He hummed absently as he walked down the empty hall of the rebuilt Pantheon, their home was even more beautiful then it was before, he checked in on the fledglings as he made his way down the hall towards his destination. His destination was a small room at the end of the hall, the door was always closed, the occupant kinder then he often came off as, always working late into the night and rising early in the day.
His humming continued as he made his way to the door, standing just before it, he could hear the rustle inside of someone moving about and doing as they pleased. He gripped the door handle tightly, his hand shaking softly, and turned it to the side. The lock unclicked from the latch and he was able to pull the door open to gain entrance.
The query of his nightly search stands just before him, reading through a book spread open on a vast work bench, bottles and jars and vials lay scattered around him, ingredients placed all around in an organized chaotic mess.
"Hello, Jeremiah."
He nods to the Grigori's apothecary. "Hello, Semyaza."
The Captain leans forward against his work bench, his eyes taking on a concerned light, as he looks his younger brother over. They weren't separated by many years, Jeremiah was younger only by a few, but he took his position as the elder very seriously.
"Miah, I'm worried about you."
"There is nothing to worry over, dear brother." The quiet Choir Elder closed the door softly behind him, the smallest of clicks indicating the latch catching the lock again. "Everything is as it should be. I am thankful."
"Miah, I am not so blind as to not see you're breaking at the seams." The dark haired Grigori gestures to him as a whole. "You're shaking."
Jeremiah looks down for a moment, taking a deep breath, and nods his head as he looks back up to his older brother. "There is a chill in the air."
"Not nearly cold enough to make you shiver like that."
"Yaza, please, I only come for my vial."
The tall Grigori nods, crossing his arms tightly, looking down at his work bench. "Miah, what I'm making you, it is only a temporary fix, you need more help than I can offer."
"I am fine, Yaza, I appreciate your concern." The gentle Choir Elder crosses away from the door, to stand before the work table, and gazes up at his older brother. "I just need something to take the edge off, Yaza, that is all. I am fine."
Semyaza shakes his head slowly, looking back down again, leaning forward against the edge of his work table. "Miah, I want you to know, I only did this to help you."
He tilts his head. "Did what, brother?"
"You left me no choice." He looks back up at him, his expression pained, as though he had betrayed him in some manner. "If you wouldn't help yourself, then you left me no choice but to step in, you need more help then I can offer you."
"I don't understand," he shakes his head. "What did you do?"
"Jeremiah."
He stills, his chin dipping slightly, to the side, as he registers the voice. It's deep, melodious, he would know that voice anywhere he went, it was the voice of the one who had raised him, the voice that led him out of the Prison after the first war, and after the second. He now understood what his Grigori brother meant, what he had done, he hadn't even seen him when he entered.
The younger looks back to the elder, Semyaza looks guilty. "You left me no choice, Miah."
"Jeremiah, look at me, please." He turns slowly, turns around, and finally sees where he stands. His Choir Master, his old guardian, the one who had cared for him since he had been a small babe just created, stands there beside the door. He understands how he had missed him, he'd only been focused on getting his tonic, he hadn't thought that there would have been anyone else in there with them. "Miah," his tone is gentle, as though he's speaking to a spooked fledgling, and his eyes look him over carefully. "How long has this been going on?"
He doesn't speak, he doesn't dare admit it, instead he looks to his feet quietly.
"Yaza?"
"Nearly a month."
The Morningstar frowns as he watches his Choir Elder. "Miah, you're shaking." He gestures to his side, he is not alone, Jeremiah follows his gesture to the Archangel next to him, the Healer smiles at him gently. "Miah, you need more help than I can offer you, I want you to go with Raph, he can help you more than I can, you need to allow yourself to be taken care of, now."
"I appreciate all of your concern, I truly do, but I am fine." He looks between both Archangels. "I just need a bit of help sometimes."
"Jeremiah," the Healer steps forward slightly, it's then that he notices the blanket draped over his arm, his eyes flit from the blanket to the electric blue eyes of the Archangel. "I do not have to be as observant as I am to see that you are not well, there is no shame in admitting you need help, you've been shaking since you've entered."
