Season 9 premiered last night! So far, nothing I've seen has contradicted this story so far. Here's hoping I managed create a history of Heaven that is faithful to Season 9!
SUNDAY DINNERS
Sammael was the first angel to receive the latest summons and the last to arrive. He threw open the doors to the Throne Room and strode past the gathered Seraphim, his head held high. Gabriel glanced over at Michael, but his eldest brother's grace, wrapped tightly around him like battle armor, gave nothing away.
One hundred and fifty-eight years. One hundred and fifty-eight years had passed since Michael banished Sammael to Earth. One hundred and fifty -eight years as the Archangels pretended his exile was voluntary, as the Seraphim orchestrated contact with humanity, as Gabriel kept a watchful eye on Sammael (or at least pretended to). One hundred and fifty -eight long years.
The Seraphim gathered with the Archangels regularly, Sammael included, to discuss the changes in Heaven and on Earth as a full-Host operation. Michael never failed to extend a frosty invitation to Sammael, through Gabriel, and Sammael never failed to respond with some variant of "bite me," but Sammael also always showed up. Can't let Michael lose precious face in front of our brothers, Sammael had sneered once, when Gabriel asked him why he bothered.
Gabriel hated it. He hated carrying messages between his brothers, usually laced with anger and hurt. Sammael felt betrayed by Michael's exiling him, but Gabriel knew that Michael felt equally betrayed by Sammael's petty behavior. Michael and Sammael had barely exchanged ten words face to face in the past century. If they would only just talk with each other, Gabriel was sure this could all be resolved. The two brothers, once the most perfect partnership in all of Heaven, barely spared a glance at each other as Sammael sauntered up to his throne, his movements as sinuous as an Earthly serpent. Sammael's Seraphim watched him with hungry eyes, and Gabriel clenched his fists in his lap.
Technically, Sammael's Seraphim were managed by the remaining three choirs "while Sammael attends to God's will on Earth," but Gabriel knew many of them slipped off to Earth to visit with their true choirmaster, ever loyal to Sammael. Michael had instructed Gabriel to not dissuade them unless they seemed about to do something rash. He was under orders to simply watch their meetings unnoticed and report back to Michael. They never seemed to talk about anything of any importance, and Gabriel often slipped off to give them their privacy. He would have hated being spied on whenever he met with Cariel, Zachariah, or Barachiel. He hated spying on Sammael alone as it was. Often, Sammael would hide from Gabriel, and Gabriel wouldn't even put in an effort to find him. His brother deserved his solitude. Gabriel wasn't a jailor.
Sammael flung himself into his throne with a haphazard sprawl of grace. His wings curled lazily around the back, and he rested his chin in one hand propped on the arm. With each of these "Sunday Dinners," as some of the Seraphim had taken to calling the meetings, Sammael grew more and more disrespectful and irreverent. Michael responded by growing colder, his grace a solid defense around his spirit. Raphael grew quieter, seeking revelation in solitude almost daily now, watching everything and almost never speaking.
Gabriel found himself developing an increasingly manic energy, hot flares in his core that kept him from sitting still for long. Even now, he could feel unneeded energy cresting within him, battering at his mental walls, reacting to the tension between Michael and Sammael. Gabriel stretched his wings as high as he could, willing that energy to dissipate. When that didn't even take the edge off, Gabriel swept his wings forward, brushing against the nearest Seraphim and sending a crackling wave of grace over his younger brothers. The Seraphim straightened and returned his grace with pulses of their own, fond gratitude to the Archangel who had just blessed them with his power. Gabriel forced his emotions to stay buried within him and not reflected in his grace or on his face, so they wouldn't realize his blessing had been less genuine goodwill and more a desperate need to do something to vent.
Raphael's grace was practically vibrating with his silent disapproval of Gabriel's fidgeting, but Michael's unmovable presence separated the twins. The oldest angel swept his wings out.
"Be seated."
The Seraphim waited until all four Archangels had taken their thrones before bending their knees and sitting or kneeling before them. Joshua and several others of Michael's Cherubim entered, distributing manna among Heaven's most powerful angels. Very few took note of the Cherubim.
Gabriel hadn't even had time to suggest food to God before He had begun creating manna. As soon as the Host started accepting mouths in their forms, God offered them something to eat. Angels did not need sustenance, so manna was not food in the physical sense. It was breadlike, sweet and soft, nourishing angelic grace and speeding recovery of any injury or drain. No angel deprived of manna would starve, but the treat was a gentle reminder that their Father was still with them, loving them.
