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  The moment you lay eyes on him, you know he's an angel. Quite literally, he's this walking orb of golden light with a halo. Groaning internally, you backtrack and reroute before he notices you, though he can undoubtedly sense you already. Hopefully, he won't come after you. You're not in the mood to cross swords with an angel today.

  Your new route takes longer, but you do reach your destination in the end. It would have been quicker to smoke yourself there, but that tends to be risky in hospitals like this, not to mention it would have put that angel on your ass for sure. You stick to the human method of walking, tedious as it is.

  Room 147, room 149, room 151 . . . room 153. Peering in through the window, you spot a young boy wearing a knit cap asleep on a stretcher. In the corner, a woman in her thirties sits watching the screen of a wall-mounted TV with a blank stare. Subtly, you push the door open and enter the room. The woman doesn't notice you enter, doesn't notice you compare the name on the clipboard to the one on your wrist, doesn't notice you grin when they match, doesn't see your grin fade when you read the boy's diagnosis.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your senses make you acutely aware of something threatening just outside the door.

  The angel. He's followed you.

  His close proximity makes escaping through the door a suicide attempt, but there's a vent near the floor. If you're careful, you can minimize complications. You would rather not do this, but it's your best chance of escaping.

  So you smoke out, rushing for the vent and then navigating your way to the outside. Materializing in the parking lot, you make sure the angel isn't following you, and then you teleport downtown.

  The nearest bar is quite packed. You'll stay here, drinking and seeing which humans have the guts to hit on you, until they close. By then, hopefully, the angel will have left town, and you will be able to go back to the hospital.

  “Hey, angel.” The first drunk of the night hiccups a flirtation only moments after you've downed one shot.

  You scoff. “Buddy, I ain't no angel.”

  “Well, how 'bout th' devil? He was s'posed to be real purty, kinda like you.”

  “You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel here, aren't you?”

  “I ain't scrapin' nuthin'. Hey, what's wrong with your eyes?”

  “Don't you want the devil?” You smirk balefully, watching him fidget uncomfortably as he takes in the black orbs of your eyes.

  “That ain't normal.”

  “It's normal for Satan.”

  Thoroughly scared, the drunk turns and gets away from you as fast as his wobbly legs will go. Chuckling, you return your eyes to a normal human shade and signal the bartender for a refill. It's so easy to make them run.

  This occurs thrice more before you decide to find solitude at a back table. From here you can both enjoy your drink and scan the crowd. The alcohol gives you a pleasant buzz even after the fifth shot, perks of being a demon. Three more gains the attention of a group of frat boys, and fifteen seconds later you're in the midst of a drinking game against their most prolific alcoholics.

  When you win, you find yourself with a reasonable amount of cash and still no more than a buzz. Pocketing this, you focus your attention on the dance floor. Much to your dismay, your angel radar picks something up after the first song.

  It doesn't take much time to find him. He's standing near the door, golden aura illuminating the air around oblivious humans. You have two options. One, make a break for the back door and hope he doesn't follow and kill you in the parking lot, and two, confront him and try to talk him out of smiting you. You opt for the latter. Engaging in a brawl with you in the middle of a crowded bar forces him to run the risk of committing angelic taboo by endangering the safety of the humans.

  As you approach, you make a mental shift of perception that allows you to see his vessel rather than his celestial glory. “Nice trench coat.” You quip.

  The angel glances down at himself. “Thank you.”

  “That wasn't a compliment. Why are you following me?”

  “Because you're a demon.”

  “Am I?” You flick your black eyes at him. “I hadn't noticed.”

  “Why were you at that hospital today?”

  “None of your damn business. I could ask you the same thing.”

  “A demon has no business in a children's hospital.

  “Neither does an angel. I need you to stop following me.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Seriously. Leave me alone.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I'm not doing anything criminal.”

  “Demons lie.”

  “Duh, but I'm not. Can't you just believe me when I say I'm not here to cause trouble?”

  “No.”

  “I haven't made a deal in over three-hundred years. Trust me, nothing I'm doing involves human souls. Just let me do what I came here to do, and you'll never see me again.”

  “And if I don't?”

  “I'll work faster. I'm asking for a week.”

  The angel eyes you, studies you. “One week.” He concedes.

  “And then I'm gone.”

* * * * *

  Arthur Jackson. That's the boy's name. He's ten years old, he's an only child, his mother's name is Sarah, and he's dying of Leukemia.

  You've been hanging around his room, invisible by choice. There hasn't been any traffic save for a few nurses and his mother who doesn't stay away if she doesn't have to. You hang back when he's taken to chemo, not wanting your demonic aura to accidentally interfere with his treatment.

