Young Writers Society

Giggling. He giggled when he said that. Even in his stupor, something about that landed wrong with Cornyx. That should've been a source of pain, shame, even guilt, and then he said that he was...born without them. That shouldn't have been possible.

His eyes narrowed a little as he gazed at Angel. Normally, he would've kept silent and kept an eye on it, but he was drunk, and when he was drunk, he was impulsive. And generally a bit more on the aggressive end. The demon sat up, turning to look down at the other man.

"I don't believe you," he said. "It's not that easy to lie to the Devil." He paused, the suspicion plain on his face, countenance set in a deep frown, then seemed to come to some sort of conclusion in his hazed mind that calmed him. "Whatever. I don't give a f***. Just don't like, stab me or something."

He ignored the comment about Not-Cain being the Devil. Another bell rung, somewhere, but he silenced it. He knew that Hell-Hell - not the prison he had up in Heaven - had some kind of ruler. He guessed calling that person the Devil wasn't out of the question, or maybe Not-Cain just liked making Devil jokes. He knew he would, if he was a demon.

He giggled a little.

"I'd never stab you," he earnestly said, leaning over and giving him a little poke in the chest with a finger. "I like you too much to. If you do anything...bad, then it's a moral obligation to stop you. But I...I think we could have a heart-to-heart again instead of fighting, right?"

His head drooped a little.

"I like you, Cain," he repeated. He knew he was just about to fall asleep, and he had to get that out there before he did.

Moral obligation. There seemed to be a lot of those around Cornyx, although he had a tendency to kill most of them, because otherwise they wanted to kill him and he didn't exactly want to die. He didn't generally want heart-to-hearts, either, but apparently intoxication sort of just killed whatever boundaries he usually attempted to have.

"I like you, too," he mumbled, and that was the last thing he uttered before the darkness that infringed upon the edges of his consciousness overtook him.



It'd been a while since Cornyx had enough to drink to muddle his mind, and years since he'd had enough that, when he woke up, he wasn't sure where he was or who he was with or what in the hell had happened the night before. What he did know was that he was in a hotel room.

It was an average hotel room. One bed, a window, a mediocre desk. His head was pounding and his ears were ringing and he'd barely taken all this in before he felt his stomach churn. Oh, good f****** god, he couldn't believe himself.

He stumbled to his feet, barely glancing at the rainbow-adorned guy who he'd passed out next to. He was pretty sure they'd just been talking about...angels...? He hadn't outed his identity, had he?

Whatever happened last night, stayed last night. He probably woke up a bit before the other man would--his metabolism was spectacularly rapid, thanks to his species--and he snatched his mask up before promptly going out the door. Through the door, into the hall, to the elevator, down to the first floor. Where was he? How did he even get back?

He scrambled for his glasses, shoving them on as the whirring of the elevator shrieked in his sensitive ears, and leaned heavily against the wall. He was lightheaded, dizzy, nauseous...He needed some Advil. And some water. And to get back to Runi.

He dialed her, bringing the phone to his ear as he half-stumbled out into the lobby and onto the street. Pick up, pick up, pick up...

Runi woke up feeling hungover.

She wasn't seriously drunk the night before, but it was just enough to bug her. And just enough for her to realize that Cornyx hadn't come home with her, but not worry about it until she saw that he was calling her. Everything suddenly came rushing back to her: the bar, the going their separate ways, the failing to interact with anyone on a meaningful level, and the text from Cornyx about going to the room of some random guy he met.

She hurriedly pick up the phone.

"Cornyx!" she said. "Are you okay? I saw your text, but I was too drunk and didn't think about it until I saw you called me because God this is a bad hangover-"

He winced at the volume of her voice, pulling it away from his ear until she finished talking. Lord, he felt horrendous. He wasn’t sure how much he’d had to drink but it’d been too much. Way too much.

Then, his...text? What text? He must’ve sent her something before going off to the room with that guy.

“Uh...Yeah, I’m fine, I just...don’t know the town. And my phone is dying so I can’t just use maps. Or, rather, I don’t know where I am in relation to you and therefore can’t get back.” This was the absolute worst kind of phone call to make. The, ‘I dig myself into a hole because of my own stupidity and damage and now need you, lucky person, to dig me out of it!’ phone call. “And I obviously can’t just go home, so, uh...can you...come and get me...? I’m at the hotel that’s like a block away from the pride thing.”

