Ewan sat in the back of an awkwardly small classroom. There were three groups he could've sat with - six children on devices, eight girls with weird kits out that contained powder that they put on their face, and three boys that sat in the back with numbers on their shirts, all grey and white.
The boys were the only ones he found remotely relatable, as they all looked to not care and didn't look interested in the strange packs of paper they held.
Sliding into a seat to the left of one, he set Stirling's bag on the floor. It was a simple black bag with some random trinkets on the sides, ranging from a water bottle to some very, very fluffy blob that did nothing but look interesting - though it did make opening the bag easier, as he grabbed it and pulled and suddenly it was open.
After peering in, he found one pack of paper of his own. It was labeled "Hideous Creatures" with a blue, mysterious background. A shark rested there, looking as though it was eating the words on the page. Ewan raised an eyebrow, opening it to reveal far too many words that inundated his vision, making him dizzy.
Hurridly, he shut it.
"I don't want to read," he said abruptly. Ben said not to talk, but he didn't quite care. Surely not reading wouldn't ruin Stirling's reputation.
The three looked up in unison, glancing between one another before the one with brown hair grinned. "Wager finally getting the hang of things, huh?" he asked. He was shorter than his friend but he looked oddly buff, muscles protruding from his skin like unhealthy lumps.
The other one - a taller one with dark skin and black hair weaved into their own individual strings that Ewan found absolutely beautiful - spoke up. "How about we talk about the basketball game tomorrow?" He had a rather deep voice that drew Ewan in instantly, though he found himself drifting off into thought.
The last time Ewan had heard about basketball was when he was torturing a Sinner in Pride. He'd died playing basketball. Originally, Ewan thought he'd gone to Hell wrongly - usually, people who died doing what they loved went to Heaven, originated in Happiness. But this man had gone to Hell and complained the whole time about only his pride. How he'd felt it get crushed beneath him when he broke his neck.
At this point, he'd say he knew everything about basketball.
The problem with Sinners being tortured by demons who were hundreds of years old was that the demons simply knew practically nothing of the Surface. Nothing about new technology, new ideas, new people and influencers. So the demons asked. And the Sinners, eager to get out of torture for if only a minute, spoke slowly and clearly and elaborately.
No such thing had happened with Ewan, as he'd died when nothing interesting was happening.
Sinners' time went by much faster than demons. A majority of their torture was isolation - whenever the demon wasn't there to torture them, they were alone and miserable. Days, for them, was lunch for a demon. They were always eager to get a demon to stay longer than originally intended, even if it meant torture.
It meant someone was there.
It was frowned upon, though, when demons and Sinners spoke. Ewan had a true problem with it and as a result, he didn't torture his Sinners as long as he'd ever intended. He usually let them ramble on and on about whatever life was like then. Sometimes he'd slip in something to torture them - a quickly broken arm, a burst of fire to consume their flesh.
Sinners couldn't die, of course, else all the torture would be difficult, to say the least. No matter how much shit you put them through, they lived and suffered. And once they became a demon it was like none of it ever happened. Physically, at least.
"... I'm just bummed that I'm - Wager? You good?" asked the shorter one.
Ewan hummed. "Are we still talking about the game?"
"Yes?"
"He might've phased out, George," defended the taller one. He then grinned kindly at Ewan. "Yeah, it's tomorrow. You're point guard."
Ewan exhaled softly. It was no problem, of course, to have a game tomorrow. Ewan could always just levitate the ball into the hoop and, need be, make the other team unable to play. But the idea that he couldn't do anything with Ben during it was frustrating. It'd be a whole few hours wasted on Ewan entertaining this human body - his dead life.
"Coach has been getting under your skin all week about it," he continued. "Stressing you out, telling you not to 'disengage,' all that... What does 'disengage' mean?"
"Um..." Ewan wondered what it was about. What did Stirling have to be disengaged about? Or what did it even mean? Not like it mattered, which was an oddly uncomfortable thought. "I'm not sure."
The third boy that had, up until now, been entirely silent, chimed in, "He's depressed."
All eyes turned to him and Ewan tensed up at the sight of a man with narrowed eyes. He spoke slowly as well, making sure his words were well articulated and heard.
His eyes were cast with shadows, a dark black that seemed endless. His jersey number was six and he glared at Ewan with a seething hatred that only came when someone murdered your whole family. Gradually, though, he looked over at George, brushing his messy black hair back to reveal a black eye and a scab to the left of it.
"Saw it in coach's records," he mumbled.
"That's... really invasive, Ryan," said the tall one.
