Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: Of course, where there's a middle, there's always an end. And, in life, very rare ends are happy.

A Hundred White Feathers

003: Ends

Aziraphale frowned as he glanced at his best friend. "Can't you really stand still for a minute?" he asked.

Carowiel, who once again was shifting his weight from one foot to another, smirked a bit. "Nope," he replied. "And Michael knew that when he made me one of the generals, so you shouldn't complain."

At this, Aziraphale snorted, rolling his eyes skywards. At the same time a tiny smile was tugging at his lips. After all, Carowiel was right. Michael knew them both, knew them better than he knew most of the angels in his forces, and still he had made them both his generals. Only He Above knew why he'd done such a thing. Sure, they were the two top fighters in the Host, but Carowiel was quite reckless, especially lately as he had more and more started to hang around some of the wilder young angel warriors.

Now they were standing in the front row, along with all the other generals, the rest of the Heavenly forces all standing in a strict formation behind them, waiting. To be exact, waiting for their two leaders to come to an agreement. Michael and Lucifer were currently both high above them, fighting about something.

Of course it was ridiculous to be taking sides in such a quarrel, but still Aziraphale found himself quietly rooting for Michael. Having known both archangels ever since he had just come to be, he had more reasons for his choice than most angels. While Lucifer was always friendly and kind, he was also kind of distant, and -- although nobody would have ever said it to him -- prouder than an angel should have been.

Lately Lucifer had been keeping even more distance, and Aziraphale, who had always liked Michael more, had found himself even more drawn to the blond leader of the Host. Michael was always there for his men, helping even the worst beginners if nobody else had the time to do that, while Lucifer only showed up occasionally to fight with the best warriors. Of course Aziraphale was on Michael's side.

However, as the quarrel went on, he started to feel vaguely ill. Something was not right. He still couldn't hear the words, but they were getting louder and louder now. Soon he'd perhaps be able to catch a word.

And suddenly everything broke apart as Lucifer drew his sword, directing a hit at Michael. However, the blond was fast to follow, blocking the other's blade just before it reached him. Aziraphale glanced around, startled, seeing all the other angels starting to shout and yell. "Carowiel?" he asked from his friend, turning his eyes to the one person he knew best, hoping to get some kind of an explanation.

Instead of an explanation, however, he only got more confusion -- more pain, as it was. "You were right back then, you know," Carowiel said quietly, his blue eyes so very serious. "About which one of them is more powerful." And then, he drew and raised his sword, crying out a name, and suddenly Aziraphale found himself loathing that name more than any other word ever uttered by an angelic mouth. "Lucifer!"

Using the force of his sudden rage against that name to hold back his tears, Aziraphale drew his own sword, raising it towards the endless sky, and cried out a name, another, but just as full of power.

"Michael!" he shouted, like several others by his side, and with that name now as his war cry, he attacked. And somewhere, on the other side of the invisible line that suddenly was separating the once united forces, one pair of azure blue eyes glanced at him, the lips still echoing a different name.

And that was one end.

Gabriel's mind was spinning as he struck with his sword back and forth. He had no idea how this had come about. At first it had been just a minor disagreement; now Heaven was in war. He faced former friends and allies in a battle, forcing himself to not give in an inch, knowing that his enemies would show him neither pity nor mercy should he falter. His sword shining with divine fire, he struck back yet another opponent.

Suddenly he heard somebody calling for him -- somebody with a very familiar voice. The brunet archangel turned around to see Raphael, thankfully unharmed, trying to shout something at him over the noise of the battle. Not hearing a thing, Gabriel ran forward, trying to get closer to his lover to get his message.

Then, however, he froze as he saw a warrior stepping forward. This one held a cherub's fiery sword, but the fire was not divine like that around his own blade; these flames were dark and evil, a twisted mockery of the holiness of his own sword's shine. And this twisted, evil weapon was struck forward, the unholy blade cutting through angelic flesh -- right through Raphael's heart. With only a slightly surprised gasp, the healer then slowly fell to the ground, his eyes staring up without seeing a thing.

Gabriel charged forward, rage and sorrow almost blinding him as he sought revenge for his fallen lover. With one quick strike of his sword he cut the attacker's neck, sending his head flying. Then he felt oddly numb, staring down at the lifeless form of his lover. Raphael's face still held a slightly surprised and only a bit shocked expression. There was no sign of life in his beautiful eyes, no recognition of Gabriel, the usual sparkle of both wisdom and intelligence gone. Swallowing, Gabriel turned away.

And that was another end.

Gabriel struck down yet another rebellious angel, finally reaching Uriel's side. The darkhaired archangel was now using throwing daggers, targeting every Dark angel unfortunate enough to come to his sight. His emerald-decorated sword waited on his belt, ready to be immediately taken to use when the need arose.

"What's the situation?" asked Uriel, having to shout over the noise of the battle for his words to actually reach Gabriel's ears. "Are we winning or losing?"

