularly love that could never be returned.
A man stepped out to greet them.
He was dressed in a smart business suit and an expensive overcoat that protected him from much of the weather, although in the higher altitude and the storm, he still had to be cold. Snow clung to his impractical shoes and the cuffs of his pants, his stylish haircut was in disarray and there were fresh cuts and dirt on his hands, where probably he had been scrambling for purchase to climb and been unsuccessful. His skin was pale, lips bluish, breath misting up the air before him, but in spite of that his grin was wild and his eyes both dancing and dead.
He was possessed by the demon. And it had nowhere left to run, no other options but to stand and fight.
~:~:~:~
It realises, now, that fleeing this way was a mistake. Perhaps if it had made its escape by leaping from one person to another in rapid succession, it could have eluded its pursuers But it had panicked. It had expected that hiding among the human cattle would mean safety, that the Antichrist would not attack for fear of gaining attention and therefore giving it a chance to get far away. It had been wrong. Damien had found it and one of his allies had shot at it, killed its host and had it been even a second slower in jumping, it would already be in Hell.
So believing there was no sanctuary left in a crowd, it had chosen to run, to hide. But there was no shelter in that choice either, less so, because in the crowd it could postpone the inevitable through jumping to another host. But where there are no more humans, there is no more hope. There is only the body it wears between the mortal world and the return to the torments of Hell.
It is in a corner. But it will not willingly submit to its fate. Like any animal trapped, it will fight tooth and claw, with all the weapons at its disposal.
"Hey." Damien comes to a standstill, arms folded, voice calm. "Are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna really enjoy this?"
It glances at those who accompany him. The boy Kenny, who was his ticket to this place. Another boy, this one clearly out for its blood. And surprisingly, its first host, standing timidly behind Kenny. It would not have imagined Pip trying to search it out, but it knows from its time using the boy that his guilt at being unable to stop Asmodeus is the most likely reason for his presence, seeing things through until the bitter end.
If it has the chance, it will take one of the three to be its new host. There is something wrong with the body it possesses now, a difficulty in catching breath, a lack of feeling in the toes and fingers that make it impossible to climb the steep, snow-covered mountain face. He does not care about such things, save on an intellectual level, he does not feel them any more than a driver feels the pain of a faulty engine, but he knows something must be done about the problem or his current transport will be unusable.
It fixes on the unknown, dark eyed boy. That is the one it wants next. There is a confidence in his demeanour that the other two lack and judging by the easy way he holds his gun and the shooting skills he has shown during the chase thus far, there is much it can learn from tearing into his mind. But first, it must deal with the situation at hand.
"Why do you want to take me back?" it asks through the man's mouth. "I've been here barely any time at all and already caused death and destruction. I can do so much more."
"Satan's orders."
"And what do you care about his rules? Are you the Prince of Hell or are you just another of his minions?"
It thought that the taunt would anger Damien – he was not known for his tolerance and it had hoped that mocking him would create an argument, buy it some time even if it didn't sway Damien around to its way of thinking. But Damien merely shrugs, ignoring the insult. "Not coming quietly then? That's cool."
A wall of flame burst from the ground behind it. There is nothing for the fire to feed upon and the falling snow should have dampened the blaze, but this fire is not bound by the laws of the mortal world. It blocks any retreat it might have attempted, although it would not have been able to get far in its current host and it would not have dared take its sight from its pursuers
The dark-haired man raises his weapon but Damien gives an imperious gesture with one hand and stops him. Asmodeus doubts that he is usually the type to take orders given in such a fashion, but Damien is used to being obeyed and when he is acting as his birthright demands, he is almost impossible to disregard.
The mortals remain too far back for it to reach for them, the brunette sheathing his gun, the blondes watching with nervous trepidation. Unless it can make some move, they are of no use to it. But it cannot retreat or the host will perish in the fire, impassable wall at one side, sheer drop at the other. It is bound by the limitations of its host and cannot escape; the hosts death will cause its return to the afterlife.
It is trapped and its journey into Hell immanent.
Damien approaches, eyes glowing red, reaching out and taking either side of the hosts head in his hands. Through the hosts vision, it can see his mouth curl into a smirk as he twists the hosts head sharply, the cracking sound seeming horribly final. The brain and heart lose contact, the host soul wrapping around its discorporeal form and dragging at it, willing it to be propelled along as it departs the body.
It can still see Damien through the hosts fading sight, the confidence in his victory, the satisfaction in his face, the dancing fire in his eyes.
As the last spark of life leaves the host, it acts without thought, leaping desperately from the host toward the only other body it can reach.
Had it had the time to think, it would not have done so. It would not have believed itself capable of entering the Antichrist – a demon able to possess another demon was unheard of, unthinkable. But it is acting on pure instinct, the struggle for survival. It is simply the last chance of fighting its fate.
Damien is a demon, the child of the leader of Hell. But he is also the child of a mortal. Asmodeus fights, clings with all that it is to the one hope it has left.
And suddenly, it is sharing head space with the Antichrist.
It feels a screaming, exhilarated terror, imagines this is how it must feel to be a timid student driver suddenly finding themselves behind the wheel of a race car already doing a hundred miles an hour and accelerating. This is not like any other host.
Damien's mind is a roaring confusion that it does not comprehend, a place alien to every other mind it has experienced. It is difficult for it to remain, for the first time knowing it is in danger of being rejected, cast out. No other host has ever had that power over it before.
But if it can somehow gain control – then it is without the tiresome constraints of the human body. It has limitless power, there will be no match to its abilities in this world. If it can break Damien's barricades and open his mind, then the secrets of Hell are open to it.
It fights.
If it can conquer this host, then it will be the ultimate ride.
~:~:~:~
The corpse collapsed to the ground the moment Damien released his grip on it. At the same time, Damien staggered backward, raising his hands to cover his face. A low growl started in his throat, the sound making the watchers hair stand on end. There was no trace of humanity in the noise, more the warning snarl of a rabid dog in the second before it attacked.
"Sheet, no," breathed Christophe, taking a step backwards.
"Asmodeus jumped," said Kenny, unable to hide his dismay. "It jumped to Damien."
"But 'e is the son of Satan!" said Christophe, alarmed. "What does zat mean?"
The growl rose in volume, Damien hooking his hands into his hair and yanking, eerily reminiscent of Tweek Tweak. Kenny grimaced, having to raise his voice over the noise. "I think it means we're fucked."
