Work Text:
The zealots were almost always wrong about this sort of thing. The poor will always be with you, the boss had said. "And so will the Pharisees," Michael snapped one day, and everyone cracked up because it was the utter truth. They couldn't see the forest for the trees; couldn't hear the message for the words. Joseph had a long-standing plan: that when the End came, he and Christopher would be making out in the middle of Times Square, and once they got a big crowd of protesters and angry mobs going? Out came the wings and flaming swords. He particularly disliked that crowd of zealots; and really, mental and emotional revenge were so much more fun than old-fashioned smiting.
So, for the sake of the disguise, they almost always went down as average as they could possibly manage. Good hearts with bad habits; those drinkers and revelers and fornicators who'd give a cold child the shirt off their back and the food off their plate. Joseph had heard his last belowmother call the most beatific individuals she met "angels in disguise" -- that was what everyone expected.
The belowgoing process was interesting. It was impeccably well-designed, for one; there was no "holy shit, I'm an angel" moment, but none of that annoying storybook precociousness in childhood, either. You grew up normally enough, but there was a constant background knowledge of what you were. It was kind of like having your mind start to clear after being under anesthesia for a few hours. Or years… or millennia, in a way. You understood as you needed to, but it was less like discovering and more like remembering. In many ways, the true mind and belowmind weren't even the same thing. It was about halfway in between you as a human, and you inhabiting a human. Hell, at least the boss only had to do it the once.
The hardest part was how slowly time moved below, in comparison to home. A year was like a couple of minutes when you'd existed for a few thousand of them. That was how you comforted yourself when someone you loved went below -- the time was passing much more slowly for them than it was for you. And if you went below while someone you loved stayed back… well, you adapted. It was commonly accepted that relationships below didn't count. That person you were below was born, lived, died, in their own way completely separate from you. They were human, and deserved all the affairs and weddings and divorces and babies and grandbabies and love and loss that came with it.
After a few thousand years, one would expect Joseph to be done contemplating the issue. But like most of the boss's best plans, it wasn't something you ever really finished understanding. And it passed the time while Christopher was below. He'd never asked what Christopher thought about while he was gone. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
But he was jolted out of it by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Michael smiling down.
"New assignment?"
"Yep. Seems like your boy is going to be even more of an instigator than usual this go-round."
"Wait, you're sending us together?" It wasn't exactly rare, but you usually went down a good bit less than five years apart.
"He's instigating." Michael was trying hard not to laugh. "He's gonna need help. And maybe an eye kept on him."
Joseph grinned and stood up. "Like he doesn't always. Siblings?"
"Of a manner."
"Pittsburgh, then?"
"Brooklyn."
Joseph tilted his head. "You've got something up your sleeve."
"When do I not?" Michael, being an oldschooler, had mastered the untouchable serene smile. "You'll be in the right place at the right time. Follow it yourself from there."
"Can I at least stay for one more choral?"
"You won't miss it."
The light and his awareness began fading before he could respond.
"Congratulations, folks! We've got a healthy baby boy on our hands. And a loud one, too!"
"You see, Phyllis? I knew all along another boy! Charlie owes me lunch, dammit!"
~*~
The fun thing about Universal was, well, it was Universal. He could get over to Disney World any time he felt like it, but the food here was free. So Joey was parked on a bench with a chili dog after his shift ended, looking for all the world like a tourist, though the fact that he was alone made that hard to believe.
That was when he first felt it. He was here. His last conversation with Michael before coming down seeped into his head. Aside from wondering why they'd been sent to Pittsburgh and Brooklyn to get to Orlando, his first instinct was to get up and look.
He paused and readjusted to himself. Wait for it. Feel.
Three blocks east at the burrito booth, his subconscious replied.
He walked over and waited. Joey was quietly thankful for the twentieth century -- back in the day, he'd gotten strange looks and whispers of being half-giant. General adult appearance was one of the few consistencies in belowselves. It was nice being eye-to-eye, or at least closer to it, with most of the guys around him.
He felt it like a vise around his heart, and his eyes jumped forward and to the right without him knowing it. There he was, slouched in a windbreaker and baggy jeans, with an enjoyably ridiculous haircut. Joey saw the sudden change in expression as Chris felt it too, and their eyes finally met.
