"I wish I could have seen it," Bebe pouted.

The weekend had arrived and brought with it warmer weather. The end of high school was slowly coming upon the small group, now back at the junkyard. It had become their hangout after school and days off. Craig with his school books and pamphlets of various colleges in Colorado, Kenny smoking and playing his guitar, Kyle and Bebe cuddling on top a questionable blanket provided by Kenny, and Stan and Damien high above the three.

"I'm glad you weren't there," Craig said pointedly, thumbing through a University of Northern Colorado pamphlet.

"Someone had to have recorded," Kyle laughed. "The entire school will have seen it by Monday."

Craig rolled his eyes. He knew his little stunt would get around and as much as he dreaded becoming a walking meme, it had been worth it. There were still scrape marks from the bedpost on Stan's bedroom ceiling.

"Hey whadda you guys think of this one?" he asked, trying to change the subject. He waved a Colorado State University booklet in front of himself. "They've got a journalism and media communications media."

"I thought you wanted to do filmmaking?" Kyle asked. "That sounds more like news reporting, less creative."

"It could be a stepping stone," Craig grumbled, tossing the pamphlet down and looking through the stack of others.

"Do you want my advice?" Kyle asked.

"No."

"Don't major in filmmaking," Kyle said and Craig's slowly raised a brow, nonverbally daring the redhead to continue. "I know it's been your dream since we had that stupid AV club in elementary school."

"I've also made two short films and wrote a lot of screenplays," he scowled. "It's not just some elementary fucking dream, Broflovski."

Kyle took a deep breath. "I know," he insisted. "I just think spending all that money on something you can learn on websites might be a waste. You already have a great eye for composition and storytelling. You don't need someone who hasn't worked in the field telling you what makes a good movie."

His glare didn't falter but Kyle's words were sinking in. He had attended filmmaking courses at the community college and found he knew more than the stuffy, fart sniffing professor.

"So what are you suggesting?" Craig said evenly. "I shouldn't go to college?'

Kyle scoffed. "Yeah, like I'd be the one to tell you to ditch college," he joked. "No, pick a different major. Something to fall back in just in case. Filmmaking business isn't easy. Sometimes the best guys get left out and the worst get in. So choose something else you enjoy to major in, but take filmmaking electives, join clubs and never stop making movies."

Craig tongued over his bottom lip, soaking in the advise. It was hard not to argue he had a good point. He wasn't an idiot. He knew he'd someday face a difficult battle getting into the field and the fear of failure often had him envisioning him stuck back in South Park. However, if it didn't work out, if he truly wasn't meant to show his vision, could he simply enter another field anywhere?

"I don't even know what I'd major in," he admitted with a sigh.

"You're really good with space stuff," Bebe commented. "Maybe something science related?"

Craig leaned back, watching the two demons in the bright blue sky for a moment as he let his mind wander. He had a lot to think of but most importantly he knew he had to discuss it with Stan.

"Now that we're done with that, I got some news" Kenny announced, taking one more huff before tossing his bud to the ground. "I got a gig at Skeeters Pub to sing some covers."

"You going to perform any of your stuff?" Bebe asked. "My favorite was Sleaze Febreeze."

Kenny laughed. "Nah, not yet. I gotta get a good crowd in then maybe he'll let me."

"You want to practice while we wait for them to finish up?" Kyle suggested and Craig threw him a look. It was a peaceful day that didn't need to be interrupted with Kenny's guitar or voice.

"Sure," Kenny beamed, taking a seat on the ground in front of the three and placing his guitar on his knee. "This little song goes out to Craig and Damien."

"Excuse me?" Craig asked with a look of dread.

"I don't know if Damien is listening. Don't want to make a demon jealous," he reminded the dark haired boy.

Craig sighed in agreement but still a feeling of trepidation was set.

Giving Craig a wink that made him recoil, he began to sing.

High dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life

Fight fear for the selfish pain, it was worth it every time

Hold still right before we crash 'cause we both know how this ends

"Oh, I love this song," Bebe gushed.

If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?

If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?

"I should kill him," Damien said pensively, looking down at the singing blonde. He was high above where only Stan could hear him. "But he'd just bother me at home."

Stan also peered down at the three. Kyle and Bebe snuggling up as Bebe sang along with Kenny. Craig had the look of a man who was witnessing some horrific act.

