This little piece falls into the same vein as another two of my writings, The Battle and Meeting Benson. As the title implies, of course, Jenna sees the Death Angel once again, and they have a bit more time to talk. As much as I enjoyed writing Meeting Benson, I don't exactly think it falls into the timeline itself anywhere; I did a lot of things different with Benson himself and, if it goes over well, I'll revamp the last writing. Enjoy...

She awoke with a gasp, snapping out of a dream thick with metal and lightning and otherworldly shrieks. Fully awake and panting for breath, she glanced wide-eyed from her pillow to the glowing blue time display at on her nightstand. It's 4:38 in the morning. How many hours of sleep is that? Two, maybe? Not bad. Sitting up and running her wild, tangled hair from her face with both hands, she took a deep breath, squeezing her watering eyes shut and choking back a small sob as she bit her lower lip, doing her best to shake the all-too-real images from her mind. No'¦God help me, they won't stop.

Jenna was, slowly-but-surely, reaching the point where she feared sleep. For at least a good week now, nearly every time her eyelids drooped and she drifted out of consciousness, she was immediately dropped into the middle of a raging battlefield, sometimes armed to the teeth, sometimes clothed in nothing more than her sleepwear. No matter what, though, she always began fighting with what she was given, whether it be a gleaming sword, a raygun, or her own two hands. It was always fierce and fast-paced, and she moved with instinct and intuition alone. She would see all manner of warriors here, on this barren, rocky plain: angels, demons, even what looked to be other humans clad in shining armor (though she did spot a few unfortunate people without any protection, just as she had been). All around her were the sounds of swords clashing, guns firing; wild battlecries from both parties were a constant. She did her best to block out the just-as-loud rippings, sobbings and deathscreams; they were as easy to ignore, though, as the great splashes of blood from comrades and enemies alike as they fell, gasping and gurgling, the smell of raw meat and bodily fluids overwhelming. She always ended up screaming and crying hysterically; tears streamed hot down her face, mingling with her own sweat and another's blood. As she fought, she would beg God to get her out of wherever she was, this hellish landscape, praying it was nothing more than a dream.

Every time, every night, she would get distracted from her battles for just one moment, just the slightest second ' maybe she got lost in her prayers, maybe she met the rolling, desperate eyes of the dying ' whatever it was, though, it would divert her attention just long enough so that when she whipped her head back around, something was coming at her. It could be a rusting sword, maybe a spear, sometimes even a demon, wet tongue swinging and claws or teeth aimed right at her eye sockets. She would always have time to see it coming, have time to draw in breath and begin to scream ' but, thank God, that's when she always lurched awake, swathed in sweat, hair matted to her neck and forehead, gasping and drowning in her sheets.

It was driving her insane ' but there was nothing she could do; she doubted she would sleep for the remainder of this night anyway. Heaving a sigh, Jenna collected herself the best she could and slid out of bed. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she caught a glimpse of herself in her full-length mirror, illuminated by the streetlamp shining through her window: oversized black t-shirt with a red-and-white KMFDM (her favorite German industrial band) design on it, matching Rolling Stones boxers, wild hair and ever-darkening circles under her eyes. She sighed, not exactly uplifted by this particular sight, and half-staggered barefoot into the kitchen.

Nothing soothed her better than a hot cup of tea, so, after stumbling through total darkness and flicking on the dim light above the stove, she dug around in the cabinets until she found a box of chamomile. Perfect. She put a small pot of water on the stove to boil, then made her way to the pantry and hunted around until she found something slightly appealing: Madeleines, small, French shell-shaped pastries, sweet and moist, that went perfectly with tea. As soon as she grabbed the container, though, a familiar chill drew itself down her spine as she felt a draft swirl behind her, fluttering the ends of her hair and the legs of her boxers. The light feeling of Death at her back only reassured her speculation, and she knew exactly who it was. She sat the Madeleines down and turned, leaning up against the counter. Smiling her best "I'm-not-dead-yet-please-don't-take-me" smile, she moved her hand in a small wave. "Benson'¦hey."

