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027. Parents
Michael peered into Gabriel's office. The other archangel was there, dressed in formal attire, apparently concentrated on reading some paper. Leaning against the doorframe, Michael grinned and said, "Trouble in the brewing, eh?"
Gabriel looked up from whatever the document was. "Why would you think that?" he asked.
"Well, for one thing, your expression," Michael said, stepping into the room. "You never look like that unless something's really disturbing you. And, making a wild guess, I suspect it's something about that paper."
"Well, yes," sighed Gabriel. "It is indeed a bit disturbing. Somebody has made a suggestion that the terms of angelic relationships should be revised, especially when it comes to siblings."
"Oh?" Michael raised an eyebrow. "So how would it work, then?"
"According to the suggested definitions, Aziraphale would be my son," Gabriel said. "It's not that I'm exactly averse to the thought, but… It just doesn't seem right, somehow."
"Why not?" Michael snatched the paper from the other archangel's hand. "Sounds rather reasonable to me, really. Because, using the human definitions, you are more like a father than a brother to him as far as I see it."
"But what about those who have more than one sibling?" asked Gabriel. "Who will be the parent, or will they be considered three different generations? And what about those who have adopted each other as siblings, and are of equal age? Besides, we are all supposed to be equals before our Lord. Humans grow old, each of them being of the youngest and oldest generation at their own time; to us angels, the inequality between parents and children would be permanent. Am I still truly a parent when Aziraphale is just as much an adult as I am?"
"Aziraphale is still young and you know it," Michael replied, returning the paper among the others on Gabriel's desk. "I don't really see what the problem is. If you don't want any troubles, it could be made voluntary, you know. Those who'd like to, would be able to change the definitions; those who don't, can stay as siblings."
"That might work," Gabriel admitted hesitantly. "But what would be the point? The old system works nicely. Why make it even more complicated?"
"Because it might work even better?" Michael suggested, grinning. "I think it would be less complicated, actually. Some more distinction between those who truly are siblings and those who are more of the parent-child couldn't hurt."
"But is it really needed?" Gabriel questioned. "And why exactly do you support this idea so eagerly? It's not like it would affect you in any way. You don't have any siblings yourself."
"That's too true," Michael admitted. "You do, however, and to me Aziraphale has always seemed more like your child than your brother. When compared with human relationships, that is."
"Perhaps." Gabriel sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is giving me a headache. I think I need some fresh air."
"That might," Michael said with some slight amusement to be detected in his voice, "be the best." Really, Gabriel took things so seriously sometimes. Too seriously, even.
In that respect, he was just like Uriel.
"What's the matter, Uriel?" asked Michael, trying to hide his shock as he stepped into his lover's quarters. (Like Gabriel and Raphael, they also shared a bedroom, but their actual apartments were still kept separate because of their very different functions.) "Did a hurrican hit here or what has happened?"
"Nothing," sighed Uriel, glancing around in the obviously wrecked room. "Nothing really happened. I just..." He shook his head and sighed again. "Some angels," he said, "anger me to no end."
"Now, what has put you in such rage?" asked the Warrior, drawing his lover into an embrace. "Aren't you supposed to be all-forgiving?"
"When it comes to those who repent, yes," Uriel said. "However, that doesn't count for those who don't even realize the mistake they have made!" For a moment he remained in Michael's embrace. Then, however, he sighed yet again and pulled away, starting to gather the objects -- mostly artworks and art supplies -- scattered around. Wordlessly, Michael started to help him, waiting for him to talk.
"An angel Fell," Uriel said finally, determinedly avoiding looking at Michael. "He was one of yours, and a Cherub -- I've no doubt you'll get a raport soon. Anyway, he had an older brother." Now, Uriel raised his eyes at Michael. The usual depression and weariness of having Felled someone was now replaced by something close to despair. "This brother... as soon as the Cherub had Fallen, he asked how he could destroy his Fallen brother's Cherub's sword. He had no brother anymore, he said. All reminders of him must be destroyed."
"And you disagree with him because...?" enquired Michael, even though he was fairly sure he already knew the answer. He took a step closer to the other angel, just in case Uriel needed another hug.
"Because that sword is all that remains of the angel his brother was," Uriel said quietly. "He may not have a brother anymore, but he used to have one. The one he had should be mourned as dead, not forgotten entirely. Once he was an Angel of the Lord, and forgetting that is the worst possible thing to do."
Now, Michael didn't say anything. Instead, he just drew Uriel into another embrace, holding him close as he always did after a Fall. The dark-coloured archangel tried to maintain a calm facade, but at last he broke down, silent tears soaking Michael's clothes.
This was what Uriel was, Michael thought sadly. Always trying to appear calm and controlled, yet inside broken and in need of comfort. He wanted to make it better but couldn't, and thus he was only grateful he actually got to see the inside.
At least there was now one thing less to worry about. He had worried what had happened to a particular sword when its owner had Fallen, a very beautiful, very deadly sword wielded with skill only mastered by few. Now he knew what had come of it.
Somewhere, in some forgotten corner within this very same apartment, it stood patiently waiting for the hand that would never grasp it again.
Next Prompt: Children