4. Gabriel
They say falling is the last thing an angel feels before he stops existing as one. The truth was that falling was the very first thing he felt for real. And then there was pain, a lot of pain. Would he have reconsidered his choice if he'd known how much it would hurt? Would he have chosen another way? – There is no other way. – No, of course he wouldn't. If his brother could handle it, so could he. The physical pain didn't matter in comparison with his heartache – Broken, that's how it feels – but he'd deal with that too, in time. – First things first.
When he left that damn cliff, confused and full of anger, he didn't know what he was going to do. What had happened back there had changed him. – You gave him what he asked for. I gave him what he needed. – What was that supposed to mean?! For all the eons of their existence they were supposed to carry out His wishes. That was the point of their very existence. Only once out of all of those times had some of them refused to do so, and their fate had been pretty unenviable. – Michael's face was cold and dark. His right foot was lying heavily on his brother's chest, and his sword, well known all over The Grace, was pointing at his brother's throat. The words he had spoken were harsh and heavy as well: 'You belong here no more'. – And he, Gabriel, had never followed that lead. Not because of fear, no, because he had had unshakeable faith in their Father. It was always complete. No doubts, no questions, ever. Even that particular time, when he'd been told to stop Michael – kill him – he complied, no matter that his soul was bleeding. – You were always so eager to please him. – He had said it as if it were something bad. Had it been bad, that thing that he was supposed to do? Because it seemed now that he'd done it all wrong, and his greatest sacrifice to Him was for nothing. - I would not have shown you such mercy. - I know. That's why you failed him. – He had failed.
He had failed even before his brother disarmed him and pointed his sword at his throat. He had failed in the last battle because rage made him blind and reckless. But the truth was, he had lost even before it all started. He had lost because of his lack of understanding. Because Michael had understood their Father's true will, and he hadn't. Because Michael saw something in humans, and he didn't. Because he had never cared enough to look at them more closely, even though he was the one who had first been sent to the Messiah's mother to proclaim that the Child would be born. Such an irony, wasn't it, considering his last mission? Because he had lost his faith in them after they crucified Him, Who came to Earth for them with love. Because somewhere deep inside he had started to think that they – His new toys, don't you see it?! – didn't deserve what He gave them. That there was no good reason why angels should be forced to bow – Never! – before them. So he had either had to start questioning his Father – like him, who was cast out – or just accept it and push aside all those thoughts. The latter was exactly what he had chosen to do. But it hadn't turned his heart towards mankind. He had just tolerated them.
So, when his beloved brother, the one who had always been an example for him, had said that he was going to take a risk and defy His will for them, despise all the consequences, well, that had been the last straw. And then had come hatred.
It had been pure hatred when he tried to kill that boy, Jeep. It had not been about the mission, but about some pathetic human daring to stand up to him. And what he had discovered was that everything seemed so much easier when he felt those emotions: anger, rage, hatred. It made him stronger than ever, and it pushed all doubts away. So he hadn't rejected it. And he had been so sure he was doing the right thing. – You are wrong, brother. - I'm not!
There had only been one moment of hesitation, when he had stood face to face with the child's mother. She had had no chance, not even a slight one, against him. But she hadn't given him the child; instead she had clasped him to her chest as if that would help. And her face, frightened but inflexible, had made him hesitate for a moment. It had made him sorry for what he was intending to do. It had made him doubt. Was there really no hope for them, if some of them were capable of something like that? Of things like all those people, strangers, caught up in the desert, had done, sacrificing their lives to save someone else's? Were those the things his brother thought were worth fighting for?
But when Jeep jumped on his back it had all disappeared and he had become furious. And when Michael suddenly appeared from the sky, alive, and bewilderingly no longer human but archangel, it had not cooled his fury. And it should have, it should have made him realize immediately by whose will such a thing could have happened. Anger had made him blind, deaf and stupid. He had failed.
He had stayed kneeling on the cliff top, waiting for death. Michael's face had been cold and dark, his sword pointed at Gabriel's throat. – Just like back then, only another brother. – He had been ready for whatever would come next, but not for this. – Do it! - No. – And then had come shame.
So, when he left that damn cliff, confused, full of anger – ashamed – he didn't know what he was going to do. There was only one thing he knew for sure: he couldn't go back home. He wouldn't. Not now, when his faith had been shaken. Not until he understood how all of it could possibly even have happened. – You wanted to live like one of them. Now you die like one of them. – Not until he saw the things Michael already saw. – It doesn't matter what happens to me. – He made his decision.
Gabriel hovered in the sky to take a look around, not knowing whether he would ever be able to do such a thing again: to feel the wind singing its song in his wings. He looked up: to be so close to Grace. He folded his wings, his lips moving silently: – Forgive me. – And then he fell down.
xxx
And there he was, kneeling again on firm ground. It was dawn, and only the first glimmers of the sun were dissipating the dark. It was a couple of moments before he was able to move. Great, he was on all fours on some highway, as if he had not had enough of that particular experience, not so long ago. Luckily there was no car to hit him this time. He tried to stand up. His body felt strange and off-balance, but he managed it. And then there was one more thing that needed to be done, a very unpleasant thing. Slowly he made for a pile of rocks by the roadside, and hid behind it, because he definitely didn't want anyone to see what was coming next.
Gabriel took out his dagger and without any hesitation cut away his wings.
If he thought that hurt, he was wrong. It was nothing in comparison with what happened next. There was a glowing ring of cold blue-white fire, brought down from the sky right onto him. It felt like he was burning inside and outside at the same time. The pain was unbearable, and he screamed like hell. And at the same very moment as his collar fell down, he fainted.
When he regained consciousness it was early morning, already broad daylight but still chilly. He tried to stand up, and groaned softly; his back was hurt. The wounds, he needed to clean those up and do whatever people did in situations like this. – Oh, really? And exactly how often are people in situations like this? – Shut up. – It looked like he had hit his head when he had fainted and fallen, because why else would everything be blurry, why he would he feel so weak? And when he tried to pick up his mace it seemed horribly heavy. – Because you're human now. – That thought made him freeze. So that was how Michael had felt? He remembered their fight. And with a body like this he was able to fight back for so long, and to beat up his brother as hard as he did? It made Gabriel felt such shame, even disgust towards himself. Michael had spared his life, but would he be able to forgive him some day? – Don't think about it. Not now. Focus, Gabriel. – He started to take off his armor. He felt much better without its weight.
When he took off his breastplate, he realized something was wrong with him. He pressed his palm to his breast. Wait… breasts?! He raised his arm – too small – and peered at the blade of his dagger. A very good-looking woman stared back at him from its reflective surface. Hazel eyes, wide open and surprised, and very short blonde-brown hair shot through with silver. He closed his eyes, as if hoping it was just some trick of the mind, but when he opened them again, all remained the same: a young woman in what was left of his angel's clothes – pants, some robes, boots, all black.
He… no, she, looked up and said out loud, "You have got to be kidding me!"
There was no answer to this.
Then she shook her head and added, with an air of doom in her voice, "Well, it looks like I'm completely fucked."