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When he saw the pictures of the… Traitors… He didn’t want to believe it was possible.
When they stood side by side at that airbase, defending the Antichrist… It shouldn’t be happening.
And yet.
Nothing.
Not that it wasn’t “nothing”. “Something” was supposed to happen, whatever the fuck the Ineffable Plan was, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. At least in this lifetime.
The other lifetime was long forgotten, after all.
(Or rather, he chose not to.)
When The Great War was done, those who survived had tried to live on. No one had the courage to say they had “moved on”. There were those who had stared into the Great Chasm too long or too often. There were those who had chosen to fly around aimlessly, only to pause mid-flight and let themselves fall.
There was word that one had gone as far as going back down to see if there were others who survived.
That one found friends and brothers, screaming and crying in pain. The scorched bodies, the burned wings, the unrecognized shells of their former selves, the wailing that haunted filled the earth and the sky.
The one who dared spent days, perhaps weeks - searching, just searching. He had this foolish hope that he can still save her.
(He felt her spark somewhere, still.)
Gabriel had to file out paperwork after paperwork, report after report, status update after status update.
RE: ARMAGEDDON PREPAREDNESS - URGENT
RE: ARMAGEDDON - STATUS UPDATE - PREPARATION
RE: re: RE: FW: RE: FW: FW: WTF: ARMAGEDDON - STATUS UPDATE - CANCELLED - WHAT THE GODDAMN HELL - GABRIEL ANSWER THIS NOW
RE: Nothing?
It’s been a week since the cancelled Armageddon, and yet his inbox kept getting all these e-mails from Heaven’s various departments. The moment by moment sound of the notifications was driving him nuts. Hell, if he could, Gabriel would bang his head a few more times into his glass desk - with the force to break it. It may help with this headache of his - the one that flared up since the Armageddon did not happen.
Instead, he whoosh-selected all of the mail - currently at 126 million - and stubbornly set them at Read All. He had forgotten, of course, that they also have this stupid notification in place asking him to confirm to send a read receipt.
He glanced at the e-mail in his line of sight. He cancels marking everything Read All, and chose to read this one.
Our of the millions of messages, that was the only thing he’s been waiting for, if he was being honest.
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To: Gabriel.ArchAngel@Heaven
From: Beelzebub.PrinceOfHell@Hell
Subject: RE: Nothing?
Buzz Off.
To: Beelzebub.PrinceOfHell@Hell
From: Gabriel.ArchAngel@Heaven
Subject: Nothing?
Hello Beelzebub,
Good day! Just wanted to quickly check with you if you had any updates on your side post Armageddon. If you prefer, we can meet somewhere in the middle - say the still standing Earth - to discuss.
As you may know, this may be unconventional, however, I believe we can start something that is mutually beneficial.
Kind regards,
Gabriel
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(This was unfair.)
He was losing hope.
Angels don’t lose hope. They don’t lose faith either.
But he could not remember how long he’d been down there. He can still feel her, but - where was she?
His once lilac robes were now stained with soot and blood. He had fought off brothers, he had tried to comfort friends, but he cannot abide by their cries to end them.
“Brother Gabriel! Please! Have mercy!”
“LEAVE US BE YOU WINGED COWARD!”
“Gabriel please, spare me this pain!”
Each cry wasn’t her.
And he was losing hope.
He sees an overturned chariot, one of Uriel’s, or perhaps Michael’s. He calls on what little strength he has to turn it upright, to just use it to lean and rest for a while.
(He tries to remember her song.)
The best Heaven and Hell could do was to propose a truce.
To be clear - it wasn’t from Her, it wasn’t from Lucifer. In fact, no one was sure whose idea was it. But everyone felt that - yeah, let’s do it anyway. It has to be acknowledged by both parties, though.
Earth, being the perpetual middle ground, will bear witness to this truce.
