A/N: Okay, more aftermath and no, things are not looking up just yet. Sorry for the extreme delay. I'd say, please accept this long chapter as a peace offering but that would imply that I made it long on purpose. I didn't. It just wouldn't end until things reached some kind of resolution.

Shoutouts to: monkeygirl77, Kathy, Krislyngera, Diane279, 1Corinthians 1313 and PrincessMagic! Thank you so much for reviewing! You have no idea how happy it made me to read what you had to say.

The only warning I will give is this: Moments of grief bring out the best and worst in everyone.

Enjoy!

Michael awoke slowly, blinking against the soft light that filled his aerie. He was still lying on his side, pillows against his back to keep him from turning over onto his wings.

"How long?" he asked, his voice hoarse and grating.

"Two days," Raphael replied, pouring him a cup of water.

He drank it eagerly but the comforting chill he'd been expecting was absent.

"I had to have the pitcher refilled three times," Raphael said gruffly. "Your fever finally broke early this morning. I need to check your wings."

Michael clenched his jaw and nodded. Carefully, Raphael unwound part of the binding on his middle wing and the sigh that hissed out of him was one of disgust and dismay.

"It's going to be some time before these heal enough for you to use them," he said. "I'm going to remove most of the bindings so the wounds can breathe."

Michael nodded again and ground his teeth as the bandages were removed. Every tiny movement, every point of pressure, even the places where the pressure disappeared, put hot knives in his back. He knew he would heal, the worry of being permanently grounded never crossed his mind, but he would have to endure this agony until then.

That first pitcher of water…where did it come from?

In the beginning, he'd thought perhaps it was just fevered delirium. However, he could still feel the lingering chill pooled in his wounds, knitting them slowly back together. Cautiously, he moved to the edge of his bed and stood, wincing and clenching his teeth against the pain in his shifting wings.

Raphael carefully probed the wounds. "Hm, they are healing well," he said in surprise. "I hadn't expected such fast progress since…"

Michael's Grace crackled dangerously. "Do not speak his name," he growled.

Raphael nodded and resumed his examination. "As long as you are careful, we can leave them unbound," he said at last.

"Good," Michael replied tersely.

Raphael left the room and silence fell. Michael's grief warred with his wrath and the agony burning in his wings was the line between the two. His brother had done this to him. Yet, it was his brother that he needed most…hadn't he been here? He'd felt Lucifer's cold Grace. He still felt it, lifting off of his wounds like steam. Hesitantly, he reached for the pitcher by his bed but when he touched it, he felt nothing. Then, ever so carefully, he started to unfold his wings and pain slammed into him with brutal force, nearly driving him to his knees. With cry of frustrated rage, his Grace flared and he dashed the pitcher to the floor where it shattered into sharp, gray splinters.

But for those thrice-be-cursed Humans, none of this would have happened! Lucifer had stopped fighting him! Their lives had returned to a peaceful, if somewhat tense state. Yet, the entire time, his brother had been plotting, looking for a way to corrupt Father's favored creation.

Michael straightened abruptly.

None of this should have happened.

He strode out of his aerie and down the corridor, his steps echoing off the alabaster walls, the fire of his pain replaced by wrath. He pulsed his Grace and an instant later, six Seraphs appeared.

"Bring Gadreel to me," he growled

"You need to eat, my friend," Abner urged. "Keep up your strength."

Gadreel shook his head, nursing a cup of water, his wings folded tightly to his back. His friend had practically dragged him from the Mercy Room earlier that morning and had been plying him with food and drink ever since.

All of this…everything that has happened, is my fault…

Suddenly, six Seraphs appeared and gripped his arms, dragging him from his seat.

"Wait! What is this?" he demanded, fear shivering up his spine.

"Michael demands your presence," one of them told him.

Dread gripped him and he let himself be led away without a struggle. They took him to the steps of the Mercy Room and his Grace quailed at the sight of Michael standing beneath the arch. The Archangel's Grace crackled and the air was still beneath the weight of his fury. The Seraphs forced Gadreel to his knees and Michael slowly descended the stairs.

