Viscera dripped down the wall, thick and dark. Everything was painted red, Azrael's vision obscured as blood oozed down his face. Huffing a ragged breath, he could taste it at the back of his throat, settling in his lungs like dust. Another layer to join what was already there.
Unknowable time had passed. Bones no longer contorted miserably under his skin. Azrael kneeled, his taloned but human-shaped feet tucked beneath him, his taloned but human-shaped hands caked with blood, a face that was, finally, human twitched below the dripping blood. Fog clouded his mind. Heaving, rattling breaths racked his body, ribs screaming in protest. He could feel his mouth moving, feel sounds escaping his lips but he had no idea what he was whispering.
Azrael couldn't blink as he stared at the mass of flesh spread across the floor below him. He didn't remember what he had done but he saw the aftermath, felt the filth coating his body, the bruises blossoming across his skin, and he knew what had done. A heavy, warm feeling settled deep in his abdomen, a full stomach churning with viscous blood. Just like when he was six years old, just like when he was seventeen years old, his rage and terror had forced him to snap once more.
But, finally, Etienne Du Rand was dead.
He was gone. They were free.
Huffing out a wheeze, something rattling against his ribcage, Azrael pulled himself up from where he was kneeling on the floor. Almost ready to crumple to the ground immediately and never rise again, he flapped his wings in a weak attempt to keep himself upright. Unsteady legs wobbled beneath him as he turned to look for Pavel. It had been too many moments for him to be away from the other man, especially when Azrael knew he had been hurt.
Across the desolate, silent, basement, crumpled in a naked heap surrounded by a puddle of dark blood, Pavel lay motionlessly. Azrael could barely see if his was chest moving or hear any signs of life but he refused to allow himself to think that the man was dead. He would not die, not here. His freedom had now been bought and he could not die before he got to live. He must get Pavel out.
"…Pavel." Azrael hissed, unable to talk any louder as he limped across the room to him. His throat was hoarse and thick with gore. It felt like the room was getting longer and longer, miles between them. With every step he took, Azrael stumbled sideways, dangerously close to collapsing to the floor. While the bullet wound that he remembered sustaining had already healed, the amount of blood he had lost was impacting him. He couldn't be sure that the bullet – or bullets, the blood on him was so much, he couldn't be sure if it was all his or mostly Du Rand's – had exited his body properly. His organs wailed in agony as they jolted with Azrael's every movement, feeling as if they were being torn apart with each step. Azrael thought he could feel something metal, no, numerous metal bits jostling against his lungs.
One step forward, two steps sideways.
Azrael had to hope his regenerative abilities were doing their job properly. At least it didn't feel like any more blood was oozing out of him now. His hazy vision was too obscured by the congealed gore plastered across his torso to see if there were bullet-shaped scars there. He just had to stay alive long enough to get Pavel out of this godforsaken place. He had to be safe.
As he closed the gap between them, it felt like the world was flickering in and out of view, flashing between black nothing and Pavel's red-dyed form on the ground. Azrael shook his head and lurched forward again and again and again. Finally, he toppled headfirst and collapsed onto his knees to the side of Pavel. His skin was coated in the sticky, drying blood from the puddle that was leaking out from Pavel's wounds. He didn't care – every inch of his pallid skin was already stained, this was nothing new.
After several moments, Azrael felt Pavel's heartbeat. Weak, slow, shallow but there. He sighed but it was cut off by a hacking cough. His entire body convulsed as he tried to get rid of whatever was caught in his throat, constricting it and making him unable to breathe. A clotted glob of blood was shaken loose and he spat it to the ground, dribbling bloody spittle down his chin and chest as he went. The congestion in his lungs felt mildly lighter.
Unsure if he could get up, Azrael decided to scoop Pavel's limp body into his arms and cradle him on his lap. All he could do was wait for his strength to return to him and they would both get out of there.
Pavel's skin was ashen, the crimson splatter on his cheeks a stark contrast. It looked all the more gruesome against his slack, unconscious face. Not even his eyes twitched under his eyelids as he lay completely still across Azrael's lap. The only sign he was alive was that Azrael could feel the slight breeze of Pavel's breath against his hand as he cupped his face, running his finger against the skin under his eye.
That golden hair of his was a dark burgundy now and more blood kept oozing from the jagged gash on his temple. It vanished into his hairline and Azrael was unsure how large it was. He knew head injuries bled a lot but this was too much if it was just a flesh wound. Despite the crippling agony his body was in, the way Azrael could feel his blood desperately trying to sew him back together, he leaned down and pressed his tongue to the wound. He ran it across the bloody canyon again and again and again until his mouth was thick with Pavel's blood, replacing the taste of Du Rand's filth.
