Fic: A History of Heaven (Gabriel/Various Angels, PG-13 for this chapter) 49/59
For full notes and other chapters, please see the Masterpost.
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 2,412
Chapter Summary: It’s Jesus’ last day on Earth, and Gabriel just wants to help him die in peace.
CHAPTER 49:
The End of His Days
It wasn’t fair!
Of course, Gabriel was very aware that life was never fair, but somehow, this night felt especially unfair. He was an Archangel of the Lord, one of the most powerful beings in the entire universe, and he could do nothing to help his human friend except sit in the tree above him while he prayed and his friends slept. It just wasn’t fair!
“You’re upset.”
Jesus’ quiet voice called Gabriel away from his rant at the universe. The angel looked down at the man below him.
For three years now, Jesus had been teaching and preaching, with Gabriel always at his side. For three years, they had traveled throughout the country together, talking about God and the kingdom of Heaven. Every night, Gabriel settled down in Jesus’ dreams to speak with him about everything he knew, and every night, Gabriel felt that Jesus had somehow managed to teach him. The man had steadily grown in his own spirit, and his soul glowed calmly, a miniature supernova contained by the man’s iron control. Gabriel loved being near Jesus. It felt like being near God, but with none of the fear that Jesus would explode in world-ending wrath.
As Jesus had grown stronger, he had grown more attuned with Gabriel and the angels. He could spot an angel in a vessel with just a glance now, and Cariel had a harder time hiding from the man. He was also able to read Gabriel’s grace like an angel could, seeing the Archangel’s emotions.
“I don’t see why we can’t leave.” Gabriel swung his foot, his leg dangling over the side of the branch he lounged on. “There’s still plenty of time. I can get you out of here in one piece. If we leave now, I won’t even have to fly you. Your disciples would be able to come along too, idiots that they are.”
“They aren’t idiots,” Jesus said, looking toward his sleeping friends, slumped over each other just out of earshot. “They are men, pure men, with all the handicaps and advantages that come with that mortality. They don’t get angels on their shoulders explaining things.”
“And yet they can’t even stay awake one night with you.” Gabriel shook his head. He was fairly certain Jesus had picked some of the slowest, thickest humans around to follow him, but Jesus loved them despite their faults. “Let me help you. That’s what I’m here for.”
“There is nothing more you can do for me. You warned me about Judas. Your task is over.”
“It’s not over until you’re dead, and you’re not dead yet.” Gabriel swung himself out of the tree, landing lightly on his feet and resting his hand on Jesus’ shoulder. “I can save you.”
Jesus sighed, bowing his head and closing his eyes again. “No, Gabriel. This is my task, which has been given to me by my Father. Our Father.”
“You don’t want to die any more than I want you to die,” Gabriel argued. “Don’t try to lie to me. I can still read your soul.”
Jesus smiled a little, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. But Father’s will must be done, not my own. However, I will not deny my fear. I don’t suppose you can do anything about that?”
Gabriel sat behind Jesus, curling his wings around the man and resting his head on Jesus’ shoulder. “I can’t take away your fear, but I can promise to stay with you. I can heal your wounds, take away your pain-”
“Don’t,” Jesus shook his head sharply. “Don’t heal me, Gabriel. I mean it. I need to die as a man.”
“Men die messy,” Gabriel pointed out. “Why must you die like that?”
“As I lived as a man, I must die as a man, so as to have the entire scope of man’s experience. A god who has not died cannot be victorious over death.”
“Some would argue that a god who has died has been defeated by death.” Gabriel paused for a moment. “Such as Death. He’d argue that.”
“Ah, but not if you die and come back to life. That is the true victory.”
“No, not really. That just pisses Death off. Trust me. I’ve raised a few souls myself. Nothing better to make him mad.”
Jesus chuckled, leaning back against Gabriel. Despite the angel doing nothing to solidify his spirit for Jesus, Jesus still did not fall through him. “Nevertheless, I am still going to die. And then I will be restored to life and ascend into Heaven.”
