A/N: Sky here, long time little write. I've had this idea in my head for a long time now and just haven't been able to get it down. I still need to make a final sketch of the next couple chapters, verify plotpoints, and note my diction, but this is going to be a four chapter ficlet and I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own YJ or any associated characters.

Angel of the Abyss

Part I - Illusions

He'd been drinking for three days straight and lived in a half-asleep world, trapped somewhere between existence and absence, like Purgatory. The world always showed in hues like sepia, and red frequently painted his vision as pain seared his mind, the thoughts of ache and loss bearing too heavy upon his shattered heart.

Everything he'd ever loved was lost.

There was a world outside these four walls of this shabby apartment. He saw the sunlight, watched the clouds ghost by, witnessed night paint the air. He never touched it; he never felt fresh air. The rank world of mold spores and old booze kept him company in his darkest hours, embracing him in both warmth and filth, holding him down and locking him in, chains around his wrists and ankles. The last time he'd left the apartment had been to grab more alcohol to drown out his sorrows and the intense throbbing in his head.

Gray existed in every corner, the dark little clouds ready to close in and swallow him up, sucking him down a dark hole, pulling him down like Alice, down towards that Cheshire Cat, down into pools and oceans of insanity- but he stayed up and fought those dark clouds off with tooth and claw, believing he'd be saved, trusting that someone out there loved him enough to reach out. This faith had waned.

As he hauled himself off a puke-stained couch with heavy limbs, he staggered over to the filthy kitchen counter and brushed aside empty bottles of whiskey to see if he had one more full one left. Roy had to survive another day of loss.

There was nothing there but a couple drops in empty bottles, not enough to be worth much more than Roy himself. So he leaned with his elbows on the kitchen counter and looked at the water-patched ceiling and sent up a silent prayer for more money for more booze. But he knew he had no money. And he knew there would be nothing left to do but to get sober and face this tragic new world.

It was not a world he looked forward to. He never wanted to be sober; he would remember what had happened and what had hurt him. If he was lost and alone, whatever little there was left in life that may have mattered wasn't worth it to him. He could bear suffering, but not this kind of agony and knowing that came with sick sobriety.

There were many moments when he wanted to kill himself- pain was such a thing that could wear a body down to the point of desperation for escape. The only escape from truth and reality was death.

He pulled open a drawer and drew out a kitchen knife. A decent blade, sharp enough for a weapon, sharp enough to kill. He moved to the window to see thin clouds drift by one last time; the sunshine reminded him of a familiar smile. His heart hurt...

A knock at the door pulled him from his suicidal stupor. His head turned slowly towards the foreign sound, barely recognizing its meaning. A person. A living being.

Hope.

Roy hid his knife behind the tv and helplessly tried to compose himself. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was dark with a five-o-clock shadow, and his motions were stiff and sore. His body had been dragged through every pit of mental and emotional Hell known to man, yet here he was, still breathing. Hiding his state of living and state of mind were out of the question at this point. So he just moved the best he could, slow and shuffling, and pushed aside the worst of his shaggy hair, hoping to disguise what he couldn't fully conceal.

When he opened the door, he saw a boy in a yellow sweater there, looking at him, not up at him anymore, with shy green eyes and a smile like fresh air. "Hey, Roy."

"...Wally."

In some respect, he felt his heart soar, but at the same time, he felt it sink. He'd betrayed the team, left them behind, why would any one of them come back for him? He was a clone, he was a spy, he was the equivalent of Judas. No one should care for him, no one should respect him. He was nothing more than an animal, a vessel for information to be disposed of upon becoming worthless. And he had dropped plenty under the line of worthless.

But at the same time, his heart took flight on an angel's wings because it was Wally, Wally whom he loved, Wally whom he cherished. And this was the Wally who would always smile and laugh and brought so much light into the lives of those around him. Wally could pull him back up. Wally could help him resurface from the oceans of despair.

Wally.

"You look like shit." A smirk on his face, innocence in those eyes. He was a child, a boy, barely seventeen, and he had no idea the effect of his presence had on Roy.

"Thanks, Wally."

And Roy was grateful. His boyfriend had come to rescue him from the prowling dark clouds that lingered in his apartment, in the shadows, in his mind. Wally would protect him. Wally would keep him stable.

In that moment, no better person could've shown up on Roy's doorstep. With him here, thoughts of the Cheshire Cat were vanquished and the sunshine no longer made him think of sadness. Because his happiness was right here, standing in front of him, in a bright yellow sweater with eyes full of love. Sadness couldn't exist where there was only light.

"So, can I come in or-" Wally couldn't even finish his sentence before Roy was out in the hall, grabbing onto him for a desperate hug, squeezing the one person he never thought he would ever be able to hold again.

A/N: There's "Illusions". Next one should be up in a couple days if I'm feeling good. Some questions will be answered in the next chapter. Please leave some feedback and constructive criticism.

~Sky