Fic: With the Same Light (1/2)
"Every single thing changes and is changing always in this world. Yet with the same light the moon goes on shining." ~Saigyo
He feels the urgency rise within him. There are no words to describe this feeling, he does not have the words to describe this feeling; it is unlike anything he has ever felt before. The only thing he knows for certain is that they need to be closer. Need to…
Their graces touch.
It is familiar, this feeling of grace against grace. He has felt it before. It is warm and bright, as it always is (as any brush of another's grace against his own will always be). Yet, at the same time it is entirely unlike anything he has ever known. This grace is different from any other grace he will ever know (has always been unlike any other grace). It is more. Always so much more.
The words are not enough. They are not right. They do not speak of why this time is so vastly different.
The touch of grace against grace (treasured, welcomed and filled with joy) sooths this nameless thing inside of him, this thing he does not quite understand. It is still there, inside him, this thing he has no name for, less urgent now with their graces so close to each other.
Grace touching grace, and it is still there; a slowly growing heat inside his own grace.
He still needs.
They move closer to each other. Closer than he has ever been to anyone, closer than he has ever thought possible. Grace slips into grace and a heat that matches his own rises up to greet him. His need… their need, matching each other, blending together and spiralling ever higher, fuelled by the other so close.
The need grows ever stronger as their graces meld into each other.
There is barely room for anything except the rising urgency of this wordless need. But inside the ever rising maelstrom of nameless desire, there is a moment of clarity.
For a moment… he doubts.
This thing inside his grace, this aching need matched by equal need, is nothing he has ever felt before. It is nothing he has ever witnessed, ever heard of. And he doubts. He does not know that this can be part of his purpose. How could he be made for things there are no words for, things that have never been before?
He cannot give voice to the word, cannot give name to new things. This is new, a thing without a name and he does not know if this is Father's will. (How can he not know?)
A sudden certainty rises within his grace. This is. He does not know where the certainty comes from (too close, grace to grace. Blended. It is impossible to tell), but it is enough. It is true.
He cannot go against his purpose, cannot do what he is not meant to do. (And so he does not.) He does not have the words, but this does not mean the words do not exist (they have not yet been revealed to him). This is part of him, this was made part of him and therefore it cannot be wrong.
The thing made of heat and need and urgency swells ever higher within him and the moment of clarity swirls away. It is drowned by this urgent, growing need within them.
Their graces blend together ever more, closer than he has ever been to anyone. Closer than he can ever be to anyone else. It is as if this is how it was always meant to be. As if they were created to become one being.
Everything else falls away. His voice rises in joy.
***
Gabriel makes his way through Heaven with swiftness and beauty (he can feel the adoration of the lesser angels as he passes). The ever present music swirls around him; it strikes his grace gently (as it always does) and rings out in pleasant harmony with it. He barely restrains himself from raising his voice to follow the joyful movements of sound.
He is going somewhere, and as much as it would please him to join his voice with the music of Heaven, he does not wish to be late.
He knows Father's love is constant and all encompassing, but somehow, in this moment, it feels almost like there is more of it than ever before (Gabriel is more in harmony with everything). He is certain his grace must shine brightly with his good cheer, but there is no reason why he should mind. No reason at all why all of Heaven should not be made brighter by his joy.
(The joy of one is the joy of all. As it should be.)
Father has expressed no disapproval. There is no doubt at all that the reason for Gabriel's joy is known to Father (everything is known to Father). Whether the rest of Heaven knows or not does not matter. Whether the rest of Heaven approves or not does not matter. They all follow Father's will. (They can do no else.)
Everything Gabriel is, is part of the purpose Father created him for. He does not know the full extent of that purpose (not yet), but he does not doubt Father. He cannot doubt Father. This joy, and the reason for it, is part of Gabriel now.
It is obvious that Gabriel has no reason to hide his joy; he would happily announce it to all of Heaven, to all of Creation, if the choice was solely his. Joy like his should not be hidden and Heaven is not a place of secrets.
But there is no hurry. This joy will not soon fade and there is time yet to make it part of the music that swirls around him. He will wait a while still.
(There is some pleasure in sharing knowledge only with the one most precious to you.)
