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Chapter Text

On a Thursday night, an angel and his soul climbed down the steps to their wine cellar.  They didn’t rush; the evening was still young, after all, and what with them being two halves of an immortal being, they literally had all the time in the world.

The angel’s fluffy white cat dæmon, Bastet, leapt down to peruse the shelves ahead of her companion.  She studied the labels with a well-learned eye, and called out, “What do you think, Aziraphale, the Bordeaux?  Or something lighter tonight?”

Aziraphale bustled down, taking the seventeenth-century Bordeaux in question from its nook.  “This one, for a start.  Crowley prefers the stronger reds, after all.”

Their selection made, Bastet jumped up onto her angel’s shoulders, as he ascended the steps back to the ground floor of their cottage.

Crowley—the aforementioned demon—was draped over a sofa in front of the crackling fireplace.  His snake dæmon, Lilith, was cuddled on his half-opened shirt, burrowing part of her body inside the garment to soak in his warmth.

“You know,” Aziraphale said as he filled two wine glasses, “you might be surprised at how much easier it is to drink something if you’re sitting upright for it.”

Lilith waggled her serpentine tongue at him.  “You think he doesssss anything the eassssy way at firsssst?”

“I’d call it adventurous,” said Crowley.  “What’s life without a bit of fun?”

Bastet raised a brow.  “You’d call choking on a perfectly good red ‘fun’?  A waste of wine, is what I’d call it.”

Crowley obligingly clambered into as upright of a sitting position as he ever managed—which is to say, his spine was still slouched in a bend no human would’ve been able to manage for long.

Aziraphale joined him on the other end of the sofa, still eyeing his beloved demon with a smirk.  Bastet took the opening, and slunk on top of Crowley’s lap to nuzzle Lilith’s head—a gesture that was happily returned.  

She could hear Aziraphale’s breath speed up slightly as his dæmon perched on Crowley’s legs.  “I don’t believe I’ll ever get used to that,” he admitted.

Crowley smirked.  “Me, neither.  In a good way, though, right?”

“Oh, in the best way,” Aziraphale said with a warm smile.  He held his glass aloft.  “To retirement.”

“To retirement,” Crowley agreed.  They clinked their glasses together and—

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

All four beings froze.  Wine glasses stayed poised at their lips, undrunk.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

All Bastet could hear was Aziraphale and Crowley’s sped-up breaths, and that— 

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

—that horrid knocking at the front door.

This wasn’t a visitor.  They’d retired to the English countryside for peace and quiet; they didn’t get visitors here.

This was an intruder.

Bastet sniffed the air, attempting to determine their intruder’s intentions.  The scent she picked up from the front door chilled her to the bone.

The closest thing she could describe it as was the scent of too much disinfectant.  The kind of scent you would find at a doctor’s office, or a hospital.

But it wasn’t mortal.  It was the scent of Heaven.

And there was only one person she knew of who carried that scent so strongly.

Aziraphale rose to his feet.  “Wait!” Crowley hissed alongside his dæmon. “What’re you—”

“If we don’t open the door, how long do you think he’ll leave it standing?” Aziraphale quietly countered.

He had a valid point.  So, Bastet mustered all her soldier’s courage, and tread after Aziraphale’s measured footfalls to the door.

When they opened it, she could feel Aziraphale’s confusion, and could imagine Crowley felt the same.  At their eye level, while the Archangel Gabriel’s scent was still permeating the whole front porch of their cottage, there was no one there.

But at Bastet’s height, she saw exactly who it was.  Her fur stood on end, ears pricked forward to latch onto her quarry.

The Archangel Gabriel may not have been there himself.  But standing at the threshold was the one part of the Archangel that could separate from the rest, and still pose as much of a threat:

His golden eagle dæmon, Magdalena.

Chapter Text

Magdalena sighed.  She hoped her two targets wouldn’t put up too much of a fuss about this.  So annoying.

Tracking the two traitors to this little hovel they now shared hadn’t been the hard part.  They’d made it laughably easy to keep tabs on them.  As if it was in any way noble, or brave, to live together in the open as they were now.

(Ugh, could there be anything worse than living with a demon?   She nearly gagged just thinking about it.)

The flight down here from Heaven hadn’t been the hard part, either.  She was the soul of The Messenger, after all.  Any distance—geometric or metaphysical—meant nothing to her.

No, the difficult part of all this had been bringing herself to knock on the door.

More than likely, she wouldn’t be well-received.  Especially since she was here for a most unpleasant task.

Had to be done, though.  For Heaven’s sake.

xxx

Aziraphale was the one to answer the door.  (It figured; demons were all cowards.)  But Bastet was the one who spotted her first.  The cat’s fur stood on end, preparing for a confrontation.

It wouldn’t come to that, unless Magdalena deemed it necessary.

In the end, she decided a softer approach would be best received.  “Hello, Aziraphale, Bastet,” she nodded at the angelic pair.  “May I come in?”

Behind them, the demon’s serpentine soul hissed, fanning her hood in the air.  The demon Crowley was crouched on the sofa, poised for action.

Aziraphale and Bastet, meanwhile, didn’t budge.  “What do you want?” Aziraphale asked sharply.

Magdalena ruffled her feathers at the venom in his tone.  But she didn’t let it faze her.  “There is some business I would like to discuss with you.”  She looked pointedly at him.  “Alone.”

“Sod that,” Crowley growled, and fluidly stood to prowl to the door himself.  “You have five seconds to get off our stoop before—”

Aziraphale silenced him with a hand on his arm.  But his face didn’t change from its stony expression as he regarded Magdalena.  “I cannot possibly imagine what you would need to discuss with us.  Bastet and I are no longer a part of Heaven, and we certainly don’t report to you any longer, so if you please—”

“Gabriel doesn’t know I’m here.”

That did it.  She could see Aziraphale’s eyes widen.  He shared an uncertain glance with his dæmon, whose tail had stopped swishing for a moment.

Magdalena sighed.  “Fine.  If this must be discussed in front of—him”—the demon in question hissed lowly under his breath—“then I’d better get to the point quickly.”

