#young!raphael

Raphael stumbles through the extravagant entrance doors to Mephistar, the flesh-shearing winds of Cania grabbing after him as he ducks behind the solid, enchanted stone. He’s done his best to cover all exposed skin, but there is always some that escapes his notice, leaving him bleeding out strength he can ill afford to lose. He loathes these “errands” his father sends him on, tasks purported to test his skill, devotion, and cunning. In reality, it feels more like busywork designed to keep him weak and subservient, reminding him of his contentious existence in the hierarchy and reinforcing his dependence on his father’s dubious goodwill.

The desiccated parchment that proved the focus of this most recent quest crinkles slightly, as he shifts his gaze up, the slight sound echoing across the cavernous hall as he looks with certainty for the being he knows to be waiting for his return, just as always. But — they’re not there.

He furrows his brow, an agitated and disquieting anger growing within his gut. He strides across the marble floor on frostbitten feet he can barely feel, shoving the parchment at the lone figure of Mephistopheles’s chamberlain Barbas, standing at attention at his post, and wearing his habitual sneer as he looks down at Raphael. Raphael ignores it for now, as ever, but files the snub away with all the other insults he will one day be strong enough to return tenfold.

“Where is m—the Lady Baalphegor?” He demands imperiously. They are almost always waiting for him upon his return to bestow his reward. That is the deal, the entire reason he engages in these banal fetch quests even though they are entirely beneath his rank and status. He pushes sharply at the errant thought of the pretty fiction it makes, knowing all the while that his true choice is to bow to his father’s whims or perish. True or not, it does no good to dwell on such matters, not when he will be changing them just as soon as he can manage.

Barbas’s sneer gouges even deeper into his face, growing a biting and nearly gleeful edge as he answers Raphael, “Well, young lord, as your august presence must surely have ascertained, the Lady is certainly not here.”

Raphael can feel his face going blotchy and red, and curses his mortal heritage once again for its constant betrayals. The ice-blue crystals in the eye sockets of the chamberlain harden and glint with glee at the sight. Raphael spins on his heel, marching furiously away, the parchment crumpling further within his fist. Barbas’s mocking voice rings out behind him, “Don’t forget to report to His Grace, little lord! He insisted it be done immediately upon your return.”

Raphael almost turns again to berate him, but manages to stop himself at the last moment, lest he lose even more face from the encounter. He’ll make his report as quickly as possible, then hunt down his wayward… Baalphegor, and claim his rightful recompense. The brilliant halls of Mephistar blur around him as he storms through them, focusing only on making his way to his father’s great hall with haste.

He doesn’t wait to be announced, merely pushes firmly on the doors, both with his physical form and, in a manner only recently attained, with the lashings of his own metaphysical aspect. They creak open, the sound like distant screams even on the well-kept mechanisms, and he steps through without hesitation, words of complaint already springing to his lips, when he stops dead in his tracks.

He’s found Baalphegor.

The succubus – and they are in full succubus form in this moment – is perched indolently on his father’s lap, where he sits on his ostentatious throne. But not just perched, no — impaled, as he finds when, with stricken eyes, he watches them move their body in a smooth, undulating motion up, degree by degree, before dropping back down, brilliant hair falling around them and catching the flickering hellfire-light as it glints off their red-brown skin. Soft, melodious moans are driven from their throat with each movement, as if pushed out by the — by the member within them. Their round breasts shift with the motion, the revitalizing milk within them welling up and dripping down their chest, squandered and disregarded.

He swallows, throat dry, his eyes and chest burning in stark opposition with one another.

His father casts an apathetic glance across the hall, and his eyes alight on Raphael, a cruel smirk curling at his lips. “Ah, the returning triumphant! What have you brought me this time?” His voice is nothing but mocking, no attempt made to couch his disregard for his unwanted and unloved spawn.

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. Everything within him is raging at the broken contract, even as it boils with jealousy at the manhandling of something that is his, and it is only the barest dregs of his staunch self-preservation that manage to keep him from attempting something truly foolish. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here.