In a surprising turn of events - and perhaps an effort to participate in the said truce - Aziraphale and Crowley had suggested the Ritz as the meeting place. Aziraphale had put in his recommendations for the meals, Crowley had provided a list of melodies to be played during the meeting.
(“No Crowley, you cannot have We Will Rock You played! Even if it is the instrumental version!”)
(“Brian May still owes me a favor for all the help I gave for his Doctorate!”)
Gabriel wasn’t sure if this truce was to be respected by all involved, but it beats receiving notifications for emails and sending out reports. As he walked into the Ritz, he had thought that he had to sullen his celestial body for this, but it was a small price to pay.
He was also not sure why his celestial body was acting like he ran his usual London jog.
As try as humans might, they are unable to hide their emotions. Usually, grandiose expressions of amusement, of love, of contentment assailed his senses whenever he was here.
Right now, he was sensing curiosity.
There were whispers abound, nudges and winks at the tables, beckoning occupants to try to see that lone diner not far from them, that they weren’t aware that kind of royalty was still around in this day and age.
“Royalty?” Gabriel mused, as he felt the curiosity slowly shift to him. Most of it, he felt from the females, while there was some appreciative glances from the males. The whispers grew louder, and he swears some eyes looked at him up and down and then gasps, giggles followed. It makes walk ever faster towards the designated table.
(Of course they sent her.)
Humans have written hymns throughout the ages. They get inspired by anything and everything - the cool breeze of the wind, the sun shining and showing off the colors of the fields, the gaze of a lover from afar.
What they didn’t know was that hymns were made by angels, our of the same sources of inspiration, though sometimes out of duty. Some had the gift for hymns, some would prefer to listen instead.
He was the latter.
“I think I’ll follow the voice that calls within… Dance to the silent song it sings.”
He could not help but smile. He could pick out her voice from the choirs - he was strangely proud of that. Yes, the voices of the choirs of angels seem to call out with one voice, but he swears hers was something unique among them.
She was among those who can write hymns, though she has never finished one. Her generous nature had her sharing bits and pieces of her hymns to others who may need it better. Often times, this would lead her going back to thinking of a new hymn.
“Lovely, as always.” he tells her. It’s honest praise, and more often than not, she would shy away from hearing the rest.
“It’s… It’s not yet finished. But I thank you, Archangel Gabriel.” she replies, looking away.
He winces at that. It’s a part of his full title, and while angels aren’t really required to address each other with their titles, a lot still felt to do so.
He would always tell everyone to just call him Gabriel.
“Gabriel. Gabe would be fine. Or even G. No wait, that doesn’t sound right.”
He could only bury his face in his hands. Gabriel glances back at her, and she has a small smile on her face. “Still, you’re one of Her favored ones.”
He couldn’t help but shrug at that. “Everyone’s always in Her favor. Equally.”
“Says the Angel of Revelation.”
He finally returns her smile. “So you can trust me when I say your song is lovely.”
(He remembers her face - but not her name.)
Gabriel clears his throat, and is rather surprised when Beelzebub refuses to acknowledge him anything other than a curt, “You’re late.”
“I… Got lost.” he replies, which wasn’t really a lie - there were only a few areas in London he chose to concentrate his presence on.
He pulls the seat opposite the Prince of Hell, noting she was cleaned up better than the last time they saw each other. He must have been staring too long, as Beelzebub sent a fly out of nowhere to buzz around his ear. “Stop it.”
“Stop what - Oh. The staring. Sorry,” he then tried to look away from her and around her instead. The fly then landed defiantly on Gabriel’s shoulder, stomping angrily on his coat and then at his scarf and then back at his coat.
“And humans remove their coats and scarves when they’re dining.” Beelzebub tells him, and as if on cue, the waiter extends a menu to Beelzebub and his hand to Gabriel, motioning for his coat and scarf. He’s struggled a bit, and with a huff, gave his outerwear to the waiter. Gabriel then imitated Beelzebub and tried to understand this assortment of food.
