Chapter Text
The bell over the Crashdown Café door gave its final jingle of the night as the last customers slipped out. Gwyn twisted the key until the bolt clicked, then glanced back at the empty red booths, turquoise chairs, and the mural of bug-eyed aliens grinning along the wall.
It was hard to believe she’d been working here two years already. Roswell was only ever meant to be a pit stop on the way to California, a chance to begin again, somewhere grief didn’t consume her every waking moment. But something about this town… the people… had pulled her in.
But as her heart grew lighter, she often wondered why she still stayed.
“Hey, I've gotta run. Max and Isobel are waiting for me. Are you okay to deal with this?”
The line cook, Michael, motioned to the few tables with some plates that needed to be cleared and the trash that needed to be taken out back. It wasn’t much. Their shift had been quiet.
“Of course! Go. Have fun with your friends!”
Gods knew one of them should! She wished she still had the energy to do anything after the late shift. Might make her life a little more interesting.
But alas, no one had warned her that turning thirty meant bed by ten was more appealing than catching a late-night movie.
Not that she had any friends to hang out with anyway.
Something about getting too close to people only to lose them again sounded like something she wouldn’t survive a second time – and it just wasn’t worth the risk. She imagined a therapist would have a field day unpacking that trauma.
And as for dating…
Well, who was there even to date in this town? The sheriff?
Sure, Jim Valenti wasn’t horrible to look at… but he was still a good ten, maybe fifteen years older than her. More eligible than most of the men around, though. At least he had a steady job… probably even a decent pension plan. Sexy!
If only he were some dark-haired mystery man from an exotic place, she might be able to convince herself to ask him out. But the sheriff was far too much of a homebody for her taste. She wanted adventure… to see what else might be waiting for her.
One day.
Michael waved her goodbye as she locked the back door behind him. She got to work finishing up. In an hour, she’d be home, pouring a giant glass of red and picking up where she’d left off in her salacious novel My Sweet Alien Barbarian.
In no time at all, she was packing up her bag and grabbing her denim jacket from her locker. She stuck a Post-it on the locker beside hers for Liz: Max Evans was in again – fourth time this week. You owe him a Little Green Men milkshake!
She loved teasing the kids about their love lives, especially the way Liz Parker blushed at the mere mention of Max’s name. Not that either of them would ever admit their crush. One day, Gwyn hoped, they’d figure it out. Anyone could see they were destined for each other.
She grabbed the trash bag with one hand, car keys ready in the other, and stepped outside.
The dry desert air hit her first, followed by the faint stink of hot garbage that lingered out back. She made quick work of the trash bag in her hand and moved swiftly towards her car. She hated being in this alley alone after dark. Truthfully, any alley in the dark made her skittish. She positioned her keys between her fingers like a makeshift weapon and walked a little faster.
A noise, the clatter of cans across the pavement, startled her. She glanced around, expecting a stray cat to skitter between the dumpsters.
But there was nothing.
She heard something else, though, like the low groan of an animal in its death throes.
Every instinct should have told her to walk away. Instead, she edged closer. She’d be the first to die in a horror movie acting like this… but there was a strange pull she couldn’t explain that urged her to check it out.
“Hello?”
Silence.
She fumbled with her keys, an array of novelty keyrings making way for her to grip her travel-sized pepper spray.
She cautiously moved towards the sound. If it were an animal, she didn’t want to leave the poor thing to suffer. But what if it wasn’t? What if someone was watching her, and she was willingly walking into their trap?
“I’m armed,” she added. Just in case.
Still no answer.
The air shifted. The stink of rotting garbage gave way to the sharp tang of copper… blood.
A memory slammed into her – twisted metal, broken bones, screams of pain, and that unmistakable stench.
“Who’s there?” she called. “I can get help.”
“No.”
The voice that answered was low. She followed it as best she could… but there was nobody—
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she gasped at what appeared before her. Where the wall had been swallowed in shadow, a man now slumped against it – clad in nothing but white trousers stained with blood and dirt.
No… not a man…
Gwyn lifted her pepper spray, aiming it in the… thing’s direction.
The creature had metal cuffs around its wrists, broken chains still dangling where it must have torn free. Its eyes locked on hers, golden pools of molten metal that refused to let her look away. Far too bright, and far too beautiful, to be human.
