The appearance of Azrael in the bunker surprised them all. Not so much at his being there, but at his willingness, and there was a distinct hope that there would be forgiveness afoot. Until it came down to the fact that the angel of death refused to speak to them.

Him and Asariel exchanged glances, his sister sitting on the edge of the table, kicking her feet back and forth.

"So, they got you to crack, like a little bitch."

She flipped him her finger. "I'm not dealing with their shit all on my own."

"Touche." He reached out and they bumped fists. Azrael took note of the oldest hunters glare right away, returning it with the dullest glance he could muster, he was about as intimidating as a fly. "You leave my brother alone."

Azrael tilted his head. "I hardly care about what happens to your or your brother." He leaned against the table next to his sister. Asariel rests her head against his shoulder. "I am only here for my friend. He looked between them all. "I could care less about any of you." He looked down to his sister and they touched fists again. "And Asa, I'm here for her too."

"Awe, broseph, I'm here for you too."

…

Azrael had pushed his bed up against the wall and found himself a comfortable position, laying on his back with his legs stretched up against the wall behind him, tossing the ball he'd stolen from Anubis up over his head and caught it lazily as it came back down. His hounds lay on the floor in front of him, watching the ball rise and fall, heads bobbing up and down.

A knock to his door interrupts the companionable silence that has fallen between him and his hounds, and without his permission, the door opens to allow his older brothers entrance. The two brothers he had once been closest to, they step in silently, the oldest one shutting the door behind him. He catches the ball and stares up at them.

They try for a smile. "May we sit down?"

"I'd say 'no'." The younger archangel glared at them both. "But I get the feeling my actual opinion means very little to you." He waved to his bed. "So, do whatever you want. I can't stop you."

They both sigh deeply, nodding at his anger, and step forward to sit on either side of their younger brother. Azrael ignores them, tossing the ball up once more, watching as it came down, and catching it before starting all over again. It's the only entertainment he has in this gloomy dreaded prison.

"Azrael, I cannot begin to imagine the pain you must be in."

He glares at his oldest brother, taking a pause before he can toss the ball back up. "Then don't."

Michael continued on as though he had not been interrupted. "Being so far away from your family." The younger angel snarls lowly, like one of his hounds did when in a foul mood and throws the ball at his oldest brother. Michael ducks out of it's path, his head turning quickly as he watched it fly passed and bounce off the wall behind him, before turning back to look at the younger archangel in surprise. "Not by my choice, though, was it?" Azrael spits at him. "Who was the one who bound me and ordered for me to be thrown over the edge?"

His oldest brother looks down in shame. It had been him who had ordered Azrael to be bound, his wings snapped, and thrown over the edge of their home. He had been the one to bring about his Fall from Heaven, and he hadn't looked back for him when he'd disappeared from the dimension that their home lived in. He'd disowned him in every way there was to disown someone.

"I am ashamed on how I treated you."

"Good." He regretted throwing the ball at his brother. Now he had to actually pay attention to what they were saying. "You should be."

"Azrael," his other brother caught his hand when it made to drop down to the bed. "Please, we are trying."

He yanked his hand free from his grasp. "Well, good luck then, I am not so easily defeated as Asariel is." He looked between them both. "I have every reason to hate you all."

His words rang true though, and that was the most sorrowful part, Asariel had left her home on her own free will, Azrael had not had that privilege, his leaving was forced upon him.

Michael and Raphael were at a loss on what to say. What did one say when they had been the ones to banish from their home.

"I do not know how to express my apologies for what I had done to you, Azrael, if I could put it into words, I would do so in a heartbeat." But Michael would most certainly do everything in his power to find a way. Azrael stared at him for a long time, and he stared back, neither of them uttering a word. "Azrael, I should have stood by you, I should have listened to you when you came to me expressing your innocence, and I did not." He turned to look at his other brother. "I failed you." The Archangel of death stared at him.

Michael shared a glance with the Healer. "We found out what had happened months after your Fall."

"If you found out what happened," he spoke in a deceptively calm tone. "Then why did it take you over three thousand years to come for me?"

"We forgot."

