Chapter Text
From the moment Fate pinpricked the fabric of reality and tore all order and nicety apart to reveal the chasm of being, there has been an Above, a midpoint, and a Below, whether metaphorical or literal. In the sense applied here, the existence of this was very literal, with humanity itself as the coveted middle spot. Though they might imagine themselves higher or lower, the midpoint was where they were, and the midpoint was where they remained.
The Above and the Below often found themselves in quarrel, as was to be expected of two things such as Heaven and Hell. Each side had their views, which they were very concrete on and determined to defend, and somehow those views almost always clashed. The rare cases that they didn’t might almost be considered a “miracle,” though neither side really thought of them as such and much preferred to roll their eyes and get it over with so Thilgaz the Awful could get back to destroying whatever plans Azaryahu the Lovely had for the next week and so forth. One of those little matters that they would always agree on, though, was when humans found something they shouldn’t.
And that was where the ones that traversed their place in the center came in, acting as a sort of signaling beacon for the more powerful. Those able to communicate with both other branches at will, not quite able to move in a up-and-down manner, more like they stuck out along the side a bit, and slid up and down that spectrum freely.
Psychics.
And there were all kinds of them. Those able to perceive beyond human sense abilities, those able to manipulate objects or thoughts or themselves, visions and locations and more. The “chosen ones.” Outerworldly messengers for hire, in a way. And very susceptible to being wrapped up in such outerworldly conflicts, whether that be by their own will or not.
Ryan Bergara had been incredibly in touch with the supernatural since the age of eight. He couldn’t tell you in the most vivid way how he’d found out, and if you asked you’d probably get a lot of vague gesturing and “well, you know how it is,” despite the fact that you probably didn’t have a clue. Truth be told, he couldn’t fully remember, and what he did was rather embarrassing, being that it involved a lot of crying on his part, being that he was a child. What he would end up saying, though, was that he’d woken up one day with a funny feeling and asked his parents about it.
As it turned out, he came from a long line of psychics. His parents had explained to him how, a very long time ago, his family had been blessed with a sort of sixth sense; the ability to feel and detect the supernatural around them, and how this ability had carried down through the ancestry. Psychics typically married other psychics, and those who didn’t usually ended up having children who did, as a way to keep the bloodline strong, in a very pre-determined sort of manner. A typical genetic carry-down would last about three generations before it went out, and that was a lot of time.
Though they weren’t exactly common, they were pretty good at finding each other based on cosmic signal or something like that. (It wasn’t really something explainable, just sort of something you could feel, all the way through your body and bones to your soul.) Psychics were very lucky, his parents had said, and had very cool abilities with a mostly high reliability rate. Plus the pay was incredible.
But of course there was a problem, and a irritating one at that. Ryan Bergara’s Psychic Sense was absolute bullshit. He learned quickly as he got older that the "mostly" in that reliability rate his parents had spoken of was very literal. The problem wasn’t that it didn’t work, because it sure did, but rather the lack of distinctiveness. He could feel everything all right, knew how to recognize an aura, it was knowing what it was that he was feeling that was the issue. Because the damn Sense couldn’t give him anything on that. He would go through his days surrounded by that smothering feeling, the normal-regular-person feeling, and be bored out of his mind because of it.
Maybe he was doing something wrong. There had to be more to life than this, a majority that majorly blew. He might be a bad psychic, that was probably it. He should start a business, a collective or something. Ryan B’s Bad Psychics Ltd. Maybe all he had to do was move.
Despite its annoyance, he grew to live with the humdrum, and every spike in it brought him great anxiety, though most either turned out to be other psychics or the spirits of the deceased. It was a gift, that was for sure, but it was more like one he’d received without a request that he’d had to awkwardly smile at and had no opportunity to throw away. The humdrum was nice, though. It was good. It was all he’d ever known, and at its heart that was alright.