“Yes,” Bastet growled, “you’d better.”

“We need to know how you developed your immunity to holy water and hellfire.”

Crowley barked a laugh.  “I bet you do!  Look, fun as this was—”

“Why?” Aziraphale cut him off, but still with a remorseless look down at Magdalena.

She preened a feather on her right wing.  “It’s nothing to do with you.  It concerns Hell.”  She lowered her voice, made a show of looking around.  “Our intel has confirmed,” she whispered, “that the Dark Council has already discovered your little gambit.  Our greatest weapon against the Enemy is no longer effective.”

She could see Aziraphale and Crowley share a glance out their eye corners.  They were listening, at least.

“They’ve figured out the demon’s trick,” Magdalena continued.  “Holy water no longer works.  What we need from you is simple information, of how you survived the holy water so we can create a successful counter.  And, how Aziraphale survived the hellfire, so we can shore up our own defences if need be.”

The demon’s soul—that disgusting, slithering little worm, made without God’s touch—crawled up next to Bastet.  “I have a quessstion.”

Magdalena tried not to make a show of averting her eyes, but she nodded.

“Why are you lying?”

In her shock, Magdalena ended up locking eyes with the serpent’s glare, mouth agape.  “I am an angel’s soul, I cannot lie!”

Bastet laughed mirthlessly.  “As an angel’s soul myself, I must disagree.”

Aziraphale folded his hands together, as if about to explain something simple to a small child.  “If Hell really had figured out how to avoid your mutually assured destruction, you wouldn’t have bothered to visit us at all.  Hell would have come here in full force, to attempt destroying us for good.”

His small smile withered on his face.  “Then again, if Heaven couldn’t lie, perhaps you would have thought twice before cutting away the Fallen ones’ dæmons.”

With that, he slammed the door in Magdalena’s face, and miracled it locked and warded, leaving the golden eagle in shock.

Chapter Text

Any organization needs a hierarchy of clearly-defined roles to function effectively.  Heaven was no exception.

Most angels were guardian angels, performing the everyday grunt work of Creation.  They built, and guarded, and sang, and healed, and created the backbone of Heaven’s work.

The Principalities were above them, overseeing a command of a few hundred guardians each.  Each Principality’s domain concerned work to be done relating to God’s crown jewel of a project—Earth.

Adjacent to the Principalities and guardian angels were the Powers, Virtues, and Dominions.  Their work concerned Heaven and the cosmos itself, organizing the Word of God into instructions the Principalities could understand.

Above them all were the Six Offices, within which worked the choirs of Thrones, and the undersecretaries of Cherubim.  Their purpose was to directly support the work of the Six.

The Six, while technically called Seraphim, were the first among all the angels.  Thus, most referred to them as Archangels.

Uriel was the Archangel of God’s Word.  She received instructions in its rawest form from the Metatron, and transcribed each detail with her Heavenly choirs into the archives, for other angels to receive and put into action as God willed it.

Sandalphon was the Archangel of God’s Judgment.  His duty was to take God’s Word, and prune away all that did not meet its standards. Any creation will languish if allowed to continue unchecked; the checking fell to Sandalphon.

Michael was the Archangel of God’s Armies.  She was the highest of the Heavenly command, responsible for leading the forces of Heaven wherever they were needed, to defend the Lord’s Creations according to Her Will.

Raphael was the Archangel of God’s Mercy.  He was the keeper of all holy and healing arts, protecting the wounded and sick of the Lord’s Host from any fate too terrible.  Heaven could not function effectively without his healing powers to shore up their reserves.

Lucifer was the Archangel of God’s Creations.  He oversaw every creative project, making notes of how each could be improved, approving or rejecting different angels’ requests to make changes.  He came up with a great many ideas, himself, of how Creation could be improved to reach God’s perfection.

And then there was Magdalena’s own Archangel.  Her beloved Gabriel.

Gabriel was the Archangel of God’s Messengers.  While that might seem like the least important of the six Heavenly departments, it was actually the most important.

Creation could not be contained without Judgment to check it.  Judgment could not be meted out without approval from God’s Word.  God’s armies and creators could not function without God’s merciful healers.

It was Gabriel’s job to make sure that each of the other five departments functioned in tandem, as a single unit.  If God was the CEO of Heaven, Gabriel was her Chief Operating Officer.  Magdalena liked to think of Gabriel as the Almighty’s right hand.  How could Heaven function at all, if not for the work they did?

And one of the many perks of Gabriel’s position as Messenger of all Her departments, was that he got to spend a great deal of time with the other Archangels.

“And so,” Lucifer said, gesturing to the model of Earth in their boardroom, “Earth is going to have an outer shell on its surface, that floats on the molten rock underneath!  It’ll be like the planet is a living being, itself!”

“Well, that’s definitely going to make things more…exciting,” said Michael.  But even she couldn’t hide a grin at Lucifer’s enthusiasm.  

"Figures you’d add more fire to the world,” Gabriel remarked, looking up above their heads at the four bird dæmons.  Magdalena joined Michael’s white gyrfalcon, Julius, to land on the back of Sandalphon’s white lioness, Zephariah.  

Lucifer’s fire-plumed phoenix, Morningstar, remained airborne.  She swooped over Lucifer’s head, showering sparks over them all like confetti.  But, with a snap of his fingers, Raphael healed any burns before they could manifest.

“How’s this gonna affect the humans?” Gabriel asked.  “I don’t think these volcanoes or earthquakes will be very hospitable to their environment.”

Raphael laughed, his white caladrius dæmon, Chrysanthemum, alighting on his shoulder.  “That’s where I come in.  Anything threatens the Almighty’s prized creations, I heal them all up!”  He high-fived Lucifer with a winsome grin.

“Good news!”

They all turned to the boardroom’s door, where Uriel had just burst in with her leopard dæmon, Maximilian.  “The Almighty just gave new Word!”

Everyone stood to hear it.  

Uriel read from the most recent scroll transcribed from the Metatron’s words.  “According to this, humans will be able to carry multiple children over their lifetimes.  Those who share the same parent will carry a close bond with one another.  They’re to be called…‘brothers and sisters.’”