Luckily, Runi knew exactly what hotel he was talking about. It didn't take long for her to get there and pick him up, and took even less time to get back to her apartment with him in tow. She had thought her hangover was bad, but his was far worse. It was bad enough to remind her of what he had been like when they first met in Grimmore - and before, well, everything - and bad enough for him to need guidance.

Just how much had he drunk?

Thankfully, it was easy getting him into her apartment. She led him over to her bed and tried to get a hang of her own hangover - he definitely had a worse one, and made hers seem easier to handle in comparison.

"So, er, what was he like?" she asked.

He could probably remember something definitive about the man if he tried. He didn’t think he wanted to. It was a can of worms that he left very much alone, because he didn’t understand his feelings and didn’t know how to handle any of it. He didn’t want friends anyways. Friends were...complicated, and ultimately, he was aware of the fact that he hurt people. He couldn’t read them, couldn’t empathize properly, couldn’t see what the emotions were when they came across their face.

“I don’t honestly recall,” he said, sitting down on the foot of her bed and shooting her a faint smile of thanks.

Over ten years sober and for some stupid reason that he didn’t want to decode. He sighed, resting his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand. He’d rather be there with Runi than home and prayed that he wouldn’t appear there in this attire with this hangover.

He sat there for a minute, then forced himself to his feet and went into the bathroom, making himself drink the same water. It’d make things better in the long run.

Thirteen years sober, now back to none. Ugh.

Runi gave him a long, hard look.

She tried to resist the urge to follow him to the bathroom when he went to get some water, but quickly gave in and joined him. She gave him that judging look again. They were friends. She knew him. And she knew that he very well remembered something about the guy he had gone with, or else he wouldn't have gone with him in the first place.

"Are you sure you don't recall anything?" she asked.

"Positive," he maintained, and maintained it to himself, too. He didn't remember anything from the night before. Not getting to the hotel room, not talking to Angel, absolutely zilch.

The demon didn't meet her eyes. In fact, he rather pointedly avoided the look she gave him entirely, instead rooting around until he found the Advil and popping a couple of them down his throat before sliding them across the counter to her. Now to get his proper clothing.

She gave him the look again.

"Uh-huh," she slowly said, leaning up against the doorway. She didn't believe it in the slightest, but something told her he wasn't going to spill anytime soon. She resisted the urge to sigh - she'd just have to figure out how to get answers from him later.

And then there was a knock on the door.

She stepped out of the bathroom and stared at the door to her apartment. Her only friend was inside, and she hadn't ordered anything.

So who was knocking?

Whoever it was, they cleared their throat and started talking. Runi was surprised to realize how familiar the voice was, even though the soft tone was something she had only heard a few times.

"Hi," the man on the other side of the door said. "Is Cain here? I needed to ask him some-shit, this hangover is bad."

Runi raised an eyebrow.

"It seems like he remembers last night," she said. Giving him a look again, she started to head towards the door.

"Just a minute!" she said, her voice loud enough for the mysterious man to hear. She glanced back at Cornyx and gestured at the door. Did he want her to open it, and did he want her to tell the guy that "Cain" - who she was pretty sure was some alias Cornyx had come up with last night - was standing a few feet away?

That voice. He shot a glare at Runi as she commented on the man at the door and chose to remain silent lest he be heard through the threshold. Cain. His drunken self, having to fall back on his birth name because he was so unable to come up with anything better.

F****** hell.

He watched as she started over to it, casting him a questioning glance. No. She couldn't open that door. He did not want to talk to the man behind it. He shook his head, making that sentiment perfectly clear. Absolutely not--or at least, don't tell him that he was there. Please.

"Please," the man begged, his desperation clear in his voice.

"I need help, and he's the only one I can go to-God-" Was that a barely hidden snort after God? "-this sounds like a confession. But I really need his help, and I heard he came here when I asked around."

Runi glanced back at Cornyx.

She wanted to respect his wishes, but the man sounded so desperate. The least she could do was open the door and talk through the crack.

She opened the door.

And then immediately went stumbling back, door swinging open, because she knew exactly why he sounded so familiar.

It was...

"God," Runi whispered.

She opened the door, and the look of surprise came over her face in moments. A single, whispered word through her lips: God.

Then he saw the man who he'd failed to recognize the night before.

The room stank of mildew and dust and that telltale dampness of rotting wood. The mattress was flat, holes worn into its sides, and the door was hanging halfway off its hinges, leaving the hungover boy asking the question of where he was. He couldn't remember anything from the night before. He didn't see anyone else, though, and that was strange.

