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A/N: Here is another chapter for your enjoyment. Just do not, I repeat, DO NOT expect as quick updates in the future.
A Hundred White Feathers
002. Middles
Aziraphale had always been curious to know and learn, even more so than other angels. And, even more so than other angels, he was also interested in stories. Especially much he liked the middles of stories.
This maybe sounded odd, but it was true. Aziraphale didn't care much for the beginnings; those just set the scene. And endings, well, then all was concluded and known, and there was little left for curiosity. But the middles -- ah, those were wonderful. They told you what you already knew of the beginning, and gave hints for the end, and everything important always happened in the middle. Or didn't happen, if it was so to be.
Little Carowiel liked middles as well. However, his reasons were slightly different; he liked them simply because battles always happened in the middle of the story. And Carowiel liked battles, oh, how he liked them, and he was good at fighting, too. Some angels said that one day he might even take Michael's place as the head of Heaven's army; he was so talented and eager. This was not what Carowiel strived for, though; he was perfectly content just practising, and fighting, and beating everyone but Michael and Lucifer.
Of course, that was something he still had to wait a bit for. While talented, he was also young. Aziraphale was still a young angel, and the youngest ever to be given a full cherub's sword, something he was immensely proud of. Carowiel was even younger, and all he really was allowed to do was play with the other angel children, hoping that one day he might grow up enough to be allowed a real sword and true practices. It wouldn't be long, he hoped; after all, he was already showing clear talent for fighting.
As it was, though, he was still a kid. And therefore, he was now sitting, watching Aziraphale train.
"Don't look so dark, Carowiel," Aziraphale said, smiling at his best friend. "Soon you'll be big enough to be given a sword, and then we'll get to fight with each other properly, and you can finally win me."
"Yeah," Carowiel said, brightening up a bit. He leapt up, the red skirt of his armour flaring a bit, and tapped at his gold-clad chest. "I'll be better than you, and better than anybody but Lucifer or even Michael!"
"I believe that," the older angel laughed. "And I'll be the next best, then. Though I think Lucifer's better than Michael," he then added. "After all, he's His second in command; of course he's better at fighting, too."
"No, he's not!" Carowiel protested. "Raphael's an archangel, right? So he's higher in the ranks than lots of angels. And he's really not good at fighting. Rank tells nothing! Nobody can beat Michael!"
"Yeah, sure," Aziraphale said, a slight smile on his lips. "Sorry, I forgot that you have a hero complex about Michael. Of course nobody can be greater than your shiny great leader!"
"I don't have a -- wuzzit -- comxlep about Michael!" announced Carowiel. "He's just the best!"
"All right, all right, little guy," laughed Aziraphale, patting Carowiel's head. "You're right, I'm sure."
And that was one middle.
Gabriel leant down to place a light kiss on Aziraphale's forehead. Then he wiped away a stray lock of hair from the peaceful face, adjusted the covers for one last time, and straightened himself. He smiled a bit as he looked down at his sleeping brother. Although he already trained with full warriors, Aziraphale was really a child still, and like all young angels, he needed to sleep, unlike the adults. And so the child was now lying on a bed, gently tucked in by his elder brother, his sword standing in the corner, waiting for him.
A fond smile still lingering on his lips, Gabriel then turned around and very quietly left the room. Walking down the corridor, he then opened a door and stepped into another room, closing the door behind himself. "He's asleep," he informed the other angelic being already occupying the said room.
"The poor dear," Raphael said, a small smile on his lips. "He always exhausts himself with the training."
"Yes, but he is indeed getting results," Gabriel said, walking over to where the redhead sat on a couch and sitting down next to him. "His visits to you in need of healing have become less frequent, haven't they?"
"Fortunately, yes," Raphael replied. "I still can't understand how Michael'd allow him to train with the warriors, though," he added then. "He's a child still! He should be playing, not training with a real sword!"
Yet again Gabriel's lips were curled in a smile. "Raphael, he hardly is too young. Michael knows his skills, and would never let him train with the adult warriors if he wasn't well capable of it."
"Perhaps... Why do we need to fight, anyway?" asked the healer then. "It is peace! By His word it is!"
"We are not to question His plans," Gabriel replied. "If He has deemed it necessary for Heaven to have armed forces, it is not our place to ask for the reasons. Perhaps those reasons will one day become clear to us, perhaps not. However, at any case, until then we should just accept whatever He says."
"Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me." Raphael leant against Gabriel's shoulder, one hand wandering to the other archangel's chest. Although adult angels rarely slept, they did so when they were especially tired, which was not an unusual predicament for the archangels with so many duties to take care of. And tired was exactly what Raphael was at the moment.
Gabriel smiled slightly, pulling his lover into a tight embrace. Feeling the other's breath evening out as Raphael relaxed into sleep against his chest, he then allowed himself to fall asleep as well.
And that was another middle.
Uriel allowed himself to smile a bit as he watched the little angel some way from him. Carowiel was swinging his tiny training sword around, a determined expression on his face. Aziraphale was instructing him -- not that Carowiel needed many instructions, of course. The boy truly was a natural warrior, even more so than Aziraphale -- and Aziraphale had, if the story was true, lit up Michael's sword before he could talk.
Aziraphale said something to the little boy. Carowiel glanced up at him, grinning. Then he suddenly reached up a hand and tugged at Aziraphale's hair. Aziraphale yelped, pulling his hair away from the smaller angel's grasp. Then they both laughed like two friends who had just shared a joke -- what, in a way, they were.
The smile got even broader as Uriel continued watching the two. Oh, Aziraphale and Carowiel were most certainly best friends. And Carowiel, little talented Carowiel, was something he could be proud of. The child was most certainly dearer to him than any other member of the angelic Host. Only Him did Uriel love more than he loved his little brother; he would have done absolutely anything for Carowiel.
Uriel's hand wandered to the hilt of his sword, and he smiled briefly. It wouldn't be long until Carowiel got a true cherub's sword. He'd already had one made, decorated with an emerald like his own, just like Aziraphale's sword held a sapphire similar to that attached to Gabriel's sword. He could hardly wait to see the two young angels truly training together, as equals.
And that was a third middle.
"What's wrong, Lucifer, love?" asked Michael quietly. "You look rather tense."
The golden-haired archangel sighed, lightly rubbing his temples. "Nothing is wrong, Michael, believe me," he replied then, casting an affectionate glance at his companion. "I'm just a bit tired."
Michael walked over to where Lucifer sat by his desk and put his hands on his lover's shoulders. "Rubbish," he snorted. "Something's wrong, I know it. And exactly why are you tired?"
"No reason," the other replied, rising a hand to cover one of those held on his shoulders. "Look, Michael, can we just drop it? After I've had some rest, I'll be all better. Promise."
Michael frowned a bit but then nodded. "If you are sure," he said, only a hint of doubt in his voice.
And that was a fourth middle.
There was one thing young Aziraphale still hadn't noticed about middles, though. That was, the direction often changed in the middle of the story, from bad to good...
Or from good to bad.
Next prompt: Ends