“Brothers and sisters,” Gabriel murmured under his breath.  He turned to his fellow five Archangels with a beautiful smile.  “I like it.”

Chapter Text

Magdalena knocked on the door again.

No answer.

Again.

No answer.

Again.

Nothing.

Fuck.

She sighed.  These traitors were certainly stubborn.  Then again, she could hardly expect otherwise.  Treason required persistence; or else Aziraphale would’ve returned to Heaven’s fold long ago, while the demon would’ve slithered back into his cesspit in Hell.

But that didn’t help her now.  She needed answers, dammit!

She knocked one more time, and this time the door swung open.  “What?” Crowley snapped, still with one hand on the door, as if he were preparing to slam it shut again at a moment’s notice.

Magdalena swallowed down a scowl.  “Is Aziraphale there?”

“No-pe,” the demon popped off the word.  “You’re dealing with me.  Now what is it?  And make it quick, I’ve got other things on this evening.”

“What,” she retorted, “like ingesting gross matter?”

Crowley made to slam the door again.  But just before he could, Magdalena interjected.  “We had no choice!”

He paused, one brow raised.  “No choice in what?”

Magdalena drew herself up to her full standing height, puffing out her feathers in a dignified fashion.  “Lucifer’s dæmon had grown too strong.  She would have burned away the entire universe in her wroth, destroying all of God’s Creation, just to be remade in Lucifer’s own image.  We couldn’t have done anything other than what we did!”

Crowley scoffed.  “Wrong.”

Magdalena made to speak again, but Crowley cut her off.  “You all knew exactly why his dæmon got as big as she did.  You knew she’d absorbed pieces of ten million souls, binding them to her.  You knew it would cut away half the souls in Heaven, and you still chose to do it anyway.”  He looked down his curved nose at her.  “And it worked out just fine for you, didn’t it?”

He slammed the door in her face again.  This time, no matter how many times she knocked, it stayed shut.

xxx

She and Gabriel were on one of their usual rounds, ensuring all offices were working in tandem, sorting out any cross-departmental issues that arose.  Their current stop was at Lucifer’s Offices of Creation.

Magdalena perched on Gabriel’s shoulder as he peered at a display case in the foyer.  He tapped on the glass.  “What exactly is that?”

Lucifer’s undersecretary, Zebiel, shrugged.  For how colorful their butterfly dæmons were around their head, they always had such a blank, overworked expression on their face.  “Newest project,” they said in their usual monotone voice, not looking up from their paperwork.  “Something to do with ocean tides.”

Gabriel scratched the back of his neck.  “You mean, like the fish?  How did this get to the front of the line for the design teams?”

Zebiel shrugged again.  “Boss gave the go-ahead.”

Gabriel frowned.  “Did Uriel stop by with new orders?”

“Gabriel!”

Gabriel turned, and smiled as Lucifer stepped out of his office suite.  The Archangel of Creation gestured to the display case.  “You like it?  I thought, if the Earth itself is a living thing, why not give its waters some movement, too?  It goes right along with this whole Moon project we’ve got going on—”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Gabriel headed him off.  “Listen, Lucifer, as amazing as it is, we’ve all gotta be on the same page, right?  I’ll take care of the report, don’t worry, give it to Sandalphon to look over—”

"No, hey, hey, hey, hey!” Lucifer stopped him.  He gave his usual beatific smile.  “Just…let me have this one, Gabriel.  It’s one little project, yeah?  I’m sooo proud of it, just…please?”

Gabriel chuckled to himself, and clapped Lucifer on the shoulder.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

"Fantastic!” crowed Lucifer.  “Now, I’d better fly, plenty of work to be done!”

Gabriel agreed, and off he went, Magdalena beside him.

"Did nothing about that strike you as odd?” she asked him, once they were out of earshot.

Gabriel slowed slightly.  He shrugged.  “It’s Lucifer.  Those creative types, they’re always a little, y’know.”  He made a face.  “But he’s an Archangel.  He’s one of us.”

Magdalena hummed, preening one of Gabriel’s feathers that had gotten slightly bent out of shape.  “Right.”

Chapter Text

Magdalena didn’t stay on their doorstep for long.  She would not be reduced to waiting on them.  It would be most undignified.

Instead, she kept a steady perimeter around the cottage, watching for their next move.

They didn’t leave for the rest of the night.  At one point, all the lights went out in the windows, save for the holy light of a halo from the front room.  She considered launching a surprise attack on one of their dæmons in the darkness, but decided against it.

She wasn’t here to fight, after all.  She was here to get information.  Willingly or…through more discreet channels.

In the morning, her quarry finally left the cottage.  They all loaded in Crowley's vehicle, along with a basket in tow, and sped off to the south.

She followed them.

xxx

They ended up at a beach somewhere.  Aziraphale and Crowley removed their shoes, and ambled along the shoreline, hand in hand.  Their dæmons trailed behind them, chasing each other in an endless game of tag.

Magdalena soared high above them, shielding herself from the eyes of any pesky humans.  Using such a Heavenly miracle risked her being detected by her targets, but it couldn’t be helped.

Aziraphale and Crowley paused every so often.  Inclined their heads toward each other.  Whispered in low voices.

It took a moment for Magdalena to realize they were conversing about her.  They knew she was following them!

And yet they continued their business.  Although from what she could tell, their business was simply walking up and down the coastline, holding hands while their dæmons played together.

She didn’t understand it.

How could this angel—traitor he might be, he was an angel nonetheless—bear to walk in close company with a demon?  Let alone hold hands with a demon?  Let alone let a demon’s soul touch his soul?

It was maddening, watching the scene unfold.  As much as she tried not to, the questions wouldn’t stop.

Yes, she had her mission: to discover the secret the two traitors had uncovered, of how to survive holy water and hellfire.  That was technically the only reason she was here.

But…who’s to say that other secrets the traitors harbored could also point to that?

Secrets such as why they held hands.

Why their dæmons were so freely associating with one another.

Why they shared a dwelling together.

