# Fanworks

## The Old Story of Dr Fell

Originally published 2018-10-22 | 905 words | 1 chapter (unfinished) | read on AO3

Fandom: The Glass Scientists

Characters: Jekyll, Lanyon, Hyde

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, body horror

Other tags: Alternate universe, Angels, Demons

Summary: It's well known that the human soul is not truly one, but truly two. But what makes up the soul of a demon? Do demons even have souls? And, more importantly, can a demon's soul be reverted back into its original state, the way it was before the Fall?

### Chapter 1

Hastain often asked him about his interest in modern science. He never understood the appeal.

Surely, many demons those days busied themselves with scientific affairs. They would fund expeditions to distant lands from which no-one returned, advocate experimental remedies that caused more harm than relief, create whole branches of study devoted specifically to plunge humanity deeper into sin and chaos. Hastain himself was no exception to the common trend. He still prided himself highly on the cholera outbreak of 1854.

But Jezekiel's pursuits were... different. Hastain deemed them too shallow, too unprofessional for a demon of this day and age. To pursue a career in chemistry, to invest himself so deeply into the cheap tricks of alchemy... He simply couldn't see the man's endgame. How does this all play into the corruption of mankind? When does the reaping of souls begin? Hastain preferred simpler, more effective methods. Still, he played along with Jezekiel's little plans, mostly because he didn't really have anyone else on Earth to call as much as an acquaintance. He hated humanity and Hell equally, and it was nice to have at least somewhat of a company.

Little did he know that what Jezekiel was working on behind closed doors would terrify even the most wicked inhabitants of Hell.

Jezekiel checked the lock of his laboratory one more time, to ensure no curious servant would interrupt him, and looked at what once could be called his wings.

Everybody knows that whenever an angel falls from Heaven, it hurts. Very few people knows that it continues to hurt for the rest of existence.

After all these millenia, Jezekiel still remembered the sound with which they broke in dozens of places. He still remembered the blood that dripped and flowed and wouldn't stop, the brilliant red turning into a disgusting brown as it dried. He remembered the snow-white feathers turning black in the blink of an eye as God's grace left them.

And the pain. He could never forget the pain.

And, most of all, he remembered how, despite the agony and the horror and the broken bones, he still tried to open his ruined wings and reach for the sky. Like a chick fallen from its nest, he tried to fly again and again in vain as the realization hit him that he was now bound to the ground. He shouted the name of his God, but nobody answered.

The pain dulled over the years, but it never stopped entirely. Even when the wings were concealed from the eyes of humans, the pain was still there. The blood stains never quite washed off the feathers.

No demon has ever survived the Fall without their wings being broken. Most of them have gotten quite used to the ways of Satan, and contented themselves with a fine life either in Hell or on Earth, disguising the pain with alcohol, drugs or sinful deeds in the name of their Master.

Not Jezekiel.

Jezekiel didn't care about Heaven, or God's grace, or salvation. He could live just fine without those things.

But he would give anything to bring his wings back. Anything. Even his soul.

Do demons have souls? Probably not. But whatever composed the essence of Jezekiel's being, he was willing to sacrifice even that in order to experience flight again.

Not that humanity hasn't made its own ways to get themselves in the air. Jezekiel heard much praise about hot air balloons and the such. But that was different. That wasn't the right kind of flight. To feel the wind ruffle on his feathers, to feel the freedom and joy of being airborne, to have the whole world unravel before him as he traverses the open sky - that was everything he ever wanted.

Jezekiel turned to the table, filled with a disarray of alchemical concoctions and equipment. It was going to happen tonight or never.

As he prepared the potion, he could feel the deadly sin of pride flow in his veins. He measured the ingredients with diabolical accuracy, and watched the compound change colour from red to purple to a shining green. It smelled of sulphur, which wasn't a smell at all unusual to Jezekiel. Hell smelled like sulphur all the time. But there was some other odour thrown in the mix this time. Honey, maybe?

He downed the contents of the flask in one go and let the pain consume him.

It was a different kind of pain. It wasn't the pain that freezes you and terrifies you and leaves you with nothing but despair. This time, he embraced every second of it. As he gritted his teeth in an attempt not to scream, as he felt every cell in his body metamorphose and rearrange into something completely different, he welcomed it.

Not only his body changed. His soul, his essence, whatever you want to call it, that changed as well. What would stare at him from the mirror in just a few moments, pulling a stray strand of blonde hair from his face and adjusting the suddenly too large clothing, was no longer the demon Jezekiel.

He was something entirely new, something that not God nor Adam has ever invented a name for. A creature that never fell from Heaven, because it has never been there. It was born here on Earth, yet it was, without a doubt, an angel.

Edward Hyde left through the window and unfolded his beautiful white wings.