An Angel's View
Disclaimer: Azrael, Nightwing and related characters belong to DC comics. And yes, I know that the Cross of Coronado is from Indiana Jones, so sue me.no, wait, don't.
I know you've seen me, even as I fly past the hospital. You may have been taught stealth by Batman, but so have I. I should have let you know I was going to be here, I suppose, but I didn't, still don't, want any interference on my case. This is a.personal crusade in a way, but I haven't the time to tell you to go.
This is your city, and I'm not trying to take that away from you. Just.don't interfere. Please.
The two figures swing above the city, the second shadowing the first. Their route takes them away from Rabe Memorial, and towards the dockside. One wears a flapping cloak, with a hood and mask. The other is clothed in his skin-tight costume, allowing for his more acrobatic moves. Both fly with an easy grace, until they reach the docks.
I'm here, at my objective, and the ship I want is in. The 'Welsh Trellis', exactly where my informant said it would be. While I'm stopped on this shed, I can just about see you landing atop the building next to me. I know you want to know why I'm here, but I don't need you following me. Go help someone else, I don't need you.
The angel leaps from the roof, falling to land lightly on the deck. The men on board all turn in surprise, several dropping their crates to go for the stranger. However, their slight hesitation allows him the advantage, which he seizes immediately. His body swings into action, feet slamming into flesh, hands landing on heads.
I know you're watching me, trying to work out what I want, judging me. I can imagine what you're thinking. You're remembering that time, when I was.afflicted, by that madness. You were in my way, and paid heavily for it. I hate the memory of it, as I'm sure you still do, but I.didn't want to do it, wouldn't have if I'd been in my right mind. You were too.reckless, too desperate to avenge your father.
I don't like remembering you crumpling under my fists. The look on your face as you lay there, realising that you couldn't stop me.
The thugs all lie on the deck, unconscious from Azrael's attack. He had been on automatic during the fight, taking them all down while thinking of other things. Now he was checking through the crates, hunting for an object.
Unbeknown to him, there was one crewman who hadn't been knocked out. He had been down in the cabins, and had crept up when he heard the noise. His gun shines dully in his hand, pointing straight at Azrael's back.
Nightwing sees this, and flies into action. He jumps from the rooftop to stop the gunman.
I've found it! The object of my quest; the Cross of Coronado. It gleams in the light, even with the remains of the packing straw caught on the rubies. I can.-what?!
I just heard the crack of a shot, behind me.
And the soft thump of a body hitting the deck.
Oh, God.
Azrael spins around. He sees the dark huddled figure, lying in front of the gunman. The thug is already bringing up his weapon again. Azrael doesn't give him a chance to fire. He leaps forward, over Nightwing, and lands one solid blow, throwing the man backwards across the deck. The gun is knocked far from his hand. The angel's attention is drawn back to the young man at his feet.
He's just sprawled on the deck here. There's so much blood, I can't see where it's all coming from.
Don't let him die!
Okay, calm. I've got bandages, and it looks as if he's been hit in the side. I need to call Oracle.
Azrael pulls out his communicator, using it with one hand while pressing the bandages against Nightwing's side with the other.
"Oracle? I need you to tell Doctor Thompkins that I'll need to see her at the clinic in about thirty minutes. No, not me. I'm in Bludhaven. Yes, I'm afraid so. Yes. Azrael out."
The angel sees that Nightwing's eyes are closed, and that his skin is pale and sweaty. Pulling off his cloak, he drapes it carefully around the injured hero, pleading with him to wake up.
Come on! Don't die on me. I may have wanted you dead before, but that was a long time ago.
Please. Not just for me, for Bruce, Barbara, Alfred and Tim as well.
Live!
The young man's eyes flutter open, and he stares up at the angel beside him. He opens his mouth, trying to form words.
"Shh. Try not to speak. I'll get you to Leslie soon," the deep voice reassures him.
His body is lifted gently, and cradled carefully by Azrael's strong arms.
I wonder, if he noticed my tears. I didn't mean to shed them, but I was just so worried.
He seems so small and light in my arms.
I hope we get to Gotham in time.
Azrael's car speeds down the highway, overtaking cars dangerously. Nightwing lies in the front seat, drowsy and half-conscious. The cloak wrapped around him is steadily soaking through with his blood, turning it a darker red. Azrael sits at the wheel, dividing his gaze between the road ahead and the young man in the passenger seat.
I think he'll be alright. If I just keep telling myself that, he will be. He has to be. He can't die now.
I've brought the cross with me as well. I'm sure Dick understands, I've spent too much time and effort looking for it just to leave it. It's lying on the floor by his feet, the polished silver showing drips of blood. I suppose a bit of blood is normal for this cross, knowing its history.
I hope Dick'll be alright.
Perhaps tonight might almost be a good thing.
Perhaps he might trust me in some way, if only slightly.
I reach over and touch his cheek softly. He opens his eyes and looks at me.
It's a calm look, not angry or afraid. I hope that it's trusting.
He seems to be feeling safe enough.