She’d watched them for the better part of an afternoon now.  At one point, they’d set up a blanket and a basket with more consumables.  Then, Crowley had dozed, while Aziraphale had read.  At one point, they’d started locking lips over and over again.

It made zero sense to Magdalena.

It could be their close contact had something to do with their immunities.  Perhaps their dæmons touching each other gave them increased defenses against holy water and hellfire?  Or perhaps it was something they were doing while they shoved their tongues down each other’s throats?

Perhaps.

Until she knew for sure, she resolved that she would find out the answer to all these questions.  More information would only help Heaven, after all.

That was the reason why she was doing this.  It was all to help Heaven.  For entirely selfless reasons.

Of course.

xxx

The changes happened slowly, then all at once.

Lucifer got more and more frustrated with the limitations on his own ideas for Creation.  He would snap at the other Archangels during board meetings more often than not.  

The day he walked out was, unbeknownst to them all, the day everything changed.

“I just don’t understand,” he growled, “ why can’t I add onto the Golden Ratio?”

Magdalena’s feathers bristled.  The Golden Ratio was a special project assigned to her and Gabriel.  They’d put the finishing touches on it themselves.  And that’s just it—it was finished.

Gabriel was pinching the bridge of his nose.  “You can’t just add onto the laws of physics without regard for any of the rest of it,” he repeated for what felt like the thousandth time.  “Otherwise—”

“Otherwise what?” Lucifer snapped.  Morningstar flapped twice, spraying sparks everywhere.  “They’re our laws, we can do whatever we’d like—”

“They’re not our laws!” Michael shouted.  “They’re the Almighty’s laws!   We are merely Her tools, not the architects!”

Lucifer’s mouth snapped shut.  He glared at the other five Archangels.  “Fine,” he said quietly.  “Maybe you’re fine with being a tool.  But I’m not.  And I’m not the only one.  If the Almighty could see what we’re capable of—”

“She knows everything we’re capable of,” Uriel said coldly.  “She knows everything that we will ever do.”

Lucifer chuckled.  “We’ll see.”

And out he stormed, Morningstar by his side, gliding away in a huff.

In his wake, there was silence, as his five siblings took in what he’d just said.

“I’m worried about him,” Michael finally said.  “Whatever he meant by ‘we’ll see’—”

Raphael put a hand to her shoulder.  His white-feathered caladrius dæmon, Chrysanthemum, nuzzled Julius’s head.  “Let me talk to him,” he said.  “Sometimes our emotions get the best of us.  Nothing a good heart-to-heart won’t fix.” 

“You’re sure?” asked Sandalphon.

Raphael grinned, throwing his dreadlocks over one shoulder.  “Trust me.”

It was the last time they would ever see the Archangel of Healing alive.

Chapter Text

The afternoon was bleeding into evening when Magdalena finally caught one of them on their own.  

Once the foursome returned home, Aziraphale and Crowley separated.  Crowley was plodding around the back garden, doing something with a shrubbery.  Aziraphale had disappeared inside the house, doing God only knew what.

Their dæmons, however, had left their companions’ sides, to wander around outside on their own.  They ran into one another at times to nuzzle heads, but eventually, the serpent slithered into a window left ajar, presumably to join the angel.

With Bastet finally alone, Magdalena seized her chance, and silently swooped down beside the cat.

Bastet didn’t look up.  Magdalena thought she could see a slight tremor in her ears, though.  A twinge of fear.  Good.

“Still begging for our company, I see,” Bastet said lightly, still not making eye contact.  

“Oh, come on,” Magdalena said, attempting levity.  “Just when we were finally getting somewhere, you decide to push me away?”

Bastet huffed.  “I thought we were rather clear that we are not having this conversation.”

“And yet here you are, conversing.”

Bastet had no reply.

So, Magdalena got to the point.  “You know, it wasn’t an easy choice to make.  Cutting away Lucifer’s dæmon.”  

Though Bastet stayed silent, those pointed ears swiveled toward Magdalena.  She had the cat’s attention, at least.

Magdalena sighed.  “There are no easy choices in war.  But you understand that, right?  You and Aziraphale were made for war, after all.”

Bastet shot her a glare.  But her next words were encouraging: “I will concede that to a point.  If, that is, you’re not the one deciding whether or not there is a war.  Then it’s an easy choice.”

Magdalena rolled her eyes to herself, but swallowed her retort just in time.  

“Aziraphale may have been created as a soldier,” said Bastet, “but he has chosen to step away from that path.  And at the very least, when we had to fight, we always attempted to not cause a fuss, and show kindness and mercy to others.”

“Even to one of the Fallen?” Magdalena scoffed.

In hindsight, it was perhaps the wrong tone to take, as Bastet rounded on her, blue eyes blazing fury.  “Crowley is just as worthy of compassion as any angel!”  Then, the fire smoldered, as she began tracing patterns in the dirt with a front paw.  “He has made some wrong choices too, as he will be the first to admit.  But he has also made plenty of right choices.  He is kind and good.”  She smiled to herself.  “And his soul is beautiful.”

“His soul was made without God’s touch!” Magdalena protested.

“Like that even matters!” Bastet hissed.  “Lilith has as much a right to exist as any of us!”  She rolled her eyes up to the sky.  “You Archangels.  You think that because of the positions you were assigned in Heaven, it gives you the right to judge anyone else!”

“One of our departments is called God’s Judgment,” Magdalena helpfully pointed out.

“Yes.  God’s judgment.  Not the Archangels’ judgment.  Though to be quite frank, I don’t believe even the Almighty has the right to judge Crowley or Lilith!”

Magdalena’s mouth fell open.  “You—you would dare,” she spluttered, “that’s—that’s blasphemy—”

But Bastet had no ears for her, as she started in on such a rant that sounded like it had been kept under wraps for years.  “If God had such a perfect, divine plan, how could that plan involve Her own angels cutting away other angels’ souls?  Why give those angels souls at all, if they were only going to lose them?  Why let them suffer that loss to begin with?  What sort of merciful God does that?”

“Will you be quiet—"

“And the angels who perished in the fighting?  Why create them at all, if they were just going to be cut down by their own brothers and sisters?”

