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Ghostbusters: Daybreak

Chapter 5

(Sweet Dreams Are Made of This)

Written by Leo_Todrius

Supported by my Patrons

Special Thanks to Leo9348 and Boredom

Peppy, energetic lo-fi Caribbean music filtered out of the speakers arranged haphazardly around the warmly lit bedroom. The music was on low volume, both to serve as white noise while studying and because of the late hour. Alvaro Martinez sat at his desk, pouring over a combination of internet websites and various books. It was hard to believe that school was resuming the following morning after being abruptly interrupted because of the ghost apocalypse. Worst of all, Alvaro had the harshest history teacher at Pioneer High, expecting all of the students to give the presentations they had been assigned prior to the gap. After many sleepless nights, Alvaro didn't feel he was any closer. The worst part was that he'd picked Cuba because his grandparents had come from there…

Alvaro had been combing over everything from the indigenous Taino people to the Spanish colonization, the American occupation and the coup leading to a dictatorship. Batista's corruption and oppression paved a reactionary response and communism had come by the guiding hands of Fidel Castro. It was a rich, contentious, volatile history that ran through his Latin blood. Alvaro had also tried to claim to his mother that playing the Tropico games had been research for his report, but eventually she'd figured it out and told him to put his nose to the grindstone.

The first several hours of studying had gone well, but as the minutes ticked by and the hour grew obscenely late, diminishing gains were turning to mounting losses. The upbeat music and bright lights were helping provide an environment that made sleep hard and the eighteen year old had more than his fair share of energy drinks. Still, his brain felt like it had grown heavy in his skull, the exhaustion making a murky fog that slowed his thoughts. Dark rings were forming beneath his eyes, his undercut black hair a bit unkempt.

His sleeplessness was not uncommon. It was almost four in the morning, but there were several classmates up on the Pioneer High slack channel and Alvaro's steam list was popping. The nation had been flooded with ghosts escaping from collapsed containment units, making every day life impossible. Businesses and public spaces most affected had shut down, isolating everyone at home. Worst of all, the ghosts were most active at night, inspiring a shift to a nocturnal way of life.

The weight of the exhaustion, the murky fog, the hollowness that saturated Alvaro's muscles, it all called out to Icelos. Sparkling cyan mist spilled out of the heater vent, building up behind Alvaro's chair. The mist coalesced, taking on a humanoid shape until vapor turned to a navy blue fabric cloak. The fabric was heavy and sheer, slipping with ease despite its weight. It rose up to a hood tipped with an orange beak-like leather brim casting shadows over a very pale, almost ivory face.

Deep amber eyes watched the teenager as he toiled and suffered like so many others in the city. Why were they doing this to themselves? Why were they avoiding the boundless paradise that sleep provided? It wasn't just one, or even dozens, but hundreds of humans depriving themselves of the bliss that dreams could bring. Icelos hadn't gotten there a moment too soon. A pale hand dipped down into a pouch strapped to the spirit's belt, collecting some of the shimmering dust inside. With a deft, practiced flick of Icelos' hand, the dust created a shining rainbow cloud that engulfed Alvaro, settling on him like a dusting of fresh winter snow.

In less than a moment, that strange weight and fog of exhaustion was erased. Alvaro's eyes fluttered shut as his shoulders sagged, his arms slumped and his body toppled to the floor in a heap next to his office chair. The cheerful Caribbean music was accompanied by the sudden cheering of voices from outside, rising as a figure stepped out onto a balcony that had not been attached to the house mere moments before. Alvaro stood a bit taller, his shoulders a bit broader, dressed in a drab green uniform. The teenager's crisp, fresh undercut faded as his black locks pushed out from his scalp, descending down the back of his neck in full, open curls.

“My friends, my people! I have watched you toil with sorrow in my heart, but it has swollen with pride as I see you rise to the occasion! You have proven yourselves are the dedicated ones, for whom no hardship is too great! Your sacrifices are recognized and will be rewarded. Our spirits cannot be broken!" Alvaro declared. As the words left his lips, drifting over the crowd, his boyish good looks darkened. Dark black stubble blossomed across his cheeks, filling out in moments what many would have struggled months to grow. It grew Wiley and unkempt pushing out more and more. His upper lip darkened as a mustache emerged, curving down over his upper lip.

“I hear your concerns about the supernatural threats to our city, and I can assure you: they will not impede us! We will work to see the light of day, to return to our lives and freedoms! It is you, my loyal people, who I thank for making me what I am today." he proclaimed. His drab uniform pulled a bit tighter as his muscles firmed and his spine stretched, a glint shining off of the dark aviator sunglasses as they appeared over his eyes. “I am proud to be your leader, and prouder to lead you into the future!" He declared. The crowd erupted into riotous cheers that woke the neighbors and forced dogs to bark. Alvaro lifted a cigar to his lips, puffing on the craftsmanship of his people.

On the floor, the unconscious teenager smiled in his sleep, feeling so fulfilled and grounded as the leader of a communist nation. In sleep, confidence replaced uncertainty. Manliness replaced an unclear body image. Rest replaced weariness. He was the culmination of his bloodline, his ancestry, and the history of his people. A smile spread across Icelos' faintly blue lips. He could feel the burden lifted from Alvaro's shoulders, not to mention the tinge of pride and lust stirred into the dream. This was the way it should have been. The humans had been denying the gifts sleep could offer, but he was ready to give Portland a gift they could not resist.

****

If there was a peril to living close to one's school, it had to be the distinct lack of school bus service. Angel Allen lived one block under a mile, and as such he had to walk. The fact that Miguel lived with them meant that he, too, had to walk. Before the ghost apocalypse, their walks had been cheerful enough for two teenagers trudging through the dim streets of Portland, often in the rain or cold. The first day back was different. They were both exhausted, which had been a good enough reason for Miguel, but Angel… was distracted.

The news had taken a rare break from the supernatural to cover a musician offending people en masse. The rapper had already caught flack from conservatives for coming out as gay, but his most recent music video used religious imagery to depict the oppression he'd suffered at trying to hide his identity. The late night comedians had joked that his music needed a parental advisory to advise the parents, rather than the children, that the music couldn't actually turn anyone gay. It could, however, stir up thoughts and feelings Angel hadn't had time to process.

Miguel gave a big, open mouthed yawn as they crossed another street, less than two blocks from the school. Angel had kept back half a pace so Miguel couldn't see his cellphone's screen. He'd had the music video on loop for almost two days. He'd watched the rapper descend from the Garden of Eden to the depths of hell before making it his own. It was audacious, it was rebellious, it was taboo. It was everything that baby boomers' parents had been afraid Rock and Roll would be. Angel couldn't look away.

