And you'll never walk alone [Closed/Complete]
Characters: Raphael (Patronofmatches) And Uriel (Flamethrown)
Date/Time: Monday the 22nd of August, around noon
Location: A nice (well, at the start) cafe
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Guns
Summary: Two angels go for lunch, two angels get shot at.
Hot tea on a day as nice as it is seems like madness, but Uriel gives into the temptation of it anyway, dropping an ice cube into the cup so that it doesn't burn him. Though he's not afraid of a burn, he can still admit to not wanting to lose the feeling in his tongue. He allows his gaze to drift up to Raphael's face across the table from him, offering him the slightest of smiles as he leans back into the chair.
Church and lunch seemed to be quite the pattern with his fellow angel, something Uriel doesn't mind in the least. Following the meal, he'd ordered one last tea before the road, regardless of the weather, and the offer from the waiter for something with caffeine in it.
"I'll cover lunch, unless you'd like to," he offers just before bringing the cup up to his lips.
--
Raphael offers a faint smile back, his hands resting gently on the table in front of him. No vaguely insane tea for him, oh no, he’s got a nice glass of cool water before him and that’s quite enough for him. No alcohol, no caffeine, no anything that could take away his fierce concentration and let unfortunate truths start slipping into the air again. He’s managed to go over a week without posting and accidentally spitting out how Samael’s lips tasted in the process, go over a week without seeking out a angel brother and telling them all that he discussed with Azazel. And he doesn’t intend to slip now, not with things apparently easing off.
“No, I’ll cover it,” Raphael smiles, reaching for his wallet to attempt to cover the still slightly rough edge from not speaking for a while, “thank you for offering, though.”
--
The elder angel gives a nod as he's swallowing, lowering the mug down to the table before speaking. "You've been quiet today. Is something on your mind?" Uriel's tone isn't accusatory -- it's as gentle as it always is, concerned if only because he's used to Raphael being more vocal.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if it had anything to do with the fact that everyone was being forced to tell truths. Naturally this isn't a problem for him because he's never told an intentional lie in his life, and there isn't any intention to begin now.
He knows he's been somewhat quiet himself, with work being extremely busy and cases popping up, and it's evident in the slight languid motions of his limbs, the tiredness in his eyes. One particular case has been keeping him up at night, a gang shooting that had ended with two dead tourists and their son in the hospital.
Being a cop is more difficult than Uriel can say, but he'll never say he's disliked any day on the job.
--
"Oh, nothing much," Raphael gives a faint, flickering smile. Taps his fingers briefly against the table again - for, to be quite frank, he can't actually say what's going on through his mind, "it's just... Been a fairly stressful week."
And unless pressed he can just let Uriel assume that it's because of work. Just work, just what he should be focusing... And has been focusing on, to be fair.
It's just that he's also been focusing on other, less shining things besides. Things that are best to hurry on from, even inside his head, "are you alright, Uriel?"
--
Deciding it's okay to let things slide if they are indeed only able to tell the truth, Uriel runs his thumb along the rim of the mug, wiping away excess tea. "Things have been busy at the station. I didn't sleep much last night," he reveals before the soft exhale of a sigh. Not an unhappy sigh, but a tired one. "But when does a workaholic get to sleep much?"
Despite the exhaustion, the angel can still manage some dark humor as he glances toward the street, eying the approaching van without much thought.
--
"Not often," Raphael says, his eyes swiftly sliding from gratefulness and towards faint worry. The kind of worry that he always summons for his brothers, no matter how many times he's told to focus on himself, "but... I wouldn't want you to tire yourself out, or anything."
...There's something odd about that van. A brief, narrowed glance is enough to make Raphael sit a little straighter in his chair, tilt his head just slightly.
--
"I get rest when I can," Uriel assures him as he settles back against his seat. "But I promise I'm taking care of myself. My sister makes sure of it." After all, if he can't watch over himself, how can he look after Lucia? The thought of his little sister lingers as he watches one of the van's windows slide open, his jaw tensing out of instinct. The sort of instinct one feels when they know something bad is about to happen.
A man with a Kabuki mask sticks an arm out to wave, almost jovially. "Hey, officer!"
As soon as that automatic is pointed out of the window and the bullets begin to rain, Uriel is out of his seat and moving to shield his brother from harm. Glass shatters around them and the screams are drowned out by the sound of gunfire, and all that the angel cares about is making sure that Raphael doesn't get a single scratch on him.
--
“Good-“ Raphael starts, his eyes still narrowed… And it’s a good thing that most humans, even if they won’t admit it most of the time, have that pressing instinct for bad things coming. Perhaps it’s a certain sort of paranoia, perhaps it’s just the natural expectation that bad things will happen and they might as well be prepared for them - either way, he’s very glad for it as he ducks the moment before the gun pokes out.