"Let's get back to it," Damien announced getting Stan's attention back. "You've been doing well with moving objects and using your emotion to your advantage."

Stan smiled. It was true, especially with last weeks rehearsal. He had redirected his anger at Craig into giving his best performance.

"We are going to switch focus to mental telepathy and manipulation," Damien said. "Every mind has the ability to communicate with other species. Trees can communicate with bushes, and bushes with squirrels, and squirrels with firemen."

Stan blinked.

"What, like read minds?" he eventually spoke.

"It can be that, yes. But just reading minds is boring. I've been doing it for years and not one single mortal's has ever entertained me," he drawled. "No, this is more about mind control. Getting people to do something for you. Command them."

"Um," Stan shifted uncomfortably. He'd rather see his friend's weird sex fantasies.

With a smirk and glint behind red, he turned his attention down to the three. Stan followed his gaze about to ask, when Craig leapt from his spot and started barking.

"That is but a small demonstration," he said nonchalantly as Craig continued to yap away.

"Damien make it stop," Kyle yelled from below.

"Anything for you," Damien called back, laughing. He snapped his clawed fingers and Craig ceased his barking, spinning around confused as to why he was suddenly standing.

He turned back to Stan who looked mildly miffed.

"Because you're a mistake, you won't have the same amount of control as I do," Damien informed him.

"What do you mean?" he pressed. He didn't see how making someone bark like a dog was some big feat.

"I can fully posses a mortal. I go inside their mind, body, and soul and completely take over. They'll try to fight me out but I'm a disease that will spread eventually taking whatever humanity they have left," he relied earnestly, his tone dripping in pleasure.

"Like your dad did to me?" Stan mumbled.

"Yes," Damien confirmed. He had the sudden urge to smack Stan across the face. The self pity he was giving wasn't warranted. Stan got the honor of fighting in a battle. His father chose this stupid mortal over him. It grated his nerve and boiled his black blood.

"So what will I be able to do?" Stan asked.

"Control their minds to do things for you," Damien explained. "Greg could still be barking but also still function as himself. It's easier to control smaller things like animals and kids."

"But what's the point?" Stan wondered. "I mean, I don't need an army of toddlers or chipmunks."

Damien rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you'd use it for," he snapped. "Now, pick something small nearby that you can mind control. There's a few stray dogs that hang around here."

Stan bit his lip, scanning the junkyard. He was about to call off the lesson. This was the type of power only demons crafted in their desire to inflict pain and suffering would enjoy. Everyone should be allowed free will. Who was he to take it away, even if it was only for a moment?

Something silver and glinting beneath a few piles of waste caught his eye. Damien resumed speaking as he walked Stan through the steps. It was the same as always: focus, focus, focus. He kept his attention on the item, face straining and body shaking. Beads of sweat descended down his face as short, quick breaths were let out. Damien's voice playing in the back like white noise.

Slowly, the item began to quiver until it finally burst through the trash, but it wasn't the only thing to. All around the junkyard objects similar to it rose and surrounded the two demons. A whirring sound began to play.

"Holy shit!" Kenny exclaimed.

"…..Good?" Damien said perplexed.

The whirring sound cut short as the items crashed to the ground and Stan gulped in a large breath of air. He fell to the ground, happy and ready to go home.

Randy pulled into his driveway, mumbling bitterly under his breath. The smell of beer and wine was all over him. The latest reports at work had kept him at the office much later than normal. On his drive home, he'd often find himself making a stop at the nearby brewery.

He'd barely seen Sharon for the past week. All he got from her was a short snap to fix some shit around the house. His swaying stance told him it was probably in his best interest to go to bed, but his mind could only hear Sharon's disappointed and nagging voice.

Grumbling at how unappreciated he was, he pulled the latch to the garage open.

"Son of bitch," he growled when he realized his toolkit was empty. He probably attempted to fix something last night and had forgotten. Slamming the garage door shut, he stumbled his way to the front door.

Opening the door to his home, he was met with a startling sight.

"Hey dad," Stan greeted from the center of the living room.

Randy blinked, jaw agape. All around, his power tools were floating in midair, working and fixing. He ducked as a hammer came sweeping over his head towards the TV stand behind him.

"I thought you could use some help," Stan announced.

Torn between wanting to ask what the hell was happening and just thanking his son for his help, Randy crashed onto the couch, the sound of his drills playing him to sleep.

A/N: In which the author gives her advice on film school.