Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter’s very well-aware he’s not the most liked person in all of Heaven. 

That’s fairly obvious in his opinion, because most angels when they see him approaching, turn and go the other way. Over the years, he’s gotten used to it, but it still frustrates him all the same. He knows why too, and that’s the frustrating part.

Being the guy at the doors is a hard job. One that, most angels often forget, Peter had worked hard to earn. They tend to dumb him down to just the “guy at the doors” and disregard just how much Peter sacrificed to be that guy at the doors. How much he’s had to curate himself and his image because Saint Peter is the first face that one sees when they get to Heaven. 

He is Heaven’s guardian. He is a Winner’s first impression of the pearly gates. Peter’s going to do a damn good job at it, and he’s going to tell people all about it. What’s so wrong with that?

A lot apparently. 

He’s been in Heaven for about 2,000 years at this point, and not once has anyone ever seemed to acknowledge or care about his job, despite his consistent reminders. Instead, now when they see him approaching them, they turn and flee the other way. It’s demeaning, not to mention frustrating and most importantly… very isolating. 

Peter is alone most of the time. He sits at the front of the gates with his book in hand and waits for Winners to rise and greet him. He deals with tears, screaming, and impromptu therapy throughout the day, reassuring Winners that things are alright and they are okay even if they were decidedly not doing well, and ushers them into Heaven to be greeted by the welcoming angels. He’s had Winners cursing him out before, he’s had things thrown at him and he’s been cried on more times than he can count. But for the guy that everyone knows by name, they sure never seem happy to see him.

The only person who is consistently happy to see him is Emily. Which, as the Seraphim of Joy, she’s probably legally happy to see him, but he appreciates her regardless. They’d met when Peter was just starting out as the Holy Gatekeeper, and became close and fast friends due to the fact that both of them were rather new to the Heavenly guardian sort of thing. They attended meetings together and gossiped together and she was the only person in Heaven that Peter could genuinely call a friend. 

Everyone else wasn’t really the connection he was looking for. 

Being alone most of the time has left Peter starved for emotional connection, in a way that he can acknowledge internally was probably not healthy. He finds physical connection rather easily; most of Heaven’s angels are beautiful people whom he does admire. But when the sex is all said and done, he wants to be able to lie across his partner’s lap and just… talk. 

He has a lot to say, he thinks. A lot to vent about. But anytime Peter does get close to speaking about anything, it’s assumed that he’s simply going to speak about the door and his duties again, and he’s immediately abandoned. 

Peter wishes just a single person would listen to him. Other than Emily, who is so busy she can only hang out a couple of times a month. Peter, meanwhile, does actually have days off from guarding the gates sometimes, when a rookie welcoming angel is allowed to guard the gates once a week. It allows Peter to get out and stretch his legs a little bit and explore Heaven. 

Heaven is an ever-expanding paradise, and even after all these years, Peter is not sure that he’s ever found the ends of their wonderful little home. For example, today on his lovely morning off, he finds himself at a small but expansive mall. It’s very brightly colored, and frankly, a little charming. He grabs a small coffee at a local cafe and begins to wander around the mall, searching for something interesting to catch his eye. 

Since he doesn’t have a lot of close friends other than Emily, Peter has taken it upon himself to stay on top of all the new technology in Heaven. Despite being around during the Roman era when he was alive, Peter is one of the elder angels who fully understands things like arcade games, and so, when he spots a mini arcade, he’s got something to do for the next couple of hours. 

He’s got choir practice later, so this is something to do until then. 

Sipping on his vanilla latte, Peter wanders his way through the arcade, admiring the various games and avoiding the clusters of wings and other angels around the room as he does so. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but he really doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Peter doubts they want to talk to him either. He tends to part crowds in a way that has always bothered him. They just don’t care enough about him, only that his job was important to him and they were sick of hearing it.

Yeah, maybe he’s a little bitter.

It’s as he’s maneuvering around the arcade that he spots a glint of gold wings and stops himself, blinking at the back of a man staring rather intently at the crane machines. Having a singular pair of golden wings are quite rare amongst angels since the typical Heavenborne has six. A singular golden pair like the ones that this man has, with distinct yellow stripes on the tips is unusual. Even Peter’s wings are a soft light blue.

This other angel’s look weirdly familiar, but Peter isn’t exactly sure where he’s seen them before. 

Intrigued, he pulls himself up and strides over to the golden-winged man, who is still staring at the crane machines and doesn’t even seem to notice Peter approaching him. Even as Peter comes to a rest behind him, wondering idly to himself what could be so interesting about the crane machines that this guy is so drawn to them, he doesn’t turn his head. 

Even an obnoxious sip of his latte doesn’t pull this angel’s gaze away from the machines. 

Sensing he’s going to actually have to make a noise to get the other’s attention, Peter lets out a hard cough and says, “Um–excuse me?”

The man at the cranes turns when he hears Peter cough, slow and easy. Their eyes meet, and Peter instantly knows– Oh shit. He’s cute.

That’s the thing about angels, they’re so often beautiful, but the distinct lack of human quirks make it so hard to find them cute in the way that Peter often associated with people down on Earth. But this angel, a Winner, based on the fact that he has distinctly human ears, is adorable. 

Blonde bangs brush against his forehead, messy but curled. His eyes are a soft pure gold with no pupils, with dark circles around them that give him this adorably sleepy expression. Small freckles dust his cheeks, as if he’d been touched by the sun a little bit. He’s taller than Peter and larger as well, towering about a couple of inches above him. His golden wings, similarly larger, are tucked against his sides in a very distinct and weirdly familiar way. The most interesting thing about him is his halo, which looks bent and tilted in a way that Peter has never seen before on a Winner. It’s very unique and adds to the whole soft vibe this guy has. 

“Oh, were you going to use this?” He asks, and Peter catches a glimpse of one more adorable part about him. He has a little gap in his teeth, giving him the sweetest little rasp. 

Heat forms in his cheeks, and Peter realizes, I want this guy, yeah. Like, right now.

Fuck emotional connection, sometimes a cute guy is just a cute guy. 

“Only if you let me,” he says, leaning against the crane and raising a brow, watching in satisfaction as the other blushes gold. He leaves space for the guy to answer with his name, lifting the other brow to join his first one.

The guy doesn’t seem to take the hint, stepping out of the way of the crane machine with the air of someone used to being dismissed. Which is crazy, for a guy that seems spun from sugar itself. He seems to think Peter is simply going to let him leave, since he immediately turns to go. Well, Peter can’t have that. 

“Hey, you can use this too, you know?” He calls after the guy, who jumps at being addressed and looks back at him, “I wasn’t trying to kick you off. Just waiting for my turn.”

“Oh,” The guy flushes again and shuffles back over to him like a scared dog coming back to its owner, “Well, I wasn’t really using it. I actually don’t know how they work. I just… liked the stuffed animals.” He points a black gloved hand at the animals inside the crane, a bunch of fluffy-looking sheep plushies. 

Yep, Peter thinks, He’s adorable. I want him so bad.

“I can get you one, if you want.”

Peter has never played a crane machine in his life, but for the way this guy lights up, he would have played a thousand. His golden eyes widen, and his wings flutter in his amazement. He seems almost baffled that Peter would dare, “You would?”

“Of course!”

“Wow, okay!” The guy stands next to Peter, tilting his head to look at Peter with a goofy grin on his face, “That’s really nice of you.”

“Well, that is what I’m good at.”

He giggles, and the sound goes right to Peter’s heart, stabbing it a million times with vicious, beautiful butterflies, “I’d believe it.”

Peter feels a grin forming on his face along with the heat from his blush. This guy isn’t dismissing him, walking away, and assuming Peter has nothing else to bring up except for his job. Instead, he’s tilting his head and listening to him. It’s refreshing to have someone speak to him without the inherent bias. It definitely won’t last, but Peter can appreciate this single positive interaction for what it is.

He definitely doesn’t recognize this guy from his many brushes with people over the years. Peter isn’t the best with names, but he does remember every face that crosses through his gates. This guy, despite being a Winner and not a Heavenborn, isn’t familiar to him. He’s not entirely sure what that means, but he’s curious to find out. And that means talking to him a little bit more. 

“Here, let me show you,” Peter places his hands on the controls to the machine as the other angel settles beside him, curious. He has such an oddly familiar air about him, like Peter’s definitely seen someone like him before, but he’s not entirely sure where. 

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long to manage to scoop up a golden sheep plush for the other. It could be that this is Heaven, and things aren’t designed to be difficult, but Peter likes to think it’s because he’s just that good at crane machines. The other angel’s eyes shimmer with interest as Peter scoops the sheep plush up from the prize slot and hands it over to him, grinning, “One prize for a beautiful soul, of course.”

Peter winks and is rewarded with a blush from the other. He mentally fistpumps at that, just as the guy centers himself and says, “Sorry, um… I don’t really have anything to give you in return.”

“Well,” Peter leans harder against the machine, “A name would be a good start.”

“Oh,” says the guy, adjusting his sheep so that he can shake Peter’s hand, “I’m Abel.”

And Peter nearly short-circuits when he hears the name. Because, what? 

Everyone in Heaven knows of Abel. It would be impossible not to. The second son of the first man, Adam, was the first victim of murder and one of the very first mortal souls in Heaven. Peter knew of him when he was alive, as Abel is an important religious figure, like his father, Adam. But, although most knew he had made it to Heaven, unlike his father, Abel was very rarely seen. 

In fact, most angels didn’t know what he looked like. Rumors were often spread about Abel when Adam was around, that Adam hated him, that Adam had killed him again, or something crazy like that. 

Peter highly doubted people would be looking for him at the mall. Though that did explain why Abel didn’t know how crane machines worked. He is an older soul than even himself. It also explained why Peter had never seen him before, as Abel had definitely crossed the gates before Peter guarded them, and why he looked so familiar, because Peter had met his father, Adam, multiple times. 

(He might’ve had a fleeting crush on the guy for a couple of years. Before he’d realized just how rancid the guy’s entire energy was. But that’s neither here nor there.)

“You’re Adam’s son?” He manages.

Abel cringes at that, which is fair. If Peter had Adam as a father, he would react the same way: “Yes.”

“You’re… very different from him.” Much nicer. Prettier.

“I know, he tells me all the time,” For the first time, Abel sounds mildly disgruntled. 

Peter’s starting to get the impression that the rumor that Abel and Adam do not have a good relationship has some legs to it. That causes a spark of sympathy in his heart to match the warmth in his belly, and he pats Abel’s arm, relishing the contact, “That’s a good thing.”

“It is?” Abel blinks at the touch, looking surprised.

“Yes.” Absolutely.

Luckily, Abel brightens at that, holding his sheep plush a little closer, “He always likes to remind me that I should be more like him.”

“Pshhhh,” Peter waves a hand as nonchalantly as he can, “You should just be yourself.”

Abel flushes bright and gold, and Peter internally pumps a fist again at seeing the other blush. It seems he’s easily embarrassed, which is both adorable and perfect. 

“You should be yourself too, Ah…” Abel trails off as Peter realizes he doesn’t know his name, so he offers it, “Peter.”

“Peter,” nods Abel, his bangs flopping as he does so, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. I’ve heard about you, of course, but– it doesn’t compare to the real thing.”

To his surprise, Abel doesn’t blush, just nods again at this, looking more relaxed as he keeps talking, “That’s very intentional. I find the city really overwhelming most of the time. I usually stay in my apartment or at my farm in the countryside. I don’t meet a lot of people.”

“Well, you should meet more!” Peter says as Abel uncurls a bit, “Or I could show you around a bit. That could make the city less overwhelming.”

“You’d do that for me?” Peter feels himself grow warm as Abel stares at him with shimmering eyes, like he’s suddenly focused.

“That is so kind of you, Peter.”

Yeah, he’s definitely growing warmer as Abel talks, his soft eyes trained on his face and his dorky smile building. Peter doesn’t have a lot of people who see him in a good light or see him as someone kind who'd want to get to know. To see him as anything other than the guy at the door. 

“I–yeah, I will try.”

“Well, you are succeeding. I’m very disconnected from all of this,” Abel waves a hand at the mall, “Most angels tend to ignore me.”

How could anyone ignore you? Abel has this gentleness to him that Peter’s never seen from angels before, who are beautiful, yes, but never quite as alive as they once were. Abel, through his intentional isolation, seems to have retained that quality. It’s a quality that Peter longs to see more of.

“Honestly, most seem to ignore me, too,” says Peter, which makes Abel offer him a mystified look, “Really?”

“Yeah, which is odd cause I’m the Gatekeeper, you know?”

“Oh, you’re the Gatekeeper? That’s pretty cool. I’ve heard a bit about you, but I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“Same here.”

“Why don’t I get you some lunch or something? In exchange for this sheep,” Abel lifts the sheep toy up and squeezes it, beaming all the while, “It means a lot to me, so…”

Peter blinks, baffled that Abel would volunteer to spend his time with him. But he supposes, since Abel is an older angel than he, he hasn’t heard of Peter’s reputation as an annoying door guy. Which honestly, is a win for him, but there is one other thing he needs to point out, just in case Abel changes his mind, “You know that there’s no money in Heaven, so there’s really no need to get me lunch…”

The other blinks at him, clutching the toy to his chest before he tilts his head and says, “Um… I was going to just show you a place I liked.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment forms in a lump in Peter’s throat, and he finds himself running a hand across his perfect bangs, messing them up, “Then sure…”

“Cool,” says Abel with a grin, walking past Peter. It’s here that Peter realizes just why Abel’s wings look so familiar, as they are the exact same as Adam’s and even tucked in the same way. 

It had always been rather odd to Peter just how Adam carried his wings, as if he was a chicken rather than pressing his wings to his back like a typical angel. Now, it seems that Abel does the same thing, pressing his wings to his sides rather than to his back. It’s just as charming as when Adam does it, weirdly enough, causing Peter’s brief crush on Abel’s father to flicker through his mind. 

That was a moment in time. An embarrassing moment in time. 

Peter will reflect no more on that thought, following Abel for a couple of steps until falling into step beside him. There’s a weird sense of novelty to being next to Abel, a similar feeling that Peter got when near elder angels such as Sera or even Emily, as well as Adam himself. This is someone who has become immortalized in stories and legends, similar to Peter himself. For all the tales Peter’s heard of the first victim of murder, it’s odd to place a face to the name. 

It makes his halo make horrific sense, in a way that makes Peter’s head churn. One of the oddest things about Heaven is that while they do heal all wounds, often the way that their residents died is reflected somewhere on their outfits and in their manifestations here in Heaven. For example, Peter’s own wrists and ankles had manifested as misshapen, causing him to often pick clothes that covered the lined slices on his body. He can’t imagine what it must be like for Abel, whose death is upon his form in a way that can never be concealed. 

“We’re here!” says Abel, pausing in front of a small sandwich shop, waving a hand at it like he’s presenting something, “This is one of my favorite places here. Actually, it’s one of the only places that I come to regularly that’s somewhat in the city.”

“You really don’t like people, huh?”

“I like people,” Abel says, “But everyone tends to forget that most of my life was only spent around my family. I just never really got used to lots of people around.”

“Makes sense, so… why is this place so special?”

Abel grins, and Peter can’t help but smile back at the charming little tooth gap that his new acquaintance has, “You’ll see!”

The sandwich owner, an angel whose form resembles that of a cat, beams from behind the counter. She waves a little furry paw at Abel, who waves back at her. Her voice is light and lilting as she says, “Hey Abel! Your usual?”

“Of course,” Abel says and then gestures to Peter, “and whatever he’s having.”

The cat-angel does a double-take at seeing Peter, who can’t help but wince. It’s definitely a result of his job as a Heavenly Gatekeeper that this cat-angel seems so baffled at his appearance. Abel doesn’t seem to notice this and instead places a hand on his hips and leans to the side as Peter tries his best to scan the menu and ignore the cat-angel’s stare. 

He immediately understands why Abel likes this place. The sandwiches are unusual, with odd flavors, and even decorated with little charms to make them look unique. Abel seems like the kind of guy who likes adorable things, based on his love of the sheep plush, and it makes sense that a place like this appeals to him. And so, Peter places his order and ends up sitting outside with Abel as the other munches on a sandwich. 

“So, you’re the Gatekeeper?” asks Abel as he shifts his wings, making Peter eye him as they continue eating, “That seems like an interesting job.”

“It’s more boring than you think. Like much more boring,” dismisses Peter, trying to move the subject away from himself. 

“Oh?” Abel arches a brow, a small smile on his face, “It does seem like it would be a more interesting job than mine.”

“You have a job?”

“Sort of,” Abel huffs and glances up at the ceiling, “Officially, I am Heaven’s Shepherd. But I don’t really do much with that. Other than that, I also am an advisor to my dad, but uh— we haven’t spoken in years.”

Peter hadn’t expected that, to be honest. But after spending some time with Abel, he can see why. Abel seems to have the opposite nature of his father’s harsher nature. Peter assumes that he takes after Eve rather than his father. He’s never met the woman, but that seems like a fair assumption. 

“I’ve met your dad a couple of times. He’s an interesting guy.”

The look on Abel’s face is one that makes Peter immediately regret bringing Adam up. Despite his apprehension of talking about himself, Peter decides to steer the subject away from Adam and Abel’s family, “Well, being the Gatekeeper, I tend to meet a lot of interesting people.”

“Oh?” Abel brightens significantly at this and Peter smiles at the soft expression on the other’s face. 

He would do anything to keep that expression there. And so, despite the worry in the back of his mind that Abel will get bored of hearing about himself and his job, Peter tells him a couple of his funniest moments as the Gatekeeper, including a frankly very embarrassing one where he’d had to explain to someone that they’d slipped and died in the shower and therefore, were not actually naked anymore. Throughout the story, he makes little glances at Abel’s face, to see if the other is hiding his boredom with Peter well, or just being polite or something of the sort. But the bright interest in Abel’s face never dies. He laughs at all the correct parts and even asks little questions about Peter and his job, and offers little stories of his own.

Before Peter knows it, hours have slipped by, and the sun is setting along the buildings of Heaven.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve kept you here so long,” says Abel, apparently having followed his gaze to see the setting sun, “You must have way more important things to do than to entertain me, Peter.”

No. “No!” Desperation drives him to grab at Abel’s hands, pulling the other close to his chest. Abel smells like fresh laundry and honey, and his bangs are so close to Peter’s that they brush against each other’s. “Abel, I had a wonderful time!”

“You... you did?”

“Yeah!” Peter beams and watches the shocked expression on Abel’s face slowly morph into one of sheepish warmth, golden flush filling up his cheeks, “Real–really?”

I kinda wish this day had ended with you kissing me, honestly, but– 

“Yeah, really,” He squeezes Abel’s hands and watches as the other’s sheepish smile becomes larger and larger as they talk more, “How about this? I will give you my contact information, and we can hang out again sometime.”

“Oh! Okay!” Abel reaches behind him and pulls out a golden phone with a half-destroyed screen. He hands it over to Peter, who swipes it open and places his contact information into Abel’s phone. Once he’s done, he hands his phone to Abel, who awkwardly uses a single finger to type in his phone number. It’s adorable. 

“There you are,” says Abel, giving Peter his phone back and Peter melts seeing that Abel had put a little smiley face next to his name, “I had a wonderful time getting to know you. I really did. So thanks for today, Peter.”

“Oh!” Yeah, he’s bright golden, as Abel gives him a tender smile, “Yeah, uh– you’re welcome, Abel! I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” With a wave and a flap of his golden wings, Abel takes off, leaving Peter to stare after him and hold the warmth in his face close to his heart. There’s something stirring within him, some form of realization that Peter’s on the brink of as he lingers on the brief brush of Abel’s hair against his and the way Abel had listened to him with his full attention and never dismissed him like everyone else tended to.

It hits him hard. 

Oh, seven virtues. I don’t just want Abel. I want him to want me.

Yeah, he’s fucked.

[-]

Years into their friendship, Peter can safely say that he’s got a crush on Abel. It’s not his fault! It’s Abel’s for being so genuine and kind and wonderful to be around that’s developed Peter’s feelings, really. They’ve spent every free day of Peter’s hanging out pretty much, wandering around quiet places in the city and talking about nothing and everything. Abel seems especially interested in Peter’s role as the head of the angelic choir, and asks a lot of questions about music and how Peter had developed his skills. 

Honestly, it’s partially due to the fact that Heavenly beings have the tendency to burst into song and Peter needed to be able to keep up with them, as the first face in Heaven, but that’s neither here nor there. Most angels in Heaven can sing, but it’s only some of them, like Peter that have worked to develop their voice and talents with music over time. Abel doesn’t seem the musical type, but Peter’s just happy to talk. 

That’s what is the best thing about Abel, other than him as a person. It’s that he seems to want to know Peter unlike anyone else would try to. It means so much to him that it’s part of why Peter’s fallen for him so quickly. That and the fact Abel is beautiful and adorable and Peter wants him on top of him or below him or just near him so badly it aches. 

He’s unable to get a read on whether Abel feels the same way though, and that’s the only reason why he hasn’t made a move. If he messes this up and ruins one of his only good friendships in the afterlife, he’s never going to forgive himself. Peter stays quiet instead and hopes one day, he’ll get a sign that Abel feels the same way and he can finally press his lips to Abel’s. 

For now though, he’s going to have a crisis because Abel invited him over for the first time and he hates everything in his closet. Nothing seems right. Abel had said that he should dress casually, and Peter wants to, but everything in his closet seems either too casual or not casual enough. He needs this night to go perfect, so he can get a read on if Abel wants him or not. 

In the end, he just goes with his instincts and slides a turtleneck over a cute pair of jeans and prays that it’s enough. Some light eyeshadow is brushed over his eyes and the rollers are pulled out of his hair, and then… Peter is ready. Maybe. He brushes a hand down his front to get invisible dust off of his sweater and then sucks in a breath. Time to see his friend.

Abel’s home is a small cottage on the outside of Heaven’s city walls. It’s decorated with flowers, ones that bloom golden in the sunlight. Surrounding the home are multiple small pens of sheep, grazing gently on grass. As Peter’s shadow passes over them, they don’t even flicker to look up at him, so distracted they are by their eating. 

Peter feels his heart warm as he lands near the fence, looking at the flocks of sheep. He hasn’t spent time around farm animals since he was alive, and seeing them here warms his heart. Abel’s a simple guy at heart, as he so claims, but it’s easy to forget that he maintains habits formed while he was alive, the main thing being that of keeping a flock of sheep. 

It’s adorable.

With warmth in his heart, Peter tucks his wings into his back and knocks on the front door to Abel’s little cottage, nerves in his stomach but a smile on his face.

“Peter!” Abel opens the door and Peter’s heart absolutely melts. The other is not dressed in the same soldier uniform as usual, but rather a casual t-shirt and pants combo that is rather dark but totally works for him. His head, usually adorned with a hat, is now blank, and Peter takes in Abel’s incredibly wavy and fluffy hair with an awe that should be embarrassing but isn’t.

“You look amazing,” He snaps back to himself as the words tumble out of Abel’s mouth, the other’s cheeks glowing a soft gold. 

Peter feels himself blush back as he runs a hand through his curls that he must’ve spent hours on, “Thanks. You do too.”

“Thank you!” Abel laughs and steps aside to allow Peter to enter his home.

It smells of Italian food and vanilla, a combo that shouldn’t work but does. Little sheep collectables line the shelves of Abel’s home, as well as a bunch of blankets, clearly woven by Abel himself. Books litter the counters, most of them fairytales or romance novels, and Peter spots multiple versions of the same books in multiple languages. There are a couple of photos on the walls, and Peter stops to glance at them and feels shock ripple through him.

They’re pictures of Abel’s family. Some of them are low quality and taken from above, but Abel must have gotten them from the historical archives that the Angels keep of their subjects. From the photos, he can see a blurry photo of the five original Eden family members– Abel himself, Cain, Adam, Eve, and the forgotten sister, Aclima. 

Then there are some higher-quality photos, of Abel with his angelic wings tucked behind him, standing next to a young-looking dark-haired man and a taller blonde woman with her hands on their shoulders. Recognition courses through him as he realizes that the young man is Abel’s younger brother, Seth, and the woman,  his older sister, Aclima. Both of them had become Winners, though similar to Abel, neither took their father’s route of becoming public figures. 

It’s the first time he’s seen all of them together, and the family resemblance is rather uncanny. Aclima and Abel have the same hair color and freckly cheeks, and Seth and Abel have the same gap-toothed smile. 

