A/N: to Spica M, who has reviewed on all parts of Alleluia so far. Thank you so much! It makes me so happy to see even a single review on any fic I post, especially ones like yours! Sorry about the title of part 4, but I couldn't find a Sherlock quote that I felt really fit the part. :( But I fixed it on this one, and even tossed a bonus quote into the dialogue! :)
"I'm no hero,
And I'm not made of stone.
Right or wrong,
I can hardly tell.
I'm on the wrong side of heaven
And the righteous side of hell."
(Wrong Side of Heaven—Five Finger Death Punch)
Ambriel was one of the oldest angels in the Kingdom. She was not, of course, as old as the archangels, but she would've already be considered mature by the time the Morningstar Fell. She herself held no fascination with humanity, though if ever called upon to protect the Father's most delicate creation, she would respond, as was their ultimate role. She was not a guardian angel, nor was she a soldier or a captain, not a scribe or a healer. Instead, she was a shepherd, one who was made to lead and guide other angels. Her specialty lay in fledglings. She tended to the newborns, taught them control of their Grace, educated them until they were old enough to fly, after which their care was transferred into the hands of others who would teach them unique skills.
No new fledglings had been created since Father disappeared, and as all her charges grew up, Ambriel had none to replace them with and soon found herself a caretaker with nobody to care for. But with the chaos of civil war in Heaven, Raphael and the rise of Lucifer, she had attached herself to several of the youngest angels, the last ones to leave her care, to protect them as they were still only children. Samandriel had been amongst their number, and Ambriel had wept when she learned of his death.
And now, with the Fall, she found herself having a new appreciation for mankind. Humans were so fragile, and she had never realised how delicate they were before now, when she very nearly was one herself. She would begin to feel faint and remember that humans needed to eat regularly. She would begin to shiver and realise she was inadequately clothed. Ambriel discovered a new respect for the ranks of guardian angels whose duty it was to protect these small, oh-so-tender lives.
She had found a vessel in a female vagrant that had a mental disorder which made her able to hear Ambriel's true voice without being deafened. There was a small tribe of impoverished humans living in the subterranean tunnels that ran beneath a large metropolis. One of their own had discovered her directly after the Fall, taken her in, and they had shown her acceptance, kindness, and charity, providing her with food and clothes, scarce though it was, and she became the guardian of the many orphaned children who lived there as well. She had a gift with the small ones, as she had always had with fledglings, and they would flock to her, asking for stories and songs. The humans said that she had the patience of a saint, and she would have liked to tell them that it was to her that saints often prayed to for patience, but never did.
Ambriel found new purpose with these humans, and even though she would forever miss Heaven and her own fledglings, she was not entirely desolate. But soon rumours began to reach her, whispers passed from Fallen to Fallen, about an attack being mounted upon Metatron. She couldn't imagine who was ever so foolish as to attempt to attack the only whole angel left, with the Angel Tablet feeding him power. When names began to appear with the rumours, though, Ambriel could scarcely believe them.
The Winchesters. She had never met them in person, and she had never paid much mind to the rumours and tales which hovered around them like shadows, flocking to their name as flies to flesh. But she knew what had become of them. The Righteous Man who was supposed to be the savior of mankind had been given the Mark of Cain, corrupted and remade into a demon by its power. The Boy King, the child with the demon blood, the breaker of seals, had been in turn corrupted by his elder brother. They had overthrown Hell and sat upon its throne now, and yet they were the ones wanting to tear Metatron down and restore the Heavenly Host?
And Castiel. She remembered the angel of Thursday when he was still a newborn. He had been one of the many fledglings entrusted to Ambriel's care, and without a doubt, he stood a class above the rest by being so very…odd. She remembered a small fledgling with wings too big for his frame, primaries dragging when he walked, solemn-eyed but always curious, always asking questions and disobeying orders, forever clinging to his older brother and getting into mischief with the archangel, pulling out other angels' feathers because he liked to collect them. For such a tiny thing, he'd been quite tenacious. Before they'd burned away in the Fall, there was still a gap in the primary feathers on her left wing, the long flight feathers that didn't grow back, because he had come up behind her when her attention was elsewhere and yanked one out with both hands. He had forsaken Heaven for the Winchesters, had rebelled, fought an archangel, challenged the Morningstar, died and been resurrected, opened Purgatory, and defeated Leviathan. Tenacious, indeed. Some said that he had conspired with Metatron to cause the Fall, but she never believed that. Odd though he was, Castiel loved his family. She knew that Naomi had often been called upon to 'reeducate' Castiel, and she had always loathed the Persuader's methods of 'education,' though it was never her place to question the Persuaders. To hear of him working with demons, Winchester or no, worried Ambriel endlessly.
As she sorted through what little food there was, deciding how to best make it last, she felt a fizzle of power dance along her skin, the flayed remnants of Grace curled within her body tingling with new energy. Ambriel whirled around, her blade sliding into her hand, though she prayed she would not have to use it. She was a shepherd, not a warrior; even if she could defend herself, she wasn't made for battle.
"Wow, can't recall seeing you ever actually pulling the holy pig-sticker out, Ammie. You do know to stick 'em with the pointy end, right?" asked a playful voice, and Ambriel dropped her blade in shock, the metal ringing curiously against the pavement.
"Gabriel," she murmured softly.
"Didja miss me, 'cause I—oof."
Ambriel had found herself running across the distance between them, flinging her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly, head buried against his chest. His Grace made her entire vessel sing, and she felt her torn wings prickle with life. She held onto him for approximately two-point-seven seconds before realising what she was doing and hastily dropped her arms, taking a step back. "Forgive me," she said awkwardly. "Human emotions are very unpredictable. I am still adjusting to the sensation of…impulse."