"We all have our things, Trent," Ryan muttered. He glared at Ewan again. "Some of us don't just stand around and do nothing."
Ewan raised an eyebrow. "Who stands around and doesn't do anythin-"
A bell rang, making Ewan jolt and glance around in panic. He'd heard the noise before and Ben had told him to go to class. Did that mean there was another class Ewan had to go to? How many of these were there?
"You better get to class," said Trent, startling Ewan by slamming a hand against his back. "Don't want to miss Rain, right?"
"C-Certainly," Ewan stuttered. He got to his feet and gathered up his bundle of pages, putting it in his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.
Ryan continued to glare at him as he made his way to the door.
Nearly just as he walked out the door, a voice startled him.
"Stirling!" called a girl's voice.
He whipped his head around to find a rather attractive girl - as in if he was straight, he'd certainly be into her - with the biggest smile on her lips.
Putting his hands in his pockets, he watched her approach.
She wore only a bright pink tank top that exposed a majority of her bigger-than-average chest and plump waist with jean shorts that brought light to her tan, equally plump legs. That all topped with flip-flops and long, curly, blond hair that hung down to her elbows. Her make-up consisted of pink lipstick, brown eyeshadow, and dark eyeliner and mascara that made it clear she had fake eyelashes on. But she looked happy as she approached Ewan, opening her arms.
They hugged and Ewan got a whiff of something similar to both alcohol and peaches.
And when his eyes met her bright blue eyes, he could tell she was drunk. Or tipsy, at least.
"I'm sorry, did you bring alcohol to school?" he asked quietly. That certainly didn't seem legal. It couldn't be.
The girl giggled. "Of course I did. Everyone does." She hesitated, then gasped, looking suddenly pitifully sad. "Stirling! Your mom texted me last night and said you had this crazy panic attack last night, something about the two-children law. Baby..." She pouted and reached up to rub his shoulder.
So Stirling had a girlfriend. She wasn't all that bad, all things considered. Ewan let his eyes roam over her figure one more time before he met her eyes and smiled politely, remembering the night before. When he'd felt his chest constrict and his vision get blurry.
And apparently Ben had experienced it, too.
"I was... confused, I guess," he assured. "But I'm fine."
She smiled eagerly. "I'm so glad. Let's go to class - do you need something to drink? It's fireball." She held up her water bottle which, apparently, did not consist of water.
"Do I normally?" he asked, chuckling, trying to make it sound like a joke. He really did want some alcohol but at the same time, there were so many other drinks he could be trying. Not just the same old alcohol he'd had for hundreds of years.
She huffed. "No." Reluctantly, she put the water bottle into her bag.
Alcohol was the only sustenance they got in Hell. No one particularly needed it, per se, and some of them didn't even want it. But some demons liked getting drunk and they also liked having something to bond over other than the torturing and trade-off of souls. Some days, perhaps once every ten years, demons would come together and drink for a week straight.
There were bloody hangovers but no regrets.
"Stirling?"
Ewan blinked absently, casting his gaze to her. "What?" he mumbled.
"Math. We need to go to math class - baby, did you take your pills?" she whispered, taking his hand in her own.
"Sure," he said. "Absolutely."
She huffed in reply but nodded, beginning to guide him to a bright classroom. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sudden change of lighting, but he eventually got his ground and glanced around. There were plenty of kids, all chattering relentlessly, caring about nothing but their own situation.
He ended up sitting behind her, and he leaned in as she spoke to him about absolutely everything in her life. Normally he wouldn't care, but she was on the Surface and she had a whole life that was unique and important in its own sense. He liked the sound of what she did - drinking, partying, even only kissing Stirling because apparently, he was an outrageously anxious little boy. It was an interesting life that was far different than the one he led. Or even the one he could've led.
"Miss Griffin," hissed the teacher. She had the strangest color of lipstick on - something like a dark pink. If pink was mixed with grey, maybe. "Turn around and pay attention."
Rain sighed in irritation and rolled her eyes. She winked at Ewan before turning around and gazing at the whiteboard.
Everything in the classroom was new for Ewan. It was like stepping into the future, though he knew that was exactly what he'd done. Licking his lips, he glanced around before his eyes fell on the window, to the outside. It looked like the parking lot except it had a basketball goal that looked over-used.
And there were plants. Green leaves, brown tree trunks, a blue sky filled with little, pretty clouds. No Beasts, no Wanderers, no firey trenches and no demons. Just kids living their lives.
Some kids were playing basketball, some were standing around, doing absolutely nothing but talking as if they didn't have to do anything with their life. And maybe they didn't. Maybe that was the extent of what they did.