Another photo has Abel literally crushed to death against the chest of an older guy, who has a familiar-looking smirk. His dark hair looks like Seth’s, and his golden eyes resemble Abel’s own. Peter tilts his head, trying to place the guy, just as he feels Abel come up behind him. 

“That’s my dad.”

“What?” That’s Adam? 

Abel laughs, “Yeah, he wears the mask all the time now, but that’s him a little bit after we first got to Heaven. He insisted on getting photos done because neither of us knew how they worked. We both thought it was really cool.”

“Makes sense,” Peter is aware that Abel despises speaking about his father more than anything. He doesn’t dislike Adam, as far as he’d gathered, just dislikes the frequent comparisons. 

Abel stands next to him, eyes glazing over the image of himself and his father. It occurs to Peter right then and there, that he’d never thought about Adam being just a regular guy underneath his stupid LED mask before. But of course he was, all of his kids were human. It makes sense that Adam would be too. 

“So, what are we doing?” Peter claps his hands to draw Abel away from nostalgic memories and feels himself shimmer with pride as Abel sends him a grateful smile.

They move away from the photos towards the kitchen, as Abel wraps a fluffy apron around his body, “I made us some dinner and then maybe we could, just talk? Or watch a movie or something? I haven’t seen very many of those.”

“Really?” That’s not surprising, but Peter still smiles, “What have you seen?”

“Hmm… Mostly musical movies. I really like stuff with songs in it,” Abel turns his back to Peter as the other settles down at the bartop, watching as Abel stirs the food around.

Despite not really seeming to have musical gifts of his own, Abel seems to really like music, which is sweet. And it’s always something to talk about with him. Peter carefully places his chin on his hand and tilts his face at Abel’s back, “Is there any reason why you like music so much?”

“I’ve always wanted to be good at singing. I mean, people sing in Heaven all the time so I really tried to be good at it, but—“ 

Peter arches a brow as Abel trails off, setting his spoon down. His wings droop slightly and his black gloved hands curl around his frame, “My dad says I don’t have the voice for it.”

“You… don’t have the voice for it?” Peter frowns at that. 

One of the main things he’s always been told is that everyone could sing, they just need to learn how to use their unique voice. It’s baffling to hear someone tell Abel that he didn’t have the vocal ability to sing, especially when this was Heaven. Most people could sing in Heaven; it was just a matter of effort, whether it was just alright or incredible. 

“My dad is a very rock n’ roll sort of guy. But my voice is much softer than the typical rocker,” shrugs Abel, picking up his spoon and giving Peter a gentle smile over his shoulder, “He was disappointed, I guess, that I couldn’t live up to the rock n’ roll legacy.”

He makes a face at that before swirling his hand around, “But I’m doing my own thing, so it doesn’t matter what my dad thinks, now does it?”

Intriguing. Peter leans closer to him, “Your own thing?”

Abel had never given him the impression that he knew a lot about music, despite his marching band uniform. His incessant questions and drilling Peter on certain things in regards to music had also contributed to this assumption. But what if Abel did actually know a thing or two about music? 

“Yeah,” Abel turns his head fully around, his cheeks golden, “Something like that.”

“Well, now you have to tell me.”

Abel winces and says, “Um… Maybe someday.”

Not wanting to push him, Peter nods and relaxes, just as Abel spoons some food into a bowl and pushes it along the table towards him. He catches it with one hand and tries the pasta as Abel gives him a hopeful look, “I don’t cook often. Is it alright?”

It’s delicious, actually. But Peter might only think that because he is extremely biased. Abel is a wonderful cook, but Peter’s just happy to eat something that Abel had gone out of his way to prepare for him, despite not needing to. So, he happily indulges in that food, making small talk with Abel as he does so. They manage to finish the food laughing about one of Abel’s pet sheep, who often got his head stuck in the fence. It’s comfortable and warm in Abel’s home, and Peter wonders to himself if this is what life could be, being with someone like Abel. 

He wonders if life could always be this sugary sweet, if he could just discern whether Abel felt the same way as he did. If those blushes Abel offered him meant anything more than Abel’s own inability to comprehend that someone cared about him. He was prone to that sort of bafflement at the notion of someone paying attention to him, a fact that honestly blew Peter’s mind. Spending so much time with him, it was obvious to Peter that Abel deserved that sort of praise and attention. 

And by the Speaker, he hopes Abel feels the same way. Sometimes, Peter indulges himself in the fantasy of Abel calling him beautiful and important and it hits harder than any other Heavenly indulgence. 

“I’m going to go get some blankets from my room,” says Abel as he takes the dishes and sets them in the sink, “You can come with me if you would like!”

Oh! Peter would love to see Abel’s bedroom. He agrees immediately and follows Abel. 

It’s much different than he imagined.

Abel’s bed is incredibly simple, with a quilt and a pillow in the middle and not much else. Little sheep trinkets line his dresser and nightstand, but that’s the only personalization that seems to be in this room. He doesn’t seem to spend much time here, really, judging by the untouched bed and the lack of soft pillows.

Abel opens his wings and flies up to a small storage unit on the ceiling. That’s the nice thing about everyone in Heaven having wings, storage is much simpler than on Earth.

“Why don’t you check my closet for some more blankets?” Abel calls down to him as he grabs a couple of fluffy blankets out of his storage unit. 

Peter nods up at him and does so, rummaging around in Abel’s closet to find the items. There’s plenty of soft-looking sweaters, oversized t-shirts and jeans, items that really suit Abel’s entire vibe and honestly, Peter’s too. He usually wears longer and larger clothing anyways, to cover up his injuries from his death. Maybe Abel wouldn’t mind if he borrowed some of his sweaters sometime…

Or maybe Peter just really wants to bury himself in Abel’s warm vanilla scent. 

He shakes himself out of his longing and begins to search for the blankets again, burrowing deeper and deeper in the closet until his hand brushes accidentally against something more solid.

“What’s this?”

Buried in the back of Abel’s closet is a CD, with the words “BURN THIS,” scribbled on it. Peter picks it up with two fingers, worried that whatever is inside would harm him too. 

What he isn’t expecting is Abel’s face to turn bright gold with embarrassment. He flies across the room in nearly 2 seconds to snatch the CD from Peter’s hands, “NOTHING!”

Peter blinks in shock as Abel cradles the CD close to his chest, hiding it from his sight. It’s frankly adorable, and it really just has Peter wanting to know what it is.

“So, it’s clearly not nothing.”

“It’s nothing!” Abel panics, waving his hands around dramatically and clearly demonstrating that this is not nothing, “I swear!”

“Um-hmmm.”

Abel gives him a look filled with sad puppy-dog eyes that really melts Peter’s heart. His lower lip even trembles, “Can I ask you to let this go? Pleaseeeee…”

And Peter almost does. The will of his curiosity almost crumbles underneath Peter’s blossoming love for Abel and weakness to his face. But he is the Gatekeeper! He’s had to keep plenty of people out before through sheer willpower and some holy light blasts! Surely, he can remain impartial to Abel’s pleading expression. 

It is really hard though. 

Abel deflates after a couple of seconds more though, literally. He almost seems to shrink into himself, curling around the CD like it’s a piece of himself. His wings even droop. Peter almost feels bad, but curiosity is a bitch and he wants to know Abel more than he’s ever wanted to know anyone in his life, including whatever this dark secret is. 

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

Abel nods grimly, “Then, I’ll tell you. But, we should go into the living room first.”

Deciding he’s pushed his luck far enough to get Abel to actually talk to him about this, Peter agrees easily. And that’s how he finds himself on Abel’s couch, tucked under the same blanket with their knees brushing against one another. He keeps his eyes on Abel’s face as the other tries to avoid eye contact, fiddling with the edge of the CD with his gloved hands and biting his lip. 

Patience is important and so is support. Peter reaches out a hand for Abel’s and feels his cheeks warm when Abel notices and subtly slips his hand down to clutch at Peter’s. His hand is warm and callused through the gloves, as well as slightly larger than Peter’s. Quietly, Peter squeezes Abel’s hand and watches as the other takes a stuttering breath and squeezes back, before he speaks.

“Okay… So my dad and I got into a fight one time, um… about 20 years ago. And he told me that I would never be um… rock n’ roll. I got really mad about it and so I um— went into the recording booth and wrote a rock song. Well, more punk, but it was to piss him off. To show him I could do it,” Abel winces after every word as if this isn’t the most fascinating story Peter has ever heard.

“I thought I would only write one,” Abel taps the CD, “But I uh— got really into it. I was mad.”

“So I— I think I made an entire punk album? It’s really bad, though, but it was cathartic for me.”

To say Peter was shocked would be an understatement. He’s flabbergasted. Out of all the things that could be on that disc, Abel’s secret music career was not one of them. It explains why Abel had asked him so many questions about music and Peter’s singing process. He must have been comparing Peter’s advice to his own process of making music, or even making adjustments to his own music. 

The knowledge that Abel could sing though is what really floors Peter more than anything. He loves hearing the songs of others, as it is the easiest way to cut to the heart of a person’s emotions. It’s the rawest form of expression. It’s the best way to learn everything about someone.

Peter is going to lose his mind.

“Well, we have to listen to it now.” 

Abel gets more gold, if that’s possible, “Um— We actually don’t.”

“No, we have to,” If Peter doesn’t hear this album right this very second, he’s going to explode. 

Abel pulls away from him, yanking the CD to his chest, “We really don’t.”

There’s a spark of fear in his eyes and Peter catches it immediately, having learned Abel’s face well enough by now from seeing him often and dreaming of him more. He aches to ease that fear, to calm Abel down and hold him in his arms and press kisses to his head and love him the way he doesn’t seem to have been loved before. 

“Why not?” Peter asks quietly, lifting a hand to reach for Abel, “What’s wrong, Abel?”

Tears are forming in the corners of Abel’s golden eyes but he blinks them rapidly away, sniffling to himself. As Peter’s hand comes towards him, there’s another quick flash of fear before Abel seems to settle, his shoulders shaking as he uncurls from his CD. 

“I–I don’t want you to hate it.”

“Wh– Why would I ever hate it?”

Abel shrugs, “I was so mad when I made this. It’s a part of me that… that I don’t like others to see. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Abel,” Whoever instilled this fear into Abel of feeling anything other than joy and happiness is going to find themselves at the end of a blast of holy light, though Peter has a sneaking suspicion that it’s not really a person that has done this to Abel, but rather the environment in which he was raised, “I could never hate you, nor anything you create, okay? You are my friend.”

The other’s tears halt and he sniffles, wiping some of his tears on his sleeve before he offers Peter a watery smile, “You’re so nice to me, Peter. Thank you.”

“You deserve nice things,” Peter replies honestly and feels his heart explode in his chest as more tears slip past Abel’s cheeks, “Seriously, Abel. You do.”

“You do too,” Abel tilts his head and slowly hands the CD over to Peter. It’s black and the casing is well-worn and clearly loved. Peter turns it over in his hands and then glances at Abel, who offers him a small smile back at him, “I’ve never played it for anyone before.”

“I would like you to be the first person to hear it.”

Shock ripples through Peter’s body at that, blinking rapidly as Abel just smiles at him, “You’re serious?”

Abel nods, wrapping his arms and wings around himself in an imitation of a hug, “Yeah. Now, we should listen to it before I change my mind.”

“Right–right now?”

“Before I lose my nerve,” Abel rises to his feet and brushes off invisible dust on his shirt. Peter notices, heartbreakingly, that his hands are shaking, “I’ll get us a radio and some wine and you can judge just how bad I am.”

He highly doubts that, but Peter offers Abel a small smile and says, “You’re probably great.”

Abel is not great. 

He’s unreal.

From the opening song to the closing song, Peter doesn’t think his jaw leaves the floor. He doesn’t even take a sip of his wine that Abel had pressed into his hands. Instead, he just listens to Abel’s voice as the other plays song after song on his “album.” The other was right that his voice was soft, but it somehow melts perfectly with the punk style he’d gone for, creating a different sort of style that is so uniquely Abel that Peter is astonished that he’d lived in a time without this fundamental understanding of him. 

His voice is so soulful that Peter wonders what the hell Adam was thinking, telling Abel that he couldn’t pull off rock n’ roll music. He could probably pull off any form of music. 

He’s amazing. 

When the last song’s orchestral notes fade out, Peter finds himself staring at Abel’s small awkward smile as the other sizes up his reaction. Judging from the flush on his cheeks, he’d drunk a couple of glasses of wine nervously throughout the album listening and now he awaits Peter’s judgement. 

“What… what did you think?”

Peter stares at him, eyes blown wide before he says, “I think. I think I want you to join the Heavenly Choir. That was amazing.”

The awkward smile on Abel’s face stretches up to the rest of him, as if the fact that he was smiling genuinely could change the world itself. Peter’s heart nearly gives out at the sight of it.

“Well, which one was your favorite?” 

“Oh gosh, Abel… where do I even begin?”

[-]

“I really appreciate you doing things like this for me,” says Abel, drawing Peter’s attention away from staring pointedly at the back of the angel in front of him and back to him. 

He looks good today. Peter thinks he must’ve put some form of eyeliner on, since his dark bags look even more pronounced than usual. His blonde bangs are swept along his forehead, his feathery hat swaying slightly in the breeze. He practically glows in the sunlight above and Peter wonders idly how someone could seem so effortlessly beautiful. 

“Of course,” Peter says and decidedly tries to ignore the fact that Abel’s hand is resting comfortably on his back, between his wingblades. If he thinks about it too much, he might explode, “I thought you would enjoy something like this.”

“Free smoothies are right up my alley,” agrees Abel easily, “But I mostly was referring to just getting me into the city. I need practice.”

“Oh!” 

Peter has been inviting Abel out more and more often, spending nearly every single free moment of his day with him. His time spent guarding the gates has become more daydreaming about Abel time, so much so that a couple of days ago, he’d jumped when someone actually arrived at the gates, scaring the both of them. He’d been a little busy wondering what Abel would sound like when they were having sex to think about his job. Which is a first, Peter’s very proud of his job.

Abel’s hand on his back right now is not helping those fantasies in the slightest. 

“What are friends for?” He tries and watches with curiosity as Abel almost winces at the word. Odd. 

In the recent weeks, since Abel played his music for him, the other had become slowly more touchy in a way that Peter wasn’t quite sure he could place. It had started with brushing their wings against each other, then Abel looping their arms together, holding Peter’s wrist and now, placing his hands on Peter’s back as they stood in line for smoothies. 

Not that Peter minds. In fact, he loves it. Abel doesn’t seem afraid to claim him as a friend in public, in a way that some of Peter’s previous relationships had always seemed afraid to. It warms his heart, and makes him wonder. 

Did Abel feel the same? 

Based on the way Abel had begun to flush during every interaction they had, shyly peeking at him when he thinks Peter doesn’t notice, the gentle touches and the awkward smiles, Peter’s starting to think that just maybe, Abel feels the same way he does. He can’t quite get himself to believe it though. Things don’t… succeed for him. Peter isn’t this lucky. He doesn’t get a beautiful man to fall for him just because he wants him to. Surely, he’s reading into this far more than he should be. Abel is just a friendly guy, who is cute and sweet and gets flustered around Peter now. Right?

He knows he’s in denial about what’s going on between them, but the fear of ruining their tentative friendship over a misinterpretation keeps him in place and unwilling to take a step forward. 

Peter’s fallen for this before. He’s easily convinced by a brief moment of wanting from someone else, a tentative flush, a soft kiss. He wants so desperately to be liked, to be loved, that a single piece of affection renders him helpless. Abel is clearly genuine in his intentions, but his lack of experience in social situations leaves Peter wondering whether he’s simply intending to be good friends or something more. 

He hopes it’s something more though.

Peter’s had so many misses in his life, maybe one time, he can have something good. As a treat. 

“Do you think that they’ll run out at some point?” asks Abel, tapping his chin as he surveys the crowd from Peter’s side, “Of smoothies, I mean.”

“It’s Heaven, I seriously doubt it.”

That’s the thing about Heaven, is that it gives you whatever you want. If Peter asked for a pet unicorn, Heaven would find some way to make it happen within reason. However, as much as Heaven can do for you physically, emotional needs are an entirely different battle. Peter would know. 

“Still,” Abel says with a shrug, “I would be really sad.”

Peter has no idea how in the world he would handle sad Abel. He thinks his heart would explode if he saw that.

“I don’t think I could bear to see you sad,” he says lightly, thumping Abel’s wing with his own and watching the other tentatively smile at him. 

“I feel the same way,” Earnesty should be Abel’s middle name, since he’s so good at it. Peter’s cheeks burn. 

He waves a hand in front of his face to cool himself down, “I’m sure you say that about a lot of people.”

“You’re the only person I hang out with.”

“Well!” Peter knew that, but he still stammers, “Maybe you do!”

“I’m pretty sure you’re still the only person I hang out with,” Abel gives him a bemused smile as he tilts his head at him. His halo follows, “Like regularly. I see you more than anyone else.”

“Oh, well… I also see you more than most.”

Abel blinks, “Really?”

“Really.”

“I always thought um– you were just being nice by hanging out with me all the time.”

“There’s no one like you, Abel,” Peter says as seriously as he can muster, “I would pick you over almost everyone I know.”

The reward is watching Abel blush so heavily it traces up his ears and down his neck. He’s got freckles there, faint ones, but Peter kinda wants to run his tongue against them, just to hear Abel’s reaction when he does. 

He shakes himself out of it as they step forward in line. Abel doesn’t need his horny thoughts when they’re just friends. If he could hear some of the stuff Peter thinks about him, he might run away screaming. Or get extremely flustered. Or…. maybe he’d be into it? 

Yeah, Peter could dream. 

“Ow,’ mutters Abel, drawing Peter out of his thoughts as he presses a hand to his head, forehead creasing in pain. 

Immediately, Peter snaps into focus, reaching for him to try and help alleviate whatever is causing the pain. But he stops as soon as he spots the look on Abel’s face, a wide-eyed panic. He folds over, wings curling around himself as he clenches at his head. 

“No no no,” he mutters, “I can’t have one of these now.”

“Are you okay?” Peter’s hands hover over Abel’s shoulders, fear spiking in his mind as Abel shivers in pain.

His golden feathers wind tighter around himself, and Peter’s heart just breaks. Abel looks so small like this. Peter’s comforted more angels than he can count in his lifetime, but Abel’s pain strikes a different nerve than theirs does. This is someone Peter cares about way more than he should, hurting. Abel groans in pain and clutches his head harder, shaking. It definitely seems like he can’t formulate a response at all. It’s up to Peter to make the call on his own, and fear for Abel’s safety causes him to wave a hand to summon a portal back to his apartment and usher Abel inside. 

Abel hasn’t stopped shaking, his hands running through his hair to the point that he might actually tear it out. His heart lurching in pain and sympathy, Peter carefully reaches out and guides Abel’s hands away from him, using his own to pull Abel through his apartment and into his bedroom. 

It might not be the reason that Peter wants to get Abel into his bed, but it doesn’t matter when Abel is in this much pain. Peter gently pours his friend a glass of water and dims the lights as he steps back into his bedroom where Abel is. As Abel shakes in pain, Peter quietly slips beside him, pressing one of his wings against Abel’s own and winding himself around him. In the dim light, Abel seems to relax a bit more, and Peter takes the opportunity to carefully take the blankets and wipe the tears from Abel’s cheeks as he shakes. 

It takes two hours for Abel to settle. 

The first thing he does is begin to spout apologies. For ruining their outing, for disturbing the peace, and causing a scene, and all of it makes Peter hurt for him. The expression on Abel’s face is nothing but apprehension, as if he expects to be berated for an intense migraine. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Peter forces cheerfulness into his voice as Abel watches him with teary eyes, “Like seriously. I would rather you be okay than get a smoothie.”

“Those smoothies seemed pretty good though.”

Peter lets out a laugh, and Abel offers him a little smile, “Sure, but we can always go tomorrow.”

“I guess,” Abel adjusts in Peter’s bed, his wings shifting behind him as he does so, “Your apartment is so nice.”

“Thanks.”

Peter’s almost never home, due to his job, so his home is just that, very clean. He owns almost no personal belongings, because he’s never around enough to enjoy them. He just has books stacked in a single corner as well as small photos of landscapes that he’d bought on a whim to brighten the place up. It’s very impersonal. 

“I’m just sorry that this is the first time you’re seeing it. I would have at least wanted to decorate before having you over,” Peter tries, running his fingers along Abel’s wing. Maybe the other won’t mind…

Abel doesn’t comment on the touching, though he seems more golden than usual. Maybe Peter’s just enamored by his face though, “It’s still nice, Peter. I’m sorry to have ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

His friend’s head ducks down, almost in shame. His wings shake underneath Peter’s fingers, “I– I get these attacks, sometimes. I think they’re leftover from… well, from Cain.”

Peter can’t help the way his eyes wide in shock. It’s the first time he’s ever heard Abel’s infamous older brother mentioned verbally by him. He’d never pushed Abel on Cain before, sensing it to be something that was definitely not an approachable subject, but now, Abel is volunteering Cain information. 

“I’m.. sorry,” He says awkwardly, to which Abel waves him off, “It’s alright. I’ve dealt with them my whole afterlife. I probably always will. It’s… partially why I don’t come out as much. The city and the noise makes them worse.”

Guilt blooms in Peter’s chest and he immediately begins to say, “I’m sorry for making you go out more then. I never meant—”

“No no!” He’s interrupted, “I love going out with you. I love exploring the city with you. You, Peter, you’ve made things so much better for me, you don’t even know. When I first got to Heaven, I was terrified of everything. All I could remember was… was Cain.”

Peter nods, though curious, he would never ask Abel to go on without Abel seemingly wanting it. Still, a piece of him that always has known the story of Cain and Abel wants to know. Luckily for him, as he gently continues preening Abel’s feathers, the other goes on, “I don’t think a lot of people understand that, for me— Cain was my older brother. I loved him so much and I never saw it coming at all.”

Abel hiccups, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, “I didn’t even understand what was happening to me. I didn’t know humans could die like animals could. Neither did Cain.”

“I was so scared,” Abel whispers, like it’s a shameful secret that he has buried for years, “Peter, I was so scared. I still am scared. Maybe that’s why my head still hurts. I can’t stop being scared of it, of Cain, of everything.”

“Well, I highly doubt that. I don’t think your migraines are because of fear, I mean. I think that you died being hit on the head and your body still remembers that,” Peter soothes as best he can, sympathy in his heart, “I mean, I still feel some pains from my injuries  when I died.”

He immediately knows he shouldn’t have said anything, because as soon as the word leaves his mouth, his hands and ankles twinge with pain. Abel shifts beside him, and then lets his head fall on Peter’s chest. He’s so warm and soft and the gentle buzzing from his halo calms the aches like nothing else. 

“How did you—”

“I was crucified,” His death hasn’t been something that he’s spoken about in years. In fact, Peter doesn’t think anyone has ever bothered to ask him, “Upside down.”

He expects shock, he expects a gasp and a “what?” But what he doesn’t expect is Abel to let out a hum and reply with a soft, “I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I asked them to,” Peter wets his lips at the memory of Emperor Nero staring down at him in scorn as he’d laid out his final request, “But, it was not great, no.”

He feels Abel snort underneath him, his body shaking both of them. Instinctually, he curls tighter around him despite their height difference, and feels Abel let out a little sigh, “Heaven and my dad, especially, just sort of expected me to get over it. Did you feel that way?”

“I feel like I’m taken for granted sometimes,” Peter admits for the first time outloud, “I was awarded the job of guarding the gates from my time on Earth and my death. Now, I guard the doors but no one really knows how hard of a job that is. I spend a lot of time comforting people and getting things thrown at me. I would like some appreciation.”

“You get things thrown at you?”

“I’ve gotten almost everything thrown at me.”

Abel snorts hard, and Peter warms as he feels Abel try to smother his laughs, “Sorry, it’s not funny. I just think I would have a panic attack if someone threw something at my head.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing your job isn’t door, then.”

“Good thing!” The other’s shoulders shake with giggles, “What is my job then? Shepherd of heaven? Disappointing son? First murder victim?”

The words come out before Peter can stop them: “It’s probably just looking pretty.”

“What?”

“Oh!” Yeah, he’s definitely going to die again, this time from embarrassment, “I don’t think you’re any of those things.”

“Well, I’m definitely the first victim.”

“You’re not a disappointing son, though. Adam just um–kinda sucks.”

The laugh Abel lets out is sharp and loud and jostles both of them, “He does, doesn’t he? Especially recently. We’ve never really been close, Cain was always his favorite. But, I love him.”

