A/N And here's the final bit. Thank you very much for all of your support, reviews, favorites, and follows!

XV

"Whatever Luci had to say, I'm personally enjoying our wretched victory more than a little," Gabriel was declaring three days later, perched within his reconstructed monument once more. It hadn't taken much effort to bring the spectacle of a building back to its former magnificence—the hardest part, in fact, was clearing the minds of the human onlookers, reassuring them that there was nothing bizarre whatsoever about the easy revival of a structure that had been near ripped apart mere hours before. Unused to erasing human memories as he was, he had turned to the master of the craft: Ezekiel, whose very proficiency was cleaning up his own messes.

Still, it had taken what seemed to be a tediously long amount of time, even for the millennia-old angels, to make sure that the minds around them were perfectly secure from any nagging thoughts, and Gabriel was more than glad to be done. So it was that he allowed himself to recline quite languidly, his fingers dancing through the air above him, drawing glittering patterns of gold sparks out of nothingness, twisting them into the delicate shape of a pair of wings—the pair that he hoped to construct for himself soon.

His usual wings were entirely destroyed. After painfully pushing them back out of the sheath that they'd been squashed under, he had pried the metal away from his vessel's flesh entirely. It was a painful process, but he got through it without uttering a noise of protest; the only problem was the vulnerability that overwhelmed him now, with the appendages of pure energy under cover but still feeling exposed. He was eager to encase them in their familiar armor once more, but knew how hard it would be to harness the starlight and metals again; the first time, it was nearly a decade before he managed to truly master the craft. He knew that he'd far perfected his goal since then, but it would still take at least a couple of months of work until he was flying properly again.

"You've hardly given yourself break enough to," Ezekiel pointed out. He stood across the room, at his feet rather than sprawled on his back like Gabriel—the latter's position wasn't merely an expression of laziness; he felt safer with something solid under the tingling numbness of his only cloth-covered back. "It won't hurt you to cease work for only a little while—now, for instance. No reason to engage in your plans quite yet."

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the spinning threads of gold evaporated in front of him, leaving an empty space through which he scowled darkly in Ezekiel's direction. "And no reason not to, either. I relax when I think. Sitting around, stewing—that's the opposite of what I want. No offense to you, of course—I'm sure it works differently for everyone."

Ezekiel's lips twisted into a wry grin. "Perhaps so." He turned, then, until only his hunched shoulders were visible; he was wearing a worn purple shirt and loose jeans, an outfit just as tired as his attitude.

"Or not. It's not good for you to be so depressed all the time, come on. We won! Be proud of how we won!"

"It's difficult to be proud. You heard all that Lucifer said. Whatever labels of victory we may apply, the fact remains that we... well. We fought our brother. What was truly won?"

"Only the safety of the entire planet." Gabriel struggled not to scoff, rather disbelieving at the solemn words that were being addressed to him. "Who cares if Lucifer's not happy about it? In fact, I'm glad if he's displeased. He deserves it, really, after everything—he was going to good as erase the human species; you can't say there's nothing wrong with that."

"Of course not. There was everything wrong with it. But looking at us... we slaughtered his demons just as ruthlessly as they did our humans—"

"Demons are made of pure evil. They're souls that are supposed to be dead—cruelly reanimated and distorted. You know this, Ezekiel. No need to act ignorant in the name of whatever screwed-up sort of heroism you're aiming for. It was merciful of us to send those poor demons back to Purgatory—it's where they belong, and I'd be surprised if—after the shock, at least—a good number of them aren't happy to be there."

"It is not a happy place." Ezekiel's voice was heavy, and it was only then that Gabriel properly remembered who he was talking through—the last traces of his distracted schemes, plans and speculations for the set of wings he'd soon be creating, fled his mind, making way instead for a wave of sympathy directed towards his brother. "And I do not particularly... wish to return."

"You don't have to. After what you've done... what you've shown yourself to be... you rescued me from that fall, right? And you were in your... other form, then."

"...Yes."

"So you can do good when you're like that. It's not uncontrollable—just a bit more primitive. Dad or Michael might even be able to find some sort of use for it—sorry in advance if they do; it's just about the most annoying thing in the world to have them constantly coming after you for help with every little trivial issue on the planet."

The edges of Ezekiel's lips spun up into a smile, but it was fragile, tentative, and Gabriel continued regardless.

"Anyways, the point is that you belong here, now. I think everyone can see that pretty clearly. So forget about Purgatory—it would just be stupid to send yourself back there now. No offense or anything, of course. Stay somewhere else, up here—exactly here, in fact, if you want. It's a big monument, and even I'm starting to feel a bit stung from just how self-praising it is. So, if you'd like to hang around... you know. I'm sure we can figure something out with the inscription. It can still be the Seraphim Monument—in fact, that's more accurate, now, isn't it? Pluralized?"

