"Since when were you Irish?" asked Ezra, raising a curious eyebrow. Then he coughed. "That smells like a lot of blood."
Ben shot Ezra a glare before returning his gaze to the undead man sitting on the floor, wiping the blood off his face with a look of disgust. He got up soon enough and walked fluently - even with a bounce in his step - to the sink. There, he took off his glasses and gasped as if surprised that his eyesight was that bad. He wet a paper towel, then, and began to wipe his face down.
"I know this looks weird," said Stirling casually, "and believe me, it's... well, it's really weird for me, too. I've not been here since... gosh, I can't even remember. It's been one-thousand seven-hundred and ninety-nine years. When was that - well, whatever."
He turned around, sighing quietly and interlacing his fingers, setting them in front of him. He gazed at the two of them, squinting in confusion, and then turned around and put his glasses back on. Able to see now, Stirling looked at the two in mild irritation.
"What the Hell is going on?" Ben growled, rising to his feet. Ezra's hand slipped off his shoulder and fell numbly to his side.
Stirling clicked his tongue thoughtfully, then took on a look of minor surprise. "People still believe in Hell," he said flatly, "that's wonderful. But it also doesn't matter in the slightest - how did I die? Do you think this body is going to Hell? If he died of the plague, he's probably fine."
The bathroom went quiet. Soon Ezra chuckled. "So, uh... Stirling, how are you... alive?"
"Ezra..." Ben muttered, casting a nervous glance to the other.
"Right! That's probably a good question. I," he said, pointing to himself, "am a demon. I died a couple centuries ago and lived in Hell up until now and then I just poofed back onto the Surface like a normal mortal except I've got a task now and that task, Ben, is to take care of you and make you a better person. Clearly, you need help considering this man just died in your hands - oh, they're all bloody..."
The tall boy examined Ben's hands with a look of pity. "Bless your soul. It's always difficult when friends die of the plague, isn't it?"
"Stop. Stop." Ezra put up his hands, shaking his head, chuckling. "You... don't expect us to believe that, right? Maybe- Maybe Stirling didn't even actually die and this is just a sick prank to get Ben expelled from school! Wouldn't be the first time."
"My name is Ewan, actually. I, uh... I'm from Ireland. Not... um...?"
"Fargo, North Dakota," Ezra said slowly, "and isn't Ewan a Scottish name?"
"Isn't Ezra a... Well, I don't know," retorted the demon, biting his lip. Once Ezra was silenced, he smiled politely and turned to Ben. "Right. So we're definitely going to be explaining our situation, but for now, I'd rather not bleed out, so... yes. Let's go. Your house, maybe?"
Ben sighed through his nose. "I'm not bringing you home, Stirling."
"For the love of - my name is Ewan. I'm a demon, not your... dead friend. And I know it's difficult to understand that when someone is gone, they're gone, but..." Stirling shrugged sadly. "I'm sorry."
"You never died," Ben growled. Part of him was relieved that Stirling was up and talking, but clearly, there had been some brain damage along the way. He didn't seem to remember dying by Ben's hands, though, so maybe that was good.
Ezra cleared his throat. "Well, we can't do my house, but we can do Ben's. We'll just sneak in the back."
This all just sounded like a bad, elaborate prank set for him.
Rolling his eyes, Stirling muttered, "Please. I don't want Ben to get in trouble." He then seemed to go deep in thought as he stroked his chin, staring at the boy. "Might not be a bad idea, actually..."
"No. No, no, no," interrupted Ezra, waving his hands in the air, "we're going to Ben's house and we're going to sneak in the back and that's final. I've done it before, Stirling, it's easy."
It was clear to Ben that Ezra just thought the actually-not-dead boy was suffering some problems after almost dying. He just wanted to help.
But if Stirling really didn't remember, then it didn't matter. They could leave him.
"He isn't my responsibility," Ben mumbled.
"It's your fault he died," Ezra whisper-hissed, looking at the ground. "And he reeks of blood - come on, Ben.
Ben hesitated. Really, he did feel very responsible. Stirling was severely messed up now... But how was he alive? He'd felt for a pulse and had found absolutely nothing. Stirling had been dead for absolute sure. There was no reasonable explanation for him returning to life aside from, perhaps, some slim chance that science could explain someone dying from shock and returning to life once the excitement was over. But Stirling was a whole new person now.
Maybe that's what the trauma of being choked to death did. Maybe this was all within the explanation of science and Ben just didn't know it. Maybe Stirling did just want him expelled.
"Prove it," said Ben.
"Oh, come on," mumbled Stirling, rolling his eyes.
"No." Ben stood up straight, crossing his arms. "Prove you're a... a demon or whatever and I'll help you."
Stirling looked between Ezra and Ben about twice before sighing and rolling his eyes yet again. "Fine. But don't flip out on me once it's done and just... leave or something. I don't really know what to do without you."
The "demon" spat blood on the ground, then pulled a necklace out of Stirling's pocket, smiling at a foreign pendant. It was a black circle that was oddly mundane for the situation, but it had colors stacked up like columns. He put it on, then sighed quietly, narrowing his eyes at Ben.
"Right," he said blatantly before lifting a finger and sighing. "Before you panic and fear for my life, don't."
And then his finger lit on fire and he screamed like a child instantly, quickly beginning to wring his hand out as if he hadn't just told them not to panic.
Ben wasn't really surprised. In fact, he watched in boredom as Stirling scrambled to put the fire out and Ezra's eyes widened, ignorant to what was happening but filled with panic. Once it was out, Stirling panted in terror, breathing onto his now burned finger. And Ben just sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Well?" Stirling hissed, eyes going wide. He held up his finger in anger. "At least I showed you what I can do, Ben."
