Fic: A History of Heaven (Gabriel/Various Angels, PG-13 for this chapter) 40/59

Nov 24, 2013 23:42

For full notes and other chapters, please see the Masterpost.
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 2,966
Chapter Summary: When Gabriel goes to visit Michael for the first time in years, his oldest brother is not what Gabriel remembers.


CHAPTER 40:
Damaged Michael

Unease grew within Gabriel as he flew toward Michael’s tower. His wings sliced through the air over the empty fields of Heaven, their heavy wingbeats the only sound he heard.

Heaven was quiet and empty. Gabriel checked his flight abruptly, twisting around in midair for an entire view of Heaven. Nothing. Even the industrious Cherubim who kept the whole place glistening were hiding from sight.

Did I do this?

Michael’s second had been attacked in Michael’s tower. Had that been disturbing enough to completely shut down Heaven? Gabriel stretched out his grace, feeling for his brothers. They were still in Heaven, but inside the towers or on the walls. A few were in the Garden. The Axis Mundi was completely deserted, and only Gabriel was in the air.

The Archangel shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Heaven was supposed to be a warm and busy place, full of songs and wings. He had never seen it so completely deserted. It was unnatural. Unnerving. He expanded his grace even further, folding himself through Heaven instead of flying through the deserted airspace.

Gabriel rematerialized in the Crown, the observation deck just as abandoned as the rest of Heaven. He frowned as he hurried down into Michael’s tower proper, drawing his wings in tight.

There were angels inside the tower, pulling themselves out of Gabriel’s way as he passed, all falling silent the moment they felt the Archangel’s presence. A few Angels even veiled themselves completely, hiding from their older brother.

Gabriel recognized the silver wings of Metatron among a group of Cherubim who blatantly stared after him with huge eyes, the guilty tinge to their grace a sure giveaway that they had just been gossiping about him. For once, the Scribe wasn’t chasing after their Father, begging for scraps of His attention like a dog to his master.

Gabriel seized Metatron by the joint of his wing, dragging him out of the huddle of his brothers. “Where’s Michael?” he demanded, trying to ignore how every other angel in the hall was edging away from him. They were scared. Of him.

Metatron pointed, his eyes never leaving Gabriel’s face. “Two more floors down, Archangel Gabriel. He’s in Azazel’s office, Sir. Please don’t smite me!”

“Tch!” Gabriel pushed Metatron away. The Cherub shrank back among his brothers. “Have you been serving Lucifer?” He barely waited for Metatron’s hurried negative before continuing. “Then you have nothing to fear from me.” The angels remained frozen in place as Gabriel turned away, and he scowled at them all. “Get back to work!”

As the angels scattered with a flurry of wings, Gabriel stalked down the hall, his wings twitching in agitation. He knew where Azazel’s office. Azazel was still in Azazel’s office.

Michael was also in Azazel’s office, seated across from the immobile Seraph. His great wings were held loosely open, filling the room. His elbows were propped on the Seraph’s desk, hands clasped together, chin lightly resting on his fingers as he stared evenly at his lieutenant. His grace didn’t even twitch to recognize Gabriel’s presence as the smaller Archangel entered the room.

Gabriel circled around, coming behind Azazel and trying not to step on the angel’s limp wings. The Seraph’s head lolled to the side, his eyes and grace just as vacant as when Gabriel left him. Azazel’s mind was torn to shreds, and he didn’t even have the strength to twitch a wing. Prodding Azazel with a finger gave Gabriel no reaction from either of the other angels. Azazel was not a threat. Gabriel looked beyond the younger angel to Michael.

Michael was watching Gabriel.

At some point, the older angel had shifted the focus of his attention without even a twitch of his grace to alert Gabriel. That shouldn’t have been possible. Gabriel gave a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature, staring back into Michael’s eyes.