There was another part of their shared shame. They had found and punished those responsible for the crimes their younger brother had been accused of, and yet, they hadn't found the time to come for him. They truly had failed their youngest brother.

"You forgot?" Azrael snorted a self-depreciating snort. "For some unknown reason, that doesn't come as a surprise to me."

"Az," his oldest brother looks down to him. "I know you most certainly have no desire to, but, after all of this is over, if you wanted to come home, you can come home."

His hounds sniffed at the invitation, much more intelligent then most gave them credit for, they missed their home. They missed their masters brother. The one that gave them the best belly rubs. Azrael glanced down at them, he would do anything for his hounds, just as he knew they would return the favor in kind.

"I'd have to think about it."

They shared a nod. "That's to be expected."

They both smiled down at him, the tension in the air between them slowly, ever so slowly, beginning to lift. "You've grown since we've last seen you." Michael poked his upper arm. "Look at the muscles you've gained."

"What can I say, I lift a bit, gotta stay in shape and all that."

He looked over to the other when the Healer stroked his fingers over his left upper arm. "When we last saw you, you had been so scrawny, a scrawny little thing."

"Well, excuse me for growing some in these last three thousand years."

Azrael tugged at his hand when the Healer managed to capture it, the fingers of his free hand reaching forward to squeeze at his upper arm. "You've filled out. I wonder what your strength capacity is." He tilted his head at his brothers comment. "What?" and turned to look over when he felt Michael's fingers curl around his other wrist, reaching up with his own free hand to squeeze at his upper arm himself. "You may be strong, but you could never hope to be stronger than us."

The archangel of death tilted his head. "What's that supposed to mean?" And looked between them both. "I could so outmatch you if I really wanted to."

"Are you sure?" Michael exchanged a glance with Raphael. "Because, I don't think you could."

"I think you'd be surprised."

"Brother," they both looked to the Healer, but he only had eyes for the older of the two, and he smiled slightly. "Perhaps we should test this assumption."

"Indeed, we should." The oldest archangel nodded in affirmation, and they both pulled his arms up at the same time, Azrael's eyes widened as it dawned on him. "No!"

They both dig in at the same time; one into his under arm, and the other spidering up his side. Azrael shrieks, despite himself, and struggles to pull his arms free from their hold, squirming between them. He braces his feet against the wall and pushes as had as he can. Michael shakes his head once, and reaches back to squeeze at his knee, until he pulls his legs down.

"Nononono! Stohohop!"

They both pull back, their hands hovering over him, and he looks between them both, panting for a breath.

"If you can pull free, surpass our strength, we'll stop." Raphael smiles down at him, Michael chuckles from his side, and he looks between them both. "Go ahead, try and free yourself, see if you're stronger." He stares at him, as though he had finally lost himself, and they both begin to wiggle their fingers slowly for encouragement. Their baby brother's eyes widen in surprise, giggling already in anticipation, as he tugged relentlessly on his arms. He giggles harder when their hands slowly begin to lower, his struggles ceasing, as he watches between them in anticipation.

He shrieks in laughter, brightening away the remaining tension that resided between them in their brother's room, throwing his head back as ten fingers dig into his underarms, five on each side, and arches his back in ticklish reaction.

The hounds jump up, like any hound would, and begin barking at them for tormenting their master. Hopping around and yapping, wanting to join in on the excitement. Nero jumped up on Michael's legs, extending out as much as he could, and attacked his face with licks. Dante nipped at Raphael's pant legs, tugging on them excitedly, jerking his foot out from under him, growling in a playful manner.

"Call your hounds off, baby brother."

Azrael shook his head, breaking in between his laughter to call out a quick command. "Get them!"

His hounds take their command seriously, Nero jumping up on Michael, forcing him back, his grip releasing in order to catch himself as the hound bodily tackled him down against the bed. Dante snagged Raphael's pants leg firmer and tugged, bouncing backwards as hounds do when playing with tugging toys, pulling the Healer off the edge of the bed.

Freed from their torture, Azrael curled around himself, residual giggles escaping him.

"I hahahahate you guhuhuys."

"We know."