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dragon430 · 1 year ago

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~Child Of The Angels~ Chapter 5: Silent Stone And Radio Chatter

Summary: Secrets are revealed. You're now left battling between your mind's intuition and your heart's love over what's false and what is reality. Surely they wouldn't do this. It's just not in their nature. Or has this always been exactly who they are, and you've just been fooling yourself this whole time?

Warning(s): Gore, Injuries & Swearing Word Count: 12,298

You meet the Doctor’s eyes, watching the flash of confusion that overtakes the concern once swirling there. There’s no doubt that your own gaze mirrors his, unanswered questions clouding your irises as you try to make sense of Amy’s words. She said her hand is stone; you heard it clear as day, but that makes no sense. Yes, it’s stayed as motionless as stone typically is. Still, it’s just as soft and fleshy as normal, nothing out of the ordinary save for the dirt coating her fingers from skating her hand along the walls.

The Doctor lifts his flashlight, shining it into her eyes, and she squints at the brightness. “You looked into the eyes of an angel, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t help myself. I tried.”

Taking a step back, you glance over Amy’s shoulder as you hear the sound of grating stone, barely audible over the redhead’s panicked tone, echo down the tunnel. The angels are there, staring at you with reaching hands and soft expressions to coax you back into their arms.

But…you’re not sure that’s where you should be. The confession from the box has left you with an unsettling feeling welling in your gut that seems to sink deeper with each passing second. You’re not sure if you can trust it. After all, you’ve known the Weeping Angels most of your life, and murderous isn’t a word you’d ever think to use to describe them. But they have been acting more aggressive, more vicious. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen from them…is what you think, but is that necessarily true? Or has the box’s–Bob’s words twisted your image of them into one from your childhood nightmares.

Because right now, they look like they always have. Your loving family waiting patiently for you to return to them and the warm serenity they offer. A stark difference from when they were chasing your friends through the tunnels.

Are they just being a little too overprotective because they’re worried for your safety? Is that why they killed those soldiers? Because they were scared you’d be harmed? Or is it all Bob? Is he lying and trying to turn everyone against your family? But what does he gain from that?

You don’t know. But what you do know is that you need to get answers to all your burning questions and the swirling smoke of uncertainties that follow. And what better time than now to get those very answers? Your family is here, and while it is a little worrying how hostile they’ve been acting towards your friends, you know they’d never hurt you. So as long as you keep your eyes on them, to reassure your friend's sense of safety and that small splinter of doubt that seems to not want to dislodge from your brain, you can talk to them and find out what’s going on.

Glancing to the Doctor, you find him still trying to convince Amy to move her hand, so you leave him to it. He’s the only one who would be successful in convincing her. That’s easy enough for you to tell by just watching them interact thus far. And even if there was a slight chance you could persuade her, you now have your own task to accomplish.

You hardly get two steps toward the small group of Weeping Angels before a hand slaps around your wrist, and you’re pulled back to your original spot behind the Doctor.

“What do you think you’re doing? Stay behind me.” His emerald eyes find yours for a quarter of a second before they shoot back to stare down the oncoming flood of angels emerging from the caverns. “And keep your eyes on them.”

You do as he says, trying to silently communicate your questions to your stone family while simultaneously explaining your plan to the brunette man. But your words fall short as he returns to conversing with Amy.

“Look the angel is going to come and it’s going to turn this light off, and then there’s nothing I can do to stop it. So do it, concentrate, move your hand.” There’s reassurance in his tone, comfort as he lightly coaxes her. But there’s also an edge of panic bleeding through, intensifying as his flashlight starts to dim and flicker.

Amy meets his care with a steely resolve and a shake of her head, “I can’t.”

“Then we’re all going to die.”

He leaves no room for argument, his words filled with his conviction to not leave her. To others, that would be a comforting sense of loyalty, to not leave one’s friend even in such a dire circumstance. But Amy looks nothing short of offended at his insinuation.

“You’re not going to die.”

“They’ll kill the lights.”

That’s all it takes for her offense to turn to soft concern, and she reaches for the Doctor’s free hand to give it a squeeze. “You’ve got to go, you know you have. You’ve got all that stuff with River and that’s all gotta happen.”

Her hazel eyes cast a fleeting glance your way, and you meet her gaze before realizing your mistake and looking back to the increased number of angels.

“And there’s Raven. You promised to get her out of here. So you know you can’t die here.”

There’s a squeeze to your caged fingers as the man whips around with a panicked expression before his focus is back on Amy as quickly as it was averted. An action so quick you would have thought you imagined it. Imagined the tension creasing his brows, the tight line his normally smiling lips have settled into with the clenching of his jaw, the wideness of his forest green eyes as worry flashes through them, even imagined the gasp tangled within the syllables of your name were it not for the swishing of his brown locks that followed the quick movement.

“Time can be rewritten, it doesn’t work like that.”

The tunnel is plunged into darkness as their flashlights turn off momentarily. You’re met with the crumbling faces of your family as they surge closer with each flicker. Amy glances over her shoulder in an effort to help you stop their approach.

“Both of you keep your eyes on it. Don’t blink.”

Even if he can’t see it, you nod at the Doctor’s gentle command. You can still confidently say that the angels won’t hurt you, but that confidence is lost to the winds in terms of the other's safety. Especially as your family’s expressions start to twist and furrow the closer they get. So you’ll focus on stopping them in their tracks for now, at least until Amy is free from her hallucination, and you can talk to them without her or the Doctor being stuck in the middle.

“Run!” You jolt as Amy shouts, blinking in shock and silently cursing yourself when it allows the Weeping Angels to rush forward. In the time they’ve cared for you, you’ve grown accustomed to letting them move during your seconds of blindness as there was never a fear for your safety, a habit you’ll have to break now as the safety of your friends has taken precedence.

The brunette merely shakes his head at her order, “You see, I’m not going, I’m not leaving you here.”

“Me neither.” You step beside them, blindly reaching for their intertwined hands, and squeezing once your fingers join their tangled ones. The Doctor’s lips quirk up at your solidarity, his hand shifting to encase yours and Amy’s in his tightened hold.

Your attempt to stick by the redhead works, if only slightly because she still seems adamant on pushing you both away. But her argument has lost a bit of its bite and has softened under your and the Doctor’s insistence to stay by her.

“I don’t need either of you to die for me, do I look that clingy?”

The Doctor ignores her slightly agitated tone and continues to speak to her calmly. “You can move your hand.”

“It’s stone.”

“It’s not stone!”

“You’ve got to go.” Amy ignores his attempt to make her see reality and tries to pull her hand free from your shared hold, but you both hold fast to her fleeing fingers. When it’s clear that her attempts to drive you off aren’t working, she tries a different approach. “Those people up there will die without you. If you stay here with me, you’ll have as good as killed them.”

The Doctor’s grip on your hand tightens, and you can just barely see him tense out of your peripherals as the truth of her words registers for him. You’re scared that she’s convinced him, showed him the darkness in this seemingly hopeless situation, and he’s chosen the path to preserve as many lives as possible. You doubt he would leave her. Their bond seems too strong for that, striking from the moment you first saw them interact. But that doubt dwindles when he closes the distance to her and presses his forehead to her temple, his hand slipping from your right one.

“Doctor…” Your whispered plea is left unanswered as it rings in the silence.

“Amy Pond, you are magnificent. And I am sorry.”

“It’s okay. I understand. You’ve got to leave me.”

You don’t understand. There is no way you are abandoning her, and you can’t believe the Doctor would either. But she knows how to use her words to her advantage. She put the sake of everyone’s safety in his hands, making him choose between the life of one and the lives of many. A choice you may be able to lift from his shoulders if you could get your family to back off and stop chasing you.

“Doctor, let me talk to the–”

“Oh, no, I’m not leaving you, never.”

You sigh a breath of relief at his conviction, comforted by the fact he’s not planning on abandoning her, but now you’re confused. What else would he have to apologize for if he’s not leaving her behind?

The answer to your unasked question comes quickly and with a squeeze of your and Amy’s hands. “I’m sorry about this.”

