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more ways than one (08)

word count; 7323

summary; a further look into his past reveals some secrets he never wanted to acknowledge, and a new pathways forwards after his death.

notes; I know the warnings might freak you out, but bear with me, okay?

warnings; reference to death, gore, violence, mentions of suicide, adultery, abuse, mentions of self-harm, torture and mentions of depression.

You felt numb and hollow, your fingers brushing the hair out of his eyes as you looked down at his body on the ground. The pack had been working around you for days, cleaning up the mess that had been the loft, and while you knew it was wrong - borderline creepy - you weren’t really sure what to do with the man before you.

What exactly did one do with a dead angel?

If he was decomposing, the wolves would be able to smell him by now, and yet he was exactly the same, his skin was paler but he still looked at peace, simply as if he was asleep, and you smoothed your fingers over the lines in his forehead, hoping to rub them away delicately with the pad of your thumb.

You were all cried out over the boy on the floor, your eyes were stinging, your skin was raw from tears, and your throat sore, and now you just felt hollow. Like he’s been a part of you, and something within yourself had died when he did. His skin was cold to the touch, and he almost looked as though he’d been chiselled from marble, a perfect creation that would remain untarnished for a millennia. His fingers, the ones that remained, would blow in the breeze each time the door opened, and you pulled your knees up to your chest as you sat beside him on the uncomfortable floor, crossing your arms across the tops of your legs and resting your cheek upon them as you simply watched him.

He had changed you monumentally, you may have saved him but he had saved you too. You had felt hopeless, useless and utterly lifeless before he had come along, something had always felt missing and with him, you felt as though that spark for life and passion had come back. You had your friends, who were more like family at this point, and yet he had made you feel more complete, like you finally had everything you needed in life.

You wanted to bury him, to put him to rest and let him be, to make him a beautiful grave that you could visit and thank him for each time you remembered the reason you were alive was because of his selfless bravery, and yet you still had no idea how he would want his life to have been celebrated, how it should be, you knew nothing, because you had never had the chance to ask.

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you looked up, a familiar face with warm whiskey-coloured eyes peering down at you as he squeezed comfortingly, and he took a seat beside you, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and holding you tight as your face pressed into his neck, muffling your sniffle of sadness.

“I really cared about him, Stiles.”

“I know you did, sweetheart. He saved my life too, y’know. He was a pretty cool guy, even if he did let me get possessed.” You let out a watery laugh into his skin, but you soon cut it off, hiccuping back a sob. He rubbed his hand up and down your back, trying to ease your aching heart as he watched you mourn for the man you cared so deeply for, the man you may have even loved, as he lay dead on the floor having sacrificed his life for you.

“I miss him.”

“I know.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your skin, scattering you hairline and temple with the sweet affections as he did his best to comfort you, and your hands gripped his shirt.

“I want him back, Stiles, there’s so much I never got to say to him.” He shushed your erratic mumbles, soothing you delicately as you hid your splotchy and wet face in his shoulder. “I wanted to show him the world, I wanted to show him everything that was amazing in the world.”

You coughed to clear your throat, feeling your body shaky, and a pair of arms hooked under your legs, pulling you away from Stiles, your head snapping up, a scowl on your lips as you looked at Derek, pushing against his chest angrily and his arms only tightened around you.

“Put me down, Hale! Let me fucking go!”

Yoe scratched at the arms holding you, and he hissed at you did, the wounds quickly healing but he never let up as he walked towards the spiral staircase in the room, and you caught sight of all the sad eyes watching you go, the pack looking on remorsefully as you were carried upstairs.

“Derek, please, I need to be with him!”

“You’ve been sat there for two days, it isn’t healthy. You need to sleep.” He dropped you down on the bed, frowning at you in a way that didn’t read as anger but more of concern and brotherly love, and you fell back into the pillows as he effortlessly tugged the blankets out from underneath you, dragging them up and over your body as the hand on your shoulder pushed you to lie down. You protested, but only for a second, before a yawn was cutting you off, and he chuckled down at you as he crossed his arms. “Exactly. You’re tired. I’ll be downstairs, okay? Please, get some sleep.”