  With nothing else to do, you wander down the hall to a small playroom stocked with over sanitized toys. Not many children are in here at this time of day. It's just a few six-year-olds, one of their parents, and a nurse. As you sit in a corner, you let yourself become visible. No one even notices. You sit quietly, leaning back in your chair and thinking about your own problems. What to do about Arthur?

  One of the children closest to you, a little girl wearing a pink baseball cap, unintentionally pulls the arm off of the plastic doll in her hands. The arm lands in your lap, bringing you out of your thoughts. When the little girl approaches you with caution, you offer her a friendly smile and hold out your hand for the rest of the doll.

  “I can fix that for you.” You offer.

  Shyly, the girl gives you the broken doll. She watches with quiet curiosity as you pop the arm back into the plastic socket and test it before handing it back.

  “There you go.”

  After mumbling a timid 'thank you', the little girl returns to playing doll dress up. You watch her for a moment before acknowledging the presence that has alerted your senses.

  The angel is watching you from just outside the door, features stoic and unreadable. Holding his gaze, you stand and walk into the hallway, choosing to be invisible again.

  “What the Hell are you doing here?” You snap. “I thought I had a week!”

  “I'm not here because of you.” He states flatly. “I have business of my own.”

  “Then why are you stalking me?”

  “I'm not stalking you.”

  “Really? Why are you watching me from doorways?”

  “Because I'm curious. What you did just now was unusually kind for a demon.”

  “Oh no!” You gasp sarcastically. “I fixed a doll! Hell must have frozen over!”

  “I don't understand that reference.”

  “Why is what I did so intriguing? What did you expect me to do? Kill her?”

  The angel clenches his jaw and says nothing.

  “Oh, come on! Seriously?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “This again? It's still none of your business, and I could still ask you the same thing.”

  “If I explain myself to you,” He offers. “Will you return the gesture.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  Crossing his arms, he shifts his gaze back into the playroom. “I came here looking for purpose. I feel like I have none, so every week I give a miracle to a suffering child.”

  “You mean heal them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good for you.” Turning, you start your trek back to Arthur's room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “This way.”

  Suddenly, a hand grabs you by your shirt collar, and the angel holds you less than a foot away from his face. “Tell me why you're here. We had a deal.”

  “I'm a demon. I lie, remember? Now let go of me.”

  He glares at you, lips pursed, but lets go of your shirt. Having half expected him to smite you where you stand, this comes as a surprise, but you keep a haughty air. Indignantly, you brush yourself off and resume walking away. When you glance back, the angel is gone.

  Feeling a little bit wary now, you keep your attention sharp as you wait for the nurses to wheel Arthur back into the room. When they do, Sarah is close behind him with a coffee cup in her hands. Arthur is sound asleep, but she still gives him a gentle kiss on the forehead before settling into her chair and flipping on the TV. You watch this interaction between mother and son from the doorway, a sliver of sorrow burrowing into you.

  Soon enough, Sarah is asleep as well. You keep a vigil from the door, prepared to draw attention to the boy if you foresee an emergency. However, you aren't alone for long. When the hairs on the back of your neck bristle in an increasingly familiar way, you hardly have to look to your left to know who's there.

  “Back to smite me?” You remark.

  “No. Who is this boy to you?”

  “A kid with cancer.”

  “That's who he is to everyone. I asked who he is to you.”

  Swallowing, you answer. “Nobody.”

  The angel pauses. “Demons lie, remember?”

  You glare at him. “Go save some poor blind kid, why don't you?”

  “Actually, I thought I might save him.” He nods toward Arthur.

  “No.” You retort. “Leave Arthur alone.”

  “You know his name.”

  You roll your eyes. “So?”

  “Who is he to you?”

  “My God, you winged freak of Heaven.” Dragging a hand down your face, you let him win this one. “He and his mother are my last descendants. Arthur is the end of my bloodline, and I'm going to save him.”

  “This is about saving your bloodline?”

  “You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? I said I'm going to save him, not save it.”

  “So you care about him?”

  “We're done. Demons and angels aren't supposed to affiliate.”

  “I'm not exactly known for following the rules.”

  “Neither am I, but I'm following this one.”

  There's a pause before he speaks again. “My name is Castiel.”

  “We are not friends, Castiel. I don't trust angels.”

  “I don't trust demons.”

  “That ends our similarities.”

  “So it does. I'm staying in town for another week. After that, I'll move on, and you'll be free to do as you please.”

  “Fine.”

  Arthur stirs on the bed, drawing his mother's attention. You watch Sarah get to her feet and tend to her son.

  “Castiel, I'm not asking you to leave him alone. Stay away from him.”