January 10, 2007 (Revised February 7, 2007)

xXx

Author’s Note:

Well, here’s another story of mine. This takes place in the same world as my other story, Heir of Sethion. Though, this story really has nothing to do with my other one, just the setting is the same. This is a slash story with M/M relations. Also, as a warning, this isn’t going to be a story with a happy ending. So if you like stories with happy endings, this isn’t the story for you.

Now, I believe that I’m starting to ramble, so on with the story.

xXx

Of Love and Broken Wings

Part One

xXx

“Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.”

- PSALM 17:8

xXx

My name is Christopher de’ Leion, I am a demon of Hell. I am six foot with a wing span of seven and a half feet, my hair and eye color are the same, brown. I am, or once was, a lieutenant general of the Legion, the great demon army of Hell, who worked directly under the Daimon himself, the king of Hell. Demons and angels are always at war, fighting for any reason, land, food, power, but mainly just to fight, it always has been and always will.

I am writing this now, because I have a story to tell...

...and this is my story...

xXx

I had stopped running after looking back to make sure that I was not longer being fallowed. Holding my wounded stomach, I leaned by back against a tree for support. After giving my lungs the air they so desperately needed, I inspected the damage inflicted upon my person. My right eye was bleeding where, I assumed, a knife had cut me from where my eyebrow and the bridge of my noise meet, to my right ear lobe. Through my shock, I didn’t have the courage to see if my eye was even still there. I didn’t even have to try and move my right wing to see if it was broken, if the abnormal bend and the telltale pain were any indication. I had also torn a few muscles in my legs. However, I ignored the pain, in lieu of other pressing matters, like those traitorous bastards who had the nerve to call themselves elite demons of my own battalion.

“Damn those bastards,” I voiced my cures aloud. “Damn, damn, damn,” I repeated with an aspirated sigh as my legs gave out, earning a sharp pain in my wing when I fell to the ground. Not good, I thought. My battalion and I had been searching the south-eastern part of the Jinova forest, right by the border, for the enemy. I had gotten a report from a very reliable, if not illegal, source that a scout of angels were beyond their borders and in our territory. However, we’d been searching for days, but to no avail. After the sixth day, my very own battalion had gotten fed up with me, thinking that I had sent them on a wild chase to keep them from their homes during their vacations, and then they betrayed me. See, when enlisted in the demon army, one only gets a vacation once a year, and only at the request of their superior officer. And to think that I was so kind as to actually GIVE them a vacation!

“What in Hell’s great name am I going to do now,” I said aloud to myself and sighed. I could go back to the Majestic Palace and inform the Daimon himself about my good for nothing battalion, in which they would be executed for betraying their lieutenant general. However, since there was no official report about the enemy, I would be executed right next to them. They knew this, that’s why they were lenient about letting me go, even if their intent was to kill me. Though, it wasn’t like I could just run away. One; I would have no where to go, as a high ranking lieutenant general on my way to being promoted to full general, and, not to sound too arrogant, I was known throughout the demons of Hell. Two; I had a fiancée, it was a fixed courting to be sure, I don’t even like females, but who was I to mess around with politics? The Daimon himself brought up the idea, I couldn’t very well say no to my own sovereign. I didn’t really care much anyway, so I just went along with the engagement. It wasn’t like I was going to be at home that often. I had only met her twice, and it wasn’t that she was a bad looking demon either; it was just that I never cared for intimacy with females.

“Damn!” I cursed yet again and banged my injured head against the tree trunk then winced in pain. “I’m screwed either way.” I closed my eyes to rest. I was tired, unbearable so, and sleep was top priority, then seeing to my wounds, even if I were to die of blood loss in my sleep. I was drifting off when I heard singing, at first I put it off to the state of my mind, but then it continued. Aggravating my injures, I stood and wondered through the thick forest towards the beautiful sound. Coming to a clearing, well a clearing compared to the rest of the forest, I saw a white winged angel sitting on a stump of a tree. His eyes were close and his fingers intertwined together. His ivory wings drawn to their fullest and his long platinum hair falling like a veil around him. Abruptly, the angel stopped singing and opened his eyes, and I was looking at the deepest violet I had ever seen. The angel unfolded his hands and smiled at me. It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. However, at the time, I wasn’t thinking about his beautiful smile, or enticing eyes of pure amethyst. I was thinking that I had no weapons to fight with, hidden or otherwise. I had lost all weapons in the fight with my battalion.

