This is only going to be a two chapter story and then I'm right back to writing my other stories. Yup. Okay, let's get started with a few brief notes:

1. Based kinda on the song "Heaven Help Us" by My Chemical Romance. Frickin' brilliant.

2. Assume that Cassandra is some weirdo…probably because he is…ok, it's heavily implied in more that one scene. He hires a boy prostitute. Ok?

3. I guess it's a bit of an alternate ending for Jizabel too…you'll see what I mean.

Hear the sound

The angels come screaming down

Your voice, I hear you've

Been bleeding.

Make your choice. They say you've been

Pleading.

Someone save me.

Heaven help us now

For once, he wanted to live. In fact, Jizabel Disraeli never had truly wanted to die.

And now, as he pulled himself from the filthy streets of London, onto the steps of the church only one word came to mind: escape.

True, his father had beat him before. He'd taken his freedom long ago, and he knew that he was trapped in a war that he cold not win. But the pain he was feeling right now was far worse than that of a whip cracking down on his scarred back. This time, things had gone too far.

"The cardmaster ordered him to give me support."

That man had literally sold him to Cassandra. Now…this what it had come to. Bleeding on the steps of the cathedral, choking back vomit, vision fading in and out, and his arms shaking, reaching up to pull himself to salvation.

Blood was dripping down the back of the young doctor's legs. His wrists were cut and torn from those nights spent in that man's clutches. Each movement sent pain shooting through his body, and more crimson liquid slithered down his thighs, staining the white fabric a sickly shade of crimson.

Slowly, agonizingly, he dragged himself to the heavy wooden door that was opened a crack. Thank god it's dark out…he thought to himself as he reached for the handle, barely being able to rise to his knees to do so. More pain.

He collapsed, unable to take any more. His body wouldn't obey him. The lack of the drugs Cassandra had been 'experimenting' on him with made it impossible to control his movements. A small cry escaped his throat and he curled to the ground. Jizabel prayed.

"please…save me…God…" thunder rumbling in the distance was the only response. Rain began to pour from the sky. Jizabel fought to keep his eyes open, because he knew that closing them meant that he may not ever wake up.

"Please…someone…save me…!" his voice was louder this time, and laced with anger. This time, everything was silent.

Once more tried to stand, only to fall back to the ground. More blood coated his legs, and his arms ached. Fists collided with the cobblestone in frustration. It was too late.

Was this how he was going to die? Alone? Covered in blood and rain?

Another wave of fear passed over him. He resisted falling into complete nothingness. It was nothing short of a miracle that he was able to escape when he did. He hadn't been able to avoid the inevitable session with Cassandra that night, but somehow, though usually after he could hardly stand, he'd managed to slip away, and run to the front gate. Somehow from there he was able to walk the streets until he arrived at the church, where he collapsed.

If he would have waited another night…he knew that he'd be dead.

Vomit rose in his throat. Jizabel swallowed hard, almost becoming sick where he lay. It was no use. He had collapsed only inches from the door, gasping for air.

He was never particularly healthy to begin with, and his lungs felt like they would burst at any second.

It was the drugs. Cassandra had always enjoyed them. It was how he kept power over the younger man. Jizabel knew that he needed another dose. Soon. His body would go into shock otherwise. He needed more.

His eyes slid open and closed slowly, but somehow he found the strength to reach out and push the door open. Somehow he managed to drag himself into the church, and somehow still he managed to pull himself onto the nearest pew. That was all, though. He could feel life slipping through his hands.

"Someone…save…me…" this time, when he closed his eyes, they did not open again. It hurt to breath. As he thought he was gone, the church door opened once again. Someone walked inside. Jizabel let out another small cry. He knew who it was, and braced himself for the worse. His eyes screwed shut as he waited for either his father or Cassandra to discover him lying there.

Whoever was there with him bent down a few steps into the room, probably seeing the blood on the floor.

"…why?" he bit his lower lip, eyes still tightly closed. The person stood next to him, and he could feel cold hands on his neck as whoever it was touched his jaw line softly, probably feeling for a pulse, he thought. Jizabel braced for an impact of a whip across his back, or Cassandra grabbing his shoulder.

That never happened though.

Instead, he felt two small arms lift him from the bench with incredible strength. Maybe it was an angel after all? Maybe he was already gone.

The sharp pain below his hips reminded him otherwise.

He buried his head in the person's chest, grasping his arm tight. He prayed that he would be safe now.

He recognized the arms that were holding him, but couldn't remember from where. Then, as the person who held him walked out of the church, it hit him.

"Cassian…?" his voice was barely a whisper. The other man held him tighter in confirmation.

"Yes."

"Why did you come back for me?" he'd been in Cassandra's grasp for about a month now, and since the head priest had told Cassian to leave, he hadn't returned.

"because you asked me to."

Jizabel almost smiled.

Someone heard me after all…