In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. A few epochs later the hairless apes pranced onto the scene to the tune of a painfully slow evolutionary two-step, and one-two-three the first angel tripped and fell face-first into an alternate realm of his own design. They said the physical fall itself was over a year long, and that his
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Do the right thing. How... How could he know what was right? He'd learned some things, but he'd always turned to God for guidance when he didn't know. Now he was expected to figure it out on his own. And not just for himself, but for everyone. He knew well enough that even Raphael and Gabriel would come to him as a Leader of sorts. .. He'd need to know.
For a moment, the fear showed, quivered across his Grace like a shiver to a human's skin. Could he really do this? .. Of course he would. It was his Father's last order; there was no doubt in his mind that he would question, go against or defy. He would do the right thing. So he dipped his head, not quite looking at his Father.
Please don't leave. Don't go away. Stay with us, with me. Don't leave. "I will."
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He didn't say He loved him. It went without saying.
He didn't say He was proud of him. Anyone who didn't know that was a fool.
He didn't assure him that He knew Michael was strong enough. If He didn't, He wouldn't be giving him this responsibility.
He didn't say these or a thousand other things every child needs to hear, because in His mind everything important was already understood. So He just ducked His head down slightly, looking to catch Michael's eye in an unseen by completely irresistible way. "Be good, my son."
And then He was just gone, leaving nothing but ringing emptiness.
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Was he strong enough? Would he make Him proud? Could he really handle this responsibility? The gaze was unmissable, eyes caught, senses catching the final words. Be good. ... And that was it. The entire hall seeming that much darker, dimmer in the sudden absence of it's Lord Almighty. Gone.
The sudden weight of it all was suffocating. He was gone; Michael had no idea when he'd return, if at all. He was gone, and Michael was alone. The warmth of his Father didn't linger like one might think. Everything of him was gone; no inkling that he' been there in the first place beyond the physical evidence and thoughts of his children.
... Could he really do this? Everything ached, empty, hurting, alone. Had God been so upset from Lucifer's fall that he'd chosen to leave? Had his doing- his unwanted task of casting his brother out- his sick brother who had twisted into something hideous, had that been the act to close the deal? ... Was it Michael's fault?
But, everything rested on his's shoulders now. All of it; guiding the Seraphs, leading the Cherubs, the remaining Archangels... Gabriel, Raphael. He'd have to tell them. Or maybe he wouldn't. Letting them know would only mean questions that he didn't have the answers to, it meant worry and concern, an uprise of why. So he wouldn't tell them. Not yet. It was the right choice.
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When he finally pulled himself together, he fled to the Garden first, rather than the sanctum that had so long ago been his playground. Joshua had no answers for him. Talk to your brothers, he'd said. Gabriel's wings had mantled. He'd done his duty as the Father said- his orders had come from Joshua directly, however, so God, Himself, had not spoken to him since Lucifer's untimely fall. He wanted to shout, to back Joshua against the trees he so dearly loved and demanded to know why God was giving him the same wide berth that the other angels did. Because he didn't fight? Because he never picked a side.
He didn't, however. He just turned and fled to the Seventh Heaven, only to find Michael already there. His wings pulled in tight in respect, the lower two twitching with apprehension. The feeling was stronger here. Were he human, he'd probably be retching at the sense of pervasive wrongness.
The last time he'd spoken to Michael, they had fought. To call it a fight would be an exaggeration, however, after what had transpired previously. Gabriel had demanded to know if Michael truly believed that Lucifer deserved his fate and Michael had struck him down. Gabriel had retreated to his own devices, the only angel who seemed to mourn Lucifer's Fall.
Now he stood behind Michael, mourning a different presence. "Joshua wouldn't tell me," he said, voice low and dangerous- he wouldn't threaten Michael, but the idea that God would leave them made him tense and agitated. "Is it true?"
It was preposterous to think otherwise- he could feel it. Stupid questions beget stupid answers, but he wanted to hear it from his eldest brother's- the Firstborn, the Lion- lips.
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In her haste she had skipped the Garden altogether, certain that she wouldn't have been able to tolerate Joshua's insolence without getting violent. Going to the throne room uninvited was forbidden - the closest Raphael had ever come to breaking a rule - but the door was hanging on its hinges and easily opened. When she came to her brothers now her eyes were hollow, dully horrified at finding the throne empty and highest Heaven abandoned. Her very Grace was hissing, pulling into the sucking vacuum left by His absence.
"The Merkabah is empty." She glanced at Gabriel once, meeting his eyes soulfully, before turning to their elder. She didn't need to ask. The question was written on her face. Raphael trusted that Michael would be honest with her- since the Fall, she'd been the only one to attempt understanding, as limited as the lesser angels were and as wounded as Gabriel still was. She needed his honesty now.
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Even with Raphael's swift, angry arrival he didn't turn to them. They already knew; there was no point in avoiding the truth. The Throne Room was empty, and that was that.
"He'll return when he sees fit." Now he turned to them, his own wings still as ever, even if the core of himself quivered beneath it's growing stone cover.
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"Father!" Gabriel shouted, repeating the word over and over again, at first tearfully desperate like a child and then furious. "If you won't talk to anyone else, talk to me. What messages am I supposed to send to our family? What will we do?"
Michael's words weren't good enough. He hadn't gotten answers from God in a long time, so only answers from the Old Man, himself, would suffice.
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For the first time in all her long and lofty existence, Raphael's strong jaw trembled. The enormity of the Loss swept over her at once and in a rush hot tears welled in her eyes. Raphael was numb to Gabriel's flight, staring at her big brother's tensely pained face- expecting something to change. Please, please, tell me it's not true. Tell me what to do. But Michael was lost in his own pain. Any other creature wouldn't have noticed, but Raphael knew her brother well enough to spot the thread of tension and weight of despair dragging him down. It stood out enough that she backed off a step, tearfully frightened, her normally impassive face contorting into desperate pain. "No. He's not coming back, brother. God doesn't go back on His decisions."
The throne room. Raphael stumbled uncharacteristically, almost falling to her knees. When had she come here? Had she even spread her wings, slowly taking flight? Had she taken leave of their brother? She couldn't remember. But Gabriel was there, was shouting at the golden throne (already tarnishing to bronze in its emptiness) like something from her worst nightmare.
"Gabriel," she said too harshly, seizing her little brother by the shoulders. The pain on his face and tears in his eyes drove something sharp and white-hot into a part of her too vulnerable to accept. Their family was falling apart in her icy hands. Once he was facing her, caught in her iron grip, she faltered. A hundred cruel reproaches died on her lips as she met his stricken gaze. They had lost so much. "...Brother."
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