/Supernatural is owned not, in fact, by me, but by Eric Kripke/The CW/The WB.
/Also, guys, this is a sequel to "The Archangel Gabriel Is Dead." You don't have to read that first or at all, I suppose, but it might help.
Chapter One: "Heaven: Appearances Deceive, or: A Joke In Poor Taste"
Summary: In which routines are upset by Gabriel's unfunny humor.
They've been sent out as a scouting party.
It's Lucifer, Gabriel, Iaoth, Hofniel, and Akzariel. They left Heaven wearing soldiers two weeks ago. This is just a routine expedition; they aren't at war, they're just watching over these misled creatures who are causing harm, and it is always a good idea to be fully informed about possible battles. They had orders not to engage the enemy in combat, but honestly, Lucifer has no idea why this party was chosen if not to fight. Because, well, (A) him. (B) Gabriel gets in so many ridiculous fights it's actually not funny, it's dangerous. (C) Really? Choosing angels who thwart creatures of darkness, fight for their father, and repel evil spirits? What kind of scouting party is this? Who planned this? (Michael did, of course, and Michael must know none of them will be happy if they don't get to fight something. They are soldiers, they're wearing soldiers, what is the point of a sword if you use it to stir the coals in your fireplace and not to behead your enemies?)
Rather typically their amazingly stealthy and pacifistic scouting party ran afoul of some unpleasant folks. Between running away in fright and defying his orders, Lucifer is comfortable beating the shit out of creepy walking giant four-legged scorpion-esque things. He barks an order and the five angels wade into battle. (At first they run, actually, but pretty soon it's literal wading through corpses and blood. He regrets not packing good rainboots. This is exactly the kind of situation you find only when you aren't prepared to do so.)
Some time in, he's lost sight of the others, but they'll be fine. Right now he has sentient non-arachnid ass to kick (if it were arachnid he would have more fun kicking it, but this is a not-horse whose mouth Lucifer isn't checking; the thing probably bites). It's a wonderful way to start the day. He's killed four so far, and he's working on number five.
Lucifer's falcata slams down heavily into a not-shoulder (it would be a shoulder on a mammalian creature). The thing shrieks and twists, trying to free itself, but the sword is built like an axe and the thing's carapace is segmented like armor, and together it's like a terrier's teeth in an unfortunate cat. The thing only manages to force the falcata to burrow further into itself. Lucifer takes the initiative and shoves down and right towards its neck, and suddenly there's a lot less resistance on the blade, and the thing jerks and drops all its weight onto his sword. It's clearly dead. He must have cut something vital.
He yanks the sword out of its body, kicking it down and away, pivoting to look for his next opponent; the ambush has gone on long enough that enemies are becoming thin on the ground. He spies a good prospect maybe five meters away, trying to leave the skirmish unseen. He's heading over to disabuse the coward of that notion when he hears it.
A scream of pain jumps out above the crowd of noise. Lucifer spins to locate the sound; his eyes catch Gabriel falling to the ground, a spiny-tailed thing stepping away triumphantly.
Lucifer's heart (he doesn't have one) stops.
He launches himself at the thing, sword forgotten and absorbed, tearing at its smooth carapace with clawed limbs. He rips and rends the thing into chunks that decorate his feet and the ground around them. When he can feel organ squishing between his fingers he yanks. The pink fiddly bit inside stains his skin.
Then the thing is well and truly dead. Lucifer hopes it rots in its afterworld. He spins to see what he can do for Gabriel. Gabriel's gone. Lucifer's entire body is burning ice.
"Gabe," he barks. "Gabriel, where are you!"
"Right here, bro," a laughing voice calls from somewhere in the vicinity of his wing (would be, except right now he's got a body on, attractively and surprisingly smoothly dark haired).
Lucifer whirls. Gabriel, whole, hale, hearty, is standing in front of him now. The bastard is pouting.
"What'd you do that for?" Gabriel whines. "I was gonna pop up and be all like, 'In your face, extraterrestrial arthropod, you'll need to get up earlier than that to hoodwink an archangel!'"
Sometimes Lucifer wonders if Gabriel tries to sound as stupid as he does.
"What?" Gabriel says, whine gone. "What's wrong? You look pissed."
Lucifer stalks forward.
"Oh, did you see my little trick?" Gabriel asks. "Wasn't it a great set up?"
Lucifer raises both arms in threat, but without his sword it's not very scary.
"Bro?" Gabriel questions, hands raising palm-out in a gesture of appeasement. "Did you not like the whole fake mortal injury thing?"
Lucifer catches Gabriel in an engulf. He surrounds the stupid, foolish, idiotic little jerk in his arms and his wings and his light, holding his dumb baby brother tighter than ever before.
"I swear, Gabe, if you ever do that again – "
Gabriel laughs and cuts him off. "I know, I know, you'll kill me yourself. Like I've never heard that one before, Luce."
