neutral_omens | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Date: January 21, 2000
Status: Public
Setting: Manor grounds
Summary: John gets introduced to Frankie, and plays counselor again.

He wasn't really a dog person. So when, on his way back from a visit to town, John first caught sight of the skeletal mutt romping happily about the Manor grounds, his first impulse was to laugh incredulously (from a safe distance,) and his second was to give it a pass. Whatever demon owned the beast was welcome to it, as long as it wasn't gnawing at his ankles.

Unfortunately, for a thing without any ears, the undead dog had excellent hearing. Apparently it was also as curious as any specimen of the living variety, because it turned at the sound of his laugh, cocked its skull inquisitively, and made a beeline straight for him, mandibles hanging open in a fashion that suggested its tongue would have been hanging out jauntily had it possessed one.

"Ah, crap," John muttered, too far from the Manor entrance to get inside before it reached him, and lacking anything that might have made an effective weapon.
"And me without a newspaper." Knowing better than to turn and run, he opted to stand his ground, shifting his stance a little so he could present his leather-clad forearm if the thing made to bite him.

He spared a glance around the area to see whether its owner was anywhere nearby. Presuming it actually had an owner and wasn't, say, an unexpected side-effect of the general Manor weirdness.

"There's a good boy," he said in as friendly a tone as he could muster, bracing himself as it loped up to him. It was wagging its bony tail. That was a good sign, right?

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Frankie was rather intrigued by the man who, as near as the dog could tell, was a great deal more regular than any of the other beings he'd been around recently. Curious, he went over to inspect.

The man seemed rather nice, so Frankie wagged. The man's shoes looked like they could use a good chew, though. He walked up and started to nibble before hearing his master come up behind him.

"Frankie," Raphael sighed, "Stop harassing people." He looked at John apologetically. "Sorry about this. Come, Frankie!"

The dog whined but stepped away.

John stood stock-still until the dog-thing started in on his shoes, at which point he very nearly tried to kick the beast apart before it could chew him up feet-first. Luckily, Raphael called it off just in time.

...wait a minute. Raphael?

John blinked at the archangel. "That thing's yours?" he said, incredulous. "Um. I mean. Fine-looking...construct you've got there."

He studied the other being cautiously. Rumor had it Raphael was getting rather cozy with Michael, which earned him no points at all in John's book. Especially given the more sinister speculations that had been going around concerning the healer. One archangel Falling wasn't so bad, maybe--might be downright convenient for certain parties, in fact--but Somebody help them all if he managed to drag Michael down with him. That smite-happy moron running around without Heaven's influence to keep him in check would be the stuff of nightmares.

"Haven't seen you about much lately," he remarked neutrally. "Been keeping busy, have you?"

"Frankie is a very fine dog, aren't you boy?" He smiled and bent down to pet his skull. "You wouldn't have seen me," Raphael replied. "I left for a time. Went to China and Indonesia to keep an eye on the bird flu.

Haven't been too busy since coming back here though. Nothing to do around here. And aparently even when something does go on, I'm not needed," he said, saying the last sentence a little more cooly.

He cleared his throat and looked at John curiously as he stood up.

"Why? If you're asking about my schedule, I'm free to help. Maybe."

John cocked an eyebrow. Crowley had mentioned in passing that Raphael was upset at not being consulted for Belial's surgery. Which, he supposed, would make a certain kind of sense from a physician's point of view. But the larger picture seemed to be eluding Raphael, and John wasn't too optimistic that anything he could say would clarify things for him. Still, he supposed it couldn't hurt to try.

"Y'know, I heard about that," he said philosophically. "Can't speak for anybody else, but I'll tell you something, guv--when I need help, the first person I usually go to isn't the one who's gone out of his way to make it clear that he hates me and wants nothing to do with me. Even if he is the most qualified." He picked up a stick and waggled it cautiously in Frankie's direction to get his attention, then lobbed it as far as he could toward the rear grounds, watching the odd creature race off after it.

"Now, that same bloke comes along and says, 'Look, differences aside, if you ever need somebody who knows this shit then you should come to me and ask,' like you did just now, well, that's something else. Then I'd have a reason to think that asking him wasn't a waste of time." He lit up a cigarette. "Then again, I might still not do it, if the situation was bolluxed up enough that it was a bad idea for some other reason.

"Point is, I don't think anybody with half a brain would leave you out of the loop out of spite, if they have reason to believe you're willing to help and they've got the luxury of choosing anybody they want." He glanced at Raphael sidelong. "It's almost never as simple as if-then-therefore, you get what I'm saying? Especially when you're dealing with a mixed-up lot like what we've got here."

