Neutral Omens

It was an unfortunate coincidence that brought two visitors at once into Loki's room. Only moments after the rat had finally decided to come out and have a look at the food Ellie had layed out for him John knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Loki called out happily hoping to be able to show off his new friend.

The rat however jumped at the sound of the door opening. The box slammed down, the rat squeaked and shot off towards the door. A yelp followed by a terrible cracking sound.

"John!" Loki jumped out of bed and rushed to the human's side. "Are you okay?"

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Crowley was leaving his room when the accident happened and he felt a twinge from his wristwatch that told him John was in some danger. Trying to pinpoint his direction, he heard Loki call the man's name, and was down the hall like a shot. Fortunately, he wasn't far from the hospital.

Upon arrival, he found the god hovering over a clearly injured man, blood flowing profusely into his eyes.

"What the fuck did you do to him!" he demanded of Loki, kneeling by his friend. Gently touching the wound, the edges sealed themselves together as the blood vanished.

"John," he said softly, looking surreptitiously into his eyes to see if they were bloodshot. "Focus, John. Now I want you to tell me something. Who's the Prime Minister right now?"

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Loki had only just reached John when another person arrived. He looked up hoping to see Anathema or, even better in this situation, Gabriel. Seeing Crowley instead was a shock.

Loki knew that he was in no condition to fight, but he also couldn't let that monster touch John.

"You murderer!" he yelled and threw himself at Crowley. Hopefully the not-god would be surprised enough that he could pull him away from John and perhaps Gabriel would hear the fight. Surely with Gabriel's help he'd be able to beat Crowley.

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"Ow. Fuck. Ow," John said with feeling, pushing himself upright and forcing his eyes into focus. "Uh. Shit. Thatcher's brat. Wossname, Blair." He shook his head slightly and regretted it--it hadn't been that serious an injury (he'd cracked his skull often enough to know,) but it had hurt like blazes and shaken him up pretty thoroughly, and scalp wounds bled like nobody's business, even minor ones.

The meaning of Crowley's sharp question to the god filtered through just about the same time Loki yelled his own accusation and launched his attack. "Crowley, what're you--Loki!? Now hold on just a minute..." Christ, were those two ever going to give it a rest?

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As a conditioned and totally uncontrollable response to being attacked, Crowley's claws extended instantly as he tried to move out of the way of the incoming threat. Unfortunately, he brought said threat with him, rolling over once or twice until they ended up on the floor, the demon pinning the god, sharp claws an inch from his stupid face.

When he spoke, his voice was calm but icy. "You've called me a murderer more times than I can take. Do you want me to prove it?" There was a first time for everything, after all...

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Yes, he'd done it! They were rolling away from John!

Except when they came to a stop Loki was pinned under the not-god who, to his surprise, was displaying a set of really cool claws. On almost anybody else Loki would have found them quite admirable, but this wasn't the time for claw-envy.

He wriggled and pushed a little testing his chances to slip out or push Crowley away. Unsurprisingly the not-god didn't budge and possibly hadn't even noticed. Either Loki was much too weak, or Crowley much too heavy. He'd have to talk himself out of this one and somehow save John as well.

"I want you to stay away from John," he snapped. "But if you want to kill me, go right ahead. It'd be really merciful of you seeing how I'm dying a slow painful death here. Your pantheon's really big on mercy, too, from what I've heard. Good way to earn points with the top egomaniac." He might find the separation into angels and demons completely crazy, but that didn't mean that he was unable to remember what their respective motivations were. "Ah, but then that's the other club, isn't it? What does your crew think of people who are merciful?"

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"Now look, lads, there's really no call for..." John trailed off. They weren't paying him the slightest bit of attention. Unsurprising, really; Crowley and Loki each went inexplicably deaf when the other's name was mentioned in any kind of positive context, so why should they listen now? He couldn't even muster up any guilt for being the trigger this time. They'd never needed a good reason.

Damned if he was going to stand by and let Crowley filet somebody he and Ana and Bill were working so hard to save, though, even if Loki was running his mouth fit to practically invite it.

