Did It Hurt When You—

"—Fell from Heaven?”



Crowley stiffened. Behind his glasses, his eyes widened, the yellow irises covering the whites.

The music of the club faded into ringing, behind which he could almost imagine he heard the screams of the Fallen, the crackle of burning wings. The club no longer smelled like sweat and alcohol, but like brimstone and ash.

Old wounds, old aches, old scars, flared with phantom pain as Crowley tried not to break apart and shatter into a million worthless pieces.



[A thoughtless pickup line brings up old memories]