The oldest Archangel had changed, just as Raphael had said. Where before, Michael radiated an untouchable strength and control to his younger brothers, now his eyes were full of darkness. Despair and hopelessness floated over the surface of his inner spirit, shifting and cracking like the crust of molten lava, melting back into the depths of Michael’s core only to be replaced with new misery. A cold fury seeped through around the edges, rage against the situation they were trapped in.

Gabriel wished fear was not part of an Archangel’s vocabulary. Unfortunately, in his experience, Archangels were the most fearful of the angels. At least, he was. All their younger brothers looked up to them for guidance and direction, and they acted in the confidence that a superior brother had told them what to do. The Archangels looked to God, but God wasn’t big on giving direction. Gabriel felt like he was completely making the rules up as he went along and wished he had half the confidence shown by his older brothers.

Gabriel had an intimate knowledge of Michael that no other angel in Heaven shared. He understood his oldest brother more than any other living being, bar God Himself. Right now, he had no idea how to handle this situation so as not to set off an Archangelic explosion.

Michael seemed content to watch Gabriel, his eerie eyes never wavering. His grace was rock solid around him, with none of the usual ebb and flow most angels showed, a natural rhythm perhaps like breathing, or a heartbeat. Michael looked dead, as much as a living angel could. Gabriel twisted his wings and clasped his hands together in an attempt not to fidget. “Er… hello, Michael. It’s been a while.”

There was no immediate response from Michael, no indication that he had even heard Gabriel’s words. Gabriel shifted from one foot to the other and twitched his wings again. He dropped his hands to his sides, then clasped them together again. Only after he looked away from his motionless brother, glancing down at Azazel again, did Michael actually speak.

“It has.”

He didn’t move his mouth when he spoke. Gabriel had looked back as soon as he heard the first sound. Angels didn’t have to, of course, but most angels did anyway, as a sort of practice. It helped them when they had their vessels. Other angels could understand them perfectly, but humans seemed to have more difficulty interpreting the nuances of angelic speech. Michael always used to speak with his mouth while in Heaven.

“I’m sorry.”

Those words had always worked before. Whenever Michael was in one of his cold furies, whenever he was so still and blank at Gabriel in the past, all it took was an apology to break his anger and reel him back from the edge. Lucifer had never apologized to Michael. Gabriel didn’t know if Raphael ever did. Gabriel tried to always apologize when he had done something wrong.

It didn’t work this time. Michael remained still. His grace didn’t even whisper. Gabriel shifted again and freed one hand to Azazel. “For, uh… this. I did it. I ripped Azazel’s mind open. I mean, I’m not sorry that I did it, I’m just sorry that it hurt you too. I needed to do it. I would do it again, if given the chance to do things over.”

“I know.” Michael’s gaze flickered. One moment it was focused on Gabriel, the next, it was on Azazel. There was no transition, no slide of his eyes. It was almost as if Michael had folded himself through Heaven solely to change who he was looking at, but his grace hadn’t given the tell-tale signs of an angel dematerializing or rematerializing.

Michael was powerful. It was easy to forget just how strong the oldest Archangel was when he was calm and friendly. Gabriel had never felt threated by Michael, never believed Michael was capable of hurting him. But Michael was nearly twice as strong as Gabriel, half again as strong as Lucifer had been. Michael was the most powerful creation of God’s in the entire universe. Of course he could do things Gabriel believed were impossible.

Up until now, he had simply been too polite to show off.

Gabriel’s hands dropped back to his sides, and he tucked his wings in, deliberately making himself smaller in Michael’s presence. If Michael got it in his head that Gabriel needed to die for attacking his second, then Gabriel was dead. He couldn’t outfly Michael, and he certainly couldn’t outfight his brother. All he could do was fall on Michael’s mercy, if any remained. Maybe, maybe, if he could get to Raphael…

“Hang on… you knew? You knew I did this?” Gabriel looked at Azazel again, then back to Michael. Raphael hadn’t known. “Why didn’t you tell Raphael? He thought Heaven was under attack! The whole realm is shut down! Your angels are cowering in the tower!”

