Author Note: Huge thanks to Akatsuki Feathers, Mizuni-no-neko, KittyBePraised and Hayze-Chan for the lovely reviews! And also to everyone who reviewed my most recent one-shot (I was surprised but wholly delighted by the positive views!). I'm thinking that my next project might be a series of one-shots related by topic, but no promises since I currently have writers ADD.

This chapter feels a little forced to me, but I've been frigging around with it for days and I've decided to just post, since I'm not helping it any with the constant changes. Hope you'll enjoy and review!

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This thing is slowly taking me apart...

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Officer Kathryn Lewis was annoyed.

She had joined the force as soon as she finished High School, inspired by television images of high speed car chases, hunting down bad guys in tense stakeouts, drinking endless cups of coffee while trying to piece together clues. She imagined herself rising quickly through the ranks, promotion after promotion earned through hard work and good instincts.

To be fair, she hadn't really been a part of the police force long, but it wasn't as if she was even being given a chance. There were no opportunities for her to demonstrate just how good she could be at her job; the crime rate was relatively low and when she did go on a call out, it was always something mundane – drunks, domestics, minor shoplifting offences by surly, bored teenagers, who saw she wasn't much older than they were and treated her with a noted lack of respect.

And now, the most exciting thing to happen in their town ever and where was she? Stuck on the front desk, speaking to the public. So far, all she had done was take a few calls and give directions to a confused elderly couple who were heading for Denver. Meanwhile, the rest of the force were either in the back, interviewing the crazy man they had brought in earlier, or else they were on patrol looking for a teenage spree killer who may or may not have been sighted nearby.

And she was stuck playing secretary.

Sighing, she leant on the counter and tried to focus on her paperwork. She wasn't making much headway with it, too annoyed by the days events, but it beat staring at the wall and freed up some time later on. At least it was a quiet evening.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the automatic doors of the station swished open and she sighed, looking up from her paperwork and examining the newcomer. At this time of night, she would have expected a stumbling drunk perhaps, or someone reporting their wallet stolen.

Instead, she looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Straightening up, she unconsciously put a hand to her hair to make sure none of it was out of place, checking the man out further. He was tall, with messy blonde hair and a hopeful smile on his face. Upon seeing her, the smile became just that little bit more wicked. The baggy, torn jeans and oversized hoody merely added to his bad-boy aura.

"Hey there," he said, leaning on the counter and looking back at her through the bullet proof glass.

"Hello Sir," she said, trying to maintain a professional aura, even thought the guy was giving her a direct, intense look with seriously flirtatious overtones, one that was bypassing her common sense and talking directly to her libido. "How can I help you?"

"Thing is, I'm just passing through town – I'm on my way home from visiting friends. My puppy, uh, Fluffikins, needed to take care of some business, so I stopped to let him out. Only he was too fast for me and he's run off. Has anyone brought a lost dog in here?"

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "No one's brought in a lost dog. There's a pound, but it'll be closed to the public at this time of night."

"Damn," he said, glancing down at the collar he held. Kathryn glanced at it and frowned. The collar was black leather, with vicious looking spikes sticking at least three inches out. Suddenly, she hoped that no one brought Fluffikins in for her to deal with.

"Maybe you should give me your phone number," she said, feeling slightly daring for suggesting it. "I can call you if someone brings it here."

"That'd be great," he said, taking a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "If I have to drive back down here in the morning, I'd rather be coming down to see you than visit the pound. Got a pen?"

"Sure," she said, blushing slightly, pushing a Biro through the narrow gap. Damn, he was cute and he couldn't be much younger than her, if he was able to drive. And his body language and the way he worded things definitely indicated his interest.

"Hey, I'm not distracting you from your work am I?" he asked as he scribbled on the paper.

"Oh, no," she said with a giggle, knowing she probably shouldn't flirt back when she was on duty, but this was an opportunity too good to pass up. "There's nothing much happening here tonight and everyone else is busy with the guy in the back."

He glanced up at her, looking curious. "You're not playing good cop, bad cop with the others?"

She laughed again, but there was a rather bitter edge to it. "I'm not experienced enough, so I get desk duty."

"That's a bummer," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Still, at least you being in here improves the look of the place."

Kathryn's blush was more noticeable this time and she tried to hide it by pretending she hadn't heard the comment, starting to babble. "Well, that guy's bad news anyway. He was running from a crime scene and he just rammed a cruiser and started shooting at the officers."

"Whoa."