Lucifer's presence shines brightly throughout the spheres, and Gabriel heads toward it. (It is where he needs to be.) Lucifer is more bright and beautiful than anything else in Heaven, save for Father. Even with his grace brightened with his immeasurable joy, Gabriel pales at the beauty of his brother.
Gabriel is ever thankful that if the others cannot behold Father, then at least they have his brother's beauty to inspire them. In nothing is Father's glory more apparent than in Lucifer's presence.
He stops far enough away as to not disturb his brother unduly. He knows Lucifer has not missed his approach (cannot miss it), but it is not for Gabriel to interrupt.
Like usual, Gabriel is not alone. He is not the only one who has come to watch (is never the only one). At least a few of the lower ranking angels always stop to watch for a while, before going about their tasks. He fully shares their delight at the sight.
Even though, unlike his younger brothers, Gabriel has the privilege of being able to stand in the presence of their Father, and gaze upon his visage; Lucifer, here, in this moment, in this dance of grace and power is always more beautiful than anything else he has ever seen. (Praise be to the glory of Father.)
It is a sight Gabriel has stood witness to, time after time; the Powers flying through their drills, his brother in the lead. It does not matter how many times he sees it; the sight never becomes any less beautiful. It is as it should be; these are Heaven's elite and their commander is the brightest of all the angels in Heaven, even more beautiful here, doing what he was created for. Nothing should be more beautiful than this, save for Father (that is different, nothing is more beautiful than their Father).
At the thought of his brother, warmth spreads through his grace and his clear, bright joy turns a shade softer.
After a time, Lucifer disengages from the rest of the formation and swoops down to hover next to Gabriel, his grace shining ever brighter in delight, and Gabriel's own grace can hardly grow any brighter than it is. Lucifer's grace brushes against his briefly in familiar greeting and the pleasant warmth inside his grace rises to something more urgent before Lucifer draws back.
"Gabriel," he says, and chords of amusement and affection weave together in his voice. Gabriel does not need words to answer him; the affection, warmth and joy he feels in the presence of his brother are clear in his grace (more clear to Lucifer than anyone else).
Gabriel does not try to hide it. Why would he?
For a moment they both watch the Powers in their dazzling flight. Lucifer's satisfaction at the sight warms him, and almost without realising, Gabriel moves closer to his brother. Drawn towards his brother's grace, it is almost impossible not to wrap himself up in it.
His grace stops just shy of touching.
"Their love for you is almost overwhelming," Gabriel notes.
"It is part of their purpose." Lucifer states the truth with simplicity.
It is the perfect moment to share what Gabriel knows, now more than ever. It is such a simple and natural statement to follow Lucifer's words. As it is mine.
The truth of it is suddenly so sharp and clear inside him, and the desire to make it known to everyone, to Lucifer, is overwhelming. In Heaven there is a name for every thing Father creates. There is power in words, in naming things, and Gabriel needs to make this real, now that he knows.
(He knew there had to be a word for this.)
The intent of the words Gabriel is about to speak gathers around them. An inescapable weight in the space surrounding them. The heaviness against his grace is almost unpleasant, but there is also something beautiful about this moment. The moment of uncertainty, where the words have not yet been made quite real, when anything might still happen.
Then, Gabriel feels their Father's wish for his presence. For a moment, unspoken words squeeze painfully at his grace.
"I should go back to training," Lucifer tells him, Father's will always as clear to him as it ever will be to Gabriel (Lucifer will ever be Father's favourite).
The intent of the words dies down, dissipates around them. "Yes," Gabriel's voice rings out into the space that just a moment ago was waiting for something entirely different. The word comes out with difficulty around the heaviness of intent that still lingers in his grace.
Their graces touch briefly before they part (regret at the parting, warmth, joy at the next time they will be in each other's presence). The words are left unspoken, the moment lost in the music of the spheres.
***
"Would not Lucifer or Michael be better suited for this?" Gabriel asks Father. He would not have picked himself out for this particular task, but since Father chose him he is curious to find out why. Father has chosen Gabriel and this means that, for some reason which Gabriel cannot see, this task must be best suited to him.
There is a reason for everything Father does, even when no one else can see it. If he knows why, he can better fulfil Father's wishes (he cannot go against them).
"The armies of Heaven are not needed for this. Not even a small part of them," Father says with fondness. An answering surge of knowing fondness rises within Gabriel.
