1080 Years Later
(9 years topside)
A man — or at least something that vaguely resembled one - leaned against a rough, gray stone wall. His sunken red eyes stared down at his smoky, blackened fingers with a demeanor that was almost too casual to be truly relaxed. He was waiting for something, for someone, and his plans were taboo.
This demon, would be the first person — former person — to see me in over a millennia.
The idea of escaping Hell was nerve-wracking enough to make me want to throw up, and I might have if I'd had anything to eat in the past thousand years. After all the running, all the shadows I'd hidden in and walls I'd crept behind, I was finally facing my freedom. I just had to show myself to one little crossroads demon.
I revealed my presence by silently stepping out from the shadows of the cave-like hall, appearing as if from nowhere. He jumped in surprise, but instantly began to relax when he realized I was not one of his superiors. A sly grin slid across his lipless mouth.
"Bram, I presume," I spoke with an unwavering confidence that I didn't feel, my voice harsh, tarnished by my demonic condition.
"Who might you be?" the demon Bram asked, eyeing my blackened wispy form.
"Maddox." I supplied him with the name I had given my new self. My demon self.
"You don't look familiar," Bram said as he studied my sunken face, his eyes narrowed.
"No?" I affected a bored tone. "Word is you've been smuggling demons topside."
"Maybe," Bram replied with an air of suspicion. "What's it to you?"
"I want a ride out," I said in a low voice.
A greedy gleam sparked in his eye. "It'll cost you."
"I can pay."
Bram nodded. He glanced about our surroundings, checking for unwelcome eyes and ears. Once he was sure that we were alone, he clamped his right hand on my left shoulder.
"Bend your knees," he advised.
"Wait." I said. I patted the side of my leg and called, "Come here, girl."
From the shadows bounded an eager hellhound with a black coat that was a little too leathery to call fur. She greeted me happily, sitting down in the space between Bram and myself and looked up expectantly. She came up just to my knees; a runt by hellhound standards.
"No way," Bram shook his head. "No hellhounds."
"I'll pay you double," I offered.
"Nope."
"Triple."
An impish half-smirk flashed across the demon's face. He glanced between me and the hound I called Freya before deciding to bend his own rule. He nodded wordlessly and stooped down to lightly touch Freya's rough, scar-marked head.
Suddenly, we were no longer in that dark, dank cave. There was no stench of sulfur, no blasting heat. The screams of the tormented had been replaced by the sound of cheerful birds, the darkness recalled by a midday sun. A warm breeze enveloped my body, filling my lungs for the first time in forever and it was all I could do to keep myself from crying.
Bram had brought me to a small, riverside park. There wasn't much to it; a couple of benches and some trees overlooking a wide, rust-hued river, and a cracked old sidewalk that followed the body of murky water. It wasn't a terribly attractive park, as far as parks go, but to me, in that moment, it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.
I glanced over at Bram, who stood less than three feet in front of me and a good five inches taller than me. He occupied a human vessel, an olive skinned man with black hair and a clean, navy-blue business suit. He rolled his shoulders, settling into his new form with satisfaction before straightening his already intact tie. An artful grin crossed his lips and a devious brow arched as he peered down at me.
"Now," he began. "Let's discuss payment."
A sly smile crossed my own lips as I leaned into him and whispered. "Lets."
Bram hadn't checked me before he agreed to transport Freya and me out of Hell. Until me, he probably never had much reason to check anyone. It's not like your ordinary, everyday demons are walking around Hell carrying demon-killing weapons.
But I was no ordinary demon, and I did have a demon killing weapon; a silver blade crafted by the ancient Kurds. I had found it buried within the walls of Hell itself, hidden it and smuggled it top-side. The bone hilt sat snugly in my grasp behind my back.
I swiftly plunged the weapon into the demon's stomach. Bram gasped in surprise, his eyes growing wide as a hot orange light ignited within him, outlining the skeleton beneath his borrowed skin. I steadily twisted the blade and watched with a terrible satisfaction as the life flickered in his eyes and faded away. I'd never taken pleasure in killing before, and though not all of me enjoyed taking Bram's life, there was something horribly and significantly pleasing about it.
