Thomgelica One-shots because not enough people write about them.

Angel of Death

A/N: Inspired by my nickname for Angelica in my Grey's Anatomy AU. Literally don't take anything in this seriously, cuz this was definitely self-indulgent.

*Also trigger warning mentions of gun violence* it nothing too graphic but still want to be cautious

Thomas was supposed to be dead, he knew that. A bullet to the heart was fatal more times than not. He had felt death's chilled grasp on his soul. He had seen that bright light he had so often heard about and had never truly believed in, but it was real and bright and it had practically pulled him towards its white glow.

So he was more than confident that he was supposed to be dead. But just when the burning light had been about to engulf him he had been pulled back by a rather powerful force.

He remembered stumbling back and then suddenly the ground beneath him had ceased to exist. He had been falling, darkness surrounded him, and he was falling.

He had never landed though. He had stayed plummeting down the dark hole, entirely too calm with the predicament he was in. And then finally when he had believed his trip down the darkness to be over he had awoken with a great gasp.

He was back in the land of the living, he could tell. He was presumably in an ambulance, paramedics were sticking things in him, and speaking in urgent voices.

There was an oxygen mask on his face, but despite its purpose, it was not assisting him with his breathing. He was terrified, trying so hard to speak, to ask what the hell had happened to him, and yet he couldn't. His voice refused to work, all the questions were stuck in the back of his throat, choking him as he tried hard to spit them out.

He fought frantically, thrashing his arms around, gripping on to anyone he could, regardless of the pain shooting through his body. He was pleading for help or an explanation as best he could without his voice and only teary eyes.

The female, whose arm he had in a tight hold shouted something to her team, he couldn't hear though, not with his heart pounding in his ears.

All he knew was that after the woman spoke a man shot him an apologetic look before he brought a needle to his arm.

Thomas fought against it, of course, he fought tooth and nail but he wasn't strong enough... Not with the gaping hole in his chest or with all the blood that had spilled from his body. The blood that was probably still on the sidewalk where he had been walking to the store for a jug of water and instead had been impaled with a bullet.

So, no, he certainly wasn't strong enough to fight off paramedics who still had all their blood coursing through their bodies.

The man stuck the needle in Thomas's arm and injected whatever it was into him. Thomas let go of the woman's arm and brought his hand to his face to cup the oxygen mask.

Thomas's body was tense, but he had calmed down. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising up and down, and he waited, waited for the shot to kick in. And after a moment nothing happened and he assumed that the injection had failed.

But then his eyelids got heavy and he felt so tired, it was a struggle to keep his eyes open but he tried so incredibly hard to do so. Because he couldn't go back to that place where the darkness surrounded him, but his eyelids were drooping and the shadow world was calling him and he couldn't not go back to that place.

He let his eyelids close, understanding that he wasn't going to win this battle, and succumbed to the darkness.

...

He woke with a gasp much like he had two weeks ago when the bullet had passed through his body.

He sat up in his bed, moving at a slow pace. His hand came up to his heart and he clutched at his chest, trying his best to relieve the pain.