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Date: January 23, 2000
Setting: Michael's Room
Status: John, Raphael, Michael, Adam, Gabriel (Semi-Private, Complete)
Summary: John vents his feelings at Raphael. Mayhem ensues. (Continued from here.)

It was a pretty decent plan, John thought. Find Raphael, get him away from his oaf of a bodyguard by whatever means presented itself, and teach the little rat a lesson he'd never forget. He liked it. It was elegant in its simplicity.

The fact that it included no provisions for ensuring his own safety (or survival) in the event that Michael proved less easily hoodwinked this time than last--or that Raphael unexpectedly grew himself a pair--he considered a minor flaw. He was too hacked off at the moment to think that far ahead.*

He found Raphael's room unoccupied and proceeded to Michael's, ducked momentarily down a side-hall to avoid a frustrated-looking Snob along the way (hadn't that damn fool got things sorted out with Belial yet?) and strode up to the door, knocking sharply before he could think better of what he was doing.

---

*Anyway, his most clever, complicated schemes always seemed to lead him into worse trouble in the long run. If things were going to go pear-shaped, they might just as well go pear-shaped straightaway and get it over with.

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Raphael heard the knocking and went to the door to answer it. Gabriel had probably passed Michael on his way out and sent him back. He knew he could just call for him to come in, but he figured it might be better to meet him there to assure the warrior he was feeling better.

He swung himself out of the bed and opened the door.

Expecting Michael and an argument, John was dumbfounded when Raphael answered the door instead. Alone. No Michael in sight.

Perfect.

Baring his teeth in what could not even charitably be described as a smile, he sucker-punched the archangel as hard as he could, square in the face.

Raphael registered the fact that it was Constantine who had knocked only moments before being punched in the face. He staggered backwards and fell, then regrouped a second later.

Great. He thought. He's heard something.

He still felt ambivalent enough - not to mention tired - to want to see the situation come to an end without further escalation. Even so, he already felt his blood starting to boil.

"Get out of here Constantine," he said dismissively, sounding merely irritated, healing himself as he stood. "Go away and play somewhere else."

"Play?" John repeated incredulously, stepping into the room and kicking the door shut behind him. "You think that's what this is?" He seized the front of Raphael's robe and spun around to slam him up against a nearby wall. "That what you were doing when you almost killed Crowley, you--oh no you don't!" He punched him again, properly from the shoulder this time. "He looks like something the cat refused to drag in, you're not getting off that easy."

Incensed at the archangel's dismissive attitude, he shook him violently. "Do you have any idea what you almost did? What Lucifer would do to him if he got his hands on him now??"

"I know what I did, I don't need you to tell me," he growled through gritted teeth, repairing the shattered blood vessels below the surface before they bruised. He nearly felt bad, until he dredged up the memory of being pinned down and reprimanded, the memory of being insulted.

"I fixed it didn't I? He didn't discorporate," He said, assuming that's what 'almost did' meant and feeling some slight relief. "Besides, you weren't there, you have no idea what went on, so mind your business and stay out of it. You don't know what went on so you have no right to speak to me about it.

I don't need you wagging your finger - or your fist - at me, telling me I've been a bad boy. Leave, before Michael get's back," he snapped.

If Raphael had had the simple decency to take his licks and wear his bruises like a man-shaped being, John might (possibly) have been satisfied with a couple of good punches. If the archangel had shown some sign of remorse, or at least kept his fat mouth shut, he might have made some effort to control his temper.

Unfortunately, Raphael did neither, and being told that it was no business of his if the guy who gave him back his soul got his arse handed to him by an angelic goon squad was the final straw. With an inarticulate growl, he grabbed, heaved, and pitched Raphael head-first into the nearby dresser hard enough to leave a dent in its wood veneer.

"Don't care if it's my business," he panted, unused to this sort of violent exercise, "you go near him again, you useless little shit, and I swear to God I will send you back to him in so many pieces even He won't be able to put you back together."

Raphael stood and noted that his left radius and ulna had shattered. He repaired them then fixed the dresser, keeping his eye on John while he did so.

"If he insults me, manhandles me and keeps blockading me from what is my right then he will get worse. And if you call me useless you will get the same. You're already stretching you tobacco-stained lungs to the breaking point. Your body can't take much more - whereas I can repair mine. Tell me, how smart does that make you?

So I will tell you one last time," he explained deliberately. "Get. Out. Now. Or... or I swear you'll regret it!"

"Your right? For fuck's sake, get it through your thick head that you haven't got any fucking rights here!" John shouted. "This Manor doesn't belong to you! Neither does sodding Michael! You can't just wander around doing whatever the hell you feel like to people because you're having some kind of fucking mid-existence crisis!"

