Chapter I:
Milkstone
Sitting upon the bench, he sighed with a breath lighter than feathers and allowed his crystallized air into the free sky. The vapor snapped into incredibly and unimaginably small spheres of crystal and ice where they melted swiftly into nothingness again.
The dark-haired boy beside him presented a sly smile and talked amongst the other dark-haired children, a little cigarette crumpled between his yellowing teeth. His milkstone cheeks were set ablaze by the nipping chill of the outside atmosphere and the intense fire-of-a-spirit that thrashed within his earthly shell.
His breath synchronized with the boy's, a single cloud of dew mixing and stirring into the air, masking his very presence in the human realm and the divine. The blonde, the brightest star of the small crowd of children, sat unnoticed but perfectly content with the knowledge.
The fiery, burning-coal-haired male punched the boy next to him, spouting something boastful and filled with venomous pride.
The dark-haired one by his side smiled sharply, dangerously, and spat his cigarette out. He stood up sharply, spindle-legs holding his lanky form up high above the fire-and-soot-headed boy.
The blonde stood along with him but stepped back, large and very rare sapphires glowing bright and watchful. A giant wind blew down upon the crowd of five and the fire both inside and outside of them cooled, shrinking back from the cold chill and into a small beating morsel of their original selves.
The teens settled onto the bench, excitement cooled with the winter-strong freeze. They shivered, mouths turning to ice and their noses coddling with robin-chest blood. Their generally dark eyes all settled up to the sky above them where small and unique sculptures of ice twinkled down upon them.
The cold only relented more.
The group stood, gave looks of so-long and parted their ways, cold chins tucked close to beating hearts and prickling scarves.
The blonde stepped after the sharp-faced raven-head, head cocked to the side and large blue eyes watching him intently. He licked his lips, but with no real need to.
"Damien," his hymn wafted through the air, lovely and soft with tender love and care, "Wouldn't you rather go to the movies or the mall, rather than back to your basement?"
He was deaf to the younger boy as he walked down the snowy street. His hands stuffed themselves lovingly deep into his pockets, heating them like fresh-out-of-the-oven dinner rolls. His fatigue-covered eyes fell onto the sidewalk and at his shifting feet.
"Perhaps a quick run around the neighborhood then? You really don't want to go down there, in the dark and the gloom, do you?" He suggested, feet taking graceful steps over the ice-laden sidewalk.
A gust of wind blew against the two, shifting Damien's sloppily cut hair into his face. The blonde beside him kept in perfect condition, not a hair out of place as the wind seemingly blew right through him.
"Really Damien, what is so appealing about that shadowed mess of a basement? It reeks of bodily wastes and too-strong incense. Why not stay outside a little longer and soak in some vitamin D? You're becoming as pale as death, really you are. I'm a little concerned." He paused when Damien paused, head cocking to the side as he looked over the darker teen's shoulder. His golden eyelids fluttered as he looked down at the empty sidewalk. He did a semi-circle around Damien, curving his spine to look at Damien's down-turned face.
"Damien?"
His eyes were held strong and intense against the giant crack that stretched before his feet, a spot where snow was stuffed inside. His lips curled down into a frown before he abruptly started walking again, head turned back up and eyes alert.
"You could possibly go ask that girl for a date, if that would make you happy. She seems nice enough and her guardian is absolutely lovely. A very confident young lady, she is, and with such bright red hair. All I can say is wow!" He laughed, heavenly voice ringing even in his ears.
He wondered if the boy could hear him.
Damien allowed his eyes to clasp together; hiding those sweet eyes that he knew had to be there, somewhere hidden far below. His nostrils flared as he almost leisurely walked down the street, taking a trained turn into his neighborhood. He pulled his hands from his pockets as he neared his sunny blue home, hands reddened and wrinkled from the pressure and the heat. A ring of keys was pulled out along with the hand, resounding along with the remnants of the blonde's laughter as it tinkled in the breezy winter air.
He sighed, seeming somewhat upset, tacking down tip-toe steps onto the flawed ground below his feet. His shoulders rotated, stretching every muscle that was built upon his scapulas and keeping them fit. He quickened his slid across the ground so that he and Damien were side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. His lips pulled into a smile that overworked mothers and tired fathers wore as they watched their child run through the water park for the first time, worried about their well-being but unable to do much but sit back and watch. His eyes were rounded and soft, careful and kind, cautious and worried.
Damien continued on, allowing his eyes to slide open as he turned into his yard, j-walking through the frosted grass and to his front door. The white door smiled at him as he angrily jabbed the key into the lock and turned it, unlocking it and allowing himself to slide inside.
