"This is where you live?"
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking up in awe at the great looming structure, it's tall spires and grand pillars, the winding veranda, the soft glowing orange of the torches. His dad chuckles as he steps passed him, up the first finely cut stair, gesturing for him to follow over his shoulder. Avon takes one last sweeping glance of the great Infirmary and jumps up the stairs to make it back to his side.
"Only upstairs, in the Loft, the downstairs is where I work."
"What do you do?"
Akriel smiles down at him and his curiosity. "I'm a healer."
"You help people?"
He nods. "I do." A large hand ruffles his wavy locks gently. "I'm also a Virtue."
"A Virtue?"
"Think of it as a very skilled healer."
They come to a stop at the vast entrance to the Infirmary, the grand doors standing open for all to open who needed to, and Avon takes it all in with wide eyes and mouth ajar, not wanting to miss a single thing. Akriel smiles at him, rubbing the back of his head tenderly, turning to take in the sight that was his home. "Like it?"
"It's….It's amazing."
"Well," they turn to look at the new voice, Akriel smiles in greeting, and Avon feels his cheeks heat up warmly. Raphael smiles at them both as he comes to stand next to them. "Thank you. I think it's rather nice. Took me forever to build, let me tell you."
"You…" Avon looks up at the archangel with wide eyes. "You built this?"
"I did. From the ground up." He looks around his Infirmary proudly, hands resting on his hips lightly, smiling at his creations and healers within. "Took me nearly a decade."
"How….How old are you?"
The Archangel heaves a deep sigh, refusing to look down at him, even as his Virtue snorts. "Akriel."
Avon looks up at his father when he presses his hand to the small of his back. "Never ask an archangel how old they are."
"Sorry."
The mental specialist laughs softly, guiding him forward with his hand on the small of his back, Avon follows dutifully, his head turning this way and that, trying to take in every sight he could as he passed. Healers turned to watch them pass, whispering among each other at the sight of a Nephilim boy standing at the side of a Virtue, seeing a Nephilim among them was not unusual, their Archangel had a Nephilim daughter, but to see one as unfamiliar as this one was and walking next to the soft spoken specialist was an uncommon sight. Avon noticed their stares and stepped closer to his dad as they walked, Akriel felt him press into his side and looked down confusedly for a moment, taking in their surroundings, and sighed softly. "It's alright, they just don't know you, they're curious."
He guides his son to the back of the Infirmary, where his archangel's office is, down the hall to the stairs in the back, the ones that lead up to the Loft above their heads. Avon grips the back of his dad's tunic as they come up into a spacious lounge, soft pillows and blankets strewn about haphazardly, the place looks deserted.
"This is the Loft," he guides his son through the Lounge, to the benches and table next to the fireplace, and settles him on one of the benches. "This is where I live."
"Dad…It's huge."
Akriel chuckles softly. "Well, there's ten of us, so it has to be rather on the big side." He reaches for a bowl on the shelf above him.
"Ten!"
"Yes," he turns to the cauldron of warm stew hanging before the fireplace. "There's six Virtues, and our charges of course," he fills the bowl half way and turns, setting it down before his son, nodding when he remembers that he needs a spoon. "And, then there's you. That makes ten."
"You include me?"
"Of course, I do." He passes him the spoon and leans back against the counter behind him. "What's with the twenty questions, eat your bowl of stew, and then it's time for bed."
"A bedtime?" Avon makes a face at the thought of it. "Dad, I'm fifteen!"
"Right, and you're a fifteen year old who has a bedtime, so chop-chop."
Well, he was feeling a tad on the sleepy side, he nodded as he took a bite of potato and hummed at the taste of the spices, it was a tasteful and balanced stew, and he took another bite, this time of meat. "Dad, this is amazing."
"Well, thank you." Akriel smiles at him, nodding at him to take another bite, and Avon does so happily. It's just what he needed to fill in that little hungry spot in his belly. "I made it."
"You're a good cook, dad."
"I thank you for the compliment." He crosses his arms loosely about his chest. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
Avon finishes his bowl and stares down at it now that it's empty, he frowns lightly, his father chuckles above him. "Just a little hungry, huh?" He scoops another ladle of stew into his bowl and hands it back to him. "Here's another bowl, baby boy." And sets the bowl down in front of his son for his seconds.
Avon makes a face. "Not a baby."
"I could have sworn we'd been over this already." Akriel leans back against the counter again and crosses his arms again. "You're going to be my baby boy all your long life, so I'd get used to it."
