A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! So...Here's another story for you all....I'm not horribly impressed with how it turned out tbh...but that may just be my overly-critical artist brain acting up again...but I did do a drawing to go with this one so even if the story sucks you have a pretty drawing to look at lol...I'm gonna tack on a TRIGGER WARNING because this one talks about mental health and suicidal impulses....Enjoy<3
The baby was nothing special, small, confused and useless as he squirmed in his crib. The angel stared down at the tiny thing, gritting his teeth at the thought of being stuck with this pathetic creature for the next eighty years or so.
He wanted to be back in the war, fighting alongside his brothers and dying in the name of his father, not babysitting some screeching ape. He reached up, massaging his wounded shoulder absentmindedly as the babe stretched and yawned.
"Why have you forsaken me, My Father? Was I not a good soldier?"
The angel received no response to his desperate plea, not that he was shocked. His father was far too busy waging war to bother with the complaints of a miserable angel.
He looked down at the babe, silently resigning himself to the boring life of a guardian angel.
He could not have been more wrong.
Sherlock, the boy in his charge, was five when the angel realized something was wrong.
The boy had been playing in the back yard, swinging a wooden sword and babbling about bees and pirates, when he fell down an abandoned well. The angel had kept the boy's head above the water and sent a distress signal to his mother's angel.
"Hang on kid, you're going to be fine."
"A-Are you- you g-gonna save m-me?" The boy asked, staring up at the angel with teary eyes, fear and pain obvious on his tiny features. Shock lanced through the angel as he adjusted his grip on the child, pulling him tighter against his chest.
The boy shouldn't have been able to see him, that was one of the rules of Guarding. The humans don't see the angels.
"Yeah kid, I'm going to save you."
It was nearly five years before the angel was needed again.
Sherlock had been bullied badly at school, and some of the kids had locked him in a supply closet after beating him unconscious. The angel healed the internal injuries, and sent a call to the school janitor's angel for help, softly coaxing the boy out of unconsciousness.
"Come on kid, you're alright." The boy blinked up at the angel, his face contorting with pain and confusion.
"Y-You? But- but you're not real."
"Good, keep telling yourself that." The sounds of keys turning in the lock signaled the arrival of the janitor, which meant Sherlock was going to be fine. "You're going to be fine."
"Oh, God. Someone call a nurse!" The angel let himself fade away from the boy as the janitor pulled an aid kit from the wall.
"I'm not crazy!" The boy, now fifteen, was fighting with his parents and older brother. The angel watched from a distance as the boy shoved his sibling, tears streaming down his face. "I won't go! You can't make me!"
"Sherlock please, don't fight this. Things will be better if you let us help you-"
"I don't need help! I'm not crazy!"