"Do you know what you've done?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Gadreel's pain shone from his eyes and tears shimmered in their depths. "I have begged for Father's forgiveness," he began softly. "I made a grave mistake—"

"Forgiveness?" Michael repeated harshly. "Mistake!? You were given a holy duty. Of us all, Father selected you to guard his most favored creation and you…You allowed that serpent into the Garden. And after that, you expect forgiveness?!"

Gadreel bowed his head as Michael's Grace rolled over him like thunder.

"You betrayed your duty," Michael said gravely, pitilessly. "You have betrayed Heaven. For this crime, you will spend the rest of your existence imprisoned and your name shall be stricken from our tongues. No longer, shall you be called 'Brother', for you are not."

Gadreel's eyes flew open and he lurched forward against the hands holding his arms in such cruel grips, reaching out in supplication. "Michael please, no," he pled, his voice choked with grief. "Please, I beg you, remember. Remember my years of service. I have always been faithful, diligent in my duty. For this, I beg you, grant me mercy!"

Michael's eyes flashed. "I am being merciful," he said coldly. He turned to walk back up the steps and Gadreel's breath caught in his chest at the sight of the Archangel's ravaged wings. His own burned with phantom pain at the quiet threat in Michael's words.

The Seraphs started to drag him away and he surged forward once more, falling back to his knees. An arm wrapped around his chest and he heard the ring of a blade leaving its sheath an instant before it touched his throat.

"Michael!" he cried desperately, reaching for the step where Michael stood and the Archangel turned back, his eyes smoldering with anger. "Please…I was deceived. Lucifer spoke of peace and reconciliation—"

"Even if that were so, it makes little difference," Michael told him callously. "The result is the same."

Gadreel stared at him with a stricken expression.

Even if that were so?

"Please, Michael, let me redeem myself," he begged, stretching his fingers until he touched the step, just missing Michael's foot. "Grant me that one chance."

Michael stepped away from him as though he were filth. "You were complicit in the corruption of the very beings you were charged to protect," he said, his lip curled in contempt. "What redemption is there for you?"

Gadreel closed his eyes as pain ripped through him at those words. The Seraphs dragged him away roughly and he fell limply into their hands, his instinct to fight drowned by despair.

"Father, forgive me…He deceived me…I would have never allowed harm to come to them…"

My intentions make no difference. In the end, the result is the same.

They dragged him to the dungeon and stripped him of his armor and blade, leaving him in nothing but his loose pants. Then, they took him down one of the many corridors heading for a cell, he thought. They stopped in a wide room with two iron banded wooden posts in the center. They shoved him between the posts and fastened heavy manacles on his wrists and ankles. As soon as they locked together, sigils ignited over the metal and paralyzed his Grace. A lit brazier sat in front of him and he could feel the heat of the fire.

A guard sauntered in and cast a cool look over Gadreel's restrained form.

"You didn't bind his wings," he said to the Seraphs.

"He's bound," one of them replied shortly. "He couldn't move them if his life depended on it."

"Good," the guard responded, a predatory gleam in his dead, gray eyes. "You may leave now."

The Seraphs vanished and the guard produced an iron bar from behind his back.

"Gadreel, Gadreel," he shook his head. "I never would have dreamed that I'd see you down here. I suppose this is what happens when you support the wrong Archangel."

"I did not support Lucifer," Gadreel growled. "I am loyal to Heaven."

"Hm, Michael doesn't think so. That's why he sent you to me."

The guard suddenly held up a flask and poured a thick liquid over the end of the iron shaft he held. The smell reached Gadreel and he recognized it immediately.

Holy oil.

"What are you doing, Thaddeus?" he asked warily.

Thaddeus' only reply was a smug grin as he thrust the bar into the brazier and it ignited into flames. Suddenly, Gadreel realized what it was. He'd thought Thaddeus intended to beat him. Now, he wished that had been the guard's intentions.

"Thaddeus, what are you doing?" he asked again, hoping that the Angel would reconsider his plan.

"The Seraph's said you were bound, and they were right," Thaddeus replied, examining the flames as they died down, leaving a brightly glowing brand in their place. "I'm going to make sure you stay that way."

