"Come, come," he rubbed a hand over the messengers shoulders as they walked into the garden side by side, he had promised the night before to groom his wings, something he hadn't done in such a long time, and he himself would cherish every moment of it, "Let us find a warm patch to stretch out in." He lets the messenger lead them in, wandering through the garden in search of the most perfect spot, if there was anyone whom you wanted to groom your wings, it was the Healer, he knew how to get too all those good spots, there was no one else who would have him so excited at having his wings groomed.

The Healer allows himself to be tugged to a rather large sunspot, the messenger tugging him down with him, and he chuckles at the fledgling like excitement that exudes from the young messenger. Bright eyes turn up to him and he nods, lifting his arms slightly, and the messenger throws himself across his lap, curling his arms around his left knee and presses his cheek to his thigh.

"May I release your wings?"

His young messenger nods against his leg, and he presses a few fingers to the slight space between his shoulder blades, and bright sun soaked orange wings materialize from the pocket reality that they keep their wings in when they're not presently in use. They flare slightly at their sudden appearance, and tamely fall spread open before him to see.

The feathers were ruffled, dusty from consistent flight between realities and atmospheres, and he quirks an eyebrow at their appearance, tugging on secondary coverts. The messenger squawks and turns to look at him in question at the tugging on his feathers.

"When was the last time you had your wings groomed, they are atrocious."

"It hasn't been too long." At the look he gains, he is quick in amending himself "A short while."

"Zaveriel." The Healer shakes his head fondly, exasperated and amused all at the same time, and he reaches out for the task that lies ahead of him. He rights the primaries first, sifting and sorting through the feathers, tugging out the ones that are near ready to molt free themselves, and turning them back in the direction they are meant to be. He rubs his fingertips over the ends, clearing the dust away with a gentle rubbing, and hums as he works his way up to the primary coverts.

Quite a few are ruffled, from constant sharp turns and messenger agility, and he straightens them as gently as he can, brushing them back into place with gentle fingers.

"You should be doing this at least once a month."

The messenger nods against his leg, sedately, grooming has always made him extremely sleepy "I know."

"And why don't you?"

"Dunno."

The secondaries are much more ruffled then the primaries, as he sifts and sorts through the individual feather with care and ease, the young messenger is nearing a molt and he can tell this from the amount of feathers he can rather easily pull free.

Raphael straightens a few crooked ones, and smiles in melancholic amusement, "I remember when you were young," he straightens a particularly stubborn feather "You loathed getting your wings groomed. You always fidgeted about and squirmed."

"Because it was so boring."

He nodded in remembrance, it had been a task in itself to get the, then, young healer to sit still long enough to complete the needed maintenance.

"Do you remember what I would do when you got particularly stubborn about it?"

Bright eyes turned to glare at him, "Don't you dare."

"But you are in quite the perfect position for it."

The glare intensified, "I mean it."

He held his hand up in surrender, "I give you my word." And he returned to his grooming. He brushed a few fingers under the scapulars, digging under the feathers, to the soft skin underneath. The messenger jolted in his lap, turning an accusing glare back at him "Hey!"

"I didn't do anything."

The messenger narrows his eyes, giving him the 'I'm watching you' gesture, and curls back down again.

With him being turned away, he doesn't see the look that brightens the Healer's eyes, but he feels the sharp dig into the skin of the scapular again, and this time he gives a light shriek as he jolts, as though electrified.

"I swear to you, I'm not doing anything."

"You're such a fucking liar!"

He tut's softly, look down to the wing that lays closest to him "Such language." He takes hold of the wing tip, "We should deter that, mindful of fledglings who might pick up such a nasty habit."

"Raph, I'm warning you," The messenger tries to tug his wing away, and upon the realization that he can't, settles for glaring at the archangel instead "Don't you dare."

"Oh, now you're 'warning' me, are you?" he moves his hand quickly, leaving the scapulars be, and digs under the feathers of his primaries for the sensitive flesh underneath. The messenger releases a loud shriek and shifts onto his side, trying to push away "Whatever shall I do?"

"Rahahaphahahaa! Nohoho!"

"No?" he slowly drifted his hand downwards, lifting the wing lightly, to travel down to the underbelly, and the messenger rolled out of his lap, howling with delighted laughter, "Now I just want to even more."

The archangels skillful fingers found a particularly special place, focused in there a bit, and chuckled when the messenger beat his fists against the ground under him.

"And to think, this is only one, what would it be like if there were two of us?"

He got no response of course, not that he was expecting one, and he looked up as another stepped out from the trees to their sunspot, nodding his head in greeting.

"Hello, brother."

"Raph, I see you're torturing my Captain."

The Healer nodded, the both of them acting as though there was not currently a youthful angel howling with laughter between them, sharing an amused smile.

"I invited you, I thought you may like to attend to your Captain's other wing."

The Messenger chuckled, capturing the other wing in a similar grip to his brother's, stretching it out as he lowered himself to sit on his knees.

"I would love to join you, brother."