Apart from his heritage, Ryan didn’t consider himself anything special. Just another guy at the office, you know? Regretfully to him, the wildest thing about him was probably that damn Sense. He kept meaning to change that, wanting to make a name for himself and shit, but doing stuff was hard and he didn’t want to dedicate so much to actually doing it. His whole life, he’d come up not knowing what he wanted to do, so when the time came to make any choice he settled hard for the best there was and still wondered. That was another thing. His most remarkable trait was something he couldn’t even control, the first thing people looked for when they met him. It made his teeth grind.
And yet, monotony was better than peril, so he settled still, and that was all he’d ever do.
Or so he’d thought he would, up till That Night.
That Night had started normally enough, with him waiting for the 5:30 bus back to his house, leaning against the bus stop side and kicking it absently, engrossed in his thoughts. He hummed along to them, like he normally would, and was about to shift his position when something stopped him dead in his tracks.
A whimper.
Freezing, he slowly stood upright and removed the headphone he had from his ear, eyes darting every which way in front of him. Something was sparking at his Sense, something entirely unfamiliar. Oh god, he was about to be murdered. His heartrate spiked incredibly, a trickle down his spine like the violins in a horror soundtrack permeating his whole being such that he couldn't help but shiver. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe it was just in his head-no, there it was again. A quiet sound, yet one that managed to slip down his ears in a manner that paralyzed him fully.
Finding nothing in front of him, he ever-so-slowly turned to the side, peering behind the wall. There was nothing there. He almost sighed in relief, but a feeling in his gut told him it was premature, that there was definitely something. If only it could fucking tell him what.
He looked around one more time, scanning everywhere in sight vigorously, when his eyes alighted on something on the ground, by the side of the road. It was very small, whatever it was, but definitely moving. Human heart, was his first thought, and several more things along that vein. He swallowed very, very hard. He had never been religious, not really, but now found himself casting out desperately for something, anything, to bring the bus immediately, though he knew it wouldn't come for ten more minutes. Hell. The whimper came again, and he felt something along with fear settle in his body. Curiosity. Morbid, deadly curiosity. Just to know what was going on. It sounded like an animal, and also quiet, so there was probably less of a chance it would hurt him, right? With another swallow, he squeezed his eyes shut and grappled for his phone, flicking on the flashlight. When nothing happened, he hesitantly opened them.
There was a dog sitting there, no more than a puppy by the looks of it. It perked up upon seeing him, standing up and whining a little. Ryan’s heart plummeted to his shoes heavily. He peered at it some more, and it stepped forward, walking over to him and pawing at his leg pitifully, and he was done. There was to be no argument tonight. Against all his common sense telling him what a bad idea this was, and what an idiot he was being, he picked the puppy up, bundling it into his jacket.
The bus pulled up next to the stop not two minutes later, and he got on, paying his fare and making his way to the back of the bus. It was rush hour and people would soon be filling the cabin, hopefully nobody would make a fuss. Yet, though it might've been just a product of stress from his already firing-on-all-cylinders brain, the bus seemed to take an age to get moving from the stop, long enough that he could finish an email and pet the puppy some.
Part of him knew he should probably take it to a shelter, but he already knew from the look it was giving him with huge eyes that he wouldn't be doing that. He had been wanting a pet for a little while now, especially a dog, and this one looked like after it was cleaned up it would be a very pretty animal. Especially it's eyes. It's deep amber, so deep they were almost red, eyes that seemed to stare into his soul just a little bit. Something in the back of his mind screamed to be careful, but the dog licked his nose and he found himself laughing, the sound seeming to break some sort of spell in the world, and finally, finally, the bus pulled away from the curb.
But as it was moving away, something happened. The thing sparking at his Sense had not gone, and suddenly swelled to a screaming, violent roar, the most input he’d ever got from his psychic part in his life. He almost fell over from the force of it, and hugged the puppy tightly to his chest.
Then the bus hit the road and Ryan found that it was gone, fading into the background and the back of his mind as he looked at the peculiar little dog, who he was just now starting to realize had an aura of off-ness, but only slightly, as if it was hidden under something.
And something rose from the bushes in its wake, seeming to have appeared from the earth itself, black eyes glinting in the streetlamp.