“It’s not the death part that really upsets me,” Gabriel confessed. “I have it on good authority that death itself is painless, and you would go to Heaven anyway, where I could visit. It’s the dying bit I don’t like. Dying hurts, and your dying will hurt a lot. You’ve pissed off many people. They won’t let you have an easy death.”
“Then I will suffer for the good of the world.”
“I don’t really think it works like that…”
Jesus closed his eyes and smiled. “Tell me about Heaven?”
Heaven is a gloomy mess of confused angels. God’s presence is as frail and weak as the fluttering of butterfly wings against our spirits. Sammael’s tower crumbles to the south, and the whole realm feels lopsided, sinking into his absence. Heaven is constant squabbling and high walls, with gates kept locked half the time and maimed brothers hopefully looking to you for direction.
Gabriel tilted his head against Jesus’ and closed his eyes. Jesus did not want the truth. He wanted the story Gabriel always answered with. “Heaven is like the most brilliant summer’s day. The sky is always blue and the water is always clear. The Axis Mundi ripples through the realm, a glowing ribbon full of angels and their iridescent wings. The songs of the Host fill the air, praise to our Father and Creator, love for each other, for the Earth we cherish and the people we protect. Four glittering towers hold the sky above, one for each of the choirs, each of the Archangels. My tower stands to the west, an eternal flame, burning and dancing and consuming nothing. Raphael’s tower stands to the east, a twisting vortex, the power of wind with none of the destruction. To the south, Sammael’s spike of ice spears upward, always frozen, never freezing. In the north is the great tree of Michael’s tower, home to the oldest of angels.”
“Where does my Father live?” Jesus’ voice was sleepy, questioning Gabriel like a child who had heard this familiar story a thousand times over and knew exactly when to speak up.
Gabriel brushed his fingers over Jesus’ face, pushing his hair aside. “Your Father dwells in the great Garden in the very center of Heaven, where all the spokes of the Axis Mundi come together. The Garden is ringed by a fence, but it is not meant to keep anyone out. It simply indicates the boundaries of this most holy of places. Inside the Garden, trees and flowers of every size and color grow, and the air is perfumed with their vivid scents. Cherubim of Michael’s choir, the caretakers of Heaven, work in the Garden, led by Joshua, the greatest Cherub of them all.”
“Where does my Father live?” Jesus asked again, continuing the tradition they had set in place the very first time Gabriel had talked about Heaven.
Gabriel curled his arms around Jesus in an embrace. “Your Father dwells in His Throne Room, in the very center of Heaven, where all the spokes of the Axis Mundi come together. The walls are polished stone, and the doors heavy oak, carved with prayers and praise. Inside are the Thrones of Heaven, six massive chairs for you and your Father and all of the Archangels that ever were. Our thrones are black marble, with tall backs and curved arms. Yours and Father’s are white marble, streaked through with gold. Father’s stands above us all, and your throne is at His right hand, awaiting your arrival.”
“Where does my Father live?” Jesus asked for the third time, settling deeper against Gabriel.
Gabriel lifted his hand to cup the man’s head, cradling him against his chest like a child. “Your Father lives in everything and everyone. In the smallest grain of sand from the desert, your Father lives. In the largest elephant that walks the forests, your Father lives. In the light of the sun and the height of the mountain, your Father lives. The smallest beggar child holds your Father in her heart, and so does the richest king. Your Father is in every star, every field, every breast. He lives in you, and He lives in me, and He lives in all our brethren. Wherever there is life, or light, or love, there is your Father.”
Jesus wasn’t asleep, but he was still in Gabriel’s arms. His eyes were closed and his chest moved with every deep breath, stealing some last moments of rest during this calm.
The storm broke less than an hour later. Gabriel felt the hostility of the crowd first, a wave of anger breaking over the garden wall. He nudged Jesus gently, prodding the man until he took a deep breath and sat up. “Is it time?”
“It’s not too late,” Gabriel offered hopelessly.
“No, angel.” Jesus patted Gabriel’s hand and pushed himself to his feet. “I must face my destiny.”
Gabriel hung back as Jesus went to wake his disciples. He knew what was going to happen next. He had sneaked a peek into the future when he first saw Judas behaving unscrupulously.
