neutral_omens | (no subject)

Raphael stumbled down the hall. His head felt like it was going to split and the conversation with John hadn't left him in a cheerful state of mind. He wanted to brood and get angry over Pestilence's very existance...

If only his head didn't feel like it was going to crack open.

Exhausted beyond even his ability to get rid of the headache, he stumbled down the hall, looking down. Darkness edged his vision and he hoped he could make it to his room.

Then he heard a voice address him and, with some effort, looked in it's direction.

"Michael?" He laughed, wondering if he'd managed to remove all the alcohol or if he was still tipsy. "Heeeeey," he said, half-moaning. "Guess who's making an effort?"

He grinned, then his legs gave way beneath him.

Michael blinked a couple of times. No, this was definitely not Raphael's usual behaviour, not at all. A part of him wondered whether he was truly seeing this. Maybe this was just some bizarre dream, his restless mind having finally drifted into sleep?

As Raphael asked his question, his response was, "Er... who?" Of course, that kind of questions usually indicated that the answer was the one who asked, but now, it didn't seem likely. Well, so it did seem likely indeed, but it still didn't make sense. Hadn't Raphael just a few days earlier seemed to think that making an effort was about the vilest of all sins?

Besides, whenever he tried to actually think about Raphael making an effort, his mind immediately wandered off to things it should not even try to approach. Or, at least, if it did, he would soon be very, very disturbed. Especially with Raphael standing there, closer to him than he'd been in days, looking so strange in those clothes and yet so beautiful...

However, he never got an answer to his question as Raphael suddenly started to fall. Acting on pure instinct, he leapt forward, catching the other archangel just in time. Carefully raising Raphael back into a somewhat upright position but not letting go yet, he then asked worriedly, "Are you feeling quite all right, Raphael?"

Raphael felt his body being caught by his mind couldn't seem to focus enough to answer the questions - at least not at the moment. He was pushed upright but was suddenly struck by a wave of dizziness and nausea.

He felt a telltale burning at the back of his throat and he knew what was, unfortunately, coming next. His head flopped forward and he vomited, heaving until his mouth tasted acrid and nothing else seemed to be coming.

After a coughing spell he looked upwards.

"No... no I don't think so..."

Then he bent over again.

Michael was too stunned by Raphael's appearance and obviously rather poor condition to even think of being disgusted as Raphael threw up on him. He merely held his hands on the other angel's shoulders. When Raphael appeared to have finished vomiting for the second time, he miracled the whole mess away with a thought.

He cringed a bit. Making an effort did make getting drunk more enjoyable. However, it had the tendency to make the hangover even worse, too. He felt truly sorry for Raphael -- so much so that only a small part of his mind happened to even wonder just how -- and, more importantly, why -- the mild and proper Raphael had gone and got himself into such a condition.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked with all the adoring devotion of somebody who is hopelessly in love, knows that it is hopeless, and doesn't really care. "Anything to make you feel a bit better?"

Raphael wiped a smear of vomit off his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to stand up. He barely noticed that the mess was gone; his head was pounded and he felt like he was going to black out or puke again at any moment.

"If't wouldn't be too much..." He took a step then leaned against the wall. "If it wouldn't be too much to ask, maybe you could help me back? Need to sleep it off... used up too much energy helping the people... 'm tired..."

He could feel his body sag as he struggled to stay upright.

Michael felt his heart melt as he watched the other archangel. Apparently Raphael didn't fully realize just who he was talking with; otherwise, he would have probably told him to simply get lost. Well, he wasn't going to complain, that was for sure.

As he saw Raphael starting to slide down the wall his heart ached. The healer's obvious weakness hurt him as well. Deciding that at the moment it was most important to help Raphael and not dwell in his own thoughts, he stepped forward, coming to the other archangel's side.

As it looked like Raphael could not walk far on his own, Michael crouched a bit. Placing one arm behind Raphael's knees and the other behind his shoulders, he then simply picked the redhaired healer up into his arms, starting to walk towards Raphael's room.

As Raphael felt himself being lifted, he allowed his muscles to go slack. Not that they weren't mostly there already. Michael was carrying him with seemingly little or no effort; he would have been moderately impressed if he hadn't felt so complete smashed.

His mouth tasted like a disgusting combination of coffee and bile. Even as they neared his room he felt nauseated and retched again. By then there was nothing to come back up but his muscles still convulsed, trying to empty his stomach of fluid that wasn't there.

"Watch out for Frankie," he mumbled as they got nearer.