No sooner have the words left his mouth has he bent down and… bit the hand Amy’s claimed has turned to stone.

“Ow!”

“Ah! See, not stone! Now Run!” The Doctor rears back, almost getting slapped as Amy wildly jerks her hand up. Now that her little hallucination has been solved, he steps back from her, training his flashlight on the angels and diverting most of his attention to keeping them pinned beneath his gaze.

Amy rubs her hand, staring at where his teeth were a mere second ago. She scoffs in disbelief, “You bit me!”

“Yeah, and you’re alive.”

“She is, but was there no better way to get her to move her hand?” You probably shouldn’t, considering how tense he is, but you can’t help but smile at the sheer ridiculousness of this man.

His eyes drift to you for a split second before they’re returned to the approaching Weeping Angels, and you’re pushed behind him. “Yeah, and she’s alive, did I mention?”

“Blimey, your teeth! Have you got space teeth!” Amy grimaces at the mark he left on her as he pulls her behind him as well.

The Doctor lifts his arm as if to block you both from the angels and takes a few steps back, putting as much space between you and them.

“Alive. All I’m saying.”

You and Amy follow his act to herd you toward the others, turning and running down the tunnel they took. You tuck your wings tightly against your back, not wanting them to get snagged. Though for a split second, you do consider letting that happen as it would give the angels the chance to catch up with you, and you could talk to them to resolve all of this. You could convince your family that you aren't in danger, so there's no reason to be chasing these people around. And you could ask them what happened to the clerics and prove to your friends that the angels are innocent and that Bob was lying…Or, on the off chance that Bob was telling the truth about the angels harming the soldiers, maybe if you could keep the angels from attacking them anymore, your new friends won't consider you a monster like they do the Weeping Angels, even with your relation to them.

That thought stalls your pace and fuels your determination to settle this before it gets worse. You turn, ready to face your family, get the answers you need, and make them stop this pointless chase, even if it means they have to carve every letter into the surrounding dirt and stone until you have the whole explanation. But just like before, your plan is thwarted before it can even be put into action.

“Don’t slow down for me. Keep going!” You’re seized mid-turn, the Doctor’s hand effortlessly sliding into yours as it’s done so many times before to pull you along behind him. Though, this time, it elicits a flash of annoyance compared to its normal comfort.

You give his hand a slight pull, planting your feet to stop him. You want to stop this game of cat and mouse now before it grows worse. It might be a bit hard convincing the Doctor to let you talk to the angels, considering his adverse reaction to them in the start, but you're sure you can make him come around.

But the explanation of your plan and request to get the Doctor to release his iron grip never comes. Instead, a yell shoots past your lips as stone fingers tug at your wing. The yelp is more from shock than from pain, not expecting the grasp on your feathered limb despite wanting it to happen only seconds ago. It’s gentle, no doubt grabbing onto whatever was closest to get your attention. But in doing so and acquiring your shocked shout, it’s also gained the panicked notice of the Doctor and Amy.

They whip around to face you, and the redhead needs no command to stare down the angels to pin them in place as the Doctor rushes forward to pry your wing from the Weeping Angel’s hand. His fingers are gentle but urgent in their insistent pulling to free you from the stoney grip, his hands unconsciously smoothing down your rumpled feathers once they’re free.

But as he gives Amy the okay to keep running, his hand falling down to hold onto yours to no doubt pull you along, you remain where you are. You yank the Doctor back to you, determined to see your plan through and not get interrupted, ignored or talked over this time. After all, this may be the best time to talk to your family. Before your friend's fear grows and festers, in turn making them irrational and unwilling to cooperate. And before the angels can continue chasing them with intensifying grimaces, further giving them a reason for their fright.

Before he can ask the reason for your tough jerk to his arm, you speak, fearing your plan will be dashed upon the rocks once again if you let him utter even a single syllable. “Wait, Doctor, I can talk to them–”

“Talk to them?! Absolutely not, that’s ridiculous! They are killing machines, and you won’t be anywhere near them as long as I can help it.” He tries to pull you with him again, but you stand firm, determined to stop all this now. Before the misunderstandings become too knotted to untangle, or the fear transforms to hatred and misplaced "bravery", or...the damage is too great for them to grant you forgiveness.

“But I can–”

“No buts besides yours running away!”

He’s turned away from you, and with a harsher tug, you have no choice but to follow him unless you want to face plant in the dirt. This is…frustrating, to say the least. The first time you’ve felt frustration rise for the brunette man, for starters. You’ve trusted him this whole time, followed him with faith and no complaints, but now here you are, attempting to help, and he’s not even giving you the chance to try to solve or even explain the situation.

It upsets you. Angers you no matter how much you try to keep the blazing flames to a simmer. Because you know he isn’t doing this to be rude on purpose. He has a lot on his conscience; a lot of people to worry about as their safety seems to ride solely on him and his quick thinking. And that’s a lot for one man to handle. Which is why you wish he trusted you to help stop this, to help keep the others safe and lift some of that weight from his shoulders-

A squeak ripples past your lips, wings shooting out to your sides to keep your balance as you trip over a rock in your path, thanks to another hurried tug from the Doctor as he speeds up his pace. He’s quick to turn and check on you, and you can see the concerned question of your safety forming on his lips before it actually does. But the words are lost before they are uttered as he spares a glance over your shoulder.

His eyes widen, pupils swallowed by encompassing green pools that are normally so bright but are now shadowed by… fear. “Come on!”

As you follow the path his gaze paved, you can’t say you blame him for his reaction. The sight of the angels, your family is chilling enough to send terror clawing up your spine.

Their ferocious scowls earlier were unfamiliar to you, an expression you’d very rarely seen from them before. But now, now they’re damn near unrecognizable. Their faces are twisted, contorted in malice, and you swear there’s a glint in their eyes, a rageful flame that seems to burn too hot to be a reflection from someone’s flashlight. Sharp teeth are also bared on full display in a vicious snarl, stretching across their cheeks unnaturally wide.

It’s not just their faces or claws poised to attack and slash through the air that is so foreign. Their body language as a whole has changed. They stalk you and your friends through the darkened tunnels, prowling over obstacles with an energized vigor, a newly awakened strength, one long forgotten, that leaves anything that succumbs to their touch crumbling to dust. It reminds you of the monsters the Aviants would depict them as. Cold, heartless killing machines that would topple mountains if it pleased them.

The similarities are starting to fit together, molding into one terrifying image that you never thought possible. And with each one that surfaces, you’re not even sure if they are your family anymore. The change in behavior is too drastic. This anger, this ferocity, isn’t sparking to life from the kindling built from the need to protect because you're fine .

No, this is like they’re hunting prey, starved predators looking for their first meal in weeks and ready to tear it to shreds just for the fun of it. And though you know they wouldn't, it’s almost like they couldn’t care less if they had to take you down to do it.

That thought alone is more terrifying than anything your centuries of nightmares could amount to.

This isn't them. They're caring, sweet, the only family you've ever known, not these terrifying and bloodthirsty monsters they're starting to look like. Which is no doubt making Bob's words ring more true for the others. You refuse to let them be seen as anything less than the angels, your angels, that they always have been.

You have to stop them. Not only to keep your friends safe but to get your family back. You’d give anything, your only chance to breathe fresh air again, to feel the sun’s warmth upon your skin, to seek a new adventure with this man you feel such a pull toward, and learn what this very pull is, if it means having your family back the way they were before he ever came into your life. The stone angels who sweetly cared for you with everything they had instead of these corrupt versions they’ve become. But to do that, you’ll have to wait for the perfect moment. The Doctor is adamant to keep you from the creatures he perceives as a threat. So you’ll have to wait till he can’t stop you. When he’s distracted and releases you from his steely grip. Hopefully, as you round a corner and meet with the others in your group, the time to do just that will present itself sooner rather than later.

“Clerics, we’re down to four men. Expect incoming.”

“Yeah, it’s the angels. They’re coming. And they’re draining the power for themselves.” The Doctor falls into step with Bishop Octavian, you being held close to his other side.