"I know. I'd rather be out here than facing some dusthead."

His face was a mask of awe and Kathryn felt pleased she had managed to grab his attention. "Seriously? He was shooting at you guys?"

"Well – not at me. But I was here when they brought him in and he was glaring at me."

"You were that close?"

"Yeah. He looked crazy, y'know? Some redneck guy, real big and mean. He'd burned himself all over his hands, but it was like he didn't even feel it. Never a dull moment around here."

"Guess not!" The boy let his gaze wander over the parts of her body that the view through the glass afforded before meeting her eyes again. "I have to go, try and find Fluffikins before I start off for home. But call me if anyone brings him in. Or even if they don't."

"I will," she said, ducking her head and smiling shyly. The boy pushed the paper through the gap in the window and she looked at it, seeing his name and the number beneath.

"See you later," he said, walking out of the station but looking over his shoulder and winking.

Kathryn smiled dreamily at the door. "Speak to you later Kyle."

~:~

Kenny pulled his hood back up he moment he was out of sight of the doors of the station. Jogging up to the car, he threw himself into the seat beside Pip and looked at the people waiting impatiently to hear his news. "It's the same guy from the sound – his hands are burned, just like the one Asmodeus jumped into."

Damien nodded. "And?"

"He's been arrested – the chick made it sound like he did it on purpose. I think he's trying to avoid you."

"Yeah, he better avoid me," growled Damien. "When I catch up to him, I'm gonna send him back to the blackest pit of Hell I can find and make it my personal responsibility to see that he doesn't get a moments peace."

Christophe lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "So, what's ze plan?"

"I could just torch the whole place," said Damien promptly. "That'd deal with the host and make it impossible for it to jump to a new one."

"No!" Pip leant forward, suddenly animated. "There's innocent people in there!"

"They're cops. They're not innocent."

"It's hardly low profile though," said Kenny.

Damien glanced at Christophe. "Can you get in there quietly?"

"Non. I could get in and kill 'im, but it would not be low profile."

Glaring ferociously through the window, Damien thought over his options, which were depressingly few. Either he could torch the station and attract attention, which would piss off his dad. Or they could storm the station, which had the same problems plus the added headache of their possible capture or death. Or they could wait until the demon started moving again, which could take days.

Damien tried to imagine what he would do in the demons position. It was unlikely that the host would remain in the station for long anyway – more likely, he would be moved in the morning to either a court or to a jail proper, rather than remaining in the cells. But would Asmodeus stay in the host? Unlikely. The demon would hope that they would chase the host, not it, and its best chance would be to jump into another host – most likely a cop – and then make a quick getaway at a time when there was a little more activity than there currently was.

So, if it was going to run, it would probably do so in the morning. Leaving them an entire night to sit outside in the car and stare at the cop shop.

Just fucking great.

"We'll have to wait until it moves," said Damien moodily. "Prepare yourselves for a long night."

"We're staying in the car?" whined Kenny.

"Yup."

"Oh man." Kenny considered it for a moment and then turned his not-inconsiderable powers of persuasion on Damien. "Y'know, it'd be a better idea if we found somewhere to stay. The three of us need some sleep and we'd be so much better at demon hunting if we could do that somewhere comfortable."

Damien glared at him. "You're suggesting we get a room?"

Kenny smirked. "Should I take that how it sounded?"

Involuntarily, Damien's eyes flicked in Pip's direction, then back at Kenny. "No. And we're not getting a room. It could come out at any minute!"

"I disagree," said Christophe unexpectedly. "It will wait for a while, 'ope you 'ave given up. And even if it swaps 'osts, it will try to act natural and wait until ze 'ost would normally leave, not at zis time of night. Zis place is not ideal for dealing with ze demon anyway and you can track it where ever it goes."

"I'm not a Satanic homing pigeon!"

"And we are not Satanic anything," replied Christophe. "We are 'uman. I 'ave come 'ere without a break from my last excursion, Kenny 'as been knocked out and Pip – 'as not 'ad a good day. You learn in combat zat it is good to rest where you can."

"The number one rule?" asked Damien with heavy sarcasm.

"Non. Ze number one rule is always 'ave a shovel."

"Fine!" Damien threw up his hands in disgust. "Let's go to a hotel. I'm sure they'll take one look at us and roll out the red carpet. Just before they recognise Pip and call... look, there's nowhere we can realistically go."

"We'll think of something." Christophe stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it before putting the car in gear and driving off. He seemed confident enough of finding shelter, which annoyed Damien no end.