Michael shifted Raphael in his arms a bit as he felt the other archangel going completely slack. Raphael felt very light in his arms; whether this was because he truly was light in weight or he just felt like it was rather unclear. Not paying much thought to this problem, Michael continued his way towards the redhead's room, silently enjoying the feeling of holding his dear Raphael in his arms.

However, when rather near to reaching the room he heard Raphael's mumbled words, he raised an eyebrow om question. "Frankie?" he echoed, not understanding. Just what was the healer talking about?

"Frankie. My dog," Raphael said, closing his eyes. "Doesn't like strangers."

He swallowed with difficult and tried to sit up in Michael's arms.

"Are we almost there?" He wanted very much to lay down and he knew that he needed something to drink. His body was dehydrating and without the ability to miracle anything away he would have to get something from the sink or have Michael do it.

Either way, he needed to rest and recooperate. He was beginning to wonder just what had possessed him to do something so idiotic.

Michael was a bit surprised at that. He hadn't known that Raphael had a dog. In fact, he was pretty much certain Raphael didn't have one. Either this was a quite recent developement, or Raphael was getting delirious in addition to nauseous.

As the other archangel tried to sit up in his arms, he shifted his arms again a bit, allowing Raphael to reach a hopefully more comfortable position. The question didn't surprise him; if he'd felt even half as bad as Raphael looked, the only thing in his mind would have been to get some rest, too.

"We are there about... right now," he said, stopping in front of the door he knew to lead to Raphael's room. "Don't worry, you'll soon get some proper rest."

Having his both hands quite full of a rather hungover angel, he had no option but to miracle the door open. Then, he carried Raphael into the room.

Raphael heard the door swing open, followed by a spate of barking. Frankie rushed through the door and barked at Michael a few times, then promptly bit him on the ankle.

Worried that they might topple, Raphael held on tightly to Michael and hoped that the dog would back down.

"Sit Frankie," he whispered. "Sit."

The bone dog obeyed but continued to growl at Michael as he walked into the room.

Michael was a bit startled by the sudden barking. He then winced as he felt sharp teeth sinking into his ankle, but he forced himself to ignore the pain as otherwise he might have dropped Raphael. And that would not do. Getting Raphael well again was far more important than his own personal comfort.

Of course, he certainly didn't mind as Raphael held tightly onto him to avoid falling.

As the dog obeyed Raphael's mere whisper, Michael now got his first good look at it. He blinked in surprise. A bone dog? Now, this was certainly a most unusual pet. He might have expected Uriel to have something like this, or even Gabriel. Raphael? Never. And yet there the dog sat, glaring at him in deep hatred, the ache in his pain a true reminded that the dog was very much real.

Slowing down a bit, hoping that the dog would actually stay sitting and not attack him again, he then started to carry Raphael towards the bed to lay him down.

Raphael slid from Michael's arms onto the bed with a groan. He tried to slid under the covers, frowning as he realized he was still in rather uncomfortable clothing that wasn't suited for sleeping.

He blushed as he realized that he was still making an effort and that he couldn't make it go away in his state. Give that, he wasn't about to undress, especially not with another in the room. He turned towards Michael.

"I need water," he stated softly and politely. "And if you could miracle me some sleepware I would... appreciate it. Very much."

Exhausted, he slumped onto the pillow and tried to stay conscious so he could drink something.

Michael didn't respond with words, merely nodded. He immediately miracled Raphael into a set of comfortable pyjamas. His mind tried to drift to the images of what Raphael would look without clothes, now that he was making an effort, but he fought down both the thoughts and the blush that threatened to rise to his face. He must now concentrate solely on helping Raphael feel a bit better. If he could ignore Frankie's continued presence when the dog apparently was interested in killing him he definitely wasn't going to let his own imagination distract him.

He took a last glance at the pyjamas and nodded again, this time in slight satisfaction. This was much better than the previous clothes. Not that Raphael hadn't been absolutely breathtaking in those clothes -- never mind the fact that, at least to Michael, he was always breathtaking -- but those just hadn't been Raphael. At least not the Raphael he knew best. (He wasn't about to use the phrase "knew and loved". Whatever this strange new Raphael was, he still loved him just as much. In the end, this was his Raphael.)

a glass of water was to be his next mission, so he miracled one into his hand and handed it to Raphael. "Can you drink it yourself without spilling it around, or do you need some help with it?"

Carefully Raphael took the glass from him, only spilling a little over the sides. The nightclothes were a relief; he felt as though he could finally breathe and relax.