He drew the curtains, the darkness only making you more tired, and the cosiness of the bed was really drawing you in, and so you pressed your cheek into the pillow beneath you, silence encasing you as the door clicked shut softly, footsteps receding until the only sound was your light breathing and your steadily beating heart.

Within only a few moments, darkness was taking you over, and you let it, sinking into the sweet relief of unconsciousness, as it temporarily relieved your guilt and lifted the weight that was crushing your heart, even it would only be for a little while, because as the darkness took you in, you finally felt like you would get some peace too.

Pride

There he was, watching himself, like something from ‘A Christmas Carol’ as he watched his own actions from another perspective. He could remember this particular moment clearly, his previous self chuckling away as he watched his charge of the time march an army into battle, despite knowing that they would lose. He was invested, he was prideful, and he wanted to win the game, because it was during this time that human life had seemed as trivial as a board game to him. He felt nausea twisting in his gut, knowing that if he was going to relive his life, have it flash before his eyes, it wasn’t going to be something he would be proud of, something he’d have wanted to share.

His head pounded, so painfully his eyes closed for a split second, before he was opening them once again as the pain dissipated, and now he was seeing something new, a different moment. It was the day you’d had your breakdown, the first and only big argument the two of you had ever had, and he watched on as he swallowed down his own ego and pride to come back to you, after sulking in the woods for a while, and despite knowing how this oh-so-recent memory played out, his heart was still racing in his chest as he watched you drop to your knees, clutching at your chest as you struggled to breathe.

His own eyes watered as he watched you, your body trembling so violently he thought your teeth may crack, curled up on the floor as you struggled to contain yourself. He wasn’t there yet, his previous self, and he reached out a hand to touch you, to ease you, seeing you in pain only making him feel worse. His hand was placed on your arm, and yet, he couldn’t feel you, he couldn't do anything to help, and his chest felt like he was the one who couldn’t breathe as he watched you suffer. Finally, he watched himself stumble into the room, and at that moment he’d never been so grateful that he’d been able to come back to you despite the argument, despite knowing he’d been in the right and you’d been in the wrong, because you ha needed him, and as his counterpart scooped you up as he remembered doing so clearly, he felt slightly more at ease.

Gluttony

He merely blinked, before the room was gone was again, and he spun around on his heel, panicked as he searched for you, and the loft he was so familiar with was now simply a long white corridor, no end in sight in either direction but exactly where he stood were doors, four on either side of him. He wasn’t nearly as lucky as ‘Ebenezer Scrooge’ had been, he didn’t get a guide, or someone to show him the way, he got nothing at all. Instead, he was standing in a large corridor, so gleamingly white and pristine that it almost made his eyes sting, and he took in the doors before him.

Six of the eight doors were hanging open, just a crack, not enough to give him a glimpse of what lay inside, the lights out in each. One door, the door labelled ‘pride’ was tightly closed, and he sighed, running his fingers over the wood carefully. The other closed door was unlabelled, this one had a lock on it, and he suspected it to be sealed, not that he was expecting anything good to lay on the other side, in fact, he assumed that to be where his fate lay.

Looking to the next closest door, he read the words carved into a golden plaque across the front, a frown pulling on his lips as he placed his palm flat on the wood and stepped into the room. Before him, he was presented with the loft, two scenes simultaneously laid out before him. One was himself, sitting at a large table with more food, wine and varied delicacies than he could possibly imagine, his feet popped up on the table as he stuffed himself full, never sparing even a scrap to the other dining places around his table. It wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, he’d never been one to share, if he had it then he wanted it, and if he didn’t want it he’d rather it go to waste than for someone else to enjoy it.