"Right. That is BLOODY WELL ENOUGH," he bellowed at the top of his lungs, almost startling himself with how effectively his own voice filled the small room.

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"My sside doesn't do mercy," he hissed to Loki. At the man's yell, however, he was still.

"Enough, what, John?" Crowley snapped. "Enough times this idiot has continued to believe whatever the fuck he wanted to without any proof and then share those assumptions with others as if they were true? Enough times he's sent War to stalk me for months and then attempt to kill me? Enough times he's destroyed my relationships for nothing more than one sarcastic comment I made a year ago?"

He turned back to Loki, furious. "John and I have been mates for eleven years. You have no concept of what we've been through together. If you could pull your head out of your own arse for ten seconds, you'd see with your own fucking eyes that I healed him. Why the fuck would I want to hurt him? If he wants to hang around shite like you for pity's sake, that's his own lookout, but don't you dare try to dictate our friendship."

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"Pity," Loki said putting on a suitably disappointed face. "And I was so hoping that you'd kill me before the cancer does."

"Kill you? War was merely going to rescue the hostage!" Loki protested. "That stupid toy of hers doesn't even kill in the first place."

"I won't stand by and watch you hurt John," he declared stubbornly ignoring Crowley's words. "Or Ezra. It's bad enough that you have a poor innocent kitty in your power." It might have sounded much better, if he hadn't been lying helplessly on the floor.

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"Oh for fuck's sake. Enough of you two bickering like a pair of fucking schoolkids, that's what!" John snapped. Getting up and shrugging his trench back into place, he strode purposefully over to the pair. "Shaddup Loki, just fucking shut your mouth, all right? Get off him, Crowley, and put those things away. Christ, you could break him in half just looking at him the wrong way."

Hauling Loki up unceremoniously by his pajama collar, he gave him a small shake (that was a good bit more careful than it looked) and went on as he propelled the god back to his hospital bed, "Now you, listen up and listen good. Unless you've both been holding out on me, all Crowley's ever done to you is talk. You've been the aggressor every single time. How would you like it if somebody catnapped your pet, carjacked your prize possession, assaulted your dignity and wrecked your love life?" He snorted. "Shit, he's been a helluva lot more patient than I would in his place, I'd have kicked your arse for you a long time ago. He is not a threat to me or Chicago. Promise. And if you're looking for a demon to kill you, you picked the wrong one. So quit being so fucking paranoid and leave him and his cat the hell alone, savvy?" He stabbed a finger at the god to emphasize his point. "That means no siccing anybody else on them either. Or so help me, I will march you up to Adam and let him deal with you as he sees fit.

"And you," he rounded on Crowley without pausing for breath, "Yeah, you. You don't get to play the innocent victim here. Maybe you really didn't mean anything by that stupid crack, but did you ever actually try to bury the hatchet?" He made an exasperated gesture. "Course not, because you never do. You'd rather mouth off at a homicidal archangel, or threaten a god who's already convinced you're out to get him, and guarantee they'll start hitting below the belt. And if I don't wind up picking up the pieces, it's Ellie or Adam or somebody else. One of these days there won't be enough left to put back together, mate." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking from one friend to the other and wondering if any of this was sinking in. "I know, it's not your business to make nice, I get that. I really do. But there's an awful lot of maneuvering room between 'All is forgiven, let's hold hands and skip through the daisies' and 'Go fuck yourself and the six-legged horse you rode in on,' you know?

"...right. So here's the score." Fuck, he felt old. Putting two ancient immortals in their place like he was all responsible and wise or some crazy shit like that. Also, he badly wanted a cigarette, if only to kill the lingering nausea left by the vanished concussion. But now that he was well into his tirade, it also felt pretty damn good to get all this off his chest. "I have a philosophical objection to people dying of cancer, and Loki's been decent to me when I was in a bad way, so yeah, I'm trying to help him out. And just for the record, I don't do pity." He shot Crowley a reproving look before glancing Loki's way. "But everything Crowley just said about the two of us goes double for me. Neither of those things is going to change. Get used to it.

