A Demon and His Brit. ((Demon!America x Human!England.))

Please Just Stay Dead.

          There was a break from college, which was unfortunate for Arthur. He doesn't know how long it's been since he last saw Alfred, maybe two weeks or so? But he couldn't exactly tell. He was certain the demon would return to him maybe after a day at most, but now he was certainly worried. Though he was somewhat happy that this confusion was out of his life; he couldn't stop thinking about the previous events, were the real or were they just some form of elaborate dream. He didn't know anymore. A part of him wanted life to go back to normal. He missed his boring life, he missed Antonio, he missed not having to be on the lookout for demons, or other monsters trying to kill him.

But what if it really wasn't real?
Did he just make up this elaborate hallucination?
Has he gone insane? Is he schizophrenic? Is he in a coma and this is all a dream?

He didn't know any of the answers to these questions. 

Maybe he is just seeing things. He used to when he was a child, so why should it no carry on? Everything he saw, everything he heard, everything he felt seemed so real back then, but he realised they were just ghosts, or his own imagination, he wasn't sure.  He Hoped it was ghosts, as strange as that sounds. It's odd that someone would want a strange incorporeal being to haunt them, especially a poltergeist, or something worse.
Arthur had encountered a poltergeist when he was a teenager. They feed off of negative energy and, let's face it, all teenagers are negative.  He could never actually see them, but he knew there was something. Honestly he thought they were more annoying than anything; breaking lights, closing doors, making floorboards creak, leaving gouges in his flesh on his back. It was startling at first, but he learnt to accept it. He barely noticed the slashes, until they bled. He still had a few scars even though he must have been sixteen the last time he noticed it happening. 

At the moment, he felt like he was in the waiting room of a slaughter house, waiting his until his inevitable passing. He needed to do something, he didn't know what it was but it had to be something. 

Arthur glanced at the clock. 7:42 at night. The sun was starting set and it looked like it would be a cold, still night. He threw on a heavy jacket over his tracksuit bottoms he had been sleeping in and an old band shirt, quickly sliding his feet into his combat boots before walking out. 

There wasn't many people out; mainly just wanderers like himself or people returning from a later shift in work. The Brit quickly stopped off at a 24 hour store before continuing on his path. Initially he had no idea where he was going, until he realised he was unintentionally making his way to the river that was close by. It was a pretty peaceful place, so long as no teens were out knacker drinking in the park next to it. He had joined a few people to the drinking session there when he was younger, but it was only the one time. It's not that he didn't like it, it was just he felt vulnerable. Vulnerable because of the people or by the drink making him see or hear things again. 

When he arrived at the park it was already pitch black, and no one was there.  He took a few breaths, noticing the his breath in the air. The street lights along the paths were dim, a few not even working, and a smaller few flickering. He started walking for awhile until he came across a small section with only a wooden fence securing him from the bank of the river. He leaned against the fence, looking into the water that was darker than the night. The river was full, but not ready to burst its banks yet. 

Arthur waited a moment before taking out a packet of newly bought cigarettes from his coat pocket. He tore off half of the plastic, opening the carton and taking out the slim stick of tobacco.  He put the filter in his mouth and lit the other end, inhaling deeply until he let the flame disappear. 
He wasn't a smoker - but he has smoked. Really he was just a child back then, and did it for the sake of it. It never stuck with him though.

He managed to hold back a cough before taking another drag. The lit end illuminated the water below him as he inhaled. He didn't cough that time. Time seemed to pass slowly as he watched the smoke floating into the beams of the streetlights. He was too occupied being lost that he didn't notice that the cigarette was down to the filter, making him drop it out of fright, and resulting in it landing on his hand. Arthur cursed under his breath, kissing the fresh mark on his wrist. He leaned down, reaching out his hand to the water. It was a struggle but the boy managed to sink his hand into the water, cooling the burn. He swore he could feel something wrapping around his hand and his wrist, something long and unforgiving. He quickly pulled his hand up, inspecting it and the new scar. There was nothing there. Must have been an eel or something, he thought.

He sat with his back against the fence, pulling out a naggin of white rum out of his pocket. He didn't like drinking, but he didn't like how he was sober at the moment either. He opened the bottle and took a quick gulp of it, scrunching his face at the unfamiliar and strong taste. He could feel it moving down his esophagus, numbing it as it passed. He took a longer drink, his face still scrunching up in protest, but less so now. He could feel himself become dizzy, become carefree, become oblivious to the creature standing behind him.  

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[AN]

so
there ya go
i feel like this is becoming too personal hahahhahaha
Anyway picture is mine