"I can drink it," he mumbled, embarrassed. Surely he hadn't had that much... but perhaps he had. It wasn't as if his memory of the previous night was clear, exactly.

As he sipped the water, Frankie came over and sat on his lap. He would have petted him, but he needed both hands to keep the glass steady.

"Sorry to be such a bother," he whispered.

Michael smiled a bit, enjoying talking with Raphael, however simple their conversation was. Soon enough Raphael would realize jsut who he was talking to, and when that happened, Michael would have to be very lucky to make it out of the room without being seriously hurt.

He watched like a hawk as Raphael sipped the water. Frankie walked over and sat on the redhead's lap, then gave Michael a challenging glare, one that made it rather clear that the feeling of dislike was quite mutual. Michael hadn't that easily forgotten about the bite.

"You are not a bother," he then reassured Raphael. "I merely enjoy the chance to take care of you." During a moment of an unusual amount of courage -- even for him -- he reached out and gently wiped a lonely coppery lock away from Raphael's beautiful face.

After draining what was left in the glass he looked towards the other angel again.

"Could you give me one more? I want to be sure I get enough fluids in me. And I'm sorry about Frankie."

He sighed.

"And while I'm on the subject of apologies... I owe you quite a few. I'm sorry for what I said to you Michael. About... everything. Really. I've been... unreasonable."

His cheeks were tinged red from shame.

"I hope you aren't too mad at me."

At Raphael's request, Michael immediately miracled the glass full again, not saying a word. However, when he heard Raphael's next words, his heart leapt. Immediately he told himself not to get too excited -- the fact that Raphael was apologizing to him definitely didn't mean that his feelings were returned.

"Mad at you? Never," he said quietly, choosing carefully his every word. "Sad, yes, and definitely upset, but never mad at you. If anybody, I'm mad at myself for ever placing you in such a situation."

He subconsciously drew himself away a bit, his eyes now avoiding Raphael's gaze. The memories of their quarrel flooded his mind, making him simply unable to meet the other's gaze because of the disgust he feared to still see there.

Raphael took another drink and focused his thoughtful gaze on Frankie.

"I tried, you know," he said, his voice very quiet. "I went to a club, dressed as I found out some time ago most dress. But this time, instead of nudging attention away and blending in, I let them notice me.

It drained me to do it, but I made an effort and healed them, each and every. And... and I asked them to kiss me in return. Women, men, mostly young, aesthetically attractive..." He sighed. "And nothing. Nothing real.

No amor. No eros. Just caritas. And maybe that means that there's something wrong with me," he said, his voice dull and slightly drowsy.

"If I did not fall... perhaps there is something wrong with me. But those people I healed - so many diseases from their 'efforts.' Is it punishment? For what, then, if love is not wrong?"

He paused.

"I hate Pestilence... and when I see them I wish I could do something about it.

But as for making an effort... maybe I'm just not meant to..."

Michael listened quietly as Raphael told of his little "adventure". A part of his mind roared in rage at the thought of Raphael kissing somebody, anybody else, and his heart hurt at the thought, but he forced himself to ignore that. After all, he didn't own Raphael. He had no right for jealousy.

"It's not diseases from their 'efforts'," he finally said, starting his response on that particular piece. "Not everything that goes wrong with people is a punishment. If you are sick, it doesn't meant that you are being punished, or that you have done something wrong to deserve it. You, if anybody, should know that sickness does not look at a person's heart. And, if it were a punishment, it wouldn't be for love; rather it would be for the careless and irresponsible behaviour that has caused them to catch those diseases at the first place.

"Just because you are making an effort and kissing someone doesn't mean that you should feel something," he then said. Hesitantly, he continued, "You know... Some time ago, Uriel came to talk to me. So, we talked, and, well, kissed. I was making an effort then, but I definitely didn't feel anything for Uriel aside from friendship. The only reason I liked that kiss was because for a moment I managed to forget it was Uriel and thought it was..."

He trailed off and lowered his eyes, ashamed at himself for even suggesting that. Yes, he had for a moment managed to fool himself into thinking that he was kissing Raphael. And, because of that, he had managed to enjoy the kiss.

"Effort and enjoyment don't always go hand in hand," he said, finally daring to continue. "Just because you are making an effort doesn't mean that you should automatically feel something. And, even if you aren't making one, you can still feel love for somebody -- both amor and eros. Making the effort only makes them more... intense. It is not the reason you feel them. And even if you don't feel anything like that when you kiss somebody while making an effort, it doesn't mean you're unable to do so; it only means that you aren't attracted to that particular person."

