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comment_fic , which is turning into a lovely supply of prompts ...
Title: A Healer's Fury
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 481
comment_fic , which is turning into a lovely supply of prompts ...Title: A Healer's Fury
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 481
"I don't understand," Gabriel said quietly. Conversationally. "Why you, Raphael? Of all of them. Why are you doing this?"
His brother turned, almost smiling, oddly gentle. "Why not?" he answered, and Gabriel frowned, stalked closer as he looked at the light in Raphael's eyes, as he searched his brother's expression as if he could pull his answer from its depths.
"Because you were the Healer," he said softly, vehemently. "Because when the First War tore us apart, it was you putting us back together. Because when Michael was losing himself to the War, it was you who pulled him back. Because when I was drowning after the Nephilim and the Flood, it was you who pulled me out. Because you are the Healer, Raphael! You and me. Of all of them, we were the ones who held together. Who didn't fight. You and me." He stopped, held out a shaking hand. "What happened, Raph, that you've forgotten that?"
Raphael said nothing. Stern and solid as a mountain, Raphael said nothing. But something swam in the depths of his eyes, a nameless emotion climbing to the surface, and there was lightning in him now. A storm, held so ruthlessly still that the archangel only trembled.
"There is no healing now," he said, the rumble of thunder under the words, something blackly broken in his eyes. "There is no healing, Gabriel. What has been broken, I cannot fix. Michael ... You ran, and Father left, and Heaven slowly broke, and Michael slowly faded, and I could not fix it. What powers my Father gave me could not heal the tears He left behind. There is no healing, Gabriel. Not now. Not anymore."
Gabriel swallowed, shook his head desperately. "Then leave," he begged, reaching out a hand to his brother. "Leave, Raphael. Come with me. Don't ... don't watch, don't become ... Don't loose yourself. Not to this. Please, Raphael ..."
Raphael shook his head. Slowly, and almost kindly. "No, brother," he said gently. There was lightning in his hand, now. There was a sword.
"Raphael ..."
"If there can be no healing," his brother answered, the archangel, terrible and gentle. "If there can be no healing, Gabriel, then a Healer has one last duty to his patients. If I cannot heal the wounds my Father has left, if I cannot heal my brothers, my charges ... Then there is only one way to easy their suffering. One duty." He smiled, and lifted softly his sword. "I will not walk away," Raphael promised. "I will not be a coward. I will do my duty, the last of my duties. I will end their suffering, Gabriel."
"No," Gabriel whispered. "Raphael, no."
But his brother raised his sword, and the storm in his eyes broke lightning around them, and there was fury. Pain, an open wound, and all the fury of the Healer.
"Yes," said Raphael, so simply, so finally. "One last time, Gabriel. Yes."
His brother turned, almost smiling, oddly gentle. "Why not?" he answered, and Gabriel frowned, stalked closer as he looked at the light in Raphael's eyes, as he searched his brother's expression as if he could pull his answer from its depths.
"Because you were the Healer," he said softly, vehemently. "Because when the First War tore us apart, it was you putting us back together. Because when Michael was losing himself to the War, it was you who pulled him back. Because when I was drowning after the Nephilim and the Flood, it was you who pulled me out. Because you are the Healer, Raphael! You and me. Of all of them, we were the ones who held together. Who didn't fight. You and me." He stopped, held out a shaking hand. "What happened, Raph, that you've forgotten that?"
Raphael said nothing. Stern and solid as a mountain, Raphael said nothing. But something swam in the depths of his eyes, a nameless emotion climbing to the surface, and there was lightning in him now. A storm, held so ruthlessly still that the archangel only trembled.
"There is no healing now," he said, the rumble of thunder under the words, something blackly broken in his eyes. "There is no healing, Gabriel. What has been broken, I cannot fix. Michael ... You ran, and Father left, and Heaven slowly broke, and Michael slowly faded, and I could not fix it. What powers my Father gave me could not heal the tears He left behind. There is no healing, Gabriel. Not now. Not anymore."
Gabriel swallowed, shook his head desperately. "Then leave," he begged, reaching out a hand to his brother. "Leave, Raphael. Come with me. Don't ... don't watch, don't become ... Don't loose yourself. Not to this. Please, Raphael ..."
Raphael shook his head. Slowly, and almost kindly. "No, brother," he said gently. There was lightning in his hand, now. There was a sword.
"Raphael ..."
"If there can be no healing," his brother answered, the archangel, terrible and gentle. "If there can be no healing, Gabriel, then a Healer has one last duty to his patients. If I cannot heal the wounds my Father has left, if I cannot heal my brothers, my charges ... Then there is only one way to easy their suffering. One duty." He smiled, and lifted softly his sword. "I will not walk away," Raphael promised. "I will not be a coward. I will do my duty, the last of my duties. I will end their suffering, Gabriel."
"No," Gabriel whispered. "Raphael, no."
But his brother raised his sword, and the storm in his eyes broke lightning around them, and there was fury. Pain, an open wound, and all the fury of the Healer.
"Yes," said Raphael, so simply, so finally. "One last time, Gabriel. Yes."
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