"Here." Kenny handed the collar back to Damien. "Y'know, I've met people who keep some weird shit in their glove box but why a collar?"

"Never know when it'll come in handy," smirked Damien, glancing swiftly at Pip, who seemed both disturbed and embarrassed.

"What the hell else is in there, or shouldn't I ask?"

"Probably not. Just the usual stuff anyway – mints, sunglasses, dagger of Megiddo, maps, underpants and change."

"Underpants?"

"It's just a precaution," said Damien defensively.

"And the dagger?"

"All seven together could kill me, so I keep them scattered where humans can't find them."

"Can I..."

"No." Damien put the collar back. "Where are we going?"

"Ze upscale area of town," said Christophe casually. "At zis time of year, some of zem are bound to be on 'oliday."

"That'd be good thinking, if they advertised the house was empty."

"Zey do." Christophe smirked. "You just 'ave to know what to look for."

~:~

"Over there."

Damien indicated to a house set back from the street, almost hidden from view behind some tasteful hedges. It was clearly the property of someone with a comfortable standard of living.

Kenny leant forward. "Dude, how do you know there's no one home?"

"No souls."

"And if they're ginger? Or at the cinema and come home?"

"Non," replied Christophe. "Automatic lights. Zey changed a moment ago, all on and off at ze same time. It is supposed to be for security, so it looks like zere is someone 'ome, but it merely shows zey are not due back for a while."

"You can park in the driveway," said Damien. "No one notices my car when it doesn't want to be seen."

Christophe pulled the car into the driveway and shut off the engine. Pip frowned. "Wait, we can't just break into someone's house!"

"Sure we can," said Damien. "I can fry the alarms and I bet Mole can pick the locks."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Chill," said Kenny. "We're just borrowing their roof. We're not gonna rip them off, are we Damien?"

"I'm promising nothing."

The group got out of the car, Kenny frowning slightly. "I don't think it's a good idea to leave the car in plain view like this."

Damien snorted. "What car?"

Kenny turned to look back at the car. It was there – but he really had to focus on it to be sure. His eyes wanted to slide away from it without paying attention. It was giving him a headache.

"Okay, I'll believe no one'll notice."

Christophe and Damien went to work, forcing the lock and killing the alarm before letting Kenny and Pip into the house. All the signs pointed to the owners being away for a while – the appliances were unplugged, there were no perishable foodstuffs in the kitchen and the water heater was switched off – but Pip was worried anyway. When the owners did return, they would no doubt realise someone had been there and although he was almost sure they weren't going to take anything valuable and then burn the place to the ground, it would still be upsetting for them.

It was too bad. They needed to rest for awhile. Well – Damien apparently didn't. And Pip wasn't sure he would be able to sleep, in spite of his exhaustion. But they couldn't keep up the chase without stopping.

Kenny vanished into the kitchen and returned with packaged snack food, looking pleased. "We hit the jackpot. There's a ton of this crap around."

"Forget zat," said Christophe, plugging in the television set and switching it on. "It's a good idea to find out what's going on, 'ow much zey know about ze situation."

Pip settled on one side of the couch, curling his legs beneath him and wrapping his arms around his waist. He was aware of his defensive posture, but really didn't care. Instead, he got his first good look at his rescuers away from the confines of the car.

Christophe was obviously French, but Pip was determined not to hold that against him. The man was surly and quiet, clearly used to this kind of situation. Vaguely, Pip wondered how he had gotten involved. Perhaps Damien had brought him from Hell with him as an assistant or something. He remained standing, cautious and wary, using the remote to change channels on the television.

Kenny was – well, the same as he always was in school. Not exactly talkative, but compared to the other two, he was a conversational king, cheery and reassuring. Although he still hadn't taken off the bloody hood. He perched on the arm of the couch, snacking on cheesy poofs, although Pip couldn't understand how the hood didn't hinder the operation.

Damien lounged nonchalantly on the other side of the couch, beside where Kenny sat, hands folded behind his head, legs stretched across the floor, taking up space. His attitude was the exact opposite of Pip's attempts to make as little impression as possible. Pip gave him a sideways glance. His thick, overgrown black hair and pale skin would send the Goth kids into paroxysms of jealousy reflected the boy, coming as it did without the aid of dye and make up. He was tall enough to be imposing without standing out too much, wiry rather than muscular. And those eyes, beneath thick, angry brows, were red. Whenever they were turned on Pip, he could feel the heat in them.

