Chapter Two

Puck told him thousand times that they had to go; that the archangel would burn this place up and it was time to run. But Deandalon was no coward… okay so he ran away from fights a lot, but only when nothing was at stake, only when it would've been stupid to get his bones broken for nothing. Puck called him crazy, but the god sent him on his way told him to run, while he took flight again. He was slightly surprised that the gods living in the mountains were not already at the hill, but maybe they were also smarter and already left.

By all means he should've done the same, but he had to get closer first. One thought was nagging his mind, if it came to burn them up why didn't it do it already and why did it turn so small, surely it would've been easier to smite them all down while being enormous.

He was close enough to see the wings again. All three sets were folded around the angel, encircling it from all sides as it sat there at the top. Dean landed at the other side in a decent distance and morphed back into his normal form. The brightness was still almost too much for his eyes. He stared at the angel and tried to figure out what to do next. Should he speak? Should he move closer? He couldn't even decide if it was male or female, or maybe none or maybe both. He felt anxious and excited. He took a step closer, but the angel didn't move or showed any sign that Dean's presence was acknowledged, but it had to know that he was there; even lesser spirits would've noticed him by now as he was not sneaking. It still just sat there encircled in its wings like a big golden ball.

'Hey, you all right in there?' he asked and mentally scolded himself for the question immediately after. If he would've asked that from a greater god he probably would've been hit for it, powerful beings did not like to show weakness. On the other hand it probably sounded friendly so maybe it was not that bad.

He was ignored.

'I live here you know' he continued and took another step forward. 'Down in the valley I mean, that's actually my name too, I'm Deandalon. "Valley of Shades", that's what it means and it's the name of this place too, I'm the only one who lives down there with the spirits, so I'm the god of the valley you could say and I heard you're-'

His babble was interrupted as three wings at the side where Dean stood suddenly snapped open revealing the angel. Dean fell silent immediately as the golden eyes locked on him. He could finally see the whole of the angel. And he still couldn't decide whether it was male or female. The body looked sort of male, but the face was blank and showed no real features. There were two golden eyes and something like lips, a shape of a nose, but nothing more. He wasn't even sure if he saw skin beneath the golden armor or was it just light. Its hair looked like liquid light or golden flames blazing smoothly at every movement.

'You are no god' the angel said, its voice sounded like a dozen voices at once, all different but ringing together in perfect harmony. It also was stern and cold to Dean's ears.

'I am what I want to be, good, bad and everything in between' Dean told him with a charming smile. 'And if you want to insult me you have to be a bit more creative than that, I've been hearing that one since the day I was born' Dean scowled down then at him… her, he really had no idea. Considering that usually when someone tried to take a jibe at him saying this he would bash in their faces he moderated himself perfectly. The angel narrowed its eyes, the golden orbs thinned to slits.

'Leave' it said and folded all wings back to their previous place, making golden ball of the angel again.

'Okay… um… you didn't start destroying the place or slaughtering us and I take that as a good sign… so like I said, I live down here… if you-'

'I said leave' thundered the archangel and this time as his wings snapped open Dean was hit by an invisible wave of power and it tossed him down the side of the hill. It burned his skin and he collided with a bigger rock as he fell before he could push himself away from the cliff and morph into a falcon again. His left wing hurt to no end so it meant that his arm was injured. He flew higher up until he could see the angel again. It was still sitting on the same spot, but the wings were open now, spread wide behind its back. The golden eyes locked on him the second he was high enough.

'You know what scamp?' Dean said, his voice was always more quiet and a little higher when in bird form but he wasn't up to land next to the archangel again just so he could speak in a deeper tone. 'I was just being nice, but you can just rot here all alone you… big half-baked canary.'

He turned and flew away as quickly as he could with his injury and breathed out in relief when he saw that he was not chased. He was actually surprised that he got away with the insult, even if it was a light one. He was usually treated better when he was being nice, and treated worse when he got rude. He landed at the bottom of the cliff and turned back. Sharp pain shot into his left shoulder and he cursed under his breath as he clutched it, flying definitely made it worse.

Sometimes he really hated that he was not invulnerable, that would've been the most useful power of all. He just hoped that Creide didn't flee the valley when the archangel arrived.

x~x~x

'What the sulfurous goat-biting demon hole happened to ye again?' shrieked the witch the second she opened her door. Dean knew she was very old even if she didn't look like it.

'I was being nice' Dean said simply. It took him way too long to reach Creide's hut as he couldn't fly or run on four legs and his arm was killing him. 'Glad you're still here though' he said as he got inside.

'Where else would I be?' she asked after slamming the door shut.

'Didn't you notice?' Dean asked as she pushed him down onto a stool. 'An angel came down from Heaven.'

'Eeh' she shrugged as she whisked with her hand. 'Angels, fairies, giants, gods… bright lights, big pride…no manners.'

Dean chuckled at her nonchalant words.

'But this one's an archangel, the golden one… Gabriel.'

'So it's brighter than the rest, makes no difference' Creide answered. 'Take off your shirt and I look at that wound.' Dean obeyed, his shoulder hurt and his upper arm was bloody, he really hoped it wasn't broken. He healed very quickly, but a broken bone would take a day or two and he could never afford to be weakened around here. The witch took a closer look at the wound. 'How did ye manage to tear your arm up like this?'

'I was shoved off the hill' Dean grumbled.

'I thought ye were more skilled than that' she said with a chuckle while turning back to her table and shelves no doubt already searching for something to help Dean to heal faster.

