Angel Sanctuary Chapter 1
There were few places that were left untouched through the raging war, from the brunt of the oldest Archangel’s undying wrath, on all those he perceived to be enemies; the barracks, training field, and the Pavilion, to name a few of those places.
Another that stood out was the Infirmary.
The home of the thirdborn Archangel, his true home nothing but a memory now, darkened and desolate, he kept himself in his Infirmary where he could tend to the ones who came to him with the care and kindness he was so well known for, that so few saw in these trying times.
It took some time for the angels to notice, those that hid within their broken homes and demolished buildings, those who snuck around, out of sight, under the nose of the enraged Commander, that when an angel went to the Infirmary, they didn’t come back out. There was fear at first, that the Healer had lost himself just as the eldest had, and they avoided stepping foot in the Infirmary for some time, dealing with wounds and injuries on their own.
And, slowly, those who needed tending to had begun to dwindle, much to the Healer’s dismay and concern, and he’d stand just outside the entrance to his Infirmary, looking around for those he knew needed help, but didn’t dare come to seek it out.
It was the one day in an eternity that the guards took the day off, where they were free from the horrors of their tortures for the day, an entire twenty-four hours of relief before it was back on again, the next day, back to the norm of a day in the prisoners lives.
He sat huddled in the corner of his cell, his once white tunic torn and stained amber, the gold bands that had once shined so proudly in the sun were tarnished and rusted.
Shivers rocked his body, the cold seeping into his skin, still soaked from his drowning late that night before, freezing, down to the bone.
He looks up at his cellmate, his bloodied beaten form in the far corner, huddled around himself. Arms shaking as he tried to protect himself, blood dripping from the fresh wounds, over the scabbing ones underneath. His breathing was wet, quick and weak, but as silent as a whisper, as quiet as a church mouse.
They had to get out of here.
He didn’t think his friend could take much more of this treatment. They couldn’t stay here. He had to get his friend away from this place, he had to. Escape had never been an inkling in the back of his mind, as it was never a hope to reach for, but now, this day, it was the day to try new things.
Pushing himself up, wincing and stumbling at the rotating and weight placed on his injured ankle, the scabbing gash in the center of his left foot as it cracked back open once more, leaving fresh foot prints of red on the dismal gray stone underneath him, as he stepped forward.
There was no time to waste.
“Come on, Abner, come on, we have to go.” The red mound of limbs slowly unraveled to reveal the dirty head of hair, dried and flaking blood over his shoulders, eyes red and bloodshot. “G..Gadreel?”
The former sentry nods, taking his arm in hand and drags it over his shoulders, the other bit his lip harshly, to keep from screaming at the agony of the movement. Gadreel struggled to lift him and carry his weight under the fatigue of his own injuries.
“Yes, come friend, brother, we are leaving.”
“Yes, you must move quick, my friend, and try to stay as quiet as possible.”
Abner nods, grasping his younger brother’s shoulder with all the strength he had, grimacing slightly at the soreness the action brought with it, the cool water that dripped from his friend’s form was a nice reprieve though, it was somewhat soothing to his burning flesh.
Holding the bloodied angel steady, Gadreel peered outside the cell bars, first to the right, then to the left. He gripped the edge of the gate, fingers curling around it, and softly apologized to his older brother for what he was about to do. He digs his fingers into the gash on Abner’s shoulder, the scream he lets free was loud and agonizing, and it was loud enough that he was able to gather his strength and break the lock on the cell door, tearing it free.
For a moment, he made no movement, standing completely still, as though he were a statue.
Waiting for someone to come catch them. To see the broken loc and beat them for it. But, no one came. There was no cracking of a whip, and no yelling, from the guards or their torturer. Stepping out cautiously, he closes his eyes, waiting for a blow that never came, and then he breathed out a soft breath.
Abner was choking on a sob as he tried to remain as silent as he had been instructed to be, not wanting to ruin this one taste of possible freedom, and he bit his lip hard enough that he tasted the coppery taste of blood.