There was a creak and a clunk as the door shuddered open, leaving a man in its wake. He looked like some goth spin on Supernatural: black leather jacket, black tank top, black pants, black combat boots, black backpack, completely monotone but for the wooden cross around his neck, but none of those were what caught Cornyx's eye. It was the studded bat swung over his shoulder like Steve Harrington's, except that it had a lot more nails.

A few stammered words were exchanged. Then, finally, the soon-to-be-called 'Dean' let up on his questioning. "Well," he said, "I suppose that's a good thing. Otherwise I would have to swing this bat at you, and something tells me you would not like it."

He kept the bat rested on his shoulder, then continued, surprisingly amiably considering the thinly-veiled threat. "So, what do you call yourself?" He pointed at his chest with his free hand. "You can call me Dean."

Cornyx's eyes widened, the surprise flashing across his countenance before he pulled it back. No, no, no--that wouldn't do. Apathy. He had to maintain his mask.

The silence stretched for what felt like eternity but was probably mere milliseconds before Cornyx abandoned his hopes of avoiding 'Angel.'

"Well," he observed, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway, "I did not expect to see you on the other side of that door. I think I liked 'Dean' better than 'Angel,' by the way, and the bat really complements your look in a way rainbows just...don't. Real fashion statement."

He had a job he needed to do.

God hadn't been all that aware of that fact last night when he was drunk, but the job he had come here to do in the first place was at the forefront of his mind when he woke up, hungover, that morning. That and how Cain had left him after a single night. If it wasn't for the job, he would have let it be. But he didn't have anyone he could get in contact with in time besides Cain, so he asked around and figured out where his friend's apartment was.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A simple request, from angel to demon. One night stand aside, anyways.

But while it hadn't exactly clicked last night, it clicked when he saw the two standing near each other: the friend was Runi, and Cain was...

Cornyx Blackthorne.

Cornyx, the guy who had kidnapped his brother. The guy who he hated on principle. The guy who he always regretting barging in on - if he had only known the truth, he would have been far more gentle that second meeting.

The conversation from the night before came rushing back at him, and he was cursing his own stupidity for not realizing it before now. Everything he was talking about fit him being the ruler of Hell - he had even called himself the Devil once! And God had looked at his soul. He had seen Cornyx's soul before. He should have recognized it and saved himself the heartbreak-

Oh, great. He was feeling heartbroken over Cornyx Blackthorne. Nice one, God, falling in love with the most unattainable guy of all.

"I try to change it up," God said, shrugging. He was trying to not let on how heartbreaking this whole reveal was - he had felt a connection last night. He really had. And it sucked that the connection was with Cornyx Blackthorne and not someone else - that he thought he found a kindred spirit in Cain.

(He knew he had. But accepting it meant accepting that he wanted to be with Cornyx more than he was letting on, and he knew he couldn't handle that.)

"Well," God said, "I should probably be going, then-"

"Wait," Runi interrupted. She glanced between the two of them. "You said you needed his help."

God shook his head. He did, but he'd have to find someone else. He still had a few hours to go - it wouldn't be that hard to find someone, would it?

Runi crossed her arms. "You sounded pretty desperate."

"I can handle it," he said, giving a strained smile as he started to walk away.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. "I, er, don't really know what you need help with, but I want to help if I can-"

He snorted and came to a stop a few inches from the door.

"You can't," he said. "I need someone like Cain-Cornyx."

There was a twinge in his chest when Dean shrugged and then turned to leave. Some part of him wanted to say see? I told you so; I told you that you would hate me if you knew me. You do hate me because you know me. You don't want the man behind the mask.

Why didn't Runi just let him go? He could go fix whatever problem he had on his own. He was God. And Cornyx didn't tend to walk around doing people favors for free.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, holding onto the ice. He wasn't about to go showing any of his thoughts on his face. Not when they were bitter like that. There was no reason for it, either; nothing to be bitter about. Bitterness only came from things like hurt and why would he feel that? Dean didn't like him. Dean had never liked him. Dean was just...Dean.

He hadn't even meant to kidnap that Lucifer.

"Well, then it seems beneficial to you to put aside our personal little thing," Cornyx observed calmly from the sidelines. "I'm probably not magically appearing back at home any time soon and however long it'll take to help probably won't determine whether or not Apophis gets that throne he's been hoping for. What is it you need in spite of this godawful hangover, Mr. Dean?"