Chapter Text
Chapter One -- In Nomine Archangeli Nostri
“No one but the sun should ever see me cry, no one but you.”
𝕱or some angels, prayer is scarce and offered by few who have delved deeper into the less famous residents of the Silver City, but for others…it is a constant buzz of noise that over time becomes far too unbearable to hear.
For Michael, one of the most known and praised angels among humans, prayer is received from millions of voices of varying emotions and languages. Some cry his name with joy in gratitude for things he’s never done, some shaking with terror at things that the future holds and desperate for protection, some seething with rage at the deafening silence that settles upon their prayers when they instead had been awaiting answers, others questioning the Will of the Lord as he does.
Some of them are clearer among the white noise of so many human voices, those he recognises as true believers, those who don’t get lost in the crowd so easily, and for whose suffering he holds an occasional shrivel of pity.
Though there is one that often stands out even among them.
One that reminds him of gentle indigo waves in an endless sea, sometimes completely still and other times caressing golden-sand shores with deep, whooshing sounds. It’s vaguely symbolic in some way, perhaps.
The voice is firm, soft, and holds no uncertainty or demand. The owner speaks to him as though they’ve known each other for a while and the prayer itself doesn’t conjure the bitter reminder of his plastered perfect façade; it doesn’t address him the way most do when reciting the writings of the Scriptures, yet regards him as equally flawless nonetheless.
For centuries now, Michael had been shutting down the communication line between him and his worshippers. The voices are overwhelming and they demand the pretence of strength and fearlessness that has gradually become harder to imitate. As a result, this worshipper has been shut out too for the most part.
In times of need however, during untold moments of doubt in the uninvited company of terrible memories, Michael will sometimes relinquish the peaceful silence and endure the ceaseless noise so as to listen to the praise of the naïve mortals who think he is like God.
In those moments, Michael allows himself to believe them and see himself through this lens of perfection that they have for him, these naïve creatures. He ignores the nagging thought that, were they to know who he really is, they’d never pray to him again. That, like everyone else, they’d pick Lucifer.
Not even that more distinct one, whose prayers inspire unique sensations to him, would stay by his side and remain faithful.
It’s a thought that hurts; it stings at his chest even as he maintains the perfect artificial composure, but there are times when his mind manages to overcome the pain of reality and lose himself in a crowd of false praise, when he manages to believe the lies he’s spread across Father’s beloved pets, and he closes his eyes as the flooding buzz overtakes his mind.
Voice upon voice overlapping with each other; he focuses on one each time as the rest are reduced to white noise in the back of his mind. Priests, churchgoers, frightened parents, children, some curious agnostics…and then this one.
The one that reminds him of an ocean in perfect stillness or gentle motion. An odd thing.
It’s been a while since he’d opened himself to the frequencies of the Earth. The last time was some years ago, when he heard this worshipper’s voice by accident and the sound felt oddly familiar. It had been a mere auditory glimpse, but now…now he kept his mind open for a good few minutes, something he hadn’t done in decades, perhaps even more.
And he hears the prayer while managing to push away the rest.
A pleasant voice, she has…
“Our fears are not always our enemies, our desires are not always our friends…the light is not always true guidance, and the shadows do not always bear harm. A vigilant mind discerns, understands...a weak one succumbs and hates what does not gratify instantaneously. We shall not be subjected to the whims of the flesh; we will befriend our fears, be wary of our desires, deny the comfort of the light and walk in the shadows…”
What a strange prayer yet again…oddly reflecting his struggles before the fall. It still holds a semblance of familiarity that he can’t quite place.
But what lingers in his mind is the perspective of learning to consciously choose the shadows over the light, of distinguishing the benefits of fear instead of desire.
He vaguely remembers preaching this over two millennia ago and the prayer echoes those remnants of a past that Michael himself had almost forgotten.
He no longer associates with humans at such frequency unless it follows the steps of a specific plan, so the fact that there is a human at this point in time still following these teachings inspires a mild sense of surprise.
