Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, and I don't have any possessions worth litigation.

Summary: A killer with angelic aspirations visits Vegas, forcing several of the CSIs to confront their own demons. Written as a possible S5 finale (before the spoilers came out.) Some violence, language, and sexual implications. And oh yes, GSR.

Spoilers: Season 5

Credits: While real life precluded her actual co-writing with me as we intended, Rokothepas was integral and deserves much credit. She insists on not being a co-author, but it should be noted many of the ideas, logic, interpretations and twists were all hers and I wouldn't have thought of them in a million years. Not to mention her endless support ultimately meant this story got finished. Thank you Roko!

Notes: Chapter 1 begins with the killer.

Azrael's Wings

1

Prologue – Excursion

The thought of the approaching summer had definitely been a factor. The humidity combined with the heat was just too claustrophobic. He'd first toyed with the idea of leaving at that point, and the realization that even an extreme dry heat would be welcome had brought on the more important epiphany that his work in Houston was done…at least for the moment. He was tired of hunting here, tired of his routine. Las Vegas? Perfect. Why? So many reasons.

He hummed tunelessly as his car throbbed through the desert. Leaving had been simple and further confirmation he was finally on the path to his mission. The desert was dark now, vast and quiet. He found it comforting.

He thought how his entire life had led up to this. As a kid, he'd felt sorry for himself, and tried to accommodate first the drunkard father who obviously hated him and then all the other kids who had done their best to make him miserable. It became easier when he learned to hate his parents, and easier still when he applied that contempt to every person he came into contact with. People were generally stupid, he discovered quickly. That theory was proven in how easy it had been, in those early days, to rob their houses, steal their cars, and watch their women undetected.

Eventually, he'd learned to live a double life. He found a wife, had a family, and appeared respectable. He made sure to take care of all the little things that would have been the downfall of a lesser being.

He'd always been treated like a zero, and had sometimes wondered if he was even human. He just felt no empathy or interrelation to people at all.

When he finally made his first kill, and felt the indescribable power and joy that followed, that euphoria begged for further scrutiny. It was then he began to have the dreams, some waking, some not. An inkling that he was indeed correct, and he was not a typical human at all, but a being in a higher service. Further experimentation bore this out. He was much too clever and it was a simple matter to evade the police just by following a few simple guidelines. How else to explain it but for the fact being that somehow, the authorities knew him for what he really was, and gave him a wide berth to fulfill his mission? He worked for a higher power, and he was good at his job.

Soon, his human life was just a memory. He had transformed. He had become.

The approaching summer had thus led him to the clue. Houston had become dull. He needed a higher caliber of sinner to hunt. He needed a suitable locale to showcase his metamorphosis. He smiled. Vegas was close now, and events would progress quickly.