Work Text:
“Welcome to Hell. Can I get you a drink?”
“Wa-what?”
You hardly process the greeting over the sound of the train rattling, view the woman with the trolley in confusion as she settles into the seat across from you, placing a plastic cup of water on the table between you.
“This is Hell. Sorry. No point in sugar-coating it.”
You glance out of the window at the city buildings marching by, brick and concrete and glass. You could be anywhere. You were...
“I-”
“-died. Yeah.”
The woman clasps her hands together on the grey plastic table and regards you with an expression of sympathy you might expect from someone telling you you didn’t get the job.
“I wouldn’t think about it too closely,” she continued, tucking an escaping strand of mousey hair behind her ear, “dying isn’t usually a very pleasant thing.”
At something of a loss for words, you pick up the cup and take a drink of water, glancing again between the trolley of snacks, the plainly uniformed woman in front of you, and the buildings passing by outside.
“I know, right – it’s not exactly what you’d expect.” A small smile quirks her mouth before she continues, “I mean, Hell is fire and brimstone, the Devil punishing the wicked for their sins.”
She sat back in the seat, turning her gaze out the window. “The thing you’ve got to understand is that society’s moved on since the bible was written, and so has the Boss. Several thousand years of getting nowhere fast with lakes of fire and endless torment will make anyone think twice. And he’s just like us, really – kicked out of the good place for not being quite up to scratch, asking too many questions.
“I mean, look at you. Speaking untruths, taking His name in vain, disbelief in His Word – your sins are stamped all over you like a tattoo, if you know how to look. Nothing too bad – pretty standard in this day and age, really. But it still gets you sent here, while all those zealots ranting about the degradation of morals get sent upstairs. Turns out that if you’ve got enough faith it cancels out practically anything.”
Her voice isn’t angry, just slightly tired. This is old news for her. She meets your eyes, a wry smile pressed upon her face.
“ Almost makes you glad you didn’t end up there with them.”
You look down at your hands, examine your cracked plastic cup. “Almost.”