He coughs, and tries to open a conversation. “Aziraphale said he had suggested some things for… Uhm, consumption.” Beelzebub doesn’t look up from the menu when she replied, “I know, I just want to confirm that it’s safe.”
“Do you have… Human allergies?” curiosity getting to Gabriel.
At that, Beelzebub puts down the menu. “I just want to make sure nothing they picked could kill me. I suggest you do the same.”
“I’m not eating,” Gabriel replies, putting down the menu as well. It’s the first time their eyes properly met.
(They’re still blue, after all these years.)
Blue was the only thing they always saw. Yes, there were slivers of silver - they lived in the Silver City after all - and the varying whites and grays of their wings.
But blue was the color that enveloped them.
He swears that her blue was different from the rest.
He could be laughed out of Heaven for saying that even her hymn made him feel the softness of blue.
"Why don't we follow the voice that calls within
Dance to the silent song it sings
One day we'll find our place
For all things fall in place
For all things have a place
In the greater scheme of things"
The song ends, and she turns to the waiting crowd. As expected, there were polite claps, appreciative smiles. The loudest clap and the widest smile was that from Gabriel.
She feels overwhelming relief.
The Metatron walks to her, and takes both her hands. He pats them gently, and praises - well - he praises her song of praise. “You have struck the core of how it is to serve Her. Well done!” She gives a small bow and catches her breath as she lets him walk away.
At the foot of the grand stage, Gabriel waited, and she could not help but to run to him. Her small wings lifted her just enough for him to catch her. “I told you he’d like it!”, he said as gently put her down. “Not that I never doubted you, but… It’s him so… You know. Now you’re going to be known as the Angel Who Impressed The Metatron.”
She talked in a stray brown hair that kept falling during her performance. Gabriel drew up a lilac from the air, and gave it to her. She took it, and smiled her thanks at him.
“You helped me with a lot of it,” she says as she takes the arm he had offered. “You helped me feel what it was like to… Have that sense of service.” He gives her small hand a light squeeze.
“Not sure why you had a hard time at that, but I was glad to help.”
“Should I start with my next hymn?”
A voice behind them seemed to answer for her. “You deserve to rest though.”
They both turn around and they see Lucifer, The Morningstar, smiling at the two of them.
“Hey Luci,” Gabriel greets him, and Lucifer politely nods. She swiftly lets go of his arm, and does a curt bow. “The Morningstar. I thank you for your words.”
“No need to thank me - it was a beautiful song. Just telling you the truth here.” he replied, and Gabriel swears she sees her blush.
It’s not that he felt intimidated by Lucifer. Yes, he was the most beautiful and radiant of them all. But did he really need to cut into their conversation.
Still, if the other angels could see that beauty and greatness he sees, then maybe a little praise from angels who were not him would help.
“Gabe,” Lucifer drags him back from his thoughts, as he feels a strong clap on his shoulders. “Continue being her light. Heaven knows we need more of angels like her.”
See, that wasn’t so bad at all.
(He should have sensed something back then.)
“We’d like to have dessert first,” Gabriel tells the waiter.
The waiter looked at him, then at Beelzebub, then back at Gabriel. “Uhm, pardon?” he asks, with the same level of disbelief as that look.
“Change things up, I always say.” he says, a bit more firmer than he intended. The waiter looks at Beelzebub, as if hoping to negate what Gabriel had said. He only receives an a nod of agreement, which makes the waiter inhale sharply and leave them to get the dessert.
Beelzebub then leans back on her chair, almost slouching, her hands steepled in front of her. “I trust that there were no objections to the truce?” Gabriel drums his fingers on the table, trying to remember if he heard, or ready any emails of objection. “None that I can remember. Everyone just seems to want to know what to do next.”
She rolled her eyes at that. “Angels. Always needing to be told what to do.”
