Written for an LJ drabble comm. It's quick and not my best, but my profile looks empty with just one story, so here.
Disclaimer: Don't own him, though I wish I did. :pines:
He used to be an angel, though not exactly angelic. He used to have wings, but they were black and demonic and wrong. He used to be able to soar through the skies, unhindered, unfettered, free. He used to be whole.
He isn't anymore.
He's no longer an angel, only Fallen. He no longer has both wings, only one, lonesome and blasphemous. He can no longer fly, and this makes him bleed most of all. And he knows he isn't whole any longer, because he doesn't feel.
He doesn't cry.
But he wishes he could, because crying is human and being human means being capable of redemption. He doesn't care for many things, but he does want to be forgiven, for the damned can't fly in Hell. He knows this. He's been there. But it doesn't matter.
He doesn't hope anymore.
He stopped trying long ago, for the tears will never come and his heart won't let him smile. Instead, he screams, because that's what monsters do and that's what he is now. It's low and feral, caught between a wolfish growl and a lion's roar. He tilts his head back and screams to the sky he will never again touch, unfurls his lone wing and clenches his clawed hand. It leaves him drained and desolate and raw, but he decides that that's okay, because he's lost his light and deserves nothing more.