“Hello,” the angel said without standing, the sun’s rays making him look like and apparition.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I asked instead, getting into a fighting stance, hoping in fooling him into thinking that I had strength left to fight, where as I knew it was over for me. “You are trespassing in Hell territory.”

“My name is Michael. I am a lone angel, a wondering angel,” he continued with a smile. It was a sad smile.

“Coincidentally ‘wondering’ into Hell?” I said with skepticism, wishing I had at least one weapon. My body was in no condition to be fighting hand-to-hand combat, not to mention that I felt I was going to collapse very soon. That was all I needed, passing out in front of

the enemy. As I thought it, my legs nearly gave out before I caught him self.

“You’re hurt,” the angel frowned, and started walking over to me.

“That is none of your concern,” I said, sweat forming on my skin and involuntarily taking a step backwards to strengthen my broken fighting stance. This in turn, caused me to stumble, falling on my backside. Laying on my back and causing extreme pain in my wing, I decided I didn’t care anymore. Let the angel kill me, at least it would spare me the humiliation of public execution.

“What happen to you?” Michael asked kindly, kneeling next to me. I opened my one good eye and looked at him.

“Oh, just kill me already,” I groaned, putting an arm over my face, at least it wasn’t public humiliation.

“I have no reason to kill you,” the angel said plainly, and... was that pity? If the angel didn’t kill me, I was sure going to kill myself. I could never stand pity, and to receive pity from the enemy was unbearable.

“Then just leave me alone,” I closed my one good eye again, hoping he would deal the final blow. That would’ve solved my problem on what to do.

“Can you stand?” the white haired angel asked, ignoring my statement.

“My legs aren’t broken,” I retorted sharply. I didn’t want to disclose that I was in so much pain that my legs weren’t responding to my brain’s requests.

“Come with me,” Michael said, leaning next to me and helped me to feet, being mindful of my broken wing and wounded stomach.

“I don’t need your...” I trailed off as I looked in those perching, beautiful eyes. It wasn’t pity I saw in them, it was compassion and concern. From all the angels I’d met and fought, I had not seen any compassion in their eyes, only hate and contempt.

“Come, my temporary home is not so far away,” Michael said and directed me further into the forest. We walked for a little over a half hour, stopping frequently for me to catch my breath. I heard rushing water as we approached a stream with a small eight foot waterfall.

“I hope you don’t mind getting a little wet,” Michael smiled down at me with that sad smile of his. The angel was only three or so inches taller then my own six feet.

“Don’t care,” I said wearily, there was no strength in my body left to care about anything, hence why I was letting an enemy angel half carry me.

“Let’s get you cleaned up then you can rest,” Michael continued walking past the waterfall and into a cave. For a cave, it was plainly furnished; there was a decent sized bed, a small table with one chair, a cloths chest, and another small chest. A small fire pit was in the center of the cave with sturdy sticks fashioned to hold a cooking pot.

“Quite a homey place you got here,” I managed a small smile as Michael directed me to sit on the bed.

“It’s something for now,” the angel replied. Michael walked over to the small chest and looked through it until he came up with a small scissors and a first-aid kit. He started a fire to heat water, and then moved to look at my eye. Gently prying the eyelid open, he inspected the damage as I bit my lip in pain.

“Is it still there?” I asked pleadingly. Michael moved his finger in front of my face, trying to make my eyes fallow the movement.

“It’s still there,” Michael frowned. “Though, I think you’re temporarily blind in that eye,”

“Damn,” I cursed. If I ever go my hands on the bastards, they were going to pay.

