*Prologue*

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.

-Song of Solomon

I never gave much thought to how tragedies could truly change a person. Change their path in life. Pain was the teacher for the human race. Human pain sliced and carved at our souls, leaving scars. But pain was natural. The scars healed. It came natural to humanity. We adapted and changed. Transformed and evolved from our pain. If there was no pain, no suffering, there could never be passion, love. And to live without love was not really living. When you found what you couldn't live without, you had to fight. Fight through the pain. Embrace it even. Some might have said strength came with winning your battles. Those who believed that were wrong. Strength came from hope, and the will to fight. When you gave up hope, you were truly dead.

Sometime in the near future…

A steady haze of greying fog swirled around and through the copse of trees, mist and damp earthy smells of rot turning the air musty and rancid with decay, a long-neglected spot in acres of unused land. The uninhabited church in the woods was the perfect place to perform the bonding. There were no surrounding houses or buildings for at least a thirty mile radius. It was a holy place, able to keep out unwanted, evil beings. All churches were, still standing or not, on hallowed ground, it seemed like a flawless plan. It just so happened, that it was deserted. Hopefully no one would be there to interrupt their moonlight rendezvous.

Which was a plus.

"Are you ready?" ground out a gravelly voice, the angel's blue eyes staring attentively, shining in the dark as he waited a response from his companion. The man in front of him nodded warily, his green eyes wide in the dark of the room, visibly swallowing over the lump in his throat as he turned his back to those blue eyes, that gaze more than human, and faced the front of the church.

"Yes," the green-eyed man whispered roughly. He was nervous, had no idea what to expect, but he had no other choice. After everything had been through, suffered, learned, he owed it to them, to his brother. He was choosing this, to live, for them. They would have wanted him to.

He removed his shirt to reveal the toned expanse of his back to the intensity blazing from the angel's blue eyes. He heard it, could almost feel the angel shiver in anticipation, in such close proximity to him. It was almost here, they could feel it, the anticipation of becoming.

He felt himself shiver too, scared, but there was no breeze on his chilled skin, only the adrenaline pulsing through his body and around him. "Just don't screw it up. I don't want to end up a drooling mess," green eyes muttered shakily on a quivering laugh.

He felt a large, soft yet gentle hand enclose around his shoulder. "I wouldn't dream of it," the angel soothed gently, his tone smooth and his blue eyes gentle and assuring to his friend, sending tendrils of warmth through his hands to calm his charge's nerves, his trembling form slowly relaxing.

Green eyes felt a stubborn smile curve at the edge of his lips, somehow at ease with this man in the dark, even with the blood pounding below his fevered skin. "I know. I trust you," he whispered, closing his eyes.

The blue-eyed angel smiled innocently and green eyes could almost hear his friend's lips stretch in the darkness. That was all he needed. The angel came closer and, very gingerly, placed his warm hands on his back. He began to move his hands over his friend gently, along his shoulders, caressing down his sides to his flanks to his hips, resting there for a moment to soothe his soaring nerves.

Green eyes snapped open. He was beginning to think there was something wrong in the hesitation. "Is that it?" he asked as he twiddled his fingers fretfully.

No sooner than he said it, he was seeing white.

A hand clamped tight, bruising in its grip, to his shoulder. The shirtless man at the altar went from standing firm to struggling to keep his legs from buckling underneath him, limbs wobbling while his friend moved to the side of him, pressing his hand into his shoulder. Green eyes could feel the hand there blaze with blistering heat, melting into his skin, burning right to the root of him, beneath flesh and to the more intangible part of him. He could feel the heat enclosing around him. He could see the light around him through his closed lids, turning them red-tinted, squinting his eyes from the intensity.

His screams were muffled as he gritted his teeth, a groaning whimper escaping his throat, just in case there was anyone in the vicinity, and to keep himself from screaming like a girl in an axe murder movie. White-hot knives carved into him. He was amazed at himself that he could even process a thought. This is what he imagined dying felt like, the agony of it stretching on limitless, suspended in time. The pain was paramount, but it was fading and a growing sense of radiance was bathing him in comfort, safety.