He was scowling at his former self when your giggle cut through the reverie, his head snapping to the side as he watched you struggle to pour yourself a glass of pop while laughing, a movie he remembered you promising him was good flickering across the TV screen silently, a box of pizza with one slice remaining in it, and you were looking straight at him. This version of you could see him, and he made his way over to the couch tentatively, taking a seat beside you as you watched him.

You were still smiling, offering him half of the blanket you were snuggled under as you tucked it over his lap, and despite the fact you could see him, he still couldn't feel your hands on him as you smoothed the soft fabric down around him. He used his foot to push the box towards you, his stomach rumbling hungry, clenching in hunger as he looked at the final steaming piece of pizza, but he offered it to you anyway, knowing just how much you loved it.

You had split it, sharing the final piece with him as you held it out to him. It had been messy, bits of cheese and sauce dripping from the torn slice, and he’d had to dangle it over his head just to be able to eat and catch any pieces that fell, but it had been worth it. You had both ended up with greasy fingers and sauce all over your face, but he would much rather have shared with you and gone hungry then have eaten it all himself and been satisfied.

It was one of his fonder memories, of being with you and getting to take part in such an intimate time, and despite knowing it would have no effect, he placed a hand over your cheek in his memory, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. It was as though the second he tried to interact with you in a way that wasn’t a part of his lesson to learn that everything came crashing down. You were gone, in front of his eyes you slipped away, his arm dropping down to the couch, and the room trembled as cracks formed along the concrete.

He stood up quickly, the room shaking, and his eyes widened as the building began to fall away before his eyes. Nothing but an empty black void filled the space as the loft crumbled away, and he stumbled backwards, watching the tv, the couch, the blanket you had once been sharing all fall away into oblivion as he fell over his own feet towards the loft door.

He moved back through the door in such a rush that he barely registered the flash of the white corridor before his eyes, before he was falling through the door on his other side, landing on his back with a huff, a groan on his lips as he felt winded.

Greed

Feet rushed past on either side of his head, stepping over him and telling him to move, and he found himself on the floor outside of an office building, one he recognised from the late nineties. This was the charge he’d had just before he’d been assigned to Stiles, somewhere at this very moment, Claudia Stilinski had been in labour, giving birth to a boy that would change his own life without even knowing it.

At this moment though, his previous self had been distracted, never once making any moves to stop that path he had sent his charge down. This was the day he was assigned to Stiles Stilinski, because this was the day he let the man he’d been guarding before take his own life. His fingers wrapped around the handle, the door to the office not budging in the slightest, and he banged his hands on the wood, ramming at it with his shoulder, doing anything and everything he could to get into the office. Everyone else in the building could see him, he was getting odd looks and murmured whispers as he screamed as best he could, his eyes widened as he watched through the glass, seeing the man sitting at the desk, neatly arranging the photo frames of his family as he tidied away his belongings and left a neat desk.

This was the same man he’d allowed to embezzle almost $60,000 from a charity organisation, just because he had wanted to see what would happen. He remembered the sick feeling of satisfaction he’d had upon guiding him down a path of greed and fraud, and he remembered himself suddenly being assigned a new charge, never having been bothered to even find out what had happened to this one.

The gun laying on his desk was enough to tell him, the simple way that he was humming as he readied himself to die, and his back hit the wood as he slid to the floor, covering his ears and screaming loudly as the solid wall behind him shook with the loud bang that had gone off, the silence of the office building encasing him before screaming had taken up.

Tears were spilling down his cheeks, and he didn’t have to be shown anything this time, as you were already the only thing flashing through his mind. All the times he’d put your needs ahead of his, all the times he’d put your happiness before his own, all the times you’d meant more to him than anything he needed or wanted possibly could, as he tried to bury the guilt of the actions that had just taken place behind him.

Bodies hustled around him, someone fumbling with a set of keys as they tried to get the locked door open, and he fell backwards through it the second it opened, the smell of printer ink and metallic blood washing away as he rolled form stingy office carpet and back to the pristine tiles of the corridor of his reckoning.

