"Certain bonding experiences create links between persons that are unbreakable." - Anonymous

"Such as being shot at." - Demos Belmont

-

Misfit High, the nickname of the high school in the Candian Correctional Campus, is home to some of the strangest youths to ever grace the Western Contenients. A school where attendence is hardly mandatory and every student passes even if they haven't done a lick of the work asked by their classes. More often than not, children are sent to the CCC when their parents (likely guardians) have given up on their offspring ever making anything of themselves, assuming they even cared for them in the first place. Others are sent to the school because they requested it themselves, thinking it a better alternative than being expelled. Although classes are the least commonly done thing in school, the students with dreams of being specific careers attend the classes they think will help. The last kind of student that attends the school are those who do not fit in unless their classmates have thoroughly rotted their brains out with smoking and drinking since the age of nine. The supernatural attend the school, most often Lycanthropes and Vampires, as they are the easiest to blend into a crowd. However, it is not uncommon to see others, as angels and demons have walked through the halls along with the immortal. Those magically gifted in casting spells and brewing concoctions. Although maybe not now, but at one point in time, every humanoid creature you can think of that differs from the norm have made their way through Misfit halls.

Quite the big halls they are in fact. Misfit High is the size of a large university, taking in students from the northern most point in North America all the way to the southern tip of South America, occasionally even ones from overseas. The dormitories are the largest single building in the complex. Though women and men never share the same rooms, they put no more effort into having two separate gendered housing units. Though the teachers themselves are the supervisors of the dorms, parties run rampant, often frequented by some of the more corrupt teachers. This is not to suggest that even one of the teachers are good by any means, just that they don't like associating with the students. The dormitories make up a ten story, red brick building with four halls per floor and twenty-five dorms per hall, not including the supervisor's room, and each of those rooms hold up to four people. All of the rooms have their own, very small kitchen corner and slightly larger bathroom with no bathtub. All rooms are the same size, no matter if they have only one occupant or four, so all of the rooms fit very nicely in the buildings design. The nicer dorms are on the top floor of the school, as the lazy party trashers didn't want to have to climb ten flights of stairs while the people who don't want to deal with alcoholic monsters are more than willing to climb the flight of stairs to get away from it. On the bottom floor, beer can and liquor bottles are common trash to be seen. The doors are a lot of the time broken or altogether missing, revealing the destroyed remains of whatever was a respectable dormroom at one point in time.

The main building, where all of the classes are held, is garbed in royal blue and purple paint, the adored school colors. It is dwarfed by it's dormitory counterpart, being only three stories high with two hallways per floor and fifteen rooms per hallway. On any given day, it is nearly impossible to find a classroom with more than half its students attending, assuming the class has people in it at all, including the teachers. The founder of the school must have made a deal with the devil so the country wouldn't revoke the right the school had to steal students away from their terrible families and put in a situation where there were many more people and things surrounding them to cause pain and suffering. The teachers of the more studious classes such as math routinely never showed up to class after the first few weeks. No point when the drug addicted didn't even attend the supposed fun classes let alone ones that demanded a brain with little enjoyment for a reward. Because of this, the main use of the main building turned into the black market. The buying and selling of illegal substances mostly took place within the halls, with bags and bottles of illicit items being sold by the crateful. As fast as it could be shipped in were they consumed, just as fast as they could work at the fast food place down the street or beg for money from their parents.

One member of this school plays into all of these stereotypes of the school and more, while retaining his individuality in a sea of what could have been the most creative minds on Earth if the drugs hadn't gotten to them. With more problems than a snake has scales, this boy treks about in classic emo boy style without the hoodie. Muttering things under his breath is his favorite past-time along with removing himself intentionally from his peers and the society around him. Normally, when loners find other loners they manage to be alone together. However, this boy found a way to stay away from the masses, neglecting to find common bonds with the other rejects and socially retarded members of the school.

Demos Belmont, year 11, age 16. Pale skin offset by the blackest of black dyed hair. Thin as a rail, one might even go as far as to call him anerexic. Only wears black clothes that cover as much of his body as possible and just large enough to not cling to his body whenever he breaths. The dismayed owner of unkept sparse hair which has barely stayed attached long enough to grow to his shoulders. Looks through gaunt, hazel eyes that have had the life sucked slowly out of them. Whenever found, usually stalking through the halls of the illustrious school, his pocket is full of cash to buy his next fix. Not a fan of the taste of alcohol and most liquid drugs, but more than happy to smoke, shoot, snort or swollow anything he doesn't have to put on his tongue for more than a split second. More often than not, he drinks poisons to accompany his obsession with death, some more than lethal for humans. Yet, somehow he still manages to degrade the lowest of the halls in the school with his presence every single day.