'I am, but I couldn't dodge this one.'

'Ye have to stop acting like a god.'

'I am a god, old hag' Dean snapped at her. She turned back with a scowl, her long black hair whirling around her thin frame, making all the silver hanged on her jingle.

'Half a god Deandalon, never forget that' she said in an even tone her dark brown gaze fixed on Dean's face. 'Patrick!' she shouted the next second turning her head towards the back. 'Did ye use up all my sweet grass?'

'I am busy, Mháthair' came the young man's voice from the back.

'And I need some sweet grass' Creide called back and a second later Patrick's black hair and annoyed white face showed up.

'There is still some on the upper shelf. I got ye those two days ago' the young witch told her and she started searching again. 'Howya Deandalon.'

'Hey lad, I still owe you a game of dice, don't I?' he asked.

'That and a barrel of fine beer my good sir' Patrick answered with a grin. 'But I'm always willing to raise the stakes if ye want to win it back.'

'Oh I am no fool Patrick, don't take me for one' laughed Dean, the lad was really too good at gambling.

'So who kicked your arse this time if ye don't mind me asking' the witch leaned to the wall while he started chewing on a long straw he picked up from the table there.

'Archangel' Dean said and hissed when Creide cleaned out the wound with a wet cloth. 'And it didn't kick my arse just shoved me down from the hill.'

'I thought those wings of yours were for flying.'

'Don't taunt him Patrick' Creide warned from the other side of the room.

'No insult intended' Patrick said automatically, but there was a hint of a smile on the corner of his lips and a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. No wonder Dean liked the kid.

'I teach you how to shift then I toss you down the hill and we'll see how you do' he told him. Creide put strong smelling herbs ground to mush directly on the wound then started bandaging his upper arm and shoulder. He was relieved that it was indeed not broken. Torn muscles and skin were a piece of cake; he would be fine in a day with Creide's herbs to help him.

'I never saw an angel before' Patrick mused.

'And ye won't see this one either' Creide said as she looked up at her son sternly, her voice didn't leave place for an argument. 'There' she turned back to Dean then. 'That should do the work just fine. No flying, no fighting, sleep safely tonight and ye will be good as new by tomorrow.'

'Thank you Creide' Dean said as he started dressing up again.

'Ye would be a much fearful sight without that piece of cloth with the amount of woad and copper ye have under your skin' Patrick remarked. Dean looked down onto the symbols decorating his arms and chest.

'It wouldn't be so dramatic when I took off my shirt then, now would it?' Dean said with a smirk. The young witch made a "right you are" gesture with his hand. 'I get you your payment in a few days Creide' Dean turned to the old witch when he was dressed again.

'No hurry, just be dog wide and stay alive and leave that damn archangel alone ye dim trickster.'

x~x~x

Damn Pillan and his scabby boil-bursting fire spirits, damn the nymph for being a harlot and damn that bloody archangel for injuring his arm so bad. He was halfway between Creide's hut and his hideout when he heard the sizzling, crackling sound of fire and he was running the second he caught the burning eyes locked on him.

He really hoped that they won't come down to the valley after him, but it was too much to hope for apparently. He dashed as fast as his legs could take him, but he knew there was no place to hide for miles, nowhere to shift or disappear. And his shoulder hurt badly as he ran, he never before cursed himself for what he was so much, for his own weakness.

The fire spirits were fast and there was no chance to run forever as they wouldn't get tired the way he did after a while. No other spirits were nearby to aid him, probably all fled after the archangel arrived. His day started so good, but if there were bards out there telling stories of his life, this song would be called "Deandalon's Ill-fated Day", but of course no one was singing songs about him, nor will anyone ever. He would be burnt to dust on the bottom of a valley with no one to remember his name, stupid thing that he cared about that at all, he never did before.

He glanced back to see how close the spirits were and he had to jump to the side to get out of the way of a blazing flame slashing out towards him. He groaned in pain as he landed on his injured arm, but rolled away from the next flame aiming at him. He tried to focus and make a copy of himself as a distraction, but his mind was fogged from pain and he couldn't keep the illusion together. Oh he would definitely not survive this one.

'So what are you waiting for you bird-brained batswings?' he shouted. 'C'mon!'

He felt the heat on his face and knew he would smell his own burning skin soon. He really hated this day. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to muffle his scream when he felt the first burning pain then it got really bright even with his eyes closed and he was ready for the pain that never came.

The feral shriek of the fire spirits filled his ears, they howled so loud that the sound surely filled the entire valley. Then everything fell silent and Dean was only aware of the smell of ash in his nose and the brightness behind his eyelids. He slowly opened his eyes and he was sure that his heart stopped the second he did.

The archangel stood in front of him, its back to the god and its three set of wings spread wide on its back and Dean only saw the edge of its golden face. He blinked in confusion, surely he was dreaming, but no matter how hardly he focused the angel didn't disappear.

Dean sat up and winced as pain ran down his arm, but he ignored it for a moment to stare at the golden creature. Did it really just get rid of the spirits?

'Why did you-' his words stuck in his mouth when the angel turned a little and his golden eyes leveled on him. He looked at him for another second then he flapped his wings – heavy wind whirling around both of them immediately – and shoot up into the sky like a comet without a word. 'Gabriel! Wait!' Dean called after him, but he didn't come back. Dean could already see the bright golden spot at the top of the hill a second later. Damn, that was some fast flying. The god stood up from the grass and stared at the hill for long moments. Surprised, confused… intrigued.