Living Ice

[LUCIFER]

When God is gone and the Devil takes hold…

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It was raining, hard. It may have been spring but considering the weather as of late…Flash floods had happened in the area recently. Rivers were overflowing with turbulent waters, and still the rain fell down. Dark clouds cut out the heavens above and the red neon lights that named the nearby hotel flickered from various power surges.

Nobody was around and the only sounds came from the thundering storm from above. It was late in the evening breaking into the morning hours. Three am had come and was slowly ticking by and even though the storm had been here for several hours, it continued to rain as if it had just arrived. Certainly, the weather was vicious as of late.

A blinding flash appeared in the middle of the hotel parking lot and something seemed to have fallen to the ground with a heavy thud. The object, a human body, landed hard on the ground, sprawled in a growing puddle from the rain. Once the light had disappeared the sounds of the storm took hold once again.

For over an hour the body went unnoticed, undisturbed. The hotel didn’t have any guests at the moment, so not a single soul was around. He breathed softly before the man’s eyes snapped open and he took in a gasp – as if he had been drowning. Nick’s eyes swiveled in his head in a panic as he looked around. Where was he? What had happened?

For a while it seemed that he was content to stay on the ground, but the actual matter was that he was in too much pain. Nick stiffened slightly as waves of agony went through them. For the longest time he had been frozen, trapped within his own body because he had said yes to Satan. Being the vessel of the Devil had been the second worst thing that had happened to him as of late. Still, he had hardly remembered anything that Lucifer had done or said..Here and there he had seen, as if watching a movie from far away, but for the most part – Nick had been freezing.

With Lucifer gone it was if somebody had poured lava onto his body. It was cold outside, but the sheer change in temperature from Lucifer to reality was burning him alive. He rolled onto his back and screamed in agony, his voice choked several times in his cries as he tried to curl into a ball. Nick gasped for air again, staring up at the cloudy sky as he just blacked out from the pain.

He finally awoke, around six am, the storm had lightened slightly, but it was still raining. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the pavement he was laying on. Would he ever feel warm again? He struggled to push his upper body to a more vertical angle. That was when he noticed the blood. Some had washed it away but he was bleeding, a lot, or had the rain diluted it. As lightning flashed in the sky he got a look at the small rivers of his own life force running away from him.

That was when he realized how much Lucifer had done to keep him in once piece. Nick might have not been the Devil’s number one choice, but he had used quite a bit of angelic magic to keep his body intact. He was broken, physically, emotionally, mentally, and the more he remained conscious the more he remembered…

It took him a grueling twenty minutes to stand up, wavering, leaning over like a zombie. He felt like one at the moment. He shut his eyes as one of the wounds on his face opened up anew and started to bleed. He stumbled forward and gasped in pain. Did he have a broken leg? How the Hell did he have a broken leg? More importantly…How was he alive?

Where was the Devil? Had he finally gotten his true vessel? Had he shown pity and gratefulness that Nick had said yes to him? Or was this some sick cosmic joke that Lucifer was playing with him..Was this a taste of freedom…or was this the end for Nick Aaron; to die in a motel parking lot, in a storm, bleeding and frozen.

He reached up to feel the wounds on his face, but he had not feeling in his fingers – as if they had been stuffed in ice all this time. He was literally ice cold to the touch.

…Who will have mercy on your soul?

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[ZERACHIEL]

Zerachiel’s body shuddered in response to the rainwater as it soaked through her clothes that now clung uncomfortably to her slender figure, drenching the young woman from head-to-toe. She had not deviated a long way away from Camp Chitaqua, however wandering the ravaged landscape alone was an unwise decision, and the fallen angel continued the unceremonious trek forward into the outlying territory. An unexplainable force compelled her, guiding her through the darkness, and the gradually receding storm. Silently, she admonished her foolishness, her current expedition exceptionally dangerous. Zerachiel had been fortunate enough to escape the affects of the Croatoan virus—narrowly escaping a gruesome death—and presented a second chance here on this wondrous planet. Now, she placed her life in jeopardy on account of her intuition, blindly following a mere gut reaction.

