SquidgeWorld Archive

"GUARDIAN ANGEL"
A "Harsh Realm" story
Written by Alison M.  DOBEL

*   *   *   *   *

It was a cool crisp evening.  Dry with a brilliant forest of white bright flowers seeding the dark soil of night.  Pinocchio had been getting more and more restless but whenever Hobbes was tempted to ask him about it he would fix his eye on him and the words would just dry up.  As if he was touching on something too private to share.  He finished his watch and told Hobbes he would be back in a few hours.  He would have gone with him but Florence gave him a look and he let him go, watching the chevy take off like a dark shadow into the night leaving a mix of emotions at war with his soul.

"I should'a gone with him, Florence."

She shook her head slightly, a kind of sad resignation in her eyes.

"Where's he going?"

She said nothing, gave no reaction, simply looked at him a moment then turned back to the fire.  He tried to shrug it off but as the minutes grew into hours he could not help watching for his friend's return.  Wishing he was not such a self contained son-of-a-bitch.  The rumble and throaty roar of the chevy cut through his growing anxiety and popped it like a balloon.  He tried to ignore the car's arrival and act unconcerned.  When Pinocchio did not immediately get out of the car he turned from the fire to catch Florence's eye but he could not read the expression.  After a moment or two she got up and gave him a single nod then went to her tent to get some sleep.  It was his watch.  He frowned and faced the fire, leaving it up to Pinocchio to speak or not as he chose.  Still there was silence.  The frown deepened. He walked over to the car, Dexter trotting at his heels.

He opened the driver's door and Pinocchio almost fell out.  He was dead drunk, the smell of stale drink almost made him gag.  He stepped back to get a clean draught of air into his lungs.  Disgusted with him.  What did he freeking do, bathe in it?  Anger replaced his concern.  As he grabbed the front of Pinocchio's jacket he roused, eyes flickering open then lowering, half-glazed, in an effort to cut out the little glimmer of light reflecting in his eyes from the fire.  "Hobbes..."

Hobbes hated the way his voice slurred.  The man was a mess in more ways that one.  He would have been tempted to hit him to try and knock some sense into him if he had faith that he would stay up long enough for the blow to connect.  Instead he growled angrily at him.  "Why d'you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Go into town and get falling down drunk?"

Pinocchio leaned his head back against the driver's seat and closed his eyes.  "Because the whores won't have me..."

Hobbes shook him hard, making Pinocchio's teeth rattle and shaking his eyes open like those on an old china doll.  "Will you freeking stop with the smart comments and tell me what the hell's wrong?"

Pinocchio tried to sit up a bit straighter and give Hobbes his attention.  He felt sick.  God, he wanted to puke then take a piss.  But not in his car.  Not even for Thomas fucking Hobbes.  "Lemme up, Hobbes..."

He shook his head, blocking the door.  "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"Hobbes I'm gonna piss myself if you don't get out the freeking way."

"You look as if you already have."  Hobbes paused and pulled a face. "Smell like it too."

"Love you too, Hobbes,"  He groused.

Hobbes stood to one side, watching Pinocchio get up slowly and not offering to help.  He stood a moment and swayed a little then aimed himself at the trees and took a roundabout meander towards them.  <Not *that* drunk then>  Thought Hobbes.  He was annoyed yet had the feeling that if the bullets started flying right now Pinocchio would straighten and sober up before he could ask him whose round it was to buy the drinks.  Once he had relieved himself he promptly threw up.  Hobbes went back to the fire to check how much coffee was left.  The pot was almost empty so he tossed in some more grounds and added water then plonked it back on the fire.  Muttering to himself he then went into the trees to find Pinocchio and march him to the nearby stream.  His eyes were bloodshot but he was already starting to sober up.

"So you gonna tell me what's wrong?"  He asked mildly.

"Nothing's wrong.."

"It's happening more frequently and I don't like it."

"I just like a drink now and then, Hobbes.  No big deal."

"That's what worries me."

"Don't be worrrying about me, Hobbes.  I'm not worth it."

Hobbes shook his head, keeping a grip of Pinocchio's jacket to make sure he kept going in the direction he intended.  "Easier said than done.  You're my friend."

"Pick better friends."

Hobbes noticed he was sounding more and more sober.  Pinocchio looked at him.  They were within sight of the stream.  They stopped walking.  Hobbes wanted to make sure.  "Okay, in you go."

"What?"

"You're filthy, covered in crap and you're not coming back to camp until you clean up."

Pinocchio glared at him through bleary eyes.  "Why should you care?"