This earned only a huff from him. He picked up his bag and raised his eyebrows in sarcastic disbelief. "You really blew that one out of the park," he mumbled, heading for the door.
"Are we leaving?" Ezra whispered, holding his hand out, and Ben locked arms with him.
"I just lit my finger on fire!" screamed Stirling.
Suddenly there was a tug on Ben's body as if someone had surrounded him in saran wrap and they were yanking on it with their entire might. He stumbled back, grunting in surprise.
Quickly, he whipped around to find Stirling with his arm out and his hand bent at the wrist as if he was mid-beckon. His eyes showed irritation as he glared at Ben, cheeks red.
"See? I've got levitation. Now take me to your house, please," he snapped, wiping more blood off his face. "I'm beginning to feel faint."
Ben stared at the demon. Ewan. Who'd just levitated him to him, who'd just made him move without even touching him. Ezra had stumbled back as well since their arms were linked. He looked confused before a wide grin broke out onto his face.
"That's so cool!" yelled Ezra, eyes bright. "What's Hell like?"
The demon chuckled tiredly. "We can talk about that when we get to the house, I think. Does anyone have a cigarette?" He patted himself down before grunting in irritation, returning his gaze to Ben and Ezra, looking hopeful.
Ben only sighed and directed his gaze to the ground, where there was a puddle of blood. They didn't have the supplies to clean that up, nor did they have the time.
Ewan must not have been able to feel it, but Stirling's body was beginning to turn pale as he became affected by the blood loss. Ben's guess was that he had about 30 minutes before... what? What happened? What would happen to a demon in a human's body when the human body stopped working?
And why was this something he had to consider at all?
"Can you do something about the blood?" asked Ben, walking over to the sink and washing his hands. It was always satisfying to watch the blood run down the sink, but his hands stung upon contact with the warm water, and he soon turned the water off and dabbed his hands dry. Pain laced his skin with every touch.
Ewan looked down at the puddle of blood on the floor, looking bored. Perhaps he came across this a lot in Hell. Really, what was Hell like? He probably should've been more shocked that he now had definitive proof of an afterlife, but... he wasn't. It felt like another Tuesday.
"I guess," said the demon. He clicked his tongue. "But I'm confused as to why there was so much blood for a plague victim. How did I - well, Stirling, I guess - die so brutally? I don't recall the plague doing that but it has been a few hundred years."
Ben didn't reply and simply waited for the demon to do something.
Ewan narrowed his eyes when Ben didn't answer, annoyance plastered on his face. "You need a pet or something, Ben, this is... this is sad. Not only did your friend die in your hands, but... well, you're not very fun. What do people keep as pets these days? Tigers?"
"Goldfish," Ezra offered. He still had a delighted smile plastered on his face.
"Goldfish! Ben, you should get a goldfish, yes."
Then with a hopeful gaze, he extended his arm and lifted a finger, and the blood began to bring itself up off the ground and swirl like a small tornado, soon zipping passed Ben and draining itself down the sink he was at with only a few drops remaining on the acrylic.
"Now it'll look like someone was just on their period," said Ewan in triumph. "If that still... happens. Do girls still-" He beckoned to his genitals and motioned to an explosion, making a face of disgust.
"This is the boy's bathroom," corrected Ezra.
"That's the sink," added Ben.
Ewan narrowed his eyes. "Right. Right. But, really, do girls still..."
Ben's house was a fifteen-minute walk from the school, in which Ben regretted everything. Ezra tried to get something out of Ewan about Hell, about Heaven, angels, demons, what have you, but Ewan kept his mouth shut, for the time being, relieving Ben of one voice. Ben could tell he was beginning to feel fatigued, though - every now and then he'd step and stumble, or he'd slur out his 'no.' A normal body wouldn't be able to walk at all, so maybe his death was coming slower.
Which made Ben wonder why he was trying to keep the demon alive at all. Stirling was already dead - it wouldn't be a loss for humanity, really.
Which reminded Ben that he'd killed someone today. He'd made someone's heart stop, made them fear him more than anything in their entire life and made them recount everything they'd ever done. Made them want their mom, made them know death was coming and made them unable to say anything about it.
"There's no way this is your house," Ewan growled. His face showed one of disinterest.
Ben lived in a mansion at the end of a neighborhood named Heaven Street. His house number was 124 and the house was pure white with a lovely green lawn littered with even lovelier flowers. Mainly roses and tulips that he'd planted himself out of sheer boredom.
To some extent, this house felt like home. To some extent, he felt like he could walk into this house and be happy. But it also felt wrong to even associate this house with a home. He couldn't tell what he truly thought about this house most of the time - couldn't really tell if he thought it was nice-looking or gross, too big or too empty. Sometimes it was just a house. And sometimes it could be a home.
"I'm gonna go in first and look for Tiana. Take Stirl... Ewan into my room through the back," said Ben, putting his hands in his pockets. He still had blood on him, and he sucked in a sharp breath, nervously looked to Ezra.
When the sightless boy noticed no one was talking, he clicked his tongue and sighed. "Right," he whispered. "You're probably covered in blood. Let me just... I'll..." He bit his lip and went about removing his jacket.
"I'll wash it." Saying this, Ben put on the jacket and glanced over to the other. He saw Ezra's shoulders slouch in relief.
It was a dark blue puffer jacket with Ezra's initials embroidered into the collar by his mom. It was a special jacket to Ezra for understandable reasons.
As the door opened, he was instantly bombarded with the scent of cookies. It was a trick Tiana had taught him a year ago to make houses smell more inviting - just always have two essential oils going: cinnamon and vanilla. It always worked on Ben at first, but soon it became difficult for him to appreciate the smell when he knew what he was walking in to.
"Tiana?" called Ben.
"Upstairs, love," she called back, her voice unnaturally pleasant.