Gabriel couldn’t help but to sit a bit straighter at that. “We prefer order, not the chaos you are used to.”
“Sure. That’s why wars are your thing.”
It’s impossible to sit straighter, but it’s the only alternative Gabriel currently had lest he reveal his wings. “It is your thing too!”
“Of course it’s our thing as well! Did you forget we were once angels?” Her eyes seem to flicker between her blue eyes and her true red ones.
(He swears they almost match his violet eyes.)
She had an unfinished song. Her remembers her being enthusiastic at first, but then she couldn’t find any push to go on. Sure, she had laughed at his attempts to sing, but they had both agreed that singing was not what he was created for.
Now, as he willed himself to continue on trodding through the burnt earth, he tried to remember the remnants of her song.
He remembers the melody. He looks up, and he hums it, trying his damndest to remember the words.
Weakly, he sings, trying to hold back the tears. “Only Thy grace,” he starts. “Thy love on me bestow… These make me rich… All else will I forego.”
He was here, far from Her grace. But please - oh dear God please - he isn’t of the choir, but please - “Hear my prayer.”
“Thine… was… the gift… to thee…”
He looks around, the answer.
It was her. She was humming her song.
“Are here… Please… It’s me… It’s Gabriel!”
The humming grew weaker, the song becoming barely a whisper.
“I… all… resign…”
No. No no nonononono no. Gabriel picks up his pace, seemingly a new found strength in him to find her. In his haste, he trips over a spear or a shield or…
A lyre. Oh no. No. No no nonononono -
All the other angels had their weapons - he himself carried a shield. The ones who rebelled had to make do with what they could pick up.
Did she… Did she only have her lyre?
(Do Thou direct and govern all and sway)
He starts to get up, and in his line of vision, he sees her. She’s barely breathing, facing the dark red sky, her tears falling down her face - but the rest of her…
Gabriel crawls to her, and in his haste, he picks her up too hard, making her cry out in pain. His relief of seeing her alive is short lived - he sees her burnt wings, almost nothing left at all, the burns reaching the whole of her back. Her once grey robes were now tattered shreds, her legs bearing scratches and cuts from God knows what.
Out of nowhere, she cries out, and she tries to cling on to him closer - only that she feels her burnt flesh be burned again. She pushes him, almost clawing to get away. He lets her go, and she quickly tries to retreat. She still feels being burned, she swears that it had finally stopped not that long ago.
He tries to reach out to her, but she screams, and she curls herself up. “Please, please… It’s me… It’s Gabe- Gabriel!” he lets the tears flow. “Gabriel… I’m… I’m here…”
It was only then that she looks up, taking in the Archangel most holy in the midst of all this misery. With that, she lets out a wail.
He breaks once more; the beautiful voice was still there, but it had carried so much pain to his heart.
“Gabriel…” she croaks, but she curls up again, willing her world to be smaller, or to even swallow her whole. He slowly walked to her, and she would wince.
She had fallen. He had fought for Her glory. Did… This mean she fell? Did this mean she was no longer worthy of God’s grace?
(Do what Thou wilt, command, and I obey)
There must be something he could do.
“Gabriel…” it was barely a whisper, and oh God - was she dying - She wouldn’t dare take her now!
Less of an angel. He must become less of Her grace and more of… More of him.
His wings were gone, and he tried to conceal what made him Her Archangel. Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was enough, but when he walked to her, she barely flinched.
“I’m here… I’m here now… It’s me… Don’t… Don’t be afraid…” his voice was barely even a whisper, but it was enough for her to cling to him.
She swallows, and the pain of it causes her to be inch closer. “Hurts - everything… Scared… Everyone… Alone…”
He had done it a thousand times, always in secret, when they were alone. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, then on her cheek, then, he dared, on her lips. No longer did she taste like the overflowing drink heaven had always offered. She tasted like the steel on his shield when he drew it too close to protect himself and his brethren. No longer did she feel light on his arms, as if something he had longed to conceal for himself. To him, she felt like a heavy load that would sink him to the earth.
