The thing that Dallieh enjoyed most about these older buildings was the boiler. You could run the hot water all day and never run out. He washed the bowl and grabbed a cloth, damp and warm, before returning. He took two steps back toward where Angel still sat and paused. He had been so afraid. First he had been afraid of himself, his reaction to the man he’d carried home being covered in fresh crimson, but he was so blood drunk he was running even hotter than a normal healthy person. He could give that warmth to him: an offering of comfort he could make because of the men who should have let Angel walk by that now allowed him to be this close and not feel any of the effects of his condition because he was so full. 

There was something about Angel, something that nagged at him far more than just his broken body. It had been acceptance. Not even the proud acceptance that someone has the moment they know that they are going to die, but the cold hard look that someone gets when they understand that one way or another, the pain is coming and there’s nothing to be done but wait it out. It was the look of hoping that perhaps this was the time that the pain just erased everything and yet, somewhere else, hoping for another chance to walk in the sun. There was something about those long flowing limbs and pale coffee flesh that was half sitting in the bed across the room. Dallieh was going to have to wrap that hand and splint those fingers together or he knew Angel would forget. With how much that body must hurt, he’d flinch the wrong way and snap the bone in his hand without even realizing what happened if he hadn’t done it already when he’d tried to shift his weight to eat.

He should have done something sooner. He should have known when the first pang of his memories forced him to change. He understood all too well why he hadn’t, but he should have. He had been so fixated on breaking things that he hadn’t paid attention to the fact that the bait might be worth more than the kill. Now he had to turn to hide his regret and used the excuse of getting bandages from the bathroom to give himself the moment he needed to compose his thoughts. How could he ever beg Angel’s forgiveness for his mistake? He was notworth such a thing from someone who shone so brightly, even in their darkest hour.

He busied himself rummaging through cabinets in the small bathroom looking for things that he might be able to use to bandage that hand and soften some of the places that would be larger cuts. He would have to get more. There was maybe enough for now, but certainly not for next time. He didn’t think that Angel would be in the best state to make it down those stairs and out to a pharmacy to replace what he required to get him through the first night, let alone the next week. This was getting tricky. He shook his head, once more aware that there was no other way. He was going to have to come back. Some part of him was happy and he couldn’t bring himself to crush it. Some part of him was glad that he would have to return here and check on him. That he would see that Angel was healing, that he was eating, that he was living... Somehow that was a comfort.

When he emerged with the supplies he needed, he was aware of being watched. Those eyes followed him to the small table where he put everything down, then back to the sink to make the now cool cloth warm. That would happen first. Dallieh decided that comfort would happen first. It would hurt Angel to reset that hand, to make sure the bones would heal properly.  He would have to probe them, would have to do more than just feel where they were cracked, especially after Angel had attempted to put weight on them. He needed comfort first, but he would have to endure just a quick moment of pain.

When he sat beside him, Angel flinched, an uncontrollable reflex... then groaned at the fresh pain it produced. Dallieh’s brow furrowed as he saw his hand begin to rise, to stop him, but the moment the warm cloth crossed his brow, his hand fell and became still at his side. Angel moved his head, just a little, just enough so that he was looking at Dallieh again. Finally the crease in his brow faded and his features relaxed. His eyes were a swirling mass of colors until they finally settled to a blue so dark it could have been the night sky before he closed them. What was going on in that head of his? What do Angels think of?

He hated to do it but he was going to have to disturb him, just one last time and then, he would leave him alone if he wanted. He would sit in the chair and watch the gentle rise of his breathing until morning if he wanted. He would do anything that he wanted... but watch him die. Slowly he rose, gently extricating himself from his half curled position about the man in the bed. He grabbed what he needed and put it all in the chair before kneeling down in the direct line of sight of the man before him, just between Angel’s knees.

“Angel... I have to do one last thing, and then you can sleep. I have to make sure you don’t break your hand.”

