The Healer turned to spare the boy a look from over his shoulder. "And I will be telling your father about this, Avon."

He knew upon first meeting who the boy's father was, their resemblance was uncanny, he had his father's eyes, the same color hair, they even wore it in the same fashion. Part of him was sure that he didn't know he had a son, he wasn't known to ignore those that needed him, and this boy very clearly needed him. Avon was a good boy, it was obvious about him, he was just misguided. He needed someone to set him back on the right path again, and while he would be more than happy to do so himself, he figured it would be better suited for the boy's father do be the one to do so.

It would leave a more lasting impression.

First things first, to set this boy back on the straight and narrow path, was to enlighten the boys father on his wellbeing.

Healers parted as he strode down the length his Infirmary, night was beginning to set in, the younger healers were being relieved from their duties by the elder to head on to bed. The lanterns were self-lighting along the walls, the sun slowly setting to the west, the moon slowly rising in its place. The query he was after sat at his desk, candles alit over his desk as he finally got to work on his paperwork, so long as he did it, he didn't really mind how it got done.

"Akriel," he smiled in greeting when one of his little charges sat up from leaning against his other side, he hadn't even seen her, Orion smiled up at him in return. "Akriel, can I have a word with you in my office?"

"Am I in trouble?"

The archangels eyes narrow slightly at the unusual question. "Should you be?"

"Not that I know of."

Raphael sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Then you are not in trouble." He nodded towards his office. "I just wish to have a word with you."

"Alright," Akriel turns to his young charge on his other side, stroking a hand down the side of her head. "Go on up to bed." Orion nods, excusing herself quietly, and disappears into the crowds of healers milling about during the shift change. He stands from his desk, following dutifully at the Archangel's beckoning, and steps into the archangel's office as he closes the door behind him. "Is everything alright?"

The mental specialist comes to sit in one of the chairs across the other side of the archangels desk, as Raphael sat on the other side of his desk, leaning back in his chair. "Everything is as fine as it can be." He was never one to beat around the bush. "Akriel, did you have a human lover?"

"I—I—" His mouth opened and closed for a brief moment, flabbergasted by the direct request, the direct inquiry. "I don't—I don't see how that's any of your business. My work was never affected."

Raphael raises an eyebrow at the defensiveness, boarder lining on rude, response to his question. "So you did."

"I—I" Akriel nods lightly. "Perhaps I did, but I don't see the reasoning for such a question, we haven't seen each other in decades."

"I'm not judging you, Ak." The archangel leans forward. "If I were to judge anyone for having a lover, I would have to start with myself first, I am not frowning at your choice of relationship."

"Then, what does—"

"You have a son."

Akriel stares at him, his eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly ajar, caught off guard by such a statement being made. Raphael nods lightly, crossing his arms over the top of his desk as he leans forward, watching his Virtue's reaction carefully, to the sudden shock of someone finding out they have a child.

"I—I….What?"

"You have a son." He taps the top of his desk with the fingers of his right hand. "His name is Avon. He appears to be around the age of fifteen. He looks quite like you do, the resemblance is uncanny, you could be brothers if I didn't know any better."

"I have—I—"

"And, if I might say, he's in need of a firm hand to the rear end, if I do say so myself."

Akriel blinks, his mind still trying to wrap around the fact that he had a son, and then for his Archangel to say something along those lines, it was enough to bring anyone's mind to a stunned halt. "A firm hand?" he tilts his head slightly. "Has he done something wrong?"

"Done something wrong, indeed." The Healer nods at him lightly. "You know of this 'war' the young Nephilim are fighting, don't you?" He snorts lightly. "Though, it would be more appropriate to say, their fighting for parental attention." Akriel nods silently. "Your boy decided he wanted to be on the side causing the trouble." He rubs his chin lightly, thoughtfully. "I'd say, all they need is a firm smack to their back ends, that's never hurt anyone, and then be sent to bed."

"Sir, with all due respect, you think that about all misbehaving young ones."

"Ahh," the Healer points a finger at him. "But I've never been wrong."

"He's been causing trouble?"

"Yes." His archangel nods lightly. "You know of my daughters friends?" Akriel nods, his younger sister talks about them all often, none so much as her best friend, Ava, though. "They are keeping him as their prisoner at the moment."

