13. Time-out

Cain had brought El not only the First Aid kit but a bottle of water as well, and she gave him a small smile of gratitude which he found utterly unprecedented and thus disturbing. Taking all the medical supplies from him, she motioned her head towards Charlie, who was kneeling beside Jeep's still-unconscious body. "Now go and make yourself useful," she said.

That was completely normal, ordinary, and thus reassuring. Cain gave her a sharp look, slightly worried by how pale she was, but then again that could be due to the light from the headlamps, and since she nodded in confirmation it wasn't as if he had a lot of options; when she said 'jump' you only asked 'how high', although she had never abused her position and his trust in her. And besides, he realized, those two would probably like to have some privacy for a bit. He went over to Charlie, squatting down beside her and comforting her.

"So, how's LA?" El asked, cleaning blood carefully from Michael's forearm with a wet cloth.

"Dead," Michael said calmly.

She smirked, and then cocked her head to the left, looking at the cleansed wound. "I can't believe it; twenty years living through the Apocalypse and Jeep is still a lousy shot. It's definitely only a scratch; you lost a little blood and flesh, but give it a couple of days and you'll be as good as new."

"So I said," Michael replied. Then, after a moment's silence, he added, "Are you disappointed?"

"Well, that depends." A hint of a smile twitched her lips. "For Jeep being such a bad shot? Yes. For you not being badly wounded? No."

In spite of her optimistic words, she took care of the 'scratch' properly, although the bullet, while scoring his skin, had not caused a great deal more damage than a deep knife-cut. Okay, a knife-cut wouldn't have taken a sliver of flesh with it, but still, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been. On the other hand, that didn't mean it couldn't get infected, so she cleaned it carefully, putting antiseptic and then a bandage on.

"The bliss of The Grace is still strong in you," Michael said matter-of-factly, and then added in a much lower voice, "Your bond with him is still strong as well. That was an unnecessary risk, Gabriel."

"That 'unnecessary risk' saved Cain's father's life. Besides, I succeeded, so there isn't really much to discuss."

"Cain's stepfather," he corrected her punctiliously. "He's replaceable. You're not."

"I'd love to see how you were gonna tell the boy that his family could be replaced, Michael."

Something in her voice made him surprised and wary. It looked like she had Cain firmly and confidently under her control, so why would she care how he felt, as long she could be sure that he would do whatever needed to be done? As far as Michael was aware, that would be the very first thing Gabriel would teach anyone who stayed with him long enough. – The order was given. – This wasn't the time to argue about it, though, so he decided instead to elaborate on his point.

"The boy needs you to keep him safe much more than he needs Jeep, and you know how important his life is, how much is at stake with it. So if it came down to a choice between you or Jeep, there wouldn't seem to be any real choice at all."

"Well, we were lucky then, not to have to choose." She shrugged.

"It wouldn't work again."

"I know. I only managed it because he didn't see what was coming; I'm smart enough to understand that much, okay?" The annoyance in her tone made him raise an eyebrow at her, and she deliberately made her voice neutral again. "You want me to take a look at your back?"

"No, it's fine." His tone reflected her own ambiguity.

"What, you found a hospital?"

"I found a needle and a thread and stitched myself. There was no need to look for a hospital. In fact it was a lot easier this time, since I'd already had some practice."

She gave him a slightly surprised look. Had he just made a joke? That would be something completely new, for Michael and a sense of humor… well, you could say they existed in different universes. But then again, if she had changed, why couldn't he have done? Except that she had spent all these years down here, which was quite an incentive, while he had been up there, where nothing ever changed. – Almost nothing, almost never. - His face was straight, though.

"Fine," she said, packing the medical supplies, "I'll take your word on that."

xxx

No-one could have told it from Michael's blank face, but he was very glad to see his little brother again. It didn't matter that Gabriel looked so different (he felt a certain difficulty in calling him brother even in his mind, although sister wasn't looking as a good option either; as archangels they appeared male according to human concepts but without being gendered, and all this situation was entirely new for him), nor that he acted so differently (being calm and cold-blooded was completely normal for Gabriel, but not the nonchalance he had shown in the face of Lucifer's goading, nor the fact that he had actually hit back with a weapon that had never been his but always Lucifer's: words), it still made Michael happy, even though the cause of their reunion had been far from good. To feel Gabriel so close again, and this time on his side, was wonderful.

It wasn't how he had imagined it, though; he had expected Gabriel to show guilt, anger, uneasiness, affront maybe – joy, he hoped – but not this, not him acting as if nothing significant had happened and they had only been apart since yesterday for some routine reason. – As if he hadn't got Michael killed. – It confused him, and all the words he had prepared for his brother now seemed completely wrong, redundant.