-

"Watch where you're goin', freak," a large male bellowed in the crowded hallways of Misfit High. Nearly every person surrounding him drop their voices lower as an automatic reaction to what power he held in his voice. The student had run into another, a small and frail one at that and knocked him to the floor. Luckily, the boy didn't run into anyone or get stepped on, but it looked like the bigger one wasn't just going to walk away. Apparently, he was looking for an oppourtunity to beat the hell out of someone.

The smaller one, the freak, more commonly known as Demos weakly got to his feet, not looking at his assailant. Brushing himself off, he did his best to avoid the confrontation that everyone else knew was destined. When he looked up, he had a man towering over him, easily twice, perhaps even three times his size. "I said, watch where you're goin; punk." and the bigger man shoved Demos into a locker. The loud bang when his back collided with the metal run shivers through his spine and attracted the attention of even more students. Soon he was going to be the main attraction.

"Actually, you said, 'Watch where you're goin', freak,' not punk. It's an easy mistake to make though, as you are probably not the smartest person amongst a mass of monkey's and both words do end in a 'k'. So, I'll forgive you on this one," Demos' smartass remark was quiet and subdued. However, his opponent caught enough of it to get the fact that it was an insult. With a thick, stubby-fingered hand, he grabbed the emo kids neck, lifted him off of the ground and into the locker.

Demos heard a girl scream and winced a little bit. The noise was worse than the hand in his opinion. "Stop it, Bull! He didn't do anything!"

Bull? thought Demos. Great, like Bully? Or Bulldog? How about Bulldozer? Maybe it's not even a shortened nickname and it's just Bull, like the giant angry cow with horns to gouge anything in it's path.

The words of the girl fell on deaf ear though as Bull pressed his hand harder and harder into the neck of the boy whose life he held in his palm, literally. Demos didn't seem to be taking it so badly though. Limply, he hung there like a rag doll waiting to be thrown around by a three year old across the room, but he didn't look defeated. In fact, it looked like he won something, or he knew something that no one else did and he was waiting for is knowledge to come into effect.

Just as Bull's hand started to grip tighter on Demos' neck, someone from the crowd yelled, "Come back here you dumbass!" More insults? Bull turned his head around toward the sound of the voice in time to see a 17-year-old with tannish skin and deep blue eyes kick the back of his knee as hard as he possibly could.

Buckling underneath him, Bull couldn't keep control of his leg and he fell to the ground, letting go of Demos to prevent himself from face planting into the ground. Almost mimicing Bull's position, Demos hit the ground hard on his knees and rubbed his neck, trying to get it feeling properly after being so roughly abused. Demos then looked up at his savior and grimmaced. He'd seen the boy around the school before, though he looked odd when you had to look up at him. Thick, straight black hair that was scattered about his head and still somehow looked neat and well kept. His clothes were semi-formal, a basic white tee shirt with a white dress shirt over it left unbutton. Very well taken care of slacks that looked like they were ironed out not but three seconds ago and then, to finish the outfit, simple black skater shoes. Nothing terribly fancy, but enough to give him a distinct style that Demos didn't like right off the bat.

"Come on," the boy said, gesutring to Demos while giving Bull a worried look. They could be in a lot of trouble if the man regained his feet. The new guy was only 5'11 and 185 pounds compared to Bull's 6'5" and 300+ pounds. "We haven't all day." and he moved over to Demos with an extended hand.

Everything in Demos' mind told him not to take the boy hand but his body got the better of him as he reached out and took the offering. The new guy nodded quickly and then pointed down one of the hallways, obviously expecting Demos to start going. When the smaller boy didn't go immediately go, he shurgged and went ahead.

That's when an involuntary growl escaped the lips of Demos, as soon as he saw the boy's back he realized that it wasn't the clothing that he wore that set him off so much. Oh no, it was the wings of white feathers that the boy kept as close to his back as possible, both to detract attention from himself and to keep people from running into and other various things. Angel wings, the guardians of the human race. The thought of them made Demos sick on the inside. Now, here he was being saved by one of these freaks. He would have rather been beaten into a bloody pulp than take help from the self-appointed guardians of the weak.

There was nothing he could about it now though. Sighing on the inside, Demos followed what he hated, already coming up with plans to make his escape. The crowd of people that had surrounded them parted to let the two make their way through, some of them dispersing all together, disappointed that a real fight hadn't broken out. Angel boy looked back quickly to see if Demos was following him and was pleased to see that he was. Though, his joy was short lived as he saw Bull finish making his way to his feet and locking eyes with him. There was a flash of panic in the boy's eyes and Bull saw that. His pained look turned into a confident grin and he started his charge.