There was no excited shout or quickly made up excuse to know each other. Just the relief in Chris's eyes, the grin on Joey's face, and the warm embrace.
"So what, they sent you to keep an eye on me?"
"Sorta. Said you'd need some help."
Chris arched an eyebrow. "You ever wish they'd give us a job description before they sent us down here?"
Joey laughed, squeezing Chris tight and kissing his forehead joyously. "But guessing is half the fun! Come on, I'll buy you a taco and we can swap life stories."
~*~
"No, seriously, I can't believe you're here, man." JC was nearly bouncing. He nearly bounced a lot of the time. "I was just thinking about calling you. Oh my God, this is perfect."
Joey halfway zoned him out through most of the backstory as he quietly cursed his inability to get served a drink. He'd put away more than some baseball stadiums in his previous endeavors below; how was it his fault his driver's license didn't have his actual age on it?
"…and basically we've started getting this group together. It's just me and J and this other cat he met at an audition. And I swear, man, you'd be perfect for it."
"You think?" Joey had just barely started paying attention again when his consciousness suddenly shifted in the background. This is it. Go. He paused, and smiled. "It sounds like fun, man. Are the other guys here?"
"Yeah, we had to sneak J in, man." JC laughed his infectious little laugh and grabbed Joey's wrist, pulling him across the busy dance floor to the tables on the other end of the club.
There was Justin, all right, taller and more broad-shouldered than he had been the last time Joey saw him, chasing Britney across the set with a water gun. And he was staring upward with moon-eyed awe at Chris.
This is it.
He shook Justin's hand, reintroduced himself, then looked to Chris. "Hey, we've met, actually."
"Yeah, we have." Chris grinned, holding out a hand. "Good to see you, man."
As soon as their hands met -- the energy, the warmth around them was nearly blinding. This is it. It wasn't the satisfied discovery of an assignment that they'd both felt before. This was overwhelming. A moment of massive significance; this, the world said around them, is why you were created.
They both stared at each other, dumbfounded, for a long moment; when JC started talking again they finally managed to break eye contact and go about the mundane of the arrangements -- trading phone numbers and schedules and deciding who would meet up where. A few minutes later, everyone else involved had managed to get distracted, and the two of them found a semi-quiet table.
"Dude," Joey hissed. "Did you feel that?"
"Yeah, I felt it."
"No, I mean. Did you feel that?"
"Yes." Chris's eyes were darker and more intense than Joey had ever seen them. "I felt exactly what you did."
"How did it all come together?"
"Someone I know from school said something about half the guys he knew being better singers than the Backstreet Boys, and that if someone who knew something about vocal harmony put a group together, it'd probably take off. And then…" He tapped the side of his forehead, the universal angelic symbol for 'the boss said so'. "So I started thinking on it, met Justin on the Disney lot, and it just happened sorta organically."
"So now what?"
"Now? Now we're gonna make this thing work."
Joey couldn't help smiling softly. "You're hot when you're feisty."
Chris grinned, looked around briefly to make sure JC and Justin were otherwise occupied, and leaned in to kiss Joey softly. "We've never gotten to work together on something before. Think we can handle it?"
"Given our past success rates, I'd say this is pretty important if they want both of us on it." Joey grinned. "Between the two of us, and those two kids? I think we could pick up a drunken donkey for a fifth and still ace this thing."
"I'd prefer something bipedal, but yeah, I think you're pretty close." Chris laughed, turning around to lean on Joey's shoulder and watch their two new bandmates playing at dancing in a corner of the floor. "This could be big, man. It's gotta be. Just a question of how big, now…"
~*~
"I'm... thinking of doing a record. Myself."
Justin offered the words in the halting manner in which one might offer prime rib to a cougar. Chris had never heard Justin talk like that, not to him. He'd said a lot of difficult sentences in the intervening years -- 'They want Lance out', 'I wrote a song I think we should record', 'I think Britney's cheating on me'. None of them came out like this.
"Yeah?" He grinned, digging into the bowl of cereal he'd just made himself. "Sweet. You want some food?"
