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Summary
Matthew stumbles in, blue hair matted and dirty, swathed in loose pants and a long black coat that was doing a very poor job of covering something very fucking important.
Matthew’s massive, snow white, feathered wings.
Bloodied and mangled and dragging across Dom’s floor heavily as he whirls about in place to get the door closed, leaving bits of downy in his wake.
Wings.
There was no way. This had to be a costume, a prank, anything. Anything but the slowly growing realization that Dom was staring at an angel, injured and bleeding in a demon’s living room, vulnerable in the face of his unknowingly sworn enemy.