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Black blood where gold once was
Heat.
Unbearably hot and consuming every atom of his body is all he can feel.
Burning everything that was him, everything that was good and pure and whole. Leaving nothing but emptiness.
It hurts. So, so much.
But at least it distracts him from the tempting, dark voices in his head, trying to lure him in, tormenting his mind relentlessly.
„Come to us.“
„Let go.“
„You're one of us.“
„COME.“
He shakes his head weakly, trying to silence them for what feels like the millionth time as panic claws through him.
Black tears slip beneath his tightly shut lashes.
Smoke curls through the air, making it so hard to breath. His wings are spread out across the cold marble floor, twitching with every small movement he makes.
„No! Leave me... alone,“ he begs, clutching his temples. Trying to squeeze the voices out. So loud. So seductive. So wrong.
Suddenly, a soft hiss beside him tears him from his thoughts.
He opens his eyes to the blurry shape of the white-haired angel who had left him earlier.
Why was he here?
With trembling effort he pushes himself up onto one elbow, hissing as the pain flares up with every movement, as he tries to get into a half-sitting position. He pulls his wings tighter around his trembling body, trying to shield it.
The other angel – General Aziraphale – takes a small step towards him, hesitantly reaching out before withdrawing his hand again. The light of the Eternal Flame beside him paints his wings softly gold.
„You're back. That's unexpected.“ A faint, bitter smile tugs at his lips. „Here to gloat over my misery?“
„Um- no I just... just wanted to- I just couldn't leave you here.“ Aziraphale takes another small step towards him, awkwardly looking around at the war-ruined pillars surounding them, unable to meet his eyes.
The wounded angel chuckles bitterly.
„How nice of you, General. Well now that you're here, we-“ Pain suddenly shoots through his leg when he shifts it slightly. He doubles over with a cry, clutching at the wound.
„Wait- let me help,“ Aziraphale kneels beside him and reaches out instinctively. Before he can get a hold of him, the red-haired angel hisses and pulls a wing between them.
„Dont'!“ he whispers.
„Just go. Leave me alone.“
He curls in on himself, as he struggles to steady his breathing. Both of them stare at the almost black blood that oozes out and builds a dark pool on the cracked marble floor beneath them.
They think the same thing. The blood should be angelic golden, not this thick black mass and more importantly, there is far too much of it.
„Why won't you let me help you? Just let me tighten the bandage. There's so much blood already, at this rate-“ Their eyes meet.
„There's no use. I can't be helped anymore. I'm- I'm already damned. You would just delay the inevitable.“
Black dots appear before his eyes. His blood burns beneath his skin. The arm he leans on wobbles.
„Come. You don't belong here anymore. “
He shakes his head, desperately tryring to shut the poisonous voices down.
But they only grow louder again, shriller.
„You are damed.“
„You're one of us now.“
„Come.“
The whispers turn to screams.
They echo in his head and through the endless ruins around him. Dying voices. Dying angels.
Then he screams too.
His arm gives out.
He falls backward, eyes closing.
A rush of wind brushes past him. Something soft catches him before he hits the hard stone. White feathers brush against ruined wings. On instinct he leans into it, so reliefed and too tired to resist the little bit of comfort.
For a few moments, he just lies there, totally drained.
He feels something creeping up his throat and coughs, tasting blood. He just lets it happen.
The voices quiet to whispers again. His body trembles as the fire inside him burns on.
He just wants it to stop. He wants to go back to when everything was joy and there were stars.
His stars.
Existing somewhere above the heavenly battlefield. Without him.
„Shhh,“ he hears a soft sound. „Calm down, my dear. Just relax.“
A hand brushes away the blood dripping from his mouth. He feels fingers on his forehead. A light pressure. Gentle words he can't quiet make out.
And then, finally, there is calm.
He allows himself to enjoy this fragile peace for a few seconds before lifting a trembling hand to stop him.
„Don't,“ he murmers, opening his eyes to meet Aziraphale's gaze. His eyes impossibly blue.
„You can't do this. If someone finds out, you're putting yourself in danger.“
Aziraphale stares at him silently, as if only now realizing the risk of being here at all. Almost unconsciously, he shifts away, but remains by the other angel's side, not daring to move his wing.
They stare at each other. Silence settles between them, until the wounded one whispers, „Scared you, didn't I?“
Aziraphale shrugs.
„But it seems not enough to get rid of you?“
Aziraphale slowly shakes his head, something soft flickers across his face.
„Alright then... while I rot away, let's chat for a little bit. Care to explain what you're doing here?“
The white-haired angel shrugs again and stares ahead where the Enternal Flame is flickering softly nearby, its pale golden light glows through the ruins.
„I don't know. I just... somehow I couldn't forget you. I saw so many angels fall today and when I left you here to- I'm not made for any of this,“ he gestures around them, unable to say more.