One of which was Ben, who was standing with a girl and the two were talking - well, she was. Ben was looking down at her with a look of actual interest, making eye contact the whole time.
For a second, Ewan managed to feel... jealous. Ben looked different talking to her than when he talked to him. He looked more open, even with his body language. He was still slouched, as usual, but he was turned towards her with an attentive look in his eyes that said he was listening.
But when he spoke to Ewan, he was entirely closed off. Irritated. Cold.
Granted, Ewan had just come from Hell demanding his help. And he did inhabit the body of a dead classmate who'd died tragically and suddenly.
Although, in Ewan's defense, he'd been suddenly transported from Hell to here. Because of Ben - only because of Ben. So he had a right to be frustrated - angry, even.
But he did like the way he was looking at that girl... His eyes were soft and gentle, even the faintest hint of a grin on his lips, and it seemed like she was the only person in the world to him. Like everything else just suddenly didn't exist.
He wanted that.
Even though Ben had secrets, even though it was clear Ben wasn't one-dimensional, even though Ben was clearly more than he let on... Ewan wanted everything to do with him. And it was sickening and confusing.
Letting out a slow sigh through his nose, he directed his attention back to the teacher. She sounded like a metronome, rambling on and on about nothing that mattered. Who cared about shapes and lines and amounts and...
He woke up to his forehead slamming against the desk and a shout of, "Wager fell asleep!"
There were two boys above him - the one from before, Ryan, and another with a particularly well-fitting buzzcut.
"Great Hell," he mumbled, rubbing his face. "Sorry. I'll just... scoot."
A sort of rust came to his taste and he absently raised a hand to his mouth to find blood seeping from his nose, most likely. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced up at the boys above him in baffled confusion.
"That was a very aggressive way to wake someone up."
They both looked very irritated. The other one more-so than Ryan, as he scowled at Ewan with a look of complete distaste that. And although Ewan knew whatever he was mad about wasn't his fault, he felt incredibly guilty.
And, frankly, he also felt a bit scared.
The Not-Ryan had scars littering his face, a particular one spread over his left eye, casting it to a shade of grey rather than the other one, which was black. It looked pretty cool, actually.
Ryan stepped forward, grasping a handful of Stirling's precious, fluffy hair and yanking back with an intensity that made Ewan feel a strange sting in his throat and eyes.
He looked at them down his nose through a narrowed gaze.
"Teacher told us to make sure you were okay," Ryan growled. "So here we are. Making sure you're okay."
"Yes, very okay with a bloody nose," Ewan chimed. "Very nice, fellas."
"Wager finally got some balls," scoffed Not-Ryan. "Listen, don't act dumb, Wager. I saw you talking to Ben. Must've really taken a toll on you, seeing him cut open my face like that."
Ewan chuckled. "Seeing what?"
Ryan yanked his head back, and the boy got closer to his face with a seething glare. "Don't play dumb, Stir. I was telling you about June, and Ben -" He interrupted himself with an aggravated scoff of pure disbelief - "Ben came in and took on all three of us. He's already done something to Terrance today. My mom's making me change schools because of him."
"Ben did that," Ewan mumbled, motioning to the other's face, "to your face? With what, butcher knife?"
"A pencil," hissed Not-Ryan. "And it looks like he did shit to your face, too. Except maybe he gave you the dignity of using his fists."
These were the answers he was needing, but not the ones he was wanting.
"I'll shove my fist up your a-"
This earned him another slam, and this time he tasted more blood. He licked his lips and sighed quietly through his nose, flicking his gaze in aggravation over to the one with his hands in his hair. He could make him stop but he needed the whole story.
Had Ben done something to Stirling?
"Great Hell - okay, why would he do that to you? He clearly didn't have a motive," Ewan snapped. He licked his lips again, glaring up at the two.
"Are you dumb, Wager? You were right there when he told me I was lying. But I wasn't. And it isn't even his business - the point is, Wager, you stood there while me, Ryan, and Adam got beaten up by that kid. And you didn't do anything."
"He did that to you, then," said Ewan, squinting at the gash. He was blind under it, and for some reason, Ewan felt no pity. Not that he usually would, but he felt the other deserved it. "That. Great Hell." He licked his lips nervously. "And he did this to me," he mumbled, referring to his facial wounds.
Fear licked his spine, telling him that yes, it was true. Yes... Ben had done that awful thing to Not-Ryan for no apparent reason. And yes... Ben had killed Stirling. There was no evidence proving otherwise - Ben had all the evidence stacked against him, actually. He'd even been literally caught red-handed... Ewan had just failed to put the pieces together.
This wasn't scary. This was infuriating.
