I do not grant wishes

[gwenchan]

 

Fandom: American Gods

Personaggi: Jinn, Salim

Rating: Teen and up audience

Additional tags: Introspection

Prompt: Guerra di religione

The Jinn could wipe off the entire army spreading before his flaming eyes with a snap of his fingers if he just so wished. He could call a storm of fire and sand over them, ignite the handles of their cross-shaped swords and make their armours as hot as a furnace. He could watch them die in agony as their flesh burn to ashes inside the same iron meant to protect them.

He could incinerate their flying insignia and block their paths with a wall of fire nobody could cross.

He could. He could easily. But he doesn't.

His kind does not concern itself with little squabbles between humans if not to take their nourishment and that is always greater when blood flows in abundance, impregnating the sand of the Holy City.

Gods called humans for war and humans answered promptly. They threw themselves into battle happy to die on the altar of faith and glory, certain of their God had already prepared a place for them at His right.

Gods feasted on them. In the back, Jinn anticipates the slaughter

***

Sometimes Jinn goes into battle. When he's bored and when he feels the bloodied desert calls him, he puts on his armour and takes his sword. He mingles with the rows of mortals, the visor of his helmet down to hide his nature. Only when he is delivering the killing blow, he makes sure to lift it so that his victim can see and knows. He wants his burning eyes to be the last thing impressed in their minds as they give up their spirit. He delights in seeing the horror on their faces, him a messenger of Death sent to take their souls to the deepest pits of Jahannam.

He leaves them no escape, a black smoke moving fast from man to man, his blows precise, quick and lethal.

He feels unstoppable.

***

Jinn's taxi stinks. Not even burning the sweetest incense has managed to cancel the abominable reek of shit and vomit. The idiot didn't even pay the ride afterwards. Jinn cursed him, his ancestors and all his descendants. 

He doubts it would be of any use. He prays the man waving for him to stop knows more decency.

"Where?" he asks, peering in the rear-mirror to see his passenger. "And half of the payment is upfront."

He has learnt his lesson. He watches the stranger making himself comfortable. "The Chrysler," the stranger says. Without waiting for an answer, he counts five large bills and basically throws them at Jinn with the absolute indifference of pity. Then, he interlaces fingers on his pouty belly, a shining golden watch strangling his wrist.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asks and does not wait for an answer, pulling out a long cigar and a lighter.

Jinn grabs the steering wheel to not light it with a snap of his fingers. Sometimes inside tells him he wouldn't stop there. Squinting his eyes, he forces himself to focus on the road, cursing against the traffic, as the cabin quickly fills with smoke. That should make him feel happy, make him feel at home, but this smoke is different and brings a message Jinn does not like.

"Just a little gift from a friend of mine," the stranger says, taking another cigar. "Please," he offers. Jinn keeps both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the street. "Oh, well. I only wanted to be courteous. I thought you might appreciate it."

He smiles beneath his thick moustache, playing with the brooch pinned to the collar of his crisp shirt. 

"But, I see, you want something better."

"I don't want anything."

"My. At least wait for the offers to be made before refuting them. I am sure I can be of great help."

With that, he snaps his fingers. On the dashboard, the needle of the fuel gauge jumps back up. 

The stranger strokes his belly, complacent in Jinn's disbelief.

"Now, I'd like to discuss some business with you."

Jinn has seen many wars and lived many lives. He has seen entire cities being swallowed forever by the desert and has witnessed others being born from the sand.

He watched mortals, who once would sacrifice everything to prove the strength of their devotion, find new Gods to venerate. They pray Jinn's kind less and less, too busy reciting different pleas while kneeling before other shrines

He has never considered he might be sitting into one, praying each time he pumps gas at a shitty station. His skin crawls. He hates his job.

It makes him feel dirty.

***

Whoever claimed taxi drivers always memorize their passengers, liked to say some bullshit. Jinn has no time or memory to remember all those who slam their asses onto his taxi seats and most of the time he does, it is for the damages they caused.

There are exceptions, of course.

"I thought I'd never seen your shitty face, Grimnir."

"Glad to see you remember an old friend."

"What do you want?"

Grimnir's good eye glints in the smoky afternoon light. "I'm recruiting. It's time we take back our old glory."