Knowing that it was now or never, to seize the moment, Gadreel turned, fingers cracking under the strength of his grasp on Abner’s tattered tunic. He ran down the hall as best as he could, disturbing the rest of the prisoners, and backed in their shouts and cheers. It empowered him, the adrenaline, and the light of sweet freedom from endless pain. He could see it. It was so close, he could practically taste it.
The Prison was loud with the cheers of it’s prisoners as the legendary duo broke through the doors, light pouring in down the darkened hall, overpowering the soft forced glow of the torches, pounding and banging against the bars of their cells at their triumph.
Gadreel and Abner disappeared from sight as the secondary guards poured in to silence the prisoners.
Sampson turned at the call, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Yes, what is it?”
“Sir, they’re gone! The indefinite prisoners! They’re gone!”
He face thundered in building rage, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, prisoners scurried to the backs of their cells in panic. “Sound the alarm! Alert the Commander and Warden! They must be found!”
Under the protection of the masses on the Axis, Gadreel made his way slowly farther and farther away from the prison, trudging through the freezing snow under foot, leaving a path of red footprints behind him, quickly trampled away by the passing of others. His heart racing and grace rolling dangerously, this had never happened before, Heaven’s Prison was inescapable, once you went in, you never came out.
He stumbled down the path and nearly sent them both tumbling over. Abner weakly grabbed for his attention and he gave it to him as he had desired.
“…Brother…they’ve noticed…”
Gadreel followed his gaze, to the guards making their way into the crowd, and he felt panic rise in his chest, the hand tugged weakly at his tunic, pointing in the direction of the Garden.
He shakes his head, no, that would be the first place they’d think to look for them.
His gaze travelled over the buildings carefully, but quickly, time was of the essence.
They’d all heard the rumors, once one went in, they didn’t come back out. No one knew why, and he didn’t care to think of that possibility, anything was better then what they’d already been put through.
Gadreel grunted, and Abner whined, but they both turned in the direction of the thirdborn’s domain. Hurrying to get away from the guards quickly approaching, closing in on their location, leaving nothing but drops of blood and red foot prints in their wake.
Little things that went unnoticed in the hustle of the Axis.
They both struggled to climb the stairs that lead to the Infirmary’s doors, panting for breath, the exhales they made condensing before their eyes. By the time they reached the top, Abner was practically dead on his feet, he was carrying most of his older brothers weight, and slowly ambled them closer to the great oak doors, collapsing onto the one, pushing for all that he was worth, now that the adrenaline was fading, so was his strength, and he groaned as he pushed, until the door gave way, and moved, opening under his pressure.
He’d been sitting at his desk going through the pile of charts he’d been given, from his oldest brother, for review pertaining to his newest recruits, that needed the Healer to sign off on his clearance to begin their training, when they fell through the doors of the Infirmary.
They were heavy doors, thick wooden monstrosities, and they were not easily opened.
Still, they had crashed through, desperate to be within the confines of his Infirmary, the one place they knew they would be untouchable. Rumors had spread through remains of the Host of the asylum that was offered within the Infirmary, even if the Healer wasn’t quite aware of the fact that he was offering it when he took you in as his patient and kept you until you were well enough under his own standards.
The Infirmary had become a sanctuary, a safe haven, for those afflicted by the war. For those under persecution, for those too young to defend themselves, for those who refused to fight against their morals and were declared insubordinate or AWOL.
He stands quickly, eyes wide in surprise, at the bodies that lay just within the entrance of his Infirmary. Beaten and bloody, covered in the evidence of the torture they had endured, they wore ragged tunics and trousers, that all prisoners were given at their intake into that dreaded feared place. Stepping out from behind his desk, he raises his hand, staying his Virtues from drawing their weapons, and crossed the threshold, making his way down the aisle towards the pair laying on the floor, to kneel before the two prisoners desperate enough to attempt an escape from Heaven’s Prison, and chose to come to his Infirmary, above all other places, for protection.
