“Two coffees, if you please. And a triple stack for myself, all fixings on the side.” Enlil asked politely, sliding onto the bar stool and placing a twenty dollar bill the boy had given him on the counter.

“Of course, dear.” The waitress, Jenny, took the order with a warm smile. “How about your son out there? If you’re orderin’ to go, he looks like he could use a bite.” She inclined her head towards where Watson sat in the truck, leaning on one arm draped over the open window. Enlil had wrapped the boy’s leg up with some rags they’d found in the back but… that hadn’t done much for the pain. There’d been some 'painkillers' in a compartment up front, but it clearly wasn’t cut out for actual pain. He’d refused alcohol too, claiming driving with a busted leg while drunk would get them both-- well, him, killed.

Food would do the boy good. Help him replace some of what he’d lost. “He’ll have the same.” Enlil responded. Jenny nodded and walked off. The only other lunchtime patrons of Denny’s were two burly looking men dressed in jeans and flannel. They paid him little mind as he waited, choosing instead to whisper back and forth to one another.

It didn't help. Enlil's hearing had always been supernaturally good. A century of silence had only made his ears more sensitive. Every sound felt amplified many times over. The gunfire from before had been painful, disorienting even. A lesser man would've fallen to his knees. As far as hearing these two however? They may as well have been shouting, but it wasn't painful.

"She woke up when we stopped." Whispered the smaller of the two.

"Shut. Up. Ned." Responded the one whose face was marred with deep scars.

"What if she screams, then? What do we say if someone asks?" Asked Ned, with strands of hysteria weaving into his voice.

"She's gagged. She's wrapped. She’s in the van. Walls are lined. Ain't nobody listening. Now... Eat your damn eggs and if you open up again I'll open you up. Got it?" Pickup’s in ten, then we’re done.” Scarface whispered his not-so-subtle threats with what sounded like a napkin to his face.

“Bu--” Ned began, but was cut off by a gesture. With his back turned, Enlil couldn’t see it, but he could imagine a few that might serve.

Listening in was, well, had been a past time of his. It had helped him catch a lot of leads, not to mention improve his language skills wherever he traveled. It was always astounding the things people would just… say. Right out in the open. Especially if they didn’t think anyone was listening. This was doubly true when food was about, in his experience.

Jenny returned with his food before he could get lost in reminiscing. It was presented in a thin plastic bag with boxes inside that smelled thick of hot pancakes and melted sugar. Might be a touch of honey, too. And was that… butter?

Enlil told her to keep the change, as Watson had suggested, then left. He didn’t spare a glance for the other two. He’d see them shortly. For now, he needed to ask the boy what a ‘van’ was and where he could find it.

“Here. Eat. It will give you something to focus on.” Enlil walked up to the driver’s side and the bag to Watson. He hadn’t cared much for the truck after the boy had slammed his head into it, but he’d gotten over that. These ‘vehicles’ seemed to be everywhere. Which wasn’t much of a surprise given they were faster than any horse he’d ever ridden. Hadn’t seen any of those either, come to think of it. A question for another time, he figured.

“Hmph?” Watson had his shirt bunched up in his mouth and was holding his leg. The boy was doing his best not to look as bad as he obviously felt. Looked like some of the adrenaline was wearing off. Watson looked at the bag, then gave Enlil a confused look. He didn’t reach for the pancakes. “Ibm finme.” he sputtered through the cotton. “Need. Docthor.”

“I told you the shirt would help.” Enlil said nonchalantly as he opened up bag and started pinching off bits of pancake. It was all he could do not to weep in happiness at the taste. “You said the doctor isn’t far, right?” Watson nodded and sank back into the driver’s seat some more.

“And you trust him?” Another nod. Satisfied, Enlil put the box on the top of the truck’s ‘bed’ as the boy had called it. It would serve as a pancake counter just fine. Before he started in on them in earnest, he checked the boy again. Sweaty and pale, but otherwise fine. Enlil returned to his meal as he kept an eye on the diner.