Amy joins your little cluster; you offer her what you hope is a reassuring smile at the glimmer of concern that swirls in her eyes. You mouth a quick ‘We’re okay’ for extra assurance, not wanting to interrupt the Doctor’s conversation with the Bishop. The tension in her shoulders relaxes, comforted by your reassurance, if only just by a little bit, but it’s better than nothing.

“Which means we won’t be able to see them.”

The Doctor gives a quick nod to Octavian’s statement but keeps his eyes busy by surveying the cavern you’ve all found yourselves in. “Which means we can’t stay here.”

The lights all around you shudder, but your attention is drawn to the brightest one far above you. Which is when you see it. With all the running and conflicted thoughts swarming your mind, you lost track of where you were. You’ve reached the sixth floor. And the crashed ship in addition.

Now isn’t really the time, but you can’t help but balk at how…unassuming it is. It’s huge, you’ll give it that, but besides that, it’s just a plain grey slab of metal with a small ring of lights around what looks like some type of hatch. The most interesting part of it is the large tears throughout the exterior from its crash, smoke billowing where the innards are exposed.

“Sir, two more incoming!”

“Any suggestions?” River asks in a panic.

“The statues are advancing on all sides and we don’t have enough climbing equipment to reach the Byzantium.”

Bishop Octavian’s words give you hope. They convey just how perilous the situation is, and that might be just what you need to be able to convince someone to let you talk to your family. Because if the Doctor won’t let you talk to the Weeping Angels, maybe you can convince River, Amy, the Bishop or even one of the Clerics to let you try. After all, desperate times call for desperate measures.

“There’s no way up, no way back, no way out. No pressure, but this is usually when you have a really good idea,” River steps closer to you and the Doctor, eyes searching, pleading, as desperation seeps into her voice.

This is your time, “I have one–”

“There’s always a way out.” The lights flicker out as the Doctor speaks, something you're happy for as it masks the irritation that settles over your face.

When they switch back on, you try to continue what you were saying, spew it out before he has the chance to interrupt again, but it’s already too late. He’s off on his search, hand slipping from yours as he observes the cave with everyone’s attention locked on him when they can spare it from the angels.

“There’s always a way out.”

“Doctor?” The little box crackles to life, and you nearly jump out of your skin, “Can I speak to the Doctor, please?”

Said man pulls the contraption from inside his jacket and lifts it to his lips, “Hello, angels. What’s your problem?”

You should use this time, while the Doctor is distracted, to sneak away and talk to your family, but you can’t. After the last bit of information this box–Bob dropped, he has your full attention. Both eager and hesitant for more news regarding his earlier words. Eager in hopes that this was just his form of a sick joke and he was lying about his friends being killed by an angel. And hesitant in case it’s the truth.

“Your power will not last much longer, and the angels will be with you shortly. Sorry, sir.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“There’s something the angels are very keen you should know before the end.” The longer this contraption talks, has this little back and forth with the Doctor, the more uneasy you feel.

Each word, each mention of your family, rings like a pick axe against stone, and they carve the pit in your stomach deeper and deeper at the revelation they bring. That this isn’t a nightmare. That this isn’t some poorly formulated trick. That…your family–the Weeping Angels might not be what you believed they were.

“Which is?” A squeeze to your shoulder breaks you from your thoughts before they can continue on their downward spiral. Forces you to take a gasping breath that resets your breathing to a normal pace instead of the subtle hyperventilating you didn’t realize it increased to. You offer the Doctor a thankful smile for it, one he’s quick to return as he resumes his pacing.

“I died in fear.”

The Doctor’s smile fades, “I’m sorry?”

“You told me my fear would keep me alive, but I died afraid, in pain, and alone.” There’s a pause, and you briefly see how the Doctor’s face has fallen with each word before he turns from you as Bob keeps speaking. “You made me trust you, and when it mattered, you let me down. I’m sorry, sir. The angels were very keen for you to know that.”

“Well, then, the angels have made their second mistake, because I’m not going to let that pass. I’m sorry you’re dead, Bob, but I swear to whatever is left of you, they will be sorrier.” The Doctor doesn’t wait for a response before he's more frantically searching his surroundings, driven by the grief that this news has brought him but also by his determination to not let it happen to anyone else. He’s already lost too many, and he’s not willing to lose anymore. Not the clerics, not the Bishop, not River or Amy, and not you . The one whose life he has thrown into disarray just by his mere presence. He swears to himself he’ll get you, and everyone else, out. But to do that, he needs a plan, something that comes to him as he throws his head back with a hopeless groan and glances up.

“But you’re trapped, sir, and about to die.”

It’s like those words bring a certain excitement, a particular hope, to the brunette. For no sooner are they uttered is he back to his jittery self. A secretive crook to his lips as he spins around, “Yeah I’m trapped. You know what, speaking of traps, this trap has got a great big mistake in it. A great, big whopping mistake.”

He ignores the box’s questioning of what the mistake is, instead walking to Amy and simply asking, “Trust me?”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t even need to think, a determined smile curling across her lips in the confidence of his unspoken plan.

“Trust me?”

Like Amy, River wastes no time in agreeing, “Always.”

“You lot, trust me?”

“We have faith, sir.”

After Octavian’s admittance, you’re the last one to be asked. And yet you’re still not ready for when the Doctor sidles up in front of you, fingers interlocking with yours, giving them a squeeze as he asks his question.

“And do you trust me?”

You do, you really do. He’s earned nothing but your trust, but you keep yourself from speaking your obvious answer. Because what happens if you agree? You may lose the chance to stop the angels and this insanity here. Or you could lose the love of your family with the way you keep choosing utter strangers over them. Or all these secrets could unravel, and you'll be left with the bared truth...that your family really has become the monsters you've always feared. Because that impossibility is starting to seem much more possible.

You hate to admit it, as you've barely even met the man, but Bob's story of the angels is beginning to ring closer to the truth. With each conversation he's had with your group, this feeling of unease continues to grow. Not of him but of how he's right. You don't want to believe it because the angels have done nothing to prove him right…until today. Their behavior, their actions, their persistence to chase your friends down despite the clear evidence of your safety is fitting too well into the narrative Bob has crafted. And you don't think you can keep pushing the possible ugly truth under the rug anymore. So even if you don't fully think the angels are capable of such brutality, you can't afford to continue ignoring the signs with childlike naivety.

You need to start thinking of a plan in case what Bob said is actually true because if it is, everything just became a lot harder. It will prove to everyone that they have a real reason to fear the angels. Not only because they're getting stalked but because they're being slaughtered like prey. And if they hate the Weeping Angels for what they've done, how will they feel when they figure out you're their daughter? Will they think nothing of it because you've been helping them this whole time? Will they abandon you here with your family, thankful enough for your assistance not to harm you but not wanting anything to do with you anymore because of your closeness to their enemy? Or will they use you as a bargaining chip for their safe departure, an unwilling guide beaten and dragged through the ruins till they've escaped? Or…will they not deem you worth the trouble and just kill you on the spot?

You don’t even realize you’ve glanced at your family, still that little girl seeking their guidance despite the situation they’ve put you in, until a gentle hand cups your face to turn your attention back to its owner. His thumb runs along your cheek as his fingers caress the underside of your jaw, capturing your focus as effortlessly as he always does.

“Hey, look at me. You don’t need to be frightened.” It’s a whisper. So soft, yet it rings over the panicked shouts of the clerics, so soothing that you can’t be bothered to correct his assumption. “Raven, do you trust me?”

A wordless nod is all you can offer, too ensnarled by his gentle touch, his silky tone, the way his enrapturing eyes soften at your admittance to think even a moment longer of saying no. And the bright smile he sends you has you wondering why you were going to disagree in the first place. Because how could a man this kind, one that you feel such a pull toward and can calm your deepest anxieties and doubts with just a glance, possibly harm you?

“Good. Bishop, give me your gun.”

The Doctor keeps his eyes on you until said man places the object in his awaiting hand. Only then does he pull away from you, inspecting the weapon and leaving you to blink back to reality from the trance he held you under.

