Fic: A History of Heaven (Gabriel/Various Angels, PG-13 for this chapter) 30/59
For full notes and other chapters, please see the Masterpost.
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer EDIT: 12/2/13 This chapter has been updated to include references to the Rit Zien, the healers of Heaven.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 1,648
Chapter Summary: Gabriel’s not carrying Lucifer’s message fast enough for him. There will be repercussions.
CHAPTER 30:
Abominations
When Gabriel stepped back through the wards and onto Earth, he was immediately wrapped in familiar grace as Anael and Castiel and Balthazar pressed forward to offer their support, along with all the other angels of the garrison. Gabriel leaned heavily on Anael’s shoulder but didn’t collapse to his knees this time. He could still feel Lucifer’s touch against his spirit, yellowed and slimy patches against his grace, and he shivered in disgust. That whole realm felt oily now, greasy and disgusting.
That was quick, Anael murmured into Gabriel’s mind, her arm unknowingly curling around Gabriel’s waist in exactly the same way Lucifer’s had. Are you well?
Temporal disconnect, Gabriel explained. It felt longer. Give me a moment to regain my senses. He stretched out his grace through Anael’s garrison, touching lightly against each of her Angels. They were all present and accounted for, uneasy but unharmed. The Nephilim who stalked among them had not attacked, and Anael’s Angels had not given in to the temptation to strike first.
Gabriel sighed and stretched his wings next, working out the kinks and flapping them to dispel the lingering manic energy. He nodded to Anael, and she withdrew her arm, spreading her own wings. “Let’s fly!” she snapped to her garrison, and hundreds of wings rustled in unison. Gabriel led the flight out of the cavern, the brilliant light of the angels spiraling into the sky.
A smear of heavy grace darkened the ground beneath them as they rose, and Gabriel heard Lucifer whisper in his mind. The fallen Archangel had emerged from his realm for the first time since the war began.
Be quick, Messenger. Until Heaven acknowledges us, we will keep fighting.
It was a warning, a promise, and a threat, all at once, and it was followed shortly by a scream on a different frequency. High and piercing, it was the cry of an injured angel. A Seraph, judging by the power in the voice. Gabriel’s wings stuttered, his flight abruptly checked as the pain echoed through his mind. Anael and her angels swirled around Gabriel, confused.
“Gabriel?”
They hadn’t heard. It hadn’t been broadcast over the Host-wide channel, then. That only left one other option: it was one of Gabriel’s Seraphim. “Someone’s being attacked!” he shouted. “Follow me, hurry!”
The angels needed no second command. They flooded after Gabriel, racing as high in the sky as they could so as not to burn out the eyes of any human who looked up. Gabriel chased his Seraph’s scream halfway around the world, finding him pinned to the side of a stepped pyramid. Nephilim swarmed the structure, stabbing viciously at the Seraph’s outstretched wings, sawing through grace and spirit and laughing as the angel howled in agony. More of Gabriel’s angels were on the ground, battling fiercely against the Nephilim, trying to reach their leader. At Gabriel’s side, Anael was shouting orders, her garrison immediately diving into action.
Gabriel himself dove for the Seraph, flaring his grace brightly and igniting his wings as he shouted a war cry. He was the smallest Archangel, but unvesseled, he was still over two hundred times larger than an individual Nephilim. He swung his sword, easily slicing through the half-angelic creatures.
As Anael’s garrison tore into the remaining Nephilim, Gabriel turned to the Seraph stretched out against the pyramid. The angel was envesseled, a silver blade driven through his shoulder to keep him in place against the stone. A puddle of grace, its glow fading as it dissipated, was pooling beneath his body. The angel’s own spirit was weak and flickering within the human vessel, its soul long gone.
“Barachiel!“
This was one of Gabriel’s top Seraphim, now second only to Cariel. Barachiel’s angels were peaceful creatures, monitoring and controlling the natural forces on Earth, the wind and the rain, the shifting of the Earth’s plates and the slow crumble of erosion. Gabriel believed it was truly impossible to hate Barachiel. Even Raphael had a soft spot for the cheerful Seraph. Now he was dying, struggling to open his eyes on the cold stones of a human monument.