"Now clearly neither one of you thinks my judgement's worth spit, or you'd listen when I say the other one's not half the bastard you think he is. But if you actually give a rat's arse what I think or how I feel, you will negotiate a truce and stop making my life more sodding difficult than it needs to be. At the very least, you will bloody well not use me as the excuse du jour. Capiche?" He glared at them each in turn.

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Crowley stiffly got up from the floor, retracted his claws, and set his hair and clothing to rights to give himself a few moments to compose himself.

He would never forgive Loki for all the crap the god had put him through. That would be letting him win, allowing him to continue to be the bully, putting all the people he cared about in danger for no good reason. Crowley knew he was irrational about the redhead when even hearing the stupid affectation of 'not-god' that Loki applied equally to angels and demons made him want to rip his ugly Nordic face off.

However, he could no longer ignore the fact that it upset John. That was the key issue here. Loki could die of cancer three times over and Crowley would hold a party, but he cared too much about John to do that to him. He hadn't realized the man had been so hurt by their feud but seeing as how John and Chicago were about the only things he had left, the demon wasn't about to jeopardize his last true friendship for the sake of his animosity.

Kicking himself for not remembering John's cancer and how that might lead him to feel some sympathy for the paranoid idiot, Crowley thought for a bit.

"Right," he said flatly. "You owe me a favour, Loki, even if your partner-in-crime ran off before fulfilling his. I'm cashing it in now. You will leave me and mine the fuck alone, and that includes Chicago, Aziraphale, Gabriel, Belial, John, and Ellie. You will not interfere in our lives in any way. You will not spread slander or gossip about us. You will not attempt to harm or save any of the aforementioned parties, nor enlist the help of others to do so. You will not take any of our property, you will not knowingly or unknowingly deface or destroy our property, and you will not attempt in any manner to 'improve' our property. In return, I will grant you and whoever your friends are the same courtesy, as well as continue to allow your access to John, so long as you refrain from harming him. Those are my terms for a truce. Accept them or refuse them, but know that if you accept them and subsequently break the contract, I will have no compunction about turning you over to Adam for judgment, and if you refuse them, the next set of terms may not be so generous."

The demon had the feeling his friend wouldn't like this negotiation, but he really was trying. He could stop fighting if the god would just let the fuck up already (not that he had high hopes for that) even if it was an effective channeling of his anger. Crowley would find somewhere else for it to go.

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Being picked up and shaken only momentarily surprised Loki. In fact something about it felt very familiar. It gave him a slight headache, though. ... Or was that just his memories? http://community.livejournal.com/neutral_omens/72859.html

"Hey wait a minute. I didn't cat- or carnap anything!" Loki protested. He hadn't even known where Odin had found the car, after all and the only thing he'd ever personally done to the cat was pick her up after the poor thing had fallen through the ceiling which had, of course, been all Newt's fault. As for love life, what love life? He hadn't even had a fuck in over a year.

That John would betray him to Adam hurt, but then Loki remembered that not so long ago he'd been determined not to get too close to John again just for this reason. John was Crowley's and he should have remembered it. Just what was it about the man that kept making him forget his decision to keep his distance?

On the other hand, could he have just stood by and watched just now? He hadn't even known Crowley was around. Clearly Gabriel and Anathema weren't there to help.

Didn't do pity? Ha, yeah right. Norse gods didn't do pity and where was Odin again? But Loki knew better than to challenge such a claim. He knew how people usually reacted to that and he still didn't want to lose John. Damn this fucked up situation!

"Bel... who?" Loki still hadn't met the whatever this one was, though it wasn't true that he didn't recognise the name. He needed to buy time to think, though. He usually did pay his debts and had been fully intending to fulfill his obligation to Crowley, but that was quite a lot of stipulations in return for one little ride in an albeit really cool car.

Hastily put together deals like this usually contained all sorts of loopholes and tripwires and normally Loki was a master at finding them, but even his mental abilities weren't what they used to be. Better to take this slow, step by step. In fact there were a number of problems here.

"I owe you one favour, not-god," Loki reminded the demon. "Not a whole list of them. Out of gratitude for the things John has done to me, I'm willing to extend it a little, but not beyond what's reasonable."