As hard as it was to be gay, it was harder for a man of color. Angel's mother was fiercely religious. He still remembered going to church as a kid, taking part in the energetic singing and the call and response during the sermons. If it hadn't been for his mother's job getting in the way, he probably would still have to fish out his slacks and tie every Sunday. It had been strangely easy to advocate for the fact that her job couldn't get in the way of her connection to god, especially if it meant he didn't have to keep going.

Religion had been a huge part of his upbringing. He'd been named Angel, after all. Here he was, fixating on a music video about a gay rapper that went to hell, gave satan a lap dance and then took his crown, or rather his horns. As the two reached the edge of campus, Angel was distinctly aware that he had a half-erection yet again just from watching the video. He exhaled slowly, closed the music video, locked his phone and pulled his headphones from his ears. He nearly tripped over Miguel when the shorter eighteen year old stopped abruptly.

“Miguel, what are-" Angel stopped mid-sentence, realizing why Miguel had stopped. Pioneer High wasn't just busy because it was the first day for students to return. It was busy because every television station had shown up. Reporters were competing for space in the roundabout with bright lights shining on them as students filtered in. Cameramen bandied about to get 'background shots' of people walking down the halls and using their lockers. KATU, KOIN, KGW, even Fox 12.

“I didn't think it'd be quite this much of a spectacle. Good thing I re-did my hair." Miguel grinned, running his fingers through his turquoise and teal locks. Angel smirked at that.

“You're not the only one that's photogenic." Angel said, wiggling his eyebrows. With his light mocha skin tone and the faint golden tinge to his dreadlocks, he'd been approached to do model work before. His eyebrows were perfect, his cheeks flawless, and the tiny tuft of hair on the elfin point of his chin was just enough flare to make him unique. The two would have been shoe ins for local color - that is, if Nine hadn't been wandering into people's shots.

Oblivious to the reporters, at least at the moment, Nine was walking between the support columns that held up the drive through roundabout. His strawberry blond hair was pulled back into its customary style with a short ponytail and split bangs framing his face. He'd unashamedly worn a Ghostbusters t-shirt and his blak utility pants with caution striped pockets. On top of all that, the PKE meter in his hand was clearly not standard school issue.

Nine slowed, watching the PKE meter's screen as the signals suddenly dipped down in ways he'd never observed before. His green eyes rose, spotting a newly installed piece of equipment bolted to one of the support beams under the roundabout's roof. The trapezoid device was periwinkle and grey, unobtrusive enough if not for the fact that it was stamped with a hastily sprayed stencil for 'C2 Ecto-Tech'. Nine turned, eyes narrowing as he looked along the other edge of the building. Sure enough,he could see at least three more along the front of the school.

“Hey buddy, whatcha doin?" Miguel asked, putting his hand on Nine's shoulder, starting to guide him away from the prying eyes of the reporters.

“Those certificates Dakota Helped us get from OCOG are probational. It might be time to stay under the radar." Angel added.

“You're just going to ignore the fact that this random startup is installing unlicensed psychokinetic transmitters in a school?" Nine asked.

“No… I'm just suggesting you study one without showing the city what you're doing." Angel said, thumbing over his shoulder at the reporters.

“Besides, they are licensed, just not by the Ghostbusters." Miguel added. Nine grimaced a bit at that. A sudden, loud growl echoed through the roundabout shortly before headlights spilled over the trio. A Lamborghini spun around the roundabout, coming to a stop mere inches from Nine's leg. The window rolled down and a head popped out. Nine would have recognized the flaxen blond hair in its intricate cross weave a mile away, the shaved fade on the sides all but begging attention to be paid to the over-sized diamond studs piercing the driver's ears. A sly, almost malicious grin crossed lips, the driver's eyes hidden behind mirrored aviator glasses.

“Move it or lose it, Mercer. The important people have places to be." The driver grinned.

“How nice of you to try and get out of the way for them then, Delgado." Nine said. Victor glowered at his rival and sunk back into his car, revving the engine a few more times. Nine led the others, slowly, through the doors of the school and down the hall. Nine sighed, rubbing at his head, “He's going to be even more insufferable with that car. How in the hell could he afford something like that?" Nine murmured.

“Did you get any good readings off of any of those things?" Miguel asked, hoping to distract his friend. Nine shook his head.

“It was a dead zone, just as advertised. They are analyzing ambient PKE signals and broadcasting an inversion to anything abnormal to cancel it out. It's like psychic noise canceling headphones. Their range seems to be about thirty or forty feet? But if they cover the perimeter and have a big one near the center of the roof… it might just be enough." Nine said.

“You're still worried though?" Angel asked. Nine shrugged.

“I guess the timing just seems weird to me, but maybe it was a necessity. If OCOG hadn't told us to stop busting, maybe we would have come up with something like this. Instead, someone else got there first." Nine said.

“So what does that mean for us?" Miguel asked. Nine looked at his friends with a modest smile.

“Maybe it means we spend the day as high school seniors getting ready to graduate. We can spend a few hours without the pending threat of a ghost attack. We can do some more digging at the firehouse after school." Nine said. Miguel nodded.

“I've got an errand or two to run after school, but I'll catch up after that." Angel said. Nine nodded in understanding and Miguel smiled, the two making their way to their lockers. Angel hung back, feeling a strange discomfort on his chest. He'd just lied to Nine and Miguel, and for what? So he could watch a gay rapper's music video a few more times alone? Nine and Miguel knew he was gay, or at least that he was coming around to it. He was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to those sorts of thoughts, but their experiences had made an impression. Now the music video was helping to blast away years of spiritual cobwebs that were gumming up the works. With luck, a little more soul searching would help him figure out where his priorities were

****

There were hundreds of kinds of coffee, especially with how abundant the beverage was in the Pacific Northwest. Cliff sometimes felt like he'd tried them all in an effort to find the perfect one. He'd also tried about half of the flavors of energy drinks, but those were even more prolific. Despite all the trials and experimentation, nothing seemed to make Cliff's job any easier, especially on a Monday morning.

Sunlight streaked through the big windows of the old dusty house, shining on Cliff's rusty red hair and ample collection of freckles. At thirty seven years old, his back wasn't quite as compliant when it came to his job as part of Move-It-Move-It moving. While his back complained, his girlfriend didn't. His khaki shirt hugged his built pecs and tight abs, his sleeves barely able to fit around how big his biceps had gotten. He was a powerhouse, but even superheroes had their limits.

Cliff had cleared out the upstairs as well as the kitchen and dining room. It had taken another trip to come back for the larger furniture, including an antique chaise lounge. Normally Cliff would have had help from his teammate, but Jason was already driving the other truck to the other property. Cliff leaned down, wrapping his arms around the furniture, trying to get a good feel for it. As he did, dark blue dust swirled out from beneath it, splitting around his feet before building up into a shape behind him.

