Cassidy

Cassidy bonked Jesse on the nose with the flat end of the small fire extinguisher, and he crumpled down into the dirt, holding his face.

"So, how's it goin'?" Cassidy asked, as he settled down in the shade on the church steps. He had a ratty hoodie on as extra protection.

Jesse sniffed, wincing in pain. "Well, I got a bloody nose."

"That's not what I meant."

It was then that Cassidy saw the remorse in Jesse's eyes. Honestly, that was all he needed.

"I didn't mean to," Jesse sighed. "I said the words, and he was gone."

And that was all Cassidy needed to hear.

Tulip's family dinner had gone slightly awry a few minutes ago. Jesse was giving Tulip the silent treatment and pissing her off while Cassidy was extolling the cinematic virtues of the Coen Brothers (except for The Big Lewbowski; The Big Lebowski is shite) to Emily. Then when Sheriff Root came in asking if anyone had seen Eugene, and everyone flat out lied to his face, the smoke alarm went off, as Tulip's vanilla hash browns caught fire in the oven.

So, that was a bust.

But at least Jesse was talking now. And at least he acknowledged what he'd done. Sending Eugene to Hell was an accident.

"Y'know, I went to Atlantic City once with the wife of a Russian gangster, right?" Cassidy said. "And honestly, she was lovely. But Atlantic City turns out to be not much more than a shank of shite, so, y'know. We all make mistakes, don't we? All right, come on." He took Jesse's arm and helped him to his feet. "What's next? How can I help you?"

Jesse wiped his nose and dusted off his pants. "Well, maybe take a look at the balcony railing," he said, eyeing the church steeple. "See how busy we've got, be even busier come Sunday--"

"I meant, what're you gonna do about Eugene?" Cassidy interrupted.

But Jesse just looked at him kind of blankly. "Well, what can I do? You tell me."

"You just sent an innocent kid to be forever poked by piping-hot pitchforks! I think acting like you give a damn might be a good start, mate."

"He's not that innocent."

"What?"

"You know about Eugene and Tracy Loach?" Jesse said, that self-righteous tone seeping back into his voice. "Tracy Loach was prom queen, rodeo queen queen of everything. Everyone loved her. Eugene loved her, too. One day, he gets the courage to confess his love, and she rejects him. Now, any normal kid would sulk, nurse his broken heart, let it go. Not Eugene. Eugene got a shotgun, put it to her head, and blew half her head off. Once that was done, he turned the gun on himself. So Eugene is not that innocent."

Cassidy was skeptical. Small towns have a bad habit of twisting the truth, and he couldn't believe that Eugene was capable of something like that.

"So, he deserves it," he scoffed. "Is that what you're sayin'?"

"I'm sayin' better men than Eugene Root have been cast down. Much better men."

Cassidy shook his head. "No, Jesse, this Genesis thing, it's really playin' with your head. An' those English boys, they're right. We've got to give this thing back--"

"I'm not givin' it back," Jesse insisted. "Not part of the plan."

"Oh, for-- There is no plan!" Cassidy yelled. "There's no plan! You've lost control of this thing! All right? Fer Christ's sake, you've sent an innocent kid to Hell!"

"How can you say there's no plan, Cassidy?" Jesse said, eerily calm about all of this, and Cassidy groaned with frustration. "Angels, Heaven, and Hell -- you've seen it. You've seen it's real. It's real, and it has a reason."

"Look, I'm not saying--"

"And it's God's plan." Jesse strode out of the shade and into the sunshine, as if delivering a sermon from on high. "If His reason, if His judgment, is to send one more sinner, one more lost soul into the fire, what can I do? Except stand aside and watch him burn."

Really. Really? Cassidy, fuming, stayed where he was. This was bullshit. He knew that Jesse was better than this.

"Tulip was right about you, y'know," he muttered.

Jesse pulled a face and snorted. "Tulip. What do you know about Tulip?"

"Never mind." Now was not the time. "What about me? I'm no innocent, either." Cassidy stepped closer, further toward the edge of the shadows. "I'm a lazy, lying, self-obsessed, drug-abusing, cheating fornicator with a filthy mouth and no ambition. An' I think your God, if he really does exist, is not more than a stocious muppet who smells his own farts!"

Closer and closer to the edge he came.

"An' that's not the worst of my sins, neither, Preacher. Not by a long shot."

He tossed the fire extinguisher toward Jesse, and it landed in the dirt.

"What's this for?" Jesse asked, bewildered, resting a boot on it.

