The sound of rushing wind was all he could hear, though he was sure if that sound was even just a little bit softer, he would be able to hear his heart about to pound right out of his chest. His breathing came fast and shallow, and the pain he felt was so bad it was surprising he hadn’t blacked out yet. He was leaving a trail of blood as he flew, it dripping from the gash on a leg he was pretty sure was broken. Each time he moved it to try and adjust where he was flying, he cried out against his will.<br/><br/>Plus there were all the other injuries, countless bruises, scrapes and cuts all over his body, the swollen purple left wrist that was either dislocated or broken, the gash on his forehead, and of course, the still burning brand on his hip that sent a bolt of pain through him with every beat of his heart.<br/><br/>The farther the flew, the more blood he lost and the slower he was flying. If he was being chased, then he probably would have been caught by now, but he didn’t want to risk it, so he continued. But eventually, black danced across his vision, his flight faltered, and the past three weeks caught up to him and he passed out from the pain and blood loss, wings no longer able to keep him aloft.<br/><br/>And so he fell, careening towards the earth. The sound of the wind rushing in his ears louder now wasn’t even enough to wake him again, and neither was the pain that lanced through him when he crashed onto the roof of a house, the snaps of the bones in the wing he landed on were audible. The angel named Nicky just laid there, barely breathing, and surrounded by a growing pool of his own blood.