Gadreel began to struggle as Thaddeus approached him, drawing his arm back in preparation to drive the brand into his body.

"Thaddeus, no, don't," he said, his throat closing with terrified anticipation.

Thaddeus' gaze flicked up to his momentarily, a sadistic spark in his eyes. Then, he shoved the brand against Gadreel's chest and the Sentry's screams echoed throughout the dungeon.

Gabriel's wings drooped dismally, the long, golden feathers nearly dragging on the ground. He kept expecting to feel Lucifer's cool Grace brushing against his and every time, his hope was crushed by its absence. He walked the streets with his head bowed and no destination in mind, his thoughts spiraling darkly. His hand brushed his chest absently and he hissed as his gash throbbed painfully. He hadn't let Raphael tend to him before and now, after not leaving his aerie for two days, it was stiff and sore.

He really wanted something to smite.

"Gabriel?"

He glanced to his right in surprise. He'd forgotten that Eliyon was with him. The Fledging had been sticking close ever since Lucifer's fall.

"Are you alright?" Eliyon's brow was furrowed with worry. He could feel a terrible violence rippling beneath the surface of the Archangel's Grace and Gabriel's whole body was etched with grief and anger. He still hadn't told Gabriel about his wing, refusing to bother him with something so trivial while he was in such horrible pain, himself.

"I'm fine," he answered, pursing his lips into a grimace.

Lucifer was gone. Cast out. And Michael…

"Maybe Raphael—"

"I'm fine!" Gabriel growled, then felt guilty when Eliyon's wings twitched, startled, and his feathers flattened timidly.

Last time I scared him, Lucifer was there to fix it. He always fixed everything. He fixed Michael after the Leviathan's attack…and then…and then…

He touched his chest again, gingerly this time. Michael hadn't been trying to kill Lucifer. If he had, Gabriel would have been cut in half when he jumped between them.

Michael doesn't care, Lucifer! Not like you do!

He'd actually believed that when he spoke those words. A certain distance had always existed between Michael the rest of them, almost as though he couldn't be both their brother and Heaven's Commander.

But if he hadn't cared, he wouldn't have restrained his attack.

The fact that Lucifer had managed to find a vulnerability to exploit was almost unfathomable. He'd never bested Michael before. Technically, he hadn't bested him this time.

What could have distracted him like that?

Gabriel suddenly felt ill as he remembered the silence that fell in the seconds after Lucifer had attacked him. He had been the distraction that cost his brother his wings.

If Michael hadn't cared, it wouldn't have been a distraction.

Michael's Grace suddenly brushed against his and he looked up to see his brother walking in the direction of his aerie and he froze in shock.

"Michael, what are you doing up?!"

He felt Michael snatch his Grace back from him and decided not to pursue the matter right then. He stared hard at his brother's retreating back. His wings were unbound but they were pressed to his back, carefully kept out of the way.

I don't understand. Without Lucifer, I expected him to be down for a week, at least!

He could still clearly see the healing wounds, the mangled, scarring flesh and twisted feathers and he suddenly wanted to cry. At the same time, a bitter anger pulsed deep within him, swirling like a storm.

If Raphael had been there, maybe we could have stopped them…

"Is he going to be alright?" Eliyon asked. Relief and joy flooded him at the sight of the eldest Archangel on his feet. For the past two days, the image of him bloody and at Lucifer's mercy had haunted him.

"He'll be fine," Gabriel said.

Maybe I shouldn't have tried to stop them. He wouldn't be in this much pain if I had just stayed out of it.

A dull flash of white attracted Eliyon's attention and he stopped walking. Stuck between two rocks was a white feather, caked with silver. He picked it up gently, as though afraid it would break, and cradled it in his hands.

"Where was Raphael during the fight when Michael needed help?" he asked quietly, remembering feeling Michael's pain and fear and the third Archangel's late arrival.

Gabriel froze and his Grace stilled dangerously at what he heard as an accusation. "What?"

Eliyon looked up at him, surprised by the soft, angry tone. "What?"

"What did you just say?" Gabriel breathed, the air thrumming with his building wrath.