Though his eyes were trained on him, Dallieh wasn’t sure if he was registering what he’d said. His expression remained unchanged. He’d have to tell him first. It was a small amount compared to what he’d already endured, but he hesitated at the thought of causing him any more pain.

“Listen to me. This is going to hurt you, but only for a moment and then it will be over. If I don’t...” Angel hitched a breath and now the look on his face twisted. He was still not afraid... he was bracing himself. Dallieh could have cried. He wanted to cry for both of them and promise he would never hurt him again. He wanted to say a thousand things but could only manage one. “I’m sorry.”

He stood up and leaned in, pushing his forehead against Angel’s forehead, straddling his legs on the daybed and taking his face in his hands. He smoothed under each eye with his thumbs before allowing his hands to descend, down his cheeks, down his throat, across his shoulders. Slowly over bruised muscles and across coffee skin, to wrists... one of which he tenderly grasped and pulled between them.

“I’m sorry.” He could tell it was already too swollen to be right. He should have set the hand first but there were so many other things that needed tending to. He closed his eyes when Angel gasped. He could feel the fracture in the bone. It had slipped.

“Forgive me...” With a single quick jolt he pulled the bones straight. Angel didn’t even jump. He only let a small whimper escape his lips and Dallieh could feel his expression shift where their foreheads still touched. Just a little more and it would be over. All he had to do was check to make sure that his bones were back in place and wrap it up so that Angel could bang himself around and not damage it in his sleep. Once more he applied pressure to where he knew the fracture was, feeling, to be sure that it had all slipped back into place. It was over.

“I’m sorry Angel.” One last time before he pulled away and withdrew, gently bringing Angel’s injured hand with him, so he could wrap it. Even now that he had hurt him, Dallieh sensed no fear. All there was that he could find was a weary dull ache. He moved everything onto the table once he was finished, and replaced the chair, before returning to him. Angel looked up with only his eyes. It took some effort to make him look like he might have any hope of being comfortable in that bed. Angel’s skin got goosebumps despite all the blankets and Dallieh frowned. Warmth. It was all he had to give. Once more he sacrificed his modesty, shedding borrowed clothes, and crept under the covers, cradling Angel against his chest.

The shivers were starting again. His body was too drained to keep up with its own needs.  Angel felt warm arms wrap around him.  He blinked slowly, finding his head nestled comfortably against a shoulder.  He swallowed thickly, studying the pale skin near his eyes.  The freckles against a defined collarbone.  Blue veins under the skin like the most delicate lace.  But he’d felt the strength contained in that lean form as it had cared for him.  Why.  Why?

He’d saved him.  For what?  Why would anyone save him?  He was nothing: a blemish on the face of the world.  There had to be a purpose.  It threatened to choke him, the only reason anyone would save a whore.  His insides churned, threatening to turn the warm soup sour.  He swallowed again, willing it to go away, that sick feeling.  He closed his eyes.

It felt like it had only been a moment.  Just a blink. But when Angel opened his eyes again, he was alone in the bed.  What had woken him up?  Movement... He’d been settled back against the pillow, his injured hand resting on a fold of blanket.  With a pained groan, he turned his head, seeing a shadow sliding away across the floor.  It was the shadow of a man, slowly vanishing.

When his eyes found the source, there wasn’t a man standing there at all.  A large raven was perching on the back of the chair near the window.  Its eyes... a brilliant blue green, like gemstones or crystals.  He frowned, even as the raven watched him with an unblinking gaze.  He tried to sit up, but the raven squawked at him.

Then the sun broke the city skyline, and Angel turned his head away from the bright light in the window.  When he looked back, the raven was gone.  He was alone in the apartment.  There was no other presence there but his own.  Multi-hued swirls of color shifted in his eyes as he scanned the room.  Nothing was out of place.  It was as though... last night... had never happened.  Except he could feel the bandages that he hadn’t put on his own body, and there was something... It was sitting on his table.  He tried to crane his neck to see, but it took too much strength for even that miniscule task.  So he let his head fall back on the pillow with a sigh that made him wince.  He closed his eyes once more.