A/N: Hihi! So I couldn't leave it just yet. Updates only happen this fast on blue-moon-rare occasions.

Okay, so, something that's been on my mind for a while is just how horrible a weapon Michael's lance was. I mean, designed to kill Angels in the most horrific way possible and intended for Lucifer? What kind of hate does that take? Hence, the horrific-ness of their battle.

Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313, Spyrofury767, Kathy, monkeygirl77 and Diane279! Thanks so much for talking to me! Mwah!

Kathy, I can't reply to your reviews but I do read them and they mean a lot to me!

Enjoy!

Light danced gently on Eliyon's eyelids and he grunted resentfully. This was the first time in two days he'd slept without nightmares and he didn't want to wake up, yet.

"Balthazar! He's waking up!"

Eliyon's eyes snapped open in confusion. Castiel sat on his knees in the grass beside him, his blue eyes wide with relief. Balthazar landed beside him in a small rush of wind and dropped to his hands and knees, as well, almost directly in Eliyon's face.

"Sleepyhead," he teased, but there was a heaviness in his voice he couldn't quite hide.

"Where am I?" Eliyon asked sleepily.

"You're in the garden," Castiel told him. "Esme came back with you yesterday."

"Where did she go?" Eliyon asked, now horribly puzzled. "Where was I?"

"You really were asleep," Balthazar remarked. "She told all of us to be nice to you because Michael wanted you in our Flock and he'd be angry if we weren't. Of course, we're already nice to you," he grinned. "I don't know where Michael was though."

Eliyon suddenly remembered and tried to sit up, only to find himself restrained. He looked down at himself in a panic and realized that it was just his wings wrapped around him. He disentangled himself slowly, as though his wings were comfortable just where they were, thank you, and didn't want to be moved.

"Where is Michael?" he asked.

"I don't know," Balthazar answered. "I never saw him." Then, his attempts at humor stopped completely and his face fell. "We tried to follow you, Eliyon. We really did. But Esme caught us before we could get into the Ether."

Eliyon blinked at him, then remembered that Balthazar and Castiel had been on the plateau with him and Gabriel that awful day.

"We never would have just left you to follow Gabriel alone," Castiel said solemnly.

Eliyon nodded. "I know." He gingerly touched his right wing, expecting pain and surprised when there was none. He gripped it a little more firmly, then, testing the place that had been broken.

"What happened? Does it hurt?" Castiel asked.

"It was broken," Eliyon told him and gave a few tentative flaps. His wing was as strong as it ever had been.

"Who fixed it?"

"Michael did," Eliyon said quietly.

"Michael did?!" Balthazar exclaimed and shot Castiel an incredulous look. "Where was Gabriel? Why did Michael do it?"

Eliyon's wings drooped. "I made Gabriel angry."

"How?" Castiel asked worriedly.

"I don't know."

"Come, come, little ones," Esme called. "It's time for our lessons."

Eliyon looked up to see the smallest Fledglings toddling over to the Caretaker.

Balthazar groaned. "Let's go play."

"I think I'll stay here," Eliyon said quietly. "I don't feel much like playing, right now."

They looked at him in surprise, then at each other and nodded.

"But not too close, alright?" Balthazar said. "She'll make me help tell the story if she sees me."

Eliyon nodded, managing a weak smile and Castiel helped him to his feet. Movement caught his eye and he looked to see one last Fledgling making his way to the group. He was young enough that his wings were still nothing but puffs of white down. He toddled too quickly and fell down with a soft whoof of air. Eliyon flew to him and picked him up. The Fledgling looked up and squealed with delight at the sight of a new face and Eliyon carried him to the group.

"Me! Me!" the Fledgling cried worriedly.

Esme looked up and smiled gently. "Yes, Samandriel, I'm waiting for you."

Samandriel squealed again and bounced in Eliyon's arms. Eliyon set him down and Samandriel immediately wanted to be picked up again.

"See! See!"

Eliyon shrugged and sat in the grass, pulling the Fledgling into his lap. The bases of Samandriel's wings were a bright orange and tiny yellow feathers peeked out. The sunny colors seemed to fit the excitable Fledgling.

