Chapter 4: Broken

The wind howled outside as sand blew past their tent. It was a small sand storm that had fallen upon them with an abruptness that was disconcerting. Azrael had secured the tent flap as best as she could to keep the wind from swirling even more sand inside.

Michael coughed in pain and finally stilled, exhausted by the emotional and physical toll. Azrael remained seated next to him, looking at him with love and concern. It was strange for him to see that expressed so openly on her face, but he enjoyed it as much as he could in his state. It was the most raw emotion that he had ever seen in her and it was all for him.

Her eyes were unusually watery with unshed tears. She tried not to chastise herself for allowing him to see her true emotions. She had hidden them away for far too long. "I thought you were gone. Lost to me." She said quietly. "I can't…I could not bear the idea that you…" Her voice trailed off as she tried to remain calm.

Staring at her, he didn't flinch as she again gently touched his face. She looked him over, not bothering to wipe the few stray tears that now fell down her cheek. "Your body, Michael…you must be in so much pain…"

He stared at her, his breathing ragged.

"You need help, Michael. You need Healing. The fever must be broken." She lightly squeezed his arm and then started to move away from him.

Before she could move too far, Michael grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him. "Please don't leave me." He whispered, unease in his tone.

She rubbed his arm gently and reassured, "I'm not leaving. But you need to be healed."

"No, he doesn't." A voice said from behind her. "He deserves this."

Azrael turned to find Gabriel in full armor stepping into the tent, a sword in his hand, ready for anything. The howling from the wind had masked the arrival of their intruder. She stood up immediately, her own two swords already in hand.

Michael groaned, trying to sit up. His wings flopped like dead creatures clinging to his back.

"Have you come on Father's orders?" Azrael asked, her ferociousness back in place.

Gabriel sneered at her. "I have come to see how my brother fares. No surprise that you're here too, Azrael." He didn't put away his sword, however, but stepped closer to Michael who kept his gaze trained on Gabriel.

"Stand back, Gabriel." Azrael warned. "You've done enough."

"He needed to be stopped, Azrael." Gabriel told her sternly, careful not to get too close to her.

"And you've done so. Now leave him be." She said in a monotone frightening voice. She was known to be the most ruthless of the archangels and even Gabriel gave pause.

"He is my brother," Gabriel said with a chilly tone, stepping closer to her, to show that he had no fear of her. She didn't seem fazed.

"And you've done enough." She placed herself between Gabriel and Michael, hoping to head off any further assault. It was possible Gabriel had some concern, but she didn't trust him to stay his place.

Gabriel looked past her and at Michael who gave up trying to sit up and lay there pathetically. He still looked at Gabriel with animosity and that made Gabriel feel a little better. Gabriel knew that Uriel had been right, that pain was the lesson that Michael needed to learn in order to understand what he had done. And it was the only way to stop someone so strong and hell-bent on bloodshed. But afterwards, the two of them had wondered if perhaps it had been too much. There had been a little bit of regret and guilt on their part. Michael was still their brother. Still one of them. Leaving him to suffer on this World felt improper.

"He needs to be healed, Azrael." He said with less ferocity and more reasoning.

"Clearly," she responded, angrily. "But you will not be the one to heal him. Leave. Now."

Gabriel kept his sword down, not willing to come to blows with her. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he would win against her. So he reluctantly acquiesced. His guilt was mildly assuaged as he glanced back before leaving the tent. He looked at Azrael still guarding his brother by moving to block his view of him. Gabriel often wondered what those two had together that always made her so protective of him. "Take care of him. He was not always as brutal as you are. Don't allow him to stay that way."

She didn't respond, watching him as he slipped through the flap and disappeared outside. The wind was slowly dying down and Azrael could hear Gabriel's wings as they took him away from their meager sanctuary. It slowly became quiet outside and the only sound she could hear was Michael's labored breathing.

Brutality was rarely something she shied away from. It was part of her "chores" as Michael liked to call them. Perhaps God had made her that way on purpose, capable of doling out what He needed doling out. But for Gabriel to look at her with such disdain…it ruffled her feathers in an unpleasant way. As if she had caused Michael's slaughter of the humans. As if perhaps she was to blame for his delight in the carnage?

Michael coughed and then groaned, curling in on himself. "I did deserve it, Azrael. The blood and violence… it was…intoxicating. I couldn't stop myself."

She continued to stand there with her swords drawn, thinking. If she hadn't been dealing with the lower angels, would she have been able to keep Michael in line? She loathed thinking that she would have been pitted against him. Then again, perhaps He knew this and that's why she was asked to take care of the lower angels? Why not send the Powers? It had seemed a little odd at the time, but she followed His orders often without questioning them. However, the Powers could have easily done the task that she was given. Her particular abilities were not truly needed at that time. Unless…

"It was a test for both of us," she said quietly, more to herself. She put her swords away as she turned back to him.

Michael slurred, almost incoherently, "I failed the test…"

Kneeling down again, Azrael tried to calm him by touching his hand. He seemed to slip away into a feverish dream, body slightly twitching in response to whatever he was seeing. She sighed, wondering how long he would need to be fully recovered.

The wounds on Michael's torso, legs and wings were festering and infected at this point and haven't healed. That Gabriel and Uriel would use their swords on him at all showed the gravity of the situation. It made her furious and had Michael not been in the tent with them, Azrael would have given Gabriel a taste of his own medicine.

She leaned over and stroked Michael's cheek for a second. He was not doing well. Sitting back from him, one of her wings emerged and Azrael carefully pulled out a small navy blue feather from the inner edges. Quietly, she stood up and left the tent in search of an open flame.

As she opened the tent flap, Michael opened his eye and watched her in his feverish haze. The brightness that fell over him also surrounded Azrael and softened her features, blurring the edges around her body, as if she had a white aura. He couldn't help but be reminded of Home with all that light swirling about her. She paused just outside the tent, arm still holding the flap open, with concern etched on her face as she looked at him. It was then that he realized how much he loved her. How much he was grateful for her presence.

And how much he had also failed her.