Bolts of lightning illuminated the sky, silhouetting her against the bleak backdrop. A dilapidated hotel emerged from the overhanging shadows, the sign flickering from time-to-time, shedding light on her surrounds. Zerachiel paused mid-step as she rested her eyes on the man opposite her, concern apparent in the depths of her green gaze. Her initial instinct was to assist the individual; although, she had succumbed to mortality years prior, her duty to humanity, and willingness to serve remained. Nevertheless, she restrained herself from acting too hastily, bearing in mind the severity of the situation; he could be an inhospitable supernatural creature or a Croat. Ensuring her switchblade was accessible for fear of coming across any one of the aforementioned entities, she proceeded with bated breath, taking cautionary strides toward the ailing figure.

On impulse, she extended an arm, supporting him as he swayed on unsteady feet. Zerachiel’s stomach churned unpleasantly as she noticed the blood and then the open wounds. She had no medical supplies on her person, the only other option was to escort him to camp in order to receive the attention his injuries so desired. For a moment, she sustained her stance, waiting for a response or the display of aggressive behavior. When he did exhibit the customary symptoms of those who had been infected, she carefully appraised the numerous lesions, noticing the icy quality of his skin—which alarmed her. “It is all right,” she murmured reassuringly. “I am here to—” The words died before they departed her partially open lips, her heart seeming to skip a beat as she glanced into the man’s all too familiar face.

Recoiling, she stared in shock. She wondered if she were hallucinating yet again or if she were still asleep, forced to endure another agonizing nightmare. Burying her face into the palms of her hands, she hoped the delirium would subside, the image before her too real, too painful to even bear; however, when she opened her eyes, he was still there. Either she had finally lost the remnants of her sanity or someone was toying mercilessly with her mind. “No,” she breathed, “No.” She shook her head, her chest heaving as she gasped for air, and body trembling in reaction to the raw emotion now coursing through her veins. “This is a figment of my imagination,” Zerachiel told herself, unable to look away. “Please, leave me be.”

After all, Nick was dead.

[LUCIFER]

But what is this that I can’t see

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Nick swallowed looking up at the sky, as if it would reveal some answer to him. He frowned and shut his eyes, feeling the rain warm his frozen and bleeding face. The downfall washed his face of the blood that oozed from his wounds. He stood there, swaying slightly as he tried to gather himself, his memories, to take a hold of this agony and gain some sort of control over it. His whole body ached, as if he had been exercising for weeks without rest. Hunger and extreme thirst gnawed at his belly as his body started to scream for nourishment.

Visions of what Lucifer had done while in his body started to come back to him. There were angels, demons, deities, all real – all very dead by Lucifer’s hands. There were two men that Lucifer seemed to be following. And then something hit him. He had been shot! He had been shot in the head! He lightly reached up to feel his forehead where he knew the wound had occurred. Lucifer had healed him but he still touched the spot gingerly as if it would suddenly appear once more. He wasn’t sure if it would or not. With Lucifer gone…he was surprised that he was still alive.

Nick swallowed, further aggravating his sore and dry throat. He needed a drink, and he opened his mouth, cupping his hands to his face as he tried to siphon the water into his mouth. He swallowed down as much water as his stomach could handle, but he was still thirsty and the hunger pains. He thought his stomach was trying to digest itself without his consent. He rested his hand on his abdomen as he thought he heard footsteps. He wasn’t sure, he thought he was hallucinating. It wasn’t until he felt the warmth of the person’s fingers that he realized that they were, in fact, real.

He looked at the face of the person that had walked to him. His eyes were heavily lidded as he was still in a daze from the multitudes of information his brain was trying to recall and file into place. Why did that face look…familiar? He couldn’t place his finger on it and he took a tentative step forward towards the person. They started to speak and he…remembered that voice from somewhere. Back before he was a vessel, back when he was Nick Aaron…Back when…

“Zerachiel?” he asked, his eyes opening a bit more to get a better look at the figure through the rain.
A glimmer of happiness went through him as he remembered her. He took another step forward, a pained smile forming upon his face. But then she moved, backwards. He reached out for her, his face quickly falling as she moved away from him.
“Zerachiel?” he repeated, his voice now sounding quite defeated.