Of course he knows Lucifer would have taken his Powers, would most likely have insisted that they need the training. Lucifer always says they need the training, even though each and every one of them are the finest warriors in all of Heaven. His brother will never stop striving to be better (it is why he is the best).
And Michael… Gabriel cannot picture his brother as anything less than the General he is; an order to him would likely be an order to mobilise the armies of Heaven. Michael has never been known for his subtlety, it is not his role to fill.
"It is not?" he asks, because he still cannot see why this is so. It seems to him like a task easiest fulfilled by more than one angel.
What is easy and quick and painless is not always right. He knows this.
"No, my son."
Father tells him no more, and so it is all that Gabriel needs to know.
The rest is for him to accomplish on his own.
***
For an instant, he feels the soul scream in pure agony as the touch of his grace sears it out of existence. In less than a moment it is gone, the only thing left are the small echoes inside his grace that will soon fade into nothing. The only evidence that the soul ever existed at all, are the faint memories of the vessel, now forever lost inside the vastness of his grace.
The vessel he has chosen is not strong enough to house both his grace and the soul that occupied it until moments ago. No vessel, save perhaps his true one, will ever be strong enough. It will not be long before his grace will consume the vessel as well, but it should hold up long enough for his purposes. That is all he needs of it.
He tries to make himself comfortable inside the mortal flesh, settle himself inside these boundaries that are necessary for him to stay on Earth, but his grace keeps straining against the confines, pushing against the limits of this self-imposed prison (it will not hold him for long). It is far from a pleasant feeling, but comfort is not necessary.
Perhaps next time, he will have the time to find something that fits him better.
Gabriel rolls his shoulders and takes a small step forward. He will simply have to make do with what he has.
***
It is so very easy. Almost too easy, he thinks. (It should be harder.) As always, Father knew exactly what he was doing when he chose Gabriel for this (when he made Gabriel). He expected no less, but even though Father is all knowing and would not send Gabriel to a task he is not able to fulfil, Gabriel still expected there would be more challenge to it. (He is not disappointed, the sooner he is done, the sooner he may return to Heaven.)
The vessel he chose for himself is a scribe (important, trusted; a subtle power). It is no great matter to gain access to the right ears; no difficulty at all to forge the right documents and make sure the wrong information gets to the right people. He is a scribe, only another scribe could ever notice, and they are only human.
It is not long before there is ample proof that there is a rebellion brewing.
It is only the beginning.
***
It begins with hushed whispers, but day by day… execution by execution, the whispers grow louder. The king has gone mad, they say.
There are impaled bodies at the centre of the market. The newest ones are still alive.
There always seems to be new ones, even before the old ones have had time to die. Sometimes you can't quite tell the living from those already dead. Too close to death all of them, and they don't move much at all, not more than the dead ones do, and they are all too quiet, whether dead or alive.
It is a blessing for those who frequent the marketplace. The quiet. So much easier to go about your business, to pretend that the bodies are not there, if they cannot give voice to their agony.
(The smell is unmistakable. The cloying presence of festering death under the bright, hot sun. The sweet, rotting taste of it on their tongues. No one can quite ignore it, but it does not stop them from trying.)
Not that any of them would scream for very long in any case; the midday sun is scorching (makes the stench so much worse) and thirst would drive them into quietness soon enough. But they do not scream, not once they are up there. Hoisted up high on those poles (not an easy thing to do at all), like some horrible mockery of a standard. They simply can’t make a sound, save for some wordless moans; their own weight pressing their jaws shut as well as any binding could.
A long drawn out scream pierces through the crowd. He doesn't even need to see to know that another supposed insurgent is being executed. The blunt pole driven slowly through him as he screams, until he can't anymore. Until the pole pierces through his chest (and it must take great force indeed) and presses under his jaw, and he will never scream again.
The king is quelling a rebellion that never existed. Examples, warnings, to anyone who would dare rise up against the king. They never thought of it… before now.
The king is mad.
The people are right, in a way. Gabriel knows the things their king fears, knows the right words to whisper into his ear to drive him mad with it (rebellion, loss of power, torture, death).
He picks up an orange from one of the stalls. No coins pass from Gabriel to the vendor and no one notices. They never do. At least there are some small… enjoyments, while being confined to this chafing vessel.
