Title: In the Arms of an Angel (Epilogue)
Pairing/s: EunHae, broken!HaeSica, implied!YeWook, implied!WonKyu, implied!KangTeuk
Characters: DongHae, EunHyuk, LeeTeuk, HyoYeon (SNSD), RyeoWook, YeSung, SiWon, KyuHyun
Rating: PG
Genre: Slight Angst, Romance, Drama
Warnings: Mentions of death, supernatural...
Disclaimer: Title from the song by Sarah McLachlan. I have no connection with SM or the management of Super Junior, etc, etc..
Summary: Eunhyuk is Donghae's fallen Angel. Literally. And so he might just try to give life another shot.
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(A/N: Just to explain the whereabouts and whys of Hyukkies appearance. Kinda. It’s not really detailed, but maybe it‘ll clear you up just a little. Or it might just mess it up even more, kekeke.. Thing is I’d like to keep you guys confused, as a matter of fact. Yeah, I‘m cruel like that ^.^* And actually, it’s more of a prologue, but it didn’t really fit in the beginning. And it’s kinda … gory? Angsty, for sure, kekeke~)
In the Arms of an Angel - Epilogue
He is dizzy, but somehow it’s not quite enough to either bother him or to alarm his senses or some possibly still-clear part of his battered mind. The night is surprisingly dark in spite of the ever dimly and pearly glowing skies that play in the wetly reflecting streets. Glowing streaks fall down from the coreless light, casting a dull, undefined shining aura over the world, but somehow they wont quite reach the ground where he’s walking.
Because this place is always darker. Because this place does not deserve the light, nor do the ones that happen to walk in it. The ones who are bound to walk in it, because the lighter places of the world has turned their dark back side on them. Because their queer paths lead them here. Because they deserve no better. Some would call it Hell. Some the doorway to Hell. It’s the downside of this world, ever cast over by shadows, death and sheer, pure darkness lurking and luring around every other corner. It’s the very drop-off. Maybe such for fallen souls. He’d say he’s not blessed enough to know.
His mother’s face lingers in his vision, worried and bothered - and it almost surprises him, in a vile way, how securely the image is burned into his world, an everlasting, judging reminder. It pushes forth an ever so slight and weakened, yet somehow existent, sour and bitter wave of something akin to regret and guilt, and he can’t help but wonder what she would say if she could see him now.
He does not have to guess, though. It aches her. He aches her. He knows she will always say that there is balance in the world, that nothing happens without a reason and that all will be paid back, sooner or later. And he is willing to believe her every word. But he does not know the way to get himself back into the stable center of balance again. He does not remember which step led him down the wrong way, thus, he cannot go back.
His vision blurs momentarily and his slow, slouching and utterly aimless steps falter as a hurtful, raw fit of hoarse and dry coughs ripple through his chest. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight. He holds in for a brief moment, waiting for the details of the world around him to settle into place again. He wonders, bluntly, if this might be it. Maybe this is just how it eventually pays out, all the things he should have, could have and did not do.
Turning the corner, he stops again for a beat. A young boy is pushed up against a sulky, dampish wall, trapped by two shady, all but ominous shapes. His pale face is drawn by panic, dark eyes looking like two dark wells as they are spread wide in fright; big white wings are flapping helplessly, desperately as he’s held down by the obviously threatening figures. The broad wings are still glistening, glowing dimly and clean, his unstained skin still radiating a faint, lively shine.
Eunhyuk wonders bluntly what he is doing here. It is just too visible he does not belong here. Perhaps he got lost in the streets. His unwelcome appearance elicit low hisses from the dark shapes, their wings ashy, dull and heavily limp. Eunhyuk takes a slow step back, the boy’s helpless, pleading sobs lingering with him as he walks away. He does not know what he could possibly do to help.
He wonders how long until he turns out like them, clutching onto the very brink of what is light and life, lingering without guarantees and securities. Maybe this is the doorway to Hell. Maybe it’s even the hallway. He’s been questioning how much he has left. His back has been feeling numb for a while now.
He walks around the next corner and nearly stumbles. A girl is slouching propped up against the cold wall, her legs crossing his path. She’s slightly turned to her side, giving room for the wide wings, shivering trembling and clutching her own body helplessly. He sees trails of ruby red blood staining her dimmed, silky wings, and as she turns her face up to gaze at him, there is red staining the white of her eyes, slowly running down across her cheeks. It’s the tears of death, the last she will ever shed.
There is a plea in her eyes, frightful and regretful, but he does not know what he could do. She is too far gone, she has already taken the first, small steps over the edge to the other side. She coughs, and it is the sound of death, wet and broken as blood has started to seep into her lungs, her tissue giving up and crumbling from the inside out.
He steps away, slowly, all he can give is the mumbled apology, which, even though it holds all of his sincerity, is nothing but nothing. A broken plea leaves her, and he turns around, his steps quickening until he’s running through the dusk-like atmosphere.
His body gives up on him too soon and he is crouching, holding his chest as coughs make his body shake and quiver. As his vision fails him, he falters. He remembers. Not when or where, but he remembers the flames, the screams, the fear, panic. The begs of the woman as flames stretch to devour her flesh, unable to free herself from the debris she is stuck under, his hesitation, his fear taking over the knowledge of duty righteousness and his beating heart as he runs, runs away with flames and guilt burning him, his steps heavy as he is carrying the responsibility of a life, a life he denied. A wrong step, a step against the sheer fundamentals of his nature.
Without fright, he knows why he remembers now. It is paying out. It is the end.
And he is falling, falling through fire and ice, through day and night, light and dark, through wind and water. A male face is fluttering for his vision, someone crouching over him; gentle features, kind and concerned brown eyes, chestnut brown hair.
~
THE END. Praise Shisus and his 12 apostles, that’s it. I’m fucking DONE. And big thanks to the readers. Cookies for ya'll.