Judas would identify Jesus to the temple guards and elders, and a small scuffle would break out. Jesus calmed his followers and went willingly with the guards. Only Simon Peter would follow Jesus, but he would pretend not to know the man. The next day, the council of elders would judge Jesus and find him guilty, then take him to Pilate.
Just as Gabriel had foreseen, Pilate tried to get the crowd to release Jesus, but the hivemind would not be swayed. The Roman sentenced him to crucifixion, as the crowd wished, but walked away with a heavy heart.
“Your sins are forgiven,” Gabriel murmured to Pilate as the man walked past him. “His death will not be on your hands when your day of judgment comes.”
During all of Jesus’ trials and travels, the man was mocked and scorned. Every time Gabriel stepped forward to try to stop the humiliation, Jesus caught his eye and gave a firm shake of his head. No help. The angel clenched his hands into fists and bit at the corner of his mouth, forcing himself to stay put. His wings beat in agitation, but aside from stirring up some hot breezes, they did not affect the mortals around him.
As Jesus was taken up the road to Golgotha, a voice in the crowd whispered Gabriel’s name. The angel turned, frowning, trying to see who had called out to him. There. Mary. The mother of Jesus.
The crowd parted around Gabriel without realizing he was present. He made his way to Mary’s side and curved a wing around her shoulders. “I am here.”
“You promised you’d take away my pain if I said yes,” Mary whispered into her clasped hands. “Please, Gabriel, please make it stop hurting.”
“Oh Mary.” Gabriel drew the woman into his arms even though she could not see or hear him, trying to press as much love into her grieving soul as he could without lifting his veil. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
Mary wept into Gabriel’s wings as the crowd swept them up the hill. Her wails reached their peak when Jesus was actually nailed to the cross and lifted it up, but then, to Gabriel’s surprise, they tapered away. Mary wiped at her face, though she did not stop weeping, and lifted her chin. “He never was mine, was he?” she asked. “He always was meant for God. As the Lord has given me, so too He takes away. Gabriel, if you can hear me, please go to him. Take away his pain, not mine. He may need to die today, but he does not need to die in pain.”
“That, I can do.” Gabriel pressed a kiss to Mary’s forehead before he stepped through the crowd and approached Jesus. He reached out, curling his hands around Jesus’ legs. Above him, the man cracked his eyes open and looked down at the angel.
Don’t heal me.
“I’m not.” Gabriel concentrated, picking out the pain and drawing it out of Jesus’ soul. He carefully cauterized the man’s ability to feel pain at all, permanently removing it. Jesus was going to die today. He didn’t need to feel pain ever again.
The man sighed in relief, his body sagging on the cross as his pain evaporated. I’m supposed to suffer.
“You already have,” Gabriel argued. “Let me show you some of Heaven’s infamous mercy. Any other complaints?”
Hot. Jesus lifted his head to squint toward the sun. Would you darken the sun for me?
Gabriel lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. A shadow fell over the sun, blanketing the Earth in darkness. The crowd gasped, a low susurrus of sound buzzing up from the spectators.
Jesus’ chin fell onto his chest as he gave a croaking laugh. That wasn’t meant to be a serious request. I thought you weren’t a miracle worker.
“It’s your last hours,” Gabriel shot back. “I’ve watched you show off all these years. Now it’s my turn.”
Gabriel stood at Jesus’ feet for three hours, banishing the man’s hunger and thirst, trying to make him as comfortable as possible while hanging from a cross of wood. All Jesus was left with was his own fatigue, a bone-deep weariness that Gabriel could not mask or remove. Finally, Jesus lifted his head, smiling at Gabriel briefly, before looking up into the dark sky. “Father,” he cried, in a surprisingly loud voice for his exhaustion, “into your hands, I commend my spirit!”
As the words echoed through the crowd, repeated for those in the back who hadn’t heard the show, Jesus’ entire body sagged again, his head lolling forward. Gabriel watched a pretty young Reaper step back, a bright soul in her hands. Their eyes met for a moment, and then Gabriel turned away. Jesus was dead.