The angel was attempting to lessen the trauma, he thought belatedly. It helped, but only in the poignant sense, the mental anesthesia diluted by the sheer weight of his loneliness.

It was an apology. He felt the angel's sorrow even as he poured his grace, his righteous, burning touch into his skin, and deeper, to the roots of him. The angel was trying to lessen his suffering, and even through the agony of it all, it was too much, the depth of feeling, of the love his blue-eyed friend was pouring into him.

The light. The peace.

It hurt… everywhere. Everywhere burned and molded to the heat pressing into and past the barrier between flesh and spirit. He felt like he was being impaled by some blunt white-hot instrument. Soothing and burning at the same time, he felt it in every part of him, a glowing fire surrounding him, cocooning him in safety, devotion, love. It brought tears to his eyes, a throbbing pound in his chest as he heard it.

It will be alright. I've got you. You're safe, the words whispered in his mind, like his friend's voice was right next to him, was muttered in his ear, and the image of soulful blue eyes staring at him adoringly, soothing him. The light began to bleed through his eyelids, and frightfully he suspected if he opened them, his eyes would melt or be burnt out of his skull.

But as soon as the overwhelming pain had come, it was ripped away like wrenching out a sword in a wound, and with it, the light died down. His shoulder was throbbing from the direct impact of celestial heat and the unending devotion. What had seemed like an eternity of scalding fire was a mere two seconds of severe sunburn, scorching him to his very soul, leaving him dried and wringed out, exhausted.

Catching his breath, he fell forward, catching himself before he fell to the floor, on his hands and knees desperately heaving for breath. And the angel stood beside him, ran his hands over his charge soothingly, rubbing deep circles into his fevered skin. He was still reeling from the scorching heat, clutching at the fibers of the dark burgundy carpet as it receded to a dull ache in his arm.

Green eyes panted erratically, his breath heaving in staccato gasps. "Son of a bitch," he groaned, feeling exhausted and sapped of any kind of feeling, emotionally or physically. "Wow, that was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels," he panted, expelling a shaky laugh, trying to regain his breath, raising himself up to sit back on his haunches, resting his hands wearily on his thighs.

The angel simply stared down at the floor next to him wordlessly, his eyes downcast beneath his thick lashes, dark hair a mess atop his head, remorseful as he glanced out of the corner of his eyes, fearful of the reaction he would get from his friend, suddenly afraid to speak. The absolute agony in those green eyes was enough to make him feel an unforgivable shame in his heart. He never wanted to cause his charge this kind of pain, ever.

But this was where it got weird. Green eyes felt it.

He felt the angel.

He ran his fingers through his tousled hair, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead to dispel some of the salty sweat there. He turned to look at his friend, his heart thudding as he took in the angel's downtrodden features. His friend had never been more transparent before this moment.

He was alright now, and excluding the preceding pain, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He felt clean, as if he was a whole new person, like he was given a clean slate, reborn.

The angel had told him something like this might happen, as it had never even been attempted before. There was no sense in his friend beating himself up over it. He had an advance warning, been told that this had been coming, that it would be excruciating. That was good enough for him.

Not so much in words as with the look in his hooded, sad blue eyes, the last thing the angel had wanted was to cause his charge anymore pain.

Looking at those ashamed blue eyes made him feel a wave of compassion for the angel, for the concern for him.

And it was breaking his heart.

Now he knew exactly how deep the regret ran through those blue eyes. It felt like slowly bleeding out from a wound to the stomach, draining.

