An: This chapter mentions past sexual assault, and if that's a trigger for you, please be safe. Don't like don't read.

Raphael regretted everything he'd said as he watched Lucifer walk out, starting with the fact that he'd addressed his brother by the wrong name. He was probably lucky Lucifer had mellowed out a lot since bonding with Michael. If he hadn't been so mellow, he would have been angry. Possibly violent. And he would have deserved it, because he knew better than to call his brother by the name that wasn't even his.

The archangel closed the book and laid down on his back on the floor. His feelings about sexual acts didn't matter. And his brothers were happy, so he shouldn't be taking his frustration out on them. They didn't deserve that, least of all Lucifer. He should have been happy that Lucifer had been taking responsibility and acting like an adult. He was a healer, had been a healer for most of his long immortal life. Answering simple questions about biology shouldn't have been beyond him.

It was. All because of that stupid seraph. The one he wasn't going to think about.

But what now? Raphael stared at the ceiling, regret coiling in his grace. He didn't get to lash out. Lashing out was unacceptable behavior. He was an adult. He could act like it.

His wings itched, but Raphael didn't move to try to fix it. He didn't deserve the relief handling his molt would have provided because he was apparently unable to give his siblings the respect they deserved for existing. You called someone by the name they preferred. It was basic courtesy and respect, and he hadn't even managed to pull that one off.

Raphael was able to withstand the irritating itch for all of about ten minutes before he flailed, thrashing his wings against the floor in his haste to get upright. The roughness was shocking, but when the itch was temporarily relieved he knew what he had to do.

The archangel stumbled forward, blinding reaching for the nearest molting feathers. He needed them gone. The faster he pulled them the faster the molt would end. He had to be able to think clearly and he didn't have time to be an emotional mess. Molting always weakened the walls he'd built and the nesting instincts encouraged a softness towards their molting siblings and he didn't deserve it.

Fingers tightened around loosened feathers and he pulled, carelessly neglecting to ensure he was pulling the entire quills from his wing flesh. Ingrown new feathers be damned. He kept pulling, grabbing all the feathers he could possibly reach. His carelessness caused some pain to shoot through his wings, but it was nothing more than constant sharp pin pricks and the pain was grounding.

He continued pulling feathers, stumbling around the room. He banged his shins on the bed frame more than once, but that hurt less than his wings and he didn't care. He needed it. There was a wetness to the underside of his wings, but he didn't look, couldn't see it beyond his hysterical need to keep pulling feathers.

Down the hall, Raphael heard the sound of footsteps and he paused, folding his wings haphazardly. He didn't know who it was and he didn't care. But he didn't want them to come any closer because they might try to coddle him and he didn't want it.

The wetness splattered and the footsteps came closer. Two sets, and the door was still open from Lucifer leaving. He had to do something. Anything.

"Raph? Is everything okay in-"

Raphael turned around, wondering why Michael had cut off in the middle of his sentence. Now that he was actively looking, he could see the feathers and blood scattered across the room and the horrified expression on his eldest brother's face. He'd done that. This. What had he done?

Between that moment and the next, Michael was standing in front of him and Crowley was standing in the doorway.

"What the fuck did you do to your wings, Rafa'el?" Crowley asked.

"Molting, grooming." The healer wasn't really sure what he was doing or what the problem was. They itched and burned and he wanted to scratch. "Go away," he added. He didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to deal with them. He wanted to be left alone to force his molt to hurry up and finish and he didn't need the distraction they were providing.

"Uh, no." Michael held up a hand, creating a wet towel with nothing more than a thought. The fabric of the towel was soft and the water was the perfect temperature. "I'm going to wash your face, and then we're getting you into the bath." He gently wiped Raphael's cheeks with the towel, scraping the splattered blood off his brother's face as carefully as he could.

"No," Raphael argued. "Stop." He tried to pull away. He didn't want this. But Michael held onto his elbow and he didn't really want to back away.

"I'd like to know what has you in such a state, but that can wait. Your wings need some help though, because this is not okay. But a bath first. You are covered in blood."

The grip on Raphael's elbow tightened and the younger archangel couldn't help but follow the lead when Michael stepped back towards the door. Michael nodded in approval and led him out of the room. Where were they going?

"I'll clean up in here," Crowley said. "Raph, what room is this?"

"Warded bedroom for Mikha and Heylel," Raphael answered. "Have to find spells for bigger area."

"Not today, you're not. Come on, Raph, there's a bathtub upstairs."

Despite assurances to the contrary, Samandriel fell asleep before Lucifer could finish grooming the fledgling's wings. That wasn't a surprise, because a still and quiet fledgling swaddled in warm grace was easy to lull to sleep. Lucifer finished the deep grooming anyway because a regular complete grooming was necessary form good health. He would need one before and after he molted, but as badly as he needed one, it couldn't start yet.