Next...
Notes: Sammael = Lucifer
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 2,412
Chapter Summary: It’s Jesus’ last day on Earth, and Gabriel just wants to help him die in peace.
CHAPTER 49:
The End of His Days
It wasn’t fair!
Of course, Gabriel was very aware that life was never fair, but somehow, this night felt especially unfair. He was an Archangel of the Lord, one of the most powerful beings in the entire universe, and he could do nothing to help his human friend except sit in the tree above him while he prayed and his friends slept. It just wasn’t fair!
“You’re upset.”
Jesus’ quiet voice called Gabriel away from his rant at the universe. The angel looked down at the man below him.
For three years now, Jesus had been teaching and preaching, with Gabriel always at his side. For three years, they had traveled throughout the country together, talking about God and the kingdom of Heaven. Every night, Gabriel settled down in Jesus’ dreams to speak with him about everything he knew, and every night, Gabriel felt that Jesus had somehow managed to teach him. The man had steadily grown in his own spirit, and his soul glowed calmly, a miniature supernova contained by the man’s iron control. Gabriel loved being near Jesus. It felt like being near God, but with none of the fear that Jesus would explode in world-ending wrath.
As Jesus had grown stronger, he had grown more attuned with Gabriel and the angels. He could spot an angel in a vessel with just a glance now, and Cariel had a harder time hiding from the man. He was also able to read Gabriel’s grace like an angel could, seeing the Archangel’s emotions.
“I don’t see why we can’t leave.” Gabriel swung his foot, his leg dangling over the side of the branch he lounged on. “There’s still plenty of time. I can get you out of here in one piece. If we leave now, I won’t even have to fly you. Your disciples would be able to come along too, idiots that they are.”
“They aren’t idiots,” Jesus said, looking toward his sleeping friends, slumped over each other just out of earshot. “They are men, pure men, with all the handicaps and advantages that come with that mortality. They don’t get angels on their shoulders explaining things.”
“And yet they can’t even stay awake one night with you.” Gabriel shook his head. He was fairly certain Jesus had picked some of the slowest, thickest humans around to follow him, but Jesus loved them despite their faults. “Let me help you. That’s what I’m here for.”
“There is nothing more you can do for me. You warned me about Judas. Your task is over.”
“It’s not over until you’re dead, and you’re not dead yet.” Gabriel swung himself out of the tree, landing lightly on his feet and resting his hand on Jesus’ shoulder. “I can save you.”
Jesus sighed, bowing his head and closing his eyes again. “No, Gabriel. This is my task, which has been given to me by my Father. Our Father.”
“You don’t want to die any more than I want you to die,” Gabriel argued. “Don’t try to lie to me. I can still read your soul.”
Jesus smiled a little, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. But Father’s will must be done, not my own. However, I will not deny my fear. I don’t suppose you can do anything about that?”
Gabriel sat behind Jesus, curling his wings around the man and resting his head on Jesus’ shoulder. “I can’t take away your fear, but I can promise to stay with you. I can heal your wounds, take away your pain-”
“Don’t,” Jesus shook his head sharply. “Don’t heal me, Gabriel. I mean it. I need to die as a man.”
“Men die messy,” Gabriel pointed out. “Why must you die like that?”
“As I lived as a man, I must die as a man, so as to have the entire scope of man’s experience. A god who has not died cannot be victorious over death.”
“Some would argue that a god who has died has been defeated by death.” Gabriel paused for a moment. “Such as Death. He’d argue that.”
“Ah, but not if you die and come back to life. That is the true victory.”
“No, not really. That just pisses Death off. Trust me. I’ve raised a few souls myself. Nothing better to make him mad.”
Jesus chuckled, leaning back against Gabriel. Despite the angel doing nothing to solidify his spirit for Jesus, Jesus still did not fall through him. “Nevertheless, I am still going to die. And then I will be restored to life and ascend into Heaven.”
