He hoped this would work or else he would die and everyone else would probably die. Life was great!

"Arrgh!"

The sticks flew through the air, Raphael felt as if everything suddenly slowed down around him, and he saw the sticks fly through the air and hit Plantael right in the face! OH NO- HE COULD NOT BELIEVE THAT ACTUALLY WORKED, HOLY-

He felt a hard body collide with his own weaker one. Plantael had thrown himself against Raphael. Abandoning the tree, foolish for Plantael, but painful for him - there were at least seventeen ways that could have gone better, honestly. He could not help himself by counting them when Plantael jumped him.

Plantael aggressively forced his hands around Raphael's throat, squeezing it like rubber. Raphael attempted to claw at his arms, but with his weakening strength, it failed spectacularly.

"What a pathetic archangel you were. Couldn't even wound an angel, who had a lesser rank than you. Pathetic." Plantael mocked- and in past tense, he really believed he would defeat him- as he tightened his hold around Raphael's neck.

"What a waste that you are. Everyone, and I mean everyone, could… No, would have done a better job than you. I mean… healing a simple wound. How hard could that be? Let me tell you: Just as easy as it is to kill you."

Raphael suddenly got an idea. He stopped his pathetic scratching at Plantael's arms and began clawing at Plantael's face the best he could.

Plantael screamed when Raphael had managed to scratch his eyes. He had scratched hard enough to draw blood. The place of origin of the pain was enough for Plantael to stop choking him and attempted to stop whatever was making his eyes hurt and bleed- which, he thought smugly, happened to be him. Raphael darkly hoped that he had scratched enough there to make some permanent damage. One could only hope.

Plantael sat up, forcing Raphael's hands away from his face as he did. He sat on top of Raphael, back painfully straight, and hands rubbing furiously at his literally bloodshot eyes. Raphael took that as his cue to push Plantael off of him. The sudden rush of adrenaline coursing nauseously through his body makes him more aware of everything other than his deadly wounds. With renewed strength, he pushed.

Plantael fell off of him, roughly falling flat on his side.

Raphael felt like his heart suddenly slowed down and a lump had formed in his throat. Sweat had long since appeared on his body, making him feel sticky all over. He had in all but two seconds become hyper aware of all the sweat. Iminent dread swam through his veins. A feeling of desperation and muted acceptance clawed its way down his throat. The choice. Fighting to choose. To decide his last next move, his last ditch next attempt to end this once and for all. He knew what he had to do.

Would anybody even care if he was gone? Would his siblings scream or yell in sorrow and anger? Would they search for his murderer, desperate for justice? Would Michael, the angel of justice, his sibling, try to get justice for him?

Whether it was subconscious or predestined, he had decided.

He moved.

Raphael hugged Plantael tightly, he continued, no matter how much Plantael struggled or tried to squirm, he held onto Plantael all the way through, even until they were right in front of each other, hot breath mingling as the pain became unbearable and all he wanted to do was sleep. All the way until Plantael's mouth spread wide and smiled an ugly smile, filled with blood. Plantael spat on him, getting blood on his face and in his hair. He blinked rapidly. Had he gotten something in his eyes or was he starting to tear up? Wasn't that just disgusting.

"I just wanted to help people," Plantael claimed.

Raphael attempted to speak, but felt his strength bleed out of him. Just moving his lips, felt like he was lifting something very heavy with them. "I- I'm finding that hard to believe when you just attempted to murder an innocent angel and myself, right in front of me. And killed more. And having visible success with killing one…"

It wasn't long until Plantael's already weakening struggle stopped. It was not a slow affair, but it felt like it lasted longer because final moments and all that made it feel like time moves slower. Not even a muscle twitching. He pushed against Raphael, trying to hurt him more or get himself off the spear. He even attempted to use his wings to fight against Raphael, but that was stopped pretty quickly by Raphael's bigger wings. What went on in his head was uncertain, but it wasn't pretty. Let's just end it at that. But his attempts quietly stopped. His arms fell down against him, landing roughly. They moved a small bit for a few moments, but that was about it, before the rest of Plantael's body stopped cooperating with him and shut down. Too tired to resist the pull of mind numbing exhaustion.