The seven-foot-tall, black-winged Angel of Death gave a small bow, his glossy, raven-black feathers shimmering, a few pieces of his matching, shoulder-length hair falling over one glowing eye. "Greetings, Jenna. What rouses you from slumber this dark night?"

She shook her head, slightly amazed at how quickly she had gotten used to the presence of this spiritual being, especially since this was only his second visit. "Dreams," she said, attempting to smooth her tangled hair the best she could. With her face lowered slightly (and heating up considerably; maybe she wasn't as used to him as she thought), she gazed up at him and saw he was wearing a silk, midnight blue button-down shirt, dress slacks, and polished black shoes, utterly beautiful as ever. Although he was still wearing his black leather gloves, his signature scythe was nowhere to be found ' maybe he was having a slow night.

"Ah, dreams'¦" He gave a slow nod, his eyes red and knowing. Without touching it, he swung a mahogany chair around a few steps in front of him at the table and sat down backwards in it, facing her. "Please," he motioned to the other chair, "have a seat. Calm yourself. Elucidate."

"Okay. Give me a second'¦ah'¦" She bit her lip. "Do you, um, would you like some tea?" She thought it would be rude to neglect a guest, no matter what realm he hailed from.

His brows knitted for a moment, then he nodded. "Yes, I would find that wonderful."

The water just began to boil. She took the pot off the eye, popped the teabags in, then covered it with a small saucer. Making sure the stove was off, she sat the Madeleines on the center of the table and got out a couple of coffee mugs. Speaking to Benson over her shoulder, she asked, "What do you like in your tea? It's chamomile."

Behind her, Benson barely spoke above a murmur from the shadows. "Chamomile'¦I've not the pleasure of chamomile in centuries." Raising his voice, he answered, "Honey, if you will, and a bit of cream would be nice."

Jenna smiled. "All right; sounds good, actually." Pouring the tea, she quickly dug through the fridge, grabbing a near-empty honey bear and a carton of half & half. She stirred them into both steaming mugs, then brought them to the table, pushing the blue one with the moon and stars over to her dark visitor.

"Now'¦" He grasped the mug with both huge, leather-clad hands, watching her as she sat. "Tell me of these dreams."

She did, explaining everything from the initial drop to the one near-fatal moment she always woke up. The entire time she spoke, he kept his eyes fastened upon her, speaking not a word, only sipping the tea silently from time to time and occasionally reaching for a Madeleine. When she was done, she glanced from her chamomile up at him, searching his face for an answer. "Benson'¦I'm scared to even sleep anymore. It's so real, and the things I've seen'¦please'¦what does it mean? Do you know?" She fought the urge to break completely down. "Can you tell me?"

For a moment, he said absolutely nothing, sitting perfectly still, not moving as much as a feather; then he downed the rest of the tea in a single gulp and took a deep breath. Leaning in, he rested his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "This is not an unfamiliar circumstance," he began; "there have been many occurrences such as this throughout history."

"All right'¦" She leaned in herself, her hands loosely balled into fists on the table. "That's good to know. But please, c'mon, what does it mean?!"

He simply smiled at her, quickly grabbing and downing another Madeleine. "Now, now. Patience, young warrior; all will be revealed in time."

"Yeah? Okay, thanks'¦" she rose an eyebrow, and she glanced at him from an angle, "'¦but wait. There's not'¦there's not another reason you called me that, is there?"

His smile widened, and he separated his hands, setting them face-up on the table. "Would there be, Jenna? Your guess is easily as good as mine."