“His mind was already hanging open. I’ve searched his memories myself. I know what you did. I know why you did it. Raphael would have made a scene. At the very least, he would have demanded he be here.” Michael flickered again, now looking at Gabriel with his arms folded on the desk, sitting up straight. There was no in-between, no arms lowering. He was resting his chin on his hands and then he wasn’t. “I wanted to interrogate you alone.”

Gabriel took a step back from Michael when the older angel flickered, his arms curling around himself protectively. “Interrogate? But you already know…”

“This, yes.” Flicker, hand gesturing to Azazel, flicker, back to his resting position. “But you gave him to me, all those years ago.”

Gabriel remembered that day, holding Michael’s broken spirit against his as Raphael tried to piece him back together. It had been the first day he had ever realized that Michael was not invincible, that even he could be claimed by Death. “I didn’t…” Gabriel ducked his head, genuine remorse swimming up in his grace now. “I didn’t know his loyalty wouldn’t be changed. I didn’t know he would betray us, betray you. I am sorry for that, Michael.”

Michael said nothing, frozen on his side of the desk. Gabriel hated the silence. He stepped forward, coming around the desk in three quick strides and dropping to one knee by Michael’s side. “See for yourself,” he said, taking one of Michael’s hands in both of his. Michael allowed Gabriel to move him, pressing Michael’s hand to his forehead. “Look into my mind, Michael. I didn’t even suspect treachery back then.”

Flicker, and sudden squeezing pressure on Gabriel’s shoulder. Michael’s free hand was gripping him tight now, keeping him from fleeing. Two fingers pressed through Gabriel’s grace, and Gabriel forced his mind open to his brother’s intrusion.

Michael flooded Gabriel’s mind with his presence, hard and sharp, forcing Gabriel’s consciousness to the edges of his own head. He rummaged carelessly through Gabriel’s memories, digging back through them, forcing Gabriel to recall every mention of Azazel’s name. Most of the time, he was in Cariel’s presence. He was reliving Gabriel’s growing suspicion of the golden-eyed angel in reverse.

When he hit that fateful day, Michael stopped. He examined that memory from every angle, looking out from Gabriel’s eyes. He was experiencing everything Gabriel had felt, thinking every thought Gabriel had held.

Some of the sharpness in Gabriel’s mind softened, and Gabriel felt a feather-light brush of the glow he had always associated with his brother in the past, a gentle kiss of reassurance from Michael to his Little One. Tension slid out of Gabriel in a great wave, his wings sagging in relief. His Michael was still inside this broken Archangel, somewhere. He wasn’t gone, wasn’t killed by his own actions; he was just hiding. Resting. Trying to heal.

But then Michael was off again, digging deeper into Gabriel’s memories, pulling up and discarding every moment with Cariel. Did Michael think Cariel was somehow a traitor? Gabriel tried to catch Michael’s mind and pull him back, but he didn’t dare use enough force to actually stop his brother. They were both inside Gabriel’s mind. If they fought here, even if they just resisted slightly, Michael could rip through Gabriel’s mind and leave him as vegetative as Azazel.

Michael stopped in the ocean, frozen in a memory of Cariel’s lips pressed against Gabriel’s own, frozen in that fraction of a second when Gabriel had liked it.

Gabriel wished he could hide in his own mind. He wished God would smite him down right here and now. Michael was examining the memory with a detached curiosity, rewinding it and playing it back over and over again: Cariel’s disappointment, Gabriel’s consolation, and Cariel’s kiss.

Yes, he kissed me! Gabriel shouted in his head. He kissed me once, centuries ago, and Alastair stole his memory of it. Can we please let it go?

Suddenly, Gabriel was all alone in his mind. He blinked and looked up at Michael, who was already looking back at Azazel, hands clasped on the desk again.

“He said you were lovers.”

“He was wrong. I love Cariel, yes, but I’ve never lain with him, or even let him know he kissed me.” Gabriel shook his head, stiffly getting back to his feet and sitting on the edge of the desk. “It wouldn’t be appropriate. He is my lieutenant.”