Hobbes raised an eyebrow.  "Who says I care?"  With that he gave Pinocchio a hard shove sending him backwards into the cold stream.  He watched Pinocchio disappear underwater and come sputtering up to the surface again, his head bobbing like a cork.  It was deeper than it looked.  He
sighed and waded in.  Much as he might deserve it, he did not want him to drown.  The water was waist height.  Pinocchio thought Hobbes was intending to pull him out but although he pulled him up out of the water he only did so to dunk him back under. When he came up again, Pinocchio was spluttering and dazed.  "What the freeking..."

He was dunked again.  Three more times then Hobbes held him upright and gave him a level look.  "Perhaps you'll think before you sneak off to get drunk next time.  You have people relying on you.  If you don't give a fuck about yourself at least think of Florence."

The words stung him.  "I didn't sneak off!"  Growled Pinocchio.  Totally sober now and very cold.  Beginning to feel really pissed off with Hobbes. "I don't need no freeking Guardian Angel, Hobbes."

"No,"  Said Hobbes.  "You need a whole choir of 'em."
 
Pinocchio shook himself and started to wade towards the bank but Hobbes was blocking his way.  "Get out of my way, Hobbes!"

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm catching my death of freeking cold, that's what's wrong."
 
Hobbes relented and stepped out of the stream, reaching a hand down to help Pinocchio climb out.

"Not that," Said Hobbes stubbornly.  "I want to know why you're on the path of self destruction."

"All I did Hobbes was have a drink.  I came back didn't I?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"Why come back?"

He said nothing.  Hobbes tilted his head, watched him shivering, cold and stoic.  A beligerant look in his eyes.  There was also a sadness there: deep and intense and brooding.  So far down daylight could not reach.

"Like you once said, you don't believe in the Prophecy."  Said Hobbes softly.

Pinocchio felt the hairs stir on the back of the neck.  "What's the Prophecy got to do with it?"

Hobbes shrugged, his voice mild.  "Nothing."  A pause.  "Everything."

They looked at each other for a few moments.

"You're crazy, Hobbes."  Pinocchio said quietly.

"No.  Just concerned about a friend."

"Don't be."

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what, Hobbes?"

"You're my friend and I need you."

"I won't let you down, Hobbes."

"I know that."  A pause.  "It's not that."

Pinocchio frowned.  "Then what?"

"I don't want to lose you to the bottle."

His words surprised Pinocchio.  Moved him even.  "You won't."

Hobbes looked away for a moment then tilted his head back, looking up at a thousand stars but not seeing one of them.  The past was reaching out with aching fingers and touching him with memories that were so painful he seldom shared them even with himself in reverie.  That he shared them with Pinocchio now was a kind of revealtion though his friend did not know that.  After a few moments of silence, Hobbes looked sideways at Pinocchio and noticed that he was shivering.  "C'mon, Pinocchio.  Let's get back to camp, we need to change into some dry clothes and get warm."

"You think?"  Murmured his partner sarcastically.

Hobbes grinned.  "Yeah, I'm freeking freezing."

"How d'you think I feel?  You only went in waist high.  And what was the idea of pushing me in, Hobbes?  I can think of a whole lot warmer ways to die."

"You're sober now, aren't you?"

Pinocchio shook his head, water drops flying in all directions.  He shivered again and glowered at Hobbes.  Not amused.  "A friend would have let me sleep it off."

"An even better friend wouldn't have let you get drunk in the first place."

Pinocchio stopped walking.  "Is that what this is all about?"

Hobbes could not look at him.  Fixed his eyes anywhere but on his face. It took him a minute to say anything.  "My father was an alcoholic."  A cautious eye drifted over Pinocchio's face, afraid to find pity staring back at him.  He was relieved to see him just listening intently.  Waiting for Hobbes to get it off his chest.  "I don't like to talk about it.  Broke my mom's heart.  They were rough times."

"You think I'm an alcoholic?"

He felt embarrassed, shook his head.  "No."  Hobbes swallowed and looked him in the eye and for a moment Pinocchio had a glimpse of the child still trapped inside the man, eyes wide and pleading, putting his little heart and soul into a wish that would never come true.  The lost innocence of childhood drowned in an alcoholic haze.  "I don't want *you* to become one."

For a moment neither of them spoke.  Pinocchio opened his mouth to say something then shut it again, words seeming to not be enough to express what he was thinking.  Feeling.  At last he put a hand on Hobbes' shoulder and stood there shivering in the silence.  Wanting to reach out and help Hobbes, searching for the right words.  "I'll make you a promise, Hobbes."  He said at last.

"What?"

"I won't get drunk again if you don't throw me in the freeking water."

