i; the guide to not being a witness
Due to his extensive research, walking home around the times of four to six pm are the safest. Dan was walking home just as his watch gave a small buzz on his wrist, alerting him that it was now midnight. He wasn't scared of the dark or something, but he did seem like a major target with his pastel jumpers and the flower crown perched on his brunette hair. He licked his lips slowly, as if he could ignore his thoughts and keep walking, but his heart was already pounding in his chest. He almost swore, shoving his hands in his pockets as he heard a noise. He was about to pass an alley way, and man did that freak him out, but it was worse when he heard a whimper.
"Please sir," He heard a voice beg, almost distraught and broken, and he couldn't help the lump in his throat, "we can do better, I'm sorry." The tone of the person dropped to a cracked sob, and Dan peeked over into the alley just barely, gaze drifting across the exchange.
"How should I trust you? Fucking hell, you all say you can do better, but you don't." said the man in front, back facing Dan, and he inhaled sharply. What was going on? The moonlight barely grazed the alley, and the only colour or real feature he could see was the red glinting on the back of the man's head. He stepped back, abrupt, and covered his mouth. If that was a red helmet, if that was what he thought it was, this was not good.
Dan cursed under his breath, loud and blunt, and he noticed the helmet snap his way as if whoever was under it could hear him.
That was the infamous, or famous if you looked at it and squinted, 'Devil of London'. He was a murderer, a criminal mastermind and pretty much the worst person in his history. He was like a villain straight out of a comic, but worse.
"Come on over," drawled the voice, the man in the red helmet, and he watched as the figure leaned against the wall, "we could practically have a party." He sounded amused, too amused for the situation, and Dan felt as if he was ill. His head was spinning, thoughts barely memories and hauntings in the back of his mind.
"A party with a criminal? Fun." Dan managed out, voice too soft to carry over, and yet the man in the red helmet was probably amused according to the rough chuckle he heard. He couldn't believe this guy, who had just threatened a life and now seemed to laugh. That was insane, he was probably insane.
This whole situation was insane, and the pastel-themed boy regretted his decision of being out so late at night. But he stopped when the shot rang out abruptly, and his throat was caught, his breathing almost halting. He was so sure it was a police officer, one that had rushed in, and maybe the 'Devil of London' got caught.
He was so wrong, because the Devil was the one who stood, red helmet still covering his face. The gun was in his right hand, and the person slumped against the wall and fell down.
He was dead, and the fact that this was even happening in front of Dan freaked him out.
He took an inhale, closing his eyes, and suddenly his body was jerked until his back was pressed against the alley wall. "I think you need to take a deep breath," The man in front of him said calmly, "and forget this, just leave."
Dan inhaled, heavily, and nodded. "I will, I promise." He pleaded, and his lip quivered, although when he opened his eyes, the man with the helmet seemed to have disappeared into thin air.
He turned sharply, to look around, but the empty alley way and the body slumped on the ground were the only things his vision could catch. He wanted to cry out for the police or maybe even sob into his hands, shake drastically and mutter to himself like the sadistic son of a bitch he felt like he was, but he wouldn't. He wasn't a complete child, and he at least held in his tears on the rest of the walk home. It was about fifteen minutes, and his posture slumped when he got into his apartment building.
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pastel prince ; phan
Fanfiction[pastel dan/punk phil] dan howell; an internet sensation, blogger and self proclaimed 'pastel prince'. phil Lester; the mastermind behind the city, technical crime-lord and overall coffee indulger. their paths never were supposed to cross, but somet...