It looked like the wound was healing, but it seemed much, much slower than it usually took. Azrael's brain was too foggy, thick and slow from blood loss, to be able to worry properly. The silence and the cold and the emptiness of the basement made a paralysing tightness clench his heart. Running his talons through the blood-matted hair that fanned out from Pavel's head, Azrael found himself desperate to speak and break the oppressive quietude.
"Please… wake up." His words were thin and strained. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't breathe properly. Dizziness enveloped him. Heavy, his head fell, his chin to his chest and, as Azrael was unable to lift it again, he just stared at Pavel. "Please."
He didn't stir.
All Azrael could do was pull his warmth ever closer as that head wound slowly pulled itself back together. He didn't know why it wasn't fixed by now, it had been a couple of minutes and most wounds were healed by that point. Powerless to do much else, he decided to coat it in more saliva, just to be safe. Unable to think of anything else, Azrael left a pool on his temple, hoping it would work more.
Splitting pain shot through his skull as he pulled back. Azrael didn't know what was going on. He had been in rough positions before, beaten, stabbed, and shot many times, but this was different. He could endure anything thrown at him, bounce back from any injury, but he had never been this incapable and weak before. Something very, very wrong was happening.
Every attempt he made to stand back up was thwarted by the buckling of his knees. It was like his bones hadn't gone back together quite right when he'd become human-shaped again. Despite everything, despite his desire to get Pavel out of this hellhole, Azrael couldn't even stand up by himself – what hope did he have to save him too. He coughed again and a spray of blood misted Pavel's face.
Azrael crinkled his brow. He didn't like to see his face so marred with filth. Without access to any clean cloth, he tried to rub it away with the palm of his hand, but it was like Pavel's skin was inked with blood. Stained down to his bones, it seemed, his face was smeared crimson and mottled with purple bruises. A water droplet fell on Pavel's eyelid.
Moving to swipe it away with the side of his finger, Azrael took pause when another quickly joined it, before it slid down his cheekbone. Then another and another and another. An unending torrent.
Only when he sniffled did he realise that he had begun crying. Try as he might, Azrael couldn't stop his tears from falling. Pressing his palms to his eyes, he let out a choked sob, an ugly, aborted noise at the back of his throat. Blubbering like a child, he hunched over Pavel and filled the basement with his weak cries. They echoed back at him, taunting him.
Pathetic. Weak. I'm nothing, nothing, nothing.
Unable to fight it, Azrael gave up. Sheets of tears soaked his skin, pouring down his cheeks, collecting at his chin and dripping onto Pavel's face. Snot dribbled across his lips as he choked on his sorrow. His hands pressed harder against his eyes, talons digging into his forehead. He could be drawing blood, he could be ripping his own skin off but he didn't care – it was all he goddamn deserved.
Why can't I fucking do anything!?
Useless. Useless. Fucking useless!
Azrael didn't know if he was thinking or speaking. If he was making any noise, if he was breathing, if he was moving. He didn't even know if he was really alive. Everything felt hopeless, even after he had finally killed that monster. The only real obstacle in their life had been removed, yet dread pooled heavily in his stomach and anguish dizzied his head. As Azrael sucked in a shaking, rattling breath, something warm touched his wrist, fleeting and feather-light, but it happened.
Removing his hands from his eyes, Azrael blinked the teary film from his vision and gazed back down at Pavel. He was met with his deep honey eyes, dull, glassy and unfocused, but they were there, looking at him. Weakly, Pavel's hand reached back out to him, trying to touch his face. Overwhelmed, by joy, by misery, by hope, Azrael leaned forward and crashed his face into his palm.
Closing his eyes, eyelashes damp with the remains of his tears, Azrael sniffled. "You're… awake."
Pavel didn't say anything, faintly twitching his fingers against Azrael's skin like he wanted to soothe him. Azrael shifted his face and brushed his lips against his palm before opening his eyes again so he could look at Pavel. It wouldn't even be enough to stare at his face every second of every day for eternity. He pressed his lips more firmly to Pavel's skin before he spoke once more.
"Are you alright?"
Attentively, he stared hard at Pavel's face, watching his lips moving as he tried to talk. A wheezing noise came out of his mouth, formless sounds that were almost words. His eyes were dilated strangely, one pupil far more blown out than the other. Scrunching his nose, runny with snot and blood, with all the effort he could, Pavel rasped, "Is… he… he… ah- dead?"
Slow and slurred, his words were almost unintelligible but Azrael heard him and understood. Pressing light kisses to Pavel's cold palms, he muttered back,
scared to talk too loudly. "He's gone. You're safe."
A wonky, half-formed smile danced across Pavel's face before a sickly green tint washed over his skin and he violently convulsed to the side. Vomiting up the nothing in his stomach, yellow bile mixed with the blood on the floor. The smell was sharp, pungent and bitter. His body heaved and jolted, his digestive system contracting as it desperately tried to expel something that wasn't there.
