[Raphael is usually a pillar of patience and good-natured suffering for the sake of slow and steady wins the race, but given the circumstances he feels at odds with everything he knows he should be.
Archangels aren't supposed to get tired so easily, aren't supposed to sweat into the collar of their crisply pressed shirt and definitely aren't supposed to feel nauseous at the slightest effort needed for international travel the conventionally human way. Air travel via an aeroplane, Raphael decides very quickly, isn't something he enjoys in the slightest.
Their journey to Russia is long and borders on painful in every way; he's too used to flying borne on his own two wings. They aren't capable of getting him anywhere else having been to find Gabriel in a panicked flurry of feathers and ending up collapsed in an alleyway near the Old Bailey. What strength he has left has his brother's name on it, instead. It's to be used only for Uriel, for his brother who had sounded so guilty. It hurts in a way Raphael has to push away more than once so he doesn't tire himself out to exhaustion in wanting to fix it all, the physical and emotional hurt.
When they finally arrive, the cathedral having housed his brother, protected him, he tears ahead and doesn't need his eyes to know where Uriel is lying. He can feel it, can feel the breaks and bruises that need his care.]
Uriel. [His usually steady, slow, rhythmic and smooth tones are broken up into painful syllables, trailing off because it hurts. Everything hurts. Sinking to his knees beside his brother he doesn't hesitate in brushing a hand over his forehead, thumb stroking a gentle line up from between his eyebrows to his hairline. His other hand, fingers already outstretched, presses over the other angel's heart, palm flat and sure despite the cold sweat that has gripped him.]
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Archangels aren't supposed to get tired so easily, aren't supposed to sweat into the collar of their crisply pressed shirt and definitely aren't supposed to feel nauseous at the slightest effort needed for international travel the conventionally human way. Air travel via an aeroplane, Raphael decides very quickly, isn't something he enjoys in the slightest.
Their journey to Russia is long and borders on painful in every way; he's too used to flying borne on his own two wings. They aren't capable of getting him anywhere else having been to find Gabriel in a panicked flurry of feathers and ending up collapsed in an alleyway near the Old Bailey. What strength he has left has his brother's name on it, instead. It's to be used only for Uriel, for his brother who had sounded so guilty. It hurts in a way Raphael has to push away more than once so he doesn't tire himself out to exhaustion in wanting to fix it all, the physical and emotional hurt.
When they finally arrive, the cathedral having housed his brother, protected him, he tears ahead and doesn't need his eyes to know where Uriel is lying. He can feel it, can feel the breaks and bruises that need his care.]
Uriel. [His usually steady, slow, rhythmic and smooth tones are broken up into painful syllables, trailing off because it hurts. Everything hurts. Sinking to his knees beside his brother he doesn't hesitate in brushing a hand over his forehead, thumb stroking a gentle line up from between his eyebrows to his hairline. His other hand, fingers already outstretched, presses over the other angel's heart, palm flat and sure despite the cold sweat that has gripped him.]