He holds the parchment, now looking rather worse for wear, out before him on a finely trembling hand. He searches for the words he needs in a mind nearly whited out by rage.

“I… your cult in Waterdeep sends their obeisance, y–your Grace.” He curses his tongue for its fumbling, driving home further how well his father’s ploy is working to discomfit him.

“Oh,” Mephistopheles waves a careless hand. “That collection of rabble. You will leave it with my steward.”

Raphael ducks his head a bare inch, keeping his eyes away from Baalphegor as much as he can, and turns to leave.

His father’s voice rings out after him before he has completed even half his turn, sharpening with the first warning edges of his infamous temper. “Where do you think you are going, whelp? You have not yet been dismissed.”

Raphael turns back to face him, slow and careful, as the true danger of the situation sets in. He has rarely found himself in the presence of his father when these moods strike, and never without at least the tenuous support of Baalphegor behind him. And yet… he meets their gaze now, searching, and the barest fraction desperate, but there is nothing. Their red eyes meet his without flinching, cold as Cania’s glaciers. Trickles of the subtly shimmering draught spilling from their breasts have reached down to their hips now, soaking into the thatch of hair between their legs.

He tears his eyes away and forces his attention back to the far greater threat, scrambling for an answer that will satisfy his father.

“My apologies, your Grace.” The epithet comes easier this time, its passage eased by his awareness of his own precarious position. “I misunderstood your direction, and wished only to carry out your will with utmost alacrity.”

Mephistopheles rests his chin insouciantly on his hand, elbow propped against the arm of his throne. His voice, when he speaks, is sardonic and shows no signs of the ongoing actions of the succubus on his lap. “Oh very nicely salvaged, whelp. My wishes, however, are for you to remain just where you are, and appreciate the lesson I’ve prepared for you.”

Raphael swallows, the boiling heat within him growing fiercer, rage intertwined with other, less-savory feelings.

With little warning, Mephistopheles moves his hand to entangle within Baalphegor’s tresses, pulling the succubus fiercely down onto him as he wrenches their head back against his shoulder. A tremulous cry breaks from their throat, and Raphael only barely keeps himself from starting forward at the sound.

Mephistopheles brings his free hand forward and toys with Baalphegor’s breasts, pushed forward into the air from their current position. He twists pitilessly at them, prompting yet more cries as the liquid inside spills out in greater quantities, splashing, wasted, against the smooth skin of Baalphegor’s stomach. It runs in rivulets onto the throne, and down, to collect into puddles on the floor of the grand hall.

Raphael feels his stomach turn even as his mouth, well-trained by association, waters, unhindered by every other horrible aspect of this waking nightmare.

Mephistopheles wipes his hand dismissively on Baalphegor’s hair, leaving behind silvery streaks, then draws them up by their hair and hip, beginning to move within them in earnest as he continues his reproach. Raphael wants to close his eyes, his ears, every one of his senses, but knows such an admission of weakness would be worse than his undoing.

“You’ve prevailed enough upon my largess, and I am no longer willing to indulge your weakness.” Mephistopheles sneers. “You’ve proven more fortunate than any other cambion within the Hells, but from now on you will make your own way, or fail. Such is the way of Baator.”

The fires around the hall burn fiercer in alignment with their lord as he looks down at his unloved progeny. “Should you find yourself desperate for one last taste to stay your appetites, however, you may lap it from the floor like the whelp you are, and thank me for the concession.”

Raphael feels like he is become hellfire himself, the hatred he knew within him for his progenitor stoked to dizzyingly fierce new heights. Jaw aching with the effort of withholding the flood of vitriol within him, he grits out, “My thanks for your… beneficence. I would not dream of prevailing upon it further.”

Mephistopheles snorts, dismissive, then turns his attentions back to Baalphegor, by all accounts having forgotten Raphael’s entire existence.

Raphael stands, Baalphegor’s unfeeling eyes burning into his, until he is finally – finally – dismissed. All the while, the ambitions within him, already cast in carbon, are pressurized further and further, until they are as fearsome diamond, reflecting the blood and fire around him.

He will not remain his father’s lesser for long. He will see him deposed, and make him suffer for these indignities heaped upon his person.