Eliyon's eyes widened in confusion and panic and his mouth worked furiously as he tried to answer. "I—I just…W-why didn't Raphael get there sooner?"

Gabriel's expression was suddenly thunderous and Eliyon quailed, his wings pulling in tight to his back. This was not the protective trickster that had saved his life and cared for him. This was the warrior that had thrown the Leviathans into Purgatory.

"You—you were on the plateau with me," he stammered frantically. "And you got to Michael long before he did…I just…w-w-where was he?"

"You think he left Michael down there?" Gabriel demanded coldly. "Is that what you think? That he abandoned him?"

"No," Eliyon answered shakily, taking a half-step back.

"You actually think," Gabriel pressed, the air crackling with his Grace, "that he intentionally left Michael to fight alone?! That he just stood by and let Lucifer rip his wings apart?!"

"No! Gabriel, I—I don't!" Eliyon cried fearfully, the Archangel's wrath scorching his Grace.

"He's my brother!" Gabriel closed in on the terrified Fledgling. "We do not abandon each other! We never have!" Without thinking, his hand suddenly lashed out to grab Eliyon.

Eliyon launched himself into the air, his wings beating furiously as he tried to get away. Suddenly, his injured wing collapsed and he plummeted to the ground just outside the Fledglings' garden. He scrambled inside, dove into the bushes and silenced his Grace, breathing hard from his erratic flight and his fear.

What did I do? What did I say?

His chest ached and his wing throbbed painfully. He tried to bring it forward to examine it but the muscles only trembled. He tried again, a little more forcefully and felt the bone split under the strain. He cried out, then bit his lip hard to keep quiet. If the Caretakers found him, they would tell Gabriel. He took his wing in both hands and brought it in front of him that way and tried to massage the pulsing heat away.

"Ow," he whimpered and tears filled his eyes and slid down his cheeks.

Michael stepped into his aerie and shoved the door closed, wincing as the violent movement tugged on his injuries. As he walked around his bed, he saw the pieces of the shattered pitcher and with a small, resigned gesture, he fused them back together on the table. He scowled, suddenly feeling imprisoned within his aerie. Until his wings healed, he was severely limited in where he could go. If it hadn't been for his brother's Grace, he wouldn't even be conscious, yet.

Perhaps that would have been better.

He shook his head, denying the thought immediately. He still had duties to perform, wounded or not. Although, performing them would be difficult while he was grounded.

His healthy wings shifted restlessly and a tiny movement caught his eye. A small, brown feather slid across the floor on the draft from his wings' movement and he picked it up and felt a tiny bite of cold on his fingers.

Who does this belong to?

He studied it closely, suddenly suspicious of its presence. No Angel could enter his aerie without his knowledge and none dared to try, not even Balthazar was that bold. The color was too dark to belong to the errant Fledgling, anyway. As he turned it, the light splayed across the barbs and he realized the color wasn't a simple brown at all. He saw three colors, a deep brown was dominate but there was a faint trace of copper and gold. They were swirled together like freshly smelted bronze.

His eyes narrowed.

Bronze…

Eliyon had yet to move from his hiding place. While he hadn't intended to take shelter in the Fledglings' garden, he realized that it would actually be the last place Gabriel would look for him. If he looked for him, at all.

Suddenly, an immense presence rolled through the garden and he held his breath.

Please, don't let it be Gabriel.

"Eliyon," the deep voice that called his name was definitely not Gabriel. "I know you are here, little one. Do not force me to find you."

Eliyon fought back fearful tears and edged out of the bushes. Michael stood just outside and he looked at Eliyon as though he had known where he was all along.

"Michael," Eliyon greeted him quietly, ducking his head.

"I discovered a curious thing today," Michael told him, "in my aerie."

Eliyon glanced up, puzzled, and his gaze was immediately drawn to the bronze feather that Michael twirled between his fingers. His eyes went wide and the color drained from his face.

"Would you care to explain yourself?" Michael asked.

Eliyon gave a tiny shake of his head. "No," he squeaked, even though he knew it wasn't really a question.

Michael fixed him with a stern, warning look.