"Ah, Balthazar, I'm so glad you decided to stay," Esme said, catching sight of the errant Fledgling. "Would you be so kind as to assist me today?"

Balthazar frowned and crossed his arms, flattening his wings defiantly.

"Bal'zah!" Samandriel whimpered. "No 'eave!"

Balthazar looked at him, the little trembling lip and sighed. He shuffled forward with a groan and the small group cheered happily. He kept his chin tucked on his chest, but he couldn't help but grin. Esme began to tell them about the animals that Father had created on Earth and Balthazar imitated each one mentioned, albeit a little more enthusiastically than necessary. The Fledglings cackled with laughter but afterward, when Esme asked them questions about the animals, they all answered correctly.

All but Samandriel. The Fledgling had fallen asleep in Eliyon's lap halfway through the lesson and was contentedly sucking his thumb.

Esme dismissed the group and came to collect the sleeping babe. "Thank you, Eliyon. I have the most difficult time getting him to sit still during the lessons. He pays far too much attention to Balthazar's behavior, I think."

She took Samandriel out of his arms and he felt a tug on his wing. He looked to see Samandriel's chubby hand fisted around one of his feathers. He gently pulled out of the babe's grip and Esme took him away.

"Balthazar," she called as she walked toward the nests, "do try to behave."

Balthazar spun away and rejoined Castiel and Eliyon, making no promises.

"Let's go!" he urged and they left to find a place to play.

Michael leaned over his desk, studying the designs he'd just finished creating. He'd known that casting Lucifer into Hell would only be a temporary solution. The Fallen Archangel would find a way out eventually.

After remaining silent for so long, Father had provided a different solution. A cage. A cage that would be buried in the deepest region of Hell and locked with six hundred seals. A perfect unbreakable prison.

Michael traced the lines with his finger, his good wings flattened against his back and his jaw clenched. His grief and anger had combined and become something else, something darker. Bitterness coursed through his being and he felt it rise in his throat like bile. Even after committing such an atrocity, even after his open defiance, Father's solution was to simply lock away his favorite son.

"Your will be done, Father," he said solemnly and left his aerie. He had a far more permanent solution in mind.

He headed for Heaven's forges and descended the stairs into their depths. The glow of the fires was as beautiful as it was terrifying. Next to each forge were two enormous basins. One held the molten, celestial steel that constantly bubbled, releasing great gouts of vapor that would permanently cripple a careless passerby. The other only held blackness and the chill that pooled there was just as lethal as the heat. He watched for a moment to familiarize himself with the process, once again.

One of the smiths glanced up and startled slightly to see Heaven's Commander standing there.

"Michael," he greeted, his voice hoarse from the heat. His wings were bound tightly to his back to keep them safe and his hands bore the scars of his work. Being so close to such extreme temperatures, they were impossible to avoid.

"As you were," Michael told him and the smith nodded and resumed his task.

Michael watched as he lifted a pair of tongs from the blackness. The end was cylindrical and as long as the handle of the blades they created. The smith plunged the end into the molten metal and withdrew it slowly. The ore within the cylinder had already hardened and the chill from the tongs slid down, practically freezing the liquefied metal as it dripped, forming a slender, tapering weapon. Then, before the inner heat could overpower the confining cold, the smith plunged the new weapon into the second basin, into the cold blackness of the void. When he withdrew it, the blade was dull and gray and he immediately set to honing the edges and polishing it to a silvery-blue shine.

Michael nodded to himself and walked on past, heading toward the end of the hall where one forge sat dark and cold. The basins here were small, having never been meant to produce weapons in significant quantity and the ore was dark and hard. With snap of his fingers, the forge blazed to life with a dull roar and he sighed as the heat washed over him. Slowly, the ore began to flex as the heat forced bubbles to the surface. When one finally broke through, the air sizzled from the eruption of vapor.