Gabriel only smiled, the corner of his mouth curving up as he produced a lollipop—hard, sugary candy on pressed paper sticks, the children were endlessly fond of them—and stuck it in his mouth. "Missed you too, Ammie."
"Ambriel," she corrected him on reflex, as she had done for millennium. "I thought you were dead. Everyone thought…the Morningstar killed you."
He scoffed, showing some of that 'humour' that had so often gotten him in trouble in Heaven. "Please. Killing me is so two years ago," he replied. "Anyone that wants to kill me had better be more awesome than me, and Luci just don't fit that bill."
Ambriel's eyes widened slightly, lips forming 'Luci' noiselessly.
He looked around their surroundings, the low tunnels full of shadows and scurrying movement, looking further down the passage that led to the encampment where the rest of the humans were preparing what scant food there was into an evening meal. "Nice digs," he said at last. "Couldn't have found yourself a vessel on the upper East Side or something?"
Why living quarters facing another direction made any difference, she didn't know. "They gave me kindness, shelter," Ambriel replied, still gazing at him. "I have found that it is those who have the least to give are the most generous."
To her surprise, he gave her a wholly solemn look. "I know."
"What are you doing here, Gabriel?" she asked.
"Well, I'm sure you've heard that the Dynamic Duo and Cassie are planning on taking the party upstairs," he replied, and it took her a moment's contemplation to realise that he was referring to the Winchester brothers and Castiel.
She nodded. "It is folly. Two lost souls and a working horse cannot knock down a tower."
"They can if they have an archangel's sword with which to leverage it."
Ambriel stared at him in shock. She had forgotten. Gabriel was not Fallen. Archangels could only be cast down by the Father's will, and though he would not be as strong without the Heavenly Host's interwoven network of power, he was still more powerful than any scribe, even Metatron. "You mean to say that you are part of this plan, Gabriel? You are working in conjunction with those—"
"Ambriel," he cut her off sharply, the use of her proper name silencing her. "Look, Samsquatch and Deanmon aren't exactly stellar individuals, okay, but…they're not bad. I mean, the whole demon thing aside, they're pretty badass. And they want to help."
She could not believe that any demon, Righteous Man or not, would ever willingly provide assistance to an angel. At least, not without being properly reimbursed for their efforts. "What do they want in exchange for this…generosity?" she asked.
"Peace," he answered. "They want things back the way they were before, or at least as close as we can get. No more open warfare. Angels in Heaven, demons in Hell, and the humans in the middle. The balance restored. And I believe them. I really do. And if I'm wrong, I will personally apologise to everybody that calls me a dumbass for agreeing to this in the first place."
The idea of the balance being restored, of returning to Heaven, going home, was so enticing, and she felt her chest constrict with a painful ache, as if an invisible hand had reached within her chest and gripped her heart tightly. Longing, she realised. How humans ever lived with these painful things would forever baffle her. She raised her eyes to Gabriel. As brash and inappropriate as he could be at times, Gabriel loved his family as few angels did anymore, and if he believed that the Winchesters could repair Heaven and bring them all home…she supposed that she could believe it too. "What do you want from me? I cannot help you. I am barred from Heaven, and I am hardly more than human," Ambriel said at last, bending down to pick up her blade.
"We don't need a fighter. Between the four of us, we're covered. No, I need something a little different from you. I'm not a leader. I mean, could you imagine me running Heaven?" he asked, and she did not have to fake her shudder; she could not imagine a more irreverent archangel. "Exactly. But you…you're a shepherd, Ammie. You can lead angels."
"I…I am a shepherd of fledglings," she corrected him, unable to believe her ears. Of all the angels that were still alive, garrison captains and soldiers, he was asking her? "I am not a warrior, I cannot—"
"We don't need a warrior in charge, Ambriel. I mean, we've had fighters in charge, and it's gotten us absolutely nowhere. And right now, are they any different from fledglings? The other angels?" he asked bluntly. "When Heaven is reopened, everyone is still going to be weak and lost and confused, and they need someone to help them. You're a shepherd, and trust me, this flock needs some tending. You won't do it by yourself, either. I've already found Kushiel. And Penemue."
Ambriel's breath hitched. "They are alive?" she asked in a softer voice. They had been fellow shepherds, both younger than her and her closest friends amongst their number.
Gabriel nodded. "And now that I've found you, I'm going to look for Leliel. And Namaah if I can find them both," he replied, naming two angels of healing that had not followed Raphael, despite him being the first healer. "I want you guys to run things upstairs. I'll check in from time to time, make sure stuff is still running smooth. If you guys need me, I'll visit, but…I can't be the big boss. But I do trust you to do it, Ammie. What do you say?"
"Firstly, it's Ambriel," she corrected, and he smirked. Ambriel looked down the tunnel towards the encampment. Her charges were probably wondering where she was. Christine had been ill lately, and she would need to eat in order to keep up her strength. "I will need to say goodbye first," she replied at last.
Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, following her gaze, and instead of mocking or showing derision for her attachment to the humans, his gaze softened somewhat as he nodded. "Sure thing. Take as long as you'd like." His eyes turned to her. "And before you met the Dynamic Duo, you're gonna need to take a shower. No offence, Ammie, but you kinda smell."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I will still put you over my knee, archangel or no."
He laughed aloud, a full, rich laugh that she had not heard from him in so many millennium that it made her ache a little again. "I've missed you, Ammie, I really have. So…. You ready to bring everybody home?" he asked, holding out a hand to her.
"I have a feeling that I will live to regret this, but…" Ambriel clasped his arm with hers, feeling the electric tingle of his Grace singing to her own, warmth spreading up her arm into her breast from the contact. "I am."
He grinned. "Awesome. So, should I go ahead and sign you up for one of our Team Free Will decoder rings?" he asked.
Ambriel cocked her head to the side. "A what?"