"I 'ave ze news," announced Christophe, ceasing his channel-hopping. Kenny didn't stop eating, not seeming terribly interested, but Damien jerked his head up to examine the screen. Pip didn't really want to look, didn't want to know, but was unable to resist.

The television showed a shot of the school, clearly filmed earlier that day, students milling aimlessly around and police officers still in evidence.

"...Was the scene of tragedy today after what seems to have begun as a fight turned deadly. Student Mitchell Curtis was discovered in a bathroom, apparently the victim of a stabbing."

The school was replaced by a picture of Mitchell, probably taken in relation to some school activity. He was wearing the Park County High colours, hair neatly brushed and slicked down, several hundred dollars of orthodontics displayed in a dazzling smile. Pip felt the colour leaving his face, remembering leaning in to lick at the blood drizzling from that mouth, Mitchell's pleading moans, his sick, scared eyes. He felt something rise in his throat and unsure whether it was vomit or a scream, tore his eyes from the set.

Damien was watching him.

The scream – Pip was almost certain it had been a scream – died before it could leave his mouth. Instead, he let out a shaky breath and sucked in another, almost hyperventilating. Damien was gauging his reaction and he wasn't going to embarrass himself by having girlish hysterics because of some year book picture. Even if he tried to explain the ghoulish intimacy of stealing the blood from Mitchell's face, Damien wouldn't understand what was so terrible about it.

Still breathing too heavily, Pip found his eyes involuntarily flickering down to Damien's mouth, wondering if he had ever done something so gruesome. He had after all come from the same place as Asmodeus Then he remembered that Damien was watching him and turned back to the television, hoping that the look hadn't been seen and misinterpreted. Although why he was worried about that at a time like this, he didn't know.

"Mitchell was in his final year of the school, described by friends as being popular, outgoing and fun-loving..."

"Bullshit," interjected Kenny loudly.

Pip said nothing. His glance at Damien's mouth had brought on images of those lips parting and his tongue tracing the lips of another – without the blood. Vaguely, Pip wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such treatment and as soon as he realised what he was thinking, forced the pictures out of his mind in horror. How could he even consider something like that when it had been brought about by the horrible events of the day?

"...teacher described it as 'a terrible, terrible loss and a tragic day for Park County High'..."

Trying to curl himself even tighter, Pip wondered miserably if he hadn't just lost his mind, if Asmodeus had infected him with its sickness and he could never think straight again.

But those images kept wanting to intrude on his mind and he could feel the weight of Damien's stare upon him.

"Several students claim to have seen Mitchell arguing with immigrant student Phillip Pirrup outside the bathroom where the boys body was discovered..."

Pip widened his eyes as his own face filled the screen. Another school photograph, showing him smiling shyly, face ducked slightly, long hair tied back. Pip had never hated that picture more so than he did at that moment. Compared to Mitchell's easy grin, Pip's picture made him look painfully awkward, almost secretive.

"Although Pirrup's involvement with the incident are unconfirmed, he has been confirmed as the perpetrator of a later car-jacking, in which two people were killed. A bladed implement was used in the car-jacking, which has added to speculation that Pirrup was responsible for Mitchell's murder..."

"Pip?"

Damien's voice was sharp, but Pip didn't look at him, barely even heard him, having almost pushed the memory of the car-jacking to the back of his mind and being confronted with it once again.

It saw the car pulling up at the side of the road and opened the drivers door before the engine was switched off. The driver, a grey-haired man in his late fifties, looked up, startled by the action.

The Stanley knife was in its other hand.

Raising Pip's arm, it drove the blade of the knife into the drivers eye. With a wail, the driver raised his hand to his face and it pulled the knife back, jamming it this time into the trachea.

"Hey!"

It turned to see a second man running at it, this one younger but soft-looking, wearing some kind of uniform. Standing its ground, it ignored the gasps of the dying man, allowing the new threat to almost reach it and then quickly stepping aside, placing a hand on his back and allowing his momentum and its own force to ram the newcomer into the side of the car. Then he grabbed the man's head and twisted sharply, hearing the crack and letting the corpse fall to the floor. Grabbing the driver, it retrieved the knife from the drivers throat and lowered the blade, putting it in Pip's pocket before pulling the dying man from the car and ditching him beside the other victim, getting calmly behind the wheel.

Someone ran after the car, getting a hand on the bumper before it stepped on the gas and drove away...

"Pip!"

