Azrael startled awake, heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. Paralysis gripped him. As his senses refused to come back to him, Azrael was hit by the complete, stark oblivion that engulfed his being. Infinite white stretched on in his gradually returning vision, so uncannily flawless.
A sinking suspicious in his chest. Azrael had never been superstitious, religion never having a place in his life, but he couldn't help but dread that this was some form of afterlife. The glaring white of his surroundings and the total, cloying silence that came with it felt too surreal to not be something supernatural. The complete nothing that enveloped him was too final. Then, all of a sudden, a pleasant weight could be felt across his body and a warmth that he was sure he couldn't feel if he was dead. His senses flooded back all at once.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A heart rate monitor?
He blinked and blinked again. Finally, the stark nothing that blurrily filled his view began to focus a little and he could see the ceiling tiles. Ceiling tiles weathered with age, yellowing and cracked, and a section of washed-out blue curtains. The slight weight across his body was a thin cotton blanket that was tucked tightly down the sides of the bed he was reclined on. Disinfectant mixed with urine plagued the edge of his sense of smell. This was no afterlife.
Sighing, Azrael realised he was in a hospital ward, though he was not yet relieved at all. He'd have felt more at ease if he had woken up in that basement again.
I'm… alive? How… how did I get here?
Able to finally move his arms, Azrael patted about for the call button he was pretty sure there usually was on hospital beds so he could get a nurse's attention. His eyes were still a bit more unfocused than usual so, even as he desperately peered down, only the slightest outline of what he needed was visible. He pressed and pressed and pressed, desperate to know that he hadn't made it out alone. That he wasn't the only one that survived. He has to be alright.
It felt like an eternity passed as Azrael waited for assistance, though he was sure it wasn't really long at all. Hurried footsteps padded into the room and a mellow, amiable voice called out to him, "Ah, you're awake! Are you in any pain? Do you need any food?"
Using all of his burgeoning strength, Azrael moved his head to look up at the nurse or the doctor or whoever it was that had appeared. Whoever it was didn't matter, as long as they were staff. The awkward way he had been placed in bed so his wings weren't crushed made it hard to see her clearly as she came through the door but it was of no consequence. Hurriedly, slurring past the medication in his blood, he asked, "Where is he?"
She stopped, flashed him a puzzled look, and stood at the side of his bed, now in Azrael's line of sight. The clipboard she was holding up dropped to her side as she spoke to him, seemingly very confused. "Where is who? What is it that you want? A doctor?"
"The man-" Azrael's head was dense with whatever pain-killer was still coursing through his veins. He'd never used medication before so it was taking a strange, heavy toll on him. It was like the healing properties of his blood and the sedative properties of the medicine were mingling and, subsequently, fighting each other. He blinked at the woman sluggishly and winced as he tried to push himself into a sitting position – he gave up at a burning, pinching sensation in his lungs and ribs. No matter how he tried, he couldn't dispel the fog but he had to press on. Azrael's comfort wasn't important. "The man I must have come here with. Where is he?"
The orderly seemed to take pause, thinking for a bit, before flicking through the documents on the plastic clipboard. After a few moments, she let out a little noise and dropped the papers back down. "Oh, that rabbit man? He's down the hall. Unlike you, he didn't need any invasive surgery but he's still unconscious. Head trauma. It would be helpful if you could tell us both of your names-"
"Take me to him."
She stopped. "Huh?"
"I have to see him." Azrael was desperate. The last time he had seen Pavel's face, he was soaked in blood, from gold to burgundy. Those unequally dilated, unfocused, glassy eyes haunted his last conscious moments before he had passed out. That fading warmth in his arms. He had to see Pavel safe and healthy. "Let me see him now. I need to see him."
"Y-you can't get out of bed yet; you're still recovering from having three bullets removed from your abdomen!" Three? I was shot three times? The soothing tone she had been using dropped in an instant. She was panicked, clearly concerned that he was going to jump out of bed without thinking straight and run off into the hospital. Her hand pressed lightly on Azrael's shoulder in an attempt to keep him confined to the bed. "I can't take you there."