Nick stood there, quietly in the rain as she looked at him in disbelief.
“Please…” he said, his voice cracking from the emotional and physical pain he was going through.
At one point she had come to help him, she had been supportive, kind, understanding when he needed it. If there was a time that Nick needed such comfort and guidance, it was now.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered softly, looking away from her in shame.
He was certain now that Lucifer had not ‘saved’ him because he had been thankful for Nick’s deeds. No, he was sure that Lucifer was just a dick, playing the most cruel joke he had ever heard of. Nick had known pain, anguish, disappointment, and shame but now…Now he was so far down in a hole he felt…suicidal.

With ice cold hands taking hold of me

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[ZERACHIEL]

The fallen angel scrutinized the man opposite her through weary green eyes, the sound of his voice abruptly drawing her from her reverie. In spite of her ever-growing uncertainties, Zerachiel could not withstand his pleading tone nor his anguished expression, which tugged plaintively at her heartstrings. Even if he was an illusion, she was unable to remain an idle bystander, Nick’s pain hurting her in more ways than one. She would rather surrender to her fantasies, than watch him suffer all over again. Years ago she had promised to protect him, and although she had failed, her feelings had not changed. Tentatively, she stepped forward, gazing unblinkingly up at him as she gently touched his face, alarmed by the icy quality of his skin. He felt real—too real—and a part of her wanted to believe somehow, someway he had survived, yet her suspicions remained; it was simply too good to be true. “There is nothing to be sorry for,” she responded sincerely, puzzled by his apology; she was the one who had broken her vow, the one who could not save him—her friend.

“I no longer possess the ability to heal,” she informed him ruefully. “Allow me to escort you to camp, in order to dress your wounds . . .” Zerachiel spoke in perfect monotone. She envisioned herself entering the Chitaqua campgrounds, only to be notified that she had done so unaccompanied; she had experienced several lucid hallucinations as of late, and they merely prolonged the day-to-day heartache. Masking her emotions was not difficult, but coping with the stress was harder to manage now that she was mortal; the constant worry affecting her both physically and mentally. “Why did you say yes?” she inquired suddenly. The question had weighed heavily on her mind since Lucifer had seized control of Nick, and even though she may be conversing with a figment of her imagination, an answer was better than nothing at all. She had grown accustomed to a life of solitude; however she had not expected him to leave. Once he had told her he was not going anywhere and she wondered what she had done wrong to make him leave.

Tears coursed down her cheeks, concealed by the unremitting rainfall. She did not cry often, though she could not prevent herself from doing so as she stared into familiar blue eyes, wishing her mind would stop playing such torturous tricks. “Come with me, please?” Zerachiel nearly begged, wrapping an arm about Nick’s back and carefully winding one of his around her neck in a supportive gesture; for fear that he would lose his footing or pass out from fatigue. Her primary duty was to nurse the wounded and assist those who were not able to deal with the post-apocalyptic warfare, which was ironic considering her own gradually deteriorating state of mind; she was interacting with a mere illusion of a man that had long since departed this planet after all. Would the world end in chaos and insanity? Zerachiel could not allow herself to believe that—she could not. There had to be hope.

[LUCIFER]

I don’t want to come back down

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He wanted to lean in, to feel her warmth and take it in. Still, even the slight touch she gave seemed to burn. It was like her hand was on fire, but the soft heat was actually helping him. He knew that human body temperature could only drop so low. How was he not shivering? He didn’t get a lot of things that were going on right now. Nick took a moment and shut his eyes, pressing into the painful warmth of her hand. She was real. He wasn’t having some sort of pre-death illusion. He swallowed, thinking he heard something in his throat crack, as if his esophagus had been replaced by a mummy’s.

Even though she said that there was nothing to be sorry for, he still had a ton of guilt resting in his gut. He merely pressed further into her hand and lightly reached up to caress her arm and wrist to make sure she was there. He was half expecting to open his eyes and be holding onto a tree branch or something. He was very relieved when he looked back to her, and saw that she was real, not some plant. His eyes didn’t flicker or change as she told him that she couldn’t heal him. He had never believed in all that angel crap in the first place, but now…now he had lived a horrible experience that told him otherwise.