“Really?” He doesn’t know why that surprises him so much, but it does, “He’s not exactly–”

“Yeah, but I remember what it was like when it was just us up here. He used to never let me go. He used to come in and check on me every day. He used to— he used to be just my dad, you know?” The strain in Abel’s voice makes it clear just how close he is to tears. 

Wanting to comfort him, Peter just lowers his face down until his cheek is on Abel’s head. Their halos gently clink together, but neither of them notice too much.

“Then he started changing. He was surrounded by angels who could never do anything but praise him. He just… started to not be proud of me anymore. Because I couldn’t get over my own death. Because I still get migraines and stuff.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Indignant on Abel’s behalf, Peter continues, “He can’t expect that of you. If he knew you at all.”

“It seems like he didn’t even try anymore. Whatever, I just can’t put that sort of effort into it anymore,” Abel sighs tiredly, reaching a hand to wipe at his eyes. 

“Well, I think you’re pretty great.”

“I think you are too,” Abel says softly, tilting his head to meet Peter’s eyes. His golden ones lock into Peter’s blue and they stare at each other, for a moment that feels much too long but not long enough. 

Careful to not jostle Abel’s head too much, Peter leans down towards him, using a hand to draw Abel closer. He’s sure that the other will back away or something like that, but Abel only seems to relax as they draw nearer and nearer. His eyes flutter once, twice, and something slow builds on his face as he allows Peter to draw him in.

“I need to rest,” says Abel suddenly, looking away and breaking the moment. Peter immediately retreats, feeling himself burning up with embarrassment. Had he read the moment wrong? Had he fucked up? Had he destroyed this before it even began?

Abel lets out a soft noise and sleepily adjusts himself, “I’m tired.”

Looks like Abel didn’t register Peter’s almost fuck-up there, which is a relief. But then why was he… leaning in too? Peter blinks down at him, watching as Abel offers him a sleepy look. His dark circles and golden flush make him look adorably soft and tired, curled up in Peter’s arms. If Peter could see this sight every single night for the rest of his afterlife, he would be a very very very happy angel indeed. 

“Okay,” says Peter gently, “Okay Abel. Rest.”

“Thanks.”

Abel wraps his arms around Peter’s waist and closes his eyes, his breath coming softly as he curls up to sleep. The comfortable weight of him, his vanilla scent and gentle breaths lull him to sleep easily. Peter lets out a quiet sigh and presses his face into Abel’s hair, their halos clinking together as he does so. 

It’s as he drifts off to sleep that Peter realizes that his dream of simply being with someone and talking for hours on end has been realized. That he’d been able to just talk and not have someone run away from him. That Abel had let him curl around him and not protested. That the man Peter was very quickly realizing he had deeper feelings for than he realized might just like him too. 

In fact, he is very sure Abel feels the same. Even if he doesn’t actually know it yet.

[-]

Contrary to popular belief, Heaven does have a club scene. 

The booze only ever places you in the state of mind before drunkenness, hangovers don’t exist, and the bars always play the music you want, which makes them very popular with all the angels in Heaven. So, when Emily had asked him to go out with her one night, Peter had agreed in a heartbeat, wanting to spend time with his friend and get away from Abel’s golden eyes.

He hasn’t been able to get them out of his head since Abel curled up to sleep in his arms. They hadn’t talked about it since, but there’s a tension there that Peter has noticed. He thinks he might have an idea on why it’s there, but it’s only been a few days and he hasn’t been able to ask Abel yet. 

Peter wants to ask him so badly if Abel had wanted to kiss him too that night.

Regardless, Emily’s not one for clubbing, and really neither is he, but they spend hours chatting happily as they get ready to head out, doing each other’s makeup and gossiping about the latest in Heaven. 

“Sera’s been acting suspicious. She keeps holding meetings without me,” Emily reports, widening her large blue eyes as she smears makeup across Peter’s lids, “With Adam, of all people.”

Peter perks up at the mention of Abel’s father, which makes Emily frown at him, her lips pulled into a pout, “Please don’t tell me you’re back on the ‘He’s not so bad’ phase, Peter. I do not need to talk you down from going for Adam again.”

“Absolutely not.” Why would Peter even consider Adam when there’s Abel, “It’s just I heard something about Adam recently, too. I wonder if it’s related.”

“Really? What did you hear?”

“That someone noticed he was acting even worse than usual,” Peter does not want to bring his budding feelings and relationship with Abel to Emily. She will never let it go and insist on meeting Abel, and he doesn’t know if Abel’s ready for that level of sheer Emily yet. He’d barely managed to convince Abel to go to choir practices, “That he was aggressive and acting out even more.”

“Weird. Whatever it is, I don’t like it,” She steps back to admire her handiwork, “I don’t even like Adam that much, and I know Sera doesn’t either. I don’t understand why she’s suddenly letting him talk to her so much.”

His last conversation with Abel flickers across his mind, where Abel noted his father’s overall aggression and demeanor shifting more, “I don’t know what’s going on, Em.”

“I know you don’t, but I wish Sera would talk to me more. It’s like she still sees me as a child. I’m really not a child,” Emily puffs out her cheek in irritation, “I know how to handle things on my own.”

Peter really doesn’t know why this is still an issue with Sera, honestly. He’s pretty sure Emily’s been around as long as Abel has, which definitely makes her worthy to make her own decisions at this point. She doesn’t need to be sheltered, that’s for sure. But Sera definitely still insists on treating her as such. Maybe that’s an older sister thing. 

“I know,” He says, patting her hand and watching as she beams at him, “I find it odd too.”

“I just don’t think she respects me,” snaps Emily, rolling her eyes. 

Peter doesn’t necessarily think that that’s it, but who's to say? He’s just the guy that watches the door. He’s not very politically active. 

He goes for neutral, “I bet you can convince her otherwise.”

“Doubtful,” Emily glares at nothing, which is the most anger he’s ever seen from her. He’s almost impressed, “Sorry, why don’t we head out? I kinda just want to have fun.”

And I want to not be thinking about Abel for two seconds, Peter thinks with a sigh but offers Emily a bright grin, “Me too!”

She snorts, “Don’t abandon me when you see someone hot this time, okay?”

Well, they’re not Abel, so I definitely won’t. Peter wants to scream. Why can’t he stop thinking about Abel for two seconds? Maybe a drink or five would help. It also definitely didn’t help that Abel now attended the Heavenly Choir and they saw each other more than they used to. Maybe Peter’s just a masochist or something. Or he’s starting to fall in love. Which is terrifying in its own right. 

It would be even more terrifying to have Abel confirm he was too. 

“No promises!” he says instead to which she playfully shoves his shoulder with her wing, “I’m serious, Peter!”

He grins at her, “Okay okay, I won’t.”

Emily lets out a giddy squee and flaps her six wings. She’s the sweetest. Peter’s shocked no one has snatched her up into a relationship by this point, but Emily’s also one of the least observant people he knows. If she was being hit on, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell. 

She also looks great tonight. Her shimmery silky dress is one Peter has picked out for her and it hugs her body in all the right areas. It looks almost cloud-like as it flows in the air behind her. She does a little spin around to show off to him, before she then takes his hand and spins him too. 

Peter knows he looks good too, his curls are bouncier than usual and the lethal combo Emily had picked out for him of the sky-blue top and flowy pants sit nicely on him. But this is more Emily’s idea than his and he’s here to support her clubbing and pine after a human marshmallow named Abel who he almost kissed two days ago. 

Oh, and probably guard the door too at some point. 

“Let’s go!”

Emily and Peter arrive at Elysium fairly early, considering how late they usually stay out. The two of them immediately head to the bar, where Emily orders them drinks and then they get to chatting again. The parties in Heaven don’t usually start until later, to be honest, and so more gossiping at the bar top is definitely ideal. 

He’s already a few drinks in when he realizes Emily has turned to talk to someone else and he’s alone. Getting up to find something to do, Peter finds himself on the dance floor, being ground on by a larger angel as they sway back and forth to the music. 

In the dim lights and the glow of alcohol, Peter can almost imagine the guy behind him, grabbing his hips was Abel. If he tilts his head to the left, the guy’s yellow eyes and curly blonde hair fade into Abel’s soft golden and gentle blonde waves. His firm grip becomes Abel’s, the soft breaths against Peter’s neck are whispers of his name in Abel’s baritone and oh, he wants it. 

He wants Abel. Peter wants Abel’s easy smile and soft touches and vanilla scent so badly, it aches between his legs and in his heart. 

“What do you say we get out of here?” grumbles the guy behind him, and Peter breaks out of the fantasy of Abel behind him, holding his hips and dancing with him under the lights. 

This person is nothing like Abel, his hands gripping Peter almost bruising, and his breath hot and unpleasant. His halo isn’t tilted, he doesn’t have the same awkward, quirky smile, and he doesn’t look at Peter like he has more to offer him than just a cheap lay to say he’d slept with the Gatekeeper of Heaven. Peter already knows that if he goes home with this guy, he’ll wake up alone in the morning and aching with the need for someone to just see him, just like any other time. 

He would wake up aching for Abel.

“No thanks!” Peter chirps cheerfully in his face, using a singular motion to break the hold the guy has on him. Drunkenness causes him to pat the baffled angel’s cheek as he continues, “You aren’t who I want! Sorry!”

And with that, he leaves the still bewildered angel behind him, half-flying, half-skipping over to the dance circle where Emily is. Other angels are giving her a very wide berth as she swings a random angel around in a circle in a doosie-doo, with such enthusiasm that it genuinely looks like she might take someone out. When she spots Peter, she lets the poor angel go, sending them swinging into a crowd of onlookers.

“Oh wow! Peter!” She says, grabbing his hands and swinging him around in a circle, “I thought you were gonna go home with that guy, so I found some new friends to dance with!”

“Nah!” he tells her, giddy with pride of his decision not to leave with the other angel as a cheap substitute for Abel and his own drunkenness, “I think I’m in love, Em! I can’t jinx that!”

“What?!”

Peter yelps as the spinning stops abruptly, swinging him into Emily’s side. Their wings tangle together and send them both crashing to the floor, sending a wave of pain up Peter’s shoulder that vanishes immediately, due to Heaven’s rules on pain. Angels all around them gasp loudly, but Peter’s more focused on the fact that he’d definitely just spilled his crush on Abel to Emily. 

“You’re in lo–” He slaps a hand across her mouth, muffling her noise as she tries to finish her sentence. For some reason, uttering his feelings in a dark club feels blasphemous. 

She licks his hand and he screeches, pulling it off and wiping it on his sparkly top. As soon as he’s clean, Emily’s on top of him, her blue eyes wide as saucers. She grabs his shoulders and shakes him, ecstatic, “WHAT!???”

“Em,” he stops her with a hand on her shoulder, “You have to calm down.”

“I am totally and completely calm!” She says, sounding the exact opposite. 

Peter arches a brow at her, “You are not.”

“I AM SOOOOO CALM! Now, who’s the person? Are they a Winner? Heavenborn? I need the deets!”

Peter opens his mouth to begin to tell Emily all about this incredible guy he’d met, all about Abel and his insecurities, about their budding romance that isn’t quite a romance, about his confusing feelings and whether Abel truly liked him back or not. But when he inhales air to begin this long tale of love and romance, the dry air and sweaty smell of the club rush into his lungs and churn his stomach in a way that Peter knows is bad. 

“I’m gonna–” He points towards the bathroom before gathering his wings behind him and flying off towards the bathroom to lose his dinner in one of the toilets. 

Emily lets out a loud, “Are you okay?” behind him, but he’s a little too desperate to catch that. 

Luckily for him, he makes it to the bathroom before any mess can be much too bad. Throwing up is never pleasant, but Peter’s been out enough times to know it was a necessary evil. He steps out of the bathroom stall after flushing the toilet, wiping at his mouth and walking over to the sink, avoiding the group of angels that were leaving the bathroom as he does so. 

His mouth tastes like bile and he leans over the sink, using the water to wash it, closing his eyes as the sweet rush of water hits his mouth. It tastes better than anything. Peter lets out a small sigh and stands up, reaching up to adjust himself in the mirror. His curls are still intact, and his makeup is a bit smeared from sweat, but some well placed smudges make it look almost intentionally that way. He‘s glad that the other angel before hadn’t made him look too rough.

What was I thinking? Peter doesn’t know. He wouldn’t have been able to face Abel if he’d let things go any further, despite them not even truly being romantic with each other. It would have felt like a betrayal. 

He closes his eyes to imagine the look on Abel’s face when Peter told him about this night, the little cute furrow on his brows and the awkward lip bite as he leaned over Peter in concern. His golden eyes soft with worry and his bangs curling around his ears as he smooths Peter’s own curls down. His easy warmth and vanilla smell surrounded him, just like two days ago. 

Eyes flutter open and Peter’s struck dumb by the sight of Abel standing there, in front of him. Something cool presses against his cheek and Peter tilts his head at Abel’s swirling image in the mirror in front of him, something hazy on the edges of his vision. 

“Hey!” Peter says to the image of Abel in the mirror, who offers him a dorky smile back. The reflection of him is so bright and warm, “Hi Peter! What are you up to?”

Peter gestures at the club bathroom, grinning at Abel like a doofus. It’s a little obvious what he’s doing right now, if you ask him, “Oh, I’m clubbing. I’m glad to see you though! Didn’t think you’d wanna come, so I didn’t ask.”

“It’s definitely not my scene,” agrees Abel with laughter in his voice. The sound vibrates in Peter’s ears making him dizzier, “I hope you’re having a wonderful night though.”

“I am! It would be so much better with you here.”

Abel’s reflection hides a giggle behind his hand, and Peter wonders how the sound translates so clearly in his drunken mind, “Oh really?

“Yeah!” Peter slurs, “I danced with a guy earlier and I just wanted him to be you.”

“Really?” The Abel in the mirror sounds concerned, his voice quieter. Peter doesn’t know why. He’s not even here. He frowns at the image of Abel, confused why Abel is confused.

“Mmm-hmmm. I want you so bad sometimes.”

“You–” Abel’s voice sounds choked as he responds. His reflection only tilts his head in that familiar charming wave, a teasing smile on his lips. Weird, “You… want me?”

“All the time,” informs Peter, giggling at the idea that this version of Abel doesn’t know how badly Peter wants him to be his, “I thought you knew!”

There’s a shaky breath before mirror Abel speaks again, “No, no I didn’t.”

Abel’s voice is faint, like he’s about to pass out. His image in the mirror bats his eyelashes at Peter and offers him a sensual wave. Peter waves back at him, gleeful.

“It’s a bit obvious.”

Abel lets out a squeak, “Um… No, it’s not.”

“Oh, well, I want you. I have a crush on you. You’re beautiful. All the things.”

“Peter,” There’s a swallow that’s so loud in Peter’s ear it sends a shiver down his spine, “Where are you right now?”

“Elysium, on Paradise Road. Come and get me..,” Peter wiggles his brows at the mirror Abel, who takes a couple of steps forward towards him but never seems to be getting closer. There’s something cool against his cheek. 

“Where in the bar are you?” asks Abel, his voice steady now. There’s a sound like movement in Peter’s ear, but Abel still isn’t getting any closer. Odd.

“You’re right here with me,” Peter points out practically, gesturing towards the reflection as it offers him a steady blink, “Can’t you just uh– see me?”

“Peter, I–” Abel chokes down another swallow, “I’m coming to get you, okay? Where are you?”

“Hmmm, bathroom,” Peter flutters his lashes at the reflection which shimmers oddly. Something cool in his hand vibrates. Abel’s eyes are so concerned, “Stay there, okay?

“You know, I was just telling Emily how pretty you are.”

There’s another muffled noise from Abel, as if he’s dying or something. The image of him is getting fuzzier and fuzzier as Peter tries to figure out what he’s thinking from his expression. It doesn’t work, “Now you know.”

“Now I know,” Abel almost sounds like he’s smiling as he responds, at least sorta. He also kinda sounds like he’s about to cry, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Peter nods at the reflection, which smiles back at him and slowly stops its advancement. It offers him another wave and steps back into the depths of its reflection wonderland. Peter watches it go, clutching at the cool feeling on his cheek like it’s a lifeline.

“I’ll be waiting.”

He emerges from the bathroom, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. The club is pulsing with people, even more crowded than it had been when he’d gone in. Peter surveys the crowd and spots Emily’s six wings flapping worriedly in the corner. She’s fairly easy to spot, as she’s only of the only Heavenborne angels who really goes out to clubs, liking the “joyful” vibe of them. Most Heavenborne can’t really understand the indulgences of those that were once human, but Emily does. Sort of. 

“There you are!” She says when she spots Peter, waving off the angel she was talking to, “I was getting worried.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t feeling well,” Peter orders them a water with a nod to the bartender. 

Emily tilts her head at him, almost like a confused bird, “So… um, your crush?”

“He’s great. Like the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet. We’ve been friends for a while and a couple of days ago, we ended up in bed together. Just cuddling! But I’m still trying to figure out if he has feelings for me too.”

“Aw!” Emily clasps her hands together, her blue eyes shimmering, “I’m sure he does! You’re wonderful, Peter. I can’t see why anyone wouldn’t.”

There are plenty of people who would not. Peter can even see the bartender try to hide a snort as he hands them their waters. Fury rises and dies in his chest as he takes a sip of his water. It’s not worth causing a scene over, but it hurts to know just how disliked he is. 

“I just want to know how he feels,” Peter says quietly, running a finger along the glass edge, “If he feels the same way.”

“The only way to find out is to ask him.”

That’s very practical of her. It’s very Emily. She makes the most complicated things seem so simple. Peter knows that the easiest way to get this done, is to talk to Abel about it and get his feelings out there in the open. But it’s so easy to convince himself that it’s all in his head, that Abel doesn’t feel that way and all the signs he’s reading are not truly there. 

He’s going to have to pull the bandaid off at some point though. 

“I guess.”

Emily lets out a soft huff and stands up, “Why don’t we go home and watch a musical or something? That always cheers you up.”

She’s truly one of the best friends he has in the world. One of the only ones. Peter feels himself get teary-eyed and downs his water to suppress them, standing up with her and offering her a smile. He decidedly ignores the way the bartender behind them rolls his eyes and gestures at them to someone.

“You know what? Okay.”

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. 

Peter and Emily make their way towards the door, talking. But it’s as they do, that Peter registers that something is following them there. Their steps become increasingly faster, as the presence comes closer and closer until they’re a couple of feet from the door and it makes itself known, in it’s usual… rude fashion.

“Oohhh, well lookey here,” Peter jumps at the nasally tone, turning around just to spot a set of familiar LED eyes and teeth grinning at him. 

He feels Emily step next to him, grabbing his hand as Adam comes out of the dark lights of the club, a full keg of beer in his hands. Besides him is Lute, one of his generals, dressed in her uniform even here in a club. Peter hates to admit it, but they both look good. Lute’s eyeliner is even smudged in a way that totally adds to her badass vibes, and general hotness. 

“If it isn’t Sera’s little sis and her twink friend,” Adam says, tilting his head and leering at them, “Isn’t it past your bedtime, shitheads?”

How in the world is this guy related to Abel, sugar and sweetness incarnate? Peter raises his shoulders and puffs out his chest as Adam and Lute come to a stop in front of him, with twin smirks. Besides him, he can feel Emily start to protest, but he decides to cut in. He’s not going to let Abel’s dad bully him like this, “We’ve been in Heaven for a long time, Adam. We have every right to be here.”

Adam scoffs and sips his beer. Peter wonders in his hazy drunken state how the fuck he drinks with his mask on, “Oh yeah? Does Sera know you’re out?”

Emily glowers at him, “I don’t need her permission to do things, Adam.”

Lute crosses her arms in front of her chest, the motion lethal and elegant, “Sure seems like it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Adam lets out a long-suffering sigh, but the glare on his mask makes him look much much crueler, “It means that I don’t see you out much here, Emily. What the fuck are you doing here?”

There’s no reason for Adam to be escalating anything, other than for pure enjoyment. He must be drunk and wanting to start shit, and from the look of the silence that’s fallen upon the rest of the angels in the bar, it’s working. 

Luckily for her, Peter is just as drunk and reckless as Adam.

“She doesn’t need to tell you shit,” he slurs, pointing a finger at Adam, “Asshole.”

Something flashes behind Adam’s eyes and he lets out a scoff, “You’re one to talk, gay boy. Who the fuck actually wants you here? Does anyone actually like you?”

It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt. Adam is lashing out because he’s drunk and a dick, but fuck, does it hurt. As if Peter didn’t already know that he was the most hated guy in all of Heaven, so much so that people avoid him at all costs and assume what he’s about to say before he says it. As if Adam’s words didn’t cut down deep to the very core of what Peter is most afraid of, that all that work he’d done in the world above to get the job of guarding the gates meant nothing in his afterlife. Because Peter didn’t matter. Because what he died for didn’t matter. Because no one wanted the Gatekeeper around. 

“I can’t believe Abel is related to you,” he snaps and then shuts his mouth so fast that he feels his jaw click. The words hit like Peter just dropped a glass. Even the music seems to cut out.

No one in Heaven ever broaches the topic of Adam’s estranged son to him. Ever. Despite the rumors that fly around the two of them, no one’s brave enough to mention it to Adam’s face. Until Peter and his drunken, flying lips.

Adam’s mask drops in shock before it glitches to cover it up, creasing his jaw into a smirk. He takes a low and intimidating step forward, his wings dragging on the floor and beer sloshing in his glass as he moves forward. There’s something in his gait, in his gaze, that makes Peter take a couple of steps backward, nearly tripping over Emily in his need to escape whatever is burning in Adam’s eyes. He finds himself pressed up against the back wall of the club as Adam crowds over him, his breath hot on Peter’s cheeks as he wriggles around to escape. 

In the corner, he can see Lute holding Emily back, as his friend tries to reach him. 

“Who the fuck are you to talk about my fucking kid?” Adam snaps, “Unless…”

The bar holds its breath. Peter can feel the words growing stale on his tongue, just like the taste of the drink. It’s far too late to take them back though and Adam tilts his head to the side like a wild animal. When he speaks again, it’s with the tone of victory.

“Oh, that’s what this is about,” Adam chuckles, the tone far too light for the viciousness in his words, “Who you were talking about earlier? Do you have a thing for him, twink? You?”

Peter’s face is burning. He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the embarrassment, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s not ashamed of how he feels for Abel, but there’s a difference between knowing his feelings and having them thrown out in the open to an entire bar by Abel’s father simply for the sake of it. 

Despite the mask on his face, Peter can tell Adam’s smile is victorious. He’d come out here to hunt for someone to publicly humiliate and he’d found it. He’d taken Peter’s feelings for Abel and spread them across the floor for everyone to poke at and admire.

“Shut up.”

“Aw, guess I hit a nerve!” mocks Adam, his breath blowing in Peter’s face, “I don’t know how you know my kid, but let me make one fucking thing clear, I highly doubt Abel would give a shit about someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The room goes quiet, anticipating whatever Adam’s about to say. Adam sneers, about to open his mouth and say something impossibly awful when there’s a loud noise of a door opening. The angels in the bar turn towards the entrance of the bar, pulled out of the tension by the newcomer. 

Peter’s heart drops to his stomach at the sight of a very familiar crooked halo. 

“Um–” Abel shuffles towards them, his golden eyes wide as he takes in the sight in front of him. His head is ducked slightly, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the bar until his gaze lands on what is happening around him, “… Dad?”

Adam freezes, letting Peter squeeze out from between the wall and him. His masked face turns towards Abel, the sneer now something between strained and awkward. Peter realizes that it’s the first time he’s seen Abel and Adam in a room together and though he hates to say it, he can see the resemblance between them. Their statures are almost identical, as well as the way they carry their wings. Angels around them seem to clock this as well, as whispers of Abel and Adam’s names begin to build around them.

“Abel,” says Adam, his voice almost vulnerable for a beat before he hardens, “What are you doing here?”

“Peter called me,” Confusion evaporates and something tightens in Abel’s tone, defensive, and he lifts his gaze to meet his father’s. 

I… I did? Peter doesn’t remember calling Abel. There was that drunken conversation he’d had with the dream version of Abel, but… But… Oh, by all the Speaker… 

He’d called Abel. 

Abel knows.

“Oh? Did he?” Adam’s mask darts between the two of them and Peter swallows a large lump in his throat, trying to catch Abel’s gaze or something to apologize for what he’s brought Abel into. But he doesn’t manage to.

Abel’s face hardens and he takes a step forward, spreading his wings to make himself look bigger. One of the nearby angels takes a step back to avoid being hit by the golden feathers, “Dad.”