“You’re safe, Barach,” Gabriel murmured, stepping in close and smoothing his palm over Barachiel’s forehead. “Shh. Reach for my grace, hold on tight. I’m going to take you home.” He wrapped his grace around Barachiel’s weak spirit, trying to gather his brother together as much as possible before easing the sword out of his flesh. Barachiel hissed in pain, his fingers scrabbling against the stone, but his wings didn’t even twitch.
His wings didn’t twitch. They didn’t even glow. Gabriel felt a sick twist in his stomach that grew into a full-blown nausea as he lifted Barachiel in his arms and left the Seraph’s wings behind, crumbling into ash. The Nephilim had cut off Barachiel’s wings, all six of his magnificent wings. A cold fury swept through Gabriel’s grace, and he snarled as he turned toward the rest of the battle.
Anael’s angels looked up at Gabriel, falling back into formation. The bodies of Nephilim (and humans, as the burnt-out eyes attested to) were scattered around them. The angels that had been with Barachiel were huddling together behind their Dominion, a slender angel Gabriel knew as Hael, dusting off their vessels and healing physical injuries. They all snuck little glances at the Seraph in Gabriel’s arms, their eyes quickly skittering away as they swallowed and grimaced.
“Burn the bodies,” Gabriel growled, hugging Barachiel against him. “Burn everything. Then report back to Heaven. I need to get him to Raphael.”
Anael nodded, saluting Gabriel. At her side, Hael shivered and gave a weak salute of her own. “Understood. Go!”
Gabriel unfurled his wings and shot into the sky. Barachiel whimpered in his arms, whispering broken words like sorry, and no, and please. Gabriel threaded his grace into Barachiel’s, trying to keep him alive without overloading his broken spirit. If he could find Raphael, surely Raphael could save Barachiel. Raphael could save anyone, if he could lay his hands upon them before they died.
He wouldn’t have time to guess at Raphael’s location. He shouted his brother’s name over the Archangel channel, his grace flaring angrily as he heard a demented cackling coming from Lucifer. The fallen Archangel could still listen in!
Truce, Messenger, or more will fall.
Borderlands, Raphael answered, before Michael’s presence swelled over the connection, chasing Lucifer away. Gabriel tuned it out and ripped through the veil between the worlds.
Raphael was in the same location Gabriel had last seen him, but this time, he was waiting for Gabriel. Marmoniel, Raphael’s second in command and the leader of his garrisons of healers, was rushing through the greyness of the Borderlands towards them as well. As soon as Raphael spotted Gabriel, he swooped in. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, grabbing Gabriel’s shoulder and studying his brother. “Did Lucifer attack you?”
“Not me, Barachiel!” Gabriel thrust his Seraph at Heaven’s greatest healer. “Help him, Raphael, please!” Begging was not beneath Gabriel’s dignity when one of his Seraphim was dying.
Raphael’s gaze darkened as he took in the sight of the injured angel in Gabriel’s arms, and he shook his head, drawing his wings back. “Far more merciful to kill him now, Gabriel, than to make him live on like this.” He funneled his power into his hands, and as they glowed with the strength of his grace, Raphael reached forward toward Barachiel.
“No!” Gabriel lurched back, knowing what that touch would mean. Raphael and his healers, the Rit Zien, could heal most injuries. For those angels too far gone for their care, they offered a merciful death, swift and painless. “No, Raphael, please. It’s Barachiel. Barachiel. Please. Give him a chance. Try to heal him first. Please.”
Raphael studied Gabriel solemnly before he gave a little nod and let his concentrated grace dissipate. The Healer took Barachiel carefully from Gabriel’s arms, and Marmoniel clustered in with several more healers, their wings spread wide. Gabriel was pushed back, unable to do anything more than get out of their way. Raphael murmured a word of power, pressing his fingers to Barachiel's forehead, and the Seraph went limp and silent, his head lolling to the side, mouth slack. His grace still whispered weakly into the bleakness of the Borderlands, reassuring Gabriel that he hadn’t handed Barachiel over to his death. It wasn't too late. Raphael had him. Barachiel couldn't be dying now.
