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This is a continuation to As Right as Rain, one of the other MBS prompts from this set.
⌊ As stubborn as a mule ⌉
Two days after he spoke to Gabriel, Raphael began to worry. By the third, he was spending his rare moments of free time pacing Michael's room nervously. On the fourth, he grudgingly allowed Chamuel to pull him away for the briefest of rests, only to return to find Michael conscious and determinedly trying to extricate himself from yards of bandages and braces. Shocked into speechlessness, he stood in the doorway and stared. When words finally caught up with him again, he barked out a single sharp "STOP THAT!" before cutting across the room.
For once in his life, Michael obeyed Raphael's command, if only for a moment. He glowered, an uncharacteristic expression on his usually impassive face, then began pulling at meticulously wrapped bandages again. "I cannot do anything if I am trapped in here, and I most certainly will not greet the Host while swaddled like a baby."
"Michael! You will go nowhere and do nothing until you are healed."
"But I need to-"
"NO."
Michael ran a hand over his head, flinching when his fingers met shaved scalp and the stitches there. Frustrated with this discovery and wincing in pain, his reply came out more snappish than commanding. "Then heal me."
Raphael sighed, fingers coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "If only it could be so easy. Might I point out Lucifer did a fine job of almost gutting you? And what he started, Ba'alzebul tried to finish? It took more than a few miracles to save your feathered hide, and you are far from my only patient."
Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing for a moment as the room began to swim. He frowned to himself, not at all pleased. "So? Heal me. That's what you do, isn't it? After that, you tend to your other patients and I see to the Host."
Raphael stared, once again at a complete loss for words. Seizing the opportunity, Michael continued on.
"How many died, how many more have Fallen? We need to hold a vigil for all those who have been lost and then we must refortify Heaven's defenses. I must see to the Host, speak with our Father, ensure this never happens again."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Raphael glared, a stern, no-nonsense expression, "Don't make me drug you. Because I will. I am tired."
Michael opened his mouth to argue, but Raphael interrupted him again with a raised hand and a sharp "Don't."
Sensing something in his brother's tone, Michael abandoned his argument and settled back into the pillows obediently. Raphael watched him closely for a moment, then pulled a chair up to his bedside.
"If you wanted to know, all you had to do was ask me." He raised his hands, turning them this way and that, examining them closely before letting them drop back to his lap. "I have seen so much blood, enough for countless lifetimes. How many have we lost? A full third of our brothers and sisters chose to Fall with Lucifer. Some - Ba'alzebul, Azazel and the like - were to be expected, but many others caught us completely off guard. We weren't prepared for anything of this magnitude, if indeed we were prepared at all, and it showed. Another third of the Host were grievously -- fatally -- injured in the battle. I have been setting broken bones, stitching wounds, bandaging burns for days on end. You maybe be interested in knowing Zadkiel nearly lost an eye trying to drag your sorry carcass out of the fray, and Jophiel has a broken wing that may never heal properly."
He looked up, gaze locked on the ceiling, thoughts even farther away. "I never thought... never would have dreamed... We bleed. We can rend and tear and turn on each other as if we were never brothers. We die. War. No greater illness could I have ever imagined."
Quietly, Michael reached for one of Raphael's hands, pulling it up, holding it in his own warm, bandage-wrapped hand. For all his injuries, his grip was surprisingly strong and Raphael found comfort in the gesture. This was why Michael was commander of the Host. Not only for his strength and power, for his leadership or skill in battle, but for the force of his Presence and his singular ability to bring them all together and bind them as a family, as the Host. A comfortable silence descended between them as Raphael sought reassurance from his brother's touch and offered up what healing he could.
When Michael finally spoken again, his words were hushed, solemn. "Our Father needs me."
"He needs you hale and whole, not bruised and broken. You get out of this bed now, I guarantee you will be gracing it again in a scant few hours, the only difference being that I will see to it that you stay unconscious the second time around. However, should you choose to stay here and actually follow my medical advice, I can have you are briefed on everything that happened after the battle and will make certain Zadkiel and Uriel keep you current on the proceedings.
"Zadkiel? Uriel? Is THAT what I have been replaced by?"