The fair-haired one walked in and he quickly caught up with the seemingly suspicious Damien ahead of him. He followed him to the stairs like he had seen so many times before and his cautious face slipped into full disappointment.
"Now, Damien! Have nothing I said effect you, dear? This is not the right path; please stop digging your own grave! I only say this because I'm so very worried about you!"
The boy shivered as he unlocked the basement door and threw it open. He stepped in, descending down before he slammed the door shut and locked it back up. He exhaled sharply from his nose, shivering again in a sort of pleasured ease as he enveloped himself into the stench of the basement.
He followed obediently, toes soft against the carpeted stairs.
The after-sense of cigarette and incense smoke filled both sets of lungs, one of comfort and one of unease. A second wave hit them, one of something much more primal and animalistic. The stench of the body caked in the fairer one's nose, making him pull his lips close together and shake his head a little in disapproval.
Damien threw himself down the last couple stairs and onto the awaiting mattress that was thrown towards it from the night before. The bed frame that the mattress would have been on was now in pieces and piled in the middle of the room, made into a make-shift alter.
He bounced against the messy mattress, lolling his head back as he looked around his large and very dark bedroom. The standing lamps in each corner were alit, much like they always were, and were casting yellowing glows across the entire room.
He made it to the trash-covered floor and carefully stepped around, looking at the sloppy alter with worry. "Damien," he called, hands clasping together in a worried habit, "Damien, call for me so I may help! Damien!"
He sighed and pulled his arms over his head and against the nape his neck. He stretched his head back and looked blankly up at the ceiling, dark eyes half-lidded as they scanned across his basement. They landed on the spot where the blonde stood, quivering very slightly.
He quietly turned and looked at the bare wall behind him. He saw nothing.
"Who's there?" he asked, face trained to him.
"Excuse me?" He asked, watching his curiously as his blonde eyelashes turned to hummingbird wings.
Damien was silent; simply staring at what the blonde thought must have been empty space to Damien. "Show yourself," he finally said, dark eyes unraveling his soul.
He was relieved that the boy finally called for him. His original task would be so much easier. He sighed happily, golden face beaming as he allowed his feet to fully touch the floor and his shield to fall.
Damien's eyes turned to wide disks as the boy revealed himself. He lay for a long moment, still with shock. Finally, his face shifted like a flipbook, shock altering quickly into rage.
"Damien,"
He shot to his feet and lurched toward him, hands up and around the blonde's neck instantly. "Who are you?" He snapped, eyes held rabid and wide.
He was calm as he allowed a smile to slip onto his lips, "I'm your Guardian Angel, Damien." His eyes softened, "My name is Philip,"
His grip tightened.
"Now let me go, please." His hands gripped around Damien's wrists and he slowly eased them away from his neck. There were no marks left over.
He growled, form shaking like a barley tree in the wind, "Guardian Angel?" He screamed, enraged.
"Well yes—"
"No, no, fuck no!" Milkstone embedded with wide rubies, staining his cheeks with holy wine. "No wonder Satan has yet to come to me!" He screamed and wailed; eyes held burning and form shaking. "You're here, tainting my air!"
Pip's eyes grew wide, "No!" He said quickly, shooting his hands away from his wrists and to his burning face. The enraged blood that coursed through Damien's face was the same temperature as Pip's usual comforting heat. "Do not be swayed by his temptations!"
"No, no!" He forced his hands around those thin wrists, gripping them with the strength of steel. "No!"
He calmly slid his hands away from the boy's face and successfully out of Damien's grip. "Yes, listen to me Damien!"
"No!" His tongue tied and his mind went into repeat, only the word of disagreement slapping from his throat. The clattering was back, the one in which left his mind and speech into an infinite loop of nothingness. His face was harsh and intense, life boiling over and over as his hands clenched and unclenched; mind tinkering over the many thoughts of sin.
"Damien, please pay attention to me. I'm trying to help... You did want assistance, didn't you?" The angel asked with his face lax and his clear eyes transfixed straight upon Damien's earth-bound ones.
His fist shook, "No, I did not want help from you! Fuck you! Go away, angel," he spat at Pip's feet.
He frowned, lips rolled in, creating a thin line, "But Damien," his voice quivered like harp-strings.
"Get the fuck out of here! I don't need you! Get out!"
His heart-beat hummed and he obeyed what the boy had ordered. He could not help the boy unless he was asked.
The boy did not need him, so he must leave.
Philip pulled himself onto his tip-toes and allowed his wings to sprout from his back. They folded out, the doing of origami treasures, and into a large span of white-wash feathers and a golden glow. He pulled himself up off of the ground with a small waft and he miserably pulled on his shield, masking him away from the boy.