“It’s not that bad, the vision might return,” he said, as if that were a comforting thought. “The wound isn’t that deep, it won’t need stitching,” he finished and walked over to the heating pot. When it was the right temperature, he took the pot by the handle and walked back over to the bed. With a rag, he cleaned my face, I think that I may have been blushing, and then gently wrapped a few bandages around my head. After that was finished, he inspected the broken wing. “The joint connecting the wing to your shoulder-blade is dislocated.”

“Grand,” I sighed. I knew what that meant; the joint would have to be relocated. Although I’d never had to have on of my own bones dislocated and relocated, but from watching others, I knew it was painful. Michael looked at me, and without any warning, the angel quickly popped the bone into place. I cried out in pain, but as quickly as the pain exploded, it was over.

“Now let’s get you out of that shirt,” Michael said soothingly, his voice calming every nerve in my body. He cut the bloodied shirt and then cleaned the gash on my stomach.

“Is it bad?” I asked, not wanting to look at the wound myself.

“It’s not too life threatening, but it does need to be stitched up,” Michael said while taking out a needle and some thread from his first-aid kit.

“You know how to stitch a wound?” I asked, puzzled.

“I used to be a doctor,” he said simply while putting on a pair of plastic gloves. “Though, I don’t have anything to ease the pain, is that alright, because, unlike relocating a joint, the pain is far worse afterwards?” he asked me as if I had a choice.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” I smiled weakly.

“No, not really,” Michael replied with a weak smile of his own.

“Ready?” he asked, expression professional as he held the ready needle and thread.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’re going to have to lie on your back. It’ll aggravate your wing, but it’s the only way to ensure the stitches don’t rip when you stand.” Michael replied, and with a nod, I laid on my back, wincing as pain exploded in my wing. With a reassuring smile, the angel started stitching the gash on my stomach. I tried not to cry out as the needle pierced tender skin. The pain was so unbearable, that I passed out because of it.

xXx

I woke to Michael singing again, well, it was more like humming. With his back to me, he was sitting next to the fire and stirring whatever was in the pot. I must have made a noise while trying to sit up, because he stopped and turned to me.

“Oh, you’re a wake,” he said plainly and stood, walking over to me. “Though you shouldn’t move around too much, you’ll aggravate the stitches.” He propped a few pillows on the base of the bed and directed me to lean against them.

“How long was I out for?” I asked, with my voice rasping. Without even hesitating, he handed me a glass of water.

“Through the night. I caught us some rabbit for breakfast and put it in a stew,” he said to me. “I hope you don’t mind.” I merely shook my head. Now that the immediate danger was over, and the shock ran off, I was wondering why an angel would help me, a demon.

“You said your name was Michael?” I asked, looking at him.

“Yes.”

“My name is Christopher,” I said and put out my hand. He took it and smiled as he shook it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Christopher,” he said and returned my hand to walk over to the steaming pot.

“Can I ask you something?” I started. He glanced at me and nodded before stirring the stew and then pored it into two crudely made wooden bowls. “Why did you help me?” I asked plainly. He didn’t answer until he walked over and handed me one of the bowls then sat in the chair next to the bed that I didn’t even realize was there.

“Because you look like you needed help,” he said as if it were the most obvious of things, and then put a spoonful of stew in his mouth. I stared at him, waiting for him to speak again. He didn’t, but concentrated only on his food.

“Thank you,” I said after a long period of silence, he said nothing, but nodded in return. Then I proceeded to eat my own meal. It was quite delicious, and I told him so.

“Stew’s really the only thing I can make good,” he said to the compliment, almost as if he wasn’t expecting it. ...And, was he blushing? It was a break though! I hadn’t seen any other emotion in him besides the mixture of sadness and kindness. After another long bout of silence, I decided to start a conversation.

“So where did you learn to sing?” I blurted out. I don’t know why. Sure, I was thinking it, but that wasn’t what I wanted to say. He stopped the motion of the spoon to his mouth and wore that sad smile of his.

“My mother used to sing to me,” he answered still looking at his bowl.

“She must be a great singer for you to have such a great voice,” I said tactlessly, his use of past tense hadn’t registered with me.

“She was,” he said simply. Then it dawned on me.

“Pardon me, I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories,” I said quickly.