The first thing they were aware of was a severing, a neat cut down the middle where one became two that was mourned more than it hurt and was soon replaced by the warm press of that other being, the once-them, now-him, who wiggled and nuzzled against them.

“Gabriel,” they heard, not meant for them, and then the soft touch of a love they would spend the rest of their existence chasing with the word was meant for them to hold close, “Raphael.”

“Can I hold one now?” came a voice they would learn meant brother, meant Lucifer, quickly hushed by Michael while Raphael for the first time opened their eyes and looked up at their family and wordless, chirped their very first greeting.

Michael was on alert from the moment he heard Lucifer calling his name.

"Michael!" High and panicked, matched with the rhythm of his wings that Michael would know anywhere. "Michael!" Lucifer almost collided with him, but Michael turned and caught him instead. They still tumbled backwards, but Michael held onto his brother tightly until they'd stopped spinning. Lucifer was hyperventilating against his chest.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked. Lucifer's wings tucked themselves under his own. For all his panic, his feathers were settled, and Michael liked to think that was because of his presence.

"Gabriel," Lucifer said. Then he made a choking sound and hid his face in Michael's chest again. He shook, and Michael tried to soothe him. When his voice was steadier, Lucifer continued. "We were racing each other, and- I should have stopped him, Michael, I know I should have-"

"What happened?" Michael made his voice firmer. He tried to sound like their Father. He wasn't sure his impression was very good.

"We looped around one of the black holes. Gabriel dared me to fly closer, and then I dared him to beat my record, and it kept going until- Michael, he fell in! I couldn't grab him in time!" Lucifer's voice was anguished. Michael ducked his head to nuzzle against his little brother's hair. Lucifer and Gabriel were reckless, yes, and they made each other worse, but even they knew not to go near black holes. They weren't supposed to get close to anything The Darkness held dominion over. Especially not now. She and God were having another fight. (Michael wasn't sure they were ever not fighting about something these days. He was just glad he and Lucifer could never be like that.) He released Lucifer reluctantly, making sure to kiss his brother's forehead so that he'd know Michael wasn't upset with him. Gabriel needed help. He came first. Michael could scold them both later.

"Take me there." Lucifer nodded. He led the way quickly, darting through space like the light he was named for.

Michael heard the black hole long before they saw it. The hum made his grace vibrate in warning. Michael reacted to Her the same way, and maybe that was why, out of all of them, She tolerated him trailing after Her the least. Gabriel and Raphael, She let do as they wished. Lucifer, She even liked the company of at times. Michael had never been welcome in the same way. That was fine. His Father consoled him, gave him more duties to fulfill to keep his mind off of it. The hum grew louder and louder, and Michael steeled himself for Gabriel's sake. He had hoped when Lucifer said they were playing near a black hole, he meant one of the smaller ones. The imposing void before them disagreed. Michael caught up to Lucifer, halting him before either of them can fly too close. Even still, he could feel the gravitational pull dragging at his primaries. They were safely beyond the event horizon that ate planets whole. Lucifer peeked from behind his wing at the black hole and then up at Michael.

"Stay here," Michael ordered. Lucifer nodded. Without allowing himself to hesitate, Michael dove in closer. It was easy to move in, but the few moments he pulled back, he could feel how much more difficult it was getting. He struggled to flap his wings, but he kept moving in. "Gabriel!" he called. It was useless; Gabriel wouldn't be able to answer back, but if he could hear Michael in there somehow, know that his brother was coming to help him, maybe that would comfort him. Michael beat his wings harder, more and more of his energy going towards keeping himself from being dragged in. He flew closer. His wings ached with every drag, and he wasn't sure he could-

