A Chance Meeting
by Danii
Summary: Two figures meet in the bowels of Hell
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE! No one. I don't get money from this, just a satisfaction for my feedback addiction and odd stares.
Distribution: You want? Take.
Rating: PG-PG13
Feedback: Please?

And now:

The scene played over and over.

Over and over.

Over and over and over.

That day...walking in to find her, in the shower...violated. Taken. Hurt. Damaged.

Over and over, I watched it as I'd watched it for countless days. Or maybe years. Maybe centuries. I couldn't really be sure. The pain seemed to blur the time, played with it like a kitten played with string. Sometimes making it longer, sometimes making it shorter. For all I knew, it could be just a day after I'd died in that robbery.

I hoped not.

I prayed not.

But, I reflected, perhaps that was a useless excercise. Praying. Begging a God who had quite obviously screwed me over to help me now. Who'd screwed me over for one mistake. A mistake that I'd already tortured himself over.

Yet someone had to be listening, because just as I finished this thought, I could feel my spirit? body? form? being moved. Moved to yet another agonizingly hot room. The break room.

It was the place they put you to recover from what you'd just been put through. To organize your thoughts and fix yourself, which your mind did automatically. Where you would let the wounds start to heal so that they could open them up and pour more salt into them. Apparently, if they didn't give you a break, you got used to the pain and torture and it didn't work as well.

I can't even start to guess if that was true. I never want to know.

But this time, something was different.

For once, I could feel? see? another figure in this place. A figure that I knew wasn't of Hell.

Dark-haired, with a heavy brow-line and a nose that had been broken at least once. Large and muscular, I could see the large sword? stuck within his torso and wondered why the torturers here had resorted to simple physical pain. Normally, such things were beneath them.

He looked just as pained as I felt, so we sat there together, two souls in deep and unending pain. Neither of us spoke. We never even met eyes. Until, after a century or so, he looked up to stare at me.

Soulful brown eyes were below that strong brow. Eyes that had seen too much.

And we just sat like that, staring at each other as if the other was just an interesting part of the scenery. Staring. Staring at each other as we both realized something.

We were different. We were different from each other, but more importantly, we were different from everybody else that was down here.

We were, some how, going to get out. Somehow, somewhere, someway, sometime...maybe in a thousand years, maybe now...we were going to get out of this God-forsaken place. I didn't know how and I didn't know why, and till this day, I will never figure out how I knew, but I did. And so did he. He knew.

But then my own eyes went down to the sword in his stomach, and as I watched his eyes move to the same spot, I figured out that the sword wasn't for physical torture. For some reason or another, the sword was causing him such great emotional agony. And, I realized, that it wasn't just for what had been done to him, but rather what he had done to others which was hurting him, and in the midst of my own pain, I felt sorry for him.

You know, they say that Hell is other people, but as I looked at him, I realized that it's just the opposite. Hell is being alone. Alone with your own thoughts and fears and pain and guilt. The only salvation, the only relief, is other people. Other people allow for love, and compassion, and all the other things that make people what they are, that make life more than pain. I guess that's why they put us together...just so they could tear us back apart.

As this thought crossed my mind, our 'caretakers' came in, and began taking us back to our tortures. They did it quickly, however, before we lost sight of one another, we were able to share one last glance, one tiny bit of communication.

See you up there someday.


I knew she ran this way. I'm was positive of it.

I mean, when you see someone jump out of a seven story window, then keep running, you sort of notice where they go, but now I couldn't find her since she ran into the darkened alley, which bothers me more than you'd think.

Sure, this thing is a job, a horrible, dangerous, painful job, but sometimes I got that rush like when I was live. That rush of righteousness. Of doing a job that desperately needs to be done. Of sending back a creature that shouldn't have even SEEN this world again after what they'd done to the people in it.

But then the adrenaline faded, and I realized that for tonight, at least, she had gotten away. He-...er, Heck, I didn't even have any bullets left in my gun, and despite the fact that I can usually find some other way to dispatch the Damned, I really didn't want to face this one without a full clip.

So I decided to head back home.

I made my way back out of the alley, and started my trip back to the musty apartment that you could call home if you were really stressed to put a name to it. However, as I was walking, I saw a figure in the dark of the street.

Immediately, my sense went back into high gear and I ran to follow the figure in the darkness who had just made itself known to me. I wasn't sure if it was her, but I figured I'd better check to make sure. And as for having no bullets, I'd figure something out.

However, after a moment or so, the black shape seemed to stop behind a dumpster, and I got a good look at just who and what it was.

Tall, probably muscular body encased in a great deal of black coat. Brown or black spikey hair on top, and large hands sticking out of the coat sleeves. Sure, it wasn't who I was looking for at the time, but I needed to know the identity of this figure.

Carefully, I slipped towards him, but as I got within five feet of him, his head cocked to the side and he began to stiffin. Then, before I could run or get out of sight, he turned to face me.

Dark-haired, with a heavy brow-line and a nose that had been broken at least once. Soulful brown eyes were below that strong brow. Eyes that had seen too much.

We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us saying a word. There was no sword sticking out of his stomach now, but I knew him. Through all the pain and the agony of my time down there, I remembered that one time when we'd shared a break room. I remembered how I knew we were different. I remembered our last piece of communication. And from the look in his eye, he remembered me as well.

For a moment or two, we looked at one another and shared that pain. Found a fellow sufferer in the other's gaze, and with that, felt a small release. A release, and hope.

We'd both gotten another chance to escape that horrible place. I don't know how he did it, and he will probably never be able to guess how I did, but we did. We got a second chance.

The two of us stared at one another just one more time, then I felt a grin twist itself onto my face. Quickly, even though it looked like more of a hassel for him to do so, a smile found it's way to his. And once more, we shared a message of certainty.

See you up there someday.

The End