“She died a long time ago,” he said sadly and stood to empty the remainder of his meal back into the pot then walked over to the water fall to clean out his bowl.

“I...” I trailed off; I had no idea what to say.

“That is all in the past,” he looked at me again with that kind smile. I just stared at him, with nothing to say. At that time I didn’t know what to think about him. He was just some random angel who decided to help me, when he very well had the chance to kill me. “Come now, it’s time for more pressing matters,” he said, breaking me out of my thoughts, and sitting back in the chair next to me.

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“Now that your body has somewhat stabilized, I’ll see what I can do about Healing you,” he said and took the bowl from me, placing it on the floor next to him.

“You’re a Healer?” I asked shocked. I heard about some angels having the ability to heal the wounded, but I never expected him to be a Healer. Though, perhaps I should have, he was a doctor once.

“Yes, however, I didn’t want to try healing you when you had lost too much blood. It’s dangerous to heal someone when they’d lost blood. They’re body could go into shock, resulting in a coma, or even death,” he said, his voice going back to professional. “I’ve never tried healing a demon before, do I didn’t want to chance it.”

“But now it’s all right?” I asked to make sure.

“Yes,” he said plainly, then moved to take the bandages off my stomach to look at the stitches. His right hand hovered over the wound and lit up with a soft light. I watched as the wound closed around the stitches, it looked like the skin it self was mending together. However, there was no pain; it was a comforting feeling, like a warm sensation throughout my entire body. Then it stopped and Michael inspected the wound before speaking.

“I closed it the best I could, though the stitches will have to say in for another three more days before it’s healed completely,” he said and I nodded. “There’s nothing I can do about your wing, it doesn’t need to be Healed because there was no break, so it’ll be stiff for a while,” he explained, and I nodded again. “I can Heal the wound across your eye, but I can’t bring back the vision,” he said, then unwrapped the bandage around my eye. He put his palm over my eye and it started glowing again. I watched his face and he Healed my eye. His own eyes were closed and there was sweat forming on his face with effort. Almost as if he was sensing me watching his, he opened his eyes to look at me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain what I saw there. It was like he wasn’t expecting me to be looking at him. He just starred at me, and it was then that I remembered looking at his violet eyes for the first time the day before. Something passed between us in that moment that I will never be able to explain. Then, suddenly, as if remembering what he was doing, he moved his hand from my face.

“The wound is healed, but there will always be a scar there, I’m sorry,” he said quickly and looked away, grabbing for the first-aid kit that was on the floor next to him. I could have sworn there was a tint of red on his face.

“It’s not your fault,” I muttered, looking away from him, I feel my own face was heated up. “Thank you.” He just nodded and started wrapping a bandage around my stomach to cover the stitches. When that was finished, he wrapped a bandage around my head, both of us careful not to look at the other.

“So you don’t open your eye,” he explained “Opening your eye when the skin is still tender would cause pain, so you may want to keep that on for about a week,” he finished and put his supplies. It was then that I noticed how tired he looked.

“Are you alright?” I asked softly.

“Yes, it’s just that being a Healer is tiring,” he said, wiping the sweat from his face.

“You should rest.” After saying it, it was then that I realized that I was using his bed. As if reading the thought right from my face, he smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said standing. However, before I could voice my opinion about him sleeping on the floor, he collapsed to the ground. Disregarding my wounds, I jumped up to try and catch him, but he was already on the floor, unmoving. Panicking, I leaned over him to check his pulse. I let out a sigh of relief, his heart was beating fine; he was just sleeping. Without hesitating, I picked him up. He was very light; I remember thinking with a frown. Exerting what ever reminding strength I had left, I place him on the bed. No even having enough energy to stand again, I laid next to him. Pulling the blankets over both of us, I was asleep in minutes.

xXx

Author’s Note:

This is the end of Part One. This isn’t going to be a very long story, only about three parts or so. I know there wasn’t any slash in this part, but there will be. Also, I decided to change up my writing style a bit in this story, to first person POV, not something I usual do. So I was wondering if maybe I could get some feedback on this. Thanks.

- Theresa

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