Raphael watches them silently, looking from one to the other, taking in their ragged appearance. The one dripping water on his floor, the other staining the stone with crimson blood, both tortured and abused horribly. He knew who they were, of course, they all knew who these two were. They had been given the task of guarding Eden, one at the west gate and the other at the east, and how they had allowed the serpent entrance. The Council, what remained of it, had decided their fate, a one sided vote, his oldest brother blaming them for the Morningstar’s betrayal and their Father’s disappearance, and he’d thrown them away without hearing anything on the matter, locked them up and threw away the key, leaving them to their fate.
“Gadreel, Abner, what brings you here?”
The one, painting his floor crimson, gave him a pained wounded whine in response to his inquiry. But the other crawled forward, limping even still, and reached for his hand with reddish-brown fingers. The Archangel allowed him to take hold of his hand, frowning at the shaking of the younger’s hands as he clutched his hand to his chest, whether the quaking from the cold, or from the pain he surely felt, he didn’t know.
The soaked prisoner, shivering from either shock or temperature, perhaps a mixture of both, pressed his lips to the back of the Healer’s hand, this hand he held in his grasp meant safety, it meant freedom, and he loathe to let it go. “P—Please t—ta—take us…..Pl—Please….I b—beg y—you…”
He nods, without hesitation, and curls his fingers around the younger angel’s wrists. “I will take you, Gadreel. You are safe here.” He reaches out with his free hand to caress the prisoner’s cheek. “Let me help you, now.”
Raphael looks between the two of them with concern. “Can you stand?”
Gadreel nods. “I can stand.” He turns his gaze to his brother and cellmate. “Abner cannot.”
He nods, they would deal with that matter on it’s own, and turned to gaze over his shoulder. “Oren, Zed, would you help him to a bed?”
The two Virtues nod, stepping forward to lift the limp prisoner between them, curling his sliced arms over their shoulders, their arms around his lower back, and help carry him to the nearest empty bed.
“Annael, put a covering down over that bed before they set him down, we are not soiling his blankets while we clean him up.”
The healer nods at his command, running off to fetch a thick covering to set down over the blankets, so that his blood and such wouldn’t soil them.
Raphael turns his attention to the remaining prisoner, still clutching his hand, trusting his healers to care for the other until he could tend to him himself. “Let’s get you on your feet, careful now, not too fast, lest you become dizzy.”
Gadreel clutches tightly to the Archangel’s hand, and he took that as his permission to pull him up, rising with him in sync as he pushed himself up with his other hand, stumbling forward once he managed to get to his feet, just on the verge of falling once more, had the Archangel not caught him when he did.
The Healer gives him a look. “Stand, indeed.” He turns, gesturing for him to follow with his free hand. “Let us get you into a bed as well.” Gadreel nods, stepping forward silently, leaning into the gentle touch when the Healer’s free hand curls around his shoulder, and fingers dig in firmly. “You’re absolutely soaked, ‘Reel, were you under water?”
Raphael frowns when the younger angel nods, responding in a hushed tone, soft as a whisper. “They have a well. They tie my arms over a thick wooden beam. It’s hard to breathe.”
The Archangel looks down at him in horror. “They drown you?”
He feels his heart grow heavy when the younger angel nods in affirmation, and gives his shoulder another squeeze, this time in assurance. “You will never suffer through such a thing again. You are safe here. We will take care of you now.”
The Healer gestures for the young healer to lay their own covering over the bed next to Abner and guides the younger prisoner to sit on the edge for a moment. “We will get you into warmer drier clothing and then we will tend to your wounds.”
Gadreel nods silently, not accustomed to the kindness he had been shown, not anymore, not after being through what he’d been through. Raphael smiles down at him, caressing his cheek again, rubbing his thumb over his cheek bone. “You’re safe here, ‘Reel, you and Abner both. We will get you fixed up.” He bends slightly to press his lips to his glistening forehead. “You are loved in these walls, baby brother.” And pulls back. “So dearly loved.” Gadreel gives him the barest of smiles, nodding to his kind words, and he smiles down at him fondly.