“I’m about to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous. When I do, jump!” He punctuates his sentence with the very action he’s instructing you all to do.

Bishop Octavian stares with a bit of confusion at the Doctor’s directions but offers no argument. “Jump where?”

“Just jump, high as you can. Come on, leap of faith, Bishop. On my signal.”

“What signal?”

“You won’t miss it. But you will.” His attention is once again on you, and before you can ask what he means, you’re pulled to his chest, so suddenly you can’t help but squeak in embarrassment. Which he thankfully doesn’t comment on. “I need you to cover your right ear and hold onto me as tight as possible. And when I squeeze, that will be your signal to jump.”

You barely have the time to do as he says before he gently pushes your face into the crook of his neck, blocking your other ear and allowing you to wrap your free arm around his shoulders. There’s a soft pat to the top of your wings, which slightly ruffle in surprise at the touch, but you follow his unspoken command to lower them as they’ve no doubt been blocking his sight. As his arm settles around your waist, fingers ghosting along your hip, you realize how pointless it was for you to cover your ears. Your pounding heart is more than loud enough to block out every noise that tries to enter your ears far better than your hand can.

You’re left deaf to the world, words and conversation nonexistent as you try to calm your erratic heart while anxiously awaiting your signal. The Doctor shifts his arm momentarily, sliding up and around your shoulders, but no squeeze comes. You grow tense the longer you wait, butterflies conjured by the Doctor’s touch slowly wilting away and piling an uncomfortable weight in the pit of your stomach. Your heart’s beating speeds as the embarrassment that drove it slowly shifts to nervous-filled anticipation.

Your signal comes just as a loud bang sounds through your anxiety-ridden haze. You nearly forget to jump as the Doctor squeezes his arm around your waist, not that it matters, as you practically leap out of your skin from fright.

As your feet leave the ground, you’re waiting for gravity to take its hold and slap them back into the dirt soon after. Only it doesn’t. Instead, you’re overtaken by the feeling of weightlessness that often accompanies you when you free fall. Your wings flutter on instinct as you feel yourself flipping through the air, but the Doctor keeps them from spreading by securing his other arm around them. He pins you to his chest, and you resist the urge to struggle when your brain screams at you to fly because you must’ve been pushed off the cliff, and you need to save yourself and the Doctor before you splatter on the ground far below. But you trust the Doctor, and despite how much your instincts tell you not to, you fight off those thoughts and try to remain as still as possible in his hold.

The feeling of falling ends in an abrupt instant, and you’re left wheezing as you land on something hard. Your eyes snap open at the deep, pained groan that you feel rumble through the Doctor’s chest and when seeing the position you’ve quite literally landed in, you shoot off him. You hover above him, his arms unable to keep you locked against his chest from the force your wings snapped open with to pull you into the air. A stuttered apology can barely be made passed the nervous lump in your throat, but evidently, he hears the fractured pieces, and his eyes flutter open to find yours.

They widen in awe, green pools glimmering in the flickering lights like glittering stars in the night sky as his gaze jumps from your face to your wings. Heat rises in your cheeks and simmers down your neck the longer he observes you, heart starting its familiar speeding around your chest in its race that you're starting to accompany with his presence. Your wings would be curled around you in an attempt to hide from the embarrassment you feel from his imploring stare were they not needed to keep you airborne.

You’re unworthy of his astonished expression, no doubt looking dirty and disheveled from your rush through the ruins. Add to that the hundred or so years that worry and stress have shortened your lifespan by and the toll it’s taken on your appearance, as well as the scraps of fabric that can barely be considered clothes that are holding on by a mere few pieces of thread and you must look nothing short of a disaster. Your fingers twitch with the desire to smooth out your ruffled feathers and dislodge the pent-up dirt and mud to look the least bit presentable in his eyes. You just barely resist the urge to start preening, only distracted because another odd feeling bubbles up in your gut.

Despite the embarrassment you feel with his attention locked onto you, you find yourself wanting it to remain. Your instincts surge with the need to perform, to show off for him, and it rises in you with a fierceness you can't identify nor explain the reasoning for. But it floods your mind with the impulse to twist and dive through the air, twirling gracefully to really have his jaw dropping to the floor in astonishment. To give him a real reason to stare. Thankfully, before you can follow through on this sudden urge for aerobatic feats or dwell on why it's so intensely invaded your mind in the first place, his focus is drawn to the others at their collective groans of pain.

He’s quick to jump to his feet, but before he addresses the others, he offers you his hand, which you graciously take to allow him to help lower you to the ground. Shaking your head, you attempt to clear it of the strange urge to impress him in order to converse normally.

“Thank you…And sorry–for landing on you.”

The smile he gifts you is much too bright for the awkward apology and the way you knocked all the breath out of him seconds ago. “It’s alright. I did it on purpose so you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“I wish you paid the rest of us that courtesy.” Amy sits up, rubbing her head as the Doctor walks over to check on her. And you’re glad that she’s stolen his attention so that he doesn’t notice just how flustered his words and his regard for your safety made you.

“You okay?”

“What happened?” The redhead ignores River’s query but accepts the hand she offers to help her up.

River pulls her to her feet, giving her a quick once over before answering the question you’re also wondering about. “We jumped.”

Well…that wasn’t the reply you were hoping for because it didn’t actually answer your inquiry. It seems to not be a sufficient enough reply for Amy either, as it just receives a puzzled look in return.

“Jumped where?”

“Up, up, look up!” The Doctor weaves through the slowly rising group, making sure they’re all okay and mostly unharmed.

“Where are we?”

“Exactly where we were.” River’s cryptic answers are growing a little tiresome to your rising confusion.

“How are we exactly where we were?”

Your question goes unanswered as the Doctor squeezes his way between you and Amy. “Move your feet!”

You step out of the way, eyes following the Doctor’s form crouching in the dir–and that’s when you notice it. The ring of lights surrounding what looks like a hatch that the Doctor is now pointing a whirring and glowing green device at. You’re on the outside of the ship, but that means…

You look up like the Doctor instructed and find a group of Weeping Angels far below you, standing with reaching hands and extended arms toward the spot you all were mere seconds ago. Though now, they’re different. They’re starting to look…better. Still crumbling and broken in places, but they’re healing . Where there were once broken limbs are now growing stumps, their “dresses” are extending to cover their feet, and the craters dug into their stoney skin are filling out.

You have to physically shake yourself out of the trance you’ve succumbed to while staring at your family. Because if you get caught up in your joy of them becoming healthier, stronger than they were, the tears welling in your eyes will become suspicious in addition to your gleeful smile.

“Doctor, what am I looking at? Explain.”

You’re eager for an answer to Amy’s question as well, and the brunette man is quick to jump up and supply one. “Oh, come on, Amy, think! The ship crashed with the power still on, yeah? So what else is still on? The artificial gravity. One good jump, and up we fell. Shot out the grav-globe to give us an updraft, and here we are!”

Now, if only that response came in a form you understood. But considering your confusion earlier regarding, as Amy put it, the ‘modern mumbo jumbo’, you shouldn’t be surprised to add one more thing to the list in which you don’t understand.

“Doctor, the statues, they look more like angels now.” Bishop Octavian points his gun at said angels down below, and you resist the urge to slap it out of his hands.

You think better of it after thinking of the possible consequences that act alone may cause. After all, you don’t want to expose your involvement to the Weeping Angels until you’ve solved this undesirable situation and, in turn, have given these people a reason to forgive you for said involvement. Even so, and even with the dark secrets of your family revealed, you still desperately long to protect them from this dangerous weapon.

“They’re feeding on the radiation from the wreckage, draining all the power from the ship, restoring themselves. Within an hour, they’ll be an army.”

The Doctor’s news brings you both joy and dread. While you didn’t comprehend most of what he said, you did understand the part about the angels restoring themselves. Which means your deteriorating family will continue to grow healthier until they’re whole once again. Unfortunately, that also gives you a time limit. The Doctor said you have an hour until the Weeping Angels can form an army. Meaning you have less than that to find out why your family is acting like this, stop them from attacking your new friends, and to convince said friends to forgive you for what’s happened to them at the hands of your kin. These tasks seemed hard enough before, but now, with such a short period to accomplish them, they seem near impossible.