He can feel how the thing is failing, moment by moment. How his grace keeps wearing at it, consuming it from the inside. A broken puppet made of flesh and bone.
"Azazel," he says, and turns around.
Azazel's vessel fits him far better than Gabriel's own current vessel does him (it is easier for Azazel); his grace lies calm and comfortable inside the man. Despite this, Azazel's grace still shines through brightly and even though the eyes of Gabriel's vessel cannot see it, it is unmistakable.
"Gabriel." The tone of Azazel's vessel is careful and Gabriel wonders if Azazel has not stayed too long on Earth; he can see the same emotion in his grace. There is no reason at all for him to convey his emotions through a vessel, not to another angel, not to Gabriel.
Of course, Gabriel already knows the answer to his own question. After all, he knows what his task here is.
"Orange?" He asks, holding the fruit out toward Azazel.
Somewhere beyond the crowd the scream dies out.
"Don't do this Gabriel," Azazel pleads and there is... pain in the voice. "Please."
Gabriel contemplates the orange in his hand. The peel vanishes and he breaks off a piece.
The taste is sweet and fresh against his tongue.
Azazel's grace quivers inside his vessel. "They have done nothing wrong. They don't deserve this Gabriel. They don't…" His voice dies down and he shakes his head quietly, his grace shines dully in mute plea.
"They sin against Father."
"They are human," Azazel answers. He isn't sure if even Azazel knows whom the disgust in his words is directed at. "All humans do, but they are not evil."
"I know," Gabriel tells him calmly and Azazel… deflates. He knows there is nothing at all he can say that will stay Gabriel's hand. It is far too late and it is not Gabriel's choice to make.
Judgment has already been passed. It is just.
There are things in Azazel's grace that Gabriel can't understand. Things an angel should not understand, things Gabriel has never learned the words for.
Azazel's words feel hollow. "I can't forgive you for this."
"As Father cannot forgive you for what you have done." The truth blazes in his grace and he wishes it was not quite so bright.
Azazel stares at him quietly.
Moments pass. People walk around them. Azazel turns around and walks away, and Gabriel watches him go. In quiet.
"I am sorry." The words fall quietly from the vessel's lips, and Gabriel is not sure why he says them.
There were unfathomable things swirling inside Azazel's grace. Things that are almost familiar. (They should not be.)
The king is mad, the crowd whispers around him. Soon, he knows, the whispers will become a roar.
***
Gabriel walks down a bloody road.
The streets are almost empty of people, live ones at least. There aren't many people left anymore. A scream cuts sharply through the darkness and dies abruptly.
There was a lot of screaming before, but most of it has stopped by now. Everything is quiet. Too quiet. A heavy, oppressing silence that is only broken by an occasional piercing yell, that cuts through the darkness. It only makes it worse.
A man lies on the ground. He begs for help; broken sounds in a voice gone hoarse. A dark figure in dirty, ragged clothes bends over him. A few quick movements, a flash of something, a glint of light catches a quick movement in the dark, and the man is alone again, his cries for help gone, just like his purse and his life.
Gabriel doesn't even bother trying to figure out what earthly use anyone thinks they could have of those coins now. They are human, and some things are not for angels to understand.
He walks on.
There is a quietly sobbing girl in bloody, torn clothes (the blood is mostly her own) and it is no great mystery at all what has happened to her, even if her soul was not screaming out its agony for everyone with the eyes to see. She knows she'll be dead before dawn. By now, she might not even care. And right next to her, a young boy slinks through the shadows that hold no secrets from Gabriel, a knife clutched in his hand, and his eyes rabid with fear long since grown into insanity.
Gabriel passes them without stopping. He doesn't need to watch; the conclusion is inevitable.
Over in the alley, a dead woman still clutches a crying baby in her arms, and he stops to watch for a moment. He does not need to watch for long before someone comes along and picks up the baby from her cold arms. The man (it is a man, though by the look in his eyes you might think him something else) takes the baby by its feet and swings it against the wall. Again and again. After a while, the crying stops. Sometime later, the man drops the bloody mess to the ground.
Gabriel can't quite decide if it was an act of random cruelty, or mercy.
Maybe the man just wanted silence. It does not matter much.
Gabriel walks on.
It takes quite a while before he is finally outside the city.
No one tries to stop him. No one asks him for help.
