Song listened to: 'Hard Love' by NEEDTOBREATHE Ft. Andra Day.
The day he chose to go for help, at long last seeking the tending that needed to be done to make him whole again, the little fledgling didn't stray from his side through the entirety of it. She had learned of it through the grapevine she was so in-tuned to and come to see about its truth. Her hand had slipped into his when he had given the confirmation and she had walked with him through the Axis as they approached the Infirmary together. They stood at the bottom of the steps for a long moment, ignoring the feeling of surprised eyes on their backs from those passing by, Jeremiah hadn't been seen among them for some time, not after the war and the toll that had been paid.
She squeezed his fingers encouragingly and he turned to look down at her for a moment, and she smiled up at him. He returned the gesture, both the smile and giving her fingers a light squeeze and took a deep breath as he stepped up on the first step.
He hadn't been whole for such a long time, there were nights where the pain was just too much to sleep, and as much as he would withhold it from the knowledge of others; he did miss flying too. Being grounded was never meant for how angels were supposed to live, they were to go where the wind took them, literally in some sense of the word. And to not have the ability to made you lesser in another sense, something was missing, you were only half of yourself.
The first step soon turned to the second, and before he could blink, they were nearly halfway there, and then he did, and they stood at the top. The Healer himself waited for them in the entrance, hands clasped before him, having heard on the same grapevine the rumors of the Choir Elder coming to seek aid in recovering what had been so cruelly taken from him. Little Akeelah had been very tight lipped on the matter, but he has known her long enough to know her tells, even when she thought she was being secretive. He watched their approach silently, smiling in greeting, and felt relief wash over him when the other smiled back in kind. Jeremiah was a gentle soul, loved with all his heart, and forgave just as quickly as their little fledgling did.
It was a wonder on who taught who that trait.
"You came."
The younger angel nodded his head slightly, something more akin to the dip of a chin, and tugged lightly on his old charge's arm.
"I was told it was time."
He gestured for the two of them to follow, and they did so dutifully, as he led them through the crowds. Other healers, and patients alike, turned to watch the Choir Elder walk passed them as he followed after the Archangel with the fledgling at his side. The whispered among each other, wounded to those in the beds next to them, healers to their patients they were tending to, in suspicion as to why he was here with them today.
Raphael led them to a bed further away from the prying eyes of those outside their private trio, and he pulled the curtain around to block out their curious looks, sending those tending to the others a look to return to their task at hand as he covered them for privacy.
He turned to face them, gesturing for the Elder to sit on the bed and make himself comfortable, the little fledgling followed him dutifully. She may have been moved from under his care to the archs, but that didn't mean she wouldn't still stand at his side, especially through this. "What brings you to me?"
Jeremiah took a deep breath, as though preparing himself for what was to come, and nodded for them all to see.
"I came in hopes that you could help."
"I see," the Healer pulled a chair around for him to sit on, folding his long fingers over his knees patently, his emerald robes rustling as he did "And what can I do for you?"
Jeremiah looked down, as though shamed by his predicament, "My wings were clipped. I cannot fly."
It had been another rumor that made its way to his ears during the dreadful war, of those sent to the prisons, the guards 'clipping' their wings to keep them from attempting an escape. 'Clipping' ones wings involved the cruel task of pulling the primary feathers from their wings, rubbing wax onto the bald spots, and ensuring the prevention of allowing the primaries to regrow once more. It was a task meant to paralyze them, and it worked better then intended, one could fly as far as they wished, but with their wings 'clipped' their only hope of escaping was outrunning the guards and even then, on the top of other torturous injuries that were inflicted. It was a surprise to him that Jeremiah had faced horrors unknown and still came out as kind as he had.
It was truly awe inspiring and could clearly see just who had raised their dear fledgling before them. Jeremiah still sought out the best in people even after they sought to harm him in cruel fashion.
"I see. I am sorry. You should not have had that happen to you.", the Healer looked down in shame, missing the look sent his way by the elder, "In our blindness we allowed many tragedies to happen."
A warm hand gripped at his, and the archangel looked up into the bright eyes of the Choir Elder once more, Jeremiah smiled at him kindly, "There is no blame on you, brother, we are not perfect beings and faults are going to happen." Raphael was blown away by his compassion, he was truly one of the best of them, "It is a lesson to remember so that we may all live better days. To not let our past become our future."
He turned his hand in the others grip, nimble fingers curling around his in turn, and gripped them just as hard as he gripped his own.
"You are truly one of the best of us." He rose from his chair slowly, "Let me see what I can do?"
Jeremiah nodded in turn, slowly removing his top at the soft command from the elder angel, fingers shaking slightly as they undid every button. It had been some time since he had last seen his own wings, he had kept them hidden away after his time in the prisons, not daring see something that he knew he could not recover from. Not without the aid of someone who was thought to be too far out of reach. Little Akeelah jumped down from the bed, finally releasing her grip on his sleeve, as he slowly but surely undressed from the waist up. The Healer guided him to turn, nearly laying belly down on the bed, and stood over his head, leaning over his shoulders.
