The hike down from the slot canyon is treacherous. More than once, Caspar slips and tumbles to the ground, scraping his already sore and aching body. Eventually though, he’s able to get back to ground level, down to where the mouth of the walls opens. 

The water has already spilled out fully onto the desert ground. The canyon is empty. Caspar inspects the surrounding area, looking for—

What is it he’s looking for? 

His mind is muddled by pain, exhaustion, and fear. He sways on his feet.

Wait, that's right. He’s looking for his uncle. Duncan. But as his eyes scrape his surroundings, he finds nothing. No bodies or even a trace of people. If this was a normal flood then at the very least, there would be a shoe or someone's bottle on the ground, especially when there were so many in that canyon.

“Duncan?! Are you out here?!”

No response.

“UNCLE DUNCAN!?”

Caspar’s voice is torn up as he yells. His throat hurts.

Still, he gives one last weak scream. “DUNCAN!”

His voice echoes across the rocks and sand. There’s no reply but his own lonely echo.

He slicks his wet hair back, flinching as something sharp scrapes against his scalp. Gently, he loosens some foreign object from his hair. A bloody twig comes free. He stares at it numbly before turning his gaze to the darkening sky. 

Night is approaching and Caspar is soaking wet, bleeding, and running on empty. If he doesn’t make it back to shelter soon, he’s going to die from exposure. 

He starts the walk back.

One excruciating hour later, Caspar is only one quarter of the way to his destination. He can feel blisters forming on the inside of his feet, and his body is desperately shivering. He already tried to call for help once, but the signal was too weak.

Or it was.

His phone suddenly vibrates as it receives multiple texts. He’s expecting Jacob’s name to pop up on screen, but instead, it reads: Uncle Duncan.

Caspar unlocks the phone with shaking hands.

The first thing he notices is that they’re all dated August 6th. The day Caspar had gone to the cabin, when he finally decided to check on his mom.

>Hey bud.

>I know you're still mad at me. I’m sorry.

>I need your help. Your mom’s been on a hunt for awhile now. A big one.>I know she’s said it before, but I think she’s right this time. I think she’s on track to find your Father. But she’s not in her RV. She hasn’t been for a week. 

>Her GPS pinged in Palo Duro Canyon before it went dark. I have no idea why.>I know things are still rough with your mom. But she needs you. She can't help the way she is. You need to be there for her.

>My messages aren’t going through. There’s no signal.

>Call me when you get this.

Caspar stumbles to his knees. His head pounds as he holds back tears. 

Duncan had wanted him to come back. He wanted to fix their relationship. Now he’s dead, and his last thoughts were probably about their conversation. How Caspar had told him he hates their family.

Self loathing swirls about Caspar’s mind. It conjures all the ways he failed his Uncle: If he had just come sooner, if he had followed the right trail, if he had stayed with his mom… Duncan would be alive. The only man Caspar could actually consider a father figure would be alive.

Caspar covers his mouth with his hand. 

Does he even deserve to go on like this? To keep half-heartedly living between the world of people and the world of monsters? It’s dangerous. It’s selfish. He can’t do it anymore. 

He contemplates letting the night take him. A cold, lonely death in the desert. He relishes in the idea of wandering away from the trail, to where nobody will find him. It would be nice to just disappear. 

But he’s not allowed that either. Because his uncle's last words were a simple order “You need to be there for her.” 

Who is Caspar to tell him no? Who is Caspar to throw away his family over his stupid, cowardly feelings?

A fat raindrop hits him on the cheek, rolling down to the corner of his mouth. Caspar’s raw voice whispers in the cold night: “Are you still there?”

There’s a few tense moments where all is quiet. Until suddenly, the rain is no longer hitting the top of his head. 

“Did you call, Caspar?” 

Caspar takes a shaky breath. He looks over his shoulder. Malakai stands over him, head cocked and catlike eyes shining. His wet bangs hang down limply, and his posture is hunched, like he’s sheltering Caspar from the rain with his wings. Or more likely, caging him in. 