"Gabriel... you have no obligation to—"

"Of course I don't. I had obligation. This is an offer, brother. A favor. Take it or leave it—based on your own preference, please, not any foolish regard to my well-being—but I'll be happy if you stay, and, admittedly, a bit grumpy if you leave. So. Thoughts?"

Ezekiel's smile slowly widened, and Gabriel felt a grin fall upon his own face as it did, warm with the thought of this new future.

"What was it like?"

Raziel felt the words brush against her lips, soft as velvet, without so much as thinking about their utterance. Such a slip of the tongue was an odd little thing, one that she rather despised—one, also, that only ever seemed to happen around Uriel. Perhaps she trusted him too much. Bad, for Heaven's Secret-keeper, though she could also think of nothing that she ought to hide from him. Though she had the label of keeping all the angels' private utterances sealed under her own consciousness, Uriel might as well receive it, as well, for he was truly an extension of her in this way—her own thoughts and feelings were perhaps the only things that she could ever keep properly private from him, and even they slipped free, on occasion—now, for instance. The question that she unwillingly put voice to was a wholly personal inquiry, one that perhaps she'd do better to keep inside of her, yet she couldn't quite contain her curiosity, even with the full knowledge that it would be far from easy for him to answer.

"What was what like?" His response was immediate, the words softened to nearly a growl, and he glanced over at her. His pale blue eyes were vivid in the darkness that swathed them in their perch atop a high office building; they weren't in New York, for both had rather had enough of the city that so much drama had centered around. Instead, they found themselves in a thickly urban part of California, surrounded by the smooth brush of the balmy heat, hidden in the nighttime and their height hundreds of yards above any humans. Below their dangling feet, cars and pedestrians flashed back and forth under sparkles of golden light, a sea of life contained in only a few pinpricks of illumination, and behind them rose their wings; there was no need to disguise them, since no one would possibly look this far up, and so the feathers caressed the breeze in fluttering fluidity, glad to be free, absorbing the rich liveliness of the heated night.

"You know what." And he did, though he wouldn't confess to it immediately—perhaps he didn't want to relive it now. Of course he didn't want to. This was the closest to peace that the siblings had found themselves in as long as either could easily remember, and it was unfair of her to spoil the moment with her bold inquiry. "You don't need to answer, if you don't want. I shouldn't have asked." She glanced down in shame, allowing her vision to be briefly overcome by the flood of cars darting past a bright green light. Her soft curls tangled in the wind, brushing against her cheek and flooding her with chills despite the warmth of the air.

"No—no, it's fine... it is fine." Uriel's voice emerged quite suddenly, and she glanced back up in surprise, her brows raised. She expected him to leave the subject in silence, as he often did, but instead he was pushing words slowly out, nodding as he did, as if to convince himself of their validity. "Truly. You have the right to know."

"My only right is curiosity."

"And right enough it is. Raziel—" He paused, then, and took in a deep breath, his eyes lifting back up until the expanse of the cosmos was reflected in their chrysocolla-hued depths. "...My reluctance comes only from fear at the recollection. You must understand that I—I have no intention of keeping it private, especially you personally. I wish I could tell you properly, but all I can truly express is... that it was terrifying. To be harnessed by such darkness, such brutal, raw darkness... I had no idea, even instants before it happened to me, that our brother was truly so... corrupted. Yet he is. Please believe and know that nothing could be more evil than Lucifer, whatever his smooth words might supply in contradiction."

"At the base of the monument—he seemed reasonable enough then," Raziel offered softly. The words were extended not as an argument, but instead a question—she fully expected Uriel to return with confidence, and wasn't disappointed.

"He was defeated. It was his last resort, to appear so—last resort, mind you; it still wasn't his true self. His true self, Raze, it's insane—no, no, not insane. Humans are insane, and no human could amount to this without overloading every physiological and psychological aspect of their existence. He was demented. Each of his thoughts was heavy, quaking with the weight of all the darkness carried upon it—images, and memories, and fantasies. He is chaos. And it is chaos that he desires—not order. Perhaps there was once something more to him, but now... now he wants only disaster, and death, and revenge. If Ezekiel hadn't stopped him—well. The world would no longer exist. He would enslave the humans, work and play with them until they died in shuddering screams, and breed those who remained like sheep—he would raise writhing masses, and coach them all to his bidding, treat them worse than he does his demons. That would be his heaven, not our graced halls. Everything he said—everything he's ever said was, at least to some amount, an absolute lie."

"And you had to live with that," Raziel sighed slowly, her breath cool against her throat. "Inside of your head."

"I wish I couldn't remember it. I didn't, for a while, but... they come back slowly, each little recollection. Sometimes just a single flash of an image, sometimes hours' worth of knowledge. It torments me, but I think I am near the end... and once I've carried it all, there's nowhere downwards to go. I can only move up and forth."

