Important: Here's my disclaimer, this is heavily based on a book called Church Dogmatics by Karl Barth, the angelology section. The only ideas I use here are 'glory by subordination,' which is how Barth describes the role of angels, also he remarks that one can never have a discussion focused on purely angels, because they play such a supportive, fatalistic role. Also, the title comes from the book and means: Excellent and noble specimen, in Latin. Further disclaimer: this takes place in the 1930's, and the violin is merely present because I said so.
"I do like to think of myself as excellent and noble. At least they get some things right." Balthazar commented, his tone permeated with humor, while he leafed through the recently written manifesto.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Gabriel protested. "I am way better than noble." He sat cross legged on the floor, mutilating the violin that had occupied the library. "And I can be the center of any discussion I want!" The seams on the wood popped, showering glue shards all over the carpeted floor.
"Not many…" Castiel pointed out, the youngest brother in attendance to their little escapade. "That last conversation you had with a human was fourteen centuries ago."
"Exactly, he may be spot on, in your case, Gabe." Balthazar put in helpfully, continuing to flip through the Swiss theologian's magnum opus. He stood at the desk the text had been resting on, while Castiel paced the aisles of rows of books, and Gabriel continued his systematic destruction.
"Well, all I can say is that my glory comes from way more than subordination." Gabriel complained.
"Of course." His youngest companion supplies readily. The three had not seen each other in many years, and once they left the dwelling of Karl Barth, they would have yet longer to wait. The clock was, however, ticking. In a little less than a century, the end would come, after all.
"So, are you ready for this?" Balthazar asked conversationally, making a marked effort to touch on the true reason for their liaison. A perhaps sentimental desperation to see the one's they cared for what was likely, (hopefully, even) the final time.
"I hope you're talking about the Sex Pistols, because I actually am excited about that." He abandoned the violin, which had been reduced to so many wooden fragments. Castiel eyed it, something akin to melancholy in his eyes.
"That was a Stradivarius, you know. They're quite fond of them."
"I could make them a million! All they've got to do is ask." Snorts of laughter echoed at the archangel's indignation. Their smiles shrank, though, as thoughts came back to the apocalypse. "It'll be okay, though. It had to be." He words weren't believed by any of them, but for a moment, they could pretend that they were in a different time, one where he really was an older brother, and not just a trickster. The seraphs joined Gabriel in his position on the floor, glad to be done stalking about the room.
"At any rate, we'll always have subordination." Balthazar's sarcasm was something close to tangible. Gabriel's smile was bitter at the truth of the statement, and Castiel was sad, sad that he could not quite understand what, exactly, his brothers were bemoaning. Yet, he went along with them, knowing they noticed his ignorance, and understanding that they loved each other enough that the difference didn't matter.
They were, after all, brothers.
Darkness then fell in 1935, and though their fate was realistically damned, at least the rest of the world was damned along with them.