"It's for me, Padre."

Cassidy shed his hoodie, and pulled his t-shirt off, exposing his bare skin.

"Or will you let me burn, too?"

Gritting his teeth, he stepped out of the shade -- and the moment the hot, Texas sunlight touched him, his skin blistered and boiled and burned, and screaming in agony, he fell in a flaming heap Jesse's feet.

[Continued from here.]

With Jesse not at the church, Cassidy jumped right back into the van and headed for the Sundowner Motel. Was he worried? Nah, not really. Concerned, maybe, but not exactly worried. Not yet. If the angels had him, Jesse could always use that voice command thingie on them and be done with it. Or his fists. Either way.

Sunrise was just a few hours away when Cassidy pulled into the motel parking lot. As he walked down the corridor toward the angels' room, he heard quite a ruckus going on behind the door. Yelling. Screaming. Banging, crashing, thudding.

Slowly, Cassidy tested the doorknob to see if it was unlocked. It turned. Just as slowly, he opened the door.

( Read more... )

[Continued from here.]

"Jesus. Oh, God, I'm so sorry! Oh, please don't die, mister! Please don't!"

Cassidy was seeing double, maybe even triple after pretty much landing on his head and breaking some bones and gouging some internal organs, but he was absolutely sure that the face he was gazing up into was the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

"I didn't mean to," the woman insisted with a Texas twang, panicked and distraught. "I-- it's my stupid fuckin' temper. I just-- I thought you were this other guy and-- stupid, stupid, stupid! Can you please go faster?!"

"I'm trying!"

They were in a car speeding down a highway. Someone else was driving. Cassidy really didn't care who.

Because this woman, this woman who was cradling his head in her lap, this woman who he was bleeding all over with each gurgling breath he took, was beautiful.

"It's okay. It's all right. Just keep breathing, all right?"

He would keep breathing, even though it hurt, just for her.

"Ugh, I thought you were that dickwich, Clive!" She bared her teeth and railed against herself.

Cassidy wanted to laugh. But then he'd spill more blood on her.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid-- hurry up!"

"Okay!"

The shard of glass jutted out of his neck. It hurt like fuck. Probably severed some arteries. She held it gingerly in place so that it wouldn't dislodge before they got to the hospital.

That was so nice of her.

"Please, God," she pleaded, breathless with anxiety, "please God, or whatever the hell you call yourself, I know we hate each other, but please, please, please, just this once, do the right thing here. I'll be good, I swear I'll be good. I'll be so damn good, you won't even know it's me."

Her eyes. Big, brown, with long, dark lashes, the definition of doe-eyed. Short, black curls framed her face. Her skin was like caramel, flawless but for the smears and spatters of red. Her lips? God, her lips. A perfect Cupid's bow.

"Kiss me."

Cassidy's voice bubbled up from his mangled throat.

The woman gaped down at him.

"What?"

"Kiss me," he repeated.

"Okay--"

"Kiss me--"

"Okay, okay, okay, relax!"

After just a moment's hesitation, perhaps to steel herself before kissing a dying man, she bent her head and pressed her mouth to Cassidy's lips. He closed his eyes, holding the kiss for what felt like an eternity of bliss.

When she came up for air, he let out a groan of pain. Blood gushed from his neck.

"It's all right," she assured him with a shrug of her shoulders, trying her hardest to be glib. She smiled at him. She smiled. "You're gonna make it."

There were hearts in Cassidy's eyes.


***


"Go. Tell Mosie I've got it under control."

"But what about--?"

"Just go! And I'll pay for the window, too!"

As her friend drove off, the woman slung Cassidy's arm over her petite shoulders and helped him shuffle toward the hospital entrance. She also made sure to keep a blanket draped around him because he wasn't wearing any pants.

She was really nice.

Once inside the empty waiting room--must've been a slow night--Cassidy plopped down into a chair, exhausted and dizzy, feeling like pulped shit on the inside. A bone was stabbing his lung. He blinked dazedly in the bright fluorescent lights as blood continued to drip and dribble from the wound in his neck.

"My friend needs a doctor," the woman urgently told the nurse at the front desk. When the nurse started to give her some paperwork to fill out, the woman began to cuss and swear at her.

Aww. She would do that for him. She was really, really nice.

But Cassidy couldn't stick around to hear the rest of her tirade. While her back was turned, he got to his feet and staggered away, leaving a trail of blood and bloody handprints as he made his way through a door and down a hallway.

