So there's a dark side in us all...
There are only so many places Sam can go, times like this. It's Gene or Gwen or Jack, and Jack's not here, and Gwen won't know how to deal with it any better than he does, and it's not really surprising anyway that he ends up at Gene's door, a gun in one hand, just staring at the door for almost a minute before he actually knocks
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Gene hooks the desk chair with a foot and pulls it out, sitting backwards on it just to reestablish the familiar. Across from each other, something between them, even if it's only the back of the chair... It's what they're used to. And it just might protect him from doing something stupid just because he doesn't want Sam looking at him like that again.
Close is dangerous for them. Always has been, even at their best there's an edge of tension, of unrealized violence every time they're sharing space too closely. Sometimes, he'd concede, the violence is very much realized, but that's not the point. Point is, he's going to give Sam space now, set something up between the two of them so Sam's got enough room to get everything sorted. He doesn't know how he knows these things, or that he knows them at all, except in the vaguest possible sense. It's part of the great fuzzy cloud of things he shrugs at and labels 'instinct'. He just does them.
"Since you haven't thrown him to the local coppers, I'm going to take a wild guess and assume there's more to it than that."
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Sam shakes his head. And this is where it gets fuzzy, because Mat was rambling a little past the point of coherence, and there was only so much he could pick out from what he said, not all of it entirely helpful.
"Her name was Natasha. She was working for a Neqa'el demon, and she asked Mat to kill her." And he would love to not believe that, except that it didn't hurt at all when Mat said it. It wasn't a lie.
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Sam leans forward, resting his forearms against his legs. "He came to talk to me. He'd been in the rain, had... blood on his trousers, a gun in his pocket... He was scared." There was no missing that, or that he really hadn't wanted to kill anyone - he said as much, and that didn't hurt either. Not that that makes it any better.
"I asked him what happened, and he told me he killed her. A woman named Natasha - I met her once. She used to be a guardian angel, and now she- was working for the Neqa'el who killed her ward. He said something about a death angel too, and that if he didn't kill her, the demon would. None of it was... very clear."
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"I know someone who used to be an angel of death. You've met her -- Becky, the tiny bird with the doodles on. It's a bad job, that. So this is the part where I tell you about them and see if it fills in any of the unclear bits.
"From what she told me, they see when people are going to die. Look into their eyes, and they know, just like magic, and they can't stop it happening." The fact that he's using the words 'just like magic' without a trace of sarcasm says a great deal about the world he's ended up in, to his mind. "Becky says she's tried, and I believe her. She's a good girl, even if she does need to make an Illustrated Lady out of herself." He taps the back of the chair, considering. "Far as I know, people here -- angels here believe in that little magical death thing, and fighting it doesn't seem to do anyone any good. Don't know that I like it. Don't know that it's really unchangeable. For all I know they just believe hard enough they make it happen on accident, but it's all Greek to me in the end anyway."
Gene gets up, paces the room a bit. "I don't know how things work here, Tyler. Back home, it's simple. Someone says an angel told 'em to kill someone, we lock 'em up for a nutter. Here, it's all real, and I don't know how the law applies, or if it applies to these people. But if you want to be talking to someone about this, if you want to find out what really happened and if he could've stopped it, the one to talk to's the angel that says they saw it in the first place. 'cause if an angel of death told him it had to happen -- he'd 'ave believed. Wouldn't want to, but it's Word of God here."
He thinks, frowns. "There's an angel that's a copper around here, isn't there? If you're interested in the legalities, he'd be the one to talk to. If you're just not sure how to deal with that angel of yours -- dunno. You already know he's scared, and I don't see him as a killer, but I might just have a talk with him meself about all this."
He's upset about all the damned ambiguity of this world, and it shows. Gene wants simple, wants black and white, and to be the sheriff, but it doesn't work so well here, and he hates that. All the hating in the world won't change it, though.
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It's wrong, and it's mad, and it doesn't follow any sort of logical order. You can't just tell a person they're going to kill someone when that's the only reason they're going to do it. Shouldn't that sort of thing rip a great big hole in the universe or something? Not like they don't have enough of those around here anyway.
He turns and hits the wall, hoping the pain might knock things into some sort of clarity. It doesn't, rather unsurprisingly. "It's supposed to get better," he says, almost quietly enough that it's not entirely audible, though not quite quiet enough. His voice rises a little as he goes on. "It's supposed to be terrible for a while, and then it gets better. Is it not bad enough yet?"
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And then they came here and he's had to wrap his mind around everything -- everything! -- being real. It's left him tired of it all, and unsure, and more than a bit frightened, but damned if he'll admit to it.
He puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, and just... stops there. Couldn't do less, won't let himself do more, the way things are between the two of them. Just a hand.
"Nothing here's how it's supposed to be." It's meant to be comforting, in a way. At least they're lost together, or something.
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He starts laughing, bubbling up from deep inside his chest, and he chokes it back, because he has the feeling that if he starts, he won't stop. And he already looks mad enough, just now. Sam shakes his head and turns back toward Gene, smiling slightly. "You noticed that too? 1973 was child's play by comparison."
That comment doesn't have the bite to it that it probably should. He just sounds tired and resigned, and can't help but wonder how many more times this is going to happen to him, if some time soon he's going to end up in a world stranger and more incomprehensible than this one, and how long that's going to keep up until he really does go mad.
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There's a promise in there somewhere, hidden. Sam wants him here, and he will be. All there is to it, and if Tyler ends up someplace else, Gene's following.
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That is not necessarily a comfort in this universe.
"I should check on him," he says after a moment. "Make sure he hasn't..." Gone anywhere. Done anything. Sam's not sure what he's worried about, but he knows that he is. It's a common state of affairs for him.
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"Go have a look, make sure all's well."
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