Frankie ran away and chased after the stick; though he was more used to playing fetch with bones.

Raphael frowned as he listened to John speak.

"You can quit being obtuse. Crowley was involved therefore it must have been something demonic. That's why I wasn't called upon. Is it? It might have even been something I wouldn't have... approved of.

I should just burn that place down," he snapped. "Not like anyone legitimately needs it. The boy keeps people from harm or they just miracle themselves well. There's no need to even have a clinic.

And that's not true at all - I'm sure there are pleanty that would be happy to spite me. After all, they already want my demise - so what's a little insult to injury?"

Frankie returned and gave Raphael the stick. He tossed it for the dog who ran after it again.

John shook his head, irritated, but trying not to show it. This was just about the reaction he'd expected, and there was really no reason to think it would get any better. But he'd always had a somewhat masochistic tendency to beat his head against a brick wall, metaphorically speaking. And Raphael had just insultingly dismissed one of the best friends he had out of sheer ignorance. He wasn't inclined to let the matter drop if there was even a remote chance he might get through to the idiot.

"Raphael," he said in measured tones, "I'm only gonna tell you this once, so listen carefully. The only people round the Manor who want you dead are the fuckwits like Ligur who let their equally fuckwitted bosses do the thinking for them. And you're dead wrong if you really think nobody needs the place. Aziraphale needed it when he first came here, for one, had you forgotten that? Even Adam can't stop everything from getting in. I tell you this from personal experience."

He turned to face the archangel, eyes hard. "Oh, and one other thing. Don't you ever go spouting at me about 'demonic.' I know from Evil, old son, I've walked into a room and been knocked over by the sheer smell of it. I've been torn open and had my lungs roasted in my chest. Stood eyeball to eyeball with monsters that'd crawl inside someone and make them eat people alive and get off on it. And whatever Crowley is, believe me, he doesn't even come close."

He dropped his cigarette butt and ground it out with his heel. "Look, I dunno what it is you're looking for someone to tell you, Raphael, but the truth of the matter is, we're all in the same boat. Everybody's life stinks, nobody's got any answers, we all feel like the world's against us and nothing we do matters and Hell, we're most likely right. The rest of us have been living with it for years. You're damn lucky you got to be innocent for as long as you did. Welcome to the party, and get the fuck over it."

"Stop it," Raphael replied coldly. "Just stop. Stop acting like I'm some kind of child. Stop acting like I haven't known anything for six thousand years. Stop acting like I'm stupid.

Just stop.

Yes, I got caught off guard regarding my fellow angels. Well it's not as though I spent a lot of time around them, on Heaven or on earth. Down here I've always had my own business to attend to, up there I've had my own difficulties to work on and deal with. And I've never had a lot of time to waste 'making an effort' nor did I ever see why I should expose myself to that. 'I got to be innocent, welcome to the club...' do you want to condescend a little more?"

Frankie came and he threw the stick even farther away.

"I deal with humans or mostly humans. Not other immortals - at least not often. So yes, maybe I was unknowing. And I'm still not good at dealing with any of them. But innocent? Don't be ridiculous.

The attitudes I have, most of them, have been around for years. This places just seems to... bring them out. I know what demonic is too and you are careless if you think every demon is about the devouring of flesh. And while there is a discrimination between high level and low level, a demon is a demon and there is a thing called subtlety. Perhaps you trust Crowley; perhaps you have a reason to.

I don't. On both counts."

When Frankie returned again Raphael knelt and petted him but did not throw the stick again.

"You say that nobody here wants me dead, with the exception of a couple, and perhaps thats true. But I'm not ignorant. Tell me - is there a betting pool already about when I'm going to Fall? I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe nobody wants me dead; but I'm increasingly doubtful that there are people who would would mind it. The only one I know at this house who is firmly on my side is Michael and that's because, well... he's himself. And I can't depend on even his defence, not really.

If I did not have to I would not be here - and don't criticize me for obeying. If you say that nobody wants me hurt then don't act like I'm deluded because disobedience is a surefire way to get expelled. But as far as I'm concerned, if Adam can't keep everything out, why bother staying in a place where I have no one to talk to and loathe many of the residents?

At least I can have a conversation at Stephen's; and his wards are extremely good. Besides - I know I can trust him.

Not like some here."

Frankie whined at his side and rubbed affectionately against his leg.

"Of course you're not stupid," John said wearily. He wasn't going to keep arguing in circles with someone who was clearly enjoying being miserable and wanted to share the experience. "But if you don't mind my saying so, mate, you are one bloody frustrating son of a bitch to try to hold a conversation with. Don't take it personally, though, I talk that way to most everybody. ...Stephen who?"