Michael tried to rise again, intent on doing as he wished, but stumbled the moment his feet touched the ground. Raphael was up in the blink of an eye, catching him before he could fall, pushing him back to the bed forcefully.
"Let me up."
"Do you want me to sit on you?"
"Zadkiel is naught but my standard-bearer and Uriel's head is stuffed full of sparks and sunshine."
"Not to put too fine a point on it, but Zadkiel saved your hide after you felled Lucifer. As for Uriel, he more than proved himself to be an adept fighter, and he's one of few I haven't had to patch up. Our Father has chosen him to guard the gates of Tartarus, and it is a duty he does not take lightly."
"Surely there are others better suited to the task," Michael snapped out even as he made yet another aborted attempt to sit up.
"Who, Michael? Things have changed. Our Father has all but removed Himself from our presence; Metatron speaks for Him now. Gabriel and Remiel have both been tasked to watch over the humans, to guard them from Lucifer's influence. Raguel seeks out any of Lucifer's supporters who have attempted to remain in Heaven, seeking vengeance, justice. Both Haniel and Chamuel are here in the infirmary with me, treating others who have been injured. We make do with what we can."
"We 'make do'?"
"Yes. We persevere, we heal, we move on. Note-" Raphael laid a gentle but restraining hand against Michael's arm, "I said 'heal' before 'move on'. Rest here for a moment while I summon someone to find Zadkiel."
Michael harrumphed but finally did as he was bid, eyes slipping shut as Raphael stepped from the room. He would persevere, he would heal and he would carry them beyond this.
⌊ As stubborn as a mule ⌉
Two days after he spoke to Gabriel, Raphael began to worry. By the third, he was spending his rare moments of free time pacing Michael's room nervously. On the fourth, he grudgingly allowed Chamuel to pull him away for the briefest of rests, only to return to find Michael conscious and determinedly trying to extricate himself from yards of bandages and braces. Shocked into speechlessness, he stood in the doorway and stared. When words finally caught up with him again, he barked out a single sharp "STOP THAT!" before cutting across the room.
For once in his life, Michael obeyed Raphael's command, if only for a moment. He glowered, an uncharacteristic expression on his usually impassive face, then began pulling at meticulously wrapped bandages again. "I cannot do anything if I am trapped in here, and I most certainly will not greet the Host while swaddled like a baby."
"Michael! You will go nowhere and do nothing until you are healed."
"But I need to-"
"NO."
Michael ran a hand over his head, flinching when his fingers met shaved scalp and the stitches there. Frustrated with this discovery and wincing in pain, his reply came out more snappish than commanding. "Then heal me."
Raphael sighed, fingers coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "If only it could be so easy. Might I point out Lucifer did a fine job of almost gutting you? And what he started, Ba'alzebul tried to finish? It took more than a few miracles to save your feathered hide, and you are far from my only patient."
Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing for a moment as the room began to swim. He frowned to himself, not at all pleased. "So? Heal me. That's what you do, isn't it? After that, you tend to your other patients and I see to the Host."
Raphael stared, once again at a complete loss for words. Seizing the opportunity, Michael continued on.
"How many died, how many more have Fallen? We need to hold a vigil for all those who have been lost and then we must refortify Heaven's defenses. I must see to the Host, speak with our Father, ensure this never happens again."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Raphael glared, a stern, no-nonsense expression, "Don't make me drug you. Because I will. I am tired."
Michael opened his mouth to argue, but Raphael interrupted him again with a raised hand and a sharp "Don't."
Sensing something in his brother's tone, Michael abandoned his argument and settled back into the pillows obediently. Raphael watched him closely for a moment, then pulled a chair up to his bedside.
"If you wanted to know, all you had to do was ask me." He raised his hands, turning them this way and that, examining them closely before letting them drop back to his lap. "I have seen so much blood, enough for countless lifetimes. How many have we lost? A full third of our brothers and sisters chose to Fall with Lucifer. Some - Ba'alzebul, Azazel and the like - were to be expected, but many others caught us completely off guard. We weren't prepared for anything of this magnitude, if indeed we were prepared at all, and it showed. Another third of the Host were grievously -- fatally -- injured in the battle. I have been setting broken bones, stitching wounds, bandaging burns for days on end. You maybe be interested in knowing Zadkiel nearly lost an eye trying to drag your sorry carcass out of the fray, and Jophiel has a broken wing that may never heal properly."