It’s a faint sense of nostalgia, nothing more, and he indulges in one more of her prayers before shutting the communication line again for the foreseeable future.
“Shrouded in perfect darkness, reduced to nothing more than a shadow, you are worthy. Flawed, full of fear, unlovable as you may think you are, you are worthy. Broken, bleeding, forever carrying the pain of unseen wounds that no one will ever heal, you are worthy. Through the hardships that life will rain upon you, though they may cut like a thousand knives or burn like a thousand torches...in the name of the Heavenly Father and all that He has created, you will always be worthy and measure up to nothing less than perfection.”
Unbeknownst to him, his vision had clouded and by the end of it he also took notice of a faint ache reverberating in his chest. His slanted shoulder twitched and he blinked as he shut the voices out to see what was happening.
By that time his vision had returned, but there was wetness trekking down his cheeks and to his horror, he realised just what this was.
With a sharp inhale, he brought a clumsy hand to his face and wiped all evidence of the raw, unprocessed emotion off him with the sleeve of his black uniform.
“Uh...you okay, Michael?”
He froze on the spot at the sound of his sister’s voice.
Slowly, he removed his arm from his face and turned, craning his neck a few degrees so that a single dark yet glinting eye would face her.
“Gabriel...you know I hate it when you sneak up on me like that.” Albeit calm, his voice held a subtle warning, a faint harshness of sorts.
This was a common practice among the two most notable Archangels; appearing unannounced, taking each other by surprise...
Indeed, the Heavenly Messenger was well-aware of Michael’s dislike towards this unsolicited teleportation, but this time there was something wrong with the glare in his eye. She could faintly see how tiny veins had been made visible in the white sclera and how a soft pink hue had crept around the corners of his eyes.
And he’d been rubbing at his face a tad too aggressively when she’d arrived—
“...Wait a second, were you-“
“Gabriel!”
This time the harshness was direct and evident as he growled her name, effectively startling her.
She may be the only angel with whom Michael is a tad friendlier, but she knows not to push her luck with him. Instantly, the messenger went still, arms squeezing at her sides as though she were a soldier called upon by her commander. The simile wasn’t too far from the truth, given how Michael is slowly becoming the unofficial commander of Heaven, resented by most and feared by all unequivocally.
Now both glaring eyes were piercing their gaze into hers and she didn’t dare look or move away. Though even amidst the fear that he could surely sense, her suspicions were confirmed now that she could take a better look at his face.
His eyes were bloodshot, glistening but not just with anger, and his cheeks held the faintest pink hue from the blood that had rushed there. For whatever reason, one that her curiosity craved ever so deeply to know, the Archangel Michael was crying.
It echoed of a different time, preceding the Great War and most of creation...
When Amenadiel was chosen as God’s harbinger of discipline and would make examples out of Michael’s constant schemes and use of his terrible power. Only then, during such punishments, would the Host bear witness to the faintest tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he looked away in shame, trembling on the ground.
The humans had adopted some of this form of punishment too, named it atomic wedgie and from what she knows they still use it to this day.
But never did she think that she’d ever see the aftermath of this thing again.
And now Michael was mere inches away from her, showing his vulnerability openly as if to challenge her with the consequence of pointing out her observation right to his face.
“Wanna finish that thought, sis?”
Gabriel quickly shook her head negatively. “N-no, not at all. It’s not like I saw anything, you were probably pondering on those top secret plans of yours and you were trying to wipe some smudge off your face or something...” She rambled nervously and Michael tilted his head, observing her closely as if to test the sincerity of her words.
Eventually he nodded.
“Yes, exactly...and I suppose you won’t go around spreading those pretty little rumours of yours, right? Be a shame if I had to spread some of my own regarding your deepest fears.”
This one alarmed her and she stepped back instinctively, raising her hands in protest as a look of worry shifted her expression. He’s never resorted to the use of his power against her before. Then again, she's never caught him in such a state before. “H-hey, Mike, you know I wouldn’t do that to you...I know I’m all gossip and rumours and I start rambling on whenever I talk, but...I know a thing or two about boundaries and...I care about you. I wouldn’t want to do anything even potentially bad to you.” She explained in a softer voice as she gave him a somewhat sad look for even considering that.