"I don't know," the Messenger replied regretfully. "As far as I know, we are winning -- but I think it all depends on the outcome of that one battle." He pointed up. There, above everybody else, nobody daring to approach them, two angels fought. White wings flapped furiously to twist and turn and charge and dodge, long, blond hair flying around in the air while the bright golden locks hardly seemed to move. A golden sword clashed with another, an icy pair of eyes glaring at a similar one, two lovers caught in a battle of life and death not only their own but that of everybody present. Michael and Lucifer were battling.

"That's true, yes." Uriel aimed at yet another angel, the fiery dagger bringing the enemy down immediately. "Have you seen anybody else around? Raphael, Aziraphale? Carowiel?" There was an obvious sign of worry in his voice as he mentioned his little brother's name, truly misplaced, though, seeing as Carowiel was the best warrior in all of the Host aside from the two currently fighting above them. Gabriel understood this, though; even though Aziraphale was most certainly the second best, he still worried for his brother.

"Raphael... was brought down," he replied quietly, almost choking at the words. Uriel cast him a sharp glance but said nothing, waiting for him to continue. "As for the young ones... I haven't seen either of them since the battle first began." Just then his eye caught something. "Hey! Isn't that Aziraphale over there?"

They both looked at the same direction. True enough, it was Aziraphale, looking more an adult than ever before as he stood in the middle of fallen enemies, his golden and red armour splattered all over with angelic blood thankfully not his own. His eyes shone with divine wrath, the ponytail on the back of his head thrown from one side to another as he fought, his skill rivalled by none nearby. Gabriel's heart filled with pride.

At last the young cherub seemed to notice them, turning around to face them. There was a triumphant grin on his face, and despite the horrible situation Gabriel found himself grinning back. Then, however, his expression turned into one of horror as suddenly a blade broke right through Aziraphale's chest, soaked with the young angel's blood. Unable to help himself, Gabriel cried out. Uriel stood frozen at his side.

Aziraphale fell now to the ground, as lifeless as Raphael had been. They now saw his attacker, and this sight shocked them even more than the one of a sword cutting through Aziraphale from behind.

Deep blue eyes blazed with an emotion neither archangel could even begin to identify, long, black locks flying around in the divine wind surrounding them, having broken free of their usual restraint. Even below the seemingly endless layers of angelic blood parts of the armour still shone golden, the silver sword dripping with holy blood, the emerald attached to its hilt pulsing with impure energy. There was rage and hatred on the pure, beautiful face like nothing they'd ever encountered before, and it was directed at them.

And then, before either of the two could get over their shock enough to do something, Carowiel turned around and was away, not giving a glance to his best friend, whom he had just murdered like a coward.

"...Uriel?" asked Gabriel quietly as he finally managed to make his vocal cords actually work. "Uriel, are you all right?" At the same time, he inwardly berated himself for asking such stupid questions. Of course Uriel was not all right. Even though Gabriel himself had just lost his little brother as well, Uriel's loss was permanent and not one that could be redeemed by any power.

Uriel didn't say anything, just turned to look at Gabriel, his deep blue eyes more serious than ever before. And, at that moment, Gabriel saw something dying in those eyes.

And that was a third end.

Sword up, right, down, step back, charge, sword left, defend, still. Michael's body was working automatically while his mind was still screaming in betrayal. This couldn't be happening, something had to be wrong. He couldn't be fighting with Lucifer; the Host couldn't be divided into two. And yet it was true.

Lucifer had rebelled. He had rebelled against Him, and that was something Michael could not stand. And, as much as he regretted it, their fight had torn all the angels apart, formed two sides where once was one united group. Suddenly he understood why He had created the Heavenly Army at the first place. He must have foreseen something like this happening, and had wanted them to be ready for it.

Lucifer attacked again, no emotion showing in the so very beautiful blue eyes. His golden locks were seemingly untouched by the wind around them, his motions swift and fluid as he moved with the experience of more practices than anybody had ever cared to count. However, Michael had even more experience. And he fought; as much as he regretted having to do it, he fought with all he had.

Had anybody but his opponent been near enough to actually see such a close detail, they might have seen the blaze of something unidentifiable in the azure blue eyes. Then, hooking his sword behind that of Lucifer's, Michael drew the golden-haired immortal near. Over their locked weapons he leant forward, placing a light kiss on his stunned lover's lips, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Then he stepped back, and drew his sword away. With a mighty strike he clashed their swords together again, hit, and cut, and pressed. One last hit, and he cast Lucifer Morningstar out of Heaven.

For a moment the battle stopped, everybody frozen. Their eyes followed as Lucifer, like a burning butterfly, Fell from Grace with a light brighter than anything any angel had ever encountered surrounding him. And behind him trailed a scream, a scream full of betrayal, rage, and horrifying, unbearable loss.

And that was a fourth end.

Next prompt: Insides