neutral_omens | (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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Raphael nodded numbly. He'd been afraid of that.

"But what if something... awful happened? Not to me, but maybe someone else. Like... like if somebody took things all the wrong way and did something stupid or reckless. Wouldn't the status quo be preferable?"

The minute healer frowned.

"I'm an angel! I shouldn't even be able to lie! Something is wrong, seriously wrong, but I haven't Fallen - so do I just keep doing what I'm doing?" Suddenly his eyes widened and a thought struck him.

"Don't tell Uriel any of this, please. Don't say anything. I know you don't talk to a lot of angels, but don't tell them, I don't want them to know. Please, promise me you won't tell, I just needed to ask... There's not many here I can talk to who won't talk around or try to use it to their advantage. I can't trust many people, don't even know if I can trust you but if I don't say something it feels like I'm going to explode!"

He exhaled.

"Before I came here I always knew what to do, or so it seemed. And now whatever I do - I'm screwed, aren't I? I know what's true and what's not. I can't... I can't feel what I don't. But I can't say something or everything is going to fall apart. And that can't happened either. I can't make the fabrication true and I can't confess to it either. And that's not even considering the hateful emotions I've been feeling."

His mouth formed a line as he recognized the one lie he'd been spouting above all, saw it for a lie and realized what the truth of the situation was.

"I'm going to Fall," he stated flatly. "And I'm in too far to do a damned thing about it."

Increasingly uneasy with this conversation, John simply didn't know what to say. Raphael was petulant and self-absorbed and borderline hysterical, as annoying as any angel he'd ever met; but when push came to shove, he really didn't want to think of any of them Falling. There might be crimes so horrible they justified a punishment like Hell (maybe,) but as far as he was concerned, acting like a jackass wasn't one of them.

On the other hand, there wasn't much he wouldn't do to help keep Crowley's chestnuts out of the fire. Raphael's Fall could mean, if not his friend's salvation, then at least a reprieve from the worst retribution Hell could devise.

A sickening sense of deja vu came over him, the specter of his younger self blowing in on a cold wind to hover at his shoulder, mocking him.

What's the matter, old man? it sneered. Lost your taste for the game, have you? Well, bollocks to that. This shit used to be meat and bread to you. So one more stuck-up, self-important halo crashes and burns. Who cares? Gets your mate off the hook, dunnit? You ought to be glad for a chance to nudge him along, Christ knows you've always done a piss-poor job of looking after your friends...

Or is it that you're afraid the little prick is right about Crowley? Some joke, wouldn't it be, if you've stood up to Lucifer just to get taken in by a convincing mask and a clever little song and dance.

Appalled at the insidious and completely unfounded notion, he ordered John-the-younger to piss the fuck off in no uncertain terms, and forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

"I wish I had an answer for you," he said to the angel, unable to look him in the eyes. He could say that he'd been there, alone, backed into a corner with no options left but the unthinkable (and nobody but himself to blame,) but how much help or comfort would it be? He couldn't exactly claim a happy ending. And as far as he knew, only three Fallen angels in all of history had managed to rise above what Hell had made of them--none of them unscathed, or even particularly safe. "But for what it's worth, I don't think you're past hope if you can still talk about it like this. And I won't say anything to the others."

John's voice seemed to be very far away, as though it were coming to him from a distance. His limbs felt heavy and disjointed and his tongue felt thick inside his mouth. What might have been tears burned at the back of his eyes but a cold voice inside his head whispered not in front of him and Raphael clamped down and didn't cry.

His mind pitched around wildly, from thoughts of those whom he'd let down, whom orders had prevented him from saving, to thoughts of Michael and the enormity of the other's emotion and the gravity of what he'd done by deceiving him. It had gotten far, fast, because he'd stoked a fire that had been burning for centuries and now it might devour them both.

As Constantine finished speaking Raphael's body went limp as a deflated ballon and he seemed to sag internally. Silly trite man with his silly trite words. He couldn't stop anything and it didn't matter to him anyway. He probably wanted it, even if he wouldn't admit it.

They all want it

"I hope you don't say anything," he said in a dull, muted tone, "But it's not as if it makes any sort of difference about the inevitable. It only buys time. And when it comes right down to it, I'm not sure you really do wish you had an answer. I am not your 'kind' by any stretch; why bother?"

He looked at the man, even though he was shorter and John's eyes were averted.

"He will come with me, you know. Regardless of whether I urge or not. He has promised. Isn't it terrible? He loves me more than Him... for nothing. For a straw house, an illusion that isn't there. But it won't stop. I refuse to be alone even if its costly; so when the time comes I will reach for his hand.

And if and when that day comes, do you think that either of us shall remember this place or its residents fondly? Crowley says that Falling changes one terribly; but somehow I think that at the base of it all hatred would be something we'd be allowed to recall."

He said everything in a monotonous, lifeless tone and his mouth felt very dry at the end of it. Then he gave the man a sad little smile.

"I will regret Gabriel, though. He cared - really cared. I hope I remember that as well."

Inevitable...won't stop...when the time comes...

John stared at Raphael, dumbfounded, only just now understanding what he should have seen from the beginning.

"Oh, I am an idiot," he breathed. "You mad bastard. You aren't looking to be talked out of Falling, you want somebody to tell you you should."

He backpedaled a step or two, shaking his head. "You need help, my friend. But leave me out of it. I've helped damn way too many people already."

Unable to bear the archangel's company any longer, he turned and walked rapidly away, head bowed, repressing the urge to break into a run.

"Run away," he murmured.

He knelt and petted Frankie and smiled.

"He's wrong, isn't he boy? I've already done the deed. I already lied." His kissed Frankie's nose. "I already lied to Michael but I can't be alone, I won't be. If I get punished anyway and he's not there..." He laid back and Frankie climbed onto his chest. "Uriel will be very cross if he finds out, I suspect, but I suppose it leaves me free to act on Pestilence. In for a penny, in for a pound." He closed his eyes. "So... he might be right. I wanted him to tell me that what I was doing was OK. That it was acceptable, that it would be all right.

But it isn't - and I still can't stop doing it. My fault, I suppose."

Frankie panted, barked and settled down on top of Raphael.

"But I won't be alone. I hate that more than anything. Don't you agree?"

Frankie barked in reply. And breathing in and out, Raphael willfully fell asleep.