He wasn't ready, either, for Gabriel being so sardonic, for his brother had never shown any trace of humor, especially since Lucifer had been cast out. On the better days he had been calm and unemotional, but sometimes he had seemed harsh, cruel even, in his complete obedience to their Father. The way he spoke with Michael now was confusing – discussing things that mattered as if it was all unimportant, and yet not. All this was very… unlikely, according to the old way of things.

But none of that mattered when he saw him… well, her, biting her lower lip in that well-known way, so that it took all his self-control not to put his arms around that slender body, not to say how much he missed that. He almost did so, but at that moment the girl raised her hand, touched his forearm gently, and said, "I'm sorry."

"What?" He blinked, surprised as much by her words as by how cold her touch felt on his skin. What amazed him the most, though, was that he simultaneously felt his skin burning where her cold fingers lay, a strange and completely unfamiliar sensation.

"I should've taken that bullet, not you." Her voice was so serious, and that reminded him again how she was and at the same time wasn't the Gabriel he used to know.

"Not your fault," he said in a soft tone that would have confused Charlie or Jeep if they had heard him. It certainly wasn't the voice of the person they had met twenty years ago, who had seemed so cold and completely incapable of such gentleness.

She stroked his arm lightly, once, but then abruptly pulled her hand away – he felt its loss – and raised her head, giving him that well-known stern look of Gabriel's. "My responsibility," she said flatly, and added in that new, confusing tone, "I'm gonna check out how's the party going." Then she turned her back on him and started towards the other members of their group.

"Gabriel." He spoke to her back more coldly than he had actually intended, because it seemed so easy for her to break their touch and leave him but it felt so wrong – hollow – for him when she did so. When she looked back, he added, "Time is running out. Get them focused. We have plenty of things to discuss."

"Yes, my general," she replied, and went off, leaving him confused as to whether she had been serious or not.

xxx

As El approached the others, she could hear Charlie exclaiming happily as Jeep recovered consciousness. When she reached them, Jeep gave her a look of embarrassment that very quickly turned to a mixture of fear and anger.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you," she said calmly, stepping back to reassure him.

"Yeah, right, just like you weren't gonna hurt my father," he replied harshly. "I always knew there was something wrong about you, I just didn't know exactly how much."

"Jeep," Charlie took his hand and stroked it gently, trying to comfort him, "Sweetie, don't. You owe her… him," she stopped short, obviously confused, and then shook her head. "Whatever. El saved your life, even though you'd attacked her and shot Michael."

"I'm sorry for Michael getting hurt, I wish he hadn't, but this… person is the one who killed my father!"

"I don't kill, I already told you that." El shrugged. "Besides, it was your father, actually, who tried to get me killed, or blown up, if I'm being specific."

"To stop you from killing us!" Jeep snapped.

"That wasn't my plan either; I had no orders about you, just about the child."

"Oh, that makes you a much better person indeed."

"I was mistaken, but Cain didn't get hurt, and neither did any of you."

"Tell that to Audrey."

"Well, I could do, if I ever meet her." She shrugged again.

"She's gone, dead because of you, you cold-blooded bitch!"

"To that last bit, guilty as charged." El gave him a sardonic smile. "But not the first. That girl didn't die in the car crash or because of the injuries she sustained, that's for sure."

"El," Charlie said in a low and very careful voice, "She did. When we got out of the car she wasn't moving."

"Yeah, a crash could do that to a human, I figured that out." El's voice was completely confident, but when she spoke again there was a good deal of sarcasm in it as well. "But if you'd bothered to check out the girl, you would've realized she was just unconscious. There weren't even any fractures, just a couple of bruises and scratches."

"How on earth could you know that?"

"Because I did check it out."

Charlie and Jeep exchanged very surprised glances.

"You did?" Jeep's voice was full of disbelief. "Why would you do that?"

"Someone should have, there was nobody else around, and you left her."

"Why would you care whether she was alive or dead?"

"She was a fighter, I always respected that. And since my mission had had nothing to do with her extermination… why not?"

"That's so sane, so reasonable: to bring about an Apocalypse in which everyone would die, but still care about one girl."

"I didn't start the Apocalypse, you did."

"What?!" they exclaimed together.

"By 'you' I don't mean you two specifically, although I guess it could be you as well in some ways. I mean humanity."

"Uh-huh, and suddenly you're such an angel," Jeep mumbled.

She barked out a short laugh. "That's right, or more correctly, I was an angel."

"What about your brother, then?" His voice was still angry but there was something new in his tone, something that suggested thoughtfulness. "Did he think that everything you did back then was for the best, too?"

"I think Michael is fully capable of speaking for himself, so why don't you ask him?" she replied calmly.

"Dad." Cain's voice was full of caution. "That's not really any of our business."