Glass shatters, sparks flying as the lights embedded in the ship burst, the suddenness of it causing you to jump back in fright. You stumble into River who is quick to catch you even as her attention is drawn to the sporadic breaking lights.

“They’re taking out the lights.”

“Look at them, look at the angels.” The Doctor’s eyes meet yours for the briefest second, only long enough to point at the stone statues before he’s focused on the door he’s managed to open in the ship.

“Into the ship now, quickly, all of you!”

“But how? Doctor?”

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he jumps into the hole. You rush over to Amy, preparing to squeeze through the hatch and catch the Doctor, only for him to be standing in a metal hall.

“It’s just a corridor, the gravity orientates to the floor. Now, in here, all of you. Don’t take your eyes off the angels. Move, move, move!”

Flapping hands wave you in before they pause, held out to you. You reach out to grab them, allowing him to tug you in and to his chest as your body shifts. Your stomach lurches at the odd change in gravity, knees nearly buckling as the pressure rearranges your position. The Doctor holds you to him until you’re readjusted, and only when you offer him a nod does he rush off down the hall with his little whizzing device.

Turning back to the door, you step out of the way as River readies to jump in. She adjusts far quicker than you did, already offering help to Amy and some of the clerics.

Bishop Octavian drops in last, barking orders at his men the moment his feet clang against the metal floor. “Okay, men, go, go, go! The angels, presumably they can jump up, too?”

The door closes, and there is a collective sigh of relief from the others, only for the breath to clog in their throats at the Doctor’s next words.

“They’re here now. In the dark, we’re finishe–”

You don’t hear what else he has to say as a blaring noise fills the corridor. Nearly jumping out of your skin, you clap your hands over your ears to try and block out the sound. You try to calm yourself down from the little scare at the same time, willing your heart back to its normal speed and force your breathing deeper than the shuddering gasp it’s barely identifying as of now. You clench your eyes shut in order to focus and not get swept up in the added chaos of people rushing around as the lights flicker. But it’s only a second that you get that small reprieve as someone latches onto your arm and pulls you down the hall. Your eyes snap open, and you yank your arm from the cleric's hold, taking a few steps back to distance yourself on instinct from the unannounced touch. Only to back right into someone else.

Their hands smooth down your shoulders, but unlike before, you recognize this touch. Amy offers a smile as she enters your view, and you instantly relax. Your muscles untense, wings lowering from their position that was readying to take flight, and your breathing returns to a much more manageable pace that actually lets you to take in the oxygen you need instead of gasping like a fish out of water. She allows you a moment before her hand slips to your elbow, and she pulls you to the Doctor.

Just as you reach him, the blaring noise stops, and you uncover your ears with a sigh of relief and then a wince. The sound left a ringing echo through your mind, ricocheting off the walls of your skull with an unpleasant throbbing, but it’s manageable. Though that’s probably only as long as it doesn’t happen again. Your hearing is sensitive, and between all these new and raucous sounds and your lack of preparation for them, you’re worried you might go deaf.

The Doctor’s hand nestles into yours with a squeeze. You take in his panicked expression with a look of worry slowly drawing across your face.

“Nobody panic.”

His words are followed by a loud banging and clattering at the hatch, the surrounding metal sparking as everyone jolts and whips around to face it.

“Oh, just me, then. What’s through there?” The Doctor asks as he points at the door he’s leaning against.

River spares him a brief glance over her shoulder, “Secondary Flight Deck.”

“Okay, so we’ve basically run up the inside of a chimney, yeah?”

Amy interlocks her fingers with your empty ones, and now it's your turn to offer a comforting squeeze, trying to soothe even the tiniest bit of anxiety that’s bled through in her words. “So what if the gravity fails?”

“I’ve thought about that.”

“And?”

“And we’ll all plunge to our deaths. See, I’ve thought about it.” The Doctor drops your hand, rushing around the corridor while searching for something.

His conversation with Amy digs the pit of unease already formed in your stomach deeper. As he begins to speak again, you hope his next words will be something to fill the gaping hole with.

“The security protocols are still live. There’s no way to override them, it’s impossible.”

“How impossible?” River pauses her fiddling with these strange noodle looking things in a box to shoot a scared glance to the hatch the Weeping Angels are still banging against.

“Two minutes.”

You may not understand what he was saying, but you know that, by his look of determination and the flash of relief that falls over the others at his words, he has a plan to get everyone out of this. Though that is as long as it lasts. A flash. And everyone is once again frightened and panicked because the door you all entered through has slid open.

The lights fade in and out, and the Doctor whips around to face the opening, gently pushing you and Amy behind him as she clutches onto you.

“The hull is breached, and the power’s failing.” Just as Octavian utters those words, the light flickers out, and the grinding of stone follows its disappearance.

The light dimly returns, but with it comes the arm of an angel and a scared shout from one of the soldiers. “Sir, incoming!”

“Doctor, lights!” Amy’s hold on you tightens, and you wrap your wing around her as she trembles in the ebbing light.

Angels crawl into the hall, and like something out of a nightmare, they scrape against the floor until four of them have entered the corridor, and the hatch has shut behind them.

They’re almost fully healed, and you gasp wetly, tears welling in your eyes from the happiness that their healed visage brings. They look just like when you first met them. Flowing dresses made of stone, a band nestled in their sculpted and twirled locks, wings folded along their backs and overall unbattered by time. And most importantly, they look peaceful . These angels do not bare their fangs. They’re serene, their arms held up not to attack but to block the light and reach out. For you.

They each have a hand extended in your direction, imploring you to take it and return to them. And you consider it. These angels aren’t acting like the rest of your family who chased you and your friends around with bared teeth and razor-sharp claws. They’re calm, patiently waiting for you to return to them and not showing an ounce of hostility to your other companions. Making them perfect.

You have no doubt these four would listen if you asked them to back down, stop hunting your friends, and instead come to a truce with them before this all gets worse. Maybe they could even give you some sort of semblance as to why they have all been acting so wild. And maybe seeing how peaceful they are and how they listen to you, your new friends will forgive you. But to do that, you’ll need to shake yourself out of Amy’s hold and make it past all the others to get to the angels.

Getting Amy to release you will be an easy enough feat, but getting to the angels is another story. You could try to convince anyone besides the Doctor to let you speak to them, but considering how scared they are of them, that seems unlikely to happen. So that leaves you to sneak past them, but dodging them all, the clerics and the Bishop especially, will be tricky. You have half a mind to plow through them, but you have no doubt someone will stop you, and that will also paint you in a far more suspicious light. So, as much as you’d like to hurry your plan along, you have no choice but to wait for the perfect moment when everyone is distracted just enough for you to creep past them.

“Clerics, keep watching them.”

“And don’t look at their eyes, anywhere else, not their eyes.” The Doctor’s device whirrs, and he steps away from what River is still toying with. “I’ve isolated the lighting grid, they can’t drain the power now.”

You see the Bishop nod out of the corner of your eye, “Good work, Doctor.”

“Yes, good. Good in many ways. Good you like it so far…”

“So far?”

Amy turns to face the brunette as he walks behind you both, and you use the distraction to gently pull your arm from her hold. With that, step one of your plan is complete. Now, you just have to wait for the perfect moment to slip around them undetected.

The Doctor opens a tiny hatch behind you, pulling things out and poking through what he can’t remove from it. “Well, there’s only one way to open this door. I guess I’ll need to route all the power in this section through the door control.”

“Good, fine, do it.”

The glance the Doctor shoots Bishop Octavian is cautious, concerned by what only he knows so far. A look like that means there will be trouble, and it seems he’s not sure if you’ll all make it through unscathed. He squeezes his way past you to stand closer to the Weeping Angels, and you tense involuntarily, though you’re not sure if it’s in regards to his safety or theirs.