Raphael's comment about the retired Horseman had shocked him. To even think about Raphael actually hating someone was almost unthinkable -- never mind that not long ago Raphael had rather openly hated him.

"As for Pestilence, I don't like him, either. However, we cannot make him cease existing. He has a purpose, just as we do, and we have to accept his work, even if we do not approve of it. If there was no sickness, who would appreciate health? You have every right to hate him, though -- after all, he does try his best to undo all of your doing, just like you try to undo his deeds. You are two opposing forces, Pestilence and you; it would be strange indeed if you didn't want to make his work futile.

"And why do you say you only wish you could do something? Didn't you just say that you healed every human you encountered there? As much as you would probably like to, you cannot make everybody healthy; that would destroy Pestilence's existence, and that is beyond our power. However, you can try to -- and you do -- oppose him as fiercefully as you can. According to what I know about you, you do everything you can to heal everybody. If you do what you can, nobody can ask you to do more or blame you for not doing enough. And, Raphael, I simply shiver to think what the world would be like if there was nobody like you and Pestilence was given free rulement over the Earth."

Now, he fell silent for some time. Finally, he said, "As for making an effort, I can't tell whether or not you're meant to do so. You are capable of it, that is for certain; if you were meant not to make an effort, why would you be able to do so? However, whether you wish to do so is entirely your own choice. Some, like me, choose to do it. Some, like Uriel, choose not to. You are the only one who knows what is the right choice for you."

In his heart, hope and despair fought for the charge of him. The decision was perhaps only for Raphael to make, but it would also determine whether he had any hope of ever winning over the other archangel's heart or whether he was fighting a losing battle.

Raphael frowned.

"I do not believe truly that it is punishment; but it is a consequence and an unfair one since it is not always their fault. And even if they are reckless - the are young and you claim love is no crime.

It isn't just," he said petulantly.

He ignored Michael's statement about kissing Uriel and turned to lay on his side. He allowed his wings to spread, ripping the night clothes and putting a barrier between him and Michael.

"Do not lecture me about the purpose of that filth; he has no purpose aside from torment.

And I know that I have failed. But perhaps I am simply not going about things the right way. Besides - how do you know what is beyond my power? I have never tried in ernest; perhaps I could heal all, if I ignored limitations. Perhaps I could find some other way. There are ways. There must be..." He looked at the wall and remembered plague ridden cities and dead bodies stacked high, abadoned by the healthy. "If I am to oppose him, then should I not do it to the best of my ability?

Who could fault me for destroying him?"

His head realing with possibilities, Raphael fell silent; his head was pounding too much, he wasn't thinking straight... When Michael brought up the subject of efforts he felt increasingly uncomfortable, aware of the flesh below his waist that he was still too drained to banish. The topic was awkward; so he avoided it.

Tired as he was, however, he could not quash a curious thought that had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since Michael's admissions.

"Michael?" He asked quietly. "When did you first... you know, feel for me? How?

I think I deserve to know."

Michael winced a bit. Raphael spreading his wings felt like a physical blow. Just a moment earlier the other archangel had been talking with him more openly than in ages, and now he was again separating them.

Raphael's words about Pestilence made him feel uneasy. Ignoring limitations? Destroying something He had set to be, questioning its purpose? Something inside him told that such talking was simply wrong, that it was not allowed. Might Raphael be... slipping? Such a thought filled him with dread, and he closed it out of his mind quickly. Still he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling, and chose not to comment, not wanting to dwell on the topic anymore.

However, Raphael's questiong definitely deserved an answer. For a moment he thought about it, and was even himself slightly surprised at the answer he finally came up with. "I don't know when exactly," he told Raphael. "It was kind of a gradual thing, I think. However, I do know for sure that I haven't thought of you simply as a friend for at least two thousand years." He did know that. He could still remember himself admiring Raphael's shining coppery locks and brilliant smile in the holy light of the first Christmas. Oh, his love for the healer was not a new thing by any means.

"And as for how... How could I not? You've always been so sweet and intelligent. Beautiful, too. When I think about it, I'm quite surprised I didn't fall in love with you even earlier than I did. Or perhaps I did and just didn't recognize my feelings for what they were. And is it even possible to tell how or why one comes to love another?

"I never told anybody about it," he continued, the answer to the question already given but words still spilling from his mouth. "Uriel figured it out on himself, though -- I think that was some time around the downfall of Rome. On my insistence he agreed not to say a word about it to anybody else. Apparently he found the whole thing somehow amusing."

