the pen is mightier than the sword (but sometimes you run out of ink)

Wilbur opens his eyes. The Angel stares back, blue eyes piercing, worried, and Wilbur is still.“What do you want?” he whispers. Hoarse, choked. His powers-The Angel’s brow creases. “You’re injured, mate, let me-” “Stop,” he hisses, the last traces of his power echoing out, and the Angel is still. He sees the moment he realizes, waits for the fear, the anger, the hatred, but it never comes. “Oh,” the Angel murmurs, so so soft, and Wilbur bites back a cry. Tears prick at his eyes, useless, pathetic, and he pushes them away.