Chapter 28.) Credence

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A/N: Alternate name to this chapter: Demons are Dumb. Welcome aboard, take a seat, and enjoy. I guess.


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In a realm where seasons had no relevance and it was physically impossible to reach temperatures below 80°F, there was no need for demons of all subspecies and subclasses to regulate their body temperature. They weren't poikilothermic entities since their bodies were incapable of overheating, but their ability to retain heat was practically non-existent, making them vulnerable to the cold and susceptible to nerve damage. 

Because of his lack of heat retention, BadBoyHalo could run hotter than an oven but feel colder than ice, and that was a secret he didn't bother sharing with Skeppy, you know, like an idiot. It wasn't until November's cooling winds did he realize he was going to suffer during the months of December and January, months where the temperatures plummeted and his duty to L'manberg would be tested. After all, he couldn't perform his job if the weather crippled him. 

It wasn't a problem for other Fear Harvesters, though. Why would it be? It wasn't like there were millions of other Fear Harvesters deviating from their purpose and leaving their posts in favor of kissing their best friends. No, this was a problem Bad had to deal with by his lonesome. 

Night had already fallen and the moon was out, but thanks to pollution and the roof over his head, he was unable to see the glittering stars above. He laid in bed, legs tangled and bound by cotton sheets, listening as his best friend laughed, cried, and shrieked from across the house. Skeppy liked recording certain genres of gameplay in the darkest room of the house, which just so happened to be his laundry room. 

To make up for his lack of recent content, Skeppy had been recording videos all day, something that bothered Bad since the former had been grinding content the entire day of Halloween. That was something he didn't scold Skeppy for since the 'spookiest day of the year' fell on a Sunday, meaning the demon was at home spending time with Sapnap and gossiping the latest disappearances with Dream's father, Sam. 

His thoughts trailed back to the memory of Sam's rhinestone eyes glowing in discontent as the unfamiliar names of neighboring Harvesters were scattered across his desk. It was a sight that should have warranted concern but as if desensitized to the reality of their increased employment rates, Bad only listened as Sam began drawing invisible lines between dots that didn't seem to correlate with each other at all. 

But what did he know? He wasn't an expert conspiracy theorist. 

Shaking away the memory, he sat upright and strained his hearing; he couldn't hear Skeppy. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and after carefully untangling his legs from the sheets, he stood up and made a beeline for the laundry room. 

"Skeppy?" 

There was no response. Had Skeppy fallen asleep already? 

"Geppy? You haven't eaten dinner yet," he continued to hum and poked his head around the corner. Just as he expected, Skeppy was hunched over and snoring softly. His monitor was off, a telltale sign he was no longer recording with his friend.  

Lips pressed into a frown, Bad stepped into the room and made his way to Skeppy's side. He bent forward to press a kiss against the sleeping mortal's forehead, but as one of paranoia's favorite victims, he faltered and looked towards the camera. He knew it was off and he was the only witness to his upcoming actions, but that did not stop him from reaching over and turning everything around. 

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