The cell's bars seemed to emit a faint hum as they glowed, a crackle that disrupted and distorted their edges, making it clear that if one were to touch them, it would be something to regret. The reheaded angel within sighed deeply, slumped over on the benchlike seat protruding from one wall, elbows on his knees. His robes were tattered and torn, singed here and there, and his hair straggled as it hung down over his eyes. Footsteps approached, then halted before his cell. He sighed again.
"Is it time?"
"No— no, I just came down to.. to say hello."
Aziraphale.
The redheaded angel looked up, and Aziraphale could see that his cheek was red and swollen. An injured angel; something Heaven had never seen before. The defeat in those dark eyes made him gulp. It was so unlike the angel he knew to wear such an expression, and Aziraphale wished there was something he could say to help.
"Won't you get in trouble?" The redheaded angel rose and crossed to the bars, folding his arms over his chest. "You probably shouldn't really be down here."
"I mean, well," Aziraphale fiddled with his hands anxiously, "We won. Everyone's either celebrating or sitting in council. Er." He stopped speaking abruptly, for the councils some of his fellow angels were sitting in were the ones deciding that fates of the prisoners in these cells. The captured rebels, spoils of the Great War. The redheaded angel laughed bitterly.
"Won. Nobody's won, Aziraphale. Just because Lucifer's been cast out doesn't mean Heaven's won. I think it's all going to get lot worse, once they're finished getting rid of anyone who dares to ask questions."
"But, they might not!" Aziraphale interjected, "they might take you back, you know, recognize that you were being influenced and give you another chance. You did make the stars, after all, they wouldn't throw you out that easily." The redheaded angel knew Aziraphale was trying to make him feel better, and allowed himself a small smile, even as he shook his head.
"That's the thing, cherub. Stars are made. They don't need me anymore. And they don't want to answer my questions. She doesn't want to answer my questions." Aziraphale bit his lip, left without anything else optimistic to say. They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then, the redheaded angel took in a deep breath and spoke again.
"Listen, I don't know what's going to happen when they come for me, but it's not going to be good. I may not get another chance to say this, so," very carefully, he threaded his arms between the buzzing bars, and held out his hands to Aziraphale, who took them. He squeezed firmly, looking into the blond angel's desperate blue eyes. "Thank you for being my friend, Aziraphale. I know it hasn't always been easy." Aziraphale squeezed back.
"It's been my honor, Starmaker." The redheaded angel snorted lightly.
"You probably shouldn't call me that anymore."
"Then, what should I call you?" Aziraphale asked, somehow sure that the redheaded angel's name was not the correct answer. His friend laughed, with humor this time, and drew his hands back inside the cell.
"If I ever see you again, I'll let you know."