No - he thought, defying every horror that was coming to him. She’s still - she’s still -
She’s still…
(Only Thy grace, thy love on me bestow)
“Gabriel?” the soft melody was still there - or did he think it was the same melody he’d heard a thousand times before?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he tells her, but he seems to want to tell himself the same thing as well. “I’m here… I’ll stay by your side. Until you heal! Then we can go back and -“
Her tears start to flow, and he holds her closer. “Sing… Sing to me… Sing my song…” He could only bury his face to her hair, shaking his head. “I…” he starts, as he kisses her again on her cheek. “I don’t remember much of it.”
For the first time, ever since everything, he sees her smile. “I’ll take what I can.”
(These make me rich, all else will I forgo.)
Gabriel and Beelzebub weren’t sure how long they stared at each other. Perhaps it was long enough for the waiter to return with their desserts.
“Here you go - an Angel’s Food Cake, and a Devil’s Food Cake,” he announces as he gently places these in front of them. “As recommended by Sirs Fell and Crowley.” Beelzebub’s eyes flash at the mention of Crowley’s name, meanwhile Gabriel was too aghast at the actual names of the food before them.
“Enjoy,” the waiter tells them, leaving before either of them could land a comment.
“Those fuckers,” Gabriel mutters under his breath, “They think they’re- AH!”
He was cut short by Beelzebub taking a dining fork and taking a fairly huge chunk of the Devil’s food cake. She was about to eat it when she noticed Gabriel practically starring at her, jaw dropping to the floor.
“What?” she asks, fork and cake pending consumption.
Gabriel points, then replies. “You’re really going to eat that much on your first bite?”
Beelzebub huffs, and then points as well. “The faster we dispose of these earthly pleasantries, the faster we can go through this meeting.”
“Well, good luck with that - because I’m not sullying my corporeal -“
He gets cut off again by Beelzebub, practically ramming her fork through his mouth. “You’re eating you tall excuse of an idiot.” Gabriel swears that this could cause discorporation, but then, after he chews - and then clears his mouth of the cake, he thinks - there are probably worse ways to go.
What was that old earth saying? Do as the Romans do?
He picks up the dessert fork - the correct one, if he follow’s Azirphale’s advice - and takes a tiny slice out of the said Angel Food Cake.
Huh.
“Didn’t like it?” Beelzebub asks, as he takes in a second bite of the cake. Gabriel wiggles his hand. “It’s… I have to say, it’s not as good as the first one you shoved straight into my face.”
“Is it now,” she says, as she eyes the suspicious, not-as-good cake. “Then that’s yours then - hey!”
Gabriel took another small portion of Angel’s Food Cake, then another of the Devil’s Food Cake.
Something was there, he swears on his wings. Beelzebub takes a rather ridiculous chunk from the Angel Food Cake and tries it out herself.
“They taste the same, you dumbass,” she tells him, though she copies his method of eating both at the same time.
He takes the napkin from his side and wipes his mouth with it, then reaches for the water. “I couldn’t tell, I can still taste the fork.”
Beelzebub laughs, and it’s not as harsh as Gabriel thought it would be, her being a demon and all. He lets himself smile a bit.
He never knew it, but Gabriel had been singing the same song for centuries now.
He couldn’t remember how long he stayed by her side. He had promised, as long as it took for her to somehow recover, he would not leave.
He swears he was holding on to her closely, humming her last song whenever he still could. The words, some at least, were still there - and sometimes she would remind him of the rest.
It didn’t hurt as much, at least.
Then all of a sudden, Gabriel doesn’t understand how he managed to open his eyes to the bright blue of heaven.
The Silver City had been as if nothing happened - that all around, angels were going on with their lives.
“This… Something’s…” Gabriel tells himself, only to be nudged back by Michael, standing beside him. “You’ve drifted off again.” she starts. “Sandalphon here’s just saying something about some songs the choir can’t seem to hit the right notes.”