"I will be by your side as you do," Raziel responded, once more without thinking. Not a trace of doubt seasoned her mind as the words escaped, though—she knew quite well that she spoke only the truth. "I promise. Anything you need to say... I will listen, brother, always. You will make it through this, as you do through everything."

"Thank you," he said simply, and no further words needed to be exchanged. Instead, they allowed the roar and sigh of the city below to fill their ears, swiped across by the gentle, soothing beat of their twin pairs of wings, dove-white and raven-black, lifting and falling in steady rhythm as the night wove on.

"Goodbye, then."

Lucifer sneered as he spoke the words, draining them easily of any sentiment that they may once have been imbued with. Their poisonous residue rested in the air, darkening it even beyond its current smoggy appearance, and Ramiel could do nothing but lower his head in shame, so that he was looking only at their hands—his gripping his brother's, the latter's wrists which were wound with tight cuffs of blessed iron, burning him like fire with every movement, but mandatory to ensure that he didn't escape.

"I wish it was not my time to depart," Ramiel replied slowly, each syllable growling out through his lips. The words were true enough, at least to the extent that he understood them. He didn't want to leave his brother—not the brother whom he'd defended in Heaven and exiled himself for the love of, not the brother whom he'd hoped, constantly and fervently, to survive the whole catastrophe, to get away with his life and maybe even the regret that would drive him towards goodness once more.

Yet Lucifer, as he was learning, was not that brother. Perhaps he never had been, and Ramiel was a fool as the others called him for ever having believed. He felt the burn of his own disgrace now, in any case, more furiously than ever now that he'd seen Hell itself. He'd never been down so low before, and the expanse of the brimstone-scarred landscape was truly revolting—it was a place of crudeness and evil, but it was also, he knew now, where Lucifer belonged.

"As if. You do not want to stay here. You're eager to get back home to you precious Earth, where your brothers and sister and father will welcome you like the hero that you're meant to be... they'll praise you for returning to the proper side of things, you know. Yes, yes, they will. And I... shall remain here. In a bone palace that gazes over the dead lands with eyes the color of dust."

"Please—please. This is the last place I wish to leave you."

"Then do not." Lucifer's eyes were bright gold, searching, his lips drawn back to his teeth to provide a sharper hiss to his tone. "You are the only one who ever knew properly... who ever knew the way of true loyalty, true goodness. A brother over a father, that's how it should be. For the father... the father can grow old, senile, careless. As God will. As he already is. The rest will continue to follow him, of course, quite blindly, but you, Ramiel—you are wiser than that. You have always been wiser than that. You know the proper allegiance of yourself and your siblings... towards me."

The final word, snarled out, solidified the growing heat in Ramiel's chest, and he jerked back so suddenly that Lucifer stumbled, the chains on his handcuffs clinking and echoing through the high hallway, the only sound other than traces of his words still echoing about, defying the sonic laws of Earth but playing along with a reality fully embraced in Hell.

"I have no allegiance towards you. You are fallen. You made a decision, but it was the wrong one, and I am not now foolish enough to follow in your footsteps." Ramiel pushed as much power behind the words as he could manage, arching them into strength, so that they boomed and resonated throughout the dark-marbled corridor, as well. "I hoped to rescue you from yourself for far too long, and that was my falling. I am sorry that it had to end this way for you, but I also know it couldn't have been different. This is your proper place, my brother, until God ever chooses to pardon you—and, though I am sorry to speak the words, I do doubt that you will. Your place is among the fire and brimstone, as it has always been. And I will no longer put forth your name brightly on Earth or in Heaven. You have taught me of my mistake—remember that, Lucifer. My certainty comes not from the others' corruption, but from your vile purity. Nothing remains inside of you but evil. I know that now. I regret it, but it is irrevocable. Goodbye."

"Wait—wait!" Lucifer's voice narrowed nearly into a shriek, so desperate that Ramiel felt chills raking down his spine as he turned away. "At least—at least free me of these bonds! I shall not endure such pain upon me when I am already at the base of existence! It is cruel—you reduce yourself to nothing above the evil that you cast upon me!"

Ramiel didn't listen—he couldn't. His response was measured, carefully cold and free of emotion. "The bonds are a proper lesson to you. You have risen once against Earth and Heaven, and once been defeated. May we both pray that it will never happen again, for your chains will then grow only heavier, until they weigh you so severely that you haven't the strength to crawl."

It wasn't a rule that his father or even Michael had dictated—in fact, it wasn't a rule at all. And yet the persistence of the cuffs, the constant pain on the soft flesh of Lucifer's wrists, seemed only appropriate—Ramiel knew that he deserved it, and that punishment was by far the safest way to ensure that there would be no repeat of the events that had desecrated Earth. Far too many human lives had been lost when Lucifer rose, and Ramiel would go to whatever measures needed to make sure that such a threat was never imposed upon the people again.