“Gabriel!” Cariel shot toward Gabriel, his wings a blur as he flew as fast as he could, landing with a few steps to check his momentum. “Gabriel, you're alive, you made it out! Barach-”
“Raphael has him.” Gabriel turned slowly to look at his second. “They cut off his wings, Cariel, those Nephilim were carving him into pieces! Barachiel! Barachiel has never wished harm on so much as a gnat!” His hands curled into fists, impotent rage bubbling up within his grace. “Those monsters, those abominations did this to him! They thought it was fun!”
“Good.” Raphael turned away from Barachiel to look at Gabriel over his shoulder. “Good.“
“How is this good!?” Gabriel demanded, shoving Cariel aside so he could stalk toward Raphael, his wings still burning with flames. “Barachiel is dying!”
“Was,” Raphael corrected. “We've stopped the bleeding. He'll survive. More importantly, you are finally furious about something.” The Archangel stepped away from Barachiel's limp body to approach Gabriel, a pleased smile upon his face. “This is why I’m letting him live. We needed that.”
“What?” Gabriel didn't understand. He tried to look around Raphael at Barachiel, looked over to Cariel, but there were no answers from his Seraphim. “What do you mean?”
“I've been mad. Michael's been mad. You've been wringing your hands and hoping that if you ignored it enough, this war would go away.” Raphael prodded at Gabriel's shoulder with each sentence. “You are finally righteously angry! Your angels are threatened, and now you're ready to get in the fight. I'm giving you the Nephilim.”
For lack of a better response, Gabriel repeated himself, feeling utterly thick as he stared at his brother. “…what?”
“The Nephilim,” Raphael repeated. “They attacked your Seraph. Now you get to attack them. Take any of your angels. Draw from my warriors if you need to. Find a way to hunt them down, round them up, and destroy every last one of those monsters. I don't want to lose another angel to their filthy hands. Can I trust you to do this for me? For Barachiel?”
Raphael stepped aside, giving Gabriel a clear view of his injured angel. Barachiel looked tiny and vulnerable in his human vessel, with no wings at his back. A fresh wave of anger burned through Gabriel's grace, and he gave a firm nod.
“Absolutely.”
Next...
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer EDIT: 12/2/13 This chapter has been updated to include references to the Rit Zien, the healers of Heaven.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 1,648
Chapter Summary: Gabriel’s not carrying Lucifer’s message fast enough for him. There will be repercussions.
CHAPTER 30:
Abominations
When Gabriel stepped back through the wards and onto Earth, he was immediately wrapped in familiar grace as Anael and Castiel and Balthazar pressed forward to offer their support, along with all the other angels of the garrison. Gabriel leaned heavily on Anael’s shoulder but didn’t collapse to his knees this time. He could still feel Lucifer’s touch against his spirit, yellowed and slimy patches against his grace, and he shivered in disgust. That whole realm felt oily now, greasy and disgusting.
That was quick, Anael murmured into Gabriel’s mind, her arm unknowingly curling around Gabriel’s waist in exactly the same way Lucifer’s had. Are you well?
Temporal disconnect, Gabriel explained. It felt longer. Give me a moment to regain my senses. He stretched out his grace through Anael’s garrison, touching lightly against each of her Angels. They were all present and accounted for, uneasy but unharmed. The Nephilim who stalked among them had not attacked, and Anael’s Angels had not given in to the temptation to strike first.
Gabriel sighed and stretched his wings next, working out the kinks and flapping them to dispel the lingering manic energy. He nodded to Anael, and she withdrew her arm, spreading her own wings. “Let’s fly!” she snapped to her garrison, and hundreds of wings rustled in unison. Gabriel led the flight out of the cavern, the brilliant light of the angels spiraling into the sky.
A smear of heavy grace darkened the ground beneath them as they rose, and Gabriel heard Lucifer whisper in his mind. The fallen Archangel had emerged from his realm for the first time since the war began.
Be quick, Messenger. Until Heaven acknowledges us, we will keep fighting.
It was a warning, a promise, and a threat, all at once, and it was followed shortly by a scream on a different frequency. High and piercing, it was the cry of an injured angel. A Seraph, judging by the power in the voice. Gabriel’s wings stuttered, his flight abruptly checked as the pain echoed through his mind. Anael and her angels swirled around Gabriel, confused.