"Can't you give me, I don't know, a tougher nickname?"
"Sure," his dad nods at him in acknowledgement to his request. "When you're tough, I'll give you a tougher nickname."
Avon glared up at him, and he raised an eyebrow in warning, his glare lessened. "I am tough."
"Sure, about as tough as a puppy." He points at him playfully. "That giggle we heard back there was very tough."
The boy blushed deeply, bowing his head down to his bowl of delicious stew, and took a bite of potato. His father sounds amused when he says. "Yea, that's what I thought."
"Ak?" A sleepy voice echoed through the recently silenced room, they turn to see who joined them, and Avon recognizes the sleepy man that steps out of the hall into their cooking area. He's the one he saw for that brief moment when they opened the door to his cell and the archangel came in to deal with their matter at hand. "I heard you….talking…to…someone…...I recognize you." The new man, the one he knows from his memory, thought not by name, looks at him with curious confusion. "You're the one who made baby sister cry."
Avon tilts his head slightly. "Baby sister?"
"Iaso."
"She's…She's your baby sister?" He looks between the nameless man and his father, its his dad who nods in confirmation. "Yep, she's the daughter of our old guardian, making her our baby sister."
"With that in mind," the other man turn's to look at his brother. "What's he doing here?"
Akriel smiles at him and gestures to the boy. "He's my son, Oren."
Oren, the once nameless man, turns to look at him with wide eyes, and he takes another bite of his stew quietly. "Your son?"
"Yep." His dad sounds proud, he's only know him for nearly a night and he's already proud, it makes him feel warm and tingly on the inside. "Making him your nephew."
"We have a nephew?"
"Sitting there in the flesh."
"Well," Oren turns to him with a smile. "Welcome to the family then, kiddo." He turns back to his brother. "I trust he knows what will happen if he should ever hurt our baby girl again?"
"Rather well."
"Good, good." The Captain of the Virtues smiles down at his nephew, reaching forward to ruffle his wavy locks. "Get your fill to eat and have a good night, little guy."
"I'm not little."
"Compared to us, kid, you're just a baby."
He grumbles under his breath and takes another bite of his stew. Akriel smiles at him in amusement and turns to his brother. "He's about the same size as Inca, would you mind if we borrowed a tunic and some trousers, he's going to be staying awhile." He nods his head firmly. "No son of mine is going to involve themselves into this childish squabble for attention."
Oren chuckles, nodding as he turns. "Sure, let me get you a pair."
Avon looks up to his dad as his uncle leaves them for the moment. "Who's Inca?"
"Your cousin." He gestures to his bowl. "Finish up and we'll head to bed."
…
A week passed by quickly for him. Thankfully he hasn't met that side of his father again, the angry side, the one that uses the belt, he'll remember that sting for a while to come and avoid it to the best of his ability. He met his other uncles, they're all really nice, even though he'd made their baby sister cry, his dad always introduces him proudly to whomever asks about his identity.
His sisters were really great, they had been sort of standoffish to each other at first, not sure where the other stood, but the tension had passed and they got along like family. Gzel was the wild one, always up to joke around and play a prank on his father or any one of their uncles, she was always quick to jump into the fray should a fight break out in the Infirmary, as rare as they were, not afraid to get her hands dirty. Orion was the quiet one, soft spoken and kind, a listening ear when one was needed, always offering advice and asking him how his day was going. He had met his cousins, Inca and Araton, and they were nice. Playful in their own way. Inca was teaching him silent speak, or sign language as the humans called it, rather happily that someone was taking enough interest to learn so that they could talk to him like a person.
He had chores to do around the Infirmary, making beds or folding laundry, refilling water pitchers and restocking Inventories, sometimes he got to help Zed and Araton pick their inventory from the atrium in the back.
Dad also sparred with him, keeping him up on his training, though he was a healer primarily, he was rather good with a sword and taught him things he didn't know every time they trained together.
…
Avon jumped forward first, making to strike him in the center, and his dad easily side stepped his incoming attack, smacking his bottom with the flat of his sword lightly, leaving him feeling flustered and rubbing at his stinging bottom.
"You're too eager." Akriel turned, turning his sword in his hand skillfully. "You're not focusing on the weak side."
"You're just better then me!" He gripes. "You've had more practice!"
