BadBoyHalo: The 808th Demon

-Chapter 18- When You Play with Fire

George didn't trust Jef for a second.

He didn't trust him long before Dream even brought him home. Whether it be because of his bizarre takedown of Skeppy, or the way he slithered and writhed around in his seat, or maybe it was that persistent smile he never bothered retracting— either way, George grimaced behind his glasses at his presence alone. He felt uncomfortable, he felt unsafe.

He felt that Dream was unsafe.

Yet he remained silent, hushed away in his own corner, watching. Watching and listening for the things Dream couldn't. Things? What things? The little things, damn it. The tiny, itty bitty blips that one can only catch a flit of— can only be seen out of the corner of the darting eye. Whenever Dream would look away, George looked for him. Whenever he exhaled, George couldn't help but hastily pull in a breath of his own.

What things.

They were both huddled around a crumpled map of L'manburg. Dream held a cracked pencil waning down to a stub, and messily scribbled what he had fantasized for all this time. His speech was horrendously jittery, words slurring into one another. He was eager. Worse even, he was absolutely falling apart, which could only mean one thing: he was really counting on this boy.

But if only he would just look up. Look up, Dream. Look the hell up. Watch how he drums his grubby fingers on the table, watch how he bares his teeth at you, watch how obvious makes it. He does not care about you— you and your odd endeavors. George was screaming inside, but refused to let such words make it onto his tongue. All he allowed himself to do was simply document what Dream was too excitedly blind to see.

It went on like this for about an hour, all his thoughts still gone unsaid and unsurfaced. As fidgety as Jef was, he was doing a pretty decent job at keeping quiet as well. It wasn't far fetched to guess he wasn't even listening from the start; but George could see that he was restraining himself, who knows from what. Another showdown? Something even worse?

He caressed a small dagger between his fingers from behind his chair. Just for good measure.

Dream tapped on the bottom corner of the map, the wood resounding from underneath. "Tommy's house goes off this way," he strayed his finger to the other side, "and this is where we need to be." Jef stifled a whine, yet Dream continued. "This will be quite an undertaking. You think you're up for it?"

"Sure..." Jef craned his head to face him.

"Great, it is a pleasure working with you." Dream started to fold up the map. "I see you tomorrow."

"Just a minute, you haven't forgotten why I agreed to this in the first place, have you?" His grin was thin and tight. He tossed around a vine in front of Dream's face. "You still owe me information."

Dream pushed back the vine. "What about?"

"About that demon," he straightened himself in his seat. "How did you summon him? Where did you summon him from? Tell me everything you know."

The questions made him freeze. Despite his voice sounding like a tin can, he managed to keep a tone of firm assertiveness. This was what he really wanted out of him.

"What for?" he picked his words carefully.

"I never once questioned your motives, it's only fair that you do the same for mine." More vines crawled out from his sweater, groping at the table and tickling Dream's shoes.

George remained perfectly still as he tightened his grip around the dagger.

Dream cleared his throat. "Well, it all started when I found... it. I was deep in the woods following... someone, when that's when I stumbled upon the little cavern-like place." He clicked his tongue. "Thought it was just a dungeon, but I was soon to be proved wrong later." Jef twisted his head around in interest, like some hypnotized cobra. And he went on. "Two days later, I was buying books in a village and I came across... that one. It explained everything I know about demons and where they come from."

"A book, you say?"

"Yeah."

A pause.

"I assume you want to take a look at it?"

Jef gave a clear, jerky nod. He was on the tips of his toes, attempting to stand taller than Dream, but failing. Dream disappeared into the bedroom to find the book, George taking responsibility to keep watch on the creature who was surely on the brink of losing his mind. He was becoming fidgety and tense, absolutely beside himself, as his vines only grew more out of control. Yet even in his frightening hysteria and borderline insanity, Jef could still feel George's steely gaze on him. He snapped his neck in George's direction, immediately compelling him to look away.

"Afraid?" he hissed.

George swallowed harshly, still staring at the back wall. "No."

"I don't know, you're gripping onto that knife real tight."

That sure gave him a painful jolt of adrenaline. He looked at his yellowed hands now turning pink and sweaty. "H-how did you know?" he muttered.

"You don't even know what I am," Jef snarled back, "let alone treat it like it's no big deal."

It was now George's turn to stiffen in his seat. His eyes were fixed permanently onto the wall, and only the same few thoughts were allowed to replay in his brain. As he felt the vines crawling up his pant leg, his head began to spin, and spin faster. The same appalling conclusions were repeated over and over again.

This kid is dangerous.

This kid, can kill somebody.

This... thing, is going to kill Dream when he gets the chance.

A shuffle resounded from the bedroom, and a pair of footsteps followed. George could only hold his breath. Dream meandered back into the dining room, while the book hung loosely in his hand. He held it out to Jef.

"Don't do it, Dream."

George couldn't believe he had said it.

Jef spun back around, malice written all over his freakish, orange-stained face. Dream poked from behind.

"George, not now..."

"I'm serious, Dream!" George bounced up from his chair, the dagger clattering onto the floor upon ascent. He marched over and and wedged himself between them. He looked at Dream straight in the eyes. "Do not trust him."

"What are you talking about, four eyes?" Jef scoffed. "I scratch his back, he scratches mine, am I right?" The vines were tightening around George's ankles as he said that. Still, he continued to protest, but it turned up unsuccessful. Jef snatched the book and retracted all the vines oozing from himself.

And this was when Dream finally saw it.

"Hey, where are you going?" he shouted. "Get back here! I didn't say you could take it!" Jef was already scurrying out of the front yard. He clutched the book tightly to his chest as he dashed away, with absolutely no intention of returning it. Dream prepared to chase after him, before there was a violent tug at the hood of his sweater.

"Dream, no!" George practically screamed at him.

"He just went off and took it! I have to get it back!" he spat. "He had no intentions of holding up his end! It's not fair!" He threw his arms behind him to smack off his grip, and charged out the door with all the anger a man could carry. This really was all a mistake. He played with fire, and now had to feel the burn.

George was soon obligated to follow. Picking up his dagger again, he stumbled onto the porch, squinting away the brightness of the afternoon sun to find the two figures galloping along the horizon. Every beat of his heart was punching at his throat. This was bad— really, really bad. And the worst part of it all, was that he didn't know what to do about it. He just was running. What he was to do when he caught up to them was beyond him. All that was on his mind currently to make sure Dream was—

THWACK!

A hissed crack echoed across the field, followed by a bloodcurdling howl.

George let the dagger fall a second time, as well as his knees.