Trigger warnings: torture mentioned, coping mechanisms, PTSD
Demonic torture was every bit as painful as Nithael expected it to be. Time passed in a whirl of colors and agony but not a sound passed through their lips. Questions weren't answered, curses weren't spat, not even whimpers escaped their clenched teeth. They'd already tucked their mind in a far-off place where not even Metatron could reach it. It had become a habit after the war when they sat at their desk in a daze waiting for anything to happen. They didn't like being trapped in their own head but the memories were better than the pain.
As it went on, they started to have… revelations. A strange thing to occur when being tortured by a demon but nevertheless, Nithael started to understand what they hadn't before. They prayed for the first time in a long while. Asked God to stop this, begged Her to have them just Fall instead, and questioned where She was while they were being tormented. That brought them to their first revelation: God didn't care. She either ignored what was happening, had no idea, or didn't even exist. Nithael wasn't afraid to question such things at this point. Falling would be a better alternative than what they were dealing with now.
A less pleasant revelation was that they eventually recognized Hastur. He'd changed since being an angel but when Hastur had seen the scar, the recognition was there. Things were worse for a while after that. Nithael hadn't exactly been kind in the war against Hell and Hastur had his own scars hidden away from their old encounter. The added rage behind every hit, cut, and word spat in Nithael's face had almost broken an apology from their lips. Nithael had never wanted to be involved in the war but that's what happens when you're a basic scrivener. You don't get a choice.
It was when Metatron returned that Nithael experienced their third revelation. They had been hanging from their wrists; body bloody, damaged, eyes glazed as they kept their mind tucked far, far away. Metatron was asking something, harshly grabbing their face; fingers digging into the scar on their face that had been torn anew, dripping blood down their neck and staining their once-white hair. It wasn't the pain that drew them back into reality though, but the question.
"Why do you even care?"
Nithael latched onto the question, dragging their mind up just enough to think about it. They'd been asked that question so much lately. Aziraphale wondered why they agreed to help. Crowley wondered why they were risking themselves. Nina and Muriel and everyone they bumped into who knew they were staying at the bookshop and eating with Crowley questioned why. Nithael hadn't had an answer until now. They hadn't known what they were feeling when they were asked to help, when they were told of the Second Coming, of Aziraphale and Crowley. As they were tormented and questioned though, they finally found something.
Nithael's cracked bleeding lips parted for the first time in what felt like centuries, breath hitching in pain that had finally reached them for this brief moment.
"B-Because… I… I was lonely."
The Metatron frowned, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he dropped their face and left them to Hastur once more. It took longer to tuck their mind away this time, feeling the tears of their flesh and the agony for an eternity until it was all quiet again.
They had been lonely. Being a 7th scrivener—or any scrivener—meant long hours at a desk that was rarely used. Being left in a vast empty space for centuries where most didn't even know you existed, much less your name. Muriel had an idea of what that was like but Nithael hadn't seen her during the war. They weren't sure if she was in it, or if any of the other angels who were there had been left as scriveners other than them. It was the war's fault, in the end. Nithael had just gotten the worst of it and had nothing to hold them together but themselves.
So, when they'd been assigned to Aziraphale, they were stunned to hear their name fall from his lips. They'd almost forgotten it in the centuries that had passed but he knew it and said it with a smile. Perhaps it's a one-time thing, they thought, but every time they were asked for something he greeted them again by name, asking questions, trying to know them. It was the first feeling of warmth they'd felt in existence. The second, technically, if one counted God's warm love but Nithael hadn't felt a hint of that since they were created. God hadn't cared about their plights when the war was over. She had bigger things to worry about, supposedly.
With Aziraphale came Crowley though, and Nithael felt surprisingly like they'd finally found someone who understood. Yes, he was harsh initially, angry and upset about what Aziraphale had done. Given how similar in appearance Nithael and Aziraphale were, it didn't surprise them when he started showing signs that he was projecting onto them. It was something Nithael understood and honestly made it easier for them to stick together. They were both scarred and broken in similar ways. They understood they were both hiding things they didn't want to talk about, things they would discuss at some point but only when they were ready or so distraught that it slipped out.
They could read each other though. They knew exactly what buttons to push and what to leave alone. They knew that silence didn't mean they were uncomfortable, just that they had nothing to say. They could look in each other's eyes and see what they were actually dealing with and it was the best thing that had ever happened to Nithael. They'd never felt so at home with someone before and that was why they were here. That was why they said nothing all through their torture, through the questioning. Crowley may have been a demon, but he was their friend far more than any angel could ever be.
Tears fell from Nithael's eyes as they took a shuddering breath. The torment had stopped again for a moment. The archangels would be coming in to question them before the Hellfire would be brought but Nithael had one final revelation in those final few hours.
Nithael didn't want to die.
"Still nothing?" Michael complained to Metatron as Uriel grumbled beside her.
"I'd say I was impressed if it weren't for them being a traitor."
"Well, it's their last chance to cooperate," Metatron shrugged, not bothered in the slightest. "They're going to burn either way. What's one less scrivener, hm?"
The archangels hummed in agreement, knowing they had a million other scriveners to replace them with. They'd all just been hoping that they finally had a chance to get information on Aziraphale and Crowley. The traitorous angel making friends with someone this loyal hadn't been expected. Though they'd never bothered to pay attention to the lower-level angels to determine who was loyal in the first place.
