holy

xi

eddy knew the holy water was only going to help temporarily, but he didn't think it would be that temporary. just as they were about to fly to the council, brett had ever so conveniently passed out again. the coughing returned too, and got more intense by the minute. he was back at square one, the sickness just as violent as it had been before he consumed the holy water.

it certainly didn't help that eddy could hardly keep up with gabriel as they flew north, where the air got thicker with the scent of sugar and the clouds got even more blindingly white. on top of the pain that flying in heaven caused him, eddy also had to carry brett. gabriel had offered to help, but one menacing glance from eddy was all it took for him to receive an answer. there was no way in hell anyone besides eddy was laying a hand—or a feather—on brett.

they flew for awhile, eddy fighting against every instinct in his body and forcing his wings to push himself further into heaven, no matter how much he was repulsed by it. as they got closer and closer to the castle where the council resided, the pain of flying got more and more excruciating, and eddy could feel blood dripping from his the base of his wings and down his bare back. but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. for brett.

he'd never thought he would be so grateful to see the palace of heaven in all its strange, angel-like glory, but it signified an end to the pain, both for brett, and for himself. or so he hoped.

and so he followed gabriel into the grand building, stumbling onto the marble floor of the main hall in front of a panel of occupied thrones, sweating and bloodied and desperate, with a dying angel clutched tightly in his arms.

•••

brett was dreaming—if you could even call it that.

it was more like he was living—or reliving.

he'd always thought it was silly when humans would describe their last moments as being a time when their life would "flash before their eyes." he never had to worry about that, though, because angels didn't die. or at least, they weren't supposed to.

but here he was, watching himself as a young angel learning how to fly for the first time, his first performance for the council, his first full sized violin, his first time saving a human. it was all coming back to him in waves of nostalgia and sweet remembrance.

the more recent memories were a bit more jarring. living alone in the humble cabin, the bar, meeting eddy.

eddy.

he'd never understood the demon, not in the slightest. his mood changes gave brett whiplash but yet the way eddy had cared for him just drew him back in like a fish on a line. hell—eddy was even sacrificing himself to bring brett to the council. there was no way to explain that.

after exhausting the memories in his mind, there existed a blank white space across his subconscious. it was peaceful, quiet, no thoughts or worries intruding. he could feel his cold cheek pressed against eddy's warm, bare chest and eddy's arms clutching tightly around his body. he could hear eddy's panting breaths and the sound of the wind as they passed through clouds. but all of that was secondary to what brett was focusing on—the paleness that existed within his mind.

why was it there, and what was it trying to tell him?

was it really time?

his time?

an unfamiliar voice broke through the silence.

"brett?"

brett didn't think he would hear voices when he died.