Oh god…
I jerked the knife free from his body, causing him to collapse at my feet. He's just a demon, I tried to remember as I felt myself begin to vibrate with a rush of adrenaline and shame. He was just a demon.
I'm just a demon.
I stared down at the corpse that laid on the weathered concrete with an empty expression and a trickle of blood that ran across his cheek from the corner of his mouth. For a moment, I felt nothing, and I wondered if that was better than feeling good, or if it was worse.
"That's what you get for trusting a demon," I spoke down to the body. My own words startled me, coming out in a silvery, feminine voice I did not recognize. It was then I'd realized what had happened; Bram had shoved me into a convenient, unsuspecting bystander.
I glanced down at the body Bram had stolen for me, eyeing the slender teal dress that hugged a pair of slim hips. My hands, which were dainty and manicured, patted a pair of round breasts as I stared down at the tall black high heels strapped to a set of clean feet. Long, sandy blonde hair spilled over my shoulders as I moved, and a long pearl necklace rolled noiselessly across my tan chest.
"Goddamnit," I cursed with a heavy sigh. I looked down to Freya, who cocked her head as she gave me a curious stare. "Well, we made it, didn't we?" I said as I casually tucked my knife into the pocket of the tan jacket my host was wearing. "Come on," I commanded Freya as I turned to walk down the sidewalk. "Let's find me another body."
Finding someone to willingly host a demon for the rest of their lives was about as difficult as I could have realistically expected. It might have been simpler if I hadn't been picky about the condition or gender of my host-to-be. There had been plenty of vacant coma patents between the seven hospitals I toured, but the thought of possessing an empty body was unsettling (they're basically corpses for god's sake), and most of them were elderly, or too scrawny, or feminine. Not that age or size or gender would matter in the long run; my strength was not dependent on the person I would eventually end up possessing. Still, I wanted someone who resembled the man I used to be.
I found him, my ideal vessel, at the eighth hospital I visited. His name was Max Miracle. Max was twenty-eight. He was tall with a brawny build, and his eyes were electric blue. He wore his blond hair short but shaggy and unkempt, the golden color of his hair contrasting with the dark scratchy stubble that swept along his jawline and hugged his full lips.
Max was a combat veteran who had seen too much. His nightmares prevented him from sleeping, his depression from eating. He was riddled with a horrific anxiety that peaked during daily flashbacks that he would try to kill with whisky. Mentally, he was a wreck; he was hopeless, lost and suicidal. When I found him, he was recovering in the psych ward from an almost successful attempt at taking his life. He had slit his wrists with a deep precision that opened his arteries, and he had very nearly bled to death.
I came to him in the body Bram had forced me into. The soldier's room was dark, save for the warm, yellow light that penetrated the drawn curtains and spilled faintly onto the white linoleum floor. Max was lying flat in his bed, staring up with disinterest at nothing, a bandaged arm resting heavily on his forehead. His chest rose and fell with heavy, uneven breaths, and made no effort to acknowledge my presence as I invited myself into his room. I carefully strolled towards him, stepping carefully to avoid toppling over in the extremely uncomfortably and unreasonably tall shoes I was still wearing, and I quietly took a seat in the maroon chair beside his bed. My lips parted to speak, but I wasn't sure what to say. I'd never asked permission to possess anyone before. It wasn't something demons normally did. They — we — usually took who we wanted and my every instinct told me to cram myself down his throat and claim his flesh for my own. But, demon or not, part of me was still John Winchester. I still had enough of a conscience left; I couldn't just take over someone like that.
Again.
"Hello, Max," I decided on simplicity to break the ice.
"Who are you?" Max asked apathetically, side-eyeing me without moving his head. I offered a kind smile as I contemplated my response.
"This is going to sound strange," I haltingly began, temporarily ignoring his question. "But I need a body."
"A body?" Max echoed with disgusted curiosity. He turned his head to get a better look at me and my current vessel. "For what?"
"To possess," I replied openly. I blinked and my eyes flashed black, showing him I was no human. Max sat up sharply, his blue eyes widening as his fingers instinctively curled themselves into hardened fists.
"What are you?" he whispered, as his chest began to rise and fall quickly in a borderline panic. "Are you real?"
