Confrontation

“Woe,” the Angel intoned, “to one who sees not justice.”

The angel faced Eita, and suddenly he felt very small. His wings spread wide tips brushing the walls on either side of the alley.

“Depart,” the angel commanded, “and forget, fool human.”

“I've heard that a lot lately,” Eita grumbled.

This creature was nothing like Sammy. Even when she'd tried to frighten him, part of Eita had regarded Sammy as nothing more than a normal girl aside from the wings. This was a being, solid yet unnatural, and some animal instinct in Eita was screaming for him to run, sending tremors down his legs in anticipation of a flight from mortal – or rather, immortal – peril.

Still, Eita held his ground. He'd picked this fight. Foolish beyond words, perhaps, and he had no idea what he had even meant to do next, to say nothing of what he actually would do, but he wouldn't turn tail so easily.

The Angel brandished its sword at Eita. Whether it meant to do so as an act of intimidation or a prelude to an attack didn't matter, because that was its last mistake. As soon as her arm was freed and her foe's back turned, Sammy grasped her own sword again and plunged it through the Angel's abomen. Golden blood poured from the wound, and the Angel seemed to only flinch from the force, not any sort of pain.

“How careless,” he said.

Then Sammy, grasping the hilt with her left hand, wrenched the blade to the side. Before it burst free, the angel dissolved into sparkling motes of light.

The pressure of the thing's presence gone, Eita fell to his knees and gasped for a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Sammy fell as well, staggering a step forward, then to the side where she slumped against a dumpster, wings evaporating into mist and the blade of her sword shimmering and fading to leave only a dull crystal in her hand.

“Damn,” she said.

“Sammy...”

“You idiot,” she groaned, no harshness in her voice, “they know your face now.”

“They?” Eita asked, recovering enough to go over to her. “didn't you...?”

Sammy shook her head. The wound in her arm looked bad, and Eita's mind raced. He couldn't exactly take an angel no one could notice to the hospital.

“He's not dead,” Sammy said, “he just went back. A wound like that won't kill an angel.”

“What about you?” Eita asked.

“I'll heal,” Sammy said. Her voice was low, her breathing heavy, and it was clear that she was trying not to show that she was in pain. “This thing... should close up any minute now.”

“Wait here a minute,” Eita said. He might not be able to do much, but he had to be able to do something.

“I don't think I've got much of a choice,” Sammy said.

Eita ducked back out into the market street. Luckily, it seems no one had really taken note of him hurling a soda can either, and he didn't catch any weird glares as he hurried between the shops, trying to pick up anything that would help.

A needle and thread, a kitchen towel, and a roll of masking tape. It wasn't much, but it might do. He shopped and paid as quickly as he could and hurried back into the side alley with Sammy, and knelt down next to her.

“Let me take a look,” he said. Weakly, she raised her right arm. Her forearm, where the wound was, and her hand were both slick with what Eita assumed was blood, a sort of ruddy gold where the Angel's had been a bright brassy gold like the filigree light upon his skin, but still undeniably something that wasn't quite human.

Despite that, it wasn't bleeding as badly as Eita had braced himself for, with the ragged edges of the wound almost looking like they were already scabbing over.

“I didn't think it would take this long,” Sammy said.

“Sorry,” Eita replied.

“Not you,” Sammy said, “If I were my old self, there wouldn't even be a wound any more. I don't want to brag, but -”

She coughed.

“Easy,” Eita said. He took out the needle and thread, and wondered for a moment if he was really up to the task. In theory, it didn't seem too hard, but he'd never sewn anything before.

“Don't bother with that,” Sammy said, “But um, if you've got bandages...”

Eita produced the towel and the tape.

“Closest I could find,” he said.

Sammy reached out with her left hand, insisting on helping as they wrapped the towel around her forearm, and then the tape tight around the towel.

“This is my fault,” Sammy said, “I knew I shouldn't have taken wing.”

Eita worked quietly, trying to make sure the whole improvised thing was secure. Could a Fallen Angel get an infection? Was there still time to find rubbing alcohol? Did human medicine even apply to something like this?

“Hey,” she said, “say something. The serious act is worrying me.”

“Does this happen often?” he asked without thinking.

“First time for everything,” Sammy said.

Eita tore off the end of the tape, and started to wind another layer the other way around. That would help, wouldn't it?

“You said you knew-”

“I guessed that we wouldn't be let go easily,” Sammy said, “I'd actually hoped that I'd be wrong. But if it sent Raphael down with a regalia like that, it means business and I'm probably not talking my way out of anything either.”

“It?” Eita asked.

“Remember how I told you that the answer to why I fell was a long story?”

Eita nodded. Sammy started to clutch at the dumpster behind her with her good hand, struggling to her feet, bushing away an offered hand to help.

“It's probably about time I told the whole thing,” Sammy said. “If you're going to go picking fights for my sake, you should at least know what this whole thing is over.”

“Okay,” Eita said, “But are you sure you should be walking around already?”

“I'll heal faster somewhere spiritual power gathers,” Sammy said, “If you know a good shrine, or maybe even a ghost spot-”

“I know just the place,” Eita said. Yua's family maintained a small shrine, but it was always somewhere that felt peaceful, and it was nearby. The irony of ushering an angel to a shrine wasn't lost on Eita, but he lead the way in any case.

“Then,” Sammy said, “I'll tell you about the thing I used to call God, and why an angel would fall from its grace.”