“Bastet, shut your mouth—”

“Why even create an Archangel of Healing at all, if the one time Heaven needs him, God lets him be murdered in cold blood by his fellow Archangel—”

Magdalena lunged at Bastet in a blind fury.

Bastet gave a shrill yowl as the eagle’s talons pierced her middle.  Before long, her own claws came out, trying to find purchase within the golden feathers.  They rolled around, each trying to pin the other and gain the upper hand, while the question of why and Raphael’s name clattered around Magdalena’s head.

Within the patch of torn-up grass, flying fur and feathers, and bits of blood, Magdalena was the one who triumphed.  She held Bastet down, squeezing her talons in a stranglehold, feeling muscle and sinew tearing in her grasp.  Bastet kept snarling, though it was soon punctuated by helpless breaths and cries.

“Take it back,” Magdalena kept repeating, though she wasn’t fully aware what the words even meant anymore, “take it back take it back take it back—”

She squeezed harder.  Blood welled up between her talons.  Bastet gave a pained, shrill cry.  It was weaker this time, though.  Soon she wouldn’t have enough breath to—

Magdalena was knocked onto her back, pinned and restrained in the blink of an eye.

By the snake.

The little serpent, while only big enough to wrap twice around her demon’s shoulders, apparently had more strength than her size gave her credit for.  By the time Magdalena knew what had tackled her, the snake had wrapped thrice around her middle, once around her beak to keep her from pecking, pinned her wings, and tied her talons together by the ankles.

As Magdalena shuddered in the serpent’s grip, the unholy soul glared straight into her eyes.  Her slitted pupils seemed as gateways to the fiery depths from whence she came.  Her fangs, an inch away from Magdalena’s beak, beaded venom and hellish fire from their tips.

“Lilith.”

It was Crowley's voice.  Magdalena couldn’t turn her head, but in her periphery she could make out his black snakeskin boots.

“Lilith,” he said again, sounding far too calm for what his dæmon was doing.  “Let her go.”

“She tried to—”

“I know.  Let her go.”

The snake didn’t move.  A breath passed.  Then two.  For a horrifying moment, Magdalena feared she wouldn’t be spared from this serpent’s mercy.

Until the constriction eased, fangs were resheathed, and the snake slowly released Magdalena from her hold.

Magdalena gasped in air.  The scuffle with Bastet had caused wounds of her own.  Her beautiful golden feathers were ruined.  As she rolled onto her side, attempting to find her bearings, she saw Crowley scoop up his trembling soul in his hands.

But then he did something she could never have predicted:

He—carefully, and so tenderly—picked up Bastet.

He cradled both dæmons in his arms as he bore them into the house, leaving Magdalena sprawled in his garden in utter disbelief.

Chapter Text

By the time Magdalena managed to drag herself away from the rucked-up patch of grass, night had already fallen.  She was still sore all over, probably with some bruises forming under her feathers.  A few nicks from Bastet’s claws were still trailing blood behind her.

Too injured to fly away, she had to resort to crawling.  The problem was, there was no dignified way for an eagle to crawl.  She had to puppet herself across the ground on shaking legs and a scraped chest.

When Gabriel found out about this…

Oh, her poor, dear Gabriel!  He was likely in agony, but had no idea what was happening on the other side of their bond.  She hated to think of him hurting, especially if it was brought about from her own injuries.

That’s what she got for coming here alone.

With nowhere else to go, she dragged herself to the front porch of the cottage.  It took a bit of oomph to heft herself with beak and legs up the two steps onto the porch.  She did manage to flutter herself onto a windowsill.

That’s when she saw it.

In the window, the two traitors were sitting on the sofa.  Aziraphale looked dreadful—something that gave Magdalena a bit of consolation, that she wasn’t the only one hurting from the fight.  His face was ashen, with sweat beading at his brow.  He looked as if he’d been crying.  She could see his hands shaking where they grasped onto Crowley’s, with their foreheads pressed together.

Between them, with the hand that wasn’t holding one of Aziraphale’s, Crowley was petting Bastet.  Magdalena flinched back as she realized that’s what he was doing.  The idea of the demon’s soul touching her was bad enough; but the demon himself?

But the longer she looked, the more she noticed…Aziraphale didn’t look to be protesting this treatment.  It looked almost…routine?

As if this wasn’t the first time Crowley had touched his soul.

Bastet’s injuries had long since faded; Magdalena suspected that Crowley had healed them, and vanished away the bloodstains in her fur.  Whenever Crowley’s hand paused, the cat would lean her head back into his caresses, encouraging him to continue.

The serpent, meanwhile, was…

…around Aziraphale’s shoulders…

…and was flicking kisses to Aziraphale’s face.  Comforting him in the way Magdalena had only seen a dæmon do with their own companion.

In fact, she realized all four of them were comforting each other in that way.  She had a moment of wanting to turn away, as if intruding on something too intimate for outside eyes.  But she couldn’t look away, at how loving this all looked.

Until she could bear it no longer, and tapped on the window glass.

The four of them startled.  Crowley and his soul immediately bristled, hissing protectively under their breath.  Bastet flinched away.

But upon seeing the state Magdalena was in, Aziraphale stood on shaking legs, crossed to the window, and opened it for the eagle to tumble into the room.

xxx

Magdalena sped after Gabriel as he raced through the halls, sword in hand.  

“Gabriel!” she called to him.  “Do you really think it’s the best idea to go to his office?”

He didn’t look back as he answered: “It’s where he was last seen before—”

His words faltered, but his stride never slowed.  If anything, he flew faster through the halls, toward the Offices of Creation.

Magdalena had never seen the place so deserted.  Although this wing of Heaven was filled with as much of Her light as ever, it seemed as if no one had touched the place in eons. 

Maybe it had been eons.  Time had gone all funny ever since they’d found Raphael in his office, after Lucifer had…

No.  It couldn’t be.  It couldn’t .  That’s why they had to find Lucifer.  He would…he would explain this, he had to, there had to be a perfectly innocent explanation—

The main foyer outside the C-suite was just as deserted.  For the first time in her existence, Magdalena shivered in the chill.