The rhythm of wings that Michael would know anywhere, behind him. Michael forgot everything he was doing, all his focus jumping to calling out to Lucifer to go back. Before he could even turn, though, he was shoved forwards by a sudden collision. Michael fell into the dark.

~~~

Lucifer was still laughing by the time Raphael and Gabriel arrived. Raphael first, wings practically buzzing they were flying so fast, and Gabriel next, grinning broadly at Lucifer. Lucifer whooped, ducking past Raphael to spin Gabriel around. "Good job running interference, little brother!" Gabriel joined in on his laughter, while Raphael looked at them both in horror.

"What are you talking about? Michael-" Lucifer bumped them with another wing.

"Is fine," he said. "It was all Gabriel's idea."

"Learned from the best," Gabriel said. Raphael was still frowning at them, and Lucifer stuck his hand in their closest wing, rucking the feathers up the wrong way on purpose until they shook it out of his grasp. Apparently, all that following around and emulating Michael had made them pretty good at replicating Michael's 'frustrated and disappointed' look, although on Raphael, Lucifer found it much more adorable than annoying.

"You pushed him in!" they accused. Lucifer flicked a wing dismissively.

"That was the whole point," Gabriel said. "I distract you so that you and Michael can't work together to think of a more reasonable response than a one-angel rescue mission" — Lucifer really was so proud of him. And Michael would be, too, once he got over being pranked — "and Lucifer gives Michael the sob story we cooked up to lure him in. Then-" Gabriel mimed a shove. Lucifer couldn't contain another laugh. He'd almost ruined the whole thing from the start by breaking character when Michael was asking him what was wrong. Luckily, Michael didn't see through the act. He'd looked so surprised when Lucifer pushed him in.

"And what if he's stuck now? Really stuck?" Raphael demanded. They sounded genuinely worried, and Lucifer did his best to stifle his laughter. He laid his wing over theirs, drew the one he'd gotten messy close to him. Raphael tried to shake him off again, but he ignored them and started combing their feathers back in place.

"Michael's fine. He'll come barrelling out any minute now," he said, completely sure of himself. It wasn't like anything could ever hurt Michael. The idea was impossible for Lucifer to fathom. It was Michael. Raphael begrudgingly settled down.

They waited.

And they kept waiting.

Gabriel started getting nervous first, to Lucifer's surprise.

"Luci-" he started.

"He's coming," Lucifer interrupted him. "He probably waited this long to get out to get back at us and make us worry." Gabriel relaxed, trusting him.

They kept waiting.

"Luci..." Gabriel said again, anxiety creeping back into his voice. Raphael was starting to tense under Lucifer's hands, too. Their feathers were fluffing up. Lucifer's own were beginning to mirror that, and he tried in vain to get that automatic response under control. Michael was- He was playing a prank in return. That was all. He was going to come out. Lucifer stared at the wide tear in space, listening to the constant growl of it. He focused, trying to hear the reverberation of Michael's grace underneath it. Lucifer could always hear him, no matter how far apart they were.

He couldn't now.

He sprung forward, far enough to feel the pull of gravity on his own feathers, and shouted, "Michael! This isn't funny!" No response. "It was a joke, Michael! Come out right now! You're scaring our little siblings!" The shake in his voice admitted that it wasn't just them, either. Nothing came from the black hole, no sign of Michael anywhere. Lucifer turned back to Gabriel and Raphael. They were huddled together, shining twin eyes gazing up at him, looking for an answer or a plan, and Lucifer didn't have one. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Lucifer's first thought was to ask Michael what to do.

Gabriel and Raphael were still staring at him. He couldn't tell which of them had started shaking, if it wasn't both of them.

"We'll get him out," Lucifer said. He looked back at the black hole and then at his siblings again. "We'll get him out," he repeated, forcing confidence into his voice.

"I think we should get Dad," Gabriel said, quietly.

"No, we can do this ourselves. We-" Michael hadn't been able to pull himself out. What if Lucifer couldn't either?

No, he would. But...

"Raphael, stay here, and if we need help, then you go get Dad." Raphael nodded. Gabriel disentangled himself from them, clasped hands the last things to come apart. Raphael's lingered where Gabriel's had been for a moment before they pulled it back. Gabriel stood in front of Lucifer.

Lucifer could see now that it had been him shaking.

"We'll pull him out," Lucifer reassured. "Don't worry. He'll be reprimanding us in no time." He knew Gabriel would believe him. That Gabriel would follow him, circling the black hole as though they could find a weak point to break through. Lucifer could feel the same difficulty flying around it as Michael must have. He could hear Gabriel close behind him at all times as they wove closer and closer. He beat his wings harder, but he still had strength to spare. Michael had gotten closer than this. He had, too, though he'd used the momentum of pushing Michael to break free again that time. He went closer, forgetting for a moment that Gabriel would be only a wingbeat behind.