“It’s not the death part that really upsets me,” Gabriel confessed. “I have it on good authority that death itself is painless, and you would go to Heaven anyway, where I could visit. It’s the dying bit I don’t like. Dying hurts, and your dying will hurt a lot. You’ve pissed off many people. They won’t let you have an easy death.”
“Then I will suffer for the good of the world.”
“I don’t really think it works like that…”
Jesus closed his eyes and smiled. “Tell me about Heaven?”
Heaven is a gloomy mess of confused angels. God’s presence is as frail and weak as the fluttering of butterfly wings against our spirits. Sammael’s tower crumbles to the south, and the whole realm feels lopsided, sinking into his absence. Heaven is constant squabbling and high walls, with gates kept locked half the time and maimed brothers hopefully looking to you for direction.
Gabriel tilted his head against Jesus’ and closed his eyes. Jesus did not want the truth. He wanted the story Gabriel always answered with. “Heaven is like the most brilliant summer’s day. The sky is always blue and the water is always clear. The Axis Mundi ripples through the realm, a glowing ribbon full of angels and their iridescent wings. The songs of the Host fill the air, praise to our Father and Creator, love for each other, for the Earth we cherish and the people we protect. Four glittering towers hold the sky above, one for each of the choirs, each of the Archangels. My tower stands to the west, an eternal flame, burning and dancing and consuming nothing. Raphael’s tower stands to the east, a twisting vortex, the power of wind with none of the destruction. To the south, Sammael’s spike of ice spears upward, always frozen, never freezing. In the north is the great tree of Michael’s tower, home to the oldest of angels.”
“Where does my Father live?” Jesus’ voice was sleepy, questioning Gabriel like a child who had heard this familiar story a thousand times over and knew exactly when to speak up.
Gabriel brushed his fingers over Jesus’ face, pushing his hair aside. “Your Father dwells in the great Garden in the very center of Heaven, where all the spokes of the Axis Mundi come together. The Garden is ringed by a fence, but it is not meant to keep anyone out. It simply indicates the boundaries of this most holy of places. Inside the Garden, trees and flowers of every size and color grow, and the air is perfumed with their vivid scents. Cherubim of Michael’s choir, the caretakers of Heaven, work in the Garden, led by Joshua, the greatest Cherub of them all.”
“Where does my Father live?” Jesus asked again, continuing the tradition they had set in place the very first time Gabriel had talked about Heaven.
Gabriel curled his arms around Jesus in an embrace. “Your Father dwells in His Throne Room, in the very center of Heaven, where all the spokes of the Axis Mundi come together. The walls are polished stone, and the doors heavy oak, carved with prayers and praise. Inside are the Thrones of Heaven, six massive chairs for you and your Father and all of the Archangels that ever were. Our thrones are black marble, with tall backs and curved arms. Yours and Father’s are white marble, streaked through with gold. Father’s stands above us all, and your throne is at His right hand, awaiting your arrival.”
“Where does my Father live?” Jesus asked for the third time, settling deeper against Gabriel.
Gabriel lifted his hand to cup the man’s head, cradling him against his chest like a child. “Your Father lives in everything and everyone. In the smallest grain of sand from the desert, your Father lives. In the largest elephant that walks the forests, your Father lives. In the light of the sun and the height of the mountain, your Father lives. The smallest beggar child holds your Father in her heart, and so does the richest king. Your Father is in every star, every field, every breast. He lives in you, and He lives in me, and He lives in all our brethren. Wherever there is life, or light, or love, there is your Father.”
Jesus wasn’t asleep, but he was still in Gabriel’s arms. His eyes were closed and his chest moved with every deep breath, stealing some last moments of rest during this calm.
The storm broke less than an hour later. Gabriel felt the hostility of the crowd first, a wave of anger breaking over the garden wall. He nudged Jesus gently, prodding the man until he took a deep breath and sat up. “Is it time?”
“It’s not too late,” Gabriel offered hopelessly.
“No, angel.” Jesus patted Gabriel’s hand and pushed himself to his feet. “I must face my destiny.”
Gabriel hung back as Jesus went to wake his disciples. He knew what was going to happen next. He had sneaked a peek into the future when he first saw Judas behaving unscrupulously.