"Very," I responded to his second question first. "I'm a… demon," I explained. I paused to allow the weight the word demon held sink in. I had never spoken those words before, I had never admitted it out loud. Hearing myself say it, feminine voice and all, made it all seem more real that it had ever felt in Hell.
"I need a new body," I told him after the grudging acceptance of my condition settled. "I would like to use yours, if you'll let me."
Max's brows creased as his face fell into a look of bewildered confusion. His posture remained rigid, but his breath began to calm and his fists relaxed.
"You're trying to decide if you're dreaming or if you're hallucinating," I said, venturing a guess. "Logic tells you you're asleep since you're not prone to hallucinations. But it feels too real to be a dream. Too substantial."
Max nodded hesitantly. I studied him from behind black eyes as I waited for him to come to terms with this new reality. The reality that demons were real, and there was one sitting at his bedside.
"You're… a demon?" Max said finally. He still didn't sound like he quite believed it. I nodded quietly as he shifted uncomfortably. "And you want to possess me?" He repeated everything I'd just told him, seemingly to himself. "But you need my permission?"
"No," I shook my head. "I don't. But it would make me feel better if I had it."
"Why?" Max wanted to know.
"I'm not exactly your everyday demon," I told him, casually sitting back in my chair. "I have something most demons don't."
"What's that?" he asked curiously.
"A conscience."
Max carefully pondered my words, my request, my existence.
"Why me?" he wondered after a minute of thoughtful silence had passed.
"You're in peak physical condition," I explained simply. "And you don't seem particularly interested in piloting that skeleton of yours anymore."
A faint, rosy hue rose on Max's cheeks as I nodded to the white bandages wrapped snugly around his wrists. He let out a heavy, guilt-laden breath as he studied his self-inflicted injuries.
"What are you going to do with me?" he asked softly.
"I haven't decided yet," I admitted, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Maybe I'll try living for once."
Max stared at me with a weighty reluctance, not overly sold on the idea of me taking the helm of his personal vessel.
"Look," I began with an impatient sigh. "I'm going to be honest with you. I'm kind of a fugitive. I just broke out of Hell and all I want to do is sit on a beach somewhere and avoid demons, which is something I am very good at. If you let me possess you, I can't guarantee it's all going to be beaches and beers - I might have to do things you might not like me doing — but I'll try and make it worth your while."
"How?" Max questioned curiously. "What can you offer me?"
"Peace."
"Peace?" Max echoed, not entirely put off by the idea.
"I can make you sleep through most of it," I promised.
This piqued Max's interest, he seemed to be genuinely contemplating my offer.
"Not all of it?" he wanted to know.
"No," I shook my head. "Probably not all of it."
There was a long pause and then, "How long do you need my body for?" He asked, more out of vague curiosity than anything. I could tell his mind had been made up, and how long I planned on occupying his body was not entirely relevant.
"Could be a couple of days. Could be a couple of centuries." I paused as Max's nose wrinkled at the word centuries. "There's a good chance you won't survive once I'm gone."
"You're not going to do anything… satanic?" He questioned with discomfort.
"Nothing satanic or completely evil," I vowed as I raised my right hand, palm out, to show I meant what I said.
Max mulled this information over. On the one hand, I was offering him a reprieve from the torment he lived with. On the other, I was asking him to sacrifice whatever life he had left to me, and it could be hundreds of years before he finally dropped dead. A century is a long time when you just want it all to be over now.
"You know what?" Max spoke up at last. "Fuck it. Why not? You can use my corpse. You're right, I don't really want it anymore, anyway."
A wolfish smile crossed my lips before I realized what I was doing. I attempted to hide it by replacing my grin with something kinder, but quickly gave it up as a fruitless endeavor. I had a new body to get to, after all.
I'd never jumped into a person before. Not consciously, not on my own accord. But I found the task simple enough, the logistics seemingly hardwired into my demonized mind. I leapt from the woman's mouth and down Max's throat. It took less than a minute for me to fully transition myself from one vessel to the other, and when I did I found myself on my back. The force I'd used to drive myself into Max had knocked him — us — back on the hospital bed. I stared up at the solid white ceiling with my black eyes and took in a deep, satisfying breath.
"I need a cigarette."