simple twist of fate

by red-starshine

part four: friction

John lazily took a drag of his cigarette, saying nothing. He let out a stream of curling grey smoke into the room.

Chas looked around the large room, taking in the ancient books, the long strings of cobwebs, the fireplace. "What the hell? Where'd this place come from?"

John grinned. "It's the House of Mystery, mate. Bit hard to explain."

Chas stared at John, still standing with his hand on the doorknob. "Try."

John rolled his eyes. "All right. Open the door again."

Chas did so, expecting to see the hospital corridor. Instead he saw a outdoor clearing surrounded by trees, a rusting pickup truck sitting nearby. Overhead was a purple sky, the sun just starting to rise above the horizon. He could hear birds brightly chirping in the distance.

"Welcome to beautiful Atlanta, Georgia. Near as I can tell, this is where the House is actually situated," said John. He pulled out the key ring again. "These just let me turn any doorway with a lock into a way back to the House, no matter where I am. Good when you need to scurry in a hurry."

Chas shut the door again. "This is insane."

"Nah, it's just magic. Once you get the hang of it, it's not so bad," said John, disappearing into a side room. He returned a moment later with two glass bottles of beer. He tossed one to Chas. "Catch."

Chas fumbled the bottle but managed not to drop it on the floor. When he twisted off the metal cap and took a swig, he caught John giving him a look he couldn't quite understand.

"What?" said Chas curiously.

"Nothing. You're taking this whole thing much better than I thought you might," said John. "Dying and coming back from the dead and all."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

John burst out laughing. "Wasn't complaining at all," he said, as if it was obvious. He patted Chas's arm reassuringly. "I like the unexpected. Keeps things interesting, y'know?"

"Honestly, I'm starting to miss the expected," said Chas.

"Well mate, if you're not confused, you're not paying attention." John stood up. "Y'know, I'm surprised you could see Tess's soul like that. Touched her, too. Most people can't." He placed his own bottle down on the table, unopened. He took a drag from his cigarette. "I'd think it was a side effect of your brush with death, but you saw me at the bar too. Before the fire started."

Chas tried to think back to before the fire. John had been near the bar, looking glum. Chas had gotten him a drink, which seemed to have cheered him up slightly, although Tess had looked at him a little funny when he'd ordered two drinks. The staff at the hospital hadn't seemed to notice him either. "What, people can't see you?"

"Not when I don't want to be seen," said John, breathing out smoke. "Don't want someone always spottin' me near people who die under horrible circumstances and start gettin' the wrong idea, now."

"How long've you been doing this?"

"Since I was seventeen." John stubbed out the cigarette and twisted open his bottle. He took a long drink from it. "I was a stupid little punk who found himself in a lot of trouble."

"What, you got caught throwing rocks at somebody's house or something?"

"Heh. No, something much worse than that, " John snorted, but his face went oddly blank. "I tried to do a favor for a friend, and it went all wrong. And in that particular situation, when something goes tits up, people die."

Chas didn't say anything.

John took another long sip from his bottle of beer. "See, at the time, I fancied myself a master occultist. I'd read all the books on magic I could find, so I knew there were beings older than humanity and how to call on them. So I broke out the chalk and candles and summoned myself one of those beings out of sheer desperation. Cut a deal to try and patch things up as best I could. This was the price they named."

"Having to steer the dead towards the afterlife?"

"Essentially doing his grunt work for 'im, yeah. Lazy sod," John muttered.

"Now, John," came a voice from the other side of the table. "That isn't a very nice way to talk about your benefactor."

Startled, Chas's head swiveled towards the unknown speaker.

Standing across from them was what Chas could only call an angel. He was tall, dressed in a grey coat, with eyes of molten gold. His two wings were large, with white and grey feathers. When the angel noticed Chas staring at him, he gave him a grin full of perfect white teeth.

John gave a nonchalant shrug, unperturbed by the angel's sudden appearance. "I just tell it as I see it, squire."

"Well, I've never know you to hold your tongue," said the angel, lowering his wings. He tilted his head slightly at Chas, staring at him without blinking. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your quiet friend, John?"

John glared at the angel for a moment. "Chas, this is Manny," he said shortly. "Manny, Chas."

"Hi," said Chas, setting down his beer bottle.

"Chas, hm?" said Manny, eyeing Chas in a way that made his blood run cold, like he could see through the layers of skin and muscle directly to Chas's soul. "Now that's interesting. He's got the stink of death and decay around him, but he's still alive."

"Yeah, it's amazing what modern medicine can do those days, innit?" said John.

"John, I don't suppose you would care to explain why this dead man isn't dead?" Manny continued mildly. Only his nails digging into the wood of the table showed the cracks in his cool demeanor.

"Not particularly, no," said John, raising the bottle to his lips. "So how 'bout you do us all a favor and piss off?"

The angel was silent for a moment. "You are tremendously arrogant, John," said Manny, leaning over the table, golden eyes boring into John's. With a small gesture of his hand, he swept Chas away from the table and sent him tumbling head-over-heels towards one of the bookcases. The back of his skull cracked against the wood, and pain shot through his head.

John stood up from his chair, fists clenched. "Bastard! Leave him out of this."

Chas groaned from the floor, the room still spinning. It seemed better to just stay down for the moment - at least until he was sure that getting up wouldn't make him so dizzy that he fell back down again.

"And that's what got you into this mess way back when, right?" Manny said to John like nothing had happened. "Because you thought reading a few grimores and casting a handful of spells made you a master of magic who could go toe-to-toe with a demon and win."

John held Manny's gaze without flinching or looking away. "I remember fine, mate. And I'd tell you the same even if you had my still-beating heart in your angelic hands," he growled. "Fuck off."

Manny smiled again, and it was the most frightening thing Chas had ever seen. "We both know that's not true. You begged me to save that little girl back then, when you first called for me. Don't tell me you've forgotten that, John? Or that she's only alive today because of the agreement we made. You do what I tell you to, or her soul's going on a one-way trip back down to Hell."

"You'd give an innocent girl's soul to the First and his mates just to spite me?" said John. "Pull the other one. Aren't you angels supposed to be savin' people's souls from damnation, not handin' them over to the First of the bloody Fallen gift-wrapped?"

"I'm not giving up on anything," said Manny. "That girl's soul is claimed for Hell, and there's nothing I can do to change that. No matter what she does or when she dies, today, tomorrow, or sixty years from now - she's still going straight to Hell. And it's all because of you, John." He disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived.

John looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. He sat back down at the table, lifted his bottle of beer to his lips, and gulped it down like it was water.

Chas gripped the shelf and pulled himself up, his head still pounding. He grabbed the ice-cold bottle of beer, screwed the cap back on, and pressed it against the bump that was forming where his head had hit the bookcase. "You tried to save a girl from a demon," said Chas slowly, "And you damned her by mistake?"

"You're a clever one," said John, his voice hoarse. "Manny brought her back to life before her soul could descend into Hell, but the demon that nabbed her still has a tiny scrap of her soul down there." He took another swig from his bottle. "I gave my life to that feathery bastard, but I couldn't save her from Hell. Most I could do was...postpone the inevitable."

Chas rubbed the back of his head with the cold bottle. "For an angel, he seemed kind of-"

"Like an arse?" John shook his head. "Christ, angels. They're all like that."