Sandalphon looks at him apologetically, as if he was telling a very boring story that lulled Gabriel to somewhere else.
No.
Gabriel’s head started to ache, as if every time he tried to use it, it rebelled against him. “I was - I was with… I was with her! Down… There!”
Sandalphon cast a worried look at Michael. She could only sigh.
“Oh, okay all right buddy… You need Raphael now more than you need us…” Michael hoists Gabriel up, despite the obvious difference in their builds. “Let’s go.”
(Take and receive, O Lord, my liberty)
Michael and Sandalphon walked beside Gabriel, as he hobbled up to Raphael’s quarters. Sandalphon kept a safe distance from Gabriel, as Michael and Raphael talked in another corner.
He may have this terrible headache, but he can still make out some of the words.
“Why is he remembering things?” asked Michael.
“It’s Gabriel. You know how stubborn he gets to be when he’s determined.” replied Raphael.
“Well, we can’t have him remembering! How can he be Her Archangel if he remembers?”. Michael.
“Have you stopped to consider, maybe - JUST MAYBE - She wants him to remember?” That was Raphael.
“I don’t think so - I mean, I was shocked as well when his name was on the list. He’s one of us, he’s supposed to remember - “
“He was close to one of them,” another voice chimed in - Sandalphon?
“This is a burden we have to take seriously brothers,” Michael, or perhaps Raphael, said. “If there is a reason Gabriel’s fighting, it has to be a good one.”
A scoff, then a comment “He carried a shield - I don’t think he’s fit for fighting.”
A few moments of silence, then finally. “Let me do it.
Then, darkness flooded Gabriel’s senses.
(Take all my will, my mind, my memory)
Gabriel woke up to a damp cloth being gently placed on his head. “Sandalphon?”
A gasp from the source, then a tsk. “I know we’re not that close Gabriel, but… Gabriel, I have hair.”
“Raphael,” he sighs, and Gabriel tries to get up, only for Raphael to gently stop him. “You can’t. Not yet. You’re too weak brother, you have to gain back your strength.”
“Strength - what -“
“That’s right. Can’t have your big self falling around the Cherubim, they’re small enough as it is.”
Gabriel then slowly goes back to recline. He hears Raphael sigh.
“Told them you’re strong enough to fight it. She was too important to you. Won’t be easy for you to forget.”
Gabriel tries to grab Raphael’s hand, to demand the how’s and why’s. But with a gentle pat from Raphael, he lets go and listens.
“The thing is Gabriel, the two of you developed a bond far beyond what the others have. You… You can’t just easily forget everything. I told them that and that they should just let you be. Didn’t believe me, Raphael, of all the Archangels, when I told them you would go big and never go home. But hey. You being Gabriel… Of course they wouldn’t let you go.”
Raphael dampens the cloth once again and gently pats Gabriel’s face.
“Tell you what though, I can do you a favor,” Raphael tells him, with a smile. “I will, look the other way. Tell them I tried yet again to make you forget everything about her. But you won’t. Just… Pretend you don’t remember her. It’s better than trying to forget, really. Now, you just rest again and then we’ll go through this just one more time.”
Raphael gulps, then continues. “It’s going to hurt both of us if they ever find out, you know.”
Gabriel nods his agreement, and lets himself rest.
(All things I hold and all I own are Thine)
A few days ago, Gabriel had come back to heaven, whose angels were all prepared for the war. Then he tried to tell them that Armageddon was cancelled.
In the most comical of ways, there was a unison of dropped weapons. In the most non-comical of ways, angels started to complain in unison.
Michael and the others tried to placate the angels, having an all too familiar feeling rush to them. The Archangels had offered to do the placating for Gabriel, while he went to his office to shoot a quick message to God.
He didn’t get around to that.
He tried to reel it all in, what he had seen.
