"Yeah." He wraps his wings around himself, tightly. 

He lands. "Where are you from?" he asks, as gently as he can.

"You won't have heard of it. I can't resurrect people - how many people died, it was a lot of them and I can't resurrect people -"

"No, unfortunately you can't," he agrees, "but you saved a very many people today, many more than we otherwise would have been able to."

He's shaking. "Not good enough - I need to tell people where I am - I need to be somewhere pretty - do you know somewhere pretty I could go -"

"Not anywhere nearby—I have to ask, did you trigger today? Do you have anyone taking care of you?"

"Not - they're not here. They're looking for me but they're probably not going to find me for a while -" He unfurls his wings. "Can I have a hug?"

"Of course," he says, not a trace of hesitation in his voice.

Hug. He probably shouldn't tell the first huggable stranger he sees everything he can do but he is pretty woefully out of his depths here so - "I can make things. That's my main power, the healing's just a - side effect. I can put New York City back if you want."

And this is the first time the man expresses surprise. He opens his mouth to say something to that when a shadow passes over the sun and there's a loud boom outside, and the ground shakes as if...

...as if a large spiky ash monster had landed a few miles away from New York.

Even from that distance, the impact is strong enough to topple some more buildings, and the next thing they know there's a fast, huge ash cloud emerging from the site, which probably does not bode well for the continued survival of the human species in North America.

Oh no oh no oh no oh no ten miles up for a better vantage point and he teleports the ash monster thing to where he first landed in this dimension which is vacuum for lightyears around that has to be far enough doesn't it -

- back to Earth, ash clouds are not really the sort of thing best teleported but he is going to do it anyway -

Who knows if it's far enough, here's to hoping. The ash clouds are vast—the monster was a pretty sizeable meteor—but Fëanáro's fast enough that he can... mostly... contain the damage.

Other costumed people will help, naturally. A man with a dark green costume, a cape, a hood, and a mask is onsite and doing something to the clouds—they're spreading much more slowly than they otherwise would, and mostly vertically rather than horizontally.

That'll make them easier to teleport away. Which he will do. ...he's not doing this sloppily because it's ash, is he, he's doing this sloppily because he is in a complete blind panic and everything is terrible. 

He makes himself a space Silmaril on a chain around his neck, a stunted one because demons can't make minds. 

He feels steadier. 

He puts all of the ash he can see really really far away in space. He's trembling too much to stay in the air by flying so instead he teleports himself back into place every wing beat. Ash. Space. 

It takes a while. It was a lot of ash. But eventually that lot of ash will be gone, and the huggy stranger will be there.

"Are there more hurt people -"

"Yes—the impact caused some more destruction which reached a few more cities—"

Cling. Sob. "I can - I don't have to sleep I can fix them -"

He hugs Fëanáro in a very fatherly way, even though he can't be older than twenty-five. "Are you sure? You've done so much already, you're so brave, it's okay if you stop, we can deal."

He stops clinging and looks up at him. He looks - confused. "No," he says. "It wouldn't be okay at all, people'd die."

"We can save them. Behemoth's gone, however that happened—was that you, too?—and if he doesn't come back, we'll be able to save most of them."

"That was me, I've got a teleport, the first time I put him on Mars and the second time I put him in intergalactic space lightyears from anything and light-eons from here. ...so it's my fault for not doing that the first time, that he came back at all - did he come back faster than light, do you know -"

"He wasn't faster than light, Mars is three light-minutes from here and he took longer than that."

"...okay. Um. Can we -" steadying look at the Silmaril - "your world is horrible and awful, no one's more than blinked at the wings and the healing, you can fly, you're not the person who's usually in charge of Earth in 1994, I think this timeline's a lot different, can you tell me what's going on -"

"I'm not in charge of Earth," he says, setting the 'usually' and 'timeline' parts aside for the moment, "and I'm not sure how much you want explained. I'd assumed you'd triggered recently—I don't think I've ever heard of you before—but if something else is going on..."