"Most of all, the stipulation not to unknowingly deface or destroy is unacceptable. It's impossible. If I don't know that something belongs to you, or that I am ... perhaps about to sit on it, I can't prevent braking it no matter how much I try." That was reasonable enough, wasn't it? "Second, Gabriel is my doctor, so unless you can provide a replacement, you will have to allow me contact with him as well." He hesitated for a moment over the thought of Ellie, but they weren't that close. It was nice to talk with her when she came in here ...

Came in here? Now there was a thought. It meant giving up on the cat, but weak as he was there wasn't much he could do for her anyway.

"In fact, I'll make you a counter offer," he said. "I promise to stay away from all your friends and property as long as they remain outside the hospital wing. Once they come in here, though, they're fair game. In return you stay away from me and leave the rest of the manor animals alone."

He thought it sounded like a good offer when really there wasn't anything he actually needed to do. He was too weak to leave the hospital wing anyway and if, by some miracle, he actually survived this after all he had no reason to stay at the manor so all he'd have to do was avoid Crowley's chosen ones on his way out. Odin had left. Uriel had left. They'd always been a family of vagabonds.

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"Fine," he snapped. "I accept your counter. But my friends and property are only 'fair game' as long as they remain inside the hospital. When they are outside the hospital, you revert to leaving them alone unless they expressly state otherwise."

It would be fine if Loki upheld the bargain. Crowley would simply tell his friends the situation and then it would be up to them to decide what to do. As for the animals, that was easy, too. Chicago was the only one he could tolerate and vice versa.

The demon turned to John. "Happy, now?"

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John (who would indeed turn Loki over to Adam if it came to that, because he knew perfectly well the boy wouldn't do worse than give him a stern talking-to) had listened to all this, arms folded and eyes narrowed, and nodded slowly.

"It'll do," he grunted. "Just to clarify, though--I'm not anybody's pet human. The only person who dictates who I do or don't hang around with is me." He raised his eyebrows expressively. The same applied to everybody else on Crowley's list, of course (minus the human bit,) but they could defend their own honor. "Now, since that's out of the way--not that anyone asked, but I tripped over a sodding rat on my way in here and hit my head on the way down. Nobody's fault but mine and the rodent's." He carried on quickly, knowing full well that it was no mystery how a rat could have got in there and not wanting it to start another round of arguments, "So I'm gonna go find the little bastard and corral him before he gives Anathema the vapors, and then see if this place has got any Pepto-Bismol, awright? I'll be back, Loki. Try and get some rest, the cursebreaking's coming up soon.

"And Crowley--thanks." He smiled slightly, not wanting to leave the impression that the demon's speedy appearance had gone unmarked or unappreciated--or the concessions he'd made, either.

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Had Crowley really just agreed without any further stipulations? Well, thee had been the one about outside the hospital wing, but Loki wasn't expecting to ever get there again anyway, so that was fine.

"Agreed," he told Crowley gravely. Never let on when you're triumphant. Better leave the opposition with the impression that they forced you into all the concessions you were able to make. "If you can convince them tho stay out, I'll never even talk to them." Well, hopefully none of them would be at the reception when he left.

"Sorry about Ratty. We've been trying to re-capture him, but he's terribly shy." Should he be feeling guilty about it? It wasn't like he had any power to control the rat. "He didn't mean any harm, though. Don't hurt him."

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"I'll go with you," said Crowley to John. He glanced at Loki. "I think we're done here. I've made my promise not to hurt the rat, should it be found."

The demon turned and followed John out the door, but steered him into another of the hospital's rooms before the man could begin his search for the rat, the Pepto, or Anathema. "And you're not doing jack shit until I check you over for real, pet human or not. That was a nasty crack and I want to make sure I didn't miss anything."

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John rolled his eyes. "Oh c'mon, it looked worse than it was," he objected mildly, but let himself be shepherded along without any real fuss. Crowley had dealt with the Loki situation about as gracefully as he could have asked, so it was probably his turn to make a concession. And he had to admit it was probably a good idea to make sure there weren't any leftover blood clots lurking in his cerebellum or anything.

