A/N: I haven't written anything in quite a while, so I suppose I'm getting used to this again going to try and take it slow.
It was raining. For some ridiculous, cliché reason it was raining. Worse than that is was raining heavily with immensely powerful winds and the moisture was getting in between his feathers, and making flying impossible. So instead he had to walk, leaving deep imprints in the mud.
The weight in his arms isn't heavy, but it was beginning to irritate the stomach wound he'd thought was closed. And while she was light, the blood seeping from her leg was making young Audrey rather slippery.
Humans aren't nearly as hardy as angels. In fact, during the battle of Paradise Falls Gabriel was shocked at just how fragile their bodies were. So easily broken and shattered and bent to serve others purposes. And now the small girl in his arms is bent and broken as well, through his own doing.
Gabriel looks down. Audrey's blonde hair is stained to a pinkish color by the blood. He feels some low grade unhappiness, not much more than, he imagines, the way a human feels over a dying goldfish. It's sad, but sad in a way that's rather far off, somewhat removed from him. She is, after all, a lesser being.
The lesser being in discussion shivered and unconsciously shifts in his arms, seeking warmth. Gabriel sighs, remembering Belphegor's words to him. A suggestion he should start with the blonde. But what did that mean? Save her soul? Her broken body? Aggravation gnawed at him and the rain stinging his face along with the painful stomach wound did nothing for the Archangel's mood.
If he was going to do any saving he had to at least keep her alive. Gabriel brought his wings around the small girl, shielding her from the buffeting rain. His tired shoulders groan in protest but he holds the wings up anyways. It's easy to push himself when he has a mission, easy no matter how hard it is in every other way. But right now, with no orders, no assurance that he is doing the right things and with God now fallible, doing anything at all has become unimaginably hard.
He stumbles through the door half-blind, dizzy from blood loss. The house is abandoned and has been for a while- probably due to current human economic conditions instead of the apocalypse. He can smell the musky scent of the mold that lines the walls and hear the small patter of cockroaches scuttling away from his heavy footsteps. Still, it will do. He settles Audrey on the plastic covered dining room table and goes to the household's bathroom. A bottle of iodine sits behind the mirror and a needle and thread underneath the sink. He snatches these up along with a few of the hand towels sitting on the sink.
There are internal injuries he can't deal with very well, but he does the best he can. The leg is the most problematic- blood seeps heavily from it and the exposed marrow could kill her just as quickly as the blood loss. It takes several tries, but he eventually snaps the bone back into place and then sews the skin shut around it. A proper splint is made out of metal from a folding chair and tied to her leg with the ragged towels. Iodine is poured on everything, often bubbling around the wound and hissing against her skin angrily, reminding him of a stew in a cauldron from the middle ages, back when mankind was more pious and less prone to blasphemy even if they sinned as often as modern humans.
Her chest is also injured-he can tell by the severe bruising, the blood that pools heavily under the skin. There's really nothing he can do for them except keep her still and hope none of her ribs has pierced her lungs. Beyond that, most of the wounds are minor- cuts that need to be sown shut are done so hastily if a bit inelegantly. He really does need to see to his own wounds.
Audrey is in and out of consciousness for most of it- sometimes she whimpers, barely awake, sometimes her eyes widen and she even takes a few weak swipes at his face, her eyes wide with terror. The worst is when he snaps her leg into place- a truly bestial scream makes its way out of her mouth, rooted in the base of her human nature; fear and escape from pain. Gabriel remains the pitiless, patient worker through out, applying the needle that's meant for fixing corduroy at best, not thick human skin.
With Audrey fixed up as best as he can manage, Gabriel sinks onto the soggy, abandoned couch and begins to work on his own large stomach wound. It takes many tries to get the needle threaded and he looses hold of it several times when the blood coats his fingers. Halfway through the thin scrap of metal bends the wrong way and he has to stick between his teeth in order to rework the shape. When he puts the needle back to work he can taste the copper of his own blood on his tongue. It's funny, but human blood smells exactly like his own tastes.
When he is finally patched up the combination of exhaustion and blood loss begin to overwhelm him. At the corners of his eyes black spots appear and his already blurry vision practically swims. Heavy limbs feel like lead and his armor has worn his skin raw in places.
On the plastic covered table, Audrey shivers in her sleep. Gabriel shuts his eyes for a moment, stabling himself and then rips the remaining curtains from the window, covering her in the cloth. It's not much, but it's better than nothing and he doesn't have the strength to go flying in search of coverings for her.
The Archangel sits against the wall of the decaying house, hazy vision focused on his ward. With each breath she could be healing or dying. At this point, whether she survives through the night and the coming days is entirely up to chance, and perhaps divine will.