Demos turned to see Bull start his charge. He smiled at the fact that Bull wasn't going after him anymore but the angel boy and happily stepped out of the way to let Bull to his target. They hadn't gone very far so the man wasn't able to build up any sort of momentum to use against him. He came to a complete halt before bringing his fist as far back as he could before releasing it into a punch.

Since Bull was slower than the average man and much slower than Shadow, the angel took a side-step out of the way of the punch. The boy braced himself to side kick him in the knee again, more likely to break something at the angle he was at. Before he could manage it, however, Bull howled in pain, cancelling the hallway of all noise other than his voice and he dropped to his knees trying not to cry.

Slowly, the boy backed away, trying to finger out what had happened. It became clearer as a new noise appeared. The slow, cruel laughter that Demos issued forth was quiet but clearly audible. Walking closer to the emo kid that he'd saved, the angel looked at the backside of the bully and saw a knife sticking out of the calf of Bull. Looking around at the people in the crowd, the angel decided that it was time for them to leave. With a quick shove, he pushed Demos down the hall, away from the bloody mess that they'd participated it.

"What the hell are you doing?" Demos demanded as soon as they got far enough away from the crowd that he felt comfortable again. "I want that knife back, it's one of my favorites."

"What the hell are you doing?" The angel repeated to Demos. "Why did you stab him? What was the point in that?"

Sneering at the angel, Demos crossed his arms. "Saving your ass. He was going to pummel you into the ground. I made it so he didn't get the chance. You stopped him from throttling me, I repayed the favor."

"You could have done it without stabbing him. I was going to kick him in the leg and take off. There are smarter ways to go about fights than permanently injuring him." The angel said, sighing and leaning against a nearby wall on his shoulder.

"Oh, get off yourself. Have you looked where you go to school fairy? This isn't exactly the safest place in the world to be. If you don't carry a weapon around with you, you're the one likely to be permanently injured or killed." Demos shot back. There was a silence between the two of them before the angel snorted and started to walk off.

With a wave that he sent over his shoulder, the angel said, "Do what you want then. Later."

Demos spit at the ground and stepped on it. He knew that the angel heard his symbol of insult and silently smiled to himself. After the angel took a turn around the corner, he stomped on his spit puddle on the ground and rubbed it into the tile with bestial vigor, something he hadn't shown in his face with death. Shoving his hands in his pocket, he started on his way toward his dorm.

It didn't take him very long to get to his room. With key in hand, he shoved the small piece of metal into the lock and turned until he heard the noise that told him the door was open. Pulling the key back out and slipping it back into his pocket, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. There was a small bit of shock upon entrance into the door. The room that he has left that morning was completely and utterly disgusting. Pill bottles, ashes, clothes, blood, flesh were littered across anything and everything. Now he was back and one half of the room was spotless. There was even a distinct line where whoever had cleaned up had declared Demos' side of the room and stopped cleaning.

The clean side of the room seemed to glow with a slightly blue tint, or it might have been just because all of the new things that were put over there were either white or sky blue. The bed was made, there wasn't even a speck of what Demos had around on that side of the room left. For the longest time, Demos had been living in a two person dorm by himself because his dorm mate mysteriously died in the dorm. Even though no one could prove it, the rumor around the school was that he had killed him in his sleep, and that all the blood around the room belonged to the roommate. Because of such, anyone who would be reassigned to the room refused to even enter. Obviously that changed.

Demos could hear his new roommate in their bathroom, messing around with something loudly. Without a sound, Demos closed the door behind him and gave the lock a quick turn. Slipping off his shoes, he took the steps of a ninja into his side of the room, taking unnatural care in not stepping on anything that would make noise. Lightly touching the bed, he gauged it quickly before sitting down on it. Being the good day that it was, the bed made no noise as he put all of his weight on it. From there, he spread out, stretching his skinny, boney body about as much of the bed as he could muster. He hadn't realized out tired he'd was until an unwanted yawn forced its way from his throat. To himself, he wished that his new partner would just emerge from the bathroom and reveal who he was. Demos was not the most patient person in the world and this instant required too much of it.

In roughtly a half hour after almost dozing off, Demos awoke with a jerk as all of the noise in the bathroom came up an abrupt halt. With only a few seconds of the silence, the door to the bathroom made its way open and revealed the vile cleaning offender.