Gabriel knew Michael had specifically requested the distribution of manna at each of these meetings. He admired his brother's foresight; the manna could soothe feathers ruffled by Sammael's disdain for all things Heavenly and simultaneously reassure the Seraphim that all was well, that the Archangels had a handle on the situation.
Sammael pushed Joshua away with one of his largest wings, not even sparing a glance for the Cherub. Gabriel responded by wrapping his own wings around the younger angel, drawing him near and murmuring gratitude as he offered the gift of manna. "Ignore Sammael. He's spending so much time on Earth, he's practically gone native and is forgetting his manners. I'm sure he'll apologize when he remembers himself." The lie slipped easily from Gabriel's lips, and the twist of shame he felt was barely noticeable this time. The first time Gabriel had lied about Sammael, to Cariel, he had felt nearly physically ill with guilt. Now, lying was just another part of Gabriel's daily life. As Gabriel grew more practiced at covering for his brother, he grew numb to the disgrace of spreading falsehoods. Sammael was not built to apologize, not to God, not to Michael, and certainly not to a Cherub. His rudeness had nothing to do with his time on Earth either. Gabriel technically had spent more time mingling with humanity than Sammael had, and his manners hadn't suffered.
Much.
"The human beings are receptive to our stories," Cariel was reporting his successes to Michael. Though most of his garrisons stayed in Heaven to help the running of Gabriel's choir, the brief research Gabriel and Cariel had done over a century and a half ago had shown that one of Cariel's garrisons, led by a Dominion named Nuriel, was exceptionally adept at slipping in and out of human lives. That garrison had been tasked as Heaven's storytellers, adapting existing myths and legends into ones involving Heaven and its angels. "The mythos we agreed upon in our first meeting is firmly rooted in the current generation, and the people are receptive to the idea of monotheism."
"The pagans, on the other hand, have not been so excited about our increased presence." Zachariah stood to take over the report from Cariel, his grace flickering in delight. Zachariah's garrisons were the front line for battles on Earth, and Zachariah was always glad for a chance to smite wrongdoers. Gabriel preached tolerance whenever possible, but many battles had already broken out between angels and the pagan gods who felt they were intruding on their territory. Pain and injury were becoming all too common among angels who walked the Earth, but the pagan gods held little serious threat to the warriors of Heaven. They could attempt to use humans as pawns, perhaps, but some of Sammael's angels had taken it upon themselves to teach strong and powerful humans how to hunt the supernatural beings, just in case there was ever a situation where angels could not step in to help them. Tumael and Tarel, a pair of Sammael's Seraphim, had dedicated all of their garrisons to this cause.
One of Sammael's wings prodded against Gabriel's insistently. The younger Archangel turned slightly to acknowledge his brother, flexing his own wings to try to bleed off some of his energy build-up. Sammael was leaning over the left arm of his throne now, head turned toward Gabriel.
This is boring.
At least Sammael had the sense to keep his whisper between their minds only, a private broadcast the others couldn't listen in on. Gabriel gave a tiny shake of his head, lifting one of his smaller wings to request silence. Naomi had taken the floor now and was giving her report. They were meant to be paying attention.
Come on… Sammael's wings trailed down Gabriel's back, making him shiver and twitch away. Let's fly. I can tell you don't want to be here. You're crackling. How are you still sitting still? Sammael's voice was a silky whisper in Gabriel's mind, the promise of joy, of release, of freedom.
Gabriel shook his head again, sitting up straighter. His wings flexed slowly again, itching to take to the sky. It was agony, trying to keep his moments small so as not to be a distraction. Naomi. Listen to Naomi.
"…It is clear that one alone isn't satisfactory…"
Fly with me, little brother.
Sammael's wings were brushing against Gabriel, teasing little caresses tracing the lines of his form, the curves of his own wings, bringing to mind all of the times the two of them spent together in human vessels on Earth, touching each other with more than wings.
Sammael was silent but not subtle. A few of the Seraphim were watching the Archangels instead of Naomi, their heads tilted to the side in curiosity. Cariel's sharp gaze, Azazel's golden glow, Alastair's little smirk… Gabriel gave a sharp little shake of his head as he felt their attention on him. Stop that, he answered Sammael, trying to nudge his wings away with careful little presses of his own. Sit still. We have a job to do.