“Including the lights. All of them. I’ll need to turn out the lights.”

That’s perfect. Clearly, you’re the only one that thinks so as the others share worried looks and panicked conversation, but you tune them out. Because even as the clerics tighten their ranks in front of you all, you have what you need to make your plan a success. In total darkness, you can get past everyone. You may not be able to walk past them, considering the barrier the clerics are making themselves into, but there’s just enough space for you to fly above them. Granted, it will be a tight fit, sloppy, and you may knock a few of them over since your wings can’t fully extend in this cramped corridor, but as long as you make it to the angels, that’s fine.

So you ready yourself, tuning back into the conversation so as to not miss some cue that you’ll use to set your plan in motion.

“Amy, when the lights go down, the wheel should release. Spin it clockwise, four times.”

Said redhead must have been caught in her own trance because she mutters, “Ten.”

“No, four, four turns.”

“Yeah, four, I heard you.”

He nods at her fumble, pulling you behind him and giving your hand a squeeze. “And you’re going to stand back here and cover your ears.”

You nod, but as he returns to the little hatch he was fiddling with, you disregard his instructions. The blaring noise from earlier, the one you’re sure will sound again at the door’s opening, will no doubt rattle your brain with its loudness, but this time you’re prepared for it. And while a headache will no doubt bloom in its beckoning, you can handle it in exchange for your plan to finally be fulfilled.

“Ready!”

Bracing yourself at the Doctor’s shout, you bend at the knee to be prepared to propel yourself upward, wings spreading to take flight. Staring ahead, you meet the face of an angel, and it dawns on you that there might be a slight problem with your plan. Your family.

While you’ve come up with the idea to make it to them, they’re probably going to try to get to you. As quickly as you can, you make eye contact with each of them and silently mouth, 'Stay still'. Hoping beyond hope that they’ll listen so you can put an end to this stupid game of cat and mouse once and for all.

“On my count, then.” Octavian takes a breath that shudders in his chest, “God be with us all. Three, two, one, fire!”

You weren’t prepared. You don’t even make it off the ground before a scream breaks through your lips, and your knees nearly give out under you as the clerics start shooting their guns. As much as you don’t want to, you stay rooted to the ground, giving in to the Doctor’s instructions to block your ears. But it doesn’t matter, it’s too loud .

You knew they were near deafening from your first and second encounters with them, but those were nothing compared to this. This is so thunderous and so invasive you can feel the noise ricochet against your eardrums and threaten to burst them. The sound as each gun fires is bad enough, but add to it how the bullets sizzle once released, spearing through the air only to land with an almighty clang as they hit metal and stone, and it is all too much for your hands to block out in such close proximity. And the reverberation of each just makes it worse. They blare so loudly through your skull, the noise seeming to pierce right through the bone, and you swear it’s splitting under its attacks. That’s the only explanation you can think of for the way your head aches and your ears throb. Add to that the stinging sensation in your eyes from the sporadic flashing sparks that overtake the darkness, and it’s exceddingly overwhelming.

You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until your body shakes with their release. Tears well in your vision, and you think you see your family, snarling in fury, surge toward you before you clench your eyes shut to block out one of the things that are assaulting you into overstimulation. Trembling wings curl around your frame in an extra attempt to muffle the noise, and you try to focus on the familiar feeling of feathers brushing along your skin to bring you out of your hyperventilation.

You can’t tell if you nearly crumble to the floor or jump out of your skin when a hand latches onto your forearm to drag you backward. What you can tell is how you yelp when a rougher hand grips around your other wrist and stops you in your tracks. Your eyes shoot open to see a soldier tugging you behind him, and before you can tell him to stop, he gives you a solid yank.

Searing pain follows.

Your skin shreds under the angel’s claws, separating from the muscle it protects in bloody slabs that now hang from its fingers. The scream that follows is choked in your throat by a clog that even air can’t make it past. The cleric either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he practically drags you behind him.

You’re pulled through another door, and no sooner than you step through to the other side do you collapse with a broken wheeze. The metal floor bites into your knees and drags another breathless sob from your lips as it scraps through your skin.

There’s a muffled sound, a low noise that just penetrates through the sharp and insistent ringing left echoing in your mind that you think may be the soldier trying to talk to you, but you don’t answer. You can’t . You aren’t able to get any words out past the wheezing, your lungs failing to collect oxygen past the clog in your throat, and the speed at which your remaining breath is exiting. Well, except for the scream. One that surprises even you and is elicited as the man reaches for you once again.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

You jolt back, falling from your knelt position, and as your butt lands on the floor, your back and head bang against the wall. Hissing in pain, you cacoon yourself in your wings, blocking the cleric’s path to you. Something clatters, spinning by your head, and multiple voices shout, but you’re quick to cover your ears, trying to block them out because they make it so much worse .

It feels like you’re dying. Black spots dance around your vision, collecting at the edges and surging toward the center the longer you go without being able to draw in a proper breath. You're shaking uncontrollably, the reason unknown to you. It could be from the overstimulation of the yelling of your companions, your racing thoughts, and the insistent touch that keeps trying to push past your feathers no matter how many times you kick it away. Or from the silent sobs that wreak through your throat and seem to scrape it raw. Or it could be from the pain.

There is so much pain .

Your head still throbs, the back from hitting the wall, but the rest seems to come from your brain. The ache presses against your skull like a hammer beating a nail, and the longer it happens, the farther it spreads until the backs of your eyes feel as if they’ve been pierced by scorching metal. With each cry, pain radiates down your throat and to your shuddering lungs, the organs failing their one job to take in oxygen and clenching tightly with the lack of it as if someone is squeezing them in their fist. Your heart burns in its erratic pounding as if its excessive speed has caused it to catch fire, and now it’s roughly banging against your ribs to escape the smoke. The skin on your knees is raw and ripped, blood beading along the fissures and slowly dripping to the ground. The drops join the already large and growing puddle of the crimson liquid pooling under you, the gashes on your arms overflowing with it. You don’t dare look at them.

The pain is already overwhelming, a combination worse than anything you’ve ever felt. It’s so unbearable that you don’t even know what to compare it to. And you know the moment you acknowledge it more than you’ve already been forced to, it will just feel worse.

You’re not quite sure when the Doctor broke through your feather barricade, but he’s there when you raise your head from its lolled position. You swear you just blinked, but your eyelids are heavy, as if you’ve just awoken from a nap. Vision is blurred as dizziness follows your every slight twitch, but you can see through the haze, just barely, medical supplies spread before him and…River. Actually, it’s the blond who’s closer to you, brow furrowed in concentration as she stares down at her hands…which are currently occupied with putting stitches into your flayed skin. And you were right. You shouldn’t have looked because the moment you set eyes on the injury, everything becomes clear.

Blinding pain rips up the limb and radiates through your body, leaving you to jerk wildly at its passage; a mix between a scream and a sob shrieks past your lips. Hands find purchase on your shoulders to hold you still, and everyone’s voices crash into you like thunder crashes when lightning ripples across the sky. The clerics are shouting something about doors, the Bishop barking orders to them that you just don’t have the will to listen to. Amy’s voice, soft but trembling, reassures you from somewhere unknown. River and the Doctor seem to be arguing or…panicking over the best way to fix your mauled arm.

Without realizing, your gaze has returned to the injury, and while the pain has ebbed just slightly, it’s still too much for you to bear. Tears stream down your cheeks, and when the drops land where your skin has been pulled back together with string, your sobs turn to a hiss. That’s when the Doctor’s eyes meet yours again.

Before you manage to utter a breathless sound that slightly resembles his name, he’s set himself upon you. His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away tears as he presses his forehead to yours, Forest pools clenching tightly shut as his face scrunches like he can feel your pain through the contact. You feel more than hear his whispered reassurances. Comforting words brush over your lips from his closeness and seem to breathe new life into you, giving you a new sensation to focus your racing mind on and, in turn, drag you from your panic. Your shuddering gasps deepen and even out as your heart slows in its relay race across your ribs, flames decreasing to simmering coals. Your vision is cleared from its darkness to take in the full sight of him, his visage practically radiating in his concern for you. The ringing in your ears slowly decrescendos to allow his soft timber to fill its vacancy. The only thing that remains is the pain. But even that seems much more bearable in his presence, or maybe it's from one of the contraptions River had scattered in the medical supplies.