Six months had passed since That Night, and the dog had become Ryan’s absolute favorite thing in the world. He loved her so dearly—if he was being honest, he had since That Night—and was overjoyed he’d had the fortune to run into her. Sure, she was messy, she knocked over things charging around the house, she caused his Sense to tickle at the back of his mind like an urge to sneeze, she’d taken ages to basically train, she barked at every little thing; but he loved her so much. He’d named her, through some screaming compulsion, Bouley. Boo for short.
He’d owned dogs before, namely his parents’, but something was a little different with this one. Something in her eyes, maybe, or the way she seemed intent on something when racing around, or her bark, but he was sure this was just normal with strays. He didn’t even know what breed she was, for god’s sake! Some kind of German Shepherd, maybe? She was certainly furry enough for that. Though he’d never had a German Shepherd before, maybe that was just how they were. Nor had he ever seen so much as one sign of one as black as her, or with that particular deep, almost glowing shade of amber eyes. She was certainly beautiful.
Maybe the thing with his Sense was historical? German Shepherds might have some sort of spiritual symbolism, maybe guardians or guiding dogs. He kept meaning to look it up, but every time he sat down to do so it seemed to slip his mind somehow. It didn’t matter, she was still his dog, quirks and all, and he wouldn’t trade her for anything.
Not to mention, he’d made a new friend at work.
His name was Steven Lim, and he worked down the hall. He was very nice, and funny, and they’d taken a liking to each other pretty quick. Steven was new on the job, so Ryan had volunteered to show him around, they’d hit it off and had been friends since. Steven had been happy to meet Bouley, petting her all over excitedly while telling Ryan that he’d once had a dog like this when he was a child and if he ever needed help he was on hand and he’d never seen one who looked like her but she sure was beautiful and by the time he’d left Ryan had started to think he liked the dog more than him.
Steven had also scratched at his Sense, though less in an irritating way, more warm, soft and smooth as it hit his subconscious, like soup when you had the flu. It was a nice feeling, and though it wasn’t like other psychics he’d met (who just had that little tingle and occasionally a crackle like a small fire) he’d come to the conclusion that Steven was probably just more in-touch with it all. Ryan might even ask for pointers, if it gripped him. It could be interesting.
However, one thing hadn’t changed since That Night. The sparking, edge-of-a-fall feeling he’d got was still there, persistent. It grew whenever he was just leaving his house in the mornings and the same when he was returning, and whenever he took Bouley out for walks it wasn’t far behind. That part was unnerving, and very much so. He couldn’t call the police about it, because he had no evidence other than his Sense and they wouldn’t believe that, so he took extra precautions to lock up at night and check all the doors and windows. Nothing had come to kill him yet however, so he assumed he was safe, at least for the time being.
He asked his parents about it all one night, over the phone. From the way they’d spoken at first, he’d thought they wouldn’t know anything, but as he explained the feeling he got around Steven, his dad’s expression changed into something apprehensive, though not in a bad way.
“I did feel something like that once, actually.” His dad shifted closer to the screen. “It was just once, though I'll never forget it as long as I live.
“One night, when I was in my twenties—maybe the same age as you actually—I was sitting in a café on my lunch break. This woman came up to me all of a sudden, seemingly out of the blue, and asked where she was. That was confusing enough already, but the feeling I got from her was something else entirely. It was just like you described, just turned up to eleven. It was amazing.
“I told her where we were easily enough and she went on her way, and the second I got home I was researching that feeling like crazy. I don’t think I stopped until I found what I was looking for, which turned out to be someone who had run into an angel!” He laughed out loud. “It turned out I’d run into an angel earlier that day, isn’t that wild?”
Ryan agreed that it was, and stared at the ceiling as he got off the call and laid in bed, Bouley asleep on the pillow next to him. An angel, his dad had said. But Steven couldn’t be an angel, he was too…ordinary. He was just a normal guy with some pizzazz about him, there was no way he was an angel.
He put the thought aside and went on with his life like normal, managing to do so alright too.
Until the day everything changed.
Until he came home to find that Bouley had grown horns.