This was a hospital. He knew his way around hospitals. Of course he did. So it wasn't very long before he found a door marked STAFF ONLY and let himself in. Because this room was where they had the refrigerators stocked with blood bags.

He grabbed one, popped the nozzle, and squeezed the contents into his mouth like it was a goddamn Capri Sun juice pouch. Slumping down onto the floor, and leaning back against the refrigerator, he threw the empty bag aside and grabbed another. And as he guzzled that one down, he pulled the shard of glass out of his neck. The deep wound spurted, oozed, trickled...and then, slowly began to knit.

Cassidy had lost a lot of blood. And he rarely ever got to indulge like this.

So, what the hell, a few more bags couldn't hurt.

Eventually, the door creaked open. And the woman who'd technically saved his life stared down at him in wide-eyed what-the-everloving-fuckness.

Cassidy raised his gaze to her as he sucked down one last mouthful. He was literally a bloody, pantsless mess, but it didn't seem to trouble him. And hey, she didn't run away screaming.

"You were right, luv," he said, a goofy grin on his face. "I think I'm gonna make it."


***


The woman shoved a pair of blue scrub pants into Cassidy's hands. The look on her face was wary, skeptical.

"I can explain," Cassidy said, clutching the pants in one hand, and the blanket around his waist in the other.

She cocked a very neat eyebrow at him.

"I'm a vampire."

She blinked. Once. Slowly. (It was beautiful.)

"Uh huh," she drawled after a moment. "Put those on and let's go."

She stood guard outside the room while Cassidy got dressed and tried to tidy up a little. Which meant basically hiding all the empty bags in the back of a cabinet. That'll do.

He peeked out the door.

"Coast clear?" he asked.

The woman ticked her head, indicating for him to follow. "I called a cab."

They had to hustle out of there without drawing too much attention, but when you're covered in blood, it's not the easiest of tasks. They made their way down the hall and through a side exit, fortunately without being seen by staff or patients. The cab pulled up, and they got in.

It was mostly a silent ride.

The cab driver glanced into the rearview mirror at Cassidy's blood-soaked shirt.

"You okay back there?" he asked.

Before Cassidy could answer, the woman snapped, "Just drive."

Then it was definitely a silent ride.

They arrived at a house in a residential neighborhood. There were no lights on. There were empty beer cans on the lawn and on the stoop.

Inside, Cassidy observed an older man passed out on the couch, snoring loudly. The woman paid him no mind as she went straight for a room in the back, expecting Cassidy to follow, and he did. Honestly, he could've followed her anywhere.

Again, she shoved some things into his hands, this time a towel and an old but clean raglan shirt. "You can crash here," she said, her tone curt and businesslike. "Shower's down that way."

"Oh, great, thanks. I really appreciate this, y'know. I mean, you didn't have to--"

"I did." She started to walk away. Apologies weren't her thing.

"Okay, well-- I'm Cassidy," he called after her. "What's your name, then?"

She was in the living room, gently spreading a blanket over the sleeping man.

"Tulip," she replied. And she said nothing more as she disappeared into another room.

She'd beat him with a baton, knocked him through a window, got him to a hospital, didn't make a big deal of his drinking blood, and took him to her house so he could shower and go to sleep. She was fucking awesome.

"Tulip," Cassidy repeated under his breath, smiling dreamily to himself.

Cassidy had some time away in Milliways to devise a course of action regarding the so-called angels that wanted Jesse's superpower.

On the night of their second encounter (the night that Cassidy had killed them a second time), Cassidy assured them both that he would impress upon Jesse the importance of their mission so that they could talk things over in a civilized way. Unfortunately, Jesse wasn't listening to him (people tended to not take Cassidy's rambling explanations seriously), and insisted on keeping this thing inside him, whatever it was.

This worried Cassidy. So he decided to go see the angels himself, without Jesse. And maybe, just maybe he could buy Jesse some time.

Late in the afternoon, Cassidy drove the church van over to the Sundowner Motel off the main highway.

The angels were an odd pair. One tall, one small. The tall one had very blue eyes and a Roman nose, the small one was bearded and bald. Both sounded like they came straight out of north London. Funny, that. Being angels and all, they needed to adapt to Texas life, so naturally they had outfitted themselves in Western jackets and cowboy boots. The pale Stetson hats were hung neatly by each twin bed.

"You said you'd bring him to us!" said the tall one, Fiore.

Or was that DeBlanc? No, DeBlanc was the small one.

