Chapter Text
Robert would never call himself a fraud, not to anyone who understood the meaning, at least. And Betsy was a different story since she would never judge him. Over the course of his life he had convinced countless strangers that he was more than what he appeared. But it didn’t change the fact that he was a liar and storyteller who had never done half the things he conned them into believing. Now, he had a new story for his arsenal that was for once, one-hundred percent true. Yet at the same time it was so ridiculous he wasn’t even sure he could quite believe it all despite living through it himself.
Demons were real, and God knew what else existed out there.
Being a normal, healthy, human being, Robert Small was rightly terrified of many things. The Dover Ghost, entropy, Jacob dying without him and Stacey ever confessing their love for each other in the series finale The Good Hunter, and now demons were also part of the list. Life was short and humans were damn squishy, a healthy dose of fear was something that kept you alive.
Right now, he was terrified that Joseph Christiansen was about to die in his bed.
After the chaos of the fight and the exorcism, he and Mary had taken the ‘vessel’ they had known as Joseph Christiansen to the safest place he could think of – Robert’s own house. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t the safest of hiding spots, because it seemed to be only a matter of time before the authorities came knocking on a neighbor’s door. But there were only so many places you could bring a dying man in a priest uniform when you were both covered in his blood.
They had carried the unconscious man from Robert's car to his bedroom, the garage was one small mercy saving them from the awkwardness of potential witnesses. Together, he and Mary had stripped off Joseph’s clothes and cleaned up as much of the blood as they could manage. Then they’d dug through his first aid kit and patched the man – demon – thing – up as best as they could. The wound was clumsily disinfected and stitched together, then inexpertly wrapped. It was only afterward that they had cleaned themselves up, changing out of their own stained clothing and washing away the blood on their skin.
Now, Mary’s husband lay under Robert’s covers, one wrist cuffed to the bedframe, his skin and lips pale from blood-loss. It had been hours since their escape. Dawn light was beginning to filter through from beyond the curtains, and the more Robert stared the more anxious he felt. Robert Small was no doctor, but he was sure that a stab wound like that needed far more than the hasty home-treatment they had provided.
“We need to take him to a hospital,” Robert said from his seat by the bed, fingers tapping against his knee in a nervous rhythm. “He’s going to die like this.”
“Ergh, come on,” Mary said. She was curled on the sofa chair in the far corner him, feet bare, with a mug of warm coffee cradled in one hand and Robert’s gun in the other. “We don’t even know if it’s actually human. You saw what happened with the kids.”
Robert felt sick just remembering, the darkness in their eyes, their hollow voices. He’d watched them grow up. Hell, Mary had carried and given birth to them, and now… He could hardly imagine how she must be feeling, knowing that the children she had loved and cared for were little more than fragments of some demonic being, uncertain if there had ever been a real person inside of that handsome shell she had fallen in love with.
“But what if he – it – is?” Robert said, the urgency draining from his voice. God, he wanted a drink. “You saw the black smoke pouring out of him. That detective would never have let us leave if there was still demon left in him.”
“I’m not taking the risk, Robert,” Mary said quietly, and there was emptiness in her voice that gave him pause. “I’m not letting any more innocent people die.”
Mary was right, even if Robert hated hearing it. He knew of the body count. Hell, Marilyn's accident had probably… The mere thought of it made his fury burn hot in his veins. They had to be safe. They had to be sure. They couldn’t let any more innocent people lose their lives to this… thing.
Yet it looked so human like this. The soft blond hair, the sweep of pale lashes pressed against its cheeks… It seemed every bit the fragile and breakable kind of being Robert himself was. And if the man they once knew was still somewhere inside there… If the real Joseph died like this…
Robert let out a jagged sigh, sinking even deeper into his seat. “Shit.”
-
They waited.
Minutes ticked by, and then hours, uncaring of the exhaustion of the pair keeping vigil. The entire time, Joseph didn’t so much as stir, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only thing that told them he was still alive. Twice, Robert caught himself almost nodding off, waking up with a start each time as his head drooped too close to his chest.