Eliyon's lower lip trembled. "I only wanted to help," he said in a tiny, choked voice. "Gabriel told me about the Leviathans…about what happened…about—about Lucifer." He flinched when Michael's Grace pulsed angrily at the name. "I just wanted to help."

Michael studied him with a hard expression, rubbing the feather between his fingers. The residue of Lucifer's Grace pricked his skin like a thousand tiny, frozen needles. He could feel his brother's presence wafting off the Fledgling; it was how he'd found him.

"How did you come by Lucifer's Grace?"

Eliyon's shoulders fell and he was suddenly even more afraid. The Archangel was angry. If Michael found out about his wings, what would he do to them?

"He fixed my wings," he began, then fell silent when the air between them nearly snapped with tension.

"He fixed your wings," Michael repeated slowly, his voice laced with bitterness and his anger cresting like a wave.

"They were all cramped and Zachariah had pulled out my feathers," Eliyon began rambling in his attempt to explain. He missed the startled look that came over Michael's face at that revelation. "I couldn't fly and they weren't growing back and he…he fixed them."

Michael's anger peaked and passed and he felt himself fall into the following trough of grief. He sighed softly. Of course, Lucifer had mended the Fledgling's wings. His hatred seemed to have been reserved for him, and him alone.

"I didn't know his Grace was still on my wings until that day," Eliyon went on. "Then, I thought…if I could give it to you…"

Michael's mind suddenly reeled. "How did you do it?"

"I put his Grace into a resonance crystal—"

"How did you separate it from your own?"

Eliyon's mouth opened, then he paused. "I…just…did," he said at last. Honestly, it had never crossed his mind that night that he might not be able to extract Lucifer's Grace from his own. "And then…"

"You put it in the pitcher of water," Michael finished.

Eliyon chanced a look at the Archangel. "Did it work?" he asked hopefully.

The open care and concern resonated deep within Michael and his stern expression softened. "Yes."

Eliyon's look of relief was instantly replaced by one of anxiety. "I don't want my feathers pulled out," he said plaintively.

Michael's Grace rippled with shock and he shook his head sadly. "I would not do that to you, little one. Wings are precious things."

Eliyon dropped his eyes. "That's what he said. Then, he ripped yours apart."

The despair and mistrust that rolled off the Fledgling make Michael ache.

One so young should not feel such pain.

From the moment Eliyon had stepped into the open, Michael's keen gaze had taken in every detail about the Fledgling. Now that his questions were answered, those details came to the fore of his mind. He saw the way he trembled, the exhaustion in his eyes. Then, his gaze locked onto Eliyon's right wing and its awkward, resting angle.

"What happened to your wing?" he asked.

Eliyon blinked, puzzled by the unfamiliar tone of Michael's voice. "I don't know," he said. "The first time it started hurting was when I carried Bal—" he broke off with a furtive look in his eyes.

Michael's mouth twitched in amusement. "When you carried Balthazar away from me?" he inquired disapprovingly.

Eliyon swallowed hard. "Yes. But Gabriel fixed it. Then, it started hurting again when I went through the Ether."

Michael frowned at that. He remembered the Fledgling being on Earth during the battle but had never considered how he'd gotten there. "No Fledgling is strong enough to fly the Ether alone. You are lucky it didn't tear your wings out of your back," he said gruffly.

Eliyon paled at the thought and his lip trembled.

Guilt prodded Michael and he sighed. "Come, let me see it."

Eliyon stared at him dumbly and his feet moved on their own. Michael knelt in front of him and ran his hand lightly over the bones until he found a place that was hot and swollen.

"AH!" Eliyon cried, twisting away from him.

Michael caught him with his other hand and held him still. He tested the area with skilled fingers and found severe stress fractures spread through the bone like veins and one that had split it through.

"Michael! Michael, stop! Michael, it hurts!" Eliyon shrieked, struggling to escape the Archangel's solid grip, tears streaming down his face.

Michael paused and pulled Eliyon to him in a one-armed embrace, subtly trapping his arms against his chest and pinning his good wing to his back.

Am I responsible for this, as well?

Eliyon's injury had been acerbated by his flight through the Ether, something he had only done because Gabriel had gone to Earth. Gabriel would have never gone to Earth if it hadn't been for his fight with Lucifer.

