The moment he stepped within the walls of the Infirmary, he knew his older brothers knew of his presence, and immediately sunk low into his old guardians side. Raphael only chuckles, guiding him forward for a bed, and eases him down gently to sit on the edge of his given bed, and he ducks down lowly.

"Are you trying to hide?"

"You would too if you had them as older siblings."

The Healer chuckles, setting his staff to lean against the side of the table at the side of his bed, and rolls his sleeves up before he leans forward to take hold of his chin again.

"They're horrible!" a voice calls out from his left side. "They're such smother hens! Watching you like you're about to do something wrong!"

Joshua turns to laugh at his younger brother. "Hello, Zaves."

"Hey Josh."

Another voice joins them. "Perhaps, if someone would stay in bed like they're supposed to, they wouldn't be babysat." Zaves stiffens, making a particular face, and he laughs softly at the sight of it. Zaveriel turns slowly, and from around his arm, Joshua can see their older brother. Oren's staring at Zaves, arms crossed and both eyebrows raised, Zaves waves slightly. "H-Hey, Ori."

The Captain points to his abandoned bed. "Go, mister."

"Aww, but Ori, it's so boring!" Zaves throws his hands up. "I'm not even tired!"

"I can make you tired."

"Are you….Are you threatening to drug me?"

Their older brother shakes his head. "It's not a threat if you get back in your bed."

"But—"

"Zaveriel, so help me," Oren points his finger at him. "If you don't get back there, I will drag you there myself."

The messenger throws his arms back down to his sides. "But its boooooring!" he whines pitifully. "All I do is lay there! I need to be entertained!"

"Oren," Zed chuckles as he walks passed them both, to meet at his other younger brothers side, a jar of poultice in his hand. "Why don't you take him back and just entertain him."

Oren smiles, Zaves gulps, and the Virtue takes him by the front of his shirt and drags him away.

The apothecary shakes his head in amusement, smiling to himself, as he takes over their archangel's position. Gently, he takes hold of his chin, and turns his head this way and that, examining the bruises that cover his face, the cut under his eye from the ring on his abusers finger. "Hello, baby brother."

Joshua smiles up at him. "Hello, older brother."

"These looks like they smart a bit," he touches a gentle finger to one of the bruises and the Gardener flinches slightly. "I trust he was taken care of?"

"You should have seen it, Z, I can't remember a time I've seen our archangel so angry."

"I can imagine." Zed smiles as he pops the cap off his jar of poultice and tucks it into his palm as he adjusts his grip on the jar. He turns his head around, and Joshua rests in that position, feeling the cool goop being smeared over that side of his face. He watches, with an amused smile, Zaves and Oren just a few beds down. The little messenger is laying back in his bed by this point, their older brother sitting on the edge of his bed, they're whispering to one another and their smiles are unmistakable, Zaveriel whispers something, and their older brother responds in kind. He can't see where his hands are, but his muscles flex, and their younger brother jolts softly, his hand flying down and out of sight. "I would never want to meet that side of him, myself."

The Virtue turns his head around and rubs a good sized glob of the goop over those bruises, massaging it in gently.

"He is rather protective, though, isn't he?"

"He's a good mentor and brother."

A snort interrupts them, and they both turn a smile to their left, to their archangel. "I'm right here."

"We know."

…

"Home?"

"Where you belong."

Fingers stroke down the back of his head comfortingly, and he inhales deeply, from where he's pressed against his oldest brothers chest. The one who had banished them, sent them all into hiding, chased them all from their home into the unknown beyond. Semyaza turned into his oldest brothers chest, breathing in his scent; pine, ozone, and the burning embers of a fire, clutching tightly to the back of his shirt.

"You and yours."

"We can come home?"

Michael nods above him, settling his hand a top his head, pulling it back slightly.

"And never leave it again." He rubs a finger down the Grigori Captain's nose. "Come home, little 'Yaza?"

"Yes." He nods, tucking himself back against the oldest archangel's chest, listening to the sound of a familiar heartbeat. "I want to come home."

He feels his older brother nod in affirmation, and his arm unwinds from his back to wave at his two Powers, he hears them step forward from behind.

"I apologize for this, baby brother, but there is a certain image we must maintain until all of our abusers have been brought to rights."

"Wha—"

He goes still at the sight of it, shrinking closer to his older brother, fear lacing his very being. His trust had gotten him captured again, and by those he had thought would never turn on him, there was no explanation as to why they would have such a thing in their hands. Haniel held a pair of manacles, Nisroc a collar of spikes, and they both looked as though it pained them greatly to hold such things in their grasp.

Michael's grip around him tightened when he felt him twitch, holding him in place, and he let go the faintest of whimpers.

A hand rubbed over his cheek and he looked up with a fearful gaze. "We mean you no harm, little one. You are no prisoner. You are not being sent for punishment." The fingers curled down under his chin. "We need it for show only, and then you will be looked over, and healed of any incisions that may come from its dreaded grasp." His fingers glide gently around his neck, and he swallows involuntarily, when he feels them lift away from his skin. "You will be in the care of the Healer until he deems you well again."

He knows the archangel is reaching for the collar, and he tenses against him when he pulls it into sight, undoing the back, he pulls it open. "Stand still for me. I don't want to hurt you." Semyaza inhales deeply, lifting his chin slightly, swearing to himself that he won't let the tears that burn his eyes fall. They feel like little pins against his throat, as the archangel secures the collar around his neck, and he feels a tear escape as the lock is put into place and the collar is secured closed.

A warm finger brushes away the tear. "You will let go of those emotions when we get you home, alright?"

