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Being an angel of death sounds cool, but sometimes it's a pretty tough job.
Sure, fully grown humans are also extremely annoying and he usually has to explain every single piece of that supernatural nonsense part twice in full detail. Humans in general aren't really the smartest creatures on God's beautiful earth.
But children…
Children really are the worst thing that could happen to him. Jesus fucking Chirst, these little pests seriously piss him off! Always playing super nice and slooooow and this cheesy fluffy blah blah… Which, in simple terms, means nothing else than that has to suck the full emotional bullshit show out of his goddamn ass.
Jezz, he would be much happier instead with something smacking into his ass. Or somewhere else. Doesn't matter. He's not that picky. This assignment sucks so badly. And it hasn't even started yet. Unfortunately, patience isn't exactly one of his strengths either.
How long have they been on the road anyway? Seems like an eternity. Time doesn't matter to someone like him, but fuck it! In any case, he can definitely think of better options than sitting his arse flat on the back seat of an old dump car.
Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. In good old Michigan. October 11, 2035.
The day his latest protégé is set to lose his life. Cole Anderson, 6 years old.
Next to him, the boy is still sleeping peacefully in his booster seat. Yet he doesn't know what will happen soon, doesn't have any suspicion that his young existence will come to an end so suddenly. Well, of course nobody knows that. Whether old or young.
Sixty is lucky he's asleep. Shortly after leaving, his eyes fell shut. That's a good development. Children are generally highly perceptive to his presence. And he really doesn't wanna be stared at all the time by big puppy eyes. Not that they are actually able to see him, it's more a sort of a vague sense of foreboding?
Anyway. It definitely makes the passage easier for him, and especially for the kid. He won't be in any pain. Sixty will make absolutely sure of that. He may be a son of a bitch, but at least he always gets the job done. More or less...
"You're sure we're in the right place? And time? My ass hurts like a bitch."
To underline his words, he demonstratively changes his position several times by sliding around on the uncomfortable back seat. Through the rear-view mirror, Connor's brown eyes focus on him in clear warning.
The grin on Sixty's lips immediately widens a little.
Shit, those puppy eyes are welcome to stare at him forever and ever.
"We're exactly where we need to be. Don't worry. It won't be long now."
Connor's voice is smooth and clear. Nevertheless, there is a fine shade of nervousness, an underlying tension resonating in every single sound passing over his tongue. And that's not all. Sitting upright on the passenger side, the fingers of his right hand never stop fiddling around with that damn coin he's always bringing with him. Over and over again, in a constant rhythm.
Looks like Sixty isn't the only one here who's not happy about this assignment. Hallelujah. But that's typical Connor. This idiot of a guardian angel takes his job way too seriously and always sticks his cute nose too deep into this emotional shit. And Hank Anderson seems to be one of his favorites.
Sixty rolls his eyes. Emotional little dork...
All he has to do is obey. Shit.
Somewhere hidden in his innermost core, a tiny spark of jealousy flares up. But he doesn't allow it to grow into a fire. Not now. Maybe later. With a frown, Sixty leans a little closer to catch a better view of the road. Right now, however, nothing spectacular is about to happen. Boring.
"Really?" he checks Connor's answer. "Because If you ask me, it's about time to get the party started."
"Nobody is asking you, Sixty.”
"Whoaaa~ Look at you. You're a bit on edge, huh?"
"Oh shut up, will you?!"
Connor's knuckles suddenly close tightly around the coin. From his seat, Sixty notices the heavy rise and fall of his chest, even though he doesn't need to breathe. When their eyes meet again, Connor's soft brown is overflowing with emotion.
He's beautiful, Sixty thinks. And full of sorrow.
And even though he's not really into the whole emotional business, when it comes to Connor it affects him so badly that the useless thing called a heart skips a beat in his chest without warning. Simultaneously, a tingling shiver rushes down his spine, which surely would reach the tiniest tips of his wings. If there would be enough space for them in this nasty tin can on four fucking wheels.
