I have a horribly bad feeling about this...
The writer hesitated. He had his back against the edge of the roof and nowhere to go, and the offer was very tempting, but he shook his head. "I can't." Nathan knew this was not what he wanted to hear, and his shoulders tensed. "Whatever it is you want with Lumiel you'll have to handle on your own dime. I'm not going to help you, no matter what you might offer..."
Wren's expression slowly changed when Nathan declined his deal, the smile on his lips reversing first to a frown, then a scowl, and he lowered his hand, wrapping it back around the handle of the garden hoe. "You can't?" he asked back, grip tightening. "Or won't?"
Nathan wanted to run, get as far away from him as he could, but the teen suddenly lunged forward, screaming as he swung his weapon. The writer scarcely had time to sidestep the attack as the head of the hoe hit the brick wall instead, striking with a loud clang. He quickly tried to spell out one of the angel's signatures, any of them, but Wren swung again, this one landing solidly on his bad arm. Nathan cried out and reflexively grabbed at the wound as pain seared from the reopened injury, the stitches bursting from the strain, yet still the teen swung again. He was too fast. Another strike, this one against his side, then another, shoved into his back as he tried to run again. Nathan staggered forward, stumbling down the footpath and falling to his knees. Wren was close behind. He flipped the tool around and swung it like a golf club, bringing the metal head hard into Nathan's chin. Hot, disgusting blood gushed from the wound and filled his mouth as he fell back, his senses overwhelmed by the pain. Dear God, he thought, barely aware of his head smacking into the ground. I'm going to die. Spots filled his vision, but Nathan was agonizingly aware that Wren was looming over him, ready to keep swinging.
An earsplitting bang rang out, and for a moment he thought the teen had swung for his head again and missed, hitting the ground beside it instead, but as his vision cleared he could see Wren was gone. Nathan blinked a few times, but then felt someone moving him, lifting his head up as a warm hand pressed over the wound on his cheek. "You are very, very lucky..."
"Micah?" Nathan was amazed he was able to speak, his jaw aching terribly, but somehow less severe than it had been before. He was able to lift his head just a little more, catching the angel's gaze as he placed his hand over his shoulder. "What...? How...?"
"Like I said, you are lucky," Micah repeated, sighing as he stood and pulled Nathan to his feet. "You were in dire enough need that you prayed, and I was thankfully close enough to hear you and arrive here in time. That is not always the case with prayers."
"I don't remember praying..." Nathan felt dizzy, and he placed his hand over his shoulder to ease the pain, startled when he found the wound closed again, the stitches intact. He quickly brought his hand to his face. There was still blood in his mouth, still pain, but there was no wound. Nathan couldn't stop his jaw from dropping as he stared at the angel in astonishment. "You healed me."
"Yes." Unfazed, Micah started to walk away. "All angels can heal."
"But... but Alton said that was Gabriel's domain." How could he forget that night, only last month, when he had called on Death to heal the shopkeeper's wounds? He shivered, remembering exactly who had caused them, and looked at Micah, even more confused.
The angel sighed. "Yes, it is, and his ability is much more potent. He is the only one of us who can heal himself, whereas both Lumiel and I can only heal others. Lu is limited even more than that, his power usable on mortals, but not angels." He paused to pick something up from the ground. "We can do miracles, Nathan. Remember that."
The writer rubbed his hand across his face as he digested this. "Miracles indeed," he muttered, his thoughts slowly coming together. What had Micah done to save him, anyway? He paid more attention to what he was picking up, and realized it was the garden hoe Wren had been wielding. "Hey, whatever happened to..."
Nathan never got to finish his sentence, catching a hint of red out of the corner of his eye and turning to investigate. Immediately he gasped, staggering back into Micah. "Jesus Christ!"
The teen was sprawled on his side at an extremely awkward angle, arms and legs half curled in as he lay on the ground, motionless. That bang Nathan had heard... he whirled around, facing Micah again. The angel was in his human clothes, with all his detectives gear, including a gun, now holstered at his side. It didn't take long for the pieces to fall into place. "You shot him?!"
Micah had winced at his first exclamation, but gave him a narrow, unenthused glare after the second. "Yes," he said flatly. "He was trying to kill you."
"But... but you shot him? You SHOT him!" Nathan covered his mouth and began to shake. "Oh my god, you shot him. You fucking shot him..."
"Watch your tongue," Micah growled, but otherwise kept his cold demeanor. "Yes, I shot him. It was necessary to act fast, Nathan, and coming in close with my sword would have been impractical. I have a gun. You were in danger. I used it to save your life."
"BUT YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!"
Nathan collapsed again, unable to hold back tears as the realization sank in. "You killed him," he repeated quietly, clutching at his hair, shaking so badly now it made his shoulder hurt again. "Fucking hell, he's just a kid..."
"Nathan." Micah placed his hand on his good arm. Even through his sleeve, the writer could feel the warmth of his touch, but he didn't dare look up at him. He heard the angel sigh again. "My duty is to protect, Nathan, and you were in danger. If I had not shot him, he would have killed you. I had to intervene. You may not have realized you were doing it at the time, but you thought, with absolute certainty, that you were going to die. That is when you prayed, and I answered your prayer." He squeezed his arm gently. "It was unavoidable, Nathan."