Vengeance

17

Angel trudges out of the bathroom, gripping the wall for support. He winces as the movement strains the wounded area.

"Angel, let me help," Seraphim pleas, creeping up behind him.

"No," he refuses. "I'm not crippled."

Seraphim lets out an exasperated sigh and trails after him.

Angel wraps a hand around the stitched wound on his abdomen as he stumbles over to the bed. He plops down, not bothering to pull back the covers.

"When you find these guys do me a favor, punch them. Hard." He lets out a breathy laugh, then cringes as he lifts his legs up onto the bed.

"I intend to," Seraphim growls. She will rip them apart for what they've done to Angel.

She sinks a hand into his hair, threading her fingers through the silky strands. "Get some sleep," she orders, her tone soft. Seraphim wrestles the covers from under him. Angel fights his drooping eyelids and aids her in shoving them free. Seraphim draws them over him as he closes his eyes.

"I'll be here when you wake," she promises. Seraphim presses a kiss to his forehead.

Seraphim wanders around his bedroom for a while, studying the photos of his parents, her, Alan, and him scattered around. One brings a small smile to her face; she took it three years ago, it's of them lying on the couch one evening. There's nothing remarkable about the photo or that day. It was just an ordinary evening. She misses those evenings.

She sets the photo down and meanders over to the window. Seraphim stares out into the darkness. Illuminated windows pierce the night in the way stars do outside the city. Their brilliance though less remains magnificent. They are signs of life, that she is not alone in the world.

She turns her back on the window and walks back over to the bed. She sits herself on the edge across from Angel's slumbering form. She watches his chest rise and fall and his eyes shudder under the cocoon of his eyelids. What does he dream about these days? Are they dreams? Or nightmares?

Seraphim's own lack of sleep ambushes her. It weighs on her, trying to drag her down into its grasp. She should fight it, but she's so tired. Seraphim lies down. As she drifts off to sleep, she pledges to herself that she will do whatever it takes to keep Angel safe.

***

Angel rolls to the side, awareness spreading through him. A jerk of pain dispels the sleepiness. He grips his side over the covers, his eyes shooting open. He slips a hand beneath the covers, feeling for a sign the stitching has torn. His hand comes away dry and he exhales, relieved.

Cupping the wound with one hand, he rolls onto his back. He glances towards the windows. His eyes widen at the sight of Seraphim lying beside him, fast asleep. His gaze strays past her to the afternoon sun, diving slowly towards the horizon. He reaches for his phone, a press of the button reveals the time to be 4:45. He slept all day.

Angel sets the phone back down and throws his legs over the side of the bed. Instead of heading straight for the door, he grabs the folded blanket draped over the bed's footboard. He unfurls it and lays it over Seraphim's sleeping form. He expected her to leave after he fell asleep, but he's glad she chose to stay.

He watches her, admiring the way the sun beams down directly on her closed eyelids. She's the only person Angel knows that won't wake from that. Angel reaches over, hooking a rogue strand with his index finger. He pushes it back, freeing her face. She twitches in the wake of his touch, but doesn't stir.

In the daylight, Angel has a clear view of the damage done to his home. The walls he hurled or blasted the mercenaries into are either webbed with cracks or a shattered memory. His couch has more holes than Swiss cheese and the pillow's stuffing is strung across the floor. The glass that once served as the screen of his TV is scattered across the floor. Angel treads over his dried blood trail. What a mess to clean up.