He looked at her, frustrated. "Check my wounds. Apart from some aching, they're already healed. I can fix him too; I can heal him even though you can't." Finally, Azrael managed to push himself up into a seated position, despite the muted aches in his overexerted bones. A wheeze infiltrated his breathing. "Take. Me. To. Him."
Clearly, the nurse was taken aback by his words, the ferocious, frantic glint that he knew was in his eyes terrifying her. Azrael never liked to cause panic in innocents but, if it was the only way to get her to listen to him, he would have to do what he had to do. A brief bout of dizziness washed over him but he willed it away.
Exhaling expressively, she put down her clipboard on the side table. "I can believe that. The surgeon was almost yelling from the rooftops about your accelerated healing making surgery almost impossible and that was without considering the massive amounts of scar tissue build-up you have on your organs. What in god's name have you been up to, young man?" She swallowed; aware she was probably going against regulations if she listened to his demands. "At least get in a wheelchair. Even if you are healed, it's just protocol. Okay?"
He nodded and waited for her to get the wheelchair in silence. Anxiety squeezed against his lungs and he hoped that Pavel was alright. He heard the footsteps returning and the sounds of shrill wheels on the floor so he turned to see a different orderly entering the room. It didn't matter, as long as they took him to the right place.
-
Azrael stared at the closed door in front of him, looking up at the hastily written name card that had been attached to it. Black marker and paper, clearly done at the last minute.
John Doe. Neither of their identities were known, so they were just the same as any other nameless patient. It felt strange to see that the man he loved had been reduced to that. However, as he mulled it over, it was almost pleasant to know they were anonymous, that no one knew who they were. What they had done. What had been done to them. For this moment, they were genuinely, completely out of harm's way.
"I can go in by myself," Azrael stated, not allowing the nurse to refute it. Even if was against protocol, the nurse could not stop him. He stood up and opened the door in one swift movement, stepping into the room that was shrouded in darkness. The curtains hadn't yet been drawn.
Swinging shut behind him, the door let out a subdued thud and he headed to the windows to rectify the shadows. Azrael didn't want Pavel to wake up in the dark, all alone. He needed to know, as soon as he woke up, that he was in a hospital and that he was by his side. He couldn't let Pavel panic for even a moment; it was the least he could do. However, he would make sure to keep some distance so he wasn't petrified by Azrael's face as he had been before.
As soon as the light spilt into the room, he situated himself on the seat to the side of Pavel's bed and watched him. The wound on his head was bandaged tightly, his hair tangled and knotted on the pillow. His ears didn't so much as twitch at Azrael's movement so he knew Pavel wasn't even close to waking up. Sighing, he took his scraped, bruised hand in his. "…I'll fix this."
Tentatively, Azrael unwound the bandages on Pavel's head and grimaced at the tight stitches across his temple that vanished into his hairline. Even after he had tried to heal it earlier, it had still been an open wound when he had passed out too. It wasn't too severe anymore; the doctors had sewn Pavel's skin back together to the point he wondered if he really needed to interfere but he couldn't help himself. Without much thought, Azrael leant forward and ran his tongue across the still-red wound and watched as the skin pulled back together and the stitches dropped out. In minutes, it looked as if he had never been injured there at all, apart from a hair-thin, white scar that was unnoticeable if not searched for.
He was relieved to know his saliva was working.
Gently, Azrael wiggled his fingers beneath Pavel's head, worming under his hair and felt stitches and glue holding his skull together. Satisfied that Pavel was no longer bleeding, he decided to not use his saliva or his blood anymore. He sat back and, once again, squeezed Pavel's hand in his and waited for him to wake up. His eyes never strayed from Pavel's face. Even as the nurses and the doctors buzzed around the room, checking his heart rate, and asking Azrael questions, he barely let himself blink for fear he would miss Pavel's eyes opening back up.
"Eh? How has his head wound healed so quickly?" A bespeckled doctor muttered, tone more curious than concerned. Leaning over the bed, their sharp-nailed fingers gently pressing at the skin of Pavel's forehead. Pulling his hair to and fro, they desperately searched for a hint of the injury that had once been there and came up blank. However, when they checked the one on the back of his head, they seemed relieved to see it was still there.
