Chapter 29

Helena

The dayfinally arrives when I can stand on my own and shuffle small distances unassisted. After weeks in bed, even crossing my hospital room to the bathroom alone feels like a monumental victory. Small daily goals mark my gradual mending as strength slowly returns to my devastated body.

The hospital room, with its sterile walls and constant beeps, has become a cage of sorts, but today, it feels a little less confining. The scent of antiseptic is less overpowering, and the soft rustle of the sheets even sounds like music. Everything feels amplified, more vivid, as if my senses are reawakening along with my body.

I stop by the window, relishing the simple pleasure of standing unaided. The sun peeks through sheer curtains, casting a soft glow in the room, bathing everything in a golden light. It’s a welcome respite from the darkness of my recent memories, the pain and fear that have been my constant companions.

A hushed knock on the door startles me, but it’s only Raphael. His hawk-like gaze scans me with concern, mixed with something else—pride, perhaps? He enters, arms overflowing with familiar items from home, a small smile playing on his lips. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Raphael, my rock in this storm.

“See anything you like?” he asks, his voice gentle as he sets down a stack of clothing and toiletries.

I flash him a devilish grin, my voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “You bet I do.” The best part? Raphael actually starts to blush.

I struggle to pick up the tracksuit, groaning as my injuries throb. Each movement is a battle, a painful reminder of my vulnerability. But seeing these precious belongings from home brings a smile to my face. They’re symbols of normalcy, of the life waiting for me beyond these walls.

Raphael steps back, giving me privacy as I attempt to dress myself for the first time since the attack. His eyes never leave me, understanding when my touch might trigger panic and giving me space until my logical mind takes over. His presence is both comforting and unsettling. I know he’s watching over me, but it also reminds me of how much I’ve lost, how dependent I’ve become.

“Take your time, sweetheart,” he assures me. “Reclaiming any bits of self-sufficiency will be entirely helpful.”

I nod tiredly, noting he thoughtfully turns his back, granting me modesty as I struggle with my clumsy limbs. My breath saws unevenly as I squeeze into the pants one-handed. I hiss as agony spikes through the dressing wounds, still mending. But relentless patience prevails inch by inch, reclaiming broken body and psyche both.

Raphael’s unease is unmistakable, even with his back turned. He wrestles with the decision to either come to my rescue or give me the opportunity to regain control and find my footing once more. “You’ve got this, babe,” he finally utters, a mix of encouragement and anxiety in his voice.

“Done,” I manage, breathing hard by the time I finish, arm wrapped around my still-tender ribs. But standing fully clothed and upright infuses me with new steel—I will conquer this recovery, no matter how long and arduous the road.

When Raphael turns back, his eyes shine with pride. “There’s my fierce warrior,” he proclaims, kissing my forehead reverently. “Shall we start slave-driving those poor therapists for your discharge orders?”

I manage a tiny smirk at his teasing. “If they clear me, will you help me torch this hospital gown?” My voice remains reedy from disuse, but gains strength daily. “I want all traces erased as soon as I’m free of this place.”

“It would be my honor.” Raphael tucks a lock of lank hair behind my ear. “But are you sure you wouldn’t like to frame this fashionable number to commemorate your triumph over death’s door?” He tilts closer, his lips brushing mine in a sweet, tender kiss.

His familiar banter lightens my heart, along with my first real clothing in ages. I’m finally glimpsing the light at the end of this torturous tunnel towards full recovery. As long as Raphael remains at my side, I can endure all else.

“I see someone’s ready to leave us,” a voice says softly—Michael, standing in the doorway.

Raphael’s face is tense as he asks, “Do you have good news?”

With a heavy sigh, Michael responds, “I’m afraid the staff will miss you terribly, Helena. They’ve grown quite fond of you during your time here.” He pauses before adding, “But yes. Today is the day you finally get to go home.”

Raphael’s joy is infectious, lighting up the room like a beacon. He claps his hands, a sound that echoes with hope and relief. “Baby, d’you hear that? You’re coming home!”