The room was just as white and pristine as it had been when they'd left the first day of torment. Even the blood that dripped off Nithael vanished before hitting the ground. Hastur had gone to get the Hellfire so the archangels were generally enjoying the image of the beaten, abused angel they'd left to him. It would've been harder to do so with the stench of the demon in the room. With a snap of his fingers, Metatron got rid of the restraints, dropping Nithael to the ground without care as they hit it with a sickening thud.
"This is your last chance, Nithael," Metatron hummed, not expecting to get a response from the mute angel. "Your one last opportunity to avoid Hellfire and all you have to do is tell us what the angel Aziraphale is up to."
Nithael slowly pushed themselves up on quivering arms, spitting out a gob of blood with a choked cough that vanished millimeters from hitting the ground. They pushed themselves onto their knees and brought one foot under them as they tried to catch their breath. It hitched with a slice of pain, preventing them from breathing deeply as they turned their cold eyes to the archangels. Michael pursed her lips at the sight. Those eyes were no longer those of an angel. They were unfeeling, blank, but also full of rage and hatred. She could almost imagine the pitch-black wings that would emerge from their back if they unfurled them. That's what they looked like in that moment. Nithael looked like a fallen angel, a demon by all rights. Only God could order a Fall but somehow, they'd managed to do something similar without Her.
The door opened as Hastur stepped in holding a small pot that made the archangels take hesitant steps back. Metatron held up a hand though, stopping him from throwing it down for the moment. He had to look forgiving. He had to show these angels that he wouldn't do this if he had the choice. The last thing he needed was rumors getting out and more angels to turn out like this one. So, he stepped slightly toward Nithael and knelt down, keeping the sorrowful, disappointed expression on his face despite the urge to snarl or smirk in victory at those cold blue eyes.
"God will forgive you, Nithael, but you need to tell us what we need or you will burn. We don't want that to happen to you. You were just a poor innocent lamb dragged into the lion's den. Don't let those traitors be the reason why you're gone."
Nithael opened their mouth and the Metatron's expression went tight before two words fell from their lips.
"F-Fuck you."
He let out a cry of pain when something jabbed into his shoulder, making him falter back as Nithael rushed to their feet and bolted for the door. He looked down and found himself stabbed by the very pen he'd had in his front pocket a moment ago—When did they…? His gaze snapped back up as he saw Nithael reach the door out and pointed at their back.
"Get them! You idiots! Go!"
Michael picked up her phone to call for the guards and Uriel immediately ordered Hastur to rush after them. That was the problem with most upper-ranked angels. They didn't like to do anything themselves. Metatron groaned in frustration, removing the pen and miracling away the injury to his shoulder as he stood. The group of them hurried out after Nithael and Hastur and the demon smirked when he seemingly had them cornered near the elevator.
"The elevator's been shut down," Michael confirmed, as Metatron lifted his lip in a snarl.
"Good. No more chances."
Nithael never had any chances. They knew that because they could tell how cruel Metatron was. They could see it on every inch of his face when he came to question them. He enjoyed watching them in pain and it frustrated him when they never made a sound. In the daze of their mind, Nithael swore they'd seen him watch the torture a few times but it was hard to be sure. As it was, they were running on fumes. Every injury was pounding at the forefront of their mind, making their vision swim and their limbs tremble with effort. Still, Nithael forced their mind to think. The elevator was locked down, they had nowhere to run that wasn't out in the open. All there was, was the angels, the demon, and the swirling blue and green globe of the Earth behind them.
The world had never looked more inviting and Nithael didn't care about the risk anymore. They would either make it or die. There was no God to save them. No one to distract the angels like they had for Aziraphale. They were on their own once more. Not if I make it, their exhausted mind dragged up, reminding them of those on Earth who might care. Aziraphale's relieved smile. Crowley's harsh but worried scolding. Nina's vanilla lattes. Muriel's hellos. Freshly baked bread, the smell of old books, the warmth of their white turtleneck sweater. Nithael never wanted or needed anything so much and as a result, they risked everything.
They threw themselves forward toward the archangels. Michael and Uriel panicked and jolted away, clearing the path Nithael needed to reach the globe. They reached out toward the British Isles, thinking of all those things they desperately missed as the Metatron growled.
"I think not."
He grabbed the pot from Hastur and threw it, spilling the contents of Hellfire and sending the flames hurtling across the room. Nithael's wings snapped out of their back at the last minute in a vain attempt to prevent their instantaneous death as they were pulled into the globe. A cry of pain finally broke from their lips as they were torn away from Heaven and sent tumbling through the sky. Clouds whipped past as they fought to get their wings up, to soften their fall in some way as their feathers burned and melted from the lasting Hellfire. They were closing in on the ground soon enough, having only slowed slightly and they risked casting the smallest of miracles.
They hit the ground hard in a back alleyway despite the net they'd conjured between buildings to catch them. The Hellfire had burned through them too quickly to be of much help and it took Nithael a moment to get their battered body to breathe. They had to move though. The fire was still eating away at their wings and they could feel it starting to creep toward their back. If they weren't able to put it out soon, it would engulf them and their risk would be for nothing. They would die after having just tasted hope.
Nithael ground their teeth and dragged themselves to their feet, nearly crumbling when their ankle rolled. They held steady though, leaning against a dumpster and looking for anything to help. Church… I need to find… Their eyes latched onto something else though; a car parked across the way. Tears welled up in their eyes at the sight of the black Bentley and they stumbled out into the street after it. They weren't sure if it was his and they weren't sure if the flat door they fell against was his either. Hell, they didn't even know if the demon could help them but when the door swung open and they fell into those thin arms, the sight of those brilliant yellow serpentine eyes tucked behind sunglasses made everything feel worth it.
"C-Crowley…"