Of course he’d see her - she was the Prince of Hell wasn’t she? She commanded the legion of the fiery pits of hell, awaiting orders from her Lord’s son.
Who didn’t seem to be as much as his son anymore than he was a young boy with powers.
So much was their desire to start the war that it was rather too late when he realized, he had seen her again.
After all these years.
She was still as small, but she certainly commanded some authority in her. She could certainly instill the fear of hell, as she tried to convince the Antichrist to start the war.
Did she remember him?
She had arrived a few seconds only after him, he had barely come down from heaven to register that it was her.
Did they regard each other in some way?
He sinks into his chair, rubbing his temples. His headache comes and goes every other century or so, but this -
Of course. It happens any time he tries to remember her.
(Thine was the gift, to Thee I all resign)
Michael had told her that the traitor Aziraphale must be punished. “The other angels can’t make an example of him. They can’t know about him. They would start asking questions, and we barely have answers about the cancelled Armageddon!”
Uriel and Sandalphon nod their agreement. “We keep telling everyone that Armageddon’t was part of the Ineffable Plan.” Sandalphon added. “We’re only praying they don’t ask around what Ineffable meant.”
Gabriel just stared at him. “Lucky we don’t have dictionaries conveniently lying around.”
“Gabriel,” Michael tries to get his attention. “Let me take this burden away from you. Let me come up with how to do it.”
He waved his hand, nodding. “Just… Make sure it’s the right thing to do.” Michael leaves with a satisfied smirk on her face, followed closely by Uriel. Sandalphon looking at Gabriel then at Michael leaving. Gabriel dismissed him just as quickly.
Amidst all this mess, it occurs to him now that, as the Archangel Assigned to Music, Sandalphon, though observant, never asked him about the lyre he has displayed in his office.
(Do Thou direct and govern all and sway)
“Just shut up, and die already.” Gabriel had told the traitor Aziraphale with a smile.
Oh, it was unfair.
For years - ages - CENTURIES - he had dealt with this secret. That he was going to keep Raphael’s promise and pretend he forgot being associated with a fallen angel.
And here stood Aziraphale, who had been doing it since the beginning!
He had carried that pain with him, knowing full well that all it took as to message down below, and perhaps, pick up from where they left off.
He didn’t know why or how they did it - but God on high - it can be done!
Instead, he had chosen to go on, year after year, pretending to have vague memories of the Great War. Of how it was normal for him that the angels didn’t seem to be as many as they were.
That the choirs of angels weren’t missing one voice.
And here, here stood Aziraphale, Principality, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate, with a worried face, probably wishing he didn’t fraternize with the enemy.
Or at the very least, had been honest about it.
After all, wasn’t he generous with his praise with all the good deeds that he had done as an angel on earth? (Granted, apparently half of them were by the demon Crowley) Did Gabriel not encourage him to do about, thwarting the wiles of the demon Crowley? (Then again, it wasn’t much as thwarting as making sure there wasn’t a big of a mess to be dealt with by both sides.)
For six hundred years, they had… Fraternized.
And all he had were memories.
(Do what Thou wilt, command, and I obey)
Uriel and Sandalphon could not believe their eyes. Aziraphale stood there, seemingly content with the hellfire he was surrounded with.
“Did they… Is this defective hellfire?” Sandalphon asks, and Gabriel shook his head.
The distance should have been safe, and he wasn’t sure why, but he was feeling the hellfire’s effects.
His head aches again - been common lately more than he cared to admit.
Of course, he thinks. I’ve felt this before.
It’s not as clear as he would like it to be, but this, the pain he was feeling was nothing compared to the first time. That time, even as he had willed his Archangelness away, he seemed to feel the flames rising from the fallen angel. Still, he held on, because of the promise he made.
He remembers Raphael telling him that he has to try to forget, even some tiny bits of it, all because this pain will go back anytime he would remember.