Icelos looked at the worker, perplexed. The spirit had spent all night helping those torturing themselves by staying up through the night, but now he found humans that were fighting their instincts to get up way too early. The strain they put themselves through was shocking, but he knew he had to help. His hand dipped into his pouch. Cliff stood back upright, holding the chaise lounge just as he was pelted with a fistful of sleep dust.

The tall, strapping moving man dropped the lounge to the floor, then fell forward onto it, landing on the plush burgundy velvet material. A slight snore escaped his lips, along with a spot of drool. A thump sounded somewhere in the room, then another. Floorboards creaked, drawers settled, cushions shifted. The recliner began to groan and shift before the unexpected happened - the circles that decorated the front of the arm rests opened, revealing eyes. The gap between the seat cushion and the leg rest widened, revealing teeth. The chair opened wide, letting out a yawn.

“Alright fellas, the boss man's taking five! Every chair for himself!" it pronounced before the recliner began to wobble, shifting weight from foot to foot. It left its position behind, heading for the front door. The metallic handles of the dresser stretched and warped into eyes as well, the bottom drawer sagging out until a long, purple tongue spilled up over the rim. It, too, began to shimmy from corner to corner, working its way out. One by one, the pieces of furniture left on their own accord, making it over the threshold, down the sidewalk and to the moving truck.

“I'm really going to miss that place…" An end table commented in a squeaky voice, two coasters acting as her eyes. When the rest of the living room had emptied, it was up to the chaise lounge to stretch its carved claw feet and began waddling out of the house, carrying Cliff's sleeping body on its cushion. Icelos watched the mover go, feeling quite relieved that he'd been able to give the poor human the rest he so needed.

****

While many of the students hadn't put the concept into words, sometimes it was hard getting back on the treadmill. It was for that reason that a mid-day assembly was a welcome break. Even with teachers having to reorient students back to the daily grind, there were an unusual number of absences and distractions. While normally Nine would have been prone to sitting in the front row for the best view, he had stepped off to the side to find one of the more remote seats in the nosebleed section. Thankfully for Miguel, Nine's hair was fairly distinct among what students were in attendance.

Even with a portion of the student body missing, there was a din of conversation bubbling from the stadium seating on either side of the basketball court. Nine slipped his PKE meter out from his pocket, turning it on. The illuminated bars jumped more from being turned on than they did from residual energies. Nine's green eyes lifted skyward, scanning the rafters before he saw more of the periwinkle and grey Ecto-Tech nodes.

“Why yes, they are Dolce and Gabanna glasses…" A haughty voice lifted above the general volume. Nine's eyebrows tightened with disdain before he looked down, finding the equally unique hairstyle of Victor Delgado.

“Not to mention the fact that we're indoors, we're in Oregon. We only need sunglasses like two months out of the year... Nine muttered. Miguel reached over, rubbing his friend's shoulder.

“I think he's just trying to get some mileage out of whatever money he's come into." Miguel said. Nine shook his head.

“Everyone's been hurt by this, everyone except him. People haven't been able to go to school or their jobs. The ghosts aren't just a nuisance. They're a menace, and OCOG kept us from busting them. Almost everyone lost income and he's out there flashing his bling." Nine said with bitterness in his voice.

“Maybe he made a deal with Rumplestiltskin and when the deal comes due, you'll never have to see Delgado again." Miguel smiled sweetly. Nine couldn't help but chuckle at that, although as interference and feedback crackled through the speakers, Nine winced harder than most. While he had few outward signs, his hearing was still a bit enhanced from his time as Simeon's hellhound.

“Testing, Alpha Bravo… Welcome back Pioneers!" The voice belonged to Principle Cook, a heavyset man in his early forties with a short kept brown beard that matched his thinning brown hair, “Never before has that been more appropriate than today. We welcome you back from the first unplanned break in Pioneer High's history… We welcome you back after a time of uncertainty, and you are the pioneers blazing the trails back to normalcy… But you aren't doing it alone. It is my pleasure to introduce to you all today the Chief Economic officer of C2 Industries, Sebastian Atonal!"

It was clear from Principal Cook's tone that he'd intended the introduction to elicit the fanfare of his students, to rile them up into a frenzy of school spirit. Instead, only Victor seemed to cheer amid a few isolated coughs as people drew their attention to the figure moving out. He was tall and lean, maybe in his late twenties. His long black hair was pulled back into a tight and neat ponytail. Some effort had been made to appeal to the youth as it seemed the speaker had forgone his business suit, sticking instead to the sleek black vest over the purple button up, sans tie. He moved up to the microphone with a smile.

“Thank you, students and faculty, for welcoming me. E.E. Cummings once wrote 'It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.' I know that because I saw Misses Eddington's class preparing for a poetry unit in her English class on the way in." the man smiled, revealing unusual lilac colored eyes, “And I know that because all of you here today. Portlanders were chased out of their own living room by ghosts and spirits drawn to the echo, to the memory of lives lived before. The heritage and history of the city became a hazard. That is why it took something new, something unique, to solve the problem." Sebastian explained.

Nine watched, his face a little tight. It was a well reasoned beginning to a speech, though a bit high brow for sleepy high school students. Still, the conviction and charisma with which it was being given was drawing people in like a magnet. Even worse, there was almost a sense of guilt that someone had figured out how to mass produce technology based on the science Ghostbusters to help the masses… and it hadn't been them.

“The heart of any community belongs to the children, and by rolling out our ecto-tech here, this city can begin to heal. This is the first step, but there are many more to come. To thank you all for taking part in this step, I would like to surprise the student body with a gift." Sebastian said. That got the attention of the students that seemed to liven up, growing a bit more alert. Principle Cook looked a little confused, but Sebastian wasn't phased. He held up a remote and the scoreboard screen filled with the image of a sleek, well crafted smart watch. “You are the first in the world to learn about our personal, mobile ghost protection device, the Ecto-Tock smart watch… and you all are getting one for free!"

If there had been anyone left that hadn't been awake, the sudden explosion of cheers and excitement would have shaken them. It was amazing how excited people could get for new technology they'd never heard of before as long as it was free. Nine looked at the joy on everyone's faces, even Delgado's as he seemed to be bragging to those seated around him for some reason. At the very least, getting one of the watches free would give them a chance to peek under the hood. It had to be a good turn of events, didn't it?