"Hey, don't give me that face. Your friend over there is gonna make it, Con. I'm the one who has to deal with that kid's wandering soul."
In a teasing sort of way, Sixty leans out to give his partner a gentle squeeze on the neck. His fingers brush along the sensitive area just below the hairline with a soothing, almost gentle, touch. Under this physical contact of affection, Connor relaxes slightly, melting into the embrace in a delicate raspy sigh.
"He will, yes," he whispers, his voice now husky and rough. "But he'll never be truly alive again."
A thick, heavy sadness is spreading its claws around Connor's shoulders. For a fraction of a human breath, his inner light is thrown out of sync, becomes blurred and dull, before returning to its normal state. Something knots inside Sixty. In his light-coloured clothes, Connor looks even paler than ever. Beneath his fingertips Sixty feels an unusual sense of cold. Once again there's tension in his upper ribcage. Sixty bites his lower lip. It's awful, and he's pretty pissed off when he realises what it means.
Obviously, that annoying thing of a heart again.
His face softens. God damn it, he hates seeing these stupid angels like this.
"What did you see?" he asks carefully.
Connor however, just shakes his head, but then has a change of mind. With the saddest smile in the world, he turns to the driver of the car.
"Pain, so much pain. Sorrow and loneliness. Losing his son will break him."
Music is playing softly on the radio. Anderson hums to the beat. He can't hear them, he can't see them. Like most humans, he is also completely incapable of sensing their existence. Anderson's eyes are fixed on the road, his hands on the steering wheel, firm but relaxed. He is driving exactly the speed limit.
Caught by curiosity, Sixty stretches his neck to get a better look at him. He is tall, massive. Blue eyes, hair already grey. Only a few blonde strands are still visible. His cheeks are clean-shaven. Sixty knows he's 50 years old. He looks good. And he seems to be a good father.
Every time he looks at his boy in the mirror, a proud, loving smile spreads across his lips.
Maybe Connor is right. Some things are worse than death.
"It's almost time," Connor snaps him out of his thoughts. "Here it comes."
He doesn't have to explain anything else. Sixty can feel it too. And suddenly he is perfectly calm, his mind in complete focus, all his senses as sharp as razor blades. Time slows down, stays still. He sees the lights of the truck ahead of them on the road. His hand finds Connor's shoulder, one last gesture of love before he has to do what has to be done.
Then Sixty feels Connor's hand atop his. Still cold.
The truck is already skidding. Hank Anderson's voice is distorted in fear and anger.
Connor lets go of Sixty's hand. He, the guardian angel, is enveloped in a bright, warm light. Space and time become one, the tightness of the car gone as he spreads his beautiful, pure white wings and covers Hank Anderson in his welcoming, protective embrace.
Sixty adores this light. Connor's light. He wants to drown in it.
But Connor is already gone.
Hank Anderson will live. And he will suffer. Connor will guide him on his way. And his light will shine on him many, many times.
Sixty's light, instead, will guide Cole Anderson's soul out of his small, shattered body. It's mellow and gentle. Shadows fall over the angel of death like a cocoon of twilight, tearing every fibre of his essence and shattering him into a thousand fragments. The boy's life is passing by Sixty's eye, every single precious second of it. From the day he was born right up to this moment when everything comes to an end.
Frozen between worlds, Sixty spreads his wings, black as midnight. A huge blessing.
Cole Anderson's eyelids start to flutter. "Daddy...?"
The kid's blue eyes, his father's eyes, blink up at him in confusion, still drowsy with sleep. Hank pulls the steering wheel round with all his strength. The car drifts across the road far out of control and far too fast. Wheels lose their grip.
Sixty swallows. Everything happens in a kind of never-ending slow motion for Cole and him. Time isn't important any more. Neither for the child nor for himself. He hasn't any regrets. Still, children aren't his fucking cup of tea. He really wishes Connor were here.
Despite all of that, his hand is tender as he runs it through the boy's soft, blond hair. His wings around him like a shield.
"Your dad will be back with you soon. Don't worry. Just take another little nap."