If they see him at all, they flinch and scurry away to die quietly in the shadows. They might all be insane by now (the few that are left), but they see him now for what he is, and they fear him more than anything else (as they should). It is far too late for them.
He turns and looks back over the city.
Smoke from the fires rises up here and there. The occasional scream still sounds through the city, but they are quiet, unenthusiastic things, like whoever makes the sound doesn't quite have the will to even scream anymore.
When he looks beyond what the vessel's eyes can see, he can still make out his brothers' graces in the city.
Why did they stay, knowing what would happen? (There's a limp thing in Azazel's arms and his eyes are hollow, it's like the grace lurking behind those mortal eyes is nothing more than emptiness, and there's nothing for anyone to see. The thing in his arms is a small bloody lump of flesh, that once had arms and legs and was alive.)
But his brothers' fates are not for Gabriel to wonder over. What will become of them is not part of his task.
Gabriel watches and waits. As the false dawn turns the horizon red, he feels the last life flicker out within the city.
Inside the city, someone screams. (Was a child, a son, a daughter. Is dead, dead, dead.)
The vessel's head snaps back as Gabriel's grace finally leaves the failing body. None too soon; the body crumbles to pieces as it slumps towards the ground, Gabriel's inexorable purpose no longer holding it together.
***
"It is done," Gabriel says.
Father says nothing at all.
***
"Gabriel?" Lucifer asks, and they are close enough now that Gabriel can feel the concern brushing up against him. It feels warm against his grace, almost too hot in places. "You have felt quieter since your return."
"Do not worry about me so much," he says, warmed by Lucifer's concern. "I am fine." It is true, there is nothing at all wrong. Still, his voice does not weave together with the music around them in its usual joyful dance, it slips in under it, in the quiet spaces here and there, almost like it does not want to be heard (like he is trying to hide).
"Are you really? I know you Gabriel," the certainty in Lucifer's voice is tangible and Gabriel cannot help but rise up to meet it, touch it. To be known in such a way… "Your last task still does not sit easy with you."
Gabriel regards Lucifer with surprise at those last words, there is no one (save Father, always Father) that knows him better than Lucifer (can ever know him better than Lucifer), yet he says this. Does he think Gabriel would ever doubt Father? (He cannot.)
"They were an abomination. They should never have been born. Father's will is just." Gabriel states that which needs no explanations with calm certainty, there is no room for doubt inside him. He cannot doubt Father; he is simply not capable of it.
"Yes." The word is slow and heavy and it feels uncomfortable in the small space still between them. "To go against Father's will like that…" A discordant note in Lucifer's voice hits Gabriel's grace and makes him shiver. It is not a pleasant sensation. Lucifer does not give words to the rest of his thought. Such actions are unfathomable and they need no words to know this. It is plain to see.
"Maybe…" Gabriel begins carefully, his voice still forming subdued patterns in the quiet eddies of the music around them. He does not want to hear that discord in Lucifer's voice. Does not want to make it worse with his words. "The others are not like us, Lucifer. They are not as close to Father as we are." Gabriel cannot understand it, cannot fathom how any angel could disobey Father.
But Father created the others. Created them capable of doing this. There must be some reason (there is always a reason). Gabriel does not know it, he does not need to know it to trust in it. To believe in it. To believe in Father.
"No," Lucifer agrees, his voice thoughtful, its harmony restored. "They are not."
Gabriel relaxes against the gentle warmth of his brother's grace and Lucifer wraps his grace around Gabriel (warmth, joy, peace).
He is content to be right here, right now. For the moment it is enough.
***
Once it is done, all of Heaven knows the fate of Azazel and those of the other Watchers (there is no way they could not, the screams still echo throughout Creation). But that of Azazel is by far the worst. Because his sin was greatest, so was his punishment.
Now that it is all done, Gabriel can see Father's wisdom in choosing Gabriel for his part in this. He could not do that which Raphael must (he is grateful he did not have to). And if Gabriel's task had fallen to Michael or Lucifer, the punishment would not have been enough (they would have been too swift).
(They would not know the things he saw in Azazel's grace.)
Raphael does not need to bother with a vessel as he descends to Earth, he is not there for mortals. He is not there to stay for any longer time. Gabriel sees him go, vengeance blazing around him, but he does not see what follows after (he does not want to).