"No—you cannot! You cannot!" Lucifer shouted, but Ramiel beat his wings fiercely, lifting into the air—he struggled not to pay heed to the screams of misery that assaulted him as he rose out of the cursed hall and back into the fiery, blood-caked landscape that the rest of Hell consisted of. A thousand hands, some stripped to bone, some dashed with welts, some cut open and oozing—lifted towards him as he flew, grasping at the pinnacle of light, of pearlescent feathers unfurling against the crimson sky. Yet he did not slow, even as their damned wails rose to join the overpowering one of Lucifer. The sickening cacophony wove together until he could hear and think nothing else, and all he could do was beat his wings faster, tear away from the pit of disaster and hatred, leave it only to be maintained by the one creature who truly deserved it—for he had to believe that Lucifer belonged with the torture and the agony. The definition of evil was mandatory in his mind—for, without it, all the constructions around morality that he'd finally solidified would only fall apart, leaving him with nothing but the echoes of the lost souls and an aching, burning sense of regret.

"Thank you, Pastor, for everything."

"I did practically nothing," Fury returned respectfully, lowering his eyes and dipping his head. He fixed his gaze upon the smooth wooden floor below him—the floor of the Church of the Holy Shield, reconstructed by Michael alone in a few brief flashes, as a token of gratitude for all that it had done to aid the defeat of the Devil—and to memorialize Pastor Phillip Coulson, whose name was now permanently engraved on a glittering golden plaque at the front door, declaring him a hero of the purest definition, worthy of the respect and gratitude of all those who passed by.

"You all but led my army—and, of course, you called me in the first place. No man could have done better. And so I do thank you, Pastor, most genuinely, for everything that you have done. I will not say that I owe you, for I believe that we both know how the safety of Earth is repayment enough for us both—but know that you are of the best of humans, in the eyes of me, my siblings, and our father. From this day forth, this church shall be a true sanctuary—even the powers of Lucifer's own fire, should they attempt to desecrate it again, shall not be able to lick a single panel of its wood. You hold sermon on truly blessed ground, Nicholas Fury. Do not forget that, or allow your descendants to."

"Never."

"And, Nicholas, look at me properly."

He raised his head once more to regard Michael. The golden-haired angel shone so brightly, radiance emitting from what seemed to be beneath his quartz-rich skin itself, that it nearly hurt to look at—only nearly, however, for the serene smile on the light, perfect lips was enough to tone the heat to warmth, to gentle power that pulsated within Fury's own veins, materializing in the gleam of the archangel's pearly teeth and sapphire eyes. His wings pulsed behind him, wide and beautifully white, the purest thing that Fury had ever seen.

"I do not know if and when we will encounter each other again, Pastor," Michael continued. "Perhaps I will not touch on Earth for any other event that falls within your lifetime, but even I have no way to predict the future. Whatever happens will happen, and if it means that I must join my army with your people once more—then I do not dread it."

"I can only hope," Fury agreed, "that I will be able to commune with you again—it has been, of course, an honor. More than an honor, in fact—I remain forever the humble servant of you and your father. I would wish you luck, but I know your powers are beyond something that trivial—instead, I will only express my faith once more in you and all that you represent. Thank you, Michael. And thank you to your father, and all of the other angels—you have saved us, not for the first time, and not for the last. You are more than we could ever deserve."

Michael's smile only widened, and then, all at once, a blast of white flared up where he stood—instinctively, Fury squeezed his eyes shut, and heat surged over him, somehow refreshing rather than overwhelming, and sweetly scented, so that he found himself breathing it in, filling his lungs time and time again on the purity of the archangel's holy essence. By the time he allowed his eyes to open once more, Michael was gone, but the church was far from dark in his absence—every surface, be it wood, glass, or plaster, shone with faint golden light, burnished until it gleamed, lighting the air itself with bronzed serenity.

Fury sighed, then turned without further ado, his feet echoing against the floorboards as he made his way down the empty hallway. Holy Shield was near just how he remembered it, only perhaps more youthful, more lively despite its inanimate quality. He knew that Michael's words were true—every aspect of the church was now imbued with angelic power, and it would never fall again, no matter the wear of the years.

He soon reached the front corridor, where two of his most faithful associates stood waiting, chins high and eyes bright—Maria Hill and Erik Selvig, in their proper dark robes once more, both barely suppressing smiles; he knew that they had sensed the way that Michael infused the building, and were just as aloft on the perfection of the blessing as he was.

"What do you wish of us, Pastor?" Hill inquired immediately.

Slowly, Fury allowed himself to smile. "For now, nothing. Our planet is saved, our church reconstructed... I daresay that, today, God beams down upon us. Allow us to take a time of rest... we all do deserve it. And, after all, the peace may not be kept for long."