He wanted to tell Raphael exactly why he trusted Crowley--the latest reason, specifically--just to see the look on his face, but frankly it was none of Raphael's business. And the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

"Of course I'm not. I'm good at what I do... and I'm not going to Fall, no matter what anybody says." He petted Frankie. "And I don't mean to be frustrating. I just don't talk very often about these sorts of things. I talk about medicine and things like that - I don't have much common ground here with most of the beings."

Frakie jumped up on him so Raphael bent down and threw the stick for him again.

"You probably wouldn't know him. He's a physician friend of mine - well, was before his hands got mangled - who does a little bit of messing around the the occult on the side. Dr. Stephen Strange. I fixed his hands for Christmas so maybe he can practice a bit again, from time to time.

He stays up on all the lastest medical trends though. Very informative. We had an excellent conversation about cough medicines and antibiotics the last time I visited. Great guy and one of the best surgeons I've ever known."

Stephen Strange? You mean the big ponce from New York who flounces around in a red and gold cape calling himself Sorcerer Supreme? John almost laughed out loud, as much at the bizarre juxtaposition of Raphael and Strange as friends as anything, but he kept both his amusement and his opinion to himself with a considerable effort. Fair was fair, after all; he'd just berated Raphael for criticizing his unlikely friend. And, his questionable fashion sense aside, Strange's reputation suggested he was in fact an occult force to be reckoned with. He wondered whether Raphael knew just how much "messing around on the side" the man actually did.

"Well, that explains where you got the dog," he observed mildly. "Strange, eh? Haven't met him personally, but I've heard of him. Word has it he's a pretty big player when he wants to be. Didn't know he kept company with angels, though. Funny old world."

He looked up at the Manor house. "You know what, I'm sorry you don't like being here, Raphael, but I'm sort of glad you are. I got this feeling the time's going to come when you will be needed, and I don't think anybody will see it coming. Don't let all us cantankerous ingrates chase you off, all right? Some of us aren't as bad as we like to make people think."

Raphael shook his head.

"Nah, Stephen didn't give me Frankie. I got him from another surgeon. And I knew Stephen before all the... other stuff. Back in medical school. Showed promise but had a few personality problems, shall we say. He's gotten a lot better since then; I'd hoped he would though he lost his surgeon's hands in the process, after the accident.

The whole thing turned out rather well though. Funny that."

Frankie came back and dropped the stick at Raphael's feet then sat next to him.

"'Don't like' is a mild way to put it. I can't stand it here. It's bad for me, I can feel it. I can feel myself sliding a little more everyday, doing questionable things, feeling... the wrong emotions, I guess.

And I personally think you're wrong. Everything so far - Aziraphale, whatever Crowley did, and so on... it's all been handled by other people. In the meantime bird flu is breaking out, there's a famine brewing in Kenya, there are all sorts of medical frauds going on... Not that it's unusual. With six billion people, there's always a problem somewhere. And I'm holed up in a mansion with a bunch of beings, half of whom I dislike and none of whom need my help."

He looked John in the eyes.

"I don't mind all of you. But I've basically been chained here with people I don't care for who are keeping me from helping the ones I do. Sorry to disappoint, but that means I'm getting out of here as often as I can without violating orders.

Don't count on me." He frowned. "And if what the rumors say comes true, if what Crowley says is accurate... when the time comes I might not even care about healing, period."

John sighed inwardly and nodded, letting the matter drop. In his experience, when someone kept contradicting themselves and couldn't see the upside of anything, it meant they weren't ready to let anybody else help them sort it out. At least nobody could say he hadn't tried.

"Wish you luck, then. Nice talking with you again, Raphael. I gotta run." He offered the bone dog a cautious pat on the head. Er, skull. "Good to meet you, Frankie."

Raphael bit his lip.

"Constantine?" He asked, dashing over to the man.

"Could you wait a moment?" He pleaded. "I need to ask you something."

John paused, looking back at the angel in surprise as he hurried up. "What's that then?"

The angel swallowed nervously. He had been feeling relief at being guarded, in a way, but he'd also been feeling guilt. And since Constantine seemed like a man who was, at the core, practical, he hoped that an answer from him could justify quashing that guilt.

"If... if you told a half-truth to somebody, if you... left something out, but they were happy and you needed them and everybody got what they wanted - would it be so bad? Practically speaking. If a truth would badly hurt somebody, would you tell them? I mean..."

"Me?" John said, a strange little half-smile playing about his mouth. "I probably wouldn't, no. Not until something forced me to. And sure as shit, it'd come back and bite me in the arse sooner or later."

He shrugged. "Then again, that's just me. I'm an absolute bastard with the worst luck in the known Universe. Ask anybody."

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