His words, imbued with such genuine happiness, stir something deep within me. A sense of belonging, of being wanted and cherished. He wraps me in his sturdy arms, and I’m enveloped in his warmth. His embrace is eager yet careful, mindful of my still-healing wounds. It’s a sanctuary, a haven where I feel truly safe and loved.

In this moment, I realize just how much I’ve missed the comfort of his touch, the security his presence brings. The hospital, despite its intention of healing, has been a lonely place, filled with too many unknowns. But in Raphael’s arms, I find a piece of the familiar, a fragment of the life I’m eager to return to.

But the tranquillity of the moment is short-lived when Lucifer’s voice, firm and resolute, slices through the air, shattering our brief illusion. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until this is all over,” he declares as he strides into the room. There’s a steely determination in his tone, one that brooks no argument.

“You’re coming with me, love. I’ve already set up an elite team to keep you safe...” My uncle’s words hang heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the dangers that still lurk, waiting for their moment to strike. The realization that my ordeal isn’t over yet, that my safety is still a concern, weighs on me like a ton of bricks.

“Absolutely not,” Raphael mutters. His hold tightens slightly, a silent message of solidarity and support. His sole presence is a balm to my troubled thoughts, a promise that, no matter what, he’ll be there, fighting alongside me. I know he understands my conflicted feelings—torn by choosing between family and my heart’s sole desire.

“What better place for my niece than being with her own?” my uncle says in that calm, unapologetic tone of his.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Raphael snaps, all but lunging towards him. “One of her own tried to kill her!”

“He’s right, Lucifer,” Michael says, folding his arms across his chest, resolved. “Helena will be safer under Raphael’s care.” His voice is the voice of reason, a calming presence in the heated exchange.

Lucifer stands rigid, his body language screaming his discontent. His face, usually so composed, is now a canvas of barely contained fury.

“Uncle?” My voice is small, almost lost amid the pent-up tension that fills the room. It’s a plea, a call for understanding, for acceptance.

His gaze finds mine, and for a moment, his expression softens, his dark brown eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. In them, I see a flicker of the affectionate uncle I’ve always known, overshadowed by the powerful, immovable figure he’s become.

“If this is about Draven...” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel.

He wrinkles his nose in disgust at the mention of the name. “Oh… it’s not about that demon fool,” he grunts, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. He steps closer, his hands resting gently on my shoulders—a gesture of care and protection. “I just want you to be safe,” he says, and I can hear the sincerity in his voice, the genuine concern for my well-being.

My gaze shifts between Raphael and Lucifer, weighing my words, measuring the impact they might have. Then, with a shrug reminiscent of my childhood, I look up at my uncle. It’s a silent reminder of the simpler times, of the innocent requests for more ice cream and the indulgence that always followed.

Lucifer pinches the corners of his eyes, rubbing them in a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Helena, seriously?” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. He pulls me aside, and in a hushed tone, he asks, “Is this what you really want—who you really want?”

I meet his gaze, unflinching, and with a shy smile, I reply, “I do.”

He heaves a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he concedes after a moment, his voice laced with reluctance. Turning towards Raphael, he points a begrudging finger at him and says, “Don’t give me a reason to come after you!”

With those final words, Lucifer takes his leave, his departure cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. His acceptance, grudging though it may be, feels like a weight lifted off my shoulders. It’s an acknowledgment of my choice, my agency, in this twisted game of fate and family.

As the door closes behind him, I turn to Raphael, my heart swelling with gratitude and love. His eyes meet mine, and in them, I see the reflection of my own emotions—relief, determination, and an unspoken promise of a future together, whatever it may hold.

Raphael’s arms tighten around me once more, and I lean into his embrace, savoring the feeling of safety and belonging. In his arms, I find the strength to face the challenges ahead, to reclaim my life from the shadows that have threatened to engulf it.

“I’m with you,” I whisper, my words a vow, a commitment to stand by his side through whatever comes our way. “Always with you.”

Raphael’s response is a soft kiss on my forehead, a silent affirmation of our unbreakable bond. In that moment, I know that no matter what the future brings, we’ll face it together, united in our love and resilience.