“Abel,” Adam’s focus is now entirely on his son and Peter can see the nerves on Abel’s face. He put Abel in this situation, he called Abel in a drunken stupor and confessed his stupid feelings and Abel had come flying to his rescue, “Didn’t think you’d finally come out of hiding.”

Abel swallows hard. Peter’s guilt threatens to overcome him. 

“I don’t hide when people need me,” Abel says softly, which makes Adam roll his eyes.

“Bullshit, you’re a fucking pussy. Like always. Makes sense you’d surround yourself with them too,” Adam snorts.

Peter can see Lute smirking in the background, her shoulders shaking as she tries to suppress laughs. Her arm is still wound around Emily’s as his friend tries to fight her way towards him. But she’s never been physically strong, especially when it comes to fighting Lute, who is a trained soldier.

Abel’s nerves seem to melt into fury and he steps forward, jabbing a finger at Adam, “You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

“I can talk about him however I want. You’re not going to do shit about it.”

Peter watches Abel’s jaw twitch and his hands curl into fists, “Why are you like this, Dad?”

Adam tilts his head at his son, “I’m trying to toughen you up, so that you’ll grow a fucking spine.”

“I don’t need to do that,” snaps Abel, “If you would just listen to me–”

“When you can stand up to me, then I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

“Then I don’t have to listen to what you have to say.”

Adam snarls, his wings opening up. But next to Abel, Peter can’t help but notice how unbelievably small he looks. Abel just narrows his eyes and stands up taller, drawing his frame up. In the lights of the club, a fierce expression on his face, he’s never looked more beautiful to Peter. He just keeps getting prettier. 

“You think you’re tough shit now, Abel? You can’t even think about violence without fucking having a panic attack. What are you going to do if someone attacks you, huh, dipshit? What if–” Adam cuts himself off, looking nervous and it clicks for Peter.

Adam is afraid for Abel. That’s what all of this is about. He’s terrified for Abel’s safety, because the last time that Abel had been attacked, well, it hadn’t ended well. Peter’s eyes flicker up to the tilted and bent halo on Abel’s head, glowing softly in the light of the club. And he’s not the only one, as multiple other angels seem to have drawn the same conclusion, their multicolored eyes landing on the visible evidence of Abel’s death marring his body and his connection to his father. 

Adam is still a piece of shit, there’s no doubt about that, but the reasoning why that attitude is extended towards his son makes an uncomfortable pulse of empathy fill Peter’s heart. 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to trust I know what I’m doing,” Abel snaps, not seeming to catch Adam’s fears. His hands clench at his sides, “Now let us leave, Dad.”

“Tch,” Adam seems uncomfortable, probably realizing just how close he’d come to being vulnerable. He steps back, pounding back his beer keg before his glowing LED eyes land back on Lute, “C’mon Danger Tits. These bitches aren’t worth it.”

“Of course, sir!” Lute’s face is smug as she glowers at them as the two of them leave. Peter wishes she wasn’t so hot, because it really makes her personality seem all the worse. 

Abel deflates immediately, turning around to face Emily and Peter. His golden eyes are full of worry and as soon as he makes eye contact with Peter, something shifts. Peter doesn’t know exactly what, but as he and Abel meet eyes in the club for the first time with the knowledge of Peter’s feelings between them, it’s different. He can almost see a realization cross Abel’s face, a shaky breath as he traces the lines of Peter’s body, his wings, his smudged makeup and his face. 

Fuck. 

“So you’re Abel!” Emily chirps, breaking the tension that’s formed between Peter and Abel with a cheery clap, “Nice to meet you! Sorry it was such a… bleh first meeting!”

“Oh, hm yeah,” Peter notices that Abel doesn’t even look at her because he’s too busy looking at him. 

Fuck. 

Peter licks his lips, because they’re dry and Abel’s gaze tracks the motion immediately. His chest shakes with a heavy breath. 

Fuck.

“Um…I think, uh.. I’m gonna head out,” Emily’s voice is distant, “Can you two… uh make it out by yourselves?’

“Yeah,” His voice sounds distant to his ears as he continues to drown in Abel’s honey gaze, “Text me when you make it back?”

“I will!”

Emily squeezes his hand and leaves. Now, just him and Abel, standing in the club entrance. Lights flicker across their faces and Peter wonders if it’s possible for the tension to be any worse. He can taste it and it forces him to swallow hard, as he traces Abel’s face in the darkness. 

“Let’s go outside,” says Abel. 

It’s quiet outside. The two of them sit on the curb of the road together, though why angels have them remains a mystery. They can just fly everywhere, but some people do like having their cars with them. He curls around his knees, tucking his wings into his back and setting his chin on said knees, watching Abel out of the corner of his eye. The other looks more exhausted than usual. His hair is curly in a way Peter didn’t know it could be, like he was asleep and rushed over to see Peter. His golden eyes are fixated on the road in front of him, and he’s playing with his fingers. 

“M’ sorry,” Peter says.

Abel stiffens anyways, but doesn’t respond. 

“I just wanted–”

“Peter,” Abel says quietly, “I do not want to discuss this when you are drunk.”

“But—” Peter’s voice dies in his throat as Abel turns to look at him, tears in his eyes, “I’m serious, Peter.”

“Okay.”

Silence falls between them. Peter wishes he could say something, anything, that would make this awkward tension between them go away. But he can’t. He’s the one that messed this up, he’s the problem. He’s the one who had to develop feelings for Abel despite knowing it was a bad idea and here he is, suffering the consequences of said action. Abel doesn’t feel the same and he had read this all wrong.

“I’ve never been in love,” Abel says, making Peter jump with the suddenness of the speech, pulling all of his attention towards him, “I don’t know what it feels like.”

Peter blinks and opens his mouth, to reassure Abel that it’s alright maybe. That he doesn’t have to know what it feels like. That Peter’s feelings don’t have to be reciprocated if Abel doesn’t want them to be.

“I died before I could really know myself and what I wanted. I’ve been stuck ever since, I think. Or something like that.”

“Oh–” Peter says, but keeps quiet, hoping that Abel will continue on. He does.

“I kinda assumed that in Heaven, those sort of things would never happen to me. I wasn’t important enough for those emotions from someone else. And I was content with that, I was content to never try because I figured someone would look at every broken piece of me and conclude the obvious. That I was weak, that I was a coward. That I couldn’t be more than what I lived as.”

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but before Peter could protest, Abel turns his head towards him and smiles, “And then I met you.”

“And I wanted to try, because when I showed up, it would make you smile. When we hung out, you would look at me like no one ever has before. You made me feel confident, like I could try. Like I was something other than how I died and that I could finally just move forward.”

Peter opens his mouth again but Abel moves, reaching a hand out for Peter to hold. His golden eyes shimmer with emotion as Peter carefully places his in Abel’s, feeling the warmth of Abel’s palm against his own. Their breaths ease quietly and Peter watches as Abel’s face melts with affection as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

Oh. 

“I didn’t realize what I was feeling until tonight, really. When you called me. What you said, it made something click, I guess,” Abel says warmly, “You’re drunk and I’m tired. But– tomorrow.”

“I want to talk about a future with you.”

What. 

Peter’s face turns golden as he stares at Abel’s soft smile. Shock must have rendered all of his reactions slow, because he’s still churning over Abel’s words. The other’s smile is easy and gentle, as he waits patiently for Peter to drunkenly place all of his thoughts together into something comprehensible. The lights around them in Heaven cause a soft blue light to bloom across their shared hands and Peter feels a smile creep across his face as Abel waits for him to respond. 

He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted right here.

“I would love that,” Peter says as a blush forms across Abel’s cheeks, “A future with you.”

“Cool,” says Abel, and immediately cringes to himself, “Sorry, I… I didn’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I… I was terrified you wouldn’t want to.”

“Why?”

Tension causes Peter to grip Abel’s hand harder and he ducks his head down, ashamed, “People don’t like me, Abel. I’m not some… well-liked angel that has everything going on. I’m annoying to other people, they don’t listen to me and they walk across the street just so they don’t have to listen to me. I worked so hard to be the Gatekeeper and no one cares. Literally no one does.”

“Well, I care. And you care,” Peter glances at Abel’s face, as the other sets his other hand on top of their joined ones, “And your friend, Emily, cares. And aren’t we the only ones whose opinions matter?”

Peter stares at him, watching as Abel’s face flickers with warmth in the deep cool of the night and realizes all at once, that Abel’s right. As long as those he loves care about him and what he does… Why does it matter what everyone else thinks? 

Of course, it’s not that easy, and Peter never will assume it will be, but Abel just cuts to the heart of it when it matters and that… that is important. 

“You’re right.”

Abel lets out a soft chuckle, and begins to stand up, pulling Peter with him. He stumbles unsteadily to his feet and almost falls, until something soft curls around his back and shoulders. Golden feathers wrap around him and Peter stares at Abel as the other wraps a wing around him to steady him, his hand still clasped in Peter’s. 

“C’mon,” says Abel softly, “I’ll take you back to my place. It’ll make me feel better.”

“Okay.”

He barely remembers the walk there, content to have Abel’s soft wings and vanilla scent around him as they slowly make their way to Abel’s little cottage home. It probably takes forever, but Peter is so lost in the feel of Abel and the slowly dawning realization that Abel cares for him just as much as he cares for Abel, that the walk seems to only take minutes. 

The last thing Peter remembers is being laid down in a soft bed, Abel’s hand pressing against his bangs, moving the curls gently to the side before something warm presses against his forehead and he breaks apart into the best sleep of his afterlife, curled next to the person he could spend his future with.

[-]

Peter wakes up alone.

He panics, unsure of why or where he is, shoving the covers off of him and scanning the room for Abel’s familiar face. This is definitely Abel’s room he’s in, but the man himself is gone and Peter’s heart fractures into pieces as he realizes that he might have just dreamt all of yesterday. 

What a horrible dream if so. 

Tears bloom in the corners of his eyes as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him. Numbly, he reaches for his phone to check the time and his gaze is immediately drawn to multiple texts from Emily and a couple more from Abel. 

Breath catching in his throat, Peter slides open his phone to read the messages from Abel. 

From: Abel :) 5:27am

• Hey! Sorry I had to leave, a group of sheep got loose and I actually got called in to wrangle them.

• Weird, huh? I actually have to do my job. :D

• Anyways, feel free to just chill at my place until your work starts. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.

• We can talk after you get back from work.  

• I would really like to. <3

Relief threatens to overwhelm him and he lets out a little sob, clutching his phone to his chest. He hadn’t imagined things. Abel still did want him, he wanted to talk, he wanted to work things out and Peter’s struck so badly by relief he has to sink back down onto Abel’s bed, tears blooming in his eyes. 

He has Abel. He’s not alone.

Life is okay. 

Well, life sucks because he has work today and he doesn’t want to go. All he wants to do is talk to Abel, but he can wait. His job is important to Abel and so, Abel’s job is important to him. 

From: Em! 2:50am

• Made it back!

• Your guy is cute <3

• Tell me you guys kissed STOPPPPP

Peter lets out a sharp laugh and texts Emily back, as he maneuvers around Abel’s home, picking himself up as he does so. 

To: Em! 8:21am

• Glad youre okay.

• We didn’t kiss, but we did talk

• … Might have a boyfriend? 

He then sends a text to Abel, after staring at his message for almost 5 minutes before he sends it.

To: Abel :) 8:26am

• Don’t worry about it ;P

• I’ll head back to my place to get changed for work tho

• I’ll see you later

• I want to talk to you too.

He gets to work, tired and emotionally wrung out. Peter honestly doesn’t want to deal with Winners today, but it could turn out to be a slow day and that would be nice. Every inch of his body longs to get back to Abel and Abel’s arms, so he can finally release all of his stored up emotions and kiss that man into oblivion. Maybe more. Who knows?

Giddiness phases into nerves though as his shift continues on and Peter doesn’t get a reply from Abel. He gets one from Emily, claiming that she’s so excited to hear about his relationship and even one from Sera about a meeting later in the day that he’s not excited for. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with Sera, and Adam, if the guy actually shows up to those. Especially not after last night. 

Peter gets a new Winner around noontime and after reassuring them of their life and their entrance into Heaven, he feels just a little better. And then he checks his phone again. No texts from Abel. 

Maybe it was a mistake… 

He doubts it, but still, the thought of Abel pulling away after all of that last night makes tears bloom in his eyes. They threaten to fall, bubbling in his vision before he suddenly hears voices approaching him.

“Hiya! Welcome to Heaven!” Peter says, lifting his head up and trying not to look like he was just on the verge of tears as two women approach him. It’s rare that he has to greet people who arrive in pairs, but it happens. He forces a bit of extra pizzazz into his smile as the two of them size him up. 

He opens his book, wishing to himself he had any other job but this one, “Can I get your name please?”

The first woman, an adorable looking young blonde, steps up to him, her voice light and full of excitement. 

“Oh! Uh— Charlie Morningstar!” She says, waving her hands excitedly. Her partner looks less enthused by the entire thing, which is fair. Peter’s dealt with plenty of people not happy with the fact that they were dead. But, he really does not have the energy for this. Mustering himself up, he begins to scan for the first woman’s name, wondering through his muddled mind why it sounds so… familiar.

“Charlie Morningstar….” Peter rattles off the names of others on the list, trying to find this nice young woman’s name. 

It’s not there. It’s not there. Internally panicking at the idea of someone making it to Heaven who did not deserve to be there, Peter goes for a winning smile, hand twitching towards the panic button underneath his desk. He can fight if need be, but who knows what a potential Sinner was capable of if they managed to get up here. 

He wishes he could have talked to Abel before he dies. Kissed him once. Finally been held and talked to like he mattered. Of course, it's just his luck that the day he finally could talk to Abel about everything, he was going to die.

“Y’know, I’m not seeing you on my list…here. That’s so odd.”

Charlie looks awkward, tapping her fingers together sheepishly. Her partner rolls her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Somehow, she looks astonishingly like Lute when she does that. 

“Uh… my dad got me this meeting so–” 

Peter blinks, remembering Sera having mentioned something about a meeting. Relief floods through him and his hand moves away from the panic button as he says, “Oh! Your dad, okay.”

Charlie shuffles awkwardly before saying “Try… Lucifer… Morningstar…?”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Peter would have to be an idiot to not know that name. 

“Oh fuck!”

Chapter Text

Heaven is in panic. 

Peter should have known that letting in the literal daughter of Lucifer would lead to something catastrophic. He should have known. But Sera had insisted on this meeting, and now Peter’s world has been turned upside down. 

Heaven has been mass-executing Sinners for years. The Angelic Army that they had formed years ago was not for Heaven’s defense but for their offense. 

Heaven has been committing a deliberate genocide. Massacring Sinners without the knowledge of almost anyone except for the exorcists and Sera. 

Charlie and her fallen angel girlfriend, Vaggie, are gone now, and Heaven’s pretty much exploded since then. Adam’s face has been plastered across nearly every billboard in Heaven, quoted as saying, “What’s the big deal?” when accused of said genocide by Charlie Morningstar. Sera had been on the news just as much, as she had apparently known about the entire thing and deliberately covered it up. It explained the meetings with Adam and the presence of the exorcist army as a whole that Emily had mentioned. 

Everyone in Heaven had an opinion, and everyone was prepared to offer said opinion. Peter had seen dozens and dozens of people weigh in with their thoughts already, and the news had only broken two hours ago. The streets were chaotic, and the air was even worse, as people poured into the streets to meet with their friends and talk.

It was a disaster. 

Emily had already called him, sobbing into the phone. She’d been nearly incomprehensible, and Peter had only caught her blubbering about how much she had loved Charlie Morningstar and how furious she was at Sera for hiding something like this from her. Peter had done his best to calm her down, but he didn’t know how much he could offer her except for gentle encouragement from a friend. He’s not a Seraphim and isn’t involved in Heavenly politics; he would have nothing to say to ease her pains. All he can do is listen and hope that’s enough.

He hasn’t been able to get in contact with Abel. 

Peter’s not just worried, he’s frantic. 

It’s not even about their personal drama anymore. Peter’s genuinely worried for Abel’s mental health at the revelation that his father had been killing people. Abel is the first victim of murder and Peter knows better than anyone probably how much that affects him in his daily life.  Not to mention the way Adam is being treated by most of the angelic media. Abel hadn’t been connected to him yet, but it was only a matter of time before Abel began to be accused of knowing what was going on.

He’s Adam’s son, and he had a very public fight with his father just yesterday.

Peter needs to find him before then. He needs to warn him. 

“Peter!” He whips around, spotting a group of angels approaching him as he hovers over the main promenade. Now, he knows just how bad it is, because angels wouldn’t deliberately seek him out unless they were desperate. He blinks  and forces a polite look on his face, just as a lovely pink spider-like winner with large hair gets to him. She clasps her hands together and says, “Sorry, it’s just– We know you saw Adam last night, and we were wondering…”

“I didn’t know,” Peter tells her, watching as she flushes a bit, “About the exorcists.”

She nods emphatically, her eyes wide with fear, “Can… can I ask you to check your book again? For a name?”

“Wh–”

“My twin brother. I’ve never found him here in Heaven, and I’m worried that– that he’s down there and he could be...”

Peter stares at her, eyes wide with shock. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but Winners would have family down in Hell. That could have been subject to the exterminations caused by Adam. Even if their families were in Hell, there was a comfort in knowing that they were likely still around. Now, Winners had no idea if their siblings, parents, and other loved ones were even still alive. 

“Um…” He tries to soothe, “I don’t carry the Book with me. But I can look if you give me the name.”

“Please.”

Peter ends up collecting dozens of names starting with Anthony from the angel named Molly, who thanked him profusely for being so “kind.” She had shaken his hands with all six of hers before flitting away and leaving Peter utterly flabbergasted at the notion that he would be sought out like this to double-check on loved ones’ names. It’s the kind of attention he’d longed for, but to earn it like this… it makes him sick to his stomach. 

His phone buzzes again as he’s collecting more names on a small notepad, and he checks it, only to find that it’s Emily texting him. 

From: Em! 5:20pm

• Sera has been banging on my door for the last hour. 
• I can’t even look at her. 
• I can’t believe she would do this.
• I don’t know what to do.

 

He types up a message back.

To: Em! 5:21pm

• I’m so sorry, Em

• You could come stay at my place

That might not actually be the best idea. Emily and Peter live in the same apartment building close to the center of Heaven, and Sera definitely knows where Peter lives. If Emily left her apartment to go hide in Peter’s, Sera would be able to track her rather easily. 

He doesn’t know how to help her, and it’s killing him.

Peter looks up towards one of the billboards above him, the one that’s making clear just how Adam’s being perceived right now. He’s always been a divisive public figure, and to see his name up on the billboards above, it can’t be good. Abel and his siblings must be losing their minds. 

His phone rings, and Peter immediately picks it up, waiting for Emily’s voice to come through. Instead, he gets someone far worse. 

“Peter?” comes Abel’s voice, his tone wet with unshed tears. Peter almost drops the phone in shock, immediately dropping to the ground to save it and pressing it to his ear. “Abel?”

“I–”

“Oh, Abel,” says Peter softly, wishing he could kiss Abel’s obvious tears away, “You alright?”

“No.”

Abel breathes shakily, and Peter waits for him to continue, “I’m sorry, Peter. I wanted to talk to you about everything from last night, but–”

“No no no,” Peter doesn’t know how he could be thinking about that at a time like this. He loves this man more than anything sometimes, but this takes emotional priority over them immediately, “Don’t worry about it. This is more important. How you are doing is far more important.”

Abel lets out a wet chuckle, “I’m doing bad.”

“I’m sorry, hun,” The pet name just feels right for Abel, someone spun from honey and sweetness and all the best things in life, “I– I know we said we’d talk things over the next time we saw each other. But, I also don’t want you to be alone right now. Do… do you want me to come over?”

There’s a shallow breath on the other side, as Abel considers. Peter crosses his heart and hopes that Abel will say yes. He needs comfort right now, more than anything in the world and Peter longs to be able to give it to him. 

“Yeah, okay,” Abel says quietly, “You can come.”

Relief washes over him at the thought of being able to comfort Abel, to hold him in his arms and make sure he was doing all right. Even just to see him would be a soothing balm on this nightmare of a day and a reminder that they would eventually talk about everything. Abel’s cottage is the perfect place to retreat from this media circus in silence and quietly talk through all of Abel’s thoughts. 

An idea hits him suddenly, and Peter almost drops his phone again at the sheer concept of it. He knows what he can do to help both of his friends. 

“Actually, can… can someone else come too?”

[-]

Abel waits for them outside of his cottage, leaning against what can only be a shepherd’s crook. His bangs are frayed and messy, and dark circles look like horrific bruises underneath his eyes. He’s not smiling, but he does soften as Peter lands next to him and reaches out a hand for Peter to take. Calluses grind against Peter’s smooth palm as he slides his hand into Abel’s and feels the ache of his longing heart be soothed. 

He shouldn’t take comfort in Abel while he’s hurting, but the weight in his hand is a reminder that Abel does feel the same as he does, even in the midst of a crisis. 

“Thank you for letting me stay, Abel,” says Emily as she lands next to them, her face glossy with drying tears, “You’re so kind.”

“I think we’re both in the same boat a little,” Abel replies to her, squeezing Peter’s hand, “It was the least I could do.”

The two of them exchange a small smile that warms Peter’s heart, even in the midst of all this heartache. It’s nice to see them getting along because Peter would love the two people he cares about the most to like each other. Abel lets out a tired sigh and rubs his hand not occupied by Peter against his face, “I didn’t plan on guests tonight, but we should order some dinner or something. I’ve just been eating candy all day…”

“What kind?” Emily asks, because during a crisis, she always has time for sugar.

Abel doesn’t seem to mind answering, “Assorted taffies. I love them, and I needed some comfort.”

“Oh, those are good ones.” 

Peter leans against Abel’s side quietly, hoping to offer him more comfort. His wing tip curls around Abel’s own, and he feels Abel return the touch gently, his feathers ruffled with stress. Emily doesn’t seem to notice their romantic cuddling, too busy taking in the sights of Abel’s cottage and his many sheep to comprehend that Peter and Abel are having a bit of a moment. A moment that has been a long time coming, in Peter’s opinion. 

“Hey, you,” He says quietly, feeling Abel lean against him as they watch Emily brush her fingers against a sheep’s muzzle through the fence.

Abel heaves a heavy sigh, but there’s a faint smile in his tone, “Hey.”

“Feeling better?”

“Not particularly,” Abel replies, “But I think I haven’t really processed this yet.”

“Mhm,” Unsure of what to say, Peter just hums a noise and feels Abel squeeze him tight. 

“We should go inside,” Abel calls to Emily, who spins around from staring at the sheep, “It would be good to talk in there.”

The three of them agree, and that’s how Peter finds himself curled on Abel’s couch, a heavy blanket on his legs and a mug in his hands filled with warm tea. Plastered against his left side is Abel, his wings gently brushing on top of Peter’s and making him blush with their closeness. His hand is clasped in Peter’s and Peter can feel Abel playing with his fingers as they lie together. 

Emily sits on his other side, rubbing at the dry tear trails on her eyes as she inhales her tea, her voice soft, “Thousands of Sinners. Thousands.”

Abel remains silent, his eyes down on the floor. Idly, Peter wonders what is running through his beautiful mind, even as his own feelings bubble up to the surface. Disgust, fear, shame, and shock, along with other mixed emotions, have formed a pit in his stomach so gaping he doesn’t know what could fill it. Regardless of what the Sinners have done, Heaven is supposed to be better. They are the “good” ones who can judge fairly and not play executioner. Obviously, this doesn’t take into account the nuances of such a dilemma; there are so many threads to consider, but nothing can ease the ache in Peter’s chest that holds the knowledge that he’d brushed wings with those who have killed potentially thousands. 

He can’t imagine what Abel is thinking.

“We didn’t know,” Emily says softly, “The entire reason Charlie came up here was to beg us to stop. To show us there was another way to get these Sinners out of Hell. I watched a soul improve. I watched a Sinner try to make good choices after death. How many of those killed were like that? How many could be like that and we never bothered to offer them a chance?”

And how many killed never regretted anything? Peter thinks to himself, curling his arms around his stomach and glancing over at Abel, whose face is unreadable, My murderers are probably down there. 

It hits him in a shaky breath: Cain is down there.

Abel’s older brother, the first son, the first murderer, is likely in Hell. If certain legends were to be believed, that is. He also could be wandering the Earth as an immortal creature, but Peter honestly is more inclined to believe that Cain is down there, especially after the flood.

“Did you know that we do not even know what gets a soul to Heaven?” Emily says suddenly, making both Peter and Abel jump.