The door slammed loudly behind him, just like the other two, and he lay on the ground, panting for only a second, before eventually dragging himself back up to his feet.

Lust

The atmosphere was already one that sickened him, and it was different from the rest. It was older, perhaps by a hundred or so years, and his body felt heavier as he tried to move. He felt like he could barely lift his legs, like he was weighed down to the ground, and with every step he took, it was harder and harder for him to move. This was perhaps the 1700’s, a time when he’d taken a particular liking to bending certain rules, adultery being one of them. He recognised the areas surrounding him, and he felt like a knife was twisting in his gut when a familiar-sounding laugh and voice, muffled from the door he’d entered through got clearer and clearer.

Large, meaty hands were sitting on your body, lips pushing against your own as you were backed into the room towards the bed, the man he’d been controlling already pulling at the strings of your corset, and anger flooded his system. He screamed, screamed and shouted and begged for it to stop until his throat had burned and his face had been red, before he'd pushed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, and ignored the fact that he was being shown an illusion, something to hurt him.

He didn’t want anyone else’s hands on you, he didn’t want anyone else’s lips on you, he wanted you to be able to choose. Despite how much he’d been wanting to hold you, to kiss you, he’d always done his best to leave that to you, to let you make the first moves, he wanted it to go at your pace, and he hated the idea of someone else getting to touch you and hold you in a way that was meaningless, in a way that meant nothing other than some quick entertainment just because you were there.

You were so much more to him than just a lustful distraction.

With everything he had within him, he dragged himself to the door, it grew harder and harder, his fingertips bleeding and body aching as he pulled himself out of the room, not wanting to be present to such an illusion, to such a punishment, even if he did deserve it.

Sloth

The pain in his body seemed to slip away, and he almost felt like he’d stepped into something wonderful. This room was different, he wasn’t present like he was in the other, instead, he felt as though he was looking through a scrapbook. The room was stacked high with papers, each one holding a different task that he had failed to complete, another assignment or challenge, another duty he had neglected, the stacks reached the roof, papers covering the floor as he walked and stepped on the memories.

Sitting on the stacks, dotted around the room, hung on walls and lying on the floor were picture frames, and he navigated his way past the painful reminders of everything he had failed at, choosing to pick up a photo frame. It held a brief memory, playing out as he looked back on the time you’d taught him to cook, and he’d gone to the effort of learning, so that he could help you, or make the meals for you both instead on the days when you were particularly tired.

Another held the day he’d learned to do his laundry, the two of you unable to use the washing machine as you hid your presence from Derek, and he hand washed his clothes in the sink and hung them out the window so that they could dry, and you wouldn't have to take them home to wash and return for him.

He moved between them all, searching and hunting for more, until he was sure he’d seen every single one, and this room didn’t hold pain, it held an aching nostalgia as he watched the two of you smile, and he spent a while in there, laying the framed out on the floor in the order he remembered them, so that he could walk along and rewatch the development of his relationship with you.

When the time came, he wasn’t rushed for the room. Each frame seemed to flicker to black, progressively until each one showed him his own reflection, tear-stained cheeks and a wide smile, and it was with peace and satisfaction that he pulled the door shut behind himself, pressing his forehead to the wood, even if only momentarily, while he let the joy sink in.

Wrath

The loft was once again present when he entered the door leading to this sin, only two to go. He was well aware of everything he had done, reminders of his past sat around the room, and he ignored the group you called your friends as they cowered in the corner, choosing instead to look around at the trinkets and possessions he knew didn’t belong in Derek’s loft. The battle-axes sitting in a crisscrossed shape on the wall above the door, the dates of the battle carved into them.