Gabriel paused outside the door.  His grip on his sword tightened.  “Ready?” he asked her.  

She perched on his shoulder, hunching her wings.  “Ready.”

But before they could barge into the office, a familiar voice rang out in the hall behind them: “He’s not here.”

They turned, to see Lucifer’s undersecretary, Zebiel.  Their butterfly dæmons perched on their arms as they carried a stack of papers toward the shredder bin.

Gabriel sped toward them.  “Where is he?”

Zebiel shook their head over the noise of the shredder.  “If you don’t know, it’s because he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, as if explaining something dense to someone not as smart as him, “but the thing is, I need to find him, to—”

“To use that?”  Zebiel asked, eyeing his sword out their eye corners.  

Magdalena felt Gabriel’s childish urge to hide the sword behind his back, as if it would destroy any incriminating evidence.  (He did manage to tamp down on the urge, though.)

Zebiel shook their head again.  “My advice is, don’t.  With how powerful he is now—”

“From destroying Raphael’s dæmon.”

Zebiel sighed, their eyes downcast.  “I was sorry to hear about that,” they said quietly.  “Heard you all were close.  Heard there was nothing left of him, or his dæmon.  Nothing but ashes.”

Gabriel closed his eyes.  He’d seen the ashes, along with all the signs of struggle in Raphael’s office.  From the few surviving eyewitnesses in the Healer’s office, it was quite plain who had done it.  Whose fiery dæmon had destroyed Chrysanthemum.

“That’s why I have to find him,” he said.  “If he can do that to an Archangel—”

“What do you expect me to do?” Zebiel countered.  “I’m a Cherubim.  His undersecretary.”

“You’re an angel of the Lord,” Gabriel protested.  After a moment’s hesitation, he used a word he would only use once in his entire existence: “Please.”

Zebiel’s hands paused on the next load of documents they were shredding.  They stayed silent.

Gabriel huffed a sigh in exasperation, and turned to leave.

“Star nurseries,” Zebiel said.  “Andromeda galaxy, fourth quadrant.  Near Alpha-Five.”

Gabriel turned back, to see Zebiel still focused on their shredding.  But before he could speak, Zebiel headed him off.  “I wouldn’t go, if I were you.  Destroying dæmons isn’t the only thing he’s done.  His dæmon, she’s—”  They shook their head.  “He’ll destroy you, and the other Archangels, and everyone else in his path.”

Gabriel bit back a thank you.  Magdalena understood why: Zebiel was only doing their job as an angel, by reporting this to him.  It didn’t require thanks.

Little did they know, the next time they would see Zebiel, they would have a different name, and their dæmons would have lost their beauty and liveliness, to become the flies that constantly surrounded their face.

They would have the same job, though, as Lucifer’s highest-ranking assistant.

But Magdalena didn’t know that yet.  All she knew as she flew off with Gabriel, was that they had to gather their siblings to head for the Andromeda galaxy.

Chapter Text

“How.”

At Magdalena’s flat question, Aziraphale and Crowley squinted.  “How, what?” Crowley asked.

Magdalena flapped herself into a more comfortable position on their living room rug.  The two traitors had started a fire in the hearth at some point; the heat made her shift nervously.

Aziraphale and Crowley sat on the sofa, looming above her, their dæmons in their respective laps.  They’d at least had the decency to stop touching each other’s souls in front of her; Magdalena didn’t think she could bear to look at it any longer.  It made something sharp and sweet burn in her chest, and she didn’t like it.

“How,” she repeated, “did you survive your executions?”

Crowley bristled again.  “If you think we’re gonna tell you—”

“I think,” Aziraphale interjected, “that that isn’t the only question you're wondering.  Surely you can think of something more interesting to ask us.”

Magdalena lowered her head.  “How could you survive, and live here, and still not face any further consequences from God?”

Aziraphale sounded encouraging.  “Go on.”

Oh, he was not making this easy.  “How can you stand to be near one another?”

Crowley and his dæmon hissed, but soon quieted.  Presumably due to Aziraphale silently telling them off.

Magdalena swallowed.  “How can you bear to touch each other’s dæmons, and still—”

She cut herself off.  Aziraphale finished her statement: “And still not hate each other?”

She nodded.

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look.  She wasn’t sure if she liked what she saw in their eyes.  Something far too warm.

“I suppose…” Aziraphale said slowly, “...that the answer to all your questions is the same.”

She tried not to lean forward too much to hear the answer.

“We love one another.”

She nearly rolled her eyes, but caught herself just in time.  

Fortunately, Aziraphale and Crowley neither noticed nor cared, as they only had eyes for each other.  “After all," Aziraphale continued, "love is the first among the Almighty’s commandments.  And we have loved one another through millennia.”  His and Crowley’s hands intertwined.  “It started out slowly, and as we kept showing each other kindness, it grew and grew, until today…”

As if to prove the point, Bastet rose, and walked into Crowley’s lap, as if it were no more innocuous than taking a leisurely evening stroll.  Crowley obligingly scratched behind her ears.  Then his dæmon took a turn, slithering over to coil up under Aziraphale’s hands.

“When your soul is touched by someone like that,” said Aziraphale, watching their two dæmons melt under each other’s touches, “by someone you trust…it doesn’t hurt at all.”

He and Crowley each shot Magdalena a dirty look.  She cowed under the gaze, as she remembered the incident they must be referring to.

“I’m sorry.”

Their brows shot up.

“I really am,” she said.  “Believe me or not, I am sorry.  I…it wasn’t discussed beforehand.  I had no idea Gabriel would do…that.”  Her voice lowered.  “It shocked me.”

Crowley’s gaze hardened.  “And when he cut away Lucifer’s first dæmon?  Did that shock you?”

“It wasn’t him!"

They reeled back at the sudden venom in her tone.

She walked it back, eyes listing away as she remembered.  “It wasn’t him…”

Chapter Text

It turned out, Gabriel wasn’t the first one who had tracked Lucifer to the Andromeda galaxy.

