To be perfectly honest, he did not know who this angel was. He was familiar in that he was angelic, but the feel of him was one that Duma did not recognize much like Castiel. But that moment had been brief and then he had been cut off. Now this same person was reaching out, calling for help, and two stupid questions had been asked before the proper one. Where. That was all anyone needed to know.
Duma had been gone as soon as he'd gotten the address. He did not knock on the apartment door but simply appeared inside of it, ashen grey wings visible. He was most proud about remembering to put on pants, with the jagged key to the gates of Hell hanging around his neck like a foreboding weight. As soon as he was there, he could feel the pain and he followed it to the source.
Out of habit, without a word, he found the other whose name he didn't know. And still, in silence, he focused his energy to try and piece together Grace and body. He could feel the darkness in the wounds, an energy he had become far too familiar with lately but one he knew how to work with.