It was rare for the Healer to be seen striding through the halls of the Aerie, even more so to see the dark look that hung over his features, something having been brought to his attention during the time he had been compromised. The fledgling had been dealt with accordingly, and his older brother would surely carry her around for the good part of the rest of the day, her poor bottom warmed from the hand of her big brother for her part in the action of finding the cure.

Now he was on his mission to complete the other half of his comeuppance. Never in his long life had he thought that his once charge would be so foolish to allow something to nearly come to harm him, to put himself under the influence of a poison unknown to aid them in finding the cure. Semyaza would have found it at some time, he was well versed in his craft, and though they had helped speed the process along, he did not have to agree with the methods taken.

And he would exhibit such feelings with force.

Zaveriel saw him coming from the atrium and felt horror settle in the pit of his stomach at the look that adorned the Healer's features, jumping to his feet, away from the enraged archangel, and the others around him watched in surprise and curiousness. The Virtue Captain was known to do things that would anger others, but never had they seen such a look settle over the Healer before, and they wondered what he had done to anger the archangel so deeply.

"Nisroc told you!"

"Did you think I would not find out?"

He flinched at the tone, jumping back a few paces, as though to bolt at a moments notice. The Healer pointed a finger at him in warning, "If you even think about running, I will strip you bare right here, in front of everyone. Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do, I raised you better than that, I can't believe this!"

"I did it to help you!"

"How do you think I would have felt waking up to be told you had been delivered to uncle?"

"Semyaza found the cure!"

The Healer nodded sharply, his warning being heeded by the frightened messenger, and he quickly closed the distance between them. The other messengers watched the exchange with widened eyes, caught up in the drama, they had all heard what the Captain had done. They had heard his cries from the Messengers night late into the night on the same evening that the Healer had woken.

"He would have found the antidote regardless!"

"But he did so quicker with us!"

The distance between them was quickly overcome and the messenger ducked out from his reach, "Raph! No! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You nearly got yourself and a fledgling poisoned to death and you have the audacity to say you did nothing!"

He dodged again.

"Still."

Even the messengers not in the chase being made flinched at the sharp, unforgiving tone of the Healer, and Zaveriel came a stand still despite his instinct telling him to bolt. Long nimble fingers curled around his ear and tugged him forward, surprising others as they marched through the halls of the Aerie, down the stone steps, and across to the Garden. He felt numb as he watched them step into the Garden, the soft grass brushing underfoot as they marched along, sparing the Gardener a worried look, to which it was returned with one of understanding, and he stumbled slightly as he was pulled forward.

"Find yourself a switch."

He back pedaled quickly "Wha—What? No, Raph, you can't be serious!"

"Oh, I very much am, you will find yourself one, or," he held up a hand sharply, to silence the messengers protests "Or I will remove my belt and then you will find yourself a switch. Pick your choice."

"But, Raph, I helped save you!"

"And I am grateful, truly, but I will not allow you to do such harm to gain such results. There is always another way. Always. You were just impatient."

"Raph, please!"

He crossed his arms, "I would hurry, my patience wears thin, you have limited time before I chose for you and trust me when I say that you don't want that to happen."

The messenger went pale at the thought of having to go through both, one hurt enough, but both were horrible. He knew in that moment just how much the Healer had been afflicted by his poorly made decision, looking into his thunderous eyes, and thus, to save himself the agony of having to feel the sting of both belt and switch, he nodded and turned to find himself what was tasked of him. The Healers eyes watched him closely, as though to ensure he did not try to bolt, as he found a branch from a low hanging tree and broke it off.

He was slow, so so slow, as he tore the twigs off from the sides, the leaves falling under him, until there was nothing left but the thin branch itself, and he held the switch out to the Healer in silence.

The archangel nodded, gesturing to the overturned tree with the implement, and he slowly trudged over to lay himself over it.

"Bare yourself."

"But—But Raph!"

"Now."

His hands shook at he did what he was told, and slowly lowered himself over the overturned tree trunk, waiting in an edge of emotions for the sting that was sure to come in a moment's notice. He heard it hiss as it was pulled back and thrown forward, tensing as he prepared himself for it, and jumped when it finally landed with a sharp blow and then it hissed back again with another pull, and he jumped again when it landed back just as sharply as the first time.

There were fifteen strikes in total, though he had broken on the sixth, and his pleading had started at the eighth, the Healer was not one to be merciful in his teachings and it was a lesson he wanted to ensure was well remembered, by the time they had reached their end he was hanging limply over the trunk crying harder then he had since he was a small fledgling fearing being banished over simply not wanting to be a healer.

A gentle hand pressed to his lower back as he was helped with righting his trousers, and when he had secured them in place, those hands turned him around to curl into the Healer's strong chest. The messengers fingers popped at the pressure of his hold on the front of his robes, as he sobbed into the emerald robes that Raphael was known for, taking comfort in the hand that rubbed at his back and stroked through his hair.