Author's Note: To those of you about to read this I offer the warning that this is a side fic to the very AU fic October and you will have no idea what's going on if you don't read that. Really, I can't imagine how you would get away reading this one without context. But then again you are welcome to try if you want.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so confined in a room.

The last time he had felt something similar, a feeling that had seemed overwhelming then but now paled in comparison, was that night in Wool's Orphanage when he realized just what sort of future he had made for himself and that all actions had consequences.

There had been that same sense of helplessness, of futility, but it had been different then. Some part of him had seen this coming, he had never been allowed to lurk unseen in the shadows after all, why should Azrael's existence continue to be anything resembling normality? He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop then, for something to spring up and say, "It is our savior the great prophesized thing" and then proceed to tell him what he must do and how he must act in order to be a great man.

Great, greatness had always been thrust upon him, so it hadn't really been a surprise even then that he must take up a mantle once again.

This was not like that.

He had been sitting in the chair for hours, feeling almost human by the need to fidget and move and do anything but sit still, and all the while his eyes had stayed locked on Tom who still hadn't woken up.

No, that wasn't true, he had woken up a few times by then but then… It was never Tom who woke up, there was no clarity in his eyes, and their blue color, that pale sharp blue, was instead dulled to the point where he seemed almost blind. He'd scream out some word, some fragmented phrase, sometimes in languages that weren't even English, and he'd mutter about the walls and reality spinning away and then it, whatever it was, would pass and he'd fall back into feverish dreams.

Tom's brow was constantly drenched in sweat, his skin almost translucent, and his fingers twitched even in sleep.

And now Death, the emperor of Ubik, Azrael, Harry James Potter, whatever he chose to call himself on any particular morning could only watch with dread pooling in his stomach as he realized that he had no idea what was going on.

He took hold of one of Tom's hands, Tom's eyes flickered behind closed lids but they did not open, and he clutched it trying to ignore the cold and clammy feel of it.

He looked like a man now, Azrael reflected, or close enough anyway. He had filled out, his face had become more angular and chiseled, the shadow of a beard had begun to appear when Azrael had failed to shave it for him. He looked different from that immortal sixteen year old Tom Riddle that Harry Potter had once met in the Chamber of Secrets.

And he looked as if he was dying.

Azrael, he would be Azrael today when no one was watching and it was just him and Tom alone in a room, closed his eyes and leaned against his hands which still clutched at Tom's.

Tom was not dying though, he did not know if this was a consolation or not, but he knew it. It had been almost instinctual, he had felt it the moment it had occurred, whatever it was. He had turned and looked past reality to find Tom, Tom without expression or thought staring back at him at the edge of reality, and he didn't know what he had thought.

Only that he had been more terrified than he had been in a very long time.

A desperate smile crossed his lips and a few harsh chuckles came out as he came to the absurd conclusion that once again Tom Marvolo Riddle had managed to surprise him completely.

Tom had longed to be a great man, and no doubt some part of him still longed for that, not so much for the fame as for the justification of his existence. When he was younger, when they were fourteen with their whole lives ahead of them, he had talked greatness with divine fire in his eyes.

That had always disturbed him, the idea of greatness had always disturbed him. Perhaps it was because that word had always been associated with Voldemort, they had always said Voldemort was a great wizard, that he too had been told he would accomplish great and terrible things. Whenever Tom had said that, Azrael hadn't seen Tom, instead he had seen the deformed shadow of Voldemort walking in his stead.

He hadn't realized that Tom was already a great man, that his potential was even more than not being Voldemort, that he could and would transcend his existence even when everything was lined against him.

Tom had done the impossible, he had found true immortality, not through a stone or a horcrux or any other means but the real immortality that Azrael had assumed only existed for him.

He'd never realized how unique, how truly brilliant, Tom really was.

And he was afraid that Tom might never wake up, might fade in and out for centuries, making Azrael feel young and stupid and terribly mortal so that he could never tell him that he had truly done it. He had done it without death, without terror, without murder, without any crutch of human misery to aid him.

And now, now Azrael wouldn't be alone anymore.

Tom was no longer a mayfly, no longer a speck of light there one instant gone the next, Tom would be there until there were no more tomorrows and perhaps even longer. Eternity would no longer be the long, barren, and winding road it had proved to be before.

And yet, his knuckles white from the force of gripping Tom's fingers, Tom wasn't waking up.

"If Albus Dumbledore could see you now, could show this to Harry Potter in his pensive, I wonder what they might say." Azrael whispered, watching as Tom flinched at the noise but didn't truly respond, and Azrael continued as if this wasn't simply a story he was saying to himself, "I imagine he'd take it out of context, use it to portray your recklessness in the face of death, your desperation. But then, you're so different from what you were there. There was a basilisk, true enough, but there was no horcrux and… And you did not kill your father, you did not even look for him, you moved past him and Voldemort in the same instant."

He paused, thinking on what to say, searching for the words, "You have such courage. You may not believe it, too Gryffindor for your liking, but it's true. You stepped past everything you knew, everything you'd hoped and dreamed. First past the empty promises of wizarding Britain, and then past your own illusions of grandeur, and you did not even know where you were going; you stepped into uncertainty and you never looked back. It is easy to kill giants, to stop warlords, well perhaps not easy… But it is simple, there is never a doubt that it is the right thing to do, once you overcome your fear of death there is nothing to stop you. It is harder when there is no clear path in front of you; I did not have that courage."

He couldn't stop his eyes from searching Tom's face for a response, any kind of response, but there was nothing new. There was only the sweat dripping from his brow, the roaming eyes beneath eyelids, and the shuddering.

"And you are so very hardworking, more than you are intelligent you persevere, in the face of all adversity… I have faith that you will do all you have set out to accomplish and more, I know that you have stumbled, that we all have stumbled but… Well, your latest venture just goes to show that you are hardly finished here. Only twenty one years old and already rewriting the universe, what bureaucracy could possibly stand in your way now?"

He placed Tom's hand slowly back onto the bed, setting it softly down on the dark covers, and then placed his own hands back into his lap.

"All you have to do is wake up and take it."

Author's Note: For the 800th review of October by Reithandina who asked for a fic where we see Azrael's feelings, particularly on the issue of Tom. So here we are, with lots of feelings to spare.

Thanks for reading reviews are much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.