Perhaps had it been another sibling they might have attempted to exploit that moment of weakness out of spite for how he hypocritically presents himself as fearless and emotionless. She can’t blame them either for being angry at him, but she’s not like that. She doesn’t see any potentially good outcomes from humiliating or hurting him.
It may have been momentary, but her keen eyes didn’t miss it; the brief but very striking look of regret at the harsh threat he resorted to on the one angel who still somehow tolerates him.
His back tensed and his shoulders seemed to contort inadvertently as he backed away from her shamefully, averting gaze.
“...You’re probably right.” He murmured in defeat, earning a small smile from her; half relief and half amusement. It seems he still tries to hold his record of never hurting her. He didn’t need to formally apologise for her to detect his remorse, it was all over his expression. Though he did eventually glance at her, giving a weak look of annoyance. “And it’s Michael, by the way. No nicknames, no abbreviations.”
Her smile widened and she bobbed her head in a playful nod, at which her thick curls jiggled slightly. “Right, sorry. Michael.”
He fights the urge to smile, all in the name of maintaining a strict façade that she can easily see through as if it were glass.
“Anyway...” Began Gabriel, now less tense. “Seems I caught you at a bad time for a jumpscare so I’ll get going. Call me if you need anything though, okay?” Concern coloured her voice in that last fragment of speech, concealed yet nonetheless existent. Were he not so difficult with emotional expression, she may have stayed longer or offered help a tad more directly, but she’d rather not upset him again. It won’t help either of them.
Yet, as she backed away and turned to leave, he called out to her calmly.
“Hey, Gabriel...”
She turned to him again.
“...I’m still your favourite brother, right?”
A smile came upon her features, brighter than the faint hint of a smirk he was fighting to force out of his lips.
“Sure, dork.”
This time, he fully turned away before she could even glimpse at the now clearer smile that adorned his face. It held no slyness or ill intent, it was a genuinely happy smile that he wouldn’t allow anyone to see lest they forget even for a moment that he is the Archangel of Fear and the embodiment of every terrifying thing in all creation.
As such, his only response was a nod and he only moved when he heard the flapping of wings as Gabriel left. He made a mental note to visit her later, spend some quality time with her the way he never does with any other of his siblings. Maybe they can stargaze through the cosmos in the far outskirts of the Silver City and in that secluded peace, he can show her that he values her more than the rest.
The unnoticed tension that had crept up his shoulders left partially, enough for him to exhale and return to his previous thoughts, the ones that caused all this mess that nearly cost him his status. He was lucky that it was Gabriel who came and not any other sibling. Still, he’d have to keep track of her interactions for now because even though she may not wish any harm to befall him, her mouth runs wild on instinct and unfortunate accidents may happen.
However, this wasn’t the time to ponder on such potential dangers. He trusts her unlike any angel or creature in general.
The fearsome Archangel’s mind had already been occupied with negative thoughts prior to this encounter, hence the last resort of opening up the thick mental walls to welcome the flood of prayers.
He longed for the admiration, the praise that he’d never receive here because the other angels know who he really is. The humans see him as a mixture of Amenadiel, Lucifer, and Zadkiel; the trio that once had been the most respected among Heaven. He is nothing like them, he knows, but he allows himself to believe their prayers regardless because this is all he has, unpleasant and artificial as it may be.
And he looks for her voice again, despite having previously decided not to open himself for a while.
It was instinctive, with an eagerness that he didn’t know he had, but he didn’t find that voice try as he may. It should normally be easily discernible among the masses; therefore one can only assume that she’s finished praying for now.
Michael closes the barriers of his mind to let the peaceful silence settle yet again, though not without the most peculiar hint of reluctance.
Perhaps he may find that voice again someday and understand why it sounded so familiar.