He laughed derisively at the threat. "Oh, that's a good one. You couldn't even bring yourself to finish off a demon. What are you gonna do, try to kill me too?" He threw another punch, no longer seriously trying to hit the angel or even really even listening to what he was saying, aiming more for Raphael's wrong-headed notions than his body. "Go on, do your worst. Smite the obnoxious human. Make the damn Horseman's week. I fucking dare you."

Carefully, Raphael turned the gun around and hesitantly held it out to him handle out.

"Promise not to mock me?" He asked, his cheeks wet. "And ask Crowley not to either? I should tell him I'm sorry, I didn't mean things to get so bad; I was angry but I didn't mean to discorporate him..."

"I think there's been enough of that," John said as he reached for the weapon, meaning it, and then realized Raphael had neglected to lower the hammer. He opened his mouth to say Whoa, careful there--

The gun went off.

Raphael's eyes grew wide as he felt the shot enter his abdomen - probably the stomach, he thought clinically - and warm blood began spurting from the wound. He had been looking - John hadn't touched the trigger, he didn't know why it fired - and his gaze shifted to his robe where a red stain was rapidly blossoming.

He put his hand on it and started to heal it...

Then felt his energy run out.

His mouth dropped and he looked up at John desperately, though he never got to speak. As he started to black out he dimly realized he'd used up what little energy he'd recovered healing himself earlier during the fight. The biggest veins were sealed up but not much more than that...

Then with an indistinct 'guh' he collapsed.

Michael was returning towards their room, assuming that Raphael and Gabriel were now done discussing whatever it was they needed to discuss, when he heard a gunshot. SUddenly his walk turned into a run. A very fast run.

He threw open the door and froze in shock at the sight in front of him. Raphael, his dear beloved Raphael, lying on the ground with a bleeding wound in his abdomen. Why wasn't he healing it? Surely it couldn't be that bad... It couldn't, it couldn't, it couldn't...

Why oh why did he have to be about useless in healing?

Then, however, he saw the human. Holding a gun. Which was still pointed at Raphael.

Now, this was something he knew how to do.

With a roar he attacked the man, punching him hard at the nose.

John's mind registered that the loud report meant the gun had discharged. But it was still working its way past blank incomprehension as he stared at the red stain spreading across Raphael's abdomen, when the door flew open and Michael rushed in, took in the scene, and bore down on him with the velocity and force of an adult bull rhino at full charge.

War hit harder, he noted in some clinical corner of his brain as the punch connected, but Michael had better aim.

The pain, oddly enough, wasn't as bad as the distinct crunch as his nose virtually collapsed under the blow. He reeled back into the wall behind him, the gun flying out of his hand, and slid to the floor with a thud, blinking at the infuriated archangel through a haze of blood and shock.

"Didn't," he croaked, too stunned for a moment to recall what exactly he hadn't done, but that was all right, as he was fairly certain the rhino wasn't going to buy it in any case.

"Oh, sure you didn't," Michael growled, only a tiny part of his mind actually aware of the other's words as uncontrolled rage had completely taken over what little sense he usually had. "You just held the gun when it went off, eh?" He noticed from the corner of his eye that Gabriel had entered the room and was now attending to Raphael, but that didn't make him calm down a bit; rather it just fueled his rage as Raphael's lack of response to the darkhaired archangel made the severeness of his wound clear.

He kicked the human's side as hard as he could, then grasped his throat, lifted him up, and slammed him again at the wall with a thud. "I'll teach you to hurt Raphael," he growled through clenched teeth, starting to tighten his grip around the other's throat.

John gasped as the expertly-placed kick shattered ribs and drove the remaining air from his lungs, flailed for a moment and grabbed uselessly at Michael's arm as he was hoisted up by the throat, his larynx already beginning to crumple under the relentless pressure.

Those blood vessels around his eyes that hadn't exploded from the face shot started to burst, and his vision fuzzed out completely in a uniform bloody pink wash.

No talking his way out of this one. He'd have laughed if he'd had any air left--talk one archangel down from murdering him just in time to be murdered by another. Story of his life. Crowley was going to be incredibly annoyed with him...

He stopped struggling. No point, Michael might as well be made of cast iron and his body didn't want to obey him anymore. Hurt too much. Just give it up and go. Outlived his time anyway, hadn't he?

He did wish, though, as his brain ran out of oxygen and shut itself down, that'd he got to see Kit once more before he went to Hell.

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The shot seemed to echo in his very core until he wasn't sure whether he'd heard it or had become aware of it in the same way he'd sensed the sharp shift in Raphael's aura. In seconds, he was back in Raphael's doorway, met with the gruesome sight of Raphael, the sickly scarlet of blood oozing around his hands as he clutched desperately at his own abdomen. For the space of a breath, the healer stood, gaping, eyes wide, a stupefied mesh of surprise and fear flashing across his expression. Then, before Gabriel could react, Raphael had sunk to the floor.