How can you stand this? Michael is being a pompous ass, and Raphael is just as smug. It must be grating for you, to be so contained, so restrained by them. You hate following their orders. I know you do. You want to be free to do whatever you please again. You want things to change back to how they were.
Stop that, Gabriel repeated, reaching out to press a piece of manna between Sammael's lips. Eat, and sit still. Please. Father has given us this task. I will fly with you after we're done here, but not before.
Sammael swallowed the manna and leaned away from Gabriel, stretching and flapping his wings deliberately loud. Naomi lost her focus and had to ask Michael to repeat his question, her own wings fluttering in embarrassment.
"I asked-"
"Are we going to discuss anything of actual importance?" Sammael snapped his wings shut and stood, cutting off Michael. "Our plan with the humans is going, surprise surprise, according to plan. Our Messenger should be replaced with a corps of Angels, headed by dear Naomi, despite having never once failed to deliver his messages in a timely fashion. Zachariah thinks the vessel requirement should be scrapped. Azazel would see all the pagan gods burned from the Earth. Is there anything we haven't discussed a thousand times over, such as leaving the humans to their own fates, or is this all the same colossal waste of time it has been for the past century and a half?"
The Seraphim fell completely silent, with those in the front pushing away from the thrones. Michael slowly rose to his own feet, his gaze firmly fixed on the far wall of the Throne Room.
"Sammael." Michael waited for his brother's attention to flick in his direction before speaking again. "Sit down, and hold your tongue."
"I don't-" Sammael barely started forming a protest before Michael swept one of his primary wings back, throwing Sammael into his throne. Disbelief rippled through the gathered Seraphim—Michael had struck Sammael! That had not been a blow thrown in jest, sport, or training. One hundred and fifty-eight years of forced normalcy had just been overturned by one violent action.
Gabriel and Raphael said nothing. They sat unmoving, hands clasped, wings folded, mirrored discomfort in their graces. This was not the first time Michael and Sammael had turned violently on each other. In over a century of attempting to bridge the divide that had formed, the twins had born witness to their brothers exchanging blows more than once, buffeting each other with wings and fists and hateful words. Sammael often launched the first volleys, while Michael fought only to subdue, but the pair were still more violent together than any other angels, including the quarrelsome twins.
This was, however, the first time any of their younger brothers witnessed blatant evidence of the hostility that had so far remained hidden from the Host, and it felt like a failure. It was also, Gabriel realized with dawning horror, the first time Sammael did not capitulate to his older brother's authority. Gabriel watched a red thread stretch out through Sammael's grace, thinner and thinner until it snapped, a cascade of crimson drops, shimmering like blood through Sammael's wings. It might have been beautiful, had it not been combined with an unheavenly roar as Sammael seized Michael's wing in both hands, yanking him back and twisting.
The crack of delicate wing bones breaking echoed through the room, accompanied by Michael's scream of pain. The oldest angel fell to one knee, yanking his wings away from Sammael. Raphael leapt to his side, healing grace already gathering in his hands. Gabriel flew to Sammael, pulling him back even as his brother reached for another wing. "Sammael, Sammael, stop it!"
"You are not our Father!" Sammael bellowed at Michael. "You have no authority over me! I will not bow to your orders!"
"You do not bow to His!" Michael shouted back, using Raphael to push himself to his feet. The younger Archangel followed behind, trying to mend the wing hanging limply from Michael's back. "You do not think of anyone but yourself-"
"I think of my brothers!" Sammael hissed, sweeping one hand out to indicate the gathered Seraphim. "I speak for our siblings, who water the Earth with spilled grace, injured and aching because of humans. Soiled, greedy children who take and destroy and leave nothing good!"
"They are our Father's greatest creation!"
"They are monsters, clinging to shadow and death!" Sammael wrenched out of Gabriel's grasp, taking a threatening step toward Michael. "What will you say when they turn against us? What will you do when a brother falls, dies, at their hands? Will you still defend them? Are their pathetic little lives worth more than one of ours?"
"You must have faith, brother. Faith in our Father, faith in His plan!"
"I must have faith in my brothers!" Sammael answered. "These brothers, these true sons of our Lord God." He gestured to the gathered Seraphim again. Some of them were nodding, agreeing with Sammael's words. Not all of the nodders were from Sammael's choir.
Michael was not one of them.
