"Sir, we've got another situation."

Raphael looked up from the papers he'd been working through at the sound of his Captain's voice, meeting his concerned gaze with one of his own, and he tilts his head in curiosity at what had his dearest Captain so distraught. "What is it, Oren?"

The Virtue looks over his shoulder. "I think you should see for yourself." He made a face. "It's rather archaic."

Confusion clouding his features and mind, the Healer nods, standing from his chair. As he crossed around from behind his desk, he gestured for his Virtue to lead the way for him, meeting at his side quickly. "Show me what has you so troubled."

Oren nods quickly, turning on his heel, and he follows dutifully behind him as he's guided down the hall that leads to his office and into the spacious room of his Infirmary. It's a female that waits for him, her back to him as he approaches, with long dark hair and rigid muscles, Akriel has hold of her chin and he's frowning deeply as he examines what seems to be their shared concern.

Ephraim looks up from his brothers direct right, elbowing the fellow Virtue in the arm lightly, and Akriel looks up at his approach.

"What seems to be the trouble here?"

The unknown female with the long brown hair finally turns, and he looks into those dulled mischievous eyes, this is the one that their Father is so fond of, His spunky little scribe. The one that replaced the traitor, who spoke her mind whether she was permitted to or not, always had a witty remark on her tongue, chattering about anything and everything that came to her mind, a free spirit stuck in humanoid form. And, now she stares up at him with pain, the pain more emotional than physical, though he knows she feels that too. Her silence is unsettling. And her lips just as equally so, they're sewn shut, rather sloppily. A symbolic gesture.

He reaches a gentle hand out of her cheek, caressing it softly, and she sighs in comfort. Poking lightly at the corner of her lips, the archangel leans forward, looking over the crude stitching with the trained eyes of a healer. "Oh, little Ishariel." He rubs his thumb over her cheek bone. "Was this Metatron's doing?"

She nods silently, no noise to be made with her bindings, and he sighs sadly. A symbolic gesture indeed, there was only one reason that the banished scribe would do such a thing, and it all led his thoughts back to the trial they had held for their betrayers before Father and Aunt went to see the Galaxy together.

Metatron was a spiteful little cretin and if he ever had the opportunity to have a moment alone with him, he would show him pains that he had never felt before, if only for doing this to someone like young Ishariel.

His other hand raises to curl around her other cheek. "You're not going anywhere. You are mine now. I will keep you from your abuser myself. Let's get you taken care of." She nods silently, the silence unsettling to them all, and he nods over her head to his Virtues. They disperse at his dismissal, returning to what they had been doing before their newest patient arrived, and he turned back to his newest charge.

Ishariel clutches at his hand as the Healer guides her to an empty bed, sitting her gently on the edge, he strokes her cheek lightly. "Let me grad a few things and then we'll take a look."

Knowing she has no choice, the young scribe nods silently, watching him step away with wide attentive eyes. Raphael gathers up a pair of scissors, a vial of disinfectant, and a clean cloth. Pulling the chair out form behind the desk at the head of her bed, he sits before her, handing over the vial and cloth. "Hold these for me?" Ishariel takes them into her grasp.

Her fingers curl tightly when he too takes hold of her chin, tilting her head upwards for a better angled view of the stitch work, he brushes a finger under her chin when he feels her stiffen. "It's alright, little Isha." She nods, despite his grip on her chin, and he hums deep in his chest as he goes back to examining her lips.

Raphael frowns deeply. "His hand is rather crude, I can't imagine these went in cleanly, there is so much tearing." He turns her head lightly to the left. "This is barbaric." And then to the right. "Even for us." He turns her back around to meet her gaze. "But nothing that we can't take care of. We'll get you fixed up as good as new."

Ishariel nods again, her hands shaking lightly in her lap, the Healer wants nothing more than to comfort her in that moment, she looks so hurt and afraid, but all things come in time.

The archangel holds the scissors up for her to see. "I'm going to begin snipping them free, alright?" He nods when she does. "You may feel a pulling sensation for a few moments."

She closes her eyes as he pulls lightly on the end stitch, and flinches at the sound of the first snip, the thread popping softly, broken in two. The snipping of the stitches come at a steady pace and she goes crosseyed to watch him steadily make his way through them, cutting through each sloppily made stitch after stitch.

Finally, he sets the scissors aside, holding out his hand for the vial and cloth she holds. Ishariel passes them to her older brother, Raphael smiles at her gently, as he pulls the stopper free and tips it over the cloth gently, quickly. "I'm going to pull them free. This part may sting a bit."

