A pint glass smashed over the man's head; the shards spiralled in every direction. Those closest to the fight shielded their eyes. The provoked demon jammed the glass under the man's chin, and he shrieked in pain. Red dots now spiralled in every direction.

Tom clambered over the bar and threw himself into the eye of the storm. He shoved the demon through the entrance with such force, the wooden door splintered as it smashed against the wall. She tripped on the shallow step and cracked her head against the pathing slab. Tom grimaced at the noise and yelled, "Call an ambulance, now!" to the nearest bystander with a cigarette in one hand, and a beer in the other.

The demon was on her feet in seconds, unscathed. Tom towered over her but held arms up in defence. "Enough!" he roared. Her face was splattered with blood, and her menacing eyes twisted with violence. Her hands turned to fists, and Tom was ready to shield the pub entrance with his body.

She lunged forwards and he blocked her punch, hitting her back with a swift uppercut to the chin, once again knocking her to the pavement. "Hurry up!" Tom grumbled, desperately searching the sky. The full moon watched them, but he could see nothing else beyond the light pollution.

The demon was on her feet quicker than before. Tom looked down in time for a fist to slam against his right cheek. Pain rippled through his face as he fell towards the pub, gripping at the entrance to stop himself falling onto his back. The demon would have followed, but Tom's mother arrived in time to return the punch.

He shook the pain off and stepped towards his mother, until another demon landed between them.

Tom panicked through the seconds. How could they fight off two demons? He didn't want to die. He especially didn't want to die this way- protecting himself in a fight that could've easily been prevented.

The new demon had his back to Tom. He lifted his leg and booted the other demon hard in the chest, leaving a big footprint on the front of her white cropped vest. She flew backwards down the path, and the other demon followed. He twisted her arm uncomfortably behind her back as an angel now landed in front of Tom.

Her wings whooshed so hard from her landing that Tom stumbled backwards. He inhaled deeply when the angel's aura of tranquillity circled him, despite his heart thrashing around his chest. He stormed back into the pub. The injured man was on the floor. Everyone hovered round him, drunkenly murmuring the event to their friends, or anxiously screaming that he was going to die.

Nobody had tried to stop the bleeding.

Tom knelt and yelled for paper towels. He held them under the man's chin. When they turned red, he held more underneath the soaked one, until the paramedics arrived and took over. The man was taken away, and as Tom dragged out the mop bucket to clean the floor, his mother returned with brown hair now scraped back into a ponytail.

Tom sighed, slopping the mop onto the floor. "Is there even any point in asking what happened?"

His mother settled the guests and drew their attention back to the football match. The regulars soon swarmed the bar for another round. "Sorry Tom, I was out the back having a chat with Shanice. Who started it?" Tom's mother, Moira, asked while opening two fruity ciders.

"The man who ended up with the glass in his throat," Tom grumbled, rubbing his bruising cheek. "The demon never even made it to the bar before he started on her."

"Twat. Demons have as much right to a drink as the rest of us."

"Well, I'm getting a bit sick of mopping up blood. Maybe we should make the demon's welcome sign bigger."

"I'll talk to your dad about it later. This fight will be in the papers, and our pub will once again be crowned as the worst pub in in the county."

"You're not the worst!" Finn, their most loyal customer yelled over the bar, spilling his beer in the process. "The most dangerous, yes, but not the worst!"

Tom grinned, picking up an empty glass and clinking it against his.

The rest of the night went by smoothly, until Tom felt a cold chill on his skin, and an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He scanned the emptying pub until he spotted a dark figure tucked silently in the far corner. "A demon," he said quietly to his mother who was chatting to a couple asking about the town fair.

"He just appeared over there about five minutes ago. He's probably waiting until it's a bit quieter to get a drink," Moira said.

"I'll go ask what he wants." Tom didn't usually go from table to table, but he desperately wanted to avoid another fight. The demon was hunched over a thick old book when he cleared his throat. "Drink?" he questioned.

