#thry truly make me so sick

[walmartbrandwhatever]

I SO agree but hear me out... Trip and Marcia who could have been endgame if it wasn't due to the world around them....

TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA TWO-BIT X MARCIA

[chccmpiions]

(upfront imma say this has torture, wing-related gore and blood, read at your own digression)

The worst part of it all is that they know Samael is suffering too, that this method of torture goes both ways.

There aren't many places you can run that an angel won't find you. There is nowhere you can hide, no safety if they're after you. Tirza had been so cautious in the beginning; after Crowley's little stunt following them into a church they'd warmed up to the demon, but angels were a group they'd sworn to never trust again. Then Aziraphale had swooped in, all kind eyes and warm hugs, and then Samael with his soft words and his good company, and even as that little voice in the back of their head screamed for them not to, the silverwing had let their guard down. For a time, it was just the safe bookshop; their new parents, and a brother closer than a soulmate, and no worries if the celestial armies would find them here.

They always do, they're good at that.

This position is designed to hurt- large heather wings are spread to their limit, the muscles and tendons burning with the strain. Even their chest is pushed further down in an attempt to deliver the maximum amount of discomfort. But none of it hurts like the horrifying knowledge that Samael is right there behind them, silent and pale as Gabriel crouches to their level.

Impossibly green eyes glare defiantly at impossibly purple irises, a silent promise that he'll get nothing from them. If Gabriel gets the message, he doesn't show it.

Instead, he smiles.

"We've been keeping an eye on you, Trsiel." And that name can't exist, it burns painfully within their deepest core to hear it- another torture all its own. "We know where you've been, who you've been with-" They hear Samael shift behind them- "And we think you may have some worth after all."

He's met with stony silence.

"You were supposed to become a demon," he continues, "You were supposed to fall. And yet you're... whatever this is. How'd you do it? What's your secret? Is this how Aziraphale escaped us? It was that wretched demon, wasn't it?" Tirza's gaze hardens.

"You did this to me, you arrogant dickhead," they snarl, and Gabriel's face twitches before he stands again.

"Samael, go ahead and begin." Tirza hears him take in a breath, and they do the same, preparing for what comes next. The angel behind them wavers, then-

Pluck.

It's like pulling out a hair, but significantly more painful. They wince just slightly, and immediately regret the movement as the strain on their stretched muscles sharpens. Samael's voice is almost inaudible, only Tirza hears his words.

"I'm so sorry. Try and hold still." They try but it hardly makes a difference.

Pluck.

Pluck.

Pluck.

Samael's trembling fingers are slow, methodical, and the silverwing hisses, growls, whimpers, but they never talk. Samael's shame is palpable to them, and that makes it all the more agonizing to bear. But they can't talk. Won't talk. They won't dare frame the angel and demon, even now, not when they know who's at fault.

Time passes.

Pluck, pluck, pluck.

Their body jerks with anticipation just before the next tertiary is tugged, and they hiss a curse. Blurry eyes squeeze shut before blinking open. They're bleeding? It makes sense; this isn't their first torture at the hands of angels, admittedly. Their body's covered in cuts, gashes, and bruises, and they realizes their left eye may swell shut. But those injuries aren't bleeding now. This is from their wings, isn't it? Tirza can't imagine how they must look.

Pluck.

This one is sensitive; they cry out, then growl. "Fuck you." It's animalistic, deep, desperate, and as they makes eye contact with Gabriel the angel simply smiles. If they had the strength, thry think somewhere in the back of their buzzing mind, they'd discorporate the bastard.

Pluck.

A less sensitive feather, a pitched whine. Gabriel's eyes are mysterious, and it's a different kind of torture. Tirza wants to know what he's thinking in that devilish head. It's intentional, they know. Tirza snarls at him.

Pluck.

Pluck. Drip.

Pluck.

It's not long before the silverwing is feeling more panicked and hurt than anything else, and as another feather is removed they jerk. Hard.

Pop.

The howl of pain is raw, and Tirza fears they're in trouble now. Their body is on fire, every nerve ending unbearably sensitive to the situation. They can't keep up with this. Somewhere in their mind, the silverwing prays for help.

"S-stop! Stop, make it stop!" they plead, but even as they talk Samael continues his methodical task, and Gabriel nods approvingly.

"Good work, Samael," he says, and Samael's hand pauses in their task. His breath shakes, and Tirza is glad they don't have to see the look on his face. The pain continues, and another joint pops. They plead, babble, cry for help from anyone, from Gabriel, from their own Mother, but it goes on. Slowly, miserably, unbearably.

When it stops, Tirza knows their right wing is bare. They shake, gasp, struggle to calm themself.