Plantael stopped moving. Death having gotten to him before the mind numbing exhaustion could.

Raphael had killed him. Plantaels glazed over, dead eyes stared at him, or just straight through him as proof of his deed. Dread pooled in his stomach. Why had he not died yet? He deserved it because of what he did. Taking a life despite his purpose being to save and heal all. The complete opposite of what he just did. What had he just done? He could not put this off as a dying man's desperate attempt for survival. Could he?

No.

He was still dying, albeit painfully slow. He just wanted this to be over with, was that too much to ask for? For it all to be over… All the fighting, the war, the pain, his life. Oh how he just wanted to rest. He had served his purpose, hadn't he? He had guided his siblings and all the angels, showing and giving them love. That love obviously was not enough. The love not being enough would be a painful reminder from now on. He could feel what a toll it took, how deeply it hurt, how the pain sat in his heart, weakening his already weakened heart even more. The pain in his heart waltzed a slow waltz with his body's pain. Together they danced a waltz of despair.

"Are you just going to leave me here? To die..? Impaled by a spear alongside with the corpse of the angel who impaled me. An angel who stood against you! Are you?! Tell me! Why did you let this happen? You are all-knowing, in all your knowledge, you should have seen this coming and put an end to it before it went this far! Why didn't you?"

"Why," Raphael whispered weakly, not waiting for an answer anymore. He was too exhausted to care now.

His eyelids closed with the last dying breath.

…

…

…

Wind whooshed around his face and his body. Something was burning, he could smell it, the smell hit his nostrils like a sharp breath of fresh air. Air… Air! He sucked in a large gulp of breath, the air settled in his lungs and expanded them.

In and out, in and out.

With each breath he began to feel more aware of what terrible things were happening around him- to him.

Reality dawned on him slowly, it was like he had gotten punched in his gut. All the air he had desperately attempted to get back into his lungs was gone in less than a second.

He was falling, why was he falling? What had he done to deserve this? It- it was not fair! It hurt. Oh, it hurt so much, why did it have to burn so much? Hadn't he been laying down just moments ago? Raphael was sure he had been lying down on the rough ground. Just a few seconds ago, bleeding, hurting, dying.

Bleeding painfully to death. Dying alongside his would be- will be- soon to be murderer. No, his already dead murderer, killed by Raphael. His soon to be last victim.

Harmless, that is what they always called him. Twere always wrong, simply look at him now. Raphael had always been a shining beacon of light in a stormy sea. Always there, never too far away, yet at a distance, a distance only the desperate were willing to go.

And people would become desperate in a time of war. Always seeking out the peaceful, who might be capable of all the violence and more they were praying to escape.

He actually saw rather than felt the pain in his wings. Saw the way they began burning, how the fire spread, quicker than a rattle snake's poison.

As the fire spread all the way to his auxillary feathers on all of his wings, it was like the fire itself, draining all the colour away from his wings, making them a deep shade of black.

An unimaginable pain spread though his lower wings, all the muscles close to that area began spasming. It hurt, oh it hurt so bad. Why did it have to hurt so much, oh lord? A pain worse than anything he had ever felt, spread through his whole body. It was in his wings that the worst of the pain could be felt.

Raphael's mouth opened, no scream came out, the only sound he made was a moan that echoed throughout the air as he continued to fall. How long was he going to fall through the air? He just wanted it all to stop, it was all too much for him now… The pain and the simple fact that he continued to fall, meanwhile he was supposed to be dead not long ago!

Raphael's eyes hardened and narrowed into slits as anger suddenly soared through his veins, he clenched his fists tightly. His body would have begun shaking with rage if it wasn't because he was still falling. Hurtling towards unknown ground. Earth, dirt, stone, sand, water. It did not matter, such a fall would hurt even someone like him. But who was he?