Shaking violently, Pip looked up at Damien, who was watching him with something close to concern. Probably wondering if he was going to start screaming or crying and debating the wisdom of bringing him along.

And yet, Damien didn't seem as irritated by his acts as perhaps he should have been.

"I'm fine," said Pip through numb lips. "I'm f-fine, just fine, it's alright, I'll be j-just fine, I'm fine, I, I'm alright..."

For a moment, Pip thought Damien was going to move – to do what, he had no idea – but it was Kenny who got up, dropping snacks across the carpet as he dropped heavily between Damien and Pip and pulled Pip into his arms, giving some comfort. Pip let Kenny mutter soothing, meaningless words, resting his head briefly on Kenny's shoulder with his eyes closed, trying to regain his composure.

When he opened his eyes again, he could see Damien over Kenny's shoulder. Damien wasn't looking at Pip though; his eyes were on Kenny's back.

He looked furious.

Suddenly afraid of just what that look meant – Damien clearly didn't approve of Kenny babying Pip through his breakdown – Pip pulled out of Kenny's embrace and tried to get a hold of himself. He couldn't afford to break down, not now. He had to keep his composure.

But his head was filled with blood-stained memories, alien thoughts on the enjoyment of pain and suffering, the cold certainty that nothing would ever be alright again. His head hurting, his heart aching, his skin burning under the gaze of red eyes. And he was sure he wouldn't be able to hold himself together for much longer.

Kenny seemed to understand, because his eyes, the only part of his face that really showed beneath the hood and almost exactly the same shade of blue as Pip's, were narrowed in concern. Pip suddenly remembered one of Kenny's school deaths, when the boys sickness had gone unnoticed by everyone until he had vomited across his desk and slumped over, the victim of a four-day drinking binge that his kidneys had failed to cope with. For the first time, Pip could understand why chasing temporary oblivion without caring if it led to the more permanent kind might be an attractive prospect.

"I'll be okay," murmured Pip, quietly enough so that only Kenny would hear him.

Frowning, Kenny seemed to think about something, then stood. "I'll be right back." He left the room and Pip blinked, wondering what he was doing, before dismissing the thought. He was too weary to even care if Kenny had gone to the phone to turn him in to the cops.

Damien's attention was back on the television, far more intently this time than when Pip had been the sole focus of the segment. Glancing over at the screen, Pip immediately realised why.

"...Arrested earlier today after an explosion at a gas station in which a worker lost his life. Forty-nine year old Ronaldson ran from police, who were answering reports of a suspect in another case in the vicinity. Arson is thought to be the probable cause of the fire, although reports are yet to be confirmed. Ronaldson resisted arrest and was captured after injuring several officers. He remains in custody..."

Poor chap, thought Pip, knowing that under other circumstances, he would also be under arrest. Had Asmodeus already abandoned his new host, leaving the man in much the same state as he himself was, confused, sickened and ashamed? Or was the demon still within him, taunting those who questioned his actions, getting the innocent victim in even further trouble?

And when the demon did jump host, who would it pick?

That thought concerned Pip more than he would dream of letting on to Damien. If Asmondius craved revenge, power and chaos, then there were worse hosts than someone who held a position of authority. A police officer for example, who could walk out of the station at any time he wished and abuse his power in ways rarely considered by the corrupt but unimaginative people that comprised the force.

But if Damien said the demon had remained in the police station, then Pip had every faith that was where it was. Hiding from its hunters in the relative safety of the mortal authorities. Smart. But it would have to break cover sooner or later and then, the four of them would be chasing it. Pip wanted it returned to Hell, not for reasons of vengeance, although he had to admit to himself that it would give him some small measure of satisfaction, but because otherwise it would hurt other people. The way it had hurt Mitchell. The way it had hurt him.

He glanced sideways at Damien again. His motives for chasing the demon were clear – he'd been ordered to by Satan – but why had he allowed them to stop long enough to rest? The demon was in one place and it wasn't as if Damien would have to worry about being stopped by the police, not with the satanic powers at his disposal. Most likely, he was trying not to draw attention to the demons presence on Earth. After all, he had said it was to be returned before anyone else in Hell knew it had been able to escape.

Damien looked back at him and Pip averted his eyes quickly, grateful when Kenny re-entered the room.

"There's four bedrooms upstairs," said Kenny without preamble, grabbing Pip's wrist and pulling him to his feet. "You get the one furthest from the bathroom, so you don't get disturbed in the night. Come on."

"Kenny."