Gabriel would not admit it, but there were times he didn’t mind the pain so he would remember.
(Only Thy grace, Thy love on me bestow)
They were on the main course when, Beelzebub ordered the fifth bottle of wine. Not yet getting a hang of how humans should react to wine, the two of them didn’t see the look of worry their waiter had when he brought the said wine. “Best leave them alone,” seemed to be the motto for that day.
“Sandalphon asked if you gave us defective hellfire,” Gabriel said as he nibbled on his steak. “Looking back, I would have laughed hard at that! Oh, doesn’t mean it’s hell, your things don’t work as they are supposed to be.”
“That archangel can come down and have some working hellfire if he’d like.” Beelzebub replied, as she refilled the wine glass to almost full. (Gabriel swears the manager spying from the bar almost fainted.)
Gabriel whispered a small “Yes please,” when Beelzebub offered to fill his glass as well. “I’ve given it much thought, and I’m pretty sure the fraternizing over the millennia made them too strong. Like - they have bits of each other protecting them or something.”
Beelzebub bangs her fist on the table, causing the other restaurant patrons to glance in their direction. Gabriel scowled at them, then turned his attention back at the Prince of Hell. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them! Oh Gabriel, these dumbasses - I swear, maybe I should assign them more up here so they can have some sense.”
Nodding, Gabriel agrees. “Same. That way I’ll get let email. Maybe they’ll learn off each other and, in general, try not to mess it all up.”
“Less paperwork,” Beelzebub smiles at that idea.
There was a considerable pause, and a question left hanging in the air.
“You don’t suppose…” Gabriel asks her, an eyebrow raised.
“That THAT’S the Ineffable Plan?” she continues, already raising her glass to her lips.
“Angels and demons? Together?”
Blue eyes meet violet once again, and it’s Beelzebub who breaks into fits of laughter.
“Oh Heaven - “ she tries to say in between the laughter. “They aren’t going to like that! Hell, I don’t like that and yet I’m here with you!”
Gabriel is stunned, but he tries to keep that to himself.
The rest of the dinner goes uneventful - save for some curious questions being thrown between them. As they finish up their appetizers, Beelzebub couldn’t help to hum a little ditty.
It’s enough to make Gabriel ask for the check.
(These make me rich, all else will I forego.)
Heaven and Hell tried to forget that this whole thing ever happened. Whatever the Ineffable Plan was, or wasn’t, they just bade their time and waited - in their places, or sometimes on earth, mostly being harmless to each other.
There were times Gabriel and Beelzebub met, if only to give updates on their respective domains. It’s much nicer, they find, to exchange said updates face to face, instead of sending e-mails back and forth.
It had absolutely nothing to do with an agreement they had that they would try the traitors’ ways.
More often than not, Beelzebub would find herself listening to Gabriel complain about the ineffectiveness of most, if not all, lower angels. She couldn’t suggest anything (Hell knows she loves a little chaos in the workplace herself), but Gabriel being able to vent out was reward enough for him. In return, he would sneak in some of the older versions of Heaven’s systems to upgrade some of the incredibly older ones Hell still had installed on theirs. The significance of the updates weren’t as great as the lower demons had hoped, but eh, they take what they get get.
Gabriel sometimes wonders if, like him, Beelzebub remembers her life when she was an angel. If she was also made to forget everything, if only to make it easier for her to move on. Did she choose to forget, or did she, like him, didn’t mind the pain so that she could still remember?
Sometimes he would find himself staring at her sometimes blue, sometimes red eyes, wishing he could hum what little he remembers of her song. He’d have some small hope when she hums it back, but most of the time, she claims it was catchy and she’d find herself humming it.
Whatever the Ineffable Plan was. Gabriel and Beelzebub agreed that it was best for them to be prepared about it anyway. If it will come, or if it even exists at all.
Both of them however, unknown to the other, deeply wished that this - this thing they were doing - was part of it.