Disclaimer: Azrael, Nightwing and related characters belong to DC comics. And yes, I know that the Cross of Coronado is from Indiana Jones, so sue me.no, wait, don't.
I know you've seen me, even as I fly past the hospital. You may have been taught stealth by Batman, but so have I. I should have let you know I was going to be here, I suppose, but I didn't, still don't, want any interference on my case. This is a.personal crusade in a way, but I haven't the time to tell you to go.
This is your city, and I'm not trying to take that away from you. Just.don't interfere. Please.
The two figures swing above the city, the second shadowing the first. Their route takes them away from Rabe Memorial, and towards the dockside. One wears a flapping cloak, with a hood and mask. The other is clothed in his skin-tight costume, allowing for his more acrobatic moves. Both fly with an easy grace, until they reach the docks.
I'm here, at my objective, and the ship I want is in. The 'Welsh Trellis', exactly where my informant said it would be. While I'm stopped on this shed, I can just about see you landing atop the building next to me. I know you want to know why I'm here, but I don't need you following me. Go help someone else, I don't need you.
The angel leaps from the roof, falling to land lightly on the deck. The men on board all turn in surprise, several dropping their crates to go for the stranger. However, their slight hesitation allows him the advantage, which he seizes immediately. His body swings into action, feet slamming into flesh, hands landing on heads.
I know you're watching me, trying to work out what I want, judging me. I can imagine what you're thinking. You're remembering that time, when I was.afflicted, by that madness. You were in my way, and paid heavily for it. I hate the memory of it, as I'm sure you still do, but I.didn't want to do it, wouldn't have if I'd been in my right mind. You were too.reckless, too desperate to avenge your father.
I don't like remembering you crumpling under my fists. The look on your face as you lay there, realising that you couldn't stop me.
The thugs all lie on the deck, unconscious from Azrael's attack. He had been on automatic during the fight, taking them all down while thinking of other things. Now he was checking through the crates, hunting for an object.
Unbeknown to him, there was one crewman who hadn't been knocked out. He had been down in the cabins, and had crept up when he heard the noise. His gun shines dully in his hand, pointing straight at Azrael's back.
Nightwing sees this, and flies into action. He jumps from the rooftop to stop the gunman.
I've found it! The object of my quest; the Cross of Coronado. It gleams in the light, even with the remains of the packing straw caught on the rubies. I can.-what?!
I just heard the crack of a shot, behind me.
And the soft thump of a body hitting the deck.
Oh, God.
Azrael spins around. He sees the dark huddled figure, lying in front of the gunman. The thug is already bringing up his weapon again. Azrael doesn't give him a chance to fire. He leaps forward, over Nightwing, and lands one solid blow, throwing the man backwards across the deck. The gun is knocked far from his hand. The angel's attention is drawn back to the young man at his feet.
He's just sprawled on the deck here. There's so much blood, I can't see where it's all coming from.
Don't let him die!
Okay, calm. I've got bandages, and it looks as if he's been hit in the side. I need to call Oracle.
Azrael pulls out his communicator, using it with one hand while pressing the bandages against Nightwing's side with the other.
"Oracle? I need you to tell Doctor Thompkins that I'll need to see her at the clinic in about thirty minutes. No, not me. I'm in Bludhaven. Yes, I'm afraid so. Yes. Azrael out."
The angel sees that Nightwing's eyes are closed, and that his skin is pale and sweaty. Pulling off his cloak, he drapes it carefully around the injured hero, pleading with him to wake up.
Come on! Don't die on me. I may have wanted you dead before, but that was a long time ago.
Please. Not just for me, for Bruce, Barbara, Alfred and Tim as well.
Live!
The young man's eyes flutter open, and he stares up at the angel beside him. He opens his mouth, trying to form words.
"Shh. Try not to speak. I'll get you to Leslie soon," the deep voice reassures him.
His body is lifted gently, and cradled carefully by Azrael's strong arms.
I wonder, if he noticed my tears. I didn't mean to shed them, but I was just so worried.
He seems so small and light in my arms.
I hope we get to Gotham in time.
Azrael's car speeds down the highway, overtaking cars dangerously. Nightwing lies in the front seat, drowsy and half-conscious. The cloak wrapped around him is steadily soaking through with his blood, turning it a darker red. Azrael sits at the wheel, dividing his gaze between the road ahead and the young man in the passenger seat.
I think he'll be alright. If I just keep telling myself that, he will be. He has to be. He can't die now.
I've brought the cross with me as well. I'm sure Dick understands, I've spent too much time and effort looking for it just to leave it. It's lying on the floor by his feet, the polished silver showing drips of blood. I suppose a bit of blood is normal for this cross, knowing its history.
I hope Dick'll be alright.
Perhaps tonight might almost be a good thing.
Perhaps he might trust me in some way, if only slightly.
I reach over and touch his cheek softly. He opens his eyes and looks at me.
It's a calm look, not angry or afraid. I hope that it's trusting.
He seems to be feeling safe enough.