A scornful laugh leaves the other one's mouth.
„So you are not cut out for being a good, little soldier? Quiet late for that realization, don't you think?“ He moves, hissing in agony, „After striking down your own brothers and sisters. Carrying out Her instructions. Just doing it, because She tells you to. Because you're her obedient angel.“
„Stop it!“ Aziraphale cuts in, „It's what we must do. You don't question the words of the Almighty. And you were all awful angels. Rebelling against Her! You needed to be punished for it.“
„Huh, thanks for the compliment. So asking a few questions -wanting to understand why- is such a terrible crime?“ the red-haired murmers bitterly. He closes his eyes, too exhausted to keep them open.
„What?“ Aziraphale asks, confused.
„Let's... not go there. I don't want to taint your pure existence with my filthy doings.“
For a while, neither of them knows what to say.
As Aziraphale's miracle slowly fades, the agnoy returns in full force.
He whimpers.
„I'm sorry that it hurts so much.“ Aziraphale hovers over him. He feels the blood on the floor soaking his tartan battle dress, warm and sticky. He doesn't care.
„I don't want your mercy.“ The other angel breathes out.
Aziraphale lets his eyes wander over the shivering body. Still clinging to life, even now. None of the others he saw falling today fought this much.
The angel's head rests against Aziraphale's white wings. Red curls cling to his pale face. Blood darkens the corners of his mouth, closed eyes pressed together. His wings are dark grey, almost black now.
„If it hurts so much... why won't you let go?“ Aziraphale asks gently.
There is silence. He is not sure if the other angel even heard him.
Then his brown eyes open again.
„I don't want to go.“
Aziraphale looks stricken.
„I'm afraid. I know there will be more pain, more torture.
I want to stay, I-I'm not finished here. I was so happy. I want to create. Down there... Will I even be me? Will they take my stars from me too?“
„Your stars?“
„My nebula... all the stars it gave life to, the most beautiful thing.“ A sad smile forms on his lips.
Aziraphale sits there, processing the words, when suddenly something clicks into place. A memory awakes. Of an angel with vibrant, red locks, just like this one. Deep brown eyes, marvelling at the creation coming to live before him.
„It's you!“ Aziraphale breaths, „We've met before- when you- when your nebula was born. I was there, too!“
They stare at each other, as recognition blooms in the other one's eyes now, too.
„Oh... I rememer you, I think. You had all that ridiculous fluffy hair, didn't you?“
Aziraphale smiles despite himself. „Indeed! I didn't think you noticed me as you just had eyes for your stars. Oh, what are the odds? That was so long ago. We were so innocent.“
„Well not that innocent now, are we?“
And just like that, reality crashes back in.
Utterly drained of all his energy by the conversation just now, the red-haired angel closes his eyes, his breathing strained.
Eventually, he starts to speak again.
„I can't remember it properly anymore, Azirphale. It's slipping away. The colours are leaving me. Everything feels wrong now. Ruined. No more stars. Just dying screams and nothingness.“
Aziraphale doesn't know what to say.
He watches him swat weakly at things that aren't there. Warmth fades from the air around them.
„Come now.“
„It's time.“
„Join us.“
„Fall.“ „Fall.“ „Fall.“
Aziraphale gasps as the burning hot fingers of the wounded angel suddelny grip his hand. He caresses them with his thumb, rubbing soothing circles across his skin. There is nothing left to do.
They are just waiting for the inevitable to happen.
The angel just lies there now. No more fight left. Stillness settles over him at last.
Aziraphale brushes a hand through the red hair.
„You can let go now, dear. Don't be afraid. I will- I will visit the stars for you. I'll tell them that you never stopped loving them. I promise.“
He feels the other angel squeezing his hand weakly, as if in gratitude.
The eyes open just a crack. He looks calm now.
„Thank you.“ His voice is barely audible now. „Thank you for being there, then and now. I really-“
The ground trembles beneath them, as if something deep below heaven opens up and then he is gone.
Like he never existed. Only the black blood stain remains. Black feathers scatter in the smoky air.
Aziraphale sits there with wide eyes. He saw so many of his siblings fall today. It hurt everytime. But this was different. He heard the sorrows, witnessed the pain and the fight for life. Remembering the good angel he was before all this. The wonder in his eyes.
His chest aches painfully. He almost can't bear it, but refuses to let the tears fall.
A black feather drifts through the smoky air. He watches it land before him and picks it up. He presses it to his chest.
„I'm sorry.“ It's all he can think to say.
Everything is quiet now. The feather flickers faintly before fading away, just like the angel who left it behind.
„Farewell.“
He allows himself another few moments to grieve, before he forces it all back down.
He gets up, nods to himself as he turns and leaves.
His footsteps echo through the empty ruins of heaven as he walks away.
Soldiering on. Being good.