And We Are the Dream
Summary: When Nico sleeps, she dreams of Bête Noir. Crossover with Fallen Angel.
Disclaimed.
Nico was asleep, and when she opened her eyes again, she was standing under a flickering streetlight.
She looked around, saw the leers of the gruff men passing her little pool of yellow light, and very purposefully tightened her grip on the Staff of One, which she was sure she would've remembered extracting. The high-heeled, fish-netted prostitute sharing her corner stared disdainfully from under dark-shadowed eyelids, pursed her unbelievably red lips, and informed her haughtily to beat it, the men who liked jailbait and roleplaying were two streets over.
Nico decided that "beat it" was a very good plan. She left, resolutely ignoring the old man in a bowler hat who called out to her like an old friend, and pledging to somehow make sense of this whole mess, preferably before she was attacked or raped or, well, anything unpleasant happened to her at all.
She found a church, or rather, the church found her when, in a semi-fledged state of panic, she stuck too close to its outer wall and fell headfirst over the stair rail.
Lying there, bruised and tangled up ass over teakettle over Staff, she cursed, before remembering that she was on the steps of the House of God, and her host wouldn't likely take His name being used in vain very well. So she struggled to her feet, murmured a respectful prayer of thanks-for-the-omen, and went inside.
It was big, nearly a cathedral, though the windows were grimy and the walls faded. Nico lit a candle, crossed herself, and sat down in the second pew to wait. What for, she wasn't exactly sure, but she found out when a priest showed up out of nowhere and touched her shoulder.
He was moderately tall, redheaded, and looked like he hadn't slept in years. I'm fairly certain I didn't have a sermon planned for tonight, he said. What brings you here?
I don't know, Nico said.
What's your name?
Nico, Father.
Well, Nico, is there anything you would like to talk about?
Actually, Father, I think I'd like to talk about God.
…
My boyfriend died last night, she offered.
And you need to know why He would cause such a thing to happen.
No. I need to know what He does to blasphemers.
The priest sat patiently with his elbows on his knees and his hands folded through Nico's explanation, although she was sure he'd gotten lost somewhere between Six-Toed Giants and Rite of Thunder.
We all lose our way, Nico.
Father, twenty people are dead. Alex sided with murderers. We left "losing our way" so far behind it's not even funny.
And what do you think of Alex? Your family?
Assuming they had souls, I think they're burning in Hell right where they belong.
He looked at her with a serious cast to his brow. It sounds to me like it's not them you're worried about.
…
Is it?
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.
Exodus. 22:18.
I never asked for this, Father, but I am a witch. I've broken half of His Commandments. Tell me, how can I not be damned?
Nico, I may not have all the answers, but I do know this: There is a God. Some might tell you different, but He loves you, just as He loves all of His children. And if you believe in Him, you'll find that some things aren't as impossible as they seem.
Just believe, and He'll fix everything up for you, huh?
His eyes were clear and very blue. All we have is faith, Nico.
...
The woman was drunk, surly, and wore an inexplicable amount of burgundy. Equally inexplicable was Nico's motivation to follow her from the dark alley where she'd first seen her.
She had shown up in the crevice Nico had been pulled into just in time to watch Nico crack Bowler Hat Man over the head with the Staff of One and tell him to freeze! - and freeze! he did; solid, in fact.
Bowler Hat Man's face was half way between humanoid and freaky snake, and grotesque enough that Nico backed away when she got a good look at it. The lady in red, however, got up close and personal, walking all the way around Bowler Hat Man and poking at the ice a couple of times before nonchalantly pushing him over into the alley wall. Something crunched. Nico suspected it wasn't the brick.
Then she muttered something like, neat, or maybe, beat it, and left.
And, Nico followed.
Right into a bar, as it turned out, although Nico didn't have a clue what a Furor was supposed to be. No one carded her, although she did get a few glances, some curious and most somewhat less benevolent. The booth in the back corner was big enough to fit all of the Pridelings (the five that were left, in any case), and maybe Old Lace if they squished, but at the moment, the lady in red was the only occupant.
She didn't look particularly lonely - the four beer tankards, three empty and one half full, were more than enough company - but Nico slid into the bench seat anyway. The woman lazily toasted Nico with her mug. Court of Last Resort, she announced. What can I do for you?
The words were polite, the delivery anything but.
I'm not sure, Nico said. I'm trying to figure some stuff out.
Figuring stuff out is for therapists.
I just talked to a priest.
Jude doesn't have a clue what he goes on about, she declared, and Nico assumed she was referring to the priest. No wonder you came to me; what kind of crap did he try to feed you?
Things like, God loves all of His children and will forgive their sins if they, you know, believe in Him.
The lady in red choked on her beer - Nico started and was about to lunge over to do CPR or the Heimlich or something, but then she threw back her head and laughed.
You've gotta be kidding me. Even Jude can't really believe that.
If God isn't real -
- oh, he's real. The problem is all these humans that somehow got the stupid idea that he gives a damn.
So basically we're all doomed.
If it makes you feel any better, Hell doesn't exist.
Thanks.
Here to help. She drained her mug. See, God doesn't care. Neither should you. I'm sure there's a lot of things you could be doing with your life instead of wasting your time waiting for a miracle.
Do you know what the Gibborim are?
Sure. His way of punishing His messengers for getting horizontal with mortals.
They used to be angels?
Half. It's the kids He screws up.
…punishing children for the iniquity of parents, huh.
Yep. It's like the death sentence for us, knowing that it's your fault.
Us?
…never mind. What about them?
They killed my boyfriend.
That's too bad. I don't suppose you want to get him back?
No.
…
Could I?
Life shall go for life.
Deuteronomy 19:21.
You're good. I didn't even get to the eye for eye stuff yet.
I used to be an altar girl. But that means I'd have to exchange him for someone.
Someone innocent. They don't go for that self-sacrificing hero crap. It's not a sacrifice if you want to do it.
I don't think I can do that.
Well, good. It's not worth it.
What's that supposed to mean?
Obviously he couldn't have been that great of a person if he got himself mixed up with them.
He didn't! Our parents made the deal -
- and he followed them. It's an apple, tree thing.
So if you had a son, he'd be a drunken, judgmental pessimist like you?
No. She smiled, amused and sarcastic. He'd be a priest.
Wait, he - oh. Oh, no wonder you called him Jude. I thought that was a little…
What kind of mother calls her kid Father? Anyway, it's not that your boyfriend was his parents' son, it's that he decided that they were worth more than whoever they fucked over.
I… I guess that makes sense.
Good. We done here? I need another beer.
...
When Nico opened her eyes, it was with the fading flash of a red hood and tired blue eyes, and she was no less confused than when she fell asleep.