Peter stares at her, confused. His duty is to the door, he lets good souls in all the time, but he’s never stopped to consider what they’d done to earn their way to his pearly gates. He just checks to ensure that their name was there and lets them through when it was. Judging from the way that Abel tenses in his hand, he didn’t consider this either. 

“We asked Adam and he said ‘Be selfless, don’t steal and stick it to the man.’” Emily scoffs, “And then the Sinner we were watching proceeded to do every single one of those things.”

“He earned damnation in his life, maybe that… stops things?” Peter tries weakly, “Maybe you’re no longer judged after you die?”

“But why?” asks Emily, her voice insistent, “Why?”

“People change in the afterlife,” Both Emily and Peter glance at Abel, who isn’t meeting their eyes, staring at the floor, “My dad changed.”

Silence falls. Abel’s note has made both Emily and Abel quiet down, realizations dawning upon both of them. If a Sinner could do all of the things that a Winner could in the afterlife, then if a Winner commits the crimes of a Sinner… if redemption was possible, then so was damnation. 

“I’m sorry, Abel. I know this must be hard for you–” Emily tries but Abel interrupts, squeezing Peter’s hand and his wings curling closer to him, “I can’t believe he would do this, but at the same time, it sounds exactly like something he would do. He would agree to this.”

Peter hums and presses his chin into Abel’s shaking shoulder. The hand not occupied by Peter is reaching up, grabbing at Abel’s head and Peter quietly realizes that Abel’s so stressed out that he’s instinctually reacting like he does when he gets a migraine, tugging at his scalp and curling around himself to make himself as small as possible.

“Did he do it for me?”

The thought makes Peter recoil in shock, Abel’s words confusing him. His confrontation with Adam yesterday had led him to believe that Adam did love his son on a certain level, but it doesn’t excuse the way that Adam treated Abel. He doesn’t know where Abel would have gotten the idea that Adam did this all for him from.

Abel’s breaths are coming so fast that Peter is afraid he’s seconds away from a panic attack, “He used to try and protect me up here. He used to tell me that no one would hurt me again. He only started pulling away when I couldn’t be tough enough, when I couldn’t be the son he wanted. The braver son. I couldn’t protect myself, so he tried to protect me.”

“From what?” Peter asks, to which Emily nods, “I don’t think so, Abel. It sounded to me like he just enjoyed the power dynamic. He liked seeing people cower.”

Abel mumbles something and shakes his head, closing his eyes. His hand drops from Peter’s and he tugs his halo down to the top of his head, the bent shape brushing against his curls. Peter, distraught for him, slips a hand around Abel’s shoulders, hugging him as Abel shakes with panic. 

“It doesn’t really matter what Adam was intending. Because my sister approved it,” Emily steers the topic away.

“She told me it was because Hell was going to riot but it’s still wrong. There are so many other ways to solve this than to simply allow the Army to go down there and kill them. We could have worked with Sinners to come up with something else. There are so many other solutions before death has to become one.”

Peter bites his lip and silently massages Abel’s shoulder as the other continues shaking. Really, yeah, Emily is right. Whatever Adam was intending with his exterminations, it was Sera who approved it. Heavenly hierarchy is very strictly abided by and Adam would not have had the authority to make such a decision without Sera’s explicit approval. Sera had known about it and Adam had executed it. They were both responsible. 

“Is redemption one of them?” Peter finds himself asking Emily, “Do you think it could be done?”

Emily shrugs, “The court found that while souls could change in the afterlife, there was no proof that someone could be redeemed.”

“I didn’t ask that, I asked if you thought it could be done,” Peter’s mostly asking to try and make Abel feel better about the whole thing. Maybe if there was no other solution… but it still didn’t really justify it in the slightest. 

“I want to believe it could be,” She says to which Abel shudders and hunches over himself. 

Peter lets out a soft noise and presses his cheek against Abel’s soft blonde hair as the other lets out a wet sob. It’s not really clear why he’s so upset, but he is and Peter will live to comfort him.

Seeming to find comfort in him, Abel takes a deep breath and then asks, “What will happen now?”

“We can’t stop the extermination,” Emily replies quietly, “It’s already been passed. Unless we have direct evidence that proves there is another solution, we can’t call it off.”

Peter cringes. Heaven, unlike Hell, stands for order and not chaos. That means that its internal structure functions very very strictly. Both in its angelic hierarchy, and how it is governed. Once a law is passed, the wording is set almost permanently into the way Heaven proceeds. Changing a law or order is virtually impossible, unless there is direct evidence that contradicts the order. They can not repeal it.

“I’m going to pray to the Speaker, maybe she will intervene,” says Emily, but Peter already knows that she won’t. 

If the Speaker of God  had not stepped in during the exterminations being called in the first place, then it was because it had been deemed not necessary to do so. That was how she worked. She preferred to let angels control their own destinies and didn’t intervene unless it was something that needed her input and guidance. For example, Peter had seen her intervene when a Winner had requested to be sent down to Hell once, to be with their family. That was a long time ago, but it was also the last time she had ever stepped in. 

“Maybe I should talk to my dad, try to get him to back off,” Abel says quietly, “I could reason with him. I don’t want him to kill anyone.”

“I think it’s too late for that. He told Charlie he would come kill her Sinner friends first.”

Abel sighs and runs a hand down his face, stretching his cheeks down. Peter watches him, worry flooding his body as Abel again tries and fails to hide the shaking in his voice.

“What happened to him?” He asks quietly, “What happened to my dad to make him like this? I don’t understand.”

His face falls into his hands as he buries himself there, his shoulders shaking with grief and pain. Peter swallows hard and feels himself turn to look at the photos on Abel’s wall, the one in the middle standing out to him. Abel, with a shy smile, squashed against Adam’s chest. The older man is grinning, smirking as he holds Abel close, some form of care in his eyes as Abel returns his look. They look happy, they look like father and son. 

Contrasting that to the way Abel is right now is horrible. 

“I’m really sorry, Abel. I’m so sorry,” Emily says quietly, standing up to plop herself down at Abel’s side. Peter watches as she matches Peter’s energy, placing her arms around Abel’s sides.

Abel sniffles, “It’s not your fault, Emily. It’s not.”

Peter gets the horrible impression that Abel is still blaming himself for this somehow. He sighs and adds, “It’s not your fault either, hun. You know? Your dad’s decisions aren’t yours. You are not responsible for him.”

“I know but it feels like I might be.”

Emily snorts, “I know we just met, Abel, but you seem like a sweet guy. It’s not your fault. It’s Sera’s and Adam’s for inciting this and not looking for other solutions. For not choosing diplomacy. We might not have the entire story, but the blame only lies with those who did not inform others and allow for other inputs.”

“Right,” Abel runs a hand over his face, sitting up straighter and offering them each a small smile, “You both are right.”

“We need to do everything we can to stop this,” Emily says to them to which they both nod. 

Peter senses the topic has dried up. That Abel and Emily are going through too many emotions right now to fully express all of them. They’re all wrung out and emotionally fried after all of this and he needs to do something to elevate the pressure in the air, to calm everyone down. 

“We can discuss that in the morning,” Peter says quietly, “We need some time to think on things and organize our thoughts. We can go to bed and come back in the morning with some ideas.”

That seems to settle things between the two of them. Abel lets out a tired sigh and stands up, showing Emily to his guest bedroom to which she accepts with a smile. Once she’s gone and settled, then Abel comes back, blinking tiredly at Peter who remained in the living room. He looks rough, tear stained cheeks and messy hair and dark circles under his eyes, but he still looks like the beautiful Abel Peter loves. 

It’s the first time they’re alone since Peter’s confession. 

“I’m sorry,” Abel says quietly, “I wanted to talk about us. But this—“

“It’s okay, Abel. I understand.”

“But, I want to talk to you,” His hands reach out to rub at his eyes, his voice shaking, “About our future, about—“

“I want you,” Peter flushes so much as he says it, but he has to say it. Abel can’t leave his sight without him knowing this critical information, “Nothing is going to change that.”

Abel blushes as well, but his hands drop to his sides and he just winds them together nervously, fiddling with his fingers, “I feel the same.”

“Then that’s all we need to say,” Peter feels weightless, like he’s floating away, “I don’t want to push you any more when you’re already emotional.”

Abel lets out a shaky laugh and Peter observes him for a moment. He’s standing in the dim light of the hallway, looking at Peter on the couch. His halo illuminates the dark circles on his eyes and he offers Peter a small smile as they lock eyes. Peter watches slowly as Abel dissects him, his golden eyes dragging along his frame. 

“You’re the calm in this storm, Peter. I might not know anything anymore, about my dad, Heaven, or anything. But I know I care about you.”

Peter blinks slowly, curling up his legs on the couch as Abel approaches him, his wings dragging on the floor behind him. A golden flush is making its way up his ears and down his neck and Peter is once again struck with the intrusive thought of wanting to run his tongue against Abel’s neck, just to watch him shiver. 

He watches mesmerized as Abel sits down on the couch next to him, tapping his golden wings against Peter’s sides. The entire couch seems to be swaying underneath him, and Peter watches in awe as Abel stares into his eyes, tension taut between them. He’s beautiful, he’s curvy and soft under his clothes and so much larger than him in a way that makes him hot with anticipation. 

“Can I—” Abel leans forward, as polite as ever and Peter rushes to get the words out, “Yes.”

He doesn’t know how golden his face must be right now, but it’s got to be bad. Warm vanilla wafts in the air around him as Abel approaches him, his face flushed and golden as he comes slowly… slowly…. Then all at once, his lips crash into Peter’s. 

Abel’s kissing him. Abel is kissing him. Abel is kissing him.

Peter lets out a heavy gasp into Abel’s mouth, hand scrabbling at the back of the other’s neck for purchase as it dawns on him (despite him agreeing to it) that there are lips on his. But before he can fully return Abel’s kiss, the other pulls away, eyes blown wide in fear as he retreats as quickly as he came. Peter lets out a desperate noise, trying to tug Abel back in so he can kiss him back, but Abel resists, shaking his head, “I–I…”

“I’m sorry, maybe this isn’t the time. I know I just said that I wanted to but…”

“Stop,” Peter leans forward, pressing his forehead to Abel’s and settling his elbows across Abel’s shoulders. Their hair brushes together gently and Peter can feel Abel’s panting breaths ghosting across his lips. He feels Abel’s hands glide and settle on his hips with a shyness that suits him as they stare at each other, tangled, “It’s the right time.”

Abel’s eyes glimmer and a dorky smile forms on his face, “Okay.”

Laughter is bubbling in his throat as he moves a hand back away from Abel’s shoulder to his cheek. He watches with fascination as Abel tilts his head into the touch, golden flush lining his cheeks as he takes in Peter’s actions, letting him lead. 

“I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t want to force you if you weren’t ready.” Running a thumb along Abel’s cheek, Peter contemplates the softness of skin. 

He’s sure he’s grinning like an idiot. The flush on Abel’s cheeks darkens more, “You wanted me to…”

“Abel, I will lead if you want me to,” Those familiar golden eyes snap back to Peter’s face, softening as soon as they make eye contact again. Peter doesn’t know what the look on his face is like, but he assumes it’s just as soft as he feels as he watches Abel lean in closer to him, his vanilla scent washing over him.

“I can show you–”

He doesn’t even finish his sentence before they’re kissing again. Abel breathes into his mouth in a little contented sigh, and the weight of him forces Peter back into the couch, his wings splayed across the cushions. Abel is everywhere, his warmth, his smell, his lips, he’s all over Peter, and giddiness blooms in his chest as he gently tilts his head to find a new angle to breathe it all in. 

Abel reciprocates, following along with Peter’s motions as he works his way into tasting every inch of Peter’s lips. A particularly hard suck causes Peter’s mouth to fly open, and Abel wastes no time with his tongue, slipping inside with barely a sound. Peter is sure he’s letting out a plethora of embarrassing noises, but he can’t bring himself to care when it’s Abel that will hear them. 

He whines when Abel pulls away though, panting. Trying to use his hands to bring Abel back, the other merely smiles at him and presses a firm kiss to his lips again, letting Peter tangle his hands in his hair as he pulls back again, letting their foreheads rest against each other. 

“Hmmm,” Peter says slowly, feeling his voice already becoming husky, “We can do more.”

Abel blinks at him, before he lets out a soft laugh, his lips swollen, “Okay, Peter. But not tonight.”

“Not tonight?” Peter asks him, just as Abel kisses him again. Caught in the excitement of that, Peter falls silent as he lets Abel press against him, pinning him to the cushions as he pulls Abel closer via his hair. 

Abel parts again, his breath fanning over Peter’s face, “You told me once, that the people you’ve been with just slept with you to say they did.”

A churning, sick, feeling forms in Peter’s gut as he slowly nods, unsure why Abel is bringing this up now when he’s pinning Peter to the couch and his lips are swollen with Peter’s kisses and spit. But his fears don’t match the way Abel is looking at him, drunk on affection and flushed with lust.

“I don’t want to be that person,” Abel breathes, “I want to cherish you.”

Peter lets out a soft noise of surprise, feeling himself grow warmer. Abel reaches up and moves one of Peter’s curls, tucking the lock behind Peter’s ear, “I want to take my time, you know? I also… um haven’t done very much so… I need to figure that out.”

Abel not having done much makes sense for him, considering his hermetic tendencies and premature death.  But Peter flushes so hard, he’s pretty sure he’s glowing by this point. It wouldn’t surprise him if he was honest, angels do glow. 

“I could help,” He says, “Honest.”

Abel laughs, “I don’t doubt it, Peter. I really haven’t done much.”

“That’s okay,” Peter informs him, “I don’t mind helping you out.”

“I don’t want to be unable to satisfy you.”

“You won’t be,” Peter says with a grin, feeling himself twitch at the thought of Abel satisfying him, “Absolutely not.”

“Still, I worry,” Abel says, rubbing a hand over Peter’s cheek. Peter lifts a hand to catch Abel’s, leaning into the contact. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Peter tells him, watching as the furrows in Abel’s brow ease, “Just the two of us.”

“Just the two of us.”

Peter lets out a groan as Abel kisses him again, this time puckering his lips over and over again. Every time Abel tries to pull away from him, to catch his breath or something, Peter tugs him back in, gently yanking him back via his blonde locks. Time loses all meaning in Abel’s lips, all Peter knows is he wants this to go on and on and on.

The sharp scrape of Abel’s teeth against his own draws him back into the moment, and Peter lets out a soft noise. He pulls away after a moment, feeling Abel’s breath fan against his face before he opens his eyes into Abel’s.

“If you keep doing this, we’re not going to be able to take it slow,” He squirms slightly under Abel’s weight, giggling to himself as Abel sheepishly looks away, “I’m going to want to have you all over me.”

“We should go to bed then.”

“Are you inviting me to sleep with you?” Peter nearly wheezes as Abel sputters at him, as if he’s not flushed with Peter’s kisses and currently pinning him to the couch, “Scandlous!”

“You know what I mean,” Abel says, with a halfhearted glare, “You can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No! I’m coming.” Peter says to which Abel arches a brow and replies, “We’re saving that for later, right?”

He looks absolutely mortified as soon as the words leave his mouth but Peter lets out a sharp laugh of surprise at the dirty joke. It sounds like something Abel had picked up from his father or something, but it somehow works and Peter is thrilled that Abel is capable of making a joke like that.

“Sorry…” Abel says, pulling himself off of Peter and sitting back on his haunches, “It seemed funny at the moment.”

“It was funny,” Peter says, lifting himself up and wiping spit off his lips, “You’re adorable, hun.”

Abel tilts his head at him, and replies easily to Peter’s sheer delight, “You’re beautiful. Now let’s go.”

Something stirs in his gut and Peter lets out a pained yelp as Abel leaves him, the rush of cool air leaving him cold and aching. He watches Abel’s retreating back as the other angel limps away towards his bathroom and can’t resist the little smirk that tugs at his lips. Seems he wasn’t the only one hot and bothered by their makeout. 

Shifting up and stretching out his muscles, Peter wanders after Abel, crossing into his bedroom with a soft thud of his feet. Guessing Abel will be occupied with himself for a bit, Peter scouts out Abel’s closet for a change of clothes, since he’d rushed over here without thinking about what he was going to wear to bed. Abel’s soft shirts and sweats are all much too big on him, but that’s really what makes them all seem so appealing to him. He can smother himself in Abel’s scent and clothes to sleep. 

Peter selects a soft blue t-shirt and a pair of sweat shorts that show off his legs (just to be a bit of tease), and tightens them with the drawstring. He’s standing in front of the mirror admiring himself and combing out his coiffed curls that had already been messed up by Abel when he feels something warm curl around his waist and a sharp chin settle into his shoulder. 

“Abel,” He says, glancing in the mirror to meet Abel’s soft golden eyes as he curls around him, “You alright?”

“I’m okay,” Abel kisses his neck and makes Peter soften immediately, turning to press his lips to Abel’s head, right where he’d been smashed by the rock.

Abel shivers in shock but doesn’t pull away, “You look nice.”

“They’re your clothes.”

“That’s why you look nice,” Another kiss is pressed against his neck, “I needed this.”

“You needed this?” Peter questions but Abel is already replying, rubbing circles into Peter’s hip, “Some happiness. This is so messed up, and you just make it better.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Abel lets out a soft sigh, “You help more than you know.”

“Still, I’m glad,” Peter knocks a hand against the one Abel has on his waist, “We should sleep.”

“Okay.”

Abel’s bed is incredibly soft, as if it’s compensating for the fact that it only has one pillow. Abel seems embarrassed about the whole thing, flushing hard as he could as he pulls the covers aside for the two of them. Peter doesn’t mind though, he can just use Abel for a pillow and that would be good enough for him. 

Peter curls up next to Abel’s side as they clamber into bed together, closing his eyes as Abel adjusts quietly. He feels Abel’s arms carefully wind around him, and feels a smile curl on his face as Abel moves him around, until they’re tangled together. Peter’s face is tucked against Abel’s shoulder and Abel’s arms have settled on his waist. He has one leg hooked around Abel’s and he can feel Abel’s breaths stir his hair as he carefully adjusts to be a bit more comfortable.

“Abel?” He mumbles, feeling drowsiness settle upon him. 

There’s a soft noise and a press of Abel’s lips on his ear, “Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry for everything,” Peter says, “But I’m not sorry about this.”

Abel’s chest shudders quietly and Peter almost doesn’t hear his reply. 

“Thank you.”

And Peter lets himself fall into dreamland, curled up with the man of his dreams and with the comforting knowledge that despite the world crumbling around them, he might just have Abel to himself.

[-]

The next month before the extermination is simultaneously the best and worst one of Peter’s life. With the exterminations being public knowledge, Winners have been debating constantly about the validity of the solution, all the while Adam and Lute have doubled down on their opinion. Peter hasn’t spoken to either of them since that night in the bar, but the way that angels give them both a wide berth shows how most of Heaven feels about their choices.

Adam seems to have felt cornered by the Heavenly public opinion polls though since he’s been texting and trying to reach out to Abel throughout the month. It’s only a matter of time before he tries to come talk to Abel in person and Peter is pretty sure that will not go well. Abel’s grief over his dad’s choices has shifted to fury. He nearly spits fire when his father is mentioned and he’d even gone back into the recording studio to work through things in the way that he knows best. 

As concerned as Peter is, it’s fascinating to watch him work on his music. 

Abel’s truly in his element there. 

In terms of his relationship with Abel, things have been going wonderfully and that’s honestly why Peter’s been so conflicted about the month as a whole. Giddiness and fear live in a constant influx in his life. While it seems like Heaven has turned to Hell around them, he and Abel have been making steady progress in their relationship. They go on dates, cuddle together and talk long hours into the night. They’ve progressed from heavy makeouts to the occasional grinding, to that one time Peter wrangled Abel into letting him give him a blowjob in the studio after watching Abel scream into a microphone for almost 3 hours. Peter still hasn’t said the big three words, but he’s comfortable where he’s at, and Abel seems to be too. 

There had been one hiccup but that was mostly because Abel had had to explain that he didn’t do well with people climbing on top of him when Peter had tried it. 

“That’s how I died,” Abel had said, eyes wet, “Cain crawled on top of me and smashed my face in.”

Needless to say, Peter hadn’t tried that again. He gets it. If Abel had tried to pin him by his hands or feet unprompted, he would have lost his shit. Maybe he could be convinced if it was for sexy Abel reasons… But still…

That’s what you get for your death being via crucifixion. 

Abel had also expressed concern about his weight being an issue for Peter. He is a large guy, with soft curves that spoke to his multiple lifetimes of luxury since his death and eating well in Heaven. He’d never been able to put the weight off that he’d gained from his first couple years in Heaven indulging in endless food for the first time, and it was clear it bothered him to a degree. 

Not that Peter cared. He was lovely the way he was, soft and huggable. He’d traced the lines of Abel’s body endlessly while he slept and was convinced that he would never look anything more than perfect. 

They were doing well, communicating and taking things slowly. It was everything that Peter had wanted in a steady relationship, one that for the first time he felt worthy of being a part of.  He wasn’t just a guy for Abel to fuck and throw to the side. He was someone. He was cherished, as Abel put it. 

If only the world around them had gotten the clue that things were supposed to be happy. 

When it wasn’t just the two of them, Heaven was shit. Hours had been spent in Emily’s office between Peter, Abel and her, trying to brainstorm solutions to help Charlie Morningstar prove her point, but to no avail. None of them had any fundamental understanding of Hell to be able to come to any conclusions. Peter had spent hours pouring over books theorizing about the structure of Hell, and how the power systems worked, but to no avail. For all the brilliant minds up in Heaven, not very many had tried to dissect and understand its darker counterpart. 

Without an understanding of how Hell worked, the three of them were at a stalemate. They couldn’t go down there because it was likely any Sinner would attack them on sight and they couldn’t summon a Sinner here because that would be a violation of the rules of Heaven, which were clear in the fact that Winners and Sinners could not mix under any circumstances.

Emily and Abel had both tried to protest to Sera that they theoretically could violate those rules, being that Emily was a Seraphim and Abel through his sheer number of years in Heaven was an Archangel (Hot, but also just like his dad), but she had refused to listen to them. 

“Until there is direct evidence that Sinners can be redeemed, the extermination proceeds.”

And so it went. Emily, Abel and Peter trying to find solutions to stop the extermination while all of Heaven waits in anticipation for the next one, wondering what could be done. Or even worse silently supporting Adam. 

On the day of the extermination, Abel, Peter and Emily watch from Emily’s balcony as the angelic army launches up into the sky. They probably used to do it under the cover of darkness, but now that all of Heaven knows what they are doing, there is no need to hide it. The portal to Hell opens above the Army Headquarters, and Peter feels sick knowing that the Army that they had been told was to be used only for defense was now used for something much worse. Abel silently takes his hand as they watch, his golden eyes trained on the largest figure in dark blue and gold hovering above the throngs of Exorcists. 

“Dad…”

Emily swallows hard and wipes her tears off on her hand, her blue eyes shimmering. 

“I wish we could… do something.”

But they can’t. Not without evidence. 

Abel lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders shifting as the last of them disappears into the portal. Silence falls amongst their group. Peter watches Abel out of the corner of his eye, longing to kiss the worried scrunch between his eyebrows away. 

“Now, we wait.”

Peter has to go to work, and Emily has to have another argument with Sera, which means neither of them are with Abel when the news breaks hours later.

Adam is dead.

[-]

The garden is quiet. 

That’s the first thing that Peter notices when he enters it, the soft bubbling of the stream and the sweet smell of flowers. Birds chirp around him and the rustling of little paws in the grass means that the garden is full of animals, filled to the brim. Fruit trees line the garden, apples, peaches and cherries at full blossom. It’s the ideal place to live. It’s Paradise on Earth.

It had taken a couple of hours but this is where Peter had tracked Abel down to. His uh… significant partner? (they have not labeled themselves officially yet) has completely shut down his phone, and refused to pick up. Understandably so. 

His father is dead.

Regardless of any feelings or animosity that Abel and Adam had, Adam is Abel’s father. Adam has been a part of Abel’s life for 10,000 years, since the beginning of creation. Peter also knows that despite Abel’s anger towards his father for the last month, he loved him. Abel loved Adam and admired him, in a way only a son would love and admire their father. 

And it’s all gone before Abel could ever express to his father that he felt bad for the way they had fought. 

Peter crosses the grassy plain, avoiding the flowers of this perfect Paradise until he finds a familiar form curled up amongst them. Golden wings are coiled around Abel’s head and he’s shaking quietly, small sobs cascading from his lips. Peter’s heart quietly shatters and he lets himself fall still, waiting for Abel’s approval to approach before he does so. 

