A/N: I'm trying to write a one-shot per episode. The story of St. Michael was resonating with me here.
"Great big wings," Sister Xavier says.
"White?" the boy whispers.
"Yes. White and gold."
He exhales, and his fingers trace the page, slowing over the slick sheen of the gilded edges. "I can feel it."
Sister Xavier smiles, and then as if remembering that her smile goes unseen, she puts a hand on his shoulder. "He carries a sword, too. A flaming sword."
The boy's face lights up, even if his eyes cannot. "To smite the devil!"
"Yes, Matthew. Saint Michael battled Lucifer and cast him down from heaven."
"I used to think that I would be a firefighter," the boy says. "He's the patron, you know." That last, almost apologetically. "But—"
But now, is left unsaid but not unheard. Now it is different. His small face twinges with pain, and whether it is memory or the moment now, it is impossible to tell.
"Many paths, makes the Lord," is all Sister Xavier can manage. "That was Lucifer's great flaw. Pride. He saw only one path—his own, above all others."
"And so he fell," Matthew says. There is an undercurrent of sadness in his voice. The book begins to slip from his narrow knees, but he catches it and holds it. 'Was there no goodness left in him at all? Couldn't God forgive him?"
"Angels are not like us," Sister Xavier answers. She takes the book from him gently and sets it aside. "God is revealed to them more fully, and they are beings unhindered by the weakness of the flesh. They make their choices, and they rise or fall by them." She took the boy's hand in her own. "You need not worry for Lucifer. He does not want to be forgiven, and he never, ever could."
"Who is like God?" whispers Matthew, and the nun echoes, "Who is like God?"
"Humans are so much weaker," Matthew says, a moment later. His fingers flicker upwards, towards his eyes. "But we have more freedom, don't you think?"
"Oh, yes," Sister Xavier agrees. "We may be one bad day away from the Devil, but we're free as birds in the moment now. You can always choose the right thing. And that's the wonderful and terrible thing about this world, Matthew—there is always a right thing to do."
...
It's been a long time since he's seen a rooftop, but he can imagine the lurching drop, the sharp edges, the heights that bridge the gap between heaven and earth, even when earth is covered in concrete, and heaven is a blur of smoke and smog.
"You're one bad day away from being me," growls the voice of retribution, and Matthew can only think, mercy, mercy, and the moment now—
And it is not his to know what one day or another shall bring.
For who, after all, is like God?