“Can you stand?”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you. And even longer to notice that River is nowhere to be seen and your arm and knees have been bandaged neatly.

When he asks again, you clear your throat, wincing at the sting it produces. “I–I don’t know.”

“Well, how about we try. Come, hold on to me, and I’ll help you up.” His hands position yours along the arm he curls around your stomach, and his other squeezes between your back and the wall to span across your spine. “Alright, on my count. One, two, three.”

You wobble on your feet, knees threatening to buckle, but he holds you steady until the shaking subsides. Once you’re pretty sure you won’t crumble to the floor, you nod. He slowly walks you to River and Amy, who rush around the center of the room behind an odd metal counter of sorts. He leans you against it, cupping your face gently.

“I am so, so sorry. I should have been paying better attention, but I wasn’t. And you got hurt because of it.”

You're struck with a thought. A horrid, wretched thought that this wouldn't have happened in the first place if it weren't for him. That you would be safely tucked into your family's arms, unharmed and loved, and most importantly, with no ideas of following a stranger on some grand adventure. You would have never felt such a pain that you can hardly stand. Never doubted or nearly abandoned your family. Never felt such a pull that convinced you that you could leave the angels and be perfectly content with it were it not for him.

It's only been about two hours, but this whole experience has exhausted you for what you think will be the next few centuries. You're sick of trying to help when every attempt is ignored or thwarted by the very man you're trying to keep safe. You're sick of how much you've trusted him only to receive none in return, even though it's to ensure his survival. You're sick of how you failed to end this sooner. Sick of the confusion and the misunderstandings, the fear and the running, and the chase that caused you to get hurt in a sadistic game of tug of war. And oh, are you sick of this pain that it resulted in, in which you've never felt the likes of. All because he came here.

You want to leave. Leave the Doctor, Amy, River, Bishop Octavian, and the clerics to return to your family. Make these people, these intruders, clean up their own mess or die trying as you're comforted in the arms of your angels.

But how could you think that? How could you do that?

It's the Doctor's soft but tortured eyes that bring you back to reality. The eyes you've lost yourself in more times than you can count. The eyes that have managed to soothe every one of your worries and anxieties as if they never existed in the first place. The eyes that have offered you care and warmth like a cozy fire in a winter's blizzard. The eyes you know you'll be haunted by if you leave and later find them empty and cold as he lays dead in the ruins because you gave up on him. So you can't. You need to keep faith and keep trying. Even if you have to push through the pain, or you gain more injuries, or you almost collapse from exhaustion, or you die trying. Because none of this is his fault, and you were utterly stupid to think that, even for the few brief seconds you did.

He's been helping to keep everyone safe this whole time. Struggling under the pressure and the overwhelming amount of what he considers enemies. He's made sure you were alright every step of the way and comforted you when you weren't, even though you're a complete stranger to him. And sure, you could have saved him from the stress if he listened to you, but you can't really blame him for trying to keep you away from what he perceived as a threat.

In the end, his worries and concerns were well founded because the angels did chase you all through the ruins. And snarling fangs and sharpened claws aren't what you'd consider the warmest welcome. The death of the soldiers wasn't either. In fact, it’s your family’s fault. Were it not for them and their inability to ignore these strangers, none of this would have happened.

The clerics would still be alive, all the others wouldn't be so scared, you would have been able to talk to both sides calmly, your little group would have left the ruins, and you wouldn't have gotten hurt or risk the possible hatred of your new and only friends.

If the angels didn't turn psycho, everything would have been fine. And you're ready to give them an earful to explain just tha–

"Raven, are you still with me?"

You blink, and your vision slowly clears of its blur to focus on the Doctor, who no doubt has been trying to speak to you this whole time. "Sorry, what?"

He doesn't seem bothered by your inelegant question. "I said I'm sorry that you got hurt while in my care. But I swear I won't let it happen again."

You’re touched by his care for you, by the determination to do just as he says shining in his eyes. As you go to thank him, to say just how much you appreciate him and everything he’s done, you pause as you get an idea. You doubt it will work, your injury will no doubt add to his reasons to disagree as he’s already done enough times. But with his attention focused so wholly on you it’s worth a try.

“Doctor,” he hums his acknowledgment, “please, let me talk to them. The angels. I’ve lived with them this whole time. I can get them to stop.”

His soft look hardens as his whole body tenses. “Absolutely not. I’ve already said it. There is no convincing them to stop, no matter how long they’ve been your comatose roommates. And look what they’ve done to you! There is no way I’m letting you anywhere near them. Not again.”

He pulls away from you, expression twisted in anguish at your mere suggestion. He’s unsure if he should consider your idea idiotic or brave, but he settles for somewhere in the middle at reckless. There should be no reason for you to get within one hundred feet of those stone monsters, yet here you are, trying to throw yourself at them like some sacrificial lamb. Well, he won’t let that happen. He meant what he said about not letting you get hurt again, even if you’re the one trying to put yourself in that dangerous situation.

Turning on his heel, he begins to make his way to River, who has frantically called for his help. But he pauses at the gentle tug on his sleeve.

“Doctor, please .” You plead, eyes desperately begging him to give in.

And oh, he almost does. For a strange split second, he finds himself wanting to give you anything you want when you stare at him with those adorable doe eyes. So soft and warm from the flame of determination that sparks within them. But that second is all he indulges himself with the idea. Because as happy as he could imagine it would make you, your face no doubt lighting up brighter than a whole universe filled with stars, he refuses to allow you to put yourself in harm's way.

“No.” The word physically hurts him when he sees how its utterance makes your face fall, but he holds strong. “And I don’t want to hear any more of this.”

Before you can respond, he rushes to busy himself with the controls and coming up with a brilliant plan in a dangerously low amount of time in order to keep everyone alive. His specialty.

Groaning in annoyance, your protest dies on your tongue when he enters conversation with the others. You knew he wasn’t going to agree, but that fact doesn’t make it any less frustrating when he proves you right. You just want all this to end. Not with blood, torn flesh, and snapped necks like how it’s been progressing so far, but with peace, even if forgiveness isn’t an option anymore. But you practically feel the possibility of even that happening slimming down to nearly nothing. And you know it will probably vanish completely if you don’t solve this in the next few moments.

So you push off the counter, groaning as the action jostles your injured arm but ignoring it as you close in on the Doctor. You dodge the crates he rolls behind him and ignore his talk of clams–clamps as he points his little device at the wall as it whizzes and glows green at the tip. He takes a step back, and you clutch onto his elbow.

His eyes find yours immediately, “Doctor, listen. You don’t understand–”

The wall in front of you slides up, and you spare it a cursory glance at the movement just to return your eyes to the Doctor. Only to shoot your gaze straight back, awed at what you see. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until it’s expelled in a shaky exhale when the Doctor gives your hand a squeeze.

“This can’t be real.”

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dragon430 · 2 years ago

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Child Of The Angels Prologue Editing Progress

What it was: Specks or blotches of black aren’t regarded as an issue, but to have full black wings is seen as an indication of the dreadful intentions that person will have.

Though when you were a child of 5, you didn’t understand why you were shunned. After all, how could you tell a kid that it’s because of the shade of her wings. And even though no one else in your family had the fully jet black wings, you never perceived it as a problem. But your family and the rest of your species didn’t think the same as your naive mind did.

But as you grew older, you began to notice the sneers of adults or how parents would drag their children away from you. They would avoid you almost as if you were the plague.

What it is now: Specks or blotches of black aren't regarded as an issue, but to have fully black wings is seen as an indication of the dreadful intentions that person will have. Though as a child of five, you never understood why you were shunned. After all, how could someone tell a kid that it's because of the shade of her wings? It's just easier to follow what others do rather than go against the flow and actually realize that what you're doing is immoral. And it's even harder to muster the courage to tell a little girl that the reason she's being mistreated isn't that she did something wrong. Instead, it's because of something as simple yet uncontrollable as the color of her feathers.