****

Obsession… The word didn't sit well on Angel's shoulders, but there wasn't any way to deny it any longer. He'd barely been able to focus on his classwork. He'd barely been able to pay attention to what Nine and Miguel were talking about at lunch. It would have been wise to head to the firehouse, try to focus on the issues at hand and let his brain reset… but Angel didn't feel wise today. He'd taken his time leaving the campus, meandering a few blocks until he wandered into one of the many parks and green spaces that dotted Portland.

He still couldn't believe how far he'd fallen. For years he resisted rap as a whole because it seemed too stereotypical. Eventually he'd given in. Then, when the controversy broke about a gay, Satan worshiping rapper, he'd checked it out of sheer curiosity at first… but the way it had ensnared him, it really did feel like the forbidden fruit. Calling it rap almost seemed like a disservice. The voices were deep, resonating, harmonizing with themselves in a mix of perfect pitch and studio tuning. It was hypnotic. He'd had a bite and he wasn't ever going to be the same again. He hadn't just fallen, he'd fallen for the snake.

It took a well practiced skill to walk while paying attention to one's cell phone. Peripheral vision was key, and Angel had been putting his skills to use the last few days. It was that peripheral vision that forced him to look up, realizing that the pathway through the park was covered with some sort of strange blue glitter or pollen. Angel looked down at his hand. His cellphone was gone, replaced with a leather strap attached to a golden chain.

Angel's gaze traced the leash back to a black leather collar wrapped around the throat of a young man in his twenties. His head was tilted down toward the ground, almost subservient. His skin was a rich, dark, mahogany brown. His frizzy hair was black at the roots but treated to stain it a rich, vibrant blood red. His skin glistened as if it was oiled or slicked with sweat. There was a moment of confusion and uncertainty in Angel's mind, but the young man on the other end of the leash raised his head, as if to answer his internal question. The eyes looking into his weren't human. They were as bright and as orange as the setting sun, slit into vertical slits like those of a snake. The man's lips curled into a smile that was almost unsettling, but it forced his black mustache and chinstrap beard to contour. As his kissable lips parted, they revealed teeth coated with a gold grill. His canine teeth were the longest of all, legitimate fangs.

“Lil Slyme…" Angel whispered, transfixed on his crush. The chained figure grinned wider as he reached up, wrapping black, clawed fingers around the leash. He pulled on it, then added another hand and pulled again. The rapper closed the gap, foot by foot until he was standing in front of Angel. He was face to face with the man of his obsession, just as he appeared in the music video. Every warning sign that Angel should have had fell away as if it was a dream. There was no questioning this. It simply was right, it was the way things were meant to be. Angel gave the leash one more tug, closing the gap.

The singer's sweaty, glistening body leaned in, his lips coming to Angel's. They met, heads tilting by instinct, making room for the lips to part enough for tongues to touch. Slyme's saliva was spicy like cinnamon and thick like syrup. His tongue was strange too, forked and parted… A clawed hand slipped up into Angel's shirt, tracing across his stomach, then his pectoral. The claws closed, pinching one of Angel's nipples. Everywhere he touched tingled so much it burned.

“They may have shoved you into a closet for being gay, but that door can be a door to another world. If they are so bigoted that they will kick you out of heaven, you might as well have fun in hell. I am the beast of your dreams, yours to do with as you please…" Slyme cooed, circling around Angel. Clawed hands slipped up, pulling Angel's shirt from his shoulders, revealing his own mocha complexion to the sun. He came back in front and stepped forward until they were groin to groin. The demon ground against Angel, leaning up to nip at the short tuft of golden brown hair on his chin, letting it scrape against his grill. As he slithered up, the horns rising from his head were just a bit longer and a bit sharper.

“Fuck…" Angel groaned, grinding back, pressing into his obsession. Slyme licked his golden fangs, his orange eyes glowing as he dipped a hand down into Angel's pants.

“A lot of my fans claim to be hung like a horse, but you're the real deal, aren't you?" he questioned. Without even trying, it was as if Angel's clothes were simply gone, revealing his naked form in broad daylight. Slyme's hand began to slide up and down the already hard meat. As he coaxed it, it only seemed to grow longer and fatter, bloating outward, casting its long, long shadow across the sidewalk.

Slyme dropped down, legs splayed wide, popping out his bubble butt. The lower position gave him a perfect vantage to bring his lips up to Angel's horse cock, teasing the tip with his forked tongue before the slick, slithering flesh plunged deep into Angel's equine shaft. Angel threw his head back, gasping hard, feeling a demon's tongue probing his entire length. It felt almost like he was trying to get it all the way into his balls. Angel howled and grunted as Slyme wrapped his fast moving, skilled lips over the blunt, flat head of his horse meat.

Angel's fingers sunk into the rapper's crimson hair, raking back and forth. He felt the sweat and heat, the black horns framing his wrist like an open bracelet. Angel pulled Slyme down his cock, inch by inch. The high school senior's back arched and he leaned his head back, expecting open air. Instead he felt it hit something hard, hot, and musky. He looked up to see the crimson red face of another character from the video, Slyme's demon daddy…

Sulfurous smoke spilled out of the towering man's nose, splitting across the heavy septum ring. Huge, towering horns curved up from his head, the cracks in the ancient bone filled in with gold that matched the rings hanging from his pointed ears. As far as his horns rose up from his head, an immense, bushy black beard hung down from it, resting across his pectorals like a curtain. A hand reached up, resting on Angel's bare shoulder. The hand tightened, claws starting to pierce into his skin.

“Welcome home, Fallen Angel." the demon daddy whispered before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Angel's. A huge tongue filled his mouth nearly to the brim and as they kissed, Angel's mouth was filled with so much demonic saliva that he was forced to swallow the hot and thick and gooey substance. It coated his teeth and tongue. Angel went as long as he could manage before breaking the bond, panting for breath. As he did, molten silver began to leak from his gum line, sinking down and covering his teeth. It formed a perfect shell over most of the teeth, but as it reached his canines it forced them out into wild fangs.

The demonic daddy ran his clawed hands over Angel's ass, squeezing and massaging the cheeks before he spread them wide. Angel wasn't left waiting for long, though, as a huge, fat cock began to brush and probe against his sphincter. He didn't resist in the slightest, even if his ring was initially a bit surprised by the size of the new guest. The demon thrust in suddenly, his cock sliding in several inches. It curved upwards, delving deep into Angel's abdomen. His horse cock quivered and rewarded Slyme with a glob of cum, then another. The rapper suddenly buried himself to the hilt, mashing his face against Angel's groin.