Azrael wanted to smack their hand away, but he knew they were just doing their job. "I did it." His words were emotionless and bland, leaving the doctor no room to ask further questions about what he had done. He didn't know if this doctor was the surgeon that had operated on him but he did not care if they knew about his regenerative abilities or not. All Azrael needed to know was Pavel was alright. "Will he wake up?"
"No reason that he wouldn't." That statement was confident enough but there was worry within it. He didn't entirely believe the doctor knew what they were talking about but he couldn't allow himself to lose hope. Azrael heard the click of a pen. "What are your names? I need it for your paperwork. Can't just be two 'John Does'."
Finally, he darted his gaze from Pavel's face, just long enough to see the doctor look down at yet another non-descript clipboard. "My name is Azrael." The doctor's narrow eyebrows shot up, clearly aware of the name's origin, but they didn't question it. It would be impolite. "His name is Pavel."
Nodding, they added another question. "Last names?" They looked up from the paper and blinked their cat eyes at his. Azrael saw their thin, furred tail in barely disguised irritation. "I need those too. Please."
As he considered it, Azrael didn't think it would be a good idea to tell them that they didn't have last names – at least not ones that didn't belong to the vile men who'd 'raised' them. Or Clay's last name. I don't feel right using that anymore. That would make concerned parties look more into them than he was sure they were already being looked into, considering the state they were in. Bullet wounds and a cracked-open skull would not look good. Azrael still had no clue how they'd been found but he was sure that didn't help their situation anyway. If they'd been found in the basement of the house, it must have been due to a police raid, or something, but if they'd been dumped somewhere and discovered, it would be suspicious enough for investigation as well. The law wasn't his forte so he couldn't be sure of anything. All he knew was how to avoid being arrested. Internally, he sighed. This'll turn into a complete hassle, won't it? After a moment, he did the only thing he could think of on such short notice. "Smith. Both of us. He's my- he's my husband."
Why did I say that?
Azrael bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood in an instant before it healed moments later. It was selfish and impulsive but he was sure it was the only way to explain his attachment and make sure the hospital allowed him to stay by Pavel's side. At least their sorry state meant it made sense he had no proof of it. Any other excuse of just being relatives wouldn't make any sense, considering how plainly different they were. Even if he just said they were friends, in Pavel's state, they might not allow non-family visitors. This was the only choice. The only choice.
I'll just keep telling myself that.
The doctor nodded, uncaring of the voracity of those claims, scribbled down Azrael's answers and swiftly left the room. It was just him, alone with his thoughts as Pavel remained unconscious on the bed.
-
It took a day and a half for Pavel to wake up.
Azrael was resting his eyes, sitting up straight on the chair that he had barely moved from since he first entered Pavel's room when he heard a hoarse voice. It was small, husky from misuse but he heard it, clear as day. "Azrael?"
Snapping his eyes open, he was met with that clear, golden gaze and it felt as if his heart flew right out of his chest. Azrael clasped Pavel's hand tightly in his instinctively and, for the first time, he clasped back. "Pavel, thank god. How are you feeling? Do you need water? Food?" He was completely overwhelmed, prepared to run away if Pavel showed the slightest fear at his presence, as he had before when waking up. His nails pressed firmly into the scales on the back of Azrael's hand, seemingly unwilling to let go.
Quickly, Azrael made a move to call a nurse for assistance when Pavel let out a melodious laugh and flashed him the broadest grin someone in a hospital bed could. Pavel was unnaturally spirited for a man coming out of a brief coma – it felt like the already sun-lit room became a thousand watts brighter. "I'm… I'm alright. How about you? You got shot more than once; you had it pretty bad yourself."