"Can I…" The trauma specialist rubs at his cheek lightly. "Can I meet him?"

"I was hoping you'd ask."

He couldn't help but stare at the boy when they appeared at his side, the chains around his ankles rattled as he jumped away from the archangel, hands coming around to protect his rear, not wanting to meet the end of the Healer's staff again. "No, no, I've just been sitting here!"

Raphael smiles at the boy, adjusting his hold on his staff. "Relax, boy, it's not my temper you should be concerned with." He turns to look at the angel standing at his right shoulder. "I told you I would tell your father."

"But I don't…" Avon turns from the archangel to the man at his shoulder, similar colored eyes meet, and the man smiles at him. "You look so much like your mother."

Akriel didn't much see what his archangel saw, the boy looked more like his mother did, he had her nose and her ears, he looked so much like she did.

The boy stares at him. "You're my dad?"

"That would make you my son." The Angel smiles at him. He's never had a son before, he's never had a child that was actually his, sure, he considers Orion and Gzel his, but at the end of the day, and under the technicality that was their family, they were technically his younger sisters. But this boy, the one before them, was his. He had helped make him. This was a little part of him. "My little baby boy."

Avon narrows his eyes at him, hands slowly coming back from behind him, hanging limply at his sides. "I'm not a baby."

"I beg to differ." The Virtue tilts his head at him, taking him in for all he was worth, not wanting to miss a single hair on his head. "You'll always be my baby. My baby boy."

"I think I'll leave you two to it." Raphael nods at them both, winking at the boy fondly, Avon may need a bit of firm redirection, but he was still a good boy. "Akriel." He looks to his Virtue, and his specialist turns to meet his eyes. "Stay as long as you need."

Akriel nods, turning back to his boy, and smiles at him kindly. The faint ruffle of feathers is the only indication that his Archangel has left them their privacy. "You look so familiar to me, but I barely know you, would you tell me about yourself?"

His son doesn't move an inch from where he retreated to. "Why didn't you ever come get me?" He crosses his arms over his thin chest. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't left me."

"Don't think to put blame for your behavior on me." He points a finger at the boy in warning. "Surely your mother taught you the difference between right and wrong, you didn't need me for that," he cringes though in guilt. "Though I do regret not coming to see you, I did not know you existed until a few minutes ago, if I had, well, you would never have gotten this far in your measly little squabble as you are."

"Hey," the boy sounds a tad bit offended. "I'm an important member!"

"Be that as it may." The Virtue points a finger at him sternly. "You are going to withdraw your position."

"You can't just come and start ordering me about!"

"First, you are upset I did not come for you." Akriel crosses his arms loosely. "Now, you are upset that I have." He shakes his head. "You'll come with me. Where I may know you are not getting into any more trouble."

Avon crosses his arms stubbornly, he wasn't taking to someone coming in and tell him what he was about to do rather well, it was a contradiction, he had to know that having a parent alive and able to keep up with him would mean that rules would be implemented, he wanted his father to have had come for him, and yet he didn't want what came with it.

Well, one couldn't have the best of both worlds.

"I'm not coming anywhere with you."

"He was right," Akriel nods slightly, his hands coming to the buckle keeping his belt together, Avon watched him with wide eyes as he carefully undid the buckle and pulled the belt around to his right hand, doubling it over, it's an old leather belt, built well, he's had it for quite some time and he'd still have it for some time to come. "You do need a firmer hand."

Avon's eyes widened, and he jumped back, backtracking as much as he could with chains linked around his ankles. "No! No! Okay, I'll come! I'll come!" His dad shakes his head as he crosses the dungeon he's kept in with ease. "No, no, you said none of this would have happened if I had only come for you, and you're right, it wouldn't have, let me show you what I would have done had I found out sooner."

"No! Don't you dare! Stay away from me!"

Being trapped in chains only allowed you so much room to roam, he nearly stumbled over backwards when the leeway in the chains was pulled tight and his range of motion was drawn to a sudden stop. His backtracking might have come to a stop, but his father's advance did not, his hand was big, his fingers long, when they curled around his upper arm firmly.

