He'd suffered nightmares before, none quite like the ones after aiding his brothers in locking the Darkness away, but it was something that wasn't new to him. Raphael knew night terrors better then he knew most of his siblings and out of all the Archangels he was probably the one and only one who interacted with the rest of the Host on a daily basis.
It was in his job decription.
He had thought that after that there would be nothing more that could terrify him so much as that war had.
Though he suffers the nightly tremors he never does so on his own.
Always when he wakes screaming in a cold sweat, hands shaking, and breathing short and quick, he was there. He was there with the soft words and even softer touches, fingers running over his arms and across his shoulders and down his back, soothing away the tremer and the stiffness.
Soft warm lips pressing into his shoulder and then his shoulder blade and to the top of his spine.
Raphael tries to fight it sometimes but he doesn't let him, fingers wrap around his wrists and press into his palms pulling him back down again, pressed against the sturdy chest and they both lean back into the pillows. Blunt nails scratch lightly at his head and he whispers above him softly, stories and reports, the latest going-ons and juicy gossip. It's nothing more then nonsense and they both know it, but the calm soft thrum of his voice over his head and the steady rumble under his head as he speaks calms his thoughts down, his mind, and he slowly drifts off to the sound of his voice.
And everything is good.
But then its not.
Raphael often wakes in cold sweats these days. The scene of the desert closing around him playing over and over in his head as if his mind is trying to punish him for the deed he was given no choice in.
'No choice?' that voice in his head asks with the tone of sarcasm as if to call him on his bluff. 'No. No I had no choice. I obey. I am good.' he responds as if its not his own mind betraying him. Turning against him.
He wakes crying, eyes full of burning salty tears, and even though it's been so long still his sits and tenses waiting for those touches again. The fingers and the gentle words. The sturdy chest that has never smelled so much like home to him.
It never comes, and he can't do anything but wrap the blankets around himself tighter and turn into the pillow that still smells faintly of his scent.
His tears soak into the soft plush fabric and meld in with the scent of home.
Raphael doesn't deserve to feel this, not after what he had done, he doesn't get to feel bad. To miss him. To desire him. He doesn't get to have those feelings. It's not fair to him.
No, he deserves the pain and the sorrow. The scorn shot his way for betraying his mate. The hatred and distaste.
He deserves the nightmares.
Deserves the pain but not the comfort.
"Love, are you okay?"
Those hands are there though, running lightly up his arms, fingers feather light as they ghost over his shoulders and down his back. Lips kiss at his shoulder and trail up his neck. Fingers lock loosely around his wrists and the hands are pulled up to be kissed to.
Raphael turns, breath hitching, throat turning sore.
Azazel looks concerned and he sets his book aside for this one, marking his place with the corner of the page, setting it over onto the bedside table.
"You're here?...You're really here?..."
The fallen makes a sound in the back of his throat, it rumbles in his chest, "Where else would I be?"
Raphael swallows hard when he feels the hands tugging him down again, down onto that sturdy chest that is so warm and so rumbly and smells so much like home and it makes him feel so safe.
"Hush love, it was only a bad dream, everything it okay."
"It was so real."
Lips press to his temple, "Because it was.", and fingers start scratching at his scalp again like they used to, still do, always.
"I'm so sorry, I don't deserve you, not af-"
"But I forgave you. A long time ago. When will you forgive yourself?"
Raphael sniffles but falls silent resting against Azazel's chest. Warm breath brushes against his ear, "Want me to read to you?"
"I don't like your books."
"What can I do then? To calm you enough to get you back to sleep?"
"Hold me?"
Those arms tighten around him, winding around him carefully, holding him protectively.
"I can do that."