He'd arrived just in time to see Michael lunge at Constantine, who had looked more than a little baffled himself; instinctively, Gabriel realized that the mortal was probably not stupid enough to have still been standing around if he'd just deliberately wounded an archangel, but Gabriel was faced with little choice as he didn't dare leave Raphael unattended. Momentarily ignoring the scuffle, he rushed to the wounded angel's side.

"Raphael, hold on," he whispered calmly, soothingly, falling without thought into ancient words as he knelt, gently urging the other's hands away from his abdomen to see the extent of the injury. "It'll be all right, dear, you'll be all right..."

He pressed his hand to the other angel's chest, feeling Raphael's chest rise and fall weakly beneath his touch. A shock of pain seared his own nerves when first he reached out, but he pressed on in his effort, seeking torn vessels and damaged flesh where the life slowly seeped from this mortal form. His eyes fell closed, and though yelps of both anger and pain filled the air around him, he struggled to stay focused. Little by little, the damage began to reverse itself; the offending bullet lodged deep in the angel's abdomen dissolved into nothingness; muscle, sinew, flesh was knit together; and with some struggle at the exertion of his powers, Raphael's body was once more made whole.

Gabriel gasped faintly when his awareness returned once more fully to himself, but he recovered from the shock of it quickly to turn his attention to Raphael's yet unmoving face. He touched one cheek lightly, cautiously, asking quietly, "Raphael?"

He didn't know how much time had passed or even what was happening but Raphael's hazy, pain-ridden mind was suddenly aware of something at work on him. His consciousness gradually resurfaced and he felt the slightly uncomfortable tingling of rather inexperienced healing magic; it was nothing, however compared to the hurt that was disappearing.

A short while longer and the jabbing, throbbing sensation in his abdomen was gone. There was still some phantom soreness there as his corporation was momentarily confused about why the wound there had gone away and briefly persisted in telling his nervous system that it hadn't.

He waited a moment or two for his mind to catch up with his body, then looked at saw Gabriel in front of him. Raphael looked at him blankly for a few moments, confused, trying to piece together the last few minutes before he'd pased out.

John. Threatening. Gun. ohshitgun? Gun shot.

The angel shot upright and clutched Gabriel.

"Got shot!" He gasped, his tongue working clumsily. "Was messing around. Hurt... Gabriel, thank you, what's..."

He turned and saw Michael having at John like there was no tomorrow.

But John hadn't... Raphael's eyes grew wide and he nearly choked.

"Stop him!" He shrieked, desperately trying to stagger to his feet and nearly passing out again

"STOP IT!" came Adam's voice out of nowhere. The tableau froze. No one in it was able to move at all. Michael's fingers were slowly pried apart by an unseen force and John slid softly down the wall.

Only then did Adam storm in, looking for all the world like an avenging angel in grubby trainers. His face looked almost cruel with his mouth set and his blue eyes flashed coldly like chips of ice catching the light.

"How dare you!" he yelled at them all. "I said that this was not allowed here and I meant it. Michael, get over there and take care of Raphael. If you don't know how, then you better learn real quick. Gabriel, John needs your help now. Get him to the hospital and I'll see if I can find someone to come help you. It won't be Aziraphale 'cause he's busy takin' care of Crowley."

He stood there, hands on hips, breathing heavily and trying to control his anger. "Well, what are you waitin' for? Do it now!"

Everyone suddenly unfroze and started to move. Adam stomped out to find someone to help Gabriel with John, but he called over his shoulder, "I'll be back to talk to you later." It was definitely a threat but no one was quite sure to whom he was speaking.

Michael was already walking towards Raphael by the time his thoughts caught up with him. Take care of Raphael? He could do that. Probably. He thought so.

It seemed like Gabriel had managed to heal Raphael -- thankfully so, seeing as Michael himself knew next to nothing about healing. But, given everything that had happened, Raphael now probably needed rest even more than before. He couldn't very well rest on the floor, now could he? No, he couldn't. Michael had to get him somewhere else. The bed, preferably.

The sense of satisfaction that came from the realization that he could actually do something to help Raphael was incredible.

He picked up the smaller archangel and started to carry him towards the bed. Worry for Raphael was still seated deep in the back of his mind but he managed to wipe most of it away due to the fact that Raphael didn't appear injured anymore. "Raphael?" he asked, remembering his earlier confusion. "What exactly happened here?"

"Gabriel!" Raphael called. "Come by later - I need to talk to you."

Then he turned to Michael as the warrior picked him up.

"It was an accident, Michael," Raphael told him, softly but somewhat indignantly. "It... it's a long story. But I was the one who conjured the gun. You can't just go around punching everyone you think has caused a problem... you should have asked..." He sighed. "I'm sorry about all this. It's mostly my fault..."

He closed his eyes then opened them again.

"Just let me explain, OK?"