He looked up, gaze locked on the ceiling, thoughts even farther away. "I never thought... never would have dreamed... We bleed. We can rend and tear and turn on each other as if we were never brothers. We die. War. No greater illness could I have ever imagined."
Quietly, Michael reached for one of Raphael's hands, pulling it up, holding it in his own warm, bandage-wrapped hand. For all his injuries, his grip was surprisingly strong and Raphael found comfort in the gesture. This was why Michael was commander of the Host. Not only for his strength and power, for his leadership or skill in battle, but for the force of his Presence and his singular ability to bring them all together and bind them as a family, as the Host. A comfortable silence descended between them as Raphael sought reassurance from his brother's touch and offered up what healing he could.
When Michael finally spoken again, his words were hushed, solemn. "Our Father needs me."
"He needs you hale and whole, not bruised and broken. You get out of this bed now, I guarantee you will be gracing it again in a scant few hours, the only difference being that I will see to it that you stay unconscious the second time around. However, should you choose to stay here and actually follow my medical advice, I can have you are briefed on everything that happened after the battle and will make certain Zadkiel and Uriel keep you current on the proceedings.
"Zadkiel? Uriel? Is THAT what I have been replaced by?"
Michael tried to rise again, intent on doing as he wished, but stumbled the moment his feet touched the ground. Raphael was up in the blink of an eye, catching him before he could fall, pushing him back to the bed forcefully.
"Let me up."
"Do you want me to sit on you?"
"Zadkiel is naught but my standard-bearer and Uriel's head is stuffed full of sparks and sunshine."
"Not to put too fine a point on it, but Zadkiel saved your hide after you felled Lucifer. As for Uriel, he more than proved himself to be an adept fighter, and he's one of few I haven't had to patch up. Our Father has chosen him to guard the gates of Tartarus, and it is a duty he does not take lightly."
"Surely there are others better suited to the task," Michael snapped out even as he made yet another aborted attempt to sit up.
"Who, Michael? Things have changed. Our Father has all but removed Himself from our presence; Metatron speaks for Him now. Gabriel and Remiel have both been tasked to watch over the humans, to guard them from Lucifer's influence. Raguel seeks out any of Lucifer's supporters who have attempted to remain in Heaven, seeking vengeance, justice. Both Haniel and Chamuel are here in the infirmary with me, treating others who have been injured. We make do with what we can."
"We 'make do'?"
"Yes. We persevere, we heal, we move on. Note-" Raphael laid a gentle but restraining hand against Michael's arm, "I said 'heal' before 'move on'. Rest here for a moment while I summon someone to find Zadkiel."
Michael harrumphed but finally did as he was bid, eyes slipping shut as Raphael stepped from the room. He would persevere, he would heal and he would carry them beyond this.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-26 02:33 am (UTC)From:The sheer extent of Michael's injuries and his reaction was just pitiful. *cuddles him* And poor, poor Raphael; I always did think he would have been one of the most stressed after the Fall, because he had to deal with the fallout (healing, beating sense into his brothers' heads) the most. His description of the war was heartrendingly vivid. And when Michael held his hand and you talked about how he bound them as a family, I'd've smiled if I wasn't so tired.
I loved Raphael threatening to knock him unconscious. XD And yes, Michael, he said heal BEFORE move on! XDDD I like how the entire story has this sad, weary tone but there's hope at the end. Perfect. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-11-26 03:43 pm (UTC)From:I don't know if I want to call Raphael's reaction stress, as he is rarely stressed even when pushed beyond his limits. The way I have written it, I think Michael is the one who is more stressed by the situation. Raphael is frustrated by Michael, yes, and he has so many people to attend to, but it is his purpose and he is comfortable with it. It is Michael, who takes it upon himself to rebuild his family, who is the most stressed by it. (That, and I dare say no one was more troubled by Lucifer's revolt than Michael was. They were painfully close in my canon, and losing his brother was a great blow.)
As Raphael reflects in the previous story, hope is something a healer can work with. ♥
(Also, thank you so much for replying, even though you were zombified. *hugs* Get some sleep!)