You Don't Have to Cry Alone

A few rats scampered out of the way as a pair of feet swiped at
them. The tattered black combat boots carried their master -a pair of
long, shapely legs in faded blue jeans-to the desired destination with
an urgent air.

Night made the streets darker than usual. Garbage and the homeless
splattered the curbs and alleys like bad abstract art. A few of the men
and women approached the tall man, begging for a crust of bread.

Engel, however, ignored them. Something was calling him, begging for
something more than crusts. Begging for life. Begging for salvation.
And Engel was going to answer.

He continued on through the streets, keeping his one uncovered green
eye focused on his target-as if afraid of losing it. He was determined
to get there.

The brown-haired man made it to his final destination within hours;
but hardly out of breath or fatigued.

It was a large stone building, made mostly of what looked like
granite. A black spiked fence surrounded it; two times the size of an
average man. The building itself was rectangular and compact, three
rows of ten windows each front and back, with three rows of two on the
sides. Right in the center of the front were two highly polished French
double doors.

The voice led him here. He could feel the presence get stronger, start
to beg harder, it was still pleading for life, for answers.

He knew he had to hurry, lest it dissolve, and another innocent lost.
He walked around to the side where there was less of a chance of him
being seen by the security cameras roving around.

Waves of emotions filled his head in the form of voices. They pleaded
to anything for salvation, hope, and life. Their weight eventually
became too much for Engel to bear. He shut his mind off from the
connection, but not before he discovered where the pleas were
originating. He shed his green cotton turtleneck, leaving him clad in
pure white cloth crisscrossing his chest and tying at the side.

Black wings protruded from a tan, muscled back. They were feathery and
long, the tips ending somewhere around mid-calf. The bridges arched a
little above his head. He clenched his fists and teeth at the feeling
of the now-extended wings. It hurt like hell.

Time was running out. He flexed the dark apparatuses and jumped into
the air, gliding over the high fence. He spread his wings to their
fullest (five feet), and caught a thermal that lifted his slender body
gracefully into the air.

He came to a flutter at an open window, losing a few dark feathers in
the process. Inside the dark room, sobbing and sniffles could be heard.
Engel landed on the ledge, looking much like an angelic gargoyle. His
bright green eyes pierced the seemingly desolate room with ease.
Then he saw what he was looking for. A young, somewhat petite boy was
curled up in the corner of his room, squished in the narrow space
between a wall and nightstand. A large, fluffy pillow was clutched
tightly in his arms. His blonde hair was the only thing visible; his
face was buried in the bed pillow. He was shaking.

Engel's heart split. His father made him grow up so quick?so harshly.
It was a wonder there was any part of his soul left. This boy had been
crying out for help for the better part of his life. Why had no one
helped him? It may have already been too late.

"Hello, Little One." He cooed gently, like a mother soothing an
infant. An intake of breath was heard as the blonde jerked his head up
to look at the speaker with softer green eyes than Engel's own.
Uncovered, his face looked paler than a corpse, but it was streaked red
with tears. His golden hair accented his angular face in a way to make
him look like an overgrown child.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded, standing up and
dropping the lost fa?ade with the pillow on the floor. Engel had to
admire the boy's courage. He spoke without a tremor in his voice. It
was as if he had never been crying.

Stepping off the stone ledge and into the room fully, he displayed his
full, muscular body?and the set of wings behind him. Silently, he bent
down on one knee. He raised his head and looked at the teenager from
under his chocolate brown bangs.

"I am Engel. You have called me. I have answered." His voice was soft
and accented slightly with a bit of a German accent. He got up.
The blonde -Teufel Bane-stared at the beauty of the man before
him.

"You're an angel?" not a question. A statement. Whispered like dry
leaves dancing in the wind.

Engel chuckled softly. "Not an angel. Your angel."

Teufel sank to his knees.

"My angel? I have no angel." The bitter words were spat to the floor
as the blonde looked away to his queen-sized bed, covered with a dull
plaid quilt and blue trimmings.

The brunette took slow steps to his protectee, as one might walk up to
a shy deer. He knelt down beside the frightened boy and wrapped gentle
arms around trembling shoulders that tried to hard to hold back
tears.

"Sh, Little One. Everything will be all right, I promise. You don't
have to cry alone," Engel brought the slack body to his chest, flapping
his wings in lazy rhythm. "No one will ever hurt you, again." He spoke
from his heart; knowing that with every breath he took, he would
protect this boy. Teufel turned his head to face the angel from above.
Engel's heart went out to him. This boy was so innocent, so full of
compassion and caring for those who had hurt him. Nothing should spoil
something this sweet.

"Do you really mean that, Engel?" his voice was so soft, so laced with
the desire to believe that this otherworldly being could actually
protect him. Teufel wanted so desperately to trust his angel. His
angel. And right now, he truly believed that nothing would happen to
him.
Smiling, Engel placed a ghost of a kiss on the teen's forehead.

"You will never cry alone again."