"John and Dave, you have Egyptian symbolism."
Dave and John high-five each other when the teacher announces it, both grinning. It's been almost seven months since Dave arrived at the school, and he and John are thick as thieves. Practically the whole school knows about "those two juniors who are totally going out but won't admit it," a rumor that is not discouraged by the fact that they are rarely seen apart besides for classes.
"You wanna come over tonight to get started?"
Dave laughs, more of an amused huff of air than anything. "Dude, we've got till the end of term."
"Yeah, but we should get on top of it! Procrastination is never a good thing, Dave, we've been over this!" John chides.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll come over."
"Sweet! Meet you there?"
"Yeah, sure. Should I swing by my place and grab a toothbrush and stuff?"
"Yeppers."
"Bro, did you actually just say 'yeppers'?"
"Yeppers," John repeats, grinning. Dave half-laughs again, shoving John's shoulder good-naturedly.
"You're dumb."
"And you love me anyway."
Dave sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes. "Sure, Egbert."
John laughs, wondering what he did to have a friend like Dave Strider.
They've spent the past five hours horsing around on John's computer, surfing YouTube, listening to music, chatting, and basically getting nothing done at all. Finally John suggests a break from "working" to get some pizza, and they end up curled on the couch with pizza, popcorn, some soda, and Raising Arizona. John has his head on Dave's shoulder, his eyelids drooping a little as he cradles his off-brand orange soda.
"Whoa there, Baby Blues, don't fall asleep on me. This hot shoulder prefers to be drool-free, thanks. Your mouth-slime is gonna infect my cool, and then where will we be? In a lonely world without dry shoulders and irony straight from the fire, that's where. What's that? I'm sorry, Dave, I won't let my gross slobber soak into your hot bod anymore? Well, thank you, that wasn't so hard, now was it?"
John's laugh is muffled by Dave's shirt. "Shut up, dude, you're word-vomiting all over our nice couch."
"You wish you had this kind of eloquence, Egbert."
"Okay, Dave," John says sleepily, yawning a bit. "Can I ask you a question?"
"You're going to anyway, so what's the point of asking me?"
"Mm, fair enough. Why do you have wings?"
John feels Dave tense below him and he sits up, blinking the grogginess away. "Oh, shit, that's not what I meant to say-"
Dave cuts him off. "I thought this might happen."
"You what."
He sighs, long and low, and rustles them deliberately. "Yeah, they're not hallucinations. These babies are real as shit."
How does he know about my hallucinations?!
"Dave, you're scaring me a little."
"Dude, you're the one who's been ogling my back for the past seven months," he replies dryly, a hint of bitterness coloring his voice. "This happens every time. I thought you'd just ignore it, you know? Or accept it."
"I did! I did a damn good job of ignoring it for seven months!"
"Yeah, but you just couldn't keep your curiosity down, could you? No. Damn it, John, I got attached to you!"
"What do you mean you got attached to me?" Cold fear grips John's lungs, and suddenly he can't breathe. "Are you leaving? Dave, what's going on?"
Dave sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face and knocking his glasses a little bit askew. "I'm not a human, John. Not anymore."
"What?" John squeaks. It's all he can seem to manage.
"…Do you have any paper?"
John hands some over, still looking hopelessly confused, and Dave scribbles something on it quickly.
"Okay, so this is how angels are set up."
"Angels? Angels are fake, dude."
"John, you dumbass, you've been attached at the hip to one for the past seven months," Dave snaps, uncharacteristically annoyed.
"You can't be an angel."
"John Egbert! Open your eyes, wake up, and smell the roses! You're not in Kansas anymore, this is real life shit!" For a moment, just a fraction of a second, John thinks he sees Dave's skin glow. But that's not possible, because angels do not exist.
"Dave-"
"Fuck it. Look."
Dave whips off his shades, and, for the first time ever, John catches a glimpse of Dave's eyes. They're red, the purest red John's ever seen, and for a minute his breath is stolen. In Dave's eyes he can see everything. Life and death, pain and beauty, the whole universe and countless other ones laid out, layered over one another, and blotting out everything with their spiraling brightness and darkness that shouldn't make sense but do. And for a moment John feels infinite, like he can live forever and be forever and just see, into forever, and never come out.