Nick somberly nodded. Camp? There was a camp near? Well, he would take anything that he could get. He looked around for a moment, taking a wary step forward again. More pain shot through his leg, shuddering up to the rest of his body. He repressed another cry of pain. He didn’t want to look like a pansy, even a broken man sometimes had his pride. She had to of asked that question…Had she. He flinched, as if she had just stabbed him in the gut. She deserved an answer. He knew that. It was just…so emotionally raw. He couldn’t help but swallow again, tilting his head back for a moment. He desperately needed the water, he drank down the rain, cupping his hands for more of the liquid.

He would follow her where ever she went. He was still trying to figure out how to answer her question at the moment. He looked up at her face, spotting the tears upon her face. Somehow he could tell they were tears and not just drops from the rain. He felt like his heart was tearing itself in half, twisting into some malformed shape. The feeling was too similar on how he had found his family…That was years ago now? He felt a small wave of comfort roll through him as he felt her arm against his back.

“I’m so sorry, Chiel…” he choked, “I had lost everything, even you…and I had no hope. There…there was no reason not to say…I had nothing left to live for.”

From this cloud

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[ZERACHIEL]

Zerachiel’s heart skipped a painful beat as Nick’s words reverberated within her ears. “But . . . I would have defied God for you,” she murmured, voice barely audible above the rainfall. For a moment, she locked eyes with him, completely stunned by what he had said, before shamefully averting her gaze. She considered Nick to be her best friend, the only one she had ever been able to count on in spite of her flaws, and the last thing she ever wanted to do was jeopardize their relationship in any way, shape, or form. However, she had messed up, and he said yes, because she had not been the able to give him the hope he needed. She was grateful he had shown kindness to her even though she did not deserve it. Over time, she had grown accustomed to being alone, though Nick had made her happy, the happiest she had ever felt, yet she could not do the same for him. He had chose Lucifer over their friendship, and when he had left a void had filled her heart, his disappearance hurting her more than anything in the world. The loss of her friend—the person she cared the most for, the man she who had disregarded her sins, and liked her for who she was, not what she had done—was all her fault. She could never forgive herself.

She remained silent, rendered speechless. Zerachiel was furious with herself—no, she hated herself. The fallen angel guided Nick to Camp Chitaqua, maintaining a leisurely pace due to his injuries. She must focus on him and not the wave of emotions that had washed over her upon their reunion. Not knowing how long he had gone without medical assistance, she worried that infection could set-in if she did not properly bandage him up soon. His entire body was covered in lesions, and she feared his leg was broken; honestly, Zerachiel was amazed—but thankful—that he was still alive. Not to mention, she could not get over how cold he was, and that merely frightened her further. Wanting to pickup speed, she controlled herself, struggling to suppress the mounting panic; she needed to retain her composure—succumbing to the anxiety would simply cause more difficulties for the both of them. She could not allow him to die, when she had been given the chance to heal him, for she held herself responsible for what had happened to Nick. He could hate her for as long as they lived, however she would do anything she was able to, to save him. That is all she wanted; all she would ever needed. After all, she was not Sarah; she was the one Nick needed. If only she had prevented the deaths of his wife and child, then he could live the life he had always dreamt of. Nevertheless, she could not. She could not do anything—at least anything that mattered.

Finally, they reached the camp. The survivors of Judgment Day—the few who were fortunate enough to have evaded the Croatoan virus thus far—walked around the camp, staring up at Nick as they passed by. Zerachiel ignored their inquiring gazes, her main objective to care for Nick until he was better. They approached the infirmary, and she carefully helped him through the open door, the scent of antiseptics wreathing around her. She spent most of her time here, mending those who were injured or those who were mentally unstable, guiding them through the various complications that arose each day. The blood no longer bothered her and she had learned to block out the anguished screams that often echoed throughout the building; a clear mind was as essential as the equipment, each decision meaning life or death for the patient. A couple of empty beds occupied the front room; individuals in critical condition resided in the back. She urged him onto one of the bunks, being as gentle as she possibly could. "I need you to remove your clothing," she stated, talking for the first time in about half an hour, her mouth unpleasantly dry. There was so much more she wanted to say to him, yet decided not to.