Just before six a.m., Mary snuck back to her home. Someone still had to be around to act surprised when the actual police showed up to announce her husband was missing at sea. The weapon was placed back in Robert’s charge, and he was left alone with a stern order to call as soon as anything happened.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
It was almost eight when Robert’s growling stomach finally pushed him into the kitchen. Their prisoner still seemed to be out cold. And Robert figured he could get away with making himself a quick meal so he didn’t starve to death while he waited. Passing by a curious Betsy, he gave her a quick scratch behind the ears and filled up her food and water. Then, he shoved two slices of bread into the toaster and pulled the carton of eggs from the fridge. With a quick sprinkling of cheese, salt, and pepper, it took only a few minutes to scramble them on the stove.
With his plate of food and a fork in hand, Robert walked back to the bedroom and almost had a heart attack.
Joseph’s eyes were open, and staring blankly up at the ceiling. The moment Robert entered, they moved to watch him, and Robert was suddenly keenly aware that his gun was still tucked in the back of his jeans. The fork in his hand was the only thing he had that resembled a weapon. For a long moment, he stood there rooted to the spot, bracing for some sort of violent, instant death.
“You’re awake,” Robert said when nothing happened, the weight of that blank gaze becoming too much to bear. He was still breathing, so Robert took it as a sign that it was safe to approach. Slowly, he walked back toward his seat, hyperaware of the way Joseph’s eyes followed him. “Bet you’re not feeling too good after all that.”
Joseph stared at him, expressionless.
All of it was shooting straight past uncomfortable toward the profoundly disturbing, and a frown soon formed on Robert’s face. What was going on? He honestly hadn’t known what he’d expected when Joseph woke up, but this complete lack of reaction wasn’t it. Just to be safe, he put his plate down and pulled out his gun.
“Don’t try anything you might regret,” he said, awkwardly threatening a man who hadn't so much as blinked since Robert walked into the room.
Joseph’s eyes went to the gun, then back to Robert. He still wore that expressionless look on his face, and Robert felt increasingly silly for waving the gun around.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he mused, wondering if this was some sort of game it was playing. “What? Lost your voice?”
Joseph blinked, and all of a sudden, alarm flickered across his face. Robert let out a breath, relieved at finally seeing some sort of reaction from the man in front of him.
“Oh.” Joseph’s voice was barely more than a murmur.
“Look,” Robert said, “I don’t know what your deal is. Are you human?”
Joseph ignored his question, bewilderment in his expression as he stared up at the ceiling. Suddenly, he tried to get up, but fell back into the bed with a sharp gasp as he jostled his injuries. His free hand flew to his shoulder as his face twisted with pain.
Robert took half a step back in surprise, raising his gun.
“Fuck that hurts,” Joseph said through gritted teeth, his breath coming in harsh pants.
Robert’s eyes went wide at the unexpected sound of Joseph swearing. “Yeah, it would,” he said, carefully studying the man before him for for any sign of... anything. “You’ve been stabbed.”
Joseph still paid him no attention. The man was staring at his own hand like it held the answers to existence. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist, then opened it again. He repeated the motion, over and over, twisting his arm on his uninjured side, lifting his elbow, staring at the back of his hand, then at his palm, all the while looking like he couldn’t understand what was happening.
Robert faltered, watching all of it unfold. Joseph had the look of some alien creature discovering his human body for the first time, and all of it was pointing to something deeply unsettling.
Slowly, he lowered his gun. “You okay there?”
“He’s gone,” Joseph breathed, his face steadily lighting up with wonder. His gaze flew to Robert, and there was a delight there that made Robert feel sick.
“Who’s gone?”
Joseph frowned at him, half rolling his eyes. “You know exactly who.”
“You remember,” Robert said, his grip tightening again on his weapon. “You know what’s been happening? What it’s being doing with… your body?”
Joseph tried to shrug, an attempt which was quickly aborted with a pained wince. He was still flexing his hand, fingers dancing to some kind of inner rhythm. “More or less.”
Robert lifted his gun again. “Then give me one reason I should trust you.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Joseph said, going still as he eyed Robert’s gun. There was no fear or worry in his voice, only mild curiosity, as though Robert’s answer didn’t truly matter. The man in front of him looked resigned, exhausted and weary in the same way Robert felt on the inside, and Robert has never felt so out of his depth in his entire life. Mary wasn’t here and no one had fucking trained him for a situation like this. How was he actually supposed to judge if this version of Joseph Christiansen wasn’t still dangerous? If he wasn’t just another, bigger version of those demonic children who had vanished in that in-between world? The truth was, the safest thing to do would simply be to kill him. But the last thing Robert wanted was an innocent life on his hands – if there was an innocent life here in front of him at all.
