Demons and Diners

Dares and Dances

As the remaining party guests slowly trickle from the diner, I sit at the counter and watch Phil. He's worked his way mostly around the room, pausing whenever an injury requires his attention, and everyone seems to have the most sincere admiration for him. Whatever this is, it's not anything like the organizations I'm used to working with.

PJ, helping Chris stand from his spot in the booth, catches my attention and beckons me over. I wrap one of Chris' arms around my neck, and he grunts as we help him walk toward the living quarters.

"Guys, really, I'm-" he's cut off by a wince before continuing, "fine, I can walk by myself!" His protests are met with eye-rolls from both me and PJ, and we continue to march him down the hall. I stop, seeing Chris' name placard on the door, but PJ continues.

"He's, uh, gonna stay in my room for tonight," I raise an eyebrow at him, and he ducks his head. "Just to make sure he's okay, y'know," I blink a few times, but shuffle along as we bring Chris - who's eyes have fluttered closed - to PJ's room. He swings open the door, then pokes an elbow into Chris' ribs.

"Hey, you got hit on the head - no sleeping tonight, in case you've got a concussion," we manage to snake sideways through the entrance, and the door shuts behind us as we drop Chris onto the bed.

"Hmm?" He looks up at us, and I stand to the side as PJ looms over him.

"You can't sleep, you might have a concussion," he repeats, then he's suddenly very flustered and crossing his arms across his chest. "Quit that!"

It's not quite a shout, and Chris is grinning despite his disheveled state. "Make me," Chris is staring at PJ - who's still very red and can't find a place for his eyes to settle - when it clicks.

"Oh," my eyebrows hit the ceiling and I'm already backing away. "I, uh, should probably..." I don't even finish the sentence, turning on a heel and fumbling with the handle. I'm in the hall a moment later, and it strikes me just how slow my brain is. Okay, no more of that demon champagne for me, I can't afford to be twelve steps behind whatever's going on.

My own cheeks have flushed, recognizing the awkward situation I narrowly avoided, but I'm actually happy for the two. I turn, pause for a moment to orient myself, then turn again in the correct direction before setting off down the hall toward my room.

I stare at my feet, watching the steps they take so as not to trip and fall, when a loud bang startles me. Not an explosion, I don't think, I swing my head around, looking for any signs of destruction, when my eyes catch on the placard of the door I'm standing beside. Phil.

"Phil?" I call through the door, knocking a few times. Is he okay? Did something happen? There's no response for a moment, and my concern nearly doubles. "Phil!" I shout, knocking more frantically now. I yelp when the door swings inward, my arm still raised in the air, but it drops and I exhale slowly as I see the figure hunched on the corner of the bed.

"Dan?" Phil looks up sharply, face a mixture of anger and confusion. "I didn't-" he stops, shaking his head. Then I'm taking in the situation - his hand is bleeding, and the wall beside him has a matching fist-sized hole in it. "You should just go, get some sleep," his voice is quiet, but he doesn't close the door - at this point, I have to assume he could've, even from where he's sitting - so I step inside.

"Are you okay?" I ask, matching his soft tone. Wow Dan, what a great question - does he look okay? I curse my shit wording, stepping farther inside and gingerly lowering myself to sit on the edge of the bed. "I mean, I guess you're not, but are you...uh, I mean, is there anything...do you want, uh..." he hasn't stopped me from my incessant rambling, so I trail off and look his way.