And Gabriel was younger, and not as strong a flier, and when he found he couldn't break free of the gravity of the black hole, he began to panic. He beat his wings frantically. It was no use. Lucifer saw Gabriel get dragged past him, flailing wildly to break a grip neither of them could see. Lucifer didn't even hesitate to plunge in after him. The void yawned open before them, hungry enough to swallow two more archangels whole. Lucifer reached for Gabriel. He missed. He knew that in a few more seconds, he wouldn't be able to pull himself free of the black hole's gravity, let alone himself and Gabriel. He couldn't let Gabriel fall in, too. Lucifer grabbed at him one last time. His hands slid through Gabriel's fluffy feathers, unable to find a grip. Then, at the wrist of his wing, Lucifer managed to hold on. Gabriel kept fighting, unable to tell that Lucifer was helping him escape, but with heavy beats of his own wings, Lucifer was able to drag them both back. Each movement was exhausting, made worse by having to carry Gabriel back, but Lucifer never let him go.

When they were a safe distance away again, (they failed, Lucifer thought, they failed) Lucifer noticed that Raphael was nowhere to be seen. For a horrible moment, he thought they might have followed him and Gabriel in when they saw Gabriel struggling, and that they'd fallen in without him even seeing it happen. He calmed himself by making sure Gabriel wasn't hurt — messy feathers aside, he was fine — until he could think straight. Raphael wouldn't have jumped into danger like that. They would have gone for help. Would have gone to get-

He was here.

Raphael had come back with Him, and they came to roost beside their brothers. They batted Lucifer's hands away from Gabriel. He gave them space. Raphael might have been younger, but they were already a better healer than him. Not that that was saying much. Lucifer was best at making messes.

God went past them, and Lucifer only looked at his back, at the black hole, once before he forced his eyes back to Gabriel.

The three of them waited.

They stood when God approached again, soldiers in a line.

God had carried Michael back among them, and He set him down beside Raphael. Michael looked terrible. His wings, held tightly against his back, were in shambles, feathers bent and disorderly, more than a few missing completely. He held himself stiffly under their Father’s gaze, as he inspected Michael for any serious injury Himself. Raphael's wings twitched, but they didn't speak up to offer their assistance. After a moment, their Father stepped back to look at all four of them. Gabriel’s wings trembled, and Lucifer extended his own to cover them without dropping his Father’s gaze.

“Whose fault is this?” He asked. Raphael looked at Michael, but he didn’t look back, keeping his eyes on their Father. He waited, and the four of them said nothing. “I asked you a question.” Gabriel shrunk further back under Lucifer’s wing. Raphael kind of looked like they wanted to do the same, or to retreat behind Michael, but they were too far away.

It had been Gabriel’s plan. Strictly speaking, he should be the one their father disciplined.

But he’d already paid the price for it, in Lucifer’s eyes. He was terrified he’d actually gotten Michael hurt. He’d nearly gotten sucked in himself trying to get Michael out. His wings were still shaking, upsetting the feathers on the underside of Lucifer’s wing, but Lucifer didn’t move. He was older, he was their Dad's favorite, and he’d gotten in trouble more times than Gabriel had before his little brother even existed. He could weather any punishment doled out.

“I wa-“ Lucifer started.

“Lucifer warned me not to get too close.” Michael interrupted. He met Lucifer’s eyes. Lucifer shut up.

“Did he?” Their Father pressed. “Michael, if something happened…”

“I made a mistake.” Michael stood his ground. “My siblings tried to help me.”

“Gabriel and Lucifer did try to pull him out,” Raphael said, to bolster Michael’s lie with truth. Lucifer was equal parts surprised and proud. “I told them it was a bad idea, but they tried anyway.”

“You’re lucky neither of you got trapped as well,” their Father said, “and that if you did, Raphael had the sense to stay behind.” Raphael smiled a little. Their Dad sighed and managed to give the impression of rubbing the bridge of His nose in frustration without actually doing it. “And you’re sure that’s all that happened, Michael?”

“Yes.”

God looked over them all, one by one. Lucifer still refused to look down. Raphael did. Gabriel hadn’t met His eyes the entire time. Michael did look away, briefly, but he turned his gaze back, standing up straighter. There was no doubt in Lucifer’s mind that their Father didn’t believe a word they’d said.

“Alright,” he said. “Don’t play near the black holes again, my children.” There was a chorus of yes, Lord’s from all four of them. He glanced over them again, sighed louder this time, in a way that Lucifer thought might be purposefully dramatic, and left. Gabriel finally peeked up.

“Are we not in trouble?” He asked. Lucifer tilted his head at Michael in question.

“You lied to God’s face.” He felt the need to state, in case Michael didn’t realize what he'd just done. Michael’s wings flapped once, and he grimaced, like the movement hurt with his feathers so crooked.

“I did not.” He argued. “I said I made a mistake, and I did. I believed for a minute that you could think about anything other than mischief.” His voice was lighter than Lucifer had expected. Raphael snorted a quiet laugh, and Lucifer understood Michael’s game. Lucifer scowled at him. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Well, I suddenly can’t remember how to groom your wings,” Lucifer retorted. “After all, if all my knowledge is solely devoted to mischief-“

“I imagine it takes up a lot of space, Lu,” Michael said with joking condescension, for the most part. He only ever called Lucifer that when he was upset, and despite them playing up the argument to entertain their little siblings, Lucifer felt a twinge of guilt. “And with a mind as small as yours…” Michael was cut off by Gabriel starting to giggle. Raphael joined in a few seconds later. It felt more like a release of nervous tension than anything. Lucifer huffed, feathers puffing up in what he could play as annoyance, but was more fueled by the way Michael's smile dimmed when Gabriel and Raphael weren't looking.