Lucifer couldn't sleep. After the nightmares and mental attack, along with concerns about Raphael, his mind was wrapped in too many knots for sleep to come easily.

The mate bond pulsed and he mentally held onto it, gripping tightly at the comforting reminder that he would never be isolated again. He wasn't quite sure how it worked yet and Mikha was probably still busy with important work, so he didn't try to mess with it. He just held it, embracing the soothing presence that was permanent.

He would have his child and his mate, he just needed to talk to Mikha first. Make sure he wanted this as much as he did. And someone needed to talk to Raphael.

"Gavri'el?" Lucifer whispered, checking to see if Gabriel was still awake. They needed to talk about Raphael. Something was wrong, he could feel it. "Have you noticed anything weird about Raphael's reactions to discussions of sex?" The lightbringer spoke in the oldest form of Enochian, something not even the small fledgling would be capable of understanding. The fledgling didn't need to hear anything about his suspicions of what had happened to Raphael.

"He said something about burning down this room if you and Mikha had sex in here, but that seems like an exaggerated response."

"He called me Lucifer," Heylel said. "I didn't say anything, but… I like being Heylel. Lucifer isn't me. Not now, and not ever. Not by my choice."

"And what did you say to trigger that response?" Gabriel asked.

"I was asking about our biology, that's all. Whether or not it would be possible for our kind to reproduce amongst itself without nephilim. And then I wanted to know if our vessels would play into it. He answered the first part, but then he addressed me by the wrong name and asked me to leave. I've never seen that expression on his face."

"Sex-repulsed asexual is a human identity, perhaps Raphael is just sex-repulsed?" Gabriel suggested.

"It's possible," Lucifer agreed. "But this seems… more intense."

"Calling you by the wrong name and more or less telling you to get lost-" Gabriel paused, mouthing silent words to himself for a moment, before frowning deeply. "I hate to say it, but that sounds kind of like a reaction victims have. I saw it a lot when I was acting as a trickster, and dishing out punishment to the ones who did those sort of things."

"Who would assault an archangel, though? And when?"

"Sami's complained about Michael taking a long nap, perhaps it happened when Raph was all alone leading Heaven?"

"But who? Who would assault an archangel? Are they still alive? Did it happen here in Heaven?"

"Heylel… those are questions we'll need to ask Raph, when he's ready to talk about it."

Lucifer pouted, but he knew Gabriel was right. This was all speculation right now.

His mate bond with Michael pulsed, and he gave a mental brush against it. "Is Raphael okay?"

"Not right now, but he will be."

It took a lot of persuasion, but eventually Michael was able to get Raphael into the bath. The bathroom was huge, and so was the tub. The tub was easily bigger than a king sized bed, with more than enough room for Michael, Raphael, and their wings.

Michael examined the contents of the tall cupboard filled with bath supplies. He found a mild soap that wouldn't irritate Raphael's wings more than they already were, and he looked to see what other things were in the cupboard.

The eldest archangel had given his younger brothers plenty of baths when they had been small, and one thing he remembered was how fun bubble baths were. Raphael wasn't a fledgling anymore, but that didn't mean the soothing properties wouldn't help the healer settle down.

There was a bottle labeled in Raphael's neat handwriting. It was bubble bath for banged up fledglings, which implied that it would be gentle enough for his wings and perhaps provide some relief as well.

The bubble bath smelled of vanilla and mint, a soothing combination that pleased Michael. He added some to the water and watched at it started bubbling. The he rubbed the soap onto a soft washcloth and returned "I'm going to wash the blood off your body, is that okay?"

Raphael flinched, but didn't try to resist Michael's gentle scrubbing.

Michael finished washing out the blood. "Raph, can you tell me why you're so upset?"

"Don't deserve comfort," Raphael mumbled, making an effort to look anywhere but at Michael. "Messed up."

The elder archangel put a hand on Raphael's jaw. "There's nothing you could ever do that would make you any less deserving of our comfort, Rafa. Nothing."

"Not true," Raphael whispered, trying to back away from Michael. "Not true. Called Heylel 'Lucifer', sent him away."

"If Heylel didn't slap you, it can't have been that bad."

"Was mean. Disrespectful. Shoulda held my temper."

Michael blinked. Temper? Raphael never lost his temper. He was the most patient of all of them. So what had happened? "Raph, did Heylel say something that upset you?"

"Don't wanna talk about reproduction. Never, ever ."

Michael raised an eyebrow. Why had Heylel been asking those kinds of questions? Unless… Heylel still wanted a baby and had hoped Raphael would have some answers about the how. "Can you tell me why, Raph?"