Lucifer just wraps closer. Whatever Gabriel's heard, Lucifer doubts Gabriel gets that Lucifer is serious. He's never been more furious in his life. After the freezing terror of never seeing his brother again he was thrown face to face with the looming abyss of powerlessness. He couldn't do anything useful, anything at all, he couldn't control what happened. Lucifer has never before understood just how much he needs to be in control.
While Gabriel was busy turning Lucifer's hair white, the rest of the party have finished off the few things left alive (they don't need any hostages, either for interrogation or ransom; they got enough info from their spying before the ambush). Hofniel is building a pyre while Iaoth heals a nasty green-edged cut on Akzariel's left leg. Lucifer joins the younger angels in collecting the various and sundry body parts that remain scattered around; they make a pyramid of severed limbs that puts Lucifer in mind of sacrificial rituals (many polytheistic religions will have them, and so too does the worship of his father for a while; they are not above having dark pasts, whatever Michael says). When Gabriel lights it up, the flames are purple and crackle loudly. They smell bitter like squished insects.
Lucifer waits patiently until the fire dies down completely before he gives the order to move out. They could all use the chance to self-asses for injuries, and he enjoys watching the fire bloom over the dead things and then die itself. But then the flames are well and truly gone, and he scatters the ash and remaining charred carapace with a wave of his will. There's still evidence of the fight if anyone bothers to look, but he doesn't really care. He has more important things to worry about than these.
"We are returning home," he announces. "That was beyond our orders. Akzariel, are you alright to move on that leg?"
"Yes, brother," Akzariel promises, nodding. Lucifer sees the wince when he rises, but Lucifer will take Akzariel at his word. Trust is important and if Akzariel is lying it will be to his own detriment.
"Then let us go," Lucifer responds, and immediately turns away and launches himself up into the sky.
On the journey back to Heaven Lucifer has plenty of time to think. Which is great, but also terrible, because he has just realized that he cares more about control than siblings. He has problems, clearly. That isn't okay. He isn't okay.
What kind of brother sees a brother fall and skips through terror to fury at his own powerlessness? What kind of brother is angry, so angry, to see a brother alive and well after he thought him gone?
Because Lucifer is angry. He's beyond enraged. How could Gabriel do that to him? How dare Gabriel?
He ignores the side (the rational, forgiving (too gentle) side) of his being that points out it wasn't just a joke Gabriel played in bad taste, it was a tactical maneuver (what kind of archangel needs to use tactics like that? How bad is Gabriel with a sword?). Gabriel hadn't meant him or the others to see it, it wasn't a show, it was to confuse that one enemy Lucifer had shredded.
Lucifer is angry that Gabriel would use plans like that. He is angry that he was forced to watch (believe) a brother's death. He is angry that Gabriel is fine and let Lucifer think he wasn't. Gabriel's deception is the worst part of this. Lucifer can't look over his shoulder at his younger brother, because if he does he'll start bellowing.
Oh, the fury will fade, he knows. If Lucifer can just have enough time away from Gabriel to cool down (and if he weren't in a vessel right now that would be beautifully literal, Lucifer would be burning his anger away as the star he is called), Lucifer won't do anything he might regret later. He needs to cleanse himself of this rage like a dark haze over his eyes. It's not healthy to stay like this for long.
They arrive back in Heaven without the usual fanfare he and Gabriel get, but the fanfare would have been totally unnecessary, Lucifer sees, because Raphael has some strange sixth sense about when he's needed. As they alight, vessels shed in the flight (sort of; actually doing so would leave the bodies to fall down to earth, and the impact of a human body hitting the ground while moving at its terminal velocity isn't pretty), Raphael hurries over to Akzariel. Iaoth happily relinquishes their brother. (Lucifer has been ignoring how Iaoth was half-carrying Akzariel, because he wouldn't have been able to fix the leg, because Akzariel would be shamed at his superior's knowledge of his weakness, and because if Akzariel was so proud he lied to Lucifer about the leg the idiot deserves that pain.)
Michael is drawn over by the fuss. 'He – ' he begins, stops, glances away, wings shuffling. 'Lucifer,' he restarts.
'Michael,' Lucifer replies.
He has only recently changed his name. For so very long he was called Helel, and Helel was who he was, and Helel was his being. He grew tired of that moniker and that angel, and so altered himself in altering his name. It has never before been attempted – they were named by their father, and refuting that was thought to be a grave insult (literally; Michael expected him to be struck down). Yet Lucifer has suffered no ill consequences. If his father disapproved, he would have said something by now.
'How was your scouting expedition?' Michael inquires.
'We had two weeks of good intelligence gathering,' Lucifer says, twisting his eyebrows and wings in displeasure, offering up a report he's just willed into being (Michael insists on keeping track of everything with the correct documentation). 'Then we had an encounter with hostile personages.'
'You were not to engage,' Michael sighs. He's trying to frown but it's not working well. The report makes him happy to see Lucifer remember.
'We wouldn't have, but they wanted to eat Hofniel's face, and that was just rude,' Lucifer retorts. This is a bit of an exaggeration, but it gets his point across.
