He walked through the old pews, fingers brushing over the worn polished cherry wood, silently moving closer to the alter in the center of the room. Lightening from the storm outside illuminated the stain-glass pictures in the windows.
The Pictures of Love. Of Forgiveness. Of Hope and of justice.
His eyes skimmed them over, taking them in as they were meant, and still he moved on. The temple, the church, this house of God, was empty save for him.
He stopped before the alter, eyes glued to the cross before him, to the sculpture of the man nailed to the cross. Father in human form.
Love. Life. And Forgiveness incarnated.
Slowly a hand came up to his cheek, fingers lightly dabbing at the wetness that he had not noticed before, and when he pulled it away a single tear sat upon the tip of his finger. He was crying. He didn't know he could cry.
It was such a human reaction.
A human gesture.
But despite his effort, lack there of, he could not get them to stop. They continued coming. More and more. Until his vision was blurred by the tears, like the rain outside, beating against the windows and the roof above. Limply the hand fell back to his side, and in an air of silence he fell to his knees, bowing his head slightly to the figure on the cross.
Not the real thing but as close as he could get.
"Father, I know we do not speak like we once had, but please hear me, hear my words, my remorse, I am sorry Father...", He took a breath and finally looked up, "I was wrong and I ask your Forgiveness."
The tears came faster, steady, and his breath hitched as a sob tore from his throat. Then another and another.
"Please Father, let me come home, I will do what you ask, but please, please don't leave me again."
He fell silent, the sobs making it hard to speak the words of remorse and pain, and half of him waited for some sort of response, a word, a sign, anything. The only noise that filled in between his painful cries was the boom of the thunder as it rolled over his head.
Another moment passed and when there was no other sound but his cries and the thunder, he bowed his head again, chin hitting his chest, and he curled slightly wrapping his arms about himself.
Loki froze in his tracks at the sound of his voice, the crack as he spoke, and his eyes widened at the words as they finally registered in his mind. Of all the things he had imagined hearing from his Brother once he was free from his cage, that was not one of them, this entire turn of events was something treading into the unmarked territory of hopeful but doubtful plot twists.
He sucked in a breath, his head tilting slightly to hear better, he had never heard his brother cry before.
Loki, and by a very trusted few, Gabriel, shed his guise and turned, wings flaring with creaks and cracks after such long disuse and his eyes widened in shock.
And awe.
As an Archangel, though in hiding, he has had the privilage (some might say curse) of hearing the other angels thoughts and words, and he's heard some pretty mind blowing things. But this here, now, tipped it all over and replaced everything.
Not only had he apologized but he had admitted to wrong doing.
His brother, Lucifer, was known for many things. But that was not one of them. His muted grace flared with the desire to seek out his distressed Archangel Brother. Though the younger, he desired to comfort, to give the forgiveness that the older was begging for.
Because that's what he was doing.
Begging Father for forgiveness.
The Messenger sat and listened for a long time, eyes turning in his direction, and his heart broke with him. This was not the Lucifer he had come to expect. The one whom had taken his once loving brother away from him and replaced him with some monster.
Despite himself, he found himself moving closer, to see, to hear. His wings worked on their own will it seemed and just as he had found himself in a that forest in Denmark, he found himself in the back of an old run down church, in the farthest pew from the alter up front.
From his sobbing brother and the figure of the cross above him.
Gabriel watched carefully, mindful to keep himself hidden from preception, and watched as his brother broke completely. The Great Morning Star fell apart before him. There was something about seeing Lucifer, of all angels, crying and going on and on with his wrongdoing. Asking for His forgiveness.
And to let him come home.
How he wanted to come home again.
Michael looked down from his private place in Heaven, having taken to watching the Earth and her inhabitants, one in particular nowadays that he was released from his cage. His eyes were drawn to this particular form, bowed before the cross, soft mutterings between cries for forgiveness and home.
He found himself drawn to it despite everything else that was going on.
Leaving his place in his Heaven, as if his wings were out of his own control, and he appeared to the left, in front of the door that the chior would emerge from. His back pressed against the cool wood, arms pressed to his side as he was drawn to the sight before him.
His prayers were soft, and he was tired, it could be heard in his voice, he was so tired. He just wanted everything to end.
Michael knew he should be angered at such presumptions, spiteful that he would ask for this, ask for this forgiveness and hope.
But he couldn't no matter how hard he tried.
This was not the monster he had come to know, the beast who had waged war against him and their Father, this was the little brother.
The Little Brother who had grown under his watch.
The Little Brother who loved spending time with them, in the garden or next to the shimmering lake, lounging or playing.
The Little Brother who adored having his wings groomed, and could lay out for hours under your fingers, in that place between wakefulness and sleep.
The Little Brother whom he had created the stars for.
That is who this was, and hearing him crying so hard, so soul wrenching, it was wrong. So so wrong. He felt something akin to the desire to comfort him take hold, and he had to hold himself back from moving.
Lucifer couldn't see him, but he could see Lucifer, and his heart ached.
When he cried there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. Lucifer would clasp onto something for support, anything, the step before him, the edge of the alter, and then his whole body would shake with repressed cries. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempted to hide his grief, his pain, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he would break down entirely, all his defences washed away in those salty tears. When he at last turned his face upwards, back up towards the man on the cross before him he was a picture of grief, loss, devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn't know if he could do it again. And then he fell again.