Distressed, Azrael rubbed his back, held back his hair and cradled his shaking body. Rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades, he desperately muttered soft nothings to Pavel. "Sh, sh, it's alright. You'll feel better soon." Rocking back and forth, he waited for Pavel to stop expelling all of the fluids his body had left. "Mh, good, good, get it all out. It's ok."
Azrael knew, despite what he was saying, this couldn't be good. He cursed to himself, hating the fact he knew nothing about injuries or medicine because he'd never needed to know. Firmly, he continued to knead Pavel's back, hoping to relieve some of the tension in his muscles.
Finally, Pavel stopped vomiting and he relaxed back into Azrael's lap, completely exhausted. Utterly limp now, he couldn't even lift his arm back up entirely to Azrael's face again. Seeing what he wanted to do, Azrael removed one of his arms from around Pavel and gently held his wrist so he could nuzzle his face into that weak hand. Letting out a thin sigh, Pavel blinked disjointedly and stared up at Azrael. "…my h-head… hurts."
Kissing Pavel's fingers, Azrael pulled his body further into his lap, desperate to distract him, desperate to keep Pavel comfortable. "I know. I know." Placing Pavel's hand back down, Azrael completely wrapped his arms around Pavel and sat him up slightly more. His head fell into the crook of Azrael's neck. "I can't… I can't move but I'll get you out of here soon." He turned his head away from Pavel's face and coughed, blood dribbling from his lips again. Something rattled in his lungs again.
"…Are- fuck, are you… okay, A…Azrael?"
Azrael blinked, swallowed back the blood in his mouth and licked back the blood on his lips before turning his head towards Pavel. He didn't need to see that the blood on him wasn't just Du Rand's. "I will be. Don't worry." He ran his fingers through Pavel's hair, chunks of congealed blood catching on his talons and falling to the floor. Remembering that the back of Pavel's head had also been smashed into the concrete, Azrael made sure to keep his fingers away from his scalp. This situation left him completely helpless and incompetent. "We'll be fine."
Despite getting rid of that thing who had put them in this situation, Azrael felt just as hopeless as he had when he was first put in this damn basement. Biting back that uncomfortable anxiety, he pressed his nose to Pavel's hair and tried to just feel his warmth. That warmth was a welcome comfort, a grounding, real, tangible feeling that reminded Azrael that they were both alive. Inhaling deeply, he was hit by only the overwhelming stench of blood – no matter how he nosed at Pavel's hair, he couldn't smell the scent he normally had. It was perturbing but understandable. Azrael wheezed.
A tiny voice against his skin. "…tired."
It was probably not a good idea to let Pavel sleep but Azrael could barely bite back the total weariness that had settled in his bones. His eyes were struggling to stay open so, despite his better judgement, he slowly leant back. Carefully cupping Pavel's neck and head, he lowered him to the ground first, laying him on his side before following him. Wincing, Azrael lay facing Pavel, gently sliding an arm under his neck and the other around Pavel's waist, slotting their bodies together. To cushion him, Azrael shifted onto his back as much as he could without hurting his wings and pulled Pavel onto his chest, using his own torso as padding so he wasn't completely flat on the hard ground. Hand cupping the base of his head, Azrael made sure not to touch the wound on the back of his skull while not allowing it to touch the ground either.
Azrael stared down at Pavel's scrunched-up face, his eyes barely open as he wriggled further into Azrael's arms. He rasped a pained moan before he bent his leg and brought it up, hooking it over Azrael's waist, pressing them so close there was no space between them at all. Any clothes they had once had were long gone, all of their skin pressed together. Slotting together in this embrace was far more intimate, far more touching than anything they could do. On the floor of the basement, blood-soaked, their bodies entwined and became one far more poignantly than something as simple as sex could manage.
Unconsciously, Azrael rubbed his hands up and down Pavel's back, lulling him to sleep. He watched as Pavel slowly lost the ability to keep his eyes open, his pained breathing becoming even and his already limp body becoming completely listless. Letting out a relieved sigh, though it was laced with some concern that Pavel wouldn't wake up ever again, Azrael soon let his own exhaustion grab hold of him. It was incredibly stupid to fall asleep – they were still trapped in the basements of Du Rand's home, his henchmen still free to come down and hurt them again.
But Azrael did not care.
Tucking his face completely into Pavel's hair, pulling his arms as tight to his body as he could with Pavel within them, he closed his eyes. Breathing in and out calmly, he could smell nothing but blood and bile. However, the feeling of Pavel's body heat overwhelmed everything else, permeating through his cold skin and scales and allowing him to finally feel somewhat relaxed. Allowing his worries to be put to the wayside, Azrael stopped thinking and just focused on Pavel.
Right before sleep took him, he mumbled into Pavel's hair, even though he knew he couldn't hear him at this point – sleep had long since taken him, thankfully. He was still and slack. "…You're… gonna be alright…"