Straightening, Raphael turns to the healer who had laid the covering down, pulling her in close to his side for a moment with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Izeriel, will you go fetch a pair of tunics and trousers, for our patients?”
She nods silently, squeezing into his side for a brief moment, and stepped away to gather what she was sent for.
Nodding down to Gadreel, he gestures to his friend, a silent promise that he’s right next to him, Gadreel nods, and he turns to stand at the head of the bed they had set Abner down on. Stroking his fingers down the tortured sentry’s neck, he gained his attention, Abner looks up at him with terrified eyes. “You are safe here, little one. No harm shall come to you while you are under my care.” Nodding to his chest, he spoke just as gently as he had before, as to not startle the trembling youth under him, and strokes his fingers back down his throat. “I’m going to remove your tunic, alright?”
Abner nods silently, reaching up to grip at the front of the Healer’s tunic as he bent forward, he whines softly as his tunic is lifted, pulled away from deep gashes carved into his chest. The Healer was as gentle as he could manage as he lifted the tunic up, guiding the prisoners arms out of the sleeves, and lifts his back from the bed slightly to pull the ragged top over his head. He gestures for his Captain to assist with removing his trousers, as he lifts the wounded prisoner’s waist from the bed, allowing Oren to tug the sticky trousers off.
“Annael, pull the blinders around for some privacy.”
The healer aiding in their tending to the beaten prisoner nods, pulling the cloth barriers around the bed to conceal him within, leaving the only open space behind the Healer’s back.
Raphael glances at her from over his shoulder. “Would you fetch a basin of warm water and some sponges, mis chamomile in the water. Bring towel with you.”
Annael steps away to fetch what she was sent for, and the Healer rubs his fingers over the wounded angel’s forehead, taking up his attention once more. “We’re going to get you cleaned up and then we’ll treat your wounds, alright, the chamomile will help you relax and aid with easing the pain.” He gestured to the side. “You know Oren.” The Virtues Captain waves, smiling in greeting, when he turns to look at him with his wide eyes. “Him and Annael are going to give you a nice bath. It may sting a bit, most of these are still rather fresh, but it will help keep infection from setting in.”
Abner nods silently, closing his eyes when the Healer leans forward, letting out a deep breath when he feels warm lips press to his temple. “You are safe here, baby brother. You are loved in this place. We will take care of you.” He reaches up with a shaking hand to curl around the back of the Healer’s neck, licking his lips, his voice coming out as a faint whisper. “Thank you.”
Raphael smiles, kissing his temple once more, leaning over to look into his eyes. “You are most welcome, Ab.”
He nods to Oren, and Annael at her reappearance, to wash him gently and with great care.
Stepping out from behind the blinds, he returns to Gadreel’s side, having been cleaned himself, his wounds tended to by Izeriel, and helped into a warm dry tunic and a pair of clean trousers, the sentry sits on the edge of the bed quietly, staring at something on the floor between his feet, or, perhaps, lost in dark entrapping thoughts. He curls a gentle hand around the back of his head, the younger looking up at the sensation of the gentle touch and meets his eyes in silence.
“Gadreel, you’ve been so strong for such a long time, taking all of this suffering, and still managed to carry your beloved brother all this way.” He strokes a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Let it go now, baby brother, let it all flow freely.” He smiles down at him comfortingly. “There is no judgement for shedding tears.”
“It is weakness. Vulnerability that will be used against you. They don’t like it.” The younger angel shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“I like it.” Raphael shakes his head. “It is strength. To show how one truly feels. To be yourself.” He nods in assurance. “You can. You should.”