Instead, she sauntered over to the sinks and washed her hands, taking an unnaturally long time as she collected her thoughts. He was real. He was not an illusion, and a part of her did not know how to go about the situation. She wiped a few tears from her eyes, gripping the edge of the sink for support as she listened to the running water. All she had to focus on was Nick's injuries—everything else could wait for later. His wellbeing was what counted. Turning the water off, she grabbed a few supplies before returning to his bedside. Her stomach churned when she glanced at him, but she maintained her stance, deftly beginning to wipe the wounds on his face clean. She had to stop for a split second, the tears welling in her eyes and threatening to fall again. Looking away, she calmed herself prior to continuing what she had started. Her hand shook slightly as she did, afraid of being so close to him, though, she persevered, determined to mend Nick. Her behavior was laughable; this was no time to dwell on the past.

[LUCIFER]

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat and I tried to find the sound

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As she spoke a pain ripped through his heart. Actual or otherwise, it deeply wounded him. His arm shook slightly as he tried to hold himself together mentally. He couldn’t break down now. Sure, he could have before when he had arrived in the middle of nowhere, but not now. He couldn’t give her the impression just how weak he really was; how broken Nick was inside. Thank God, oh no wait, Lucifer had convinced him that God was long gone – maybe even dead. Well, he was still thankful that it was raining. The water warmed him, though in actuality it was still cold outside.

He walked with her to, well, wherever they were headed. Frankly he was surprised he still wasn’t on the ground in pain. It seemed as if his nerves were just so bombarded that they couldn’t even transmit the signals. The pain was there, he knew it was, but he had become numb to it almost. Nick was sure if he was in a hospital…or in some sort of normal situation, the pain chart would be much higher than ten. He swallowed and hung his head, not wanting to lift it. He didn’t want to look around, more so he didn’t want to look at her out of the tons of guilt he was feeling.

The silence that lingered between them was killing him faster than his injuries. He shut his eyes tight and lifted a good arm to rub the tears from his eyes. He felt some of his skin peel away and he was revolted by the sound, sense the flesh was near his ear. Nick shuddered as he leaned forward, grasping at his stomach to try and keep from vomiting. Though even if he did, nothing would come of it. He had not eaten anything in months. He was starving, ever so tired, ever thirsty, and wishing that he was dead and not alive.

Zerachiel’s mental torment hit him like a wave. It was tearing him apart. He had felt bad enough about saying ‘yes’, once he had peered into the truth of the matter…She had been right all along and he had been too hurt, too angry, and to stubborn to listen to her. Sure, at the time se had sounded like a meth head stripper with a God complex, but he had seen the truth now. Angels, demons, monsters, and the sort were all real. Lucifer had tricked him from the very beginning. The devil had been molding Nick for almost two years into the right position for him to say yes. Somehow he felt as if he should be comforted by that fact, but it only made him more furious about himself.

He finally looked up as they entered the camp. He knew some of those faces and that made the bile rise in his throat. The sting of the gastric juices brought him back from the numbness feeling he had somehow held onto for this long. He tried to steady himself and took a few deep breaths as he steadied himself upon the bed. Wincing all the while he bit his tongue so that he didn’t let out a slew of curses. Well, this was uncomfortable. He looked up at Zerachiel for a moment and then quickly admitted defeat in a matter of seconds. He had no will in him left to fight.

As she washed her hands he moved and ducked forward, struggling to take off his shirt. It took him longer to undress than usual. As he explored the functions of more of his muscles he seemed to find more problems with him. He huffed and set the bloodied and wet shirt to the side. He didn’t look at himself for a moment, afraid of what he might find. For all he knew there was going to be a cannonball sized hole in his chest. Eventually as he slipped slowly out of his shoes, socks and jeans, he stared down at himself. There were more of those sores that had been caused by, what he presumed was, frostbite. He winced and shuddered, still cold. Nick shut his eyes as she took care of his injuries. Honestly he knew nothing about medicine. Usually his cure for things were bandaids and whiskey.