He wasn’t the only one with interdepartmental acquaintances.  As the leader of Heaven’s armies, Michael was in charge of making sure every angel was equipped and prepared for battle, if it came to it.  She had met a great many angels.

And one of them—a rainbow-eyed Virtue with a macaw dæmon, one of Raphael’s healers—had told Michael where to find Lucifer.

She had gone in alone.  She had found him first.

And she was dying.

By the time Gabriel and Magdalena arrived with their three remaining siblings—swords in hand, miracles at their fingertips—Lucifer had grabbed Michael in a chokehold, bending her over backward as she struggled.  

Morningstar had pinned Julius to the ground.  The phoenix was massive, easily taking up a majority of the room.  By comparison, tiny little Julius never stood a chance.  His fragile body fit within one of Morningstar’s enormous talons.  

Magdalena could smell Julius’s feathers burning.

She screeched , and tackled the phoenix alongside Zephariah and Maximilian.  At the same moment, Gabriel, Sandalphon, and Uriel rushed Lucifer.

Then the real battle commenced.

xxx

For eons, they fought.

Across time and space, they fought.

Through the tails of comets, past whirling galaxies and the icy rings of distant planets, they fought.

Other angels in the vicinity stayed to watch.  Some fled as soon as the fighting grew too close for comfort.  A brunette with a rainbowfish dæmon.  A pale blond with a poison dart frog dæmon.  A redhead with a magpie dæmon.

Magdalena wasn’t sure which of them were still loyal to God, and which had chosen to follow Lucifer.  They had no time to question them.

At one point, Magdalena thought they had him: Michael lured Lucifer too close to a black hole, letting his preoccupation with the fight carry him along with the rest of light and matter, toward the center of the dead star’s gravity.  Michael and Julius leapt out of the way just before the event horizon, joining her siblings on a floating asteroid.  There they stood.  Waiting.

It backfired.

With a mighty cry, Morningstar defied the laws of physics and everything else besides, and broke free from the black hole’s pull with Lucifer riding on her back.  She now became the center of gravity, feeding off the black hole, pulling its dark matter into her plumage.  Her flames were now more dark than bright.

Though she could sense Gabriel’s fear, he and his three siblings stood tall against Lucifer.  He flew in toward their asteroid, laughing.  “Is that the best you can do, Archangels of the Lord?”

It probably was.  But they’d never been ones to back down in the face of duty.

“Why are we even fighting one another?” Lucifer asked them, stepping down from Morningstar’s back to hover in the vacuum.  “I have such plans for the universe, if you would but join me!”  

He held out a hand to them.  All four of them looked at it.

But Gabriel was the first to tear his eyes away, violet eyes meeting Lucifer’s cold, heterochromatic ones.  “We serve at our Lord’s will,” he said.

Lucifer’s smile turned frigid.  He pulled his hand back.  “Then you will die by it, as well.”

Thus commenced the final moments of the battle.

Magdalena circled around with Julius, flying in perfect tandem as they attempted to find an opening.  Zephariah and Maximilian were clawing at the phoenix.  All it did was burn their paws and mouths.

Morningstar was now the beating heart of the universe, full of dark fire and growing larger by the minute.  Time itself was slowing down in her gravitational pull.  She batted away all their strikes easily.

They were going to lose.  And they would die for it.

A burst of pain blinded Magdalena, sending her crashing to the ground.  When she came to, she saw her companions all grounded, as well.  A single strike had sent the four Archangels sprawling.  Sandalphon’s front teeth had been kicked out.  Fiery burns splotched all over Uriel’s face.

Lucifer raised his sword over the four of them, preparing the final blows.

But in his moment of triumph, he made one crucial mistake:

He didn’t check where Michael was in his blind spot.

With a cry, she took up her sword, infused it with all the holy power she possessed, praying it would protect her siblings…

…And cut through the space between Lucifer and Morningstar, severing their bond for good.

Chapter Text

It was dawn by the time Magdalena finished her tale.

In the early morning light, her four audience members stared at her.  As they didn’t speak at first, she did her best to puzzle out their reactions.

Most of what she got was shock.

It seemed they weren’t going to break the stunned silence.  So Magdalena took the liberty herself: “It could have been any one of us, it’s true.  But of the four of us, it was Michael who took that responsibility upon herself.  I would not be here without her.  None of us would be here.  The universe wouldn’t be here, not in the way God intended.”

She glared up at them.  “So don’t tell me how far you would go to protect someone you love.  I already know.”

Crowley took in a slow breath through his nose.  “Then you know how far we would go, to protect each other.”

She did.  She could see it.  Oh, she’d been blind not to see it.  How their bodies were slightly inclined toward one another where they sat.  How their hands still overlapped between them.  How their dæmons were still sitting on the opposite person’s lap, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

When faced with any threats, Magdalena shuddered to think of what lengths either of them would go to, to protect the other.

“Go back to Gabriel,” Aziraphale said.  He sat up straighter, regaining some of his soldier’s countenance.  “Tell him what you learned.  Tell him that, if our current peace is in any way threatened, by Heaven or Hell…we’ll be ready.”

xxx

The flight back to Heaven took a bit longer than she would’ve liked.  While the night she spent telling Aziraphale and Crowley the story was restorative, she was still banged up from the fight with Bastet and Lilith.  It made her thinking slow, and her flying slower still.

The boardroom doors opened without a thought.  In she flew, to those who were expecting her.

On the left side sat Lord Beelzebub, along with two other Dukes of Hell whose names escaped her.  On the right, sat Sandalphon, Uriel, Michael, and—

Gabriel.

He stood as soon as she returned, but stopped himself before he ran across the room to crush her to his chest.  She understood.  Showing any sort of weakness like that wouldn’t do, not in front of the Enemy.

Michael stood as well.  “Magdalena,” she greeted her.  “We’re ready to hear your report, about the two traitors.”

“Yes, yes,” the one pale blond Duke of Hell growled, his mute frog dæmon sitting numbly on his head.  “Get on with it, we’ve been waiting here too long already.”

Magdalena swooped onto the back of Gabriel’s chair.  The bruises, while well-hidden by now, made her stumble slightly.  No one but Gabriel and Michael noticed.  They squinted, but kept their comments to themselves for the moment.