“Gabriel?”
They hadn’t heard. It hadn’t been broadcast over the Host-wide channel, then. That only left one other option: it was one of Gabriel’s Seraphim. “Someone’s being attacked!” he shouted. “Follow me, hurry!”
The angels needed no second command. They flooded after Gabriel, racing as high in the sky as they could so as not to burn out the eyes of any human who looked up. Gabriel chased his Seraph’s scream halfway around the world, finding him pinned to the side of a stepped pyramid. Nephilim swarmed the structure, stabbing viciously at the Seraph’s outstretched wings, sawing through grace and spirit and laughing as the angel howled in agony. More of Gabriel’s angels were on the ground, battling fiercely against the Nephilim, trying to reach their leader. At Gabriel’s side, Anael was shouting orders, her garrison immediately diving into action.
Gabriel himself dove for the Seraph, flaring his grace brightly and igniting his wings as he shouted a war cry. He was the smallest Archangel, but unvesseled, he was still over two hundred times larger than an individual Nephilim. He swung his sword, easily slicing through the half-angelic creatures.
As Anael’s garrison tore into the remaining Nephilim, Gabriel turned to the Seraph stretched out against the pyramid. The angel was envesseled, a silver blade driven through his shoulder to keep him in place against the stone. A puddle of grace, its glow fading as it dissipated, was pooling beneath his body. The angel’s own spirit was weak and flickering within the human vessel, its soul long gone.
“Barachiel!“
This was one of Gabriel’s top Seraphim, now second only to Cariel. Barachiel’s angels were peaceful creatures, monitoring and controlling the natural forces on Earth, the wind and the rain, the shifting of the Earth’s plates and the slow crumble of erosion. Gabriel believed it was truly impossible to hate Barachiel. Even Raphael had a soft spot for the cheerful Seraph. Now he was dying, struggling to open his eyes on the cold stones of a human monument.
“You’re safe, Barach,” Gabriel murmured, stepping in close and smoothing his palm over Barachiel’s forehead. “Shh. Reach for my grace, hold on tight. I’m going to take you home.” He wrapped his grace around Barachiel’s weak spirit, trying to gather his brother together as much as possible before easing the sword out of his flesh. Barachiel hissed in pain, his fingers scrabbling against the stone, but his wings didn’t even twitch.
His wings didn’t twitch. They didn’t even glow. Gabriel felt a sick twist in his stomach that grew into a full-blown nausea as he lifted Barachiel in his arms and left the Seraph’s wings behind, crumbling into ash. The Nephilim had cut off Barachiel’s wings, all six of his magnificent wings. A cold fury swept through Gabriel’s grace, and he snarled as he turned toward the rest of the battle.
Anael’s angels looked up at Gabriel, falling back into formation. The bodies of Nephilim (and humans, as the burnt-out eyes attested to) were scattered around them. The angels that had been with Barachiel were huddling together behind their Dominion, a slender angel Gabriel knew as Hael, dusting off their vessels and healing physical injuries. They all snuck little glances at the Seraph in Gabriel’s arms, their eyes quickly skittering away as they swallowed and grimaced.
“Burn the bodies,” Gabriel growled, hugging Barachiel against him. “Burn everything. Then report back to Heaven. I need to get him to Raphael.”
Anael nodded, saluting Gabriel. At her side, Hael shivered and gave a weak salute of her own. “Understood. Go!”
Gabriel unfurled his wings and shot into the sky. Barachiel whimpered in his arms, whispering broken words like sorry, and no, and please. Gabriel threaded his grace into Barachiel’s, trying to keep him alive without overloading his broken spirit. If he could find Raphael, surely Raphael could save Barachiel. Raphael could save anyone, if he could lay his hands upon them before they died.
He wouldn’t have time to guess at Raphael’s location. He shouted his brother’s name over the Archangel channel, his grace flaring angrily as he heard a demented cackling coming from Lucifer. The fallen Archangel could still listen in!
Truce, Messenger, or more will fall.