He tears Azazel's grace from his vessel and rends it into bleeding pieces of pain and love and grace. Shredded by the unerring precision of a healer (no one else in Heaven could have done it. Raphael has always been a master of his craft). Pieces that are still held together, that are Azazel. And he is bound and buried (still bleeding love and pain and loss and bits of grace) deep and far away from the light of Heaven (from Father). So far that he will never see the light again.
Gabriel sees none of it, but it does not matter if he is there to bear witness or not. It is a thing so horrible, so vast, that none of them can ignore it.
They feel it.
When Raphael returns, the music of Heaven echoes strangely in his grace. And Gabriel cannot stand to listen to it for long (it makes him think of things he should not). There were things in Azazel's grace that Gabriel almost knows the names of, but this echo inside of Raphael is something he does not want to name.
"Give it time," Lucifer advises him, when they are away from the others.
"How much?" Gabriel asks and his voice is a heavy note that refuses to rise with the music around them. This was not a task for Lucifer, or Michael. This was all Gabriel and Raphael, and the others cannot know the things that echo inside Raphael's grace.
The only answer Lucifer gives is to twine their graces together. Close, close, close. And as everything else falls away, and they become one thing made of love and grace, Gabriel can still hear the echoes of Azazel's loss.
***
They do not speak of any of it. They do not talk of how the Watchers fell, or of Raphael's part in it. They never mention the changes it wrought on Raphael. How he stays to himself now, more than he ever did before.
(If they do not give it words, will it be less real?)
Gabriel knows that the lower ranks do speak of it. They talk of the sin of the Watchers. The warning that was given, the example that was set. They wonder at the reasons for the scarcity with which Raphael's presence is felt (can they not feel the strangeness of his grace?). But his younger brothers are different, and there are things they cannot sense, things they do not know. And so they speak.
They quiet in the presence of the archangels. Perhaps they do not dare mention it close to them, perhaps they think they should not speak of it. But of course, they all still hear.
There are whispers in Heaven. (There never was before.)
***
"Do you still think of your last task on Earth?" Lucifer asks once their graces have separated enough that there is a difference between Lucifer and Gabriel.
"Why do you ask?" He knows there is no reason why his thoughts should linger on it (still they do at times).
(There is no reason why Gabriel should not simply answer 'yes'.)
"I can sense your worry," Lucifer answers him, and the concern and regret cut through him with an edge that does not quite make sense. It makes Gabriel draw his own grace further away from Lucifer. (He does not remember if he has ever done so before.)
There is no reason for Lucifer to worry over Gabriel.
(Lucifer's grace is still so close and it would be so easy to lose himself in it.)
"Things are… different now than they were before," Gabriel gives his answer and the words fall around them in careful, measured tones, that do not dare disturb the harmony of Heaven.
A soft flicker of amusement hums briefly in Lucifer's grace. "They are."
The silence between them grows heavy and Gabriel longs to curl back into his brother's embrace. Longs to let any words between them dissipate into the music around them (they do not need words).
"I do not know what to make of it, Lucifer." His tone flows brittle and unsure. Worry and uncertainty that could break under the slightest touch. It is all Gabriel can say about it (there is nothing else to say).
The sadness in Lucifer's grace is too sharp.
***
In time, Raphael's presence becomes easier to bear. Gabriel does not have to hide the shudder inside his own grace when their graces touch in greeting (it is gone now). But he cannot tell if this is because that strange echo has lessened, or because Gabriel has grown used to it.
Just another note in the music of Heaven. It has become a part of it, incorporated into the whole. Gabriel still only lets his grace brush briefly against Raphael. A part of the music or not, but Gabriel has learned that there are things he should not know. (Things he does not want to know.)
He has always spent more time with Lucifer than with any of his other brothers, and Lucifer has always been ready to indulge Gabriel in this. Of course, Gabriel loves them all, but he has never shared Raphael's passion for healing (sometimes it is all Raphael seems to be) and Michael is… he is Michael, and there are things you do not approach the General of Heaven with (brother or not). And Lucifer is Father's favourite, is it any wonder that Gabriel holds the same opinion (they all do).
Now Gabriel spends more time with Lucifer than ever. When Lucifer is training with the Powers (and that is more frequent as well), Gabriel watches. When Lucifer converses with Michael (or sometimes Raphael), Gabriel waits. And when he joins together with Lucifer, for a moment, nothing else matters.