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"Sit," demanded Crowley. Once John was comfortable, the demon leaned over him, putting a hand on his cheek to check his eyes again and to look for any signs of fuzziness or disorientation. "What year is it?"

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Gabriel couldn't honestly say he enjoyed healing; it simply wasn't his natural place. However, there was something to be said for helping where he could.

On the other hand, it was always a bit of a let down to come into the hospital wing and find that the injured party was Constantine. Again. And Crowley, too, this time. What a day for Anathema to be gone during her shift...

"Honestly," he said, with the particular dry affect that he liked to think he saved just for choice members of the Constantine line. "Glad as I'm sure each of you is to have found that one special fiend he so deserves, have you no place better to carry on than on the spare hospital bed?"

Surreptitiously, he checked Constantine over only to find no injury on the human's part, though Crowley's signature was all over him. Much as Crowley himself seemed to be, at the moment.

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With a very coherent glower at Crowley that said plainly, Okay, this one is your fault, John replied crisply, "Not to worry, Gabby, we're one step ahead of you as usual. It's 14 April, 2001," he added to Crowley. "Saturday, if you want to know. Also, my name's John, Blair's Prime Minister, and two plus two equals four, last I checked. Can I go now?"

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"John's bed was getting boring," Crowley smirked. It was a good example of using the truth unexpectedly because Gabriel would never believe it but he could tease John at the same time.

But then his expression grew serious. "Yeah, you're fine now. A little dehydrated, though. Try not to hit any more doorknobs with your head."

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Gabriel cast his eyes up, as though inquiring of the ceiling why he'd even bothered. "Well, clearly he's fine. More well-mannered than usual, even." He'd never really made it past the door frame, so it took little effort to move out of the room, leaving the two of them behind. "I guess I won't have to stay up nights worrying about you, Constantine, what with your pet demon looking after you..."

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John's eyes narrowed, and he rose abruptly, forcing Crowley to backpedal out of his way as he strode after Gabriel. "Yeah, what a relief, eh? All that mercy and charity you're so famous for, I dunno how you do it."

He shoved brusquely past Gabriel, then paused in the hallway to take out a cigarette, eyeing the archangel with undisguised venom. "Then again, maybe I do. Adam ask you for a resume before he put you in charge here, Gabriel?" He smiled thinly, the old Constantine mask that came nowhere near his eyes. "He should've. Coming to you for help tends to get mixed results."

On that note, he turned on his heel and left, eschewing the Pepto in favor of something much stronger.

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Crowley watched John go, then turned to Gabriel looking thoughtful.

"So you really were his 'authority'. He told me once that he had it on good authority that Heaven wanted nothing to do with him. I couldn't quite figure that out because you people aren't supposed to give up on a mortal until the end, are you? And you personally don't make that call anyway, do you?"

The demon fought to keep his voice neutral, but his fists curled at his sides. "Do you have any idea what he did after that? Do you know what you drove a sorcerer to do in his desperation? You couldn't have thought he'd just accept it. You have no concept of the consequences of your action. Are you even remotely aware that it involves your dear Belial? In your spite for a mortal, you very nearly doomed your lover."

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"Of course I don't make that call," Gabriel replied, calm. He had no real wish to fight with Crowley again, and not over this. This argument grew brittle, more stale each time he was forced to revisit it. And yet, were he to find himself in those same circumstances over again, the angel was almost sure he would make the same choice. "And I never told him... I suppose he's never mentioned his poor timing in the matter? The end of the world was slated to kill Constantine long before the cancer ever would. I don't think I need to remind you how that didn't quite meet our expectations, but it was laughable at the time to be expected to worry about one man's..." And still, the words were sour, and he could not quite speak them without some effort.

He was rather surprised to see the demon just putting these pieces together now, however; he would have expected Constantine to have shared that story with the demon, possibly even with Aziraphale, long before now. Gabriel had pieced together much of it himself, mostly through bits and barbs traded with the mortal. It was possible he had enough evidence even now to deduce the rest on his own, but this particular subject was not one the angel cared to dwell on, and Crowley was right about one thing: he'd never given much thought to the consequences.