All that he felt at the moment was rage. Rage, he was rage, a furious ball of rage, falling into the unknown. Cast out from home. Where would his new home be, would he even get one again? No place like home. Home's gone now. Home had always been smiles, laughs, warm caring touches and family. Only memories of pain, hurt and betrayal would remain in the end.

Rage remained as well. And with time, time would turn it into an ugly and bitter thing.

Sad.

He just wanted the pain to stop.

"I- I pray that I could just pray to you again, pray that you would make everything better. But I can't do that… because, I woke up."

…

…

…

…

Michael did noy know what to say, she was stunned into a shocked silence. She felt like a tub full of ice cold water had been dumped over her, all the blood in her metaphysical veins had frozen, making her limbs feel impossibly heavy and stiff. She couldn't make them move like she desperately wanted, to stretch her arms out and place them around her missing… dead… alive little brother, and feel his being again. Her limbs remained frozen, why couldn't she thaw the ice that had frozen them?

She was not supposed to feel like this, she was an archangel for heaven's sake! Like… like an emotional- She wasn't supposed to-

"It doesn't really do anything but… I am sorry. Truly."

They all were sorry, in different ways, for different things. Different regrets, different guilts. So much… shit.

Emotions were hard.

"It's too late now to say that, sorry doesn't change shit, you do not know how it feels. You do not get to say it. You weren't the ones who were cast out," Lucifer's voice rose as he spoke, choked with emotion.

"It doesn't matter anymore, okay." Crowley quietly said. "It is my life's story. Who I am today is because of that shit. And now? Look at me, I am the posterboy for a physical unwanted redemption arc," he chuckled.

Lucifer was angry. Rightfully so in his own opinion. But did that really matter? He really was one of the reasons why his brother was cast out. He had turned his brother away, had pushed him away in favour of a cause that he felt was bigger and more important than his siblings. How wrong had he really been? In the end, he had lost sight of what he was supposed to be fighting for. And who he had been fighting for.

"Wait, what was it that you asked Aziraphale to fetch for you?"

"Oh right! Almost forgot," Crowley said and went over to Aziraphale, who handed him a pair of… dark rimmed glasses? What?

"Thanks, angel, you really are a wonder," Crowley praised as he grabbed the glasses and placed them on the bridge of his nose, and let the familiar feeling of wearing them wash over him. He almost felt like himself again with them on.

"A wonder?"

"Aw, there is no need for any thank yous. It was no trouble at all to fetch them for you, dear boy," Aziraphale blushed, feeling honoured at the subtle praise.

"Dear boy?" Gabriel mouthed, curious of the choice of words. He wondered when Rapha- Crowley had become so- so chummy with Aziraphale. They used such endearing nicknames on each other, as if it was second nature to call each other something sweet. Gabriel almost felt jealous. Was Earth and its population rubbing off on them or had they simply become so close in the last two thousand years? Yet also becoming more distant with them, he added bitterly.

Uriel sneakily smacked on his shoulder, shaking Gabriel out of his revere.

"It must have been hard for you. To tell us what happened all those years ago, we appreciate it more than you will ever know. So thank you, thank you so much dearest brother, for this." Uriel, ever the most straight to the point and sensible one spoke on obvious behalf of every sibling in the room and Aziraphale, (Aziraphale was just happy that Crowley had trusted him enough to let him hear his story (and, let's be honest, his emotional support system during all of this.))

"Thank you," Crowley whispered.

"Us negotiators gotta stick together, don't we, eh?" Uriel teased.

Huffing in amusement, Crowley gave a weak smile in response.

"I'm sorry but I can not avoid this- this temptation anymore Crowley," Aziraphale said suddenly, confusing the rest of them. Aziraphale longed to hug him. Although if he did, it wouldn't resemble the encouraging hugs he gave the Them. The gentle I'm-here-for-you or I-know-you-can-do-it hugs. Or even the cheery you'll-be-all-right hugs. His hug for Crowley would encompass all of those, but he worried it might turn into an I'm-falling-for-you hug. Or, if he wasn't careful, a promise of much, much more. "But I simply must!"