"I am going to release your wings."
He waited until his patient gave him a nod of consent, making a semi complicated hand gesture over the shoulders, and released the wings from where they were kept on the metaphysical plain when not in use. The urge to gasp at the sight of them was something he bit back with great difficulty, as his eyes slowly roamed over the injured appendages, taking them in for all that they were worth. It was something he wanted to commit to memory, something he wanted to remember even in the darkest of moments, the consequences of clouded judgement.
Jeremiah peered over his shoulder, eyes dimming in shame at the sight of them, shamed that someone of an Archangels standing was seeing the damage wrought by the cruel hands of fate.
His wings were a shell of their former glory; the lower parts, where the primaries had been yanked free without a care was red and inflamed even after all this time, the guards were not healers, and thus did not know how to do so cleanly. Buts of feathers still poked free, the shafts of a few sticking out like pale twigs, the wax covering the infected skin was thick and charred as it had been hardened, excruciatingly for the ne unfortunate enough to be on the other end. Welts were hastily scabbed over on the parts the melted wax hardened and stretched. More then half of his secondaries were yanked free, some broken halfway down the shaft, others broken at the quill.
The Archangel closed his eyes for a moment, setting a hand on the Choir angel's back for a silent minute "I can fix this."
He nodded in certainty and stepped away for a moment to collect the tools he needed; oils and rags, lots and lots of rags, filling a basin with warm water and gathering up lavender soaps, brushes, lotions, a few razors, and bandages. He rolled his sleeves up, as he washed his hands in a second basin to begin his long task.
"First, we must get this wax off. Lay down fully, now, get comfortable, we will be here for a while."
The first set of rags were set in an empty basin, over a small warming flame, and coconut oil was soaked into the rags and warmed as he chipped away at the thick wax with a straight razor, removing chunks at a time, and peeling away layer upon layer, as one would peel an apple to eat.
Above them, the sun slowly travelled across the sky, moving them passed noon and into the afternoon, and by then he just managed to get the thick layers shaved down, a small pile formed around him and his stool as he worked fluidly over the one wing. Raphael peered at the angel for a moment, pausing in his work, watching the slight rise and fall of his shoulders as he lay there calmly and not feeling a thing being done to him. He reached for a rag dampened with warm coconut oil, and pressed it firmly to a portion, letting the warmth soften the wax, and the oil mix in to soften it more, and ease the burn as he peeled it off. The Archangel repeated a few more times, grimacing at the scabs he pulled up, that had managed to form mixed with the coating of wax. Jeremiah stiffened, the muscles in his arms tensing, but he didn't utter a sound to indicate the pain he felt as he stared back into the eyes of the fledgling perched on the bed in front of him.
Akeelah sat there, silent and resolute, holding his hands in her little ones, as though to offer as much comfort as she could just by being there and present.
The skin was raw once he removed the wax coating, and he was mindful as he reached for a pair of fancy looking clamps and used them to pull the free-standing quills free. He tugged on the feathers that remained, plucking the ones broken halfway down, and tenderly smoothing the ones that managed to remain where they lay. The Archangel reached next to a sponge in the basin of warm water, lathered it with lavender soap, and moved on to washing the inflamed skin with gentle circular strokes.
If it burned in any fashion, the Elder made no indication, whispering softly in distraction from it to the fledging that sat with him. Both of them whispering a song in time and he listened a closely as he could as he worked. Moving on from the raw skin of the 'clipped' primaries to the pulled secondaries, washing through them in turn, before reaching for a jar of moisturizing lotion and rubbed it into the pink flesh with gentle circular strokes. Jeremiah sighed softly, skipping a note in the tune they whispered, and he smiled slightly to himself. He brushed through the mangled and ruffled feathers above and carefully bound the wing in bandages, before moving onto the next.
Afternoon quickly turned to dusk, and still they remained, the setting sun revealing the sparkling stars, and a few healers made their way around to light the great torches on the walls.
Jeremiah had fallen into sleep at some point of his administrations, the fledgling curled up above his head, their hands clasped together even in slumber. But he worked on still, vowing to mend what he could, all that he could, in the day they had now.
Starting from the beginning again with the second wing, he shaved the thick layers away, adding a small pile of wax shavings to his vast collection under his feet, and met the final layers with rags of warm coconut oil. Next came the peeling, that thankfully didn't rouse him from his needed slumber, and then the washing with warm water and lavender soap. Washing away the oil and cleaning the welts with the same gentle stroke. He plucked the quills and unsalvageable feathers, rubbed in the lotion, and brushed through the upper parts, before binding the wing in similar fashion he did to the other.
Raphael smiled at their slumbering forms, draping a blanket over the Choir angels back with his wings carefully placed, and then followed with one for the fledgling. He took cleaned the mess around them silently, as to not run the possibility of rousing them from the grasp of the gentle caress of sleep and took up his vigil in the chair at his bedside once more.
The bandages would need to be changed in the next few hours and he would be the one to do it.