But something else the other said caught the angel's attention more violently than these recognizable ruts in the subject matter. "What do you mean? What does Belial have to do with any of this?"

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"I know when it happened," the demon said coldly, "and I understand why. I would probably have told him the same thing then, though I'd have given an explanation for it. But he didn't ask me. He asked you. Assuming something about ineffable mercy, I suppose. About the likelihood of Himself or His angels still caring for one man's soul even while facing the End. I could have set him straight on that, too. At any rate, because you couldn't be bothered to get off your high holy horse and tell him why you weren't going to help him, he turned to Hell. He'd just pulled some stunt on Lucifer to save the soul of one of his mates, so he couldn't just go make a simple deal. No, Mr. Clever Bastard was forced to pull a fast one. He sold his soul to Lucifer, Beelzebub, and your dear Belial, all of whom had equal claims on him. That way, they'd have to keep him alive, because if he were to die, Hell would be plunged into the bloodiest civil war you can possibly imagine. And what do you think would have happened to your boyfriend, then? Belial could either fight and most likely die, or hand over his claim and become even further subjugated to Lucifer."

Crowley paused a moment, letting that sink in. They both knew how Belial had been subjugated before. His hands were shaking in anger, but he fought to keep them at his sides and to keep his voice down.

"Now I'm sure you're thinking that doesn't matter because it didn't actually happen. Lucifer himself ripped open John's ribcage, burned away his lungs, and regrew them as painfully as possible. You've seen the scars. And the man lived. War was averted. Temporarily, anyway. He'll still die one day and then the inevitable would have happened. Do you have any idea what averted that? What saved Belial's arse? I did."

Chest heaving during the explanation, Crowley could feel his throat tighten, but he needed Gabriel to understand. The four of them, Gabriel, Belial, John, and Crowley, their lives, their futures were all inextricably bound together with knots from the past and he'd drag the angel every step of the way if he must to save them all.

"That spell I did on Belial was a gift from John to me. So why the hell did I give it to him? Did you think I did it out of the goodness of my heart? That I just felt like rescuing him from that unenviable situation? Shit, no. I got what I wanted in trade: Belial's claim to John's soul. And if I can get Beelzebub's, I can fix what you carelessly set in motion ten years ago, in which the best outcome for Belial is to be an unaffiliated outcast in hiding and a human soul - no matter what you think of him, he's still a human - is damned without hope of redemption. So think about that and cut us some fucking slack already. You can help me to help them by backing the fuck off."

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"So you want me to what, Crowley? Accept the blame for everything that's happened and then bow out quietly so you can go about your business?" Gabriel asked; his voice was quiet, though with an edge of steel that before had been lacking. "You think I did all of this? It's my fault he didn't go to you instead - that he chose, of all beings, to go to Lucifer? My fault that Adam Young didn't end the world when everyone thought he would, or that Lucifer and his Crowns made a trade for a soul that in all likelihood belonged to them anyway?"

That was it: the final part of the story that he'd been missing. Belial might have told the angel himself eventually, had he the chance, but Gabriel could imagine it nonetheless. The Crown was probably bemused by the sorcerer, or drawn in, perhaps, by mention of the Archangel Gabriel.

He couldn't imagine Belial tearing apart the kingdoms of Hell for the claim of Constantine's soul. Despite Crowley's vehement words, Gabriel thought he likely would have turned over his portion without much pause. As for the consequences of this... the angel bore enough guilt for the way Belial had fallen to his master's twisted will over the centuries. But he did not know how much of that story Crowley knew, and was not going to be the one to fill in the demon's knowledge of it.

"And despite your intent, am I to believe that somehow you have helped Belial more by removing his third of the soul from Hell altogether and putting you all in danger?" But the hardness in his voice melted away as he continued. He was weary, suddenly, of this fight, of all their fights; and wanted nothing more than to be able to see Belial, just for that moment. To hold him and kiss him and know that he was whole and that none of this could touch him wherever he was, not now. But he couldn't, and trying to incite more anger or guilt in Crowley would not change that.