Furrowing his brow, Azrael didn't answer for a few moments. Wasn't he unconscious already when that happened? He shook his head and assumed he must have heard the gunshots right before he passed out. "My body heals quickly, you know that. They only had to remove the bullets and I did the rest." Azrael pressed the call button without looking away from Pavel. "I fixed your head wound too, so they'll likely let us go once they've examined you again. But…" He wanted to ask more, but guilt flooded him when he remembered how he'd stepped in too late, how he'd let Pavel get hurt like that again because he'd been too terrified. Despite it all, Azrael felt like he was unworthy to ask such an intrusive question. He swallowed. "Are… are you sure you're alright?"
"I am, Azrael. I am and I can't wait to go home." Pavel was calm, almost so calm it was unsettling, but Azrael knew that it was likely how he was coping with all of this. He had come to learn, over the time they had known each other, that Pavel was far better than him at keeping his emotions in check. What had happened to him was not the first time, so, as disgusting and invariably depressing as that was, Azrael could sort of get why he was, seemingly, fine. It was easy to pretend it didn't matter, that it didn't hurt when it was the hundredth time, compared to the first time. Pulling their clasped hands up, Pavel pressed the back of Azrael's hand to his lips, peppering the scales there with light kisses. "I can't wait."
The tips of Azrael's ears burned red hot, his behaviour completely unexpected and throwing him off guard. He just stared back at Pavel, meeting his smiling eyes with his own nervous ones. Azrael wanted to speak but he was cut off by a nurse barrelling into the room.
"You've woken up! How are you feeling?"
-
Three weeks had passed since he and Pavel had been discharged from the hospital and everything had fallen right back into place. It was all like it had been before the man-shaped monster had invaded their lives. Peaceful, quiet, and normal. So normal that this felt like another life entirely. It was strange, but Azrael tried not to overthink it.
As he stood in the kitchen, cutting up some assorted vegetables for their dinner, Azrael looked over at Pavel. He was curled up in the corner of the sofa, silhouetted by the setting sun, with a book he had probably read before in his hands. A scene that racked Azrael with a tender familiarity. Swelling, tangible bliss filled his chest and he found himself smiling again as he so often did these days.
Everything was just perfect.
Except for one thing. One damn thing that he had been putting off again and again and again for the entire time that Pavel and he had been home. Azrael was nothing if not an eternal coward, running from his own feelings, despite how he desired to express them. Despite how obvious he was being. Despite how he knew how Pavel felt. Despite it all, he was desperately afraid that it would backfire.
Pavel still didn't know that Azrael loved him, just as much, if not more, as Pavel loved him. The man had certainly assumed as much, he could be sure of that, with the way he would hold his hand, press kisses to his cheeks and curl up in his arms in bed. There was no hesitation in his actions anymore, like they were as natural as breathing to him. Though, as there was that uncertainty, and their own life experiences, it never strayed past that. That was wonderful, Azrael could not complain about these new habits, but he couldn't bear to leave it unsaid any longer. He resolved to tell Pavel tonight, during a somewhat romantic home-cooked dinner. Azrael turned his head back to the cutting board and continued to prepare the food.
Footsteps padded towards him on the old tile floor but Azrael kept his head down, intent on making their meal to the best of his untrained abilities. He wanted to impress Pavel. He wanted him to be proud of everything he did. Arms wormed themselves around Azrael's waist and he, yet again, smiled to himself, carefree. Hands clasped in a tight fist against the soft plain of his stomach.
"What you makin'?" Pavel's face pressed to the nape of his bare neck; his breath hot but welcome. Nuzzling his nose against him, Pavel pressed himself so close that every curve of his body was slotted against every complimentary curve of Azrael's. It was like he was intending to glue them together. Not that I would oppose that at all. "Looks like a lotta work."
Azrael chuckled lightly. "It's not a lot of work; just steak and some vegetables. Not much at all." He scooped up the carrots he had finished cutting into rounds and threw them in the pot of boiling water. "Not when it's for you." It was a non-confession but being honest about something even as small as this gave him courage for later.
"So sappy. What a hopeless romantic." Azrael took pause at Pavel's words but he giggled against his neck, the sound reverberating through his body and he couldn't help but want to turn around and look at him. Just as he was about to pry Pavel's arms off of him so he could do just that, Pavel pressed his lips to Azrael's skin and mumbled something he didn't quite catch.
