remember when we used to shine
and had no fear or sense of time

Raphael was made for the mending of broken things.

He rekindles Gabriel’s Grace when his little brother dances too close to event horizons, the hungry darkness swallowing the youngest archangel’s laughter and licking at the edges of his light. Lucifer and Michael fight often and cruelly, but Raphael’s hands can smooth their crooked pinions and ruffled secondaries, even if he cannot salve their rage. The fledglings wrestle amid the galaxies, and then they come to him, that he might wipe the ash of supernovae from their cheeks, and wrap their scorched hands (now you know not to touch the stellar nucleosynthesis) in cool healing.

For Raphael was made for the mending broken things.

Then Lucifer rebels, and is cast from Heaven in a flood quintessence and fury. Then Gabriel vanishes into the space between stars, leaving no path for any to follow after. Then Father withdraws further into the Garden, until none may have audience with him but the Metatron.

And Michael (weary-eyed Michael in battered armor, Michael who was ordered by his Father to cast out his brother and did as he was charged, for he is the good son, even with a broken, brotherless heart) looks to Raphael.

Brother, Michael says.

And Raphael is not the brother Michael’s Grace longs for, nor the brother whose laughter could drive the sorrow from Michael’s eyes. But Raphael kisses him and Raphael says Yes, for Raphael was made to mend broken things.

When Michael takes up the governance of Heaven, Raphael is at his side.

(Without the other points of the compass rose, Raphael and Michael are a needle spinning, frenzied, searching for a north that cannot be found. But they try. They do not know what else to do but try.

Father retreats further into the Garden.)