He did understand, though. In fact, the angel may have really understood for the first time: having seen Crowley, not just smirking with Constantine over a drink, but hovering over him, tense and protective. The demon had deliberately put himself in danger to return to John a third of his soul - a mere glimmer of hope, if somehow he could manage to obtain another third and be redeemed - and then had similarly sacrificed his own safety for Belial. He had betrayed his side, was even now deliberately disobeying Lucifer himself by not attempting to find the missing Crown.

Gabriel could never turn away from his duties without being immutably altered; he wondered if the same could now be said of Crowley.

"We don't always know." The words were soft, somber in the terse silence between them. "Did you know what would happen when you convinced her to eat the fruit?" The angel was sure that, even after six thousand years, the memory was fresh enough that it would need no specifics, no preamble. "Or were you not as caught up in the confusion as the rest of us, as we watched the two of them fall from grace? Not even we can foresee every consequence to our actions, demon. That does not mean that we were meant to change them."

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"Damn it, Gabriel," said Crowley, frustrated and equally tired of their argument. "I'm not blaming you for other people's choices or for the circumstances of the time. All I want is for you to acknowledge that when John came to you begging for help, for mercy, you made a deliberate decision to not to treat his cancer simply because you didn't like him or anyone in the Constantine family. You preferred to see him dead than to dirty your hands or waste your precious 'forgiveness' on someone you saw as unworthy. I realize you couldn't have known that your choice would end up affecting all of us - would ultimately drive Belial into exile and me after him, would finally lose John the chance at salvation that you told him he didn't have - but it has, and now I want just a little understanding and your bloody cooperation."

He paused a moment. "We don't always know," the demon agreed quietly. "But if it turns out later that we did the wrong thing, it's our responsibility to help make it right again."

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Gabriel's actual conclusion in all this had been rather the opposite of Crowley's: if so many factors had stacked up to lead to such consequences for Constantine, it was in all likelihood the end he was meant to meet, and perhaps it was a fool's errand to go through so much trouble to try and right the 'wrong' done to him. But he had no reason to think Crowley would react well to such a statement, and it might have been just as well that their argument was interrupted just then by the appearance of a dark-haired woman, her eyes narrowed on the pair of them.

"Can I help you?" Gabriel asked, somewhat grateful for the distraction. "My name is Gabriel, I - "

"I'm sorry," Kit said as the two men approached. "I thought I was in the hospital, but apparently people are denied help here." She'd actually just come seeking John - he'd mentioned that he was off to visit a sick friend - but had stumbled upon this conversation instead. John had rarely spoken to her much of his cancer, and she was surprised to hear mention of it. Surprised even more, perhaps, by Crowley's accusations to this stranger...

There was a wrinkle to Gabriel's brow, but he he said nothing; he did not recognize the woman, had no idea that she was connected to Constantine. All he sensed was a flare in temper, and he had no desire to embroil another in this argument.

Kit, however, had no compunction about involving herself in the argument. "I couldn't help but overhear the two of you talkin', you understand," she said, and then fixed Mr. 'Can I help you?' with a cold glare. "Did you really leave Constantine to die for no good reason?"

Perhaps it was penitence: after all, she'd walked out on John when he'd needed her once as well. Perhaps by defending his case, she could begin to make things right. But on the surface of the issue, she saw a wee arrogant bastard giving Crowley a hard time, and from what she'd heard so far, this particular bastard was no friend to John or to his mate.

The angel blinked. "I wouldn't say - I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Sounds like no good reason to me..."

She might regret it later, but in that moment, it was too much: too much to think of John alone and desperate to escape death; too much that, after all the trouble he'd started, it was something as simple as Silk Cuts that had nearly defeated him.

So Kit pulled back and hit Gabriel with her best right hook.

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Stunned at the suddenness of the blow, Crowley gave that sort of half-gleeful, half-horrified choked laugh that one gives when one knows that he is witness to something that will never and probably should never be seen again. It was at once totally satisfying and utterly terrifying and he began to think frantically about a way to get him and Kit out of there safely. He didn't know if the archangel would retaliate against a human, but he didn't want to find out.

Phrasing his words carefully so as to not egg her on further, Crowley consciously mimicked John when he said, "Kit, luv? Let's go. He's not worth your time..."

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