Green eyes very slowly brought his left hand up and very gingerly prodded at the raised tender skin on the mound of his right shoulder. His fingers ghosted over the angry welts there. It was like that of an inflamed tattoo, one that never quite healed properly, raised and irritated. He could distinguish little intricate symbols and lines there, carving themselves into his skin from the heat, around the unmistakable shape of a hand, scorched into his skin, a permanent claim. There was no pain or itchiness, just a dull ache, a warm stinging sensation. It was like fire, life, a new kind of life was imprinted in him, resonating with the angel's essence.

It was connection, in its purest form.

The angel's gravelly whispering voice, full of deep regret and sorrow, broke him out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry." The resignation there caused the elevated mark on his arm to throb. Not with soreness. Not even a raw prickle. Feelings flashed through him. There were emotions there, sentiments that were not his own, and one unambiguous feeling he was biblically familiar with. It was a feeling he had become intimately acquainted with every day for months now, years even.

There was undeniable, unnecessary guilt, coursing through him, not his own.

Guilt for leaving him.

Green eyes rubbed the back of his neck, confused why it felt so awkward to be on the other side of this situation, the comforter, not the comforted. It was something he was not sure he would be any good at. "Don't worry about it. You have nothing to say sorry for. You warned me and I agreed. Don't you know by now that you can't beat stubborn?" he smirked jokingly, a weak lopsided smile curling his lips.

Very slowly, almost ashamed, the angel looked up and green eyes' breath caught in his throat. There was that kicked puppy look again his those blue eyes. The angel's boundaries were down and he couldn't only see his sorrow. He felt him now.

He quickly shuffled over to pull his blue-eyed friend into a full embrace. The angel rested his head on his charge's shoulder, but his hands remained stiff and at his side, stubbornly tense, and for a moment, the green-eyed man thought the angel didn't know how to hug properly. Maybe the angel had never been hugged before.

And shockingly, he realized that it was true. His kind were rarely, if ever, afforded the occasion. And with the shock he realized this was the most lonely being he had ever met. His chest ached with the knowledge, overwhelmed with compassion, determined to right the situation.

He didn't get to dwell on those depressing thoughts for long. A hand came up to his right shoulder, claiming its rightful place, and then they were both where they belonged, all thought was thrown away. His shoulder began to throb and pulse with a rush of electricity and their surroundings all melted away.

He could feel everything. Everything the angel was feeling as well as himself. There was no distinction, like they were one being, two separate entities intertwined. The only feeling he could single out from himself was the guilt. It forced its way through him and almost knocked him off balance, seeking penance in his arms, forgiveness. It was like looking into like, a mirror of what he had seen in himself every day. And it saddened him. But there was also something else there.

There was devotion, stubborn protectiveness in a big way. There was painful relief. And a staggering amount of affection, awe and loyalty emanating from the angel. It brought tears to his eyes, that sheer amount of feeling. He had never felt more alive in his life, connected on such a basic level to anything else in his life. It was nice. Hell, it was… there were no words for it. It was everything.

They quivered together in each other's arms, the human and his angel, the angel and his charge. An electric current of adrenaline forced its way in and out and through them both, sweat developing all over their bodies, moving flush together, not a space left between their bodies or souls. They were one, and neither one of them had ever felt this way before. That sense of rightness, that they never totally belonged to anything before as much as right at that moment, was staggering.

Sated and pleasantly numb, the man pulled away. Leaving their cocoon of safety and warmth was sweet agony, a throbbing emptiness, quivering, desperately aching for them both to be one again, but he desperately wanted to see the angel's face. To see the passion and the intensity in his blue eyes for what it was.

His green eyes were blown wide, mouth hanging open, his breaths leaving him in ragged panting. "Wow! That was…" he slurred, still heaving for breath, gulping for air and utterly at a loss for words, this feeling like no other, quenching a desperate thirst, feeling like he had finally taken a drink of water after being stranded in the desert for years.

The angel's expression was in awe, his blue eyes glazed over, and whirling with unshed moisture. "Yes. It was," he gushed low and gruff with pleasure, a small smile curling his lips. They both felt it, even if the words could never seem to leave their lips. And by his sweating brow and his heaving chest, panting for breath, and his pupils dilated with desire and lust, it was confirmation it was just as intense for the angel as it was for the man, that the angel was just as much affected by it.