"No, Chris, I want you to listen." Justin's voice was still tense. "Jive wants me to do it. They've been wanting me to for a while now, and... I mean, they've got the machine all greased up and ready for it. I..." He looked hard at his shoes. "I don't know if this would be, like... a side project. They're gonna make a thing out of it, if I do it."
He didn't want to voice his real concern. Chris didn't quite want him to either. He knew it was the truth; Justin was getting more talented with time, if it was even possible, and refining it too. He was on the brink of greatness, and his next steps were going to be his most important. Chris had been all geared up to start the next album, to bottle that lightning and set it loose on the world.
Tell him to do it.
When the moment struck, if this was where it was going, that's where it would go. Chris thought of the last six years. He thought of Lance crying when he didn't think anyone could hear, JC twirling around the studio and conducting invisible orchestras in wide gestures. He thought of his belowkin, the women who'd invested so much of their hearts into him.
Tell him to do it.
It would be over. Justin wasn't trying to end the group. He probably didn't want to. But if he dropped that record, he wouldn't be able to hold the momentum. He'd stumble into his blaze of glory and never turn back. If he left them now, he'd leave them forever.
Tell him to do it.
Chris shut his eyes tight, ignoring the stab of a Frosted Flake in the roof of his mouth as his teeth clenched. Who am I here for? he replied, knowing all along the futility of trying to extract reason from his duties. Am I here for us, or for him?
You're here for all of them. He needs this.
He smirked softly as he turned around, leaning on the kitchen counter and putting his bowl down. "Look, you do what you gotta do. You always have. If Lance can be an astronaut, I don't see any reason you can't be a rock star."
Justin laughed, a bit too loud, to cover the relieved sigh. The tension in the back of Chris's neck subsided.
~*~
Upstairs.
Joey blinked. It had been months, literally, since his ethereal instincts had spoken up. He'd gotten complacent enough a couple of times to think that his work was done, and all he had to do the rest of the time was be rich and make sure the other three didn't kill themselves. Every now and again he'd get a hunch of when to call them, when to say something, when to drop by. That had happened today. Lance had only been home from Russia a few months, and Joey needed to visit. He didn't know why; it probably could have been attributed to plain human intuition if you tried hard enough. At any rate he'd showed up with a suitcase for a long weekend. They'd generally bonded a good bit, and Lance had decided to throw an impromptu get-together. A handful of his Beverly Hills friends were milling around the house, and Joey had his head in the refrigerator looking for a beer.
Upstairs.
It was insistent, almost desperate. Not even so much a command as a plea. The office. Joey hesitated a moment, then grabbed a second bottle as an excuse and headed for the staircase. He didn't think to bother making any noise, just pushed the office door open. "Hey, Poo-fu, you want a beer?"
He was sitting on the desk, hands planted behind him, smiling up at... well, there was a twist. It was the tall guy, the dark-haired one, that he hadn't introduced Joey to. Leaning forward with his hands on either side of Lance's hips, laughing and whispering something in his ear.
The gig came with wings, when one wanted to deal with the inconvenience of them, but -- as he'd lamented many times before -- no rewind button. It also didn't come with the sense to catch the door after pushing it open, apparently, so just in case his bellowed offer of alcohol hadn't completely sabotaged this precious scene, the doorknob slamming into the chair-rail moulding would definitely finish the job.
What's-his-face jumped back, looking like he'd been shot. Lance nearly fell off the desk, before his eyes shot up with a look of such unmitigated fear that Joey's heart nearly shattered.
"Shit!" he blurted, before letting his head clear. "I'll... oh, shit... sorry, I... Downstairs. If you..." He grabbed the door and shut it as quickly as possible without slamming it, retreating to the formal dining room -- less crowded -- and suddenly very grateful to have a beer in each hand.
They came back downstairs, looking horribly awkward and neither meeting each other's or Joey's eyes. A little while later, the house managed to clear out. Dark-haired boy left last; they lingered at the door, talking in hushed tones and pretending Joey wasn't in the next room watching.