The physics and anatomy of being spit roast by hell's creatures did not make sense, but Angel didn't need it to. He wanted cock. He craved it, he needed it, and he was getting it. The demon thrust faster and harder. Angel felt like the cock went right past his stomach and up into his chest. He groaned out, moaning, then gasping in shock as cold air hit his equine member. He looked down to see Slyme had withdrawn his mouth, only to turn around and show off his bubble ass. His demonic tail wagged side to side, beckoning. Angel stumbled forward with the demon in his ass, lining himself up.

Slyme's quivering hole began to wobble, pulse, and even slurp and suck at Angel's meat. With just the slightest grip, it began to tug him in with a vice like grip. Angel yelped as he was pulled in, then moaned as he hit full depth. Slyme began rocking back and forth on Angel's cock, but he did more than that. He rose up, practically twerking on the cock, giving Angel the lap dance of his life. Angel buffeted between the two. His heart was trilling. It felt like something was being pumped and milked out of him. The demon daddy shook it loose with his huge cock, only to have it sucked away by Slyme's ass. Angel realized what it was - his innocence, and maybe even his soul.

In an instant, Angel's legs began to tingle and burn as thousands of black hairs began to break free from his skin, growing out and filling in. It spiraled down his thighs, coated his knees and reached all the way down to his ankles. It crept upwards, enshrouding his hips and coating his muscled ass impaled by a demon dick. It sunk down into his busk, melding together into a furry hyde that acted almost like chaps in how his leathery cock and balls were left out to fend for themselves.

Sickening cracking and popping came from his feet as the bones shifted and shuddered. His skin became gooey as toes welded to one another. His toenails oozed out and hardened, surging in wave after wave, conquering his feet before firming into chitinous hooves. The new feet changed Angel's posture, curving his back, jutting his ass cheeks out, making it easier to fuck and be fucked. He groaned with sinful delight, clenching his eyes shut. His head throbbed and ached, red flashes appearing before his eyes even with them being shut. The reason was soon apparent.

Angel's perfect, blemish free forehead was punctured by the tips of two ivory horns. They pushed out of his temples, curving out and up, rising inch by inch. It felt like all the blood was leaving his head, heading to other extremities even as the horns edged their way out of his skull. Black stubble trailed back from the golden tuft on his chin, stopping at the base of his jawbone. Angel clenched and unclenched his jaw, his silver grill glinting. As he wriggled his jaw, his ears popped and snapped, adjusting to some unseen pressure before the lobes climbed into points.

Dewdrops of blood appeared in the base of his ears before long, jagged black obsidian spikes began to form, piercing the ears and growing backwards. The dangerous points traced across the sides of his neck, daring danger. The demon daddy's clawed hands grabbed Angel's sturdy ribs. Angel's own fingernails were growing ragged and sharp, stretching out, raking down Lil Slyme's amazing ass. It was a miracle that Angel hadn't thrown out any muscles with the way he was bending and flexing, although it soon became clear that not everything moving around in his back was voluntary - or even a natural part of him.

The flawless mocha skin had grown a bit paler along Angel's spine, the skin stretching out in odd, lumpy bumps that seemed to writhe and move around. Angel couldn't see it and the demon daddy's beard covered chest brushed against it, obscuring it from view. Still, the sensations were indisputable. They grew wilder and more intense, almost painful until the wet, strange sound of tearing flesh came. A web of leathery skin peeled away from Angel's back, then another. The wings spread out, uncoiling to their full potential. Angel looked up as his eyes seemed to ignite with amber energy. His irises contracted to slits. Drool dripped from his sharp fangs. Steam lifted from his bare shoulders and he came with such intensity that Slyme didn't just scream out, he sang out.

Sensing the pleasure of his children, the demon daddy threw his head back and bellowed outward, letting out a roar that shook the gravel across the ground. His huge cock let out foul, glowing hot demon spunk into Angel's core. Whatever innocence had been left intact would no doubt be boiled away. Angel's face contorted with a wicked grin as he was both the giver and receiver of demon cum. He was anathema to what he had been born into. He had fallen for the taboo, for the forbidden. He'd given into everything that he was supposed to hate, but he loved it instead. This was all his dream come true - even as his unconscious, sleeping body had fallen at the entrance to the park, his cell phone tumbled out of his hand.

****

The sunlight slowly faded outside, the bright white afternoon gleam shifting to silver and then grey as it spilled through the large semi-circle windows of the firehouse. Such changes were common in Oregon as clouds were more frequent than blue skies. Normally Nine would have gotten up and turned on the lights to make up for the difference, but his eyes were so focused on the monitors he'd plugged into the PKE meter, trying to study the readings from the Ecto-Tech at the school.

Miguel stepped into the archway from the kitchen, watching Nine work in the fading light for a moment before he reached over and flicked a switch. Warm, creamy lights snapped on from fixtures around the large, open room. Not much had been changed since the original Portland Ghostbusters disappeared. The bookshelves were full, swords and masks and shields hung on the walls along with other artifacts. Nine had even been respectful of their bedroom, tidying up and making the beds but not changing anything else. He just wished they were there to help.

“Did you learn anything new?" Miguel asked, moving over. Nine shook his head.

“Without taking one apart, it looks like they're doing what they said they were supposed to do. It seems pretty sound. Pioneer High is probably the safest place in the country right now, completely protected by a PKE canceling bubble. I forwarded information to the New York office. Maybe they can reverse engineer something if they understand how it works." Nine said.

“And if they do, they can share it with us." Miguel smiled, “It's a good plan, although I'm not sure what we should do in the short term." he said.

“I'm sure Ecto-Tech is going to be big business. If it works at the school, everyone's going to want to buy it to make other places safe. We just have to mop up everything in between." Nine said. Miguel's brow furrowed a little.

“If the ghosts just get pushed out of certain areas, they might concentrate in other places like rats jumping off a sinking ship." Miguel said. Nine grimaced.

“We'll have to use that to our advantage instead of it being a risk. We'll try to funnel and corner them. That's still a ways off though, the school is the only place they've deployed it." Nine said. Miguel smirked sadly.

“That makes us the guinea pigs. Do you remember when people were worried about 5G, but now they'll try out experimental technology that influences psychological energy on teenagers." Miguel said.

“For all we know, it could charge up off of the excess we put out." Nine chuckled. His joke was punctuated by a shudder that rolled through the building. The windows and artifacts all rattled for a moment and then stopped.

“Was that an explosion?" Miguel asked. He was answered by another equal shudder, then a third. Whatever it was, it was coming in steady intervals. Nine moved over to the window and leaned in to try and see as far as he could. Nine's smile turned into a frown.

“It isn't an explosion, it's a footstep…" Nine said. Miguel ran over to the window, standing beside Nine, looking down the street. The shudders coincided with massive, automobile sized tubby white feet impacting the road. Pudgy, fluffy legs supported a rotund squishy stomach connected to wobbly, plump, bulbous arms. Atop it all was a cheerful, round head topped off with a sailor's hat. The white and blue color scheme and the generally squishy material was unmistakable.