He needed to help the boy back to the right path, he knew... but he could not do anything if he did not ask for help.
In an instant, he was gone.
Damien slumped down onto his bed, eyes closed in a make-shift blindfold. His chest rose and fell, quick with confusion and the fade of memories. His face was contorted, unhappy and pained.
"What just happened?" He asked, other-worldly fog filling his mind and distilling the interaction. The image of Philip faded lightly; storing him deeply in the confines of Damien's head, peaking from the shadows but never fully exposed.
He pulled his feet completely off of the ground and pulled them neatly to his chest, toes crossed and arms secured tightly. He was not needed, he was not able to help, and he was not able to make a mark, to bring Damien to the light...
"Damien," he muttered quietly, crystal-ball eyes filtering down to the dark boy below, "Damien."
He curled up onto his side and sighed heavily, eyes squeezing shut.
Above, towards the stairs, towards the rafters, towards the sky, towards the heavens, came the bang of fatherly fists. The voice echoed, distilled behind wood and locks, with a concerned reverberation that only a father could hold. "Damien," the voice called, "Are you down there?"
The blonde shifted amid the air, glancing from the door and from the man that he knew stood behind that one barrier to the still slumping Damien.
He rolled his eyes and lolled his head around and to the stairs that rose above him. "Yes, Father!" He yelled, tone biting with attitude.
"Dinner's in an hour,"
"Yes, Father!" He growled, eyes clasping back shut like change-purse clips.
Pip shook his head and rested his chin against the tops of his knees. He did a small mantra of the boy's name in his thoughts with a feeling of sadness doing waves against his heart. The warming glass shell around his heart pulsated against the rush of the cool wave, doing no damage but certainly causing a full-body chill.
"Oh, Damien," he said miserably, looking down at him with concern.
The guardian angel of Damien's father was a muscular man named Thomas. He was like a horse in human form, skin pulsating with strength and diligence; strong, dependant, and disciplined.
He was a remarkable man that Pip really looked up to.
Before his death at the age of fourteen (it really was an unfortunate accident) Pip had lost every male role-model in his life. His father had died when he was three and he rarely ever saw his brother-in-law. Those were the only people he actually socialized with other than the children around him (and they did not enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed theirs.)
His first Guardian Angel duty was for a boy named Charles almost twenty years after he had died. He was a nice boy.
After him, Pip had no other people before he had taken up Damien.
Either way, Thomas had become a fatherly figure to him like the other guardian angels from the past families. He looked up to him and went to him for advice.
"Thomas," he said as the father and son dined beneath.
He looked up, eyes unthawing from his deep thought, and to the blonde. "Yes, Philip?"
"How can I get Damien to change his ways? How can I get him to understand?" He asked, feet crossing and hands locking around his knees.
He ghosted over toward the younger angel and he placed a warming hand onto his shoulder, "You'll have to take action."
He turned cornflower sea glass toward the other man's lips, studying how they pinched and twitched into a small smile. He found himself doing the exact same, slipping on a surgical mask of a smile right back to him, shielding back a great proportion of his worry behind the upturn of his lip.
"The issue about that is that I can't take action unless he asks me for it... You've been a Guardian Angel much longer than I have, is there a way I can take action without him asking?" He instantly felt guilt course through his body like angry lava. He had been so preoccupied with trying to bring Damien away from his dangerous rituals that he had forgotten that perhaps he needed to go down such a path.
He rested his chin on the heel of his hand, looking at the younger angel with a deep-thinking look. "You could always try a miracle."
Pip practically leapt with the thought. He, in his entire eighty years of being a guardian angel, he had never preformed a major miracle. He had done small ones but never a major one. And he knew; the one he had have to do to make Damien change would have to be a big one.
"A miracle?" he sputtered, eyes peeled wide and body reeling into a defense, "I can't do a miracle this big unless he's in mortal danger..."
He shrugged heavily and glanced down at Christopher. "Who said this wasn't an emergency? Well, from what I've seen from Damien... Pip, he's heading down a bad path and I know nothing about him being needed to follow this road. You need to take action and help him," his face, square and controlled, lowered with his eyebrows, "If you're not intended to, you will not be able to change and do so..."
Pip was about to say something, but his voice was blocked by Thomas' continuing words.
"It will never hurt to try; especially if you believe it's the right thing to do."
He nodded in agreement, straw lashes fluttering as he blinked with thought, "Yes, that makes sense. Thank you, Thomas..."
He nodded and eased back, watching over the small family. "I suggest you start with the school. Become his friend there and slowly ease yourself into his personal life, directing him to the correct path."
He nodded once again, hair bobbing.