The matching sets of slightly different rifles hanging on the coat rack, each with a hard-shelled helmet sitting on top, the dates of the world wars carved into each one, and the boxing bag in the corner with the gloves sitting on top of it, collecting dust. The fight that had ended his life had begun, and he knew how it played out, phantom pains of the bullet wounds on his chest beginning to flare up, and he pressed a hand to them absentmindedly. This room was a reminder of his biggest sacrifice, all the times he’d let fights and anger, malice and hatred get the best of him, and the one time he’d let his love take over as he gave everything up in a bid to protect and defend instead of attack and fight. He didn’t want to relive his death, he didn’t want to see you crying over him again, he didn’t want to watch himself break your heart, and so he made his way back or he door, not once looking back as he heard the bullets spray that had killed him open fire.

The deafening noise of the battle was silence as he stepped back into the corridor, only one door remaining, and he looked at it carefully, chewing on his lower lip with anxiety, before stepping towards it.

Envy

He had left this one until last for one very specific reason; because he already had a nauseating sickness telling him he knew exactly what was lying for him within this room.

He had always struggled with envy, it came hand in hand with greed, and while you’d been able to help him with every other issue he’d had, this was not one you could help him with. You made it worse, he wanted you, all of you. He wanted your attention, your love, your heart. He could never blame you for your friendship with Stiles, but he’d been jealous of it even before he’d been cast out, and he had never been able to move past it even when he was.

This room wasn’t a memory, the clock in the room was ticking loudly, the calendar on the wall was crossed off only two days after his death, and he was laying in the middle of the room. His guts twisted with jealousy as he watched you sitting beside him, Stiles making his way across the room to talk to you, to wrap his arms around you and hold you so close, to be the one who would still get to hold you, to love you and treasure you for the rest of his life.

There was no lesson to learn in this room, because no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be able to suppress it. This was his strongest weakness, his worst sin, because he wasn’t strong enough to overcome it, even with your help. He was always going to want love, and attention, and to be everything he possibly could. His reasons may have changed, but that simple fact would never go away, because he wanted to be everything to you, and he never would be.

He felt sick, watching as Derek scooped you up, carrying your screaming and thrashing body away from him, before the two of you disappeared up the stairs, and he followed after you both, watching as Derek disappeared with you into a bedroom with you still in his arms. He followed, stumbling over his feet and only catching sight of your tear-stained cheeks, and he wanted to be by your side, to sit with you as he saw you mourn, to ease your pain for him, and he screamed out in anger as he fell through the doorway.

The room slipped away, your body gone as he was back in the corridor, and he spun around, pushing idly at the now locked door of envy. He pounded, kicking and screaming as he willed himself to be able to return to your side, even if you couldn’t see him, he shouted your name, and punched at the wood until the white paint was smeared with blood and his knuckles were bleeding, tears flowing down his cheeks until he gave up, slumping against the wall as he was filled with despair.

The final door - the unlabelled one that had been locked, until now - creaked as it swung open, only an inch or so, to match how the others had been now that they were all locked so tightly behind him. His lesson had been learned, and despite what was on the other side of this door, he understood what he’d been told. He moved to it cautiously, peering at it with anticipation, but continued to lurk outside.

His hands trembled as he looked at the final door, the clicking of a lock sounding so loudly that he winced, and the noise echoed along the corridor to either side, his heart skipping a beat in his chest before he felt like it had stopped entirely, nothing but fear coursing his body.

You had shown him what it meant to care, to really try, and even if it had been too late to redeem himself, you had meant more to him than anything else ever had. You’d given him the power to change himself, and he’d done it without even meaning to, just for you. He’d changed, he’d learned, and it brought him peace as he managed to steady his racing heart and still his shaking hands enough to grasp onto the doorknob.

He expected fire, he expected agony and suffering and pain to match everything he had done. He expected to be burned, and tortured, and spend an eternity being inflicted with the same trauma he’d forced on everyone he had interacted with before you had come into his life, dragging him into the loft and forcing him to get better, forcing him to change.

With your face flashing behind his eyes, the feeling of your body still pressed to his as he remembered the hugs, the smiles and the laughs, he had the power to push the door open, and step into the blinding white light within as he whole-heartedly accepted everything he had coming to him.