“The stay-puft marshmallow man…" Miguel whispered. Nine shook his head.

“It's their other mascot, the Mini-Marshmallow Kid. He's only thirty or forty feet tall. Stay Puft was over a hundred." Nine said.

“That doesn't make me feel any better. Do we have any chocolate or graham crackers?" Miguel asked grimly. To their dismay, the towering confection was not alone. A locomotive made from building blocks snaked and spiraled its way through the sky while packs of animated porcelain toilets charged down the sidewalks, bulbous veined eyes peeking out from the water tank while slimy tongues hung over the toilet bowls. Nine yanked the PKE meter off of the charging cable and turned it back on, aiming it at the window. The bars on the display barely jumped, staying close to the nominal levels that had become the new normal.

“That doesn't make any sense." Nine whispered, “Ghosts that big and that numerous should be sending this thing haywire." Miguel rocked back and forth on his toes, trying to think.

“What if… they aren't the main part of the ghost? What if they are projections?" Miguel asked, straining for any explanation. Nine's eyes widened at that.

“You're right! You're completely right. There are lots of times the Ghostbusters had to deal with the parts of a larger whole. The question is, what are we dealing with now?" Nine asked. Miguel looked out of the window and down the street, thinking for a long moment.

“No one's calling us, and we haven't gotten any alerts from social media or the news. Whatever is causing this is keeping people from freaking out." Miguel said. Nine moved over to the bookshelves and pulled down an older red leather book. He'd flipped through that particular edition of Tobin's Spirit Guide at least a hundred times since coming to the Firehouse. He hesitated on a few distant possibilities before turning the page.

Embossed on the yellowed paper inside was a graphic, detailed drawing of a Sandman. The hooded figure looked out with almost predatory eyes from a moon-like face, pale and withdrawn, equipped with a bag of sleep sand and the ability to manifest whatever his victims were dreaming as supernatural projections. Without any evidence it was just a hunch, but it seemed to fit the limited evidence they had.

“Miguel, I think it is time to try putting that Ecto-Tech to the test. We need to head back to school." Nine said in contemplation.

****

Nine and Miguel walked just off of the sidewalk through the park, their shoes making less noise on the grass than on the cement. They'd been extra cautious near the fountain, hearing someone shouting in Gaelic as a plesiosaur seemed to rise and fall out of the fountain's water, harassing an old man with a harpoon. They had not lingered, as much as Miguel might have liked, to witness the statue of a seven point buck singing show tunes. The only sound came from a slight hum from their proton pistols, the battery packs clipped to their belts while disc traps rested on their backs. It was a precaution, keeping them from being unarmed while allowing them to travel light.

“Are you sure this is safe enough?" Miguel asked. Nine shook his head.

“No. I think I've done some daydreaming of my own in this park before, but the streets are crowded with every half memory and twisted fantasy people can dream up. At least here there's less risk of… obstacles…" Nine trailed off, seeing where the cement sidewalk started to break up, turning into chunks of stone rising out of a pool of lava. Dark clouds thundered above the park and an unearthly orange haze hung in the air. A tattooed black demon with red hair was riding the towering cock of a bearded demon beast sitting on a throne made of skulls.

“Looks fun, doesn't it?" A hot, lewd voice whispered from behind Nine. He spun around to see Angel - or at least what he had become. Before Nine could speak, Angel leaned in, kissing Nine. Sticky saliva connected their lips even as Nine pulled back.

“Angel!" Nine exclaimed, looking at his friend's cloven hooves, furry legs and immense horse cock, not to mention his leathery bat-like wings.

“That's Fallen Angel…" he said, lifting a clawed finger to trace down Nine's chest, “And you could be my hellhound, finally put that pointed puppy prick to some good use." Angel whispered with a grin, “Maybe you'd even grow two more heads and you could suck us all off at the same time." Angel moaned at the idea of it.

“Nine, look over there!" Miguel pointed. While the Angel they were interacting with seemed quite real, their friend was clearly passed out on the grass near the entrance of the park. Blue sleep dust still clung to his dreadlocks.

“What I wouldn't give for some smelling salts." Nine said.

“Who needs salt when you can have fire and brimstone." Fallen Angel grinned, showing off his silver fangs. Miguel grimaced, lifting his proton pistol to the sky. He pulled the trigger, allowing the snapping, coiling stream of protonic energy to erupt and climb into the sky. Angel winced and pulled back. Miguel kept firing as he lunged, jumping stone to stone, crossing the small lava lake before reaching Angel on the other side. The proton stream snapped off as the teal haired Ghostbuster crouched down, holding the barrel near Angel's nose. Even asleep, his face wrinkled up, eyes clenching.

Nine watched with surprise and relief as Fallen Angel seemed to be confused, his demon compatriots nearly freezing in place. The lava flickered for a moment, changing to glowing white and amber agate before snapping back. Nine used the opportunity to follow after Miguel, reaching the other side. Miguel stood up and moved into step with Nine as they left the park, and Angel, behind. Miguel looked over at Nine hopefully and Nine only grinned.

“The smell of ions, like raw electricity or the air before a thunderstorm." Nine said.

“Closest I could think of to smelling salts." Miguel shrugged.

“It's good thinking. Let's just hope we don't have to improvise too many more times before this is all over." Nine prayed.

****

There was always something surreal about a school at night, but as Nine and Miguel approached, it was a sight for sore eyes. Most of the lights had been shut off, but a few classrooms and emergency lights were still lit. The journey there had been like navigating a minefield of the subconscious. On top of darting between dreams and nightmares, the Ghostbusters had seen countless people slumped over and asleep, falling wherever they had been targeted. The entire city was strangely quiet. Sparkling blue sleep dust collected in the gutters, shimmering on its own even where streetlights couldn't reach.

“We're almost there, just a little further." Nine said with a smile despite panting a bit. It had been a good idea to take the proton pistols, they never would have made that good of time with full packs. Still, when Miguel didn't respond, Nine felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He turned around in time to see Miguel wobbling, a haze of blue dust dissipating from around his head. His eyes slipped shut and he crumpled to the ground. His chest rose and fell, sleeping peacefully. Nine spun around, wide eyed, but he saw no one. His proton pistol hummed as he brought it up, trying to stay wary, backing up steadily.

“Why does everyone resist?" A smooth, velvety voice asked. It was concerned, though there was a tinge of frustration. Nine looked up, watching as a shadow detached itself from one of the crosswalk lights and formed into a hooded figure, “Especially you… I can feel how tired you are." Icelos murmured, his eyes gleaming from beneath the beaked hood. As he moved, the dark navy fabric swept around him like a shimmering sea.