"This is what I would have done." He stumbles as he's tugged around, there's no time for him to react, other then his eyes widening, when he swings his belt back and brings it back around with the same harshness that the archangel had swung his staff around.

The young Nephilim yowls at the stinging thrash from the leather belt, jumping in place, his back arches, as he tries to jump away from the sting, as the belt swings back again. But he can't move, not only is he at the end of his chain, the hand curled around his right upper arm keeps him in place, keeping him from jumping away when the belt thrashes down again. "Oooowwwwww!" He fumbles, his hands shaking as he throws them back, trying to protect his rear end from another stinging thrash from the belt. "No more! No more!"

"Move your hands."

"Dad! Dad! No! No, I'll go!"

"If you don't move your hands, I will move them for you, tug down your jeans, and we will continue this over your bare end."

"No!" Avon shakes his head frantically. "No, I don't want that!"

"Then you better move your hands."

He moves his hands, pulling them back around quickly, howling when the belt is brought down for a firmer thrash, and it lifts him from his feet. He jumps, howling at the impact, his hands flying back again as though with minds of their own.

"You know," despite his precarious position and the current happenings within his prison, his father's tone is still light, it's still kind. "I don't like having to do this." He turns, tugging his young son forward with him. "So, let's make sure this is a lasting impression."

His eyes widen at the implications of that statement, but what with being chained at the ankles, and his father's grip on his upper arm, he can't do much but shuffle forward with him. Akriel sits heavily on the stone chair that sits in the center of this prison, curls the belt over his left thigh, and yanks his son around to stand before him, around to face away, and swats his hands away. Avon looks down, eyes wide, as arms circle around him to his front, fingers curl around the button of his jeans.

The façade of disrespectful toughness fades away into a soft whine when fingers curl in the waist of his jeans and shimmy them down. "...Daddy…." It's a soft, little cry that almost breaks his resolve. But the sooner they get these boundaries drawn, the sooner they can begin to move forward. Hands guide him around softly, and he looks down at his father's thigh. "Over."

He shakes his head pitifully.

"Come on, baby boy, over." A hand pats his bare cheek lightly and he flinches. "The sooner it starts, the sooner it ends."

Avon whines softly, bending forward to drape himself over the tall angel's thigh, his chains rattle softly over the stone floor and then fall silent. A hand presses to his lower back, a semblance of comfort, and something to keep him in place. He knows the belts taken back up, he feels it press to his bare bottom, and then it's pulled back. He takes a deep breath and holds it in.

Thwap!

The Nephilim boy howls loudly, kicking his legs out, at the firm, harsh smack of the belt against his bare end. He feels the slight shift in his father's leg as he pulls it back again, and then the slight shift as it comes back, and he howls again.

By the fourth harsh thrash he's unashamedly sobbing into his hands, jolting with every thrash that follows, kicking his legs, feeling like he's that little chubby boy being reprimanded by his mom again for getting into another fight with the other kids in their village. Except this time, it's not by his mom, his mom is long gone, this time it's by his dad's hand.

Or, in this case, belt.

"When I tell you that you are doing something, what are you going to do?"

"OW! OW! Daddy! I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna do IT!"

"And, what are you not going to do?"

"Please! Daddy, please!"

A harsher thrash. "Avon."

"OW! OWW! Daddy! Daddy! Fight you! I won't fight you!"

"Good boy." He jolts, kicking his legs, when the leather belt presses to his burning bottom. "So, what are you going to do now, little boy?"

"I—I'm gonna come wi—with you!"

"Good boy." The hand on his lower back scratches at the skin lightly. "Very good boy." The hand on his lower back reaches up to rub at the back of his head, and he feels his father bend forward, his stomach presses against his burning right cheek. "Hold still, I'm going to unchain you." After a moment, he feels the weight from the chains around his ankles loosen, and then they rattle as they're thrown back, away from him, he's free. "I'm going to help you up, alright?" He sniffles, rubbing at his face, and nods softly.

Once he's on his feet, Avon rubs pitifully at his burning rear end, and his father stands from the stone chair to rewind his belt around his waist. Pitifully, he pulls his jeans back up, biting back a whine as they come to cover his beaten bottom, and does the button up again.