But that wasn’t what marked it as other.
No.
It was the giant fucking wings attached to it.
She wanted to scream… to run. But she stayed frozen, afraid any movement might trigger some predator-prey response.
It looked at her, panting, one hand pressed to the wound in its shoulder where blood poured through its fingers.
“What are you?” she whispered, dreading the answer.
The thing tried to stand.
“Stay back,” she barked, brandishing her spray again. A light mist of pepper to the eyes probably wouldn’t stop the beast, but it might buy her just enough time to reach her car and hightail it out of there.
It staggered weakly, eyes fluttering shut as it slumped against the wall once more. “I won’t—” The words rasped out as it struggled to gather strength. It had lost too much blood. “I won’t hurt you.”
Gwyn almost laughed. Wasn’t that what every monster said before devouring its prey?
Although… this monster looked suspiciously like a man. Rounded ears. Two arms. Two legs. No horns. No tail.
… Just wings.
What if he were some kind of test subject? A super flying soldier? He was certainly built like one – all rippling muscle she definitely shouldn’t be staring at right now.
He was bleeding badly. She needed to get him to a hospital… or a vet… or something. And fast.
“Can you walk?” she asked. He shook his head, his face so pale she wondered how long he had before passing out. There was no way she could carry him if he did. He was huge – even without the wings.
“I’m going to loop my arm around your waist and help you to my car. Is that okay?” she asked, speaking slowly as though he might not understand her. Yet another reason to think he was some kind of human experiment, not a monster from hell.
He nodded.
She moved towards him, gingerly wrapping an arm around his middle as he slung one of his over her shoulder, dwarfing her. The car was only fifty feet away, but she knew it would take everything she had to get them there. Luckily, the gym was the only other place she often frequented besides work.
“There’s a hospital not too far… I can get you some help—” Gwyn began, already planning the route in her head.
“No.” The man’s response was sharp.
She blinked at him. “You don’t want help?”
“No one else. Just you.”
“Buddy, that’s sweet and all… but I’m not a doctor.”
“You’ll do.”
Her jaw dropped. The guy was practically dying, but trusted her to save him? Although… if he was some sort of human experiment, it made sense he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near doctors and their poking and prodding. She could respect that.
“Well—maybe I have a sewing kit or something. It’ll hurt, though. And I’ll need to go out and get you some antibiotics. Don’t want to save your life just for you to die of a stupid infection!” She gave him a nervous laugh.
“Fine,” he rasped, clearly struggling to talk.
She shut up.
When they reached her Jeep, an old decommissioned M38A1 she’d picked up for a steal, she opened the passenger door and wrestled to manoeuvre him inside. Thank the gods she hadn’t put the sides or roof on. His wings just about fit, awkwardly: one stretched across the back of her seat while the other drooped into the rear.
Getting him into her apartment was going to be another test, but first they had to get him there alive.
She looked over at the man, his eyes struggling to stay open. He looked awful now – his colour ashen. She slapped his cheek to try to get him to wake up a little. It worked, as he frowned at her.
“Just hang on another few minutes, okay? We’re nearly there.”
He nodded weakly. Her apartment was only a few minutes from the café. He could make it.
“I’m Gwyn, by the way.”
“Azriel.”
“Nice to meet you, Azriel.” Talking… she needed to keep him talking. She asked the first question that came to her head. “Do you sing?”
Surprisingly, he nodded.
“Me too.” She pressed a few buttons on the dashboard, playing the only CD she owned – an old country singer with a surprisingly decent mix of heartbreak and honky-tonk. She knew every song by heart. She picked the loudest, most obnoxious track.
“Do you know this one?”
Azriel shook his head. Not surprising. Hardly anyone knew it.
“Well, just sing along with me as best you can, okay?”
Another nod. He was turning out to be a very compliant patient.
She belted the tune at the top of her lungs, determined to keep him awake. He mumbled along incoherently, but it worked. By the end of the second song, they were pulling up to her apartment block. Soon, she’d have him stretched across her tiny kitchen table, about to attempt what was probably illegal back-alley surgery.
She took a deep breath. No problem. She could do this.