"Must do what Azira- Hmpf!"

Azirapale had jumped Crowley and pulled him close. If hugs healed, he'd hold him all day. Aziraphale cradled Crowley's head on his shoulder. It looked a bit silly, as all things might do when it comes to height differences that are obvious. Crowley froze, left his hands dangling useless at his sides. He hadn't been held like this in a long time. Not by Aziraphale, not by Uriel, certainly not by Lucifer. But then again, he had not let himself be vulnerable in a long time.

Would his siblings use his vulnerability against him again?

They had hurt him when he was an angel and then attempted to when he was a demon. What even was he now? One or the other? Where was the choice from free will in that?

A physical attack he would've expected and would've welcomed honestly. But this attack on his desire for affection and his constant, unattened need for love was a battle he'd lose.

He pulled back to shove Aziraphale away but a tender expression crossed his face. An expression he'd never seen on him directed towards him like this before. He looked as lost as he felt, as lonely and in need of love too. It was too revealing, too confronting. He broke free from him. He was a strong individual, fierce, and unafraid of almost anything. Yet his heart pounded out of control like he was petrified. But, for some reason he began to feel as if it all could be okay again. Atleast, as long as he had Aziraphale standing by his side.

And, of course, the return of a stable and honest relationship with his siblings ought to mean something in the long run he supposed.

In a busy London street where people loudly milled about. All of them on their way, to go to their own destination, and preferably reaching it at whatever time it is they wish to arrive at. At one certain street stood what you in the modern day's English language would call 'a stereotypical old London building.' Said building stood tall, it was made out of white painted stone. It is composed of a central face, slightly recessed between wings, all similar in width and three stories high.

The first two stories of the central face of the building, contains a great round-arched opening, forming the deeply recessed entrance to the restaurant. In each wing, the first two floors have three-bay openings, wide between narrow, all of it being flanked by wide piers. In the ground floor, these piers are plain, but those above are dressed with segmental-pediment niches, containing female draped statues carved into the spandrel. The two statues are holding festoons lopped below oblong tablets. A pedestal, with enriched panels in its dye, underlines the lofty third storey where the central face has a group of three round-arched windows, their molded archivolts rising from entablatures above plain piers flanked by Ionic half-columns.

Through the doors and inside the restaurant, people are also mulling about. Waiters and waitresses dressed up in fine clothing, holding plates filled with food and bottles of wine. They were all walking in between tables, with their backs straight, going around to different customers, giving them their food and silently praying for larger tips.

Customers sat at tables, they dined and smiled at each other. Well, not everyone smiled as you can't please everyone all the time. Some people are just gloomy. That really is the beauty of it all. Such a unique and beautiful diversity of well, everything. You can't avoid being proud of it somehow, if you are who I am at least.

Further into the restaurant were a large circular table, around the beautifully decorated table, were six chairs. Five of the chairs were already occupied with three of its occupants already helping themselves to some wine. A redhead sat and pointed at a beverage placed on the table and then towards the man who sat beside him. The man looked at him skeptically, but then another man, also with red hair but darker bumped into the skeptical man's shoulder. The man's purple eyes softened and he grabbed ahold of the glass and took a small sip.

We will explain the reaction by saying it was priceless.

And it was obviously priceless, because the two women who sat beside the other red haired man, had begun clapping as soon as the purple eyed man had taken a sip of the beverage.

A waiter had walked towards the five peoples table, placing three small cakes, at the right side of the table, where the two women and the redhead sat beside each other.

The central chair was still barren.

"Do you think she will arrive soon, Michael?" Uriel spoke as she took a bite of her cake. Michael looked at her as she ate, with her fork in her hand, she made some motions with it in the air and shrugged.

Lucifer leaned towards her in his chair and whispered "Hear, hear." He also burped.

"You disgusting serpent," she teased.

"Who are you calling a serpent?"

"Such a tease."

A hand folded itself around the empty chair's backrest.

"Thank you for waiting for me, children."