"You sat there, Stirling, in the bathroom stall," hissed the boy with the gash. "While he cut my face open. You watched me bleed all over the floor. I was practically dying and you watched me. I'm surprised he didn't kill you for just listening."
Ewan felt appalled. That Ben had the guts to tell Ewan he hadn't killed someone. In fact, that Ben had the guts to kill someone at all. That Ben didn't think to mention that when Ewan said they were going to be doing good. That he hadn't even mentioned his "hobbies" consisted of ruining people's faces and killing them.
"What do you think, Charlie? Should we cut his face up, too?" demanded Ryan.
But now he had questions for Ben. He couldn't waste time now, not if Ben was actually a terrible child. Terrible enough to have actually killed someone, terrible enough to have cut someone's face open.
"I think you're feeling tired," mumbled Ewan, getting to his feet.
He didn't know where Ben was but he was going to find him.
Both boys yawned loudly and stumbled back, collapsing into the chairs groggily.
But Ewan halted. How would Ben have known if Charlie had been lying? He turned to the tired boy and growled, "And I think you're feeling honest. Did you lie about June? About having sex with her?"
"Pfft," Charlie breathed, "yes. June wouldn't even sit down with a skirt on."
The outside was cold and it tickled his eyes for some reason, bringing fog to his sight as he breathed. He blinked a few times but tears brimmed - not because of how he was feeling upset, surely. Just because it was cold. Demons didn't cry.
Specifically not over pesky mortals who lied about murder.
Lied about everything he was.
Lied about-
Ewan hustled his way outside, gritting his teeth, shoving his thoughts out.
He found Ben standing by the door, his nose, ears, and cheeks tinged red from the cold as well. If Ewan wasn't a raging mess, he'd take time to appreciate the beauty of Ben's appearance. And how he clearly didn't even know about it.
But he was mad. So he couldn't.
"Ben!" Ewan hollered.
The tall boy lifted his gaze over Ezra's head, eyes cast into a look of boredom and innocence at the same time. Ezra tilted his head, turning to the side and likely just listening to Ewan's hurried, irritated footsteps. He mumbled something and Ben only shrugged, mumbling back in the most uninterested fashion.
He didn't know what he'd done, but he would.
Ewan got close enough to the other and shoved him inside, ignoring the stares from onlookers. Both of them were momentarily blinded by the change in lighting, and Ben seemed to take the opportunity to shove the other back. He glared at Ewan, who stumbled only slightly before gaining his ground and clenching his fists.
"You didn't even think to tell me you actually killed Stirling?" hissed Ewan.
Ben's eyes went wide, and he glanced around. His expression was lit with panic - an emotion, finally, and something he was supposed to be feeling. Something he deserved to be feeling.
"Oh, geez," whispered Ezra. He cleared his throat awkwardly, announcing, "Crazy, huh... Things are... definitely crazy... but clearly, Stirling isn't dead so Ben didn't kill anyone, okay? Ben hasn't killed anyone ever. He's a saint. Ben's a complete saint."
Ewan growled and shoved Ben into the bathroom, where he then narrowed his eyes. "When?" he demanded. "When, if ever, were you going to tell me you were the one responsible for Stirling's death?"
"It wasn't really on my list of things to tell a demon," Ben muttered. He didn't look scared anymore, just inconvenienced. His hands were shoved carelessly into his pockets and he even had a nonchalant slouch in his figure that said anything but 'I care.'
"We're doing the Lord's work, dumbass," Ewan continued. His hands trembled with rage as he attempted to pull the silver Enchantment from his pocket. After some struggle, he got it and shoved it in Ben's face. "This - I - do you even know what this is? What it does?"
In all honesty, even Ewan didn't know what it did. It was some sort of weird mesh between Hell and Heaven's Enchantment's, left with a shape that didn't make sense but had a Heavenly objective.
Ben only raised an eyebrow in response.
"This Enchantment - the one God gave me, Ben - is a Heavenly object that requires the work of two good people." Ewan let out a slow breath through his nose. He was going to sound calm. He was going to put effort into articulating his words and not sounding like a raging demon. He was going to make Ben understand that what he'd done was completely unacceptable and, in fact, a very giant hindrance. "You failed to mention that, a, you slit open someone's face and blinded him in one eye and that, b, you killed Stirling. Both of those things make doing good things difficult."
Raising his hand, he frantically gestured to his face. The blood. The welling wounds. "And he did this to my face, Ben," seethed Ewan, unable to contain his rage. He shoved the other with all the force in his body. "He did this to the face of the body you killed! The body I'm trapped in!"