Borderlands, Raphael answered, before Michael’s presence swelled over the connection, chasing Lucifer away. Gabriel tuned it out and ripped through the veil between the worlds.
Raphael was in the same location Gabriel had last seen him, but this time, he was waiting for Gabriel. Marmoniel, Raphael’s second in command and the leader of his garrisons of healers, was rushing through the greyness of the Borderlands towards them as well. As soon as Raphael spotted Gabriel, he swooped in. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, grabbing Gabriel’s shoulder and studying his brother. “Did Lucifer attack you?”
“Not me, Barachiel!” Gabriel thrust his Seraph at Heaven’s greatest healer. “Help him, Raphael, please!” Begging was not beneath Gabriel’s dignity when one of his Seraphim was dying.
Raphael’s gaze darkened as he took in the sight of the injured angel in Gabriel’s arms, and he shook his head, drawing his wings back. “Far more merciful to kill him now, Gabriel, than to make him live on like this.” He funneled his power into his hands, and as they glowed with the strength of his grace, Raphael reached forward toward Barachiel.
“No!” Gabriel lurched back, knowing what that touch would mean. Raphael and his healers, the Rit Zien, could heal most injuries. For those angels too far gone for their care, they offered a merciful death, swift and painless. “No, Raphael, please. It’s Barachiel. Barachiel. Please. Give him a chance. Try to heal him first. Please.”
Raphael studied Gabriel solemnly before he gave a little nod and let his concentrated grace dissipate. The Healer took Barachiel carefully from Gabriel’s arms, and Marmoniel clustered in with several more healers, their wings spread wide. Gabriel was pushed back, unable to do anything more than get out of their way. Raphael murmured a word of power, pressing his fingers to Barachiel's forehead, and the Seraph went limp and silent, his head lolling to the side, mouth slack. His grace still whispered weakly into the bleakness of the Borderlands, reassuring Gabriel that he hadn’t handed Barachiel over to his death. It wasn't too late. Raphael had him. Barachiel couldn't be dying now.
“Gabriel!” Cariel shot toward Gabriel, his wings a blur as he flew as fast as he could, landing with a few steps to check his momentum. “Gabriel, you're alive, you made it out! Barach-”
“Raphael has him.” Gabriel turned slowly to look at his second. “They cut off his wings, Cariel, those Nephilim were carving him into pieces! Barachiel! Barachiel has never wished harm on so much as a gnat!” His hands curled into fists, impotent rage bubbling up within his grace. “Those monsters, those abominations did this to him! They thought it was fun!”
“Good.” Raphael turned away from Barachiel to look at Gabriel over his shoulder. “Good.“
“How is this good!?” Gabriel demanded, shoving Cariel aside so he could stalk toward Raphael, his wings still burning with flames. “Barachiel is dying!”
“Was,” Raphael corrected. “We've stopped the bleeding. He'll survive. More importantly, you are finally furious about something.” The Archangel stepped away from Barachiel's limp body to approach Gabriel, a pleased smile upon his face. “This is why I’m letting him live. We needed that.”
“What?” Gabriel didn't understand. He tried to look around Raphael at Barachiel, looked over to Cariel, but there were no answers from his Seraphim. “What do you mean?”
“I've been mad. Michael's been mad. You've been wringing your hands and hoping that if you ignored it enough, this war would go away.” Raphael prodded at Gabriel's shoulder with each sentence. “You are finally righteously angry! Your angels are threatened, and now you're ready to get in the fight. I'm giving you the Nephilim.”
For lack of a better response, Gabriel repeated himself, feeling utterly thick as he stared at his brother. “…what?”
“The Nephilim,” Raphael repeated. “They attacked your Seraph. Now you get to attack them. Take any of your angels. Draw from my warriors if you need to. Find a way to hunt them down, round them up, and destroy every last one of those monsters. I don't want to lose another angel to their filthy hands. Can I trust you to do this for me? For Barachiel?”
Raphael stepped aside, giving Gabriel a clear view of his injured angel. Barachiel looked tiny and vulnerable in his human vessel, with no wings at his back. A fresh wave of anger burned through Gabriel's grace, and he gave a firm nod.
“Absolutely.”
Next...