Touch (Shyan)

Rogue (1)

Shane Alexander Madej had died of cold on a treacherous autumn night, huddled in a cave. It was a fine way to go, and he didn't complain; but what came afterwards was, to his taste, really fucking over-exaggerated.

He'd expected something less dramatic and more cliché, to be honest. When he closed his eyes, letting the cold creep over him and fill every fibre of his being, he thought the time to be reunited with his mother had finally come; he wanted to see the great beyond, the world that no one returns to talk about. He wanted to rest. And, for a blessed moment, he thought he was going to get what he wanted - but then it happened.

He was forced to open his eyes by a bunch of angry, tough-looking guys shaking him awake, grabbing him, and hurling him down a particularly dark and ugly corridor. The cave was nowhere to be seen, and somehow he knew he had to be dead: but still, he felt very much alive. And, as they tossed him from this room to that room, made him climb thousands of steps and speak to strange, demonic beings that were both familiar and yet completely different from what he imagined devils to be, he soon realised he was in Hell.

Time was indefinite down there, but he felt like an eternity had passed until he understood everything. He was dead, and he ended up in Hell; but instead of joining the ghosts of everyone else (where, he had no doubt, he would've found a great deal of his friends), he, as an alleged murderer, was going to be recruited into the ranks of demons.

As a matter of fact, he'd only killed one person in his life, and that was vengeance. The man had killed his best friend, and he had to take revenge. The act then got him exiled from the kingdom he was residing in, and called a death sentence upon his head from the other man's family, so, overall, it was a horribly dumb decision. But he didn't regret it. He would rather live in the woods, steal food and join ragged groups of bandits to keep alive - which was exactly what he did for ten years, before that particular night in the cave - than watch his friend's murderer walk free.

Some of the demons had been humans as well, and some had not. Those with a human past got to keep the form of their original bodies, and there was a silent solidarity among them: they were united by something that was theirs only, for how do you explain the warmth of light to a creature who's never seen the sun? But this job wasn't the best for making friendships, and most of them, including Alexander, preferred working alone.

His assignments were quite easy, being a low-rank demon at first. He had to spend most of his time on Earth, mainly just stirring up insignificant trouble, making people angry and annoyed, and he had been good at that even while he was alive. And when he was done with whatever he was told, he could roam free, tasting the air, feeling the sun on his skin. The rare accounts on which he had to return to Hell and make his reports, he just tried not to look scared. After a few years, fear left him altogether, and soon he found himself moving up the ranks, gaining more and more authority, until he realised he'd become one of the cool guys in Hell. Hierarchy worked weirdly down there, and there certainly were bigger guns around than him, but it was something. He wreaked havoc, brought trouble, created chaos everywhere he could; and he was quite amused by his job, so long as it didn't seriously harm anyone innocent.

Years passed, and then more and more of them, and Alexander watched with great interest as the human world evolved around him. In the beginning, it was hard: he had to watch his friends die, every single one of them, and watch the places he'd known burn to the ground or be replaced entirely by something new and unknown to him. And then, as he made new human friends, he had to watch them wither as well, and his lovers, scarce as they were, all crumbled away in his hands. He tried pushing people away, but that made his work more difficult: so he just tried not to get too attached to the people he met.

Somewhere along the turn of the 19th century he began using Shane as his first name, deeming it the more acceptable in modern times. And soon, Hell evolved with the times as well - with the appearance of cell phones, he didn't have to go down anymore for reports. Even though he no longer feared Hell, this still made him relieved, and it certainly made his job a ton easier. He was, overall, content - well, as content as one can be, being a demon and all.

That is, until he met Ryan.

When they said he had to kill someone, he recoiled. Even though morality was a very rarely used word in Hell, he didn't want to take an innocent life. But it was a ghost hunter that he had to kill, and he hated witchfinders and ghost-whisperers with such a burning passion that he accepted the job. Not like he had a choice, anyway. But this job wasn't going to be hard on his consciousness.

He'd met supernatural hunters before, and he'd lost dear friends over the course of the Inquisition: women who used herbs to heal sick children, women who told futures and soothed the heart of grieving wives, women who liked to inhale the crisp evening air and look at the sky in wonder. None of them had been witches; and even if they were, it did not justify burning them on a pyre. Their agonizing screams never left him. Sometimes he'd wake up, drenched in sweat, feeling like his lungs were folding in on themselves - he would hug his pillow to his chest, and sob into it.

He thought he knew exactly what he'd have to face: a man basking in his unrealistic sense of self-importance, patronizing, annoying, just asking for a punch in the nose. But he would smile, and be courteous, and maybe even buy him a beer, before plunging a knife into his sorry little chest.

He was expecting anything but Ryan.

He was small, and polite, and awkward. When he shook his hand, he blushed, and it took him several weeks to be at ease around him. He was like a child in so many ways, but he could be mature and serious if needed. He was funny, and sweet, and caring: he brought him coffee every morning, and they shared jokes, and smiles, and hugs. When they walked into their first haunted location, Ryan squirmed and trembled adorably, like a tiny, scared puppy. And, most importantly, it was obvious that he could never hurt anyone. He was even afraid of killing a spider when he came across one in the office. He was completely innocent.

Soon enough, Shane found himself getting increasingly attached to Ryan, and he could feel the same affection from the small guy. This was the first true friendship he'd made in hundreds of years. They would have drinks together, talk for hours on end, and swap their morning sandwiches when they were halfway through. Nothing could make him do Ryan any harm. Ever. And that's why, one day, he called his supervisor, and suggested a change of plans.

"If I kill him, his followers will know we exist. The only way of keeping him from uncovering our existence is if I go with him and watch him."

"But then you must keep watching him, even outside of work. Do you understand how big of a responsibility that is, Madej?"

"Yes, I do."

"I certainly hope so. If you fail, you know what happens."

He ignored the threat. The only thing that mattered was Ryan's safety. And with him by his side, he would always be safe. So he went along with him everywhere, made sure he never caught any evidence, and kept him from harm in the process.

And that's how Ryan became his full-time job.

He spent days and days with him, during work and outside of it, seizing every opportunity to be close to him. When he made his reports, he could blame it on the work, but it was something else. He grew really fond of Ryan over the following months. He could, with all honesty, say he loved him more than anyone in his life. And not just his life at the time, but his life in general. He was the only best friend Shane's had since the fateful night on which his late friend Stephen was murdered, hundreds of years back, in his human life. He could tell him everything - well, almost everything - and Ryan could always go to him for support, for encouragement, for whatever he needed.

Their bond grew stronger and stronger, and after a while, when all their awkwardness dissipated, they were more comfortable around each other than around anyone else. When he was with Ryan, Shane felt like a human again. And that was a kindness he could never repay; because Ryan had no idea. And he mustn't know, either, Shane swore to himself. He has to live a happy, human life, and so, one day, Shane has to leave him. But today isn't going to be that day. Nor the day after that. Or the day after that.

And so, life went on.

Until something came along, and stirred the pot a bit.