"Sammael, if you do not-"
"What would you do, Michael? Banish me to Earth? You've already did that one." Sammael's wings glinted dangerously as he spread them. "Just try to do it again!"
The second greatest angel took to the air, blowing open the doors to the Throne Room and making his escape. Michael gave chase, not as fast with such a serious wing injury. Raphael called his name and followed, for once acting as Heaven's Healer.
That left Gabriel alone before the thrones of Heaven, with six score of Seraphim slowly turning back to him, their grace pleading for guidance and revelation.
And Gabriel had been wishing Michael and Sammael would talk more...
Manic energy pulsed within Gabriel, pressing at his throat, begging him to just laugh and let it out. Damn his brothers for leaving him with this mess! He spread his wings, flapping once to demand attention as much as to release some of the pressure building within him, and forced himself to fill his grace with peace and calm, radiating it at his brothers.
"Continue your tasks as previously assigned." Gabriel spread his wings again, arching them around the younger angels, encouraging them into his embrace. "Do not… do not speak of these events to the others. It would only distress them to know of the recent disturbance."
"Disturbance!?" Naomi's wings were visibly ruffled, and she puffed them up further as she pressed into Gabriel's overheated grace. "They were at each other's wings! This was no mere disturbance!"
"It's true, then? Sammael had been banished?" Tumael clutched at Gabriel's wing, beseeching his older brother to offer an explanation.
"Sammael broke Michael's wing!" Barachiel countered, his big eyes made even wider with distress.
"This wasn't the first time they've fought." Cariel's sharp gaze turned to Gabriel, speaking as if they were the only two in the room. "Nor will it be the last. What's going on with our brothers?"
Beside him, Marmoniel and Zachariah were nodding, echoing him. It was contagious, spreading through the Seraphim until they were asking Gabriel the same question.
"What is going on!?"
That desperate laughter pushed against Gabriel's throat again, and he could feel his grace ignite with the fire that forever burned at his core. As Gabriel struggled to control himself, to find words that would neither damn nor condone his brothers, Alastair, one of the younger Seraphim, spoke up, his reedy voice arching above the gathered angels.
"Has our Father forsaken us?"
Laughter turned into rage, a spiderweb of red stretching through Gabriel's wings much like it had through Sammael's earlier. Gabriel yanked them up and flared his grace at his brothers. "We are not forsaken. Do not doubt our Father! Why are you still asking questions? You were given your orders. Go."
When the Seraphim did not immediately move, Gabriel beat the air with his wings and bellowed at them: "GO!"
The Throne Room emptied quickly, one hundred and nineteen Seraphim bolting for the exit. Only one remained, watching as Gabriel's wings trembled, then collapsed, and he buried his face in his hands.
"How long have they been fighting?" Cariel asked quietly, slipping up alongside his choirmaster and pulling Gabriel into his arms.
"One hundred and fifty-nine years, next month," Gabriel mumbled, letting Cariel hold him. "I'm just so tired."
"Shh," Cariel murmured, stroking Gabriel's wings. "It's not your secret anymore. I can help."
"What could you do?" Gabriel demanded, pulling away from Cariel and pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead. "No, we've been handling this ourselves. We'll continue to handle this. Just… just convince the other Seraphim that we know how to deal with Sammael when he's in a mood like this."
"Has he broken Michael's wing before?" Cariel asked. "Has he ever broken your wings? Has he ever hurt you?"
"No." Gabriel turned back to Cariel, taking his shoulders in his hands and meeting his eyes. This, at least, didn't have to be a lie. "Sammael has never hurt me, never, and this is the first time he's really hurt Michael." First time he did something Raphael couldn't immediately heal, at least. "We're handling this, Cariel. I'll handle this. I'm going to go to Earth to talk with Sammael. It may take me a few days to calm him down. Can I trust you to run things in my absence?"
"No," Cariel answered. "Because I'm going with you."
"Absolutely not." Gabriel gave Cariel a stern look. "This is Archangel business. Raphael will tend to Michael, and I will calm Sammael. I need you to stay here, for me, Cariel. Don't make me order you."
Cariel opened his mouth, then reluctantly shut it, his eyes narrowed unhappily. "Fine. But I want frequent updates."
"You'll have them." Gabriel leaned in to touch their foreheads together. "Thank you, Cariel. At least I can trust my choir won't be falling apart around my ears."
"You don't have ears," Cariel pointed out.
"Yet."