ATUHOR'S NOSE: Second chapter already written, will be up soon.

Warnings for: blood, violence, character death, reference to suicide.


Bela screams, shrill and desperate, a sound that Anna wishes she could scrub from her mind; knows she won't, knows she has to carry it with her for the rest of her life, a scar to remember the price she must pay if she ever falters again to grab Bela's reaching hand; as she does now.

Bela's horrified eyes are on hers; vividly, shockingly green that Anna has never seen brighter or more alive in that horribly ironic moment.

Then the hellhounds are on her, ripping and tearing and shrieking with the human voices of the damned.

Anna screams too, a ear-splitting shriek that angels only sound on the battlefield when they've been dealt mortal wounds, reaches for her with both hands, flaming wings unfurling and beating blasts of holy fire to drive back the dogs, but too late, God too late.

The hound who survives, biggest of the pack, Lilith's dog, runs back to his mistress with Bela's soul in his snapping jaws, leaving the woman a pile of raw red meat; she is unrecognizable as the terribly brave, terribly smart, terribly human girl whom Anna couldn't heal then, couldn't save now.

Can never save.

How many times has she watched now?

How many times has she thought they got away?

How many times has she failed?

Come on, kiddo, Gabriel whispers. Don't. This is what, the eighth time? Lilith ain't letting her go, you know that by now, right? She needs that first seal to break. She's not going to let you steal that from her.

No, Anna thinks. Numb. For the first time, she welcomes that. She needs numbness to keep his words from reaching her heart.

Anna, snap out of it. You're getting worked up over nothing! You can stop this so many other ways! Look bigger picture! I know you like her, but this chick isn't important! You got other pieces you can move, other plays you can make.

If Bela really mattered so little, then why can't Anna save her? She deserves to be saved too, Anna tells him. She doesn't deserve Hell. She's never going there. Anna staggers to her feet, turns away from Bela's remains, towards the corner of globe that's still yesterday. That'll make this easier. With hands still red, she plunges into the timestream again, gripping it like a writhing snake, and forces it back. It's getting so, so hard. Like pushing a car uphill. Nothing's working and she's running on hope and vapors.

Suddenly everything snaps into place.

But God, just barely.

How many more tries does she get?

Bela curls at the end of the bed like a cat, eyes on the gun in her lap like she wishes Anna weren't there to talk her out of it; the first time, she hadn't been.

The clock on the table reads 11:59.

"Bela," Anna says, a prayer that this time, she gets it right. As Bela turns to look, the angel reaches for her.