Title: It's not like the Books
Rating: 14-A for swearing.
Author: Ratatusk
Authors Note: I really don't have much of an idea of where to go with this. I have an emotional plot line, but I need an action based one, otherwise this story is going to be pretty boring. So, this is where you come in. If you can think of a good action based plot, let me know (I am the world's worst person for coming up with plots) and I may in fact use it. Something along the lines of: "Holy fuck, the world's going to end. Now John and Chas must go be brave and stop it."
Anyways, sorry for the incredibly short update, I find it hard to write when I don't have a clue where the story is going, and the quality decreases rapidly. So, if anyone has any ideas, let me know. Even if it's mentioning an amulet of great power, some random place in South America, a tribe trying to raise demons…I can work with those.
He had said, "Undo what Gabriel did", and not the first thing that had flashed into his mind. The words to let Isabel go to Heaven were there, at the tip of his tongue when he realized. Gabriel. Gabriel must have been responsible for Isabel's death. So John gambled, and he won.
"Undo what Gabriel did."
He hadn't been certain that Gabriel was the one that lured Isabel to her death, but the pieces had slipped together in his mind, making a loud clanging noise as they did so, bringing it to his attention. It fit. Against all odd and the thousands of half breeds in the world, it fit.
It would have been a test, just the lightest touch on the mind of mere mortal. Obviously not worthy to serve if she broke under the ephemeral hand touching on her thoughts. It was just a whisper of Isabel's name, calling her to the rooftop and beyond, but it was enough. It had still been a suicide; she jumped on her own vocation.
"Undo what Gabriel did."
With those words, it would make Isabel's death be as if the angel had pushed her instead of simply tantalizing the woman over the edge with his voice.
He snorted at the otherworld like logic. The way he phrased it, he'd half expected Isabel to show up in the place she'd died, which would have probably been a bit traumatic for her since the reason for her death would have been there as well – minus the wings. Instead she was in Heaven, and presumably happy.
And Chas, Chas had been killed by Gabriel as well.
Two birds with one stone.
So now the kid was sleeping in his bed again, his still healing body covered with bruises – they were going to hurt like a bitch when he woke up – exhausted from coming back from the dead, but that was bound to happen with anyone. But alive, and that's what mattered.
John was too tired to do anything but sit in a chair with his arms resting on his knees and watch the kid he'd somehow allowed to open a crack in his armor and wiggle his way into his heart. The very bottom of his heart. In a dark corner that hadn't had any light on it until the moment Chas had been ripped out of his life and then carefully put back in it. Strange how dying can change your perspective.
God he wanted a smoke.
Instead he fell asleep.
There's a time between waking and sleep that is filled with jumbled images, sounds and smells that could all be in a dream, or they could be real. Chas hovered there, his mind in shambles as he tried to pick out the pieces of memory to explain what had happened.
I'm dead was the only certain thing in this hollow valley of his lost mind. So am I in Heaven or Hell?
It felt like a place he knew, the smell of cigarette smoke and the very faint stench of alcohol. He had almost placed it when his mind spiraled off to something new. John, Gabriel, Angela. What had happened? Chas had died, he knew that, but what the hell happened to John?
John, John, John. Something was there, at the corner of his mind. I'm in John's apartment. Nothing made any sense, his over taxed mind struggled with everything. This stinking shit hole is Heaven?
His eyes snapped open. They instantly closed again against the brightest morning sunlight he'd ever seen. Tentatively, his eyelids opened just the slightest crack, away from the sun. John was sitting in a chair, apparently asleep, alive but covered in blood and water and looking like Hell had just spat him out. His normally spotless suit was stiffened by a couple gallons of evaporated water, his shirt was missing nearly all its buttons, leaving his chest exposed for Chas's viewing pleasure. Quite a nice view.
As Chas stared at the man sleeping in the chair beside him, the sun changed. It was now being filtered through the blinds and onto John's face, giving him the appearance that he was trapped behind bars. A prison of his own making.
"John," his voice was a hoarse croaking, barely audible in the silence of the flat. Chas shifted slightly when John gave no sign of waking, and sucked in a breath of pain. His whole body felt like God had used him as His soccer ball.
"John," he tried again. Louder this time, though no less hoarse.
John's hand immediately went for whatever weapon he had hidden away in his jacket even before his eyes opened. Apparently whatever he was looking was wasn't there as his hand was scrambling over his clothes searching for whatever it was. Finally, his eyes focused on Chas.
"Oh," he said as his hand fell back to his side in tired defeat. "Hey kid."
"You look like shit."
A small smile quirked its way onto John's lips. "So do you."
"What the fuck happened, John?"
John let out a barking laugh that was full of meaning, but only to himself. "Hell of a long story kid."
Thank you to all my reviewers, and that includes the ones to my other one shot stories as well. I love you guys, you make writing seem worth while.