You mended me, little one, and braved our grief and wrath to do so.

"Eliyon, forgive me, little one," he said quietly. "This is going to be painful."

"What?" Eliyon squeaked and an instant later, Michael took hold of his wing.

As cold as Lucifer's Grace had been, Michael's was equally hot. Eliyon screamed into his shoulder as he felt liquid fire pour into the breaks in his wing, effectively searing the injury closed. Then, it was over. He collapsed against Michael's chest and the Archangel held him while he sobbed pitifully.

"I am sorry, little one," Michael told him, massaging his back between his wings. He could feel Eliyon's fear raging like a storm, both the lingering fear from the battle and from the pain he'd just endured for the purpose of healing.

Michael had a startling recollection.

You offered your Grace to me that day, little one.

Michael's embrace relaxed, becoming more comforting than confining and he opened his Grace to Eliyon, hoping the distraught Fledgling would understand. Eliyon seized the contact and wrapped himself in the Archangel's Grace and Michael wasn't sure which of them was comforted more.

Michael looked around the garden. "Why are you here, little one?" he asked gently. As far as he was aware, Eliyon had never come back to the garden since Gabriel had become his Caretaker.

"I made Gabriel angry," Eliyon whimpered and fear shuddered through him.

Michael stilled and horror lanced through him.

His wing…was it only from the Ether? No. Gabriel would never…He would never hurt this one, or anyone…

But I've thought that once before…

"I don't know what I did wrong!" Eliyon wailed inconsolably.

Michael's forced his anger down and away from the Fledgling wrapped in his Grace. Coming to a decision, he did something he hadn't done in eons. He wrapped Eliyon's wings around the Fledgling, cocooning him in feathers and held him like a babe, ignoring the throbbing pull on his own injuries. He massaged the back of Eliyon's neck and twined his Grace around the Fledgling's, lulling him to sleep.

"Esme," he summoned the Caretaker with a pulse of Grace.

A moment later, she arrived and bowed, folding her soft, yellow wings behind her. "Michael," she greeted him.

He stood with Eliyon in his arms. "I want this one looked after."

Her eyes widened slightly and her lips pursed in a small frown. "Perhaps, Liel would be a better choice," she said. "He was her charge, after all."

"Liel neglected him," Michael said, stepping close. "I trust you will not."

"Of course not," she replied and he could see in her eyes that she understood this duty came with the promise of retribution if she failed. She gently took Eliyon from him and flew back to her Fledglings.

Michael left the garden, intending to settle this business with Gabriel, but another Angel near the barracks caught his attention and his Grace flared angrily.

"Zachariah!"

The Angel spun at the sound of his name and barely had time to flare his wings before Michael was on him. The Archangel pinned him to the wall, towering over him.

"I will only say this once," Michael snarled. "If you touch that Fledgling again, I will personally shred your wings. Do you understand?"

Zachariah nodded jerkily. The thought of feigning ignorance never crossed his mind.

Michael released him as abruptly as he had seized him and strode toward the Citadel. He stopped in the courtyard and pulsed his Grace throughout the whole of Heaven.

"GABRIEL!"

The Angels in the courtyard fled from his thunderous presence as his good wings flared threateningly.

Gabriel failed to notice. The youngest Archangel raced toward the Citadel and practically fell to the courtyard because flying took too long. His own Grace hummed with panic and his amber eyes were wide with anxiety.

"Michael! Have you—"

Michael gripped his shirt with both hands and slammed him against one of the columns, leaving his feet dangling a foot from the ground. Instinctively, Gabriel started to fight back but Michael's Grace overwhelmed his easily, smothering it and leaving him defenseless.

"What is wrong with you?!" he snarled, his Grace crackling wrathfully.

"What are you talking about?!" Gabriel cried, pushing against his furious brother. "I need help, Michael! Eliyon—I can't find him!"

Michael's eyes flashed. "Why are you looking for him?" he demanded.

"I made a mistake! Michael, I have to find him! I have to fix what I did!"

Michael leaned close. "Did you break his wing, Gabriel?" he hissed.

Gabriel eyes went wide with horror. "It's broken?"

