Cold was a new feeling to him. He decided that it was very unpleasant. But at that time he believed that he deserved unpleasant. When the rain had started to fall his trenchcoat had proved itself not water resisant, and so the damp had soaked through to his clothes and, as it felt to him, into his bones. But he didn't mind. In fact he was trying to concentrate on the cold, enhance it even. Anything to occpy his mind so it did not stray to destructive thoughts.
And so the fallen angel sat, curled up under a tree, dried tear tracts on his face and cold in his bones, denying his mind thoughts of falling brothers and a stolen glimmer of white in a small glass bottle.