The demon slowly lifted his head. His hood fell over his face, hiding his eyes. Tom still saw the dark stubble against pale skin, the scar that curved down his cheek and over his chin, and the demon mark of a barbed wire tattoo, choked around his neck. "The human will live," he said, and his voice was so deep, it vibrated through the small pub.

"You're the soul stripper who saved us from a beating earlier?" The demon's unmoving demeanour was a firm, yes. "Well, we're closing in an hour. Are you having a drink?" Tom tried to read what the book said on the cover. He saw the words 'history of' before the demon rested a forearm over it.

"Strongbow."

Tom left and returned with a pint. "On the house," he told the demon. "For being at the right place at the right time." The demon didn't move an inch, and Tom lingered, wanting to ask about what happened to the other demon, but he knew better. Demons could be unpredictable, and despite Tom being able to deal with conflict, plenty of other drunken people in the pub would jump at the chance of fighting one, only to boast about it later . . . if they lived.

Tom returned to the bar, pulling pints up until the thirty-minute mark. He rang the bell, yelling, "Last round!"

The demon was the only one left when they were due to close in ten minutes. Tom's mother had left to empty the bins and bring in the signs from outside. His father hadn't yet stumbled in from a night out with friends. His older sister and her husband were upstairs with his niece.

Tom was deep in thought about how to avoid his sisters condescending husband for yet another evening, when an empty glass was placed in front of him. "Thanks," Tom mumbled, looking up and into the dark eyes of the demon. His hood had slipped back a little. Black straight hair spiked out around his forehead. He had another scar, a smaller one that cut through his left eyebrow.

The demon gave him a short nod and left abruptly. Before he had even reached the door, Tom blinked and he was gone, along with his chills.

He helped his mum close the pub and was thankful that his sister's husband had gone to bed.

He showered, draining away the smell of alcohol and stress. He stared at his reflection while he brushed his teeth. Blue eyes were darkened by the tiredness drooping them, and the bruise that pooled under his right eye. Mousy brown hair stuck out in all directions from rubbing it with a towel. His cheeks were flushed red from hot water on his pale skin. Tom could almost hear his bed calling his name, until he heard his father hammering knuckles on the bathroom door.

He opened it and was immediately shoved aside. "Hi, but move. I'm gonna piss myself," Declan ordered, urgently slamming the door behind him.

Tom chuckled all the way to his bedroom, stepping over clothes on his floor and flopping onto his unmade bed. His dad appeared in his doorway only minutes later. "So," he said, having to grip the doorway to keep himself upright. "There was quite a violent fight tonight."

"Yeah."

"Did you get hurt?"

He shrugged. "Think I might've endured a few more punches, but a soul stripper and an angel turned up just in time." He paused, then shook his head. "Actually, mum turned up in time."

His father laughed, nodding knowingly that Moira was the toughest person in their village. "And the injured guy?"

"He's going to live, according to the soul stripper."

"Ah yes, I heard about his second appearance." Declan's drunken eyes took turns to blink. "Anyway, glad you're okay. I'm going to bed. If I'm desperately hungover, please open the pub for me."

"No."

"That's my boy." Declan staggered down the corridor, talking about the importance of accepting the consequences of your own actions.

Tom rolled his eyes, switched off the light, but tossed and turned for a while as he thought back to that morning. On his way through town, someone had handed him a flyer about online learning. Tom would have usually shoved it into the bin, but he had tucked it away in his jacket pocket.

Now that he was twenty-two, and after four years of working full-time in his parents' pub, he wanted more than the smell of alcohol, a drunken conversation he had heard twenty times before, and the constant fighting between locals and demons.

Their pub never used to be quite so bad, but now there was a fight that ended with someone in an ambulance at least once a month. It was only a matter of time until Tom or his parents were seriously injured too.

Still, he knew they would never give up the pub. The building was like their third child. They had given it everything, their money, their time, their care. They were in too deep now to just give it all away. Tom admired their commitment, he just hoped they would understand his lack of devotion when the time came for him to move on.