Father has not spoken to him since before his stay on Earth.
***
There is no one in Heaven that Gabriel knows better than he does Lucifer. And save for Father, there is no one in all of Heaven that knows Lucifer better than Gabriel does.
He knows this.
But even so, there are things that Gabriel does not know about his brother.
He watches the Powers in their flight, as always, and the determination that always radiates from Lucifer is more now than it has ever been before. He can feel it against his grace. Feel his brother's need to be better.
He watches Lucifer converse with Michael and does not hear their words, because they are not for him to hear. They are his brothers, they are archangels, but still, they are more than Gabriel or Raphael will ever be (there are things that are not meant for them). But as he watches, he recognises the anger that flares in Lucifer's grace, he knows him too well not to.
He sees Lucifer greet Raphael and as their graces touch, Gabriel knows the sharp and bitter sadness inside Lucifer. He has felt it before (it still feels wrong).
He does not know if Michael sees the same as he does. He is almost certain Raphael does not.
Lucifer goes to speak with their Father.
(Gabriel does not give words to the things inside his own grace.)
The song in Lucifer's grace is muted and Gabriel brushes against him in quiet comfort.
"Is everything alright with Father?" he asks, plucking out one question from the myriad of questions floating inside of him.
"Father..." Lucifer says, and Gabriel cannot sort out the plethora of notes that twist together in that one word. (He is afraid to.)
There are questions Gabriel wants to ask, things he cannot ask Father, because they do not speak anymore. (Why?) But he cannot ask Lucifer either, not when Lucifer's grace is tinted with emotions that Gabriel does not want to untangle.
"This is not how things should be." Lucifer's voice is a muted whisper, lost in music that is suddenly almost too loud.
"I know," Gabriel says quietly, and it feels like the words are ripped out of him, leaving behind open wounds. They fall like lead weights, too clear against the soaring music despite their quietness.
***
Gabriel is frozen in place. He cannot move. Cannot even make a sound, his voice unable to form a single word.
Lucifer's grace pulses brightly as it screeches in horrible discord with the Heavenly music (it cannot be).
"Gabriel," he says, his voice soft with tenderness and love. "This is not right," Lucifer says. Pleads. There is such terrible emotion in his voice. "None of it is." The anger is a bright and hot flash and it leaves Gabriel's own grace shaking.
The anger is gone in an instant and instead a horrible sadness twists around, and Gabriel cannot move. Cannot do anything.
Lucifer reaches out for him and he can feel the overwhelming heat and the terrible, terrible cold that twist and mingle inside his brother's grace and make it shine brighter and colder than ever before.
He is beautiful.
There is anger and fear and confusion and so many things that he struggles to name them all (once, he did not have the names). And Gabriel can feel them stirring inside his own grace (so close to Lucifer, always so close).
He wants to reach out to Lucifer, wrap his grace around his brother and never, ever let go. He wants to soothe that pain inside his brother, calm the anger. Wants him to be Lucifer again.
This cannot be his brother (he does not want it to be).
He wants to tell Lucifer that he is not doing this for Gabriel. Gabriel does not want him to do this.
Gabriel cannot move. Lucifer's grace brushes against him, sears at him, rips deep gouges in him, leaves wounds that Gabriel is certain will never heal (he can never forget).
"Gabriel," Lucifer says again, and now there is pleading and the hot rush of horrible anger in his voice. "Stand with me." And those words are a demand, not a plea.
Gabriel says nothing and Lucifer's grace is as cold as the emptiness of space, as hot as a newly born star. It winds around him for a moment, a cold reminder of what was once such warm and gentle love. A reminder of what was everything. So cold and terrible now.
Lucifer draws away. He leaves. All around the music of Heaven screeches against the brightness of Lucifer (so terrible, so beautiful).
Still, Gabriel cannot move. His grace is pulsing weakly, trembling in pain and horror unlike anything he has ever felt before.
Something new again. Gabriel thinks he does not like new things (and it is wrong, wrong for him to think).
He does not doubt Father. He cannot doubt Father.
***
The little angel that finds him later (how much later he does not know) is terrified, his grace is flickering in a way Gabriel has never witnessed before (angels are not afraid; they have no reason to fear). And still, as he looks upon Gabriel with horror growing ever stronger in his grace, Gabriel can feel the tiny swirl of compassion.
