I have no idea what kind of book it would be, but let’s pretend it’s all good, yeah? Love you too. (it really should have been short enough to fit in an ask, shouldn’t it?)
His crown shall be upholden,
His harp shall be restrung,
His halls shall echo golden
To songs of yore re-sung.
Why haven’t you hurt anybody yet? Stiles asks one night, out of the blue. He rarely initiates conversations with the creature, so it’s surprised by the question, though not so much by the bluntness of it.
Do you want me to? it says, genuinely curious.
Of course not, but you’re a demon, right? Isn’t that what you guys do? Hurt and maim and kill, all the fun stuff.
The creature hums, a lazy sound of agreement. What do you know about demons, anyway? it asks.
Stiles scoffs. You’re in my head, can’t you just take a peek instead of asking me?
I could, but I’m asking. Stiles, it presses gently when the boy remains silent.
I know that you were in hell and managed to escape, Stiles sighs. That you must have been human once. That you’re planning something evil and are going to use me to do it, and probably kill my friends in the process.
The creature doesn’t reply, doesn’t react at all. It feels Stiles shifts in the back of its head, his mind always reeling. It was distracting at first, but now it’s almost comforting, like leaving the television on on low volume even when you’re not watching it.
“I killed myself,” the creature says out loud, voice soft and even. Stiles stills. “That’s why I went to hell. I was your age, too.” It takes a deep breath, yawns. They’re lying on the floor at the edge of the woods, away from the Hale house and the city. The creature likes it here. It’s quiet. “Things were different, though, it was a while ago.”
There’s a low hum from Stiles’ corner. The boy is tense, but he’s not scared. It’s almost as if he’s curious. The creature smiles. “I’m not going to do anything to your friends. I’m not even going to keep you.” What do you mean? Stiles asks immediately. “I mean I’m not going to hurt them. In fact I’m not going to touch them at all, I’m going to stay away and not interfere.” …and that’s it? The boy sounds dubious, as he should, surely. The creature chuckles. “You know what drew me to that strange little group of yours?” it says instead. “How unlikely such an association is, how unstable in its very nature. You must realise that you are all, always, one second, one mindless word away from slaughtering each other.” Stiles grows tenser but doesn’t protest. They both know the creature’s right. “What drew me to you, specifically,” it goes on, “is that you were trying to keep them from doing just that. You try to avoid screwing people and hurting them for no reason, and that’s good. You don’t get a lot of that in Hell, it was impossible to resist.”
Stiles snorts, unimpressed. So what, I’m a special snowflake? The goodness of my heart makes you feel human and fuzzy again? There’s a split second of shocked silence before the creature bursts out laughing. “Oh Stiles,” it says between giggles, sounding genuinely amused and somewhat fond. “Stiles, my boy.” It keeps laughing softly, calming down until its breathing evens out. “An odd, yet very sensible if you think about it, detail about demons is that we cannot possess people who are truly, genuinely good. People whose heart is pure hurt us, burn us and we cannot stay in them more than a couple of seconds. Often not even long enough to make them do anything.”
…What are you saying? Stiles asks after a while. He sounds like he knows already, but the creature indulges him, answers anyway. “What I’m saying, Stiles, is that being in you is like finally going to bed after a long day and finding that someone warmed the sheets for you.” It’s soft, almost apologetic, and when Stiles doesn’t answer, the creature doesn’t push.
( + )