"Of course, my love," Michael said softly. "I probably should have asked, yes... But when I saw you injured I simply couldn't think sensibly; I just acted. You'd been shot at, the human was holding a gun. What else could I have concluded but that he had shot you? And... well..." He trailed off.

Michael now remembered the horrifying moment he had seen Raphael lying on the ground, bloodied and wounded, and shivered. Almost without consciously noticing it he held Raphael a bit closer to himself. Not many things could scare him, but the mere thought of Raphael getting injured, perhaps even discorporated, because he wasn't there to protect him was simply terrifying.

"I just wasn't thinking," he finished quietly.

Raphael sighed. He figured he should make it quick.

"Look, I'll try to say this as quickly as possible - and I hope you're not too mad at me.

The other day I... I exaggerated about what Crowley did. We fought, I made it seem like more than there was because I lost and I wanted to start a fight to... well... get him back, sort of. John heard about how badly I hurt him when I got angry and punched me. And don't be mad because... well... I sort of deserved it.

He got in a few blows, I healed them, then got upset and pulled a gun on him, not the other way around. I couldn't shoot and he talked me out of it, but when I handed him the gun it misfired.

By then I was out of energy so I could't heal myself.

And that's... that's pretty much it." He said, exhaling and looking up at Michael. "I'm sorry about getting you involved. And I don't blame you for thinking like you did.

I wouldn't blame you if you were really mad at me..."

For a long time Michael didn't know what to say. He reached the bed, placed Raphael onto it and spread a blanket over the other archangel, trying to occupy himself somehow while his mind was busy processing the explanation given to him.

So Raphael had exaggerated the fight. The dishonesty did upset him a bit -- he always told the truth to Raphael, after all, and expected the same in return -- but figured that it could wait. Well, he didn't know how much of a difference there was, but that hardly mattered. After all, despite his anger he hadn't actually attacked the demon, right? Raphael himself did know the whole story and thus could figure out whether there was enough of a reason for him to attack the demon. That wasn't his concern right now.

However, to hear that Raphael had actually been the one threatening the human with a gun... There his understanding simply ended. He wasn't mad at Raphael, no; he knew wrath and the desire for vengeance better than most angels -- perhaps better than any other angel. But, like witnessing Raphael's rage the first time, hearing of this action of his beloved flled him with a mix of confusion and fear he wasn't sure he wanted to examine further. Some deeper part of his mind was genuinely scared, terrified even, and although he suspected he did know the reasons for that fear he refused to think about it.

"It's okay," he said softly, burshing a stray lock of hair gently away from Raphael's face. "It's okay, love. I understand." Except that he didn't. He didn't understand a thing.

"Do you?" Raphael asked uncertainly. "I'm not sure you do. You seem so eager to forgive and let go everything I do... I'm not sure if I deserve you. In fact, I don't think I do at all.

I worry about you Michael..." He bit his lip. "Sometimes... sometimes you should see things for what they are, no matter how it hurts. No matter how much you love, it doesn't do to ignore what's in front of you."

He lay down.

"Please be careful... and that counts with me too..."

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Gabriel, one steadying hand still resting on Raphael's shoulder, seemed stiff and immobile as Adam spoke, not because of the harshness of the Antichrist's words, but more because of the sickening slump of Constantine's body against the wall when Michael finally let him go. The battered form sunk with all the lifelessness of yesterday's trash bag to the floor, and something catching urgently in Gabriel's throat told him there'd be Hell to pay if the mortal died.* Crossing the room quickly, he followed Adam's instructions without thought, stooping at the mortal's side. Constantine wasn't breathing. Carefully, Gabriel traced the imprint of Michael's fingers around the man's neck, fitting his hand over the same pattern but with much different intent.

His powers of healing, so rarely need in the past, had been called upon twice in one day; the second time took far more effort, but he found it within himself to carefully reconstruct the man's trachea, weave together the tissues in his throat to clear the passage for air. Expand the lungs with the air the archangel himself found habitual, but which Constantine would not live much longer without. Start his heart beating, weak but constant, rhythmic.

"Come on, Constantine," he muttered, brow creased as he worked, knowing even as the signs of life returned that the mortal was still dependent as much on his powers as the blood that slowly started to recirculate in his veins. "Come on. I'll be damned before I'm giving you mouth-to-mouth..."

Finally, Constantine shuddered, arched, gasping as he drew in breath of his own accord. Gabriel pulled back, satisfied that at least his vitals were stable enough for the trip to the hospital. He stopped short, however, of drawing the mortal into full consciousness; one glance at his beaten and bloodied form assured him not even Constantine deserved to be awake through this.

Carefully, Gabriel hoisted the limp form in his arms, brushing past a surly-looking Adam without meeting his eyes as he headed quickly for the hospital wing.

*Figuratively and, quite possibly, literally, knowing Constantine.

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