"What do you mean you won't watch her?" asked Samuel, gesturing to the still unconscious but no-longer-bloody girl on the couch with a wave of his hand.

"It's my job to watch over you while you do your duty yes, but you are an Angel of Death, not a Guardian Angel. You need to turn her over to one of them," responded the grizzled old man, sitting in his faded blue armchair with a beer in his hand, watching some old black-and-white western film. His white hair stuck out in all directions like he had been struck by lightning.

"The way you're squinting at the television, it looks like you can barely watch it; let alone watch over me," retorted Samuel, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

"How about you watch what you say?" threatened the old man, turning to look at the angel standing beside him.

Samuel chuckled and blew smoke in the man's face in retaliation, causing the older angel to sputter in his chair. Samuel then walked over to stand in front of the television, blocking the angel from his human distraction.

"The Guardian Angels won't accept her," Samuel said, all business now, "He....I was too late. They'll kill her knowing that he actually...."

"Oh don't tell me he...and to think that these pieces of scum used to be apart of Heaven's populace..." scoffed the older angel.

"Used to being the key word here. That's why I'm here. Don't worry about that. Worry about what you're going to tell her when she wakes up," ordered Samael before he was gone and the old man was staring at an apache stabbing some unfortunate cowboy in the back. The show was cut short however, when the television sparked and jumped before it exploded. The old man stood in front of the smoldering plasma screen practically steaming himself.

"I am an angel, Angels don't babysit!" roared the old man to no one.