He felt like he wanted to move forward, he wanted to take him into an embrace, but he didn't. He couldn't move. Move to leave the sight nor to end it.
Since the Fall, since Gabriel had left, it was safe to say that he was not as observant when it came to his siblings as he had used to be. He didn't watch over them like he once had, he didn't talk to them nor play with them like he had once before.
They used to come to him and talk, they would sit for hours, him tending to their wings and grace, as they came with their troubles and concerns.
But then the his family had fallen apart and the Archangel had turned hard.
Raphael did not have mind for the other lesser angels, more focused on his own doings. But even he couldn't deny the sound of the distraught man he knew so well, and though he tried to fight against it, his attention was drawn to the sight.
His eye brows met, raised to his hair line, as he took in the exact brother such a sorrowful commotion was being given from.
It was such a shock to him that he hadn't even noticed when he'd taken himself from his personal rooms to standing just beside the table with the wine goblet on it. He set a hand on the table, keeping out of sight, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief.
To see Lucifer of all Fallen, on his knees, seeking forgiveness.
Immediately his eyes were drawn to the state of the older archangels wings, tattered and torn, they would be useless unless they had hours upon hours of grooming.
He'd never seen Lucifer sit like that, so deflated. His loose shoulders shook, his hands hanging low, making no attempts to even wipe away or conceal the tears anymore. Aside from his unnaturally reddened face he was also grey looking and his hair was dishevelled as the park under the leaves. He'd seen many cry like that, his position and title not helping in that regard, and in every case it was a transition from a person with hope to one without.
Raphael's fingers itched to get to work, begin working his way through the feathers and sores, but then he froze. There was that half of him that figured that Lucifer of all angels did not deserve his aid.
But then again.
Lucifer looked up as thunder rumbled above him, his throat sore and voice weakened, and he fell forward.
Remorseful. Guilty.
That was how he felt at that very moment. He wished for a time turner so he could go back, rectify the mistake - the worst of all he had done.
The one deed that had taken everything from him; his place, his brothers, his home, his Father's love.
However, no matter how hard he wished, he could not. Impossible. He had to live with it. Remorse etched at his heart. Guilt gnawed like a worm at the core of an apple. A tear trickled down his cheek and he let it.
Thunder rumbled again and the church shook.
There was a snap and a soft hum.
"You have always had My forgiveness, My Child, you only needed ask for it."
Lucifer choked on another sob a the sound of His voice. Like a soft breeze over a rolling meadow. Arms encircled around him, lifting him from his position on the floor and he fell back into a strong chest underneath him.
"No more crying now Little Brother."
He knew he recognized that scent, the chest, those arms, that voice.
Bloodshot eyes turned up, meeting the familiar blue eyes that had been there all his life, the same set of eyes he had seen his very first moment of existence.
Michael smiled down at him softly and pulled him steadily from the ground, an arm under his knees and another around his shoulders. He turned, alarmed, when he felt fingers sifting through his wings and he made to strike out when he froze.
"This is going to take me hours, no fear, I can clear my schedule."
Raphael looked up to meet his gaze and gave a stern look, "And you are going to sit through until the end."
A thumb rubbed at his cheek, "He will, I will ensure it, besides Brother needs to rest."
Gabriel chuckled, walking up to them with his arms crossed, "Gee bro, if you wanted to see us so bad you could have just called."
He was tired, so so tired, he didn't want to fight anymore, he didn't want to be wrong or right, he just wanted to go home.
"And home you shall come. Where we will take care of you now."
Lucifer sighed, leaning against his older brothers shoulder, and breathed out slowly. Michael hummed and leaned down to brush his chin against his brothers cheek. The Morning Star opened his mouth to say something and was immediately hushed before anything could get out.
Gabriel tsk'd him and wagged a finger in front of his nose.
"No no, I think you've used your voice enough today. Now we're in charge. No more talking."
He made to disagree but was cut off before he could retort. Fingers itched at the joint of his left wing and he stretched, rolling his shoulders and humming contentedly, Raphael looked over his shoulder and smirked.
"It feels rather good to know there is still a set way to make him speechless."
His wings were grounds for cheating, but he didn't care, Michael grinned and gave a soft laugh.
"Let's go home."
And just like that, no more war, no more fighting, peace was all they knew now.
Now that the Morning Star had returned to them.
Redemption is the light that finds you after the despair of guilt. When remorse wracks you and you would do anything to make amends, that's when He finds you and tells you it's alright, you can be more, you can be better, you can walk in His ways. Then your path is His path. You learn a bit at a time to live with more love and less judgement. You learn to accept that you'll never be perfect and you're only a small cog in the machine that is the world, yet He loves you and your part is important. He takes your sin away, leaving you clean and whole again.
And Lucifer knew he had found his, basking in the company of his brothers, in their own secret garden. His head cushioned on Michael's lap, calloused but gentle fingers running through his blonde locks, his wings stretched out behind him and the feeling of fingers sifting through the feathers and over the skin, mending and massaging.
"Guys!", someone, presumedly Michael, whispered over his head and he caught the sight of a smile, "Guys look. Someone's falling asleep."