He picked up the cold tongs and studied the now glowing ore, trying to determine how to proceed. Ever so carefully, he dipped the cylindrical end into the molten metal but didn't submerge it completely so that when he withdrew it, it clung to the inside of the tongs, creating a hollowed end. He repeated this process several times until he had achieved the desired thickness but when he started to develop the bladed end, it collapsed from the weight.

He nodded patiently and started again. After all, crafting the weapon was only the beginning.

Night fell and the stars swirled around Heaven like water currents, creating a mesmerizing visage that promised to lull even the fussiest Fledglings to sleep.

Eliyon woke with a cry and clapped his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. He rolled onto his side, curled as though in pain and tried to breathe. The nightmare wouldn't leave him. He could still see Lucifer standing over Michael, Gabriel lying barely conscious. Only this time, Michael never got back up. The Earth never swallowed Lucifer. He stood over them, his hands covered in silver Grace and gold and white feathers littering the ground at his feet—

"Eliyon!" Castiel whispered loudly, trying to get his attention without waking the others.

Eliyon jerked when his friend touched him and curled farther away from him.

"Eliyon, it's alright," Castiel told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's just a bad dream."

Eliyon's gaze finally acknowledged his friend and on the heels of his relief came shame that he had woken Castiel.

"Are you alright?" Balthazar whispered.

Eliyon sagged, wanted the ground to swallow him too.

I woke up Castiel and Balthazar. I'm not a babe! I shouldn't be having bad dreams!

"Eliyon!" Balthazar hissed to get his attention. "Are you alright?"

Eliyon nodded, unwilling to admit to anything else and sat up, tucking his knees under his chin.

"Sorry I woke you," he said softly.

"Better us than Esme," Balthazar said disparagingly. "She'd sing you a lullaby."

Eliyon shrugged. A lullaby didn't sound like a bad thing, at the moment.

Balthazar looked at him for a moment. "Do…you want me to get Esme?" he asked worriedly.

Eliyon shook his head. "I'm alright," he lied. He wanted to cry. He wanted Gabriel. He wanted everything to be just a bad dream.

"The last time I had a bad dream," Castiel began, "it was about Heaven's dungeon. I'd been bad and they locked me up."

Balthazar scoffed. "Heaven doesn't have a dungeon. That's just a story the Caretakers tell us so that we don't misbehave."

"I don't think so," Castiel said slowly.

"He may be right," Eliyon said. "After all, he tried to turn Michael's wings blue and he didn't get thrown into a dungeon."

Balthazar spread his hands. "See? There's no dungeon." Then, when Castiel still gave him a doubtful frown, he said, "I'll prove it."

Eliyon looked up in alarm. "What do you mean?"

"I'll prove there's no dungeon," Balthazar repeated.

"You can't leave!" Eliyon whispered harshly as Balthazar walked away. "Not by yourself!"

His friend turned and gave him an exaggerated shrug and kept walking.

Eliyon and Castiel exchanged a worried look, then hurried to catch up. They wouldn't be able to change his mind but they weren't going to let him go alone.

"This place is huge!" Balthazar whispered hoarsely, staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

Eliyon and Castiel turned a nervous circle together, expecting to be caught any second. They had flown to the Citadel, which was the most likely place to find a dungeon in Balthazar's opinion. First, they found the weapon's room and were disappointed to find it mostly empty, aside from a few swords and spears. Then, as they started to leave, they found a staircase that plunged deep into the floor. They followed a guard down until they came to a massive set of doors. Balthazar barely hesitated before he slipped through after the guard and the others followed him reluctantly.

"I told you there was a dungeon," Castiel hissed.

"You don't know that this is a dungeon," Balthazar retorted. "Let's make sure." He dashed down a nearby corridor with disturbing eagerness.

They followed a little more slowly but still almost ran into him in the dim light. Balthazar stood staring open-mouthed at what could only be a cell. An empty cell, but a cell nonetheless.

"So…there really is a dungeon," he said softly.

Suddenly, footsteps rang through the hall and for a moment, they froze in panic. Then, they scattered, desperate to find a hiding place. Eliyon found himself in another hall lined with dozens of cells.