“I haven’t made up my mind,” Robert said with practiced calm, knowing better than to let his frustrations show. “Do you know who I am?”
Joseph’s gaze fell upon him, and there was something soft in the way he regarded Robert that only made his discomfort grow. “You’re Robert.”
Robert let out a breath. “Okay. How much do you remember?”
“Enough to know why you’re pointing a gun at me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Who are you?” Robert pushed, gesturing with his gun to make his point. “What are you?”
“Well…” Confusion crossed Joseph’s face, as though he wasn’t sure of the right answer. “I’m… Joseph Christiansen.”
“So that’s your real name?”
“Yeah,” Joseph replied, more confident this time. “I was born with it.”
“Are you human?” Robert continued. This was progress, at least.
“Um,” Joseph’s blue eyes widened. “I… I don’t really know.”
Instinctively, Robert stiffened, taking half a step back, finger tightening against the trigger.
“I mean, you could kill me,” Joseph continued, brow wrinkling. He looked as confused as Robert was. “Just to be sure.”
Robert’s mouth fell open. “You want me to kill you?”
“Sure.” Joseph looked up at him, blue eyes clear and terrifyingly guileless.
The gun in Robert’s hand suddenly felt like it weighted a hundred pounds. He stared, speechless. “I… What happened to you?”
“I got… possessed by a demon, I guess?”
“I figured out that much,” Robert said. “How long?”
Joseph frowned, brow furrowing with thought. “I’m… thirty-eight, I think? So that’d make it around… twenty years.”
Twenty years. That went back to the previous century, back before Joseph had met him, had met Mary. Robert didn’t even want to think about what it meant for Joseph to have this trouble remembering his own age.
“But you… lived a human life before that?”
“Yeah,” Joseph said. “I mean, you know my family history, right? I grew up here in the town. My father was the church minister.”
Robert did, but some part of him had believed that it had been made up, just like everything else about Joseph’s perfect image.
“You said you used to be different,” Robert said with growing understanding, “that you always did whatever you wanted.”
Joseph smiled then, hollowness in his eyes. “Then religion found me.”
Robert remembered the embarrassed confessions of the Joseph Christiansen he once knew – the stories about his misspent youth, about how stunned everyone around him had been when he decided to follow in his father’s footsteps. The whispers he had heard of how Joseph used to be a completely different person, the rebellious wild child with his tattoos and colored hair. It had been something laughed about within the community, the passing phase of an edgy teen before he settled as a wholesome family man and grew into a respected community leader. Robert had laughed with them, disbelieving yet more than a little bit intrigued. Thinking back, it had been his urge to uncover that side of Joseph that had led to everything between them, those fleeting moments when he had thought it was love.
“How religious do you feel now?” Robert said. He didn’t know what he was feeling anymore, some mix of pity and hope and doubt that he couldn’t quite reconcile with that instinctive fear and disgust that Joseph’s face still inspired in him.
His words got him a weak smile. “I can’t say prayer has ever worked for me. Though since we’re both here and alive… maybe I should be thanking God after all.”
Robert fell silent, staring at the man in front of him and realizing that there was no way he could pull the trigger anymore. Hell, he didn’t know if he ever would’ve. Everything Joseph had said was making too much sense for him to just dismiss it all. And even if this wasn’t the truth, Joseph seemed to have no plans to hurt him. Perhaps he was too weak to fight with an injury after the being inside him had been expelled.
Or perhaps the man in front of him was just another human, and the demon’s biggest victim of all.
He lowered his gun. Joseph frowned, watching him, uncertain.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Are you sure?” Joseph said, and the way he looked at the gun seemed almost wistful. “If it comes back, it might possess me again. It’s dangerous to let me live.”
“Fuck.” Joseph’s words only reminded Robert of how much he was not equipped to handle this conversation. “It’s really still out there?”
Joseph nodded.
Now Robert really needed a drink.