“That is correct. See that you don’t.”

Gabriel looked up sharply at Michael, but Michael was still watching Azazel. Had Michael really just forbidden him from bedding Cariel? Surely he had no right to give that order! What Gabriel did in his own vessels was his own business, so long as he didn’t hurt anyone else. If he wanted to sleep with Cariel, he could. And he did. Now that it had finally been expressly forbidden, Gabriel wanted to pull Cariel to Earth and see if a second kiss would be as electrifying as the first. He frowned, folding his arms and looking away from Michael. Now was not a good time to be tempted into disobedience. That was the path to Lucifer.

“Fine. I won’t sleep with Cariel.” The words felt heavy as he spoke them. That was as good as giving his word. If Gabriel told Michael he wouldn’t do something, he wouldn’t do something. It would have been different if he were talking to Raphael, but he wasn’t. With Michael, he couldn’t take back his words. “What are we going to do about Azazel and his traitors?” Gabriel asked, trying to change the subject. “Execution?”

“We won’t kill them.”

Gabriel swung his head around to stare at Michael. “We won’t?” Surely they couldn’t leave a bunch of treasonous brothers alive!

“Azazel wanted to punish the ‘traitors’ Alastair was turning up far more harshly than we were. He thought execution was too good for them.” Michael flickered, standing up now, his hands planted firmly on the desk as he leaned toward his former second. “He wanted their wings torn from their backs and their grace ripped out at the root. He wanted their defenseless spirits flung to Earth, where they would be reborn as human souls, to live stunted, mortal lives, and then to die and be judged.”

“That seems unnecessarily cruel,” Gabriel murmured, staring at his usually-just brother. The loss of one’s wings was an angel’s greatest fear, even more than death. Barachiel had managed to endure (despite Marmoniel offering a merciful killing), but even centuries after his injury, he was still unable to fly on his own, pitied and avoided by most of the Host. Just clipping Cariel and Naomi’s wings after their massacre of a human village had been considered an unduly harsh punishment, even though Cariel himself had suggested it. Removing the wings of the traitors would have been viewed as punishment enough to the Host. Removing the angels’ grace grew to an entirely new level of nightmare.

During the war, a small handful of Angels and Cherubim had chosen to rip out their own grace instead of take up swords against their brothers. Those angels had plummeted from the Host, falling to Earth to be reborn as humans, complete with functional souls. They had very little recollection of Heaven, aside from a sense of a greater Father when they were very young. They lived perfectly ordinary human lives, married perfectly ordinary humans, had perfectly ordinary, fully-human children, and died in perfectly ordinary human ways, largely from old age. If they lived good lives, their souls carved out niches in the human part of Heaven, and they existed there without returning to their angelic origins. The only indication that these reborn angels were anything but fully human was how they could withstand the true voice and form of an angel without pain, even though none of them were suitable for angelic vessels.

“Unnecessarily cruel?” Michael asked, his voice booming through the office like boulders rolling down a mountainside. “This traitor is directly responsible for the deaths of countless innocent brothers. He tried to kill Cariel. He and his followers sought to destroy Heaven, to cave it down around our wings. They betrayed us, their brothers, their choirmates, their Archangels. They ravaged Earth and they sought to ravish Heaven. You think they deserve any mercy?”

Gabriel looked at Azazel, sitting limply in his chair. He deserved the harshest punishment, but the others? They were just following orders.

The wrong orders. Gabriel had just argued this point with Barachiel earlier today. Obedience could only be rewarded if the obedient ones obeyed the right masters. Azazel’s traitors didn’t. They deserved the same punishment he would receive.

“Just… do it quickly,” Gabriel said, standing up slowly. “Don’t torture them.”

“I am no monster,” Michael flickered again, suddenly on the other side of the desk, his fingers pressed to Azazel’s forehead. “My justice will be swift.”

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character: gabriel, history of heaven, supernatural, fic, rating: pg-13, chaptered, character: angels

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