"Be that as it may," his dad shakes his head lightly. "You're still too eager. You need to focus on your opponents weakside, mine is the right, I fight left handed, my right is my weakside. You can't always just jump into it, you have to be more strategic then that," he lowers his position. "Let's go again."
Avon falls into a similar position, his muscles on a hair lined trigger, and he jumps forward again. This time he aims for the right, just like his dad had said, but he's attack is met on equal standing and parlayed, he circles their swords around, disarms him in one foul move, and kicks his foot out from under him, sending him falling backwards in the grass of the Garden.
"I could see which direction you were going, your foot twitched to the right before you jumped forward, that's a giveaway."
"This is useless!" He just flops back in the grass, letting his arms fall outwards, glaring up at the clouds above. "You're just better than I am! I'm never going to get one on you."
"I have had more training, yes, but you've got skill in your own right." His dad raises his arms and jabs the training swords into the soft ground under them. "You'd be better at this if you weren't so unfocused." He crosses his arms loosely. "You're too flustered. You need to calm down. You'll get the upper hand if you focus on it."
"I am not flustered!"
"Oh, yes you are," he points a finger down at him warningly. "That lip right there is the only evidence needed. You need to take a deep breath and calm down."
The boy tears a handful of grass out from under him and throws it at his father. "That's easy for you to say!"
"Do you need help calming down?"
"I don't need help with anything!"
"I'll help you calm down." He glares at his dad as he comes to loom over him, feet parted and planted at both of his hips, and kneels over top of him. "I've been wanting to test this out, anyways, no better opportunity then now."
Avon tilts his head to the side. "Test what out?"
His dad smiles at him playfully. "If you're ticklish or not."
His eyes widen quickly, and he shakes his head, squirming under him for freedom, but his fingers curl around his sides and he falls still. "Sure, I believe that." There's sarcasm dripping from his tone as he speaks this false assurance. "If you're not ticklish, then this won't bother you in the slightest."
Avon's eyes widen comically, and he bursts into a fit of laughter, when he spiders his fingers up his sides quickly. His dad smiles widely down at him, fond amusement shining in his eyes at the display, and he stills his fingers if only for a moment. "You little liar." He squirms and laughs when he spiders his fingers back down his sides just as quickly. "You know what I do to little liars, like you?"
He giggles at the tingly sensations shooting up and down his sides, despite his dad's fingers being still. "Noho."
His dad chuckles in playful evilness and settles down onto his knees, straddling his hips with his legs, and leans over him just a bit more. "I give them a good tickle torture." And spiders his fingers up and down his sides quickly. Avon shrieks, bursting into bright laughter, and squirms under his restraint around his waist. The little space between his dad's legs and his hips allows him to twist and turn, up onto his right side, but it does nothing to inhibit his dad. He simply accommodates the new position by wiggling ten fingers into his left side, it brings forth another shriek, and he squirms under him like a worm, batting at his hands desperately. "You want me to focus on your left, you little wiggle worm, I can do that for you." His fingers circled around, moving passed each other up and down, wiggling in the back of his side, he arches his back in ticklish agony, and then down the side of his tummy. The fingers scribbling down his tummy brings another shriek and bright bubbly laughter erupts from him. "Oh, ho, does someone have a ticklish little tummy?" He claws his hand into his tummy, and he squeals brightly, his dad laughs at his ticklish misery, and vibrates his fingers into his tummy deeper. "We'll have to check that out next, then, it needs some loving." Avon shrieks, even when the hands pull away from his side and tummy, when fingers curl around his left wrist. "What about under here?" he lifts his arm with ease, holding it above his head, and pokes a finger of his free hand into the hollow of his underarm. Avon shrieks again, tugging at his arm, trying to pull it from his grasp and slam it back down. "Oh, someone has ticklish little armpits too."
Akriel smiles at the mess he's making of his only begotten son, wiggling his finger into his hollow a bit deeper, chuckling in amusement when he squeals brightly and tugs desperately on his captured arm. "I'm only using one finger and you're a mess." He stills his wiggling finger, sticking a second one into the ticklish little armpit. "What happens if we introduce another?" He wiggles both fingers around and Avon squeals again and wiggles under him some more, arching his back lightly, he reaches around with his other hand desperately as he tries to grad his two fingers. "This is precious." He lets go of his wrist and shoots his hands back down to his sides, digging into the muscle meanly, and his son arches his back again as he shrieks in laughter. "Tickle, tickle, tickle, baby boy."
"Dahahahaddy!"