Gadreel stares up at him for a long moment, and he stares right back, watching as those brilliant blue eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears, the pain he’d been holding back for so long finally breaking through the walls of the fortress. He pulls him forward, into his stomach, when the first sob breaks free. He rubs at the back of his head, at his shoulders, as he shakes from the force of his sobs, held back for far too long, the result of so much pain and sorrow. Slowly, the younger angel’s arms lift, his fingers curling into the back of his tunic, and he heaved a deep anguished sob, for the pain he’d endured, for the loss of his once loving big brother, for the anguish at the hands of someone who had sworn to protect him. “That’s it, Reel.” He strokes through the hair on the back the younger angel’s head, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “That’s it.” His sobs slowly fade, after such a long span of time, and when he was sure the last of them had been cried, he curls his fingers around the sides of his head and pulls him back softly.
Curling his hands around his cheeks, rubbing away the tear tracks with gentle fingers stroking over his cheeks, he smiles down at him soothingly. “Does that feel better, Reel?” The younger angel sniffles softly, nodding his head mutely, and lifts his arm to rub the back of his hand under his nose. Raphael stays his hand gently, shaking his head, as he turns for the bedside table next to them, pressing a soft handkerchief against his nose. “Give a nice blow.” He wipes his nose clean when he can blow no more.
Guiding him back, around to lay under the warm blankets of the bed, he tucks them up under his chin.
“You rest now, alright?” He strokes his hair back from his eyes. “I am here if you need me. We all are. We’ll care for you now. You just relax and rest. You’re safe with me.”
Gadreel nods, his eyelids drooping, and curled down against his pillow. Comforted by the gentle feeling of fingers stroking through his hair, and by the warmth of presence, staying by his side as he drifted off into the grasp of sleep’s hands.
Raphael smiles down at him, stroking his fingers down the side of his face, and stands from the side of the bed.
Next to them, the dividers had been pulled back, a new pair of trousers slipped onto the other sentry’s waist, a tunic over his head, laying lightly over thick bandages wrapped around his chest. Oren sat in a chair at his bedside, holding one of his hands, stroking the fingers of his free hand over the back of Abner’s hand, watching silently as his patient slept peacefully before him.
Raphael comes to stand at his side. “How does he fair?”
His Captain looks up at his approach. “He was beaten quite badly. We put some ointment on the fresh ones and bound them. There was a break to his left leg, which is most probably why he had such trouble moving on his own, we splinted it and bound it.” Oren shakes his head, looking back down at his younger brother’s peaceful expression, blissfully taking into sleep’s comforting hands. “I’m surprised they managed to get all the way here in the condition they are in.”
“Indeed.” Raphael nods, looking between the both of them for a moment, and turns back to his Captain. “Stay with them for a while and then make your rounds between the others.” The younger healer nods at his orders. “And, Oren,” he looks back up to his Archangel. “If anyone comes asking about them, come get me immediately.”
He smiles as he approaches them, they’ve been here for nearly two weeks, and they had yet to have anyone come searching to see if they were with them here, listening to their laughter as he comes up to stand before their beds, it was good for them, they needed as much laughter as they could get, to drown out the other emotions.
Oren’s laying with Abner in his bed, resting back against the pillows, the young sentry between his legs, smiling down at the prisoner as he skillfully evades the hands reaching for his as he has a go at his belly, clawing the fingers of one hand in, and when the younger angel reaches for them, he pulls his hand back, attacking with his other hand in it’s place. Abner shriek’s with laughter, struggling to catch the Virtue’s hands, arching his back and squirming in place, the healer holding him in this position with his grace.
In the other bed, next to them, Gadreel squeals with laughter, his arms wrapped around his belly, struggling in Akriel’s hold, the Virtue’s arm curled around his ankles as he threads a feather between his toes, scribbles down his soles with the quill, and returns to his toes.
Raphael raises an eyebrow. “Where’d you get a feather?”
His mental specialist looks up at him and smiles. “Lamechial went through a molt a couple of weeks ago, I took one, I’m not sure why or what I intended to do with it, but I found the perfect use for it now.”