A few customers went in, they had arrived in more of the smaller vehicles the boy hadn’t given him a specific word for yet. Seems every new shape of ‘vehicle’ had one. He was just polishing off his fourth pancake when the door opened again. Scarface and Ned, one slick and the other clearly scared, walked out towards a larger vehicle he didn’t recognize.

“Watson?” He asked in a casual tone, pinching off his first piece of the fifth pancake as if it weren’t the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Thank the sands for the syrup he’d found after pancake #2. And the butter. “Is a ‘van’ just another word for a large car?”

There was silence for a moment, and he checked on the boy just in case. Still breathing, but asleep. Probably for the best. Enlil closed the lid on the pancake box, set it inside the ‘bed’ - still not believing it was called that - and headed towards the van after the two men.

They didn't notice him walking up, which didn't surprise Enlil in the least. Neither had seemed overly bright earlier. Being silent, contrary to folklore, didn't usually require a change in stance. Foot placement and control were more important. And timing. Footfalls land at the same time as your prey. Simple stuff. To an observer, he was just walking. To Ned and Scarface, he might as well be a ghost.

Muffled screaming caught his ear from inside the van and sealed the mens' fate. Saved him the trouble of verifying.

Enlil caught up with Ned just as the man was climbing in the passenger side door. An arm from behind and around the neck cut off Ned's vocal cords. A quick twist and a crack and the man crumpled to the ground facing the wrong direction. Enlil climbed into the van's cramped front seat and closed it behind him as he did.

Scarface was still processing what had just happened when Enlil turned to face him. To his credit, he recovered quickly and reversed direction to exit the vehicle before he could meet the same fate.

"No." Said the man who had just killed his partner. That one word held a world of violence. Scarface stopped moving immediately. Not because he was scared, he was, but the manl had his right arm at a strange angle. His body refused to move any further, overwhelming his brain with pain signals and warnings.

With a sickening crack the 200-something lb man cried out in pain as his weight and the tautness of his arm were used to break it at the elbow. Pained swearing and tears followed. Then Enlil pulled again and scarface was forced to follow his arm back into the car. A whimper that sounded vaguely like "please stop" was all he managed as his last words. A heartbeat later and the struggling stopped. The van's other door was pulled shut.

Inside, Enlil undid the ropes holding the bound girl. They were less knots it seemed than just an excess of rope wrapped round and round. Her eyes were wide and tearful as she watched him. She'd been in the back, rolled against the door and watching the front when he came in. Heavy bruising on her forehead told him she'd tried to bang the door open. A fighter, then. Good.

When the ropes went slack she quickly pushed herself away from him. Enlil made no move to follow. Instead, he slid the knife he'd found on the dead man up front towards her. She grabbed at it immediately and pointed the sharp end towards him. Hard to blame her. He might do the same, though her grip was too loose for it to be effective. Poor circulation would do that.

Rather than come closer, Enlil pantomimed cutting a gag similar to hers near his own face. Then, he waited. After a wary heartbeat or two, she put the knife between the rope and her face, blade out, and started sawing. They'd tied the knot end into her mouth then covered it with some sticky, silver fabric. He figured removing it herself would give her will to live some of its flame back.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

When the rope gag fell, she started coughing. Enlil remained still, sitting with his hands on his knees to keep a nonthreatening posture. He gave her a moment to recover, but no more. time was of the essence.

She couldn't be older than sixteen. Whatever clothes she'd been wearing had been torn several times and there was dried blood on her knees, legs, and arms. "Young lady." Enlil said quietly, causing her to freeze and the knife to flash back towards him. "Is the door behind you locked?"

Panic welled up in her eyes once more, answering his question. Before it could take over, he interrupted her train of thought. "I believe the fastest way out is through the passenger door behind me." He pointed a thumb behind him and moved to behind the driver's seat slowly. "Ignore the body, he is dead." He said simply, without remorse.