“There's a lot to do, you know?" Nine asked, hoping to buy himself some time. Icelos turned as there was movement nearby. Miguel, or at least a projection of him, was sitting on the boulder in the ornamental rock display across the street from the school. Whiskers twitched from his cheeks, his nose a bit pinker and more triangular than normal. Points grey and pink cat ears twitched from above blue hair and an over-sized cat paw scratched at his cheek while a grey tail twitched and darted behind him. Icelos turned back to face Nine.

“Humans always say that. They've found more and more distractions every era. Do you know what someone said to me today? What someone had the audacity to utter? They said they would sleep when they were dead… Imagine!" Icelos murmured, “That is precisely the fate I wish to avoid."

“So you're a benevolent spirit? No kingdom of dreams?" Nine asked, inching backwards step by step, slowly but steadily.

“My brothers and I have been caring for the dreams of humans since they first closed their eyes beneath the stars. The stars are very beautiful tonight, Nine. They will watch over you while you dream beautiful dreams." Icelos murmured.

“What about the Sandman in New York? The one that tried to knock everyone out forever?" Nine asked. Icelos tensed, his cloak billowing a bit.

“He was a rogue, a rebel, and he got his just fate…" Icelos said coldly.

“And what about those nightmares I saw downtown? Those didn't look like sweet dreams to me." Nine said. Icelos' face frowned even more, his pale skin starting to look almost translucent in the pale moonlight.

“Even with the best sleep dust, it seems some souls can only dream bad dreams. I tried to help them as best I could…" Icelos said.

“And now what, the whole city is asleep? People are going to get hurt. The city isn't built to work that way." Nine said. Icelos shook his head.

“No, I'll care for them, the dreams will…" Icelos trailed off, slowing to a stop. He'd been inching forward as Nine retreated, but something was different, something was wrong. He lifted his hand up but it came to a stop as if it was resting against warm glass. A smile spread across Nine's lips.

“My parents always told me not to sleep at school." he said. Icelos' brow furrowed as he looked back and forth, unable to see the barrier that stopped him.

“No… This isn't right. I can feel your exhaustion, I can feel that ache, that hole… You've been working so hard for so long, pushing yourself beyond the limit." Icelos said, looking into Nine's eyes, “You just need a rest, a recharge…" he pleaded.

“If I sleep, who will make sure you wake everyone up again? I have no reason to believe you. The city is in chaos." Nine said. Icelos growled, turning and stalking away a few strides before he reached out to the cat boy Miguel had become.

“This is a passing dream, a way for the soul to heal and reset, to regain strength to face the burdens of this waking world. Humans think they can push themselves, that they can get more and more and more done. They sacrifice sleep without realizing that they are tainting and weakening what they are trying to do. There is supposed to be balance. Wake and rest, day and night. There was no balance here, it was a city that wouldn't sleep until they died." Icelos protested. Nine's fingers had tightened into fists. Without realizing it, a tear leaked from the corner of his eye.

“Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I know that it's fucked up? I feel that ache, that hole, that exhaustion. We all did… But our heroes are gone, the monsters are here, it's the ghost apocalypse and someone has to try and get everyone out of this mess. We can't even rest, the ghosts are stronger at night… They're stronger where we're together. There are so many of them...“ Nine panted softly. He'd burst out with such emotion only to have it fizzle out. His shoulders slumped, his head dipped forward, his chest still rising and falling.

Icelos said nothing for a moment before he moved over to the edge of the invisible bubble protecting the school. He slowly sat down, pulling his hood back to reveal pale robin's egg blue hair that complimented his icy greyish white skin and pointed ears. As he sat, the beaked hooded robes shifted into a navy blue sweatshirt and dark denim jeans. If not for the inhuman pallor of his skin, he almost looked like a young man in his twenties.

“To everything there is balance… Day and night, dreams and nightmares." Icelos said more softly, “I know you can't feel it, but this dread that is weighing you down has already shifted. The dream you seek is closer than you think." Icelos said. Nine hesitated before he moved closer, sitting down on the asphalt that paved the roundabout for the school, sitting a foot and a half away from the sleep spirit.

“I know you're trying to help, but after everything that's happened, I don't know if I can trust you. Someone has to watch out for everyone." Nine said. Icelos smiled at that.

“Then I will make you a deal. When they wake, will you rest?" Icelos asked. Nine let out a soft chuckle.

“As long as you don't drop me wherever I'm standing. I don't want to sleep on the ground, it kills my back." Nine said. Icelos grimaced again, giving an almost opalescent blush.

“I should have been more gentle, but there are so many of you here!" Icelos said. Nine took a long breath before he reached to his hip, pulling out his PKE meter. He flicked it on and the arms jumped but the readings remained nearly flat. Nine frowned. He was a foot away from a ghost and couldn't read anything because of the ecto-tech, but at least it was protecting him.

“So, how do we pass the time? Everyone's going to sleep until dawn, probably, right?" Nine asked. Icelos placed his hands behind him and leaned back, stretching his legs out on the sidewalk.

“Well, you could tell me your dreams." Icelos grinned.

“And my nightmares?" Nine asked. Icelos shrugged.

“If you are of the sort." he said. Nine looked down at the PKE meter, turning it back off.

“I'm of a generation that expects the supernatural, that knows deep down that ghosts are real… and I am of the generation that was born knowing that the Ghostbusters were there to protect us. Who needs to be afraid of monsters under the bed or the darkness at night if the Ghostbusters can zap and trap anything? But they disappeared. Not just our Ghostbusters, but almost all of them… There are a few holdouts, but nearly every Ghostbuster disappeared. Without them, all of their captured ghosts escaped en masse to cause havoc. They've drifted around the world like some sort of poltergeist jet-stream." Nine said. Icelos looked up at the stars.

“Do you know how your nightmare started?" Icelos asked. Nine nodded.

Rerun, a Time Wyrm friend of ours, explained how there was this ghost… a Grey Eyed boy. He kept showing up, interfering, messing with other spirits until eventually he forced the GB to sacrifice themselves to save the city. Our New York contacts mentioned hearing about him from some of the other franchises before they went dark. They nicknamed him the Man Trap." Nine said. Icelos laid back onto the sidewalk, looking up at the stars, holding up one hand and splitting his fingers until the moon sat between them.

“I wonder what sort of dreamer dreamed that." he said softly. The gears in Nine's head were turning.

“Ghosts operate off of PKE… Our whole reality is practically made of it." Nine considered, “A lot of ghosts are old, even ancient, but they don't have to be... What if he was dreamed up by all the ghosts that resented being trapped? What if they dreamed up the perfect revenge, a spirit to trap their captors and make them disappear?" Nine asked.