"No. Don't wanna. Don't wanna!" Raphael struggled, trying to go backwards when he was already near the edge of the tub. In his agitation, his wings swiped at the water and he let out a hiss.

Michael reached forward to embrace Raphael, hoping to prevent him from hurting himself. "It's okay, Raph, it's okay. No one's going to hurt you, but if I'm going to help you, I need to know what happened."

Raphael squirmed, but didn't try to object as strongly as he had earlier.

"Let's try something else...Something easy. You left rather abruptly when Heylel and I were doing that wing grooming demonstration, have you seen too many seraphs getting handsy?"

"No," Raphael replied. "You and Heylel are the only handsy seraphs."

"Okay…" Michael considered. "Do you associate it with pain?"

Raphael swallowed, and then edged his lip into his mouth. What was he supposed to say? He didn't want to talk about it, not at all. But Mikha wasn't going to take that as an answer. Why did Mikha care so much? He didn't deserve it. "Yeah…" he said finally. "You and Heylel were so happy, and then He cast Heylel out of Heaven. And for what? Because he liked you?"

Michael blinked. "Raph… Heylel and I never had sex until now. Maybe there could have been less misunderstandings if we hadn't waited but… we did . And sure, Heylel confronted Him for me, but you didn't know that. So what happened, Raphael? Why were you so upset about Heylel asking how fledglings are created that you called him by the wrong name?" When Raphael didn't answer and just continued to stare at him, he said, "Did someone do something to you?"

Raphael shook as the barriers he'd built between himself and the incident fell one by one and he sank down into the water, pulling his wings tight against himself in an effort to protect them. He didn't want to talk about it, or think about it. Despite having happened so long ago, no amount of time away from it was going to make it go away.

Michael pulled Raphael into a hug. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here for you. We're all here for you."

Raphael whined, trying to hold back tears. "Don't deserve comfort," he mumbled. "Don't deserve it."

"That's not true." Michael hugged his brother tighter. "There's nothing you could ever do that would make you any less deserving of happiness and I will continue to repeat that until you believe me."

"Broke Healer's oath." Raphael's voice broke and he shuddered in Michael's arms. "I didn't mean too, but I smote them."

Michael was silent, and Raphael knew instantly that he had made a giant mistake. He was going to find out. He was never supposed to find out. He was going to be in so much trouble.

And then Michael spoke. "It was self-defense, wasn't it." It wasn't a question. Raphael didn't want to talk about sex because it brought up memories of pain, and he'd smote whoever had done it. In certain circumstances, the grace unconsciously lashed out in self defence. "Rafa'el, it's okay. You were protecting yourself and there is nothing wrong with that. Okay? Nothing."

Raphael sobbed into Michael's shoulder and Michael held him, gently rubbing his back.

There was gentle pulsing in Michael's mate bond, and he could feel that it was Heylel reaching for it. A moment later he heard a soft whisper, "Is Raphael okay?" There was worry and concern in his voice, causing Michael to wonder what all his mate had figured out from their brother's unusual actions.

"Not right now," Michael answered honestly. "But he will be."

There was a tension within heaven, one that would not ease quickly. For the most part, it was understandable, as the atmosphere of the home of angels was determined not only by the numbers within, keeping the very fabric if the area alive, but also by the general attitude held by the vast majority of those within.

Before, when there had been no threat of any falling to harm, or of betrayal from within, the atmosphere had been calm. Joyous even, when the occasion had been right. None of them had known the hurt of abandonment, or the kind of anguish that would lead to one causing harm upon themselves.

But that kind of pain was exactly what Aziraphale could feel coming from his twin, even from as far away as he was. He longed to go to his brother, to find exactly what was causing such pain, and to hide him away from the cause, but such a thing was not to be possible. He had instead been forced to task Samael with seeking out Raphael, as the task at hand could not be delayed any longer than it already had been.

With assurance that his brother would be taken care of, he turned back to the item that had caught his attention.

It seemed to be little more than a journal, detailing a young healer's journey as they learned the healing arts, as well as records of patients with interesting tales, or injuries worth note, such as new ways to treat an ailment. But it was not what it appeared to be. It was something else entirely, disguised as something of little import, when it was easily the most important item within the small storage area it had been tucked away in. He was almost impressed with the numerous levels of misdirection that were at work; appearing at first to be the journal of a novice in its first layer, before giving way to proof the owner had been skilled at their craft, though no sign of what that craft entailed had ever been given.