Gabriel steps forward now, crouching before the silverwing and tilting their face up to look at him.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

They spat in his face.

He doesn't respond to that beyond wiping the spit away. "Are you ready to work with us now? Surely you don't despise us enough to continue this, do you? Because we will continue if you refuse us." His hand moves to stroke over their left wing, and fear leads them to whimper involuntarily. Behind them, Samael drops his gaze, unable to watch. The archangel smirks.

"What will it be? Join us, or keep going?" Tirza's reply is a stony, teary glare. He waits a few seconds before Gabriel's fingers grip two feathers and yank. They yelp, face screwing up.

"We'll continue then."

Tirza can't give in. But they can't keep this up much longer.

But they don't have to, because halfway through this wing they hear the door swing open. Samael makes a relieved sound similar to a sob, and a familiar voice snarls somewhere on their right.

"You've made a terrible mistake." Aziraphale.

Tirza isn't exactly sure what happens next. There is a bright light, and they close their sensitive eyes to avoid it, and the next few minutes happen in a blur. They do become aware of their own tears at some point in this time period; they don't know when they'd started crying.

Aziraphale looks like he could murder God; three extra pairs of wings and half a dozen eyes are still visible, and his sword is blazing (where'd he get his sword from?), but the flames are nothing compared to the rage in his soft blue eyes. Crowley is bloody, and his face suggests anger but amber eyes scream nothing but concern as he races to get them out of their restraints. Samael keeps a distance, and his face makes their heart ache. The moment the demon actually moves their body, Tirza sobs- a loud, pained sound that terrifies Crowley. His hands are gone, and moments later he's crouched before them, shaking fingers stroking their face.

He's crying, Tirza vaguely notices.

"We're gonna get you out, Duckie, I promise," he says. "It might hurt, I'm so sorry. Oh, my sweet darling, I'm so terribly sorry." Aziraphale is above them now, anger giving way to worry as he tries a miracle to soothe their pain; it doesn't do much, but Crowley is able to pick them up now, and Tirza cries against his chest until their body can't handle it and unconsciousness sets in.

When they come to, sore and disoriented, they try sitting up, mind on one thing.

"Sam-Where- where's-" They're hushed by a tired looking Crowley, who guides them back into their earlier position.

"He's with Aziraphale now, darling," he tells them, and Tirza's lip trembles.

"It's not his fault," they manage, and Crowley reaches out to hold his silverwing as the tears start up.

"I know, I know," he promises. "Gabriel won't ever lay a hand on either of you again, you hear me? Not again." He strokes their hair and let's them cry until they've exhausted themself, and he refuses to let go. His family is hurting, and he needs to make it better. He needs to heal, that's what he'd been made for all those years ago.

Healing miracles aren't easy anymore, but he does his best, and the ache in their body fades slowly for now. It's the least he can do, and it helps. Tirza lies limp in his embrace, tired and terrified and truly worried about Samael.

He doesn't talk to them that night.

Aziraphale does though. He lays besides his adopted child and holds them until they fall asleep, his presence soothing them enough to allow the younger being to drift off. He has to bless their dreams to ensure the nightmares don't come tonight.

He knows he won't be able to keep them away forever, but he's going to try.

Samael won't talk to them, even as they heal. No one touches their back, and never their wings, but the younger angel gives them a wide berth at all times now. He looks miserable, and it brings Tirza a new kind of pain. They corner him three weeks after the incident, in his room, and he isn't ready to have this conversation but they need it now.

"It wasn't your fault," Tirza says. He scoffs.

"I did it, didn't I?"

"You didn't have a choice." Tirza steps closer; he leans away. "Like the flood, Sam. Sometimes we have choice taken away." Wary eyes study the silverwing.

"You bled by my hand, Tirza. You cried, I can't forget the sound of you screaming like that. I-I- you're supposed to be safe." He looks like he might cry. "You were so scared when you first joined this family, and I told you that you'd be safe here, and I lied."

Tirza shakes their head.

"I'm safe right now, aren't I?" They sit on the bed by the angel. "In this library, I'm safe. It's not you, it was Gabriel. And you can't let him make you doubt my safety. Because if you do, then he wins this sick little game he's playing." Arms are held out, and Samael hesirates before leaning into their hold. They smile. "See? I'm safe."

Samael pauses, then grasps them tightly. He cries into their hair, apologizes again and again, and Tirza cries too. The hug feels different; like something is broken between them. And maybe it is. Tirza knows they can't let him near their wings, not for a while, and he can't trust himself around them. But they'll heal. They'll try, they'll do their best, and they'll be okay.

But right now they're not. And they cry.