neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: January 23, 2000
Setting: Michael's Room
Status: John, Raphael, Michael, Adam, Gabriel (Semi-Private, Complete)
Summary: John vents his feelings at Raphael. Mayhem ensues. (Continued from here.)

It was a pretty decent plan, John thought. Find Raphael, get him away from his oaf of a bodyguard by whatever means presented itself, and teach the little rat a lesson he'd never forget. He liked it. It was elegant in its simplicity.

The fact that it included no provisions for ensuring his own safety (or survival) in the event that Michael proved less easily hoodwinked this time than last--or that Raphael unexpectedly grew himself a pair--he considered a minor flaw. He was too hacked off at the moment to think that far ahead.*

He found Raphael's room unoccupied and proceeded to Michael's, ducked momentarily down a side-hall to avoid a frustrated-looking Snob along the way (hadn't that damn fool got things sorted out with Belial yet?) and strode up to the door, knocking sharply before he could think better of what he was doing.

---

*Anyway, his most clever, complicated schemes always seemed to lead him into worse trouble in the long run. If things were going to go pear-shaped, they might just as well go pear-shaped straightaway and get it over with.

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A few tears leaked from Raphael's eyes and he shook his head.

"What other choice do I have? If I lower it then I go back to being derided as someone who can't defend himself. And I'll feel like 'absolute shit' then too, except I'll know that if anybody threatens me I'll be too afraid to do anything about it."

You're supposedly a fucking archangel, not a kitten. How could someone as weak as you help anyone?

"I have to get it somehow!" He started shaking again. "And it doesn't matter because I hate what I am now, someone who always gets pushed around unless Michael's there - and sometime even when he is.

At least I would be considered a threat and not a joke..."

John tilted his head slightly to one side, eyeing the archangel thoughtfully. "Mate, you're an archangel. You've got power to spare. You put Crowley down for the count without Michael's help or a pistol, remember? And I'll wager you could knock me on my arse without half trying. Size isn't everything, you know." He chuckled. "Couldn't you just beat the shit out of me and call it a day?"

Come on, either put the damn thing down or shoot me already. This is getting ridiculous, he thought with an inward sigh.

"Only against creatures like demons. All I had to do was turn up the halo, so to speak. And being furious helped.

It's not a matter of how... If I can't do this and not feel bad about it, what difference does method make?

Don't lie to me anyway. When Crowley wanted to, when I wasn't using my aura, he just picked me up and pinned me down. Easy as anything. And he's not even as big as you are. I can't beat the 'shit out of anything' that I can't affect with my aura. Including the Horsemen. Including you."

By then he was crying, feeling confused and felt reminded of his body, useless under Crowley's weight and his ineffectual struggling. He felt small, especially given that most in the mansion were at least half a foot to a foot taller than he was. The gun shone under the lights of the room and he felt dizzy for a moment.

"If being an archangel was all I needed to get respect then Crowley wouldn't have called me weak to begin with. If you really worried about me beating you, you wouldn't have attacked me. Nobody until now has been afraid of me at all - and if I lower the gun, nothing will have changed.

You showed me no respect until I pointed this at you - how can you expect me to believe you when you say that I don't need it?"

"I didn't attack you because I assumed you couldn't fight back," John said tiredly, "I attacked you because I was too angry to care.

"Look. I'll make this easy for you. Shoot me." He flung his arms out wide, walking slowly toward the angel. "Just go ahead and pull the damn trigger and then you won't have to wonder anymore, you'll know. Probably put you that much closer to Falling, just like you wanted." He snorted. "Though considering it's me, it might just do the opposite...come on, Raphael." He stopped a few inches from the barrel, acutely aware of the pain it promised and the eternity of torment that would follow.

"Either pull the trigger or act like the Healer you are and give me the gun."

Raphael looked at him, could smell the disgusting stench of his cigarettes, could see every line on his face.

He took a breath, cocked the gun, aimed...

And froze.

"Damn it!!!!" He sobbed and his whole body slumped.

John waited for long, long moments, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Hey," he said finally, almost whispering. "It's all right. Sometimes it takes more courage not to do harm. Truce?"