“As you are all aware,” she said, “I have been tasked with tracking the two traitors of the Great Plan, to determine how best to destroy them.”

“Yes,” said Beelzebub, “and?  When is the best time to attack them?”

The other two demons leaned forward, eager for their cue of when to exact their vengeance.  

Magdalena faltered.  She looked to Gabriel.  Then to Michael.  Julius tilted his head at her from his perch on Michael’s shoulder.

Magdalena cleared her throat.  “It’s too dangerous,” she said.  “The traitors’ defences are well-equipped.  Their immunity, it seems, has extended to their very surroundings.  I barely escaped with my life.”

The blond demon stood.  “Maybe it’s too dangerous for you, wank-wings.  We are the Fallen of Hell.  We will establish a perimeter around their little hideout and—”

“Sit down, Hastur.”

Hastur quietly obeyed.

“We will do no such thing,” Beelzebub told him off.  “If an Archangel’s soul had difficulty breaking the perimeter, we will require much more preparation before a full-on assault is even in question.”  They stood.  “I guess we’re done here?”

At Gabriel’s nod, the three demons stood, and filed out the boardroom, to the elevator down to Hell.

“Well,” said Uriel, “that was…disappointing.”

“Maybe we’ll get our chance soon enough,” said Sandalphon hopefully.

Magdalena wouldn’t count on it.  But if she’d put the idea in everyone’s heads not to attack the two traitors, that’s all that mattered.

Uriel and Sandalphon left for their offices, leaving Gabriel and Michael alone.

As soon as they were gone, Gabriel rounded on her.  “Okay, start talking.”

Magdalena sighed.  “Gabriel—”

“The last few days, I’ve been feeling all sorts of emotions from you, and I don’t like any of them.  And just recently, after all the anger, I feel this…”  He gestured to his chest, making a disgusted face, “this horrible… sadness.”

Michael walked away.  She went to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the boardroom, Julius perched small on her shoulder.

As one, Gabriel and Magdalena’s eyes followed their closest sibling.  “Did we…do it right?” Magdalena asked him.

“Do what right?"

“Everything.  Everything with the war.  The one that didn’t happen.”  She lowered her head.  “And the one that did.  Did we do it right?”

There was that squeezing feeling in Gabriel’s chest again.  She’d been feeling it for a while now, in tandem with her own memories of fighting Lucifer.

“We did everything we should’ve done,” Gabriel said finally.  “Everything we could.”

Magdalena noticed that he’d spoken loud enough for Michael to hear him.

“Which is it?” Michael asked him from across the room.  “Everything we should have done?  Or could have done?”

Gabriel walked over to her side.  “Same thing, right?”

Michael shook her head to herself.  Julius preened a lock of hair behind her ear to soothe her.

Magdalena knew this wasn’t the end of this conversation.  They’d all moved on so quickly after watching Lucifer fall away to the depths of the cosmos.  There’d been departments to reshuffle, troops to rally, plans for Earth to organize.  Gabriel had locked his grief behind his good cheer, while Michael had done the same behind her cold smiles.

But now, with all those plans having gone tits-up, and with vengeance against Lucifer or against Aziraphale and Crowley no longer a viable option…

…Maybe it was time to have that long-overdue talk between them, and finally move forward.

xxx

Magdalena told them everything.

Everything she had learned about Aziraphale and Crowley.  How they’d gone to the beach for a picnic.  How she’d fought with Bastet and Lilith.  How the four had healed and soothed each other afterward.

How they loved each other.

But at the mention of that word, Gabriel grimaced.  “Love? Aziraphale, loving a demon?  And demons, they’re—they’re not even capable of love!”

“I can only tell you what I saw, and what I sensed,” said Magdalena, “and their love is genuine.  Frighteningly so.”  She grew quiet.  “Besides…Crowley was an angel, once.”

“Yeah,” said Gabriel, “and then he gave a piece of his soul to Lucifer, so his dæmon could devour the universe!”

“Did he know that?” Magdalena interjected.  “Did he know that’s what Lucifer would do?  We weren’t there when they sealed that deal, we don’t know what was discussed with his followers!”

“At any rate,” Michael said briskly, interrupting the argument Gabriel was having with his own soul, “if it truly is a bond of love between them…there’s likely little we can do.  Aziraphale was right: love is the highest commandment of God.”

They grew quiet.

Until Michael broke the silence: “Aziraphale said something, when we confronted him before Armageddon was supposed to happen.  He said that…Heaven is meant to keep everything on Earth running smoothly, so humans can continue to make choices.”

Julius shuffled his wings.  “At least we know one thing God expects of us.”

Gabriel snapped an incredulous look at them both.  “But—of course we know what She expects of us.  We’re—we’re angels, and…the Great Plan—”

“I think we can agree,” said Magdalena, “that the Great Plan as we knew it is no longer viable.”

“Then—” Gabriel spluttered, “then—why tell us, at all?  Why have us go through that whole song-and-dance, if—if it didn’t even matter?”

Michael leaned back against the table, closing her eyes.  “I’ve been asking myself that same thing.”  After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Don’t you get tired of it all?  Thinking about…what comes next?”

Gabriel’s eyes softened.  He looked down.  

Magdalena reached in to preen one of Julius’s wings.  Reaching for whatever comfort they could find, in the face of an eternity without God’s guidance.

“There’s just…” said Michael, “…no end to it.  And nothing we can rely on anymore.”

Gabriel slid a glance to her, with a small smile.  “I don’t know if that’s entirely true.”

Michael smiled back.  “Jerk.”

“Idiot.”

They looked back out the floor-to-ceiling window together.  The greatest pinnacles of human achievements towered below them.  The Great Pyramids, the Eiffel Tower, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Lighthouse of Alexandria…

Magdalena had never given much thought to them.  But looking at them now, they seemed quite…charming.  In a human way, at least.

Maybe they now faced an eternity without God’s instructions.  But in the meantime, perhaps they could find comfort in the fact that they didn’t have to face that eternity alone.