"Yes, little guy, how can I assist you?"
"Tihihihickles! Tihihihiickles!"
"I know it does, baby boy, that's what I'm trying to do."
Avon manages to turn back onto his back, dislodging his fingers from his side, and gulps in mouthfuls of air, residual giggles making his belly quiver. He chuckles at him, lifting his hands above his belly, and wiggles his fingers slowly. "Time for some tummy torture now?" The young Nephilim's eyes shoot to his fingers and his giggles intensify, he takes a deep shaky breath as he sucks in his belly, trying to keep it away from his dad's wiggling fingers as much as he can. His fingers press into his belly, and his breath hitches, in the bubble of air he holds in his mouth. His dad chuckles in playful cruelty and looms over him, peering down into his bright, shining eyes. "I'm going to give this ticklish little tummy the tickling of it's life, are you ready for it?" A few giggles escape his clamped lips and he shakes his head quickly. "I have years of tummy torture to catch up on." He drums his fingers against the sides of his belly, and more and more giggles escape him, a tight smile spreading over his clenched lips. "Don't hold those adorable little giggles away from me, now, I love them." He wiggles his fingers into the quivering belly under him and the giggles increase in volume. "I said to let me hear those giggles, you stubborn little thing." He claws his fingers into the slight pudge of baby fat and his son throws his head back and squeals in laughter. "That's much better."
He scribbles his fingers in a circle, his son laughing like crazy, throws his hips this and that, bucking himself as best as he can off the soft grass under him, he can feel his legs kicking behind him. He pinches at the pudge of baby fat and his son shrieks, with every single pinch, and then claws his fingers back in again, and he screams in laughter once more, batting weakly at his hands. He leans over him, digging his fingers in sharply, and he screams under his torture, throwing his head back again as he clenches his eyes shut. "That's it, laugh, baby boy, laugh your little heart out. Coochie, coochie, coo."
"Dahaha! Daahahhaddy! Dahahahaadddyyy! Behehehehelly! Beheheheelly!"
"I told you this belly was going to get the tickling of a life time, didn't I?"
"HUhuhuhuhurts! Huhuhurts!"
He stops suddenly, and his son's chest heaves for breath, and he tugs his tunic upwards to reveal the shaking pale belly from underneath. "You're little tummy hurts, I can fix that, trust me, I'm a healer." Fingers curl into his hair when he shoots down and starts pressing kisses all over the belly surface, blowing a raspberry here and there, rubbing his beard into the sensitive skin, tugging at his hair desperately. Behind him, his legs kick wildly, his laughter falling silent as he throws his head back, and Avon feels his eyes burn with unshed tears.
He's never laughed this much in his lifetime, it feels liberating, his dad's playful torture is brutal, but it's fun at the same time. All he can do is laugh and laugh and laugh, jolting with every raspberry, screaming with laughter, silent bouts of it intermixed when he nibbles playfully at his slight baby pudge.
The beard makes it so much worse, too, it's scratchy and rough and itches across his belly.
"Behehehahahahhaard! Beehehehahahahahard!"
"My beards horrible, isn't it?" He takes a deep breath and shakes his head as he blows out a strong raspberry, rubbing in his beard at the same time. "Does your little tummy still hurt?"
His belly does still hurt, it's sore from laughing so hard, but he doesn't dare admit that to his dad. He'll keep on his playful torture, keep on 'helping' him. So, he shakes his head frantically, tears dripping from the corners of his eyes, and he screams when his dad blows in one final raspberry and pulls away.
Akriel smiles down at the breathless, giggling mess he's made of his young son, and pulls his tunic back down as he shifts to the side to sit next to him in the grass. Chuckling, the Virtue reaches out to rub at his belly, the boy jolts under him and squeals, expecting an attack, but he just rubs a soothing circle.
"Are you ever going to lie to me again?"
The boy shakes his head quickly, curling his arms around himself as he turns up onto his side, his fathers hand moving from his belly to the side of his head, rubbing gently at his scalp.
"Works every single time."
"Yohohour sohoho meahahahheeaan."
"So, I've been told." He tugs his ear lightly. "Have I told you that you're adorable." Avon nods. "Good, because you are."
His dad stretches out next to him, curling his free arm under his head, and tugs him close against his side. "No more training for today." He scratches at his scalp lightly as he begins to calm down. "Let's take a nap."
"That sohounds nihice."
"I thought you'd agree."