Judas would identify Jesus to the temple guards and elders, and a small scuffle would break out. Jesus calmed his followers and went willingly with the guards. Only Simon Peter would follow Jesus, but he would pretend not to know the man. The next day, the council of elders would judge Jesus and find him guilty, then take him to Pilate.
Just as Gabriel had foreseen, Pilate tried to get the crowd to release Jesus, but the hivemind would not be swayed. The Roman sentenced him to crucifixion, as the crowd wished, but walked away with a heavy heart.
“Your sins are forgiven,” Gabriel murmured to Pilate as the man walked past him. “His death will not be on your hands when your day of judgment comes.”
During all of Jesus’ trials and travels, the man was mocked and scorned. Every time Gabriel stepped forward to try to stop the humiliation, Jesus caught his eye and gave a firm shake of his head. No help. The angel clenched his hands into fists and bit at the corner of his mouth, forcing himself to stay put. His wings beat in agitation, but aside from stirring up some hot breezes, they did not affect the mortals around him.
As Jesus was taken up the road to Golgotha, a voice in the crowd whispered Gabriel’s name. The angel turned, frowning, trying to see who had called out to him. There. Mary. The mother of Jesus.
The crowd parted around Gabriel without realizing he was present. He made his way to Mary’s side and curved a wing around her shoulders. “I am here.”
“You promised you’d take away my pain if I said yes,” Mary whispered into her clasped hands. “Please, Gabriel, please make it stop hurting.”
“Oh Mary.” Gabriel drew the woman into his arms even though she could not see or hear him, trying to press as much love into her grieving soul as he could without lifting his veil. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
Mary wept into Gabriel’s wings as the crowd swept them up the hill. Her wails reached their peak when Jesus was actually nailed to the cross and lifted it up, but then, to Gabriel’s surprise, they tapered away. Mary wiped at her face, though she did not stop weeping, and lifted her chin. “He never was mine, was he?” she asked. “He always was meant for God. As the Lord has given me, so too He takes away. Gabriel, if you can hear me, please go to him. Take away his pain, not mine. He may need to die today, but he does not need to die in pain.”
“That, I can do.” Gabriel pressed a kiss to Mary’s forehead before he stepped through the crowd and approached Jesus. He reached out, curling his hands around Jesus’ legs. Above him, the man cracked his eyes open and looked down at the angel.
Don’t heal me.
“I’m not.” Gabriel concentrated, picking out the pain and drawing it out of Jesus’ soul. He carefully cauterized the man’s ability to feel pain at all, permanently removing it. Jesus was going to die today. He didn’t need to feel pain ever again.
The man sighed in relief, his body sagging on the cross as his pain evaporated. I’m supposed to suffer.
“You already have,” Gabriel argued. “Let me show you some of Heaven’s infamous mercy. Any other complaints?”
Hot. Jesus lifted his head to squint toward the sun. Would you darken the sun for me?
Gabriel lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. A shadow fell over the sun, blanketing the Earth in darkness. The crowd gasped, a low susurrus of sound buzzing up from the spectators.
Jesus’ chin fell onto his chest as he gave a croaking laugh. That wasn’t meant to be a serious request. I thought you weren’t a miracle worker.
“It’s your last hours,” Gabriel shot back. “I’ve watched you show off all these years. Now it’s my turn.”
Gabriel stood at Jesus’ feet for three hours, banishing the man’s hunger and thirst, trying to make him as comfortable as possible while hanging from a cross of wood. All Jesus was left with was his own fatigue, a bone-deep weariness that Gabriel could not mask or remove. Finally, Jesus lifted his head, smiling at Gabriel briefly, before looking up into the dark sky. “Father,” he cried, in a surprisingly loud voice for his exhaustion, “into your hands, I commend my spirit!”
As the words echoed through the crowd, repeated for those in the back who hadn’t heard the show, Jesus’ entire body sagged again, his head lolling forward. Gabriel watched a pretty young Reaper step back, a bright soul in her hands. Their eyes met for a moment, and then Gabriel turned away. Jesus was dead.
Next...