***

Truth be told, Jinn does not like Grimnir - or Mr Wednesday as he likes to calls himself these days. But, truth be told, he likes the New Gods even less. His skin crawls thinking how these kids think they can command the world, threaten them who had walked the Earth for millennia before they were born. And his skin crawls even more at the idea these toddler gods are winning. Oil lavishes in riches while he struggles for a single prayer. 

He never wanted to come to America, never asked for it, never asked to be carried across the ocean like any other suitcase. One day he was admiring the ruins of Ubar, the day after he woke up in an ugly, foreign city.

In the dim light of a shitty motel room, he makes sure again Yggdrasill sprout is on the table where he left it. If he's going to die, it will not be by Odin's hand because he messed up with his precious plant and spear. 

The man sleeping at his side stirs. Salim looks so young and so fragile Jinn thinks his chest may burst from the flame of feelings swirling inside. Salim is sleeping on his belly, still naked, the bedsheets covering only his legs. 

They made love again. Jinn has loved many before, women and men alike, but what he feels for Salim, he hadn't in a long time. He'd make him a fellow Jinn at his side if he could. Maybe it's a good thing he cannot. Once he wouldn't have thought twice when his kind was powerful and venerated and mortals quivered before them. Now he doubts exchanging mortality for being an ifrit would benefit anyone. 

Besides, Salim is simply too good at heart, too honest to be a Jinn. He couldn't even sell some trinkets. 

Jinn never expected him to be dragged into this war. He never imagined seeing him appear at the House on the Rock, along with the Dead Girl and the Leprechaun.

"I gave them a ride. They said I would find you here," Salim explained, staring into him with his sweet, brown eyes. "I might not know what all of this is, but I want to help. I can help."

"It's too dangerous."

"I know. I don't care."

Precious man, Salim. One of the few still roaming the Earth with faith. In Jinn's most honest and sincere opinion, he is an absolute idiot, to still believe in his God when he witnessed the existence of many others. Salim, however, had been unfaltering.

Jinn could abandon him here. He could wake up, leave a message if he feels generous, and disappear from his life. He's done that before. Except he knows it wouldn't help much. 

They are linked. They have been linked from the moment they took that elevator together, from when Salim welcomed him and his flame inside his quivering flash.

He should have never done it. Now it is too late.

***

Cairo.

Jinn huffs a laugh. Americans have so little imagination they can't even name their cities. They treat all those with his skin as if they were shit, put them to drive their crappy taxis, but they copy their towns. 

They had to import most of the gods and those who managed to invent are shitty copies.

Cairo, Illinois, has nothing to do with the Cairo Jinn knows and remembers. It would pale in shame in comparison. 

"Don't you ever get tired of this shit?" he asked Ibis*. Them who once served Pharaohs and Kings, now bury old ladies and feed on the dead.

"Why? We have all we need " Ibis answered. Jinn did not believe him.

He'd come back if he could. But that is impossible and he doesn't grant wishes. Otherwise, he'd be out for a long time already 

"What!" Salim cry cut through the obituary

Chaos is quick to spread afterwards. All tv switch on, all transmitting the same news claiming three men had been consorted for killing some police officers. They are dangerous. On the screen, the photograph of Shadow, Grimnir and, timid, unassuming Salim.

Jinn latest hope crumble. Now truly the war has wrapped around Salim too tightly to hope to free him 

Jinn thought alone, away from him, he'd be safe. But times have changed. Salim wouldn't last long alone. Not against these forces. And, if he can't leave Salim alone, it's better to keep him close.

In a moment, everything becomes clear. Jinn feels a clarity he hasn't had in a long time. It is the same he once felt before a battle, the absolute calm before the storm.

"There you are."

Salim stands in the middle of the hall, his eyes burning with such determination Jinn' own would seem dull in comparison. 

"Whatever this is," Salim makes a wide gesture, "I don't regret anything"

Jinn couldn't ask for better words. It's the implicit permission he realises he'd been waiting for. He cups Salim's cheeks and kisses him with a fierceness, a passion and an intensity he hadn't had in a long time. In that touch, he wove the threats of his spell. It starts from his flaming heart and transmits in tendrils down into Salim. They flow all over his body, intertwines their lives and binds their souls forever.

There will be a war, soon. He might die. He'd probably die. He probably has fucked up from the moon and back. 

But at least, this time, he won't be alone