The man chuckled breathily. "I had no idea it would feel this good," he smiled, awed. His expression morphed instantly into a haughty leer. "So does that mean you're not a virgin anymore?" he blurted out, letting out a devious chuckle.

The angel narrowed his eyes at him and tilted his head in part confusion, part annoyance. "Fornication is not a mental thing, unless I am mistaken. My virtue is still intact," he deadpanned, his voice stoic and raspy.

The man grinned back at him, a smug leer. "Well whatever it was… ninety-five percent… I would give up sex indefinitely."

Those blue eyes narrowed to slits. "I sincerely doubt that," his sarcasm threw blunt daggers at him, though there was no real heat in the angel's words, only affection.

Greens eyes suddenly became blank as he puckered his lips and puffed out his cheeks in contemplation. "Okay you're right," he conceded flatly, shrugging his lips and shoulders. "Just five percent," he deadpanned.

Like the unpredictable mood of a person suffering from bipolar disorder, the angel's mood changed from happy to groveling at his feet as his blue eyes changed, pained, full of deep sorrow.

The angel shook his head in horror, disbelief at what he had had to do. "I never wanted you to go through that kind of pain. Not after everything that has happened to you," he confessed brokenly, remorsefully, dwelling on something that was already done. Necessary. "And I feel like I forced you into this. You don't deserve it." The note of finality in the angel's voice set off alarm bells in his head.

It sounded suspiciously like a goodbye.

It absolutely pulled at his heart strings, the way the angel blamed himself. He would rather not live in the past. There was nothing they could do about it. What happened was done. There was no use being apologetic for something that didn't come close to needing forgiveness. He could not even begin to have regret for this. His angel saved him, saved his soul, and that had to count for something, right?

"Hey," he whispered gently, not wanting to spook his friend, schooling his voice and face into something resembling peace, cupping a hand around the curve of the angel's stubbled cheek, gently coaxing those blue eyes to look at him. "I chose this. You." He shrugged, smiling gently. "Not complaining over here." He sighed, and it felt like he would be doing that a lot lately. He finally felt like he was free, home, after all these years. "It was worth it. And it means it's over right?"

The angel shook his head stubbornly, not able to accept his charge's forgiveness for what it was, his words contradicting his hopeful look. "Yes, but I can't begin to describe how sorr-" but his charge silenced him with a palm raised and the other hand situated on his hip, pulling the angel into another embrace.

They stood in silence for a moment, the angel's dark head of hair wearily coming to rest against his chin, his hand finding his mark on his charge's shoulder, his other arm winding tightly around his back to rest at his waist, clutching at him hard, the angel desperately clinging to him as if this was going to be suddenly taken from him, the all-consuming need between them. They simply stood there without moving or saying anything, embracing so hard one might have thought they were afraid of being torn apart, away from each other forever, like they were never meant to have this.

He drew back after a few moments, his expression warm as he held the angel at arms' length. He focused on his bright blue eyes and brought his hand up to wipe away the few stubborn tears there with a thumb. "Hey… I'm fine," he admitted and then paused to think on it for a second. "Well, I'm not fine, fine. But I will be. We will be. I prom-" he began, but a booming flash of blinding light and a rushing wind shook the church, cutting his words short, ripping them from each other's arms and sending them crashing back.

They managed to complete the ritual successfully. But this gargantuan sucking abyss in the floor in front of the altar, they didn't see coming. Once the gate opened, the sonic wave that emanated from it sent the man flying through the air as if a wrecking ball knocked into his middle. He found himself wrenched from his angel, from that spot, flying through the air over the dilapidated pews like a ragdoll. He landed with a sickening, dull crunch at the base of one of the towering white support columns at the back of the church, sliding to the ground, grunting and groaning as his vision swam in and out of focus.

