your whispers are voiceless

Innocence

Innocence [drabble]

 [was listening to Let it Go when this happened. Yeah....]

War is all around him.

Screams and grunts and the cackle of fire blur the damp air, caught up in a haze of snowflakes that flutters around. Around the bodies of the fallen and those who would be sooner or later. Blood sputters on the white sheet of snow beneath their feet, which twist and pivot on the heels to either struck death or avoid it, and creeps down their skin. Taints the feathers on their wings red.

War between angels is always bloody.

Liam barely dodges a sword that thrusts forward. Could feel the swift curdle of wind by mere centimeters from his neck. His lips twitch, jaws clenching, and in a moment’s blur he has his sword plunged into an angel, whose breath freezes in his lungs. Dark blood trcikles past his teeth and paints them red.

Liam unsheathes the silver blade. Watches the other fall in front of him, his wings folding back, eyes slack.

And that’s when he sees them.

Zayn stares at Liam, neck bent, lips hanging open to draw in breaths just enough to keep him alive. Niall stands behind him. Has an arm around his throat, his other hand bracing his head in a position that would snap the other’s neck if he so much as twists it by a few inches. But he has a dagger clasped in his hand.

No, he won’t break his neck.

He’ll rip his  throat.

Liam wants to run to his boyfriend, save him, keep him away from Niall, but he’s completely paralyzed. Like his mind has frozen, has disregarded the war raging all around him and all he can see is Zayn on the edges of death.

And Niall.

He hasn’t seen him since the reaping. He’d been so full of life then, blue eyes bright and a smile, pure and innocent and sweet, always etched on his lips. But that was before Azazel had spun his life into darkness, had brought him to Hell and forced him to watch all the horrors of the world. He’d ripped away his purity, his innocence. His soul.

Liam had thought he was dead.

Niall smirks and mouths, lips wrapping around each word so Liam could see, “The cold never bothered me anyway.” Then he slashes the blade across Zayn’s throat. Swift. Deep enough that Zayn’s gasp doesn’t even leave his lungs and blood sputters down his neck.

Niall lets go. Watches his former best friend crumple down the snow with his fingers clutching the wound on his neck, gasping for a breath that would never come. Then he looks at Liam, at the boy who promised him so many things, so many times. So many lies.

And he winks.