“Yes,” Caspar whispers.

Malakai grins. “How can I help you?”

Caspar goes silent. It feels as though his mouth is filled with cotton. Malakai waits patiently.

“Have you been following me?”

Malakai stands up straight, holding his hand up to catch the last drops of rain. Caspar’s ears twitch as invisible feathers flutter, like Malakai is folding his wings behind his back. “Yes. Were the breadcrumbs not obvious?”

“Yes.”

“My bad. Next time I stalk you, I’ll try to gaslight you more.” 

Caspar ignores the barb. He’s too tired to fight. “I want to make a pact,” he says, hoping the weakness isn’t obvious in his voice.

“I knew you would.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you saying that you’ll buy my silence?”

“No. Stop playing with your food.”

Malakai laughs. “Then tell me your wish then.”

Caspar licks his lips. He knows he needs to word everything perfectly or Malakai will twist them into some nightmare monkey’s paw.

“My mom is still missing.”

“You’re a good son, Caspar. You want me to find her?”

“No.”

Malakai’s eyes narrow. “Out with it then. Tell me what you want.”

Caspar takes a deep breath. “I want you to be my friend.”

 “Your friend.”

 The word friend rolls off Malakai’s tongue stiffly, like the concept is ridiculous. 

Caspar takes a deep breath. “Yes. I want you to act as if you are a good friend to me.”

It’s not a perfect plan. But if he can get Malakai to agree to this, theoretically it should work. If Malakai is his friend, then by definition he can’t hurt Caspar. He’d be bound to use his hellish abilities to assist Caspar in his goals.

Well, as long as he doesn’t find some loophole, like he did with Douglas.

Malakai cocks his head. “For how long?”

“Until I save my mom.”

“And if she’s already dead?”

“Then until I save her or find her body.”

Malakai stares. Caspar feels his stomach tying in knots. 

“What does being a friend to Caspar Shaw entail, exactly?”

“You really don’t know? You seemed to be faking it well enough before.”

“What friendship means to me could be something different to you. It's never a bad idea to be clear.”

Caspar glares. “To be a friend is to protect them, help them, and never betray them.”

Malakai sneers. “So, a servant.”

“No. That’s not what a friend is.”

“The semantics don’t matter anyway. You can’t expect me to agree to such terms. By your own metric, I would violate this pact if you make any mistake or come to any harm, by my hand or anyone else's. That would include yourself.”

“Why would I harm myself?”

Malakai glares. “To cheat me of my payment.”

Caspar struggles to his feet. He feels the earth sway beneath him. “Being a good friend doesn’t mean you prevent all harm. It just means you…try your best to. That’s what I want.”

Malakai laughs. “So you’re okay if I fail, as long as I tried my veeeery haaaardest?”

“Yes.”

Malakai’s smile falters. He cocks his head. “Really? You’d sell your soul for a fallible companion?”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Caspar laughs weakly.

Malakai grins. “I see. Anything else?”

“I have an addendum.” 

“Go on.”

“You can’t use any supernatural means to interfere with any cases we go on unless I allow it. You have to rough it like a human.”

“Don’t trust me to get the job done?”

Caspar grimaces. “No. Can’t expect a monster to do a hunter’s job.”

“I accept these terms.”

Caspar blinks. He expected more of a fight. “Ah—uh—good.” 

“Let’s lay everything out on the table, then. I will accompany you on your journey. I will do my best to help, protect, and loyally follow you as a friend would. Lastly, I will not use supernatural means to interfere with your hunts unless permitted. Sound right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now for your side of the deal. If for reasons outside of my control or influence, you perish or otherwise are unable to continue this journey, I will devour you. Understand?”

Caspar’s heart trips in his chest as Malakai’s eyes widen with undisguised hunger.

 “Yes.”

“Good. Otherwise, our contract will conclude when we either find your mother dead, or save her. After which I will consume your soul.”

Caspar’s voice goes quiet. “Yes.”

Malakai extends his hand. “Then we’re both in agreement. All that’s left to do is shake on it.”