"Jeep, stop being such an ass," his mother supported Cain. "I just don't care about that shit. Whatever happened, happened. El helped raise my son, she protected him and us, and she just saved your life, so get over it."

"Fine," Jeep grumbled. "But I must say I much prefer the Biblical version of angels."

"Well, that's fine," El replied. "Because I think Adam was less annoying that you, and much cuter, that's for sure. So, since we've settled our difficulties, which I hope we have, we should listen to what Michael's got to tell us. And you know what? I think it has nothing to do with a Christmas party."

xxx

He stands near the archway, looking through it into the darkness. Shadows that seem to have their own strange, unnatural life are wrapped around him, covering him like a cloak; a very strange sight, considering the huge, snow-white wings folded behind his back and the long tunic of the same almost-glowing white. Light covered with darkness, that's what he is now, sovereign of Hell, the Fallen, Lucifer.

He reaches out his hand but stops short of actually touching the fire in the archway, its heat and burning insurmountable as yet. But soon it would no longer be; such were the rules of The Game.

He comes here often, when he needs to think, to remember, to be alone. The irony is that he is always alone now, no matter how many minions he has, ever since the day when he was thrown from Grace by his own brother. – Brothers, for Michael could never have done that without Gabriel's help, without his sacrifice. – He comes here to remember how fucking much he hates them, because he has never forgotten how much he loves and needs them. The unsatisfied urge for their love sometimes draws him close to madness, and only hatred and vengeance keep him sane.

Has he ever regretted what he's done? Well, there's the question, and sometimes he doesn't know the right answer. He wishes he'd won that battle, he wishes he hadn't started it, he wishes the two of them dead, he wishes the three of them were together, he wishes to prove to his Father that He was wrong, and he wishes not to prove anything, just be by His side again. He considers those thoughts weaknesses, and pushes them away. He should be focused: the time is coming.

"I'll show You how wrong You were," he says silently. There is no reply, but he knows that his Father heard him, He just didn't answer. He has never answered, not since that day.

He touches his lips with the tips of his fingers and feels their chill; his hands are as cold as ice – Hell's ice – and so were his lips, but not now, not after the kiss that Gabriel gave him. Even though it had only been via a vessel, he had felt it, and now his lips are a little warmer and it feels so good, even worth the disruption to his plan. Never mind, he'll get to the boy eventually, one way or another. He's really good at this kind of stuff, the best, in fact.

He closes his eyes, remembering that feeling – her body pressing his – the vessel's – to the ground, that complicated uncertainty as to whether he would prefer to snap her neck for daring to get in his way, or… to do something else. Until that moment he had never thought he could find a human body desirable. Perhaps it was because of who was in that particular body.

A very cold smile twitches his lips as he thinks about the confusion that that pathetic creature he used as a vessel had felt because of its arousal – for when Gabriel caught him unawares and used the power of The Grace to exile him, it was very much arousal he had felt. It was funny how uneasy people always were about that sort of thing.

The downside, however, is that the feeling is still in him, unsatisfied, unleashed; fire inside the ice, and it's fucking unbearable. He'll make Gabriel pay for this, he thinks, clenching his fists, his nails tearing into his palms and drawing blood. That always helps to restore control, not the pain but his blood, the blood first spilled by Michael.

"What?" In spite of his tone of annoyance, he's glad of the distraction.

It isn't necessary to turn around to discover who it is; all his minions are connected to him, they are his Host. They've lost their collars, their halos, but instead they all wear heavy bracelets on their wrists. He finds that funny, that manacles have replaced collars, but they are still slaves as they always were; at first Daddy's, and now his. Willing slaves, isn't that amazing? Born to serve, and nothing else. Sometimes he thinks their Dad is much crueler than he himself could ever be.

"Everything's ready, My Lord," the voice behind him says. "All your legions wait for your command."

"The Hell-hounds?" he asks, though there's no real need to.

"Waiting to be unleashed as well."

"Good," he answers. "Soon, Belial."

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Master?"

There's so much undisguised hope in that voice that it makes him smile arrogantly. He's about to say 'No', but something crosses his mind and he turns back, and his black eyes with their red flickers stare at the kneeling figure. It's not what he wants, but… it will do, for now.

The humans' Book says that after they were cast out, they changed; once the most beautiful creatures, they became ugly and frightening. Well, it's a lie, just like the tale of people going to Hell or Heaven after death. As his beloved brother once said, 'The truth is never that simple'. There is no afterlife for mortals, though their souls do indeed increase the powers of The Grace or Hell. And no, they haven't changed outside, they are still beautiful. On the inside… well, that's a different story. The fact is that while perhaps they no longer have something they used to – the touch – there is something else they can do instead.

He reaches towards his minion, his hand outstretched. Belial takes it and kisses it fiercely.

"Yes," Lucifer says, looking at him. "Actually, you can."