His Redemption

Chapter II - Beating Wings

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The pavement felt hard beneath his feet as John walked the familiar route to Angela's. He had been making this journey almost everyday, only to stop at the corner across the street and turn back around. Her lights would be on, once he even saw her silhouette, but still he dare not cross the street. He sighed to himself, reaching the infamous street corner; tonight would be different. She's not doing well. Sally's words echoed in his mind and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his signature black trench, searching for something he knew damn well wouldn't be there. It had not been the best time for himto quit cigarettes. Instead, he popped a piece of stark white nicotine gum into his mouth, chewing hungrily until he felt his nerves settle.

However, he almost jumped when the door to Angela's building banged open, a figure running to the corner, waiting for the cross signal. He hurried across the street, catching the door before it closed, stealthily slipping inside. The man thought he heard the beat of heavy wings before the door shut soundly behind him.

--

The building across the street was short, built circa 1950. Sally sat on the corner of the building, a story lower than Angela's apartment. Her wings were spread wide and her legs dangled over the edge. She let the evening breeze wash over her and felt herself smile when the lights in Angela's apartments suddenly went out and a dark silhouette drew the curtains. "Finally," Sally breathed, leaning straight back, eyes raised to the stars. It was times like these that she felt sorry for all she had missed.

It had been her first trip back and her first real assignment; the other angels had thought she wasn't up to the task, what with John's reputation and blatant disregard for anything that resembled an order and their history. Sometimes she wondered why she had been sent, why she had been chose. But He would give her no answer, having some unseen plan for her, as He did for everyone.

"So, you decided to speed things up a little?" a playful voice said, making her sit up quickly, breaking her thoughts. A boy who appeared to be about her age, maybe a little older (you never knew with angels), was standing beside her, his wings unfurled lazily.

"Hello, Chas," Sally replied, her greeting stiff. The two weren't really buddy-buddy; he had only approached her before she left to give her a message for John. A message she fully intended to deliver, but had found the 'timing' wasn't right.

Chas stooped, taking a seat next to her, "Did you tell him?" He had lowered his voice, though no one but her had a snowball's chance in hell of hearing them.

"No," she shot back with a smirk. Truly, she had forgotten what the message was.

He looked disgruntled at best, shooting her a glare and his face crumpling into a frown, "You forgot it, didn't you?" He shook his head, trying his best not to laugh. Sally only nodded her head, fighting a grin. "Jesus, Sally! Whatever, I'll be back tomorrow and I'll tell him myself."

"Good, John won't be so grumpy now that- wait, tomorrow?" she blanched, eyes wide. "Shit, that was fast. How the hell did you manage that?"

Chas grinned, "Well," he began, putting a hand on his chest, as if spewing a proclamation of love to himself. "I died fighting the devil, and," he sighed heavily, "it has to be said, that is practically grounds for sainthood." The boy's eyebrow quirked and his grin spread. "Saint Chas. Saint Chas Kramer. Saint Kramer-."

Sally let him mutter to himself about sainthood, smirking all the while. In all her years of watching John, she had managed to become 'acquainted' with Chas as well. He meant well, despite being a bit annoying like an overexcited puppy, but all his time studying really ended up paying off in the end.

"Chas, what was it like when you died?"

"Saint Kramer, asshole-," Chas looked up sharply, stopping in the middle of his new catchphrase, meeting her eyes. "What?"

"I mean, what did you feel? What did you see? All the angels said it's different for everyone and I was just wondering-?" she trailed off, looking hopeful. It seemed a trivial thing to be hopeful about, but she had a bit of an agenda.

It took Chas a minute to respond. "I saw John," he murmured, looking at his hands. "And then everything froze. An angel had come for me and she took my hand, dragging me upwards. It wasn't hot, but warm, you know, like spring?" His whole face turned pleasant as he spoke, reminiscing. "It was nice."

It was nice. Sally fought a biting retort rising in her throat. That British wit hadn't managed to be rubbed off by Heaven. This boy need some vocabulary lessons.

Sally fought a biting retort rising in her throat. That British wit hadn't managed to be rubbed off by Heaven.

Her own ascension was much darker. She had felt darkness - not seen, felt - and two forces pulling at her. Sally had wished to die again, they pulled so hard, making her feel as if she was being split in two. There was gold on her right, crimson on her left. And then there was white. The angels wouldn't tell her why she felt this, in fact, whenever she mentioned it they would look nervous and shy away.

"What about you?" Chas said after a moment, his eyes soft from the memory of Heaven.

"Me?" she replied softly, looking over to him. Her fierce eyes darkened and he felt himself draw back under her harsh gaze. "Same." Her voice was dull and flat, and obvious lie. But this was Chas; he wasn't about to figure that out too soon. "Minus the Constantine."

Chas laughed nervously. She a thrown him a bone, giving them both something to nervously laugh at and break the tension. His force smile faded quickly as the wind picked up, blowing air colder than any should be in Los Angeles into the two angels. "I've got to go," he sighed, turning his head into the wind. "I'm not even supposed to be here."

"Yeah," Sally nodded, feeling the wind wash over her. The white of her clothes stood out against the sharpening darkness. There was a single beat of wings and Chas was gone, only to return the next day.

"See you tomorrow."

--

Sally spent the night at Constantine's. His couch was shit but she'd survived worse. She woke up early, a little past six, and if she'd been human she would have been sure a few Advil would have been in order to kill whatever neck or back cramp she would have. John hadn't gotten back from Angela's yet. Maybe this one will last, Sally mused to herself.

They had an interesting history, Sally and John. She was seventeen, John twenty-three, when they last saw each other. Though she didn't want to admit it, Sally had a bit of a schoolgirl crush on him. But ten years of watching had rid her of the annoying little habit; she never could have handled someone like John anyway. Too much weird shit for her taste. Angela, on the other hand, seemed more the part for John's one-and-only. If only he could manage to keep his hand out of the seductive-demon-cookie-jar long enough to get her to stay.

She snorted at that last one, shaking her head with a grin. Despite the years, thing hadn't changed. Even the apartment was the same. "Fuck, this place is dirty," she muttered, rising to her feet.

The angel brushed herself off; her clothing has changed during the night. The white pleated pants and loose Grecian top had been replaced with a long white tank and crimson pajama pants. It seemed someone upstairs had at least a soft spot for her.

She looked around, hands on her hips, surveying the room steadily. This would take some work.