One breath. Two. Then, at the same sound-level as before: "I will never, ever prank you again if you remove my head for me."

The past week had been one long insight into just why humanity was so damned resilient. They didn't have any choice. They were so soft, so squishy, subject to burns, scrapes, dehydration, heat exhaustion, diseases, breaks, injuries--any number of things Gabriel had always known, objectively, could happen to them.

It just wasn't until they started happening to him that he realised how much they really, truly sucked. Humans were so weak, and yet they kept on.

Angels had never had that problem. They'd never had to struggle. Not like this.

And now he felt guilty for being so doom and gloom. It had been a while since he'd seen Balthazar before this whole escapade, but he remembered it wasn't common for the younger angel to show concern. The archangel took another few measured breaths and then stirred a little, turning his head so the tiny, wry twist to his mouth was visible underneath the line of the cloth still over his eyes. "I'll live. Can't let humanity show me up. Be bad for my reputation."