The girl watched him with blue eyes twinged with desperation. Desperation only found in those on the cusp of escaping life or death situations. She was checking to see if he was lying, he realized. Enlil might have saved her, but life had taught her a harsh truth. That one act did not automatically make him her savior. So, she would attack him if she thought she had to. Very good.

Enlil spoke to her calmly, like one must to any cornered animal. "I will not stop you. Contact the sheriff. Go home. But… before you leave, I have an offer for you."

The door to the truck slammed shut, waking Watson with a start. "Holy s-- Enlil! Oh... fuckfuckfuck... my leg. Wait, was I asleep?"

"Yes." Enlil buckled his seatbelt as he'd been shown earlier. A simple trick. Click the strap into the strap box. If only chariots had had these. On his lap rested the final pancake. He'd smothered it in all of the remaining syrup and butter. It was drenched in glorious sugar and fats. Before he bit in, he glanced at the boy. Watson was staring at him and the boxes. "I think the pills are kicking in… was one of those for me?"

Enlil paused, unwilling to relinquish his prize. "We should go. You need that doctor." He said simply, then began eating his sugar-mush with the tiny, spiked spoon it had come with.

Watson's eyes focused on the pancakes in confusion for a second, but then he nodded. "Yeah… yeah. Doctor. Right. Son of a… does it hurt this bad every time you g--"

"Every time." Enlil answered, before the boy could finish. "Watch the... road, now. Closely. You showed me how to drive this, but I imagine it's still a bit different from driving cattle."

Watson's weak laughter filled the truck as it peeled out of the parking lot. Behind them, a crowd had begun to form around a young girl with grimy clothes. Jenny led her into the diner, covered in her jacket. Some were gathering around the van. The girl did not look back, and soon, they were on the highway.

Watson waited a good ten minutes later to speak up. When he did, his knuckles were gripping the wheel tightly enough to go white. "Traffickers?" He asked, in a quiet voice.

"I do not recognize that word." Enlil responded, watching amused as other vehicles sped past his window.

"Those men. Back there. I saw you in the rearvie-- in the mirror over here. You killed them." Watson stated simply. "Were they demons, too?"

"No." Enlil said, turning to face the boy. "They were only human."

"You said… you killed demons." Watson glanced at his passenger as he said so.

"I do. Among other things." Responded the man who had just slain two men in broad daylight discussing it as if it were the weather. The man now sitting in his car.

"Other things?" Watson asked as he swerved to get back in his lane. The medicine was making it hard to focus on more than one thing, but this seemed important.

"Yes. Supernatural things, mostly. Other times, people who break Laws." Enlil placed special emphasis on that last word, intoning it as if it meant something more.

"And what… law… did they break?" Asked the boy who was losing blood and now confidence in his decision to bring this stranger back home with him.

"Enslavement. Possibly others, but that was the only one I needed to hear." Enlil spoke calmly, gauging the boy's reaction. Watson had asked him for the Reveal, had the existence of supernatural forces proven undeniably already, and was doing rather well with it so far. Since they had driven off the pass, they had been exchanging information whenever the boy could grit through his pain.

Watson, for his part, remained silent after that. He wasn't dumb. He had seen the crowd gathering around the girl when they drove off. That girl was probably who Enlil was referring to. It also meant they had just fled a murder scene for the second time that day, in a stolen vehicle. A stolen vehicle he would bet money had been captured on video by someone with a camera at the diner.

The boy rubbed his head with one hand, his headache increasing in response to his thoughts. Father Bryan would not like this. Not even a little. Hopefully, he wouldn't turn them in when he found out. He'd say 'if', but his experience with the man inclined him to believe he'd put the pieces together from the news alone. Better to be honest. Confession time… here we come. Those were secret, right?