She knew full and well that he was the Angel of Death, but she was also sleep-deprived, haunted by nightmares, shaken to the core ' and doing her best not to be cranky with him. Knowing he could kill her with the slightest brush of his fingertips, though, Jenna only heaved a long, tired sigh, taking a much-needed swig of her tea. "Look, I just'¦I don't know what to guess, Benson. I haven't been able to sleep for about a week, the chance I do get to sleep is filled with blood and guts and demons and the worst things I've ever seen ' and did I mention the visits from Death himself?" At this, she gave him a weary smile, tears already filling her eyes. "So I'¦I really don't even know where to start, y'know? I'm seeing all kinds of this otherworldly stuff all at once, and I get all these weird feelings all the time'¦I feel like I'm going crazy, know what I mean? Really'¦I just don't know anymore." She tried to laugh, but it came out more like a choking sob.

His good humor was quickly gone, replaced by'¦genuine concern? Nah, couldn't be. To her surprise, Benson actually reached out and lay one cold, gloved hand lightly over hers, settling a cool blanket of peace around her. "For one, my dear Jenna, your sanity is still quite intact. Now I may know what is happening to you, but there is the possibility that my guess is inaccurate; I have been around long enough, though, that I highly doubt that. What you are enduring now could best be described as'¦a test. A trial run, preliminary if you will, to determine what natural combat skills you do and do not possess."

"Huh?" Benson removed his hand, and she could only stare perplexedly up at him as she wiped her tears away, regaining what composure she could.

He cleared his throat. "To put it bluntly, young warrior, the executives are seeing how well you would hold up in an actual battle."

"What? But'¦" She blinked, straightening her spine. "But I don't know, why would they'" Her voice faltered, her eyes suddenly growing huge. "Ahh! Whoa! Y-you don't mean they're gonna'¦that I'm'¦that they'd actually want me to be'¦"

Benson was smiling again, his crimson eyes sparkling. "Have you realized your fate by now? Think. Why is your spiritual correlation growing at such a rapid pace?"

"Wait. No'¦no! No way, not me'¦I mean, you don't think'¦but fighting like that, me, I-I couldn't'¦"

"From what you have told me, it is quite the contrary ' it seems you could."

For a moment, she lapsed into silence, sipping her tea, stunned by this new possibility. Benson took advantage of this, and asked a question: "Have you seen a recurring warrior throughout your dreams?"

"What?"

"Have you not noticed one particular warrior every night, every time you are placed onto this bloody terrain? Maybe fighting beside you, possibly defending you from harm a time or two? Think, Jenna; I realize your dreams are probably too hectic to remember the finer details, but please try your best."

Hectic's an understatement. Taking a bite from a Madeleine, she chewed thoughtfully, letting the sweetness melt in her mouth. The battles were always absolutely crazy, never with any time to slow down and view her surroundings ' but was there someone? She tried to remember faces. There was this one guy with brown hair; the rotting, distorted, catlike face of a demon that she decapitated once; the pale, blood-spattered face of a terrified young warrior that looked to be no more than fourteen; then there was the brown-haired one again'¦

As she thought more and more about that one particular face, she realized that this certain person did show up in every dream: medium dark-brown hair, silver armor, long broadsword, looked to be maybe in his mid- to late twenties or so; he was always beside or behind her, a lot of the time fending off demons as he kept his eye on her, sometimes even (as crazy as it sounded) flashing a lopsided grin in her direction. Now that she thought about it, he was even enough of a distraction one night that it caused one of the brushes with death that always lurched her awake'¦

"Well?" Benson smiled knowingly down at her, chin resting on one hand as he finished off another moist little cake. "Have you made any sort of deduction?"

"Yeah'¦" Jenna's eyes were wide. "Yeah, I have! Okay, so there's always this one guy in silver armor fighting close by me and stuff, and he has this huge sword, and I've even caught him looking at me a time or two, and once he even grinned'¦"

Benson's face broke out in a stunningly beautiful smile. "Wonderful ' there you have it. This, my dear, young warrior, is your guardian."

"Wow, really?" Her eyes grew even rounder.

"Yes."