The angel from before, armed with a disgusting wash rag and a container full of various cleaners and what could only be more disgusting wash rags. Stunned to see the bastard angel who protected him from Bull not that long ago, Demos shot up from his bed and with a smooth grab of his knife under his pillow, he pointed it at the cleaning boy threateningly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Demos demanded with a light thrust of the blade in the angel's directing. Sure he wasn't near enough to stab the other person with, but he'd get the point.

"Cleaning our room, does it look like I could be doing something else?" he said, setting the container on his bed and throwing the wash rag that he had in his hand ontop of the other ones in the bin. "Are you surprised to see that you have a floor?"

"Our room, you don't fucking live here," Demos growled, his pose getting even more dangerous looking.

Laughing, the angel spread his wings, untucking them from the usual tight position behind his back to keep them out of the way of things. "I do now. I was transferred here when my roommate got expelled. So, instead of giving us our own roommates, they put us together and decided to have an empty room for a while. Probably because they think that no one else will room with you."

Pausing for a moment, Demos thought and slowly dropped his knife until it rested it at his side. "Wait, so you knew you were going to be rooming with me?"

"Yes, in fact. I probably wouldn't have agreed to do so if it wasn't you that was going to be my partner."

"Why would you agree to room with me?"

"Easy, you have this rumor that you killed your last roommate and I thought it would be interesting to live with a man who had such an extreme rumor built around him. Plus, I don't know who my next one would be. He could be Bull for all I know. But hey, I think that rumor is full of shit now, especially after saving you from the big, scary bully," the angel smirked.

Anger flashed in the eyes of Demos and he thought about bringing the knife back up and slitting the throat of the person before him. Angels weren't immortal, were they? If they were, he would sure as hell put as many holes into the boy as possible to release all the anger he was feeling. But, with a quick whim, he threw the knife onto his bed and sighed. "Never clean my side of the room, got it?"

With a chuckle, the angel picked up the container of cleaning materials and headed to one of the cabinets in their kitchen area, which was also spotless. throwing all of the filthy wash rags into a bag, he tucked the cleaning supplies under the sink next to the garbage can. "I didn't even want to clean my side of the room it was so dirty, like hell I'm touching yours. That's 50 times as worse. However, I can't live in a dirty room, so making my side of the room clean, and the place I'm going to cook clean will have to do here." Reaching over to one of his wings, he pulled it in front of him and he started picking out small bits of muck that found it's way between his feathers.

"What a fairy," Demos muttered under his breath, making a quick and rude gesture.

"I have a name you know," the angel said, pulling out a rather large piece of dirty and flicking it into the sink. "My name is Shadow."

There was a bit of pensive silence between the two of them as Demos registered what the angel had told him. It really took him sometime befor it finished processing through his head. "Shadow? You're serious? Who names an angel Shadow?"

"An angel's father, I would assume. I've been called this for as long as I can remember and nothing else. I don't even have any nicknames," Shadow explained. Demos started to open his mouth but the angel sent him a death glare and the emo boy shut his mouth. "Any non-insultive nicknames at any rate."

"I'm going to bed now," Demos announced, pointing a finger at Shadow, looking at the boy warily. "I'd regret it if I were you if you woke me up."

Shrugging, Shadow continued to take the dirt out of his wings. "I'll be quiet as a mouse. Especially since I won't be here. It's four in the afternoon, why are you going to sleep?"

"Cause I'm tired fairy, isn't that why everyone sleeps?" Demos shot at Shadow, sliding his knife back under his pillow. From there, he took his shirt off and Shadow blanched. Demos was covered in the scars of what could have only been many fights, knife scars and bullet wounds. Demos may have looked tiny but he certainly could take a beating. When he took off his pants, he legs were almost in the same condition. On the inside, Shadow was glad the kid didn't take his boxers off. Not that he was sad that he wasn't going to see a naked man, but he wouldn't have been surprised to see that his penis had been cut off or that a testical had be removed entirely. The angel shivered at the thought of that happening.

Climbing into bed, Demos covered himself in blankets, much more than a normal person would use in the middle of March when it had been sunny for the past week. WIth one eye open, the boy watched Shadow finish his business about the room before the angel took his leave to do whatever he wanted to in the outside world. "If he knew he was going to be my roommate, and he saved me..." Demos' thought process trailed off a bit, receding into his mind as his body let him get more tired and relaxed by the second. "He did it on purpose, so I'd have to owe him when we met. That fuck." Sadly, though, Demos didn't get to finish thinking about what he would do to the angel boy as he drifted off to dreamland. And like all men around the country, he had better things to dream about then killing someone he was going to live with until they finished school. Unless something happened, of course.

-