Not All That Meets The Eye
"You are crying." The words caressed his bruised cheeks and made him shiver. Cold and distant, stating a fact without revealing any feeling... so familiar. Grunting, he lifted his head and through blurry eyes he could see the figure of a man, looming over him. He was tall and thin, his massive white wings looked as if they would make him fall over at any time.
"I'm sad. It's a human thing." 'You won't understand,' he almost added before stopping himself. It wasn't the best time to piss another supernatural being.
"Angels cry too." The man, apparently an angel, objected and strangely enough it sounded like sulking
"Really?"
"No. Do you want me to cry?"
The first had been a rhetorical question, John was in hell, he bloody didn't care about anything other than getting out of there, but now he couldn't help but mull over the words of the other. For the first time he really focused on his companion. Cold, almost white, eyes returned his intense gaze, but with surprise the man noticed there was a flicker of humour in them."No, not really," he finally whispered.
"Good. I wouldn't know how anyway." A sad smile grazed John's lips, mirroring the one sent his way, whether it had been a flicker of the fire around them or not. The angel bent slightly, his wings falling protectively over both of them and wrapped a thin arm around him. "Shall we?
"You know why you are here, don't you?"
The words, barely a whisper against the background of noise that could make your blood go cold- even if you no longer had blood pumping in your veins, made John whip his head in the direction of the other.
"I don't remember."
A man, his whole body on fire, passed them and John tracked his movement instinctively, his mind was elsewhere. He remembered air and that was silly, of course there had been air. Strangely, it was rushing around his body, trying to get away from him, not in him and he finally, finally felt free and then someone was screaming or maybe it was from the room they had passed with the man with the pins on his skin.
"No? Maybe I should remind you?" The smile twisting the angel's lips had nothing to do with the one he had shown when they had first met. Voice like honey- too sweet and sticky- made the man next to him shudder. "You were flying, Johnny Boy. Flying towards the earth."
Different pictures were suddenly playing over his mind, overlapping each other, either too blurry or too sharp. There was a building, he was on top of it, his hands outstretched in either direction like a man being crucified, except there was nothing holy in what he was about to do. A sin... and a miracle. Death was underrated, really, it was like being in the cinema with the girlfriend you'd wanted to dump for weeks but didn't want to hear your friend's "I told you so", the overweight kid behind you kicking your seat and putting popcorn in your hair and the horny teenage couple making out in the seats next to you. And your only distraction is the movie which is boring and predictable and although with a good end- sad. Because a story with a good end is an unfinished story. But then it is over and you are so happy that you don't even realize you are alone again.
"I've died?" John muttered to himself and his eyes fell to his chest. No blood, no injury, just his old beige sweeter. That was somewhat comforting.
"That's what people do." The other shrugged as if it happened every day. It most probably did.
John nodded numbly but something caught his attention. There was something familiar with those words... that creature. He tried to remember, forced every single braincell to cooperate, but it was all in vain. All he could see was wide silver eyes and the sound of water gently caressing the walls of its confinement.
"I know you," he finally whispered with the confidence no man that had realized he was dead ten minutes ago should have. And certainly not one that was lying. Black wings shook as the being started laughing.
"I would've remembered such a pretty face." The angel suddenly stopped and it caused John to collide in his back. He immediately took a step back, something in his newly-found memories told him he didn't want to be close to the other. No sooner had he thought that than red eyes entered his line of vision and a long finger tracked his sides. "Of course, it would have been better if there was some color on it, don't you think?"
The finger dug into his skin, John felt liquid dampen his sides and it made him shake in repulsion. It was also the thing that made him turn around and quite literally run for his life.
He didn't know how long he had run, there was no time in that world. But there was pain as he soon realized when the angel neared him and with a well-aimed hit brought him to his knees. It hurt as the other abused him, it was unbearable when each punch brought a flash of memory from his life.
The pool, bombs, he remembered his heart beating loudly in his ears, so bad he could hardly hear what the angel... just a man then... was telling him. And there was another one, he could feel the need to just screw it all, he wasn't important anyway, and tell him to run but he couldn't see him, he was just a shadow.
The angel tore his cheek and a tear immediately mixed with the blood. He could see the shadow man falling just like he had. He had to find that man, that completely random and unexpected thought seized his mind. He climbed on his feet and run and run and run until he had no more breath in his wrinkled lungs and his legs couldn't hold him.
He had nothing else to do than cry.
"You are crying"
"I'm sad. It's a human thing."
"Angels cry too."
"Really?"
"No. Do you want me to cry?"
"No, not really."
"Good. I wouldn't know how anyway."
A/N My friend wanted a story with an angel torturing a man. I cheated a little (if Moriarty is an angel then I'm a carrot... but what a sexy demon he makes!) but I couldn't bring myself to make Sherlock do nasty things to our poor John. Also, I wanted to try that construction and I hope it worked. I confused you a little, right? Right? I hope I did. Thank you for reading.