"That makes no sense," the archangel mumbled from behind a wall of feathers. "There are others who are beautiful. Others who are sweet or intelligent or whatever you say."

Frankie curled in next to him and Raphael pulled the covers over the dead dog. He frowned when he heard about Uriel's reaction.

"And... Amusing?" He said flatly. "I don't see what's amusing about the situation. That doesn't seem an appropriate reaction however you look at it.

Uriel is beginning to annoy me."

He buried his head in the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to let go, hoping he would wake up without the headache.

"But I still don't get it... you should really just forget about me you know. Less hurt that way. Less hurt if you don't love at all," he said, then yawned.

"Love hurts..."

Michael shook his head. "There may be others who are all that," he said truthfully, "but, in my eyes, none of them are even close to compare with you."

The comment about Uriel surprised him, and made him feel even more uneasy. The Raphael he knew would definitely not call Uriel annoying. Though not extremely close, the two had always seemed to have respect for each other, and to hear Raphael say such a thing somehow didn't feel right. Now, it wasn't like he hadn't found Uriel annoying at times, but for Raphael to feel so enough to actually say it aloud was certainly new. First appearing to hate him, then calling Uriel annoying -- what would Raphael do next? Tell Metatron off, perhaps? This definitely wasn't going into a good direction.

"As for Uriel, he often finds the strangest things amusing. Even more often those things seem to have something to do with messing with my business. At times I think he sees himself as the big brother I never wanted."

He was silent for a moment. Then, seeing as Raphael had his eyes closed and seemed to be starting to drift off, he said very quietly, "And maybe I would be best forgetting you... But I find myself unable to do so."

With a final whisper, barely audible even to angelic ears, he then added, "I do know that love hurts... Endless, bittersweet pain is all that love seems to be."

Raphael nearly snorted.

"You sound like a trashy romance writer when you say things like that. 'None of them are even close,' 'endless bittersweet pain' - what are you taking your cues from? Harlequin novels?

And as for Uriel - it isn't amusing. Not at all. His sense of humor leaves much to be desired."

He sank into the covers and pulled the sheets around him more tightly.

"Nevertheless - thank you for getting me here. I appreciate it. I guess you'll be leaving, then."

Raphael's words hurt more than Michael was willing to let on. His tone forcedly calm, he said, "At least I say what I feel and think exactly like it is. Even if it makes me sound sappy, I prefer to be honest. Or would you prefer me staying quiet for another two millennia before I tell you something with no omissions of any kind?"

He drew a deep breath before continuing, "Uriel is, well, Uriel. His life and job aren't exactly the lightest ones to bear, and he gets his amusement from where he gets it. If I can help him feel at least a bit better, even if it is at my expence, I will endure it -- no matter how annoying it feels at times.

"As I said, I have decided to be honest and say whatever I think exactly like I feel it. However, I cannot help but wonder whether you are also truthfully voicing your own feelings. And, if what you say is truly what you feel, I'd like to know whatever happened to the Raphael I used to know. The one who was indeed sweet and loving and all around adorable, who never said a bad word about anyone, definitely not about another angel.

"Perhaps you were right about this house; perhaps it really affects us all. I definitely hope so, for if this is the real you, the person I have loved for over two millennia -- and still love, despite everything -- then I fear for you. I truly fear for you, Raphael, for even here Uriel has his sword with him."

Those last words, not intended but spilling from his mouth nevertheless, hurt him even more than anything Raphael had said. And they hurt because, like everything else he had said, they were exactly what he felt.

Lowering his eyes, he turned to leave. "Sweet dreams, Raphael, and I hope you rest well," he said quietly, not bothering to look back over his shoulder. "Hopefully you'll feel more like yourself once you wake up."

With that, he walked away. And, no matter how impossible it had seemed earlier, he was hurting even more than before he had run into Raphael in the corridor.

Raphael bolted upright in the bed, feathers flying everywhere as he did. Frankie gave a yelp as he was unsettled.

"Uriel still has his sword?!!" Raphael blurted. "What do you mean by that??"

He stumbled from the bed and grabbed the much taller angel's arms, forcing him around in a frenzy.

"I'M NOT A BAD ANGEL!" He screamed hysterically. "I'm not, I swear to you - it's the house! I swear it is, it makes me feel like I'm changing, but I'm still me, I'm still Raphael! I'm doing my duty, doing what I'm supposed to, but why can't I have questions? I still love Him, I'm not a bad angel, I'm not, I'm not. How could you even say that..." His face flushed and his body shook. He let go of Michael and clenched his hands into fists as his side. "Why would you imply I'm going to Fall? How could you even mention something so horrible? Well, I'm not - do you have that through you're head? I'm not bad, I'm a good archangel, a loving one, I care for people."