"Let me see you." His belt back in place, the mental specialist curls the fingers of his right hand around his sons right cheek, and then the same with the left. Avon looks pitiful, to say the least, eyes red and puffy, cheeks red and covered in tear tracks, the tip of his nose red and warm, and his bright eyes look up at him. "You look as pitiful as a scolded puppy." Avon giggles softly, it's a wet giggle, soft, a bit of a hiccup at the end, but it makes his father beam all the same. "C'mere you."

He's pulled close, Avon curls his arms around him as best as he can, fingers curling tightly into the back of his tunic, as his dad wraps him up in a warm, comforting embrace. His dad is warm, solid, strong, he smells like peppermint, and he's there. It's been so long since he's had somebody hold him in their arms like this, one arm wrapped around his lower back, a hand cradling the back of his head, pressed against a comforting body of someone who's there for him. Fingers scratch at the back of his head. "You look like you could use a warm hug."

Avon snuffles miserably and nuzzles closer, he never wants those arms to let him go again, they're heavy, but not too heavy, and they're strong, and warm. The curl around him completely, he's a small, skinny little thing, tiny compared to how big his father is.

Fingers scratch at the back of his head again. "You're going to have nothing to do with this childish squabble, not any more, you're coming with me." He nods as he nuzzles closer, as long as he holds him in his arms like this, he'll go wherever he's told to. "Where I can keep my eye on you." His father's chest rumbles when he chuckles. "You'll share the bed with me, until this little war of yours passes, and we get you a room set up here in the Ancient City." He closes his eyes against his dad's chest. "You'll get to meet your sisters, of course."

Avon opens his eyes, pulling away slightly, recoiling from the comfort that's being offered second hand to him. "Sisters?"

He nods, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Sisters. Older sisters." He pulls him back in again. "Come back here, you, I'm not done hugging you yet." Avon lets himself be pulled back into the hug, this time his arms hang loosely, this is just a 'left over' hug, it's not original, it's not his, it's a 'hand me down' hug. "Oh, don't be so stiff, this hug is your hug, and yours alone." Avon looks up at him, and he smiles, gazing down at him fondly. "I'm good at reading people."

"My hug?"

"All yours, baby boy."

Avon smiles slightly, curling back against his dad, feeling those arms tighten around him again, that hand rub at the back of his head. "I'm not a baby, dad."

"Sure, you are." Fingers curl around his head, moving over to tug softly at his ear. "You're my baby."

"I'm your baby?"

"My baby." His dad presses a kiss to his forehead. "My baby boy."

Akriel holds him close for a few more minutes, rubbing at the back of his head, letting his nerves settle down again into something more relaxed. "Do they feed you here?"

He nods slightly. "Twice a day."

"Twice?" His thumb rubs against the base of his neck. "Are you hungry?"

He shrugs. "Only a little bit."

"We'll get you a bite to eat before bed, then." Fingers scratch at the back of his neck lightly. "Are your ankles sore from the chains?"

"No." He shakes his head. "My butt hurts, though."

The chest under his ear rumbles as his dad chuckles lightly. "I'm sure it does. It was quite red, too."

"Dad!"

"I'm sorry, I won't tease you, too much." He makes his little boy giggle softly, poking him in the side playfully, and takes that down as a mental notation to explore more at a later time. "But I have to a little bit, it's one of my many jobs, especially to my children."

"I'm happy I got to meet you, dad."

"I'm happy I got to meet you too, son."

Akriel kisses his head, caressing his cheek lightly as he pulls him back a bit, smiling down at him adoringly. "Let's get home, we'll get you a bite to eat, cleaned up, and into bed."

"Into bed?"

"Of course." He rubs his cheek lightly. "Did you think I'd make you sleep on the hard floor? No, you'll sleep in a nice warm bed, soft mattress, silky smooth quilts, nice fluffy pillow under your head." He tugs at his ear softly. "Sound nice?" For someone who's been sleeping on a cold stone floor for the past couple weeks, the quilt alone sounds nice, but everything all together makes him sway slightly at the thought of it.

Avon nods softly. "That sounds great, dad."

"Then, what are we waiting for?" The Virtue brushes his thumb over his cheek lightly. "Let's get you home."

"Home?"

"Home, baby boy, let's get you home."