His movement paused. "What'd you say?"
Pavel took a step back and allowed Azrael to turn around though he pressed himself to his front as soon as he had. Azrael barely had a chance to shift his wings so they didn't get caught between his body and the counter. With a wide, toothy grin, Pavel stared up at Azrael with such adoration in his eyes that he felt like he could combust. "I said: I expect nothing less from my devoted husband."
The smile Azrael had on his lips froze and his words died in his throat. He brought his hands up and placed them on Pavel's hips so he could create a modicum of space between them. Everything felt too close. Is he teasing me? Did he somehow hear about me claiming to be his husband in the hospital? Earnestly, Azrael asked him, "What do you mean by that?" He knew Pavel had never been away from his side for the entire time he was awake in the hospital so there had been no real chance for a nurse or doctor to say anything. Even off-handedly, Azrael would have heard them mention it. What the hell is he talking about?
"Why are you so surprised? We're married!" Pavel's tone was joyous but serious, with no hint of a joke in his words at all. He held up his hand, a silver ring glinting in the dying light of the sun on his left hand's fourth finger. An adorned ring finger – an undeniable identifier of a married man. Azrael didn't recognise the jewellery as he stared and stared until he suddenly did. He would be able to recognise that goddamn ring until the day he died.
That wedding band had been Clay's.
And it had been cremated with him. Reduced to nothing and scattered with his ashes in the river that cut across his farm, never to be remade.
The world felt like it was crumbling but Azrael kept himself together the best he could. Perhaps he was just remembering wrong and that was a different, yet similar, ring but that still made no sense. It had only been three weeks since the hospital, since that bastard had died – they couldn't have been married when Azrael hadn't even confessed his love to him. Has Pavel suffered brain damage? A traumatic brain injury, is that what this is? Should I phone the hospital?
Anxiously, Azrael rubbed his thumbs against Pavel's waist. He stared at him, unable to look away. It felt like he was patching his crumbling mind back together with wet sand. It was ineffective and dragging more of his reality away each time it collapsed. Keeping his voice calm, making sure it didn't wobble or hitch, Azrael asked, "How… for how long?"
He tilted his head slightly, clearly confused, but Pavel laughed heartily before speaking again. "Don't tell me you forgot? It's our first anniversary next week!" Pavel leant forward, pushing up on his tiptoes before pressing a chastely passionate kiss to Azrael's lips. He lingered there for a few brief moments, his eyes never closing or shifting from Azrael's as if he was the most beautiful thing in the world. Neither of them blinked.
That had been the first time Pavel had kissed him on the lips since that day in the Lotus all those weeks ago and this, somehow, felt even more wrong. Azrael felt frozen, alien, his skin trapping him as he looked at Pavel. Everything was closing in on him and not even Pavel's presence could make anything feel solid or safe anymore. He was unable to think clearly, unable to reciprocate that action even though it was something he had wanted for so long. Azrael's face fell into a deep frown.
"Oh." He drank in Pavel's face as his heart fell to the pits of his stomach. No matter how many times he looked at him, it was never enough. His face was the one that he wanted to look at until the moment he could see no more. Sorrow filled Azrael's gaze, intense in its weight.
"What is it?" A worried smile crinkled Pavel's ravishing, flawless face. Hands danced around Azrael's waist and he pulled him back into an embrace, still staring up at him. The light of the dying sun struck Pavel in a way that made his golden glow that much brighter but that glow cast shadows that faded his features in darkness. "Azrael? What is it?"
Azrael stared at him unblinking. He couldn't talk to him. He could find nothing to say. The complete perfection of everything finally fell into place, the gaps in this scenario finally made sense. How they had gotten out of the basement. How they had been released from the hospital so quickly. How no police had ever questioned them. Why there was no investigation at all even though Azrael had been shot and the evidence of rape was heavy on Pavel's body. No news, not even a tiny article, over the death of an affluent foreign gang head – an inconceivably rare shape-shifter at that. Why Pavel was no longer terrified when he woke up and saw Azrael's face next to his in the night.
A solitary tear trickled down Azrael's cheek.
"This isn't real."