Skulduggery wasn't the only one worried about that news, although upon reflection, Gabriel realised he wasn't exceptionally surprised. The circumstances in which angels were legitimately injured were rare enough, but they had never before been out of reach of one of their own healers. So, of course, none of them had ever had to heal on their own.
The idea that these wounds might never go away did make part of Gabe tighten with anxiety, but he reminded himself firmly that Raphael was on his way. Even if he was exhausted, exhaustion was something from which angels could recover, which meant Gabriel only had to endure it for a few days after that.
"Right then," Kenspeckle was saying briskly, yanking the book on the trolley closer and scribbling some notes. "Believe it or not, I have been considering this since you left last night--when I haven't been hosting Cleavers and healing idiots who don't know enough to get out of the way of vampires, that is." The words were pointed, but less so than they might have been, and the doctor visibly shuddered at the thought of the vampires.
"What I've been looking into," he continued as he poured some of the water into a bowl, along with another unidentified oil and some kind of powder, and swished them thoroughly. "Is a holy-water-based poultice. For the open wounds, naturally, but I imagine a liquid pain-killer or an oil would be just as possible. Pleasant, get over here!"
The last was barked out, and Kenspeckle set the bowl down on the table on which Gabriel sat; Gabe craned his head carefully back to watch in bright curiosity. The professor thrust a soft cloth into Skul's hand and pointed at the oil-water mix (the powder, apparently, being something to keep the two liquids bonded). "Groom him. His feathers are a mess, and I imagine they're not helping the rest of his injuries."
With everything else going on, Gabriel hadn't even been thinking about a grooming, and the surprise that Kenspeckle had noticed--and realised the possible discomfort--flickered across his face. It was followed in short order by gratification, because even though the Archangel mostly couldn't tell through the greater pain, there had been times while moving his wings that he felt the pull of displaced feathers.
"That would be lovely," he said softly, almost wistfully. Usually Rafe did that for him, but in this, Gabriel didn't particularly want to wait.
~~~
Solomon sat heavily on another chair nearby, because there was quite literally nothing else he could do. His knees had refused to hold him; his whole body was numb with shock. His mind didn't seem to want to stop working. Somehow, when he'd been going over and over Saint Gabriel's existence in his mind last night, it had always inevitably shied away from what that meant.
Now China was telling him what he hadn't dared admit. God was real. She had seen Him.
Solomon didn't dare disbelieve her. Not with the way she was acting, the utter destruction of her beloved library. Not after the way he had so deliberately used her disbelief to test his own. To do so would be foolish to the highest degree, and Solomon was greatly fearful, but not foolish.
There wasn't anything to be said. What could be said to that? After a long moment Solomon cleared his throat again, and this time he didn't even try to keep the shakiness out. "Well. I--well. You need your rest. I may see you later."
They were comrades-in-arms now, in a strange way. Two disbelievers confronted by everything they feared. They had to stand together, for surely no one else who knew would stand by them, and no one who didn't possibly could.
Quietly he rose, gripping his cane hard only to try and stave off the tremble of adrenaline in his hands, and turned to leave.
no subject
The idea that these wounds might never go away did make part of Gabe tighten with anxiety, but he reminded himself firmly that Raphael was on his way. Even if he was exhausted, exhaustion was something from which angels could recover, which meant Gabriel only had to endure it for a few days after that.
"Right then," Kenspeckle was saying briskly, yanking the book on the trolley closer and scribbling some notes. "Believe it or not, I have been considering this since you left last night--when I haven't been hosting Cleavers and healing idiots who don't know enough to get out of the way of vampires, that is." The words were pointed, but less so than they might have been, and the doctor visibly shuddered at the thought of the vampires.
"What I've been looking into," he continued as he poured some of the water into a bowl, along with another unidentified oil and some kind of powder, and swished them thoroughly. "Is a holy-water-based poultice. For the open wounds, naturally, but I imagine a liquid pain-killer or an oil would be just as possible. Pleasant, get over here!"
The last was barked out, and Kenspeckle set the bowl down on the table on which Gabriel sat; Gabe craned his head carefully back to watch in bright curiosity. The professor thrust a soft cloth into Skul's hand and pointed at the oil-water mix (the powder, apparently, being something to keep the two liquids bonded). "Groom him. His feathers are a mess, and I imagine they're not helping the rest of his injuries."
With everything else going on, Gabriel hadn't even been thinking about a grooming, and the surprise that Kenspeckle had noticed--and realised the possible discomfort--flickered across his face. It was followed in short order by gratification, because even though the Archangel mostly couldn't tell through the greater pain, there had been times while moving his wings that he felt the pull of displaced feathers.
"That would be lovely," he said softly, almost wistfully. Usually Rafe did that for him, but in this, Gabriel didn't particularly want to wait.
~~~
Solomon sat heavily on another chair nearby, because there was quite literally nothing else he could do. His knees had refused to hold him; his whole body was numb with shock. His mind didn't seem to want to stop working. Somehow, when he'd been going over and over Saint Gabriel's existence in his mind last night, it had always inevitably shied away from what that meant.
Now China was telling him what he hadn't dared admit. God was real. She had seen Him.
Solomon didn't dare disbelieve her. Not with the way she was acting, the utter destruction of her beloved library. Not after the way he had so deliberately used her disbelief to test his own. To do so would be foolish to the highest degree, and Solomon was greatly fearful, but not foolish.
There wasn't anything to be said. What could be said to that? After a long moment Solomon cleared his throat again, and this time he didn't even try to keep the shakiness out. "Well. I--well. You need your rest. I may see you later."
They were comrades-in-arms now, in a strange way. Two disbelievers confronted by everything they feared. They had to stand together, for surely no one else who knew would stand by them, and no one who didn't possibly could.
Quietly he rose, gripping his cane hard only to try and stave off the tremble of adrenaline in his hands, and turned to leave.