And then Dave's shades go back on, and all John can see is the glow of the television as the credits roll, soaking the living room in sickly artificial light.
"Oh," he breathes.
"Yeah, 'oh.' Go ahead and have your existential crisis now, I'll wait," Dave says, sounding tired and resigned. His arm has retreated from where it was resting near John's knee, and he looks painfully lonely. Something sharp tugs at John's chest.
"Don't be dumb, Dave. Were you ever a human? How did you die? Why are you here? Is it only me that can see the wings? Why? How come you didn't tell me before? Has this happened with other humans? What did they do?"
Dave just stares in disbelief. "Seriously?"
"Seriously what?"
"You're just…I whip off the shades, tell you I'm an angel, and you're just good with it?"
"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I be? I mean, it's a pretty big relief that I haven't been hallucinating about the wings! And besides, you're my best friend. A little thing like divinity doesn't change that."
Dave is silent, disbelief radiating from him like heat from a furnace. When he does speak, it's still got a note of doubt in it. "I was a human, once. I died in a street fight, trying to help this girl. She was fine," he adds quickly, seeing the concerned look on John's face. "Anyway. If you'd looked at my goddamn chart you'd know that I'm a guardian angel. If you die protecting someone, that's what you become. It can be as unspecific as soldiers that die in battle, too. Generally, they're looked down upon, because the older angels think they're just errand guys and more often than not we create more work than we alleviate. Some guardian angels don't like their jobs because if the human figures out you're an angel…well, their memories are erased because they literally can't handle the truth, and the angel is shunted over to the next person. You're the only one that can see these," he flaps his wings a bit, "because you're more perceptive than most, and because I'm your guardian. There's also a myth that guardian angels were originally given the job they have to find their soul mate in another life, and that they're the only ones that can see the wings…but, well, that's just a myth. All the other humans I've been put in charge of have been…not as good. I never really minded the job, because I never got too emotional about the people and it wasn't a huge loss when their memories were erased by the higher-up angels."
John listens to Dave's speech raptly, fingers tightening around his bottle of soda. "But you'll mind if they erase my memory."
Dave's wings seem to droop. "You don't get it, John. It's not an 'if.' It's a 'when.'"
"But if I can handle it and accept it and don't tell anyone-"
"There's never been an exception."
"…Oh."
"Yeah. Oh. And you just had to be so fucking happy and eager and funny and adorable, and now it's going to suck, because I have to put up with some clueless asshole who's going to forget me anyway." To John's horror, Dave's voice sounds strained and tight, like he's going to cry. The freckles on his pale nose start to be swallowed up by red splotches.
"Dave."
"No, John, don't."
He takes a deep breath and it all comes rushing out anyway. "Dave, you're the best friend I've ever had, and I knew that you'd be perfect and amazing as soon as I saw you, and then I was proven right, and you're so perfect, you don't even know. And before you came, I knew, I knew that I was definitely not a homosexual, that I liked girls, and then you waltzed in with those wings and that smirk and I just…I couldn't help but love you, all of you, even if you were a guy, even if you were sometimes a jerk, and I still can't help it, and surely angels wouldn't ruin that?"
Dave looks up from where his chin has been resting forlornly on his knees. "…You actually mean that. Oh my god, you actually mean that." He sounds mystified, like he can't believe that John is real.
The black-haired human turns red. "Um. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."
There is a long silence. "Me too."
"What?"
"Me too."
"…Okay."
"Good."
"Yeah."
Dave smiles sadly. "Maybe you should sleep, John."
"But-"
"Sleep."
At Dave's command, John's eyelids grow heavy, and he nods sleepily. "Alright."
And he sleeps. Still, peaceful, and curled up on the couch with the nice upholstery, popcorn kernels flattened underneath him, orange soda in hand, John Egbert sleeps. Dave just sits and watches him, savoring the last few hours, minutes, seconds, that he has with the knowledge that John remembers him. He pretends that when John wakes up, they'll clean up the popcorn, laughing and throwing it at each other, and Dave will see those blue eyes light up with laughter because of him. He makes himself believe, for a precious length of time, that he is still human and that this can work.
Comments are always appreciated. :3
~kandyblood