He laughed, surprised and relieved.  "Deal!"  He paused and his laugh petered out, leaving an uncertain smile on his lips.  "You know, you don't need the drink.  If you have a problem, something you need to talk about, I'm always here."

Pinocchio nodded.  He knew that.  In a funny way he had always known it. "Hobbes, I'm not gonna promise to never touch a drop again.  I *like* a drink.  Sometimes it just feels so good.  Doesn't mean I'm gonna climb in the bottle and never come out again."

Something caught in Hobbes' heart.  Echoes of the past.  "My dad used to say that..."

"I'm not your father, Hobbes."  He paused.  "Not your brother either, but I *am* your friend.  I may not look much, hell I know I don't amount to much, but what I am, what I have to give is freely given make no mistake about that.  I can't live your life for you.  Can't make the world so it don't rear up and bite your ass from time to time but I can be there for you when you need me.  It's all a man can do.  The rest you have to do for yourself, you understand what I'm saying Hobbes?  We all have to carry our own crosses."

"I didn't know you were religious."

He gave a derisive snort.  "I'm not."

Hobbes nodded.  "Fair enough."

They continued walking, the camp only yards away now.

"So why did you do it?"

"Do what, Hobbes?"

"Get drunk?"

Pinocchio looked at him and gave a deep heavy sigh.  How could he tell  him the things that haunted him?  The shame that pierced his soul every time he looked at Hobbes, saw the goodness of the man shining out and blinding him?  He had once told Hobbes he did not know what to believe.  Maybe he did not believe in the Prophecy but he did believe in Hobbes.  With every beat of his heart.  He would watch over him, protect him, help him in any way he could to fulfill whatever destiny had been given to him.  Be his freeking guardian angel if that's what it took but he would never ever share the nightmares with him.  Hobbes did not need to know about that.  Florence knew some of it but not all.  He looked at Hobbes' face, saw the unspoken faith shining in his eyes and wondered how the freeking hell he could have such faith in a broken down piece of shit like himself.  It was enough to make him want to cry but it also made him want to tear down everything that stood in Hobbes' way so he could succeed.  He wanted the dream to be real.  The promise to be worth a damn.  The Realm to be free.  Hobbes to be able to return to the arms of his Sophie and lead a long and happy life.  He wanted him to have everything.  For Florence to go with them every inch of the way and never more than an arm's length from his side.

"Well?"

Pinocchio looked at him, a bit dazed.  "What?"

"I asked you why you got drunk."

"Oh."  He paused and looked down at his shoes then slowly raised his head, looked at their little camp.  The fire burning low but adding a halo of light and warmth that made his heart ache just to look at it.  He knew Florence was in her tent sleeping.  Knew what her face would look like, her hands folded together under her chin.  He stepped up to the fire and began to build it up again.  Hobbes wondered whether he intended to answer him at all when he spoke.

"Your father, Hobbes.  Why did he drink?"

A spasm of pain crossed Hobbes' face.  "I don't know.  He'd been drinking for so long.  We got used to making ourselves scarce every time he came home.  Mom was so gentle with him, we never understood why.  He always got so mad with us but he never once raised his voice or his hand to my mom."  A tinge of wonder softened the pain in his voice.

"Hobbes?"

He turned his head slowly.  "Yeah?"

"Did he ever hit you?"

A strange look warped his face.  He swallowed hard.  "Mom said he never meant it.  It was the drink talking but I didn't believe her so I used to hide..."

His voice trailed off as if ashamed to admit his weakness.  He felt a hand on his shoulder.  It was weird how comforting it felt.  "There's no shame in what you did, Hobbes.  Where is he now?"

"He went into a clinic..."

"And?"

"For a time it was great.  Happiest time of my life.  Mom was smiling, we stopped being afraid of him.  It was almost like..."

"Like it had never happened?"  Whispered Pinocchio softly.

Hobbes head snapped round in stunned surprise.

"I got a father too."  Said Pinocchio softly.  "Don't get me wrong Hobbes, I love him.  Would give the earth, the moon and the stars if he wanted them."

"What happened?"