Damien's voice had taken on an unmistakably warning tone and Kenny paused, glancing back at the Antichrist. "What?"

"Don't."

There was a pause as Damien glared, some unspoken communication going on between the two. Pip bit his lip nervously, having no idea of what was happening. Damien seemed to want to say something, but was rejecting the words as they occurred. Christophe, still standing behind the couch, looked equally blank.

"Ooooh," said Kenny eventually, picking up on something in Damien's expression. "No, I wasn't gonna. Pip needs a long sleep to get over this and here's better than the car. And a wash. And a change of clothes. No offence Pip, but you're a bit, uh, messy. It'll make him feel better."

Kenny dragged Pip out of the room, pausing briefly to put his head around the door and address Damien again. "You've given me ideas now..."

Chuckling at Damien's growl, he continued and Pip followed him up the stairs, feeling the weight of Damien's stare on his back until the moment they left the room, their memory lingering on his skin as soon as they were out of sight.

"Room," announced Kenny, throwing open a door and indicating vaguely within. "I dunno about pants, but everyone's got a couple of plain T-shirts and you can use them if there's nothing else."

"I wouldn't feel right about taking..."

"Oh, lighten up." Kenny's voice was mild, but there was something in his eyes that Pip wasn't sure he understood. Lingering confusion certainly and something more, hurt he would have guessed, if there had been any reason for Kenny to feel that way. "The people that live here can afford to lose a couple of lousy shirts and some snacks. Don't sweat it. They've got plenty more than you and me."

Pip nodded in agreement, deciding it was simpler than arguing and there was some logic there. He definitely wouldn't mind ridding himself of his blood-splattered clothes. And he got the feeling there was something else going on, something he was missing.

"Bathroom's over here," said Kenny, walking over and shoving the door slightly open. "Water's gonna be cold, but it's better than nothing."

"Right-o." Pip looked down. "Thank you for all this Kenny, but ah, would you mind if I spent some time on my own?"

"Sure thing," replied Kenny with unnecessarily good humour. "Holler if you need anything."

He clattered back down the stairs, leaving Pip alone and heading back into the living room, where Damien was still watching television and Christophe had finally decided to let his guard down, sitting on one of the chairs with a cigarette in his mouth. The seat right in front of the drinks cabinet, noted Kenny with some amusement, where the man of the house probably sat while the little woman and the assorted brats watched the tube.

"How's he doing?" asked Damien casually.

Anyone else might have missed the look that passed across Kenny's mostly hidden face, but Christophe spotted it before it was gone. The mercenary frowned.

"Trying to pretend he isn't freaking," replied Kenny amicably. "Doing that whole 'stiff upper lip' thing that the British are always going on about."

"I've never actually met a British person who uses that expression," commented Damien.

"Whatever. By the time you meet them, they're way past pretending everything's gonna work out okay. Leave him to have a cry and sleep it off, he'll be a bit less shell-shocked after that."

Damien looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "Uh-huh."

Christophe watched them through slightly narrowed eyes, getting the feeling there was a whole other subtext to the conversation that he was missing. Abruptly, he got up, deciding to let them have their little talk without resorting to code.

Finding himself in the kitchen, he closed the door quietly and pulled out his phone, making a quick call to explain his non-appearance at home, speaking in hushed, hurried French which he was sure that neither Pip nor Kenny would understand. And Damien was unlikely to care. Finishing the call, he considered calling his mother as well, but decided against it. She'd have plenty to shout about the next time he showed his face and he didn't need to add a lecture to his current list of woes. Instead, he made himself a glass of water, stifling a yawn as he took out his cigarettes and lit one, finding a plate as a makeshift ashtray. If they were going to be chasing demons at any time soon, he would need at least a combat nap.

As if reading his thoughts, Kenny wandered into the kitchen and snagged a cigarette from the still-open packet that Christophe had left on the table. "If you wanna crash, go for it. I'm gonna be up for a while. Horror movie marathon."

Christophe nodded. "And Damien said 'e doesn't need to sleep at all."

Kenny shot him a glance that was both amused and sad. "You don't want to trust Damien with your well being. I can stay up. If I were you, I'd go for the first door on the right, next to the bathroom. Looks like the parents room."

"Uh, oui, okay," said Christophe, mildly puzzled but leaving the subject. He did however remember to grab his cigarettes before he went up. He had no doubt that Kenny would steal the entire packet otherwise.

Passing the living room, he noticed that Damien was nowhere in sight.