"But I thought'¦well, aren't you my guardian?"

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, but only for the present. For reasons beyond me, I was temporarily designated the role of your 'unofficial' guardian until Frank came along."

"Frank'¦" She cocked her head. "Frank?"

"Yes, that is his name, make no mistake of it."

She finally finished off the chamomile and mused this surprising new name a couple of times. "Frank, Frank'¦haha, not too bad! How d'you know him? What's he like?"

"Mm. I've known him for quite a few decades'¦after all, I was the one who guided him into the afterlife." He smiled, and Jenna raised her eyebrows as he continued. "I am glad they chose him to be your guardian; I do deem him to guide and protect you well. You will most likely be able to call on him at virtually any time you prefer, and he will always be there to answer any question you may have."

Jenna couldn't help but be excited. "Wow'¦he sounds awesome! Does everyone have a guardian like that?"

Benson nodded. "Yes of course, though few ever acquire the ability ' much less the privilege ' to meet them face-to-face."

"Hm'¦" She tilted her head slightly. "So is that really him in my dream?"

"Yes." He grabbed and consumed another Madeleine in the blink of an eye.

"Is everything in my dream real too, then? The battle, all that stuff?"

"No. What you are seeing while you sleep is nothing more than a simulation, although your guardian, not to mention a few of your fellow warriors, are very real, sharing the same dreamscape as you."

This statement made Jenna think of the younger warrior she recalled a moment before. Seemingly fresh into puberty and dressed in a t-shirt and boxers beneath a few pieces of armor, he had smooth, light skin, green eyes, flippy dirty-blonde hair, and fresh demon's blood adding to the freckles already splashed across his horror-stricken face. She shuddered at the image, then gathered the mugs and stood. "Man'¦" She shook her head as she set the dishes in the sink, returning to her seat and flopping down with a sigh. "What's going on, Benson? Why is all this happening? It's nuts. I mean, just look at me, right now, like, at this very second. I'm sitting here having a conversation about becoming a Holy Warrior with the Angel of Death while he's sitting at my table, eating all my Madeleines'¦"

Benson stopped in mid-chew; he then swallowed, eliciting a small laugh from the both of them. At this, he said, "I can imagine how'¦different things are quickly becoming for you. You have many things in your future, Jenna, both glorious victories and harrowing defeats."

"I know. What'¦what's gonna happen to me, Benson?"

He was thoughtful for a split-second, rubbing one leather-coated finger over the small soul patch nestled beneath his full lower lip. "Your journey has freshly begun. Only God knows for certain ' but He will be with you, along with your guardian, many others you have yet the pleasure to meet ' and, of course, myself. Do not be disheartened, my young warrior, nor afraid. Pray. Have strength. Believe me when I say that you will survive, and you will conquer."

She gave a soft, sad little smile, a bit of hope returning. "That helps'¦wow, thank you."

"You are more than welcome, my dear '" He suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes flashing a bit brighter as he suddenly stared straight ahead.

"Ah'¦" Jenna cocked an eyebrow. "Benson? You okay? What's up?"

His eyes flickered to her. "I ' I must leave soon. I have'¦a job to attend to."

She nodded her head in understanding. "Ohh, okay. I see. Thanks for stopping by. But hey, is there anything else you can tell me before you go?"

"Yes. These dreams usually last anywhere from a week to a month, though I do not think it will be much longer for you. Expect a visit from your guardian soon ' I will be sure to relay tonight's conversations to him for you." Grabbing the last Madeleine, he stood up with incredible, sweeping grace, his raven's wings fanning out gloriously behind him. At once, his scythe appeared in his hand, all ebony and platinum, sleek and gleaming in the shadows. "I am grateful for your hospitality ' thank you for the tea and cakes."

He gave another small bow, and she instantly felt her cheeks grow a shade or two pinker at this. "You're'¦you're very welcome, Benson." She quickly stood as well. "One last question before you leave, though'¦"