“Many beings dream for wish fulfillment or to cope with stress. When the source of that dream is realized, the mind can dream a new dream." Icelos said. Nine's jaw dropped a little.

“If there is balance to everything like you said, maybe this Man Trap was strongest at the start when the ghosts were trapped, feeding off their anger… But now that so many have escaped and got their wish, now that the Ghostbusters are trapped… He might be weaker, maybe even weak enough to stop. That might even be why he hasn't shown up in the last few months or gone after the Ghostbusters in New York!" Nine exclaimed.

“You are very awake now." Icelos observed. Nine grinned ear to ear.

“Well, if our deal holds up, I think I'm going to be able to rest easier than I have in months. You might have just solved the biggest threat humanity's ever known!" Nine said Io shrugged.

“I'm sure you would have thought of it if you weren't so tired." Icelos said passively. Nine shook his head and chuckled softly.

“So, what is your dream?" he asked, brushing one of his red bangs out of his face. Icelos looked a bit surprised at that, smiling a bit.

“Hopefully I won't bore you to sleep… But we have a few hours." Icelos said warmly.

****

Portland's silent night had gradually given way to a peaceful dawn. Nine had held Icelos to his bargain, waiting the night out. As the earliest rays of lights stretched out across the Willamette River, the living dreams seemed to erode and fade away. The sounds of the city began to gradually build as those that had fallen asleep somewhere convenient woke up refreshed and ready to resume their day, while others like Miguel had gotten up and walked back home in their sleep. There were no alarms, no sirens, no panic. Even the ghosts seemed unable to intrude on the rest such a powerful entity had invoked.

The trudging footsteps echoed up to the second floor of the firehouse as Nine ascended, stepping out into the large space that acted as the Ghostbusters' living and dining room. The large half-circle windows spilled radiant, golden light across the wood floor. The tiny flecks of dust hanging in the air seemed to sparkle in their own right. Nine moved over and settled down on the wide, flat gray couch before he turned his head, looking back at Icelos. The sleep spirit gave a strange grin.

“Why come here instead of your home?" Icelos asked with curiosity.

“After all of those hours we talked, you still don't know?" Nine asked. He leaned over and grabbed a tablet from the coffee table, flicking through the security settings of the firehouse. He tapped on several cameras and began recording, “I'm pretty sure I know what I'm going to dream." he said before looking back, “What are you going to do after this?" he asked. Icelos considered.

“There are many restless souls in need of good dreams. I will continue my work." he replied. Nine nodded at that, lifting his legs up onto the couch before slinking down, grabbing a small end cushion to act as a pillow. He looked up at the sleep spirit with green eyes.

“Sweet dreams." Nine said softly. Icelos reached into his pouch, gathered a handful of blue dust and tossed it at Nine. The azure dust settled across his cheeks, sparkling and shimmering like glitter. Nine's body relaxed instantly, all vestiges of consciousness vanishing without a shred of restraint. The relief to his body was palpable as tense muscles loosened, the crease in his worried brow released and his heart rate slowed for the first time in weeks.

For a moment, nothing happened. It was a surprise to Icelos. He wondered if Nine was so tired that the best rest was not to dream, but his shrewd golden eyes turned as he saw something beginning to build in the kitchen. The flecks of dust hanging in the air seemed to coalesce, shadow taking shape and color and form. Brown Birkenstock sandals protected well tanned peach colored skin. Baggy earth tone pants led up to a loose sapphire blue t-shirt. Sun-kissed arms moved, washing dishes as a young man's face appeared, framed by shaggy unkempt sun-bleached blond hair.

Across the room, another figure spilled out of the bookshelves, filling a chair. Black slacks, a red t-shirt, and a black vest that matched his feathered black hair. Deep, soulful brown eyes studied the book that had manifested in his hands, seeking deeper truths. He glanced up briefly as one of the dining room chairs lurched back, making room for a third specter to take shape. Blue jeans with torn out knees, a pine colored t-shirt, a pensive face and black hair in an emo cut that was still just trendy enough to survive in Portland. The figure was hunched forward, scribbling over schematics and diagrams.

More steps echoed from the stairwell before a taller figure appeared. His broad-set shoulders barely fit into the gunmetal gray tank-top he was sporting and the roomy black uniform pants still seemed to have a hard time containing his firm ass and ample groin. His short kept chestnut brown hair was more than dwarfed by the thick, bushy, seven inch long goatee curving down from his chin, brushing his collarbone. The behemoth of a man moved over to the figure reading in the chair, rubbing his shoulders.

“Listen up, everybody!" Nine's voice called out, his dreaming figure standing next to the couch where his real self was curled up, “We don't have a lot of time. We've got to work together to figure this out." he said.

“What are we figuring out?" the goateed man asked as the blond emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands off with a hand towel.

“We have to figure out where the Man Trap is keeping you all, and how to get you back." Nine said decisively. Icelos couldn't suppress his grin, admiring the human's tenacity. He was hard at work even in his sleep, but at least this was a dream that would leave him feeling much better after his rest. The sleep spirit closed his eyes, allowing the bright morning light to pierce his form and wash him away like a half remembered dream.

****

A loud, languid yawn escaped Miguel's lips as he stretched his arms above his head, turning his waist to one side and then the other before flopping back onto his bay window bed. The sunlight spilled across his tawny skin. He smiled, clinging onto the memories of his dream. It had been so fun and so liberating to be a cat. He could still faintly taste the oddly appealing flavor of yarn on his lips. Across the room, Angel's eyes opened more slowly. He was confused, uncertain. He lifted his hand to check for claws but found none. He tried to move his wings, but his shoulder blades pressed unhindered into the cheap metal coil springs of his mattress.

A frown crossed his lips, but even that didn't do the ache justice. He wanted to go back to sleep, to keep dreaming beautiful dreams, but the morning was so bright and his body felt so rested, it was going to be hard. Angel rolled over and grabbed his cellphone from the charging pad and turned it over, gasping as he realized that the screen was shattered. When had that happened? How could he not remember breaking his phone? It wasn't just cracked, jagged lines ran across the screen in haphazard shapes that almost looked like some kind of upside down pentagram.

The memories came flooding back to him all at once - a rapper's ass buried around his horse cock, being skewered by the pillar of a demon lord, of embracing the hot and the dark. Angel shuddered, his back arching as his cock erupted with cum, instantly soaking his boxers before his cream ran down his hips and sank into his sheets. He lay there, panting, eyes wide, grasping at the dream that had left him feeling so liberated, so free, so alive, and so damned.