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028. Children
A smirk curled the perfectly shaped lips. "They are like children, you know."
Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. "Who do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"Humans," replied the demon. "They are like little children, knowing what's wrong and right but not really caring. As long as they don't get caught, it's okay."
"That's not true," Aziraphale huffed. "They might be like children, yes, but only because they constantly need advice and guidance, just like children. Depending on the influence around they might grow good or bad."
"So I'm the bad influence, I take it," Crowley smirked. "And you are the good. Too bad for you that every human since the days of Eve has always had a taste for the forbidden fruit."
"Oh, be quiet." Aziraphale lazily swatted the demon's arm. "One of these days I'll discorporate you again."
"And deal with the trouble of payback?" Crowley shot back. "I don't think so. You could always go to visit your brother, though – and let me have free hands with the humans for a few days."
"Like you could make that much of a difference," Aziraphale chuckled. "Let's face it, Crowley – no matter what we once were, now, we are small fry. My only power lies in my association with the archangels. We can do whatever we want with the humans and it still won't matter much in the end. The minor angels and demons affect a single individual's life much more than either of us does, simply because there are many of them and they have the time to concentrate on one person. All we are doing here on Earth are keeping up the façade. Whatever is done to the humans by either of our sides is done by others, we are just here for the show."
"That might be true," Crowley admitted. "But it still doesn't justify Sloth. Not that I complain, though. Do you know how many successful reports I have made consisting mostly of 'tempting an angel to Sloth'?"
"About as many as I have made about 'keeping a demon away from his evil deeds,'" snorted the angel. "We can always go back to the fighting if you'd like to, though. I'm getting quite out of practice. No doubt will Michael kill me the next time I see him."
"He will only beat you," Crowley said, waving a hand dismissively. "Me, he would indeed kill. I've no intention of getting in his way, though, so that's not going to happen." With a smirk, he continued, "One of these days, angel, I'll have to tempt you into drinking. I have a feeling we could have splendid drunken conversations."
A tiny smile on his lips, Aziraphale closed his eyes and lay back on the grass. "Do not tempt me, vile serpent."
Michael was slightly nervous as he settled a hand on a door handle. Not that this was a very unusual action for him; he opened and closed doors several times a day, after all. This one door, however, was special.
He had quite some time noticed that there was one room in Uriel's apartment that was never in use. The door was kept closed all the time, and Uriel refused to even acknowledge its existence. His curiosity growing greater every day, Michael became even more and more intrigued by the room. There was a room in the same place in his own apartment's mirrored layout, used for extra storage for the weapons he couldn't fit elsewhere.
The day he realized just what it was used for in Gabriel's apartment, however, his curiosity overcame his willpower.
Why would Uriel close off the room that, in Gabriel's layout, served as Aziraphale's room?
Michael glanced around. The room was flawlessly clean, not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. He wasn't sure whether it was because Uriel cleaned there often or because dust simply didn't dare land where the archangel didn't want it to.
The bed was perfectly made, nothing revealing that it hadn't been used in millennia. Its occupant could have just as well risen from it that very morning.
The walls of the room were pristinely white, here and there a drawing or a painting bringing colour to it – all Uriel's making, of course. On one wall, though, colourful stains of paint disturbed the otherwise perfect order and cleanliness of the walls. Curious, Michael took a couple of steps nearer.
"They were mere kids back then," said a voice behind him, startling him. Cursing himself for forgetting to be on guard, even if he was presumably safe in Heaven and Uriel's apartment, Michael spun around. In the doorway stood Uriel, looking rather sad.
"I – I'm sorry," Michael stuttered, suddenly feeling very ashamed for giving in to his curiosity. "I know I should have asked you rather than come here without permission. Please forgive me..."
Uriel, however, didn't seem to even hear his words. "They wanted to paint, and I let them. Only they soon noticed that the walls made a lot better surface for their art than any paper or canvas." He walked to Michael's side, his hand hovering over the stains on the wall, never touching. "I let it be because Carowiel liked it... He never let me wash it away. I thought he would eventually get tired of the mess, but he left before the stains."
"So this is how you remember him?" asked Michael quietly. "This is how you remember Carowiel? Your brother who died?"
"Yes, this is exactly it." Uriel smiled sadly. "Sometimes, when I felt lonely enough, I would hear sounds from in here. I don't know if I was truly going insane or what, but..." Sighing, he shook his head. "I try not to come here, yet I always found myself being drawn back again and again."
Michael glanced to the opposite wall. There, over the bed, rested a beautiful sword adorned by a single bright emerald. Even from where he stood he could see that the blade was still perfectly sharp.
He remembered holding it one day, picking it up from the ground and handing it back to its rightful owner. The embarrassed look of defeat on the young angel's face, the snickers of the others by the sides of the field, later to be replaced by respectful silence as Michael's victories became more and more difficult every time. Many had come close, but none as close as that one warrior, one hand, one blade.
Only one blade had ever met Michael's in a fight more worthy than this one, and it had Fallen along with its brightly beautiful owner.
Next Prompt: Birth