You shuffled downstairs, swallowing thickly as you passed by the body that was still laying on the floor, now covered neatly with a white sheet, and you wrapped the thick bed covers that you’d brought with you even tighter around you, closing the warmth in to replace what you felt you’d lost, a cheap imitation of the warmth he’d brought to your life.

Stiles stumbled out of the kitchen when he heard your footsteps on the stairs, and he offered you a shaky smile, your best friend holding his arms wide out to you, and you slowly moved across the room, falling into them and he chuckled as a wad of cover smacked him in the face.

“I haven’t seen you wrap yourself up like this since I got possessed.”

“I like to become a burrito when I get depressed. It makes me feel safe. I’m a depression burrito.” You mumbled, voice muffled from where your face was pressed into his shoulder and he laughed loudly, the sound rumbling in his chest underneath you, his body shaking a little, and he squeezed you a little tighter before letting you go.

“All right, well, how about we get you some food, okay? Everyone but Scott has gone home, and Derek made a roast chicken. I don’t know where he got the chicken, he just arrived back with it after going for a run.” Your face scrunched up as he guided you to the kitchen, and you could see Derek scowling at Stiles from his place beside the oven.

“You saw me come in with a fucking grocery bag, Stiles, I didn’t wolf out and steal a fucking hen.”

You laughed loudly at the exclamation, pointing your friend a look, before you struggled to hop up onto one of the bar stools in your wrapped-up state, but managed it, Scott sending you a funny look from across the table, his face screwing up in a way that made you giggle, despite your sadness. The smell of chicken cooking in the oven, basted and seasoned filled your nose, and you let out a content sigh as you watched Derek wear his apron and chop potatoes to go with it, Stiles filling out a crossword in his puzzle book, and Scott texting away on his phone and doing his best to help Stiles, though he knew none of the words for the ‘diabolical’ level of puzzle.

“I need a six-letter word for ‘lacking of capability’.” He spoke aloud, and Scott began to eagerly scream off any synonyms he could handle, no matter what their letter count or real definition, and Derek snorted from the counter he was facing.

“Stiles.”

Scott cracked up laughing, and even you managed a smile, Stiles stocking his tongue out behind the werewolf, and as if sensing the motion, Derek flipped him off over his shoulder, before gasping loudly. “It fits.”

That only spurred the entertainment in the room, Derek chuckling as he scraped the chopped potatoes into a large pan of boiling water, before washing his hands and turning around to face you all at the kitchen counter. “How do you feel?”

“Despite being insulted, I am still sailing high, cruising a great mood, completing my crossword a-”

“Not you, dipshit.” Stiles beamed cheekily as you giggled, and he dropped one eye in a lazy wink, before going back to chewing on the tip of his pencil as he focused on the words he was missing, racking his brain extensively, his foot tapping under the table and the sound went unnoticed, as you were all used to his twitching by now. “I’m making you roast potatoes, I know you like them.”

“Derek, you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. You’re a cuddly wolf, really.” His lips formed a thin line, his eyes narrowing on you, but his cheeks heated up as he moved across the room, wrapping his strong arms around you and sealing you in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you too. But don’t tell the others, I’m not saying it to them all, some of them are too annoying.” He spoke the final word loudly, Scott’s lips flicking up as he heard the whole thing with his enhanced hearing, but Stiles merely scoffed, mumbling some reply in insult before it trailed off into an exclamation of joy as he solved another word.

Derek went back to cooking, and you were happy to just settle into the atmosphere around you. You weren’t sure how long had passed by, but the light from outside had darkened down, stars twinkling in the sky as the loft was lit up by lamps and soft lights. Clearly, you’d passed out for hours, the entire day having slipped by you, but you couldn't deny that you felt better, physically.

You were in the middle of chatting to Scott about the difference between ‘Quicksilver’ and ‘The Flash’ when he suddenly stiffened, Derek doing the same, and you and Stiles looked between them carefully.

“Dude, what’s up?”

