find my muse dying in the battlefield
Laying on the ground, Michael looks up at the stars above. He is weakly pressing the wound on his side, feeling the warm blood between his fingers, unable to make it stop, unable to cry out for help. Around him, there is only dead, bodies of friend and foe scattered around, all of them his siblings, all of them his family. He knows their faces, their names, their ranks and tears drip down though his temples as it downs on him that they will never rise again, that they are gone for good, killed in the name of a war that was not supposed to happen. They were a family but now....Now it was all ashes and death.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. He feels heavy and cold. He feels tired....Archangels are not supposed to feel tired. Something is wrong, he knows as much but he can’t bring himself to move, can’t bring himself to get up. This fight has been going for so long, he has so much blood on his hands, so many lives ended by his sword. He knows this is not how the story is supposed to go, he is certain that this is not how it’s supposed to end for him and yet...He is content with this ending. Dying by his siblings side, giving his life for Heaven. Whatever came after didn’t matter, he could rest at ease, knowing that the war was won....
“NO!” The sound of a familiar voice stopped him from closing his eyes. There is desperation in the tone, fear in the voice and Michael holds on for a little longer, Raphael’s face appearing on his vision. They seem so scared, so sad.
“Hey....” Michael’s voice sounds weird. Hoarse and small, he coughs and Raphael let’s out a squeak of worry. “It’s okay.” He assures them, moving his hand away from his wound, gently brushing his bloody fingers on Raphael’s cheek. “It’s okay....It’s over now.” He coughs again and it hurts, he does his best not to let it show but Raphael is already fussing over him, calling someone to bring them supplies. “Raphael...”
“Don’t talk.” Raphael has tears in their eyes and they are focused on removing the battered armour from Michael’s body as careful as they can. “You are going to get better but you need to save your strength.” For anyone else, Raphael’s voice would’ve been steady but Michael can hear it tremble, he can hear the doubt in the words, the fear in the tone. Raphel’s hands tremble and Michael grabs their wrist.
“Rapha....” Michael mutters but the other archangel doesn’t look at him. “Raphael, please....” The other wipes their tears away discreetly before looking at Michael, expression severe, trying their best not to show anything but determination. “Would you just hold me?” Michael asks, coughing again. He can taste blood on his mouth and the cold keeps creeping on his body. “Just hold me....It’ll be okay.”