Why does Heaven have a dungeon? Why are there so many cells? We're not all bad, just Lucifer…

He suddenly felt something faint press against his Grace and he followed it cautiously. He stopped in front of a cell and peered inside, feeling a pain emanating from within that so deep and…so familiar.

He could just make out a form huddled in the farthest corner. "Gadreel?"

The form shifted slightly at the whispered call. "What are you doing here, little one?" the Sentry's deep voice was weak and hoarse.

"Why are you here?" Eliyon asked in return, horrified. "What happened?" He could hear the Sentry's labored breathing and he still hadn't moved.

"Please, little one, please leave," Gadreel begged brokenly.

Eliyon knelt in front of the bars. The Sentry was in pain and he hadn't been hurt when Eliyon had seen him in the Mercy Room.

"Gadreel, what happened to you?" he asked again.

Gadreel sighed wearily and Eliyon could feel his pain and fear resonating within his own Grace. He remembered feeling the same when he was lying in the garden before Gabriel found him and he reached out to the Sentry's Grace.

Something blocked him.

"Gadreel, I can't reach you."

The Sentry finally stirred at that. "They bound me," he said.

"What do you mean?"

Gadreel began moving, dragging himself, toward the cell door. Eliyon's eyes widened in horror. The Sentry had been beaten brutally. His face was bloody and bruised, his skin was pale and both of his legs were broken horribly. His chest and back was flayed and silver leaked from his every wound. His wings…his four, strong, slate-blue and black wings were bloody, large gaps of feathers were missing and the bones were snapped in several places.

Tears welled in Eliyon's eyes and he reached through the bars, stretching his hand out to the Sentry.

Gadreel watched the horror fill Eliyon's eyes and felt his bound Grace recoil in shame. This had to be some plot of Thaddeus'. His one thought of comfort was that at least the Fledglings would not remember him. His name, which was a curse on his brethren's tongues, would only be a lesson to the youngest of them. To them, he would be nothing but an abstract, a concept. Now, even that was taken from him, it seemed.

Then, when Eliyon reached through the bars, his heart clenched and he dragged himself closer so he could grasp the Fledgling's hand. The contact was sweeter than any relief he could have imagined and more than he would have ever dared to hope for. He sighed and propped his head against the cold bars, relishing the chill against his hot skin.

"Can I help you?" Eliyon asked.

Gadreel shook his head and shifted so Eliyon could see the sigil carved into his chest. "I will have to heal on my own," he said. "Not even the Rit Zien could help me, little one."

"I'll tell Michael," Eliyon promised. "He will—"

"Michael knows," Gadreel said heavily. "He knows."

Eliyon suddenly understood and he pressed against the bars. "But you haven't done anything wrong!"

"I betrayed Heaven."

"No, that was Lucifer!"

Gadreel hadn't corrupted the Humans. He hadn't ripped Michael's wings apart.

"I let the Serpent in," Gadreel said softly.

"Is there anything I can do?" Eliyon pled.

Gadreel looked down at their clasped hands. "You've already done so much for me, little one. But…if I could make two requests of you…"

"Anything!" Eliyon said immediately.

Gadreel almost smiled at the innocence and trust in the Fledgling's reply. He gripped a bar with his free hand and Eliyon could see the muscles flex as he pulled himself up to a sitting position.

"My name is a curse among our brethren," he said. "As it should be…but, may I ask…will you remember me as I once was?"

Eliyon nodded. Of course he would always remember Gadreel as a warrior of Heaven, a warrior who grieved over his mistake—

Gadreel reached out and grasped the side of Eliyon's face. Eliyon gasped at the memories that poured into his mind.

—The Darkness surrounded all of Creation and Father stood before it, denying it victory while the Archangels drove it back and Gadreel stood between Father and danger, a living shield—

—He sparred with Michael and Lucifer, laughed with Gabriel and sat with Raphael in quiet contemplation—

—The Leviathans devoured everything in their path, determined to wreak as much destruction as possible before the Archangels locked them away. They reached the gate of Eden, still being formed by Father's hand, and went no farther, driven back by the Sentry's flashing blade and impenetrable Grace—

Gadreel released him and Eliyon looked at him, tears streaming down his cheeks.

