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For all it was worth, Gabriel thought, it wasn't all for naught.
Maybe they would get out, and hopefully that assclown would watch the tape.
An archangel's mind was big enough to burn through a lot of topics before finally burning out - how poetic, Gabriel - but he didn't need to relive anything any more.
He didn't close his eyes.
After all, and yes, after all that was still his brother in front of him, and he hadn't seen home for so long, that even the distorted, exhausted grimace Lucifer's face had become was welcome.
To say that it hurt would have been an understatement, but besides the static noise that made his true form shudder in an attempt to live, to breathe it was quiet. As human as that sounded, there was no better way for the archangel to think of life any more.
And dying so they'd have another shot?
Apparently, that was what he did now.
If Gabriel was being honest with himself, he was tired.
So for all the tragedy, and the unfairness, and the pain - oh father, the pain - it wasn't the worst scenario Gabriel could have chosen for himself.
He felt the light consuming his wings, felt them crumble to ashed on the wooden floor.
He never thought his eyes would close.
Thought they might look up, golden and still twinkling with mischief.
He never saw the darkness coming.