Still, he shakes his head softly, he can't help that he's shaking. He cannot stop it, and it's not for lack of trying, he needs the tonic to take the edge off.
It hurts.
Everything hurts.
"Miah," he looks over his shoulder to his older brother. "Miah, you take care of everyone, you've are the strongest angel I've ever known. Let someone take care of you now."
Jeremiah takes a deep breath, nodding his head gently, he just needed something to take the edge off. That's it. "Alright." He looks back to his Master and the Healer. "I'll come. Just," he looks to his Master, "please make sure the little ones are taken care of."
Lucifer nods softly. "Everything will be just fine."
He nods, and the Healer takes that as his permission, stepping forward for him. He shakes the blanket out, drapes it over his shoulders, and curls his arm around his shoulders gently. "Everything's going to be just fine." The Choir Elder nods, looking down to his feet for a moment, and in the next he returns his gaze to his Master's. "I'm sorry."
"Don't ever be sorry for needing help, Miah, never."
Raphael looks over his head to the Grigori behind them. "Thank you, Yaza." He just nods to the Archangel silently. He turns to look at his brother. "We will take our leave." The Morningstar nods, watching them closely as the Healer guides them from the Captain's room. Once the door clicks shut, he turns to his apothecary. "Yaza, what was it you were making for him?"
"Pain relievers."
…
The Infirmary is quiet in the night, he is the only new patient that enters at this hour, everyone else in their care is already fast asleep in their beds. The only ones who walk around are the healers, checking in on their sleeping patients, making sure they are all comfortable and taken care of. He sees Oren guiding a young healer to an empty bed, the little one making shaky hand movements, he knows the silent speak, the young ones cannot head to sleep until their elders do, but that does not mean they will not put them to bed until that time comes.
The Archangel guides him to an empty bed, the blankets folded back, a clean tunic and a pair of trousers folded and resting on the pillow.
"Get yourself changed, little Miah, and we will take a look at you."
He nods, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders, leaning forward for the trousers, slipping them on first, and when he reaches for the tunic, a gentle dark hand stays him. "Leave the tunic for now." He nods, standing back up, and turns to the Healer for further instruction. "Sit, sit, little Miah." He bends at the knee, reaching a shaking hand out to catch himself, and sits on the edge of the bed as tenderly as he can. The Healer kneels before him, curling long fingers over his knees, looking at him imploringly. "What can I do for you, little Miah?"
"I..I am in so much pain."
Raphael nods gently. "What causes you such pain, Miah?"
"My wings."
He nods again. "Let's take a look."
Jeremiah nods softly, allowing the Healer to stand again, guide him around with a gentle hand on his shoulder, he's curled around and laid on his stomach, his arms curled under his head and a blanket is curled up to his waist. A gentle hand presses to the back of his head. "I'm going to release your wings, alright?"
He nods again, hiding his face in his arms, feeling the rush that is in releasing ones wings from the metaphysical plane they keep them on and into the physical. There's no quick intake of breath, no gasps, no indication of horror, just a sad little sigh. "Oh, little Miah." He pets the back of his head gently. "We'll get you well taken care of."
"Here's the tonic you wanted."
Jeremiah looks over his arm at the new voice, he knows that voice, him and Yaza are rather close. Zed smiles down at him, holding a small vial out to him, and says nothing on the state of his wings. "Here you go, Miah, it'll help with the pain."
He takes the vial, downing it in one gulp. "Thank you, Zed."
"Always, Miah."
"Zed would you please fetch Oren and Akriel for me?"
"Of course."
Fingers rub over the edge of his left wing and he whines softly. "And have them bring a basin of water and some sponges."
"Of course."
Jeremiah looked over his shoulder, to see the state of his wings, and gave a small whine of shame. It was always his wings that they went after, they'd been clipped during the first war, healed again, and then clipped during the second war, it was always his wings. The archangel looks back down at him, sitting on the edge of his bed, he rubs his fingers over the back of his neck comfortingly. "We'll take good care of you, Miah, the tonic should kick in here in a few moments, when it does you get some sleep. We'll have your wings taken care of by the morning."