~~~

Michael winced again as he tried to fix his wings. He couldn't get the angle right to do this without pain. He was pretty sure some of the feathers he was trying to salvage couldn't be, but the thought of pulling them out all by himself in his nest made him want to curl up and ignore the ache as best he could instead. At least it kept his mind away from the dark. He shivered. On the outside, it had been so loud that his grace rattled, but inside, it was like someone swallowed up all the sound, even his own calls for his brother. There had been no way out, only constant crushing pressure, and him, battered around at the center. No angel was meant to be in a place like that. He'd clung to his Dad for the first time since he was a fledgling when He came for him, shining merciful light down on Michael and scooping him up in his arms.

(Michael wondered if his Dad ever missed that, the way Michael sometimes missed having to carry Lucifer through the stars, long before he was old enough to fly between them on his own.)

Michael tugged on another feather and stifled a whimper. He wasn't really hurt. If he was, God would have healed him.

There was a familiar beat of wings behind him. One Michael would know anywhere. It stopped before it came to close, giving Michael time to turn and address his brother.

"I..." Lucifer trailed off. He'd looked so bold before their Father today. Now, he only looked like Michael's little brother. The one he'd raised. The one who should never feel unwelcome in Michael's nest. But Lucifer was hesitating now. Michael tried to stretch his wings to greet him, but a shock of pain made him recoil instead. "Michael?"

"I'm not hurt," Michael said aloud, echoing his earlier thoughts, "or God would-"

"He was distracted," Lucifer interrupted with casual blasphemy. Michael let it slide. Lucifer came closer. When Michael didn't do... whatever he was expecting, he let himself into Michael's nest. A few of Lucifer's feathers made up the nest's decorations, the cast off down of a fledgling and full-grown quills. (Raphael and Gabriel's were there, too, though far less numerous than Lucifer's.) Lucifer reached for the nearest of Michael's wings, and Michael shut his eyes, waiting for more pain. It never came. He felt Lucifer's expert touch comb through his feathers, able to right them better than Michael could alone. He started by ordering Michael's primaries, until most of them flared out straight and perfect, but soon, he was petting along the whole of Michael's wing.