He doesn’t wait long before Abel speaks. 

“This is where I was supposed to grow up.” 

Peter glances around at the garden, before asking, “Is this Eden?”

“No, it’s a replica. But— it was my dad’s favorite place in Heaven. He used to take me here, and he would put his arms around me and just hold me and tell me stories. I don’t think he ever wanted to let me go.”

“Oh,” Peter swallows and looks down at Abel, curled in a ball on the floor of the garden, his wings tucked around himself, “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not even close to the real thing,” Abel murmurs, “Dad used to complain how much it lacked compared to the real Eden. He would call it—“ His voice hitches into a sob and Peter shatters along with him. 

“He would call it fucking shoddy.”

“Sounds like him,” Peter says softly, “Can I—?”

Abel shifts quietly and opens one wing, an offer for Peter to join him amongst the flowers. Delicately, Peter moves and sits next to him, and Abel tucks his wing around him, his feathers softly brushing against Peter’s sides. Peter quietly sets his hand on Abel’s shoulder and watches as Abel tries and fails to hold back his tears. 

“When I was a kid, I would get scared of everything,” Abel says quietly, “The storms, the skies, the wild, everything. I would get overstimulated and overwhelmed and I couldn’t be around anyone or anything. I would go hide in our shelter and cry until I couldn’t anymore. And my mom, she would try and help, but the best person for me to go to would be my dad.”

“He would come into the shelter and I would tell him what scared me and he would make up some story about how he would beat that thing into submission. The sky, the woods, the sea, he would beat them all for me.”

“And it was so stupid. But I loved it. I loved the way he could be brave for the both of us. I loved hearing him tell me he would do anything for me.”

“I wish he would tell me that again.”

“I wish the last thing I said to him wasn’t horrible.”

He breaks down into tears and all Peter can do is hold him, gripping onto Abel’s hand like there’s nothing else to anchor him. He buries his face in Abel’s hair and lets him sob his little heart out. He needs it, more than anyone.

Grief is a thing that will never end. Peter mourns those he’d left behind in his life with a force that he could never replicate. He’d never been able to find them in Heaven, and some form of that grief had stuck with him, even if he can only faintly remember them now. Having Adam, Abel was probably able to hold onto more of his memories with his father, but it likely wasn’t easy. 10,000 years of experience would render anyone’s memory faulty. 

“Lute is swearing revenge,” says Abel, his voice wet and teary, “That we should kill them all. That they’re just Sinners and they’re scum and we need to kill them all.”

Peter lets out a soft noise of acknowledgement before he says, “What do you think?”

“I think—“

Abel’s other hand crushes some of the flowers beneath him, before he says, “I think, where does it end?”

“If we go down and execute the Sinners who were defending their home from my father, whose to say that the next time we go down there, they won’t take revenge against us? When will the violence end?”

He would know better than anyone about how heightened emotion drove those that wouldn’t kill to kill. Peter just nods and says, “It won’t.”

“No, it won’t. But—“

“I want them to pay,” Abel sniffles, “He’s my dad. Even if he kinda sucked sometimes, he’s still my dad. They killed him, but it was because he hurt them first. He killed thousands of Sinners, what right do I have to demand retribution?”

“You have every right to do so if that’s what you want,” Peter comforts quietly, trying his best to make sure Abel is voicing his wants and needs. But he guesses that Abel won’t want to swear revenge. That’s not in his nature. 

He’s proven correct seconds later.

Abel shakes his head, “I don’t want that. It’s only going to make things worse. Revenge won’t do anything, if I’ve learned anything it’s that. It won’t make me feel better and it won’t bring Dad back.”

“But it still hurts,” Peter concludes and Abel nods, running his fingers along a nearby flower, “It hurts so much.”

The garden continues to whirr with activity and Peter wonders idly to himself that if this was meant to be a replica of Eden, then Eden must have been the most beautiful place in the world. He couldn’t see how someone like Adam would have thrived there, but he only knew Adam once he was in Heaven and not when he was mortal like Abel did. He wouldn’t know.

Peter lets out a soft sigh, massaging the other’s shoulder and leans against Abel’s sturdy frame. He feels Abel relax underneath him, despite everything. 

The fact that he trusts him to be there for him like this, it warms Peter’s heart. 

Not-Eden is peaceful and the two of them fall silent, mourning. Abel cries silently, tears slipping down his cheeks as he tries to contain himself and fails over and over again. Peter just watches quietly, brushing his wings against Abel’s as they sit together. 

Hours pass by. 

Abel suddenly lets out a huge sigh, inhaling his tears and rubbing a wrist across his face. He lets out a watery sniffle and turns to look at Peter, “Thanks. For being with me.”

“Of course,” Peter leans down to kiss Abel’s head, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, my dad brought this upon himself.”

He’s not…wrong. Adam definitely brought his own death on himself. But Peter knows better than to agree with Abel at this moment, just letting out a soft noise of affection. 

“The funeral is soon,” Abel says, “They couldn’t even recover his body. But I’m going to go. If you’d like to come.”

“Of course.”

Silence falls.

“I miss my mom,” Abel says quietly and Peter’s heart shatters into a million pieces, “I miss my mom, Peter.”

He’s never mentioned Eve before, in the same way that he’s never mentioned Cain. But at least with Cain, Peter has an idea of what had happened to him, due to his murder of Abel. Eve is an enigma that he only knows a bit about through rumors and speculation. The biggest rumor being that if Adam was in Heaven, then where was Eve? If one of the people who committed the original sin was in Heaven, then why weren’t they both?

But Peter has a sneaking suspicion that Eve’s fate was something more than just the same as Adam’s. It was something deeper. Darker. 

“I understand,” he says quietly as Abel sobs, “I um… I really do.”

“I don’t remember what she looks like,” Abel shudders in his arms, “I don’t remember.”

Memory is a fickle thing. Peter understands this all too well. His family, the people he loved back on Earth have become blurs of color in his own memory, the saturated colors and sugar of Heaven taking over as time went on. He’d never been able to find his loved ones in Heaven, in the early days, and as thousands of years brushed by, he no longer could recall them. Certain memories of Earth, the bad parts, stuck with him for years and he can still recall the pain and the heartache. But the love, the light of Earth, has faded into nothing. 

It’s something that would truly be devastating if Peter allowed himself to think about it any longer than 3 minutes. But if there’s one thing he’s learned from being in Heaven so long, it’s that to let yourself linger on the past, on your life, is to drive yourself insane. 

Abel had done that, and although he’s getting better, his reclusive habits were simply hard to break after 10,000 years of tracing them over and over. At a certain point, rivers of habit have no where else to go but on their designated path. Eroding a new one takes a marked effort on the part of the angel.

Peter likes to think his love is doing better though. 

Back to said love now.

“Do you still love her?” Peter asks, gently smoothing down some of the waves in Abel’s hair. 

“Of course, I do.”

“Then you still remember her.”

Abel lets out a soft whimper, as if the thought had never occurred to him before. Peter lets out a soft noise of sympathy and leans down to kiss Abel’s head, the soft waves familiar after their month of being together. Their halos gently clink together.

“Abel,” Peter says quietly, which makes Abel turn his head to stare at him. 

Dried tears are plastered across his cheeks, his dark circles even deeper around his eyes, his golden eyes are filled with sorrow and his hair remains plastered to his cheeks, unending sobs etched across his features. He’s still the most beautiful person in the world. 

“I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

And Abel smiles. It’s small and thin, but it’s there. In the peace of Not-Eden, in Peter’s arms, despite the devastation that’s been wrecked across Abel, he’s able to smile. 

“I know, Peter. Thank you.”

I love you. Peter almost says, the words hitching in his throat and becoming lodged there, I love you, Abel. I love you. I’m so sorry. I love you.

He doesn’t say them though. It feels wrong to do it now. He can wait. 

[-]

It’s clear that Heaven has no idea how to hold a funeral from the very second Peter walks into the small church. 

They’ve never had to do a funeral before, because death is only a memory for the Winners and Heavenborne do not understand the terror that comes with dying. Death is not a peaceful thing, for anyone. But the Heavenborne see it as a way for Winners to come to them, to live out their lives in Heaven. Therefore, Adam’s funeral is absolutely covered in glitter, cotton candy and teddy bears, almost like a twisted celebration rather than a somber event. 

It’s wildly inappropriate and honestly, the funniest thing Peter’s ever seen. If Adam was here, he’d hate it.

Abel is sitting in the midst of it, holding something in his hands and staring down at them. He looks better, but he’s dressed in a version of his marching band uniform that is only black that Peter’s never seen before. His wings are tucked to his sides and shaking slightly. He’s also the only one here.

Guess not a lot of people wanted to publicly mourn for an active genocide committer. 

Peter’s faintly surprised that Lute isn’t here. She’s been publicly raging for the past two weeks since Adam died, drinking in broad daylight, screaming at anyone who would listen and smashing her way through the halls. She’s being avoided more than he is at the moment, which is really something to be said. The only thing that has stopped her from going back to Hell and murdering everyone in her vicinity is Sera’s order and the fact that Heaven will hold an emergency meeting in one week to discuss everything that happened during the events of the last extermination. Most people are under the impression that Lute is only maintaining any sense of sanity because she is simply sitting on the fact that she’s likely to be named Adam’s replacement, and then can publicly sign an order declaring war on Hell. The idea of her in power is absolutely terrifying, especially with how she’s been conducting herself publicly for the last week. 

War is coming, and everyone knows it. 

The sugary sweet scent of Heaven feels putrid in his lungs. 

Abel hasn’t noticed any of that though. He’s simply in mourning, and Peter has done his best to be respectful of his grief. He’s been doing better though, which is more than he could say for Adam’s definitely-not-in-love-with-him lieutenant. 

“I thought you’d be here,” Peter approaches Abel’s side, trying to be cheeky, “You okay?”

Abel doesn’t respond, merely drumming a pattern on his father’s exorcist helmet, which Peter can now see is in his lap. His motions get faster and faster and Peter, worried, places a hand on top of his to fully get his attention. 

Abel turns to look at him and it takes that one look for Peter to confirm. “You’re not okay. Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Peter just wraps his wing around him and lets Abel cry again. It’s been like this for a while, as fresh waves of grief seem to move through Abel’s mind as he loses his father over and over again. The least Peter can do for him is support him unconditionally and so that’s what he’s been doing. Simply loving Abel as the other processes. 

With deft fingers, he silently cards through Abel’s golden locks, feeling the other relax quietly and stop drumming on his father’s helmet. 

The silence is long, but Peter knows he has to be the one to break it. Abel will go nonverbal for hours without prompting and as much as Peter would love to allow him that peace, the world might not. He might need to pull himself up by his cowboy boots if someone else comes in to offer condolences. 

“Emily wanted to come find you, but– I didn’t think that was a good idea. These Heavenborne folks, they don’t really get it the way you and I do. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t help.”

Peter watches as Abel shakes his head, not looking at him, “The last thing that we did was fight.”

“I know,” Peter replies. He was there for that. 

Still, he wipes Abel’s tears with his sleeve. His love shoots him a grateful look that renders him into a wreck. 

“It wasn’t even something important. He’d just been changing so much, and I didn’t understand why. Guess, I know now.” 

Abel’s voice shakes as he continues,“I don’t know what I am supposed to do without him.”

Peter nods in sympathy, despite having heard all of this before. He knows that Abel hates how wrecked he's been since his father’s death, wondering out loud in their bedroom at night if he was worth all of this emotional toil that he was just throwing onto Peter. He’s cried alone hundreds of times because he doesn’t want to burden Peter with more of his emotions. 

Peter has tried to drill it into his head that he would gladly take any emotional weight for him. That the ache in his heart is that of love and he would gladly bear it just to see Abel find comfort in him. He would do it a thousand times over and in a thousand lifetimes again. 

But Abel’s self-hate runs deep and he cannot seem to understand that.

Peter wishes he could do something to help more. To convince Abel that it was okay to grieve and it was okay to offer Peter his feelings, because he would only hold them with the gentlest of touches. 

A noise from the doorway causes both Peter and Abel to pull themselves out of their cuddling and look over, just as a small cherub enters the room, clutching a scroll in their hands.

“Abel!” They call, fluttering over to the two of them and almost ignorant to Abel’s tears, drop the scroll into his lap. 

Abel blinks, surprised before squinting up at the cherub through his crusty, teary eyes. They don’t seem to care, offering Peter and Abel a nod before darting out of the room, faster than any cherub would. Guess Peter was right about most not wanting to associate with a dead guy like Adam. 

Abel shrugs Peter’s wing off his shoulder as he opens the scroll, leaning over it with a squint. Peter lets him, sure Abel will tell him what it says. 

And then Abel freezes in shock.

Worry immediately floods Peter’s mind and he panics, asking “Abel? Are you–”

“I’m the new leader of the exorcists.”

He’s… what?

“You’re– what?”

Abel’s tone is blank, as he reads the scroll over again, “They gave me Dad’s position. I’m the leader of the exorcists.”

Immediately, Peter leans over his shoulder to read the declaration, certain that there’s been a mistake. Because Abel? Sweet, gentle Abel who would never hurt a fly in his life, much less command an army of soldiers? Who has been in mourning for the past two weeks or so? Who in their right mind would agree to that? No, there must be some mistake. 

But there isn’t. 

To Abel, the Second Son of Adam,

In light of recent events, we write to you with urgency. Your father, Adam, the First Man and the Head of the Exorcists, led our armies with force and violence at a time where we believed it was necessary to have such. We truly felt as though his method of leadership was the best thing for all of Heaven to thrive. However, the circumstances have changed and we believe that our armies require a different perspective and a gentler hand.

It is for this reason that we formally request you to assume his position as the Head of the Exorcist Army.

Unlike others in line for this position, we feel that you share our vision for the future of Heaven and a preference for diplomacy over further conflict. Though you come to us with less military understanding than others, we hope that this will serve to our benefit and we believe your perspective makes you not only our best choice, but the only choice.

Should you accept, formal transfer of all Head Exorcists duties will begin immediately. 

Respectfully,

Sera, the High Seraphim of Heaven

&

Emily, the Seraphim of Joy

 

“Emily,” Peter says numbly, pointing at her name as if Abel couldn’t see it himself. 

He can’t believe her. 

But actually, he can. 

And that’s the worst part about it, is that picking Abel for this position makes a thousand times more sense than Lute. Abel is a known pacifist, with little to no military training. Lute has been publicly drinking up a storm and swearing to everyone she meets that she will murder every single Sinner in Hell. Abel worked with Emily on solutions to the exterminations, drafting proposals that were nonviolent in nature. Lute had bragged about the amount of Sinners she had killed on Heavenwide news broadcasts. Abel was not a known figure and had no established reputation, allowing him to form his own. Lute was a known jerk publicly who would follow Adam into Hell itself. 

And Abel had just as much right to lead as Lute did, due to how Heavenly hierarchy worked. As the son of Adam, and an Archangel, he had more claim to the position than Lute, who was a Heavenborne angel and not as high up in the rankings despite being Adam’s right-hand.

It was the perfect solution if you were looking for a peaceful solution with Hell. 

It was brilliant.

But the thought of Abel surrounded by the exorcists and Sinners that could harm him makes Peter so afraid that he thinks he might vomit. His love, the most gorgeous and soft person in the world, spun from sugar, commanding an army of bloodthirsty angels to attack bloodthirsty Sinners. 

Fear, that’s all he feels for Abel: fear.

“I don’t–” Abel says, but Peter is already pulling out his phone, driven by fear and his friendship with Emily, “I’ll call her, Abel, we can fix this.”

What he doesn’t expect is Abel yanking his father’s helmet to his chest and standing up, a determined look on his face, “No. We shouldn’t.”

Peter’s jaw drops. Surely not. “What–”

“My dad was wrong about a lot of things, but he was right about one thing. I need to be braver, I need to push myself, even if it sucks,” With his heart breaking, Peter watches as Abel sniffles back a couple tears and realizes that guilt is going to drive Abel to do this, and there might be nothing he can say to stop this.

“I need to be a son he could be proud of,” Abel says.

He should have told you he was proud of you every single day. You’re the most wonderful person in all of Heaven, Peter curses Adam to his grave as Abel’s resolve forms stronger.

Still, he has to try and convince him otherwise, “Oh, Abel…No, you–”

“I do. I need to do this,” Abel slowly moves away from him, placing his father’s helmet back in its resting place, “You can’t stop me.”

“Abel.”

Abel turns around to face Peter and Peter realizes from the look on his face there’s nothing he can do to change Abel’s mind, unless it’s to force him too. And Peter refuses to do that. 

“I’m doing this. There’s an emergency meeting later this week, we’re going.”

“We are?”

Abel nods and reaches for Peter’s hand, and Peter takes it immediately, regardless of the churning in his gut. He doesn’t want this, for Abel nor for himself. The last thing he wants is to attend this meeting with Abel, to see him take the first steps into this world he wants to take him far away from. All Peter wants to do is take Abel back home to his apartment and feed him hot chocolate and curl him up in blankets until he stops thinking about this anymore. He would be safe there. 

He doesn’t want Abel to do this just because he feels as though he can make his dad proud this way. Like it’s repentance for failing to live up to impossible expectations. It shouldn’t be that. Adam never fully understood that Abel’s pains ran deeper than just something to “get over” and now, Abel’s forcing himself to do something that could be beyond difficult for him just to satisfy his ghost of a father. 

“I need you there, Peter. Just at first,” Abel begs and layers a kiss on Peter’s knuckles, eyes pleading, “Please.”

But Peter can’t leave him to do this on his own. It would ruin him. If Abel is going to do this, then Peter will be there every step of the way, to be the safe place for him to come home to. It’s the least he could do.

“Okay,” Peter concedes, as Abel smiles and kisses his cheek, tilting his head to get down to Peter’s level. 

Worth it for the kiss. 

“But!” Peter tells him, making Abel pull away from him in surprise. He points a finger at Abel’s nose, making the other go cross-eyed, “If you feel you can’t do this, please tell me. I am… I’m scared for you, hun. I don’t want you in danger.”

Abel blinks twice and swipes at Peter’s finger, catching Peter’s hand in his before he turns it over. Peter watches, a flush forming on his face as Abel layers a kiss right on the scars on his wrist where he was pinned to the cross. It causes him to shiver involuntarily, which Abel definitely notices, judging from the smile on his lips as he kisses Peter again there. 

“I won’t be in danger,” Abel promises him, “You don’t need to be scared, darling.”

Peter flushes gold and tries to play it off, to which it absolutely doesn’t work, “Forgive me for being worried for you then.”

“Thank you for worrying for me,” Earnest Abel comes back with a full force and Peter wonders just how fair it is for someone to be this cute and somehow smooth at times and also be in a relationship with him. That’s unfair. 

Peter stares at Abel for a beat, watching as the other turns golden suddenly, glancing at his father’s helmet behind him. 

“I think we should leave…”

Peter lets out a small guffaw in response, “You don’t want to make out with me in front of your dad’s helmet?”

Abel just giggles, shaking his head, “That’s so wrong, Peter.”

“You’re the one who started kissing me!”

“I know!” Abel flushes and stands fully up, adjusting his halo with the hand not occupied by Peter, “I just… I felt better taking the position, like maybe this is the best way I can honor him.”

Peter doesn’t agree in the slightest with that assessment, but he’s already agreed to support Abel as best as he could. He won’t go back on that word, even as regret swirls in his chest. 

“I’m glad you feel better.”

Abel offers him his usual dorky smile and Peter melts quietly. It’s the first time he’s seen Abel smile genuinely in weeks since his father died, and to see that smile he’d once fallen so hard for once again renders him weak. As soon as they get home, he’s going to kiss the shit out of his man. His man.

Maybe this won’t be such a bad idea after all. 

[-]

“This is such a bad idea,” Abel shudders as Peter carefully presses kisses against the freckles on his shoulder, savoring each one like he had always wanted to when they were just friends and nothing more.

“My siblings are—“ Abel lets out what can only be a little groan, as he throws his head back, “Coming over soon. And—“

Peter knows that. It’s part of the fun of it all. He’s always been a bit of a showboat and having a beautiful man in his vicinity most of the time now makes it all too hard to resist those little urges to ride the edge a little bit. Plus, he’s honestly a bit nervous to meet Abel’s siblings and Abel himself is a great stress reliever. It’s a win for both of them. 

He deserves to be pampered a bit, in Peter’s opinion. And Peter’s all too happy to do it. 

Abel’s currently curled up next to Peter in bed, shirt pulled off a couple of minutes ago as Peter let the urges overtake him. He’d tried to hide himself when Peter had done so much to his dismay, but gentle kisses to his soft skin had eased the tension away from his arms. He’s golden from his cheeks to his neck to his chest, as Peter continues his ministrations, layering kisses along his shoulders, neck and chest. They really haven’t done anything like this in a while, since Abel wasn’t in the space to do so, but the second Peter had gotten a confirmation from Abel, he’d let himself loose a bit. 

“How are you so good at this?” Abel mutters, dazed as Peter sucks a hickey into his neck, his feathers spreading out in pleasure.

“Practice,” Peter responds, using a hand to pull Abel closer to him to work his mouth open.

Abel goes willingly, letting out a breathy moan as Peter uses his other hand to trace a line up his chest. He’s got some peach fuzz chest and pelvic hair there, which is frankly adorable. Even in the throes of lust, all Peter can think is cute!

Abel lets out a sigh as they pull away, wiping his mouth free of spit before diving back in. It settles a fear that sometimes pulses in Peter’s chest, unbidden. That Abel merely allows him to do whatever he wants and doesn’t actually want him. But, this happy little noise Abel makes as he tangles his fingers in Peter’s hair and sucks on his lips eases his mind. 

Well that and Abel’s very obvious interest digging into his thigh. Not that Peter feels any different, he’s just as hard as Abel is as he flings himself all over him. 

Dear Lord, I love this man. Peter thinks, giggling as Abel starts to kiss his nose instead of his lips, Please don’t take him away from me.

“Still think this is a bad idea?” He flutters his lashes at Abel who doesn’t even answer, merely pulling Peter closer to him so they are breathing each other’s air. 

Peter opens his eyes to meet Abel’s golden ones, watching as Abel stares into his own. One of his hands reaches up to press Peter’s nose into his and they just lay there, breathing together. Peter slides a hand down to rest on Abel’s ribcage just to feel him do so. 

“I think if my siblings weren’t coming, I would never leave this bed,” Abel says matter-of-factly, sending a rush of heat down Peter’s body, “Oh?”

They hadn’t had sex yet, but the way Abel looks at him, eyes heavy with desire makes Peter ache for it like nothing else. He hasn’t broached the topic himself though, because a part of him wants Abel to be the one to suggest it. Even though he would likely never do so. Peter just doesn’t want to be the one to force Abel to do something when he’s not comfortable doing it.

Abel nods, and reaches down with his fingers and carefully, lines the top of Peter’s sweatpants, like he’s going to pull them off. Breath hitching in surprise, Peter allows him to do so, wondering just what Abel is planning. His fingers lace around the seam of Peter’s pants and he looks at Peter through his lashes, blinking sleepily at him. 

Peter waits, but as quickly as this urge has come on, it seems to die since Abel’s hand moves and settles on his hip instead. He can’t help the well of disappointment that forms and dies in his chest. If Abel had actually tried, he would have loved that, but he understands Abel’s reluctance at the same time. His love has expressed multiple times that he isn’t as experienced as Peter is, and how difficult it was for him to try things when he wasn’t sure they would work out. Peter will allow him some leeway, give him time to grow in his boldness. 

He can do that now, actually. Maybe when he comes back Abel will have gathered some courage to do what he knows they both want.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay hun?” Peter says with a laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to Abel’s cheek as the other blinks blearily at him, “Kay, darlin’”

Slipping on his shirt, Peter lets himself indulge in the pleasure of seeing Abel like that, kiss-drunk and sleepy from him. If he’d shown the image of Abel like that to himself months ago, he’d hide the photo under his pillow and gaze upon it for hours every night, just to convince himself that his dreams of Abel being his and his alone were real. But this was reality, this was Peter’s life now. He alone gets to see Abel like that, marked up along his shoulders and neck and sprawled amongst his bed covers, shining with sweat and desire. 

It’s that thought that prompts him to fill the fastest cup of water he’s ever filled in his life, desperate to get back to Abel and indulge more in his sugary sweetness. Unfortunately, he doesn’t make it back to the bedroom, since as he’s making his way through the living room, Peter is interrupted by a voice. 