…But he can’t be entirely happy, not entirely happy with Uriel trying to shield him like his own body means nothing. Raphael has to try and change that, has to grab out for Uriel’s arm in a determined attempt to drag him down and out of the way. He can help nobody if he’s dead, after all (and Raphael doesn’t want his brother to die. Really, really doesn’t want him to.)
--
It's not as if Uriel doesn't have any experience dealing with sudden gunfire, but without his gun, there's nothing to use on the offense, rendering him useless. Instead, trying to protect Raphael with whatever he has is his only option, and though he processes the arm and the move down to the ground, only when the van screeches away and the bullets cease does he lift his head.
Pain in his shoulder kicks in, and feeling the blood drip seep through his shirt and down his collarbone, he looks to his brother despite the wound (just a deep graze, not a through and through), a hand coming up to Raphael's chest.
"Are you hurt?"
--
"Only a little," Raphael answers instantly, before he's even had a chance to fully check himself over. There's no horrible pain so that's a good sign, there are also no feelings linked to shock so that's another good one. All that prickles is a faint graze on his elbow, because of the table, and so he's free to focus on other things, "but you are."
He doesn't even think before he raises his hand and presses it against Uriel's lower arm. Using his ability, the one that he's starting to understand, to soothe the pain as his free hand digs for his phone in his pocket, "we need to get you to hospital. I don't think it'll be fatal..." A quick lean up, a even quicker brush back of the shirt to check the wound, "but you still need treatment."
--
The elder angel's first instinct is to be stubborn and suggest he stay there to tend to the scene, but he already knows what his partner and everyone else will say. Assuming the paramedics will be there within minutes, Uriel gives a slight nod, gripping the side of the table for balance.
"I've had worse. But I don't think that's very reassuring to you." His other hand slips down Raphael's chest and rests on one of his knees, trying to block out the feeling of dripping blood. "I'm glad you're alright."
--
It’s lucky that Raphael has already predicted that response and is already giving Uriel a strict glance because of it. No staying, no working, no tiring himself out - he is the archangel of healing, after all, and his brother needs healing. No wriggling out, no being stubborn - For Raphael can be stubborn himself, very stubborn over such matters.
“Not at present moment, no… But it could’ve been worse,” he pauses for a second, a millisecond to be honest, and sends his brother a faint smile before raising the phone to his ear and opening his mouth. Things will be alright, Uriel will be healed.
He’s the archangel of healing, after all. It is, for lack of a better word, his job.
Date/Time: Monday the 22nd of August, around noon
Location: A nice (well, at the start) cafe
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Guns
Summary: Two angels go for lunch, two angels get shot at.
Hot tea on a day as nice as it is seems like madness, but Uriel gives into the temptation of it anyway, dropping an ice cube into the cup so that it doesn't burn him. Though he's not afraid of a burn, he can still admit to not wanting to lose the feeling in his tongue. He allows his gaze to drift up to Raphael's face across the table from him, offering him the slightest of smiles as he leans back into the chair.
Church and lunch seemed to be quite the pattern with his fellow angel, something Uriel doesn't mind in the least. Following the meal, he'd ordered one last tea before the road, regardless of the weather, and the offer from the waiter for something with caffeine in it.
"I'll cover lunch, unless you'd like to," he offers just before bringing the cup up to his lips.
--
Raphael offers a faint smile back, his hands resting gently on the table in front of him. No vaguely insane tea for him, oh no, he’s got a nice glass of cool water before him and that’s quite enough for him. No alcohol, no caffeine, no anything that could take away his fierce concentration and let unfortunate truths start slipping into the air again. He’s managed to go over a week without posting and accidentally spitting out how Samael’s lips tasted in the process, go over a week without seeking out a angel brother and telling them all that he discussed with Azazel. And he doesn’t intend to slip now, not with things apparently easing off.
“No, I’ll cover it,” Raphael smiles, reaching for his wallet to attempt to cover the still slightly rough edge from not speaking for a while, “thank you for offering, though.”
--
The elder angel gives a nod as he's swallowing, lowering the mug down to the table before speaking. "You've been quiet today. Is something on your mind?" Uriel's tone isn't accusatory -- it's as gentle as it always is, concerned if only because he's used to Raphael being more vocal.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if it had anything to do with the fact that everyone was being forced to tell truths. Naturally this isn't a problem for him because he's never told an intentional lie in his life, and there isn't any intention to begin now.
He knows he's been somewhat quiet himself, with work being extremely busy and cases popping up, and it's evident in the slight languid motions of his limbs, the tiredness in his eyes. One particular case has been keeping him up at night, a gang shooting that had ended with two dead tourists and their son in the hospital.
Being a cop is more difficult than Uriel can say, but he'll never say he's disliked any day on the job.