Stiles waved a hand in front of a frozen Scott’s face, and the wolf snatched at his hand and batted it away, before they were looking at one another, Derek and Scott both going on the defensive. “Heartbeat.”

Stiles all but fell out of his seat, his hands flailing around himself, and fear rose up in your chest. You had been so sure that you’d ended the benefactor threat, you were so certain it was all over, and yet now you were on edge again. A cough, a single cough echoed through the loft from the main room, and the group of you stumbled back into the large space, eyes wide as you looked around, claws out on both of the wolves.

A scream tore from your lips as you took in the sight before you, your eyes watering as your knees buckled beneath you, causing you to fall backwards into Scott’s chest and he stumbled to support you. On his hands and knees, a red splotch of blood that he’d coughed up onto the white sheets, was the man you had presumed to be dead, your eyes wide and entire body trembling violently as you stood frozen in shock.

Your fingers grasped at the duvet wrapped around you, your jaw hanging open, and Stiles moved first, travelling towards his double and patting his back as the man groaned out, wiping his mouth and mumbling the word ‘water’ as best he could on a dry throat. You couldn't move, you felt like your head was spinning, and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you were really awake or whether this was a dream that your grief-riddled mind had dreamt up to ease your suffering.

A frantic Stiles buzzed past you, emerging only a few moments later with a glass of water, the liquid sloshing up over the sides of the glass and splashing across the concrete as it hit the floor. Holding it out to him, he took deep chugs, drinking the entirety of the glass before handing it back to Stiles and thanking him. Both of the wolves had put away their fangs and claws, eyes simply wide, and you weren’t even shaken from your almost traumatised state when Scott nudged you forward, you just watched on with a hanging jaw and watering eyes as he finally looked up to you.

He stood on shaky feet, stumbling for a second and wiping the blood from the side of his mouth, before he was offering you a small smile, arms hanging simply by his sides as his eyes softened upon seeing you. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

His wounds had healed, everything from the slight grazes and scrapes on his skin all the way to the bullet wounds that had taken him from you in the first place. Colour was dripping back into his complexion, bringing his life back with every second that passed, and his feathers were falling away slowly, the broken ones and the still pure ones falling away to a heap on the floor until his shoulders were once again sitting bare.

His arms opened, lifting barely at all but his palms stretched out as he watched tears roll down your cheeks, your bottom lip held prisoner within your teeth and you let out a squeaky sound before dropping the blanket you had wrapped around you, darting across the room and throwing yourself into his arms, to be wrapped up in him instead. His arms sealed around you just as tight as yours were around him, his face buying in your neck as your chin sat on his shoulder, and he squeezed you tightly as you released a needy sob, tears splashing onto his bare skin from your cheeks.

His hand cupped the back of your head and his own body was trembling underneath you, your legs going weak just from the ecstasy of being held by him, and the two of you sunk down to your knees, never letting one another go as you did, until you were slumped on the floor and clutching onto one another desperately.

You heard the others shuffle back into the kitchen and you twisted your head, pressing your forehead against his cheek as he lifted his own, and you felt his breathless chuckle wash over your skin. “I got you, I got you, I promise.” He pulled back enough to cup your cheeks, pressing a shaky kiss to your forehead and you laughed, more tears spilling down your cheeks and his thumbs soothed them away, his lips pressing to the skin your tears had been upon as he soothed the sting. “Why are you crying? Don’t cry.”

“It’s good tears! It’s such good tears, I can’t believe you’re back, you’re back with me.”

“I’m back for you.” He whispered, his eyes fixed on your own, and the two of you watched one another carefully, before you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his as your eyes slid shut, and he let out a low breath that you didn’t know he’d been holding. “I saw. I saw you cry, and I saw how I am with you, and there was some kind of message, I’m not really sure but what I am sure about is that you are so important to me, and I need you.”