Compassion towards Gabriel. Pain at his pain.
"Don't be afraid," Gabriel tells the little angel. His voice is steady and strong and he can hardly believe that it is him. It feels like a lie (Heaven is no place for lies).
(Look at all the new things he has learned.)
But the little angel believes him (angels do not lie), and its grace grows steadier.
"You should see Raphael," the little angel tells him quietly. Its voice is almost lost in the horrible discord that is everywhere now.
Gabriel folds his still wounded grace tight around itself.
"I am… fine." Amusement swirls inside his grace (that cannot be right).
He can see the doubt in the little angel, small, but clearly there in its grace.
"But," he concedes, "I should find my brothers."
Michael. Raphael. By now they all know what is happening. The screech of discord around them cannot be mistaken. And Father's will blazes bright inside Gabriel.
Betrayal. Judgement.
Gabriel moves to leave (bleeding grace wrapped tight, shimmering bits of himself left behind). He moves to brush briefly, lightly against the little angel's grace in goodbye (in thank you). It is habit. Instinct.
The little angel's voice screams (pain, fear, horror). Gabriel did not think… did not realise. Habit, such ingrained habit. No touching anymore (never again). Too many things inside his own grace, too overwhelming for a little angel like this.
Suddenly, the grace tries to wrap itself around him. So small against the vastness of Gabriel. It tries to soothe things that are too great for it.
And this little thing is infinitely braver than him. Gabriel does not know how to deal with these things inside (doesn't want to know what they are). The little thing next to him is trying to make it better. To understand and soothe things that are alien, new and vaster than itself.
It trembles in pain and fear and still it tries.
Gabriel pulls away from it. He cannot deal with this now. Whatever these things inside him, they are not for lesser angels to know, and Gabriel does not have the time to deal with them now.
Father's will shines clear and bright inside him. There is no time for doubt.
It is all he has to offer.
He reaches out to the tiny angel again, this time he makes sure that the foremost thing in his grace is the brilliantly blazing purpose Father has given him. Given them all. It is not pleasant and it is not warm or joyful, but it is a steady purpose. Meaning. Something to believe in amidst the chaos of betrayal and fear.
They need belief, now more than ever.
It is but a brief touch, but the angel's grace shines brighter almost immediately. Still, beneath that now so much more brighter faith, is fear and horror. And worst of all, Gabriel can still feel the compassion aimed at himself.
"I must go now," Gabriel says and does his best to keep all of his grace with him, as he heads to find his brothers.
***
"Gabriel, you must let me…" Raphael's voice is steady and reasonable.
"No," Gabriel cuts him off.
"They will not heal properly if you do not let me treat them." Whatever Raphael feels about Gabriel's appearance, of what Lucifer has done to him, it cannot be heard in his voice and the only thing visible in his grace is that terrible purpose Father has given them all (it fills the empty places inside Raphael).
They are all wrapped so tightly inside themselves. They cannot afford any weakness now.
"It is none of your concern," Gabriel tells him coldly and does not try to hide the anger twisting in his voice.
He does not care if he has to bear the scars forever. Raphael will not touch him. Will not change him, heal him.
(Azazel forever torn into pieces, bleeding grace and light.)
Gabriel does not want to forget. Does not want to be healed.
All around them their brothers are being torn into pieces, scattered into non-existence, and in that moment all Gabriel feels is anger.
Anger at Raphael for suggesting that he give up anything that reminds him of Lucifer, at the thought of having anyone at all so close to him again. Anger at Lucifer for doing this, anger at Michael for being as unyielding as he is, anger at Father for…
Why? Why would Father want this to happen?
He feels the piercing scream and the echoing emptiness as another brother is torn out of existence, and he clings to his anger. He cannot show any weakness in front of the lower ranks. Not now.
Not ever.
"Let everyone see," he says and wraps pride and anger and burning purpose around himself, they will hold him together for now.
Perhaps seeing what has been done to Gabriel will strengthen the purpose of the others. Perhaps it will remind them why they are doing what they do, when their will falters.
And they will falter, Gabriel knows they will. (Brother against brother.)
He is an archangel. The Angel of Justice and that means something.
Perhaps the time will come when Gabriel will believe that again.
Part Two