Eventually from the pain, guilt, emotional distress he finally buckled. It had been her tears that had sent him careening over the edge though. He leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands. Blood bubbled for a wound he had tore open from his movement but he didn’t care. Nick wept into his frozen palms.
“I’m so sorry,” he finally said through choked breaths.

But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness - So darkness I became

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[ZERACHIEL]

The sight of Nick weeping as he apologized pained Zerachiel greatly. Instinctively, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms about the man in a consoling gesture, not wanting to let go. "There is nothing to be sorry for," she reiterated, pulling away slightly to caress his face, deftly wiping away the tears that fell from his eyes. "Nothing at all." Physical contact had been new to her when she first departed Heaven and arrived on earth, however at Camp Chitaqua there were many times where she had to overcome her inhibitions and embrace those who required the touch of another in their time of need. Initially, she did not understand the significance of a hug, though she did now following everything she had been through—to know that someone cared. Zerachiel held him gently for a moment longer, conscious of his injuries, his anguish hurting her more than anything in the world. She could never hate him, only herself for not trying harder than she had to prevent him from granting his consent and her inability to give him the hope to carryon living. A part of her resented Lucifer for what he had done to Nick, though she pushed the thought far from her mind, disgusted with herself even more for it; she could not hold Lucifer responsible for her mistakes. Tightening her hold slightly, she feared that he would slip from in-between her fingers yet again. Stifling a sob, she bit her lip, composing herself for a second time before she reluctantly released him.

"I must tend to your wounds," she said softly, wiping the blood from his face, "Before infection sets in." Each time she rested her green gaze on the man opposite her, Zerachiel’s heart seemed to skip a beat within her chest. She vowed to do everything in her power to nurse him back to health, unwilling to give up on the one person who would not give up on her. The fallen angel could not even imagine what life had been like while Lucifer had possessed him, though she knew that without a doubt it would have taken a toll on him both physically and mentally. Nick had already suffered more than enough prior to the whole ordeal, and only a mad man would assume his state of mind would have improved since then. Needless to say, she was determined to lend a helping hand, ready to stay by his side, and guide him until he could stand on his own two feet. He looked so incredibly broken, and she desperately wanted to fix him. It was not an impossible feat, purely a complicated one, and she could only have faith in their friendship, wishing it would be enough to save him, considering he had endured so much in such a short period of time; it was a miracle that he had maintained his sanity. However, she believed Nick was strong and she was grateful somehow, someway he had survived; it mattered to Zerachiel—it really did. She never thought she would see him ever again and she was worried that if she looked away for a fraction of a second he would vanish.

Silently, she repositioned him, so she could minister to his injuries, being as careful as she possibly could. Zerachiel cleansed his skin of blood and dirt, disinfecting the various cuts and scrapes, and stitching up the lesions that were too deep and called for the extra attention. She had grown accustomed to the process, learning to perform her duties without hesitance and with expertise. Once she had been known as an angel of healing and even now she was prepared to mend the wounded in spite of losing her grace; the desire to do so forever programmed into her being. Last of all she dressed the lesions and bound any broken bones in place, ensuring that the bandages were secure—only time would tell if her best efforts had been sufficient. Reaching over she touched his face yet again, still amazed by the icy quality of his flesh, and afraid that if he did not warm-up soon he would die. Grudgingly, she left his bedside, browsing through the spare clothing they kept in the infirmary, and grabbed some that appeared to be an adequate size for Nick to wear. Before she returned, she seized a handful of blankets from the shelves, wanting to wrap him up, so he would retain body heat; it was all she could do. Handing him the selected garments, she helped him get dressed, not wanting him to move a great deal, lest his stitching came undone, or a wound reopened.