“You must be Peter right?”

Peter jumps slightly as he turns around to see two people entering Abel’s living room, without invitation. He almost spills water down his shirt and then finds himself fleetingly grateful that he’d put on a shirt before going to get Abel his drink. Then he’s even more grateful Abel isn’t out here to be embarrassed with him.

It’s then that he glances up at the two figures now in Abel’s living room and it dawns on him that he recognizes these two people. The first one, the young man with dark curls and dark skin and Abel’s gap-toothed smile is Abel’s younger brother, Seth. Which can only mean the second person, a woman with golden eyes and blonde locks is his older sister, Aclima.

Peter’s always been vaguely aware that Abel has more siblings than Cain, or even these two, but it’s odd to see them in person and understand just how large the first family is. Cain and Abel are just the most famous Adam and Eve children, with Seth and Aclima being somewhat lesser known than their brothers. And those are just the named children of Adam and Eve.

Regardless. Based on the voice, he’s pretty sure Seth is the one who spoke. 

“Yes, that’s me,” He replies and Seth dips his head in a nod. 

He’s a gorgeous guy, that’s for sure. Which makes sense. As the third son of Adam, Seth is younger than Abel and was born as his brother’s replacement after he was murdered. He also was the most ‘successful’ son, known as the ‘Father of Mankind.’ It was Seth that did what Cain did not, and Abel could not and that was to continue Adam’s legacy. With a similar weight to him that Adam and Abel have, but with his father’s coloring, Seth has a sort of rigidness to his movements. It shows as he responds with a solemn tone and shifts his pure white wings, “Glad to meet one of Abel’s truest friends. The pleasure is all ours.”

Aclima laughs, throwing her head back. She’s much more willowy than Seth is, but her short blonde locks have curls to them like his. Freckles decorate her sunlit cheeks, just like Abel’s and she beams at Peter with the same dorky grin Abel gets, though far less cute. Her white wings are almost too long for her and dragging on the floor as she leans on Seth’s shoulder.  Aclima is a lesser known religious figure, but notably, she is the twin of Cain. Though Peter has never seen Cain up close, only from above, he can see a spark of slyness in her eyes that makes him feel honestly wary of her, “Ignore him. He’s always like this with Abel.”

Seth turns golden and crosses his arms in front of his chest, narrowing his eyes at his sister, “You would be too if he was the one you were technically born to replace. “

“I told you Abel doesn’t care,” Aclima makes a face at Peter like she’s saying; Can you believe this guy?

Yeah, nevermind his wariness, Peter already likes her.

“Still,” mutters Seth, “I feel bad…”

“He loves you, dude,” Aclima rolls her eyes, “Stop acting like you have a stick up your ass whenever you talk to him.”

“I don’t have a stick up my ass.”

“You kinda do.”

“Do not.”

“Do—“

Abel comes out from the bedroom, interrupting his siblings’ bickering with a confused look on his face. Peter notes with a glimmer of pride that he still looks a little love-drunk and sleepy, with horribly applied makeup hiding his hickies underneath the collar of his shirt. 

“Abel,” Seth snaps to attention and Peter’s half sure the guy is about to bow, which seems very over the top, “Aclima and I—“

“We brought vodka and a billion stories about Dad,” she says, “We’re throwing a mourning party.”

“Oh!” Abel brightens a bit, snapping out of his lovestruck state, crossing over towards both of them. 

Peter watches bemused as he hugs Seth, who looks like he’s about to pass out from the notion of Abel doing so, and then Aclima, who grins and ruffles Abel’s hair before pulling away. 

“That would be nice. Did you guys go to the funeral?” asks Abel quietly, to which Aclima shakes her head and Seth nods.

“Dad wasn’t exactly the nicest to me,” She says, placing a hand on her hip. Seth makes a face and adds, “He barely remembered my name. I think he forgot who I was...”

“Really?”

Seth nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “He called me Cain multiple times.”

Aclima frowns, “You don’t even look like Cain.”

“Right? I met the guy once and he was a dick.”

Abel blinks before replying carefully, “Cain had a lot of… issues.”

“You would know, I guess,” Aclima says casually, ignoring both Peter and Seth’s flabbergasted looks at her flippancy.

Abel doesn’t look phased, blinking at his sister with a thin smile, as if used to her remarks. Seth winces quietly, and shoots a couple of nervous looks at Abel, who reaches out a hand to Aclima after a beat and says, “What kind of vodka did you bring?”

“The good shit,” She says, waving the bottle in his face before grinning at Seth, “Think you can keep up with your older siblings?”

Seth frowns at her, “I died older than you.”

“Still older!”

Abel softens a bit and wraps a wing around Seth, who looks like he’s about to pass out again from the sheer notion of Abel doing so. If Peter remembers his history correctly, Seth must have grown up hearing stories about Abel from his parents. It explained the way he acted around him, like a younger sibling meeting someone they admired for years upon years.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, baby brother,” Abel says gently, ushering Seth towards the kitchen, “Let’s get drunk and cry about Dad.”

“Oh-okay?”

Peter and Aclima are left in the living room, standing awkwardly together. Aclima tilts her head at him, before she lets out a tired sigh and shouts at Abel’s retreating back, “ABEL! IS YOUR FUCKBUDDY STAYING?”

Peter turns golden at the implication but Abel shouts back at his sister, “THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND. SO YES, HE STAYS!”

“Huh,” says Aclima, eyeing Peter up and down as she tilts her head at him, “You’re at least hot. Abel has good taste.”

Aclima grins, feral, and Peter suddenly comes to the conclusion that Aclima is definitely the most like Adam out of the three of them, which is terrifying in its own right. 

“Are you ready to drink with the first family?”

“I guess?” Peter squawks as she claps him on the shoulder and steers him after the others.

It dawns on him as he lets Aclima lead him that this is the first time he’s ever been called Abel’s boyfriend and he nearly trips over his own feet at the realization, bringing himself and Aclima down. In fact, the only reason he doesn’t fall on his ass immediately is because she catches him.

“Whoa there, don’t pass out before we’ve gotten a shot in you,” She says, “I need to know all the deets. Abel’s a fucking hermit and I gotta know how you dragged his ass outside.”

“He’s been getting better,” Peter tries to which she actually nods, “Yea, a lot better. He talks to us now. And our other siblings too sometimes. He used to just ignore all of us. Sometimes he’d talk to Azura, but no one else.”

“Azura?”

“Younger sister,” She says as she enters the kitchen, where Seth and Abel are, “THERE’S THE FUCKERS! Let’s get wasted.”

Abel and Seth both grin uncertainly at her as she flounces over with Peter following behind, feeling a pulse of pride as Abel spots him and smiles like Peter is all he needs in the world. That’s his boyfriend. 

Peter has a boyfriend.

“Hey, hun,” He says, and reaches a hand out to hold Abel’s hand, and boldly, presses a kiss to Abel’s cheek, “I’m ready.”

“To get wasted and cry about my dad?” Abel asks, turning his face toward Peter with a raised brow. But Peter just smiles back, flushed and happy with the feeling of being wanted.

“Yep!”

“Good choice, Peter,” Aclima says easily, lifting her wings up and flapping them to create a soft breeze, “Welcome to the family.”

Seth grins at him, his brown curls falling to the side as he tilts his head, “My girlfriend hates Dad, you’re bold for being here.”

“I’m here to support you all,” Peter says, pulling the shot glasses out of the alcohol cabinet and handing one to each of them, “Even if it’s to get drunk and be sad.”

Abel’s family all laugh. Aclima elbows Seth in the side and says, “Way cooler than your girlfriend!”

Seth rolls his eyes and turns to Abel, who is eyeing the shot glasses with a confused expression, as if he had no idea how he got them. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he had no idea, or if Adam had somehow gotten them to him without him knowing. That seems like something Adam would do actually. 

“So, Abel,” Seth asks, tapping his finger anxiously against the table, “Where do you want us to sit for this?”

Distracted from his pondering of the shot glasses, Abel turns towards his younger brother and blinks twice. He looks like a confused bird, wrecked by Peter’s love against his neck and lost in his lingering mourning. Peter hums and nudges him, prompting him to speak and he eventually nods quietly and points to the couch, “Let’s go into the living room.”

And that’s how Peter finds himself day-drinking with Abel, Seth and Aclima, as the three children of Adam and Eve sprawl across the couch chatting quietly about their father. Abel’s arm is across Peter’s shoulder, his wings curled around their conjoined bodies as he twirls his shot glass around. He’s got his head on top of Peter’s, giggling as Seth describes some of Adam’s greatest comedic failures.

It’s honestly fascinating to listen to, and it presents Peter with a more well-rounded image of what Adam was like to all of his kids: that being that of a messy dad who cared, but didn’t really know how to show it.

“Remember when he came to the Christmas party?” Aclima is saying, gesturing, “I’m talking about the only one that you showed up at, Abel.”

“The one where he ranted about how hot Santa Claus was?” Seth asks, which makes Abel squeak in embarrassment and Peter to reevaluate his entire relationship up to that moment. Maybe he can dress up as Santa Claus for Abel’s sake one time if he would like it.

Aclima snickers, “Yes! That one! And we all made predictions for how Dad would enter the room and Abel won?”

“I said he would come in already drunk and pass out on the couch,” Abel informs Peter, “Which he then proceeded to do.”

“We all drew all over him with Sharpie and blamed Seth.”

“I resent that, I would never do such a thing.”

“That’s because you would never get the idea, Seth. It was totally me.”

“It was definitely Aclima.”

They all laugh and Peter finds himself smiling as they reminisce together. His own family, from when he was alive, he doesn’t remember very well. Years in Heaven’s saturated sugary world and his dedication to his job have rendered them into nothing in his mind. Sure, he sees Emily as somewhat of a sister, but he’s never truly had a family in the many years he’s spent in Heaven, partially because of his own memory issues and other because well, he’s not very liked. It’s surprisingly easy to be with these three, curled up in Abel’s arms, talking about Adam’s terrible timing with raunchy jokes with Seth and giggling at Aclima’s bluntness. 

Sure, he might never find his family again, but here in Abel’s home with his siblings, Peter can almost pretend he’s part of one again. 

Of course, the stories do get sadder over time. Peter catches each of them crying at some point, over something dumb or something serious. Seth makes all of them cry with a story about how Adam was to him as a father, describing Abel and Aclima to him when he was younger, before he could get to know them himself. Aclima sobs her way through a story of their father after what happened with Cain and Abel, a brief moment of time when she was alone with Adam and Eve. Even Abel shares stories about his first couple of years in Heaven when Adam would show him around and shower him with attention. 

It’s somber, but full of love. 

Eventually, they fade off into silence, bottle of liquor forgotten and hearts beating in mourning together. Despite all the tears shed, Peter can see there’s a lightness to each of their frames, as if sharing the stories they’d had of their father together had healed some ache in their bodies that had been broken before. Adam may be gone but they can carry the memories of him together and that had to be enough.

The silence is broken by Abel.

“So, I wanted to talk to you both,” Abel slurs quietly.

Seth blinks twice, setting his vodka glass down with a sharp clink. His sister arches a brow and then says, “Oh?”

Abel swallows hard and exchanges a look with Peter, and Peter offers him a slow nod, realizing what he’s about to do. 

“They offered me Dad’s position, as Head of the Exorcists,” Abel, fumbles with and eventually lays out the offer letter on the table, and then leans back to let Seth and Aclima read it. 

Aclima is the first one to react, after scanning the letter with a furrowed brow, “Why the fuck are they even allowing the exorcists to continue?”

“Yeah,” mumbles Seth, “I don’t get it.”

“For Heaven’s safety, in terms of defense,” Abel says with a quiet noise, “And… I’m going to accept.”

Seth and Aclima stare at him, utterly shocked. Peter can sort of understand that. Abel’s brother responds first, “Abel, that’s…”

“That’s a fucking bad idea,” Aclima says, “Abel…”

“I—“

“No,” Aclima shakes her head, “I remember what it was like when you died. How wrecked Dad and Mom were. Why would you put yourself in the line of fire again?”

“I heard about you my whole life, Abel,” Seth adds on quietly, fiddling with his cup, “Everyone always spoke about you, about how much they loved you, and I don’t want you to be in a position where you could be in danger of me never knowing you again.”

Their words make sense and Peter hopes, no prays, that they can sway Abel’s opinion on this. But Abel is already shaking his head, “Sera and Emily trust me. And I feel like I have to do this. For some sort of… repentance to Dad.”

“Dad’s an asshole,” Aclima says bluntly, “Like he loved us, but he was so clearly harsh on you. You don’t have to do anything for him.”

“Then I’m doing it for myself,” Abel shakes his head, “I need to do this. To prove I can do this. For me.”

Seth and Aclima glance at each other and for one, one wonderful moment, Peter thinks they’re going to convince him otherwise, where he couldn’t. Their faces show their worry and he prays that they’ll say something. But they seem to have a silent conversation between them, that Peter is not privy to and then come to the same conclusion.

“Okay, Abel,” says Seth with a sigh, “Only because you want this. But if you need to step back, if you’re in danger, we want you to get away from this.”

Aclima agrees, “We’ve lost you before. We’ve already lost Dad and Mom and Cain. This will not happen again.”

Abel nods quietly and says, “Thank you both. I just– I wanted to tell you. I know we haven’t always been the closest, but this.. This is important.”

Aclima shakes her head, “It’s not. But, if you want this, Abel, then we can not stop you. But if you’re doing this for Dad, and only him, then I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I agree with Aclima,” Seth says softly, “I.. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Peter doesn’t want to see him hurt either. Lord, he doesn’t. The same fear from earlier creeps into his stomach. That by taking on the helm of his father, Abel is taking on all of the hate that the Sinners will have for any Exorcist, despite his hands being clean of any blood. By taking on the helm of his father, Abel is taking on the weight of Adam’s crimes for no other reason than to prove he was strong. By taking on the helm of his father, Abel is putting a target on his head just as significant as the one Cain permanently marred him with in the shape of his halo, tilted and dented. 

Lute will hate him. Lute is going to tear him apart. She doesn’t know that she’s been jilted out of her position and she will not take it well.  And Peter doesn’t think Abel can stand up to her, because that’s not who he is. Abel is gentle and sweet and Abel is above all else, an innocent who never even knew about the crimes of his father until two months ago. Abel is the love of Peter’s life and he is now putting himself directly into the line of fire. If Heaven and Hell go to war, Abel will be in the crosshairs of it and Peter doesn’t know if he realizes that, too caught up in the notion of proving himself and proving to his dad that he wasn’t what Adam thought he was. 

“I can do this. Somehow, I just… know it,” Abel says, and holds his chin up, meeting both Aclima and Seth’s eyes, “I can be the Head of the Exorcists that Sera and Emily need me to be. That I can be.”

Peter meets Seth and Aclima’s eyes at the same time and feels their terror that matches his own. Peter realizes that they all know that they can not change Abel’s mind, because as terrible as he is with confrontation, he is also stubborn. So stubborn. It was that stubbornness that caused him to never integrate into Heavenly society for years despite being here for almost 10,000 of them, and it was that stubbornness that caused Adam to deem him as weak, despite Abel being so strong in ways that were different than what Adam wanted him to be. 

The only way they could get him to change his mind would be to confront him and force him to refuse the position and all of them love him too much to do that to him. 

Ah, Peter thinks as Seth and Aclima stand up to say goodbye, offering both him and Abel hugs as they do so, I have a boyfriend now. 

And my boyfriend is going to be the Head of the Exorcists. 

[-]

There’s an old building near the center of Heaven that Peter has never been in. Called “Eternal,” it’s reserved for the oldest Winners in Heaven, those that had beaten Peter up to the pearly gates before he was the one in charge of them. It’s a beautiful building, stacked with the highest of amenities and the most luxurious of products, back when the Heavenborne only had a few souls under their care and made life for them somehow more wonderful. 

Abel takes Peter there two days after he met Seth and Aclima and after work, holding his hand as he guides him through the lobby with a stack of suitcases pushed by one of the many invisible wind bellhops.

The lobby is simple but elegant, like the older buildings in Heaven tend to be. The sugar scent of Heaven as a whole doesn’t permeate though the air, instead it smells like fresh laundry and clean air. Peter tilts his head to admire the decor of engraved leaves and plants on the ceiling, as Abel hurries them along towards the elevator. The two of them get in, while the wind shovels the suitcases into another and then Abel produces a sleek golden card from his old beat up leather wallet. Peter blinks twice as Abel scans it into the door and then a button magically appears above the upper floors labelled only with the crest of the House of Eden, the fancy ‘A’ that Abel, Adam and everyone else from the first family wears somewhere on their clothes. 

Peter had even noticed it pinned on Seth’s chest and adorning Aclima’s ears. 

“So,” Peter says, glancing at Abel, “You have a reservation here or….”

Abel breathes out a long sigh, looking over at Peter with exhaustion in his eyes, “No, it’s mine.”

“You have an apartment here?”

Abel gives Peter a slightly bemused look, “Yeah, this is the first residential building they created in Heaven, so my entire family has a floor here. They made each of us rooms, but um… not all of us made it here and most of us don’t use them anymore.”

“Right…” Peter thinks back to Seth and Aclima, “So, why are we…”

Abel bites his lip, looking up at the top of the elevator as if that will make it go faster, “I’m moving back in. It’s close to the Army Headquarters and I need to be able to get there at a reasonable time for their training.”

It makes sense, and as much as Peter hates it, moving into his family’s suites would make more sense than moving in with Peter, who lives nowhere near the Army Headquarters. But still, this entire situation makes his skin crawl. Abel is not a violent guy, he is soft and gentle and sweet, but most importantly, very afraid and not good at voicing his opinion and pushing back when he needs to. He can barely do that with Peter despite his encouragement and Peter is his boyfriend. The Exorcists are going to push back and Peter knows for certain that Abel will not be able to stand up to them, to hold his own and make sure they listen to him. 

He’s terrified that Abel isn’t aware of that and is only stuck on proving himself to his dead father, due to their relationship. 

He’s terrified of what Lute will do when she finds out Abel is the new Head of the Army. 

Peter’s so scared for Abel. 

This is not a good idea. 

But he can do nothing. 

The elevator dings and Peter and Abel step out into a long and beautiful hallway, decorated with doors. The doors are each hand-carved and have plaques on them that consist of solid gold. It looks expensive, but Peter knows better than to expect anything in Heaven to actually be expensive. Angels don’t have a concept of money, despite Heaven Bucks existing mostly for those who find enjoyment in stock trading (barely anyone). Abel waits quietly as Peter admires the hall, wings twitching by his sides anxiously until the suitcases arrive with a cheerful ding. Only then does he start down the hall, gently tugging Peter along with him. 

The first door is carved with images of guitars, swirling plants and birds.The doorknob is worn and used, as if someone has lived there for a long time. Peter stares at it as they pass by and realizes that the name tag reads: Adam. 

Oh, this is for Abel’s family. 

The second room has a beautiful apple centerpiece, along with horses and cats. It looks brand new and cleaned, as if no one had ever used it but it was still loved. Leaves swirl around the handles and Peter clocks who this is for before the plaque displays itself: Eve. 

The third room has wheat and fruit carved into it, with a scythe on the side. It also looks heavily damaged, as if someone had taken an axe and tried to chop it down without luck. Cain. 

The fourth room is floral in nature, along with dogs and butterflies and covered in dust. No one has bothered to touch it in years. Aclima.

Abel stops at the fifth door, touching the brass doorknob. The door’s theme is sheep, with soft meadows carved around the frolicking animals. Similar to Aclima’s, it’s covered in dust, though it lookslike someone might have tried to clean up said dust, badly. Peter looks up at the plaque above the door and feels himself nod quietly as it reads: Abel.

“Here we are,” mutters Abel, and then opens the door with a creak. 

The penthouse is beautiful, but impersonal. With an open floor plan, the bedroom kitchen and balcony all spread into one, showing off all of Heaven glittering outside. There’s nothing that marks it as Abel’s own, but it’s still exactly what Peter pictured when he thought of Heaven, filled with the pleasures of mortal life but none of the sentiment. It’s nothing like Abel’s cottage, which while being a prison of sorts, was so clearly his. This is just nothing, only this false sharp beauty. 

“I haven’t been here since my first years in Heaven, when my dad wanted me close,” Abel explains, dragging a finger through the dust on the table, “This was the room I woke up in.”

“Woke up in?”

“Oh, did I never tell you?” Abel scoffs, and a dark look passes over his face, the first time Peter’s ever seen such a thing. His darkened eye bags from his general lack of sleep make him look tired and worn down and Peter wishes he could comfort his boyfriend, “My dad was the first soul in Heaven.”

Peter blinks, staring at him. That was not true. Abel had died before Adam did, everyone knew that.

“They kept me in a coma until he came. Because they didn’t want the first soul in Heaven to be that of a murder victim,” Abel says, running a hand over his face, “I wasn’t supposed to die then, so they waited until my dad was here to wake me up and let me in.”

Peter’s jaw drops in shock, “That’s…”

“Messed up?” Abel sighs tiredly, rolling his shoulders, “A little bit. But, I was so overwhelmed, I spent my first hours in Heaven here, hiding under the covers and holding my head. All I could see was Cain. Cain’s eyes. I couldn’t move. It was my dad who finally got me outside.”

“Oh, Abel,” Peter breathes, coming closer to his boyfriend and getting into his line of sight. Abel’s golden eyes find him and he offers Peter a weak smile, “I got better, though.”

“My first days in Heaven weren’t good either,” He’d wake up screaming and rubbing at his hands and ankles, convinced he was hallucinating being safe again. 

Peter had laid prone in the hot shower they had given him, letting steaming water pour over him because it felt different from the rain he’d been pelted with as he’d hung from his cross. He’d ordered food like a starved man and thrown it all up hours later, sure it was all fake again. Nero’s smile had haunted him, his cold voice agreeing to hang Peter upside down repeating over and over. Hallucinations had danced in front of his eyes and Peter had been so sure he was dreaming, that he’d wake up in Hell because he’d failed to honor his lifetime promises. 

“I hope someday, you will tell me what happened,” Peter blinks away from his memories as Abel says something, “I feel like you are always holding my pain, darling. I’d love to have some of yours.”

Peter’s heart swells with affection as Abel offers him a small smile. He doesn’t want to burden Abel with that. But maybe, someday, he can.

“Maybe,” he says quietly, before he glances around the apartment. It still seems empty, but now that he’s checking it out, there’s a package laying on the bed.

Abel spots it too, “What’s this?”

The two of them approach the package, which sits innocuously on Abel’s bed. Peter can’t help the nervous bubble in his throat when he reaches for it, but stops as he realizes that there is a note on the top of the package, written in messy handwriting. 

Kiddo, 

Had one of these made a bit ago. Who knows when I’ll talk to you about this shit, but this is just for you. Use it well.

Ur dad (Gottem), 

Adam

 

Abel blinks and puts the note away, before reaching for the box. It’s old and he’s able to tear through the tape with his fingers. But as the box falls away, Peter sees what’s inside and his heart sinks into his stomach. Abel pulls out a metallic helmet with curved horns like a ram’s that looks just like Adam’s, except with Abel’s pink tones. 

Fuck. 

Abel stares at the helmet, his golden eyes wide as he traces the horns of it. It looks beautiful, brand new and shiny. It looks horrible and it hits Peter all at once that this is officially going to happen. Abel is the commander of an Army now, an Army of bloodthirsty violent women who were only used to Adam’s way of going about things and Abel is simply throwing himself into the middle of it. 

“Abel?” Peter tries after a long silence, “You alright?”

Abel nods, his golden eyes darting over to take in Peter’s face. He lowers the helmet down, holding in one hand and running the other through his bangs, almost knocking off his hat. He looks somehow more exhausted than he had a couple of minutes ago, “I didn’t think I would get my own.”

“Well, hun, I think that is part of… being an Exorcist.”

Abel bites his lip, looking at the helmet again, “That is what I am now, I guess.”

“Yeah, you are,” With a sharp breath, Peter reaches over and takes the helmet from his boyfriend, to which Abel lets him. 

With a sharp clunk, he puts it on a nearby counter and turns back to Abel, who is watching him with his soft honey gaze. For a moment, it’s just the two of them in this old memory of Abel’s, as their worlds change around them. Abel is now the Head of the Exorcists, and Peter now has someone to call his own. Soft blue eyes meet golden, and Peter quietly takes a couple of steps forward and presses his hands against Abel’s chest, so he can drown in his eyes. He feels Abel’s hands automatically set on his hips, underneath his wings and they let out a shaky breath as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

“This place brings back bad memories,” Abel confesses quietly, leaning down to press his nose against Peter’s, “I’m glad that you’re here. I don’t know if I could stand here without you.”