"No, I said I'd talk to him," Cassidy corrected him as he sat himself down on the corner of one of the beds. "Act as the middleman. An' I have. An' y'know, honestly, he's intrigued. He just wants to know a little bit more about your plan, that's all."

DeBlanc (the small one) sat down on the other bed and sighed. "The plan is simple," he said plainly. "The Preacher comes to us, we remove what's inside of him and take it back with us."

Cassidy pursed his lips and nodded. "Right. Y'know what, I'm gonna write this down. Get on the same page here." He reached over to grab a pen and notepad on the nightstand. "So..." Pen at the ready, he cleared his throat. "What's inside him, exactly?"

"We can't say." DeBlanc had a very calm and professional air about him.

"I see. But you'll remove it how?"

Fiore replied, "Cut him open!"

And he pointed to the massive chainsaw on the floor by his bed.

"With a chainsaw?" said Cassidy, his eyebrows shooting up. So that's what these blokes were trying to do that first night in the church.

"Right," said DeBlanc. "Although, we could try to draw it out with a song again."

"Song?" Cassidy asked, perplexed and intrigued.

DeBlanc smiled serenely. "'Wynken, Blynken and Nod.' His favorite."

Cassidy wrote this down. "Mmm. 'Wynken, Blynken and Nod.' Yeah, that sounds great. I just-- I think he'll prefer that to the saw, I'll be honest."

"We scoop it out," DeBlanc continued, "and get it back into its domicile--"

He indicated an object on the nightstand, and Cassidy, without missing a beat, took note of this too.

"Because it lives inside a coffee can..."

It was totally an old coffee can.

"--Put it back into its domicile, take it home where it belongs, and that is the plan."

Cassidy looked over his scribbled notes so far, and regarded the two men with a thoroughly impressed expression as he tried to work out all the angles in his head. He wasn't much closer to finding out what was inside Jesse, but at least now he knew that it definitely came from Heaven and that it was removable. Somehow.

"That is just-- that's brilliant," he said. "That's a really interesting plan." DeBlanc looked pleased with the praise. "So, you're from Heaven, right?"

"That's right," Fiore mumbled, glancing down and away. He seemed disappointed in himself for having revealed it in the first place.

"An' so you're angels, right?"

Fiore kind of grimaced as he exchanged a look with DeBlanc. Neither man said anything, but DeBlanc nodded as Fiore sat down beside him, looking glum.

Cassidy went on, "Okay. But you aren't-- look, no offence, but as far as angels go, you're not actually-- you two aren't in charge, are you?"

DeBlanc snickered and they both shook their heads as if the question was the most absurd thing they'd heard all day. It probably was.

"No, no, no, no," DeBlanc assured him, still smiling. It really was funny. "Not at all."

Cassidy chuckled as well, because of course they weren't in charge! Oh, what a silly question. He jotted this down, too, then tore the sheet of paper off and stuffed it and the pen into his pockets.

"Right, this's all been really helpful," he said genially, before leaning forward with an elbow on his knee. "So: payment. What's the offer?"

Both DeBlanc and Fiore stared at him, amusement gone.

"'Payment'?" said DeBlanc. "As in money?"

Cassidy sighed, sounding very serious, very serious indeed. "Jesse has a weakness for controlled substances, all right?" he explained. Very serious. "China white, black beauties, reds, blues. Opiates are a particular weakness. But a great honkin' armful of drugs, it just-- it'd really help close the deal here, boys. D'you know what I mean?"

Silence. More staring.

"Or money will do."

Slowly, doubtfully, DeBlanc reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. Cassidy took it and riffled through it, finding a big wad of twenties and fifties.

"I'll just take the whole lot," he said quite reasonably before handing the emptied wallet back to DeBlanc and making a beeline for the door.

"Well, where are you going?" Fiore asked, getting to his feet.

"You need to bring him to us," DeBlanc reminded Cassidy.

"Yeah, but I can't bring him to you without leaving, can I?" he replied.

DeBlanc demanded in his cool and collected way: "When will you be back?"

Cassidy looked shifty.

"...Soon?"

Fiore took two long strides toward Cassidy, stern and tight-lipped. "Be specific."

"...Very soon?"

The angels would have to trust him.

"See you in a bit!"

Cassidy opened the door, looked both ways, and ducked out.

"I don't trust him," said Fiore.

Before they even reluctantly decided that they had no choice but to do so, Cassidy had already hopped into the church van and was driving away.