Caspar’s breaths are coming quick. His arm feels like lead. 

He shouldn’t do this. It’s a death sentence. But is there any real alternative? There is no normal life waiting for him. He can’t live like this anymore. He doesn’t deserve to live after letting Duncan die. He’s doomed either way. 

He grabs hold of Malakai’s hand. There’s a pause as he waits for some catch. Some cackle and a reveal of just how fucked Caspar is. 

None comes. Malakai only squeezes for a moment before letting go. Caspar’s arm falls limply to his side. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

Caspar studies his hand. He doesn’t feel any different. 

How? How can he give away his very being and feel nothing? Is he worth so little?

“Cas, you’re bleeding, like, everywhere dude. Let’s get you back to camp before you pass out. Do you think you can walk if you lean on me?” says Malakai. 

Caspar looks up. Malakai’s brow is creased with concern. Caspar can feel a giddy fit of mad laughter he just barely suppresses. Fuck. 

Malakai’s already in character.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Okay. Let's take it nice and easy then.”

Agonizingly slow, they start to make their way back. Caspar is limping, but the pain is muted now. It feels like he’s far away, far from all his aches and pains. 

Good. He can’t afford to wallow. He’s still on the case. 

Several times on the trail they come to a tough spot they must scale up or down. On one particular rocky outcropping, Caspar is slowly descending when he starts to fall. His ankle twinges, causing him to trip. He gasps, preparing for another bite of rock and dirt. 

Malakai moves quick, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Careful!”

Caspar holds his breath as Malakai eases him down. His hands warm. “Are you sure you can walk? I can carry you.”

Caspar grits his teeth, pupils contracted to pinpricks. “Don’t touch me.”

Malakai holds his hands up. “Okay, fine! I’m not touching. Look.”

Caspar grimaces, wiping gritty sweat off his brow. He looks back at where he came from. “There were dozens of people in that canyon. They’re all just—gone. Without a trace. Did you spot any of them?”

 “No, I didn’t.”

“You can actually look. Use your—demon shit. To look.”

Malakai’s eyes blink to red as he reexamines the desert. He blinks again, eyes back to green. “Nothing. No living or dead humans.

Caspar sighs. His mouth curves into a tight line. He’s not thinking of  Uncle Duncan. He’s not. He’s really not. He can’t. He needs to press on. “Okay. Let’s get back.”

“Do you want me to carry your backpack?

Caspar’s shaking hand grips the strap. Oh. He’s still got his backpack. He pulls it off, handing it to Malakai. “Thank you.”

Malakai takes the bag. He examines it before glancing back at Caspar with a blank look.“What?”

Malakai puts the backpack on. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

One excruciating hike later, Caspar is finally, finally, back at his RV.

He could cry. 

He won’t.

He’s not allowed to cry. Not ever.

He opens the door to the RV, footsteps heavy as he enters. He collapses on the bed, gripping the comforter tight. 

“Cas. You should clean up.” 

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You have a bunch of open wounds filled with dirt. This isn’t a tomorrow chore.”

Caspar lays unresponsive. 

“I’ll make you something to eat. Do you think you can stomach something?”

Caspar groans into the mattress. “Ramen.”

“Ramen? You sure you don't want something better?”

He’s already trying to get on my good side, Caspar sighs internally.

“Ramen is fine.” 

“Do you have some, or do I need to go get it?”

“There's one under the sink.”

“Okay. You have to clean up first, though.”

Caspar sits up. With great effort, he starts to strip. Malakai moves aside as Caspar steps into the shower, sitting down and letting the hot water stream down onto his aching muscles. On the other side of the frosted glass, Malakai is moving around the kitchen.

Caspar turns his eyes away from the scene, listening to the sound of water as he watches the drain. Blood and dirt swirl away. 

He touches his right eye. It’s bruised and swollen shut. He wonders if it will heal soon. 

He wishes it wouldn’t. It would be a good reminder of his failure to be forced to live with this pain forever.