Michael shook him fiercely. "Did you break his wing?!"

"No!" Gabriel cried. "No—Why would you think that? Where is he, Michael?" He couldn't remember ever being afraid of his brother, but suddenly, he was. "Michael, I'd never hurt him, not on purpose. You have to believe me!"

"Once I may have," Michael growled. "But after finding him hiding with a broken wing, I'm not so inclined."

"I didn't break his wing, Michael!" Gabriel shoved against his arms but to no avail. His eyes shimmered with tears. "I—I did flare on him. I didn't mean to! And I've been trying to find him ever since. You know where he is, Michael, please just tell me!"

"And what, pray tell, could he have possibly done to incite your temper in such a way?"

"He didn't do anything! It was all me. He just-he just asked a question. He wanted to know why I got to you faster than Raphael. It wasn't even really a question! He just said it out loud!" His voice suddenly choked and he stopped struggling. "What happened, Michael?" he asked as his feet touched the ground. "What happened to us? We were a family."

Michael released him finally. Gabriel's grief was palpable and he had to force himself to remember that even during his most violent moments, his youngest brother was not cruel.

Gabriel looked up at him and his gaze fell on Michael's two, healing wings. His mouth fell open in shocked horror.

"You…thought…You thought that…that I broke his wing," he whispered.

"I can see I was mistaken," Michael said gruffly.

"Not really," Gabriel said brokenly. "I mean, it's my fault anyway. He was running away from me."

Michael finally relented. "He's in the garden."

Gabriel spun away.

"Leave him there, Gabriel," Michael's voice was low and uncompromising.

"What? Why?" he whirled back.

"Because that is where he needs to be," Michael said flatly.

"Since when?!" Gabriel demanded.

"Since the mere mention of you rendered him inconsolable," Michael informed him.

Gabriel froze. "He…What?"

"I saw the aftermath and it was enough to make me believe you had injured him," Michael said. "Can you imagine what went through his mind at the time?"

Gabriel dropped his eyes, ashamed. Eliyon hadn't looked at him so fearfully even at the beginning, when he believed he was about to be punished for some unknown offense.

"I can't—I have to tell him I didn't meant it!" Gabriel spun to leave again.

"Gabriel!" Michael's voice was thunder and rumbled through the ground. Gabriel turned back, his wings tucked nervously. "Do not cross me in this."

Gabriel couldn't remember the last time Michael had spoken to him like that. The order was almost a compulsion. Even Lucifer had been wary of disobeying a command delivered in that tone. If he defied him, at the very least he would find himself sealed in his aerie. At worst…

"Why won't you let me fix this?" he asked plaintively.

"Because you can't," Michael said bluntly. "He cut his Grace off from you because he did not want you to find him. If you go now, he'll only flee from you again. Is that what you want?"

Gabriel shook his head dismally.

"You betrayed him, Gabriel," Michael went on and Gabriel's head snapped up indignantly. "You were his Caretaker. He trusted you above all not to harm him and you did. Let that pain fade as much as it can. Let him forget, as much as he can, of the affairs of Archangels. He won't be a Fledgling for much longer, Gabriel. Let him have what precious little of that time he has left."

All the fierceness fled from Gabriel's form and his wings drooped to the ground. "Is he alright?" he asked softly. "I mean, did someone take him to the Rit Zien or…?"

"He's fine," Michael assured him.

"Just…tell me you didn't give him back to Liel," Gabriel asked with dread.

"I put him in Esme's charge," Michael replied. "He seemed to have grown fond of Castiel and Balthazar. I thought they would be good for him."

Gabriel nodded and turned away slowly. "Alright."

He flew back to his aerie and sealed it. He slid down that wall to sit on the floor, the same place where he'd told Eliyon about the Leviathans, about when Michael and Lucifer had still been brothers.

He'd lost his brother and his charge, and in losing those, he'd lost his two best friends.

"Eliyon, I'm sorry, kiddo," he cried quietly. "I really am."

In his grief, he failed to realize that not only had Michael avoided his question about whether or not Eliyon's injury had been tended, but that his brother had found the Fledgling when he couldn't.