He looked up at Michael's face, red and furious.

"I'M NOT GOING TO FALL!" He yelled as loudly as he could.

Although shocked by the violent outburst, Michael forced himself not to react in any way as Raphael grasped on him, simply allowing the healer to turn him around. He stood silent during the whole tirade, just watching Raphael, watching his expression change from one emotion to another, hearing the hysterically screamed words. He looked down at Raphael's red and furious face, feeling sad more than anything. In the other's slightly green-tinted eyes he saw a mix of anger, denial, and fear. It all tore at his heart, and his pain from Raphael's earlier words disappeared almost entirely as he began to instead hurt for the one he had loved for so very long, and still loved just as fiercely as ever.

"You know perfectly well what I meant with Uriel's sword," he said very quietly. "Don't tell me the thought has never even crossed your mind; if it hadn't, you wouldn't react like this." He bit his lip, averting his eyes for a moment, then returned to look at Raphael's clear, beautiful face, fascinating even when it was shadowed by all the fury and fear the other archangel now was apparently feeling.

"I never said that you are a 'bad angel,'" he continued. "You only love Him and not anything or anyone else; that you have made quite clear to me recently. And you care for people, that is true, too -- perhaps even too much, as it makes you unable to accept things that must be. I'm not saying that you should suddenly love Pestilence, just that sometimes bad things happen and we can't do anything about it. It's a fact, Raphael, as sad as it is."

Carefully, he reached out a hand, wiping a lock of coppery hair from the other's flushed face, then returned it to his side. "I'm not saying that you aren't allowed to have questions, either," he said. "However, certain questions lead to doubt, and doubt sometimes leads to disbelief and disobedience, and those, my dear, dear Raphael, those above everything else is what makes one Fall."

"And, at last, I'm not saying that you are going to Fall. I definitely hope you won't, for your own sake. However, it seems to me that you are treading on a thin line -- and, as much as I do trust you and your virtue, it appears that instead of simply asking questions, you are now downright questioning His will and doubting the necessity of allowing things to happen like He has set them to. And that, Raphael, is why I fear for you, for I love you and would never want to see you Fall."

He added under his breath, so quietly that he wasn't sure whether even Raphael could hear it, "If it were for me to decide, I would Fall in your stead."

Raphael stumbled backwards to the bed, his eyes red and glassy from alcohol and emotion.

"I'm good. I'm obedient. We are supposed to care for humans! Maybe my actions are the way things are supposed to be. The plan is only known fully to him - maybe I am following it!"

His throat felt dry and constricted.

"And Uriel wouldn't do that. He wouldn't Fell me. He has no reason to. I do not..." He trailed off and grew silent.

Did he doubt?

"I will not Fall," he reaffirmed, and clambered back on to the bed, exhuasted with darkness tingling at the edges of his vision.

He shivered without being cold and continued to repeat the mantra "I will not Fall, I will not Fall," over and over, trying to make himself believe it.

Michael blinked a bit at Raphael's words. "But --" he began, then shook his head, giving up the mere thought of talking. It was obvious that Raphael was hysteric now; even if had managed to find some argument, it wouldn't have even gotten through to the healer.

Raphael was wrong. Michael knew it, and nothing could have hurt him more -- perhaps except for the fact that Raphael apparently knew it, too. His words about the plan that was only known to Him weren't a truly reasonable argument; they were the talking of somebody who knows the truth and does everything he can to forget it, to deny what he already knows.

He was about to speak at the comment about Uriel, too, telling that even if Uriel didn't like it, he always fulfilled his duty, but seeing Raphael's expression, he decided not to. It wouldn't be wise to aggravate the other angel any further right now.

Seeing Raphael lying on the bed, shivering and murmuring his little mantra, Michael couldn't help but shiver as well. After a moment of hesitation, he slowly made his way to the side of the bed, kneeling down to get closer to the level of the hysteric redhead. Placing a hand on Raphael's head and starting to gently caress the shiny coppery locks, he put as much holy power and warmth into his touch as possible.

"Calm down, Raphael," he said quietly, hoping to soothe the other archangel at least a little. "Calm down, my dear. I'm sure everything will be all right."