All of that, all of that forgotten with one mistake…

"What's the second thing?" Eliyon asked shakily.

Gadreel pulled himself up farther. "Leave this place, little one. Leave and never return. Never speak of it."

Eliyon nodded reluctantly.

"I want your word," Gadreel's voice was desperate.

Eliyon nodded more firmly this time.

Footsteps rang through the corridor and Gadreel's eyes snapped up fearfully. "Go, little one. Go now, before he finds you!"

Eliyon dashed away but hid in a dark corner, unwilling to leave Gadreel in this horrible place.

"Who are we talking to, Gadreel?" the guard asked, his tone dark and cheerful.

"No one, Thaddeus," Gadreel replied, shrinking back from the bars.

Eliyon's Grace flared with anger at the sight of Gadreel cowering before this guard…Thaddeus.

"You're lying to me, Gadreel," Thaddeus purred. "I thought we had discussed this."

"We did," Gadreel choked.

"How did you get over here? You shouldn't have been able to move." A heavy pause, then, "Your Grace recovered. You're healing too quickly."

The door swung open and Gadreel cowered against the wall.

"I guess I'll have to carve that sigil a little deeper."

"No—no, Thaddeus," Gadreel begged, holding up a hand in a desperate attempt to ward him away. "No!" Thaddeus raised his blade tauntingly—"No!"—and brought it down. Gadreel's scream of pain echoed down the corridor.

Eliyon stood frozen with horror in his hiding place, listening to Gadreel's cries and the horrific sound of slicing flesh while Thaddeus carved into him. Silver pooled on the floor and trickled beneath bars and a particularly wild swing splashed it over Eliyon's face. Suddenly, all he could see was his nightmare, Lucifer standing over the Archangels, silver staining his hands—

"Get away from him!" he shrieked and his Grace cracked like thunder. The shockwave slammed into Thaddeus and drove him to the floor with a surprised cry of pain and the guard looked up in fear, expecting to see Michael standing in the hall.

At least he wasn't hurting Gadreel anymore.

Eliyon was about to dive into the cell to protect the Sentry when something crashed into his side, knocking him back.

"We have to go now!" Castiel hissed, but his eyes were wide with horror and Eliyon knew he'd been watching Thaddeus torture Gadreel. He dragged Eliyon down the hall and didn't stop until they met Balthazar at the door.

The sand-winged Fledgling was trembling. "Let's…not tell anyone we found this place."

Castiel nodded vehemently and dragged them both outside. The cool, night air wafted through their feathers and they sighed in relief.

Eliyon's Grace shook with anger and grief. This was Lucifer's fault and Gadreel was being tortured for it.

Michael knows. Michael ordered this.

He found one more memory that Gadreel had given him, possibly by accident.

—Lucifer came to Eden, wanting to learn more about the Humans, wanting to understand—

Michael ordered this. Not Father. Father wouldn't have punished Gadreel for something that wasn't his fault. Father isn't angry with Gadreel.

He told me so.

I feel like I should apologize for taking you from fluff to angst so abruptly...

I kinda see Balthazar as the 'cool kid'. You know, the one that thinks he's too old to play with the kids but still answers the banana phone and secretly likes making them laugh.

I had to make some minor grammar corrections and realized *gasp* that I had passed up a wonderful opportunity to give Gadreel more details. I gave him four wings because, it seems to me that in order to be God's most trusted Angel and the one put in charge of protecting the very first humans, he would have to be one BMJ (Bad Mamma Jamma). Almost on the level of the Archangels, really. So, he has four wings instead of the usual two or the more prestigious six. For interested parties ;) I will be giving Gadreel a fic of his own. But fair warning, don't look for it yet. It's not only a work in progress, but it's part of a series I'm doing.

Psst, you're actually reading the start of that series :) it's kinda like a prequel. Not telling you anymore ;)