When he was fully clothed, she enveloped him in the coverlets, covering as much of his body as she could. “The blankets will help you sustain your bodily warmth,” she stated aloud. “Your temperature is terribly low, although it should begin to rise after a while.” Heaving an exhausted sigh, Zerachiel walked over to the sink, finding a cup and filling it with water. She set it on the table next to his bed, taking a seat beside him, as she watched Nick for any complications that may occur. Not knowing what would happen to him made her uneasy, her muscles growing tense until they ached and spasmed beneath her skin. In fact, she had never changed out of her rain-dampened clothes, just now noticing how cold she really was. Nonetheless, she ignored the hair rising along her arms, and the shivers as they ran the length of her spine, not wanting to leave him—too scared to move. “I am sure you require sustenance, though I wish to put off eating a bit longer. I did bring you water, but drink it slowly; I do not want you to further agitate your stomach,” she cautioned. Zerachiel wanted to wait until his body was stable, uncertain if food would simply sicken him all the more. She could not allow his condition to worsen or he would weaken considerably, which would be very bad.

Praying that he would make a full recovery, Zerachiel could feel unshed tears well around the edges of her eyes. "You are safe now, Nick," she murmured, staring down at him from where she sat. "I promise to protect you." She meant it; she would not let anything happen to him ever again as long as she lived. Protecting others was still her job and she would not admit defeat, not now, not ever. "And if anyone should be sorry, it is me. Never you." Never.

[LUCIFER]

Don’t fret precious, I’m here

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The man hugged her harder as she wrapped her arms around him. He quietly sobbed into her shirt. He tried to listen to her words, he tried to find comfort with them, but the guilt that ate at him would not allow that to happen so easily. Nick pulled his head back slightly and shook his head. He rested one hand upon her back still as he rubbed the tears from his face.

He felt her let go of him, but he lingered. He held still until she spoke again. His eyes were tightly shut. Eventually, slowly, he let go of her form. Nick rubbed his face, smearing tears and blood along his scraggly facial hair. Nick just nodded slightly, not able to find his voice. Even if he could…What was he going to say? She was just as distressed as he was. He looked down at his hands lightly covered in his own blood. A memory flashed into his mind. There were so many Pagans…Pagan Gods had been real. He had torn them apart like butter. Well, it was him, but it hadn’t been him. He had shoved his arm through a man’s chest…The image hung in his mind.

Nick rubbed his hands together as he tried to force some of the blood off of him. Some of it came off, but he was really just smearing it at this point. His hands were still red, though some of his skin looked more orange now. It was better than the extreme pale color he was giving off at the moment. Some of the color was slowly starting to come back as his body temperature started to return to normal. He was some demented twist of fate, something the Devil had done, or his will power that was keeping him alive. He was leaning to the side that Satan had something to do with it. Frankly, he didn’t feel as if he had any will power left within him right now. He was just, so very tired.

He kept his head tilted down and his eyes cast at the floor as she worked. He slowly drifted into a sort of trace like state. He wasn’t really here, but he wasn’t anywhere in his brain either. It had been like that for…however long Lucifer had taken over his body. It felt like hundreds upon hundreds of years to Nick. As his mind went blank, only the occasional sharp pain from the treatment seemed to catch his attention and bring him out of it.

As she left his side he looked up slowly. Nick clutched the fabric of the bed he was sitting on. Was she leaving? Relief went through him as she came back. He gave the weakest of smiles. As she assisted him he hissed in pain from the movement, though minimal, still caused him discomfort. Her work held and again he was very thankful. He slowly sat back down upon the bed, feeling much like an old and feeble man. He hugged the blankets around him, shutting his eyes for a brief moment.

“Thank you Chiel,” he said as he grasped the cup of water. Nick took a few sips from it, though it did little to quench his thirst for now. “I owe you my life,” he admitted darkly as he clutched the cup of water. Nick took another sip of it, trying to wet his mouth. It felt like a desert. Again, he couldn’t bear to look t her. Her grief, or was it his own, seemed to radiate off into the room.

“You’re sweet, Chiel,” he said with a smile as he stared at the cup he was holding. She was, she was amazing. He had every right to be sorry for what he had done. He had said yes to the Devil.

Step away from the window

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