Though truthfully, at the time, if someone did tell you, you don't even know if you would have understood it. Because while you knew that you were different, no one else in your family having the same jet-black wings as you, you never perceived it as a problem. But your family and the rest of your species didn't think the same as your naive mind did. Their thoughts long since warped and twisted with the beliefs of their predecessors.

And as you grew older, you began to notice the nasty sneers of adults. A look of disgust that was reserved only for you. One so full of resentment that not even the people they hated most in their lives received it. How parents would drag their children away from you the second you were in their eyesight. They would avoid you as if you were more dangerous than the plague that ravaged your home many centuries ago, isolating you to a lonely existence even when surrounded by thousands of your kind. And you didn't think it could have happened, but when you turned ten, everything got worse.

The townspeople that once avoided you would now scream and throw insults so loud that you were sure the next town over could hear. Instead of getting dragged away by their parents, the other children would run away of their own volition. Now old enough to understand all the vile and overall untrue stories the adults were telling them. Not being able to have relationships with others was horrible, especially at the age you were, but you would have happily preferred the loneliness you felt while being shunned in the streets over your parents locking you up like some wild beast.

What it was: Flying through the trees of your mountain home has always been your favorite pastime. And after being locked up for so long, it’s something you are definitely enjoying. Flapping your wings, you hear the leaves on the top of the trees rustle, some drifting towards you in the updraft and sliding across your primary feathers.

Gulping in the cool mountain air, you spiral straight up into the clouds to feel the moisture collect on the surface of your warm skin. Twisting in circles, you take in the view of bright tiger oranges and crimson reds waltzing across the sky as the sun begins to set.

Sadly, your moment of peace is soon interrupted as angered shouts pierce through the clouds. As you peer down through the thinning wisps, you see multiple groups searching the area.

What it is now: Flying through the trees of your mountain home had been one of your favorite pastimes in the few years of freedom you had as a child. And after being locked up for so long, it is something you are definitely enjoying once again.

With the flapping of your wings, your ears are greeted by the once forgotten sound of petals rustling in the strong gusts of wind. Leaves part from their branches, drifting towards you in the updraft and sliding across your feathers as if to welcome you back from your long time away.

You smile, twirling through the air in a dance that the foliage happily follows until a draft carries them off to their next partner. As the flowers waltz away in the breeze, you gulp in the cool mountain air, spiraling straight into the clouds to feel the moisture collect on your warm skin. The water droplets gather on your feathers, and while it slows your ascent, you can't be bothered as they also douse the fiery tension in your soul. Heaving a sigh, you twist in circles, taking in the view of bright tiger oranges and crimson reds spinning across the sky as the dual suns begin to set. This was a sight you took for granted as a child, something you've only come to realize now that it's been kept from you. And while it was horrible being locked away in that stone cell, in a weird way, it made you that much more grateful to see this beautiful view now. So hovering just above the rosy clouds, you take your time to admire the show of colors twisting and twirling together like professional dancers.

But sadly, your moment of relaxation is interrupted as angered shouts pierce through the clouds like a spear through flesh. Grumbling under your breath at the disturbance, you peer down through the thinning wisps. And just like that, your long-awaited peace is shattered, remnants swept away by the wind to a place you can’t retrieve it from.

Your blood runs cold, your heart freezing in the chill that wracks through you at the sight below. Through widened eyes, you watch as multiple groups of Aviants search the area far below, but they aren't just any Aviants. They are the queen's guard.

What it was: Upon reaching the village, you mask your sadness and look around at the place you haven’t been for years. Seeing everyone walking about with smiles on their faces makes you feel happy. But you also feel a burst of deep, burning jealousy with how carefree they are.

You want to march up to them and ask what right they have to be joyful when they’ve kept you locked up for so long, but a bump on your leg stops you from doing so. Looking down, a medium-sized ball sits right behind your foot. Bending over and picking it up, you glance around to see where it came from.

What it is now: Upon reaching the village, you mask your sadness and anger behind your curious gaze, looking around at the place you haven’t been to in years. You find yourself on the outskirts of the village square, the many shops lining the streets not having changed from what you can dredge up from your memory. There are stalls decorated with sparkling jewelry and beautiful beads strategically positioned where the sun's rays will cause them to shine and shimmer. Others are draped in a rainbow assortment of fabrics, anything from soft furs to velvety silks, to meet people's specific needs. Though most shops hold all types of food, meats, fruits, vegetables, breads, spices, oils, and so much more, all the ingredients utilized by surrounding stalls where delicious scents waft from to tickle your nose as they cook and bake to perfection.

People bustle through the streets, a good portion of them shopping at stalls, others passing through to return home or trying to wrangle their kids running amok. But most of them do it with wide smiles adorned on their faces. The sight has a small grin of your own curling upon your lips, their happiness contagious and almost having you joining in their untroubled and joyful nature. Almost. Because as quick as the smile blooming across your face in your cheerfulness starts to blossom, it burns away in a burst of deep, burning jealousy stoked by how carefree they are, leaving nothing but withering ashes.

You want to march up to them and ask what right they have to be so joyful. How they can be so cheerful when they've kept you, an innocent child, locked up for so long, cold, hungry, and confused about what she did wrong. And you were ready to. Ready to blow your cover and see if they felt even a hint of remorse for their actions when seeing what they'd done to you. But an impact on your leg stops you from doing so, the light collision enough to divert your burning rage to a tolerable simmer.

What it was: Gulping nervously, you shrink in on yourself as the golden doors are pushed open, and you’re hauled into the decorated room. At the bottom of the ornate throne, you’re shoved to your knees. You stare at the floor in front of you and ignore the pain from your newly scraped legs.

“So,” you can hear the power in the queen’s voice as it echoes around the mostly empty room, “this is our little runaway?”

“Yes, your majesty. We found her out in the woods.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, evil one?”

What it is now: Gulping nervously, you shrink in on yourself as much as the restrictive hands holding you allow. The sneers you're greeted with by a set of four guards on each side of the throne room entrance are not helping your already fraying nerves. You're relieved when their scorching glares are turned from you as they push open the golden doors, though your relief is short-lived as you're hauled into the glittering room to face the monster inside.

The throne room may be beautiful, sculpted in white marble and gold, with large floor-to-ceiling windows draped in velvet silk curtains that allow the sun to shine through, the rays casting everything they touch in an ethereal shimmer. But at the fact that this is where you will receive your punishment, all that beauty melts away into a dark pit of despair, drowning the wonder you held at the sight within its depths.

In truth, this place is not much different than your cellar at home. Bigger, yes. More extravagant, definitely. But it's just as cold and unforgiving, everything looming over you as if to taunt you for getting caught, shadows lashing as you walk past, shaking in their laughter of your inevitable punishment. And the one who sits above it all is none other than the queen herself, the very woman who embodies the wickedness she claims resides in you.

At the bottom of the ornate, jewel-encrusted throne, your progression is halted, and hands set upon you again. You're harshly shoved to your knees, the skin there scraps and tears at the impact, but your nerves keep you from voicing your discomfort over your newly abraded legs. Your head is forcibly lowered in a bow, neck bent painfully, and giving you no other choice but to stare at the floor in front of you. Though the action in itself is brutal, it may be a blessing in disguise as your eyes rove over the tiled floor, counting the scratches in the stone. The familiar habit grants you a bit of calm, and you're able to use it to keep yourself grounded, effectively ridding yourself of your body's trembling in the same process.

"So, this is our little runaway?" The power in the queen's voice echoes around the mostly empty room, drenched in a sickly sweetness used to conceal the sadistic ferocity just under the honeyed veil. Her tone is calm, soft even, but its intensity easily trumps that of the soldiers who caught you, and it tempts the return of tremors to ripple through you under its dominance.

"Yes, your majesty. We found her out in the woods."

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, evil one?"

#Dragon Roars

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