The door clicked shut, finally, and Lance leaned against it, forehead against the cool wood, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. By the time he heard the footsteps and looked up to speak, Joey's arms were crushed around his shoulders.
He stayed there for a few long minutes, face buried in Joey's chest, tears rolling down his cheeks. Neither of them spoke until he finally lifted his head, chin resting on Joey's shoulder, still not looking up at him. "I... I'm sorry... I didn't..."
"Sorry? I'm the one that barged in on you in your own house, shit..." Lance laughed against his will, and Joey smiled. "Baby, don't you dare be sorry. I'm sorry I... I dunno, found out before you wanted me to."
"No... no. It's good." Lance looked up with a weak smile. "I think... it was driving me crazy nobody knowing, and I don't think I ever would have been able to actually tell anyone... and..."
"It's OK." Joey kissed his forehead lightly, squeezing him tight. "Come on, I'm a theater kid, it's not like I got room to say a damn thing even if I did want to."
They stood there a long while, clasped together, before Lance managed to stand on his own. "I... could you... not say? I mean. I wasn't really... even if I needed it, I wasn't really ready. I'm still not."
"Not a word out of me."
"Thanks." Lance leaned against him again, and went quiet.
Of course, the next time he saw Chris, the first words out of his mouth were "What the fuck, why didn't he tell me?!" But that could be worked around.
~*~
Cancer? Cancer was a stupid damnable cliché way to go, and Joey was not happy about the circumstances. That was clear. He'd said it to his wife a dozen times and his daughter at least six. Pancreatic cancer, even, cancer of a part he'd forgotten he ever had. Why couldn't he have died of something they didn't have a name for, or a flaming blaze of twisted metal somehow?
It was just the two girls and the three guys with him now. Chris at least got to go quick -- heart attack at 84, two days lingering painlessly and sarcastically in the hospital, and it was done. Joey had been wrestling with this creature for the last year and a half and he was sick to death of it. Briahna winced every time he phrased it that way; Lance always chuckled. But Lance was the best at being objective about this. Joey remembered the day when Justin finally turned thirty and they all realized they were grown-ups for real now, there was no going back now. Same thing had happened when he turned seventy. "Dammit, at least I'm not the old man anymore," Chris had crowed, and Joey still found it funny.
He was at home. That made him happier than anything else. And the need to be home was why he was so indifferent at what was happening.
About half an hour out, he knew it was coming. That shift of consciousness again. Information just dropped into your head. It had taken him several lifetimes to get used to it.
They were all there, Kelly holding one hand and Lance the other, Briahna laying on his chest in front of her mother with tears in her eyes, Justin and JC standing behind Lance with hands on his shoulders and the resigned smiles of men old enough to understand.
"Tell Tricky we said hi."
"I will," Joey murmured, smiling. He paused a moment, and couldn't help it. "He says hi too."
They all looked briefly puzzled, just how he wanted it.
Then it was warm, and bright.
Michael was grinning when he reopened his eyes, and applauding. "Artfully done, Joseph. You never could leave them well enough alone, could you?"
He grinned. "Hey, if I gotta go, I go in style."
Michael shook his head, but hugged him tight. "Well done. All around. You did marvelously with a difficult assignment."
"Well, I had help." Joseph smiled softly. "And on that note..."
"He's waiting." Michael laughed. "With a friend, too. Go on."
He was lying down and wrestling with a surprisingly youthful-looking Busta when Joseph got there. He sat bolt upright when he heard the footsteps, his face lighting up. They were clasped together before either knew it, deep embraces and soft kisses and whispered congratulations of their joint success.
Joey looked down. "You and your menagerie. Have you got one from every assignment so far?"
"Almost all." Christopher laughed and scratched Busta's ear, taking Joseph's hand and walking quickly. "You always had good timing. I made them hold off the next choral for you."
Joseph laughed brightly, and followed. "Justin says hi, by the way."
"Yeah? Tell him I said hi too."
Joseph paused as they reached the congregation, looking at the three empty spaces beside them and glancing up at Christopher questioningly.
He got only a mischievous smile in return. "Hey, we told them it was just a break. Another ten years, tops..."
The orchestra swelled, and with hands clasped, they began to sing.