He was a grenade.

An accident waiting to happen,

An angel fallen from grace.

He had known all his life,

That everything he touched,

Burned and crumbled to the ground.

Yet he watched over the hunter,

Day after day,

His dreams wandering to places of happiness,

Where there was no blood,

Or pain.

Just love,

And life,

And hope.

The hope he hadn't had.

The father he so blindly followed,

Was dead all along.

And as he begged the world that was set aflame,

He wished for someone to save him.

And soon enough,

Four layers of clothes,

And old cars

And old songs,

Smiled down at him,

And held out his hand.

The guardian angel had a guardian all along.