--
"Oh, nothing much," Raphael gives a faint, flickering smile. Taps his fingers briefly against the table again - for, to be quite frank, he can't actually say what's going on through his mind, "it's just... Been a fairly stressful week."
And unless pressed he can just let Uriel assume that it's because of work. Just work, just what he should be focusing... And has been focusing on, to be fair.
It's just that he's also been focusing on other, less shining things besides. Things that are best to hurry on from, even inside his head, "are you alright, Uriel?"
--
Deciding it's okay to let things slide if they are indeed only able to tell the truth, Uriel runs his thumb along the rim of the mug, wiping away excess tea. "Things have been busy at the station. I didn't sleep much last night," he reveals before the soft exhale of a sigh. Not an unhappy sigh, but a tired one. "But when does a workaholic get to sleep much?"
Despite the exhaustion, the angel can still manage some dark humor as he glances toward the street, eying the approaching van without much thought.
--
"Not often," Raphael says, his eyes swiftly sliding from gratefulness and towards faint worry. The kind of worry that he always summons for his brothers, no matter how many times he's told to focus on himself, "but... I wouldn't want you to tire yourself out, or anything."
...There's something odd about that van. A brief, narrowed glance is enough to make Raphael sit a little straighter in his chair, tilt his head just slightly.
--
"I get rest when I can," Uriel assures him as he settles back against his seat. "But I promise I'm taking care of myself. My sister makes sure of it." After all, if he can't watch over himself, how can he look after Lucia? The thought of his little sister lingers as he watches one of the van's windows slide open, his jaw tensing out of instinct. The sort of instinct one feels when they know something bad is about to happen.
A man with a Kabuki mask sticks an arm out to wave, almost jovially. "Hey, officer!"
As soon as that automatic is pointed out of the window and the bullets begin to rain, Uriel is out of his seat and moving to shield his brother from harm. Glass shatters around them and the screams are drowned out by the sound of gunfire, and all that the angel cares about is making sure that Raphael doesn't get a single scratch on him.
--
“Good-“ Raphael starts, his eyes still narrowed… And it’s a good thing that most humans, even if they won’t admit it most of the time, have that pressing instinct for bad things coming. Perhaps it’s a certain sort of paranoia, perhaps it’s just the natural expectation that bad things will happen and they might as well be prepared for them - either way, he’s very glad for it as he ducks the moment before the gun pokes out.
…But he can’t be entirely happy, not entirely happy with Uriel trying to shield him like his own body means nothing. Raphael has to try and change that, has to grab out for Uriel’s arm in a determined attempt to drag him down and out of the way. He can help nobody if he’s dead, after all (and Raphael doesn’t want his brother to die. Really, really doesn’t want him to.)
--
It's not as if Uriel doesn't have any experience dealing with sudden gunfire, but without his gun, there's nothing to use on the offense, rendering him useless. Instead, trying to protect Raphael with whatever he has is his only option, and though he processes the arm and the move down to the ground, only when the van screeches away and the bullets cease does he lift his head.
Pain in his shoulder kicks in, and feeling the blood drip seep through his shirt and down his collarbone, he looks to his brother despite the wound (just a deep graze, not a through and through), a hand coming up to Raphael's chest.
"Are you hurt?"
--
"Only a little," Raphael answers instantly, before he's even had a chance to fully check himself over. There's no horrible pain so that's a good sign, there are also no feelings linked to shock so that's another good one. All that prickles is a faint graze on his elbow, because of the table, and so he's free to focus on other things, "but you are."
He doesn't even think before he raises his hand and presses it against Uriel's lower arm. Using his ability, the one that he's starting to understand, to soothe the pain as his free hand digs for his phone in his pocket, "we need to get you to hospital. I don't think it'll be fatal..." A quick lean up, a even quicker brush back of the shirt to check the wound, "but you still need treatment."
--
The elder angel's first instinct is to be stubborn and suggest he stay there to tend to the scene, but he already knows what his partner and everyone else will say. Assuming the paramedics will be there within minutes, Uriel gives a slight nod, gripping the side of the table for balance.
"I've had worse. But I don't think that's very reassuring to you." His other hand slips down Raphael's chest and rests on one of his knees, trying to block out the feeling of dripping blood. "I'm glad you're alright."
--
It’s lucky that Raphael has already predicted that response and is already giving Uriel a strict glance because of it. No staying, no working, no tiring himself out - he is the archangel of healing, after all, and his brother needs healing. No wriggling out, no being stubborn - For Raphael can be stubborn himself, very stubborn over such matters.
“Not at present moment, no… But it could’ve been worse,” he pauses for a second, a millisecond to be honest, and sends his brother a faint smile before raising the phone to his ear and opening his mouth. Things will be alright, Uriel will be healed.
He’s the archangel of healing, after all. It is, for lack of a better word, his job.