But even after breaking down so many layers of wards, spells, and plain trickery, Aziraphale was still certain that there was yet more that was being hidden away. The very existence of the journal almost confirmed his suspicion on its own, with such a mystery being hidden away in the furthest storage area possible, buried under several other journals that looked identical, both on the outside and within, but only the one in his hands was behaving in such a fashion, with so many locks keeping the true contents hidden away. As it was, he could feel the locks shifting and changing, working to actively keep any of the seals from being broken by any, save for the one who had placed them all.

But whoever had placed the locks had clearly never accounted for one as powerful as he was finding the journal, much less actively trying to discover its true contents. And as he adjusted his grace one final time, the last seal holding the illusion in place fell away, causing all the words previously written within to fade away, making way for the true contents to reveal themselves.

Pleased that he had finally gotten through the hundreds of barriers that had blocked the truth, he carefully turned back to the first page within the journal, which now seemed far older than it had appeared moments before. So old in fact, that it was written almost entirely in the ancient Enochian, rather than the form that most angels knew. But the handwriting was not that of any of those he remembered would have known the ancient Enochian. Another mystery to be solved.

Regardless, he began to read, and quickly grew disturbed with what he had found.

No longer were the words those of a healer, eager to help others recover from their ailments. Instead, they were those of one who knew only one way to ease pain, no matter what the cause. To hide it away, with no concern as to if the sufferer would ever find it again.

The first subject to their testing had been a fledgling, traumatised by something the one who had brought them would not disclose. But it hadn't mattered, and the memory of what had scared the fledgling was buried away, seemingly to never be remembered.

Then there had been a seraph, longing to forget the pain of losing the one they loved. By the time all was said and done, not only had they forgotten how their love had been killed, they no longer remembered that they had ever loved the other in the first place.

Third had been another fledgling, one who's mentor had abandoned them, who had wanted a fresh start. Fourth was a seraph who was gravely injured, betrayed by a brother. Fifth, a healer who had lost a patient. Sixth, a lone survivor of an attack. Seventh, a prisoner who wished for freedom, even if it meant starting anew.

The list seemed nearly endless, with more and more reports appearing with every turn of the page. Aziraphale was horrified at how many were reported, even without names or faces to put to the memories that had been taken from them. It was starting to seem that nearly every angel in heaven had at least one memory taken from them, as well as having the fact that such a thing had ever happened covered up, so the one responsible would never be caught.

But then something changed. The writing shook, spelling mistakes appearing for the first time, though they had been blotted out. This was something important, and he knew he had to treat it as such. And so he began to read in detail, feeling sick as he did so.

Experiment 477.

Subject came to me in a fright, babbling about betrayal and pain, much like the rest. But this one was different. It was an archangel.

It took time to discover what had happened, and by the time he subjected himself to my talents, there was quite the tale to be told. But no matter. He wishes to forget, and I will grant it. The first treatment will be of the event, to dull the pain. But once the result of the event has come to be, I will take that memory as well, and remove all trace of what happened.

Though, perhaps it was for the best that such a thing happened. More young are always needed. And young from one as powerful as he is will only be of use to us all in the future.

The entire report made him feel ill. For something to happen that would cause such a response from an archangel was concerning. But it was last line shook Aziraphale to the core of his grace.

The mention of one's young….. A fledgling? And one born of a trauma it seemed. There was only one thing that could cause such a trauma, yet result in the creation of a child. And to commit such an act upon an archangel? It was an action as close to the human concept of treason as any could commit.

Dread filling his being, he flipped through the next several pages quickly, looking for any sign that his fears were unfounded.

But it was not meant to be.

Experiment 515

The archangel returned to me, holding in his arms the first fledgling born in thousands of years. The memory of what had happened to him were too much to bear, even after I had dulled them, and he wished to see the child as he had seen all those before.

As an innocent, not one tied to his rape.

Horrified with what he had found, Aziraphale held the book close to his chest as he flew back to the family nest as fast as his wings could carry him. This couldn't be true. But there was only one who could prove one way or another what happened.

The youngest of all angels, who had been taken in by his twin.

He entered the room where the family nest was in a hurry, slamming the door open, not caring that he startled everyone inside as he climbed over them all, ignoring all of their words as he pulled the whining fledgling into his lap, holding him close as he felt for the grace within the child. He needed to know.

There was something about the grace that made up the child of two angels that was similar to how genetics in humans worked. There would be a combination of the grace of the parents, and something that would be uniquely the fledgling's, similar to how siblings would take after parents, yet be unique in some way.

But as he felt for the grace within Samandriel, he could feel the same seals and locks hiding away a large portion of the fledgling's grace. Ones that he wouldn't be able to break open on his own. But there was still something there, something just under the surface, something he could release.

And he did.

And all of them felt the impression of Raphael's grace coming from Samandriel.