They sat side by side in front of the fire, Pinocchio adding a log from time to time.  Dexter moving from Hobbes feet to paw Pinocchio's leg. Without thinking he began to fuss the dog.  "My mom wasn't as lucky as yours.  Had bruises over every inch of her body.  I was fourteen.  Eric was in the Army and overseas at the time.  My sister had gone to college.  I always hoped one of us would end up with some brains in the family, sure wish it had been me."  He paused and Dexter tilted his head at him.  "One day I snapped. We were in the house.  Mom was upstairs.  Dad came home rolling drunk, swearing and throwing stuff about.  I was home with a cold and chest infection.  Mom was upstairs making me take my medicine.  Dad came up, started to yell at her, so damn angry.  I don't even know what the hell it was all about only that I was sick of it.  Sick of him.  Afraid for my mom, for all of us, so I got out of bed.  They were on the landing, he slapped her, was pushing her about.  I was so damn mad at him, I lashed out, couldn't stop, drove him back, away from her.  Didn't notice the top stair until he tumbled backwards down it."  His voice came to a painful stop.

"Was he...  Did you...?"

He looked up.  "Did I kill him?"  When Hobbes said nothing he shook his head.  "No.  It was worse than that Hobbes.  I crippled him.  Thanks to my temper I put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life."

"But your mom..."

Now he saw a pain so deep and raw that his own looked insiginifant next to it.  "My mom never forgave me, Hobbes."

Hobbes looked shocked.  "That isn't fair.  You were just trying to defend her."

"No, Hobbes.  I wanted to kill him, to put an end to all the freeking fear and misery he'd put us through.  I went too far and now I can never go back.  Never put it right."

"Is that why you don't want to go back to the Real World?"

"Who says I don't want to go back?"

Hobbes looked flustered.  Suddenly uncertain.  Confused.  "I thought..."

"Hobbes, I *volunteered* to come into the Realm.  You wanna know why?"
 
He nodded, holding his breath.

"Because I didn't want another bully doing to people what my old man had been doing to us all our lives.  So in answer to your earlier question, I'm *not* going to get falling down drunk again Hobbes.  Not until this whole sorry mess is sorted out and Santiago is finished.  And when that day comes I am gonna get so plastered I won't be able to lift my head off the pillow for a freeking week!  Got that, Hobbes?"

Hobbes nodded.  Pinocchio did not tell him the rest.  Did not tell him that he did still believe in God even if he no longer went to church.  No longer said his freeking prayers.  Oh yeah.  He believed in God, the Devil, the whole concept of a kind of karma where the things you did in life always came back to you.  He believed in the God of the Old Testament.  An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  He had crippled his father and then been crippled himself in Bosnia.  On some level he appreciated the irony. Accepted his fate as just.  Now here was Hobbes.  A shining freeking hero if ever he saw one.  A man so filled with goodness that it made him even more aware of how far he had fallen.  If he could help Hobbes, make sure this one good man got to fulfill his dream, his destiny, then maybe his deepshit life would have been for something.  He knew he could never go back but perhaps he could earn a measure of salvation.  A kind of redemption that would at least bring him peace.

They both looked up startled as Florence joined them.  Her face was a question mark.  Pinocchio could not help giving her an enigmatic smile.  Oh yeah.  He would watch over Hobbes alright.  Help him every step of the way right through the fires of freeking hell, but if God could hear him.  If the big guy was still even listening to him he hoped.  He prayed.  He would even beg if that's what it took.  That he could have Florence with him.  As if reading his mind she smiled back and something rather like hope fluttered hesistantly inside his heart looking for a place to land.  Hobbes fussed Dexter then stood up and gave a dramatic yawn.  "Your watch, Pinocchio."

Pinocchio nodded, hardly aware that they had never got around to changing into dry clothes.  He was almost dry now as was Hobbes but his hair was still wet.  Dark wet curls flattened against his head.  Florence stepped up to him and touched his hair, a look of surprise and curiosity on her face.  <What happened?>

He chuckled.  Florence's hand drifted down from his hair and touched his face.  Without answering he rose to his feet and gave her a long slow kiss. When he drew away from her he thought he had died and gone to heaven just seeing the look on her face.  The love shining back at him like an unopened gift under the tree.  Hardly daring to believe it had his name upon it.

"Florence..."

She smiled, closed the gap and showed him how a kiss ought to be.

Hobbes watched through the gap in the tent flap, feeling ridiculously happy and light hearted.  He got into his sleeping bag and waited for Dexter to get comfortable before gently rubbing him behind his ears.  He yawned again and thought about everything Pinocchio had said.  Mulling it all over in his mind.  Somehow the thought of Pinocchio as his Guardian Angel did not seem ridiculous.  He found it comforting.  Oddly satisfying.  He yawned again, eyes closing as sleep beckoned.  Vowing to watch over Pinocchio and Florence with just as much love and care as they watched over him.  Dexter lay awake longer than his master.  His little doggy face watching intently until he was sure he really was fast asleep.  After a few minutes the dog lay his head down on his paws and gently drifted off to sleep.  Dexter had already earnt his wings...
 

end