Dream Eater (m|m)

Chapter 9

When Damien hasn't returned by midnight, I start to worry. To be fair, there's very little else to do. Entertaining guests is clearly not a priority of this establishment.

The room has no TV, no radio, and nothing to read. At least at home, I'd have had one of those awful hotel-room bibles to laugh at.

I pace, look out the window, and pace some more. When the smell from the weird takeout selection starts to bother me, I decide to venture out in search of a trash receptacle.

The narrow hallway is empty and--despite the 'no vacancy' sign--it feels like the place is deserted.

Trying not to make any noise, I sneak down the hall to the door and let myself out.

It's cold, and the overgrown garden has an aspect of creepy decay that makes me shiver. I walk to the street and toss the takeout boxes in the bin. When I turn to go back inside, the old man is standing in the doorway.

He's wearing the same clothes as before--a sort of stuffy, outdated suit that was in style half a century ago.

Cautiously, I approach.

"I hope I didn't disturb you," I say. "I was just throwing something away."

He doesn't respond, and his eyes look black and shiny as beetles in the dark.

"Er...I'll just go back to my room, then. Sorry."

I wait for him to move aside, but he doesn't.

"You should leave," he says in a dry, scratchy voice, "while you still can."

Does he not recognize me? "Um, no, sorry. I'm a guest here. I'm with the tall dark-haired guy? Damien?"

He nods. "I thought you were the same one, at first. I tried to warn him, too."

What the hell?

"I don't understand," I say. "Has Damien been here before?"

In the light from the streetlamp, the old man's eyes glint like shiny stones. "Yes. When this place was new."

I'm no historian, but this house hasn't been new in a long time. "When was that, exactly?" I ask.

A few of the crinkles around his eyes loosen and I get the feeling he's seeing something from a memory. "Nineteen-twelve," he says thoughtfully. "I remember because that ship sank a week before, and I was very busy at the time."

The streetlamp flickers and a shiver crawls up my back like something with too many legs.

"What are you?"

He turns to go in. "An innkeeper," he says.

Despite my fair share of bad travel experiences over the years, I'm pretty sure that's not a variety of demon. I try again as I follow him inside. "No, I mean what are you."

Stopping in front of a narrow black door, he turns to face me. 

"A psychopomp," he says. "I guide the souls of the dead on their journey. Also, a doomsayer; though that is by profession rather than nature."

He opens the door, revealing a steep, narrow flight of stairs. He starts to go through and I catch at his sleeve.

"Wait--what did you mean before? About leaving, and all that?"

He looks at me, and I get the feeling he's old as the stones in the foundation.

"The one who brought you here carries doom in his shadow," he says, "and leaves fire and death in his wake. The last time he was here, he came with another--a creature of beauty and light, much like yourself. I saw the dark end towards which he fell, drawing him swiftly, like a penny in a spiral well. The same darkness catches at you now, whispers at the edges of your fate, calling you to ruin. It may already be too late, but if you do not seek death, then you should not stay with that man a moment longer than you must."

Giving me a slight nod, he shuts the door gently in my speechless face. I'm guessing he's not invited to many parties. Kind of a downer, honestly.

I return to the threadbare room and lie down, mulling over the man's words. I should probably feel scared, but I'm mostly curious. I don't plan on sticking with Damien any longer than I have to, anyway, which is hopefully tomorrow morning.

What has me curious is that both the innkeeper and Damien think I have something in common with this Sakariel guy. But what could a dream-eater with a damaged demonic soul have in common with--for lack of a better word--an Angel? I'm no more a 'creature of beauty and light' than a pebble is a precious stone.

The room is cold, and there's no heating system as far as I can tell. I crawl under the blankets, but they're thin and smell like damp and age. The mattress dips in the middle, and the pillow is lumpy. I shut my eyes, missing Dante's couch.

~xxx~

A door slams and I jolt awake and sit up. Damien shrugs out of his coat and casts me an apologetic look. "Sorry."

I glance at the little bedside clock. It's 3:33 in the morning.

"Where did you go?" I ask.

For a moment, I think he's not going to answer me, but he does. "Nowhere. I just needed to get away."

He takes a deep breath and goes on.

"This place holds a lot of memories for me. I didn't think when I teleported us out of my apartment--I just focused on the first place that came to mind, and this was it. Well...the forest, actually. But this is where..."

"You were here with him, weren't you? Sakariel."

He nods. "This was our..." He leans his hands against the wall and hangs his head. "It was a safe place for us. Or so we thought."

I don't press him for more. After a moment he pushes himself up with a sigh and starts to undress.

"Is there any food left?" he asks.

"I thought you didn't need any?"

He shrugs. "As long as I'm keeping myself suppressed, my physical body is as mortal as any other. Unless we're in a dead zone, I guess I'll have to eat and sleep after all."

"I'm sorry. I threw out the leftovers."

"No matter. It's almost morning anyway."

He climbs beneath his own blankets on the other bed. I pull mine around me more tightly.

"It's fucking freezing in here," he complains.

After a moment, I hear the rustle of blankets, and then a tug at my shoulder.

"Move over," he says. He lifts the covers and slides in beside me without waiting for a reply.

"Hey! I didn't say you could--"

"You want to be cold all night? Because I don't."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. I yelp as his icy hands slide over my back.

"Jesus fuck, you're cold."

"You're warm," he murmurs.

"Compared to an ice-cube, maybe," I shiver. But his body is already warming, and in a minute I turn over so my back is to his chest and relax into his heat.

He makes a contented noise, and squeezes me like a kid holding a stuffed toy.

I sigh and wonder if it's safe to fall asleep like this. Will he still have nightmares now that his memories aren't suppressed, or can I drift off without risking another tour of Hell?

"You smell good," he says dreamily, on the edge of sleep. "I always loved the way you smell, Sakariel."

I go still, but he doesn't seem aware of what he's said. From his deep, even breathing, I can tell he's asleep.

My mind turns things over on an endless loop, and it seems like I'm in no danger of falling asleep any time soon. But the heat of Damien's body at my back is undeniably soothing, and despite the innkeeper's gloomy warning and my own experience to the contrary, I feel safe in his arms. I hover over a comfortable oblivion, and somewhere between one thought and the next, sleep drags me down in its embrace.