His lips pressed a tender kiss to the tip of your nose, his face barely moving, and you circled your arms around him even more tightly, holding him close to your body as you express everything you didn’t say in words with your actions instead. Your hands spread out over his skin, rubbing up and down his smooth skin, before you jumped back in surprise, and he startled a little in your touch. “Your wings are gone! You lost your wings, and your life, for me!”

“And I would do it all over again, a thousand times, if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Yeah, but, you don’t have scars this time.” You placed your hands on his shoulders, turning him around, and he looked back over his shoulder as far as he could, your eyes widening and mumbles of awe leaving you as you took in the detailed ink work on his skin. From the tops of his shoulders to just under the hem of his sweatpants was a beautifully detailed set of tattooed wings, covering the expanse of his back and almost hiding the patch of moles under his right shoulder, but you would never miss them.

Leaning in to press a kiss to the constellation on his skin, his muscles tensed and fluttered under your lips, and your fingers traced the intricate designs from the top to the bottom, covering all of the subtle lines and detailing. “What is it?”

“It’s.. incredible. It’s wings, a tattoo of beautiful angels wings, your wings, from your shoulders to the bottom of your back, and it’s breathtaking.”

“I wish I could see it.” He joked, and you tapped his shoulder, stumbling to your feet and he rose up after you to steady you, but you were already tripping over your own feet as you dashed across the room to grab your phone from where it was sitting on charge in the corner. Making your way back over to him, you positioned him under the lights, snapping a few pictures from different angles, before coming to stand at his side and holding up the phone screen before him.

You flicked through all of the photos, zooming in and pointing out different patches, until eventually, you realised he was no longer looking at the photos. Glancing up, you found his eyes already on you, a small smile on his lips as he stared at you, and your brows raised up. “What?”

He shook his head, licking over his bottom lip before taking the phone from you and tucking it into his pocket, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, his eyes fixed on yours and your lips parted under the intense gaze he was fixing you with. “I love you.”

You took a sharp breath, eyes wide but you couldn't reply before his mouth was descending onto yours, his eyes sliding shut and lips meeting yours, pressing timidly to your own and a low moan sounded out. Your arms came up to wrap around him, your lips dragging together as he pulled back, before he was diving back into you with more confidence, pressing his lips to yours in a series of quickly deepening pecks, the kiss moving from short and chaste to passionate and drawn out, the smacking of your mouths together filling the silence of the room as his hands slipped down to settle on your waist, sliding around your body to hold you to his body tightly.

Your chest was flush up against his, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing back into him with just as much enthusiasm and joy, your fingers weaving into his hair as his fingers tickled along your spine, running up and down in soothing patterns as he towered over you, your mouths connected in a heated exchange of emotions.

Your lungs were burning, and you pulled back, just long enough to take a deep breath and let your eyes flutter open to take in his ruddy cheeks and swollen lips, darkened eyes studying you so intensely that you felt yourself go pliant in his hold as his strong arms supported you. “I love you too.”

He beamed at you, leaning in and pressing his lips back to yours, sucking on your lower one teasingly as his tongue poked it’s way into your mouth, tangling with your own. This kiss wasn’t as needy or frantic, it was slower, and more intimate, a sigh leaving you and escaping into his mouth as your tongue played visible between your mouths each time your heads tilted and shifted to get deeper angles to one another.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, feeling his thumping just as excitedly from where you weer pressed together so closely, and you sunk back down from your tiptoes to resting on your feet properly, your breathing laboured as you tried to steady it, unable to hide the grin on your face as you felt him pepper your face and cheeks with kisses.

“Are you hungry? Does coming back from the dead make you hungry, or feel sick? It’s not exactly common knowledge.”

“I’m starving, actually.” His words were hummed out, and you laced your fingers with his before pecking his lips, pulling him in the direction of the kitchen as he followed after you. Glancing back over your shoulder, nothing but warmth and pure love filled you as your eyes found his, and he offered you a dazzling smile in reassurance, his fingers squeezing your own in reassurance, and finally, you felt like everything in your life had fallen perfectly into place.

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