Without even consciously intending to he spread his wings and covered Raphael's shivering body with one of them, still soothingly petting the silky hair. At the moment he was giving out all the angelic warmth and comfort he could, directing it all at Raphael in hopes of making him calm down a bit. Being a warrior by nature, he wasn't as good at it as some others, but he was an angel. Comforting came instinctively to him, and his love for Raphael only made him try twice as hard.

"Everything is going to be all right," he whispered again, trying to reassure himself as much as Raphael. "Nothing bad will happen to you. I won't let anything happen." Again with no conscious thought he moved his wing just an inch closer to Raphael, wanting to shield the other from everything, wanting to create a barrier of white feathers between the one he loved and the rest of the world. No matter how many times he was rejected, he would stand by Raphael. He would do anything, absolutely anything, to make sure his beloved was safe.

Raphael shuddered. He was hungover and sick and angry all at once. A horrible feeling of premonition filled him.

He stopped speaking, breathed, then ceased that as well.

"You won't let anything happen? You shouldn't say things like that. Promises you can't keep only get you into trouble."

Though he wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with Michael being so close, despite his anxiety it felt nearly peaceful beneath the massive wing. And a warm touch was a warm touch. Nothing sexual in it, no reason not to relax.

So he mellowed and closed his eyes again. The dread he felt was seeping away and exhuastion was taking it's place. The healer firmly resolved to think no further of Uriel or his sword, at least for the moment.

Maybe things would work out. He nearly believed it.

Raphael quieted and let the darkness of unconsciousness surround him. Warm and cocooned, the pounding in his head subsided and he felt Frankie come back to rest against his side.

Slowly, Raphael drifted off into sleep under a canopy of feathers.

Michael bit his lip at Raphael's comment about promises that could not be kept. Well, perhaps he couldn't keep his promise, but he would definitely do everything he could to keep it. If Raphael went too far, he perhaps couldn't stop the healer from Falling, but as far as he was concerned, Uriel would be going through him to get to use that horrible sword on Raphael.

He smiled a bit as he felt Raphael relaxing under his wing. Directing even more comforting warmth into the other, he hardly even noticed the bone dog sneaking to Raphael's side. He gave it a brief glance, but as it didn't seem openly aggressive, he chose to ignore it, returning his concentration to Raphael instead.

As the other archangel slowly fell asleep, Michael still kept caressing his hair for some time. Once he was sure Raphael would be sleeping peacefully, he finally stood up, carefully folding his wings. For a moment he hesitated, watching Raphael, stealing an occasional glance at the now apparently sleeping dead dog. Finally he collected his courage and leant down, placing a soft kiss on the other angel's clear forehead -- nothing sexual, nothing truly passionate, just deep warmth and love and comfort.

However, as he left, he wasn't feeling anywhere near as peaceful as the one he'd just left sleeping. There were a lot of questions in his mind, and they needed answers.

When Michael left, it was akin to a blanket being pulled off of his body. Raphael felt him leave, then felt the brush of his lips. Even if his mind was foggy,his body twitched at the loss of touch and the brief brush of Michael's lips.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on the warmth of the sheets when he spoke.

"Michael?" He whispered timidly, not looking to see if he was gone. "You could... make that lower. Just a little. To be... academic. To see."

Though it shamed him to admit it, making an effort had felt marvelous even if he wasn't particularly attracted to the humans. He had never kissed an angel like that, however.

Despite all logic, the momentary kiss made him curious.

"I did it for the humans... I could for you too. Experimentally.

If you'd like."

He murmured his offer then rubbed against the sheets, trying to recover some of the warmth that had vanished.

Michael was just about to close the door behind himself as he heard something. A tiny whisper, calling his name. Immediately he spun around. He didn't quite see Raphael's face as the other lay on his side, his face just hidden from Michael's view, but he did hear each and every word, his angelic hearing much better than that of a human. And he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"...Raphael?" he asked carefully. "Raphael, did you say something?" Of course he knew Raphael had spoken, he had heard the words quite well. However, he was still in denial. After everything that had happened... A situation like this would make Raphael offer to kiss him? Another part, one that did believe what he had heard, kept telling that it was only because Raphael was hungover and still dealing with the aftereffects of his fit of hysterics. It would be wrong to now take advantage of his weakened state, this part told.

A bit wary as well as hopeful, he took a couple of timid steps towards the other's bed. He had asked the question; Raphael's response now was very important. It would determine what he'd do. If Raphael offered him a kiss again, he most certainly would accept that offer. A kiss from Raphael was something he had longed to experience for two millennia already. And if Raphael regretted it when his mind was clearer, well, he could just deny everything. Michael figured Raphael would do just fine with denial. As for himself, he couldn't probably ever forget if something like that were to happen, but he could at least pretend that nothing special had taken place between them if need be. For Raphael's sake.

