neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: January 14, 2000
Setting: Tadfield Manor, Michael's Room
Status: Private - Raphael, Michael
Summary: Raph gets worried - and slides a few more notches down the ladder.

Raphael looked in the mirror at his reflection, trying to work up the nerve to do what he had to do. His arguments with Crowley and Pestilence simply went to prove that he had few, if any, allies in the entrapping mansion... save for one.

Michael.

Michael, he realized upon reflection, could be his answer. The angel was obsessed; and Raphael knew how far an obsessed lover could go. Frankie and Eliza were proof of that. Suffice it to say that he didn't actually feel anything for the angel; though he had to admit he was attractive, it did not go deeper. He did not love Michael...

But surely, it could not be so difficult to convince him that he did, not when Michael wanted to believe it.

Raphael wanted assurance, protection... the muscle he didn't have against the numerous supernatural entities he loathed. And Michael, once properly smitten and taken in, would do whatever he asked. Everybody implied that they were dating anyway. Nobody would find it amiss. And he would be safe with Michael as his shield.

His hair was shining perfectly, his robe was dazzling. He made sure to look slightly paler than normal, slightly more vulnerable.

He left his room, walked to Michael's and knocked on the door.

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Michael felt perfectly content as he slid in behind Raphael, wrapping his arms around the slender waist of the healer. He couldn't remember feeling this content in -- well, at least in the last two millennia. Perhaps more.

And then, suddenly, Raphael squeaked. Michael was startled at the sudden sound. "...Raphael?" he asked after a moment of hesitation. "Are you quite all right?"

Raphael felt a blush, this time unbidden, spring to his cheeks.

"I'm fine," he said in a slightly strangled voice. "Fine... I just need some sleep..."

He closed his eyes but didn't make the effort vanish.

"Tell me a story?"

Michael was relieved to hear that everything was all right with Raphael, even thoght the other's voice did sound a bit strange. Then, however, he blinked in surprise. Tell a story to Raphael? Well, that was certainly an unexpected request. But, he'd do whatever it took to make Raphael more comfortable.

He went through his memory for some appropriate story. For a moment he couldn't remember any -- well, any that would have suited Raphael's tastes, anyway. Most of the stories he knew were about battles and warriors -- he couldn't help being what he was, after all -- and he somehow didn't think Raphael would much like those.

Wait a minute. There was this one story he'd heard once somewhere on Earth. There was a definite threat of violence, but none was actually committed, and the hero of the story became a doctor in the end so...

"Well, once upon a time, there were a poor woodcutter and his son," he started. "And one day, they went to the woods to get some wood to sell, because they needed the money. The boy wanted to help his father, so the woodcutter borrowed another axe from his neighbour."

Raphael nodded as Michael's voice drifted over him. His eyes were closed and his body calmed down as he listened.

He nodded absently, moving in closer to Michael.

"Go on..."

Michael smiled quietly to himself as he felt Raphael moving a bit closer.

"At noon the boy said, 'I'll go to see my lunch a bit further to see if there's more good wood there.' His father told him to go ahead, and so he went.

"The boy sat down under the tree, happily eating his rather small meal. Then, suddenly, he heard a voice. The voice, very quiet, was saying, 'Let me out! Let me out!'

"The boy looked around himself and noticed a small bottle between the roots of the tree he was sitting under. The voice seemed to be coming from the bottle. As he picked up the bottle, he saw a tiny figure inside it, still shouting, 'Let me out!' And, of course, he took away the stopper.

"In an instant, the figure inside grew out of the bottle. It formed a very formidable man, almost as tall as the trees. With a booming voice, it said, 'You have left me out after three thousand years of imprisonment. And, for that, I'll have to cut your head off.' The creature -- a spirit or demon of some kind -- showed the boy a very sharp sword.

"'But what!" exclaimed the boy. 'Shouldn't I get a reward?'"

Raphael began to feel muddled and didn't hear words, only the sound of Michael's voice. He felt a twitch of guilt as Michael continued to speak; the angel cared and he was using that...

But he had to. Had to, there was no other way to stay safe.

He did his best to forget and relax. The red-head nodded sleepily but exhaustion was swiftly overtaking him.

Michael felt Raphael relaxed. Once again he was overcome with a deep feeling of contentment.

"'When I was first imprisoned, I did swear to richly reward whoever released me,' the demon replied," he continued his story. "However, as years went on, I became bitter. When a thousand years had come by, I promised to let them go, and when another thousand years went, I vowed to kill them. And thus, I now have to take your head.'"

"'I don't think you're such a mighty spirit,' the boy said. 'You probably couldn't even put yourself back into that bottle!'

"'Of course I can,' replied the demon, and instantly shrunk himself, returning to the bottle. However, the boy was quick, and put a stopper on the bottle, imprisoning it again.

"Immediately the demon began whining, 'Let me out! Let me out!' over and over again.

"'Why should I?' asked the boy. 'You would only kill me!'

"'I promise I won't harm a hair on your head if you let me free again,' the demon pleaded. 'I will give you a rich reward!'

"The boy thought about this for a moment, then decided to trust the creature. He took off the stopper, and the demon returned to its enormous size. It then handed the boy a small piece of cloth.

"'This has a mighty power within it,' it told him. 'If you touch any metal with this end,' it pointed at one end of the cloth, 'it will become silver. However, if you touch anybody with the other end, all their wounds and illnesses will be healed.' And after this, it disappeared.

"The boy was eager to try this. He touched the head of his axe with the cloth, exactly like the demon had showed him. He then ran back to his father. 'Father, look!' he shouted, striking the nearest tree with his axe. However, the silver axe bent under the pressure.

"'Oh, you poor boy,' exclaimed the father, 'what will I do with you? Now I'll have to pay for that axe and where will I get the money for that?'

"'I'm sorry, Father,' the boy said. 'I'll take it to the town and see if I can still get a couple of coins for it.' His father agreed, as he couldn't cut wood anymore anyway. And so he wnet to the town, where he sold the silver head of the axe for more money than his father had ever even seen.

"Ever since they lived on happily. Never did they wish for anything, for they had everything they needed. And the boy became a famous doctor who was known to be able to heal any wound and illness a human might get."

Raphael never heard the end of the story since by then he had drifted off entirely. The last thing he felt before sinking into unconsciousness was the senstation of Michael's arms around him.

Perhaps he was in danger. Perhaps they both were, given that neither knew how to curb their emotions - Michael for him, his towards Pestilence. But no matter how awful the future might be, no matter what it held - he felt safe.

For the moment.

Michael smiled quietly to himself as he noticed that Raphael had fallen asleep. He then closed his own eyes, enjoying the feel of a warm body in his arms, letting himself fall asleep as well.

And he felt more content than ever in the last two thousand years.