The Grigori makes a small noise in the back of his throat in reply, feeling another tear escape, and Michael gives him the saddest look he's ever seen cross the oldest archangel's features. He breaths heavily, trying to keep his breathing even, when the archangel reaches for the manacles, and their eyes don't break contact as he secures one end to his right wrist, and the other to the left, securing him in place.

Semyaza has never felt so vulnerable. In this position, he is at his weakest, if they chose to turn on him and attack, now would be the best moment for them to do so. He could do little to defend himself. Thus, was the purpose of his restraints. Michael feels his heart break at the fear that crosses the small Grigori's eyes, no angel should ever feel such fear as this was, and especially not towards him. He had always made sure that the younger angel's knew how much they meant to him, and how much he cared for them.

There would be comfort later, in the safety of the Healer's domain, under the warmth of his ever watching gaze.

He curls his hands around both of the younger angel's cheeks. "It is only until we reach the Infirmary." Thumbs rub away the sneaky tears that escape his best attempts to stay them. "I promise you, baby brother."

The might first born looked up to the two behind him, fingers still curled around his face, and nods to the two Power's behind him. He breaths a resigned sigh, exhausted from the fight, tired of missing a home he thought he'd never see again, feeling the hands of the two Power's curl around his arms.

Haniel has a hand curled around his upper left arm, and another pressed against his lower back, they're warm against his frigid terror.

On his other side, Nisroc has a hand curled around his upper right arm, and another over his shoulder.

Michael smiles at the three of them. "Let's go home."

…

The four of them landed at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the Infirmary, Semyaza stared up at it with wide awed eyes, shivering softly when the Archangel took the first step and motioned for them to follow his lead. It was hard to walk up the stairs, unable to tilt his head to see where he was stepping, trusting solely that his feet would know where to step on their own, and his two Power companions stepped up at his sides in time with him. Probably in order to catch him should he fall over.

He stumbled only once, and they caught him by the arms when he did, the archangel turning to inquire softly on his wellbeing. Semyaza made a small noise in the back of his throat, something akin to a soft whine, and they took that as their response, his request to hurry up so that they could get the dreaded collar off from around his neck.

Michael leads them up over the final step, motioning them forward as he crosses the great stone veranda that leads into the Healer's spacious Infirmary, stopping them just within the entrance.

"Raphael." The oldest archangel calls out for the younger. "I have another patient for you to care for."

The Healer turns away from the prisoner he had been speaking to, smiling in that way he does when he's in his element doing the duty that he loves so dearly, and his eyes go wide at the sight of the bound Grigori standing just behind his older brothers shoulder. He strides across the threshold with a quickened pace, moving his older brother out of his way, as he comes to stand before the second out of three angels he had taught the arts of an apothecary, he looks the young Grigori over carefully, cupping his cheeks in his hands.

"Hello, little 'Yaza."

Despite the emotions rolling in him as he's bound in the fashion that he is, Semyaza smiles at the sight of the Healer, Raphael is gentle and kind to everyone he meets no matter their history or doings.

"Hello."

His fingers glide of his cheeks as he slowly lowers his hands, reaching down and around, behind to the back of his neck where the collar locks into place. "Lets get this cruel thing off of you, shall we?"

Semyaza inhales softly when he feels the clasp on the back open, the fitted hold of the collar giving way as it's pulled apart, and he swallows hard when it's pulled away from his neck, passed over to the older archangel to take. He reaches up silently, his hands shaking lightly, to grasp at the front of the Healer's tunic. The third-born's fingers glide over his neck as he pulls his hands back around to his front, rubbing them up his arms gently as he reaches for his hands, their eyes locked together in a silent gaze. "I'm going to take care of you now, alright?" Semyaza nods as his fingers come to curl around his wrists, undoing the clasp on the manacles, holding one hand out to pass them over to the older archangel, and returning it to curl his fingers around his wrists gently, rubbing away the irritation that the metal had left against his skin. "Let's get you a bed made up, come."

He's tugged forward gently, and he moves freely in step with the Healer, feeling a sense of comfort as he curls an arm around him and guides him away.

Michael watches them go, turning slightly to nod at his two Powers, relieving them of their duty at his side. He watches Haniel wander over to Zaveriel's bed, the two of them more trouble then their worth something and shakes his head when they share a smile and he sits on the edge od his bed. Nisroc returns to his charges side, sitting on the edge of young Paul's bed, pulling his youngest to sit up on his knee as they whisper between each other. He'll let them be for a while, allow them to catch up with their friends and family, and he steps forward to check on his old Sentry.

Raphael guides the worn Grigori to an empty bed and turns to face him, taking him by both shoulders, as he turned to face him. "I can see those tears that shine in your eyes." He leans forward. "Let them go, little 'Yaza."

The Grigori Captain sucks in a deep breath, staring up into the gentle Healer's eyes, and he shakes his head stubbornly. He had sworn to himself that none of them would fall, they would not soak his cheeks, redden his eyes, they would just continue to burn his eyes as they were refused their request to fall.

But his efforts are for naught, as he feels one tear escape, and then another. His fingers curl into the Healer's tunic again, as they fall despite his attempts to stay them, and he's relieved when the archangel pulls him forward into an embrace. He holds onto the elder for his life, shoulders quaking at the force of his sobs, hearing nothing but his anguish as it drowns out all other noises that come from the Infirmary around them.

Arms circle around him protectively, hand curled around the back of his head to press him close, hiding him from the others around them as he loses his composure.

…

He comes to a stop at the others back, a few paces away, and crosses his arms lightly. He was going for another one of their deceivers, and thought it best to bring him with him, seeing as it was one of his flock that had been abused at his next targets hands.

Metatron would face more then just his fury.

"Gabriel."