This time, Ben's back hit the wall, and Ewan clenched his fists tightly. Ben continued to look emotionless, simply exhaling softly. "Aren't you a demon?" he mumbled. There was a hint of something behind his eyes but Ewan couldn't pinpoint it.
"Yes, but I can do good and my past evils are justified," said Ewan, scoffing. "I told you yesterday that we were going to be doing good things, Heavenly things, things to get me back to Hell and in order to do those, we have to be the good guys. We - w-we can't kill people, Ben, we can't cut up faces like Charlie's."
Ben crossed his arms, leaning against the wall tiredly. "And what did Charlie say?"
Ewan went quiet, appalled that the other was concerned only with what the man Charlie had said. There were more pressing matters - matters such as the fact that if Ben continued doing bad things, there was no chance of them filling the Enchantment. Not if it was a Heavenly object and not if it tied directly to the big man himself.
"Charlie said you messed Terrance up. That's what he said, Ben. Do you have any justification for that? Maybe a way to explain why you killed Stirling? Why you killed anyone at all?"
The other simply cleared his throat, glancing to the side, but not in an awkward way. Just in a bored way, one that showed utter nonchalance about the pressing matter at hand. "Terrance was telling lies. Stirling... is another story."
Ewan got close to Ben, getting right in his face to give him the idea that this was a terrifying issue. It made Ben blush a little, but otherwise, the two maintained eye contact. "You're going to stop," Ewan demanded. "Do you hear me?"
Although at a terrible time, Ewan was yet again captivated by the way Ben smelled. It was something similar to... the way Heaven had smelled. Fresh, pure, divine in a way that only Heaven could be. Something similar to the smell of roses freshly bloomed... a smell he didn't know he could recognize.
"No," replied Ben matter-of-factly, "I'm not."
Ewan sucked in a very sharp breath, telling himself he just had to contain his rage. He didn't even get angry often - Hell had been easier to deal with than Ben and they'd hardly known each other for a day.
"And why not?" he hissed through his teeth.
"Because it's what I do," Ben said softly. The two were making eye contact that made Ewan shudder with rage and interest. "And it's what I do be-"
Ewan had heard enough. Anger was seeping into his skin, rage pouring out. He couldn't control how truly frustrated he was by Ben's ignorance and in haste, he lifted his hand and clenched his fist. Instantly, Ben began to choke, pressing his back to the wall to gain his ground. But it couldn't help. Nothing could but Ben agreeing to be good.
"Just stop hurting people," pleaded Ewan. He tried to keep his voice down and tears were coming to his eyes again for some reason, tears of aggravation and shame and something he couldn't pinpoint. "You're not helping anyone. Whatever good you think you're doing? You're not. You're an ignorant child who doesn't understand that when you kill someone, it stays with you forever."
That wasn't supposed to slip. That little hint of personal information wasn't supposed to get out, but maybe it was enough to make Ben think for a second. To make him consider the fact that what he was doing was entirely wrong.
But the other wouldn't give in. No matter how hard his throat was constricted, no matter how tightly Ewan clenched his fist, the other wouldn't budge. And Ewan couldn't kill him.
He let his fist relax, and Ben collapsed to his knees, choking. Ewan stepped back, looking down at him, trembling. His breath was ragged too, but only because he was terrified and mad.
What drove Ben to be so resilient in his work? Why couldn't he just quit to get something done?
The other soon got to his feet, and Ewan held his breath as Ben got right in his face, breathing heavily. His gaze held anger. An emotion Ewan hadn't wanted to see. "I know it'll stay with me forever, Ewan... You're here."
He shoved passed Ewan, knocking the other to the side, but there was no way Ewan was letting this go. Quickly, he turned around and grabbed Ben's arm, gripping it tightly. The other whirled around and glanced down at the hand on his arm before swallowing visibly and meeting Ewan's gaze.
"Ben," Ewan said slowly, "I'm not about to let you waste your life doing this."
Before saying anything, Ben grabbed Ewan's arm and pried it off. His glare would've burned through absolutely anything, his tone venomous and filled to the brim with hatred as he warned in a dangerously low voice, "Touch me again - I don't care if you're already dead; I'll kill you again."
Then he stepped back, raising a mocking eyebrow. "And how are you going to stop me, Ewan?" he whispered. "I'm helping people. The liars, the cheats... I'm getting rid of them. I'm doing something good." He lowered his voice and the two made a certain eye contact that made Ewan's soul drop to his shoes. "Probably better than you'll ever do."
Ewan scoffed, gazing up at the other in shock. His throat felt dry and he could only stare as Ben left with those words.