Whispering, he blows his breath over the boy and rocks him into a peaceful, endless dream. Cole Anderson doesn't feel anything anymore. He doesn't suffer any pain. Not even when his father's car rolls over and his small, fragile body is crushed in it.
He survives the accident. His heart stops beating two hours later. However, Cole's soul is already struggling out of his dying shell as firefighters and paramedics try to cut him out of the wreckage. Like oversized fireflies, the wandering soul fragments flutter around until they crowd around Sixty, relieved and desperate to find shelter.
Children's souls shine with special brightness.
Connor also stays loyally by his protégé's side. Sixty knows he's close without even spotting him. In an almost magical process, the dark angel's eyes are drawn back to him. Unlike his son, Hank Anderson's time to shine hasn't come yet. Floating above the humans' heads, Sixty is watching Connor's performance.
Seeing him kneeling on the bloodstained ground. His slender, pale hand resting on the man's chest to comfort him, holding back his soul from escaping.
Connor is surrounded by light and mercy.
Honestly, for Sixty, no other light is brighter or more beautiful than this one.
Anderson's soul settles once the medical android manages to stabilise him and transferring him to the awaiting ambulance. As soon as the doors shut behind him, the first raindrops fall from the sky.
Sixty follows the rushing ambulance till it's out of sight. Good luck, old man.
Rain bathes the ground in a dark shade. Without making a sound, he lands alongside the road. More and more soul fireflies are finding their way over to him. He can already hear echo of the child's voice and, like all children (dead or alive), this one asks one question after another. At least he's not a crybaby.
Gimme me a second, okay? the angel sighs mentally. Annoying little shit. All right, all right. I'll see what I can do.
There are bloodstains on Connor's white clothes. Collapsed, like a kicked puppy, he is still kneeling on the ground. Sixty steps up to him. Spreading his wings, he shields him from the rain. They both remain silent. Cole's physical body is now surrounded by medics. Around them the soul fireflies swirl in excitement.
Raindrops trickle down Connor's cheeks. Human blood stains his fingers. In a daze, he wipes his hands over the smears of red on his uniform. They vanish in the blink of an eye.
"Hell of a party, huh?" Sixy finally breaks the silence.
Connor nods, barely noticeably. "Fucking sucks."
The corners of Sixty's mouth wiggle.
"Jesus. Connor, the swearing guardian angel. Holy shit." Teasingly, he clicks his tongue. "You did a good job. Nothing else matters."
"Doesn't feel like it right now."
"Oh shut up, Mr Perfect. It wasn't our decision." He gives Connors neck a tender squeeze. "You know how short a human life is. They'll meet again soon."
A small sound of frustration slips form the angel's throat. "You're right.. It's just...his son hasn't really started living yet. And Hank, he's a good person. He deserves to be happy."
"Maybe he will. There's always a chance for unexpected events to take place. Saying goodbye to his son properly could be a good start. I know someone who could arrange that. C'mon, move your ass."
Connor willingly accepts the hand Sixty offers him. This time he doesn't let him go. Their fingers intertwine and their shared light brightens the falling night. Light and dark. Life and death. Two sides of the same coin standing face to face. Their eyes meet, holding one another. That's all Sixty asks for. Screw it! Without wasting a second thought, he tugs Connor close.
Their lips collide in a deep, desperate kiss. Connor's eyes widen, his wings flutter flustered. Then he melts into the kiss and allows himself to relax.
Some human habits really aren't that bad.
When they break apart, sun-coloured soul fragments bounce up and down over their heads.
A crooked smile lights up Connor's face. "Tough little guy."
"Yeah. A real pain in the ass. Like his dad. We should go, someone needs to say goodbye."
They escort the child's dying body to hospital, where an android takes over the emergency operation instead of a surgeon. Sixty keeps his promise and allows Cole Anderson's soul to say goodbye to his father. Hank will never find out the truth about what really happened.
How could he? He's only human. With a guardian angel named Connor.
°•°•the end•°•