“Well,” Peter says, breathing in Abel’s air and knowing exactly what could make this place better. What could drown out the sorrows baked into these walls and coat them in something else , “We could… make it better for you.”

Abel arches a brow, “Oh? How…”

It doesn’t take long for Peter’s meaning to catch on, probably aided by the fact that Peter very subtly slides his shirt off his shoulder and raises his brows at his boyfriend. Abel’s cheeks shift to gold and he blinks, once and then twice, and then lets out a small sigh as he pulls Peter’s hips closer to his own. Heat spreads from Peter’s face down to his crotch as Abel’s brushes against his own and he lets out a puff of air that definitely is not a groan. Abel lets out a soft chuckle as that happens before catching Peter’s noise in his throat with a seal of his lips. 

It doesn’t take long for pieces of their clothes to fall off as they fall over each other into Abel’s bed, the covers letting out a soft puff of dust as they do. It’s honestly a little gross, but Peter can hardly comprehend that through the fact that he’s just hot and aching as Abel crawls on top of him. It’s the first time Abel’s been fully naked in front of him, and Peter dizzily thinks there’s no sexier being in all the world. His soft curves, the chest hair that lines his body and crotch, the weight of him, the way his golden feathers puff out in surprise at each noise Peter makes, even his dick are just hot and cute and Peter knows he’s done for if this is the person he gets to sleep with for the rest of his immortality. 

“How do you…” Abel pants, stopping his speech with a soft moan as Peter boldly reaches down to grab at his dick, swirling his thumb around to spread the precum that’s already there. His shoulders shake with the shock of it and Peter watches, slightly bemused and very turned on as Abel’s feathers shake. 

“Want to do this?” Peter finishes for him, grinning and very aware that his hand is on Abel’s dick and the other is flushing so fiercely gold he might as well be made of it, “I’ll show you how I like it this time, m’kay hun?”

“M’kay,” Abel slurs, just as Peter, feeling vicious, squeezes his dick. The sight of Abel letting out a moan and the feeling of his dick twitching in his hands makes Peter feel even better about his choice to show Abel how he likes it, more than anything.

Using one hand to slowly jerk Abel off, Peter reaches to the side to grab at some supplies he’d thrown there during their stripping, his hands finding the lube and sliding it over to himself. Abel’s little squeaks and moans as Peter continues to mess with him are music to his ears, and Peter wonders to himself as he does so how Abel manages to sound melodic as he chases pleasure like this. With the lube now in hand, Peter hooks an elbow around Abel’s head and pulls him in, pressing their lips together as he gives one last yank on Abel’s dick and feels the reward of Abel’s cum splatter between them. Not to mention his heavy moan into Peter’s lips as his body shudders and feathers little the bed. 

“Done?” Abel asks, as he struggles to hold himself upright and away from Peter, in case this was it, but Peter can see the gleam of lust in his golden eyes and knows Abel doesn’t want to be done. Luckily for him, Peter doesn’t want to be either. 

“Not even close, hun,” Peter says, handing him the lube, and grinning, “Ready for round two?”

The dorky grin Abel offers him, flushed and horny and eyes alight with love makes Peter shudder with a soft noise of his own. If he didn’t know better, just that look alone makes him feel like he’d come on the spot. But he does know better, and therefore, carefully guides Abel through smearing the lube on his fingers and getting himself ready. Abel looks incredibly worried as Peter carefully uses a hand to show him where to put his fingers, and hooks a leg around him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling,” murmurs Abel despite the heavy blush along his face and neck. 

His worry makes Peter melt softly, despite the situation they’re in. It’s also… incredibly sexy that Abel is so worried about him. Peter feels his dick twitch in anticipation. 

“I’ll be fine, hun,” Peter wriggles his hips and represses a moan as Abel’s lubed up fingers brush against his hole, “Just do it.”

With a shaky nod and a determined spark in his eyes, Abel slides his fingers inside and begins prepping him.Peter is very aware of how noisy he is during sex, during every part of it, and might intentionally let a little bit more loose with the noises, throwing his head back and feeling his feathers spread as Abel pushes in with one and then, two fingers. The moaning and the shrieks of Abel’s name must do something to him, because Peter feels Abel’s confidence and lust pick up as he goes faster when Peter begs him to, pleasure crowding his mind as he wriggles in Abel’s hands. 

He doesn’t want to come on Abel’s fingers though and so, as he’s about to crest over a wave of pleasure, he manages to jerk out a hand and stop his boyfriend, who immediately freezes in panic. He retreats fast and Peter, picking up on the nerves, uses an elbow to pull himself up as he immediately goes, “No, hun, come back. It’s okay…”

Abel comes back immediately, his fingers wet with lube. He looks nervous, but Peter reassures him with a quick kiss and says, “I just don’t want to come on your fingers, hun. Don’t worry.”

Relief spreads across Abel’s face and he lets out a shaky sigh and says, “Okay,” as he allows Peter to pull a kiss out of him again. Peter can feel how hard he is and lets out a soft giggle as he pulls away from Abel, curling a hand around Abel’s blonde bangs. 

“You ready?” He asks and Abel, shy but glowing with lust, nods. 

Taking one of Abel’s hands, Peter carefully lets the other hold him down and shows the other where to place his dick. Abel, flushed and almost slightly embarrassed by his burst of fear earlier, does this with a marked determination that Peter wonders is guided by his need to get it right or his horniness. 

The first thrust nearly takes Peter’s breath away. The second one brings it back and he squirms underneath Abel as the other’s confidence builds again, setting a pace that has Peter moaning his name over and over again. He’s losing his mind, on Abel’s dick, as he lets Abel take him for the first time. 

“So good,” he slurs and feels Abel’s dick twitch inside him, and instantly knows he’s figured out something Abel likes, “You’re so good for me, Abel.”

It could take hours or seconds, but the second Peter praises Abel, it’s completely over. Abel lets out a sharp and loud groan as his thrusting picks up and Peter well and truly loses his mind in the haze of pleasure that envelops him. Praise, huh? Abel lets out a loud groan as Peter babbles on about how good he is, and Peter feels himself come seconds later, followed by himself. 

They lay there for a couple of moments, panting. Peter numbly thinks to himself, feeling Abel soften inside him, how much he’s wanted this from the moment he’d met Abel. How hard he’d fallen for him and despite their worlds crumbling around them, they’d managed to find this, to find each other. How Abel, despite everything that’s happened to him, had found a piece of himself that he just preserves for Peter to have. 

Abel pulls out and leaves Peter sticky and groaning, but simmering with pleasure. 

There’s the soft thump of a mattress and Peter turns his head as Abel lays down beside him, golden with lust and shaking. One of his hands reaches up to tangle in Peter’s hair, tugging him all the way around to face his boyfriend. Peter goes willingly and feels Abel press a kiss to his lips as he lets his eyes fall closed. Unlike their heated ones from before, this one is just simple, and easy. Peter smiles into it and lets Abel pull away. They meet eyes, as Abel strokes a thumb down his cheek. 

“Peter, that was…”

“It was perfect,” Peter interrupts him, laughing softly, “You were perfect.”

“Oh good,” Abel huffs, “I was worried I wasn’t going to be good at…”

“You were perfect. Absolutely perfect,” Peter insists.

The faint worry line on Abel’s face dissolves instantly and he nods, his bangs messy with sweat, “Okay.”

“Didn’t know you liked being called a ‘good boy’ though,” Abel immediately turns more golden and hides behind a wing, so he doesn’t have to meet Peter’s eyes. Laughing to himself, Peter reaches out and moves said wing, meeting Abel’s honey-golden eyes as they flicker away from him, “Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I wasn’t.”

“It’s cute, Abel,” Peter tells him seriously to which Abel shrugs a bare shoulder and says, “I was just there. You were.. You were breathtaking, Peter. I…I loved seeing you like that.”

Peter feels his blush deepen and he sheepishly runs a hand through his curls, aware of how sticky and gross he is right now, “Oh…”

“Just saying,” Abel looks away, clearly embarrassed by his words but unable to stop himself from saying them, “You were beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Damn, this earnest man. Peter feels like he’s floating. Is this the perfect night? Possibly, “I try.”

“You succeed,” Abel says with a grin, turning fully towards Peter and then darting his eyes down as he takes in the mess they made, “Why don’t we get ourselves cleaned up? I don’t really want to sleep in all this.”

With a hearty agreement, Peter lets Abel support him on the way to the bathroom to go get clean. Warm water does wonders to wash their mess off of each other and Peter and Abel exchange multiple heated kisses in the shower, despite knowing that they’re spent for the night. It’s always nice to indulge in the man Peter gets to call his own.

Abel slips on a pair of sweatpants and Peter, one of Abel’s old t-shirts, and then they’re back, cuddling in the newly made bed with their arms around each other. Peter lets out a soft sigh, feeling his breath trace along Abel’s neck as they carefully and slowly press lazy kisses against each other, their feathers and legs tangled. It’s everything Peter has ever wanted, to be loved by his partner and not left alone when the fucking is said and done. To not be left with a beating heart and sweat coating his body and with a longing to just be loved in his heart. 

Abel lets out a soft noise and quietly runs his fingers through Peter’s feathers, his golden eyes fond.

“Thanks, for making this place better for me,” he says gently, “I hate being here. In the city. I hate this place and you make it better.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Peter replies, “Sometimes you need to christen a place with sex to make it truly your own.”

Abel lets out a breathy laugh, the sound of it shaking his entire frame. Tired, Peter kisses his shoulder as Abel continues to slowly stroke through his feathers.

“It’s better with you,” says Abel easily, his voice sleepy, “Everything’s better with you.”

“I do try,” Peter says, nuzzling into Abel’s side, “But Abel, everything’s better with you too. I hope you know.”

“You know, darling, I’m starting to suspect,” Abel replies, before he lets out a soft puff of air and lets out a breathy sigh that teeters on the edge of sleep. He must be tired after their day today, and so, Peter, warm with affection and cuddled up to the love of his life, lets himself fall asleep. 

Hours later, Peter feels a rush of cold as Abel leaves the bed, his vanilla scent and comfortable warmth abandoning him. He doesn’t know if Abel had been tossing and turning, because Peter is a very heavy sleeper and someone could smack him over the head and he wouldn’t notice, but people only abandon their warm and comfortable bed if they were unable to sleep. According to Abel, during a brief conversation that they’d had years ago, he’s never been very good at sleeping. It was part of the reason he had semi-permanent bruises under his eyes. 

And so, concerned, Peter stands up and follows him.

Abel comes to a stop at the edge of the balcony, overlooking all of Heaven. His golden eyes seem tired and sad as he stares at the lights below him. His wings are tucked as his sides and he taps a finger against his forearm as he watches angels dart around below him, either out on the town or taking midnight strolls. 

“You alright?” Very well aware of his own nudity and having covered himself up with a blanket to compensate, Peter slides up to his boyfriend’s side. 

Abel doesn’t look at him, but even his face seems tired. Peter presses closer to him and feels himself relax as one of Abel’s hands reaches for his waist, settling there gently.

“If you’re trying to distract me with how great you look right now, it’s working,” Abel’s voice is both exhausted and fond at the same time.

Peter flushes but presses himself closer anyway, comfortable with the weight of Abel’s hand on his hip, “That’s what I was going for.”

Abel huffs a laugh but doesn’t respond. 

“I’m joking. What’s on your mind, hun?”

“Do you think that Sera and Em gave me this job because I’m like my dad?”

“Abel, I think they gave you this job because you’re nothing like him.” 

“Hm…”

“What’s wrong?”

Abel lets out a soft sigh and pulls Peter closer to him, “I don’t know. I keep having nightmares, about Dad, about this job, about Cain, about everything. Maybe it’s this room.”

“Hmmm,” mumbles Peter, “Could be.”

Abel opens his mouth to say more, probably to add more weight onto his already straining shoulders, but Peter can just see the exhaustion behind his eyes, the way he hunches over and doesn’t look at Peter. He’s hurting and Peter has seen so much of Abel hurting over the past couple of months, just so much despite also seeing just how light he could be. He can’t watch this anymore, he can’t watch the man he loves (Dear Lord, he loves) do this to himself anymore. 

“Abel,” Peter reaches out and places a hand on top of Abel’s, the one not on his waist, “Hey, look at me?”

And Abel does, dark bags under his eyes but their golden depths still shining with the same affection Peter saw earlier, in the throes of pleasure. He even offers Peter a smile, though it’s weak. 

“You want to know what I think?” Peter barrels on, lacing his fingers in Abel’s, “I think you’re stronger than you realize. It takes a lot to be able to push through everything going on and still have time for me and the people you love. Maybe you don’t see that, but I do. I see how capable you are when you believe you need to do something for someone else. This is the first time maybe in a while you’re doing something to prove to yourself. And of course it’ll be hard, and of course, I’m going to worry because I–”

I love you. He can’t say it, not now while Abel is this fragile, like he could shatter into a million pieces on the ground below. He instead takes a deep breath and stares into Abel’s golden eyes, hoping to get at least something across to his affection-starved, self-deprecating brain. 

“Because I care about you.”

Abel’s expression shatters and Peter feels his heart break with it.

“If you’re not ready, that’s okay. You don’t have to take strength from just yourself yet. Emily, Sera, Seth, Aclima, maybe your dad, even me if you want. You can use the people who believe in you to hold yourself up until you feel you can stand on your own. That is what we are here for. We are here for you. You do not have to do this alone, hun. You are not alone.”

Silence falls, though the sounds of the city persist. Peter’s chest is heaving with the effort of spilling his guts to Abel, who blinks at him. Golden eyes are more alert than Peter’s seen in this entire interaction and even the dark bags underneath Abel’s eyes seem lesser. His blonde hair shifts in the wind and the lights of the city reflect along his cheeks, illuminating him in a way that Peter remembers from their night out two months ago, when they had shared their feelings for the first time.

It takes his breath away to see it here again.

There’s a small motion as Abel fully turns towards him and a thunk as their foreheads touch. Abel’s hand gently squeezes along Peter’s blanketed waist and he instinctively reaches to tangle a hand through Abel’s hair, pulling him closer. Their eyes meet, gold on blue, and Peter wonders, half to himself, how he’d ever lived without this.

“I love you too.”

And the world goes silent. Peter stares at Abel in absolute disbelief as the other looks away from him, golden flush in his cheeks. 

“Sorry if that wasn’t what you were going to…” 

“Abel,” Peter rushes to say what he’s always wanted to say since the day they met, “I love you.”

Abel huffs a laugh and nods before turning to look at him again, a streak of determination on his face, “I wanted to be the first to say it.”

“Well, you were,” Peter realizes the lump in his throat is building and building and from the stinging behind his eyes, he’s about to sob, “Lord, Abel– I…”

And like a dam shattering all at once, Peter just breaks down.

It was a long time coming, he thinks. It really was. 

2,000 years ago, Peter was given the job of being the Gatekeeper of Heaven, a job he’d fought his entire mortal lifetime for. So much so that his memories of his life, who he truly was before he was the Keeper of the Gates, had faded away when he’d come to Heaven. Pride in his position was all he had left, and it was all he lived for. It was all he had. Family, friends, what he was before this was gone, and only memories of his hardships and struggles to get here remained in his mind. So, Peter had taken to his job with an enthusiasm that would seem uncanny to others but was a foundation for himself. He had nothing else but the pearly gates to rebuild his life on. He wasn’t anyone without them.

Peter isn’t one to dwell on the past. That’s what makes him different from Abel, who is so trapped by his fears and his past that he can not move and has not moved for years. Peter looks to the future and what could be, and moves through the present as best he can. For years in Heaven though, he’s watched (because that is all he ever does) as others are able to move on, find new love, new beginnings here. But it was never meant for him, someone who doesn’t have a foundation outside of the pearly gates to talk about. He’s worked very hard to build himself other things, becoming the Choir Director amongst them. But some part of him has always longed for that sense of belonging again, a different foundation to stand on than just ‘Guy who Guards the Doors.’

With Abel, he thinks he’s found it.

“Peter,” He hears Abel breathe through the echoes of his own sobs in his ears, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I can.. Uh… take it back? I don’t want to but I can…”

This stupid beautiful man. Lord, Peter loves him. Without a second thought, Peter flings himself into Abel’s arms with a wail and feels the other catch him instantly, hands settling on his back as Abel hugs him back, tight and perfect. Peter’s drowning in his warm vanilla scent, Peter’s drowning in his own tears on Abel’s shoulder, Peter’s drowning because he’s never had anything but what he made himself and with Abel, he might just have something… someone else to hold him together.

Abel runs his hand on Peter’s back in an attempt to comfort him, which really does wonders as Peter’s sobs begin to get louder. He can’t bring himself to stop, because the second he stops, Peter doesn’t think he could cry ever again. Everything just unloads on Abel all at once and honestly, Peter doesn’t know if his boyfriend is fully ready for the depths of his long buried issues. 

Until his sobs quiet as he tries to catch his breath and he hears what Abel is quietly murmuring into his hair, his sharp nose pressed amongst his curls. 

“I’ll keep you safe, darling, just let it out. I’ll be here. I’ll stay here. I promise, I promise, I won’t be a failure again. I won’t. I won’t let you down, Peter, I won’t.”

He could never, but Peter doesn’t have the energy to say that to him as the hitching sobs in his chest die and fizzle out. Abel lets out a soft sigh of relief as this happens and Peter pulls away from his shoulder to gaze into his worried golden eyes, aware that he looks like a mess and is a mess and Abel still stares at him with so much love and concern.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters to him, “I just… I just was so happy that someone finally loved me back.”

That’s the most succinct way to summarize his emotions without truly unloading them onto Abel in an unnecessary rush. They have all the time in the world to unpack Peter’s trauma, just like they have all the time in the world to do so with Abel’s.

“Oh, Peter,” Abel breathes, tension dropping from his shoulders and a small smile forming on his face. Peter catches a glimpse of his little tooth gap and back as Abel uses a thumb to wipe the tears from his cheeks, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Abel.”

Abel flushes slightly before saying, “I hope you’ll tell me more about what’s bothering you someday.”

“I will,” Peter nods immediately, coming to the conclusion that not only does he owe it to Abel, but to himself to begin to slowly dissect his constant identity crisis.

“Good,” Abel leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek, his smile warm, “We should get back to bed, then. Big day tomorrow.”

Startled, Peter blinks at him. He wasn’t aware they had anything planned tomorrow. He feels himself give Abel a curious look, “Um.. hun? What’s tomorrow?”

“The… emergency meeting?” Abel replies, just as bewildered, “My first day as Head Exorcist. And I was kinda hoping… um… you could… Come with me to it?”

“Wait… What?”

[-]

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Peter protests half-heartedly as he and Abel walk hand-in-hand towards the Chamber of the Speaker together. 

Abel rolls his eyes as he swings their conjoined hands back and forth, a lightness in his frame that is definitely forced but still adorable. Peter just admires the side of his face in the warm sunlight of Paradise City. He’s not used to the city activity that had been clear to him when they’d gone to brunch earlier and Abel had been so overwhelmed by the menu he’d begged Peter to order for him and nearly cried with happiness when eating apple cinnamon pancakes for the first time.

But he also looks like he belongs here. Maybe Peter’s just biased or the weight on his chest is so much lighter than it was yesterday. It almost feels like it could be that he’s just happy. He has a boyfriend, he’s in love, he’s feeling the good vibes, he’d had sex with said boyfriend, he’s doing so well. 

Abel seems to be doing much better too, in a better mood than he’s been in two months since his issues with his father and his father’s subsequent death ensued. Peter likes to think it was the sex, but it’s honestly probably the apple cinnamon pancakes. Abel had gushed more about them during breakfast than he did about Peter. Which is fair, honestly, apple cinnamon pancakes are delicious. 

“You know, I think today is going to be a great meeting,” Abel says, “I’m almost kinda excited to introduce myself to everyone. They have no idea who I am.”

That is very true. Abel had no reputation whatsoever. In fact, in all the times they’d been out together before they’d started dating, he’d only been recognized a few times and it was always via the symbol on his hat. Now, he’s a public figure, the Head of the Exorcists and the second son of Adam and Eve. 

We’re going to be the weirdest celebrity couple in Heaven, Peter thinks to himself,  Maybe even weirder than some of the Cherub ones. The Gatekeeper no one likes and the unknown Son of Adam who nepotismed his way into leading an army. What a power couple. 

With that lovely thought, Peter and Abel enter their designated entrance to the Chamber of the Speaker, to their first official meeting in their new roles. Abel as Head Exorcist and Peter as supportive boyfriend. There’s a Heavenborne angel with two halos over their head standing at the door of their chamber entrance, studying a book as they watch the doors. Peter instantly feels a connection with them. Door-watching is a hard job! 

Abel swallows nervously by his side and steps forward, puffing out his chest as he walks forward, with Peter trailing behind. The Heavenborne looks up, does a double-take when they spot Peter and then focuses on Abel, who is standing patiently at the doors waiting to be let in. 

“I’m sorry,” says the Angel, “This entrance is for the Head of the Exorcists and their guests only.”

Abel nods, “Right. Well, my name is Abel. I’m the new Head of the Exorcists, and this is my guest.”

The Heavenborne stares at him. Peter can’t blame them, honestly, because his boyfriend just… doesn’t have any public presence. Most people don’t even know what he looks like. Abel watches patiently, a borderline apathetic expression on his face as the Heavenborne scans him up and down, eyes flickering to Peter who offers them a thumbs up. Their eyes dart up to the crooked halo on Abel’s head, the exorcist mask in his hands and eventually, the symbol of the House of Eden on his hat. 

“Okay, um… Abel, I guess,” They say, frowning at him, “Welcome to the Room of the Speaker.”

Abel thanks them politely and walks into the room, with Peter following behind him. He locks eyes with the Heavenborne who has a frown on their features and offers them a nod and a fingergun in door solidarity. They roll their eyes and go back to their book, which makes Peter retract his door solidarity immediately. Asshole. 

He catches up to Abel, who is setting his new helmet beside his chair with a relaxed air about him that is clearly a little forced. He’s pretending not to notice the confused murmuring at his appearance, and Peter honestly thinks he’s doing a rather good job at it. He seems almost unbothered by it all, but the shake of his wings as they remain tucked at his side gives away his nerves. 

“Hey, hun, you got this,” Peter tells him, sitting down on the plush purple couch on the elevated chair. Abel offers him a tense smile before joining him, nestling himself easily next to Peter and tilting his head up to take in the scope of the room.  

It’s lined head to toe with Heavenborne angels, who are all murmuring to themselves. They don’t seem to be paying attention to him, but they are definitely looking at Abel, who takes a shaky breath before he hits the button on their chair that raises it to the top of its reach. As they lift into the air, Peter takes Abel’s hand and squeezes once, for reassurance before he pulls away. 

“Here we go,” mutters Abel, and Peter nods and surveys the room himself.

Peter makes eye contact with Lute, who is sitting in an elevated chair nearby. She glowers at him through her mask, but tilts her head in confusion at Abel’s appearance next to him. She still must not know that Abel has swept her position out from underneath her.

That’ll be fun for her to find out.

Seconds after this, Emily arrives in her spot in the Seraphim balcony, her wings fluttering nervously. Interestingly, Peter realizes that he hasn’t seen her in almost a month, after Adam died. She must have been really busy with all of her internal work.  When she makes eye contact with Peter, her expression changes from worried to happy and she waves at him with a beaming smile. Next to him, Abel waves back at her and Peter watches as a mountain of anxiety seems to lift itself off her shoulders at seeing Abel in his position. 

Weird.

Finally, Sera arrives. If Emily was stressed, then Sera is stressed. Her beautiful ethereal features are contorted into a pinched expression and there are so many dark lines underneath her cheeks that Peter wonders if she needs to sleep. She lands with a small thump next to Emily, running a hand along her nose and then spots Abel sitting in his chair next to Peter. Same with Emily, she seems to relax a bit at seeing him and then turns to face the angels gathered in the chamber.

Peter and Abel watch as Sera lifts a hand and a snake-like angel wrapped up in chains is lifted out of the floor, his little wings quivering in fear. He looks terrified, and Peter’s heart lurches in pity for the guy. 

Sera folds her hands over her resting place and glares down at him, her wings opening and closing in agitation. When she speaks, her voice is tense and solemn, “We are gathered here today for the trial of this demon, who has somehow found his way up to Heaven. Sir Pentious, how do you plead?”

And the room erupts into shouting.