Raphael, still unsure if the offer was a good idea, rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.

"You could kiss me... so that I know what it's like. I should know...

I don't mind," he said, and even managed to faintly smile.

Michael felt his heart pounding in his chest and told it to stop. It did so. Instead of beating frantically, it now seemed to stand in attention, waiting to see what he did next, along with about every other part of him. Hesitating for a moment, he then gathered his courage and walked over to the bed.

He looked at Raphael, the shiny coppery hair, the now slightly pale face when the flush had left it, the delicate features, the faint, unsure smile, the greenish-blue eyes the like of which he had never seen on any other angel. He'd never seen anything as beautiful.

Finally he sat down on the edge of the bed. One of his hands moved almost as if on its own accord, wandering to Raphael's hair, marveling the silky feel. His eyes locked at Raphael's, he slowly leant forward, determination and hesitation fighting inside him while excitement watched with a bowl of popcorn.

Finally he tilted his head a bit, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips against Raphael's.

Raphael watched as Michael leaned down. He felt the lips against his, felt his body react swiftly and insistantly.

He squeaked in surprise and squirmed.

"I was wrong..." He whispered. "About making an effort. So many sensations... So much like being human."

A blush spread across his cheeks.

"I wish we could be like them. Why do you have to fight, be a warrior, be violent? I can't stand violence, people getting hurt. But Uriel says its what you're here for. Am I to be punished for what I'm here for?

Humans can choose not to..."

He leaned upwards again, glad for the layers of crumpled sheets and the loose pajamas which hid his body's response.

Raphael didn't know how to make it vanish, nor even if he positively wanted it to.

Despite the mix of emotions inside him -- hope and love and fear and worry and need and everything -- Michael found a smile tugging at his lips. Apparently even a kiss couldn't completely take Raphael's thoughts away from such matters.

He was made a bit confused by the comment about himself, though. Was that why Raphael had found the mere thought of being close to him so repulsing at first? Michael himself didn't think he was being violent when he fought -- well, so the occasional punch and such, done in anger, could perhaps be called violence. However, his main duty, the reason he was called a warrior -- and not just any warrior, either, but the leader of the Heavenly Hosts -- was slaying demons who posed a threat to humans or fellow angels, (or just got on the way, but then again, most demons who saw him chose to either escape or attack, so a demon getting on his way was practically an invitation to fight). It was a natural part of him, fulfilling his duty, no more wrong or hard to accept than Raphael's healing. They were not two opposite things, just two sides of the same coin. Fighting, healing -- in the end, they both worked towards the same goal.

As Raphael leant up to come closer to him, Michael kissed him again, the hand that had previously been just caressing the coppery locks now sinking into them, enjoying the silky feeling. His heart stirred, unable to stay still anymore. Something further south stirred as well, and he tried to ignore it, desperately hoping Raphael wouldn't notice anything. If the lovely healer noticed, he'd most probably forget not standing violence and kick him to the next week.

As Michael's fingers clutched at his hair, it suddenly occured to Raphael how very large the other angel was. Michael seemed to be made of nothing but muscle, and at the moment Raphael felt terribly small. Lithe and light, like a twig that could be broken.

The kiss broke off and he dropped to the pillow below.

He clutched the covers and resisted the urge to slide his hands beneath them.

"You should probably go," he said in a voice that nearly broke. He was in unknown territory and frightened of what might happen.

Michael's heart sank as Raphael pulled out of the kiss. However, he made no move to stop the other. Even if he had to wait another two millennia for the next kiss, it would be worth it. He most certainly knew that the first two thousand years had been compensated just nicely by just those two kisses.

The words, spoken with an almost breaking voice, touched him somewhere deep down. Raphael was afraid... afraid of him?

He wanted to tell Raphael that there was no reason to be afraid, that he would never, ever hurt him in any way, but something in the back of his mind told him that it would have been a bad idea indeed.

So, he just glanced at the healer, trying his best to put as much warmth and reassurance and comfort and love into that single gaze as he only could manage.

His hand brushed against Raphael's. "I'll go," was all he said. Then, he stood up, heading for the door of the room for the second time.

He still felt the kiss lingering on his lips.

Raphael turned back on his side and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the feeling would fade with one part of himself and wishing it would linger with another. He refused to touch himself, but he didn't know what else to do.

He forced himself to sleep and tried not to think about what the next morning would bring or be like.