Michael's nose twitches in his attempt not to laugh. Lucifer gives him a shark-wide grin and raises both eyebrows (he doesn't have eyebrows). It's almost lewd. Michael loses the game and snorts, wings shifting to tangle with Lucifer's. Lucifer completes the practiced embrace, leaning in to breathe Michael's neck.
Most of his anger and upset rushes out with his exhalation. Michael fixes it, Michael always fixes it. Lucifer relaxes into his brother, his reflection, the other half of his life that shouldn't really be separate. (They aren't twins, and they aren't lovers, but Michael and Lucifer are nevertheless two halves of a whole that was somehow split, and each connection reforges them as one.)
Michael can tell he was upset. Lucifer knows because Michael's wings shudder into a comforting two-textured mix, downy and soft inners, like what warm clouds look like they should feel, and granite-hard, sword-sharp outers, a bastion of destructive power. It's a promise of comfort and love, protection and support.
Michael hasn't asked, but Lucifer volunteers the information anyway. 'Gabe,' he murmurs.
Michael waits.
'Stupid trick,' Lucifer whispers. 'Played it on an enemy.'
Michael is very patient when he needs to be.
'Let the thing think it'd got him,' Lucifer whimpers. 'Dropped. Saw it. Didn't mean me to.'
Michael tightens the embrace, breathing out, a long controlled hiss that tells Lucifer Michael is no happier than he was at the time. Lucifer concentrates on the way the Michael smells like home.
Eventually Lucifer shifts his head against Michael's collarbone, and Michael noses Lucifer's hair (today it's golden curls, but in the same way that they don't really have wings they don't have hair; Lucifer likes hair, he looks better with hair than without, so he has hair). They smile as they unwrap and turn to face their younger siblings.
This homecoming greeting is so common that Gabriel, Hofniel, and Iaoth are waiting patiently. Raphael is fussing over the bandage on Akzariel's leg, but with a scolding air, so Lucifer knows Akzariel is fine. Raphael is calm, cool, relaxed and encouraging, when he's worried about a patient. When they're okay, he's irritated they got themselves hurt.
Gabriel smirks at his older brothers. It fades when Michael glowers at him. 'I heard what you did,' Michael snaps. 'Don't you look at me like that.'
'It was just a joke!' Gabriel whines, but as Michael's glare gets fiercer, he stops and shifts into a more professional stance. Wings folded, shoulders braced, legs slightly apart, hands folded behind his back, gaze straight ahead. The color of his wings (cheerful, rough-and-ready yellow gold that hasn't been polished for too long, so long that it's actually tarnishing like silver, gold doesn't tarnish like that) leeches away, leaving them plain white feathers.
The sight bothers Lucifer on some level – that isn't Gabriel. That isn't who Gabriel is.
Michael shares Lucifer's momentary discomfort, Lucifer knows, but they know too that Gabriel should be ashamed of behaving like that. It isn't acceptable from an archangel.
'Do not pretend to die to confuse your enemy,' Michael lectures. 'It is dishonorable and moreover will endanger those flying with you. The sight will disrupt their concentration and draw them away from their own fights.'
'Yes,' Gabriel says. His eyes are golden and shining.
'Yes what?' Michael questions.
'Yes, commander, I will not pretend to die,' Gabriel says. His eyes are empty, blankly, blue.
'Good.' Michael nods in approval. He looks at the rest of the scouting party. 'I have the report. You are dismissed.'
Hofniel and Iaoth scatter. Raphael berates Akzariel for a few minutes more before they depart, Raphael heading away to the training grounds and Akzariel waiting to see Raphael's destination before going the opposite way.
Gabriel doesn't look at Michael or Lucifer. He launches up, spiraling away from his siblings. He isn't headed towards his bower, that Lucifer can tell, but he's guessing Gabriel wants to be alone. Lucifer certainly won't be following him right now. He's going to spend time with Michael. Later, when he has calmed down again, Lucifer will seek out Gabriel and reaffirm their bond, but now he will reassure himself of his bond with his elder brother.
Michael and Lucifer turn to each other. Michael reaches a hand and Lucifer catches it up, tugging his brother playfully into the air.
'Let me show you something,' Lucifer offers.
Michael smiles. 'Something new?'
'Of course,' Lucifer grins back, and Michael follows where he leads out into space.
Lucifer wants to see a star be born; he knows just the place to watch the light from farther out gather so they can view everything, from collapsing dust and gas to protostar to blazing white hypergiant, and then slowly to draw into itself further and further until it eats itself and the universe gains a black hole. He'd like to see it and share it with Michael.
Michael trusts Lucifer to always have something new to show him. Lucifer has never let him down in the past. They fly together into the sky, heading out to see Lucifer's surprise, laughing and singing in joy of proximity. As they go, they pass stars of every which size and color, twinkling in the dark.
Lucifer likes stars. He likes seeing them form and collapse. He especially enjoys dancing with them in the prime of their lives – the blaze is such a beautiful burn all around him.