Michael's eyes were still shut, though now from relaxation rather than a futile attempt to avoid pain, when Lucifer said, quietly, "are you angry with me?"

Michael considered that.

"Exasperated," he said, "but not angry." Some of his feathers still ached. Michael knew they had to be plucked. He wasn't looking forward to it. Not even Lucifer could make that painless.

"I'm only 'Lu' when you're angry." Michael chanced flicking him with a wing. It hurt, but it was worth it. "Ow!"

"We were acting," Michael teased. "I don't think you're only made of mischief either."

"No, but you might be," Lucifer grumbled. Michael hugged him.

"I could never be angry at you, starlight," he said, the softness of a different nickname causing Lucifer to melt into the hug. Lucifer had the warmth of the stars in his grace, too, or maybe he was that lovely a reflection of God's love. (And maybe, Michael's secret proud heart said, a reflection of his as well.)

Michael had lied to God for him today. It didn't sit easily in his grace. He tried to reassure himself that it was only a small thing, that their Father hadn't even been that upset. He would have called Michael's bluff if He was. Still... Michael bumped his head against Lucifer's.

"Don't ask me to do that again."

"Do what?"

"Choose you over our Father." Lucifer hummed.

"Alright," he agreed, "but only because now I know you'd pick me."

Those words filled Michael with a fear he could not name. His small disobedience today had shaken him so badly that he knew he could never do it again, not even for his brother.

"Promise me?"

"Yes. Promise. Can I go back to grooming your wings now?" Michael let him go. Lucifer kept preening him, and Michael tried his best to let his discomfort fade away.

It wasn't long before they heard the flurry of more wings, so close together that Michael couldn't have picked them out if he tried. Raphael and Gabriel never looked more like twin creations than in flight, and even when they landed a little ways away from Michael's nest, they were almost on top of each other.

"I told you so," they both said to the other. Lucifer laughed. Gabriel pointed at him. "No, I did, he's here."

"And I'm right, too. Michael's wings got damaged. I could tell." Raphael looked at Michael, putting on a more professional voice. "I'm going to heal you."

"I'm sure you will." Raphael's professionalism needed work. It broke under a smile. Soon, their younger siblings were clambering for room in the nest as well. Michael waited for Raphael to begin plucking his feathers, but instead, he felt their grace very meticulously seeking out Michael's injuries. He shouldn't be surprised anymore that when Raphael meant to heal, they aspired to do as their Father would, to regrow and soothe each broken feather. It was harder work than they anticipated, and though they got through most of the damage, they had to stop. Lucifer rubbed their back, his hand trailing into their wing. "That's enough," Michael said. "You don't have to do any more."

"I do," Raphael insisted. "This wouldn't have happened if I was with you-"

"Hey! That's my fault!" Gabriel butted in.

"He's right," Lucifer said.

"See? Lucifer says-" Gabriel turned on his brother. "You're not supposed to agree!"

"...You admitted to it?"

"You're supposed to tell us neither of us did anything wrong!"

"No, Lucifer's right. This is definitely your fault." Michael said, nodding. He kept up the act until he actually saw Gabriel look worried, and then he pulled him close. "But you're forgiven." Gabriel loved cuddling even more than Lucifer did, and once Michael had his arms full, he knew he wouldn't be leaving the nest anytime soon. Which gave Raphael ample opportunity to pluck a feather. Michael grunted in pain, but Gabriel nuzzled into him and Lucifer pet his other wing. The second pluck wasn't as bad. The third one hurt even less. The last one was negligible, and when Raphael finished putting the pulled feathers to the side, Michael opened his arms again and they fit into the space opposite their twin.

"No room left for me, as usual." There was the smallest flash of jealousy across Lucifer's face. Michael was well aware of it. Of course Lucifer loved their siblings, but he had gotten very used to being Michael's only little brother. He wasn't good at sharing.

"There's always room," Michael said. He shifted the younger angels around to give Lucifer a spot.

Michael hoped it stayed like this forever.