The young scribe nods, fingers curling in the blanket under her, bracing herself for it. Ishariel flinches when he pulls the first one free, dabbing the disinfectant covered rag against the holes that were torn into her lips. A soft whine escapes her.

"I'm almost done, little one." He focuses on the delicate task at hand as he speaks to her. "Then I am going to give you the biggest of hugs."

His young charge whines again, her hand reaching out to curl into his tunic, and he works quickly through his task. As he finishes, he sets his things aside, and opens his arms for the muted scribe. Now, he can comfort her. "Come here, little Isha." Her eyes water dangerously as she leans forward, burying her face in his chest, as her tears softly dampen his tunic.

Raphael curls his arms around her tightly, rubbing her back comfortingly, stepping forward slightly to sit beside her on the bed. "You're going to be well taken care of here." He reaches a hand up to cradle the back of her head. "You'll be protected. And you can rest and heal."

Ishariel nodded against his chest, pulling away slightly to rub at her face, and he caught her hands gently. Staying them from wiping away the evidence of her tears, and leaned forward to kiss her nose, smiling when she gave him a watery smile. "Let's get you a change of clothes and then into bed. It is nearly twilight."

Her voice was a faint whisper. "Thank you, big brother."

"Always."

They watched from the safety of the entry way of the Infirmary as they rushed forward, dodging through the guards, fighting back as they needed, in their attempts to get to the safety the Infirmary offered. They watched in morbidity as some were felled up, and dragged away for the Prisons, the oldest archangels rage over his brothers sanctuary still as violent as ever.

Two, a youngling boy clutching the hand of a fledgling, both dirty and bruised, slid under the legs of a guard and stumbled back to their feet as they ran for the open doors. Raphael knelt for them, holding his arms open for them both, urging them to run faster.

The poor little fledgling stumbled, narrowly missing the outstretched hands of a guard, but his older friend pulled him forward sharply and they both stumbled at the sudden momentum. At the last moment, the little fledgling finally tripped, falling forward, crying out as he did, and his friend tugged him forward again. Putting his entire body into it, he turned and tugged as much as he could, sending them both tumbling backwards.

Both little boys stared ahead in terror as guards ran after them, fingers gripping their spears and swords tightly, and looked up when arms curled around them and lifted them from their sprawled position on the stone flooring. The guards halted in their advance, as one boy looked down at the dark toned arm curled around his waist and the other looked up to see their saviors harsh eyes, paying them no mind as he glared at their pursuers.

"You wouldn't dare."

They backed away from the Archangel, shaking their heads in stony silence, and the Healer nodded firmly.

"Wise decision." He turned away from them, taking the young ones with him, the only ones who had managed to make it to the safety within his arms. "Close the doors, Oren."

There would be another attempt from another group come the next night, trying to use the cover of night as their shield from being spotted, but for now he would care for these two little ones. He looked down to them, smiling when he caught them staring up at him in awe, squeezing them close for a moment.

"Hello, little ones, do you remember me?"

The older one nodded immediately. "Of course, we remember you, Rapha!" his young companion nodded in agreement. "I remember you too!"

Raphael chuckles lightly. "That makes me so happy to hear, Paul, Sashael." He walks slowly down the aisle, towards a group of beds. "I remember you two too." He spots who he is searching for and smiles again. "Do you remember them?" They follow the direction he nods in, and their eyes widen, squirming to be set down.

"Nis!"

He bends slightly to set them on their feet. The Powers' Captain looks up at the call of his name, eyebrows drawn in confusion for a moment, and leans forward to look down the aisle when it becomes evident that it wasn't the Healer had called out to him.

The Power's on his feet in an instant, his brothers following him, gather at his side as he rushes forward for the two young boys running for him. Nisroc drops to his knees as they collide into him, pushing him back slightly from the impact, and he wraps them in his arms. His brothers smile at their young ones return, gathering around them, kneeling to welcome them back, rubbing their heads and their backs as they clutch to their guardian tightly. Akeelah and Jezaniah come up behind the Captain, smiling at them from over his shoulders, waving excitedly at their friends arrivals.

Nisroc looks up at him from over his fledglings head, smiling in thankfulness, and the Healer gives a brief nod in return.

"They're in good hands."

He turns at the voice, Oren smiles in greeting, watching the three of them reunite. And gives a nod as he himself turns back to watch them pick themselves up from the floor, Zed leading them forward with a hand full of tonic jars and soap, to the washroom in the back.

"Better than mine could ever be."

"So, we're keeping them."

Raphael nods. "We're keeping them."