Watson could see it now. Sitting in the confessional for the second time this week. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been… three days since my last confession. My new friend here killed some demons and a few pedos. We're on the run and the cops probably think I'm involved. Mind if we stay with you?" Father Bryan had forgiven Watson for a lot, but… he suspected this might be pushing it. Still, he only knew one church around here with a ward that would treat gunshot wounds with no questions asked. So, off to Saints Row it was.

Saints Row was a lonely road near the airport where the city's criminal dirt-poor lived. Each 'house' was little more than a trailer without wheels. It had one church in the middle, two or three unreported shootings a week, and was avoided by anyone who didn't absolutely have to be there. Patrol cars came by in pairs, if they came at all.

Watson parked several houses away from the church, left the keys in the ignition, and rolled all the windows down. Windows down didn't just mean you were far too trusting to live here. It meant the vehicle was up for grabs. First come first serve. Keys in the ignition meant the car was hot. Stolen. The truck still had half a tank though. So he figured it would be gone roughly the second they were far enough away that one of the tweakers thought they could jump in. Which was exactly what he wanted. He'd made sure to explain that to Enlil before they arrived, just in case 'stealing' was a Law he would kill someone over.

Our Heavenly Father Cathedral was the barest step up of a building from the rusted trailers on either side of it. It had four wooden walls made by an abundance of 2x4s with tarp for weatherproofing. An unwieldy makeshift steeple sat up top, made from wood and held together against the weather by prayer. In the rear yard was an additional structure, sturdier than the other, that had been built by Father Bryan when he took over. A normal person might call it a shed, which wouldn't be far off.

It was in this shed, with it's out of place expensive solar paneling and portable generator, that the pastor lived. The equipment had been a gift from the Montesori crime family, and even the most desperate junkie wouldn't dare touch it. Not after what had happened to One-Eye, the poor bastard.

The shed also happened to be where Father Bryan tended to the injury-inclined of his flock. Ignoring the church up front, Watson limped his way through the trimmed weeds and raked rocks towards the shed with Enlil in tow. The later gave the makeshift church and its steeple a long, guarded look before stepping on the property.

Watson rapped on the door twice, then once, then twice again. Inside, shuffling could be heard and then Father Bryan answered the door. He was a man of average height and an athletic build. Dressed in a simple set of scrubs, he bore the face of a good looking man deep into his twenties, with kind eyes. Those same eyes rapidly bounced from Watson to Enlil before settling on Watson's injured and bloody leg.

"Come in, Watson, and sit down." Beckoned the man, standing aside and pointing at a folding chair placed in the middle of a modest room. "What happened?" He asked, with the practiced tone of a doctor who knew a lie was forthcoming.

"Shot." Watson hissed as he sunk into the chair. Enlil's eyes focused on a corner of the room with nothing in it. Father Bryan left the door and began washing up at a portable sink. "You can come in too, just don't get squeamish on me."

Enlil shook his head. "I will wait outside. The bullet went clean through, I patched him up as best I could. He took some of these." He held up a bottle of the painkillers, then tossed them to the boy's lap. "Thank you for your help… doctor."

Father Bryan nodded, then kicked the door shut and got to work. Groans of pain and hissing intakes of breath soon began coming from the shed. "This is going to hurt." Father Bryan said matter-of-factly, and he was right.

Enlil stayed outside the shed for a moment. The air here was tinged with many smells, but it was still sweet. Crisp. He breathed in deeply several times, eyes closed as he did. Someone on the street was baking, and it smelled deliciously of meat. He had insured the boys safety as thanks for the aid offered. Now it was time to go.

As he passed back through the yard, Enlil looked up at the steeple once more. There, an angel hovered gracefully in the air, watching him. The flaming sword of white light that marked its caste was held loose in its right hand. It made no move to attack, same as before, so he paid it no mind.

The pastor had allowed his presence. He had offered neither help nor harm. He had not interfered. Still, the angel's gaze followed him all the way back down the street.

As he turned and walked back towards the city, Enlil considered the one occurrence today that had surprised him. Why did a pastor of such modest means and no obvious ambitions have not one, but two angels protecting him?