when shadows crawl {andy biersack}

my own hell {break your halo}

breathe.

in, out.

breathe, andy.

he sat on the window sill again, under the exact same sky, darkened with a shadow full of scattered stars that formed galaxies. yet, it felt different, and not because of the difference in time that humans had constructed so long ago.

he felt different.

it was as if all of the oxygen in his lungs had been lit on fire and burned away, melted into a pile of the darkest ash from the darkest reaches of this universe he lived in. he couldn't catch his breath, yet his breathing was perfectly normal, blowing out into the sleeping world ahead of him. it could be seen, considering that winter had now fallen, coating the city in a soft blanket of snow.

the blizzard of white had too soon turned to a lazy drizzle, and when the tiny snowflakes fell on his bare skin, he could not feel it. he didn't feel many things, these days.

so he continued gazing out, sock-covered feet dangling over the almost empty street blow, without a care in the world.

except that he did care. almost too much.

he cared little for the souls below, the ones who begged for money, the ones who gave it to them, the damaged and the damned. he wanted to believe he cared little for his own life, but he couldn't convince himself of that.

emelia was gone tonight, opting to go out and buy groceries instead of sitting in their depressing hotel room and watching her depressing husband contemplate his life for the next millennia. except, of course, he probably wouldn't survive the next millennia.

inhale. exhale.

it was practically as if his brothers were taking the air from his filthy, corrupted lungs and letting him suffer. tiny, human andy. tiny, human lucifer. they acted like they had the hearts of god and he was the embodiment of evil, yet they were the ones who had him murdered. they were the ones who stripped their family of their wings, cast them out of their homes, and damned them.

really, who was evil and who was good? the lines were so blurred and tonight it made it difficult for andy to decipher. if he was destined to be the vile, wicked king of hell, why did he feel like the lesser of two evils? maybe he had forgotten the feeling of making others suffer at his hand. maybe he had been away for so long that he had changed from the torturer to the tortured.

if only he had earned his father's forgiveness. maybe then andy would've had a chance. they could've returned to heaven and found the ones who sought to destroy their father before it was too late. before everything—metaphorically—turned to hell.

maybe i should stop thinking for once, andy thought, it never ends well.

though emelia was miles away, he still felt her. she would always be a part of him, and he of her. it was almost impossible to reach out to her, being fallen, but even feeling her presence calmed his soul.

he reached into the room to the nightstand next to the window and, feeling his way around, grabbed his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. he had acquired a taste for them over the past few months, and it had since become a slight addiction, in his words. the first inhale was intoxicating, pulling him back from what felt like the brink of insanity.

she would hate this, he thought. it brought a smile to his face.

a moment later it was gone, faded and replaced with a cold, dark expression. that was what thinking did to him. it felt like, at times, these emotions were what now controlled him, what drove him to want to jump off the small slab of cement he was sitting upon.

but he couldn't help it. for so long, he had been without emotions. or at least, emotions that weren't as heightened; barely-there scraps of feelings they used to civilize themselves. and now, it was so different. feeling almost felt good, even on the worst of days. he was a completely different person, although he still had to same strong, bitter hatred for those who wrongly punished him.

still, all the same, he no longer felt like a damn robot, words spitting out of his mouth mechanically, going places he couldn't remember and doing jobs that had seemed so important. compared to now, everything was so insignificant, but that was when he had taken everything for granted. emelia, his home, his wings. everything that made him who he was. suddenly everything was so much his head was spinning, the air leaving him.

damnit, breathe, you fool.

he took a breath. if it wasn't for emelia, andy would've offed himself a long time ago, almost as soon as his wings were severed from his tormented body, or even before then. if it wasn't for emelia, he wouldn't have bared through the excruciating pain of losing the only parts of himself that truly mattered to him. it was for her, it was all for her now. they only had each other, and nothing else.

emelia was not a human. at least, not anymore. there was a point when she was, born human until she reached adulthood and found andy. after that, she became.. more. not quite human, but not quite angel. she had never acquired the same feathered appendages or powers, but she did gain immortality, being his mate. they were destined a forever, and forever was what they would get.

he loved her. god damnit, he loved her. it was a burning pit of flames he gladly walked into, a whole ocean he let wash over and drown him again and again. this love was so powerful it had endured a millenia of hardships, of fighting and wars, centuries spent apart and isolated. they were so different but so in love, and although he had never deserved it, she would never leave him. both of them knew that.

so why did something not feel right? why did him, sitting here, repeating the same process he had for years, feel so damn wrong? why did the lack of her presence sting so bad?

a full second didn't even pass before he felt it. the same stabbing, gut-twisting pain seared through him like a match to a powder keg seconds before it exploded. he threw himself backwards at the sudden white-hot fire, doubling over in complete agony. it was her, he could feel it.

something was wrong. something was very, very wrong. and with that realization, he let out a bone-chilling scream, filled with anguish and raw, angry power that almost tore the building from its roots.

he would find her, and he would tear apart anyone who stood in his way. andy may not have had his wings, but he was the ruler of hell, the eternal fire.

he had a few tricks up his sleeve.