He struggled to sit up against the white plane of the column, but his body had other ideas at the moment. Searing, mind-numbing pain shot through his entire body. Adrenaline kicking in, it became a constant throbbing pulse in his muscles and bones and he could hear the blood rushing and pumping in his head until he felt like his head would explode. Dizzy with nausea, he gritted his teeth as he attempted to get to his feet, but to no avail. It was no use. His body wouldn't do what he wanted, feeling like he had been drugged, possibly concussed. His vision came in and out of focus as the howling winds tossed around like a tornado set loose. All he could see, as the blackness overtook him, was his friend standing up determined, grabbing aggressively at a blurry dark figure and the world turned on its side and everything faded into nothing.

When he woke up to silence, he did not have a good feeling. It was too quiet. A hollow void sunk his chest inwards. It felt as if something was ripped out of him while he was out. But it was not a physical hurt. There was nothing there. There was nothing but an unfilled void, a dark pit-less hole. There was no hurt, just… nothing. And he was almost positive that he might have internal bleeding. All which paled in comparison to the awful sensations that were growing steadily stronger in his heart.

With broken limbs, he dragged himself towards where the angel should still have been standing, trying to glean even the faintest sense of his presence. But he was not there anymore. He couldn't pick up even an ounce of the angel's presence, as he had been able to, just what felt like moments ago. The tingle in the air as the angel arrived to greet him every single time before this night, was gone. All he had left was a barren loneliness inside him.

Nothing.

A devastating thought hit him hard in the chest, and he felt all the air leave his lungs. His angel was gone, for good, to a place he couldn't follow, and his thoughts horrified him, the place they were taking him. That maybe his friend had been taken, to the very place his friend had desperately fought so hard to save him from. And there was nothing he could do about it.

The grief came crashing into him like a monstrous tsunami, washing him onto the jagged rocks along the shore and tearing his insides out on their sharp edges. He dragged himself to the altar, fingers burning as they used what little strength they had left to drag him forward, ignoring his aches, and he broke down as his eyes began to burn hot.

As he sat there, broken, in mind and body, he sat there at the altar of the old church, as stationary as a statue. His eyes were shut tight to keep the tears from running as he gave in to the only thing he had left.

Prayer.

The tears flowed freely, a reminder of what he had lost. It was all he had left of him, the memory. He did not even see what happened to his angel, and he didn't need to. But it did not take a brain surgeon to know something was not right here. When the bond was complete, he had a touch that was only the angel's still lingering in him, even after they weren't connected anymore. He could feel him inside him, a comforting presence offering warmth and solace. He would never be alone, even if his angel was not there with him. He had left a huge imprint on his soul. And now that he had gone, it was as if someone had peeled the skin off his body.

"Please…." he sputtered with a broken faith, pleading with the angels on the cracked and water-damaged ceiling, as if a messenger of God, or something, was actually listening to him. He had no idea what he was trying to say. It hurt too much to form words. He knew what he wanted. He wanted his angel. He needed him. He could not survive without him, he was sure of that now.

He could not go on a single moment more like this. He had been hooked up to life support since the angel came into his life. He was his anchor to life. But he was not here anymore. He had to fight the pain on his own, but he couldn't breathe on his own yet.

There was nothing left to fight for. His family was gone, all of them. He was alone, he felt abandoned, like a puppy standing in an alley as the rain pounded down around him, unwanted and alone. He bowed his head to let his chin rest on his chest, the burden to hold his head up too much.

Everything should have gone to plan. But no one ever got exactly what they wanted in the end. It was too much to hope, the cynically realistic part of him giving up before he really had the chance to think that he could have a life, that he could be happy. That was his curse, he knew that now. It was the curse that all humanity had to suffer since the Exile from Eden.

The loneliness.

That sobering truth was nothing compared to this, his lover plummeting into a dark, sucking void of fire and brimstone, an angel falling from grace.