“I see,” he nods, looking between the two prisoners, stuck in his Virtues merciless clutches, and smiles at their predicament once more. “I don’t very much mind how long you two keep this up, in my opinion, they need all the laughter they can get, but at least give them a moment to catch their breath in the near future.”
Three weeks into their stay with them, the guards come searching, bringing the hounds with them, to sniff out the trail of their missing prisoners. The hounds bark and jump forward, catching the scents of the ones they were sent after, pulling the guards with them. Gadreel and Abner cower at the sight of them, at the growling and barking hounds, the youngest prisoner cowers so much so that he falls over the edge of his bed, he’s the reason they’re here, it’s going to be so much worse for him, so much worse.
Healers turn to look at the sound of the barking, Oren turns from the back of the room, running back to his Archangel’s office, they knew it was a possibility, it was only a matter of time before they came searching for them here, and they’d been ready for it when the possibility was made true upon.
Gadreel pushes himself back against the edge of his older brother’s bed, Abner curls his fingers in the back collar of his tunic and tugs, nearly choking him in the process.
They’re staring at the guards approaching, the dark glare in their eyes, the barking snapping hounds tugging against their leashes.
And, then the Archangel’s there, Raphael comes to stand between them, his arms spread slightly, and they stare at his back, as he blocks their approach.
The Healer meets their glares with one of his own, a tad bit more terrifying then theirs is, and they shy back slightly at the sight of it. “You wouldn’t dare.”
The guards tense at the Archangel’s full attention, exchanging a glance, tugging their hounds back. “We’re here to collect the escapees on Michael’s orders.”
“Well,” Raphael snarls at them. “You can tell Michael that they are mine, and if he wants them, he can come fight me for them.”
“Get out of my Infirmary.” The Archangel jerks his head towards the doors. “Michael may be in control out there, but in here”, he gestures around with his hands. “I’m the one in control. Get out of my Infirmary or I will strike you down.”
“Sir, we don’t want to fight, we just—”
“Then, you’d best be going.”
The Healer takes a threatening step forward, and the guards step back, retreating under the reality of his threat, and nod, turning tail to make their leave.
Raphael watches them until they disappear out the doors, nodding to Constantine and Ephraim to close them, and turns to his two young patients. “Come, come, let’s get you back in bed.” He crosses around the end of the bed quickly, holding his hands out to the younger sentry, and once they’re standing, he pulls him into an embrace when he feels him shaking in terror. “It’s alright, little one, you’re alright. I told you that you were safe here, and I don’t say things I don’t mean, I won’t let anyone take you.” He pulls him back gently, caressing his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. “I’ll have Oren come stay with you for now, it’s alright, you’re alright, let’s get you back in bed.”
Gadreel nods, moving around when he’s guided around, and tucked back into his bed, resting back against the pillows, and thumb rubs over his cheek tenderly. “You just relax, I won’t let anything bad happen to you, you’ll come to no more harm with me here.” The younger sentry nods mutely, smiling up at him slightly, and he returns the smile in kind, stroking a finger down his nose. “You get some rest.”
Once he’s sure the younger of the two is comfortable and soothed, he turns to the other, Abner hisses, rubbing at his chest lightly, and he nods. “You’re going to be a bit tender for a while, I’m afraid, other then this, there will be no strenuous movements.” He guides him back against his own pillows, pulling the blankets up under his chin, and brushes his curls back. “You get some rest too.”
Abner smiles up at him, casting a quick glance to his younger brother, already sound asleep, and turns back to the Archangel. “Thank you.”
“I meant what I said, you are mine, and I don’t let harm come to those who are mine.” Raphael pats his cheek lightly. “But, you’re most welcome.” He strokes a finger down his nose too. “Get some rest, I’ll send Oren over to stay with you for now.”
Michael never comes to confront him about the prisoners staying here with him, though he knows the message he sent was received, but one thing is made clear, the lines have been drawn, and they are not on the same side.
