"Demons like us ruin everything we touch,"
"Don't touch me then,"
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It's been two years since Park Jimin fell from Grace. Two years that he's worked hard to win back God's favour and return home. It's not easy, yet Jimin feels somewhat...
[trigger warnings] this chapter contains the following: mentions & depictions of a dislocated shoulder, blood, brief mention of dismemberment (Jimin thinks that by looking at his arm, it will not be there, but it's still very much attached and there is no actual dismemberment), talk about causing someone to commit suicide, mentions of suicide/murder, brief mentions of past assault If any of these things make you feel uncomfortable, don't read/read at your own risk; your
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—GOD WAS ANGRY; the heavens wept for their fallen, an open torrent of rain and wind against the city below, but the thunderous echo of raindrops battering against his living room window brought him little comfort. Broken and choked sobs tumbled from quivering lips as he sat curled up on the floor of his apartment, shuddering from the cold. He was soaked to the bone, but Jimin had bigger things to worry about. Nausea bubbled up inside of him, crawling its way up his throat; a wave of dizziness washed over him, almost as if he were about to black out, but something forced his eyes to stay open. Something told him not to give up or give into the pain just yet. Something was coming for him no matter how tired he was.
Of course, the sickness was nothing compared to the fire in his shoulder — the root of his concern — along with the stabbing pain he felt in his wing. He hadn't noticed until he had managed to pull himself back up over the railing of the bridge — his one wing drooping behind him as an added obstacle — that both his shoulder and left wing had dislocated upon impact. He had no time to fix it on the bridge, and even if he did have the time, he needed both arms to temporarily fix the damage.
He did not have time to panic over how he was going to fix it. The voice in his head urged him to leave as quickly as possible. It had been painful tucking his wing away back under his sweater. Jimin could feel the blood starting to pool underneath his clothes, sticky and warm. Droplets staining the ground as he hobbled away into the darkness of the woods towards the city.
The image of the man burning into his brain. Even just the thought of him made him sick to his stomach, but there was nothing more that Jimin could do. He was dead, and it was all his fault.
How had he fallen this far? Had his entire existence boiled down to this one moment? Had GOD known that this would be his path? Or did GOD only plan out the lives of his humans, and not his Angels?
A lifetime of being "special" wasted on a man who no longer wanted to live; a lifetime of being an angel doomed never to understand how to help and care for the fragile minded; a lifetime...
Thunder boomed loudly, shaking his apartment; Jiin startled, crying out in fear and pain. A burning sensation numbed his shoulder; he sucked in harshly, wincing as his bones and muscles shifted. It was disturbing to feel.
He couldn't stay on the floor for much longer. Using his good hand, Jimin forced himself to twist, and position himself on his knees. He half dragged, half crawled towards the kitchen. He had to fix his arm. The longer he left it dislocated, the more time he spent risking a more serious injury. It was bad enough that he could barely fly anymore — and after tonight, he doubted he would ever fly again period — he couldn't risk being one-handed.
